Season 1. Chapter 84: Demon and the druid
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Chapter: The Demon and the Druid
Somewhere deeper in the woods, past where the branches curled like fingers and the sunlight barely reached, walked a strangely-dressed figure—timid, hesitant, and entirely out of place.
Cylde.
He looked like someone who had stepped out of an offbeat stage play: his asymmetrical suit half-black, half-white; one lapel sharp and formal, the other jagged and unbuttoned. A tall black top hat rested crookedly on his head, and his eyes—one crimson red, the other a ghostly blue—darted nervously between every tree and rustling bush.
He walked like prey. Or worse, like someone who knew he didn't belong here.
Beside him, barefoot and silent, moved the Druid known only as Basil.
His moss-covered hat sagged over his face, and vines curled around his arms like living tattoos. His robe was woven from stitched bark and leaf, his skin sun-worn and speckled with dirt. Where Cylde stepped cautiously, Basil drifted—like a wind-blown leaf. Not entirely human, not entirely spirit.
A branch creaked in the distance, and Cylde immediately flinched. "W-what was that?"
Basil didn't turn, his voice quiet, almost musical. "That was a whisper fox. It mimics the sound of falling branches to distract predators… or to guide lost children to their dens. They rarely eat them."
Cylde blinked. "…R-right."
They continued forward.
A glowing fungus pulsed from the trunk of a fallen tree. Cylde slowed down, staring. "And… and that thing?"
"Starlit Mycelium. Grows in dead wood near ley lines," Basil murmured. "If you stare too long, it begins to whisper your name back to you."
Cylde took a nervous step away.
He didn't know how he had ended up here. He had wandered too far from the northern fire camps after following something—he still wasn't sure what—and gotten turned around in the mist. Then he met him. The moss hat Druid.
Cylde still wasn't sure if Basil was helping him… or studying him.
Another sound—wet and crunching—emerged from behind the ferns. Cylde froze. "D-Do I want to know what that was?"
Basil paused this time. "Swamp lurker. It drinks through its feet. They're blind but can hear your heartbeat from thirty paces."
Cylde held his breath.
Then Basil raised a hand and flicked his wrist. A puff of pollen shimmered from his palm, and the noise stopped.
"I'd prefer you not get eaten," Basil said. "You're… mildly interesting."
"…Thanks?"
The woods thickened, the air growing heavier.
Eventually, Cylde couldn't help but ask, "Why are you helping me?"
Basil stopped, and for the first time, turned to look at him. His eyes weren't visible beneath the brim of his moss hat, but the forest seemed to hush around them.
"I'm not helping you," Basil said. "I'm walking with you. If we reach a destination… that's your doing."
Cylde didn't respond. He just adjusted his crooked hat and kept walking, his red and blue eyes flicking between trees.
Somewhere behind them, faint footsteps echoed in the distance.
Oliver, Fern, and Zack were getting closer.
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Absolutely — here's the continuation with Zack, Oliver, and Fern:
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Chapter 21: Lost Time
The deeper they went, the more the forest seemed to change.
The trees grew closer together, warping in shape—twisting at odd angles like they were trying to whisper secrets to each other. The canopy above swallowed the sun, casting flickers of filtered green light onto the moss-covered path.
Oliver paused near a fork in the trail, brow furrowed. "Did we pass this tree before?"
Fern shook her head. "No. That moss is facing a different direction."
Zack didn't say anything. His eyes scanned the horizon, always calculating, always measuring.
Then something moved.
From the brush ahead, several short figures erupted—made of bark, gnarled twigs, and glowing amber eyes.
Wooden Imps.
One leapt at Fern, claws out, but she was faster—her staff hummed with green Vita and vines shot out like whips, grabbing the creature midair and slamming it into a trunk with a wooden crunch.
Another rushed Oliver. He ducked and rolled, grabbing a rock and slamming it into the imp's brittle spine with practiced precision. It shattered into splinters.
Zack, of course, didn't flinch.
A wooden imp pounced toward him, and without breaking stride, he unsheathed a short blade from his belt—slick, obsidian black. In a single motion, he slashed upward. The imp fell in two perfect halves.
Within seconds, it was over.
Fern panted, gripping her staff. "Why are imps this deep in the woods?"
Oliver wiped sap from his cheek. "Maybe they're being drawn to something."
But before they could regroup—
The world shifted.
No sound, no light—just a pulse like something had quietly reset the rules.
One blink.
Daylight.
Another blink—
Night.
Suddenly, the forest was plunged into darkness. Crickets chirp.
Oliver was taken aback by this surprised, it was just afternoon ago, Oliver stumbled backwards
"What the.....it was just afternoon then".
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Oliver stumbled back, staring up at the sky through the breaks in the trees.
The moon was high now—thin, cold, and pale. Stars shimmered faintly overhead, and the warmth of the day had vanished like a stolen breath.
Fern clutched her staff, eyes wide with shock. "No… this isn't right. I would've felt the sun moving… the trees would've responded—" She pressed her palm to a nearby trunk. "The leaves don't remember the day passing…"
Zack didn't react. He stood perfectly still, one gloved hand resting on the hilt of his blade, the other slightly raised as though feeling the air.
His expression was unreadable. Calm. Focused.
"Lost Time," he murmured, almost to himself.
Oliver turned toward him, tense. "What does that mean?"
Zack's black eyes narrowed under his hood. "Time didn't pass. It was skipped."
Fern blinked. "Sk-skipped? But how?! That's not possible—unless…"
Zack exhaled slowly. "Only two types of creatures can bend time in this forest. One is a high-ranked celestial." He paused. "And the other… is a demon."
Oliver's face paled. "You think Clyde…?"
"I don't think," Zack said coldly. "I know."
He pointed to the ground. The soil was undisturbed where they had been standing—no signs of sunset or animal tracks. "The world jumped ahead, but we stayed still. Something pulled the time forward like yanking a curtain."
Fern shivered. "But why would a demon do that? Why use lost time?"
Zack knelt down and touched a patch of frost forming on a nearby stone. "To buy distance. Confuse followers. Break trails."
Oliver's voice dropped. "You think Clyde did this on purpose?"
Zack stood, his cloak catching in the night wind. "No. I think something around him did."
They all turned silently to the darkened woods ahead.
The path Clyde had taken was now cold and strange. The trees ahead were whispering again, but this time it wasn't language—it was pressure. A feeling in the chest, as if time itself were frayed here.
Fern whispered, "If he's near a demon… or being protected by one—"
"Then we're not just chasing a lost friend," Zack finished grimly. "We're stepping into a demon's hunting ground."
A long howl echoed in the distance.
Not a wolf. Not an animal.
Something wrong.
Oliver nodded once. "Then we keep going."
Zack turned to Fern. "Light, if you can."
Fern raised her staff, whispering softly. A green orb of Vita blossomed like a seedling and floated above them, casting soft, pulsing light into the trees.
Then the three of them stepped forward—
Into the night that wasn't supposed to exist—
Into the shadows where time didn't flow right—
Into the place where Clyde, and something far more dangerous, waited.
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