Chapter 50. The Universal Language

The rain still fell like whispered secrets—soft, sweet, and slow.
Each drop carried a weightless rhythm, tasting of berries and breath, falling onto leaves that had heard far too many stories.

And below the old bridge—built with wood that had never learned how to rot—there bloomed a world untouched by grandeur. A tiny village. Pixies. Gentle in presence. Lacking that blinding fey-glow so often sung about in mortal stories. These were creatures of earth and care—of mornings spent scraping muck off eggs, and afternoons spent balancing river reeds with one's spine.

Ydoc sat at the edge, arms draped across his knees, watching without judgment.
Without understanding a word.

And yet… he understood everything.

Beneath the bridge, the water had been dammed by large reed petals, bent and tied and weighted by pebbles and twine.
The river would’ve washed away the pondlings—had they not done this.
Had she not done this.

A broad-shouldered pixie woman pressed her back against a swaying reed-petal dam, arms out like wings, her hair matted from the cold drizzle. Every few moments she’d grunt and shift her feet deeper into the mud to keep the pressure steady.

Nearby, a boy—the Egg Tender—fumbled with a damp cloth, his hands red from scrubbing the near-luminescent eggs that shimmered in the pond like little moons. They were huge compared to him, and it was clear the job was too big for one. His tiny frame shook, goggles askew, but he hummed softly while he worked. A lullaby for the unborn.

He glanced up.

Saw her.

Paused.

Then—without hesitation—he scampered across the pebbled path, nearly tripping over his own feet, waving a hand.
His words were unknown, his language musical and birdlike—clicks, trills, and hollow throat notes.
But the tone, the body, the smile—it all said:

“You’ve been here long enough. Let me take over.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. She was nearly twice his width, her arms like ropes of ivy, but she laughed—gods, she laughed—and accepted his offer. She plucked the flask from his belt and drank deeply. Her eyes fluttered shut. The kind of drink that mattered.

Then, something behind them:

A shout—from a larger pixie near the eggs—hands waving dramatically.
Too much water was spilling in.
Dangerous. Risky.

The boy’s face pinched. He turned to adjust the reed petal alone, but it was too heavy—

She joined him.

Together now, they braced the petal, their feet slipping in the mud, his hands so tiny on the edge of it, hers like shields.
It trembled between them.

And in that moment—

Their hands met.

By necessity, perhaps. Or by instinct. But the moment they locked fingers—

They paused.
The weight forgotten. The river unheard. The ache ignored.

She smiled at him like a full moon smiling at a lake.

And though Ydoc sat far away, unable to understand a single syllable...

He understood everything.

For even without words, without shared culture, without names or titles or permission—
he understood the way those hands lingered.
The way the muscles in their cheeks relaxed.
The way the water, for just a moment, seemed to hush around them, as if even the river respected the kissless kiss they shared.

And yet—
He was still alone.

Ydoc’s eyes glazed slightly, not from tears, but from the dull fog of memory.
Had he ever been in love?

Lucy?

No… not like that. Her voice was too familiar—like a sibling’s laugh on a summer morning.

Ruby?

She glowed in his thoughts. Sweet, brave, beautiful.
But she belonged to the sun.
And Ydoc had always felt like the rain.

He inhaled, slow. Let the moment drift. Let it ache.

Then—
a cough.

Dry. Quick. Meant to get his attention, not out of sickness.

Ydoc turned his head slightly—slow, like one afraid to lose a good dream.

And there they were.

Two figures, silhouettes against the bridge’s faint glow, parasols tilted in quiet poise.
Their shapes were tall, broad, and imposing—but there was no threat in their posture.
Only… curiosity.

One stood upright, her long tail curling around her ankles like a scarf.
A lizard woman. Not a scaled serpent, but something feathered—like a beast halfway between dinosaur and carnival dancer. She had rows of feathers sprouting from her neck, and a second, smaller row that lined her expressive brows, quivering with thought.

Beside her, taller still, was a creature in red-striped fur, muscles pressing against tight cloth wraps.
Her face resembled a tiger, but her teeth bent upward and outward like the fangs of an Oni, curved and ivory white. The kind of smile that might've haunted children in bedtime warnings.

Both wore paper umbrellas, richly dyed with dripping paints and hanging charms—bells, ribbons, even dried fruit tied with strings. Their clothes didn’t match. Patchwork elegance.
Festival wear… maybe? Or just odd fashion.

To anyone else, they would’ve looked like fairytale monsters.

To Ydoc…
they looked like people.

The red one, the Oni Tiger, approached slowly. Not silent—her feet thudded against the bridge with weight—but gently.
From her cloth pouch, she pulled something. A fistful of sweets. Wrapped in strange bright paper, symbols hand-drawn in charcoal ink.

She held it out.

"You look sad,"
she said, in a voice too hoarse to sing, but too kind to ignore.

Ydoc blinked.

Before he could reply, the feathered lizard tilted her head. Her parasol tilted opposite, like a curious flower leaning in.

"Do you need a hug?" she asked.

Then, thoughtfully:

“Or a kiss?”

Her voice was flat, but it was earnest. Almost comically so. As if she was trying lines she had heard from someone else.

Ydoc looked down at the candies in his palm.

They were sticky. Hand-wrapped. The ink was still smudged.
One of the wrappers read:

“Feel better now.”

He chuckled. Quiet. Lonely. But touched.

They were dressed strangely. Not local. Not mortal.

But they had seen him.
And they had stopped.

Ydoc looked up at them—these two strange, towering women with monster faces and hearts of paper-wrapped sweetness—and his breath caught in his chest.

He did not know who they were.
But suddenly… he didn’t feel quite so alone.

The candy glistened in his palm—small, hand-wrapped, imperfect.
The tiger's grin, all crooked fangs and unrelenting cheer, hovered above him like a force of nature. She crouched slightly, lowering her parasol to shield them both from the rain.

"Try one,"
she insisted, voice deep and warm like a purring furnace.
"Or we’re not leaving."

Ydoc gave her a look. Tired, amused.
But it was the kind of look that already knew resistance was pointless.

He peeled the wrapper slowly.
It had been drawn on—scribbled hearts, faded green ink, a bit of glitter that had long since flaked off.

Inside, the candy was shaped like a heart.
A sweet little green heart.

He placed it on his tongue.

It cracked gently, and then—

Oh.

Green apple.
Tart.
Sweet.
Sharp and soft at once.

The taste hit something in him—something deep and unexpected.
Not a memory, but a feeling. Like a breeze from a place he once loved.
And without warning, a single tear slipped down his cheek.

He didn’t even try to hide it.

The tiger hummed with delight.
Without asking, she wiped his tear with a clawed thumb, her touch surprisingly soft.

The lizard monster, watching from the side, gave a slow blink. Then, in a movement both goofy and heartfelt, she lunged forward and planted a massive, damp kiss on his cheek.

"MWAH~!"
she declared, like a parent smooching their child after a scraped knee.

Ydoc laughed—genuinely this time. A real smile, even if small.

They placed another candy in his hand.
This one was yellow.
He’d save it.

As they stood to leave, the tiger brushed her claws against his cheek one last time.

"Get somewhere warm, feather-boy,"
she rumbled, grinning.
"Storm’s getting worse."

Then, just as they had arrived, they turned and walked off—
hands held,
parasols tilted,
tails interlocked like threads in a braid.

The tiger, ever the taller, leaned her head against the lizard’s crown of feathers.
They said nothing more.
They didn’t need to.

Ydoc sat back on the bench.
The world drizzled and hummed.

Everywhere he looked… there it was.

Not power.
Not answers.
Not even peace.

Just—
Love.

The universal language.
Written in sugar and smiles, in shared umbrellas, in the way monsters held hands like lovers and wiped the tears of strangers.

He placed the second candy in his pocket.
Maybe he'd give it to someone else, one day.

Maybe... that was the point.