Bone and Bark Negotiations

The forest around them had fallen silent after the battle. A heavy, almost sacred hush, like the jungle itself was holding its breath.

Abraham stood over the smoldering remains of the corrupted dry-rot creatures, watching their fungal bodies curl in on themselves as the last of their unnatural essence dispersed.

The air was thick with the scent of charred moss and decay, undercut by the coppery tang of blood, both human and otherwise.

Chop stood at his side, battered but alert, clicking his mandibles rhythmically like a war drum gone quiet. His once-gleaming chitin was now scorched and cracked in places, sap-like fluids oozing from minor breaches.

Abraham moved to inspect the damage, laying a glowing hand on the ant's carapace. Pale green necromantic light seeped into the cracks, and the injuries began to seal with a faint hiss.

"You good?" Abraham asked softly.

Chop clicked twice, a short affirmative burst. It wasn't language, not exactly, but after days of travel and battle together, Abraham understood it better than most words.

A few meters away, Tess poked one of the corpses with her boot. The once-fierce creature, now no more than a pile of withered rot and blackened tendrils, crumbled under her touch.

"You know," she said, wiping grime from her face with the back of her arm, "it just hit me that we never got a chance to loot them. Do fungus-people even carry wallets?"

Abraham cracked a tired smile. "If they did, I doubt we'd want anything that grows out of them."

She made a face. "Fair. Still, I was hoping for a nice glowing crystal or an ancient scroll. A new sword, maybe. Maybe a cursed flute. You know, some kind of real dungeon loots."

He laughed. It felt good, and oddly normal, even comforting. That brief reprieve, however, was shattered when something rustled above.

A skeletal monkey dropped from the branches, its spine coiling like a rope as it landed gracefully beside them. Its tiny skull turned toward Abraham, hollow sockets catching the dim light like polished obsidian. It chattered in a language only undead monkeys could understand.

Abraham's mind filtered the message through his necromantic bond. To put it in simple terms, he was just guessing. Movement on the southern trail. Fast. Alive. Possibly alone.

"Someone's coming. Probably," he said. "South path. Human, or at least humanoid. Alive."

Tess flipped her sword in her hand and stepped closer. "Please let it be a charming rogue and not another mad druid with tree-antlers."

They moved swiftly but cautiously. The jungle twisted here, vines curling like veins along stone outcrops, the ground thick with moss and jagged roots. Abraham signaled the rest of his undead scouts to flank the area. His mind buzzed with tension, his grip tightening around the staff he carried.

When the figure appeared, the shadows themselves seemed to part. She was tall, lean, with skin the color of polished bark and hair braided into thorny ropes. Her clothes were woven from living vines, and her staff pulsed faintly with green light, like a sapling touched by moonlight.

"Parley?" she called, raising the staff sideways.

Tess squinted. "Did she just say parley? Is that some forest-speak for 'ambush' or 'please don't melt me away'?"

"Well, why you asked me?" Abraham held up a hand, halting Chop and the others. "Anyway, she's not corrupted."

"Not yet," the woman agreed. Her voice was velvet over thorns. "Though being here long enough would change that. You're the necromancer, aren't you? The one who walks with the dead ant."

Chop clicked louder, shifting a step forward. Tess raised an eyebrow.

"You're famous. Should I be worried you're collecting fangirls?" Tess said.

Abraham ignored the jab. "Who are you?"

"A diplomat. Of sorts." She stepped closer. "My name is Maelin. I speak for the Rootbound."

"I thought we just killed the Rootbound," Tess muttered.

Maelin's eyes sparkled with amusement. "You killed the feral ones. We didn't even know why they turned in to something like that. And the forest has many voices. Some scream. Some whisper. I represent those still capable of thinking."

Abraham narrowed his gaze. "You're... human?"

"Once. The forest took that from me, and gave me something else. You might call it balance. I call it survival."

She looked him over, her eyes lingering on the pale glow at his fingertips.

"You carry death like a cloak," she murmured. "And yet it doesn't rot you."

He bristled. "You came to observe, or to talk?"

Maelin smirked. "Talk. There's a buried temple not far from here. A relic from long long before the corruption. It's waking up. Something inside it stirs, angry and ancient. I want it sealed."

"Why come to me?" Abraham asked.

"Because it's haunted," she said simply. "Not with spirits, but with something raw, violent impressions of death. It devours druids like me. But you... you walk beside death. You may be able to silence it."

Tess stepped in front. "And what do we get out of this errand? Besides curses and mold?"

"I'll tell you where the heart of the corruption probably lies," Maelin said. "Where it pulses strongest. Where it's weakest. If you plan to survive this jungle, or cleanse it for some reason, you'll need to know."

Abraham looked to Chop, who offered no sign of protest. His mind raced; strategies, potential traps, what sort of ancient horrors waited beneath the vines.

"What kind of ghosts?" he asked.

Maelin's eyes darkened. "They were priests of a Goddess called Ervagath; the goddess of druids. When the forest began to change, they didn't die. They chose to stay. Their anger shaped the ruin into a place of torment."

Abraham's fingers flexed around his staff. That sounded exactly like the kind of place he should not be going. And exactly where he had to go.

"Alright," he said. "We'll do it."

Maelin's grin returned. "We leave at dawn. Bring only what you can afford to lose."

As she turned to melt back into the jungle, Abraham felt the vines writhe subtly in her wake, as if the plants obeyed her footsteps.

Tess leaned close. "You ever notice how every time we kill something, a new weirdo shows up to offer a cryptic errands?"

Abraham smirked. "It's almost like we're in a story or something."

"Ugh. Don't jinx it. I'm not dying in one of the Chapters."

The jungle around them rustled as if chuckling in response. Abraham wasn't sure if it was the wind, or something far older, far more aware, already watching their path to the temple.

***