The deeper they went, the quieter the forest became.
Not peaceful—unnatural. Oppressive. Trees arched overhead like ribs, blocking out sky. Moss muffled every footstep. No birds. No wind. Just stillness.
"This isn't right," Ram murmured, eyes scanning the dark. "It's too quiet."
"They're close," Enkidu said, voice low.
"How do you know?" Rem asked.
He didn't answer.
He just knew.
The air shifted.
Growls rippled through the underbrush—dozens, maybe more. Shapes darted between trees. Glowing eyes. Too many legs. Not quite beasts. Not quite spirits.
Ram swore and raised a warding sigil. "They're surrounding us."
"Go," Enkidu said, stepping ahead of them.
Rem hesitated. "We're not leaving you."
"You won't have to," he said calmly. "Just trust me."
And then he stepped off the path—and into the forest's will.
Something changed.
The moss under his feet grew thicker, brighter. The trees leaned in—not to block, but to shield. A breeze coiled around him like a ribbon. The beasts tensed, growled—but didn't attack.
Enkidu's eyes narrowed. Now.
[Unique Skill: Mother Nature – activated.]
[Passive Effects Engaged: Nature's Helping Hand, One With Nature, Luck.]
The first creature lunged.
Before it touched him, a branch snapped from above and speared it through mid-air.
A second tried to circle wide—only to be snared by vines that burst from the ground and slammed it into a tree trunk.
The forest had become his weapon.
Rem stared, stunned. "What…?"
Ram's jaw tightened. "He's not casting."
More shadows burst from the thickets—ten, twenty, maybe more. Snarling, charging, clawed and misshapen.
Enkidu didn't flinch.
He raised a single hand.
The earth answered.
Roots surged upward like coiled serpents, weaving together into a wall of thorns and bark. It slammed down in a ring around him—natural, perfect, alive. The creatures slammed into it and rebounded with furious howls.
Lightning cracked above—unnatural, summoned.
It struck—
—and bent around him.
The bolt arced harmlessly into the trees, as if the very sky refused to hurt him.
Ram was pale. "He's not human."
Rem whispered, "He didn't even react…"
Enkidu turned slightly. "They're watching you. Go."
"What about—"
"I'll be fine."
Ram grabbed Rem's sleeve. "Come on. He's holding them off."
Reluctantly, they ran.
Behind them, the forest roared.
They pushed through brambles and tangled roots. Rem's spells lit the way, but everything shifted—the path looped, the trees moved. It wasn't just illusion. It was something deeper. A maze grown with purpose.
But they pressed on—until the air thinned.
And the clearing opened.
Children lay in the grass, asleep but breathing.
Petra sat on a stump, humming to herself.
And before them: the girl in the pink dress.
Still smiling.
"You made it," she said cheerfully.
Rem raised her staff. "Release them."
"I'm not holding them," she said. "The forest called. They just listened."
Ram narrowed her eyes. "You broke the barrier."
"Not me. It did. I just walked in."
"You lured the children," Rem snapped.
The girl tilted her head, expression soft. "I didn't lure. I invited. They came willingly. They wanted to dream."
"They're children," Rem said. "Not playthings."
"They're beautiful," the girl whispered. "So much light in them. I just wanted to keep it."
Ram's spell ignited in her hand. "That's enough."
The girl sighed, brushing something off her dress. "You're not as fun as he is."
And then she vanished—like smoke on wind.
Rem dropped beside Petra, checking her pulse. "She's okay. Just… sleeping."
Ram looked at the others. "Same. No injuries."
Then the ground shuddered.
They turned toward the sounds behind them—crashing branches, snarls, distant howls.
And silence.
Enkidu stepped into the clearing—calm, unbloodied, surrounded by falling leaves.
Rem stared. "You're not hurt?"
"No."
Ram blinked. "What… what did you do?"
Enkidu looked past them, toward the slumbering children.
"I listened," he said. "The forest doesn't want harm. It just needed someone to speak for it."
The wind rustled gently through the trees.
And they began the journey home.