Whispers Beneath the Canopy

Lux had just returned from the dungeon—a sprawling, suffocating rainforest, not of trees and sunlight, but of colossal, bioluminescent fungi and choked, humid air. It felt less like a forest and more like a vast, living maw where everything wanted a piece of you. She was there for a specific list of herbs, treading carefully on the spongy, organic ground, ensuring she didn't stray too deep into the verdant, shifting labyrinth. The air was thick enough to choke on, heavy with the cloying scent of rot and sickly sweet blossoms, a potent mix that clung to her skin and hair. Every distant screech or unseen rustle made her skin crawl, a primal instinct flaring. Being cautious here wasn't cowardice; it was the only path to survival.

Despite her meticulous caution, trouble still found her.

A tarantula—massive, its hairy legs thick as her forearm, mottled in a grotesque camouflage of moss and fungal growth—lunged at her from her blind spot. Its fangs, glistening with venom, aimed for her skull, the ambush perfectly masked by the constant, overwhelming chorus of buzzing insects and distant, echoing howls that filled the air. But she caught the subtle shift in the shadows, the looming shape, just in time. Her halberd came up with a desperate, practiced flash, its keen edge cleaving across the creature's chitinous face with a wet thud. Before it could recover, she followed up, severing its monstrous legs, one after another, in brutal, efficient strokes, until the colossal arachnid stopped its terrifying twitching, collapsing into a heap of segmented limbs and oozing ichor.

A narrow dirt path—barely more than a muddy trail, cleared by the intrepid builders who ventured deep for dungeon stone—made it easier to haul the raw resources back to the surface. On her way out, the oppressive silence of the jungle was suddenly pierced by a piercing scream. Then, as abruptly as it began, silence descended again. Chilling, unnatural silence, a void where there should have been the constant hum of the rainforest. She didn't investigate. Lux had her hands full, her pack heavy with herbs and the tarantula corpse, and she wasn't in the hero business. Especially not when she wasn't exactly on good terms with the Church, the self-proclaimed heroes, to begin with.

The tarantula corpse and the carefully bundled herbs fetched a decent price back in Nightgale—20 big silvers between the quest reward and the expertly butchered monster parts. Not bad for a day's harrowing work.

From there, her usual routine took her to the apothecary—her familiar haunt these days, a place of comforting scents and quiet wisdom. The shop was empty of customers, which wasn't unusual for this time of day. But there was someone there… someone distinctly odd.

He stood at the counter, speaking softly with the tree spirit, Bernie, his voice a low, almost melodic hum. His hair was startlingly bone-white, a stark contrast to his skin which was a smooth, metallic bronze, like polished ancient copper. His eyes—pitch black, like deep, light-swallowing wells—seemed almost blind-looking, yet held an unsettling depth. He was asking for painkillers, his voice light, almost casual, belying the severity of his likely condition. Lux immediately sensed the shift in the room's energy: Rumi, the quick-witted elven spirit, was visibly tense, her posture rigid, while Bernie, the elder spirit, remained inscrutable, her ancient face unreadable, her roots radiating a subtle protective aura.

Then, slowly, almost deliberately, he turned toward Lux.

He was thin, unnervingly so. Frail, even, despite the unnatural bronze of his skin. His right sleeve hung utterly empty—he was missing an arm, the fabric swaying gently with his subtle movements. It was the way he turned, not rushed, not surprised, but with an eerie, composed grace, that told her: he'd been watching her all along, long before she stepped through the door.

"Ah, you're quite famous. Yearned for. Wanted... like myself," he said, his voice a soft, silken murmur, drifting effortlessly toward her.

Drifting. Floating?

Lux blinked, then blinked again, unsure if the suffocating humidity of the dungeon was finally catching up to her, causing hallucinations, or if he was actually not touching the ground, hovering imperceptibly. The air around him seemed to subtly shimmer.

"Let me introduce myself. My name is Agnellus."

At that point, Rumi, having recovered her composure, moved with practiced efficiency to fetch the tea set, her movements precise. Bernie, ever observant, quietly took Lux's dungeon materials, her ancient hands already beginning to brew the requested medicines, creating a subtle barrier of activity between the two. It left Lux and Agnellus alone, seated at a small, polished wooden table, with two cups of steaming, aromatic tea placed carefully between them.

"Left-handed?" Lux asked, a brow raised in genuine curiosity, trying to gauge his reaction. "Otherwise, I don't think you can drink that."

He chuckled, a dry, almost rusty sound, and with a graceful, unhurried motion, lifted the cup to his lips with his remaining left hand.

"You make a fair point," he conceded, his black eyes holding a glimmer of amusement.

Lux took a long, slow sip of her tea, letting the warmth settle in her stomach before cutting to the chase. "So. What do you want?"

"Your help. With dungeon materials. I asked the tree spirit if you'd be interested. She said you'd help—for the right price, of course." His gaze was unnervingly direct, yet oddly gentle.

"And what price is that?" Lux inquired, her own curiosity piqued. She considered her own thirst for knowledge, her recent struggles with runecraft, and the mysteries of this new world.

"Knowledge," Agnellus replied simply, a faint, knowing smile touching his lips. Then, his eyes seemed to deepen, a subtle shift in their black depths. "And like the tree spirit, I offer you a new branch—a path to deeper understanding."

Lux sipped her tea slowly again, letting the bitterness coat her tongue. Then, a slow, predatory smirk spread across her face, mirroring his own. She leaned back in her chair, a glint in her eyes.

"You had me at knowledge," she said, her gaze flicking pointedly to his missing limb, "but a new branch? Seems like you could use one yourself."

A genuine laugh, a dry, almost musical sound, escaped Agnellus. His black eyes flickered down to his empty sleeve for a brief moment before returning to hers, filled with amusement.

"A fair assessment," he chuckled. "Perhaps my understanding of branches differs from yours."

"Good," he continued, the smile widening slightly. "Because that's all I have to give."