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Thornix

The ancient oaks whispered their disapproval as I stormed through the forest, their leaves rustling with judgment at my defiance.

My anger burned hot as summer lightning, scorching through the usual peace I found among these woods.

How dare Broaka make such a decision without my consent?

The very thought made the vines in my hair writhe with agitation.

I had discovered the truth quite by accident, during what should have been a routine gathering of the elders.

The wind had carried fragments of their conversation to me with my name, mentioned alongside words like match and Sacrarium .

When I confronted Broaka, her ancient eyes had held neither shame nor regret.

"The peace treaties must be honored, Thornix," she had said, her voice as unyielding as centuries-old bark. "Your DNA was the strongest match. The Sacrarium's magic has spoken."

I paused in my furious trek, pressing my palm against a weathered trunk to ground myself.

The tree's steady energy pulsed beneath my touch, a reminder of the countless seasons I had witnessed here.

This was my home, my sanctuary. The thought of sharing it with some fragile human turned my stomach like bitter berries.

"You cannot hide from destiny forever," the wind seemed to whisper, carrying Broaka's earlier words. "Our kind must adapt or fade away, like morning mist before the sun."

I knew she was right, though I would rather wrestle a dire wolf than admit it.

The world was changing. Even here, in our protected grove, we felt the shifting of powers, the slow encroachment of the human realm.

The treaties that kept peace between our peoples were as delicate as spider silk, requiring constant reinforcement through these arranged matches.

But why me? I had been content in my solitude, finding companionship in the rustle of leaves and the songs of birds. I understood the language of streams and the secret lives of trees. Humans, with their short lives and shorter attention spans, were as alien to me as stars to the deep earth.

The summons had arrived at dawn, carried by a messenger bird with feathers that gleamed like polished copper. The parchment bore the Sacrarium's seal, a twining of vine and steel that represented the union of natural and human magic. My presence was required within three days' time.

Three days to say goodbye to everything I knew. Three days to prepare myself for a match with a creature whose life would be over in what felt like a handful of seasons to my kind. The irony of it tasted like ash in my mouth.

As twilight approached, I stood at the edge of our territory. The ancient boundary stones stood like silent sentinels, their runes glowing faintly in the gathering darkness. Beyond them lay the path to the Sacrarium, a journey I had never thought to make.

I made camp beneath a weeping willow, its curtain of leaves offering privacy as I prepared for the night. The fire I conjured burned with green flames, feeding on magic rather than wood. I would never harm a living tree for something as trivial as warmth.

Sleep eluded me as the moons rose, casting their silver light through the willow's swaying branches.

My thoughts kept returning to the match that awaited me.

What kind of human would the Sacrarium's magic consider compatible with a wood nymph?

Would she shriek at the sight of my inhuman features, my hair of living vines, my eyes that reflected the very essence of the forest?

More importantly, how could I protect someone so ?fragile? Humans broke as easily as young shoots in a frost. They required shelter from rain, protection from the very elements that gave me life. They feared the dark places of the forest where I felt most at home.

I closed my eyes, feeling the earth's steady heartbeat beneath me.

Tomorrow, I would continue my journey to the Sacrarium, to meet this human who was supposedly my match.

I would fulfill my duty to my people, honor the treaties that kept peace in our lands.

But I would not pretend to be happy about it.

The willow's leaves brushed against my skin like a mother's caress, reminding me that I carried the forest with me, always. Whatever waited for me at the Sacrarium, I would face it with the strength of ancient oaks in my spirit and the adaptability of ivy in my heart.

As I drifted finally toward sleep, my dreams were filled with strange visions. A face I couldn't quite see, a laugh I couldn't quite hear, and the unsettling feeling that perhaps Broaka knew something I didn't. The forest had its own ways of teaching us what we needed to learn.

The moon continued its silent dance across the sky, and somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled, a sound that seemed to echo the loneliness in my own heart.

Tomorrow would bring what it would bring, but tonight, at least, I was still free, still wild, still myself.

I held onto that thought like a talisman as sleep finally claimed me, the forest's lullaby my only comfort in the gathering dark.