Chapter 13: The Third Eye

The black oak stood less than a hundred yards from the small cabin.

Joan led Conti through the underbrush, and a tall, upright tree appeared before them. From a distance, its towering crown truly looked pitch black; but upon closer inspection, the leaves revealed themselves as a deep green—so rich in hue that sunlight reflected off them in a captivating gold-tinged darkness.

At first sight, Conti was instantly enchanted by the majestic tree. She circled it repeatedly, sometimes caressing the trunk and uttering words of admiration.

Joan, after all, was no druid. He only knew that the tree was valuable; beyond that, he saw nothing particularly remarkable. After confirming the black oak was thriving, he turned away to check on the growth of other nearby trees.

Joan wandered through the woods for half an hour, ensuring nothing was amiss, and then retraced his steps. As he walked, he suddenly heard Conti’s joyful exclamation from the direction of the black oak. He frowned slightly, wondering what had startled the girl this time.

As he puzzled over it, Conti’s exclamation turned into animated conversation, spoken in a strange tongue. Some words seemed to derive from the language of the elves, yet the grammar and pronunciation were distinctly different.

Joan’s curiosity grew with every word; he quickened his pace. Peering through the branches, he saw Conti standing beneath the black oak, gazing up into its crown. She spoke loudly, gesturing animatedly, as though engaged in lively conversation with someone unseen.

Joan glanced into the tree, but the dense foliage obscured everything; nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Unable to contain himself, he called out, “Who are you talking to?”

Conti turned and, seeing Joan, broke into a broad smile. She exclaimed excitedly, “It’s a dryad, Joan! A little dryad lives in this tree—her name is Mira. We just met, and we’re already friends!”

“I think you could become friends with anyone,” Joan replied, approaching the black oak to look for this supposed new acquaintance, but he found no sign of her.

“Mira? Why are you hiding?” Conti called up to the tree. “Come out, Mira! Don’t be afraid—Joan isn’t a bad person!”

The tree stood silent. The so-called dryad had vanished without a trace.

Joan’s brow furrowed even more. He had grown up alongside this black oak. Aside from his grandfather, he believed no one knew the tree better than he did. Yet he had never once seen any sort of dryad dwelling within it. He couldn’t help but suspect Conti was either making up stories or had simply experienced a passing hallucination.

“It’s such a pity. Mira is so timid and shy—she doesn’t dare show herself to you,” Conti said regretfully.

“But how did she have the courage to appear before you?” Joan asked quietly.

“Perhaps because I’m a druid…” Conti mused. “Kind-hearted spirits can sense the aura of natural magic on me. Mira wanted to make a friend, too!”

Joan gave a lopsided smile; he found it hard to refute.

“What did you two talk about?”

“Oh, just getting to know each other. My Sylvan isn’t very fluent—I’m not sure how much Mira understood,” Conti said ruefully.

“Sylvan?”

“Mmm. It’s the language most woodland fae use. I don’t know if Mira speaks human or elven tongues, so I greeted her in Sylvan first.”

She spoke so vividly, and her expression was so sincere, that Joan couldn’t help but wonder: had Conti really seen a dryad just now?

Alfheim had been famed since ancient times for its abundance of fae. It was said that deep in the forests there were portals leading to the fae realms. Though Joan himself had never seen such things, he believed dryads truly existed in this world.

When Joan was young, he had once seen glowing, humanoid insects by the pond. His grandfather had told him those were “glimmerlings,” a kind of tiny fae. Dryads belonged to another branch of the vast fae family. They were much larger than glimmerlings, and their habits were quite different.

It was said that dryads always lived symbiotically with a great tree. As long as their tree continued to thrive, the dryad would remain ageless and immortal, forever young. If they ever appeared before humans, it was always in the form of a beautiful maiden. Joan had also heard that dryads were skilled in magic; if anyone tried to harm their tree or destroy the surrounding woods, the dryad would exact vengeance—perhaps by weaving enchantments to lure the culprit deep into the forest, where they would lose their way, or by summoning vines to bind them fast…

Looking back now, Joan realized that this black oak seemed never to have suffered from pests, nor were there signs of wild boars or monkeys nearby; perhaps it truly owed its well-being to the protection of a dryad.

He remembered his grandfather’s tales of dryads: these beautiful, shy creatures would only reveal themselves to those who were pure-hearted, kind, and who truly loved nature. This matched Conti’s story precisely—and Conti, in both temperament and calling, was certainly appealing to dryads. If a dryad did indeed dwell within the black oak, it made perfect sense that she would show herself to Conti. By contrast… Joan sighed inwardly; he was neither kind enough nor fond enough of nature. Surely a dryad would have little affection for someone like him, and it was no wonder she chose to keep her distance.

With that thought, Joan deliberately turned away, so as not to disturb Conti’s possible conversation with the dryad. Yet he had barely gone far when Conti came skipping after him, as if she found more delight in his company than in chatting with a spirit.

This made Joan feel a little guilty. He tried to make conversation, but he was never good at small talk, and soon fell silent, striding forward in brooding quiet. Conti, on the other hand, was quite content; she walked along merrily, singing to herself.

Joan did not recognize the song she sang, but he listened quietly as they walked. The girl’s sweet voice lingered in his ears, lifting his spirits and lightening his step.

As they entered a clearing, a gust of wind blew, and Joan’s cloak hood slipped back, exposing the pale nape of his neck.

The singing stopped abruptly, replaced by a startled cry. Conti halted with a gasp, both hands covering her mouth, eyes wide as she stared fixedly at the back of Joan’s neck—where, between the third and fourth vertebrae, a jet-black eye had opened, gazing silently back at her, its pupil glinting with an eerie, unnatural light.

Hearing Conti’s cry, Joan paused, silently pulled up his hood to cover the strange eye at his nape, and continued on his way without a word or a backward glance.

Conti hesitated for a few seconds, then hurried to catch up with him. The chill of that uncanny moment still lingered in her heart. Though she had a thousand questions, she could not summon the courage to ask Joan about the bizarre eye on the back of his neck.