Chapter Text
He stumbled upon the scene by accident.
Claymore dangling in its worn-down sheath by his waist, the lone traveler vehemently pushed aside the winding branches and overgrown shrubberies of the dense thicket with large callused hands—the sharp leaves constantly scratching at his face adding fuel to the man’s ever-waning patience. Taking an exasperated breath, he continued forward without pause even as loud dragonflies made their nest in his fiery, red hair.
His encounter with the clan of barbaric bandits the night before had left him winded and with more than just a few cuts and scratches. He could remember the weight of his claymore in his hand, his heart desperately beating to escape from his chest, and sweat beading down and mixing with blood already smearing the ground below. No matter how much calculated risk or danger he knew he was putting his life in, the traveler couldn’t help but live for the exhilaration of an unpredictable fight—a bloody waltz under the moonlight, his partner the sword and the foes his competitors. Whether or not their raw strength and honed skills were good enough could only be determined by the prize of life or the consequence of death.; his soul lived for such straight-forward competition.
Although single-handedly defeating the group and forcing them to hobble back in retreat, the man himself could feel his own stride becoming heavier and heavier—his clothes and boots were stained with blood which he couldn’t tell was his own or the enemies’. The afternoon sun glaring directly down at him as if he was but an unfortunate pig being roasted for a royal feast did nothing to help his blurring vision. He knew if he were to survive, he would need to quickly get out of the forest and search for the nearest civilization, or better yet, find water. Soon. Very soon.
Feeling as if he was being burned alive, the traveller shed his outer cloak and hastily unbuttoned his shirt. The redhead knew he would need to put his garments back on to protect himself from the heat, but his mind could only focus on his parched throat, his cracked lips, and as his teal eyes glanced downward, the large, bloody slash on his right leg.
“Shit. That would explain the pain.”
His eyes scanned the area and settled for the trunk of a towering, pale birch tree. Despite all efforts to carefully take a seat on the ground, the burly man practically collapsed on the dirt with his back leaning against the trunk for support; the trunk groaned at his weight.
Releasing an exhausted sigh, the redhead only took a second to relish in the soft breeze and cool shadows which the surrounding trees provided him with before immediately getting to work, first taking off his sword, and then tearing fabric from his cloak to wrap his leg with. After tightly wrapping the wound and wiping away residues of blood and sweat from his face and hands, the man grunted in minimal satisfaction before resting his head against the tree and shuffling his hands around the pockets of his shirt. Although having mentally prepared himself for the day he would lose the flimsy paper, his mind couldn’t help but reach out for a sliver of hope that it hadn’t fallen from his body during the fight and—by some miracle—would still be intact in his pocket. Thick fingers fumbled around before touching crinkled paper. He swiftly pulled out and gently held the red-stained parchment close to his face, not wanting to cause it any more damage.
As he stared at the crudely drawn portrait of a woman coddling an infant, three children clutching her dress, and a man who he couldn’t even recognize anymore towering beside them, he sighed in relief. He could never understand why the drawing still held value to him when his mind and heart had already thrown away that excuse of a family he created—that life he had run away from and never looked back on since.
Head growing heavy, he slipped the paper back into his pocket and closed his eyes. The cool earth beneath him…the annoying buzzing of dragonflies...the cool shade of the swaying trees…the insufferable, noisy dragonflies swarming above his head…the cool breeze of early summer…demonic dragonflies—
Turquoise eyes shot open in realization.
“Dragonflies,” he simply declared as if they were the answer to the universe.
The redhead scrambled to pick himself up, wincing at the agitation it caused his leg, and threw his cloak back on over his shoulders while grabbing his sword from the grass. Where there were dragonflies, there was water. He whipped his head around towards the flying insects—squinting through the blinding light—and after spotting one flying away, he followed it in a determined pursuit. He clenched his teeth and bit his tongue as his leg retorted in screeching agony with coarse fabric irritating the wound even more. Nevertheless, he fought through the pain and continued to limp wherever the dragonfly was headed while desparetly praying to any divine being who would listen that it would be a lake or a pond.
After what seemed like hours of following the insect, the man could feel his anger slowly boiling at how stupid he must look to an outsider. He took a step forward before realizing the dragonfly was nowhere to be found. His heart dropped as his mind now swarmed with ferocious rage and self-pity. Did his brief second of distraction and hesitation just cost him his chance of survival?
Afternoon was quickly transitioning to evening and there could be no other dragonflies to be seen. He clenched his hands into fists—nails digging small crescent moons into his palms—and harshly took out his fuming anger at a small rock, kicking it far into the air. All the thoughts flooding his mind came to a sudden halt as his ears twitched at the sound of a single splash. Turning his head towards the direction of the rock’s projectile, the traveler found himself in a daze-like state as he followed its trajectory.
The thicket soon gave way to a modest, picturesque clearing and one, shimmering lake at its center. Surrounded by gently dancing cattails, dainty purple loosestrife, and floating rose-colored water lilies, the lake’s blue-ish orange hue from the setting sun allured the man as if he was a sailor and the lake a deadly siren singing out to him—calling out his name to be embraced and kissed by the water.
Despite his throat screaming at him to drink, his honed instincts kept his body from moving. There was something eerily quiet and still about the water. It was as if time had paused in this small clearing—the water did not break and no animals or creatures could be seen nor heard. The man found his hand unconsciously gripping tightly at his sword. A feeling he was all too familiar with creeped at the back of his nape.
Crack.
His head snapped towards the sound and his claymore was out of its sheath in a blink of an eye. He was met face to face with a wide-eyed fawn, its legs shaking and looking much too thin to be able to support its own body weight. The two stared at each other as if in a contest to see who would blink first before the fawn hurriedly leaped away.
The man let out a deep breath he didn’t even know he was holding before dropping his sword and quickly shedding his cloak.
“I’m going delusional,” he shook his head while muttering to himself.
He took off his shirt and took a step towards the water. He cupped his hands and dipped them in, allowing his fingers to soak in the cool liquid before bringing it up to his lips. Greedily gulping down the water, he could feel his throat savoring the drink—his tongue swishing it around his mouth before swallowing—and was tempted to drench his whole body in the lake.
He settled for washing his face first.
Looking down at his reflection, the redhead absentmindedly traced his index finger across new and old scars—ignoring the growing feeling of distaste in his mouth—until small ripples in the water caught his eye.
The small ripples quickly turned into large waves as the surface of the lake abruptly broke, causing water to splash in all directions—sparkling like drops of crystal against the evening sky.
The man stumbled backwards in surprise as he blindly reached for his sword. Bringing his weapon to his side and pushing himself upwards in a fighting stance to face whoever the intruder was, he was immediately taken aback by a pair of large, crimson wings. The setting sun reflected off the feathers, causing them to appear sleek and dark as if doused in blood. A heron? No, the wings were much too big for a heron. His eyes traveled upwards and instead focused on the golden feathers on top of its head.
Despite standing still and controlling his breathing in an attempt to remain unnoticed, the larger man could see the powerful, scarlet wings twitch before the lake-creature’s head quickly craned to look over its shoulder. It wasn’t until then that the man realized those weren’t golden feathers but rather hair. Droplets of the sun's ray dripped from blonde hair as he was met with a youthful face. Fierce amber eyes seemed to pierce into his soul, keeping him from moving. Its pupils rapidly dilated before constricting, and the traveler couldn’t help but feel as if he was the prey and the mesmerizing avian-hybrid the predator.
Despite all the training he had undergone to have complete, utter control of his body, this was the first time in decades since he felt at a loss. His eyes trailed downward and widened at seeing a large fish in the creature’s mouth—blood dripped from its scales where it had been bitten and swirled back into the lake, creating a red pool around the bird-like beast.
He feared a single whisper would cause the creature to fly away, and for some unspeakable reason, the man didn’t want that.
He stumbled upon the scene by accident…
But he couldn’t help but become encaptivated by its beauty.