The Cold and Strange One Part 2âNikto X Reader
Y/n woke slowly, awareness returning in cautious pieces rather than all at once.
The first thing she noticed was discomfortâa sharp, uneven pressure along her side and shoulder. Thin sticks pressed through fabric and into her skin, prompting her to shift with a quiet, confused sound. Beneath her was a straw mattress, roughly packed and old, the kind meant to be serviceable rather than gentle. Draped over her was a massive fur blanket, heavy and warm, the coarse guard hairs brushing her cheek as she moved. The hide was thick enough that she could tell it had once belonged to something largeâperhaps a bearâits weight pressing her down in a way that felt oddly grounding.
She was warm. Comfortably so. And despite the unfamiliar bed and the lingering ache in her muscles, she felt rested in a way she hadnât in a long time.
Y/n pushed herself up onto one elbow, blinking as her eyes adjusted. Firelight flickered faintly against the walls, casting slow, steady shadows. As she sat up fully, the blanket slid down around her waist, and she took in her surroundings with growing curiosity.
The cabin was small but solidâclearly a single-room dwelling built for practicality rather than comfort. Her bed sat tucked into one corner, partially recessed, with a thick curtain hanging from a wooden rod that could be drawn to provide privacy. The curtain was currently tied back, left open deliberately, as though whoever lived here had not felt the need to hide her away.
In the centre of the cabin stood a well-built fireplace of stone and darkened metal. Its back faced her, but the warmth radiating from itâand the faint, pleasant scent of woodsmokeâmade it obvious that it was lit. The fire was contained and clean, with smoke drawn upward through a chimney that disappeared into the ceiling and out through the roof. Whoever tended it knew what they were doing; the air inside the cabin was clear and easy to breathe.
One wall was lined with sturdy shelves, each packed tight with the marks of long-term living. Bundles of dried herbs hung from pegs, their scents mingling faintly in the warm air. Furs were folded neatly beside cured meats wrapped in cloth. Books and scrolls were stacked in uneven piles, some worn and well-loved, others carefully preserved. Jars of foodâgrains, preserved berries, rendered fatâsat beside stranger objects: stones smoothed by water, knives with handles worn pale from use, and bits of bone carved with unfamiliar symbols.
One shelf held a small collection of skulls and bones, arranged with care rather than menace. Y/n found herself staring at them, curiosity outweighing fear. She didnât recognize all of them, but the placement suggested knowledgeâperhaps reverence. If the owner was willing, she thought, she would like to ask about them.
Beneath a window on the far wall stood a rough wooden table with two benches tucked neatly underneath. The tabletop was bare save for a simple vase holding fresh wildflowers, their colours muted in the low light. The lack of clutter struck her immediately; this was someone who liked order, at least in the places that mattered.
The cooking area occupied the adjacent wall. A metal basin sat ready to be carried outside for washing, and cupboards lined the wall above and below, no doubt filled with dishes and basic suppliesâflour, sugar, and salt. Nothing extravagant, but nothing lacking either.
She counted three windows in total: one by the table, one near the cooking area, and another above the shelves. All of them were curtained, drawn mostly closed, though thin bands of daylight slipped through the fabric, illuminating the cabin softly without exposing it fully to the outside world. The bed area itself had no window at all, tucked into shadow and warmth.
Y/n swung her legs over the side of the bed and immediately hissed at the cold. Her bare feet met the wooden floor, chilled and unfamiliar beneath her soles. She glanced downâand her stomach tightened.
She was barefoot. Her shoes were nowhere in sight.
She stood slowly, scanning the room, checking near the door, beneath the table, and beside the shelves. Nothing. Her satchel was missing as well, along with the outer layers of her dress. She looked down at herself and realized sheâd been stripped back to her base garments: a thick, off-white cotton underdress and her black-dyed leggings.
Her arms wrapped around herself without conscious thought.
It wasnât pain that made her uneasyâit was vulnerability. She felt exposed, unfinished, as though pieces of herself had been set aside without her knowing. And somewhere in the back of her mind was the awareness that this was a manâs cabin. Someone strong enough to hunt, to survive out here alone.
Someone who had undressed her to make her comfortable.
The thought made her cheeks warm with a mix of embarrassment and uncertainty.
She turned back toward the bed and winced. The straw mattress was rumpled now, the heavy fur blanket twisted and uneven, and the pillows crushed where sheâd slept. Guilt pricked at her chest. Whoever lived here had given her their only bed, and sheâd left it in disarray.
Quietly, carefully, she set about fixing it.
She smoothed the blanket out, shaking it once to let it fall evenly, then fluffed the pillows and arranged them neatly against the wall. The bed still looked roughâthere was no hiding the straw beneathâbut it was tidy and respectful. She glanced around for additional blankets but found none, so she left it as it was.
When she stepped back, the space looked calmer.
Wherever she was⌠whoever lived here⌠she was alive. Warm. Safeâfor now.
And someone, somehow, had carried her out of the forest and brought her here.
Y/n crossed the cabin on bare feet, each step careful against the cool wooden floor. She stopped beneath the window above the table and gently pulled the curtain aside, peering out into the light.
What greeted her was not a road nor a familiar stretch of forest she could place.
The cabin sat in the center of a wide, circular clearing, perfectly enclosed by trees that rose tall and dense on all sides. Their trunks stood close together, roots tangled like knotted fingers, forming a natural wall that felt less like wilderness and more like a boundary. There were no visible paths leading out. No trampled earth, no breaks in the undergrowth. The forest path she had run along the day beforeâthe one the forest itself had opened for herâwas gone without a trace.
It was as if the clearing had never been meant to connect to anything else.
A sharp, heavy sound cut through the quiet.
Y/n startled, her attention snapping to the left. Near the edge of the clearing stood a rough woodshed and an old tree stump split and scarred from years of use. A man stood there, axe raised over his shoulder, before bringing it down again with brutal precision.
She watched, frozen, as he repeated the motion. Lift. Pause. Strike. Each blow landed exactly where it needed to, splitting the wood cleanly with no wasted effort. He worked like someone who had done this countless timesânot hurried, not slow, but relentless.
She could only see his back at first.
His trousers were a deep, worn brown, heavy fabric meant for work, tucked into boots a shade lighter and scuffed from long use. His shirt had once been whiteâshe was sure of itâbut years of sweat, smoke, and wear had dulled it to a tired grey-yellow. The sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms marked with scars that twisted and crossed one another in ways that made her stomach tighten. These were not the shallow cuts of careless labour. They were old. Earned.
And yet, beneath the scars, his muscles moved with frightening efficiency. Each strike of the axe made the cords in his arms flex and tighten, power coiled and released with controlled force. This was not a man who relied on brute strength aloneâthis was precision, discipline, and endurance.
Her gaze lifted slightly.
His head was wrapped in a dark scarf, wound securely around his face and neck. Only his eyes were visible from this distance, shadowed beneath the fabric. It was early autumn; the air was cool but not cold enough to justify such coverage. She had seen similar coverings before on travellers and foreignersâsometimes for warmth, sometimes for secrecy.
Y/n let the curtain slip from her fingers and stepped back, heart beating a little faster now. After a momentâs hesitation, she crossed to the cabin door and pulled it open. It was heavier than she expected, the thick wood resisting her before giving way with a low creak.
Outside, the morning air brushed against her bare arms and legs, cool enough to raise goosebumps. She hugged herself instinctively, wishing she had more than her thin base layers. The warmth of the cabin faded quickly, replaced by the crisp chill of early autumn.
She stepped onto the dirt path that circled the cabin.
Not abruptlyâbut deliberately.
He straightened slowly, rolling his shoulders back as he stood upright. For a heartbeat, she thought he might turn. Instead, he bent again, lifted another block of wood, and resumed chopping as if she were no more than a shift in the wind.
Y/n hesitated, then began walking toward him, her steps quiet on the packed earth. The rising sun warmed her skin as she moved, light filtering through the trees in pale gold strands. The scent of pine and woodsmoke hung in the air, clean and grounding.
Of evenings spent near the hearth, of forests she knew how to respect.
She stopped several paces behind him, fingers curling together at her chestânot in fear, but in uncertainty. It was clear this was his space. His work. His bed she had slept in.
She did not want to offend him.
âGood morning,â she said softly. Then, realizing how informal that sounded, she added, âGood morning, good sir.â
For a moment, she wondered if he had heard her at all over the sound of his labour. She opened her mouth to speak againâbut before she could, the axe came down one final time.
He set it carefully against the stump.
Not sharp or bright, but pale and muted, the kind of blue that reminded her of winter skies or cold steel. The colour itself was almost gentleâbut the way he looked at her was not.
His gaze moved over her in a single, assessing sweep. Bare feet. Thin clothing. No satchel. No shoes.
There was no surprise in his eyes.
It was the look of someone measuring a situation, deciding whether it was worth tolerating.
The scarf concealed the rest of his face completely, wrapped high enough that she could not see his mouth, his jaw, or any hint of expression beyond his eyes. Whatever lay beneath the fabric, he had no intention of revealing it.
He did not ask how she had come to be there.
Silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable.
Y/n shifted her weight, suddenly acutely aware of how small she must look standing there in borrowed safety. Her fingers tightened together.
âIââ she began, then stopped herself, choosing her words carefully. âThank you. For⌠for letting me rest.â
His gaze flicked briefly toward the cabin, then back to her, as if confirming something only he understood. The judgment in his eyes sharpenedânot cruel, but firm.
Whatever kindness had brought her here, it was not rooted in comfort or hospitality.
And as he stood there in silence, axe resting at his side, Y/n realized with a slow, sinking certainty that this man was not like anyone she had met beforeânot the hunter who chased her, not the creatures who had saved her.
This man was something colder.
âI donât wish to burden you,â Y/n said carefully, breaking the silence again at last. Her voice felt too loud in the open clearing, thin against the steady rhythm of the axe striking wood. âNor distract you from your work. But I would be grateful to know where the rest of my clothing has gone. I cannot present myself for work dressed like this.â
She gestured awkwardly to the base layers she wore, suddenly far too aware of how exposed she felt standing there in the open air.
The man did not turn immediately. The axe rose, fell once more, splitting the log clean through. Only then did he straighten and answer, his voice low and flat, shaped by an accent she had never heard beforeâhard consonants, clipped vowels.
âMother is washing them.â
âOh,â she said softly, the word escaping her before she could stop it. The memory of the forest womanâthe one who had called herself Motherâstirred uneasily in her chest. âThen⌠may I ask where she might be? I would like to help her if I can. I donât wish to be a burden upon this place or those who live here.â
The man turned slowly this time.
His eyes dropped to her arms, her neck, the faint scratches and bruises that marred her skinâmarks she had not yet allowed herself to truly think about. His gaze lingered for a fraction longer than necessary, sharp and assessing, before lifting again.
His head angled slightly, and for a moment she was certain he was scenting the air, breath drawn slow and deliberate beneath the scarf. The thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit. She tried to reason it awayâperhaps he was ill. Perhaps the scarf hid a wound or sickness she was not meant to see.
âShe is at the river,â he said at last. âYou do not want to go there.â
The words were not dramatic, but there was no mistaking the warning in them.
Y/n swallowed. She understood at once.
The forest was not a single thing. It held kindness and cruelty in equal measure. Where some beings watched and guided, others hunted. Rivers, especially, were dangerousâthresholds, gateways, places where darker creatures slipped between worlds. She had heard enough stories to know what often happened to women who lingered too close to moving water.
âThen I will wait here,â Y/n said after a moment. âIf you will allow it.â She hesitated, then added, âIs there any chore I might do while I wait? To repay your kindness.â
His eyes dropped again, this time to her hands.
She knew what he was seeing. They were not the soft, unmarked hands of a lady who had never worked too hard. She had scrubbed floors, wrung laundry, carried water, and mended cloth. Time and gentler work for Mr. Edwards had softened them some, but the memory of labour still lingered in the lines of her palms.
The man seemed to weigh this silently.
âNo,â he said. âThere is nothing. We will eat when Mother returns.â
He turned his back to her without ceremony and lifted the axe once more. It came down hard, splinters flying outward as the wood split. He resumed his work with the same relentless rhythm as before, as though the conversation had never happened.
Y/n stood there for a moment longer, uncertain, then slowly retreated. She found a stump near the cabin, worn smooth from years of use, and sat carefully upon it. She kept her knees together, skirt tucked close. It was a small thing, but it mattered to her.
She was no whore, no woman of loose conduct. Her mother had raised her better than that. Modesty was not shame; it was respectâfor herself, for others, and for the gods. She would not sit carelessly just because she was uncomfortable.
Her gaze drifted back to the man as he worked.
He did not look at her again.
The steady sound of the axe striking wood filled the clearing, grounding and relentless. Slivers of split timber scattered near his boots, catching the light. The smell of pine sap mixed with wood smoke and the faint metallic tang of iron.
Her thoughts wandered despite herself.
Mr. Edwards would be wondering where she was by now. She should have arrived the evening before. Perhaps he assumed she had delayed her departure, choosing to leave in the morning instead. If she did not appear soon, he would send someone to ask questions.
Questions led to stories.
And gossip, once loose, never truly went away.
Her mother would hear of it eventually. She always did. There would be worry, and then anger, and then demands that Y/n find work closer to homeâsome modest position that paid less and asked more. They would argue. They always did when the forest was involved.
A storm, she thought. That would be believable. Sudden weather was common enough in these woods. The forest loved its tricksâdownpours that soaked one side of a clearing while leaving the other dry and warm. She could say she had taken shelter rather than risk sickness.
She clasped her hands together in her lap and waited.
The sun climbed higher, warmth slowly creeping into the chill air. The man continued chopping wood without pause, his movements precise and tireless. He never glanced her way, never acknowledged her presence again.
And yet, somehow, she had the distinct impression that he knew exactly where she was at all times.
Waitingâjust as she was.
âMight I ask your name, sir?â Y/n said at last.
The question slipped out more from discomfort with the silence than boldness. The steady rhythm of the axe had resumed, the sound echoing through the clearing like a metronome, and she found herself counting the strikes without meaning to. Lift. Pause. Strike. It was precise, almost meditative.
Nikto turned slowly, the movement deliberate enough that it felt calculated rather than reflexive. His pale blue eyes fixed on her, scanning her from head to toe as if reassessing something he had already measured once. A short breath left himâhalf huff, half sigh.
âWe are called Nikto,â he said.
The phrasing was careful. Intentional.
He watched her closely afterward, waiting. Watching for the flicker of confusion, discomfort, rejectionâwhatever reaction most people gave when he spoke that way.
Y/n did none of those things.
âI am called Y/n,â she replied with a polite smile, inclining her head slightly. âI do not wish to pry into business that is not my own, but do you have a family name you share as well?â
She did not hesitate over his use of we. She had heard worse grammar from visiting merchants and nobles alike. The common tongue bent differently on every mouth, and some people carried parts of themselves the language had never been built to hold.
Niktoâs gaze sharpened.
âYou have not given us a last name either,â he said, eyes sliding past her to the treeline.
âThat is because I have none,â Y/n answered calmly. âI am unwed. My father passed when I was young, and I have no brother to claim one from.â
His grip tightened on the axe handle.
âYou should not speak such things aloud,â he warned, voice low. âThere are things here that enjoy stealing women who have no names to anchor them.â
Y/n folded her hands together in her lap, unperturbed. âI have no fear of them. The forest leaves me alone when I leave it alone.â
âMonsters do not care,â he muttered. His attention shifted fully to the trees now, gaze narrowed as if listening to something she could not hear. âShe should not remain here long. We will tell Mother to return her to the path after she eats.â
His tone hardened on the name Mother, as though it carried weight beyond familiarity.
Y/n followed his gaze but heard nothingâonly wind brushing leaves together, the quiet hum of the forest breathing around them. She could sense the watchers, feel their presence like pressure at her back, but their words were lost to her. She had never been able to hear the forest, only know when it paid attention.
âI would appreciate that,â she said gently. âThank you for your care.â
Instead, he stepped closer.
The movement was subtle enough that she almost missed it at firstâjust a shift of boots against dirt, the crunch of gravel underfoot. He stopped beside her, close enough now that she could feel his presence like a wall of heat and tension. His eyes never left the treeline.
It felt as though he were listening to a conversation happening just beyond her reach.
Finally, his gaze dropped to her again, sharp and assessing. He leaned slightly forward, breath audible beneath the scarf, drawing in slowly.
âWho have you spoken with recently?â he asked. âThere is a scent on you. Something that was there, and is not now.â
Y/n blinked, startled more by the question than his proximity. âI⌠only spoke to Mother,â she said carefully. âAnd to the hunter who chased me.â
âAnd to a shadow,â she added. âWith red eyes.â
His attention snapped back to her fully now.
âA shadow,â he repeated.
âYes.â She nodded. âHe walked with me for a time. He was polite. He warned me of a monster nearby.â
Niktoâs gaze moved over her again, slower this time, as though checking for signs she herself might not be aware of. His eyes lingered on her throat and her wrists, the faint marks left behind by fear and struggle. Then he straightened.
âYou will not leave this clearing alone,â he said flatly. âNot without Mother. Not without us. If you do, you will wander until the forest forgets you.â
Y/n inclined her head in acknowledgment. âYes, sir.â
Her eyes lifted to meet his, steady despite the intensity of his gaze. There was something almost mesmerizing about his eyesâcold, pale, and deeply focused, like winter sunlight on ice.
âYou should also stop speaking to shadows,â Nikto added.
She frowned slightly. âThe shadow meant me no harm. He thanked me for my respect. It would be rude to ignore him if he sought my attention again.â
The distance between them closed until she could smell him clearly nowâwoodsmoke, pine sap, iron. The scent of the forest clung to him like a second skin.
âIt is rude to disobey commands in anotherâs home,â he said quietly. âThis is our territory. If you wish to remain safe here, you will listen.â
Y/n crossed her arms, lifting her chin a fraction. âI did not say I would not listen. I only voiced my question and argument.â
His eyes flicked over her face, searching.
âQuestioning leads to disobedience,â he replied. âAnd disobedience leads to death. You should not let your thoughts wander into such dangerous places.â
Her mouth tightened, but she did not look away.
âThen perhaps,â she said calmly, âyou should explain your commands more kindly, rather than expecting silence.â
For a moment, Nikto said nothing.
The forest seemed to hold its breath.
Then, without another word, he stepped back, retrieved his axe, and resumed chopping woodâeach strike heavier than the last.
Y/n remained seated on the stump, heart pounding, acutely aware that she had just argued with something far more dangerous than she yet understood.
And that he had let her live through it.
Motherâs voice reached Y/n before her eyes did. It carried through the clearing like warmth through cold air, gentle and grounding. Y/n turned instinctively toward the trees and felt her breath catch as Mother emerged from between them, sunlight filtering through leaves and catching on the moss and vines that made up her form.
Mother moved with unhurried grace, each step deliberate, as though the forest itself shifted to accommodate her passage. Draped over one arm were the outer layers of Y/nâs dress, folded neatly and still faintly damp with the clean scent of river water and crushed herbs.
âHello, Mother,â Y/n replied, her voice softer than she intended. She felt suddenly shy, like a child caught doing something foolish and unsure whether she would be scolded or comforted.
âWe are glad to see you awake,â Mother said, smiling in a way that felt more felt than seen. âYour body required rest. Fear leaves marks deeper than wounds.â She held out the clothing. âWe have washed and dried your garments. Human women do not enjoy wandering dressed in their innermost layers.â
Y/n accepted them with both hands. âWe do not,â she agreed quietly. âThank you. Truly.â
âYou are still a child,â Mother replied, matter-of-fact but kind. âAnd it is our role to care for children who listen.â She gestured gently. âDress yourself now. Nikto will prepare food for you both, and then you shall speak with us.â
At the mention of his name, Y/n glanced toward the stump.
Nikto had already leaned his axe carefully against it. He gave Mother a short nodânot submissive, but unmistakably respectfulâbefore turning toward the cabin. He did not look at Y/n as he passed her, nor did he speak. The door opened, then closed behind him with a solid finality.
She stepped aside and began dressing, sliding the middle layer of her dress over her shoulders, then the outer layer and apron. The familiar weight of the fabric settled her nerves. She slipped her feet into her shoes, wiggling her toes gratefully against the warmth they provided.
Her satchel was still missing.
She noticed it immediately, a small knot of unease forming in her chest. Her brush, her spare ribbon, the few coins she carriedâgone. Her fingers moved instinctively to smooth her hair, only to find it tangled and knotted from sleep and fear.
âHere,â Mother said gently. âAllow us.â
Cool, vine-wrapped fingers moved through Y/nâs hair, slow and careful, teasing knots loose without pain. The sensation was oddly soothing, like fingers through water. Mother gathered her hair back, braiding it with practiced ease and coiling it into a neat bun at the nape of her neck.
âYou must tell us why you spoke with the shadow on the path,â Mother said calmly. âWe did not see him ourselves, but others did.â
Y/n swallowed. âHe was polite,â she said. âAnd I felt it would be rude to ignore him. I wished to show respect. I believed that doing so would keep me safe.â
Mother hummed softly as she worked, the sound low and thoughtful. âWe understand your reasoning. But respect without knowledge is dangerous. Shadow-folk are not like us. They do not nurture. They observe. They test.â
âHe meant me no harm,â Y/n insisted gently. âHe warned me.â
âYes,â Mother agreed. âAnd that warning saved you. Fear is not always cruelty. Sometimes it is instruction.â
She finished the braid and rested her hand on Y/nâs shoulder, grounding her.
âBut understand this,â Mother continued. âNot all shadows will treat you the same twice. You did wellâbut you were fortunate.â
Y/n frowned. âYou could not harm the hunter,â she said slowly. âWhy?â
Motherâs expression did not change, but the air felt heavier.
âWe do not harm what cannot perceive us,â Mother said. âWe cannot shape minds closed to growth. The man who hunted you was empty of learning. He could not hear us. Could not see us. To strike him would have unbalanced the forest.â
âSo the wolfââ she began.
âThe wolf is not a beast,â Mother interrupted gently. âWords shape understanding. He is a being with will and restraint. He intervened because he could.â
âWhere is he?â Y/n asked. âI want to thank him.â
âHe remains near,â Mother replied. âBut gratitude is not always meant to be spoken aloud. Some understand thanks only through absence.â
Mother studied Y/n for a long moment, then asked, âDo you have more questions?â
âI do,â Y/n admitted. âBut I fear I will trouble you.â
Mother smiled and lowered herself to the ground in front of her, folding herself with surprising ease. âQuestions are how children grow. Ask.â
Y/n hesitated, then asked the question that had been weighing on her chest.
âWho is Nikto?â she asked. âAnd why does he live here alone?â
Motherâs gaze drifted toward the cabin.
âNikto is a man bound to this forest,â she said. âHe carries many voices within his mindâsome his own, some not. He remains because leaving would unmake him.â
Y/nâs brow furrowed. âYou speak as though I am like him.â
âYou are,â Mother said. âMore than you know.â
âI am human,â Y/n said quietly.
âSo is he,â Mother replied. âHumans are creatures too. You see us. You hear us. You speak with us. That is not common.â
Y/nâs heart beat faster. âMy mother cannot.â
âNo,â Mother agreed. âBut your father could.â
The words landed softlyâand heavily.
âYou walk between worlds without knowing it,â Mother continued. âYou are not bound as Nikto is. But you are not untouched by the forest either.â
Y/n shook her head slightly. âYour words confuse me.â
âThen we will teach you,â Mother said simply. âAll children deserve to know where they come from.â
She settled more comfortably on the ground and patted the earth before her, inviting Y/n to sit.
âListen,â Mother said. âAnd we will begin with your history.â
The cabin door creaked softly behind them.
And unseen by either woman, Nikto paused inside, listening.
Motherâs voice softened as she continued, settling deeper into the rhythm of a story that had been waiting a long time to be told.
âYour father was what you would call a creature of this forest,â she said gently. âHe was human once, as fully and truly as your mother is, who lacks nothing of herself. But another laid a curse upon himâone that bound his soul to these lands. The forest reshaped him, not cruelly, but completely. What he became was no longer wholly human⌠yet what had been human did not vanish.â
Y/n stared at Mother, the words sinking in slowly.
âMy father was a⌠creature?â she asked, disbelief threading through her voice. âBut Iâm human. I look human.â
Motherâs expression remained warm, patient. âYou are human, mostly,â she said. âYour father was human when he loved your mother. That part of him endured. And from that union came youâmostly human, yes, but carrying quiet traits of the forest within you. That is why you hear us. Why you always have, even when you thought it imagination.â
âSo⌠all those times,â she said slowly, a sadness creeping into her eyes, âwhen I spoke to âimaginary friendsâ as a girl⌠they werenât imaginary at all, were they?â
âNo,â Mother said softly. âThey were real. And they cared for you in the way children are often cared forâuntil their own paths drew them elsewhere.â
Y/n swallowed. âIt always felt like I was being watched.â
Mother let out a low, amused laugh. âCreatures enjoy watching anything that carries a human tone within it. Even more so when that human can see them in return. They liked that you knew they were there. They found delight in your respectâand endless humor in the way you scolded the fae when they tried to mislead you.â
Y/n huffed quietly. âOf course they did.â
Mother reached out and brushed a vine-light finger along Y/nâs cheek. âListen carefully now,â she said. âPart of your soul is bound to this forestâbut only a part. That is why you may come and go. You are not trapped as your father was. But a soul seeks familiarity. And so that part of you tethered itself to something that reflected your history.â
Y/n felt a faint chill pass through her.
âThat is why the forest helps you,â Mother continued. âBut it is also why it may reject you at times. You belong partlyâand partial belonging invites danger. There are things that would delight in claiming a soul like yours. They would try to bind the forested part of you to themselves.â
Y/nâs hands curled slowly into her skirt. âSo I should never let that happen.â
Mother nodded. âWe would warn you against it, yes. But some bonds are not chosen by instruction alone.â
Her gaze shiftedâjust slightly.
âYour soul,â Mother said, âhas already reached for another.â
The scent of woodsmoke and pine drifted over Y/n, rich and grounding, sending a strange calm through her chest.
âWhen the shadow spoke of fate,â Mother went on, rising smoothly to her feet, âhe spoke of this. Your soul has tied itself to a being who belongs here.â
She turned her head toward the cabin.
âHave you prepared food for our child, Nikto?â
Y/n startled, spinning around.
She hadnât heard him approach at all.
Nikto was suddenly there, close enough that she felt his presence before she fully saw him. He leaned down just long enough to set a plate carefully into her lapâthick slices of toasted bread, still warm, spread with dark red jam that smelled faintly of berries and smoke.
âYes,â he said simply.
His voice was low and steady. No flourish. No ceremony.
Y/n looked down at the food, then back up at him, her heart beating just a little fasterânot from fear, but from the weight of everything Mother had said settling into place.
Nikto straightened again, already stepping back, as if the act of providing the meal was the extent of his intention to intrude.
Mother watched them both, something knowing in her gaze.
âEat,â she said kindly. âLearning settles better when the body is cared for.â
Y/n nodded, fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the plate.
The forest was quiet around them now.
âWill you take her back to the path?â Nikto asked.
His voice was low and rough, as though the words had been dragged up from somewhere deep in his chest. He stood near Y/n, eyes flicking briefly to the braided bun Mother had made for her before returning to the forest beyond. He did not look at Mother directly as he spoke, but the question was meant for her alone.
Mother folded her hands together, the vines along her arms shifting softly. âIf we take her to the path,â she said, âwe cannot protect her further. Our purpose is not to fight or destroy. We teach. We nurture.â
A sound escaped Niktoâs throatâlow, sharp, unmistakably a growl.
Y/n startled, looking up at him instinctively. The moment her eyes met his, his gaze snapped to hers, hard and warning. She looked away at once, heart racing.
âWe do not want to go near the paths,â Nikto said after a moment, his words halting slightly, as though speech itself were a struggle. âNot when shadows are wandering. They do not like us.â
âOur child must be guided back if she is to remain safe,â Mother replied, sorrow threading her tone. âOr she must stay hereâunder your watch.â
Niktoâs jaw tightened beneath the scarf.
âWe are not a stable boy,â he said coldly. âWe do not babysit creatures who wander where they should not.â
Mother tilted her head, studying him. âAnd yet you stalk the forest and remove monsters that threaten it. Is that not watchfulness?â
âYou allowed her to stay the night,â Mother continued. âYou fed her. You kept her safe. Whether she leaves or remains, the duty has already touched you. The choice is yours now.â
Nikto looked down at Y/n.
She froze under his gaze, suddenly acutely aware of how small she must seem seated there, fingers sticky with jam, the warmth of the bread fading in her hands.
âWe will bring her to her employerâs estate,â he said at last. âBut after that, we do not want to see her on the paths again.â
The words struck harder than Y/n expected.
Motherâs expression softened into something sad. She stepped forward and pressed a kiss to Y/nâs forehead, cool and grounding. âThen it shall be so,â she said. âWe must go now. There are others who need us.â
She straightened, vines drawing back into themselves, and without another word slipped into the forest, vanishing as though she had never been there.
Nikto turned immediately.
âYou will stay seated,â he instructed. âFinish eating. When you are done, we will escort you to your employer. After that, you will not return here. Is that understood?â
He stepped closer, looming just enough to force her to look at him.
âYes,â Y/n whispered, nodding quickly. The sting in her chest surprised herâhurt she had no right to feel over a man who had never offered kindness.
Nikto did not linger. He turned and disappeared into the trees, moving with a speed and silence that made her shiver.
Y/n stared down at her bread, appetite gone. She forced herself to eat the last bites, not wanting to anger him by disobedience. When she finished, she licked the jam from her fingers and carried the plate back into the cabin, setting it carefully on the counter.
She hesitated, uncertain what to do next.
The need to do something pressed at her. She stepped back outside, scanning the clearing for water.
The voice slid into her ear like breath across skin.
Y/n gasped, spinning aroundâand collided with something solid.
She stumbled back, heart hammering.
Before her stood a figure she recognized instantly.
Not a mere shadow this time, but a shape given formâhuman in outline, but rendered entirely in shades of black and grey. Red eyes gleamed from a face sharpened into a grin too wide to be kind, fangs catching the light.
The same voice. The same presence.
âYou look unsettled,â the Shadow said pleasantly, beginning to circle her. âDid I arrive at a bad time?â
âIââ Y/n swallowed hard, remembering Motherâs warning. âI cannot say that I am unhappy. Nor that I am happy.â
The Shadow hummed. âHomesick, then?â
âI miss my mother,â Y/n admitted. âAnd I wish to return to my work. But I also⌠like it here.â
âDangerous,â the Shadow murmured. âThis forest is not kind to souls such as yours.â
He stopped in front of her. âDo you have protection, fair maiden?â
âMr. Nikto will walk me to my employerâs estate,â she answered carefully. âI trust that he will keep me safe.â
âOh,â the Shadow said softly. âBut he does not wish to see you again, does he?â
Cold fingers closed around her hands before she could pull away. His touch was shockingly cold.
âIt hurts,â he whispered, leaning close. âDoesnât it? To be dismissed so easily.â
Y/nâs chest tightened. âIt does,â she admitted. âBut safety matters more.â
The Shadow traced a finger along the lines of her palm. âPart of your soul belongs here,â he said. âYou cannot leave without strain. A sick soul is a terrible thing.â
âMy employerâs estate lies in the forest,â Y/n said weakly.
âYes,â the Shadow agreed. âBut you will be made to promise never to walk the paths again. You will be trappedâdid we not speak of fate? Of what you are not meant to become?â
âCome,â the Shadow said lightly. âI will take you there myself.â
Suddenly she stood deeper in the forest, trees closing in, the cabin gone as though it had never existed. His hands still held hers.
Fear clawed up her throat.
âI do not believe you wish me well,â Y/n whispered.
The Shadow laughed softly. His grip tightened. He lifted her chin, fingers pressing into her jaw.
âWhat an unkind thought,â he said, thumb brushing her lip.
The sound tore through the forestâraw, panicked, desperate.
And somewhere nearby, something answered.
************************************************************************
