Chapter 1
The morning mist drifted between the tree trunks when Frererin opened her eyes. Above the canopy the sky still played in shades of grayish pink, but she knew exactly — thanks to her demonic blood, which had also blessed her with night vision — that a good hour remained before sunrise.
Still, she didn’t fall back asleep.
For long seconds she simply lay on her bed lined with bark and soft moss, listening to the forest waking. The distant babble of the stream. An owl’s last cry before settling down to rest. The faint patter of dewdrops on the leaves as they slowly fell. For years she had listened to these same sounds every single morning, and yet today every rustle seemed to ring differently in her ears.
As if it were saying goodbye to her… Because today was the day of farewell.
She sat up and threw over her shoulders the worn cloak the Master had woven for her years ago, out of vines and some soft, fabric-like fiber known only to dryads. With a single motion she smoothed back her long, reddish-purple hair, her fingers unconsciously brushing over the two small horn-like growths on her head. In the quiet mirror of a nearby spring she caught a fleeting glimpse of her own face: pale blue skin, deep red eyes, the pointed ears she had inherited from her mother.
Her mother’s face flickered through her memory for an instant — the way she had looked at her that last time, before… But no. Not today. Today, of all days, she wouldn’t let that memory take hold of her. Today, a different day was beginning.
The day she had been preparing for, for years.
* * *
Before heading toward the far end of the clearing, she paused for a moment at her small training ground — an irregularly shaped patch of trampled earth that she herself had carved out years before, every square inch of it familiar beneath her feet.
Here she had fought her very first slime, back when she could barely handle her dagger.
Here she had learned how to summon a sphere of light, back when the sparks crackling from her own hands had nearly set her hair on fire.
Here she had sat through countless nights beside the Master, practicing the basics of illusion magic — how to cast the mask of a human face over her true features, how to hide her horns, the color of her skin, the red of her eyes — until she could wear the appearance of an ordinary city girl so perfectly that even the Master had to narrow her eyes to tell the illusion from the truth.
And here — on this very spot where she now stood — she had killed her first forest wolf with a single, precise stab of her dagger, while the Master stood behind her, ready to step in if things went wrong.
But she never had to.
Frererin ran her fingers over the hilt of the dagger hanging at her belt, then let them rest for a moment on her alchemist’s pouch, where the little vials clinked softly together. Herbalism. Alchemy. Lockpicking. Weapons training. Fire, water, earth, air — only the basics, but solid, reliable basics. Nature magic, with which she could heal, with which she could bend plants and animals to her will. And that one spell — the one she knew the Master was about to warn her about again — the one she was permitted to summon only in the rarest, most desperate circumstances.
Years upon years of teaching. So much time had passed since she’d been nothing but a frightened, starving little creature, before she became the one standing in this clearing this morning.
Would it be enough, out there?
She didn’t know. But she knew she had to find out.
* * *
The memory that surfaced against her will as she adjusted her bag wasn’t of her mother this time — it was of the day the Master had found her.
Back then she had fled the village only a few weeks before, and the depths of the forest, which she had believed would offer her shelter, had very nearly been the end of her. A pack of wolves had hunted her for days, and by the time she finally shook them off, she could barely stay on her feet from hunger and exhaustion. She had collapsed beneath a rotting tree trunk, certain that this was where everything would end — her mother’s death, her own flight, her entire short, wretched life.
Then a green light bloomed around her.
At the time she’d thought it was all a fever dream — a figure leaning over her, whose skin seemed made of bark, whose hair was green and full of leaves, and whose voice was so soft it nearly melted into the rest of the forest’s murmur.
– Poor little thing – Frererin remembered the words she had carried with her ever since. – What did they do to you?
After that she remembered nothing else, only a faint sweetness on her tongue — a seed the Master had placed there, which slowly spread a warmth through her body, as though it had taken root in her very bones.
When she woke, she was already lying in the Master’s hollow, tucked under a blanket of leaves, and the first thing she saw was the Dryad’s worried yet gentle gaze.
From that day on, she was never alone again.
Frererin shook her head to chase the memory away — not because it was a bad one, only that too many feelings were welling up in her all at once, and today she couldn’t afford to let herself grow sentimental before the farewell was even over.
She picked up her bag and set off down the path that led into the heart of the forest — to where the Tree of Life stood.
* * *
The deeper she went, the denser the canopy grew and the less light filtered through, yet Frererin knew exactly where to go. Over the past years she had walked this path a thousand times. The ground beneath her was soft with pine needles, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and flowering vines — and somewhere beneath it all, faint but unmistakable, lingered that familiar, living scent she could only ever associate with the Master. Bark and pollen and something else entirely, something no human word could truly capture.
The clearing she arrived at was round, like the inside of a temple, and at its center stood a tree whose sheer size dwarfed everything else in the forest. Its trunk was so thick that perhaps thirty people together could barely have circled it with their arms, and its bark seemed etched with slow, living, rippling patterns. Its crown spread out above like a green sky, and the sunlight filtering through it danced in golden patches across the grass of the clearing.
– I knew you’d wake early today – a soft voice said, one that seemed to rise from somewhere deep within.
The bark of the massive trunk shifted — not the way bark cracks or bends in the wind, but the way a curtain sweeps aside. And out of the bark, as though the tree itself had taken on a shape, stepped the Master.
She was tall and slender, her skin a pale brownish-green like the tree’s bark, as though carved from living wood, and yet every movement of hers was soft and alive. Her long green hair fell to her waist, and in it — as always — small leaves and a few pale violet flower petals nestled, as if they had grown straight from her scalp. Her eyes were green, like a summer canopy, and her pointed ears were even longer than Frererin’s own. Her clothing was made of vines and living leaves, fitted to her body as though she had never taken it off, as though it grew directly out of her skin.
Anyone who didn’t know her would have guessed she was in her early thirties. Frererin knew that in truth the Master had already lived close to nine hundred and thirty-five years — perhaps not even half a dryad’s lifespan.
– I couldn’t sleep – Frererin admitted, stopping a few steps away. Her voice was rougher than usual, as though she were trying to hide something she didn’t even want to put into words herself.
A faint smile touched the Master’s lips. – A person — or in this case, a demon-blooded girl — rarely sleeps well on the night before she sets out to face the world.
Silence settled over the clearing for a moment. Only the leaves rustled softly in the morning breeze, and somewhere far off a bird called out once.
– Are you ready? – the Master finally asked.
Frererin nodded, though something in her chest — something she didn’t want to admit to — tightened at the question. – Ready.
– Then come. Let’s sit together, one last time.
* * *
They sat down among the roots of the great tree, in the very spot where, by Frererin’s count, she had received hundreds of lessons — magic, herbal lore, weapons training, everything the Master had been able to teach the demon-blooded girl who, years before, had stumbled half-dead and terrified out of the depths of the forest.
– I still remember that first day – the Master said quietly, as though she’d read Frererin’s thoughts. – You were a thin, terrified little girl, no older than four, and you looked at me as if you expected me to kill you at any moment.
– Back then, everyone wanted to kill me – Frererin replied flatly.
– I know. – The Master’s voice darkened for a moment before regaining its usual warmth. – And now here you sit before me, grown, strong, ready to walk your own path. I am proud of you, Frererin. More than you could ever imagine.
Frererin lowered her eyes. She wasn’t used to words like that — she’d never had the chance to get used to them; over the years she had learned mostly how to survive, not how to feel. And yet, somewhere deep inside, those words stirred a warmth in her chest that she barely knew what to do with.
– I know you’re not the sentimental type – the Master went on, smiling faintly, as though she knew exactly what was running through the girl’s mind. – But let me say this, just once, before you go: I think of you as if you were my own daughter. A dryad can never bear a child the way other races do, but if we could… I think this is exactly how I’d imagine her to be.
The words hung there in the air, and Frererin felt her throat tighten strangely. She didn’t know how to respond. She hadn’t felt anything like this in years — not since the last time she’d fallen asleep in her mother’s arms, in a hut at the edge of a village, before everything changed.
– I know I can never replace your mother – the Master said softly, as if she’d read her thoughts again, the way she so often had before. – That isn’t what I want, either. But I want you to know this: wherever you go, whatever happens, this forest — and I, within it — will always remain your protectors, and you will always find a home here.
Frererin nodded, because the words caught in her throat. For a long moment they simply sat together in silence, beneath the rustling canopy, and Frererin let that silence become a kind of farewell.
* * *
– Now then – the Master said at last, her voice turning more practical again, though the warmth never quite left it –, before you go, there are a few things I need to tell you. And I have a few gifts for you as well.
Frererin’s head came up. – Gifts?
– Yes. – The Master held out her hand, and the air above her palm shimmered faintly, as if space itself were bending to her will. A moment later, an old, battered, dark brown leather bag materialized in her hand, its seams worn from long use, its buckle blackened with age.
– This is a magic bag – she said, handing it to Frererin. – Bottomless. Whatever you put inside it will fit, and you won’t feel its weight. It isn’t new, and it isn’t fancy, but it’s reliable — exactly the way a true companion should be.
Frererin took it carefully, turning it over in her hands, then reached inside — the bag’s interior seemed far deeper than its outward appearance suggested, as though an entire other world had opened up within it.
– Thank you – she said quietly, and she meant it.
– I’m afraid this is the only thing of that sort I can give you – the Master continued, a trace of apology in her voice. – A dryad doesn’t use gold; we don’t know the value of money the way other races do. We have no need of it — the forest provides us with everything we need. But once you have money, please, spend it wisely. The world out there isn’t as kind as this forest has been to you.
– I understand – Frererin nodded. – I was planning to sell the herbs and monster crystals I gather along the way at the first city I reach, anyway. I won’t be more of a burden to you than I already have been.
– You were never a burden to me – the Master said with such firmness that Frererin fell silent without meaning to.
– And there’s one more thing. – The Master reached toward the air again, and this time a book appeared in her hand: a slim volume bound in greenish covers, its surface patterned with what looked like the veins of real leaves, fine and almost invisible. The book seemed to breathe, faintly, almost imperceptibly, as though it were alive.
Frererin stared at it in astonishment as she took it.
– In this book – the Master explained –, I’ve written down everything I know about nature magic. From the most basic spells all the way to the strongest one I know. Everything I’ve taught you so far, and a great deal more besides.
Frererin’s fingers slid across the cover. She could feel a faint warmth beneath it, as though she were holding something alive in her hands.
– Why are you giving this to me? – she asked quietly.
– Because I know my teaching ends today – the Master answered, sorrow lurking in her voice no matter how hard she tried to hide it. – But my knowledge doesn’t have to end here. You can keep learning from this book, keep developing your nature magic, even when I’m no longer beside you to show you how. And if you grow strong enough… one day the spell I taught you as the strongest may no longer pose any danger to you at all.
Frererin’s eyes widened. She knew exactly which spell the Master meant — the one she was only ever permitted to use in dire emergencies, because her body, not being a dryad’s, could barely withstand the strain of it.
– Wait – she said, frowning down at the book. – If this book ever fell into someone else’s hands… anyone who wanted to use the knowledge in it for something bad…
The Master smiled, as though she had been waiting for exactly this question. – You’re a clever girl. Yes, I thought of that too. That’s why you are the only one who will be able to read what I’ve written in this book.
– How is that possible?
The Master fell silent for a moment, as though weighing how best to begin her explanation. Then she went on, quietly:
– Do you remember when I found you in the forest, that day, fourteen years ago? Half dead, exhausted, barely clinging to life.
Frererin nodded. Now that the Master had brought it up too, the memory that had only flickered faintly through her mind on the way here suddenly grew far sharper.
– When I took you in, I fed you something – the Master continued. – A seed. One of the seeds of the Tree of Life — the very tree standing behind us, the one I myself originated from, and to which my entire existence is bound. As long as this tree lives, so do I. It is the heart of this forest.
Frererin slowly turned her gaze toward the enormous trunk, as though seeing it properly for the first time.
– I did it – the Master said –, because I wasn’t certain you would survive that night otherwise. The seed’s life force ran through your body, and although it didn’t turn you into a dryad — that’s never possible for another race — it created a kind of bond between you and the power of nature. That bond gives you an affinity for nature magic. An affinity most other races could never possess.
– So that’s why I’m able to— – Frererin’s voice trailed off.
– That’s why you were able to learn nature magic at all, yes. And it’s because of that same bond – the Master said, gesturing to the book in Frererin’s hands –, that you alone will be able to read what’s written in it. Anyone else who opens it will see nothing but blank pages. It’s a safeguard, so that even if it falls into the wrong hands, it can do no harm.
Frererin pressed the book tightly to her chest and felt a strange warmth spread through her — not just gratitude, but something far deeper. A bond she hadn’t even known existed.
– Thank you – she whispered. – I don’t even know what to say…
– You don’t have to say anything – the Master said gently. – I only ask one thing of you in return.
Frererin looked up at her. – Anything.
– The strongest spell I taught you — the one that commands the vines — promise me you will only call upon it in cases of dire need. Only when your life is at stake, or the life of someone you love. Your body, as it is now, couldn’t withstand using it too often, or several times in a row. It could cause you serious harm… it could even kill you.
The air over the clearing seemed to freeze for a moment. Frererin knew the Master wasn’t exaggerating — she had told her this before, more than once, while teaching her the foundations of that spell.
– I promise – she said seriously, with no hesitation in her voice.
The Master nodded, as though that answer mattered to her more than anything else. – Good. I trust you, Frererin. I always have.
* * *
They sat in silence for a while, the morning light climbing higher above the canopy, and Frererin could feel the moment approaching when she would finally have to rise.
– There’s one more thing I need to say before you go – the Master said, her voice growing more serious than it had been before. – Something more important than any gift I could give you.
Frererin waited in silence.
– I know why you’re leaving. I know what has driven you for fourteen years, every single day you’ve woken, every night you’ve fallen asleep. Revenge. Bringing justice to your mother.
Frererin’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t interrupt.
– I won’t tell you not to seek that justice – the Master went on. – I have no right to ask that of you. But I’m warning you, Frererin, and please, etch what I’m about to say into your memory: if revenge alone drives you, and nothing else, it will consume you. Slowly, but surely. Not all at once, not in a single blow — piece by piece. One day you’ll wake up and realize you no longer remember what it felt like to laugh, what it felt like to be happy about something, what it felt like to love someone. And then, even if you achieve what you want, you’ll be empty inside. A victory with no taste to it.
The words struck deep, and Frererin felt her throat tighten again, this time for an entirely different reason.
– That’s why I’m asking you – the Master said, leaning closer so her gaze could meet Frererin’s –, find yourself friends out there. People you can trust, people you can rely on, who can also rely on you. Find other goals in your life, not only revenge. A reason to get up in the morning that isn’t fed by hatred. Because hatred, Frererin… hatred is a fire that consumes everything it touches — even the one who lit it.
Silence fell over the clearing. Frererin nodded slowly, though only now did she truly begin to feel the weight of those words.
– I’ll try – she said at last, and that was the most she could honestly promise.
– That’s enough – the Master smiled. – I couldn’t ask any more of you than that.
The Master fell silent for a moment, as though still searching for the right words, then added, more quietly: – One last warning. I know you don’t like being fussed over, but listen to me. The world out there won’t know who you really are, and that’s a good thing — your illusion magic will protect you from that. But don’t forget: there are places where demon-blooded people are still executed for the mere sight of them, and places where they’re only watched with suspicion now. Be careful whom you trust with your secret. Not everyone deserves your trust — but I believe that, in time, you’ll find the ones who do.
– How do you know all this? – Frererin asked quietly. – You’ve never once left this forest.
The Master smiled faintly.
– A dryad learns a great deal, if she pays attention. The wind brings me news, the birds tell me what they’ve seen, and now and then a traveler rests at the edge of the forest, never suspecting that someone is listening to their words. In nine hundred and thirty-five years, a person — or a dryad — learns how to listen.
* * *
Slowly, they both rose, and Frererin slung the new bag over her shoulder, tucking the book away somewhere safe inside it. The sun had climbed higher now, its light falling in golden streaks through the canopy, and somewhere in the distance the footsteps of a deer rustled through the undergrowth.
– It’s time for you to go – the Master said, though something lingered in her voice that Frererin had never heard from her before. Perhaps sorrow. Perhaps pride. Perhaps both at once.
Frererin nodded, then hesitated for a moment. She didn’t quite know how to say goodbye — she had never needed to before, because she had never gone anywhere. In the end, a little awkwardly, she stepped forward and embraced the Master.
The Dryad seemed surprised for a moment — Frererin wasn’t the hugging type — but then she gently returned the embrace, resting a hand on the girl’s back, exactly the way she used to on the nights the nightmares came.
– I’ll come back – Frererin said quietly, turning her face against the Master’s shoulder so she wouldn’t have to meet her eyes. – I swear it. Whatever happens, I’ll come back here.
– I know – the Master whispered. – And this forest will always be waiting for you.
They stayed like that for a few long seconds, then Frererin let go and stepped back. A glint of moisture shone at the corner of her eye, which she quickly wiped away with the back of her hand, as if afraid someone might notice — though there was no one there but the two of them.
– Thank you for everything – she said, her voice steadier now. – Everything you taught me. Everything you gave me. I’ll never forget it.
– I know – the Master said again, smiling, though her eyes glistened. – Now go, Frererin. The world is waiting for you. And remember: wherever you go, the heart of the forest goes with you.
Frererin cast one last glance at the towering tree, at the Master’s figure, at the clearing that had been her home for fourteen years, then turned on her heel and set off down the path that led south, deeper into the forest.
After a few steps she stopped and looked back.
The Master was still standing there before the tree — but as she watched, the dryad’s form slowly began to blur, as though the light itself were playing tricks, and then, in the blink of an eye, she merged with the massive trunk, dissolving into the bark as if she had never been there at all. Only a faint, barely visible human outline remained on the surface of the tree, one that could perhaps only be seen if someone knew exactly where to look.
Frererin smiled — a rare, genuine smile, one that few had ever seen on her face — then turned her eyes forward once more.
She took a deep breath and set off south, into the thick of the forest that had raised her, protected her, and given her a home for fourteen years.
The revenge still burned in her chest, just as it always had — but now, for the first time, something else lay beside it. Something she didn’t yet have a name for.
Perhaps it was hope.
