Chapter 6
927words
Bria's breathing had stabilized somewhat, but she still looked fragile enough to shatter at the slightest touch.
"Stay here with me," Lilith said, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "I have plenty of room. Rest and recover your strength."
"No." Pip relayed Bria's feeble thoughts through the network.
[Avatar: An angry orange flame] Pip: "She says if her master returns, he won't know where to find her."
"I see." Lilith couldn't argue with that logic. But she couldn't let Bria return alone, and Clara clearly had her own troubles.
She would have to take the cat back herself.
"All aboard." She sighed, pulling a rune-covered metal contraption from beneath the counter—something resembling a bizarre steam-powered toaster oven.
She gave it an impatient kick. The box responded with a series of indignant clangs before wobbling into the air. A panel on its side slid open automatically.
It was a magical carriage!
The enchanted vehicle trundled through the shadowy forest like a self-propelled tin can.
Inside, Bria lay motionless—a small black statue, her entire being focused in one direction: toward the home she remembered.
Suddenly, the roadside bushes erupted with commotion as several green-skinned goblins leaped out, cackling shrilly.
They waved rotting branches, instantly warping reality around them. The forest transformed into a rolling pink ocean filled with enormous, leg-having mushrooms that sang with voices like nails on chalkboard.
Without changing her expression, Lilith pulled a fruit candy—a sprite delicacy—from her pocket.
"Pip," she called mentally through the network.
A cluster of orange sparks materialized with a whoosh, snatching the candy faster than the eye could follow. The next instant, the goblins were fleeing from an enraged orange fireball, wailing as they tumbled back into the depths of the forest.
[Avatar: An angry orange flame] Pip: "This one's on the house, witch. Consider it professional courtesy."
Delighted, Lilith dug out another handful of fruit candies for the visibly drooling sprite.
As they neared their destination, the carriage passed a towering pine tree whose magnificent branches spread like the arms of a verdant giant.
"Well, I'll be!" exclaimed Pip. "I know this tree—he's old Eldrin's great-great-great-great-grandson."
"Let me ask him if he knows anything!"
Pip darted over to the tree while Lilith followed, cradling Bria.
Pip pressed his ear against the bark, listening intently before shaking his head in disappointment.
He stuffed a handful of candies into his mouth, mumbling through his chewing: "He says we're too late."
"What about her master?" Lilith asked, though she already suspected the answer.
"Left ten years ago."
Pip released a loud, fruity-scented burp that sent rainbow bubbles floating into the air.
Lilith's heart sank. "And then?"
"What happened next?" The tree's leaves rustled mournfully as Pip translated, his voice trembling slightly. "He never returned. There was… an accident. A magical accident."
Everything fell into place.
Lilith looked down at the nearly weightless creature in her arms.
Bria suddenly stiffened in her arms—not in struggle, but like a delicate clockwork whose final gear had just snapped, triggering an irreversible breakdown.
"Why did he leave in the first place?" Lilith heard herself ask, her voice dry as desert sand.
Pip shifted his candy to his other cheek, which bulged out comically.
"New apprentice. A dark wizard," he translated haltingly. "Powerful guy. Rumored to extract souls and use them as light sources. But…"
Pip paused, apparently listening to the tree's deeper thoughts.
"He was deathly allergic to magical creature fur. The severe kind. One sneeze could level a mountain."
The reason was absurdly comical, yet no one laughed. A dark wizard powerful enough to harvest souls, yet undone by cat dander. The universe's cruelty sometimes came wrapped in the most ridiculous packaging.
Bria stirred again in Lilith's arms, using what little strength remained to turn her head toward what lay beyond the pine—toward home. Though her eyes remained closed, her entire being strained in that direction.
"So her master left her here to wait," Pip's voice dropped to a whisper, the candy forgotten in his mouth, melting sadly on his tongue.
"He told this tree he'd sort out that sneezing apprentice and be back immediately. Three days, tops."
"Did he return?" Lilith asked, though she already knew.
"He tried."
The pine's branches rustled with a long, mournful sound like endless rain.
"On his way back. The accident." Pip's fiery face showed a flicker of deep compassion.
"A catastrophic magical accident."
Silence fell. In the forest, only the wind spoke now—whispering through ancient branches, past a witch cradling a cat, and finally into the golden-green eyes that had just opened.
Bria no longer trembled or stiffened. She simply became profoundly, utterly calm. With gentle pressure from her front paws against Lilith's arm, she made her wish clear.
Lilith understood. She knelt and carefully placed the nearly weightless creature on the ground.
Bria's paws touched the fallen leaves, wobbled precariously, but somehow found balance.
She raised her head, looking beyond Lilith, beyond Pip, toward what lay behind the silent pine sentinel.
There stood a small cottage, consumed by vines and time. Half the roof had collapsed, and the windows gaped black as empty eye sockets.
Bria began to move forward. Her legs were thin as matchsticks, trembling with each step, her progress agonizingly slow. But she didn't stop. She walked toward the ruins, toward the broken promise, toward the end of her long vigil.
She needed to see with her own eyes the home to which no one would ever return.
