"I have grown tired of waiting… I know little of whim, but I will make an exception."
The voice slithered through the mist of the night.
It did not ring with sound so much as drill into the skull, each syllable dragging behind it a residue of dread. The silence that followed was not empty.
Both Siege and Sir Eric shuddered.
"Give me four of your group, and I shall leave."
Siege's breath caught. Sir Eric's fingers wrapped tighter around his sword's hilt, though they both knew it was useless. No blade fashioned by man could hope to match what stood outside the shimmering barrier.
Unknown to Siege, the fae are bound by truth. But Sir Eric, a man seasoned in the lore of ancient things, knew. He found a vacant comfort in it—like clutching a candle in the heart of a blizzard.
But even truth could wear many masks.
And this was no common fae.
Oberon.
The name fell uninvited into Sir Eric's mind like a stone through still water.
Oberon—the Lord of the Forest, the Silent Crown, a thing older than the kingdom. Sir Eric's heart soured. Of all the damned glades in these cursed woods, this one had to draw his attention.
Siege didn't believe a word. Creatures like this didn't barter. They hunted. They devoured. Why offer a deal now?
Around them, the others began to stir. Oberon's voice had raked across their dreams, and now they rose with haunted eyes, not screaming, but whimpering. Shaking. One began to quietly weep.
Sir Eric stood before them, gaze shadowed by the firelight. His face was a crumbling wall, and beyond it, desperation pooled.
"Will the oldest and the youngest step forward?" His voice cracked. A question, shaped like a command.
No one moved.
Outside the barrier, Oberon circled them. Not with urgency, but with the slow gait.
Occasionally, he would vanish behind gnarled trees, his pale antlers barely visible through the choking mist—only to reappear where none expected, as if the forest bent to his will.
"We have no choice!" Sir Eric suddenly howled, his composure shattering. "Either four of us die, or all of us do! Choose, or I will choose for you!"
Still no one moved.
Siege made himself small in the shadows, watching.
"This isn't right," said a voice, clear and defiant. It was Edwin—young, bright-eyed, and trembling. "What's to stop it from coming back for more? This isn't a solution. It's surrender."
Sir Eric faltered, his glare softening for a heartbeat.
"We'll die either way," Gallan spat, his voice a blade of poison. "At least this way, some of us get out."
Oberon stood unmoving beyond the barrier, his expression unreadable beneath a crown of branching antlers and eyes like twin moons.
Arguments broke out. A dozen voices, each drenched in panic. Lines were drawn—half of them swayed by Sir Eric's grim logic, the others clinging to principle.
"The fae cannot lie!" Sir Eric roared again. "Its word is truth!"
"That doesn't mean it speaks honestly!" Ludwig shouted back, voice ragged. "A dagger can be sheathed in truth, and still pierce the heart!"
The chaos swelled. Siege knew it couldn't continue. He could feel the noose tightening around him. Something was off, far more wrong than anyone yet realized.
He turned toward the forest, to the shadow just beyond their flickering firelight.
"…How long have you been waiting?" he asked, voice low, but firm.
The others turned to him in confusion and suspicion, but the fae was compelled by its nature. Oberon responded with a voice like falling leaves:
"Half a day, little human."
And that—that was it.
Siege's eyes widened as he stepped back, mind racing. They had erected the barrier at dusk, and it was still the dead of night. Half a day would mean sunlight.
Which meant—
"You've been here longer than the barrier's been up," Siege said aloud. "You saw us enter the forest. Why didn't you strike then?"
The others fell silent.
"If the creature isn't lying… then something's stopping it. Something kept it from attacking sooner." Siege turned to the others, desperate to be understood. "It's waiting for something. Avoiding something!"
The moment stretched.
Then Oberon's voice came again, silk laced with thorns.
"Very clever, little one. You are right. I cannot enter the sunlit veil without paying a price." He stepped closer, towering, radiant and grotesque. "But if I so choose, I can pay it."
The group turned to Siege, eyes narrowing. A different kind of silence gripped the camp now. Siege's stomach turned.
"Give him," Gallan said, voice barely above a whisper. "Give him to the beast. He brought this upon us."
"You all need to listen!" Siege barked, backing away. "There's more at play here. It's trying to corner us. It wants us to tear ourselves apart!"
Gallan stepped forward, face twisted with fear and venom.
"We are already torn, thanks to you."
Then Edwin moved again, standing beside Siege. "If we sacrifice him now," he said, voice heavy with sorrow, "we become less than human. We become something worse than even that."
Gallan sneered. "Better a living monster than a dead man."
Siege's hatred ignited. In that moment, he wanted Gallan dead more than anything.
Oberon chuckled. "So much passion. So much disorder. I am pleased. Very well. For your cleverness, little human, I offer this…"
He raised a clawed hand.
"Give me your arm, and I will grant safe passage through Mortar for the rest of your journey."
Siege trembled. His heart pounded against his ribs like a drumbeat of war. There was no way out. No grand reveal. No escape.
He glared at them all—Sir Eric, Gallan, the shamed others who dared not meet his gaze. Only Edwin held his stare, eyes brimming with hypocritical helpless gratitude.
"Thank you," Edwin whispered.
Siege wanted to scream. Instead, he bit down, so hard it felt like he might shatter his own jaw.
He stepped forward. The barrier shimmered, a veil of faint silver between salvation and ruin. Oberon stood just beyond it, grinning with all his teeth.
Siege extended his left arm.
First the fingers passed through.
Then the hand.
Then the arm.
"Crunch."
Pain erupted. No—agony. A scream tore from Siege's throat, primal and raw. He fell to the ground, thrashing, blood fountaining from a stump.
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. He clawed at the ground like a dying animal, gasping, sobbing.
Oberon licked blood from his fangs and disappeared, fading into the blackness between trees.
Sir Eric knelt beside Siege, hands slick with blood as he wrapped a crude tourniquet. The sword at his belt clattered to the ground—he could no longer meet Siege's eyes.
None of them could.
Siege passed out with a moan, his breath ragged.
The others sat in silence.
The fire burned low.
None returned to sleep.
The night dragged on.
And the forest watched.