[SP][F02] - Whispers in the Wood

[Jae 0]

 

 

---

The world of Aincrad, so meticulously crafted, held its pockets of chaos and order. Floor 2 was no exception, its rugged terrain and sparse settlements offering as much peril as it did refuge. And on its outer fringes, Marome Village nestled itself like a forgotten seed in the shadow of towering mountains, its moated fortress looming over the rolling fields like a weary guardian.

Jaelynn’s “home” lay beyond the reach of civilization's warmth. It wasn’t a house by any definition—a makeshift canopy of weathered cloth stretched taut over a sturdy pine branch, a refuge hidden high within the embrace of a tree. The ground below was uneven, littered with knotted roots and pine needles, but it held an undeniable advantage: isolation. If player killers roamed, they would find her perch as elusive as smoke, their weapons and malice nullified by her cleverness. The dawn light, filtered through the dense canopy of pines, splintered into soft amber shards that painted the forest floor below. Jaelynn stirred, her breath curling in the crisp morning air. The makeshift cot beneath her creaked as she swung her legs over the side, dropping silently to the earth. Her movements were fluid, precise, echoes of a childhood spent shadowing bounty hunters who lived by the creed that noise could be fatal. She did not linger in sleep's embrace; she had no such luxury here.

The first task of the day was survival—gathering wood for the fire that would ward off the chill creeping into her bones come nightfall. Her axe, its handle worn smooth by repetition, was both a tool and a tether to the mundane. Each swing bit into the trunk with a satisfying thunk, the vibrations traveling up her arms and grounding her in the moment. She imagined her parents as she worked, their presence flickering at the edges of her thoughts like ghosts. They had taught her to see the world in layers: the visible and the hidden, the tangible and the ephemeral. Even in this virtual realm, those lessons held weight.

By the time the sun kissed the highest peaks, Jaelynn’s pile of logs had grown, and the skin of her palms tingled from the exertion. She set the axe aside and brushed sawdust from her fingers, gazing out at the expanse of her solitude. The mountains stood like sentinels, their silence heavy but not unwelcome. In Marome Village, she was just another shadow slipping through the edges of notice—a far cry from the clamor of Urbus, where wealthier players jostled for recognition and advantage.Her journey into the village itself was a matter of necessity. Straw was cheap, and she could barter her labor for it, pocketing her precious Col for tools and materials that could not be earned through sweat alone. The trek from her tree-bound sanctuary to the fortress settlement was measured, deliberate. Her black cloak, its edges frayed and weathered, billowed slightly with each step, a stark contrast against the muted greens and browns of the forest.

The streets of Marome were an exercise in dissonance. NPCs bustled about their business, their faces carved with simple purpose. Farmers carried bundles of hay, their movements slow and deliberate. Children ran barefoot through the dirt paths, their laughter cutting through the stillness like birdsong. Jaelynn moved among them like a ghost, her presence barely rippling the surface of their well-worn routines. She bartered with the straw merchant, her words clipped and economical, exchanging her labor for bundles of the golden material.

The return journey was quieter still, the straw bundled tightly under one arm as her thoughts wandered. Her mother’s voice echoed faintly, recounting the many masks a bounty hunter must wear: one for negotiation, one for intimidation, and another for silence. Jaelynn had inherited the latter most naturally. It was her armor, her barrier against the prying eyes of the world. Once back in her secluded grove, Jaelynn turned her attention to practice. A row of crude dummies awaited her, straw-stuffed effigies she had fashioned with the care of a hunter laying traps. They stood in defiance of her skill, taunting her with their stillness. She unfastened the sword from its place across her back and ran a thumb along the edge of its blade—a personal ritual, as though seeking some unspoken assurance from the steel. The first strike was a whisper, a perfect arc that sliced clean through the dummy’s midsection. Her movements were precise, her focus honed to a razor’s edge. The world around her faded into a blur of muted greens and browns as she lost herself in the rhythm of her training. Sweat beaded on her brow, and her fingers grew raw against the hilt of her sword, but she pushed on.

 

_{an echo, a memory she wished to unhear.}

 

---

 

Her movements, though precise, felt hollow—an instinct honed not by nurture but by necessity. The father’s voice would resurface in flashes, brusque commands that offered no warmth, only critique. “Steady hands, sharp focus. Never falter.” Not lessons for wielding a blade, but for stalking prey, for understanding how to make the first strike the last.

 

Her mother’s laugh was more cutting than kind, a soft, cruel melody that still lingered. “Don’t get attached, Jae. Attachment gets you killed.” Her grace in the field had been captivating, a dancer weaving through danger, but at home, her affection was as fleeting as a shadow in torchlight.

Jaelynn's blade carved through the straw effigy, its guts spilling in a mockery of life. She didn’t flinch; she never did. Yet her chest tightened, a dull ache that made her press harder into the rhythm of her training. Each motion pushed back the memories—her father’s indifference, her mother’s sharp-edged lessons, the unspoken truth that she had always been an afterthought to their purpose.

Hours Passed
_{By the time the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the grove, her arms trembled from exhaustion, and her calloused fingers felt numb.}

 

She sank to the ground, leaning against the trunk of a pine, her chest heaving with exertion. The dummies stood in ruin around her, their straw guts spilling onto the forest floor like the remnants of some forgotten battlefield. Jaelynn’s gaze turned upward, toward the dappled light filtering through the canopy, her mind a swirl of conflicting thoughts. Preparation was her creed, her anchor in a world of uncertainty. But as she stared into the sky, she could not shake the nagging thought that all this effort—the chopping, the bartering, the endless drills—might mean nothing in the end. If she could not seize control when the time came, then what was it all for?

Her hands curled into fists, dirt embedding itself under her nails. The answer, she knew, lay in persistence. It was a lesson her parents had lived by: the hunt was not won in the first strike, but in the refusal to abandon it. As the light waned, Jaelynn rose, brushing dirt and pine needles from her cloak. The forest grew colder, the shadows deepening with every passing moment, but she did not linger. Tonight, she would mend her dummies, sharpen her blade, and rest.

Tomorrow, the cycle would begin anew.

 

Quote

 

***

[Jae] | HP: 20/20 | EN: 20/20 | DMG: 1

Skills: N/A
Battle Equipment:
Woodcutting Axe (Vanity Item | No Benefit)
(3) Starter Healing Potions (Heals 50 HP)
Black Cloak w/ Hood (Vanity Item | No Benefit)

 

 

Edited January 16 by Jae

[Jae 0]

 

The morning light spilled over the horizon like spilled ink, dark but bright with promise. Dawn’s first rays threaded through the canopy above, caressing her face with soft fingers of warmth, reminding her of the world beyond. For a moment, the stillness held her—no demands, no questions—just the wind whispering through the trees, the quiet hum of the earth beneath, and the steady beat of her own heart. A slow, deep breath filled her lungs, cool and untouched by the bustle of cities or the noise of others. The world beyond her small shelter could wait. She had learned long ago that peace was found not in the absence of sound, but in the spaces between it, where the world felt distant and her thoughts, quieted, were soft echoes fading into the background. This solitude, built of necessity, had become her anchor.

Stretching her limbs, she rose from the nest of rough blankets. Her shelter, a simple hollow in the trees, was no more than a shelter in name, fashioned from twisted branches and thick vines, offering little more than an illusion of security. Her humble abode, if it could be called that, was woven from nature itself—an embrace of trees that had no desire to escape the rhythm of their own existence. It wasn’t warmth, but it was protection, and for now, that was enough.

Getting dressed, the sword on her back felt heavier in the stillness, the weight of the hilt pressing against her spine like a reminder of the life she had left behind. Silver strands of hair caught the first light of day, glistening like shards of a shattered star. With every movement, she felt the pull of a world that no longer had space for her. She didn’t dwell on it. There were more pressing things to do. Her day would begin as it always did. She gathered her hatchet and rope with practiced ease, the sound of the tools being readied familiar and comforting. The morning air, thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, was hers to move through. It had always been this way—solitary, deliberate. She didn’t need anything more than what the forest offered.

The trees stretched tall and patient before her as she moved deeper into the woods, her movements soft, barely stirring the air. She felt the sharp, satisfying bite of her hatchet as it sank into the wood with every strike. The rhythmic thud of it reverberated through her, each swing grounding her further in the present. The tree, steadfast and unyielding, offered its resistance. She matched it with unflinching precision. The fatigue would come later. Now, only the wood mattered. The swing, the impact, the rhythm—these were the only constants she could control.

Each tree she felled marked another step forward, another movement in the dance she had learned to keep with the forest. As she climbed higher into the branches, her body moved with a fluidity that matched the trees themselves—each ascent a quiet, almost instinctual climb toward something unknown. The vines she gathered were a simple tool for the day’s work, yet in her hands they became something more, something necessary. The raw material, the labor of her hands, was all she could afford. Yet it was enough. Enough to sustain her in this game, in this world.

Time stretched without meaning as she worked. She did not check the sun, nor did she need to. The rhythm of the task, the pulse of her hands as they worked, was enough. There was no need for more. The swing of the axe, the scrape of her boots against bark—it all blurred together in a seamless rhythm.

---

When the work was done, she returned to the ground with the same silence, the same fluidity that defined her movements. Her feet landed lightly, barely disturbing the earth beneath her. The sword on her back became her focus as she reached for it, her hands finding its familiar hilt. The weight of it, though constant, felt right. She would practice, as always. Each movement, a challenge, a meditation. Her body responded as it had been trained—without hesitation. The first strike cut through the air like a whispered command. The motion was slow, measured, but powerful. Each slash became a reflection of the inner discord she held at bay, a quiet battle fought within. The sword became an extension of herself, moving with purpose, cutting through the air with a precision that mirrored her thoughts. There was no rush. The day was hers, and she would take it one strike at a time.

Every movement, no matter how small, was another step toward something she couldn’t quite define. The motions blurred as fatigue began to set in—her fingers, raw from gripping the hilt, the familiar ache in her arms. But still, she didn’t stop. The sword remained steady in her hands, a constant reminder that even in this world, the next fight, the next strike, was always waiting. As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the grove, the air grew heavy, and her movements slowed. She was alone, as she always had been, and yet, for some reason, the solitude felt less burdensome today. The forest had accepted her again, and in its quiet, there was a subtle understanding between them. She wasn’t just surviving. She was moving, learning, adapting.

With a final swing, the sword paused in midair, as if waiting for something more—an answer, a conclusion, something that might never come. The world held its breath with her. And when the moment passed, she lowered the blade, its weight still a quiet companion against her back. Another day was over.

Tomorrow, she would rise again. And the rhythm would continue.

Edited January 16 by Jae

[Jae 0]

Dawn filtered through the towering pines, painting the grove in amber and gold. The first breath of morning was brisk, sharp against her lungs, yet invigorating—a reminder that, even here in Aincrad, there was no reprieve from life’s demands. Jaelynn rose with the sun, her body already moving before her mind had a chance to settle, as though still tethered to the routines that had once defined her fragmented existence. Beneath the canopy of trees, she set to work. The world around her was quiet, save for the rustle of branches and the occasional call of distant birds, but her focus dulled all distractions. The uneven terrain served as her personal gym, an unforgiving stage for her relentless drive. She began with push-ups, palms pressing into the cool, damp earth. Her form was precise, each motion deliberate, as though sculpting herself from the inside out. The strain in her arms burned, a fire stoked by her refusal to yield.

It wasn’t about strength alone—it was control. Every push was a rebellion against the fragility of existence. She had watched others falter, their bodies mere vessels for fear and desperation. That wouldn’t be her. Here, in the artificial wilderness, she would forge herself into something unyielding. The ache in her muscles was proof of her defiance, a small victory over the invisible forces that sought to diminish her. Next came the sprints. She marked a path between two ancient pines, their gnarled roots forming natural hurdles. Barefoot, she dashed across the forest floor, her movements sharp and explosive. Her breath came in ragged bursts, each exhale mingling with the cold morning air. The repetition was brutal: sprint, stop, sprint again. The ground beneath her feet was uneven, roots and rocks threatening to trip her, but she adapted, her steps becoming lighter, more calculated. It was an exercise in precision and endurance, her own version of survival training. She imagined herself fleeing unseen predators, her life dependent on each perfectly timed stride.

When her legs threatened to buckle, she climbed. Low-hanging branches invited her upward, their sturdy arms stretching toward the sky. Her calloused fingers gripped the rough bark, and she hauled herself higher, one branch at a time. The muscles in her back and shoulders protested, but she ignored the pain. The trees were her sanctuary and her challenge, a blend of stability and risk. She reached a plateau of sorts, where a broad branch stretched outward like a bridge. Standing precariously on the narrow beam, she balanced on one foot, her arms outstretched to steady herself. Below, the ground seemed impossibly far, but the fear of falling barely registered. Instead, there was focus, pure and unwavering. The balance was an exercise in stillness, a reminder that control wasn’t just about movement but about knowing when to hold firm. Later, she fashioned makeshift weights from stones and sturdy vines. The rocks were uneven and cumbersome, their jagged edges biting into her palms. She performed squats and lifts, the improvised tools adding a layer of unpredictability to the exercise. The strain on her body was immense, her muscles trembling with the effort, but she welcomed the discomfort. Pain was a constant companion, a shadow she had grown accustomed to. In some twisted way, it reassured her. The artificiality of Aincrad—its coded skies and synthetic winds—couldn’t dull the raw, visceral connection she felt to her own body.

---

Pain was real. It anchored her.

---

 

Her workout ended with planks and holds, her core trembling as she held herself aloft above the forest floor. Sweat dripped from her brow, mingling with the dirt and grime that clung to her skin. Time blurred, each second stretching endlessly, but she endured. The stillness demanded more of her than movement ever could, forcing her to confront the whispers of doubt that lingered in the back of her mind. Was this enough? Would it ever be enough? She trained like this because she had no other choice. The nature of the game, of survival itself, demanded readiness. Complacency was the first step toward failure, and failure in this world wasn’t just a loss—it was an ending. But deeper than that, the routine gave her purpose. In a world stripped of meaning, where the rules were as arbitrary as they were unforgiving, her regimen was a constant. It was something she could control, something no system or player could take from her.

As the sun climbed higher, warming the grove, she collapsed against the base of a tree, her chest heaving. The world swayed around her, the fatigue setting in like a heavy fog, but there was a satisfaction in it. She’d pushed herself to the brink, tested her limits, and come out the other side. The soreness in her limbs, the rawness in her hands, were badges of honor, proof of her resilience. For Jaelynn, this wasn’t just training. It was an act of defiance. The system may have trapped her, may have tried to reduce her to another cog in its merciless machine, but she wouldn’t yield. Every drop of sweat, every strained muscle, was a declaration: she was still here. Still fighting. Still alive.

She lingered there for a moment, the rhythm of her heartbeat slowing, her breathing evening out. As the twilight descended, its deep hues weaving through the grove, exhaustion claimed her. Jaelynn climbed higher into the branches of an old pine, her movements slower now, yet steady. Nestling herself on a broad limb, she leaned against the trunk, its rough bark a strange comfort against her back. Above her, the stars began to wink into existence, distant and unreachable, yet steady in their constancy. Sleep came quickly, wrapping her in a cocoon of dreams beneath the artificial sky. The world below faded into silence, and for a time, the relentless drive and pain gave way to an unguarded stillness. Here, cradled by the arms of the tree, Jaelynn found a brief reprieve—not in safety, but in the quiet acceptance of her unyielding spirit.

Edited January 16 by Jae
Had more inspiration to type!

[Jae 0]

The forest at night was a creature unto itself, its silence broken by the low hum of nocturnal life. Jaelynn stirred, the rough bark of the pine pressing against her back, her perch swaying slightly with the wind’s passing breath. Her eyelids fluttered open to a sky fractured by branches, stars peeking through like hesitant voyeurs. It was not the gentle pull of sleep that woke her but an instinct, a whisper in her mind sharper than sound. Danger lingered in the stillness, unseen but tangible. She exhaled softly, her breath a fleeting mist in the frigid air. The cloak wrapped around her shoulders shielded her from the worst of the cold, but the chill still nipped at her fingers. Her hands found the trunk beside her, steadying herself as she scanned the forest floor below. The dappled moonlight painted the uneven terrain in shades of gray and silver, its light barely enough to discern the path she would take. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called out, its cry reverberating like a warning.

Jaelynn descended the tree with practiced grace, her feet finding purchase on familiar holds. Her movements were deliberate, each shift of weight calculated to avoid betraying her presence. The last thing she needed was to stir the attention of prowling creatures—or worse, a player with less virtuous intent. When her boots met the ground, the forest seemed to inhale, its quiet deepening. She adjusted the sword at her back, its weight a comforting presence, though she had no intention of drawing it. Combat was a luxury she couldn’t afford tonight. Survival was a game of avoidance, of slipping between the cracks like a shadow too faint to catch. The forest floor was a treacherous tapestry of roots and fallen leaves. Each step she took was a negotiation, her boots gliding over the earth without disturbing it. The faint crunch of dry pine needles beneath her feet seemed deafening in the stillness. She cursed the sound under her breath, pausing to listen, her ears straining for any signs of pursuit. The forest offered no answers, only the steady rustle of unseen creatures in the underbrush.

The path back to her hollow was unmarked, a labyrinth known only to her. Moonlight struggled to penetrate the dense canopy above, leaving her reliant on memory and intuition. Her fingers brushed the bark of trees as she passed, the textures anchoring her in the disorienting darkness. Each landmark—a gnarled oak, a cluster of mushrooms glowing faintly in the dim light—felt like a whisper of reassurance, guiding her steps. The air grew colder as the night deepened, biting at the exposed skin of her face. She pulled her hood lower, her breath steady and even despite the gnawing tension in her chest. Shadows danced along the edges of her vision, tricks of the moonlight that threatened to unnerve her. She refused to let them. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind:

 

---

'Fear is a leash, and you are no dog. Walk tall, or the world will walk on you.'

---

 

Still, Jaelynn’s hand strayed to the hilt of her sword when the distant snap of a branch reached her ears. Her pulse quickened, a rhythmic drumbeat in the still night. She froze, her body sinking instinctively into the shadows of a nearby tree. The seconds stretched, each one a lifetime as she listened, every fiber of her being attuned to the faintest sound. A shuffling noise—heavy, deliberate—moved through the underbrush. Her grip on the hilt tightened, though she didn’t draw the blade. She remained still, blending with the forest, willing herself invisible. A pair of glowing eyes emerged from the darkness, a beast prowling the edge of her path. Its breath was visible in the cold air, curling like smoke as it sniffed at the ground. Jaelynn’s muscles coiled, ready to flee if the creature drew closer. But the beast seemed disinterested, its massive frame retreating into the shadows as swiftly as it had appeared. She waited, counting her breaths until the forest settled once more. Only then did she move, her steps more cautious than ever. Each stride brought her closer to the sanctuary of her hollow, a place she could barely call home but one she longed for nonetheless. When at last the familiar curve of her shelter came into view, relief washed over her like the first light of dawn. She climbed an unmarked tree and ducked beneath the canopy of branches, her trembling hands fastening the flap of cloth that shielded her from the outside world. The weight of the night lifted, replaced by the familiar ache of exhaustion. She sank onto the cot, her heart still hammering in her chest.

The forest outside remained vigilant, its secrets and dangers swirling beyond her fragile walls. But for now, Jaelynn was safe. She let her eyes drift closed, her body surrendering to the reprieve she had fought so hard to earn.

Tomorrow would come soon enough.

[Jae 0]

The scent of moss and damp earth mingled in the cool air as the frost-kissed shadow stood at the edge of the hollow, gazing down at the sprawling expanse of forest below. From her vantage point high in the trees, the world seemed both vast and intimate, as though she were suspended between the earth and the stars. The canopy above shielded her from the worst of the night’s chill, but the wind still found its way through the cracks.  She adjusted the bundle of vine and bark wrapped around her shoulders, her fingers working with practiced ease as she secured another length of rope to the surrounding branches. The hollow, small and unassuming, was her sanctuary, but it wasn’t without its weaknesses. The wind had grown stronger, tugging at the edges of her makeshift roof, threatening to tear away the layers of leaves and bark she’d woven together. She had no choice but to reinforce it, carefully weaving new strands of ivy and twine through the gaps, her movements fluid despite the weight of the task. It was a familiar ritual, one she had performed countless times, each knot tied with the hope that it would hold until the next storm came.

Her mind wandered as her hands worked. The rhythmic motion of the task was soothing, but there was a flicker of unrest in her chest. She had been here for days, and yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that her efforts were futile. This hollow, this small patch of the forest she had carved out as her own, would always be transient. It was a refuge, yes, but one that would never truly be home. Jaelynn’s emerald eyes scanned the forest below, her gaze drifting over the dark silhouette of the underbrush. The creatures of the night had begun their quiet symphony—the scuttle of small feet across the forest floor, the call of an owl in the distance, the soft hum of nocturnal life. But even their presence could not quell the restlessness that gnawed at her thoughts.

The cat-eyed enigma sighed, pulling herself from the reverie. The stars above seemed to shimmer with a quiet promise, as if they too dreamed of something more. With a final tug on the vine, she stepped back and surveyed her work. The hollow was secure once more, at least for the moment. She allowed herself a brief moment of satisfaction before her thoughts turned once more to the path ahead. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, new quests to chase and new obstacles to overcome. But for now, in this fragile shelter high in the trees, she was safe.

---

The world outside her hollow was a quiet expanse of darkened limbs, stretching far and wide like the hands of a great slumbering giant. The weight of the night hung low on the thick branches, cloaking the forest in a heavy, whispered hush. Jaelynn sat at the edge of her small shelter, her back to the rough bark of a sturdy oak that stood sentinel over her hollow. Her fingers traced the scars of the tree’s trunk, memories of past seasons etched into the wood like forgotten stories. The wind, barely a breath, stirred the leaves, sending small whispers through the canopy, and the distant chirp of insects filled the still air.

The lantern beside her flickered, its flame casting weak shadows that danced lazily against the walls of her refuge. The old thing had been a stolen treasure from a tavern in Tolbana—a cheap, brass relic, worn from years of use. In SAO of all places? It was dramatic irony for Jae. Its light was soft, but enough to bring some semblance of warmth to her small hollow. In her hands, the ivory ghost of Tolbana fiddled with the metal casing, absentmindedly adjusting the wick with a sigh. It was one of the few things she had from her days in the city, a reminder of a time she had barely understood. But now, here in the trees, it was little more than a dim light to ward off the dark. She shifted, her bare feet finding purchase on the thick wooden floor of her hollow, the planks weathered but strong. She had built it herself, piece by piece, scavenging from the wreckage of the forest and the remnants of forgotten villages. A small firepit sat in the corner, the stones gathered from the riverbanks of Floor 2, but tonight it remained cold. Jaelynn had no firewood, no extra supplies to spare. Everything she had been already wrapped up in the weight of the present moment—her survival, her hunger, the loneliness that curled itself around her like the very branches she called home.

The silence of the forest above and below seemed oppressive at times. The trees were not just her home—they were her fortress, her prison, her shield, and her cage. And in the stillness, the thoughts crept in like a slow tide, pushing against her heart. She couldn't afford to dwell on them, but it was hard not to. The constant ache in her chest, the persistent hunger that gnawed at her, the memory of the city that felt like a fading dream... All of it weighed on her. She had left Tolbana for a reason, but every night, as the stars watched from above, she found herself wondering what might have been if she had stayed.

But staying in the city had never been an option—
not after that day.

---

A rustling sound broke through her thoughts, bringing her back to the present. She looked out into the darkness, straining her eyes for any movement. The wind had picked up slightly, sending the branches above her into a soft sway. But it wasn’t the wind she was listening for. It was the creatures of the forest—the ones who stalked the trees with sharp eyes and sharper claws, the ones whose calls would remind her that she was not truly alone. It may have been Floor 01, but Boarlets have been known to kill more players than anything else. Who knew what else could be out there. Her fingers tightened around the handle of her lantern, as if it could offer her some kind of protection. In her hollow, she was safe, but she never felt that way. Not completely.

The shadows outside seemed to move with the wind, shifting in unpredictable ways, and Jae’s heart quickened. The lantern's flame flickered again, casting long, fleeting shadows across her small refuge. Her thoughts drifted to the future, to the long-ago dream of a proper home. She had no idea where the dream had come from, or why it clung to her like the vines that wrapped around the trunks of the great trees. It wasn’t something she talked about, not even with herself. But sometimes, when the silence was deep enough, when the night stretched out forever, she could almost see it—a small house, sturdy and warm, somewhere on the outskirts of Tolbana. The kind of place where the hearth never went cold, where food didn’t come in scraps but as a promise of something more.

The thought made her laugh bitterly. 'What a foolish thing to dream of.' It was just another distraction, another weight on her heart.

The wind shifted again, and Jaelynn rose, moving to the small window of her hollow. Her emerald gaze swept over the canopy of trees, over the long stretch of shadowed earth far below her. The stars were hidden tonight, veiled behind a curtain of clouds, leaving only the faintest trace of light. The world was dark and waiting. Waiting for something, or someone. She wasn’t sure anymore. Her hands gripped the edge of the window as she gazed out at the darkness. She wasn’t sure why she bothered to watch, to wait. It was a futile thing, almost, this act of looking out into the night, searching for something she couldn’t name. Perhaps it was the same thing that drove her to tinker with the lantern every night—an endless attempt to hold onto something, to make something stay still in a world that was forever shifting. The branches above her creaked as the wind picked up, and the occasional rustle of leaves made her flinch. She wasn’t alone, but that didn’t mean anyone could see her. The forest had its ways, and she had learned to trust in its silence. A glance at the sky, at the fleeting moon above, reminded her of the rhythm of time. Each hour passed in a fluid, timeless dance, and she was merely caught in it, caught between the trees and the whispers of the forest that held her like a cradle.

She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to face the city again, or the world beyond the trees. The hollow, for all its imperfections, was hers. But tonight, as her fingers gently touched the wood of her shelter, as she felt the weight of the lantern in her palm, she knew that survival was a battle she could never win. All she could do was hold on. Hold on until the sun rose again, until the next day came with its uncertain promises. The emerald-starred nomad settled back into her cot, pulling the blanket tightly around her shoulders. She was no longer in danger, not now, not in her hollow. But the danger of her own thoughts—the ones that threatened to unravel her—would always be there, just beyond the threshold of sleep. The flickering light of the lantern cast its faint glow, the soft shadows growing long as the night deepened. With each passing second, she found herself slipping into the comforting numbness of rest.

Tomorrow would come soon enough, and she would face it as she always did—one step at a time. But for now, she closed her eyes, and the forest watched, its secrets murmuring softly as the night wore on.

[Jae 0]

Days Later

 

Dawn broke over the forest in a delicate symphony of gold and amber, light threading its way through the latticework of branches overhead. The soft, luminous glow spilled into Jaelynn’s hollow like liquid fire, pooling in uneven patches across the bark walls and the mossy floor. The world below seemed to slumber still, its breaths slow and steady, the muted rustle of leaves a mere whisper. But here, high above the forest floor, energy sparked and coursed through her, a silent crackle of anticipation that had been building for days. She had waited long enough—too long. For days, she had felt the weight of her new blade, its presence both a promise and a challenge. Veilpiercer had seemed to hum beneath her touch, its balance perfect, its edge keen enough to split a thread midair. The strength within her own body felt newly forged, as if shaped by unseen hands alongside the blade. Today was not a day for hesitation. Today was a day to test the boundaries of her limits and push beyond them.

Veilpiercer gleamed like a shard of moonlight caught in the dawn. The blade was a study in contrasts: elegant yet unyielding, graceful yet brutal in its potential. It seemed to ripple faintly in the light, a razor’s edge imbued with an almost ethereal glow. As Jaelynn held it, she felt a pulse beneath her fingers—not of metal, but of something ancient and alive. The leather-wrapped hilt molded to her grip like it had always belonged there, its texture rough but sure. Her thumb traced the subtle curve where the guard met the blade, the transition smooth as flowing water. This was no ordinary weapon. It was a piece of art, tempered not just in the heat of a forge but in the fires of purpose and intent. Her hollow, perched high among the swaying branches, was both haven and crucible. The air here was clearer, richer, carrying the mingling scents of pine resin and damp moss with every passing breeze. But today, this place would serve as her arena.

Barefoot, she stepped onto the broad, sturdy branch that stretched like an arm from the heart of the tree. The wood beneath her feet was rough and cool, a grounding presence. Her stance was loose, a ripple of motion ready to spring into action. The wind danced around her, tugging at the loose strands of her white hair, brushing against her cheeks like a playful adversary. She stood still for a moment, breathing deeply, letting the scents and sounds of the forest root her. The rustle of leaves, the occasional call of a bird, and the distant murmurs of unseen streams wove together in a tapestry of life. When Jaelynn opened her eyes, they were sharp as a falcon’s, steady and clear. This was her moment. The dawn, the forest, the blade—they were all part of it, all part of her.

Her first movements were slow, deliberate. Veilpiercer cut through the air with a sound that was more felt than heard—a low, slicing hum. She practiced basic strikes first, each motion a study in precision. Downward slashes, arcing swings, quick thrusts that extended her reach—all connected seamlessly as if she were drawing an intricate, invisible map around her. The blade was an extension of her, and as she moved, she felt the strength in her arms, the balance in her stance, the burn in her core. As the morning matured into afternoon, Jaelynn’s pace quickened. She added spins, footwork, and combinations that forced her body to adapt. The forest became her sparring partner. Low-hanging branches became targets for quick cuts; the gaps between them challenged her agility. She leaped from one branch to another, each landing precise, her movements more fluid with each passing hour. Sweat gathered on her brow, dripping down her temples and catching on her cloak before evaporating into the warm air. Her breath came in steady bursts, controlled, even as her heart raced. The surrounding forest seemed to pulse with life, its energy feeding her own. She felt unstoppable, her body and blade moving as one.

When the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across her hollow, she shifted her training. Now it was about endurance. She held Veilpiercer high above her head, her arms trembling with the effort of keeping it steady. She balanced on one foot, her body swaying slightly as she tested her focus. Minutes passed, each one stretching into eternity. Her muscles screamed, her fingers ached from gripping the hilt, but she didn’t falter.

Control. Strength. These were the foundations she was building, stone by stone.

As night fell, the forest transformed. The once golden light now turned silver, and the stars emerged to watch her final session. The air was cooler, the wind sharper, but Jaelynn felt no chill. She trained by the flickering light of her lantern, its warm glow creating long, dancing shadows. She practiced her footwork in silence, weaving between invisible foes. The hilt of Veilpiercer felt heavier now, her arms and legs aching from the day’s exertion. But she welcomed the pain; it was proof of her progress. A quick series of thrusts gave way to a spinning slash, the blade catching the edge of a hanging vine. It split cleanly, the severed ends drifting down into the darkness below. For her final exercise, she climbed higher into the trees, Veilpiercer strapped securely to her back. She found a wide, sturdy branch and perched at its edge, her legs dangling over the abyss. The moonlit forest stretched endlessly before her, a sea of shifting shadows and faint whispers. Drawing the blade, she balanced it across her knees and closed her eyes.

This was not a moment for movement but for stillness. For reflection. She let her breathing slow, the rhythm of her heartbeat calming with each passing second. The weight of Veilpiercer rested against her thighs, a reminder of her purpose. She had chosen this path—not for glory, not for revenge, but for survival. For freedom. When she finally descended to her hollow, her body was heavy with exhaustion. She laid Veilpiercer carefully beside her cot, its blade catching the faint light of the lantern as if winking in approval.

Tomorrow, she would train again. But tonight, she let herself rest, her body melting into the rough bark of her home, her dreams filled with the endless sky beyond the trees.