Honoring her promise to Acacia, Anastacia didn’t speak a word of what had transpired in the memory, aside from sharing her astonishment of how lush and vibrant the world had been in its early ages. The spriggan themself mostly returned to the usual mischievous and cheeky self, which the necromancer now knew to be at least partly a front to hide their worries and divinely corrupted state. Below the mysterious and almost threatening tone of the cat, she could now hear a deep concern that had been there all along but was entirely undetectable for anyone who hadn’t heard Acacia speak their true thoughts. There was now also a clear difference between Acacia and every other spriggan in the grove. A not-so-subtle hint of energy coming from somewhere other than what the spirits called the balance. Those who were used to Acacia’s presence must have grown blind to its gradual growth over the millennia, but to someone who had only known more than one spriggan for a couple of days, it was easy to point out the tainted one among them.

Though the spell her body had hijacked had left her weary, Anastacia quickly regained her energy by eating some of the various fruits and vegetables brought to her by the lesser spirits she had befriended, and a refreshing wash with the crystal-clear water flowing around the rock. The remainder of the day she spent in the company of the spirits who returned from the duties that had separated them from their new friend, as well as conversing with some of the other spirits who were fairly indifferent to her presence in the grove. As her company once more returned to their unending work, she returned to the rock once more to rest her feet.

“I think I’m ready.” Xamiliere suddenly said it a way that sounded determined but was clearly a temporary culmination of a considerable amount of mental preparation.

“Ready? Do you mean for the grafting thing?” Anastacia asked surprisedly and immediately got back on her feet.

“No amount of wallowing in the risks of it will make them any lesser, nor will any new options appear by waiting around. Nothing to do but to do it… I guess.” The spriggan sighed, rapidly losing the determination she had gathered.

Anastacia saw the growing hesitation on her eyes and grasped the spirit’s hand. “Remember what I said: no matter what happens, we’re leaving here together.” She said and grinned.

“It’s not you I doubt. It’s just that I’d rather go along willingly, but can’t promise that.” Xamiliere sighed and got up from the rock.

Without a word more, they slowly made their way to Ulmus, hand in hand and the necromancer occasionally pulling the spriggan along when she slowed down out of hesitation. As promised, Ulmus was nothing but delighted to aid with the process, though they didn’t bother hiding the fact that it was to sate their own curiosity much more than to actually provide help – but with the options as limited as they were, Xamiliere had no choice but to trust the elk.

Ulmus guided them around the tree along winding paths they used to slowly move around, as they were unwilling to climb and hop around the roots like the other spirits. To a degree it seemed like the tree itself had opened such a path just for Ulmus, as the massive roots rose high above the ground or dug into it just enough for the spirit to move past them without having to more than slightly lower their head or a high step over one. Their destination was a shallow pond of water directly by the side of the great tree between two roots which slightly further apart from one another than in other places around the tree. About five meters across and only deep enough to make sure some water would end up in most shoes, the pond appeared fairly unassuming and had nothing interesting about it besides a small ‘island’ by the far edge, close enough to the tree for one to stand on it and touch the rough bark on the base of its trunk.

“Here we are. Housepl- Xamiliere, please stand on the patch of land in the middle there.” Ulmus instructed and dipped their front hooves into the crystal-clear water.

“This is a bit shi- unassuming for a ritual location, is it not?” Anastacia commented while splashing the shallow water with her foot.

“Unassuming? I must disagree. You stand in the heart of The Mother Grove, one of the only remaining seats of power in this world. Each blade of grass and bit of bark here dwarfs whatever sanctity the grand temples of mortals have struggled to amass.” Ulmus explained, sounding more delighted to be allowed to boast than insulted by the belittling remark.

Xamiliere stepped across the water onto the small mound and instinctively placed her hand on the tree. She may have disagreed with everything the grove and its inhabitants stood for, but was far from blind to the obscene amount of power the tree held and felt the draw to it just like every other spriggan.

“Now, punch it.” Ulmus said.

Xamiliere turned back around. “Excuse me?”

“Punch the tree. It’s hardly a complicated task.” The elk chuckled. “It is as the name implies, you must fuse yourself to it, and the simplest way is to hit it. That will break the bark and your arm enough for the two to become one – and that’s all there really is to it. Once your spirit is taken in by the grove, we shall see what it spits back out.”

Xamiliere glanced at the tree by her and winced. Ulmus’ brief explanation failed to mention the part where her spirit would be taken apart and everything deemed unneeded or tainted would be burned off, which was unlikely to be a good experience, even without the risk of losing oneself and emerging as someone entirely unrecognizable.

Seeing her friend hesitate, Anastacia stepped into the water with the idea of offering to hold her hand through the process, but was stopped by Ulmus lowering one of their antlers to block the path.

“I wouldn’t, for two reasons: for all we know, the process might yank your mortal spirit along and it would no doubt evaporate on the spot, and quite a lot of your skin would be replaced with splinters as the houseplant’s body is exposed to the grove’s power.” They said and lifted their head once Anastacia backed out.

Annoyed that she wasn’t able to be there for her friend when she was so obviously needed, Anastacia repeated her threat, this time making sure everyone nearby heard. “Whatever greater power is behind this place, consider your next actions carefully. You know who I am, and the weight behind my words. As things are, I am aligned with you and your servants, but strip me of my friend and that will change. From my throne all the way to here, all will burn.” This gathered some concerned looks from some of the spirits nearby, but nothing was done or said until Ulmus broke the silence.

“If I may… It is in our interests to heed The White One’s warning; the receiving end of her broken fate is not where we wish to be.” Ulmus added their own thoughts to the statement. “From what I hear, there are those far more deserving of it.”

The gesture was no doubt largely for show on the spriggan’s part, but it did successfully ease Xamiliere’s mind and at least temporarily remove what doubts remained in her head. She glided her hand across the bark of the great tree and decided on a spot before briefly turning around. “See you in a bit, Anna.” She smiled with what little hope she had scraped together.

“I’ll be here.” The necromancer smiled back at her.

After exchanging small nods with Ulmus, Xamiliere pulled back her arm and swiftly jabbed her fist into the tree. Both the bark and her arm snapped and shattered on impact, but the stump left of Xamiliere’s fist managed to bury itself a couple of centimeters into the radiantly green wood under the great tree’s bark. In a blink of an eye, the green energy in her body flashed blindingly bright and the wood immediately gave out under whatever immense power poured into it, sending shrapnel in every direction. Some smaller pieces harmlessly bounced off both onlookers, but being any closer would have likely been a bad idea, as Ulmus had predicted. magical sparks sprayed out of the small gash Xamiliere had managed to make until it rapidly healed and grew shut, leaving the whole site in silence as the last wisps of energy left the larger pieces of what remained of the spriggan’s annihilated husk.

Anastacia bit her lip and tried not to cry as the dust settled. She had more or less gathered what would happen and knew that it wasn’t that big of a deal to the spirits, but seeing one’s friend just cease to be in front of you wasn’t an easy thing to just shrug off.

“Calm your heart, necromancer. You have a part to play in this yet.” Ulmus suddenly said.

“What?” The necromancer sniffled.

“It is your duty to plant something on the mound there, for her spirit to take over once more. Technically even a piece of her old body would do the job, but you are presented with a choice here.” The spriggan explained while keeping a keen eye on the situation, studying it.

“Yes!” Anastacia exclaimed, excited to be able to help in some way. “Wait… Does this affect anything? Like if I choose poorly, will it ruin something?”

Ulmus paused for a moment to think. “Traditionally speaking, and by that, I mean once in the beginning of our existence, we sprouted as plants fitting for our purposes and thus for our personalities and names. So if we were to observe that, you would have to find what the houseplant initially grew as – but considering she has forgone all three of those… who cares? You are no doubt more qualified to pick something than anyone else, which is why I decided to leave this up to you… and mostly because I thought it would be interesting. Things such as size, shape and consistency are largely under our control, so you won’t affect that.”

The necromancer nodded and immediately darted away. Though she had spent the past few days in a grove literally consisting of every plant ever, giving her access to a wide selection of beautiful, rare, valuable and even extinct trees to pick from, the necromancer’s mind was obsessed with one plant and one plant alone. One that had caused her nothing but disappointment, but one she was also unwilling to let go of until she understood it fully. She rushed among the roots all the way back to their camping rock to fetch the branch from the coffee plant she had already eaten all the cherries from. Out of breath, she returned to the pond with the stick after sprinting as fast as she physically could and presented it to Ulmus.

“Yeah, sure, that will do. Matara is unconventional as far as choices go, which is about what I expected out of you. Most would gravitate towards the mighty trees that tower over their surroundings and withstand the harshest of storms, but this glorified shrub is certainly preferable over what she started out as.” Ulmus said, barely taking their eyes off the grand tree despite seeming nothing happening at the time.

“I always thought she was like a willow or something, or I guess it depends on the limb, considering we’ve just been adding stuff whenever she gets injured…” Anastacia wondered and leaned against the elk to catch her breath.

“That husk of hers is made up of a mess of things, that much is correct, but the core within her remains the same, all the way from the time she first sprouted – well, until now, I should say. Depending on what happens, this might be the moment she truly becomes Xamiliere.” Ulmus continued. “There is a kind of a tree by the name of ficta, now extinct in the outside world and rare even here because of the way it grows. A ficta will remain as a sapling for years upon years, until its roots find a suitable seed or another sapling. It will then consume its new neighbor and grow as it, down to the finest detail. If one happens to find an apple tree seed, it will grow as an apple tree and provide a harvest of something that looks like apples. However, it will gradually poison the ground beneath it and much of the wildlife trying to eat what it offers. Eventually you’ll end up with a clearing with a single ominous apple tree in the middle, as no other plant is able to take root in the poisoned ground around it – hence why they were fairly easy to single out by mortals who eventually got rid of them because they thought them cursed.

“One of these trees sprouted as a spriggan and is now known as Xamiliere. Now, being a nature spirit that poisons the ground is… let us say, a complete and utter disaster. So, she was very quickly ‘encouraged’ to replace majority of her form with grafted pieces of other trees, even before all this debacle of being a person.”

“I don’t think she wanted me to know that…” The necromancer muttered, wondering if she should have interrupted the story at some point, but her curiosity gotten the better of her once more.

“I truly do not care.” The elk said coldly. “But I think it is fitting for you to know. After all, no matter what happens, you’re fulfilling a dream of hers. Once she takes over that branch of yours, she’ll no longer be a ficta. She will grow as a matara and that will be the full story.”

Though she wasn’t exactly sure if she was actually doing Xamiliere a favor, and definitely not considering how it was probably a bit messed up that she was turning one of her friends into a coffee plant out of all things, Anastacia walked across the pond and jabbed the branch into the small mound of soil. Expecting something to happen immediately, she let go of it but was disappointed when the stick remained still. Instead of having a modicum of patience, she picked the branch back up and stabbed it into the ground again to see if it would take root then. This happened two more times before Ulmus told her to leave the poor stick alone. Just as the necromancer was about to go against the spriggan’s word and try again out of fear of having not done a good enough job, the water in the pond began to glow faintly green and form a thin layer of mist that swirled around both the mound and the necromancer until it formed into the familiar wisps of green energy that began to take shape around the branch. Soon, two bright orbs appeared in the air above it. Though they lacked a body, one could immediately tell that behind them was a sentient being, gazing at its surroundings through them. As suddenly as they had appeared, the orbs faded and the freely flowing energy sank into the ground around the branch.

After only a brief moment of stillness, new branches began growing from the base of the original one and weaving around one another in a way Anastacia had seen before when Sorbus had created their first imitation of a human body. Immediate relief washed over the necromancer as she could see a faint outline of the familiar shape she had grown attached to. However, the joy was left short as a ghastly scream of agony filled the air as soon as the first parts of the spriggan’s head began to take shape. The harrowing screech of a dying creature that didn’t need to draw breath continued for over a minute as Anastacia tried to find answers from the seemingly unbothered Ulmus.

“Well, I have some good news.” The elk finally said as the screaming didn’t seem to stop. “She has retained her form and is curse free as far as I can tell. It’s a good start, but there’s no telling what came of her mind or memories.”

“Why is she screaming?!” Anastacia worried.

“Being exploded and having her spirit torn open to take out bits and pieces does that to you – I assume.” Ulmus guessed unhelpfully. “But it is truly remarkable that this is now the form she is supposed to have. I had my doubts of such a thing being possible, but here we are.”

Finally, the screaming came to a halt once Xamiliere’s body had fully reformed mostly the same as she had been, though with some minor changes that were virtually unnoticeable to anyone who wasn’t Anastacia. Her wooden body collapsed limply into the water, though the green energy still brightly swirled within her, giving some ease to the worried necromancer, who immediately dove in to be by her friend.

Ulmus must have noticed the necromancer’s worry as they spoke without hearing the question first. “Her body is complete, so it’s time for the spirit to mend…” They said but were no longer focusing on Xamiliere, instead staring much higher up into the top branches of the great tree. “I see… So there was a second purpose to the curse.”

“What?” Anastacia asked, having only partially heard the muttering.

“Nothing you should worry about.” The elk said but inched closer to the necromancer to whisper. “You should vacate the area, ideally the whole grove if you can – and take her with you.”

Confused by the sudden suggestion, Anastacia tried to lift the limp spriggan but could only barely move her. “Why do we need to leave?” She whispered back.

Ulmus kept staring up. “Something is trying to get in here by force, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it happened after the very moment we did this. It won’t take long for others to come to the same conclusion, and you want to be far away from here when they do, no matter what it is that’s coming.”

“I… I can’t lift her!” The necromancer said, only now noticing the dozens of glowing pairs of eyes in the distance, no doubt lured there by the screaming. “If it’s our fault, I’ll fight with you!”

Though the sky remained silent, even Anastacia was beginning to feel a sudden shift in the atmosphere of the grove. A feeling of electricity in the air, tension, almost like an incoming storm. Complete stillness had taken over the forest as every spriggan had stopped what they were doing and were now focused on something they felt incoming.

“It is no more your fault than it is mine for suggesting this, and whatever it is that is coming, your help isn’t needed. You just don’t want to be here for the aftermath, when the others begin to look for explanations.” Ulmus said, steadily growing more and more visibly unsettled.

Anastacia tried once more to move Xamiliere but couldn’t even get her out of the water. “Well how am I supposed to get us out of here?! I can’t eve-“ She almost panicked before being interrupted by a familiar voice from atop a nearby root.

“I have arrived!” Sorbus declared loudly, still in their new shape.

“Just the fool we needed!” Ulmus laughed. “Take these two somewhere that isn’t here, now.”

“Ulmus! Do you know what a bed is? We should definitely get you one, so you don’t have to lay on a rock all day. Pillows too, like ten of them!” Sorbus suggested, ignoring the request.

“Now, Sorbus!” Ulmus had to repeat.

“Fine, fine, fine…” The fox muttered disappointedly, hoisted Xamiliere onto their shoulder and helped Anastacia back on her feet. “But promise me you’ll think about the bed.”

Understanding the rush they appeared to be in, Sorbus caused no further hangups before they made it into the forest surrounding the great tree and began to look for a suitable spot to escape the grove from.

The timing of Sorbus’ arrival was suspicious at the very least, and out of direct view, Anastacia could spare the thought to ask. “Why are you here?”

“Acacia very rudely tore me out of a bath, said I was needed for something – which was apparently this?” Sorbus recounted.

“Why were you in a bath...” The necromancer puzzled. “It was summer and there was a lake right there… and you’re a tree.”

“Apparently you can soak most spriggans in warm water and we’ll leak enough stuff into it to give it a relaxing effect. The tub we have is awfully small though, so we were trying to figure out if we can even fit in.” Sorbus explained cheerily.

Back at the grove, Acacia had joined Ulmus by the pond as both of them, along with every other spriggan, kept nervously staring at the sky. Those that had been present for the brief incursion the sect had managed to stage were immediately reminded of it, but what was going on was decidedly different. The Violet Sect had gained access to the grove through their own mysterious paths that simply avoided the wards and magics keeping the home of the spriggans secret, but their new guest was actively making their way through the defenses.

“I assume this has to do with the curse?” Acacia asked.

“If I had to guess, locating us was the primary purpose of the curse. Whoever cast it intentionally made it impossible to remove though means available to mortals, and knew Xamiliere would be forced to come here.” Ulmus said almost amused by the way they had finally been found after thousands of years. “But what do the divine want with us, and why now of all times?”

“Let us hope it’s death they are seeking, as we have little more to offer their kind.” The cat laughed.

“Let it never be said that the grove is an unwelcoming host! I have barely wiped my feet and already there is talk of offering me gifts.” A new voice in their midst suddenly spoke, coming from a small girl sitting atop the very same root Sorbus had just climbed. Vilja, the goddess of unwanted and unneeded things announced her presence. Wearing a freshly sewn set of long, loose robes that seemed to use a piece of night sky as their material, she twirled the worn out and awkwardly long pipe she carried with her and addressed the spriggans without much concern. “I hate to come visiting without gifts, but not much others would want falls within my domain.”

All nearby spriggans immediately assumed positions suitable for attacking the unwelcome guest, as Acacia remained the closest one to her. “You are terribly lost, little godling. As I said, we have nothing but death to offer for you, but we do offer it gladly.” The cat threatened her.

“No, I actually came looking for you specifically, hunter of gods. This is very much where I aimed to be.” Vilja nonchalantly said and puffed some smoke towards the spriggan. “I’ve put a fair amount of work into finding this place just to make you an offer. Cursing Xamiliere wasn’t fun at all, and she even decided to be very stubborn about coming here…”

“I’ll gladly tear your throat open, if that’s what you’re needing, otherwise there isn’t much to negotiate.” Acacia hissed. “I’ve not heard of you, but the odds here are not in your favor.”

“I actually feared that might be the case, so I figured I’d take a friend along to balance the scales of being a dick to one another.” The goddess nodded and snapped her fingers, causing a large crack to form in the air behind her. As the crack spread, more and more light flooded through it until a pair of long claws reached through the gap and tore it open to reveal a decorated porcelain mask and a pair of thick horns growing from under it.

Nirmaata, the once last muse, broke her way through to fractured rift between realms and took a look at the nature spirits she now towered over.

“Allow me to introduce our newest hire, Nirmaata, the god of craftsmen and seamstresses – official title pending.” Vilja announced the muse’s arrival and clapped her hands. “And I, her close friend whom she has sworn to protect, Vilja – a deity of no note or concern.”

“I need not any introduction to this lot of bush and bramble, for our deeds are intertwined from times before times. We once stood equal, a beast of fate and twigs of purpose, and now have fallen as equal as well – for I see but a dwindled shrubbery of poor harvest and arid fields.” Nirmaata stated with an equal amount of reverence and spite in her tone. Standing in the midst of them in her robes of bright red and glimmery gold, the muse caused each and every spriggan, including Acacia and Ulmus, to take a step back and reconsider their position.

“I see now, perhaps there is room for talk.” Ulmus calmly suggested while the cat besides them gritted their teeth, attempting to swallow their pride. “Time has not favored the muses any more than other primordial ones then? Are the great makers of mortal races not up to your high standards or have all masterpieces been made?”

“It is the same curse of perpetuity that befell on our kind that broke so many others from our time. There is naught but decay in immortality. Piece by piece our resolve is chiseled away by the changing times, but it is as you say as well: the mortal world is stagnant in its innovations, ever since the crown of makers that I now don, was granted to my predecessor.” The muse spoke with slightly more warmth in her raspy voice, perhaps having some level of respect for Ulmus as a keeper of knowledge.

The elk let out a dry laugh. “Dare I ask what came of your predecessor? I doubt many deities are too keen on relinquishing their lofty positions.”

Joining with a chuckle of her own, Nirmaata explained. “After millennia of not seeing to his responsibilities, he was deemed unfit for the position, unneeded and unwanted – something one would be wise to avoid as of late.”

“You divine bastards are useless by definition. Hurl rocks in glass houses all you want, but ours is not one and you should leave it while still able.” Acacia hissed at the muse as their thorns grew longer and sharper.

Vilja couldn’t help but to laugh out loud at the threat. She hopped off the root and walked over to Acacia, leaning in perhaps unwisely close to the spriggan. “Thorny words for someone with such a flimsy hold on what’s left of their purpose, hunter of gods.” She whispered, staring down at the spriggan with her vacuous eyes and flashed her teeth with a grin. “Day by day, a salad seems more and more appetizing. We wouldn’t want that to continue, would we?”

Something about the small goddess must have terrified the spriggan in a way even Nirmaata couldn’t, as the cat further retreated instead of attacking what should have been an easy target for the likes of them. “What the fuck are you?!”

Vilja spun around once in place, entangling herself in her endlessly long silver hair and the black-as-night gown. “Someone whom you share a hobby with, and is looking to learn from the master – as well as some additional paws on deck.”