To thrive in the darkness means to abandon the touch of sunlight. It means adapting, finding a new means of survival. Rather than absorbing nutrients from the world at large, it requires a touch of parasitism. Roots are exchanged for fangs, flowers for thorns, and pollen for spores. This isn’t a perfect metaphor, by any means. I’ve never been a poet. But even if I were, it’s not something I expect many others to comprehend. My experiences are extraordinarily unique. The only commonality I share with other Tainted is this small thing; we are of the darkness, and in the darkness we must dwell. And so, because of this, it must seem exceedingly strange that I am completely, utterly petrified by the absence of light.

I am not a child. I am hardened, I have lived through the horrors of war ten times over, have slain beasts that even a legendary hero might freeze up again, and I have lost everything and come back from it still. And, to some extent, I am capable of maintaining composure in the void-But I am courageous in spite of my fear, I do not lack fear altogether. 

Bound as I am, tied tight enough to suffocate, and blinded with the threat of darkness, there is only my magic to focus on. It is all I can do to push away the tremors in my limbs, the rapidness of my breathing, and the spiral of thoughts that threatens to storm outward. It is, if anything, a necessity. If I do not remain in absolute control of my magic, I risk inflicting significant harm on my guide, and while I am ordinarily the type to resort to brawn before brains in these types of situations, I am entirely at his mercy out here, in the Great Woods of Offeria. Harm done to him is harm done to me. Thus, I attempt meditation. I focus myself inward, feeling for that warm flicker of dark energy that occupies my core. 

Time has always been subjective, but the inconsistency at which it blurs by makes me feel drunk. Or, perhaps, that is the vertigo. In any case, when Avium finally releases me, it feels like a carriage wreck. The abruptness causes me to tumble out of the floral cocoon and onto the ground- Although, as I regain my bearings and actually process my surrounds, I realize that we are not at all resting on the earth, but rather on a flat, solid platform constructed entirely from the same multicolored leaves as before. There is a faint amber glow across their surface, reflecting how much time has passed. It is already approaching sundown, which means that we have been traveling for roughly half a day’s time, most of which was spent with me held captive. 

Avium is panting beside me, his posture bent and his chest heaving more than a Mangebeast on a hunt, and his face has lost some of its previous color. He looks worn and pallid, but his eyes are still shining with the gold glow of his magic. Standing on my own legs feels awkward, and the muscle tremors still refuse to cease. I must look foolish, but he looks too worn out to properly pass judgment, and so I do not say anything.

His boots don’t make a sound as he kicks the foliage platform under us, though the leaves do spring and bound back a bit as he pulls his foot up. “That should hold. We’re stopping here.” ” As he collapses onto the leafy surface, feigns a composure that leaves him looking even more pathetic and run down than before. Such a poor attempt wouldn’t even fool an elfling. Even still, he was so vibrant and energized prior in the day.

“I’ve noticed.”

“We need to find food before the dark completely settles in. It isn’t safe to forage past duskdown.”

“No offense, because I really don’t enjoy picking on the weak, no matter how deplorable I might find them- But you don’t exactly look capable of standing right now, let alone bouncing around the treetops.” I could go in his stead, perhaps. Foraging in a foreign environment is not the most ideal, but there’s little chance that any of the surrounding plants or animals pose me any harm. I don’t get sick from poisons the way others do, which I suppose is one small benefit of my Taint. Even still, his guidance will still be required to know what is safe for him to consume. 

But in spite of his exhaustion, he shakes his head. “I need to eat, and I don’t trust you to find enough for us both.” He attempts to push himself up, but his arms collapse again, and he ends up sprawled prostrate across the leaves. For fuck’s sake…

“Will you just stay down and tell me what to look for? I don’t need you passing out on me.”

“Fine.” He scowls. “There’s a pale blue fruit that grows in this area; roughly the size of an elven head, hexagonal shape, leaves in clusters of threes- I’ll need you to bring back at least three of those.”

“Three? The size of your head?” My stare is sharp, but the nature of his request is more than a bit surreal. I am but a single person, it wouldn’t be easy to carry four fruits if I’m to feed myself, in addition to him. “I expect you’ll tell me to take multiple trips?”

He passes me a feeble smile, perhaps the first expression of his that does not contain any sort of aggression or loathing. It’s unclear if that stems from his increased fatigue or if he is somehow warming to me, though I do know which scenario is more likely. In any case, he looks almost... Guilty. Forlorn. It’s not a look I enjoy seeing on him. It leaves me feeling some remorse for my own treatment of him, when logic dictates that my behaviors are justified.

“I’ll do my best.” 

I leave before he gives a verbal response. The surrounding area is just as alien and strange as things had been before I was blindfolded. The platform that Avium settled us onto is not very large, but branching away from it are a number of thick, solid tree boughs, with a vaguely hexagonal pattern crossing through their bark structures. Logic dictates that the fruit grows from this tree, thus, I follow the sturdiest looking branch some ways off of where Avium has settled into camp. As I walk, the leaves grow to such a size that they could be tailored into garments, if one were silly enough to desire wearing foliage. I’ve never seen any plant life so large before. Back in The Outlands, only wild brush and the occasional fungus can survive. Anything else that grows there feeds off the dark energy, and more often than not mutates. It’s not uncommon for plants to grow teeth, and in some areas, eyes. Seeing such a thriving and overgrown environment absent of any Taint is a unique experience that I will file away in my mind for future reference, should I need painting inspiration.

I count from zero to one hundred to track the time; after a solid ten counts, the branch spirals down and then up again, but at the end of the swirl, I see a large cluster of the very fruits that Avium had requested.

Navigating my way to the fruits proves difficult. I almost slip and fall from the branches numerous times, and upon glancing down, recognize that from such a drastic height as this, I really could become irreparably damaged. More importantly, however, the sun is starting to truly leave the atmosphere. I’m not certain that I can take multiple trips and make it back before danger properly sets in. Frowning, I tear away the leaves in an effort to evaluate the area where the fruits connect. They are slotted flush against each other in a honeycomb layout, and from the front it almost seems they are connected at the sides- However, pulling the cluster back shows that they are in fact the shape of a hexagonal cone; while the fronts of the fruits are flat, the backs are connected at a single point, and surrounded by a layer of three large leaves. If I detach the entire bunch from the branch, I can easily carry back seven of the fruits before duskdown. 

I pull a dagger out of its sheath on my belt, preparing to cut the stem. Using fire magic on the tree would be a negligent decision at best, but so long as the magic itself does not contact any living things, I should be perfectly safe. I let fire consume one of my hands, running the blade through the flame to heat it up. The blade alone would not be able to cut the stem quickly enough, and I don’t know if these trees can recover from injuries... A heated blade cuts through much faster, and has the added benefit of cauterizing the tree before it can spew any sap or other fluids onto me. 

Once the fruit is loosened, my only remaining obstacle is getting the bundle across the tree spiral that had nearly sent me to my demise. There is no easy way to navigate the area. One small slip and I could fall, but with such a large bundle of fruits, I will be off balance and disadvantaged. These aren’t exactly a light snack by any means. If I’m not careful I will either drop the fruit or meet my tragic end, thus dooming Avium to his own fate. Well... I suppose I don’t particularly care if he survives or not, but my entire nation is depending on my diplomatic success, so my own death is not an ideal outcome by any means.

I don’t have many ideas for crossing back over the tree spiral, so I do the first thing that comes to mind. The stem is not particularly firm compared to the bark of the tree, and my teeth are as sharp as any beast’s. Thus, with a bit of stubborn determination, I bite hard into the stem and balance the weight in my jaw. The action is incredibly painful; my jaw will ache for hours after. However, it proves effective enough. My grasp is stable, and I begin my journey back through the swirling expanse of branches.

There is a point in the spiral, where the loop begins, over which I had jumped across on my way out to seek out fruit. Here, I must jump again, but with the cluster grasped firmly in my jaw, my vision is more than a little impaired. I’m wary that if I miss this jump, there is a strong possibility I will not survive. It isn’t fear that halts my steps, here. To admit to fear is the sign of the courageous, and I’ve always thought myself to be particularly bold hearted in facing things I detest. Rather, it is caution. I am unsure how to best approach the jump. My jaw aches. I do not wish to die. I do not wish to fall and doom my country. And still, no matter how I consider things, there is no easy or obvious way to approach such a dangerous action. There is no way to increase my chance of success. I can only take the plunge.

I shift my weight back and forth, steeling my nerves. With a deep breath, I shut my eyes, steady my breathing, center my magic, and I leap.

To say that my jump is a failure would be a gross misrepresentation of what happens, but I do not, in any case, plummet to my doom. I do not land steady on both legs, but I do not fall. Rather, I land, awkwardly stumble, and fall forward, frantically clinging to the branch with immense paranoia. The fruit I bite down on is resting on the solid surface of the branch, and so I let go of my grip on it. My jaw, as expected, aches something fierce. But I have managed to get through the worst of the trip, and I have not lost my precious cargo. As I stand upon shaking limbs, my eyes cast downwards and I am once again reminded how high above the forest floor I travel. I have never been properly afraid of heights, but the experience is hardly pleasant.

Walking back, I do my best to steel my rattled nerves, and while I’m unsure of my success in the matter, Avium does not glance my way. The lack of care for my presence would ordinarily prove irritating; in this case, I am grateful that I will not destroy my impervious self-image.

“Took you long enough.” He mutters, though even still, he does not shift his position.

“You could be at least a little grateful that I brought you dinner. I almost died.” My jaw aches as I toss the stem his way, uncaring whether or not the fruit bruises. I do expect him to catch it, but he does not move, hardly even flinches when the fruit hits him directly in the shoulder and rolls to the side. He doesn’t even react to the possibility of my death. All in all, I find the situation rather irritating.  “Are you expecting me to feed you, your highness?”

“Don’t call me that.” He snaps, springing upright. It would seem that a bit of taunting is all it takes to get him powering through his misery. Even still, despite sitting up, he seems... Absent? No, that isn’t quite the right word. Distant, perhaps, but still somewhat present. No... Drained. He seems drained. He sits slumped over, with his hands limp in his lap, and his gaze cast downward. “I... Require assistance.”

“Are you really so lazy that you can’t feed yourself?”

“It’s not that.” 

His staunch refusal to elaborate further leaves me clenching a fist, but I take a deep breath in a fleeting effort to settle my anger. It does little, but the attempt is important, nonetheless. I don’t appreciate being treated like a servant. If that is all he sees me as, then so be it, but I’m not going to sit here and take his haughty attitude. My hands press against my hips and I clench my jaw. That my fangs draw blood from the edge of my lip is irrelevant. 

“Are you going to explain, or just continue ordering me around?”

“It needs to be peeled. The skin is harmful for my people... But I can’t- I...” With a heavy sigh, he glances longingly at the fruit. I am growing more impatient by the second. He’s lucky I am reliant on his charity as much as he is mine.

“Spit it out.”

“Magic has a price, I’m sure you understand.”

There is some sense of irony, to tell a Tainted about the mortal laws of our fucking world. I know the cost of magic. I know this truth more intimately than I know my own flesh, and I possess the physical scars to showcase it. That he could possibly think I’d forget such a thing is blasphemous. Were I to forget... It would be an act worse than blasphemy. I do not think myself capable of such catastrophic mistakes. But I digress. 

Now that I look him over with a much more scrutinous eye, it becomes apparent just how reliant on me he actually is. Although his fingers do give the occasional twitch, his arms are nearly entirely limp from the elbows down. Further attempts to move them would likely resemble the chaotic flopping behaviors of an Eelipede out of the mud. My own magic does not leave me paralyzed, but then, we are very different. I do not know anything of how his magic functions. I do not even know how often these consequences may occur, nor how long he may take to recover. It also occurs to me, that if he is so drained from carrying me such a short distance, that he may be much less fit for his job than initially thought.

“Your stamina is shit.” 

“Eloquent. Still, like a plant, so too shall an elf wither and die without sufficient nutrients.” When I do not immediately react, Avium sighs. “I used a lot of magic stabilizing this platform. Or did you think that all trees have such solid and pillowy leaves?”

I have no idea how much strength his magic saps from him, nor what the difference is between combat applications or something on a larger scale such as setting up camp. It hadn’t even occurred to me that he could do something so grandiose as forming an entire platform with the consistency of a mattress, but I suppose my ignorance of the local flora and fauna once again proves me to be the fool. “Good to know it wasn’t the attempted kidnapping,” I snap. “If it takes so much of your strength, it isn’t necessary. I’ve slept on worse than a hard tree branch.”

But Avium shakes his head. “If you think comfort is my only concern, you’re an idiot. I did say these woods are dangerous past sundown.” 

“I’m assuming you’re not going to clarify.”

“Family secrets, I’m afraid.” 

“Sure.” My curiosity only increases the more he deflects. I understand why he refuses to open up to me. We are, in every meaning of the word, enemies. The only reason he has not entirely turned on me is the nature of work, and by extension, diplomacy. Though the reasons for his hatred are not clear at this moment, I am certain they exist. Very few Forest Elves hold such animosity without a reason, be it my country’s history of political skirmishes, or simply the nature of the corruption we bring. It simply is what it is; there’s little point pressing on open wounds, least of all when my own temporary survival depends on his support.

“Regardless, you’ll need to peel the fruit.” 

We are, however, in a mutual situation of dependency. His words remind me of that fact. I pull my dagger from its sheath again, grabbing the bundle from where I’d left it. “Fine. But next time we stop to rest before you reach this state. You’re the guide, not me.”

“I will endeavor to exercise restraint if it will get you to shut up.”

That he sticks his tongue out is not an action lost to me, but I simply roll my eyes and get to work. The leaves detach from the core cluster of fruit easily enough, but attempting to separate the fruits for peeling proves significantly more difficult. They are glued together, not with any glue substance, but with a thin mucus that coats the majority of their skin. With some difficulty, I wedge my dagger between each individual pod and cut through where they are connected. It’s a messy process, but there is always room for cleanup once they are sufficiently separated. 

Through this procedure, Avium watches me with increased frustration, and no small amount of disgust. I’m certain I am making mistakes, but it isn’t as though I’ve ever encountered such a fruit before. Not to mention that his inability to give a hands-on demonstration and his refusal to properly instruct me with words have left me entirely in the dark. I’m doing the best I can.

Once each fruit is cut apart, I wipe the edge of my blade on the edge of my tunic. The garment already bears heavy splatters of mud, so another substance isn’t going to make much difference. I’ll simply find new things to wear upon arriving in the capital city of Ashhlian. The substance leaves behind a faint blue glow, but it lacks any sort of smell. If there is any poison in the mucus, however, I do not wish to take any risks with contaminating the fruit. Thus, I once again heat my blade with magic, burning away any substance remaining on the dark metal. Avium flinches at the sight of fire, but thankfully does not say anything, and I extinguish the blaze as soon as I’m certain it has performed its purpose. 

Cutting into the flesh of the fruit is much easier than the previous step had been. I use the edge of my dagger to carefully peel the skin away from the fruit in one large, vaguely hexagonal spiral. The bottom, then, is simply sliced off. The flesh inside is a soft, pale yellow color, and has a firm, papery texture. “How is this fruit typically eaten,” I ask. 

“Whole. The seeds are tiny and edible. You just bite into it.” 

What he does not say is how he expects to hold the damn things given his momentary restraint. With a heavy sigh, I shove the fruit into the general proximity of his mouth. If it happens to wet the flesh of his cheeks in the process, all the better. He’s annoying, he can handle a bit of rough treatment. If he expects me to baby him then he is equally foolish as he is insufferable. He huffs, but takes a rather large bite from the fruit. As defiant as Avium is, he is surprisingly obedient and docile when it benefits him to behave. Within a few moments, the fruit is entirely devoured, and although he seems a bit flustered, he has managed to avoid getting much of its juices on himself. 

“That wasn’t too difficult, was it?” I ask, a smirk tugging the edge of my lips upward.  

“Fuck you.” He spits in my direction, but it misses hitting me. Under normal circumstances I might find such an act antagonistic, but as he is now, he is completely and utterly harmless. 

My prior comparison to a Peacock Kit comes to mind again and I roll my eyes. “Charming, truly.”

The second fruit is much easier to peel than the first, and that, too, is fed to him without further arguments. At this point color is beginning to return to his face, and he seems marginally less stuck. His fingers are still stiff, but he stretches and flexes his wrists while I peel the third fruit for him, which is more than a good sign. However, after the third fruit is consumed, he makes a soured face and bites at the edge of his lip.

“I’ve never been fond of the taste... Uhg.”

“Why did you request them, then?” 

“Does it matter?” He snaps. “They’re one of the most accessible and nutritious foods in the area. It was a practical decision.”

“I suppose that makes sense...” I can understand eating solely for the sake of survival. I’ve done it often enough. However, Forest Elves are hardly lacking in food sources; that he is willing to suffer through a vile meal for the sake of self-care speaks volumes of where his priorities lie. “Why exactly did you need so many of these, anyway?” 

“Fuel.”

I snort. “Oh sure, start a fire in the middle of a fucking forest. Be my guest.” I know, of course, what he means. I think I do, in any case. He requires food to sustain his magic, or something of the sort. I’m unsure the specifics, but it’s an easy enough conclusion to draw, considering that feeding him has corrected some of the damage overuse caused.

“Not like that, you halfwit. Opening the Chasm Gate is difficult enough when I’m at my peak. Peel me another.” 

Well, I suppose that’s that. Still, I am amazed by how much he can eat. My stare is incredulous. “Can you really eat that much at once?”

“It’s rather rude to comment on how much a lady eats, isn’t it?”

Oh the absurdity... I snort. “Are you a lady?”

“Heavens no. But I ought to be treated like one, don’t you think?”

No, I really don’t think he ought to be. If anything, I think he ought to be pushed around. He thinks himself so high and mighty, and yet a simple stabilization spell is enough to destroy the functionality of two entire appendages. He’s hardly worth the mud splattered across my tunic, with an attitude of pure venom, and a resting facial expression like a rabid mutt. Were I in a less vulnerable position and not out in the forest with him as my sole guide, I might have told him as much. Restraint, in this case, is a difficult but necessary tool.

I do not wish to feed him another fruit, however, if I can avoid it. My patience is running out, and frankly, I am growing more hungry with each passing moment. I can go longer than his kind can without food, especially if I have consumed the blood of an animal, but I am hardly invulnerable. I still need to eat, and as of now, I have not had anything in my stomach since the early morning.

“How are your fingers?” As soon as the question is posed, I glance down to his hands. He flexes his fingers, rubbing his hands against each other gingerly. 

“Fine.” They are still a bit stiff and shaky, but he’s regained some sense and control to them, it would seem. “Give me a fruit. I’ll peel it myself.”

He pulls a dagger of his own from a belt tucked neatly against his thigh and begins peeling the offending fruit, albeit with much more speed and precision than I had been able to achieve. Rather than continue watching him eat, I turn my focus to my own meal. The texture is... Strange. It has little crunch when I bite into it, but it dissolves in my mouth rather quickly. The juice, while abundant, reminds me of the driest of dry wines. And although the taste is not pleasant, it is hardly the worst thing I’ve ever eaten. It’s quite bitter, but it reminds me of a medicinal tea I often brew for those who catch a seasonal chill. I can understand why Avium dislikes these fruits, although his disdain seems even more inane with each passing bite. How spoiled he must be that he can develop pickiness over such a minor bitter taste. It’s astonishing.

I eat two of the fruits before I’m filled, but he does somehow manage to eat a fifth and final one. Given how large they are, I hadn’t expected us capable of consuming an entire bundle, and looking back, I’m rather grateful I made the quick decision to retrieve one cluster instead of risking multiple trips for a handful of oversized fruits individually. Avium flops backwards onto the plush surface of leaves, his arms spread outward beside him. I dare not comment on his physical state aloud, though it would not surprise me if he does feel as exhausted as he still looks.

“How was it not bitter to you?” He asks, filling the silence.

I shrug. “We have similar flavors in The Outlands. I stopped caring about the flavor of my food more than a century ago.”

“I keep forgetting how old you are-” 

“I’m hardly-” 

“I’m jealous...” 

That makes me pause. “What?” I ask, thoroughly confused. Who the fuck in their right mind would ever be jealous of the Tainted? If he wants to take my place, I would happily trade lives with him in a heartbeat. But the both of us, and everyone else in this fucked up and barely functional world, are stuck with the circumstances we are given. We can only do our best with the life we live, we cannot change life entirely. To do so would be to curse the mortal existence in such blasphemous extremes as to call upon a blight. I suppose depending on where one gets their information, the Tainted might be proof enough of that.

“You’ve seen so much of the world but I’m just stuck in Offeria.” He yawns, letting his eyes slip shut.

“Why not just leave?”

“Not that simple...”

I find the very notion that he’s trapped here absurd. He’s incredibly privileged to have such consistent access to nutritious and beneficial food sources, and to have a safe and secure home within the capital that is impossible for enemies to assault. I wait for him to clarify his meaning, but his words never arrive. My eyes shift to where he’d lain down, his head propped awkwardly on one hand. As he loses consciousness for the night, he rolls forward, arm splaying out to the side, and face pressed against the leaves. I suppose that with the energy he has used today, it makes sense he would require immediate sleep, as well. I was lucky enough to hitch a ride for most of our day’s travels, but he was forced to bear both of our weights. I do not envy him.

Still, I am not yet sleepy. In the dark, and in his sleep, there is a peace which he lacks during the day. He sleeps soundly, no wayward dreams or dark intrusions of the mind- And like this, he is almost vulnerable. It is not often that others show true vulnerability within my presence. I am not one who inspires intimacy. It’s surreal... I know that, come morning, the moment will fade. This is merely an illusion. Yet in this moment, I find myself reaching out absently to run a hand through his fluffy hair. A fleeting curiosity, nothing more. It is the exact texture of a Peacock Kit’s downy fur... Strangely fitting for such an imperious individual. As quick as this thought crosses my mind, I pull away my hand. There is little point invading his space.

I think of his conflict and what it might mean to challenge. In some ways I suppose I can understand the frustrations he bears. I have traveled much of the world, but wherever I go I am destined to loathing. The marks across my face signify to others that I am a lesser man, and no matter who I encounter it’s always the same. So in some ways, though I have left home and traveled for countless years, I have never truly left the burden of my homeland behind. I will always be Tainted. Nothing can change that.

His stance is difficult to put into perspective, however, with his life in particular. I know nothing about him. He’s given me little reason to want to know, and even if he did, it likely wouldn’t make any difference in our relationship. He is simply my guide, nothing more. When we part ways in Ashhlian, I will likely never see him again, and I am just fine with this knowledge. Knowing his life, his desires, his past- It’s all useless knowledge. We are two drastically different people of different worlds and backgrounds. There will always be hatred between he and I simply due to the relationship between our countries, and no amount of understanding him can change that unfortunate reality.

Thus, when I finally close my eyes and allow sleep to claim me, I am satisfied knowing that this is all temporary; in another week I will arrive in Ashhlian, and I need not ever speak to Avium again.