Special Chapter: Dance of the Puppet (Alternate Encounter)

Wild stood on the path, his frail legs trembling from the long journey, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and curiosity. The figure in the black cloak approached, her steps slow but deliberate, the air around her quivering with mana. When she halted a few paces away, the cloak parted, and Wild saw her—a puppet, but not the one who would later shape his fate. This was another, crafted for this moment, for a dance that wouldn't weave into his story.

Her body was pieced together, yet not crudely like the puppet from the cave. Metal gleamed like polished silver, curving in soft lines that mimicked feminine contours. Dark, smooth wood wrapped her waist and hips like a corset, while flesh—living yet artificial—cloaked her arms and neck, soft and faintly warm to the eye. Her goggles sat low, revealing eyes—not hollow, but deep, dark violet, sparkling with mana that beckoned like stars. Her wooden mouth was carved into a slight smile, not mocking but alluring, hinting at something forbidden.

The cloak slipped from her shoulders, baring more—metal melded into wood where ribs might be, accentuating the curve of her chest, and the fabric clinging to her was thin, nearly translucent, hugging her like a second skin. She stepped closer, her movements fluid as a dance, and the mana flowing from her enveloped Wild, warm and heavy like breath. "You've come," she said, her voice low and husky, yet smooth as silk brushing skin.

Wild didn't have time to retreat—her hand, metallic yet with soft fingers, touched his chest, sliding slowly downward. He trembled, his shirt lifting under her touch to expose pale skin, and she leaned in, her face so near he felt the heat of her mana. "Weak," she whispered, her lips grazing his ear, her fingers tracing his thin ribs, "but intriguing." Her other hand rested on his shoulder, squeezing—not painfully, but with a gentle pressure that quickened his pulse.

She stepped back, her cloak falling entirely, and Wild saw her fully—metal glinting at her hips, wood encasing long legs, the fabric clinging to her damp with mana, outlining every curve. She raised a hand, and mana swirled around her, forming thin threads that coiled about her waist like jewelry. "Want to know me?" she asked, her voice deepening, her eyes behind the goggles flashing an invitation.

Wild couldn't speak—his throat tightened, not from fear but from the heat rising within him. She drew closer still, her chest brushing his through the thin fabric, and she leaned in, her hair—not hair, but fine strands of mana—falling across his face, soft and cool. Her fingers glided along his neck, down to his collarbone, and she laughed—softly, melodically, with a hint of danger. "You're trembling," she said, her lips so close he felt their warmth, "but you don't run. Brave."

She didn't strike him, didn't knock him down like the puppet of his tale. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him, her body pressing against his, metal and flesh blending in strange harmony, and the mana flowing from her seeped into him, igniting his faint sparks. "I could teach you," she whispered, her fingers slipping under his shirt, brushing his skin, "something beyond magic." Her breath-mana grazed his lips, and he closed his eyes, lost in a moment that would never join his path.

She pulled away as abruptly as she'd come, her smile widening as the mana dissipated, leaving him standing, shivering and ablaze. "Perhaps another time," she said, winking, and vanished into the air like a mirage, leaving behind only the echo of her laughter and the lingering warmth of her touch.