Return to the Dryad

### Chapter 17: Return to the Dryad

*Trill's Point of View*

The sky had darkened by the time they reached the forest's edge. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and decay, the tension still lingering from the encounter with the mysterious guardian. Despite the fact that they had narrowly escaped, Trill's senses remained on high alert. Bren walked beside him, her expression unreadable. The events of the last few hours had shaken them both to the core.

They hadn't spoken much since their escape, the weight of their choices still pressing down on them. The figure—whatever it was—hadn't followed them, but the sense of impending danger hadn't subsided. Trill couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched, or worse, that they were already too far gone to turn back.

"Where are we going now?" Bren finally spoke, breaking the silence between them. Her voice was softer than usual, a touch of weariness beneath the usual sharp edge.

"I don't know," Trill replied honestly. "But we can't stay here. We need answers. We need to figure out who or what we're dealing with, and how we're going to survive this."

Bren glanced over at him, her expression guarded, but there was something in her eyes—a flicker of doubt, or perhaps curiosity. "The Dryad," she said. "I know you don't trust her, but we could go back to her. She knows things."

Trill stiffened, instinctively distrustful of the Dryad's cryptic nature and the way she had manipulated them during their first encounter. The Dryad was as much a mystery as the cloaked figure, and there was something unsettling about the way she spoke, as if she knew more than she let on. But despite his reservations, Trill couldn't deny that they needed more information.

"Do you trust her?" Trill asked, his voice cutting through the thick air.

Bren's eyes flickered toward the ground, her jaw tightening. "I don't trust anyone, not really. But the Dryad... she has a way of seeing things. She sees things others can't."

Trill nodded, understanding. "Then we'll go. But don't expect me to trust her any more than I did last time."

They traveled in silence, the forest stretching endlessly before them. The path seemed to change with each step, as though the woods were alive, shifting and reacting to their movements. The deeper they ventured, the more oppressive the air became. The trees towered above them, their gnarled branches twisted into strange shapes, casting eerie shadows across the forest floor. The weight of the atmosphere made it feel as though they were walking through a nightmare.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, they arrived at the clearing where they had first met the Dryad. The trees here were different—more vibrant, alive with energy. The heart of the forest pulsed here, the energy in the air palpable.

And there, standing at the edge of the clearing, was the Dryad. Her ethereal form seemed to blend seamlessly with the forest around her, her green skin glowing softly in the moonlight. She didn't speak immediately, just watched them with that penetrating gaze, as though assessing them both, weighing their very souls.

"You return," she said, her voice as melodious and calm as it had been before. "But you return with uncertainty in your hearts."

Bren's lips tightened, and Trill could feel the unease in the air. She had no reason to trust the Dryad, and yet here they were, seeking answers.

"We need your help," Trill said bluntly, his eyes narrowing. "You know more than you've let on, and I need to know what you've seen."

The Dryad's gaze softened, but her smile was tinged with something unreadable. "You seek answers, but are you prepared for them?" She stepped closer, her movements fluid and graceful, as though she was one with the very forest. "Sometimes, the truth is not what we wish to hear."

"We're not afraid of the truth," Bren interjected, though there was a flicker of doubt in her voice. "We've already seen things that are far worse than anything you could show us."

The Dryad's eyes glimmered with something akin to amusement. "You think you have seen all there is to see? There is more beneath the surface, mercenary. Far more."

Trill's patience was wearing thin. "Enough games. Tell us what we need to know."

The Dryad tilted her head, studying him for a long moment before answering. "You are not the only one with a past buried in shadow," she said cryptically. "There are those who have walked before you, whose footsteps have left marks upon the land. And it is in those marks that the answers lie."

"Is that supposed to mean something?" Bren asked, her voice sharp.

The Dryad's smile faded, her expression turning more serious. "It is time for you to understand, both of you. The path you walk now is not the one you chose. It has been set before you, long before you even arrived in these woods. And the shadows that pursue you are no coincidence."

"Stop speaking in riddles," Trill growled. "Tell me what you know about me. About *my* past."

The Dryad's eyes flashed, and for a moment, Trill could have sworn he saw something—something old and sorrowful, lurking just beneath her surface. "You were not always the man you are now. You were shaped by the same hands that shape the land itself, shaped by forces older than you can comprehend. But there are those who would rather see you forget. The past has been erased, hidden in the shadows."

Trill's heart thudded painfully in his chest. What did she mean? Who had shaped him?

Before he could press further, the Dryad raised her hand, her fingers curling into a loose fist. "There is something here for you. A clue. You were never meant to find it, but the forest has a way of revealing its secrets, even to those who resist."

She stepped aside, and Trill noticed, for the first time, a small patch of overgrown vines that had been hidden in the shadows. The vines were twisted and gnarled, but something about them seemed... familiar.

The Dryad's voice was soft as she spoke again, as though speaking to herself. "Follow it. You will find what you seek."

Trill approached cautiously, unsure of what he would uncover. The vines shifted as if sensing his presence, parting slightly to reveal a small object buried in the earth. It was a piece of wood, weathered and worn, yet unmistakably familiar.

He knelt down and picked it up carefully. It was a small wooden medallion—his medallion. The one he had worn around his neck for as long as he could remember, the one that had always been his only connection to the past.

Bren stepped up beside him, her expression tense as she eyed the medallion. "Is that... yours?"

Trill didn't answer immediately. His heart raced in his chest as he held the medallion in his hand, the weight of it sending a ripple of memory through him. He could feel it deep within him, the connection to a time he had long since forgotten.

"This is it," he said softly. "This is the clue I've been searching for."

The Dryad nodded, her gaze unreadable. "The forest has its ways of guiding those who are lost. You may not understand the significance of this now, but it is the key to unlocking the truth of who you were."

Trill stood up slowly, the weight of the medallion heavy in his palm. "And what now? You've given me a piece of my past, but it's still just a piece. What do I do with it?"

The Dryad's gaze softened, her expression almost sad. "That, mercenary, is for you to decide."

Trill felt a shiver run down his spine as he stared at the medallion, its worn surface catching the dim light of the clearing. He didn't have all the answers, not yet, but he could feel the pull of something greater—something dark and powerful—that had shaped him, that had shaped his very existence.

And now, with the past clawing at him, with the truth just within reach, he had no choice but to keep moving forward.

No matter the cost.

**To be continued...**