The room was quiet. Still. As it should be.

Mold did not represent growth, though it certainly grew, at least from others’ perspectives. Mold did not represent decay either. For decay was a value assigned to an act, one assigned by those who did not want the act to happen. Thus they deemed the act wrong and so they labelled it by a negative term.

No, mold represented change. Transition. Where one life died, another took its place. The energy that fueled one color of the pattern refilling the palette, adding a new stroke to the canvas. That was how the dryad perceived the world. How it perceived this room.

She, for when she could think, she thought of herself as a she, was the pinnacle of her element. She was what the world would all eventually change into, the latter half of the transition. She remembered a time when her essence was… different. Barely remembered, for this diminished domain did not allow her much thought. Yet when she did, she remembered… life. Green.

A different dryad.

Yet that was in the past. She did not look at the room, for what use did she have for eyes. She was spread out over the entire room, so she simply felt everything. Including the four new sources of nourishment. One old one too. Yes, these would do nicely. For a time, she could hide. No need to hunt anymore, nor act as a trap. Hide and grow. Too long had she spent as little more than an animal. Faculties dissolved by time and hardship. She did not remember her name. Nor where she was. She had only glimpses of the past, of wide fields and dark trees. Green, all over. Then… red, and brown and grey. Before finally white.

This is what she was now. White. A Dryad of Mold.

But she did not pity herself, for she had no comparison. Perhaps… in time, she would remember again. The new sources of growth would give her this chance. Yes, the new ones. How interesting they were. One was of the old food, magic linked, yet feeble. One… rational, decent. Another powerful, but locked. Fiery. For that critter to see her as prey… as something to be burned… She did this. Linked herself to lesser beings, sharing their thoughts and emotions. She forgot herself, lost in the critter’s rage. The dryad thought herself lucky that she did not accidently kill them. Their lifeblood needed to be drained, not wasted.

And the lifeblood in the last one… so different and rich. Not surprisingly, he was the last to fall. She ‘looked’ at the place he had fallen, a ‘mound’, as he thought of the coverings. She… thought she may have felt such energy before. Thought she did not remember when. If she did… such memories were lost to time.

It did not matter. She had barely used any resources to capture them. Mere trickery and animal instinct. And what she received… this will help her grow. Expand. Perhaps beyond the boundaries of this miserable room. Where would she go after that? Should she expand towards the darkness of the lower levels? Her nature certainly pushed her towards that. The deep offered security for one such as her, perhaps even prey. It would allow her to live and grow and think.

Yet… to expand up was also a possibility. Towards the upper levels. To try and pass by the dwellings of mages would be dangerous. But… there was a gnawing at the heart of her. She did not know why. Nor did she always recognize the yearning for what it was. But she almost always felt it.

How she wished to feel the sun.

She felt the room she was in move. Careful, she must be careful. The building she was in was… alive. For lack of a better word. Almost as thinking as she was. Which is… not so much. Yet it meant it was capable of change. And since her element was one of change, though some would call it corruption, she had changed it. Bound it to her will, to a limited extent. If she wished it, this room would ‘move’ throughout the castle. And she must not do that. Not yet. No matter how much she wanted it.

She felt the room move again.

This time she was sure it wasn’t her. She extended her senses, tried to feel what was happening, when the room and she with it lurched. It raised itself, from where it had moved. Going back to the same place it had been before.

If she had eyes, they would have widened. This… wasn’t her doing.

Suddenly, the exit locked in place. Anchored itself to another passage, inside the castle. And the very next moment she felt the mold covering it be incinerated. Two individuals walked in.

One was tall, but not overly so. A human. Brown skin, brown eyes, dark hair. He wore a red robe and had a blank expression on his face. He looked to be in his late thirties and had a short goatee. The only thing of note was the smell of him… it gave the same impression as two of her current morsels did. Which, she remembered, were also dressed in red. He didn’t feel… complete. Like she was looking at the branch of a tree, instead of the tree itself.

The other looked powerful, imperial. She looked at him, at his ears and beard and aura, and she felt fear.

An elf.

The old enemy. She did not know why, but every instinct in her told her to run, to hide, to crouch and weep and hope the elf never learns of her existence. But there was another instinct in her as well, one perhaps more in tune with her current nature. That instinct wanted her to take the elf over, to infect him, to consume him. To make him pay!

Yet… pay for what?

“Your help is appreciated, Mage Regitris. I did not know you could rearrange the structure of the castle.”

“It is not an ability I oft make use of, Mage Agharal. Tell me, do you feel your two charges?”

“They are not my charges. We are one. Yet… yes. I feel them here. But faintly. Our link is being suppressed.”

The dryad listened to the two mages speak. At the open doorway, she felt others. More like the red mage. Many more. Not all strong, but looking at them she felt… that she was finally seeing the tree. And it was a great one.

There were others there too. Mages in armor, almost as many as the red robed ones. They looked ready to jump in and many wanted to, but they were being held back by another group. Mages in white robes. Not as many, yet powerful. They had shielding Spells up, as much to block the room as to block the mages wanting to enter.

The dryad had a bad feeling.

“Well, my charge is here. What is it that your… members transmitted? That they were in danger and fighting a creature of rot?”

“A Dryad was what has been transmitted.”

“Impossible.” The elf said. “There are no dryads at Gnosis. They hardly even exist in the wider world.”

“That is what had been transmitted. We… our link has been broken once more since then. We did not obtain exact information. Yet what was said… yes. A Dryad.”

“Hmm. Perhaps something lesser has been confused for one. Be it as it may. We should attempt to find our mages first. |Life Sense|, |Gaze of Certainty|.”

The dryad felt the magic break her natural repression as if it wasn’t even there. She knew the elf saw her captives. She feared he had seen her too. Yet the mage only froze, face going mask-like for a second, before he turned to the other mage.

“I sensed five mages alive. I see one elf female, two human males, one halfling male and one dwarven female. I believe the latter ones are yours?”

“Pipo and Lavla.” Agharal said, eyes going hard. “Where?”

“There.” He pointed. “These three represent my own mage and two Martial ones. I will attempt to wake them.”

“Will this harm them?”

“No. The mold is magical in nature, I saw that. Yet it only leeches life and magic, it has not formed a symbiosis.”

All true. Yet what the mage didn’t know was that contact was all that was required for contagion to take place. Usually, physical contact was required, but if she stretched herself… magical would work too. Even if the elf chose to burn the mold with a Spell, the magical link would be enough for the dryad to gain power. Enough to maybe use him as a source. The old elf was powerful. If she could have him…

Inside the layer of mold, the dryad smiled.

“Watch for dangers. I will attempt extraction.”

“I do not take orders, Mage Regitris.”

The old elf grimaced and spoke again.

“Please.”

“Very well.”

They knelt next to the coverings of the elf and human and the dryad focused. She would use all her will and strength and wrestle his magic away from him in one stroke. With such a reservoir of magic added to her own she would be great. Great enough to stop fearing even the tree from outside.

Regitris neared his hand to the mold covering and spoke.

“Now.”

“|Bloodvines|”

Agharal’s Spells lashed out so quickly that the dryad almost didn’t see it. Eight vines shout out from his back, seeming to be made out of liquid instead of a more plant-like material. Yet they moved like lightning. In just moments, they ripped the mold away and took her sources away, ripping them from her-

***

Michael woke up when he was mid-flight. He opened his eyes and saw the scene before him fly away. No… he was the one flying away. He landed on something soft, and when he sobered up, he noticed Erea standing next to him, along with Alex, Pipo and Lavla.

They were sanding in some sort of an entrance, filled to the brim with Ascentionalists. The only ones not a part of his faction were Bob and Micah. Who both reacted at the same time.

“He’s awake!” Micah said. “Dude, you’ve got to knock it off with the life-or-death situations.”

“Michael.” Bob said. “It is good to have y-“

“ShhH!” Narh shushed them. “It’s starting.”

Michael looked on ahead and saw Regitris and… some tall Bloodlinked mage, by the looks of him, standing in the room where she had been.

Wait. She? Where I have been. I, Michael.

Wait…

Michael remembered fuzzy memories. Memories that couldn’t exactly be explained by sight alone… Memories of… someone else. Someone alien to his way of thinking.

“I believe you are now satisfied with the theory that our opponent is a Dryad.” Agharal said.

Why do I know his name?

“I am. Thank you for allowing your mind to be open. I did not wish to speak of our plan.”

“You pose no threat, Mage Regitris.” The other nodded. “Now. This being attacked us. We will not suffer it alive.”

“Nor will I.” Regitris gravely said. “You have my word on that.”

The old elf raised his hand and spoke, at the same time as Agharal did.

“|Fire Wave|”

“|Acid Torrent|”

The two Spells washed upon the room and Michael heard a sound like screaming. The mold visibly pulsed, flinching, but unlike before it did not change into a form to attack. Instead, it retreated, gathering itself up. He saw the dryad take shape, retreating to the back of the room.

It looked frightened.

“Would I have time, I would enact proper vengeance on you, thing.” Regitris spoke, as mad as Michael ever saw him. “First werewolves, now Dryads. Dying marks of a cursed age.”

“I do not have personal qualms with you, being.” The red robbed mage said. “Yet you have attacked us. For that, you deserve death.”

“I do not suppose I can convince you to allow me time, Mage Agharal? I did not misspeak when I said I wish for more time to carry out a proper lesson on this rot.”

“No. We take vengeance now.”

“Very well.” The mage sighed, but nodded.

Michael had no idea why Regitris was acting like this, but he didn’t have the time to find out either. Because the two mages began casting.

“|Multiplied Casting|, |Incineration Ray|. |Targeted Spells|, |Fire Orb Barrage|.”

“|Mana: Sanguine Enrichment|, |Summon Blood Elemental|.”

Even Regitris flinched at that last Spell. Yet the being that came into life tore into the dryad. She tore into it right back, parts of the blood-being turning black as she corrupted it, but for every part of it that died, part of her withered away too.

And that was without Regitris burning her alive.

They went on like this, Agharal eventually abandoning his creation and being content to simply use acid-based Spells, while Regitris methodically destroyed her. Slowly. Almost as if he was enjoying the process.

In the end, the two of them remained standing in front of a kneeling dryad.

She was no longer white, but grey and black. Parts of her were missing. And her expression alternated between blankness and horror. Michael guessed that too little of her remained for the dryad to be even fully aware of what was happening.

He was not alone.

“It seems the being is no longer fully aware of herself. A racial disadvantage.”

“Such dirt does not have a race.”

“Regardless. I see no purpose in prolonging this. I consider her defeated. You seem to have a personal preference for the manner of her death. Would you like the killing stroke?”

“Mage Agharal, you are too kind.” Regitris said, before looking at the dryad. “You are too far gone to understand, so I will say this for my own sake. Magic. Is. Might.”

That was when the dryad showed emotion. Perhaps for the last time, but her face contorted into a mask of pure rage. Her eyes found Michael, for just a second and he felt… rage. But then she looked at Regitris and she screamed, though no sound came out, and exploded. A wave of spores came their way, threatening to fill the entire room.

“|Incineration Barrier|”

“|Life Drain|”

Yet it never did.

Such a poor end for such a powerful creature.

Regitris spat on the ground, before turning, his face once again grandfatherly.

“My apologies, young Michael. Such fights are, by their very nature, ugly. I hope that disgusting being didn’t… Michael? My boy, are you alright?”

Michael didn’t know why the elf asked that, but he noticed himself standing up. He wanted to tell him that yes, he was just a little out of it, but nothing came out.

“Michael?” Erea asked, standing up herself.

“Dude, you alright?” Micah asked, sounding concerned.

Yeah, why?

But nothing came out. He wanted to touch his mouth, but his hand didn’t raise.

“You’re sweating.” Bob noticed. “And you’re pale.”

“Not pale.” Regitris said, now looking at Michael with the same expression he had when he looked at the Dryad. “White.”