(Melian POV - four days earlier)
Melian did not announce her departure.
She simply... stopped following.
One moment she floated above the tiled rooftops behind Derek and the boys, listening to their voices echo down the street, and the next she slowed, her glow dimming until she became nothing more than a pale thread of moonlight between hanging lanterns.
Bruce's laughter faded first.
Then Vernon's quieter replies.
Then Derek's steady footfalls.
for the first time since leaving the forest, Melian was alone.
Rootwilds was loud.
Not loud like battle. Not loud like beasts. Loud in the way a living thing was loud-hundreds of tiny movements stacked together, breathing over one another. Footsteps. Cloth brushing cloth. People calling out prices. Children running through alleys with wooden swords. A cart wheel squealing as it rolled across stone.
Even the air tasted different.
The forest had always tasted like clean mana and wet earth.
The city tasted like smoke, iron, sweat, bread, and something faintly sour that made her wrinkle her nose.
She drifted higher, passing over a cluster of slanted roofs.
A cat stared up at her.
Melian froze mid-air.
The cat did not flinch.
It simply blinked, slow and confident, as if it had always expected the sky to contain strange things.
Melian lowered slightly, hovering just above the street's edge.
The cat's tail flicked once.
It turned and walked away.
Melian followed.
Not because she needed to.
Because she wanted to see where it believed it was going.
The cat slipped between a wooden fence and a stone wall, entering a narrow passage filled with broken crates and old rope. The smell here was stronger-fish bones, rotting vegetables, damp wood.
Three other cats sat inside the alley like a council.
They stared at Melian with the same unbothered expression as the first.
She hovered awkwardly.
"...Do you all live here?" she asked.
No response.
One cat yawned.
Another scratched its ear.
Melian's glow brightened slightly, annoyed.
Cats were strange. They behaved like spirits, but without the dignity.
She floated closer.
The first cat walked up to her.
And then it did something absurd.
It rubbed its head against the air where Melian's leg would have been if she had legs.
Melian jerked backward, startled.
The cat blinked again, as if insulted by her lack of physical substance.
Melian stared at it.
"...I don't have a body," she muttered.
The cat sat down and stared at her like she was the stupid one.
Melian's glow dimmed.
Something in her chest tightened-an unpleasant feeling she had been carrying ever since the city's gates had swallowed them.
A gap.
Not in distance.
In existence.
The cat stretched lazily, then leapt up onto a crate. It moved with smooth certainty, claws biting into wood.
Effortless.
Natural.
Melian watched its muscles flex.
Then she looked at herself.
At her hands, made of light.
At the way her fingers passed through the air without resistance.
She could threaten beasts. She could push mana outward until creatures trembled.
But she could not touch.
She could not grip.
She could not climb.
She could not bleed.
And somehow, that last part was beginning to feel less like safety...
...and more like a wall.
She drifted away from the alley and into the wider streets, her presence folding inward.
Authority settled over her like an invisible veil.
Spirits were not meant to be seen unless they allowed it.
Her rank was not high-she knew that. She could feel it, like a weight around her core. There were spirits in the world whose presence could bend storms, whose voices could silence entire forests.
Melian was not one of them.
But she was still a spirit.
And in a human city, that meant something.
She passed through a crowded marketplace without a single head turning.
People walked through her light like it wasn't there.
A child ran straight through her glow, chasing a rolling hoop, and didn't even shiver.
Melian watched him go, oddly offended.
"...Insensitive," she muttered.
She moved toward the edges of the market, drifting above a small square where the buildings curved inward like a bowl. There was a fountain in the center, its water running in steady rhythm.
Something about the square felt... different.
Not dangerous.
Not hostile.
But layered.
As if the air here had been folded over itself too many times.
Melian slowed.
She sensed mana.
Not wild mana, like the forest.
Not cultivated mana, like Vernon's.
This was structured.
Orderly.
A net.
A system.
Her glow dimmed further as she slipped into the shadow of a roof beam and looked down.
An old woman sat near the fountain.
At first glance, she seemed ordinary.
A hunched figure wrapped in a shawl, hands resting in her lap.
Then Melian's eyes narrowed.
Her skin had a faint green hue, almost like moss in dim light. The curve of her shoulders was wrong, her posture too low, too close to the ground. Her eyes bulged slightly when she looked up, lids heavy and unhurried.
Frogkin.
Melian had heard of beastkin before, but this was the first she'd seen up close.
The old woman did not move much.
But the mana around her did.
It flowed in careful circles-small and almost invisible, like ripples on water that refused to fade.
Melian leaned closer.
Curious.
The old frog woman's hand dipped into her sleeve and withdrew something small-an object no bigger than a coin. She held it between two fingers, studying it like it was a memory.
Then she spoke.
"...You can stop hovering now."
Melian froze.
The air turned cold.
Her authority tightened instinctively, pushing itself outward like a shield.
No one should have noticed her.
No one.
Slowly, Melian lowered herself, her glow brightening a fraction.
The frog woman didn't look surprised.
She looked tired.
"...Spying is rude," the woman said.
Melian's eyes narrowed. "I wasn't spying."
"You were," the frog woman replied flatly. "You were also doing a poor job of hiding."
Melian's glow flared, offended.
"I used authority."
"And I used eyes," the woman said, finally looking up.
Her gaze was sharp.
Not in the way a warrior's gaze was sharp.
In the way a judge's was.
Melian's throat tightened.
She had no throat.
Yet she still felt the pressure.
"...Who are you?" Melian asked.
The woman sighed, as if this conversation had already annoyed her.
"Ploare," she said. "And you are a young spirit who thinks invisibility is the same as silence."
Melian didn't answer.
Ploare's gaze drifted over Melian's glow, her expression unreadable.
"You're far from your forest," Ploare said.
Melian's glow dimmed slightly.
"That's none of your business."
Ploare let out a slow breath through her nose.
"...It's everyone's business when spirits wander into a city alone."
Melian's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
Ploare tapped the coin-like object in her fingers against her palm.
"Because some humans will kneel."
"Some will bargain."
"And some will try to put you in a bottle."
Melian blinked.
That... sounded absurd.
But Ploare didn't sound like she was joking.
Melian tilted her head. "Why would anyone try to capture a spirit?"
Ploare's eyes shifted to the fountain.
"...For the same reason men try to capture anything beautiful. Or rare. Or useful."
Melian didn't like the way that sentence sat inside her.
It felt too familiar.
Like Derek's warnings.
Like Vernon's anxious silence.
Like the way Bruce always looked around corners first.
Melian's glow dimmed until she looked like a candle struggling against wind.
"...I'm not here to be captured," she muttered.
Ploare snorted softly. "No one is."
They sat in silence for a moment.
Not awkward.
Just... still.
Melian floated above the stone edge of the fountain, watching water roll endlessly into itself. She found herself listening to the city's noise again, but now it sounded further away.
Contained.
Ploare's presence made the world feel smaller.
Safer.
Or perhaps simply watched.
Ploare spoke again.
"You're attached," she said suddenly.
Melian stiffened. "To what?"
Ploare's eyes flicked toward the direction Melian had come from, as if she could see through streets and walls.
"To them."
Melian didn't answer.
But her silence was loud.
Ploare hummed. "First time outside?"
Melian nodded once.
Ploare's expression softened by a hair.
"Then you should be careful," she said. "Young spirits become foolish in cities."
Melian's glow flickered. "I'm not foolish."
Ploare stared at her for a long moment.
Then she said, deadpan, "You are speaking to a stranger you were spying on."
Melian's mouth opened.
Then closed.
She hated that she couldn't argue.
Ploare's lips twitched, almost amused.
"You're not dangerous," she said. "Just curious."
Melian's eyes narrowed. "Curiosity is not a weakness."
"No," Ploare replied. "I never said it was, But it often walks beside one another."
"Why aren't you with them?"
Melian's glow brightened again, defensive.
"...I don't want to be left behind."
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Ploare didn't react dramatically.
She didn't gasp, or pity her.
She only nodded slowly, like she had heard this confession a hundred times from a hundred different creatures.
"..." Ploare stared.
Melian looked away.
"They're changing," Melian murmured. "They're growing. I can feel it."
Her fingers curled into fists.
"They don't even notice. Vernon thinks, and his mana moves. Bruce breathes, and his Qi adapts. Even Derek... he's like a mountain that keeps sharpening itself. And i can only grow stronger by waiting."
Her glow trembled.
"And I'm still... me, while they have already moved further."
Ploare's eyes softened slightly.
"Being 'me' is not nothing," she said.
Melian's voice dropped. "It will be, one day."
Ploare leaned back, hands resting on her knees.
"You're treating life like a race," she said.
Melian snapped her head up. "Isn't it?"
Ploare's gaze sharpened.
"No," she said. "Life is not a race."
"It's a road."
Melian stared.
Ploare continued, voice steady and blunt.
"They aren't running away from you. They're running toward what they think they have to become."
Melian's glow dimmed.
"But what if I can't keep up?" she whispered.
Ploare shrugged.
"Then you don't keep up."
Melian's eyes widened.
Ploare pointed a finger at her.
"But you keep going."
The words hit like a slap-not cruel, but real.
Melian swallowed.
Her throat did not exist.
But she still felt the motion.
"I want a body," Melian said quietly.
Ploare blinked once.
"...A body," she repeated.
Melian nodded. "A vessel. Something that can move through the world the way they do. Something that doesn't drift. Something that can stand."
Her glow hardened, becoming more defined.
"I don't want to be an echo behind them."
Ploare watched her for a long moment.
Then she sighed.
"You're already strong as a spirit, your mana quantity is not small."
Melian's eyes narrowed, her voice tightening as if each word scraped against her throat.
"I can't use mana formulas like humans do... because I don't have a vessel."
She pressed a hand against her chest, as if she could force herself to feel something solid beneath it.
"A human's mana flows through something real. A heart. A brain. A body that gives their power structure. Their core is a furnace. Mine is just... a knot."
Her fingers curled.
"My core isn't like theirs. It can't compete with a human's, not until I'm hundreds of years old-until enough mana gathers around me that it becomes absurd. Until I'm so saturated with power that it stops mattering that I was born incomplete."
Her jaw clenched.
"But what makes anyone think I'll live that long?"
She exhaled sharply, bitter.
"Spirits control the fundamentals. Elements, raw and pure. But humans... humans don't care about fundamentals. They twist mana into whatever they imagine. They shape it into weapons, shields, miracles-things that shouldn't even exist."
Her eyes flickered, anger laced with something worse: helplessness.
"And I can't. Because I don't have what they have. I don't have a vessel to build formulas properly. Every time I try, it's like tearing pieces of myself away just to make the mana obey."
Her voice dropped, quieter now.
"Following them until the end was supposed to be my purpose... but it feels like a curse."
She stared ahead, as if the thought itself was unbearable.
"I can't die... but I can't keep up either."
A bitter laugh escaped her.
"So what am I supposed to be? A spirit that lingers behind them forever? Watching them grow stronger while I stay the same?"
Her hands distorted.
"How am I supposed to be useful like this?"
"I've never seen a spirit," Ploare replied. "so.. ambitious"
Melian leaned forward slightly.
"I tried to condense myself before."
Ploare hesitated to say anything.
And that hesitation felt more important than any answer.
"I knew a spirit once," Ploare said slowly. "One who gained a form."
Melian's glow flared instantly.
Ploare raised a hand. "Don't look at me like that. I don't know the method."
Melian's light dimmed in frustration.
"But," Ploare continued, "that spirit teaches now. In a place called the Riverfolds."
Melian froze.
Riverfolds.
The name sounded like water and stone.
Like movement.
Like a place where change could happen.
Ploare reached into her sleeve and withdrew a small token, dull metal etched with a symbol Melian didn't recognize.
She tossed it lightly.
Melian caught it instinctively-then blinked as her fingers passed through it.
The token fell.
Ploare snorted, amused.
"Right. Spirits sorry."
She picked it up and held it out again, placing it on the fountain edge instead.
"This is a Law Enforcement Guest Token," Ploare said. "It won't protect you from everything. But it will stop common guards from trying something stupid if they sense your presence."
Melian stared at it.
Then at Ploare.
"...Why are you helping me?"
Ploare's gaze turned distant.
"Because I've watched people stare at others' backs before," she said.
"And because you're too young to wander a city alone without someone giving you a warning."
Melian's glow softened.
Ploare then reached into her sleeve again and dropped several coins onto the stone.
Gold.
Real gold.
Melian's glow flared in alarm.
"That's too much," she said.
Ploare waved a hand dismissively.
"I'm old. I don't spend it fast enough."
She slid a folded piece of paper across the fountain ledge.
A map.
Roughly drawn, but clear.
"Riverfolds," Ploare said. "If you truly want this... go there."
Melian stared at the map.
Her core throbbed faintly.
Fear.
Excitement.
Uncertainty.
All mixed together.
She had traveled once alone.
She met Vernon and Bruce by fate.
Then after she had never had a destination.
And when she did, It was with Vernon and Bruce.
This was something that would ask Melian if she would like to grow or not.
Ploare leaned forward slightly, voice dropping.
"But listen carefully, spirit."
Melian looked up.
Ploare's eyes were sharp again.
"Do not chase them like prey."
Melian's glow flickered.
"Walk beside them like family," Ploare continued. "And if you fall behind... don't turn it into shame."
She tapped the fountain stone.
"Turn it into direction."
Melian stayed silent.
But the words sank into her like warm water.
When Melian finally drifted away, the city felt different.
Not softer.
Not kinder.
But less confusing.
She wandered for hours, moving through streets and alleys, watching people with a new kind of focus.
She watched how they walked.
How they leaned into wind.
How they shifted their weight.
How they balanced baskets and crates and blades at their hips.
Bodies were not just vessels.
They were tools.
Languages.
Promises.
Melian's glow dimmed as she passed a narrow street where children played.
One child wore wooden skates strapped to his feet.
He pushed off the stone road with a stick and glided forward, laughing wildly as he wobbled, almost falling.
He caught himself at the last moment, arms flailing.
The children around him cheered.
The boy tried again.
Faster.
He stumbled.
Almost crashed into a wall.
But he laughed again.
Not afraid.
Just alive.
Melian hovered above the street, staring.
He wasn't good.
Not yet.
But he kept moving.
Kept adapting.
Kept learning.
Her glow pulsed slowly, like a heartbeat.
"...A body," she whispered.
Not as a wish.
As a decision.
She turned toward the horizon.
Toward the direction Ploare's map pointed.
Then she hesitated.
Her glow dimmed again.
Not yet.
Not immediately.
She still had a day.
One more day to watch.
One more day to understand the city.
One more day to decide if she was brave enough to leave them behind for a while...
in order to catch up.
Melian drifted upward into the night sky, her glow fading into the lantern-lit haze of Rootwilds.
she did not feel like an echo now.
instead she felt like the beginning of something.