Nic knelt under the tree as the stone covering his body slowly cracked and fell away. It was painful beyond belief, each break feeling as if his own skin was splitting open, before the pressure slowly released. Chunks of his flesh were torn away as the stone peeled from him like an orange rind. All the while, he sat under the gaze of the acacia tree.

Out of the tree’s center emerged a wooden carving in the shape of a beautiful woman. It wasn’t made by human hands, but naturally occurring, formed from the tree’s green heart. Her skin was the color of sap and thousands of motes of luminous resin glowed in her hair.

“Are you still alive, little one?” She asked.

“Yesss…” Nic croaked out, barely able to move his mouth.

“Good.” She said. “I am Nereth, one of the protector spirits of this grove. If you’ve made it this far, you must be capable enough.

“Uh-huhhh.” Nic groaned, the definition of a captive audience.

“Wait a little while, heal, and I will explain how to go deeper into the forest.”

Nic would have nodded, but presently, his own body was a prison of stone. Long moments passed before he was able to shake off the last of the petrification, escaping like a snake shedding its skin. Fragments in the shape of his arms and legs were left broken on the ground like the remnants of a statue.

“Oookay…” He gasped. “Okay, you were saying, uh, miss?”

“I am Nereth.” She repeated. “And I prevent this forest from spreading its evil will. There are other guardians, however, ones that prevent intruders from walking too deeply…”

“The moths?” Nic interrupted.

“Yes. The moths. They turn away those who walk unwisely, using their enchantments. To penetrate the final barriers and enter the core of the forest you must obtain their permission.”

“No offense, but…” Nic leaned over and shook himself, a fragment of stone dropping free from his ear. “But why do you want to help me?”

“The forest’s seals are failing. Soon, the corruption will spread. Only a warrior can tear the infection up by the roots before this happens. Listen well, for I am tasked to give you these words…”

She paused, and when she spoke again, it was with the resonant voice of the System.

The high priest of the valley, wishing to betray his pharoah and kill the Hall of the Sun’s dread master, entered the forest and plundered her grave. He protected himself from the plant, but could not resist placing a kiss on the brow of the dead goddess, so beautiful was she to behold.

In the moment the priest touched the goddess’ skin, she turned to a rotting corpse, all the foul poison within her body escaping in a dark cloud. The forest withered to a land of ash and stone, while the priest, for his sin, became a walking corpse.

Nic’s eyes briefly shone, looking for hidden meanings obscured by the System’s narrative, but none appear. It seemed this time the System was being honest.

A goddess and a poison medicine…

You have discovered

Lore Fragment of the Scales of Sand

200 Essence Awarded

Discover four Lore Fragments to bind and weaken the Guardian ‘High Priest of the Red Land’

“So what do you want me to do?”

“A remnant of the goddess lingers, the core of this corruption. It saddens me, but she must be destroyed.” The dryad replied. “You must venture into the core of the forest and defeat her once and for all.”

Right, right. Navigate the scary, poisonous woods. Kill a god’s rotting corpse. Easy-peasy. “And you say I need the moths to help me?”

“They will not do so willingly. You must catch one alive, and force them to show you the way.”

Nic grimaced. Those things were incredibly fast, and escaped his danger-sense, giving him no warning when they attacked. Letting one disorient him had nearly cost him his life.

Catching one?

Difficult, even with his agility.

But what choice did he have? The only way through was forward.

“Where can I find them?” Nic asked.

---

The feeling of being petrified was a constant itch across his skin as Nic rushed through the forest, vaulting over stoney roots. Time was against him.

But as he pushed further and further, the miasmic fog growing dense and dark, Nic saw what he was looking for. Moths fluttered through the trees, surrounding a statue of a woman with her face frozen in horror. They landed on her outstretched hands- her body was caught in a moment of desperation, crawling forward across the ground, trying to conquer that final step of the journey even as her legs failed.

Nic picked up speed. His footwork wove back and forth, gathering momentum into a strange, sinuous movement that surrounded his body with mist and illusions.

The moths reacted swiftly, scattering in all directions.

Nic teleported forward, crossing the last few feet as a blur of light to snatch one of them from the air.

As he did…

His fingers crushed it into ash.

They really were impossibly delicate. Nic groaned, spinning about, but it was too late. The moths had moved until they were a good distance away, out of reach, and begun to circle around him. Their drab wings sent pollen drifting through the air in sparkling trails…

One touch and he’d be lost in the woods again.

But that wasn’t the only trick they had to play. The mist swirled and took shape, a man with a long spear and a lion’s head appearing as the fog became an illusion of flesh. One of the moths fluttered down and unfolded its wings across the illusion’s face, the orange spots on each wing becoming the illusion’s ‘eyes’.

It sprung to life and stabbed at Nic. The spear was nothing, a gust of wind and fog, but it carried the power to petrify his flesh where it touched.

Nic darted aside, weaving backwards.

More illusionary warriors formed, striking at his back. Nic teleported straight up, grasping a tree with one hand to anchor himself above the battlefield.

Weapons were no good. Killing them would only set him further back.

Instead, Nic needed to catch one off-guard.

He dropped, unleashing the Hand of Ash to reach outwards towards a fluttering moth. His technique slowed the beast, locking down its aura so the hand could reach out and pluck it from the air, but the move was designed for combat. It was too brute force, too indelicate.

Once again the moth dissolved to dust in his grip.

A spearpoint thrust for his head. Nic wove aside, bending backwards to evade, and another slammed into his leg. As their bodies faded in and out of sight, it was as if the mist itself had taken up arms against him.

Petrifying stone rapidly spread outwards from the wound. Nic’s footwork was suddenly rooted in place, every movement taking twice the effort. More spears dove for his throat and belly.

With the Hand of Ash he deflected them. The shadows of swirling ash that surrounded his palm absorbed the energy holding the mist together, dispersing the incoming spears into harmless wisps of fog.

The moth-eyed warriors did not relent.

Spear after spear struck out for Nic, and each cut made the next harder to dodge. Wounds of stone expanded on his skin. But rather than despair, Nic was finding the battle pressed him to perfect his footwork, to change how he moved.

Before he had focused totally on speed. Simple, direct movements, taking him from point to point.

But such obvious motion had a flaw. If the enemy could read him, then neither his speed nor the Mist-Water Step could help him; they’d simply strike at where he would be.

Now, forced to slow down by the weight of the stone gathering on his flesh, Nic found another way. His movements were loose and erratic, almost seeming to drift out of the way by accident just as an attack was about to strike him.

That same lesson was applied to his Hand of Ash.

He had been striking slower and slower, trying to perfectly grasp a moth from the sky. It wasn’t working. Each movement was either too fast, destroying the delicate creature, or too slow, allowing it to escape. Now he began to strike in less direct ways, using the reach of the shadowy hand to ‘fish’ for the moths in long, sweeping movements, carrying less momentum but moving at strange angles that were hard to escape.

Although he was surrounded by an army of spears and fighting to survive, Nic was still learning, allowing the pressure of the situation to mold him into shape. After practicing the Mist-Water Step endlessly in dreams, the last and key thing he needed was simply to be up against the wall, forced to coalesce those insights or be destroyed.

As they came together he became a dancing shadow, impossible to touch.

With a sigh, Nic unleashed his Warform. In one moment, two hands became six. Instantly the tempo the battle turned. His strikes were both soft and hard, quick and cunning. They tore through the misty bodies of the warriors, dispersing them. The moths fluttered through the sky and were destroyed by direct, hammering blows.

He only needed one.

And as the last moth tried desperately to escape, Nic’s six arms wove together like a closing trap. Each way it tried to escape, another movement, a flickering teleportation or a simple wave of his hand, would cut it off. The tiny creature was herded and bound until it had nowhere left to go.

Nic’s hand closed gently around it.