A warm breath ghosted against her hair, a shudder crawled down her spine. Petunia squeezed her eyes shut, her hands curling into fists. If she didn't look, maybe it wouldn't be real, maybe it would go away, but it didn't and it waited.
The air remained charged with something unspoken, something far too large for her mind to comprehend. Finally—hesitantly—she lifted her head and she gasped.
Towering before her was a massive stag. But it was no ordinary animal. Its body shimmered, translucent yet solid, like it was caught between the physical world and something else entirely. Its fur glowed faintly, each strand carrying a gentle luminescence. Its antlers stretched high, intricate and impossibly sharp, like they had been carved from pure light
Its eyes—deep, ancient, unfathomable—locked onto hers. A heartbeat passed. Then another.
Then, in a voice deep and resonant as the earth itself, the stag spoke."You can see us."
Petunia's breath hitched.
No.
No, no, no.
She clamped her hands over her ears, shaking her head furiously.
"It's not real. Please let it not be real."
The stag remained unmoved.
"I am very real," it said. The words cutting through her fear, forcing her to confront the truth she'd been running from.
The small fairy-like creature and the other strange figures she'd seen still haunting her thoughts. But the presence in front of her—the translucent, shining stag with antlers like a crown of stars—remained, its ethereal glow casting a soft light over her, its divine beauty both awe-inspiring and terrifying.
Slowly, hesitantly, Petunia opened her eyes again, her gaze lifting to meet the stag's. Its eyes were ancient, glowing with a wisdom that made her feel small, yet there was a gentleness in its expression that eased the sharp edge of her fear, if only slightly. She swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. "What… what are you?" she asked, her words trembling, her body still tense, ready to bolt at any moment.
The stag lowered its head slightly, its antlers catching the faint light filtering through the trees, its form shimmering like a mirage. "I am the Guardian of this Wood," it said, its voice carrying the weight of centuries. "I watch over this forest near your town, a protector of the unseen beings that dwell here. And you can see us."
Petunia's breath caught, her eyes widening, the stag's words sinking in like a stone in her stomach. "You can see us." The words rang through her bones, undeniable, absolute. She clamped her hands over her ears, shaking her head furiously. "It's not real. Please let it not be real."
The stag remained unmoved. "Reality does not bend to the will of fear," it murmured, its voice like the whisper of wind through ancient leaves. "Whether you choose to believe or not, the veil has already lifted."
Petunia's breath hitched, her tears glistening in the dim light. "I—I don't want to see you! I don't want any of this!"
The stag's expression did not change, but there was something in its gaze—something knowing.
"Did you lay your hands upon an old tome?"
A flash of memory—dusty pages, curling ink, the sting as her finger sliced along the book's sharp edge, and the wave of dizziness that followed.
Her throat tightened. "Y-yes… in the library," she stammered. "I left it there."
"The name of the tome is Vyrthangrim". The stag's gaze darkened, its antlers casting long, jagged shadows. "Then you have bound yourself to it. And it has awakened your sight."
Petunia's stomach twisted into knots.
The Guardian of the Wood remained still, its voice a steady, unshakable force. "The Vyrthangrim has chosen you, and such bonds do not break easily. The creatures you see—the fairies, the yūrei, the lurking things of shadow, they have always walked among men, unseen. But now, you tread their path, whether you wish it or not."
She trembled, her breath coming in short gasps. "No," she whispered. "No, I didn't ask for this. I don't want it!"
The stag regarded her in silence for a long moment before speaking once more. "Fate does not wait for permission."
Her chest ached, her fingers curling into her sleeves, nails digging into fabric. "I don't want people to think I'm mad," she rasped. "They'll send me away—like Aunt Clara. I—I can't do this."
The stag tilted its head slightly, its gaze gleaming with something like understanding. "Fear is a cruel teacher, yet it is often the first. You are not the first to bear this sight, nor shall you be the last. You may stumble, you may grieve what was lost—but in time, you will learn, as all who came before you have learned."
Petunia swallowed hard, her vision blurring with unshed tears.
"You must retrieve it, child."
She shrank back against the tree, her breath unsteady. "I—I can't."
"You must." The majestic stag insisted
She shook her head violently, her whole body trembling. "I'm scared."
The stag's form shimmered, the air around it pulsing with an unseen energy. "Fear is yours, but so is sight. The path will not be easy, but fleeing from it will not undo what has been done."
The words settled in her chest, cold and heavy.
Then, without another word, the stag turned, its luminous form flickering, dissolving like mist carried by the wind. Its antlers were the last to fade, glowing like a constellation swallowed by the night.
Petunia was left alone, her hands curled into fists against the damp earth.
The book.
She had to go back to the library.