Prologue

Blood.

The metallic scent of blood permeated the air. Human blood, vampire blood, animal blood… and the blood of nymphs.

Loving, peaceful manifestations that protect nature, creatures of fae origin.

Their appearance was humanoid, they were the same size and had human features. The only real difference between them and the other fae creatures was that they possessed earthier skin tones, and their bodies naturally grew flowers and leaves all over. They also had long, pointed ears.

Each nymph was attached to a plant, a lake, a tree; they were the spirits of each of these. This meant, however, that the livelihood and health of these flora were directly tied to the nymphs.

They wouldn't die if their particular tree or tributary was damaged or killed, but if they found themselves in a place where there wasn't enough plants left living, they died over time. It was like starvation; first they begin to ache, then they lose strength and presence of mind… then pain, and the slow release of their spirit.

Nymphs were also sensitive to emotion and deeply empathized with every living organism in their vicinity. They were born to love and nurture plants and animals, and even humans.

This meant that despite their neutral stance in all politics, they were still victims to the infinite bloodshed caused by mortal greed.

War.

War caused fire, both purposeful and inadvertent deforestation, and the draining of lakes as provisions for soldiers. Other locations became burial grounds for the masses of bodies that piled up in each brutal fight.

Forests were used as battlegrounds. Each death that occurred in the nymphs' lands shook them deeply. Their hearts were broken again and again as they witnessed mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers losing their lives.

Initially, their deaths were all inadvertent… but then rumors started to spread that the blood of nymphs would grant immortality, healing powers, strength, and so on. Vampires and humans alike joined in hunts for nymphs, either killing them or capturing them. None of these claims were proven to be true or false, and no one really knew where the rumors started.

One of the most important locations that this destruction occurred was in the Rosmani Forest. Even though it lasted much longer than most other groves, it was no exception to the witch-hunting and genocide.

This particular forest had become one of the sanctuaries for surviving nature spirits. Nymphs from all over the continent found themselves seeking refuge in the lush greenery. Nearly all of the remaining nymphs were gathered in this single place.

"My lord, my lord!" a small nymph cried. She was frantic, and had several open wounds on her arms and legs. "The vampires… they're on their way!"

Rosmani, the dryad father of the forest, stiffened immediately. His face darkened. "Really?"

"Yes, it won't be long now," the woman lamented, tears in her eyes. "Please… please, my lord, is there anything we can do?"

His heart ached, he knew it was already too late. Vampires traveled far too quickly to be stopped in time. The likelihood of being able to evacuate the forest was little to none, let alone to a location able to foster so much life.

As if to affirm his thoughts, a dark form appeared behind the small nymph. Rosmani jumped back in shock, being forced to watch her heart ripped from her body and thrown onto the ground.

The details of the figure's features became clear. He had rich, dark skin and long hair. His eyes glowed orange, filled with nothing but bloodlust and amusement.

"You all thought you were clever," he said, throwing down the limp body. "Hiding in this secluded forest. We've finally found you."

A massacre ensued, the green and gold blood of nymphs spilled throughout the forest. Rosmani and all the able-bodied nymphs were able to fend them off with defensive spells long enough for a small number to escape. Around eighty were able to leave in time.

The survivors fled to the nearest human city in hope of finding any sort of help.

It only proved to be a mistake. As it turned out, nowhere was safe for them.

The vast majority were forced into servitude, sold as objects for pleasure or enjoyment, and the rest killed for their highly sought-after blood.

One small family that managed to escape the city started an arduous trek into the surrounding desert.

A wounded nymph struggled to move forward, her body failing. She had started to starve the moment they left the forest, her natural immune system weak from being wounded in the prior vampire attack. Around her neck was a vine necklace with a small seed at the end, encased in protective thorns.

She held a small child in her arms, a young girl who was only three years old.

"Xanithe," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "Take our girl. Save her, make her happy. She should live peacefully. Regain your strength and hide amongst the humans."

A tall, handsome nymph that had been holding her hand and pulling her along stopped at her words. He knelt in front of her. His own body was beginning to become weak, but seeing her in this state hurt him deeply, shaking his soul.

"Nomia… you can make it just a bit farther," he said, fighting his own tears.

Nomia smiled, tears running down her cheeks. The flowers and leaves that grew from her body were wilted, and her skin had become pale. "I can't."

"I will take care of her. What should we call her, my love?" Xanithe took Nomia into his arms and held her, their child sleeping peacefully between them, as if nothing was happening. They breathed each other's air for a while, until her breath became slow.

"Nazmiseia," the woman whispered quietly. Her eyes closed, and her body became stiff.

He sat there long after she had grown still. His chest threatened to burst, the pain too much to bear. Nymphs mated for life, and they lived for a very long time. Xanithe and Nomia had been together for as long as he could remember.

Tears ran down his pale, pointed features. He could physically feel the difference in the world with her spirit having returned to the earth.

Xanithe forced himself to control his own emotions, in hopes that his daughter wouldn't feel his sorrow. He swallowed his crippling pain, for their young one's sake.

"I will do as you wish, Nomia. I will love her enough for us both."

—

17 years later.

—

"Happy birthday, Nazmi," Xanithe said with a smile. He placed a small box into the young woman's hands. "You are twenty years old now. You've grown well."

Nazmi took her father's gift. She looked down at her hands, her faded green eyes glistening. Her small hands opened the box, which revealed a jewelry set, of a necklace and earrings.

The earrings were small, nearly unnoticeable, but incredibly beautiful. They were both silver, with refined pearlescent stones.

The necklace was a thin chained choker.

"Thank you, dad," she said softly. "Will you put it on for me?"

Xanithe nodded gently. He sat her in front of a mirror so she could see it for herself.

He lifted her silvery gray hair up as he carefully clasped the necklace around her neck. Once he was done, she put the earrings on herself.

They complemented her pale complexion and hair well, without being too conspicuous.

She looked at their reflections in the mirror. Xanithe was tall and strong despite his age. He was well over one hundred, but looked no older than forty-five. Nymphs aged slower than humans did. His eyes were a light brown, and his skin was pale like hers. His hair was dark gray with lighter white streaks from age, and he had a short salt and pepper beard that matched.

Most importantly, though, was his signature smile. It was full of adoration and love. It was the one he always wore when he looked at Nazmi. She smiled back and held his hand on her shoulder.

"I have one more thing for you," he said. "It's… it's your mother's."

Nazmi's eyes widened. He had always said there was nothing left of her. "Mother's?"

He pulled the vine necklace from his own neck. The seed that had once been tiny was now a sapling the size of a large coin, ready to be planted. He brought it up and held it in front of her heart, then hummed a quiet melody.

It glowed a light green, and began to be absorbed into her chest. She shivered, it felt as though her veins were being injected with new strength. Everything inside of her cooled down, her body temperature lowering significantly – but to her surprise, it was comfortable.

The feeling of overwhelming love coursed through her like a chill, from head to toe. Her lashes became wet with emotion.

"Your mother preserved this," Xanithe explained. "It's the tree you are bound to. When you find somewhere that you can call home, where you feel safe… you can plant it, and it will grow. You'll receive strength from it, and as it grows... so, too, will your magical abilities. Until then, it will remain safe inside your heart."

"How… how am I supposed to remove it if it's inside of me?" Nazmi asked.

Xanithe ran his hand over her head affectionately. "You'll know how when the time is right, it will come naturally."

"Dad… you always tell me these things will come naturally," she said, biting her lip. "Isn't it time you taught me to use my magic? I mean, besides being able to maintain a human form. You said once I was twenty I'd be full-grown."

"You might possess the ability to use it, but that doesn't mean you're responsible enough," he stated, placing his lips to the top of her head for a fatherly kiss. "I know you're full of vengeful thoughts. Nymph magic shouldn't be used for such reasons."

"It was our people, dad," Nazmi replied angrily. "We can't let these aggressors have happy lives when they took so many of ours. Where did the nymph's peaceful nature get them, besides killed? Nature spirits that lived for nothing except love and protection, murdered at selfish bastards' whims."

"Violence won't resolve anything. You'll just become like them, Nazmiseia. How will you feel if you end up taking the lives of innocent people?" Xanithe asked.

"I wouldn't ever hurt someone who didn't deserve it. I just can't let the men who killed my mother, your wife, live peacefully." Nazmi said, her brows furrowed in frustration. "There are nymphs out there still alone, being abused or treated like objects."

"You are grown. If revenge is truly the path you want to walk, then walk it proudly. You are my daughter and I love you dearly, and I've tried my best to advise you. I will never abandon you, but I will never help you learn anything that can hurt others," Xanithe said with a tone of finality. "All you will ever learn from me are spells that help people."

"...Fine. I will walk this path myself."