The girl, Lyra, watched me with those luminous golden eyes, a soft smile gracing her lips. It was a smile that held both curiosity and a gentle warmth, a stark contrast to the harsh, unforgiving world I'd found myself in.
"My name is Lyra," she had said, her voice like the chiming of delicate bells. "It's… unusual to see one of your kind in the Whisperwood."
I managed a weak nod, my mind still reeling from the stat screen that had flashed before my eyes. Level 300? Strength: 10,000? It was all too much to process. I was in another world, I had the powers of a god, and this beautiful girl was talking to me like it was perfectly normal to find a strange guy lying unconscious in a pile of leaves.
As we started walking, the huge, alien leaves rustling softly under our feet, Lyra turned to me, her silver hair swaying gently with her movement. "So," she began, her gaze inquisitive, "what brings you to the Whisperwood? I've never seen anyone like you this far out."
I hesitated. What could I say? The truth – that I'd been flung here after a botched triple twist – sounded utterly insane. Even I barely believed it. So, I did the only thing I could think of: I lied.
"I… I was in an accident," I said, wincing slightly at the memory of the searing pain in my ankle. "I don't remember much, just… a lot of pain, and then waking up here."
Lyra's expression softened with concern. "An accident? That's… terrible. This forest can be dangerous, even for those who know it well."
We walked in silence for a while, the only sound the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of unseen creatures. The alien flora was both beautiful and unsettling. Towering trees with trunks wider than houses, glowing flowers that pulsed with an inner light, and vines that seemed to writhe and twist with a life of their own. It was like stepping into a dream, or perhaps a nightmare.
Suddenly, a high-pitched screech tore through the tranquility of the forest. The ground trembled slightly, and a shadow fell over us, blotting out the already dim light.
Lyra gasped, her eyes widening in fear. "A wyvern!" she whispered, her voice trembling. "We have to hide!"
Before I could react, a massive creature descended from the canopy. It was a wyvern, a dragon-like beast with leathery wings, a long, serpentine neck, and razor-sharp claws. Its eyes, glowing with predatory hunger, were fixed on us.
Lyra stumbled backward, her face pale. I could see the sheer terror in her eyes, and a surge of protectiveness, an instinct I didn't know I had, welled up inside me.
I stepped in front of her, my heart pounding, but not with fear. It was something else… a strange exhilaration, a sense of power I'd never felt before. The God of War's blood, I reminded myself.
The wyvern lunged, its claws outstretched, its jaws snapping. I moved.
It wasn't a conscious decision. It was like my body was moving on its own, guided by an instinct, a speed and agility that defied human limitations. I sidestepped the attack, the wyvern's claws tearing through the air where I'd been a fraction of a second before.
I saw an opening. The flexible sword, gifted to me by the God of Blacksmithing, was in my hand before I even realized I'd drawn it. It moved like an extension of my arm, flowing and twisting with an almost liquid grace.
I struck.
My movements were a blur. Even to my own eyes, I was a whirlwind of motion, a dance of death. The flexible sword sliced through the air, finding every weak point in the wyvern's armored hide. I moved too fast for Lyra to even see what was happening. There was a series of sickening thwacks, and then a roar of pain from the wyvern.
The wyvern thrashed wildly, its massive body convulsing. But I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. I was driven by a force I didn't fully understand, a need to protect, to end the threat.
Finally, with a final, desperate cry, the wyvern collapsed, its body falling in pieces to the forest floor. The stench of its blood, acrid and metallic, filled the air.
Silence descended upon the Whisperwood, broken only by Lyra's ragged breathing. She stared at the pieces of the shredded wyvern, then at me, her golden eyes wide with disbelief and awe.
"Woah," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. "I… I never knew you were that strong! I couldn't even see your movements!"
I stood there, panting slightly, the flexible sword dripping with the wyvern's blood. I was as surprised as she was. Where had that come from? I knew I was fast, agile, but that? It was like I'd become a different person.
I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, though my heart was still racing. "Yeah, me too," I said, managing a wry smile. "Guess I'm full of surprises."
Then, remembering my priorities, I sheathed the sword, the metal moving fluidly, and turned to Lyra. "So," I said, trying to sound casual, "is there a village nearby? I could really use some… directions."
Lyra blinked, snapping out of her daze. "A village? Yes, there is. It's… it's my village, actually. But it's not an ordinary village. We are the Vasanti, the Great Race."
She hesitated, her expression becoming somber. "We're… we're on the brink of extinction, actually. We don't come out often because… because the humans would attack us."
I frowned, confused. "Humans would attack you? But why?"
Lyra's voice dropped, becoming heavy with sorrow and bitterness. "Long ago," she began, "the Great Human Race fought against the Demon Lords. There were six Demon Lords, powerful beyond measure. The Vasanti fought alongside the humans, our magic and strength proving invaluable in defeating them."
She paused, her gaze distant, lost in the memories of a time long past. "They fought bravely and nearly wiped themselves out, and the humans…" Her voice trailed off, then hardened. "The humans betrayed us. As we were weakened and vulnerable, they turned on us, fearing our power. Our ancestors were forced into hiding, scattered and persecuted."
I stared at her, horrified. "That's… that's awful," I said, the words feeling inadequate to express the depth of the betrayal she described.
Lyra nodded, her eyes filled with a sadness that seemed ancient. "Yes. So we remain hidden, protecting the few of us that remain."
We continued walking, the weight of her story hanging heavy in the air. The vibrant beauty of the forest was now tinged with a sense of melancholy, a reminder of the long and bloody history of this world.
Finally, the trees began to thin, and a cluster of dwellings came into view. They were unlike anything I'd ever seen, built into the giant trees themselves, with walkways and platforms connecting them like a living, organic city.
As we approached, figures emerged from the shadows, their faces a mixture of surprise and suspicion. They were… like Lyra, but with a wilder, more guarded look in their eyes. They were tall and graceful, with the same luminous golden eyes and silver hair. Several of them carried weapons, ornate spears and bows that looked both elegant and deadly.
"Hey! It's a human!" one of them shouted, pointing a spear in my direction.
"What is (Lyra's name) doing?" another demanded, his voice sharp and hostile.
Lyra stepped forward, placing herself between me and the villagers. "No, everyone, stop! It's okay. He saved me from a wyvern. And he's not an ordinary human."
A murmur of disbelief rippled through the crowd. They looked at the pieces of the dead wyvern, then back at me, their expressions slowly shifting from hostility to confusion.
Suddenly, a tall figure emerged from the largest of the tree dwellings. He was older than the others, with a stern face and regal bearing. He carried himself with an air of authority, and the villagers parted respectfully as he approached.
Lyra's father.
"What is going on here? What are you doing to my daughter?" he demanded, his voice booming like thunder. "Stop this at once! I am Aerion, King of the Vasanti, and I am strong as the demi-gods. Explain yourselves!"
My heart sank. This was it. I was surrounded by a group of hostile, super-powered beings, and their king, who was apparently as strong as a "demi-god," was not happy to see me. I was sweating. This was it. It's my end again.
Lyra stepped forward, her voice firm. "Dad, I told you, he saved me from a wyvern. You don't have to do this! And… and he's the son of the God of War!"
A collective gasp went through the crowd. Aerion's eyes widened in shock, his stern expression softening slightly.
Lyra continued, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I… I appraised him," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "Without his permission. I saw his… his title. And his mother is the Goddess of Life. He can do any healing."
She turned to me, her golden eyes filled with a mixture of apology and pleading. "Sorry, I appraised you without your permission," she said softly. Then, turning back to her father, she said, "The plague… the plague that ravages our village. Maybe… maybe he can save us all."
Aerion stared at me, his expression a complex mix of disbelief, hope, and suspicion. The villagers murmured amongst themselves, their hostility replaced by a hesitant curiosity.
Finally, Aerion lowered his spear, though his gaze remained fixed on me, intense and searching. He sighed, a heavy, weary sound. "Very well," he said, his voice softer now. "Bring him to the royal dwelling. We will speak more of this."
I followed Aerion and Lyra into the largest of the tree-houses, a magnificent structure of living wood and glowing crystals. Inside, it was even more breathtaking than the outside, with intricate carvings, shimmering tapestries, and an aura of ancient power.
Aerion led me to a chamber filled with soft light and the scent of exotic flowers. He turned to me, his gaze piercing. "So," he said, his voice low and serious. "Is what my daughter says true? Are you truly the son of the God of War and the Goddess of Life?"
Caution: This is an AI-generated work of fiction. I do not intend to make money off it; I only want to share the power of AI.