Chapter 77: The Fairy Wilderness

Joan clenched his teeth and said nothing, summoning all his strength to break free from the grip of the wicked faerie, but his foot slipped and he fell backward onto the wet grass. The Soul-Thief seized the moment, pressing Joan down, its claws locking around his wrists as it bared its razor-sharp teeth, aiming for his throat. Joan struggled desperately, twisting away so the lethal bite missed his neck, but his shoulder was caught in the creature's jaws.

A searing pain shot through his shoulder, awakening a ferocity buried deep in his blood. Imitating the faerie, Joan used his own teeth as a weapon, sinking them into its pointed ear and wrenching with all his might, nearly tearing the ear off. Warm, metallic blood filled his mouth. The Soul-Thief’s face contorted in agony, but it stubbornly refused to let go. The two tumbled and fought, blood spattering the grass.

Once more, the Soul-Thief pinned Joan beneath it, beating its wings furiously as it dragged him upward, intending to fly high and release him suddenly, smashing the stubborn youth to death.

Feeling himself lifted off the ground, Joan realized the faerie meant him harm. His only weapon was his teeth, and terror mixed with rage lent him the last of his strength. With a crunch, he bit clean through the Soul-Thief’s left ear, severing it at the root.

The sharp, unexpected pain wrenched a scream from the Soul-Thief. Joan seized the opportunity, freeing his right hand and stabbing wildly with his knife. The sharp blade pierced the membrane beneath the faerie’s arm, slashing a long gash. Blood poured out, and the torn wing, now leaking air, could no longer support their weight. The Soul-Thief and Joan plummeted, bouncing off a branch before tumbling into the hollow of Yggdrasil.

The tree hollow was like a dark abyss, where terrifying magic surged in from all sides, crushing the two intruders. Their bodies fell ever deeper, the pressure from the vortex growing ever stronger. The Soul-Thief, panic rising, realized it was about to be crushed by this magical maelstrom. It frantically shook Joan off and summoned all its mythic power to resist the intensifying force.

Joan’s plight was no better. The mounting pressure on his body made him feel as if he would cough up blood; his consciousness began to blur. Suddenly, warmth surged from his palm. The "Tear of the Gods" seemed to sense its master’s peril, releasing mysterious energy to shield Joan from the magical onslaught.

……

In this world, the sky was lit by the afterglow of sunset, yet the sun would never truly rise or set, always suspended in the dim heavens, as if within arm’s reach.

Here, the air carried not the clamor of wind, but the music of nature—a melody that invited reverie, while the light of this faerie realm reflected both life and death, far from the mundane world.

This mysterious world lay parallel to the material plane where mortals dwelled. Every mountain and river of the mortal world found its distorted reflection here, as if glimpsed through an uneven mirror. For instance, corresponding to the Algonquin valley where Powhatan village sat was a tranquil valley—yet here there were no villages, no houses, no human inhabitants, and no marauding ogres to wreak havoc.

Only things that could survive the endless changes of ages might find their counterparts in this parallel "otherworldly paradise." Man-made structures and living creatures were too fragile to withstand the passage of time, rarely leaving their mark on this strange dimension. Yet, exceptions always existed. Deep in the secluded valley, where the ashes forest of Powhatan village would lie, an ancient tree grew in silent solitude. Its wrinkled bark was like the face of an old man, existing in both worlds, witness to countless ages.

Suddenly, magical radiance welled up from a cavity in the trunk. The ancient tree seemed to belch, expelling a humanoid shape from the portal linking the material world.

"Damn it all!" The Soul-Thief, Chaniquay, sprawled on the grass beneath the hollow, cursing and shaking his spinning head. He propped himself up with both hands, struggling to rise.

"You little brat, I’ll make you pay for this!"

He gingerly touched his mangled ear, unleashing another string of curses. Glancing around with vicious eyes, he searched for the young mage, but saw no one else in the empty surroundings.

Scratching his ear stump, Chaniquay gazed at the sky, gradually realizing something was amiss. The landscape resembled Powhatan village, but subtle incongruities made it strange. A human might not notice, but Chaniquay was a faerie. Though he was born in the material world, his ancestors hailed from the "Faerie Wilds"—a plane parallel to the material world, homeland of the fae.

He breathed in the unnaturally fresh air, the musical wind filling his ears, and the ancestral memories imprinted in his blood stirred to life.

"Yes, this must be the ‘Faerie Wilds,’ the birthplace of our kind!" he muttered, eyes bright with excitement.

Not that Chaniquay felt any real nostalgia—he didn’t believe these ancestral lands were more suitable than the material world. His excitement stemmed from having heard "Serpent-Hand" Shaman speak often of the "Conquest Cult’s" greatest mission: to find a portal to the Faerie Wilds. Most of the cult’s leaders, including Shaman, were "Withered"—fallen druids. Should they break into the endless jungles and grasslands of the Faerie Wilds, it would be like mice falling into a granary: a paradise for their ambitions.

He’d also heard Shaman say that the mysterious idol worshipped by the cult harbored a deep-seated hatred for the Faerie Wilds, dreaming for centuries of destroying this otherworldly paradise. If that great being fulfilled its wish, it could transcend its current state and ascend as an immortal god. Clearly, any follower who helped their master achieve this apotheosis would be richly rewarded.

"Heh heh, what incredible luck!" the Soul-Thief licked his lips in excitement, turning toward Yggdrasil, intent on diving back into the hollow to return and report this monumental discovery to Shaman.

Yet after only a few steps, he saw magical light welling from the tree hollow—a sign that something, or someone, was about to emerge. He quickly halted, ducked behind a bush, and watched the hollow with wary eyes.