June, week 3; 6 months after The Start of the End

The Golden Stag opened his eyes groggily as he awakened from a light sleep. His sides ached where several scabs had broken, and his fingertips had gone numb. A deep chill cut through him, while his limbs felt heavy as lead. He had lost a lot of blood.

He looked down and saw the Goddess’s dagger in his lap, glinting cruelly in the moonlight. The blade gleamed as he inspected it, polished to a deadly sheen. The hilt was wrapped in dark leather, while the pommel featured an engraved set of justice’s scales. It was a simple piece, matching the practical attire of the Goddess.

Glancing up The Stag turned his gaze to the sky. The light was brighter than before, and he estimated no more than an hour had passed since he had drifted asleep. Around him the clearing was still; no other figures could be seen in the dark. Making up his mind he tucked the dagger into his boot, and shifted towards the edge of the throne.

Gripping the armrests for support, he lifted himself to his feet. He stood unsteadily for a moment, and looked towards the right side of the clearing. At its edge he could see the trail to the settlement, covered in tall grasses. He took a single step forward and a rushing sound filled his ears. The path grew blurry in the distance, and the edges of his vision turned purple. His heart thundered in his chest, while nausea clawed at his stomach. He dropped back into the throne as the world began spinning, his mind fogging over.

The Stag sunk his head between his knees and began to breath deeply. In, out. In, out. Slowly the sound in his ears began to subside; the world returned to focus, and the fog on his mind began to part. His hands shook slightly, but the spinning had stopped. He took a final breath, then glanced back towards the path. He had lost more blood than he had thought.

Moving slower than before, he carefully rose to his feet. He took a step cautiously, and dizziness clawed at the edge of his mind. He breathed deeply to suppress the disorientation, and made his way to the steps. As he descended them his mind started clearing, and he increased his pace. Crossing the court he found himself at the trailhead, staring into the dark. Memories fluttered just out of consciousness, dancing at the edge of perception. Nothing but ghosts walked along this trail, haunted by the hopes they had clung to. He had avoided returning since the fires, but now he had little choice.

The Stag stepped into the tall grass, and started along the path. The way was circuitous, designed more for leisure than efficiency. The Owls once had shorter routes to the settlement, but nature had reclaimed them long ago. Above him the canopy swallowed the night sky, and he was shrouded in darkness once more. The world became monochrome, while his vision grew limited. Like the main trail, this route was ominous; a sense of foreboding hung over it.

There was a glimmer, and he stopped in his tracks. His heart pounded in his chest, and he reached to the dagger on his belt. He squinted, searching the dark for any sign of danger. Deep in the treeline there was a faint glow, outlining one of the trunks with soft white light. The glow flickered, and The Stag dropped to a crouch. He stared with eyes barely above the grass, watching as the glow flickered and ebbed. A few feet away another appeared, then another, and another. A line of trunks glowed before him, creating a path in their silhouettes. It halted about 10 feet away, and The Stag counted roughly a dozen hidden lights.

Suddenly, the closest began rapidly pulsing. The one behind it pulsed back, and The Stag watched as the entire line seemed to join in. It was mesmerizing, and he found himself unable to look away. After what seemed like several minutes the flashing stopped, and the glows returned to their ebbing. The one closest shifted, then moved out from behind the tree. A small white flame bobbed into view, floating just inches from the grasses. It flickered lightly, neither growing nor decreasing, dancing in the air.

The flame began to bob towards him, hopping through the air with short side-to-side motions. It reached the edge of the trail and paused, before crossing the distance between them in a single hop. The fire stopped just in front of The Stag and he rose to his feet, inches away but feeling no warmth. It was almost transparent, with the light it emanated almost diffused against the grass . It floated before him briefly then sputtered, releasing transparent white sparks. More flames appeared from behind the trees, drawing his eyes towards them. The Another sputter came from the closest fire, and the others moved to join it. Reaching him the lights began circling, studying him closely. One of them danced near his wounds, and flinched instinctively. The fire immediately moved back, bouncing to a different side of him. The Stag sheathed his dagger, watching the phantom flames warily.

After several moments one of the larger lights sputtered, before heading off into the woods. The others began to follow, hopping quickly as they left the path. The first flame seemed almost reluctant to leave, bobbing uncertainly before heading towards the trees. It paused at the edge of the trail and sputtered at him, sending up more bright sparks. The Stag raised a hand in farewell, and it rushed to catch up with the others. He stared after them in wonderment as they disappeared, a smile forming on his lips. It appeared not all spirits were vengeful; more than monsters lived in the shadows. The Stag gave one final look towards the lights, then turned to move down the path again.

AUTHORS NOTE:

There are a great many mysteries in the world, not the least of which are the spirits. While many appear to be tied to vengeance, little is known as concrete fact. Scholars have debated since The Start of The End every aspect of them, from where they come from to the nature of their sentience. Due to their high activity level The Dead Woods are of particular interest, however few have survived venturing into it. Its rare accounts are nearly indecipherable, as those who have seen The Woods and live often lose their sanity. There are some who hope that The Golden Stag might allow for further research, however the borders have yet to be opened.

Episode 10 takes place 6 months after The Start of The End.