Anger simmered in the king's lungs while he clutched the inky letter in his palm. His newly inherited kingdom was fast approaching a disparity in its fortune, both monetarily and in its nourishment. He could almost see it. 

So why, why now, had his sister sent this letter dripping with ill intent. Her marriage to their most lucrative trading neighbours was a vow of peace and compliance, so why did she dare to blackmail the king with silly incidents of their past? Outrageous!

Still, silly as they may be, they were serious enough to sink fear deep into the king’s veins.

Outrageous.

The king shall not stand for it. He tore the letter apart, using his rage to hide the words forever.

If she wants to play these childish games then I will fight back! She will not win. His mind called as he rounded his desk, ripping draws open and rifling through every document on the hunt for something useful. “No, useless, weak, pathetic– Agh!” He yelled with a twisted face, fist pounding on the wood.

One of his faithful servants tried hard to mask a flinch. He should be used to the young King's temper by now, having been the King's servant since he was a Prince. He had been cramming the final stretch of kingly duties before his former Majesty took his last, sickly breaths. Regardless, the servant dared not look at the King as he trembled out, “Your Majesty, what is the matter?”

“Silence!” His voice boomed around the open room of his office, the high, rounded ceiling amplifying him more. “My filthy rat of a sister wants to play stupid games, and we can barely afford an army to retaliate! What pathetic kingdom have I inherited? No, there has to be something we can do,”

His servant took a long breath, kept his eyes closed as he stepped to face the king. He finally opened his eyes when he heard the king’s shuffling abruptly stop. “Please forgive my forwardness–"

“Out with it.” The King demanded.

“There has been talk about magic, Sire. The tales of flora infected with a powerful magic: the noblemen are convinced it's true. If we found it, we could use it?”

The King pondered for a moment, his fingers brushing against the stubble he'd begun to slowly grow into a beard he hoped would be greater than his father's.

Magic? That's merely a wives tale, a scary story passed between children, nothing more than folklore. But if the noblemen believe it…imagine the power he could gain. It would matter null that their army was small, underfunded. Not when they had magic on their side.

He refixed his eyes upon his small servant, only a handful of years his senior. The man looked down to avoid eye contact, a silly sign of respect the King cared not to correct. 

“I'll humour you. Gather my men. They should set off at once.”

The servant nodded quickly, and he was out of the study before the King could turn all the way around.

Of course, word would spread. The King's subjects were very social creatures, and they shared everything with one another.

That is precisely how Oscar and Shriya found themselves stumbling through a dark forest carrying their sickly daughter. Her once golden brown skin was grey and dry, the circles around her eyes almost black. Her hair had begun falling out, leaving long, brittle strands of black everywhere she had managed to stumble.

She was only 6. Barely away from being a baby, she did not deserve this life – she did not deserve this end to her life. That was why her parents were on the hunt, behind the entire kingdom's backs, to find this magic flora before the King's guards did.

But they didn't know what they were looking for. They only knew this supposed magic was hidden on the forest floor, somewhere. Somewhere in the thousands of miles of forest that surrounded the kingdom. They couldn't lose hope, they'd lose their minds if they did.

Crunching footsteps echoed off the large rocks that had emerged the more they stumbled through the woods. The sound froze the couple. Oscar pulled his daughter tighter against his chest.

“Guardsmen,” he whispered to Shriya, barely a breath. 

She held hers, her pulse threatening to give their position away. “O- Over here,” she moved inch by inch until they were both crouched by a particularly twisted rock.

Their eyes were wide, bodies shaking, minds frantic with every cracking step closer to their hiding spot. They heard not a word, they spoke not a word, but their eyes communicated every thought of panic they each felt. 

Their daughter stirred, Oscar wrapped a large hand around her mouth, firmly holding her jaw shut.

Silence broke through the forest. Shriya hated that more.

Their daughter squirmed and fought against her father's grasp, Oscar lost his balance and shuffled to keep them upright. Another crack rippled out, a twig snapping under the weight of two bodies. Shriya caught a yell in her throat, eyes squeezed tight.

A moment of silence passed again, but their daughter couldn't stop her wet coughs. 

Oscar made a split-seconded decision – he threw his daughter into his wife's arms and bolted forwards. He pushed through plants and vines and climbed over rocks. The cracks, clonks and whipping sounds drew out the guardsmen nearby who immediately took chase.

“Hey, you there! Halt this moment! That's a royal order!” They each yelled out but their armour slowed them down.

Shriya watched her beloved go, tears welling in her eyes. She felt one fall and followed it down, watched it crash onto her withering daughter. She pulled her close and climbed to her feet. “Thank you, Oscar. Please, stay safe.” Her voice trembled.

“Who goes there?!” A young but assured voice called out, startling Shriya into a run of her own.

She ran the opposite way, choosing a path much less covered in obstacles to protect her daughter. 

The guard gave chase, she could hear him behind. Shriya wasn't as lucky as her fleeing husband, her guard was agile in his armour, and Shriya struggled to handle her daughter's weight. Still, she pushed and pushed even when her thighs burned and screamed, even when her lungs were heaving. 

She pushed until her ankle caught. She heard a crunch sickeningly unlike the others, and she fell.

Her daughter slipped through her arms, with a bounce and a roll across the moss covered tree roots. Shriya was cursed enough to see her own daughter fall right over a cliff's edge.

“NO!” Shriya screamed, arm outstretched in a futile attempt to protect her baby.

Her baby fell into the abyss below. Into the very flora they were looking for. Shriya watched with wide, watering eyes as green light sparked from the gap below, like lightning strikes threatening the sky instead of the floor. 

The guard came to a steady halt at the cliff's edge, his own face full of unsettled confusion. 

His appearance reinstated the desperation Shriya felt, it burned through her core. If there was even the sliver of a chance her daughter was alive down there, she would fight tooth and nail to rescue her. So she pulled herself to her throbbing feet and bit back the pain. Her eyes scanned the edge for any way down, deciding to use the tree roots as a guide.

It took longer than she'd have liked, but she shuffled down the small cliffside. She ignored the bewildered stare emanating from the guardsman, and the ever-flowing electric lights.

There, at the bottom, cushioned by a thick, flowering moss, laid her daughter.

Under the green light, it was hard to tell, but Shriya was positive her daughter's skin was flooding with colour. Her hair certainly seemed thicker. While she was unconscious, Shriya felt hope beginning to whip through her body.

Curious yet, the moss all around them slowly drained of all colour, as if dribbling into the light illuminating the forest. There was one last spark, Shriya had to shield her eyes, and then it was gone. The moss was dead, the forest dark. And her daughter stirred awake.

She was alive. She was well.