Beaneth the Crown

The forest was alive with the sounds of the night—branches snapping underfoot, the distant howls of wolves, and the frantic rustling of leaves as Mira sprinted deeper into the shadows. Her heart thundered in her chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps, each one a reminder of how close she was to being caught. She didn't dare look back, fearing the sight of flickering torches drawing nearer, their orange glow piercing through the dark maze of trees.

Mira knew what they wanted. She was the only one left who could expose Andras's sinister plan, the only one who could prove that the prince—the rightful heir—was still alive. The weight of this truth felt heavier than the dagger strapped to her side. She clutched her cloak tightly, pulling it closer as if it could shield her from the eyes of the men hunting her.

Behind her, the sounds of pursuit grew louder. The voices of the king's guards echoed through the forest, barking orders to one another. "Spread out! She can't have gone far!" one of them shouted. Their words sent chills down her spine. Her legs ached, her lungs burned, but she couldn't stop. Stopping meant death—not just for her, but for the prince, for the resistance, for everything they had fought for.

She stumbled into a clearing and paused to catch her breath. Moonlight filtered through the treetops, illuminating the ground just enough for her to see where she was going. In the center of the clearing stood a massive, ancient tree. Its gnarled roots twisted out of the earth like the fingers of a giant hand, forming a natural shelter. The tree seemed alive, its thick, knotted branches stretching toward the sky as if to hold up the heavens themselves. It radiated an aura of timelessness and power, a silent testament to the legends that surrounded it.

This was the Tree of Babbob. Mira hesitated for a moment, staring up at its enormous trunk. Stories of the tree had been passed down for generations. Some said it had the power to heal, while others claimed it could see into a person's soul. It was said to protect those who sought refuge beneath its branches—but only if they were worthy.

With no other options, Mira scrambled beneath the tree's roots, curling up in the small hollow they formed. The bark felt oddly warm against her back, a stark contrast to the cold, damp air around her. She closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing, willing herself to disappear into the shadows.

---

The guards continued their relentless search, their torches bobbing like fireflies in the distance. They had split into five groups to cover more ground, their movements methodical but increasingly desperate. The forest was vast, a labyrinth of towering trees and dense undergrowth that seemed to stretch on forever. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, sent them whirling around, weapons drawn.

"We've come as far as the riverbanks," said the commanding officer, his voice heavy with frustration. He wiped the sweat from his brow, his eyes scanning the darkness. "There's no sign of her. No tracks, no broken branches. Nothing."

"Do you think we've lost her?" one of the soldiers ventured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Or... could she still be at the palace?"

The men exchanged uneasy glances. None of them had an answer. The thought of returning to the palace empty-handed filled them with dread. Failure wasn't an option—not with the king's temper. They all knew what awaited them if they returned without her. The dungeon. The whip. The executioner's blade.

"I don't want to die for this," another guard muttered, his words trembling with fear. "I've spent my whole life serving that cursed palace, and now we're chasing shadows in the forest."

The commanding officer's jaw tightened, but even he couldn't hide his apprehension. The forest was unnaturally dark, even during the day. Sunlight seemed to avoid it, leaving the trees shrouded in perpetual gloom. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of damp earth and something foul. A chill crept up their spines, the kind that spoke of unseen eyes watching their every move.

Whispers of old legends began to surface in their minds—tales of spirits that haunted these woods, preying on the unwary. The stories had seemed like mere superstition when told in the safety of the palace, but now, surrounded by the oppressive darkness, they felt all too real.

A branch snapped nearby, and the men whirled around, weapons raised. "What was that?" one of them hissed, his voice breaking.

"Probably just an animal," the commander replied, though his tone betrayed his uncertainty.

The tension was suffocating, and fear began to take its toll. The men's breathing grew ragged, their grip on their weapons shaky. Suddenly, one of the guards let out a strangled cry. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed to his knees, clutching his head as if something was clawing at his mind.

"What's happening to him?" another soldier shouted, but before anyone could answer, the afflicted man rose, his face twisted in a grotesque grin. Without warning, he drew his sword and slashed at the nearest guard, who barely managed to block the attack.

"Stand down!" the commander barked, but his order fell on deaf ears. The possessed soldier lunged again, his strength unnatural, his movements inhuman.

Panic erupted. The other guards scrambled to subdue him, but their efforts were in vain. One by one, more soldiers succumbed to the unseen force. Their eyes glazed over, and they turned on their comrades with brutal ferocity.

---

From her hiding place beneath the Tree of Babbob, Mira could hear the commotion. The sounds of shouting and clashing steel echoed through the forest, sending a fresh wave of fear through her. She pressed herself deeper into the hollow, her fingers gripping the hilt of her dagger.

The tree seemed to sense her fear. Its roots shifted slightly, wrapping around her like a protective cocoon. Mira's breathing slowed as a strange warmth spread through her body. For a moment, she felt safe—as if the tree itself was reassuring her.

But then, a voice whispered in her mind. It was soft, almost imperceptible, like the rustling of leaves in the wind. "Why do you run, child?" it asked.

Mira froze. She looked around, but there was no one there. The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Who's there?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

"I am the guardian of this forest," the voice replied. "You seek refuge beneath my branches, but tell me—are you worthy of my protection?"

Mira hesitated. She didn't know how to answer. The legends of the Tree of Babbob had always been vague, filled with contradictions. Some said the tree was benevolent, others that it was cruel. She had no way of knowing what it would deem "worthy."

"I... I don't know," she admitted finally. "But I have to try. If I fail, more people will suffer. The prince—"

"Ah, the prince," the tree interrupted. Its tone was unreadable, neither mocking nor kind. "You carry a heavy burden, child. But burdens are not always what they seem."

Before Mira could respond, the warmth enveloping her turned into a searing heat. Pain shot through her body, and she cried out, clutching her chest. Visions flashed before her eyes—images of the prince, of the resistance, of the guards who had fallen to the forest's curse. She saw herself standing before the king, a dagger in her hand, blood dripping from its blade.

When the visions ended, Mira collapsed, gasping for air. The tree's voice echoed in her mind once more, softer this time. "You have a choice to make, child. But know this: the path you walk will test you in ways you cannot imagine. Are you prepared to face the truth?"

Mira didn't answer. She didn't know if she could.

Meanwhile, the remaining guards were fleeing. The forest had turned against them, its shadows coming alive with a vengeance. Those who hadn't been possessed by the strange force stumbled blindly through the darkness, their minds frayed by fear.

As the last torchlight disappeared into the distance, Mira emerged from her hiding place. Her legs were unsteady, her body trembling, but she couldn't afford to dwell on the tree's cryptic warning. The prince was on her. The resistance was counting on her.

The tree had not granted her any power, but its presence seemed to shield her for a moment. The shadows of the forest, once oppressive and threatening, now seemed to turn against the guards as if to protect her from their pursuit. She felt a strange calm wash over her as she hurried deeper into the woods, the echoes of the baby's cries still ringing in her ears.

Clutching her dagger, Mira disappeared into the forest, her figure swallowed by the shadows, the haunting sound of the baby's cries pushing her forward.