Immortal Druid

[POV: Wo Li]

I woke with a start, my body tangled in the simple bedding inside my tree house.

An uncomfortable heaviness pressed against my chest, not pain exactly, but a deep unease that lingered like fog in my mind. The dream had come again with vivid fragments of another life, where I had been Nevle Drol Diurdhcra, a name that felt both alien and intimately mine.

In those visions, I moved through incredible cities and great wilderness, a world of fantasy and forgotten gods. Yet each time the dream faded, pieces of my Earth memories seemed to shave away, eroded like sandstone under relentless rain.

“It’s getting worse by the day.”

I sat up, rubbing my temples, and pushed the thoughts aside. Dwelling on them only made the discomfort worse. The first light of dawn filtered through the walls of the tree, casting soft green patterns across the floor.

Stepping outside, I nearly tripped over a familiar form sprawled on the ground. Guo Yimu lay there, bald head gleaming faintly in the morning dew, his robes twisted awkwardly around him. What was wrong with this baldy? He had clearly chosen to sleep right here instead of inside like a normal person. A suspicious dark patch stained the front of his lower robes. Did he piss himself while asleep? The thought made me wrinkle my nose in distaste.

With a sigh, I raised my hand and murmured the incantation. “Cleansing Spirits.”

A gentle swirl of translucent energy enveloped him, lifting away the grime and moisture in an instant. The spell worked perfectly, as always.

“Hu hu hu hu,” let out Guo Yimu with a strange laugh. “Yes, yes, right there… just a little bit lower… yes… yes…”

“Ugh… what the hell, man?” I muttered under my breath, turning away quickly.

Shaking off the awkwardness, I started my day the usual way of gathering the tributes left during the night. The offerings had piled up again at the base of the tree with rare fruits, bundles of medicinal herbs, chunks of venison filled with strange energy, and even a few random knick-knacks. There were a lot of them, like usual.

I moved methodically, moving the heavier items with a casual wave of phytokinesis and directing them inside the tree’s storage hollow.

As I worked, my ears caught distant sounds from beyond the woven curtain of vines. Soft wingbeats cut through the morning air, followed by a familiar, measured hoot.

“Greetings, master of the forest.”

I didn’t even look up at first, guiding a bundle of herbs into the hollow with a flick of my fingers. “I’m glad you made it. But please, just call me Wo Li. I claim not to be the master of any such forest, you know?”

She settled onto a low branch nearby, feathers shifting in quiet elegance. The owl’s large eyes reflected the dim green light, watching me with that same knowing calm she always carried.

I shortly finished transferring the tributes I received last night. There was honestly a lot of them. Sometimes, I’d only receive trickles, scattered offerings like hesitant gestures. But once a month, without fail, it would come in bulk like this, as if the entire forest had conspired to empty its gratitude all at once.

I exhaled slowly, brushing dirt from my hands before turning to her.

“Thank you… for agreeing to accompany me, talk to me, and offer advice,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended. “I think I could use some of that advice right now.”

She tilted her head slightly, attentive.

“I asked you here because… do you know a way to stop these tributes?” I gestured vaguely toward the now half-empty pile. “Honestly, I’d prefer they stop doing it. It’s excessive. And no matter how many times I try to ignore it or tell them off, they keep insisting.”

The owl let out a soft, thoughtful hoot before replying, her voice calm and even.

“It is their way, Wo Li. A way for the local wildlife to express their gratitude to you. In offering these tributes, they believe they repay a debt… and in doing so, it gives them peace of mind.”

Before I could respond, a rustling sound came from behind me.

“Senior? What am I doing here?”

I glanced over my shoulder. Guo Yimu had stirred awake, pushing himself upright with a sluggish motion, his expression muddled and unfocused.

“I don’t know,” I replied flatly. “You tell me.”

He blinked a few times, looking around as if the world had rearranged itself without his permission. “I don’t know… I can’t remember.”

The owl shifted slightly on her branch, her talons scraping softly against the bark as she regarded Guo Yimu’s confused face. “It is possible that a certain bipedal beast encountered him during the night. If the young monk stirred awake and wandered, such a creature might have struck him unconscious before he could comprehend the situation.”

There weren’t many in this forest that fit that description. My mind immediately settled on a certain overgrown marsupial with an attitude problem.

Guo Yimu scratched his bald head, still sitting on the ground. “I don’t remember it, though.”

“That’s not surprising,” I replied before the owl could elaborate. I waved a hand dismissively. “And for the record, baldy here isn’t really a monk. No need to take him seriously.”

“I understand,” the owl said simply, her golden eyes flicking toward him without judgment.

Guo Yimu straightened at that, clearly dissatisfied. He pressed his palms together and spoke with exaggerated composure, “Though my current state may be… unconventional, I still walk a path aligned with discipline and clarity. Titles are but illusions, yet one must not abandon the principles of a monk so lightly.”

I stared at him for a moment, then looked away. “Yeah, sure.”

Before the conversation could spiral further, the wooden door of the guesthouse creaked open. Li Ming stepped out, stretching her arms high above her head as a yawn escaped her.

“Wow, Baldy actually woke up this early for once,” she said, blinking the sleep from her eyes.

Guo Yimu looked faintly offended but didn’t respond immediately.

Li Ming turned to me, already more alert. “Do you want me to chop more wood?”

I shook my head. “We have too much already. At this rate, we could build another house out of spare firewood alone.”

She shrugged, unconcerned, and leaned lazily against the doorway. Behind her, the small building that used to be Xing Ning’s workshop, now repurposed as a guesthouse, stood quietly beneath the morning light. Vines had crept along its walls, weaving between wooden panels, while small flowers bloomed in scattered clusters. They weren’t harmful, just another sign that the forest was slowly reclaiming everything in its reach.

I glanced between the two of them, then turned away.

“Do as you please,” I said. “I’m going on a stroll.”

My gaze shifted to the owl. “Would you come with me?”

She spread her wings slightly before gliding down, landing lightly atop my head.

“Do you not mind?” she asked.

“It’s fine,” I replied, already stepping away from the campsite.

The soft weight of her presence settled comfortably, her feathers brushing faintly against my hair as I walked past the outer ring of trees.

My meeting with her had been brief, but strangely natural. Not long ago, she had found me lying in the grass, staring blankly at the sky while my thoughts spiraled into places I didn’t care to revisit. She had spoken first, her voice calm and unintrusive, and somehow the conversation had just… continued.

Since then, I found myself seeking it out.

Silence was easy, but it wasn’t always welcome.

“I just realized something,” I said as we moved deeper into the forest. “I never got your name.”

“I do not have one,” she replied.

I slowed slightly. “You don’t?”

“No. Would you like to give me one?”

I considered that for a moment, stepping over a fallen branch. “How do beasts usually get their names then?”

Her claws shifted lightly as she adjusted her balance.

“A beast most often receives a name from humans,” she explained. “However, such conventions rarely apply to wildlife. The exception lies with those who have awakened their spark, a symbol of sapience that allows one to communicate eloquently with others, including humans.”

There was a subtle shift in her tone, something almost… lively.

“I have had a few pleasant encounters with humans in the past,” she continued, sounding faintly pleased. “Though recently, the cultivators visiting this forest have proven considerably less agreeable.”

I exhaled through my nose. “Yeah… sorry about that.”

She didn’t respond immediately, but I could feel the faintest hint of amusement in her silence.

That was part of why I liked talking to her. She carried herself with a kind of composed intelligence. At the same time, there was an undercurrent of personality that slipped through in small ways.

In terms of presence, she was strong. Around Core Formation, if I had to guess. That alone made her stand apart from most of the wildlife here, which probably explained why the others described her as aloof.

We continued walking, the forest stretching quietly around us.

“So,” I said after a while, “let’s try this naming thing.”

She didn’t object.

“Hmm… how about… Ash?”

“Ash is acceptable,” she said after a brief pause, “but it feels somewhat… incomplete.”

“Alright. What about… Luma?”

“Too soft.”

“Feather.”

“…No.”

I let out a small breath, glancing upward slightly as if that would help me think. “You’re picky.”

“I am thorough,” she corrected calmly.

“Right. Of course you are.”

I walked a few more steps in silence before another name came to mind.

“…Willow.”

“Willow… is agreeable.”

We eventually found ourselves at the lake, its surface still and reflective like polished glass beneath the morning light. The air there always felt different, quieter in a way that pressed gently against the senses rather than suffocating them.

I removed my boots and set them aside before lowering myself onto a flat rock at the edge. The stone was cool beneath me. I dipped my foot into the water, watching the ripples spread outward in slow, overlapping circles.

Willow fluttered down from my head and landed beside me, her feathers settling neatly as she folded her wings.

“Have you been eating well?” she asked.

“I’ve been eating,” I replied, staring at the shifting reflections in the water. “Well enough, I guess. Though, I’ve been losing my appetite lately. Things have been feeling directionless, like I’m just moving because I can, not because I know where I’m going. Still, I enjoy this. Right now, I mean.”

Before she could respond, a presence drew my attention to the opposite side of the lake.

A woman stood there, completely naked.

She didn’t seem bothered in the slightest, her long dark hair cascading down her body as she gazed across the water with an unreadable expression.

Willow’s voice lowered slightly. “Do you know her?”

“She shows up once in a while,” I said. “Doesn’t really say much.”

Willow’s gaze sharpened. “I am familiar with every noteworthy being within this forest. She is not among them. That woman is likely not from here.”

That didn’t surprise me.

It wasn’t long ago that she had approached me, asking for permission to live in the forest like I had any authority to grant it. I still didn’t understand why everyone kept assuming I was some kind of master of the forest here.

The woman moved suddenly, diving into the lake without a splash. Her form vanished beneath the surface, leaving only faint distortions in the water.

For a brief moment, there was nothing.

Then a shadow writhed beneath us.

Before I could react, she emerged right beside the rock, water cascading off her as if the lake itself had pushed her upward. She brushed her long hair to one side, revealing her face more clearly.

“Hello,” she said.

“Yeah, hello too,” I replied, not particularly startled anymore.

Willow stepped slightly forward, her posture composed. “You there. Where do you come from?”

“The ocean,” the woman answered simply.

Her gaze shifted immediately, locking onto Willow with intense curiosity.

“She talks.”

Now that I thought about it, I guessed it wasn’t normal. My ability allowed me to understand animals, but this? Willow’s words weren’t being translated to me through the ability. She was speaking, clearly and directly.

“I utilize sound transmission,” explained Willow. “It is a technique I learned from cultivators. Those who have awakened their spark possess boundless curiosity and a learning capacity comparable to humans. It is the minimum requirement for beasts to begin cultivation.”

“That sounds cool,” I idly remarked.

Willow paused briefly before adding, “My name is Willow. What is yours?”

“Zhen Ai,” the woman replied.

I gave a small nod, introducing myself to not feel left out. “Wo Li.”

Zhen Ai smiled faintly at that, then without another word, she dove back into the lake. A few seconds passed and when she resurfaced again, she time dragging something massive with her. She heaved it forward, dropping it onto the rock beside me with a wet, heavy thud.

I stared down at a large and headless fish.

That was one way to go, huh?

Sleek body, silvery scales, faint hints of red along its sides.

Salmon…?

I wasn’t entirely sure. I had never actually seen one in person before, which now that I thought about it, felt oddly disappointing.

“It is tribute,” Zhen Ai said.

Of course it was.

I stared at the fish, then at her, then back at the fish.

The problem was… I had no idea how to prepare it. Sure, I could throw it into a fire, but the thought didn’t appeal to me right now. My appetite had already been questionable, and this wasn’t helping.

“Thanks,” I said after a moment. “Really. I appreciate it.”

Zhen Ai’s expression shifted slightly, a hint of sadness creeping in at the edges.

Willow clicked her beak softly. “You should accept it. If you do not wish to eat it, I will.”

I glanced at her, then back at Zhen Ai.

“…Alright,” I said, nodding once. “Thank you, Zhen Ai. I’ll take it.”

Her expression brightened almost instantly.

Before I could say anything else, Willow hopped forward, grabbed the fish with surprising decisiveness, and began pecking into it with clear enthusiasm.

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head.

“The texture is excellent,” Willow commented between bites. “Firm, yet yielding. The energy within the flesh is also quite refined. This is a high-quality offering.”

Zhen Ai watched for a moment, then slipped back into the lake. Her body moved fluidly beneath the surface, circling, twisting, her form almost playful as she began what looked like a dance. She kept glancing at me as she moved.

Willow paused mid-meal, lifting her head.

“That… is a dragon dance,” she said, her voice carrying a note of awe. “A form of movement performed by dragons. It is said to bless the earth with heaven’s embrace.”

I looked out across the lake. The water began to change. Qi gathered, faint at first, then growing denser, coalescing into shimmering motes of light that drifted lazily through the air. Zhen Ai’s movements became more graceful, more deliberate. Slowly and impossibly, her form began to rise.

Water cascaded downward as something vast emerged.

Her human shape stretched, expanded, transformed.

Scales replaced skin. Limbs elongated. Her presence surged upward into something immense and ancient.

A dragon.

She ascended into the sky, her body coiling elegantly as a rainbow trailed behind her like a lingering echo of light.

I watched in silence.

Beside me, Willow spoke softly.

“Truly beautiful,” she paused briefly, her voice lowering with a thoughtful weight, “A dance of all things. Among their kind, such displays are not done lightly. Dragons are creatures bound closely to the flow of qi and the will of heaven itself. When they move in such a manner, they are not merely expressing emotion, but influencing the world around them.”

She shifted slightly, feathers rustling as she continued.

“The species known as dragons are not native in the same sense as beasts of the forest. They are ancient, often originating from vast bodies of water such as oceans, deep rivers, or hidden celestial springs. Their bodies act as conduits of natural energy, allowing them to gather and refine qi instinctively. This is why their presence alone can alter weather, nourish land, or disturb the balance of an entire region.”

I listened quietly, my eyes still on the fading traces of light.

Willow’s tone remained steady, though there was a clear note of fascination beneath it.

“They possess intelligence far beyond most awakened beasts, and their lifespans stretch across epochs. Many cultivate not out of necessity, but refinement. Some take human form to better interact with the world, while others remain in their true bodies, distant and untouchable. Their temperament varies greatly as some are benevolent, others indifferent, and some are… less forgiving.”

She paused again, then added more quietly,

“For a dragon to perform a dance such as that… it signifies a moment of significance. Celebration, transformation, or the continuation of their lineage. It is not something shown without reason. Ah, I understand now. She’s with child.”

The last mote of light flickered out over the lake.

I exhaled slowly, lowering my gaze to the water.

“…And here I thought I was just getting free fish.”