Season 1. Chapter 80: Nico form

Chapter : Cinders in the Green Maze

The forest was thick with smoke—thin wisps that clung low to the ground like fog made from ash and regret. A bird somewhere high above screeched once, then went silent. The sky was a dim slate of gray, and the sun, obscured by the canopy and smoke, had become a pale coin bleeding orange behind the leaves.

Oliver Woods pressed his palm to the smooth white mask that covered his face—stylized like bone, yet carved with graceful runes only those attuned to earth could read. It was smudged now, marked with soot.

He exhaled, pulled down his deep green hood, and let his brown hair spill loose around his shoulders. Sweat streaked down the sides of his face. "We've been walking for almost twenty minutes since the last Land Beast sighting," he said calmly, voice clipped but not panicked. "This direction should've taken us west."

But they weren't going west anymore.

Not since Nico lit half the underbrush ablaze.

"Hey, I didn't mean to cook the entire forest!" Nico grunted from behind, dragging his clawed hands across his forehead. His red furred ears twitched, his long tail dragging a trail through the soot as he tried to cool himself off. "I sneezed. Fire's part of the sneeze now. I didn't invent it."

"You sneezed and caused a bushfire," came the slow, cold voice of Zack Erebus, who trailed behind them with his arms folded, the ends of his coat barely brushing the blackened grass. His nonexistent threads—those glimmering coils of ink-black illusion that looped around his wrists—coiled tighter as he spoke. "You've blanketed the woods in smoke for hours. We are now… officially... lost."

His white headband fluttered against the wind, his dark black hair tousled but untouched by sweat thanks to darkness. He looked like someone walking through a dream while judging everyone in it.

Oliver rubbed his temples. "Let's not turn on each other. We're alive. That's something."

Nico groaned. "I need water. And a nap. And a priest."

He stumbled toward a nearby creek they'd just spotted breaking through the smoke. Thin but clear, it bubbled out from under a twisted root system that curled around a fallen log. The moss sparkled from steam condensation.

Nico crouched beside it, panting.

And then, with a flick of his ears, he said:

"I can't keep walking like this in this form."

There was a quick flicker of heat and orange light—

—and suddenly Nico wasn't there anymore.

In his place, a small fox—bright orange, lean, and with one tails—sniffed the water and dipped his nose in, lapping gently.

Oliver's eyes widened. He took a step back. "...What the?"

Even Zack's normally impassive eyes blinked.

"He can turn into a fox?" Oliver said, blinking.

Zack raised a slow eyebrow. "He is a foxkin."

"Yeah, but I thought that was just like... ancestry. Like a tail and cool reflexes. Not actual shapeshifting."

The fox looked up at them with the most deadpan stare a fox could possibly give, ears flattened.

"I heard that," Nico said, his voice a faint mental tether in their heads. "I don't just choose to flaunt this. It's exhausting."

Oliver crouched near the creek, still stunned. "This explains so much."

"Like what?" Nico's fox-form plopped down into the shallow water, cooling his paws. "My charm?"

"Like how you always vanish right before scouting reports," Zack said flatly.

Nico rolled onto his side. "Listen, you try having fur in summer. You'd sneak away too."

Oliver laughed under his breath and dipped his hands in the water. He let the cool rush calm him, then looked up through the tree canopy, eyes scanning for signs of motion.

"Smoke's fading now. Maybe the wind's shifting. We should—"

Suddenly, he stopped. His body tensed. His expression shifted.

Zack caught it instantly.

"What did you see?" he asked.

Oliver's voice dropped. "Tracks."

"Land Beast?" Nico asked, perking up.

"No," Oliver replied. "Traveler. Human. Fresh."

Nico shifted back into his humanoid form in a shimmer of orange-gold. He shook the excess water from his limbs and reached for his claws. "You sure?"

"Positive." Oliver stood, pulling his hood back up. "Two sets. Adult. One might be wounded. Not from our group."

"Could be from Riven's original outcasts," Zack said. "Could be someone worse."

Oliver frowned. "We follow. Cautiously."

Nico rolled his neck. "No more fire. I promise."

Zack's threads coiled in lazy spirals. "I'm not making promises. I'm just hoping we don't run into something Patchouli warned about."

That name brought silence. For a moment, the only sound was the creek and the whisper of wind through singed branches.

They stepped back into the trees, the last of the smoke trailing behind them like ghost-tails.

Unseen, a pair of distant eyes—curious and clever—watched them from high above, perched within the twisted limbs of a drywood tree.

And somewhere deeper in the forest...

Something stirred.

Not quite a beast.

Not quite human.

And very much... awake.

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Chapter: Cinders in the Green Maze (continued)

The trees were quieter now—too quiet. The deeper they walked, the more the world seemed to hold its breath. No birdsong, no crickets, no signs of wildlife. Just the soft crunch of their boots on scorched leaves and the distant whisper of running water fading behind them.

Oliver suddenly stopped mid-step, his boots halting on a patch of ash-streaked moss.

His gloved hand moved fast.

With a practiced, fluid motion, he reached behind his back and drew his iron sword, the faint sound of steel scraping leather breaking the forest silence. The blade glimmered faintly with earthen runes, reflecting the dull gray of the smoke-filtered light.

He turned sharply.

Eyes scanning. Muscles taut.

Zack Erebus froze behind him, narrowing his eyes toward the treeline where Oliver stared.

The illusionist said nothing at first—his black threads coiling slightly, readying, dancing like shadows around his wrists.

Nico—back in his humanoid form, still drying his sleeves—tensed and leaned forward. "...What is it?"

Oliver didn't answer right away.

He stared into the undergrowth. His breath slowed. Every sense honed in on the space between two ancient tree trunks.

A breeze passed.

Nothing moved.

Just a hanging vine swinging lazily. A broken branch.

Zack's voice was low. "There's nothing there."

Another second ticked by.

Then Oliver slowly exhaled through his nose, shoulders relaxing. His sword lowered—though not completely.

"...False alarm," he said, his voice steady but not quite convinced. He turned and sheathed the blade back into the scabbard strapped across his back. "I thought I saw something. It was—nothing."

Zack didn't move. He kept watching the same spot.

Nico let out a long breath. "You're giving me heart attacks, man. No more silent draw-your-sword moments unless something's actually on fire."

Oliver gave a half-smile, faint and unreadable behind the mask. "Force of habit."

But Zack didn't smile.

He finally turned his gaze away, but not before muttering, "Even false alarms come from somewhere."

And as they continued walking, the wind blew again.

Behind them—where Oliver had looked—

A single vine slowly retracted into the shadows, curling as if pulled by unseen fingers.

No footprints. No sound.

But the forest... remembered.