"Run!"
"Faster!"
"We need to reach the base where the fallen tree trunk rests, as fast as possible!"
The pounding of footsteps thundered behind them, chasing relentlessly.
"Attack them! They mustn't reach the magic witch before us!"
Dakutur heard the cry ring in his ears as he sprinted, the wind lashing against his hair and face.
He was striking to behold. His skin was the shade of rich coffee, his nose sharp, lips curved like they were carved from imagination itself. His eyes—l, white sclera with deep brown irises, seemed to pierce through everything, his smooth face framed by dark, curly hair that tumbled over his shoulders. It was an unreal beauty, the kind that felt almost inhuman. His voice, soft even in anger, held a strange calm. His gaze, when fixed upon something, dilated as though the world aligned with him.
In Dorka, Dakutur was chosen by his master, Avera, after winning the Quest of the Unbeaten, a trial where boys learned the ancient magic of the tribe. Born to a single mother, orphaned young, Dakutur always prayed to the gods when others mocked or laughed. Unlike the loud boys of his village, his silence won him favor. At only eighteen, Dakutur was destined for greatness… though he did not yet know it.
An arrow hissed toward him, but he dodged with fluid grace, narrowly escaping a pierced rib. He pressed himself against a tree, its leaves whistling at his touch. Looking up at its branches, he recognized their femininity. He had always felt it, an uncanny pull toward the feminine spirit within living things. Though he had never lived near a woman in his eighteen years, female beings, even nature itself, reacted to him. Fruits grew fuller at his touch, flowers bloomed in his presence, water multiplied when he drank from it. Everything on earth was female, and they adored him.
The massive tree bent gently, lowering its branches so he could climb. Dakutur smiled amidst the chaos of battle, but worry gnawed at him for his four brothers, chosen alongside him to reach the magic witch and retrieve the sacred roll for their journey across the seas, to Draola, the mystic city of endless mysteries.
The tree struck out at the pursuers with sharpened branches. Screams erupted as they fell.
"Argh! Drasupatodla!" one cried in the old tongue. Look! Even the trees bow before him!
The tree carried Dakutur, passing him from branch to branch until he was safely placed upon the ancient trunk. What should have been a thousand-mile journey, the gods shortened for him in mere hours. Known among the ancients as it implies, the child of grace, Dakutur blew the trees a kiss, their leaves shivering and whistling in blush.
At last, he rushed into the cave hidden within the trunk. It was exactly as his master Avera had described. The old man, who had trained boys for decades, had chosen only five for this sacred mission, and placed Dakutur, the youngest, as their leader.
Determined to reunite with his brothers, Dakutur pressed forward. The witch must be found first.
The cave walls glowed faintly with green light as he entered. At its heart lay a withered flower, surrounded by faint sparkles. When Dakutur touched it, the petals burst into radiance. The ground trembled, light splitting the cave apart, and from the throne of leaves, a girl's eyes flickered open.
Astonishment rooted him in place as she rose, her enormous green wings flaring, scattering glittering sparks into the air. She had been sealed for over ten centuries, asleep but alive.
Her name was Eve, the Green Fairy, the legendary witch of Dorka's greenery. No one knew how she had been imprisoned, not even herself. Her memories had been stolen long ago by the rival kingdom, Petra, the Great Walled City. Rich and powerful beyond measure, Petra had hidden her brain, locking away her knowledge of the sacred roll's location.
And now, Dakutur stood before her.
She gazed at him with awe.
"Behold! A breathtaking man, gifted with the power to make all that is female bloom more beautifully," she whispered.
Dakutur, stunned, ran a hand through his dark curls. Eve clutched her chest with admiration.
"I know what you desire, my help, isn't it?"
He had expected a haggard old crone, but before him was a vision of magic: hair the color of emerald leaves, lips golden-yellow, eyes glowing green. Every movement left trails of sparkles in the air.
When he admitted the truth, she sighed, her smile tinged with teasing. "So, how do we get to it?"
She shrugged lightly. "The path to Petra is rough. But with my magic, we can make it."
Dakutur murmured what was on his mind. "I thought I would meet an old woman… when Master Avera spoke of you."
"Oh! You wound me," Eve clutched her chest dramatically, then gave him a sly grin. "I am old. I just don't look it."
Her steps faltered, and she held her waist. "Ah, my poor joints. I can't move as I once did. I need food to restore my strength."
Dakutur's brow furrowed, wondering what a witch would eat. She answered instantly:
"Leaves mixed with fresh honey, gathered from bees."
He nodded. "My treat."
From his palm, a leaf sprouted, lush and green. Eve's wings fluttered with delight. "Wonderful! Now for the honey."
Outside the cave, her sharp eyes scanned swiftly until she spotted it. "There!" she cried, soaring westward. Dakutur hurried after.
"My brothers are still behind," he said, panting.
"I know. That is why you must get the honey," she replied smoothly, her voice like the rustle of silk.
The buzzing of bees reached them. A swarm circled the tree where honey dripped in golden streams. With a whispered chant, Eve waved her hand. The bees dispersed, leaving the treasure unguarded.
"Quick, the leaf!" she commanded.
Dakutur offered it, now grown immense. She pressed it to the honey, scooping, and ate greedily. Her eyes closed, savoring the sweetness.
When she opened them again, Dakutur gasped, her green eyes had transformed into lemon-gold. Her wings stretched larger, her hair lengthened, glowing like living vines. Her pale skin shone pure white.
She twirled, her gown shifting from woven leaves to blooming flowers that glowed brilliantly.
"Now this," she whispered, "will sustain me for ten years."
She smacked her lips and smiled dazzlingly at Dakutur.
"My magic has returned in full. Now, your request…" She paused, her gaze flicking toward the trees, searching. "The sacred roll lies two days away, hidden on the shelf of a greedy old swindler who doesn't even know its worth. Until then…" She snapped her fingers, golden sparks scattering. "…I shall make him counterfeit coins."
Eve's laughter rang like chimes, her eyes settling once more on Dakutur, the most beautiful man she had ever seen.