The Selfish, Honest Answer

Jianna fanned her face with a hand in a futile gesture against the suffocating air. If she had learned one thing about this domain, it was the incredible efficiency with which the living, tunnel-like vine structures trapped the humidity. The cloying heat and captured moisture conspired to keep her skin perpetually damp, her clothes clinging unpleasantly to her body. She had tried to find a way out, but no matter which path she took, every winding, leafy corridor seemed to perversely guide her back to the central cavern where she had first encountered Asgath. Exhausted and demoralized, she had finally slumped against a wall of foliage next to a plant laden with clusters of dark, plump grapes.

A hollow ache in her stomach rumbled its protest. She reached out, plucked a handful of the succulent-looking fruit, and raised them to her mouth. A fleeting thought of washing them first crossed her mind, but she dismissed it just as quickly. She had no idea where she might find clean water in this place, and her hunger was too sharp to afford her the luxury of caution.

She reached for another bunch, this one a cluster of smaller, greener-red grapes that were clearly not yet ripe. As her fingers closed in, however, the leafy vines around them seemed to recoil, snatching the fruit just beyond her grasp.

“I would not eat the red ones, if I were you,” murmured a voice that seemed to emanate from the vines themselves.

Jianna let out a small shriek of shock, scrambling to her feet and pressing her back against the opposing wall as a section of the greenery began to shift. The tangle of leaves and tendrils coalesced, weaving themselves into a humanoid face whose green lips moved once more. “The red ones are still young,” the grape dryad whispered. “But please, eat the ripe ones. I do not mind.”

From near Jianna’s feet, an indignant squeak arose. A patch of small crimson blossoms on the cavern floor swirled together, their petals uniting and rising to form the hazy, seated shape of another humanoid figure. “And I do not see why not!” the flower dryad huffed, its voice like the crisp rustle of petals. “They are only good for fertilizer as they are. Why not let her have them?”

“They are young,” the grape dryad murmured, a note of genuine, horrified shock in its tone. “They have not yet had a chance to truly live! They deserve to experience their time without the fear of being eaten. That is the very reason I am here.”

“You are here because you did not wish to be choked in your sleep,” the flower dryad drawled. “Same as me. Same as all of us! Do not put on such airs, you little liar. Asgath does not approve.”

“I am merely protecting the little ones,” the grape dryad insisted, its face beginning to recede back into the general foliage. “The bargain says nothing against that.”

With a sound like a sighing breeze, the flower dryad turned its petaled head toward Jianna. “My apologies for that, miss. Kirilla can be a trial, at times. Foolish fruit-minder.”

“Frivolous blossom!” came the muffled retort from the direction of the grape vine.

A small smile touched Jianna’s lips despite herself. “You two aren’t much like Asgath, are you?”

“Of course not,” the floral dryad replied. “It would be a senseless world if we were all like Asgath.” It gave a dry, rustling laugh. “One should never judge an entire people by the actions of one, or even a few.”

Jianna crouched down to better meet the gaze of the small, flowery being. “I suppose that was a leap in judgment,” she conceded. “But then… I don’t exactly have any other frame of reference, you know?”

“Do you believe all Satyri are as quiet and thoughtful as Blynn?” Kirilla, the grape dryad, asked, its face re-emerging from the leaves. “Are all daemons as vicious as Malakor?”

Jianna blinked. The dryad had a point. An excellent one. “Well, no… I guess you’re right—wait. How do you know about Blynn and Malakor?”

“Asgath knows,” the flower dryad said simply.

“And what Asgath knows, we know,” the grape one continued, as if this were the most obvious fact in the world.

“But how does Asgath know?” Jianna pressed.

“He just does. Asgath knows many things.”

Jianna sighed, running a hand through her hair, which felt limp and heavy with moisture. “I wish I had all the answers. Maybe then I would understand what to tell him—why I’m here, this business about learning magic…”

A brief silence fell between the two dryads. Then, the floral one spoke, its voice soft. “Well, what is it that you seek? One usually finds their way here because there is something they desire with all their being.”

What do I seek? Jianna rested her head on her folded knees and groaned internally. That’s a laugh. All I really want is to— She cut the thought short, her own realization striking her with the force of a physical blow. Her head shot up. I know.

“I know why I’m here.”

Without another word to the dryads, she leaped to her feet and began to run. As if the path itself sensed her destination and purpose, it led her directly to the enormous central cavern within moments. She skidded to a halt near the center, where the colossal dryad had first materialized, and took a deep, steadying breath.

“Asgath!” she shouted, but the vast chamber seemed to swallow her voice. “I know why I came here now!”

The vines on the far wall stirred. They writhed and churned, weaving over and under one another, building upon themselves until they once more formed a humanoid shape. This time, however, it took the form of a small child, though the ancient, unsettling intelligence in its eyes was unchanged.

The transformation startled Jianna for a moment, but she knew it was him. Now, standing before him, with his unblinking gaze awaiting her answer, she felt a fresh surge of anxiety mixed with a surprising pang of embarrassment. She took another deep breath and let it out in a rush.

“The reason I’m here is… well.” Now that she had to say it aloud, the truth felt so small, so self-serving. “I just want to go home. That’s it. And if I do this, if I learn this magic for you… then I get to go home.”

Asgath was silent, allowing her confession to hang in the humid air. Finally, a thick tangle of vines near his feet shifted, receding into the wall to reveal a tree stump. Its top was sheared off as smoothly as polished glass, its surface impeccably preserved.

“Sit,” he said, his voice the sound of a billion rustling leaves. “Let us begin.”