An Unexpected Guest

The sun was far past the horizon now, and the croon of weary owls filled the sky. The shine of the moonlight was dim that night, the moon enshrouded by clouds. Vert furrowed his brow; it had been an especially long day, and the paperwork was piling up. He had just responded to an inquiry related to the fourth anniversary of Yimmu-Audal, but the piles of paper he needed to fill in seemed to grow each time a task was completed. *One more,* he thought, *one more, and I can retire to my quarters for the night.* After all, even the late-night drinkers at the tavern had quieted down by this point. The only awake souls in Yvres must have been Vert and the two guards who had recently been permanently stationed outside his house following a string of break-ins. Hiring for the position had been beyond difficult, as the role had already seen two fatalities during the most recent break-in, and very few guards wanted to stay awake all night.

Vert picked up his last sheet of paper, dipping his quill in the pot of ink on his desk. He was halfway through reading the letter—one congratulating Yimmu-Audal on four years—when a commotion broke out downstairs. The sounds of shouting emerged just after the crushing sound of the door breaking. Vert charged down and froze upon seeing the guards approaching the intruders with their weapons drawn. Pieces of the door littered the floor; it had obviously been hit with either great force or speed, and its advanced age was apparent. The door was filled with numerous woodworm. Vert shrugged—he could create a better and sturdier door later.

He turned his head to the guards, who had now backed the intruder—a rather small female Dryad—into a corner. The Dryad was clearly older than Vert, as shown by the expertise she'd demonstrated with the number of roots that surrounded her. They did not look threatening; much the opposite, they encircled the female Dryad, who looked incredibly tired. It was while studying the roots that Vert noticed the look in her eyes. It was not anger nor malice, but fear that filled her face. The guards were about to swing their weapons—a blow that would surely end the fight. Vert yelled loudly, “STAND DOWN.” The guards, shocked at their sudden disarmament, dropped their weapons on the floor. A clatter sounded as they struck the ground, and Vert's attention was momentarily taken away from the Dryad. His eyes darted to the weapons before slowly moving back to her. She approached him with a weak stumble, quietly muttering before collapsing. Vert's eyes widened at the word that had emerged from her lips; he almost collapsed in shock himself. One of the guards looked over in confusion, inquiring, “What did she say?” Vert looked at the guard, still filled with hollow disbelief. She said... “Son.”

Vert sat on a small chair beside his bed. It was a worn-out old one—one of many furnishings that had been brought from the previous world by boat. It creaked as he stood up; the weary joints of the chair, not built to handle a being as big or heavy as Vert, threatened to give out every time he used it. He should probably get a new one, he thought, as he gazed upon the woman who had broken in yesterday and was supposed to be his mother. Her face looked younger and more peaceful in her sleep, devoid of the fear that had stretched across it the last time he had seen her awake. As he looked at her, he mentally noted that she was likely a Shylie—her small size and luscious gray skin were exactly like those of the other Shylie he had seen before.

It had been a long night. After the woman had collapsed, he had moved her to the bed so she could sleep peacefully, and he had sat there the whole night, half in shock at what she had said just before her collapse, and the rest in concern that she might wake up and something would happen with his guards again. One of the guards stayed at the door despite his protests; they simply couldn’t leave the Emperor alone with an unknown third party, no matter who they claimed to be. Vert thought this was ridiculous—clearly, the guard had been sleeping on the job, and the guest had woken them with her entrance. He reached out to fetch the guard.

Suddenly, the female dryad jolted up, eyes wide as she looked around. "Where am I?" she asked before her gaze settled on Vert. She immediately calmed down, recognizing the one she called her son. Vert looked at her reassuringly. "After you collapsed, I moved you up here. I thought you could use some rest. Why were you so weak when you got here?" She lifted one of her arms slightly, showing a patch of moss that had begun turning red. "I've been fighting this stuff; it's nasty." She opened her mouth, about to explain what it was when Vert suddenly blurted, "Are you really my mum?"

She looked at him and smiled, nodding. "You look just like I expected, Onyx." Confused, he responded, "I thought my name was Sibirica?" She shook her head and explained, "No, that was just the other members of the group in that cave being stubborn." He curiously asked, "What about Dad?" She sighed, a long, deep sigh. "I'm so sorry. He didn't make it." Vert glanced downward, saddened by the news. "What caused it?" She looked at him kindly, as if she hoped to raise his spirits. "That's simple: he had Decay, and without the help of his tribe, he didn’t survive." Vert subconsciously nodded. "Can you tell me about him?"

The female dryad took a long breath in, and a light almost shone in her eyes as she recounted the deeds of her late husband.

"Your father was humongous; he truly embodied the trees his clan named themselves after. Despite this, he didn’t particularly care for his clan or its traditions. After all, if he'd followed their rules, he would have married within the species of Meyderlie. But instead, he stubbornly insisted on changing his name and trying to get the approval of my own clan. Neither clan approved of our union, but we did not care.

Let me tell you about our clans: my own has a tradition of naming our young after the beautiful rocks around us when we are created. I should probably introduce myself—I am Lapis Sibirica. Your father's clan named their families with one name; they did not get their own names, which is why both clans were angered when we changed our names to include bits from each other's respective clans. He was called Opalescent Sibirica, named after an opal we kept before.

They largely tolerated our feelings for each other—well, it was tolerated until they found our four seedlings, you and your siblings. Filled with anger, they immediately crushed one, but luckily your father was nearby. It’s particularly difficult to move an angered dryad unwillingly, especially one as monstrous as your father. I have never seen him so furious as he was that moment; I barely saw his fist slam into the dryad who did it. They were immediately crushed. He told me to grab you and your siblings. The other dryads were furious about what had happened, but we only had time to grab your brother and your sister. You were snatched by an older dryad; I almost had to pry your father away—he would have killed the whole clan if he needed to. Eventually, we left, banished, and the clan raised you, keeping you as a hostage to hold off your father."

Lapis took a deep breath as she finished telling the tale of her meeting Vert's father. She stayed quiet as Vert processed the huge amount of information he had just been told. At last, he spoke up. "M-My siblings, what are they called?" She looked at him, a ghost of sadness in her eyes as she thought about a clearly painful memory, then she recalled their names. "Well, the first one who was crushed was called Lime, after limestone," she said. "Your brother is called Slate," she continued, "and your sister... is called Apatite." Overwhelmed, Vert slumped into the chair, which at long last gave out under his mass—its legs splintering as they were crushed beneath him, and he found himself on the floor. This did not bother him, though, because now he really could use a nap. He felt the lids of his eyes slump closed just as Lapis called out, "Ony—Vert!"

The Corination of the new Emperor~

Vert sat in the church peacefully, having just crowned his successor. He looked forward to the future; he could see only good in both his own future and the future of his nation. In just the past few weeks, he had been reunited with his long-lost biological family. He glanced at the seat beside his, where his family sat. His mother, now cured of the infection that had been overtaking her, *beamed* as she looked around the church. She was, after all, very new to this life. The quirks and eccentricities that he had grown used to were all new to her. *Sat* beside his mother and directly next to Vert was his wife, Lira. Despite suffering from a devastating illness that had left her housebound, she had made an effort to join him for the coronation—what would truly be his last act as Emperor. He *gazed* across the church and saw familiar faces of his many children, whether adopted or in-laws. However, thinking of his children brought up the one topic he hadn't yet resolved: his daughter. Much to his disappointment, it was taking a long time to organize the search party for her, given all the other issues and events happening at the moment.

He *stood* and *began walking* along the streets of Paques before *slumping* into a chair on the side of the road. For what seemed like the millionth time, he *took out* the letter that had been left on the day she had gone missing. He *gazed* blindly at the text, reading it and trying to discern any hidden meanings. He *moved* his large thumb and *spotted* a section of text he had previously missed. It read, "You have two weeks to meet my request." He felt his eyes widen as a pool of dread threatened to overwhelm him. That date had passed a long time ago. Would she even still be alive? Hopeless, he *gazed* at a nearby hill, wishing he could hear his daughter's cry for help. His vision *combed* the trees; it was late autumn, and the leaves were nearly gone. Red, orange, auburn, and a slight speck of teal were visible. His vision continued to wander, *gazing* over the lush green hill. Wait, that wasn't right—teal! His gaze *snapped back* to the spot where he had seen the splash of teal. As he *looked* closer, he noticed it almost looked like a human. No, it was a human; he recognized that color—it was the same as that of his daughter. He *focused* his vision, attempting to magnify what he was seeing, but the color was off, almost as if it were bathed in a red film. A tiny spot of red *grew* over the teal, as if it were getting closer. His eyes *struggled* to focus. The red *filled* his vision, and he thought, "It's going to hit me." He *reached out* to stop it—or at least he intended to; the signal had only just reached his hand. Unfortunately for him, that would be his last thought.

(Vert Cuirassier has passed away. Or has he?)

Revival

Slate pushed open the entrance to the basement of the Cuirassier manor, and a wave of dust flew out; nobody had been in there for a long time. As he descended the stairs, he could see a layer of dust was still settled over most of the books in the Curassier library. A sudden creak made him jump as he stepped off of the stairs onto the hardwood floor of the basement, Slate jumped a little before looking down - uncertain the floor could handle his weight.

He reached out, flipping the page of the logbook open to the most recently changed page, his eyes settled on his scratchy handwriting near the bottom of the page. It read “Preserved Vert Sibirica sapling”. Under this text, he found the location of the sapling and closed the book. It slammed shut with a heavy thump dislodging yet more dust.  

Slate walked over to the box, pulling out a heavy, shining key before unlocking the box. He reached in, pulling out a wrinkled sapling-like form which loosely resembled his late brother, Vert. about half of the wrinkled form was entrenched in moss. Slate lifted it, it didn’t weigh all that much any more, unlike his brother who had weighed several tons.

He quickly climbed the stairs, rushing to the front door which he shoved past, it wobbled slightly. It was still quite delicate since he had broken through it the night he had first come to Villedeboard.  As he turned to the left, the town centre came into view and he could see Lapis stood at the central monument. A look of deep concentration filled her face, beneath her there was an intricate web of what must have been hundreds of thousands, no millions of roots, surrounding a patch of dirt in the centre and wrapping around each other like intricately weaved wires. They each extended out of the town and into the red forest, wrapping around the smaller trees.

Slate placed his late brother into the patch of dirt in the middle and covered him slightly before extending his roots, significantly bigger and thicker but way fewer into the diseased forest. He wrapped each root around a larger infected tree, feeling the infection immediately attempting to climb them. Suddenly he felt his roots being completely incised and watched as Lapis replaced his roots with her own. He took in a deep breath, about to cry out and demand an explanation as to why she would do this when she was already struggling with the infection from her trees infections. “IS HE READY?” She questioned pouring a significant amount of energy into speaking up while fighting the climbing infection. Slate gave a quick and definitive nod.

Lapis broke her efforts at once, almost welcoming the infection’s climb up the web of her roots, as if willing it to pass into her. But that was not all she drained, the surge of life energy mingled with the infection as it flowed up her roots and into not her but the dirt patch within which Vert was buried. The energy, a such magnitude, bubbled along her roots and into the ground like a river about to burst its banks. Sped along like a jet engine about to take flight, flooded into the ground like an oil spill into seawater. Such was its majesty.

As the energy flows, the dirt sprouts numerous flowers and grass springs out of the arid bed, along with the rapid growth of a tree, a Sibirica Spruce. Something is wrong, however, what should be green grass and brightly coloured flowers is consumed by a lone shade. A deep, blood-red. Slate watches as the tree shoots up with concern that it has been affected but the moss seems to be green despite his worries.

It was roughly thirty minutes later but for Lapis, it felt like Weeks. Energy still flowed down her roots but it was slowed now, calmer - more like a tranquil trickle than the rushing flood it had been previously. The tree was as tall as Slate by this point, it continued growing. It must have been eight foot by the time it stopped, but Lapis was no longer able to see this. She lay on the ground heavily drained from this heavy ordeal.

The tree stands, grand, for a moment before a sudden creak sounds as it seems to take a humanoid form. Behind it, the remaining red trees wither away completely. Slate looks away from the withering red trees and directly into his brother’s face. His brother’s red-streaked mossy face. Wait- what? Slate drew his naginata immediately. Vert looked lovingly at Slate with something flickering in his eyes “Hey Bro why are you pointing th.” Vert lunged forwards, slate brandished his Naginata at his brother who had just collapsed onto the floor, deeply asleep.

Vert opened his eyes, his vision tinged a subtle red. Above he saw the ceiling of his royal manor he had awoken to so many times, he felt like he’d been asleep for years and could hear the chirp of morning birdsong. He glanced across the room, his vision settling on his brother, Slate.

He spoke up, “Brother Why- no, how am I here? I thought I was dead”

Slate raised an eyebrow “We revived you, seems you dehydrated yourself last second”

“I see, that’s lucky”

“Indeed” Slate nodded in agreement.

Vert’s eyes lost focus

*He’s our enemy. We can’t trust him*

Vert’s arm shot up, slamming into the space Slate had just inhabited.

Slate brandished his Naginata “The hell are you doing?”

Vert’s eyes regained focus. “Oh sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

He continued “Anyway tell me, how is Yvres? And how is my successor doing?”

A sense of unease spread over slate’s face “Yvres is doing well, though it is now a province”

“The successor you left did well. At first”

Slate continued, “He quickly became tyrannical sadly and we had to get rid of him.”

A look of shock covered Vert’s face as he took in this information.

“He really ignored all I taught him?” Vert Inquired.

“That’s not all, he’s planning to invade soon in a misguided attempt to take an empire that doesn’t belong to him.”

Vert began sitting up in the bed, quietly mulling over the new information. He sat, still as a stone almost melding into the bed underneath him before finally inquiring

“Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

Slate inquired “Well, we have an issue with a large quantity of night-time murders and they seem very common to your death, so I gotta ask - who killed you?”

“I almost don’t want to believe what I saw just before my death… I’m sorry to say it’s definitely the same culprit. Because the one I saw that day, just before I was struck, was my very own daughter.”

Upon admitting this Vert almost seemed to deflate into himself, not helped by the look of shock on Slate’s face, he sat alone for another moment of deep thought. The silent moment stretched for what seemed to be minutes. Hours, but it was not endless.

Slate finally spoke, almost eager now “Well we certainly can’t just wait around for more people to die!”

Vert agreed “Yes, let’s fix it now!” before standing eagerly and making a stride towards the door. Despite his enthusiasm however, he made it little more than one step before collapsing onto the floor. Slate reached out to him automatically, trying to help but stopped when he saw the few roots extending away from Vert and into the forest. They were tinged with red, and seemed to dye the floor around them.  

The roots reached outside latching onto the surrounding fauna which was quickly drained before turning red. As this happened Vert finally relaxed, falling into a deep sleep.

*We can’t keep draining the host completely, let’s be more careful.*

*Yes if we are careless someone might catch on.*

Slate left Vert to lay on the floor, worried about breaking the strangely tinged roots that were growing out of him and walked over to the window. He grabbed a chair and sat watching the roots’ advance as they drained more and more plants. He noted the odd reddish hue that each plant seemed to have.

Several hours later, Vert awoke with a start, jolting up before looking at his brother sheepishly. “Sorry, I guess I had a little more sleep in me” he Grinned. “Are you normal now?” “I think so… something gives me the sense I’m not going to be falling over out of the blue any more.” Slate nodded, extending a rock-coloured hand to his brother in a supportive gesture. “Alright. Let’s find us a killer.” In the meantime, the pair would continue to live normally, with Vert assuming the Crown as a Sarad of Castell while his brother would continue to serve as the count of Villedeboard, however at night they tracked the killer. Then one night, the same as any other they both headed off to La Bibliolique, Vert’s own tavern which he had hired someone to staff for that night. This trip seemed innocent but behind the scenes they were both armed to the teeth.