Warning: Mentions of blood, injuries and pain in a slighlty explicit way, nothing outside of the fantasy-violence label

This could have been a serene place for some light reading, but it was not the time; the hunter’s consciousness was bound to return. The sight of the blood trickling down the hunter’s nape made his spine shiver. Mortigus had little Essence left, but he forced himself to strengthen the mushrooms encasing the hunter, binding him like a straitjacket. When he sprouted the mushrooms on the hunter's face during the fight, Mortigus had hoped to completely cover his upper half, but the Essence proved not so effective. It could be that applying Essence to anything besides fungi and soil was less efficient; Mortigus’ gamble could have gone way worse. Returning to the currently restrained hunter, Mortigus stared at him, drops of pity soaking his anger. “What do I do? Take revenge for me, or for Arbero?" Mortigus grasped the handle of the short sword, its weight uncomfortably holding his arm down. His hand’s grip tightened, pain coursing through his forearm. He raised the sword and embedded it in the ground several meters from its fallen owner. Leaving the man injured like this in the middle of the forest could be a death sentence in and of itself, but he was not ready to be the executioner. Nonetheless, Mortigus was not leaving empty-handed. Besides the sword, he swiped most of the hunter’s valuables. Though he didn’t manage to activate the bloodhound ring or the gun, neither artefact reacted to his Essence. Human magic and the Essence of Mycolians were working on whole other standards and mechanics, it seems. “This is enough for now. I should head north-east, low chances he’s going to find me again without his dog ring,“ said Mortigus to himself, climbing out of the brook’s valley. 

  By the evening, Mortigus was on a long walk, reaching far beyond the river’s bench and into wild plains. It was surprising how few villages and cities he had noticed despite walking for days. It would be useful to try to grab some supplies from a city, but all he could picture was midnight heist. After all, there was no chance of finding a disguise good enough for his outlandish body. He could attempt to drape a veil over the wide cap atop his head (which took hours to heal after the hunter's “sharpness test”). This veil would cover from his head down to his neck, though seeing through it would still be difficult, especially given his single, plate-sized eye with its glaring glow. The hunter had some money inside the bag, but it was useless if he couldn’t walk into the market among people in the first place. Stealing was truly the only way. Most importantly, Mortigus needed a map in the hopes he could head to Arcut, his home village. But it wouldn’t be wise to attempt such a thing yet; he had to leave more distance between him and the group of humans now knowing of his existence.  

   “I wonder how it’d be like to travel with someone else,“ yearned Mortigus. Back in the woods where he hibernated, he grew a quiet hunger for exploration, for experiencing life freely. And even if humans were again trying to put bars around him, nothing would stop him from removing his last shackle. 

  “A shackle—is that what reaching Arcut means? It feels like an exaggeration, but I did live most of my life alone. And strangely, the loneliness never stung until now. Did I really so easily accept a life of solitude in that forest back then? Or is that just how I remember it? I only got to spend a few days with Arbero, but I miss them already. After they vanished, abandoning me—why did I get attached at all? This only proves it was naive to expect anything different. Maybe visiting Arcut will finally free me, severing the last bonds I have to humans. With the hunters out there, my options are to kill, be killed, or never be seen. Maybe I’ll create a small hut, like Arbero, deep in some woods. And just forget about the rest of the world.“ Mortigus sunk into deep thought, only to trip on a crooked root. The sun was starting to dim out, fireflies taking off from the ground one by one. “For the moment, I’ll just do as planned. I’m sensing no large being around; I could camp soon in the area.“

  A new day shone over the horizon; golden waves of grain were being split apart by a giant red and white dot. Mortigus’ cap peaked from the end of the lane, seeing another patch of deciduous trees not far away. He headed inside the grove on instinct, preparing to scan the area as usual, yet something unusual did happen. An alluring spark in the Essence made his head turn forcefully. Around two hundred meters away, dense hedges were forming a small citadel of emerald paper and spines, no berry bushes or such in sight. Mortigus got closer and sprinkled Essence on the ground right beneath him, giving rise to a mushroom almost twice as tall as himself. From this vantage point, he could see the true layers of hedges ahead, followed by unassuming trees and a bumpy hill. He didn’t sense any humans nearby, so, led by curiosity, he extended the cap of the mushroom over the hedges and got past the wall of spines, touching the ground again and moving to the source of the weird feeling. To be safe, he retracted the fungi platform and left no sign of his presence. If he needed to run, he could always create another one after all. He advanced until he reached the base of the hill, though nothing stood out about it. Moss and grass were growing vividly; scattered across the ground, tiny barren patches appeared, as if the soil’s nutrients hadn’t been evenly distributed. Mortigus went closer and kneeled, his hand pressed onto a bald patch on the hil. As mycelium dug through, the soil crumbled slightly. Like sound breaking a glass chock full of water, Mortigus’ Essence overburdened the soil, causing a sinkhole that sucked in Mortigus with little chance to react.

  His body rolled like a pillbug down the dirt slide for a couple of seconds, coming to an abrupt stop in the middle of a surprisingly spacious cave. Thankfully, mycolians don’t appear to be bothered by such a thrashing, as his body healed quickly. His head, however, spinned for a minute as he clumsily grabbed the nearest wall and pushed himself back onto two feet. Mortigus brushed off the dust, though his new pants were muddied. He directed his eye around, finding the hole he fell through, but it was no more than a thin tunnel, covered by all the caved-in dirt and rocks. On the other hand, to his side, a slight breeze could be felt, guiding him through the tunnel’s darkness. A light beam filled with dust was raining down through what seemed to be the step entrance of the cave, a few roots acting as a ladder. This entrance must have been camouflaged with magic, impossible to see from outside; otherwise, Mortigus couldn’t explain how he didn’t notice it at all before. This wasn’t a burrow of a simple beast, concluded Mortigus. He backed away from the entrance, putting his palm on one of the burrow’s walls. Surprisingly, the ground was already brimming with mushrooms, so in less than a minute, Mortigus managed to get a rough layout of the burrow, chock full of chambers and intersecting tunnels, among them rooms resembling underground gardens. His eye’s glow was rather dim, not enough to safely navigate these tunnels half-blind. Since he couldn’t feel any notable creature currently in the burrow, he gave bloom to many tiny bioluminescent mushrooms, colourful garlands lining the walls and floor. Their gentle light showed the true home hiding beneath the ground, far different than what an abandoned mine could be. Mortigus was on edge, but a faint call of mushrooms was luring him deeper, like the voice of an old friend awakening buried memories. The burrow hummed the tune of a gentle Essence and a familiar touch. Mortigus lowered his head as he stepped into a garden filled with various mushroom species and hardy plants that thrived in low light. Water containers were neatly organised in a corner, as were small bags of seeds and compost. The roof of this room was solid, far from an illusion, though it was surprising to see an underground garden maintained so well. Nonetheless, this room held the main pool of Essence within it, keeping the conditions of this environment perfect for gardening. As much as he wanted to reject it and toss it aside as a delusion, Mortigus noticed it. That somewhat faded Essence was of Arbero, an old signature that wasn’t yet washed away by time but was close to peeling off. They’d been here before, but most likely didn’t live here. The burrow seemed unusually well-kept and lived-in—a feature that was lacking from Arbero’s abode. Had Arbero created this space for someone else? Or was Mortigus simply assuming that Arbero's Essence would have a distinctive quality, unique enough to set it apart from any other? Mortigus kept his hands tightly stuck to the wall, trying to sense every little detail he could, extracting all the memory stored by the earth.

  Regrettably, Mortigus's focus came at the cost of his awareness. A sudden thud echoed through the tunnel, stirring an unsettling shiver through him. Mortigus tried to think on the spot, but his eye didn’t even twitch before a new presence appeared at the garden’s opening. 

  “Cine dracu’ ești?! Ce cauți aici?! (“Who the hell are you?! What are you doing here?”)“ shouted an alien voice from behind Mortigus. Mortigus turned around slowly, a stoic figure blocking the door. The mushroom’s lights showered a dirty, yet slightly reflective carapace, a bulky insect standing on two legs and just a little bit shorter in stature than Mortigus, though both were slouching a little in this section of the tunnels. The insect's beady eyes were laser-focused on Mortigus, while it was pointing its two muscular arms right at the intruder. Its forearms ended with what looked like spiked gauntlets with three slick fingers sticking out. One claw was holding an iron dagger, worn but still sharp, while the other had a tiny storm of dust swaying around the wrist. “Mâinile sus, dacă văd un singur semn de magie, dărâm tunelul peste tine!” (“Hands up, if I see even a sign of magic, I’m crashing the whole tunnel down on you!”), demanded the insect, gesturing with its dagger for Mortigus to lift his arms. 

 Mortigus caught the queue and followed through. Though beastlike at first glance, this burrow and these mannerisms were certainly those of an intelligent creature. Arbero might have mentioned insect-like people in his retellings, but Mortigus was too tense to remember the details. He didn’t recognise the language the burrower was speaking either, so at the moment all he could do was to remain vigilant at any chance to escape and not provoke them.

 “Nu ești om, poate ciupercă. Micolian? Eşti cumva Arbero?“ (“You aren’t human, rather a mushroom. Mycolian? Are you, by chance, Arbero?”) enquired the burrower, jolting Mortigus. He decided to try to communicate, pointing at himself with one hand.

  “You know Arbero? I know him too, I mean no harm.“  

  “Oh, iți recunosc limba, cred. Și ai reacționat la numele Arbero.” (“Wait, I recognise that language, I think. And you reacted to the name Arbero”) remarked the insect, after which it started rubbing its neck with one claw to clear its throat. 

  “Move forward, slowly,“ ordered the burrower in a raspy and forced tone. “Now left.“ Mortigus followed as asked. “Now stay there.“ Based on appearances, the insect directed Mortigus inside a kitchen or pantry, Mortigus standing next to a table while in the opposite corner, between shelves and cupboards, stood the insect. Mortigus froze, his eye watching the burrower carefully as it slid to the right, one hand reaching over to a wooden shelf and the other still threatening Mortigus. Its claw got hold of a weird stone emblem, which it twisted and brought next to its neck.   

  “We understand each other now, right?“ said the insect, its tone, language, and even pronunciation clearly different from before. It maintained an intense gaze towards Mortigus.

  “Yes, I think so,“ responded the mycolian, slightly confused.

  “Good, good. So, you are clearly a mycolian, are you Arbero?" asked the insect while keeping its guard up. 

“I’m not Arbero, but I do know him! My name is Mortigus, a mycolian, simply put. You know of Arbero, but had you perhaps never seen them in person?“ clarified Mortigus. 

  “Never ever. All I got is my parents’ stories about Arbero. You’re the first actual mycolian I’ve ever seen, but that is not so surprising.“ The insect took a brief pause then introduced itself. “Mortigus, you said? I’ll exchange names then. I’m Lut, a farmer who woke up with a bizarre intruder into her home. I’d like to hear an explanation regarding that.“

 Mortigus gulped before answering.

  “Arbero and I were pursued by hunters and villagers; we got... separated, and I found myself fleeing alone. I ended up in this region, where I felt the Essence of Arbero and followed it to this hill. Then I crashed down into your home by accident,“ clarified Mortigus, though the tension in the air hadn’t left. He continued, trying to keep a consistent tone: "I am really sorry for the intrusion; I really mean no harm. I was just attracted by the remnants left here by Arbero.“

  "Arbero had worked on this house some decades ago, though I never expected mycolians to be so sensitive to this stuff. To be safe, before we continue this discussion, be a dear and empty your baggage on the table next to you,“ ordered Lut in a calm tone.

  Mortigus followed suit, spreading on the table most of the provisions he had collected. "I have some weapons that I stole from a hunter. I will slowly place them on the table now," Mortigus warned. Lut twitched a little, clearly vigilant. 

  Mortigus laid down the flintlock, a knife, and the magic ring onto the table, backing away after the fact. The ground under the table rumbled for a second as dirt liquified and lifted it from underneath and moved it away from both Mortigus and Lut, following the gesture made by Lut’s claw. Lut dragged a chair and offered it to Mortigus, while she placed herself between him and the table filled with weapons and food.

 "Look, I understand what it’s like to run from the hunters; I believe you for the most part. I need to make sure of one thing: were you being followed until this point?“ asked Lut firmly.

 “No. For at least a couple days I haven’t sensed any other human-like being. Once I found the hill though, I kind of got too caught up in scanning Arbero’s Essence and—“
"Didn't detect me in time? It figures,“ intervened Lut. “Hopefully you tell the truth; your discretion was not particularly trust-worthy, judging by what I found on my way here. You made the glowing decorations through the burrow, right? They do look nice; you can leave them there. A few traces of fungi on the entrance too.“