The little creature did not float.
Its lower half remained as one with the branch, bark and limb fused seamlessly into her perch like a bud that had never quite detached. From the waist down, it resembled a slender, curling offshoot—wiry and delicate as the limb it sprang from. But from the waist up, she bloomed with life: a tiny girl of bark-skin and pale rose-colored leaves, no bigger than an apple, crowned with a crest of pink fronds that fluttered like petals in a breeze that did not exist.
Asha could hardly breathe.
Her thoughts were a storm—disbelief tangled with a thin thread of reverence. Was this a spirit? A god? Some undiscovered creature that had wandered into the roots of the world?
No. Not wandered. It lived here.
She took a step closer, and the little tree sprite tilted its head again. Like a curious animal. Like a child.
Asha swallowed. Her voice cracked as she tried.
"Can... can you understand me?"
The sprite blinked.
Then nodded.
It was a small nod, slow and unsure, but it was enough to send a tremor through Asha's limbs. Relief and awe warred in her chest.
"You're... alive," she murmured, more to herself than to the being. "Not just some remnant or illusion... You're real. You hear me."
The sprite nodded again. Asha felt like crying.
She lowered herself carefully to her knees at the edge of the moss-covered rock, arms trembling. "Are you... are you the tree?"
The sprite paused. Then shook its head.
"Not the tree," Asha repeated softly, trying to make sense of that. "Then... you're part of it?"
A nod.
Asha exhaled shakily. She studied the little creature's face—it was serene, curious, utterly innocent. There was no cunning there, no guile. No recognition of anything outside of this cavern.
"How long have you been here?" she whispered. "Are you alone?"
The sprite tilted its head. Then nodded.
Alone.
The sprite seemed to be just like a child, imagining how it has always been here by itself, Asha's heart clenched. "You poor thing…"
The sprite gave no sign of understanding the pity, but she did extend a tiny arm toward Asha again—pressing a leaf-like hand once more against her chest.
That pulse of warmth, faint but living, fluttered again beneath her ribs.
And then Asha remembered Kai.
She turned quickly—his body still crumpled near the cavern wall, skin ghost-pale, lips tinged blue. The water had soaked his clothes through. The wound on his back had begun to clot, but sluggishly, and she could see the tremor of his shallow breath.
With how he was tossed and crashed about by the river, it exacerbated what was already a deep wound into something critical.
He has lost too much blood.
He should have died by now, but for some reason, his body was still hanging on by a thread, as if his last dying embers were being fueled by something.
"Please," she begged, turning back to the sprite, "can you help him?"
She pointed. Then mimed a heartbeat with her hands. Her voice trembled. "He's hurt. Badly. He's dying."
The sprite turned slowly, following her gesture.
She seemed to hesitate. The branch swayed as her eyes, wide and bright as raindrops, studied Kai's still form.
Then, to Asha's surprise, she nodded.
Without a word, Asha scrambled back and scooped Kai back into her arms. Her body ached with the weight, but she carried him to the tree and laid him gently at its base, right below the branch that held the sprite.
The little sprite leaned forward, her leafy arms extending curiously toward him.
Asha watched in silence.
The sprite hovered just inches above him now—drawn by something. She circled around his whole body before slowing toward a certain area.
Her gaze fixed on the blood that had dried along his arm, where a jagged cut had reopened during the fall.
And then, to Asha's shock, the dryad bent low and ran her tongue along the edge of the wound.
"Hey!" Asha flinched forward—but the sprite only straightened, face brightening.
She looked excited. A small, trembling joy fluttered through her limbs as she turned toward Asha and made a rapid beckoning gesture—then gestured to Kai, then to herself, and finally to the tree.
"What do you want?" Asha asked, heart thundering, worry creeping up into her heart. "Him? You... want him?"
The branch beneath the sprite creaked, curling slightly like a cradle. Multiple branches stretched out from the tree toward the unconscious Kai. Pink-leafed tendrils stirred as though preparing to envelop him.
Witnessing such a reaction, Asha feared for the worst. After all, she just met this tree. Just because the little sprit looked cute and seemed innocent, who knows if it meant harm?
"No—wait!" Asha shoved herself between the tree and Kai's body, arms spread. "You can't take him! He's not yours!"
The tree froze.
The sprite blinked at Asha with wide eyes, hurt and confused, and slowly pulled back.
Her tiny form drooped.
Asha's breath came in gasps, heart beating out of her chest at the sudden danger. "He's not food. He's not... a meal or whatever you think he is. He's my son."
She wasn't sure if the words meant anything to the tree sprite—but the creature shrank back, shoulders drooping, face downturned.
"I'm sorry," Asha said softly, reaching out. "I just… I can't lose him."
The sprite looked at her hand. Then back at Kai.
And she nodded again. A slow, solemn movement.
Thankfully, this tree sprite was receptive to her words. Otherwise with her own meager strength, she didn't know how she could protect her son.
They sat there for long moments—three lives in one dying place, bound by desperation and something more ancient than language.
She thought that this magical tree could somehow save her son, but it seems like it wanted to take him, maybe to consume him. Just the thought made her shudder.
However, the tree seemed quite docile now. It didn't behave like a violent, starved beast. Maybe she was mistaken?
Just from their brief interactions, she could tell that this tree has some intelligence, akin to a human. Maybe there's still room to communicate?
After observing for a while, Asha struggled for words. "You're weak too, aren't you?"
The sprite didn't respond.
"You're... hungry?" She mimed eating. "Tired?"
The sprite hesitated, then slowly nodded.
"You can't leave this place, can you?"
Another nod.
"You want to." Her voice broke. "You want to go, don't you?"
The sprite nodded more firmly this time, her petal-hair shivering.
Asha sat back on her heels, mind racing. "You're part of the tree. But if the tree dies…"
She looked down at Kai.
And her heart clenched.
Then, a ridiculous idea sprouted in her mind. It just seemed too crazy, but it doesn't hurt to ask.
"What if... what if you weren't part of the tree anymore?"
The sprite blinked.
"I don't know if this is insane," Asha muttered, "but what if… you went into him? Would that... would that work?"
She pointed to Kai. Then to the sprite. Then pressed her hands together, fingers clasped.
"Merge. Together. You'd live in him. You could leave. And he…"
Her throat closed. She couldn't say it. She could only hope.
The sprite stared.
Then, slowly—deliberately—she nodded.
Asha's voice trembled. "You won't hurt him? You'll help him?"
Another nod. Gentle. Sincere.
Asha bit her lip. "I don't know if he'd want this. I don't even know if I should..."
But there was nothing else.
They were stuck in a huge cavern, on a rocky island, in the middle of an underground lake.
And so, she stepped back, voice quiet. "Do it."
The sprite blinked once.
Then, without a word, she turned and gently slid back into the branch—from which she had never been fully separate.
The tree shivered.
Its bark darkened. The leaves above curled and browned, fluttering away into the still air like autumn whispered through the cavern.
And then, at the very tip of the branch, a single flower bloomed.
It was brilliant—multilayered petals of blushing gold and wild pink, trembling with light. It pulsed with a warmth that felt like spring itself exhaled into the cavern. And from its center, a single drop of honey-colored essence formed—thick and shining like liquid life.
Asha was momentarily stunned by the aura it emanated. It felt so soothing, like a spring breeze washing over all her worries and fears.
She held Kai's jaw open with trembling fingers and guided the drop into his mouth.
It slid down his throat.
And then the tree began to collapse.
Its bark blackened, curled inward. The branch that had held the sprite withered, twisted, and cracked. The trunk split. The moss went dried and crumbled.
And finally, there was only silence.
Asha held her breath, her body still, afraid that any disruption may interfere with the process.
What was only a short moment felt like hours.
Lying in her arms, Kai stirred.
His lips flushed with color. His breathing deepened. The wound on his back and many cuts on his body began to close with slow, miraculous precision, the skin knitting like silk pulled tight across a seam.
And then his eyes opened—dazed and shining, flecks of green gold gleaming beneath his lashes.
"Mom?" he croaked.
She let out a sob that shook her whole chest and crushed him to her.
Holding him tight to her chest, she could finally breathe again.
"I thought I lost you," she whispered.
Behind her, the tree was dust.
But life had bloomed again—in a way none of them could have ever imagined.