Hageawn winced as he willed his eyes open. His vision swam, blurring into smudges of light and shadow. He blinked, forcing the world to take shape. His palms pressed into the ground beneath him—soft, warm, and oddly springy. Grass? No… it felt different, as if it were alive.
He pushed himself upright slowly, his head throbbing with every movement. His silver eyes flicked around, struggling to make sense of what he was seeing. Where was the lake? The tower? He couldn’t pick out a single thing that felt familiar.
“Where… am I?” His voice cracked, barely louder than a whisper.
The first thing he noticed were the trees. They rose impossibly high, their silvery leaves catching a light that didn’t seem to come from the sun. The air shimmered faintly, like heat waves rising from stone, but it wasn’t warm. It felt cool, almost soothing, brushing against his skin with a lightness that made his breath hitch.
He reached for his pendant, his fingers brushing the cracked stone. Its familiar weight steadied him, but the faint pulse of its glow had vanished. He frowned, holding it tightly for a moment before letting it fall back against his chest.
The ground beneath him shifted faintly as he adjusted his weight, drawing his gaze downward. The grass was… blue. Not a pale, faded blue, but vibrant and rich, glowing softly at the edges like the last moments of twilight. He ran his fingers through it, half expecting it to feel cold, but it was warm, almost inviting. It didn’t spring back as grass normally did; it swayed gently, as if moved by an unseen breeze.
He swallowed, his throat dry. His eyes darted around the glade, searching for some clue.
The towering trees surrounded him in every direction, their bark shimmering with a silvery glow, casting shifting shadows that felt alive. The leaves above swayed gently, carrying a distinct hum that filled his eardrums.
A sensation splashed over him, sharp and sudden, like a bucket of cool water. He staggered slightly, his head swimming as his senses scrambled for purchase. His pulse quickened, his ears straining. A sound—anything—something familiar.
But there was nothing.
The glade offered no answers, only the soft rustling of leaves that sounded almost… like whispers.
The thought struck him like a blow. Was he alone? His chest tightened at the possibility, a clawing weight pressing against his ribs. He clenched his fists and took a slow, deliberate breath, forcing the tension from his shoulders. Focus. He needed to think, to understand.
Another flicker of motion caught the corner of his eye, darting between the silvery trunks. He froze, his breath catching as he turned his head sharply, but there was nothing there. Only more shadows. Only the whispers.
“Who’s there?” he called sharply, his voice cutting through the glade.
Only the humming answered him.
His eyes narrowed. He darted toward the trees, his steps quick and deliberate. A flicker again—a single eye, wide and watchful, followed by a lock of dark auburn hair hovering in the breeze before vanishing.
Hageawn adjusted his momentum, flinging himself to the other side. His foot stomped the ground.
And there she was.
Hageawn froze, and so did she. The two were inches apart, the tension between them heavy. He swallowed hard, his chest suddenly aching. His palm pressed against his ribs instinctively, as if trying to quell the pain.
The girl stared at him with stark green eyes, her lashes fluttering slightly, her lips parted as if mid-thought. Her skin was smooth, flawless, the color of bark, and shimmered faintly in the glade’s silvery light.
Hageawn’s voice caught, but he managed to croak out a single word: “Why…”
The girl interrupted him, her tone sharp and accusing. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, seeking to pierce through him. Hageawn couldn’t help himself; the corners of his lips inched upward into a small, sly grin. He took a step back, folding his arms as if to mask his unease.
“Here?” he echoed, his tone light and teasing. “Where is here?”
He chuckled lightly, but swallowed hard, he needed answers.
The girl studied his expression for a moment, her frown deepening. Her green eyes lingered on him, searching, but whatever she was looking for, she didn’t seem to find it. With a soft scoff, she rolled her eyes and turned away, her movements as fluid as the glade’s swaying grass.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said curtly over her shoulder. “You should leave.”
Hageawn didn’t move, “And if I can’t?”
Her eyes fell on him and he trembled slightly under the weight of her stare.
“Then you’re in more trouble than you know,” she said quietly.
Hageawn’s lips quirked, the faintest hint of a grin playing on his face. There was that word again. Trouble. It seemed to follow him everywhere, no matter how far he wandered—or was flung.
“Now I’m definitely not leaving,” he said, his voice carrying an amused lilt. His arms crossed casually as he tilted his head, studying her reaction. “I’d like to see just what kind of trouble exactly I seem to have earned.”
The girl turned fully this time, her sharp green eyes narrowing as she regarded him with a mix of irritation and wariness. The air around them seemed to thrum, the glade itself reacting to her tension.
“Suit yourself,” she said, her tone dry but edged with something he couldn’t quite place. “But don’t expect me to save you when it finds you.”
Hageawn chuckled, shrugging. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Trouble and I have a history—I’m sure we’ll work it out.”
Her expression softened for the briefest of moments, like she might smile, but then her frown returned. Without another word, she turned on her heel and strode into the trees, her movements blending seamlessly with the glade’s rhythm.
Hageawn watched her go, his curiosity now a full blaze. “Interesting,” he murmured to himself, stepping after her. “Very interesting.”
Chapter Five:
She walked, and from time to time it seemed as if she’d disappear into the trees. But each time Hageawn caught up, as if she were waiting for him. His confidence surged and an inexplicable smile settled around his lips. After a while, she stopped in front of a tree, gazing up into its branches. Hageawn stopped beside her, looking at the tree and then at her, he studied the curve of her jaw, the light in the corner of her eye, her furrowed brow.
Before he could stop himself, Hageawn blurted out,
“Do you have a name?”
She glanced at him, her eyes narrowing slightly.
“Of course I have a name,” she said, her tone flat. “Don’t you?”
She moved with a natural ease, her long legs gliding around trees and slipping behind bushes. At times, she seemed to blend into the shadows of the forest, as if she belonged to the glade itself, always just a step ahead. Hageawn quickened his pace, a strange thrill running through him as the odd feeling of chasing her made him pause. It was almost as if she wanted him to follow.
His eyes lit up, and he couldn’t help the grin that twitched at the corner of his lips. His steps became lighter, his confidence growing as he kept up with her.
After a while, she stopped in front of a massive tree, its trunk glowing softly with mana. She stared up at it, her expression unreadable. Hageawn lingered beside her, eyes moving from the tree to her face, studying the way her brow furrowed in thought.
Without thinking, he asked again, his voice more playful this time.
“So, what’s your name?”
She turned her head, regarding him with a look that was equal parts curious and annoyed.
“Don’t you already know?” she asked, the faintest smile tugging at her lips.
She sighed, rolling her eyes as if weighing the effort it would take to humor him. After a moment, she turned her gaze back to the tree. “Shirai,” she said quietly.
Hageawn blinked, letting the name settle in his mind. “Shirai,” he repeated softly, testing the sound of it. His grin softened into something closer to a genuine smile. “It suits you.”
Shirai glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her lips pressing into a thin line as if to suppress a reaction. “Don’t get used to it,” she said briskly, turning back toward the tree.
Hageawn chuckled, undeterred, and nodded. “Hageawn.”
Shirai glanced at him again, this time more directly, her green eyes flicking over his face as though weighing the name against the person. “Hageawn,” she repeated slowly, her tone neutral, almost detached, as if testing its weight.
He tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “What? Doesn’t suit me?”
Her gaze lingered for a moment longer before she shrugged and turned back to the tree. “I didn’t say that,” she replied, her tone dismissive, though a faint glimmer of amusement betrayed her.
Hageawn chuckled softly, crossing his arms as he leaned against the tree’s trunk. “You didn’t say it didn’t, either.”
Shirai shook her head, clearly unimpressed, though she made no move to leave. “Do you always talk this much?”
“Only when someone’s listening,” he shot back, his grin widening. Hageawn’s grin widened, leaning into the challenge. “So, what’s so special about this tree?”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Shirai paused, her gaze narrowing as if sizing him up. “It’s not just a tree,” she said, voice taking on a more serious tone. She turned slightly, as if debating how much to reveal. “This isn’t the place to be messing around.”
Hageawn didn’t back down. His eyes shifted to the glowing trunk in front of them, studying the way the light danced across the bark, its edges seemingly alive with mana. “I’ve messed around in worse places,” he said with a shrug, keeping his voice light but still intent on learning more.
She gave him an unreadable look but didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stepped closer to the tree, her movements deliberate and measured, as if listening to a rhythm only she could hear. The tree’s glow seemed to pulse with her presence, as if responding to her.
“Everything here is a little different,” she said softly, as though more to herself than to Hageawn. “This glade… it guides you. You learn to let it, or you get lost.”
Hageawn was drawn to the tree as well, intrigued by its unspoken pull. It felt alive in a way he hadn’t experienced before, gently quaking beneath his skin. He stepped forward, his gaze lingering on the intricate patterns of the bark, drawn to it almost against his will. He reached out, fingers hovering just above the surface of the trunk, sensing something deep within.
“Where does it take you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, a touch of awe creeping in. “Is it real?”
Shirai nodded, her gaze distant as she watched him. “Very real, they hold memories, of lives…lived and gone; waiting….” She trailed off.
Hageawn looked at her, waiting for her to say more, but she turned away, obviously unwilling. He let it go, pressing his fingers finally against the bark.
And then, without warning, he felt it—a rush of energy, like a surge of current through his veins. He pulled his hand back, a jolt of surprise running through him. It wasn’t painful, but it was… powerful.
“Idiot,” Shirai whispered under her breath.
And for a moment, the silence stretched between them like tightened rope, broken only by the soft hum of the glade and the rustling of the tree’s blue-tinged leaves. Finally, Shirai sighed, glancing at him with a resigned look.
“Alright, Hageawn,” she said, her tone carefully measured. “If you’re so determined to stay, try to keep up. I’m not waiting for you next time.”
Hageawn pushed off the tree, his grin returning. Playful and confident as he fell into step beside her. “We’ll see about that.”
Shirai didn’t run, though her pace was quick and deliberate. She seemed to move through the glade with a natural ease, as if the floor of the forest rushed to carry her. Every now and then, she seemed to slip out of sight, vanishing between wooded valleys and spacious glades.
But Hageawn was determined not to lose her. His feet moved instinctively, and as his focus sharpened, something strange began to happen.
One step stretched further than it should have, the ground beneath him blurring for a brief moment. When he landed, he was suddenly much closer to her than he’d been before. He stumbled, catching himself on a tree.
Shirai paused, glancing back at him with narrowed eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to keep up,” Hageawn replied, masking his surprise with a shrug.
She gave him a skeptical look but turned back to the path. Hageawn adjusted his stride, experimenting. Another step, and the world around him flickered. He blinked, realizing he was suddenly ahead of her.
Her sharp intake of breath confirmed it. “How did you…?”
Hageawn blinked, feigning nonchalance. “Guess I’m quicker than I look.”
Shirai’s gaze hardened. “That’s not normal.”
“Neither is this place,” he countered, gesturing at the glowing trees and the softly swaying grass.
She frowned but said nothing, resuming her walk. Hageawn grinned at her, but his heart was hammering in his chest. Each step felt like he was falling, and his throat became dry.
His control over the strange ability was slipping, and the bewilderment etched into Shirai’s expression was trivial compared to the waves of dizziness that had begun to assail his mind. But he was adamant about not emptying the contents of his stomach in front of her.
However when Shirai had once again vanished from his sight, he grit his teeth and stepped forward.
His body trembled, not from exhaustion, but from an unfamiliar force that pulled at his very sense of balance. The world flickered like the pages of a book being hastily turned, disorienting him with each disjointed step—sending him hurtling…into a tree.
Hageawn let out a gasp of pain, and clenched his jaw to keep from crying out.
“You’re going to hurt yourself,” Shirai said sharply. “I don’t know what you’re doing but you should stop, it feels…dangerous.
Hageawn smiled faintly, rubbing his shoulder. “Probably,” he admitted, biting back a whimper. “But I think I’m getting the hang of it,” he finished hurriedly.
Her expression softened slightly, though she quickly masked it. “Just don’t fall on me,” she muttered, turning away from him.
Was that… worry? Hageawn craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of her expression, but Shirai kept her face turned away, firmly hidden from him.
He grinned despite himself, brushing away the fallen leaves clinging to his cloak, and chased after her, the sound of her steps barely audible over the soft hum of the Glade.
As the days in the Glade stretched into months, Hageawn collapsed onto his discarded cloak in the shade of a towering tree. The torso of his robes hung loose around his waist, secured by a fraying belt. His braids, now longer and wilder, framed his face in untamed strands. He didn’t care. Leaning back, he shoved a handful of berries into his mouth, their sweetness bursting on his tongue.
A moment later, Shirai crawled around the tree’s wide trunk and flopped down beside him, her head resting on a gnarled root. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, her expression unreadable, before shifting her gaze to the canopy above.
“Hageawn,” she said suddenly.
Her voice carried a rhythm that made his smile widen. It almost sounded like music, each word played delicately on her lips.
“Yes, Unicorn?” he teased.
Shirai rolled her eyes but didn’t bother to correct him. “You’ve been here a long time, you know?”
His brow furrowed. “It’s been a few months,” he replied, though the uncertainty in his voice betrayed him.
She shook her head. “Hageawn,” she said softly, her tone measured, careful. “It’s been a few years.”
His stomach tightened. He sat upright so quickly the berries spilled from his hand, rolling onto the forest floor.
“Years?” He scratched his head, his fingers brushing the base of his braids.
“Time is different here.” Shirai’s gaze remained fixed on the canopy. “Have you even looked at yourself? You’re already sixteen.”
The words struck him harder than he expected. His gaze fell to his bare chest, to the broadness of his shoulders, the leanness of his frame. He had grown. But six years? He shook his head, disbelief etched into his features.
“Impossible,” he murmured.
“Hageawn.” Her voice softened. “I think it’s time you left the Glade.”
He froze, his breath catching.
“You’re not a Druid. You’re not… immortal. If you continue to stay here, you might die.”
Her words lingered, heavier than the silence that followed. Slowly, he reached out, his hand trembling as it neared her cheek. Shirai shifted slightly, her head angling toward the tree, as if distracted by something in the bark. His hand faltered, brushing empty air before falling to his lap.
His jaw tightened. “Unicorn, I—”
“Don’t.”
The whisper was soft, barely audible, but it cut through him like a blade. His heart shattered, splintering in his chest as she stared upward, her expression distant, unreadable.
For a moment, his gaze lingered on her lips, soft and unyielding, drawing him into a gravity he couldn’t explain. His breath quickened, shallow and uneven, as he swallowed hard against the knot that tightened in his throat. He willed himself to steady, but the ache wouldn’t relent.
Shirai shifted slightly, her movement so subtle it might have gone unnoticed, but to him, it was glaring—an unspoken rejection that echoed louder than words. Her eyes flicked downward, then past him, as if avoiding the weight of his stare.
The silence between them deepened, fragile and taut, carrying everything and nothing. She folded her arms lightly, creating the barest distance, but didn’t move away entirely.
Hageawn hesitated, searching for words he couldn’t find. His fingers twitched at his side, as if trying to hold onto something that wasn’t there. “Shirai,” he began softly, his voice catching in his throat.
She turned her head just slightly, enough to acknowledge him but not enough to meet his eyes. “I know what you want to say, please don’t.,” she murmured, her voice quiet and careful, as if she were afraid of breaking him. The word hung in the air, delicate yet immovable.
He forced a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Right,” he muttered, letting the word fall between them like a stone. He stepped back, the knot in his throat tightening as he willed his breath to slow.
Shirai’s posture softened for the briefest moment, her weight shifting forward as though she might step closer—but she stopped herself. Her hands fell loosely at her sides, fingers curling as if searching for resolve. “It’s not…” she started, then faltered, her voice trailing off.
Hageawn shook his head, cutting her off before the silence became unbearable. “It’s fine,” he said, the lie too brittle to hold, cracking at the edges. He stepped away, but the distance between them felt colder than he’d expected, a chasm he hadn’t been ready to face.
“You’re right,” he said—or at least he tried to. Halfway through the words, his voice broke, the syllables fracturing as a sob caught in his throat.
Heat rushed to his face, shame blooming alongside the ache in his chest. He wanted to stop, to hold it together, but the pain was relentless, raw, and unforgiving. It clawed its way out, tearing through him until the tears spilled freely, unchecked and unbidden.
His hands trembled at his sides, clenched into useless fists. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, couldn’t bear to see what her expression might reveal—or worse, what it wouldn’t. The sobs came harder now, wracking his chest, as if something inside him was breaking apart, piece by piece.
It was too much. The weight of it all crushed him, suffocating in its intensity. Without another word, he turned and fled into the trees, his steps frantic and uneven. The world around him blurred—the glowing grasses, the whispering leaves, Shirai—all of it dissolved into a haze of pain and panic.
His only thought was to run, to put as much distance as he could between himself and the unbearable ache tightening in his chest. His breath came in ragged bursts, his vision swimming, his tears burning hot against his cheeks.
He didn’t know where he was going; he didn’t care. All he wanted was a hole to bury himself in, somewhere deep and dark where the world couldn’t reach him, where his heart wouldn’t feel like it was splitting apart.
Deep in the maze of trees, the silence was deafening. The strange sensation locked inside his chest clawed its way free, and a terrifying howl of agony tore from his throat. His voice echoed through the glade, swallowed by the towering forest. His tears fell like molten slag, dripping onto the forest floor, and did nothing to soothe the unbearable pain.
His vision blurred, a haze of sorrow veiling the world around him. All he could see was the faint silver glow of the tree before him, radiant and calming, its light pressing gently against the storm raging within him.
With great effort, he clawed back a tenuous grip over his emotions, his breathing shallow and uneven. He pressed a trembling hand to his chest, as if trying to steady the fractured pieces of himself.
“I did not…” he whispered hoarsely, his voice catching like a jagged blade. “Believe…” The words faltered, but he forced them forward. The branches of the tree bent toward him, its leaves whispering softly, as if listening.
“I did not believe in rainbows, beloved unicorn…
Until the day I saw one shining, reflected in your crystal horn.
Dewdrops traced a shallow river from your lashes to your lips;
You blinked, they disappeared—who knew my heart would pound like this?
Is it fear? I’m so afraid; my heart hammers in my chest.
It seems to be escaping—having found its home at last.
I place it in your hands; be gentle, I must beg,
For I never knew it was so fragile until the day we met.”
The final words hung in the air, fragile as spun glass. His voice quivered, cracking under the weight of his sorrow. He stared at the tree, its branches reaching as if in silent acknowledgment, but no comfort came. His heart still ached, raw and open, but he couldn’t stop himself from speaking aloud the words he’d kept locked away for so long.
I love you, Unicorn.”
The confession hung in the air, heavy with a tremendous weight that refused to fall. Glowing motes of light flickered in the stillness around him, their brilliance dancing in time with the tremor of his voice. He didn’t notice at first, but his body began to emit a faint silvery glow, the light growing brighter with each heartbeat.
Then, with a sudden flash, the world spun. The forest blurred in his vision, twisting and distorting as though caught in a whirlwind.
In the chaos, something flickered—a glimmer of silver light. His eyes widened as the glow of the tree shifted, taking shape. A woman stood in its place, radiant and sorrowful, her expression etched with pain that mirrored his own. Her lips moved, but no words came, her voice swallowed by the twisting light.
He blinked, and she was gone.
Moments later, the world settled. Hageawn stood on the edge of a forest, the air crisp and unfamiliar. He turned quickly, his gaze searching for the Glade, but all he saw was an ordinary stretch of trees and green grass. The shimmering blue grasses, the glowing trees, the whispers of the Glade—everything had vanished.
His chest tightened as he stared at the spot where the Glade should have been, his hand clenching at his side. He wanted to call out, to reach for it, but his voice failed him. The weight of what he’d left behind pressed against his ribs, crushing in its silence.
The Glade was gone, and so was she.