Iago awoke to a feathered wing rapidly slapping him in the face. He scrunched his face and covered his head, but the slaps refused to cease.

“Up-up-up! Up, human!” The voice sounded like what happens when someone loses their voice, paired with the shrillness of a child screaming. The combination was a high-pitched ghostly tone that sounded perpetually out of breath.

Iago forced himself to his feet, the slaps following him until he was standing upright. He forced his eyes open and looked at the bird now standing on the grass in front of him.

“Good morning to you too, Octavius.” A crow with shocks of purple feathers like lightning bolts – all of which that stuck straight out - beamed up at him, their eyes shades of storm cloud grey with intermittent flashes of purple.

“Good-good-good-good morning, human! I’m here to-to-to-to bring you to Grandfather!” The little crow hopped enthusiastically as they spoke, fluttering their wings as they did.

Iago grinned and patted them on the head. “Thank you, Octavius. By all means, lead the way.”

The bird flapped their wings once more as they turned – more resembling a chicken attempting flight than an ordinary bird – and began to hop-flutter their way in the direction of Grandfather Cornelius’ swampy home.

As the two of them walked, the temperature and humidity gradually began to rise, until sweat started trickling down Iago’s back and his clothing stuck to him in the stickily uncomfortable way only humidity can accomplish. The trees began to have longer, droopier leaves, eventually turning into vines, and the grass became more and more disparate until they walked a narrow mostly dry path littered with sticks and leaves, the rest of the Forest around them being made up of muddy marshlands. The bark of the trees grew darker and darker until it was nearly black, and the vines hung so low Iago had to push them out of the way to get past. Octavius simply waltzed their way under while humming a merry tune, slapping with their wings the vines that dared to get in their path with extreme prejudice.

“Almost-almost-almost-almost there, human! Grandfather awaits!” The partially purple bird chirped, turning to look at Iago and walking into a vine in the process. They swung around, indignant, and after a brief flash of violet light, the vine trickled to the ground below as blackened dust.

Iago suppressed a shiver. He liked Octavius – they had a refreshing innocence and energy absent from most Beasts of the Forest and was comparatively a child. It was easy to forget that at any moment he could be electrocuted to dust as easily as that vine if they ever decided to.

“We’re here-here-here-here!” they fluttered even higher than usual, jubilant in their leaps.

A massive, multi trunked black tree stood in the center of the swamp. Once decomposing, it was now hollowed out and served as the home of Grandfather Cornelius and his students and housed the only library in all of the Forest. Jarred fireflies hung from small hooks in carved windows, and the chirping of birds was audible from within. It was bare except for a few straggler vines, and the entrance was a pair of massive, deep brown double doors, inscribed with a crow. Not that most of the birds used them, there were plenty of windows from which they could exit or enter, much to Cornelius’ chagrin.

“Home-home-home-home!” Octavius flapped towards the door, chanting the whole way, and the tree erupted into motion. Dozens of crows burst from the windows, all circling the branches before perching themselves atop them, few other types of birds were scattered in the overwhelmingly black flock.

“They’re back!”

“Octavius returned!”

“The human!”

“Isn’t he a betrayer?”

“Grandfather says the people who believe that are liars! And dumb!”

“He never said they were dumb!”

The cacophony was interrupted by the double doors opening, Grandfather Cornelius waddling his way out.

“That’s right, I never said they were dumb.” He reached Iago and gave him a nod, his second head bouncing slightly as he did so. “Not out loud, at least.” He said in a low voice, giving Iago a pat on the back with a chuckle.

He turned back to the tree and raised his voice.

“Back to your studies, children. No slacking either, and no eavesdropping. Anyone I catch trying to listen in on Iago and I’s conversation is getting a feather plucked for each word they heard!”

At that statement the flock cawed in collective horror, and immediately flew inwards again, rattling the jarred fireflies as they passed. The light inside stuttered for a moment before returning.

“Thank you very much, little one. Now, back to your studies as well.” Octavius rubbed their head against Cornelius’ leg briefly before stutter-fluttering his way inward, calling out to their fellow students on the way.

Iago grinned as he watched the whole procession, and Grandfather Cornelius looked back at the tree fondly.

“They can be a rowdy, mischievous, loud, boisterous group at times, but I love them nonetheless.” a sad look grew in his eyes, and he turned to Iago. “I only hope we’ll be able to protect them.”

Iago nodded, briefly looking away and clearing his throat. “Dannious said you had something to speak with me about?”

Cornelius nodded in turn and waved him to follow, walking in the direction of the tree.

“We’ll speak more once we’re in my office. Suffice to say, it was Dannious’ idea, and I’m still weary, if I’m being honest with you.”

“Whatever I can do to help, I will.”

Cornelius looked back at him sadly. “I’m sorry to hear what happened, Iago. You didn’t deserve that. Nubias is…” a spark of red entered his eyes, but he shook it away immediately. “Well, we don’t see eye to eye, as you might imagine. Enough of that, though. Neither of us are fond of that subject, I imagine.”

Iago followed him within and marveled at his surroundings.

The entire interior of the tree was made up of light brown wood, polished to the point where every surface not covered by a rug was reflective. Cornelius led him up a spiraling staircase in the center with jarred fireflies every eight feet or so. They reached one landing from which he saw scattered feathers on the red-rugged floor, and various nests within one of the cracked open rooms. Where the students lived, he assumed.

The next landing came with the scent of cooking food, the sweet scent of freshly cooked game paired with fruit and aromatics. It made his stomach grumble, to which Cornelius chuckled.

“I’ll have one of the children carry a bowl up for you once we’re settled; rabbit and carrot stew with some apple and spices mixed in. Quite good, in my opinion.”

Finally, after a far further distance than the first couple landings, they emerged at the top. Cornelius unlocked a door with a ring of keys he’d stashed somewhere – it happened so quickly Iago didn’t even see where they came from or disappeared to – and led his way into his private chambers.

Every wall was covered in bookshelves. The ceiling stretched to at least 50 feet, and the bookshelves followed the entire length. He couldn’t spot a single blank space among them, with books of all sizes and colors packed tight within. A lacquered dark wood desk covered in stacks of books was in the center, with one end occupied by a massive, deep green cushioned chair. The other had a more modest brown chair which Iago sat in, but it was comfortable nonetheless.

Grandfather Cornelius let out a long groan as he sat, adjusted his spectacles, and began tossing books behind him as he searched for whichever one he meant to show Iago.

“Let’s see, let’s see…Ah, here we are.”

From deep within the pile. He pulled a thin, aged brown book. It had a single symbol on the cover, one of a basic tree, not unlike what a child might draw. He set it before him and looked up at Iago with a serious expression.

“I suppose I should begin to explain. Dannious came to me with this long ago, and I rejected it immediately. I called it foolish, reckless, and more likely to destroy the Forest than anything positive. I put this book on the shelf with the intention of never picking it back up, but…with recent events, its contents became hard to ignore.” He slid it across the table to Iago, who opened to the first page.

It was blank.

“Ah, sorry about that. Just keep flipping.”

He turned further, and eventually came to a massive drawn portrait of a sea serpent. The serpent had long, sharp scales that were of all different colors, seeming to shimmer between every color of the rainbow. It had eyes that were pure white and gave off a dim ghostly glow. Barbed tentacles extended across its body like scattered hairs, and it had a maw of sharpened teeth.

On the opposite page was text:

Tar, The Imprisoner

Tar lives deep in the Lake, only emerging at a hidden grove deep in the swamps to the east. He is a massive sea serpent, as the image shows, and is largely hostile to contact, though he is capable of intelligent speech. He is Awakened and appears to be older than nearly the entirety of the Forest. Species is unknown. Communicates via telepathy. The water in his vicinity shifts through a rainbow of colors, blinding those who gaze upon it if they are not careful. To hunt, he releases a shrill screech paired with forcing the colors he reflects on his scales to shift even faster, overwhelming his prey and anything else nearby in sensory overload. He seems to care not for hunting regular beasts and Awakened ones, treating them the same: as prey waiting to be consumed.

As for his Awakening, he can wrap people in chains of living, rainbow water. Once they are covered, they vanish. There is no end to how many chains he can create, or if there is it has never been encountered.

I do not know where they go. I only know that their bones float up from the Lake, and they are never heard from again…

Approach with caution.

Do Not Look In His Eyes.

Iago stared down at the page, hardly comprehending. Grandfather Cornelius took pity on him.

“There are beings in this Forest older than all of us, Iago.” He began, his voice low and somber. “We have avoided contact with them for as long as we have lived in this land. They are of nature; representations of primal forces thought lost to time. Beasts in name only; most seem to have transcended the term. Few in the Forest know about them. Not even all the Elders know.”

“What are they called?” He fought to keep his voice from shaking.

“Use whatever term you wish. Demigods, angels, devils, genus loci. All are applicable. We call them ‘Old Ones.’” Cornelius leaned forward, until his twin heads were hardly a foot from Iago’s face, void-black eyes locked on his.

“Whatever you decide, young Iago, remember this: We may name ourselves Elders, but we are children compared to the true forces of this Forest. Do not believe a Beast who claims to understand the Forest completely, or who names it as their owned domain. We are but fleas resting on the back of something greater than ourselves, perhaps greater than this entire world.”

Cornelius leaned back, and Iago let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He licked his lips nervously, and closed the book with trembling hands.

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Because, young Iago, the Forest is in danger. Our Chief wishes for you to travel to some of these Old Ones and attempt to convince them to fight on our behalf, or if nothing else, on the behalf of the Forest.”

Iago rocked back as if stricken, and massaged his temples.

“And you agree with this?“

Grandfather Cornelius was silent for a moment.

“I believe there is a fine line between desperation and suicide. We live our lives treading this line as carefully as possible, but the muddiness of war has obscured it beyond recognition. We are mice in a forest of fog, Iago, and I worry we won’t see the hawk until it is too late.”

Cornelius sighed heavily, and leaned back, his second head twitching briefly.

“But the mice who never exit their burrows will starve, and our hunger pains have already begun. In any situation other than the reality we live in; I would have denied Dannious immediately.”

Iago took a deep breath, and opened the book back up, flipping through the pages.

Rappiccini, The Orphan

Found in the southern jungles, approach with caution…

Do Not Touch.

Delilah, The Temporal Fox

Found in the northern section of the Forest between twin hills of shattered rock…

Do Not Play.

Liemmos, Eternal Slumber

Do Not Awake.

Iago continued flipping through, astounded at what he read, growing more horrified by the page.

Do not refer to in the first person.

Refuse all gifts.

Avoid being killed by their hand.

“Who wrote this?” Iago couldn’t imagine anyone compiling so much information on so many obscenely dangerous beings and living to tell the tale.

“Dannious.”

Iago looked up sharply, “How? How did he-“

“Survive? I don’t know.” Cornelius looked around as if worried they were being overheard and leaned in close once more.

“It is not my place to tell you our Chief’s secrets, Iago, but I tell you this as a friend: There is more to Dannious than meets the eye. How did he compile this information, you ask? My answer is simple: I do not know. He came to be one day with this book, freshly written, and asked me what I thought. My reaction was much the same to your own, and when I asked how he did it, all he did was laugh. I consider myself knowledgeable of the Forest, Iago, and I have known our chief a long time. Even so, in many ways he remains an enigma. I only show you this now because one of the facts I am certain of in regard to Dannious is that he will do anything to preserve the Forest, and everything he does is in its best interests.”

Iago flipped to the last entry:

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓, The Ancestor Tree

The Ancestor Tree-▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ the center of the forest, ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

Do Not C-▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

The page of The Ancestor Tree was covered in methodical, solid bars of ink, blocking out the vast majority of the information. He carefully shut the book and put it back on the desk.

“Grandfather,” he began, “I trust you. What do you think I should do?”

Cornelius looked back at him with fatherly sympathy.

“I don’t know, Iago. This is a decision only you can make. I’m sorry.” He let out a bitter laugh. “I can’t remember the last time I said, ‘I don’t know’ so many times in one sitting.”

Iago put his head in his hands and searched his mind for answers, but all he found were questions.

Should he do it? He was more than a little unnerved at what Cornelius told him. It was written by Dannious? Why was the Ancestor Tree’s passage crossed out? From what he read, there was a very real chance he’d die in the process of this mission. It was probably more likely that he would die than not, if everything in the book was true

But did that matter? He was willing to put his life on the line for the Beasts before, was this any different?

It was, he realized, and it was an uncomfortable realization. If he was being truly honest with himself, dying at the hands of poachers was never something he was afraid of. He was a human fighting humans, on the side of the Beasts. What better way was there to show he was committed than to die for the cause? He’d suffer an honorable death, one of a soldier.

Or was it one of a martyr?

Joa’s words came back to him. Why did he do this? Was it because he cared? Or was it because he sought the validation and acceptance of the Beasts? If he died on the front lines, he would be mourned. If he died at the whim of one of these Old Ones, would any of the Beasts care?

The pit in Iago’s stomach grew as he thought of his excommunication, and how the Elders turned their backs on him.

He told Joa that he did what he did because he believed in it, because he, more than anything else, wanted to help and protect the Beasts.

If that were true, would he be hesitating right now?

Iago raised his head from his hands, and looked back to Grandfather Cornelius

“I’ll do it,” he said.

The crow looked back at him with melancholy, but nodded, nonetheless.

“I thought you would say that. Here-“ he slid across a single sheet of paper. “Dannious prepared it in case you agreed. These are the Old Ones he believes have greatest odds of cooperation.” Iago looked over the list as he stood, and Cornelius did the same opposite him.

“Iago,”

“Yes, Grandfather?”

“Don’t die.”

As Iago read the list, he found the idea of survival unlikely.

“I won’t. Promise.” he lied.