The first light of dawn painted the world in soft hues of gold and lavender. You can’t imagine the relief of finally seeing the sunrise. No more looking out for weird shadows, no more worrying about gremlins, or anything else moving through the night. The air was crisp and tinged with the scent of damp earth, fresh as if the world had been scrubbed clean by the night’s passing.

The morning dew on the lawn sparkled in the sunlight, a short distance away stood the dense forest that surrounded our property, its towering pines shrouded in a lingering mist. Sunbeams pierced through the trees, igniting the web-like tendrils of fog with a faint glow.

Behind me stood our garage, a separate building right behind our house. It’s not meant for our car though, we keep the car outside on the driveway. The garage is filled with workbenches, a whole bunch of tools, a table saw too and some wood. In a corner on the far side of the garage we have my own private table, filled with many different herbs, bugs, crystals, and whatever interesting we found in the supermarket. In the corner right next to the entrance we have a ton of wood pellet bags meant to last us the whole winter.

On the opposite side is what I came here for – fertilizer. I took a small plastic tray from nearby and filled it halfway. Now all that was left to do is wait for Bryndrel to arrive.

And speak of the devil I suppose, I could see it coming through the bushes right on the edge of our property. Its form was slender and tall, standing nearly seven feet, yet there was an elegance in its movement that made it seem weightless. Bark-like skin covered its body in intricate, interlocking patterns, ranging from a deep oak-brown on its limbs to a soft, almost golden hue on its chest and face. Thin vines spiraled around its arms and legs, adorned with tiny blooming flowers in hues of pale blue and violet. Its hair, if you could call it that, cascaded down its back in a flow of mossy strands.

My father was the first one to meet it, right at the start when all this fantasy business started. He was working in the garden when he heard a rustling from the treeline, louder than the wind could have caused. Thinking it was a deer or perhaps a nosy raccoon, he had turned around casually, only to be confronted by the imposing yet strangely mesmerizing figure of the dryad. Apparently it was curious about the way he was gardening, and what fertilizer was.

Now closer, the eyes were the most striking feature: large and luminous, like droplets of amber lit from within, they radiated a quiet wisdom. When it spoke, its voice was like the whisper of leaves brushing together, soft but resonant.

“Good morning, little shaman,” it said, using its usual nickname for me. “I see you're ready for our trade.”

“As usual, yes,” I handed over the tray and watched on as Bryndrel proceeded to extend the vines from its hand into the tray, quickly absorbing the powder within. “Shall we go then?”

I receive a nod in return, a gesture it learned quickly while interacting with us.

We moved toward the forest's edge, where the trees grew denser and the air cooler. Bryndrel’s stride was long and effortless, its feet almost skimming the mossy ground. It didn’t disturb so much as a fallen leaf as it passed, while I was forced to tread more carefully, dodging roots and low-hanging branches. The forest seemed alive in a way it never did when I came here alone.

“I’ve started to feel those auras you were talking about, you think i’m ready to do some of that alchemy you mentioned?”

Bryndrel tilted its head slightly, the wooden creak of its movement barely audible over the soft murmur of the forest.

"Perhaps," it said, its voice resonating like wind through hollow bark. "But sensing is merely the first step. Alchemy is a dance, little shaman, not a stumble. Are you sure you do not wish to do the Splicing? Your current ability would pale before the power you could gain.”

“Yeah, i’m pretty sure. I want to get as far as humanly possible, no shortcuts for me, no thank you. I do not want a crutch to lean on. I want to know that the power comes from me instead of something on the outside.”

“A noble path,” it murmured. “Though rare is the mortal who treads it. You would rather toil and falter than reach swiftly for what could be yours. Admirable, if not… quaint.”

“I’ve made up my mind,” I said, brushing a low-hanging branch out of my way. “I’m not saying shortcuts aren’t tempting. But if I give in now, where does it stop? Today it’s the Splicing. Tomorrow it’s something worse. Before long, I’m just a passenger in my own life.”

We walked in silence for a while, the only sound the crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional chirp of unseen birds. The air grew heavier with each step, rich with a scent I couldn’t quite name—something earthy and ancient, tinged with sweetness.

Soon, the trees parted, revealing a small clearing bathed in a pale, otherworldly light. In the middle of it a great oak, with a bark speckled with shimmering crystals the colour of the rainbow.

The sight was breathtaking even though this was not my first time here. The oak’s sprawling branches seemed to touch the heavens, while its roots delved deep into the earth, veins of light pulsing faintly through the ground around it. The essence crystals glimmered softly, as though the tree was alive in ways beyond mere biology—a being of raw magic and ancient power.

The moment my boots touched the soft, mossy ground of the clearing, a ripple of warmth washed over me, as if the tree were greeting me. I stopped for a moment, letting the sensation sink in, then approached the tree. Its bark was warm under my hand, thrumming with an energy that resonated deep in my chest.

“Start here,” Bryndrel said, pointing with a twig-like finger to a cluster of crystals low on the trunk. “These are young—eager to be taken. They will offer you their strength freely.”

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I crouched, brushing my fingers against the crystals. They were cool and smooth to the touch, like polished glass. Carefully, I pressed on one, feeling the gentle resistance before it gave way and popped free with a soft chime. The glow in my hand was mesmerizing, the rainbow light flickering like a captive aurora.

I repeated the process three times, each crystal slipping free with the same soft chime.

“That will do,” Bryndrel said.

“Time to head back then, thanks for keeping me company.”

*****

Half an hour later.

Crunch crunch crunch

The crystals didn’t require much effort to crush—just a bit of pressure with the mortar and pestle, a few smooth circular motions, and the job was done. As I worked, the temptation to mix in some of the herbs in front of me was hard to resist.

At the moment, I was back in the garage. In case you’re wondering, it was cluttered with an assortment of flowers, mosses, leaves, and other plant materials Bryndrel had brought us. One root in particular kept catching my eye, its aura reminding me of lightness and feathers. Crushing it with the crystals would’ve been... interesting. But no—that would’ve been a little too reckless. Even for me.

When the crystals were finally ground to a fine powder, I pinched a bit between my fingers and sprinkled it into my mouth. Daily dose? Check. With how quickly it dissolved on my tongue, I wondered why the crystals on the tree back at the clearing don’t turn to mush when it rains. Magic or something, probably.

“Could I get some of that too?”

I nearly jumped. “Hm? Oh. Yeah, sure—just don’t sneak up on me like that again.”

I held out the mortar, and Marcus, without hesitation, took a pinch and popped it into his mouth, mimicking my earlier motion.

“Anyway,” He said, “it’s time to head to town. Gotta hit the shop while the streets are still halfway empty.”

“Right.” I wiped my hands on my pants, then set the mortar aside, careful not to spill any of the leftover powder. Marcus was already heading toward the massive doors of the garage.

Following him, we both entered our house, both putting on our ‘armour’ right by the entrance.

I heard footsteps approaching us from the hallway and instantly recognized them as dad’s. He appeared moments later, carrying the crossbow.

"Here," he said, handing it over to Marcus while I took my favorite fire poker from the corner of the room.

"Thanks," Marcus said, slinging the crossbow over his shoulder. "Hopefully this trip’s as quiet as yesterday’s. Won’t even need it if we’re lucky."

"Stay careful, both of you. No unnecessary risks. Remember, tomorrow we’ll go to the military supply depot for food. No sense getting impatient now."

“Will do, dad, thank you for the concern.”

After quick goodbyes, we stepped out into the crisp morning air, making our way to the car parked on the driveway

Marcus started the engine while I fiddled with the radio. Nothing but music, but that was good enough for me, honestly.

As we rolled down the driveway, I glanced out the window. Our parents were standing on the porch, waving with that mixture of worry and pride they always wore whenever we left. I raised a hand in return, hoping it looked reassuring.

The road stretched ahead of us, winding through the forest.

The trees crowded close on either side, their bare branches clawing at the pale blue sky. Winter wasn’t far off; the air carried a sharpness that promised frost in the coming days.

“You know,” he said, his voice carrying that particular tone he used when he was about to drop some sarcasm, “this whole ‘fantasy becomes reality’ thing is making my life way more complicated than it already was.”

I glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? How so?”

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror out of habit. “Dating, obviously.”

“Dating?” I repeated, not entirely sure I wanted to hear where this was going.

“Yes, dating,” he said, exasperated. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s going to be to get a girlfriend now?”

“I can imagine.” I tried not to laugh, but a snort escaped before I could stop it. I found it funny, yes, but we both know fully well that I’m in the same box as he is, and I don’t mean the car. A couple weeks ago we already had a similar talk, took it a lot more seriously at that time. Sometimes I thought about how hopeless it is to find a partner, but now though? Nah, there are far more pressing problems. And opportunities, like learning magic.

We fell into a comfortable silence after that, the hum of the tires on the road filling the car.

Eventually we reached the Shopsmart from yesterday. This time, I’m the one going in. Hopefully, for the last time in a while. If the supply depot starts running regularly, maybe I can avoid this whole ordeal altogether. That would be a blessing.

We park the car near the doors and wait for a minute to see if anyone, or anything, tries approaching us. We just sit there, watching. Waiting. Nothing stirs—not in the lot, not by the shattered cart return, and not in the too-dark windows of the store itself. When it feels safe enough, we step out. Marcus immediately starts tying the rope around my midsection.

“Alright,” he says, giving the line a quick tug to test it. “In and out. Godspeed, fella.”

For a moment I just stood there looking at the shop, the haunting aura surrounding it making it look like the very air is stale and lifeless somehow.

Enough hesitating, time to go inside, and so I do.

The automatic doors open with a ding. No food as far as I can see in the first few shelves, have to go deeper. When I glance up, the shelves warp and twist, spiraling off into some distant horizon that shouldn’t exist indoors. The feeling of vertigo immediately made me dizzy.

No, I shouldn’t have looked up, definitely should not have done that.

I shake it off and keep moving. The store is a labyrinth of shadow, but somewhere in here, there’s still food.

As I push further inside, I pass a display shelf where dozens of mannequin heads sit atop slender black spines, like flowers in a vase. Their eyes swivel to follow me. One of them opens its mouth as if to speak, but only a raspy breath escapes. I keep walking.

Halfway down the next aisle, I find doors stacked vertically like planks of wood. They vary in shape and size—some look old and splintered, others polished and pristine.

A bakery section greets me next, filled with golden loaves that smell far too enticing. Elven Sweetbread reads one sign, glowing faintly in elegant script. Next to it, croissants labeled Sylph’s Breath hover slightly above the tray, their edges curling like smoke. I grab a bunch of plain-looking rolls, hoping they’re just bread and not enchanted in some way and stuff them in my backpack, quickly filling it.

I try to find more food but nothing comes up. Okay, there was a section for canned goods, but they had no pictures on them, just some otherworldly script.

About ready to head out — I checked the time on my phone. I forgot to set a timer but I thought the ten minutes were up, so I simply followed the rope to the front of the store and got outside.

Except I didn’t.

I followed the rope right up until I reached the end of it in the middle of a row of shelves, the front of the store nowhere to be seen. I picked up the rope in disbelief. It was cut. Suddenly the store seemed a lot darker and ominous.

I could never express vividly enough the mute horror I was in at that point. I felt like I was at the end of my rope.