Chapter 22: The phantom
Anezka's Pov
As I stood before the majestic elm tree once again, an unsettling stillness enveloped me. Just moments ago, I had glimpsed a ghostly figure, but now it felt as if it had faded into the realms of my imagination—a mere trick my mind had played on me.
A wave of perplexity washed over me, but before I could gather my thoughts, the soft rustling of leaves pierced the silence, resembling the hesitant footsteps of someone navigating the carpet of dried leaves strewn across the forest floor.
This time, I steeled myself; I wouldn't allow fear to take hold again. Suddenly, I caught sight of a towering figure, a six-foot-tall man emerging from behind the gnarled trunk of the elm tree. He was draped in a dark green cloak that flowed around him like mist, and underneath, a crisp white shirt contrasted sharply with brown trousers.
His leather boots thudded against the ground with a deliberate rhythm, the sound echoing in the stillness, mingling with the whispers of the forest. In that moment, I was caught in trepidation, as the rustling leaves and his approach wove a haunting melody through the quiet woods.
As he stepped closer, a smile spread across his face, illuminating the shadows of the forest around us. Adrian, sensing my awe, nudged me gently on the arm and whispered in an excited hush, "He's our mentor, Selmor." With that realization, I exhaled a deep breath I hadn't known I was holding, feeling the weight of the moment settle around me.
Mentor Selmor began to walk toward me, his presence commanding yet enigmatic, leaving me with an odd sense of danger that I couldn't quite shake. Perhaps the thrill of the forest's energy had overwhelmed my senses.
He paused just inches away, his piercing gaze meeting mine as he spoke. "Welcome to Sherwood, Miss Anezka. I'm Selmor Sherwood, the phantom and sole guardian of these woods." His words danced in the air, but I struggled to fully comprehend their meaning amidst the enchantment of the woods. The term "phantom" lingered in my mind like an echo. Hesitantly, I asked, "Um, what do you mean by 'phantom'?"
As I posed my question, he began to circle me slowly, his footsteps deliberate and almost haunting. My cousins spread out around us, giving him the space to maintain his peculiar motion. "Haha, I feel like Mentor Selmor is quite playful," I laughed nervously, a hint of tension tugging at my insides as I tried to steady my breath.
"Of course, Miss Anezka. But before I reveal the meaning of 'phantom,' I have one question for you," he said, his voice smooth and captivating, continuing his circular motion. "Yes?" I responded, my heart racing, anxiety creeping into my thoughts like a shadow.
Suddenly, he paused behind me, looming tall and imposing, his presence both intimidating and intriguing. "Are you afraid of magic or ghosts?" he inquired, his tone probing yet curious. His question sent a jolt of nervousness through me, amplifying my apprehension.
But as I glanced over at Aella, her amused expression lit up with delight, I realized she was relishing this moment of tension. I didn't want to give her another reason to tease me, so I gathered my composure and replied firmly, "No, I'm not scared at all. I'm just still trying to adjust to this new environment, which can be a bit overwhelming at times. But I'm definitely not afraid."
Sensing the unwavering determination in my voice, he burst into laughter, but an unsettling feeling crept over me—was he mocking me? "Alright, Miss Anezka," he said with a playful tone, "I'll use my magic to show you the true meaning of 'phantom.'"
As the words left his lips, he dashed forward with astonishing speed, the air around him pulsing with energy. Dried leaves whirled and danced wildly, spiraling into a magnificent tornado. Suddenly, a breathtaking sight unfolded before me: Mentor Selmor hanging in mid-air, transformed into a shimmering, translucent shadow.
It was as if he had shed his human form and manifest into an ethereal apparition. My mind struggled to grasp the surreal scene before me, the boundaries of reality blurring. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, darkness enveloped me, and I lost consciousness, leaving the mystifying spectacle behind.
...
My head throbbed painfully, a relentless ache that clouded my senses. "Oh, my sweetness, are you alright? Can you open your eyes?" The tender sound of my mother's voice reached through the haze.
I felt her warm hand gently caressing my cheeks, her touch both soothing and familiar. With great effort, I pried my eyes open, the dim light of my chamber slowly coming into focus. There, beside me on the bed, sat my mother, her expression a mix of worry and love as she clutched my hands tightly.
At the foot of the bed, my father stood, his brow furrowed with concern, while Adrian lingered in the corner of the room, watching silently. "Oh, my child, are you okay?" my mother said, her voice trembling as tears glistened in her eyes.
"Please forgive your mother. I shouldn't have let you go with everyone. I'm so, so sorry." Her words were laced with genuine remorse, the weight of guilt evident in her demeanor. "I'm fine, Mother. Nothing happened to me," I replied, my throat raw and scratchy, each word a struggle against the discomfort, but I hoped my voice would ease her troubled heart.
As if sensing my unease, my father approached with a gentle intent, pouring cool water into a glass that shimmered in the light. "It's alright, Serena. Take a deep breath; she's awake now. Wipe those tears away," he said soothingly, drawing nearer to offer me comfort.
I felt the refreshing chill of the water as he helped me take a sip. With fire in her eyes, she declared, "But I won't let anyone go unpunished for what happened to my daughter," her voice filled with fierce determination as she dabbed at her tear-streaked cheeks.
Panic gripped me at her words, but my father's warm hand landed softly on my head. His reassuring gaze met mine, silently promising that he would take care of everything.
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"Well, if god doesn't exist, who's laughing at us?"
- By Fyodor Dostoyevsky