My vision stirred awake through a fog of grogginess. A voice—high and whiny clawed at my ears—split the fragile quiet like nails dragged across chalk. Every word sent a shiver through me, prickling the base of my neck.

“What do you mean he’s not?! I dragged him all the way here thinking—”

“Quiet. He’s waking.”

The second voice was a stark contrast—deep, resonant, and calming, like the slow groan of a wind through an ancient forest. It softened the lingering edge of the first, grounding me as I drifted further into consciousness.

I stirred, my sides aching as if the skin had been flayed by brambles. My breath caught as I lifted myself upright, the dull pull of bruises flaring against my ribs. I blinked, slowly, and saw the truth of where I had been dragged.

The earth was scarred with a trail—my trail—marked by smeared dirt and splintered twigs where my body had been hauled. My eyes rose toward the sound of the voices, and the final blurriness of my vision dissipated.

I froze.

It was a goblin.

Its grotesque form was exactly as Elara had once described in those old bedtime tales, yet seeing it in the flesh rattled me. His skin was the sickly green of spoiled vegetables, wart-covered and wrinkled as if cursed by time itself. A bulbous nose dominated his face, sagging with pustules of yellow-green slime that dribbled down to cracked lips lined with jagged yellow teeth. His gums festered with a foul green ooze that pulsed like something alive. A loincloth—tattered and rank—was his only covering, though my gaze dared not linger on it.

Worst of all were his ears. Jagged and pointed, they stretched outward like the remnants of bat wings, twitching and listening for sounds I couldn’t hear. His beady eyes narrowed as he squinted at me, his posture irate.

“Ugly thing,” he muttered before turning to spit venomously on the ground.

I recoiled. The spit hissed where it landed, sizzling through the earth with acidic hunger. Its sickening stench made me gag, but the goblin simply crossed his arms and began tapping his foot impatiently.

“How do you feel?”

The soothing voice came from the second figure. Turning my head, I finally saw him: a spirit entwined with an ancient oak, his torso seeming to grow out of its withered bark as if he had always been part of it. His features were humanoid but ethereal, the ridges of his face carved by age and moss. His skin—if it could even be called that—was weathered and cracked bark, with veins of faint green luminescence coursing through him like mana in a living being. His glowing green eyes had no pupils, only a depthless light that pierced through me with unsettling understanding.

I staggered fully to my feet, my mind still reeling. My instincts urged me to flee, but my aching body refused.

“Look at him!” the goblin screeched, throwing up his gnarled arms. “I wasted my time on a useless lump!”

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“Enough,” the tree spirit said, his voice rumbling like a distant storm. The authority in his tone silenced the goblin immediately.

The spirit’s gaze returned to me, and I felt it searching, digging far deeper than skin or fur. My legs shifted uneasily beneath me, and I stomped a hoof, the sound a hollow protest against the unknown.

‘Don’t mind him,’ a voice echoed—not in my ears, but in my mind.

I stumbled backward, my eyes snapping to the tree spirit. He hadn’t moved, but I could feel his presence in my thoughts like a breeze stirring through empty halls.

‘I am Asher,’ he continued, his silent voice layered with ancient wisdom. ‘A spirit of the forest.’

His mouth hadn’t moved at all, but his words resonated through me like ripples on a pond. For the first time, I realized how utterly powerless I might be in his presence. My wariness deepened, and my thoughts burned with unspoken questions.

‘You may wear the skin of a beast,’ Asher intoned, his gaze still piercing, ‘but you are no beast, are you?’

I stopped breathing.

A beat of silence passed, and then another. My thoughts raced, but I forced myself to reach for the connection, fumbling through the bridge of our shared minds.

‘What… are you?’

‘An old spirit,’ Asher replied with a subtle smile, his tone laced with amusement. ‘And old spirits ought to have a few tricks.’

He was hiding something—I could feel it in the way his answer lingered, incomplete. Still, I couldn’t deny the truth of his words. He knew.

My throat tightened as the weight of that truth settled in me. If Asher knew what I truly was—if he could see into my very soul—then perhaps he might have answers.

I opened the bridge again, my thought a trembling whisper. ‘Is there… is there a way for me to be a man again?’

Asher’s expression shifted. He tilted his head, the moss along his brow rustling faintly, and for a moment, I thought I glimpsed pity. When he answered, his voice was slower, heavier.

‘Yes,’ he said simply, and my heart slammed against my ribs.

My ears pricked forward. A loud neigh escaped my lips, startling both Zee and myself.

The goblin’s grotesque pout twisted into a sneer. “What’re the two of you gossiping about?”

Asher ignored him. ‘It is a path paved with thorns, young man. Not many beasts can ever reach its end. You will face trials that will break lesser creatures. Are you prepared for that?’

I felt my pulse quicken. The life I had abandoned—the life of Marcelo—flashed before me in disjointed memories. A name. A face. The things I had lost. The fire in my chest flared, stoked by the faintest ember of hope.

‘I wish to know this path,’ I said, my thoughts resolute.

Asher’s eyes glimmered. ‘Very well. The road begins with understanding: beasts and men were shaped by different gods, and thus their connection to mana differs. For a beast, breaking through the layers of wisdom is a violent transformation. Each stage will test you. Every step will demand your very essence.’

‘And if I succeed?’

Asher’s mouth curved faintly. ‘Then you will reclaim not just a man’s form but something greater. You will stand on the precipice of divinity.’

A roar broke through the quiet.

I jolted, and Asher’s words evaporated like mist. Zee’s head snapped toward the sound, his pointed ears twitching.

“No. No, no, no,” he muttered before screeching, “Gods be damned!” His next cry was an unnatural wail, and then he bolted toward the source of the chaos.

Asher’s gaze remained fixed on me. “Go,” he urged aloud this time, his voice a warning. “Your answers lie in the forest.”

For once, I didn’t hesitate. I turned sharply and ran, my hooves digging into the damp earth as I chased after Zee, my heart hammering with purpose.

----------------------------------------

The forest grew silent in the absence of the two. Asher’s eyes were closed as he remained motionless.

A light breeze that carried with it indecipherable echoes caused the very trees to shiver. Asher’s brow furrowed, and the wrinkles in the bark he had for skin deepened. His eyes opened once more.

“You ask why I didn’t tell him about the ring?” The tone of his voice darkened, laced with weary resignation. “Because he would sooner become a deity than hold one of the King’s rings.”

He shut his eyes, yet the whisper continued, as if irritated by his words. Only to once again fall silent. Leaving only the sound of the rustling leaves.