Too Perfect

Like an unwanted echo, the memory poured in again—

After receiving help from the Esprits, Haleel and Andravion had returned to the ship to gather more men. One of the small creatures—still nibbling on their glowing fruit—offered to guide them somewhere "safe," a place with food and shelter.

Their journey was brief, but strange. The deeper they went into the woods, the quieter everything became. At the mouth of a shadowed cave, the little Esprit who led them froze.

Andravion noticed the change immediately. The creature, once cheerfully humming, now trembled. Its eyes darted toward the cave's yawning dark, then back at Andravion, before it turned and bolted—vanishing without a sound.

That... wasn't right.

Even under the influence of the fruit, even with their docile nature, fear should've been near impossible for them. But Andravion shoved the thought aside. Probably a monster, he reasoned. He, Haleel, Kaden, and twenty-eight men entered the cave.

Inside, the air turned cool, damp, and dead. Shadows pressed in on them. There was no food, no grass—only bare stone and the sound of their own footsteps echoing in the dark.

Kaden grunted, unimpressed. "Didn't those little things say there was food here? Either that, or whatever they're eating's turned their brains to mulch."

Haleel offered a nervous chuckle. "C'mon, they had no reason to lie. Maybe there's a hidden chamber. We should spread out, check the walls."

Kaden let out a reluctant sigh before he turned to the men. "You heard him, Check the walls."

The men began searching the chamber, boots scraping against stone as they felt along the edges and corners. That's when they heard it—a sharp twang, the unmistakable snap of a bowstring.

Blades were drawn instantly. Battle instincts flared.

But there was nothing. No enemy. Only silence. Instead...

"Over here!" Andravion called. "I think I hit something."

They followed his voice and found what they hadn't seen before: a narrow passageway, nearly hidden in shadow. They had to crouch to get through it, the space tight and thick with darkness. But as they pressed forward, They noticed something ahead , a light glowing softly .

At the end of the passage, the darkness gave way to wonder.

An open expanse unfolded before them—an otherworldly grove hidden beneath the mountain. Trees greener than any they'd seen swayed gently, their leaves whispering in a wind that didn't blow. Flowers bloomed in colors that had no name. Sheep grazed lazily, unbothered by their arrival.

At the center of it all was a lake—small, pristine, shimmering as though starlight danced on its surface. And above, embedded in the cavern ceiling, were tiny glowing stones that pulsed gently, casting a soft, golden light across the sanctuary.

It didn't feel real. It felt divine.

A place untouched by anything, with it's own ecosystem too. A gift… or a trap waiting to unfold.

"Look!" a soldier cried, pointing ahead.

They followed his gaze and saw, just a short meter away, a sheep flinching weakly—an arrow embedded in its side.

Andravion's arrow!

"Woah! Captain, how could you even see far enough to land that shot?" a soldier asked, wide-eyed with admiration.

Of course, he can, the soldier thought. The son of the Emperor. The child contracted to the Guardian of Wisdom. He was everything a leader should be.

Or so he believed.

"Wow! Look at all this—fruits, clean water, sheep just roaming about." Haleel grinned, throwing a look at Andravion and Kaden. "Told you, those adorable little things didn't mean us any harm."

Kaden chuckled, nodding. "Aye, I've gotta hand it to you both—you've outdone yourselves. This could feed the whole fleet."

The men cheered, spreading out. Some rushed to the crystal-clear water, others grabbed the bright, inviting fruits, and a few already began hunting the sheep.

"By the Gods!" one soldier shouted, biting into a fruit. "This is sweeter than anything I've tasted in my life!"

That drew more to the fruit trees—until:

"Stop! Don't take another bite!" Andravion's voice cut through the moment like a blade.

The men froze. Andravion pointed to the first soldier who had taken a bite. "You. Speak."

"Yes, Captain?"

"Do you feel different? Like your mind's clouded?"

The soldier blinked, confused. "No, Captain. I feel perfectly normal."

"Vion, you're too uptight," Haleel said, nudging him playfully. "Remember? I asked the Esprits if there was safer food, and they led us here. That's trust."

"It's just."

Andravion stood apart, eyes scanning the treeline, jaw tense. "This isn't right," he said, mostly to himself. "It's too perfect. There's no rot, no noise, no sign of Esprits that had been here or even wildlife beyond these sheep. I mean if there's such abundant food here, why would they pass it up?"

"It just doesn't add up."

Behind him, men reclined beside a crackling fire, meat roasting, water gurgling from stolen flasks. Fruit cores and pits were carelessly tossed onto the grass.

Then the wind changed.

It wasn't a gust, but a shiver, rippling the leaves from the center of the lake outward—like breath against a mirror.

The water stilled. And from its heart, she rose.

A figure cloaked in flowing silver and green, as though woven from the lake itself. Her hair draped down in threads of liquid light, trailing into the ripples below. Flowers crowned her head—but they wilted with every step she took toward the shore. One by one, they shriveled and dropped into the water.

She stepped onto the mossy bank without a sound.

And the world paused.

She stood motionless. Her pale blue gaze swept across the glade, and she felt them—her sheep, not mere animals, but gentle spirit-keepers of her sanctuary—crying out and calling her through the silence.

And when her eyes met the desecration, the broken branches, the crushed grass, the scattered fruit. Her blood, the very essence in her core, her tears and her soul wee poured into creating this place. Now it's bleeding right before her eyes.

She said nothing.

But her silence carried centuries.

Then—grief.

Her sanctuary was desecrated.