Realm of Monsters Chapter 482: Song of the Forest

  …3 days before the new moon… 3 days before the siege of Hollow Shade…

Vulture Woods was an expansive forest that stretched from the southern region of the Rupture Mountains, towards the south-west, where it t with its sister forest, Glimr Grove. Ashen trees populated most of Vulture Woods, their scarlet leaves painting the canopy in hues of red, with the occasional oak and maple tree giving hints of green.

The Sylvan army had stopped to rest for the evening and while they were busy setting up camp Stryg had slipped away, leaving Plum with a verbal ssage of his departure in case Elayne or the rest of his honor guard panicked.

He felt sowhat bad for leaving without an announcent, his mother would surely have a fit, but he was keenly aware that had he stayed he would have been strapped down by war etings and battle strategies. The days were already filled with martial planning, he didn’t think he could bear it at night as well. Not that such talks were bad per se, but Tauri and the generals seed much more suited to discussing the intricacies of warfare.

It didn’t help that he didn’t know most of the terminology they spoke of. His mind would begin to wander and he found himself staring at Tauri. The way her amber eyes lit up as they spoke, she seed in her elent, and she wasn’t just surviving in a room of skeptical grouchy old goblins, she was thriving.

And though Stryg was the War Master, he had little experience with leading any group, let alone an army. He preferred if experts took charge in those matters, like noble daughters of Great Martial Houses, or warriors who had gained invaluable experience and survived countless battles through the years, like the War Elect Lykos or the Sylvan Guardian Arden.

Stryg would be there when the ti for battle ca, at the front lines, fighting side by side with his Sylvan brothers and sisters, but until then he preferred to keep what little free ti he had to himself.

And so it was, Stryg had slipped out of the encampnt with none the wiser and found himself a quiet alcove, tucked in a small clearing under the trees. He took off his boots and socks and sat down with his legs crossed in a ditating position Professor Isne had taught him.

Like other goblins, his pointed ears were at a horizontal angle, though his had a subtle droop. His ears occasionally twitched at a distant faint noise. The sound of a nearby stream he realized.

Stryg closed his eyes and took a deep relaxing breath. Long grass tickled his bare feet and the scent of moss filled his nostrils. For a mont he forgot about the Marek and the valley armies, he forgot about Hollow Shade and the Sylvan folk. For a mont, the world of noise in his head fell away and the song of the forest whispered into his ear.

A lody of nature, a poem of love to any who’d listen. The notes, like the music of an instrunt, whispered in the air, sang in the leaves, and spoke through the roots. The world around him grew and entwined itself within the song; the earth, the plants, the river, the animals running through the grass, they all carried their own unique notes, interspersed within a lody written by—soone or sothing.

A song. A song written long ago, before the Schism Age, before the Nexus Age, long before the Sylvan folk had first stepped into the Ebon Realm, when Vulture Woods belonged to no one but the land itself.

The song called to him, like a long-lost friend. A voice, made not of vocal cords, but of sothing primal. It was born of love, joy, and fierce unapologetic will. As Stryg listened closely he couldn’t help but feel as if there was pain, a sad discordant note that hadn’t been there before, a crack that had grown with ti. And within the pain, he felt it, he saw it, a familiar figure blurred under the veil.

“Stryg…?” the voice reached through the song, a soft whisper, mildly surprised.

He knew that voice. She had sung to him so many tis through the forest, a lody of nature, ever since he was a child. How could he have forgotten?

“You were there…” he mumbled.

That night, when Rhian, Maeve, and he had escaped Mora Castle. When they had almost drowned in the icy Dire River. She was there. In his dream. Not Ann. Not Holo. Not Lunae. Sothing older. Sothing ancient.

“You were there…” he repeated.

“You’re awake, aren’t you?” the voice asked, though it did not sound like a question.

“I… I don’t know.”

“You are not ready.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I sent you the owl as a warning.”

“A warning?”

“Do not go to Holo’s Shade, you are not ready,” the voice sounded further away.

“Don’t leave, not again!”

The blurred figure paused and glanced back at him. “You found . You’ll find again.”

“Who are you?” he asked desperately.

The veil blurred her features, but Stryg could have sworn her lips curled in a smile. Her lips then parted and she whispered a na in silence. The veil darkened and the music began to fade. Ｒ𝓪ＮöᛒƐŠ

“Wait, don’t go!” Stryg reached out with his hand and opened his eyes. He was alone in the clearing, no one in sight. The world was silent, the alcove was empty. The evening sun dyed the scarlet canopy a bright shade of red.

Stryg stared at his trembling hand. He curled his blue fingers into a fist. Just as how the song had slipped into his world, it now had slipped away, like a dream upon awakening.

Her whisper had been silent and yet he had heard it, a na. “Aleirune,” he spoke softly. “Who are you…?”

“Stryg?” a worried voice called out.

He glanced up in surprise. A massive snow-white wolf erged from the woods and stepped into the clearing. The patch of tall grass was too small for the goddess and her wolfen black lips pulled back in a mild frown.

“Lunae?” Stryg mumbled. He imdiately went to bow, but he stopped himself. Sensing she wouldn’t approve of him bowing, he rose back up and inclined his head respectfully. “Good evening, Mother Moon.”

“You’re still here…” she noted.

“Huh?”

“For a mont I lost sight of you. I ca to make sure you were alright.”

“Oh, um, I’m fine, thanks,” he said abashedly. He hadn’t realized that Lunae had been keeping an eye on him, though he supposed it made sense.

  So much for sneaking out… he smiled wryly to himself.

“Having fun?” she asked.

“Hm? I’m sorry, what was that?”

The giant wolf blurred in a frosty mist and a young girl, as tall as him, walked out. Her long moon-white hair trailed behind her as she crossed the small clearing. Lunae appeared as young as so of the teenagers in the academy, but those careful thoughtful silver eyes betrayed her age.

Stryg supposed she had taken this form to make him feel more comfortable around her. He wondered if this was what she looked like when she had been young, if gods were ever even children.

Lunae stepped up next to him and sat down, their legs bumping into each other. “I asked if you were having fun?”

“Oh… I was ditating, or at least trying to. And uh…” his voice trailed off. Would it sound crazy if he started spouting about hearing a song within the forest, a song he had heard ever since he had been a child?

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her eyes staring into him as if searching for the answer.

Stryg forced himself to smile and he shook his head. “Nothing, it’s just… I’m still struggling to master the art of ditation.”

“You never could sit still for long,” she noted with a small smile of her own.

Her words threw him off. Sotis she would say things like that, as if they had known each other since forever.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

This ti he smiled sincerely, a playful glint in his eye, “Don’t you already know? You are the Watcher, the goddess of the moon, and all that.”

“Just because my sight is beyond that of mortals doesn’t an I can read your mind.” She nudged his shoulder, “So, you ca all the way out here just to master ditation?”

“Pfft, I don’t think I’ll ever manage that. More like I’m out here trying to learn how to control my mana flow.”

“Ah, the fundantals of an Ebon Lord.”

“You know it?”

“Of course. Every Ebon Lord struggles with the turbulent mixed jumble of chromatic Colors that is their mana flow. Without proper flow control, you’ll never truly be able to bring out all your chromatic potential.”

“You know, I think that’s actually kind of a relief. To know I’m not the only one,” he admitted. “Did my mother struggle with flow control?”

“Moreso than most. Your mother, like your old ntor Elohnoir, was an early bloor mageborn. Her magic awakened several years earlier than others. But unlike Elohnoir, she had to deal with 10 Colors. It was disastrous at first.”

“How did she manage?” he asked, genuinely curious to hear of his mother’s past.

“She focused on the colors she was most talented with, naly Green, and used it as a foundation, an anchor, to build upon and control the other Colors, one by one.”

“Is that what I should do?”

“Hm, possibly. Tell , what Colors are you strongest with?”

He straightened up. “I’ve mastered both Orange and Yellow’s spell-forms, along with Grey’s Curses, Green’s Stone form, Blue’s Torrent form, Red’s Wards, White’s Bright form, Black’s Shadow form, and Brown’s Vigor form,” he rattled off.

“Impressive,” Lunae said with a proud smirk. “What of the other spell-forms?”

“I’m adept-ranked with the other spell-forms, for the most part.”

“For the most part?”

“There are a few spell-forms I have yet to learn…” he admitted.

“I’m listening,” she said, though there was no hint of malice or disappointnt, she was genuinely curious and wanted to know more.

Before Stryg might have felt uncomfortable admitting his weaknesses, but in front of her he felt like he could talk about them without being judged for it.

“...I never learned the enchantnt spell-form. I an, I know the sigils from the heart, better than any student at the academy, or professor for that matter. But engraving sigils into tal and rock, and then connecting them to magestones through mana pathways is just— a lot. Not to ntion the amount of ti it would take to smith any enchanted objects. I preferred to spend my limited ti mastering spell-forms that could provide with a more imdiate benefit.”

“Ever impatient, though such is youth,” Lunae noted warmly. “Any other spell-forms?”

“W-Well, Red’s Alchemy.”

“Naturally. I take it you shared a similar opinion about its ‘careful and long-winding’ practices.”

“Y-Yes, b-but the slls were also terrible. My nose is very sensitive. I couldn’t stop sneezing from so of the rare ingredients in the alchemy room.”

“There are masks for such things, but I imagine you had more ‘practical’ spell-forms to master first.”

“Yeah,” he admitted and ford a small fla over his open palm.

“Any more spell-forms?”

“Two.” He closed his fist and snuffed the fla. “Black’s Necromancy. It wasn’t for a lack of trying, black was the first color I was ever taught. I could never quite get a single necromancy spell to work, no matter how hard I tried.”

“Really?” She cocked her head to the side, “Hm, yes, I suppose it makes sense.”

He looked up with a frown, “What?”

“It goes against your nature.”

Stryg blinked. “Pardon?”

“What was the final spell-form?” she asked, switching topics.

“Storm magic,” he replied.

Lunae nodded in understanding. “The most destructive of the Chromatic spell-forms and also the most dangerous to its caster. Learning storm magic can be very dangerous, one misstep can cost you your life, it’s why most Blues give up and simply stick with Torrent spells. For you storm magic would be especially difficult, I imagine.”

“Because of my nature?”

“No, because learning storm magic requires control of your emotions. And even now, I can sense there is great emotional turmoil within you.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t read my mind?”

“I don’t have to. I can feel it here,” she placed her hand over his heart. “And here,” she shifted her hand slightly to the side, where his second heart beat.

Stryg stared at her fingers. “So I’ll never learn storm magic then…”

“I never said that.” Lunae rose to her feet. “Do you wish to learn the storm spell-form?”

“Yes? I an, yes. Yes, I do,” he nodded, hope rising in his voice.

She smirked, “Then follow .” Lunae turned around and walked back into the woods.