Pacificus and Merina continued their journey toward the great tree, moving swiftly along the thick branches of the ancient trees that stretched out like natural highways above the forest floor. With Pacificus’s strength, he carried Merina effortlessly, his powerful legs launching them from one branch to another. The absence of Torrent made their journey slower, but Pacificus’s endurance and Merina’s trust in him kept them going. Each leap was a calculated effort, a testament to Pacificus's agility and his deep familiarity with the forest's topography.
As they moved, Merina’s eyes wandered, taking in the vast expanse of the Ever Resting Forest. Below them, the thunder beasts, massive and ancient, had come to a sudden halt. The herd, usually in constant slow motion, now stood stock-still, their large eyes scanning the surrounding swamp, muscles tense. The once gentle giants seemed wary, their stillness an ominous sign.
“Pacy,” Merina asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of worry, “Why did they stop?”
Pacificus paused, his gaze following the direction of the thunder beasts’ attention. His sharp eyes narrowed, scanning the swamp below, its surface covered by a thick layer of gigantic floating plants and vibrant flowers. Amidst the lush greenery, he spotted a disturbance, a subtle shift in the water's surface.
“Dreaded Saurians, my love,” he replied, his voice low and serious. “The only predator that preys on thunder beasts.”
Merina’s eyes widened in shock. “What? But… those things are colossal. How could anything hunt them?”
“Look there, Rina,” Pacificus pointed towards a section of the swamp. “Under the plants.”
Merina squinted, trying to pierce the murky tannin waters cloaked with floating vegetation. “I… I don’t see anything,” she admitted, the tension in her voice rising.
The herd of thunder beasts suddenly began to move, shifting away from the spot. Merina gasped, her heart hammering in her chest as the surface of the swamp seemed to come alive. Slowly, the plants rose, revealing the monstrous head of the dreaded saurian. It was a sight that defied belief—a head larger than any house Merina had ever seen, dwarfing even the thunder beasts. Its skin was dark, resembling ancient stone, and its short horns protruded menacingly from its skull. Its eyes were cold, predatory, reflecting a hunger that had existed since time immemorial.
The saurian’s long snout ended in powerful jaws, brimming with rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth, each tooth larger than a kirin. The mere sight of them sent a shiver down Merina’s spine, her body instinctively recoiling. Despite being high up on a colossal tree branch, she felt a primal fear, as if the creature could still reach her, even from such a distance. The sheer size and presence of the beast made her feel vulnerable, insignificant.
As the thunder beasts shuffled further away, the saurian moved with a terrifying grace. It glided through the water, almost merging with the weak current, its body hidden beneath the surface. Then, in an instant, it struck. The enormous creature lunged at a thunder beast’s neck, its movements swift and sudden like a bolt of lightning. The water erupted in a violent cascade as the saurian’s massive jaws clamped down with a sickening crunch. Its claws raked into the thick skin of the thunder beast, anchoring itself as it dragged its prey backward, deeper into the swamp.
Tidal waves surged from the impact, sending the tannin waters crashing against the trunks of ancient trees. The thunder beasts erupted into chaos, their deep, booming roars echoing like rolling thunder through the forest. They stomped furiously at the water, their enormous feet sending shockwaves that churned the swamp’s surface. The once peaceful expanse of floating plants was now a maelstrom, torn apart by the frenzy of the panicked herd.
Merina could only watch in horror as the saurian’s victim disappeared beneath the waves, swallowed by the dark waters. The other thunder beasts continued their frantic stomping, searching for their missing comrade, their giant bodies creating a cacophony of splashes and roars. The swamp’s usual calm was shattered, its flora and fauna scattered in the chaos. Smaller creatures, once nestled safely among the floating plants, now scrambled for survival, thrown into disarray by the massive upheaval.
The creatures that had lived on the now-doomed thunder beast were in even greater peril, struggling to survive the twin threats of the saurian below and the herd above. Caught in a deadly dance, they were at the mercy of the chaotic waters and the gargantuan feet of the thunder beasts.
From their vantage point, Pacificus and Merina could see the devastation unfold, knowing that survival was a slim chance for any caught in the turmoil. The forest, ancient and unchanging, had revealed its harsh, untamed nature. Even here, in this sanctuary of life, the dance of predator and prey played out in its most brutal form.
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Shaken by the encounter with the dreaded saurian, Pacificus and Merina sought refuge in a hollow branch. This one was smaller than the ones they had used in the past, but with Torrent no longer accompanying them, they could take shelter in more confined spaces like this. The hollow was cozy, its curved walls providing a sense of protection and seclusion. Pacificus had already started a small fire, its flickering flames casting a warm, golden glow on the branch’s inner surfaces. Merina sat nearby, writing on a scroll, her quill scratching softly against the parchment.
“Pacy,” she called softly, her voice cutting through the crackle of the fire, “I feel... I feel so small. This forest is so huge and deadly but also amazing. I honestly didn't even know such a world existed.”
Pacificus glanced up, a soft smile touching his lips. “My parents were the first ones to seek aid from Gaia. Ever since I was a child, my parents would teach me how to survive in the forest. It... it feels weird, actually....” His voice trailed off, eyes flickering to the flames. “When my father died, my mom and I took a break to grieve for him inside the forest. We did nothing but hunt and gather food, hopping from one giant tree to another. It felt... comforting, in a strange way. As if… as if I belong to this forest more than I belong to any town. In a way... I consider this forest my home.”
Merina chuckled softly, the sound light and musical. “No wonder you were so awkward when I first met you.”
Pacificus laughed, a low, rumbling sound that filled the hollow. “I know... I'm sorry... I didn’t really know how to talk to people back then. I still don’t know, if I’m being honest. But when it comes to you and the others… I feel like... like I’m not going to make a fool out of myself when I’m talking to you.”
“Well,” Merina said thoughtfully, “Hypatia once told me that an old scholar philosopher said... that we are all wearing a mask.”
“A mask?” Pacificus tilted his head, curiosity piqued. “What do you mean, my love?”
“It’s like this... Please bear with me, my love. Hypatia can be... umm... eccentric sometimes.” Merina smiled, recalling her friend’s words. “She told me once that we are all actors in a grand performance... a performance called life. We interact with different people, and for each person, we wear a different mask. For example, when I’m with my children, I wear the mask of a mother. If I’m talking with a stranger, I wear a mask of hospitality. And when I’m with you”—her voice softened, a tender smile lighting her face—“I wear the mask of a lover. No... to be honest, I don’t feel like I’m wearing a mask when I’m with you. But Hypatia insists that we all wear masks and that we can’t remove them... that these masks change over time.” She chuckled, watching Pacificus’s thoughtful expression. “I know it’s confusing, Pacy. Sister Hypatia can be very confusing sometimes.”
“I think I get it, Rina,” Pacificus said slowly. “My father once told me that... love is the greatest form of discrimination. We show different parts of ourselves to different people. The closer we are to someone, the more exposed our true self becomes... or maybe the mask just gets lighter. I feel the same way with you. Whenever I’m with you... it feels like... like I can unapologetically be myself.”
Merina smiled warmly at his words, her eyes reflecting the fire’s glow. She looked toward the entrance of their hollow shelter, reaching for the fabric of their tent to close it against the cool night air. As she pulled it across the opening, her gaze caught something unusual. “Pacy,” she said, her voice curious.
“Yes, Merina?”
“Look,” she pointed to a cluster of flowers glowing faintly in the dim light. The branches of the ancient trees were often adorned with greenery, but these flowers stood out, their petals shimmering with a soft, ethereal light. Their glow was a delicate mix of blue and red, casting a surreal, almost otherworldly aura around them. “Do you think those are soul flowers?”
The couple moved closer, kneeling to examine the tiny blooms. The flowers were minuscule, no larger than a fingertip, yet they emitted a gentle luminescence. Some had already bloomed fully, while others were still in the process, their buds tightly closed. Each flower seemed to grow in pairs—one blue, one red.
Pacificus’s eyes softened with recognition. “Oh,” he murmured, a note of nostalgia in his voice. “My father and mother used to have a pair of these. They called them 'soul flowers.' My father had a red one, and my mother had a blue one. When my father died, the blue one wilted almost immediately. So my mother and I planted the red one on his grave, but it never grew. One day, it just... wilted. I never really understood how to take care of these flowers.”
Merina smiled at the gentle glow of the petals. “I wouldn’t have even noticed them if they weren’t glowing. They’re so small, Pacy.” She reached into her bag, producing two small glass bottles. Pacificus noticed the clear liquid inside, shimmering slightly in the light. “I’m going to grab a pair.”
“Don’t you need a special bottle for that?” Pacificus asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I know,” she grinned mischievously. “Mother Leto gave these to me.” She held up the bottles, their surfaces catching the light. “We need to find a pair that hasn’t bloomed yet,” she said, scanning the bed of flowers. “This will be harder than I thought.”
Pacificus chuckled, their movements becoming slow and deliberate as they searched through the bed of glowing flowers. They moved carefully, not wanting to disturb the delicate blossoms more than necessary. It took time, the unbloomed flowers hidden beneath the brighter, open ones. Finally, they found what they were looking for—two small buds, one blue, one red, their petals still curled tightly.
Cautiously, Pacificus and Merina dug around the tiny roots, making sure not to damage them. The flowers were connected to a single stem that divided into two, each color taking its own path. Back in their hollow, Pacificus carefully divided the stem into two, ensuring each flower kept its roots intact. His hands moved with practiced precision, but even so, the task was harder than it seemed. The stem was fragile, the slightest pressure threatening to break it.
Once the flowers were separated, Merina gently placed each into the small glass bottles. The liquid inside cradled the roots, the flowers settling comfortably into their new homes.
“Rina,” Pacificus asked, watching her work, “what is inside those flasks?”
“Mother Leto got this liquid from the temple of Juno,” she explained. “I’m not sure what it is, but… it feels sacred, doesn’t it?”
Pacificus nodded, the bottles now containing the glowing flowers. With their soft light shining through the glass, the bottles took on an almost divine appearance, a small piece of the forest’s magic contained within.
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The young girl’s fingers moved with an almost otherworldly grace as she spun the threads, her movements fluid and precise, as if guided by an ancient rhythm that transcended time. The woman in her prime worked beside her, weaving the threads into a vast, intricate tapestry that seemed to stretch beyond the limits of sight, each strand holding the weight of countless destinies. Her hands moved with a precision that spoke of millennia of practice, yet today, they faltered. An old woman sat nearby, her gaze as steady as the endless flow of time, her hands weathered by ages of cutting the threads of life, her presence both patient and unyielding. Frustration marred the otherwise serene face of the woman in her prime, her brow creased with a deep, ancient concentration. The young girl and the old woman exchanged puzzled glances, both mystified by the rare disturbance in their sister’s usual calm.
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"What torments you, Lachesis?" the young girl, Clotho, finally asked, her voice soft yet carrying the weight of eternity, curiosity laced with the wisdom of ages.
"It’s this thread, Clotho." Lachesis held up a delicate strand, its light almost too bright to behold, shimmering with an ethereal glow that seemed to pulse with life itself. It was finer and more beautiful than any they had ever woven, an anomaly in the endless sea of threads. "It’s the most beautiful thread I have ever laid my eyes upon, yet it refuses to stay in its place on the great textile of existence." Her voice, normally as steady as the flow of time, wavered with irritation, and she clicked her tongue in frustration, the sound echoing through the vast space like a distant thunder. "Atropos, can you cut this thread? She is ruining this beautiful creation."
The old woman, Atropos, leaned forward, her ancient eyes narrowing as she examined the thread with the discerning gaze of one who had seen the rise and fall of countless lives. She shook her head slowly, her movements deliberate, her voice a deep, resonant tone that carried the weight of inexorable fate. "Sister," she began, her words laden with wisdom, "it is not her time yet. Her life may be shorter than his, but the moment has not yet come."
"Please, sister," Lachesis’s voice held an edge of desperation, a rare crack in the calm demeanor of the weaver of destinies, her frustration boiling over.
"No, Lachesis," Atropos replied, her tone firm and unyielding, like the laws of the universe itself. "We are the Moirai, the primordial weavers of destiny, not the gods of death. We do not stoop to such actions."
Clotho, watching the tension between her sisters with the quiet understanding of one who held the beginnings of all life in her hands, tilted her head in thought. "Why are you so obsessed with this thread, Lachesis? I understand he is beautiful, but you seem to be fixated on him."
Lachesis’s eyes narrowed, her gaze piercing as she stared at the thread, as though willing it to obey her. "It is because his fate is destined for so much more, and yet he never follows my plans on the great textile. He is meant for greatness, but he chooses to spend his time with a girl whose life is destined for mediocrity."
Clotho leaned closer, her delicate hands brushing against the threads, her expression softening as she observed the intricate connections that bound the threads together. "I think you are being too harsh with her thread, dear sister. Look closely—her thread is influenced by his. Perhaps she, too, is destined for greatness."
Atropos nodded in agreement, her ancient voice calm and certain. "I do not want to cut her thread short."
Lachesis sighed, her frustration mounting like a storm on the horizon, dark and ominous. "Sisters, please understand my torment."
The two rolled their eyes, the motion filled with a weary acceptance of their sister’s turmoil, and returned to their tasks. Lachesis, however, could not tear her gaze away from the threads, her mind racing as she tried to impose her will upon the chaotic dance of fate. "I can’t cut your thread," she muttered, her voice low and filled with the weight of inevitability, "but I can separate you from him."
With a hand steady from eons of practice, she used her tools to carefully, painstakingly separate the two threads, their shimmering forms pulling apart as she wove them into their destined places on the vast textile of existence. The threads resisted, their once harmonious dance disrupted, but Lachesis persisted, driven by a determination that had shaped the fates of gods and men alike. But just as she finished, her young sister’s voice rang out, clear and bright like the dawn of a new world.
"Lachesis, dear sister, here is a thread born from the two."
"Wh-what?!" Lachesis stammered, her voice betraying her shock as her eyes widened, the sight before her challenging everything she had sought to control.
Lachesis froze, her hand hovering over the newly appeared thread. It was as beautiful as the one she had just attempted to separate, shimmering with a delicate radiance that defied her expectations. Her voice trembled with disbelief as she whispered, "H-how did this thread come from that one?" Her frustration flared, and she clicked her tongue in irritation, her mind racing with questions. "How? How is this thread born from them? How did he get her pregnant in the first place?"
Clotho, her eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, couldn't resist a playful remark. "You know how it happened, sister."
"That is not what I meant!" Lachesis snapped, her voice sharp with exasperation.
"Lachesis, calm down," Atropos interjected, her ancient voice steady as she cut another thread with the precision of someone who had severed countless lives. The snip of her shears echoed through the vast, timeless space, a reminder of the inevitability of their duties.
Clotho, the youngest of the three, smiled with a serene understanding, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. "Life is indeed full of surprises," she mused, her tone light and teasing. "Even I wouldn’t have expected this mortal to get pregnant."
A sudden grin spread across Lachesis's face, a grin that sent a shiver of concern through her sisters. They exchanged a glance, their expressions mirroring their shared apprehension. "Oh no," they both muttered in unison, their voices tinged with worry.
"I can still separate them from each other," Lachesis declared, a spark of determination igniting in her eyes. "Heck, I’ll even pair him with someone whose thread is as beautiful as his."
"Dear sister, that would be incest," Atropos remarked dryly, her ancient wisdom mingling with a touch of sarcasm.
"That is not what I am going to do!" Lachesis shot back, her irritation growing as she imagined the possibilities. Her mind whirred with schemes and plans, her thoughts as intricate as the very threads they wove. "I'm going to introduce him to her."
"Sister, those two are an ocean apart from each other," Clotho reminded her, a note of caution in her voice.
"Oh, I will unite them, Clotho. Just watch me. It will be entertaining," Lachesis responded with a smirk, her voice laced with the kind of certainty only a primordial being could possess.
Atropos sighed, the sound ancient and weary, as she casually snipped another thread, sending yet another life to its inevitable end. Her expression remained calm, but there was a subtle resignation in her movements, a quiet acknowledgment of the chaos Lachesis was about to unleash.
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Pacificus and Merina continued their journey, leaping from one ancient tree to the next, the sight of the largest tree growing ever closer on the horizon. Its immense trunk loomed, promising refuge but also presenting new challenges. As they descended the last great tree, Pacificus held Merina in his arms, his brow furrowing with concern.
"Are you okay, my love?" he asked, noticing the way her body tensed against his.
"I'm fine," Merina replied, though her voice wavered slightly. "Just a bit dizzy."
Their journey led them to the great swamp, where the branches of the ancient trees ended and the only way forward was to hop across the vast expanse of giant floating plants. When they made camp that night, Pacificus watched as Merina carefully folded a massive lotus flower, stitching its petals together to form a makeshift tent. The normally graceful movements of her hands seemed unsteady, and Pacificus's worry deepened. When she suddenly turned away to vomit, he rushed to her side, but she waved him off weakly, insisting she was fine despite not having eaten a bite.
As they continued their trek across the swamp, jumping from one floating plant to another, Pacificus noticed other signs that something was wrong. Merina seemed to tire easily, her breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps after only a short distance. She also needed to relieve herself more often, and though Pacificus offered her only small portions of food, she struggled to finish them.
"My love, are you all right?" he asked, his voice tinged with unease.
"I'm fine, Pacy," she insisted, though her pale face and trembling hands betrayed her words. "Just... a bit tired."
But as the days passed, her condition showed no sign of improvement. Each night, Pacificus grew more anxious as he watched her struggle to keep up, her once vibrant energy fading. One day, unable to bear it any longer, he stopped abruptly, turning to face her with a determined expression.
"Pacy?" Merina asked, confusion flickering in her tired eyes.
"I know you're not feeling well," he said, his tone firm as he scooped her up into his arms.
"I'm fine, Pacy. Really, I am," she protested, trying to wriggle free.
"No, you're not," Pacificus replied gently but firmly. "We're getting close to Gaia and Thanatos’s home. We can ask them about your condition."
"Pacy, we don't have to—PAAAACCCCY!" Merina yelped as Pacificus suddenly took off, sprinting with her cradled securely in his arms. She had always known Pacificus was strong—his strength was almost superhuman—but it wasn't until now, as he bounded effortlessly from one floating plant to another, that she fully grasped just how powerful he was.
Their journey continued at a relentless pace, with Pacificus carrying her through the treacherous terrain. They encountered predatory beasts along the way—barking toads and flat-faced salamanders—but Pacificus deftly parried their attacks, dodging them with ease while never breaking stride. Occasionally, they would spot bush deer hopping from plant to plant, and though their diet remained mostly vegetarian, they would gather what they could from the abundant flora around them.
One day, they came upon a dreaded saurian, its massive form partially submerged in the tannin-stained waters of the swamp. Merina's heart skipped a beat at the sight of the creature, but Pacificus merely smiled.
"Rina, these dreaded saurians only prey on colossal monsters like thunder beasts. We’re too small for them to bother with," he explained, his voice calm as he ran across the saurian’s broad back, the creature not even noticing their presence.
They even made camp on its back one night, finding a rare moment of peace in the shadow of the behemoth.
Five weeks had passed since they began their journey across the swamp. One evening, as Pacificus was cooking a stew over a small fire, Merina approached him, her face glowing in the firelight, though it was clear she had something important on her mind.
"Pacy," she began softly.
"Yes, Rina?" he replied, looking up from the bubbling pot.
"I'm... I'm pregnant."
For a moment, Pacificus could only stare at her, his jaw dropping as the words sank in. Then, a broad smile spread across his face, his eyes shining with a mix of joy and disbelief. "I... I... I'm going to be... a dad?"
Merina chuckled, the sound filled with warmth and love. "It seems so."
"H-how are you? Are you okay? Are you in pain? Can I do something for you?" The words tumbled out of him in a rush, his concern for her well-being evident in every syllable.
"P-Pacy, Pacy," she giggled, placing a hand on his arm to steady him. "Calm down, calm down. I'm okay. Nothing in my body hurts... I just feel... different somehow." Her eyes drifted to the pot of stew, and she licked her lips hungrily. "Ca-can I have some of that?"
"Of course," Pacificus said, relief and happiness mingling in his voice as he ladled a portion of the steaming stew into a bowl for her.
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Weeks passed, and the signs of Merina’s pregnancy became more evident. The tiny bulge on her belly, though small, was unmistakable—a tender reminder that Pacificus’s child was growing inside her. Every time he glanced at it, a wave of awe and responsibility washed over him.
As he carried her in his arms, carefully navigating the uneven terrain of floating plants, Pacificus couldn't help but voice the question that had been on his mind. “Will it be a boy or a girl?”
“I don’t know, Pacy,” Merina replied softly, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “Honestly, I’m actually scared.”
Pacificus halted immediately, his heart tightening with concern. Of course she would be scared. He had heard stories about the pain of childbirth, the danger and unpredictability of it all. A surge of guilt washed over him as he looked at her, wondering if she was already in pain, if he was pushing her too hard.
“Are you hurt, Rina?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“No,” she reassured him, though her tone was still laced with unease. “Well, my stomach aches a bit, but I’m fine... I’m also hungry.”
“Then let’s stop here and eat,” he said quickly, eager to make her as comfortable as possible.
Pacificus moved with a speed and efficiency that made Merina’s heart ache with both gratitude and guilt. In no time, he had folded the massive floating plant they were standing on into a makeshift tent. He then stepped outside, returning with a large barking toad, which he swiftly and expertly skinned. Merina, ever the resourceful tailor, seized the opportunity to examine the skin.
It was remarkable—stretchy, flexible, and strong, with a texture that sparked her imagination. The material felt water-resistant, just as Pacificus had mentioned, and her mind buzzed with ideas about what kind of garments she could create from it. Even though she was pregnant, her hands itched to work, to craft something beautiful and useful from this extraordinary material.
“Pacy, can you turn it into a stew?” she asked, her voice carrying a hint of anticipation. “I also want more vegetables for some reason.”
“Of course,” he replied, smiling at her, his eyes filled with warmth.
As he busied himself with preparing the meal, Merina couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for not being able to contribute as much as she usually would. But the hunger gnawing at her, the constant need for sustenance, was something she couldn’t ignore. “I’m sorry, Pacy,” she said, her voice softening. “For some reason, I’m getting a bit... peckish. What have you done to me?”
“What do you mean, my love?” he asked, looking up from the pot with genuine confusion.
“You know what I mean, dear,” she replied, raising her eyebrows with a playful smirk on her lips. “The way your hips move when you’re inside me, the way you press your weight on me as you raise my hips towards yours. You did this to me.”
Pacificus froze, his eyes widening as he realized what she was implying. “I’m sorry, my love. I was selfish—I didn’t know you hated it.”
“I didn’t say I hated it,” she teased, leaning in to give him a gentle kiss. “In fact, I enjoyed it... but I can’t do it with you anymore.”
Pacificus’s expression softened as he placed a hand on her growing belly, the connection between them deepening with the reality of the life they had created together. “I know,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet resolve. “I need to take care of you and our future.”
Merina smiled, her heart swelling with affection as she returned to examining the toad’s skin. But as she worked, a sudden realization struck her. She felt a surge of irritation, not at Pacificus, but at the situation. 'Why am I so easily annoyed?' she wondered, a frown creasing her brow. The fluctuating emotions, the sudden shifts from contentment to frustration, were confusing and unsettling. But as she glanced at Pacificus, who was now stirring the stew with care, she felt a wave of love wash over her, calming her turbulent thoughts.