Graveyard

River didn't know what compelled him to return. The forest was still, thick with morning mist, the dew clinging to leaves and blades of grass like glittering sorrow. Trees loomed like old sentinels, quiet but ever-watchful, their trunks gnarled and roots twisted as if they too had lived through ancient wars. 

And yet his feet carried him, unthinking, back to that same towering tree—the one beneath which he first laid eyes on the Myrracenta.

The flower still stood in the distance, glowing faintly like a sleeping god. Its radiant petals pulsed with that same divine rhythm, faint and beautiful, like a heartbeat calling out across realms. It was a quiet beacon, vibrant against the green, thrumming in a language older than time.

River stood on the old tree, fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight. 

"Why call to me," he muttered bitterly, "when you won't even let me use you?"

A rustle above, light but deliberate.

"It was you, wasn't it?" a voice chimed lazily from the branches.

River's hand flew toward his hip—though he had no weapon there—just as someone dropped from the canopy above. She moved with the effortless grace of a falling petal, landing beside him so silently he half-suspected the air had parted just for her.

She was beautiful—dangerously so. Dark skin like polished obsidian, silver hair cascading like moonlight down her back, and violet eyes with slitted pupils that shimmered like stardust. Her features were sharp, elegant, inhuman. Her body was lean and strong, coiled like a predator waiting to pounce. But the most striking detail? Her ears—long, refined, tapering upward like blades forged for seduction.

A dark elf.

Of course. What's a fantasy world without them? River could practically hear the collective sighs of every fantasy-obsessed man from his old world. The dark elf: dangerous, untamed, impossible to trust, and even harder to resist. The archetype, the forbidden dream of many.

And River, despite everything, wasn't blind.

Then came the system's ever-so-unwelcome whisper:

[Greater Beauty Detected]

Target Identified: Leera Mourneblade – Amazonian Princess of the Western Tribe

Red Hearts: 0

River's brow twitched. An elf and a princess? Well, shit.

He straightened, masking his alarm with deadpan calm. "Who...?"

"I'm Leera," she said, voice smooth as silk dipped in mischief. "From the West. How curious... the South summoned a wizard."

"I wasn't really summoned," River replied, shrugging. "More like... banished."

"Oh, I see," she purred, violet eyes glinting with amusement. "Unfortunately, you weren't banned from the world itself. You know, death."

Her smile was soft and haunting, like a rose blooming over a grave.

Great, River thought grimly. Dark humor and a stare that could peel bark off a tree.

Leera stepped closer, gaze never breaking from his. "Your Matriarch knows, by the way. She'll be coming for you. You're about to be punished."

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing with curiosity. "So I'm here to offer you a choice. Why not come with me instead?"

Something in her tone set his instincts ablaze. Her words were dipped in honey, but there was steel beneath. Every syllable she uttered seemed carefully weighed, designed to lure him in and unsettle him all at once.

River gave a forced chuckle, inching subtly backward. "Sounds a bit like I'm being kidnapped by someone offering candy."

"Candy?" she echoed, her lips twitching with amusement.

Then her gaze darkened. "They have excellent torture methods, you know. The South. Very creative. Very... thorough."

"Charming," River muttered, scanning the area for a fast escape that wouldn't end with a dagger in his chest.

Leera's expression shifted—suddenly intense. "And since you awakened the Guardian... that makes you worthy to be my husband."

[Red Hearts +1]

[New Skill Unlocked: Graveyard]

[You are now able to ask the dead 5 questions. You may now see lingering souls.]

River blinked once. Twice.

Wait—what?! See the dead? That wasn't in the damn fine print!

"You're thinking of something strange," Leera cooed, stepping even closer. "I really like the face you're making. That... uncomfortable expression."

[Affection Increased]

[You have earned 1 Red Heart]

[Skill Upgraded: Graveyard – Level 2]

[You can now summon a soul by calling its name.]

I don't like this.

She was close now—far too close. He could smell her, some heady mix of wildflowers and old steel. He could feel the heat of her skin, the predatory stillness that made him feel like prey. Her body language was flirtatious, but her aura? Dangerous.

She's creepy. Definitely creepy. But... a lady is a lady, River told himself, and he must at least attempt politeness. He knew better than to offend someone who could likely poison him with a glance.

He cleared his throat, trying not to step on any invisible cultural landmines. "So what brings you here, Princess Leera?"

"You," she said simply, and tapped the tip of his nose with her index finger.

River's mouth twitched into a reluctant smirk. "And why's that?"

"The Guardian of the Myrracenta has slept for centuries," she said, her voice suddenly hushed, almost reverent. "Dormant. Untouched. Until you. Somehow, you woke it up. We had to guard the damn flower every day."

She sighed dramatically, brushing silver strands behind her ear with a grace that seemed deliberately theatrical. "Lucky for you, I was on duty today. Aren't I sweet?"

"You're something," River muttered.

She clasped her hands together, tilting her head like an excited child. "You may marry me now."

River let out a strangled laugh. "Unfortunately, I belong to the Matriarch of the South."

Not true. But if it scared her off, he'd tattoo it on his forehead.

Leera squinted. "Belong to? That doesn't sound like a pleasant arrangement."

"It's... complicated."

She looked at him as if he were a puzzle she couldn't wait to break open. "Perhaps I'll just take you anyway. You'd look good in chains."

River blinked. "I'm... not into that."

Yet as the words left her lips—jest or not—River's mind was elsewhere. Beneath the banter, beneath the surreal flirtation, one truth pulsed louder than the flower in the distance.

I woke the Guardian? But how?

What did I even do?

And why me?