A Journey Unwanted

[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: The Black Forest]

The world had changed beneath his feet.

Lush green grass greeted him, soft and springing under the weight of his step. A light breeze passed across his armor, carrying with it the scent of blooming life. Almost in the same breath, the sun broke through overhead, it was warm and brilliant, its light filtering down through leaves that were suddenly full and vigorous. The trees, moments ago trapped in choking mist, now stood tall and healthy, their canopies spreading wide enough to cast generous shade.

"Ah?"

Grimm looked up, genuine confusion slipping into his voice.

The sky above him was no longer a dull, overcast gray. It was a clear, open blue. The grass around him was vibrant, almost unnaturally so, and the trees stood just right, neither too dense nor too sparse. The mist that had clung to the forest's was gone entirely, as if it had never existed at all.

It was a vibrant forest.

"A boundary… or illusions…" Grimm muttered, tapping a gauntleted finger against the chin of his helmet as his gaze slowly swept the surroundings. "Though certainly not made with magic."

He moved deeper, noting the details. Flowers bloomed freely between roots and stones, their colors ranging wildly—crimson, gold and violet, hues he did not recognize but instinctively categorized as foreign. "Foreign flora as well," he added quietly.

He turned around.

There was no exit.

The forest simply continued, the trees parting and closing naturally as if there had never been another side to cross from. No wall or any kind distortion. No seam in reality that he could point to. Only continuity.

"…Maybe an entirely separate space," Grimm concluded, his tone thoughtful rather than alarmed. "Forceful transportation."

Unfortunately, assumptions alone would get him nowhere.

With no clear destination—and no immediate threat—he proceeded forward.

("I don't perceive as much mana as usual.") The observation came naturally, his awareness attuned as ever. Normally, only nations like Vel'ryr possessed atmospheres so thin in ambient mana, the result of the siphoning from the leylines. He had expected the same here—but the forest was thriving and bursting with life despite the lack. ("Which means something else is sustaining it.")

Other energies.

As he moved, creatures began to appear.

Some were familiar only in shape. Birds flitted between branches, their eyes radiating light, wings translucent like thin glass. Rodents darted through the underbrush with scaly tails and sharp azure eyes, moving too quickly for their size. Large owls perched silently above, far larger than they should have been, watching him pass with hollow, abyssal stares.

("Not Astrothians either.") Grimm assessed calmly, never breaking stride. ("No mana in them.")

That narrowed the possibilities.

("Which means natural mutation—just not the kind I'm used to.") His gaze turned toward a river stream winding lazily through the trees, then to ponds reflecting the sky above. Among the strange life were more familiar creatures: deer grazing warily, frogs slipping into the water, squirrels skittering along branches.

("Foreign energy, then.") He considered it briefly. ("Might be worth capturing one for study.")

The thought lingered—but did not root.

Because he felt it again.

He had felt it since the moment he entered this forest.

Eyes.

Not a single presence or a clear threat. Just awareness. The sensation of being observed from somewhere just beyond perception. For Grimm, locating watchers was usually trivial—he could map hiding spots and angles instinctively.

This was different.

He could feel the gazes—but could not place them.

("More of these creatures… or maybe people?") He preferred the latter. Something intelligent. Someone who could speak. Someone who could explain.

His patience was thinning.

One option remained.

Blowing the forest to kingdom come.

Yes, it was brutish. Yes, it would erase every trace of life within the forest. And yes, it was undeniably scummy.

But Grimm had never claimed to be gentle.

He was practical.

And if this place refused to yield answers willingly, then he would simply take them the only way left to him.

Now yes—obliterating an entire forest was hardly what one would call practical.

Grimm knew that.

But practicality had layers. Even if it meant unnecessary destruction, the act would at least accomplish something tangible. A cleared path. Open ground. Fewer unknowns pressing in from all sides. In a place that refused to explain itself, forcing clarity through violence was sometimes the most efficient solution.

He was still weighing the precise degree of force required—enough to carve through but not enough to destabilize the entire space—when he heard it.

"Hehehe…"

"Hohoho…"

"Kukuku…"

It was laughter. Soft and thin laughter, almost sounding playful.

To most, it would have vanished beneath the ambient sounds of the forest—the rustle of leaves, the distant sound of birds or other critters. But Grimm caught it instantly. His stride halted mid-step, his posture settling evenly as he shifted to readiness.

The snickering continued.

He lifted his gaze, scanning the canopy, the branches and the air between trunks. Nothing.

For a brief moment, the laughter faded.

Then his instincts flared.

Grimm leaned to the side.

Something screamed past where his head had been—a bolt of unstable violet energy edged in black, warping the air as it tore through space. It struck a nearby tree with a flash so bright it briefly erased all shadow. When the light faded, the tree was gone.

In its place stood a single red-capped mushroom, white-spotted and absurdly intact.

Grimm stared at it for a beat.

"…Transmutation," he murmured. Then corrected himself internally. ("No.") He tilted his head slightly. ("This is too crude and illogical…a hex, perhaps.")

"Ugh! No fair! The human dodged my jinx!" a shrill, squeaky voice suddenly shouted.

"Hehehe! You're no good at this, Puck!" another voice chimed in, higher and far too pleased with itself.

"Stop being so rude, Ma'krai!" a third voice snapped—still high-pitched, but sharper, carrying the tone of someone used to being obeyed.

Grimm looked up.

Hovering above him were three figures—tiny, no larger than ten centimeters, floating effortlessly in the air.

The first was a wingless girl with bright blue hair and salmon-colored eyes, her expression twisted into a permanent scowl. She wore a small blue dress reinforced with actual armor—miniature gauntlets, sabatons, and even a sword sheathed at her side. Despite the lack of wings, she hovered with ease.

The second was boyish, lean, and smug, translucent wings outlined in gold fluttering behind him. He wore a simple green tunic and trousers, orange hair framing sharp blue eyes that was alight with mischief.

The third was a blonde girl with gray eyes and similar wings to the boy's, dressed in a modest green dress. She carried herself with noticeably more composure.

("Fairies.") Grimm noted calmly.

"I'm not being rude, Al'tari," the boy—Ma'krai—said, glancing toward the blonde fairy. "Puck's just bad at jinxes. She should stick to her fancy spells." He laughed again. "Can't even hit some lumbering human!"

"Why you little—!" Puck snapped, clenching her fist and jerking forward threateningly. Ma'krai leaned back instinctively.

Al'tari smacked him across the head with a sharp motion. "Stop being an idiot. We have much bigger problems."

All three finally turned their attention fully to Grimm.

He stood silently, arms folded, unbothered by their presence.

"Oh right," Ma'krai mused, as if remembering him only now. "The human. Hey, stickin' human! Leave! This is our home! We don't want you here!"

"That's right," Al'tari added, nodding once as her wings fluttered. "The Great Forest belongs to us Fairies and the Deseruit Beasts. Humans are not welcome here."

"I see," Grimm replied evenly. "So the warning comes after you attempt to hex me."

Puck bristled. "We never know what to expect from your kind. Better safe than sorry." She crossed her tiny armored arms defensively.

"Fair enough," Grimm said. "Then show me the way through your forest, and I'll be gone."

Al'tari shook her head immediately. "You'll go back the way you came. That is non-negotiable. We cannot allow you to wander our home with intentions we do not understand."

"My intention is to get through the forest," Grimm replied simply.

"That's what all the stinky humans say," Ma'krai scoffed. "Then they try to capture us for their nonsense. Heheh. Turning those ones into trees or sticks is always fun."

Grimm exhaled slowly.

"Let's apply logic," he said. "I'm not some average man stumbling through your forest. Look at me. I'm clearly strong. If I had ulterior motives, you'd already know. The fact that I'm being cooperative should tell you enough."

In his mind, the reasoning was sound.

He had been a researcher once. Analysis came naturally.

What did not come naturally was understanding how little logic mattered to territorial fairies.

Because as he finished speaking, he felt it.

Energy shifting.

They were already preparing more jinxes.

Ma'krai thrust his small hands forward as his wings fluttered in agitation. "I'm turning him into a worm!" he declared, voice sharp and high with misguided conviction rather than confidence.

The air around his palms distorted first before violet energy bloomed outward. What began as a tight knot of light rapidly expanded, its surface rippling as it surged forward in a straight, reckless line toward Grimm.

Grimm did not brace himself for anything.

He simply leaned aside, a minimal shift of weight, the motion was lazy if anything. The bolt tore past where his head had been an instant before and slammed into a half-buried stone nearby. Violet light swallowed the rock whole, engulfing it in a brief, blinding flare.

Then the glow faded.

Where the stone had been, an earthworm writhed weakly in the grass, its slick body twisting as if confused by its own existence.

Grimm paused.

("What the hell…") His gaze lingered on the creature. ("He turned something inanimate into something alive.")

The surprise was there, silent but very real. So was the intrigue. Fairies were not something one encountered often—most knowledge of them came secondhand, warped by folklore and exaggeration. Absurd power was often mentioned, usually dismissed.

It seemed the stories hadn't been lying.

"An evil-looking human like you clearly has ill intentions!" Ma'krai shouted again, already drawing energy for another jinx, wings buzzing furiously as if to compensate for his size.

Nearby, Puck attempted the same. Energy gathered around her palms—but unevenly. It sputtered, stalling instead of forming cleanly. She frowned, jaw tightening as the light refused to obey.

"Tch…" she muttered, visibly annoyed.

Grimm straightened, hands relaxed at his sides. "That's very discriminatory," he said calmly. "I'm not evil-looking at all." He tilted his head slightly, as though considering them. "You're just saying that because I look better," he added matter-of-factly. "I can see it in your eyes."

It was a simple statement. An almost offhanded one.

It hit Ma'krai like an insult all the same.

"Rah!" he barked, hurling another bolt without hesitation.

This one flew straighter and faster, aimed directly for Grimm's skull.

Grimm leaned aside again, the movement smaller than before. The bolt streaked past him and struck something behind—what exactly, he didn't bother to look. The transformation took hold immediately, light flaring once more somewhere out of sight.

Al'tari still hadn't attacked.

She hovered back, wings tense and her posture rigid. Her eyes never left Grimm.

("Something's very odd about this human…") Humans had a presence to fairies—an obvious one. Thin mana signatures, predictable physicality, easily read. Even the dangerous ones followed rules that could be sensed.

This one didn't.

("This human doesn't possess a lick of mana…") Her unease deepened. ("More than that—his presence feels wrong. Not empty. Not human. More like… some kind of beast wearing a man's shape.")

The thought unsettled her enough that she didn't move.

Puck continued struggling with her hex, frustration mounting, while Ma'krai fired yet another jinx—each one dodged with the same sense of ease.

Grimm sighed.

"Alright," he said at last, voice flat with boredom. "This is getting pretty dull too damn fast, so I'll speed things up." He shifted his gaze toward Ma'krai. "Since you're the one who keeps attacking," he continued evenly, "you'll be my hostage."

For a fraction of a second, none of them understood what he meant.

Then Grimm blurred.

It was like reality hesitated to keep up with him. The space he occupied was suddenly empty.

"Ah?" Al'tari breathed.

"Huh?" Puck echoed, confusion snapping her focus away from her attack.

Ma'krai wasn't there anymore.

A sharp, indignant squeak rose from below them.

"Ugh—let go!"

They looked down.

Grimm stood beneath them, arm raised casually. His gauntleted index and middle finger were extended, pinching something small between them.

Someone small.

Ma'krai struggled in his grip, wings fluttering uselessly as his legs kicked at empty air. No matter how hard he squirmed, the hold didn't tighten—or loosen.

It didn't need to.

Grimm regarded him with detachment. "…Now," he said calmly, "onto negations."