Chapter 5: “The First Encounter”

The mist was thicker than usual that morning.

Ivy stepped past the crooked fence that separated her village from the twisted tree line. The forest loomed, ancient and expectant, but she no longer trembled at its shadows. Her hands, calloused from years of grinding roots and chopping herbs, brushed against the leather pouch at her waist. Inside were her tools—scissors, linen wraps, and vials. But also tucked into the side pocket, secret and shameful, was one of the forest's gifts.

A silverleaf.

It was a plant thought extinct by her people, said to cause vivid dreams and show glimpses of the future. And it had been placed on her doorstep two nights ago. Not left by wind or bird or child—but deliberately, tenderly. Like a token.

Like a courtship.

Ivy said nothing to the villagers. Let them whisper. Let them clutch their rosaries and mutter prayers at her back. They'd been doing it ever since her sister vanished into this same forest years ago.

The same sister whose screams she sometimes still heard in the dead of night.

She walked deeper now, weaving through moss-laced trunks and roots thick as serpents. The deeper she went, the quieter the air became. Even the birds hushed here. And then, she felt it.

That gaze.

She stopped, muscles tensing. Slowly, carefully, she turned her head. No one.

But she knew he was there.

Not human. Never human. She'd never even seen him, and yet she knew this with the certainty of bone-deep instinct. Humans didn't move like that—silent as smoke, heavy as judgment. She reached into her pouch, fingering the silverleaf for courage.

A breeze stirred. The trees groaned.

And there—between the branches ahead—a shimmer. Like heat warping the air. Ivy took a step forward. Then another. The shimmer darted away.

Was that… a test?

She followed.

She didn't question why. That was the most dangerous part of all this—the fact that, at some point, her fear had stopped warning her. It had become curiosity. Fascination.

Maybe even longing.

A hollow in the earth opened ahead, framed by gnarled roots and thick moss. It looked like a wound in the ground, or maybe a mouth—ready to swallow her whole. Something glinted within.

She crouched, reaching carefully—and found a new offering: a small wooden carving. A woman's face. Her face.

Ivy gasped.

The wood was old. The detail was impossible. Even the slight scar beneath her chin had been etched with care. It wasn't just a gift. It was proof.

He'd been watching her.

She didn't know whether to run or press the carving to her chest. Instead, she did something absurd. Something unforgivable.

She whispered, "Thank you."

And behind her, something stepped into view.

Her breath caught. She didn't turn. Not yet. The presence was heavier this time—close. Closer than it had ever dared come before. She could feel it in her bones. Her instincts screamed, Run. Scream. Pray.

But something else inside her—a quieter voice, one far more dangerous—said, Stay. Listen.

She straightened and turned.

Nothing.

Except… there. A figure, distant. Still. At the edge of a thicket. Cloaked in darkness. Antlers rose from its head, woven with moss and bones and feathers. Its eyes were the only light in the forest—two glinting shards of moonlight, locked onto her.

Ivy didn't breathe.

He—it—didn't move.

But he was waiting. Watching. Testing her again.

And God help her, she stepped toward him.

The wind kicked up. Trees howled. And in a blink, the figure was gone—no footsteps, no sound, no trace.

She stood there, trembling, heart pounding in her ears.

What am I doing?

When she returned to the village, she didn't speak of it. Not to her neighbors. Not to the priest. Not even to the curious children who lingered by her garden. She stayed quiet. Closed.

But she kept the carving.

And that night, she slept with it under her pillow.

[POV Switch—The Forest Demon]

She smelled like crushed mint and wet earth.

He had followed her again today. Closer this time. She had seen him—really seen him. And she hadn't screamed.

That was new.

The other villagers had screamed. They always screamed. And bled. And ran.

But she… no. She walked into his woods like she belonged. Like the forest would yield for her. And damn him, it had.

She was delicate in body, yes, but not in spirit. There was steel beneath her gentleness. That fascinated him. She spoke to flowers, kissed leaves, and hummed lullabies to dying roots. But when he offered her trinkets of bone, she took them.

Not with fear. With grace.

He couldn't understand it. Not yet.

Why her soul glowed so painfully bright. Why his claws ached to hold her. Why her presence burned hotter than the fires of the underworld he had crawled from centuries ago.

He carved her face. He watched her sleep.

And now… she knew he was real.

She had seen the shadow he allowed her to see. A sliver. A test.

And she didn't run.

He stood now at the edge of her home, unseen among the trees. Watching the candle in her window flicker. Watching her silhouette pass behind the curtains.

She had thanked him.

Her voice still rang through him. Her gratitude was like poison in his gut.

She shouldn't thank him. He was not good. He was not kind. He had killed a man this morning. Crushed his bones like twigs and fed on his fear.

All for one reason:

The man had spoken ill of her.

The demon's eyes glowed, sharp and cold. He pressed a hand to his chest, claws tapping his ribcage where his heart should be.

There was no heart.

And yet, she had touched something deep in him—something ancient, something twisted, something starting to uncoil.

He could not allow that.

But he would see her again.

Soon.

[Back to Ivy's POV]

That night, Ivy woke with a start.

The candle had burned out. The moonlight spilled across the floor in crooked lines. And at the edge of her windowsill, delicately placed, was a feather.

Not a bird's feather.

It was midnight-black and long, with iridescent tips that shimmered in unnatural hues. It pulsed faintly in the dark.

Ivy stood and walked to the window. Her breath fogged the glass.

No one outside.

But she whispered, "You were here, weren't you?"

No answer.

Just the wind, like a soft laugh.

She clutched the feather and smiled, afraid of how warm her chest felt.

Afraid of how much she wanted him to come back.