Chapter 21: The One Who Stands Among Trees

The sun was low by the time they arrived.

Grass swayed gently in the wind, brushing against Elaina's boots as she skipped along the edge of the path. The adventurer walked beside her, hands tucked in his cloak, the sky above turning pale with the promise of evening.

"Hey," Elaina said, glancing up at him with a grin, "wouldn't it be nice if the monster this time turned out to be… not a monster?"

He looked over with a curious glance.

She stretched her arms behind her head and gave a little twirl. "Like, maybe just a cranky animal or a tired old tree who wants a nap. Not everything needs stabbing, right?"

He didn't answer, but a soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

The village was small. Homes pressed close together, their windows lit with golden light. There was something old and tired in the air—like the earth here had been sighing for a long time.

An elderly man met them at the well, his cane steady in hand but his voice laced with quiet weight.

"Welcome to our village, Adventurers..but it seems you arrived at a very bad time, you see,..There's a forest, just a short walk from here," the village chief said. "Been there long before my grandfather was born. But we needed more land. So… we cut it. And something in that forest didn't take kindly to it."

He looked down at the ground.

"We sent young men in with axes. They came back with wounds. Some didn't come back at all."

He looked up again, eyes weary but honest.

"May i ask you two Adventurer, fifty gold. That's all we can give. Just… please. End it."

Then, after a pause, his voice softened—barely louder than the wind.

"But if you can… if there's a way… try not to kill it. I don't know what's out there, but some of the old folks say it used to protect us. That maybe… it's just grieving."

His hand trembled slightly on the cane.

"If there's any kindness left in it… reach it. For all our sakes."

The adventurer nodded.

Not because of the gold.

Because pain always had a root.

And sometimes, it wasn't just human.

The forest greeted them with silence.

The moment they crossed the tree line, the world shifted. The wind slowed. Light thinned. The branches above didn't sway—they watched.

Elaina walked lightly, her voice quiet. "I don't like this," she murmured. "Feels like we're trespassing in someone's home."

He didn't reply. His eyes scanned the forest, not with caution—but with a strange… respect.

And then they saw it.

A clearing—scattered tools, torn soil, and footprints that ended in drag marks. Axes snapped in two. Blood dried into the roots.

And at the center, a tree.

No—a being.

A towering treant, bark split from deep old wounds. Its body still, yet its presence vast. It didn't move. Not yet.

But the forest around them felt like it held its breath.

Then… the bark groaned.

And the treant opened its eyes.

They were not angry.

They were sorrowful.

"Leave this place," it said, voice deep and ancient, like stone grinding beneath roots. "You are not welcome here, human."

The adventurer stepped forward—slowly.

"I'm not here to fight," he said. "Just to listen."

The treant watched him in silence.

Then, with a slow, thunderous motion, it raised one branch and pointed to the edge of the clearing—toward the stumps. The broken saplings. The torn remains of a grove.

"They were my children," the treant said softly. "Cut down like weeds. Their voices silenced."

The adventurer looked at the graves of trees. Then at the being who still stood among them.

"I don't know what it's like," he said, "to hear a forest cry. But I've heard other cries. From a girl who lost her everything. From a boy who never came back from war. From a man who regrets the past every time he closes his eyes."

He lowered his head.

"And pain... it speaks the same in all languages."

The treant stared.

The wind shifted.

"You would defend them?" the treant asked, voice like rumbling earth.

"No," the adventurer replied. "I would understand them. And I would understand you."

A long silence passed.

Then, from behind, Elaina stepped forward, holding something in her hands.

A small pouch of seeds.

She offered it.

"We found these near the edge," she said quietly. "Still untouched. Still alive."

The treant looked down at her, then at the seeds.

"They cut your children," Elaina said, "but maybe they forgot that things can grow again."

The treant slowly reached forward—massive, careful fingers brushing the seeds from her palms.

Something shifted.

The forest exhaled.

"I will not harm them again," the treant murmured. "So long as they learn."

The adventurer nodded.

"They will."

And in that moment, something was forgiven—not fully, but enough to let the forest breathe again.

When they returned to the village, they brought no trophies. No wounds. No tales of battle.

Only peace.

And the promise of new growth.

The chief trembled as he bowed. "You spared us?"

The adventurer shook his head.

"No. He spared you."

The old man wept quietly.

That night, Elaina sat beside the adventurer near a quiet stream. Fireflies blinked lazily above the water.

"You didn't draw your weapon once," she said.

He didn't answer.

She leaned against his arm. "I like this version of you," she whispered.

He glanced down at her.

And for once, she didn't tease. She just smiled.

A small, honest smile.

And in the stillness of that evening, beneath stars and leaves and quiet breaths, the adventurer thought—

Some stories didn't need a battle.

Just someone who chose to listen.