Chapter 58: Learned Your Lesson?

Glen anticipated the attack.

He knew the elf girl harbored nothing but hostility. It didn't matter—he'd do what he deemed right regardless.

So young, yet so reckless. Attacking without gauging an opponent's strength? No wonder she got captured. The thought flashed through his mind.

He raised his arm to block and teach her a lesson.

But the whip-like leg froze mid-air.

Only a gust of wind, carrying the deep, mossy scent of the forest, brushed Glen's face.

Why stop? Confusion flickered—the first time tonight had defied his expectations.

He studied Gotaya. She stood utterly still, eyes unfocused and distant.

Just as he prepared to speak, she snapped back to awareness. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered her leg.

"The forest here… tells me you bear no guilt." Her voice was distant, almost dreamlike.

Glen blinked. "The forest told you? I've lived here ages and never heard a peep. Kid, that's not funny." Hell, I've chopped down trees. If anything, it should hate me.

Gotaya flinched as if struck. "I am three hundred and forty-five years old! Do not call me 'kid'!"

"Ah…" Glen faltered, momentarily speechless. He cleared his throat, shifting gears. "Right. Elf. What's your plan now?"

Gotaya didn't answer. She turned, gazing into the brooding darkness of Byerk Woods. The sensation lingered—that split-second before her strike, a pure, alien consciousness had brushed her mind.

She'd only heard elders recount such communion with nature's will. Never had she succeeded within her own Mother Forest. Yet here, in this foreign, shadowed place… it happened.

She closed her eyes, straining to reconnect. Silence. Only the creak of ancient branches and the rustle of unseen things.

Frustration pinched her brow. After several failed attempts, she sighed, defeated.

Glen watched, a faint smirk playing on his lips as she opened her eyes. "Well? Hear any juicy forest gossip?"

Ignoring him, Gotaya leapt soundlessly from the cart. She started walking back the way they'd come, toward the human world.

"That's human territory out there," Glen called, not moving to stop her. "An elf as striking as you? You'll be collared before sunset."

Her steps didn't slow.

Glen continued, his voice cutting through the gloom:

"They'll sell you to nobles. Know what nobles do with elf captives? At your age, you must've heard tales.

"They'll fit you with a dog collar. Parade you at their parties like a prized hound. If you're lucky, a 'kind' master might toss you a scrap of silk. Unlucky? Well…"

Gotaya's stride hitched, almost imperceptibly. She kept walking, but slower.

Glen was spinning tales—exaggerated, perhaps, but rooted in human cruelty he'd witnessed. Old Tom's stories confirmed as much.

Seeing her persist, Glen pitched his voice sharper:

"Some nobles? They don't want pets. They pickle you. Whole. Alive. Imagine it—stuffed into a giant jar of spirits. Waiting to drown. Year after year. Imagine your kin finding you like that… bloated, preserved… their despair. All because you walked out now."

The last word hung heavy. Gotaya stopped dead. She stood rigid, back turned, for what felt like an eternity.

Finally, she turned. Her voice trembled, laced with fear and defiance:

"What… what do you want?"

Glen grinned. "Don't flatter yourself. I hate wasted effort. Just offering advice so you don't undo my work."

His dismissal stung. As if she were weak.

Glen ignored her glare. "The Punk Family grabbing elves so brazenly? Word will reach the Sylvan Kingdom. Even if it doesn't, your kin will demand Seersia's aid. An envoy will come to Zenn Kingdom demanding answers. Your job? Stay hidden until then."

Gotaya absorbed his words. Reluctantly, she conceded his logic was sound.

"How? This is your realm. Humans are everywhere."

"Why do you think I brought you here?" Glen countered.

She frowned, perplexed.

Glen gestured at the oppressive woods. "This place… it's wrong. Twisted. Crawling with beasts and… stranger things. From what I gather, locals avoid it like plague. Hide here, and your hunters won't find you."

Gotaya scanned the surroundings anew. As a Wood Elf, her connection to forests was primal. This place felt alien—little of the comforting presence of her Mother Forest. Yet…

That brief, overwhelming consciousness. Proof this forest was alive. Elders taught that forest spirits never harmed their kind. It was her best hope.

"I… accept your advice," she stated formally. "Where shall I dwell?"

"How should I know?" Glen spread his hands wide.

"You don't know?" Gotaya's eyes widened in disbelief. "You tell me to hide here but have no shelter?"

"Listen, Elf." Glen's voice dropped, turning icy. "Am I your father? I pulled you from a cage. Offered escape. Gave counsel. Your thanks? Attitude. Is this elven 'grace'? Makes me regret not leaving you for the wine vats."

His blunt cruelty struck home. Glen acted on fleeting pity; her ingratitude extinguished it.

Gotaya's instinct was to lash back. She opened her mouth… then shut it. The truth was undeniable—he had saved her. Trauma didn't excuse discourtesy.

She stood silent, fists clenched.

Glen snorted. "Hmph." He turned, gathering the reins loudly. "Note to self: Next time I see an elf in trouble? Walk away. Ungrateful lot."

His words pierced her pride. As the cart began to creak forward, Gotaya blurted out:

"Wait!"

Glen paused, glancing back, eyebrow raised.

She took a shaky breath, humiliation warring with duty. She couldn't shame her people further.

"I… I was wrong!"

"What? Speak up. Can't hear you over the forest gossip." Glen's tone was pure mockery.

Gotaya's nostrils flared, but she lifted her chin, forcing the words out clearly:

"I apologize! Honored human! My behavior… was inexcusable!"