Wraithwood Botanist

Chapter 51 - Plans for the Future

Before I went to bed that night, I pulled out my travel ledger and decided to write my parents the best letter I could, knowing that any day could be my last. I sat on the ground, adding wood to the magical fire to give me a comfortable atmosphere, and then began, bleeding my soul into the pages.

"Dear Mom and Dad,

Since there doesn’t seem to be a length requirement for these messages, allow me to write you a long letter to tell you where I am, what I’m doing, and what I’ve done to protect you. You deserve that much and far more. Please just keep what you read here to yourselves, as there are information brokers that will soon be hounding you, so stay safe.

Now that I’ve nailed the opening, let’s start with where I am. I am currently living in a cozy temporary shelter in the middle of a death-laden hell trap called the Areswood Forest. It has a magical bath and a fireplace and a nice bed that is somehow way comfier than my own. And let me tell you—the location is absolutely breathtaking. Right outside my door is a plant that can rapidly cause stage 4 kidney failure if it’s mixed with alcohol. So I guess I know what I’m making in my free time. Ha ha. Just kidding.

Sort of.

There’s so many things to eat and make and explore here. It’s a wonderland. Just… don’t visit until I do some gardening. Or at least don’t wear your good white dress."

My lips curved into a bittersweet smile. Then I wrote on.

"Surviving out here is far safer for me than you will expect, but it’s just as deadly for others. Long story short, my botanist class is tailor-suited for identifying and avoiding poisonous and carnivorous plants, ridding a lot of the dangers of this forest. I was also put into a… precarious position that earned me some tasty rewards, allowing Kline and I to level up and obtain some battle magic. So while this place is every bit as unlivable as you can imagine, your daughter’s probably the only person in the last… however many years that can actually live here.

Yay me.

Speaking of strangely suited for survival, Kline’s having the time of his life. He’s strong enough to cuddle a grizzly now, and he can definitely outrun a moving car. I think he even got a subclass, too, but I know he’s waiting to show off. You know how he is.

Oh, and this forest has miracle plants that can cure just about any illness. It’s very possible that I could create an elixir or syrup or bath bomb to fix Kline’s genetic deficiencies and allow him to live forever. I accepted his health as my responsibility, and I plan to follow through. No matter the cost."

I wiped some tears from my eyes and wrote on.

"I’ll refrain from telling you more about my magic or research. You’re about to be hounded for information after that domain quest. That’s why I hired a small militia to protect you guys. Yes, I really got Gatsby a spirit beast bodyguard (AKA a new best friend).

Sue me.

I bet it’ll be inconvenient, but you can rest easy knowing that Tyler now has a full-time bodyguard and teacher. I’m sure he feels like he’s cheating—but that’s a good thing. Somehow we’ve stumbled into the "Rich enough to buy success" earning bracket, so I’m gonna exploit it, goddamn it.

Now that we’ve talked about the white elephant in the room, let’s go ahead and ride it by talking about my plans for the future. I’ll answer gladly—but I can’t claim my answer will be sane. So prepare to hee and haw and hate my decisions (then go back to loving me).

So… yeah. Ahem. Guess I should just rip off the bandaid, shouldn’t I? Hmmm…

So… You ever read My Side of the Mountain? It’s this book about a kid who thinks he’s a billy badass and decides to run away from home thoughtlessly and live in the deadly wilderness with almost no supplies just because he wants to live in nature. Ha ha ha… anyway….

The kid decides to hollow out a tree for a house, and let me tell you! There’s this place not too far away from me that’s perfect. Towering trees with trunks that are thirty feet in diameter. We’re talking about a New York one-bedroom studio apartment with a small kitchen that is rent-free in a prime Avoid People district.

It’s currently occupied for a couple of months. But trust me, once I get the notification that it’s ready, I’m going to have prime real estate."

I looked at the page with a strange, slightly forced, equally mischievous smile. The magical location I was referring to was the place I woke up—right on top of the Wandering Reaper. In two months, the root strangler would kill it, claiming my first evolution kill (hopefully not another assist). Then, I’d gain access to that area of the forest, create a home and alchemy lab, and finally evolve, maximizing that juicy evolution reward. If I had to evolve before then, I would, but I hadn’t reached my strength cap and couldn’t handle my magic as is. There was no rush.

Naturally, I wasn’t going to tell my parents these plans. So, if you’re wondering if my mom will ever understand me—yeah, it’s not likely. As for my dad, he already knows—but dads don’t tell secrets. That’s why dads are the best.

I wrote on.

"In the meantime, I’m going to practice magic and alchemy, create poisons (a lauded skill here), and even learn how to cook (as it turns out, that’s necessary when you eat these types of beasts). I’ll be busy every second of the day, practicing, hunting, and stocking up for winter. I won’t need the equipment people will soon be fighting to bring me, but if anyone does make it, let me tell ya—you’re gonna be jealous.

I’ll tell you all about it in person because once I settle down and establish myself here—I’m going to visit. Turns out, I can do that. It might take a year or so, but I’ll be able to come and go at least one week a year, so long as there’s not a lot of drama. So I hope you’re okay celebrating Christmas during… whatever celestial marker I can come home."

I felt a ray of hope and a pang of pain simultaneously, contradictory emotions that all humans know well. Then, I began the part that mattered most.

"Now, if you don’t mind," I wrote. "I’d like to share my favorite memories I have with each of you… capture them right now when the memory is fresh and vivid and the emotion’s all there, stark and vivid as the day I remembered them. We’ll start with you, mom…"

I spent the rest of the night writing my heart and soul out to my parents, sharing funny, loving memories about each of them. My mom when she hid my friend and me from the police after we picked all my neighbor’s plants. My father for pretending that he didn’t hear about it. Gatsby, when he got lost and got adopted by a family for six hours, only to introduce us to the other hoomans he met along the way. Tyler, when he stole my oil paints to write his crush an "I love you" card, only for the undried paint to stick the two pages together. How the girl opened it and got paint all over herself, ruining her romper. How she went to prom with him anyway.

I told my parents a bit about my studies and how I made homemade ink with ink cap mushrooms and gum Arabic, as well as how useless it was for writing or doing pretty much anything. I even confessed that my oyster mushrooms ate through the storage tub I was going in, making them bloom out like a Last of Us zombie flower, and my landlord came in, demanding two days later that I explain what type of satanic summoning I was conducting in his house.

I wrote until my hand hurt and then I wrote some more, writing until my mind was dry and then ended it the best I could.

"Mom, Dad… you raised your daughter to be whatever she wanted—to pursue the life she wanted. You supported her always, trying to help her succeed, but willing to accept her decisions either way. You taught her it was okay to be strange and pursue her passions, even when they were strange." I swallowed back tears. "Well, this is what I want, and if anything happens to me, just know that I appreciate your patience and support. That you let me become the person I wanted to be, even when it was impractical…

Thank you."

I became emotional at that point, remembering how my mom was trying her best just a week ago to convince me to pursue a stable career—but knowing that she would’ve supported me even if I didn’t. That’s what happened during my bachelor’s and master’s, and I knew it would happen beyond.

I couldn’t thank them enough for that support, and I could feel emotion welling deep within my soul.

"Your loving daughter, Mother of Plants, Maker of Bad Decisions, and Lover of Parents.

Mira Isabella Hill"

Tears dripped onto the bent and textured pages of my field notebook, blotting the ink as the liquid spread. I wiped my nose with my forearm and then felt disgusting and then started a bath and then avoided it, not even purifying myself as I sat on the floor, feeling a bit homesick. Yet it all eased up when Kline walked up and curled next to me, conveniently choosing a place I couldn’t pet him.

Little shit.

I chuckled, tears streaming down my eyes, taking deep breaths before laughing and calming. I looked up at the ceiling. "Lithco. Can you transcribe and edit this letter without charging me a kidney?"

A pop-up materialized above my eyes. It answered to the point.

"It’s free."

"Then do it."

He did, and soon I was rereading the transcript, laughing and crying and wiping my eyes along the way. Then I sent it out, promptly falling asleep after, eyes glued shut from puffy lids and scratchy whites.

2.

As Mira drifted to sleep, Doug and Tanya read the letter to Gatsby, and they cried—all of them—including the happy dog that was now more intelligent than before. Then they woke up Tyler and read it to him, starting the cycle all over.

The whole time, Doug had one thought on his mind. My daughter’s coming home. Please let ’er stay safe until she comes home.

Meanwhile, in the Third Ring of the Areswood Forest, Aiden lay in the Cursed Aviary, waiting for his trial to end the next morning, wondering if the wyvern lying next to him would have a change of heart and accept an offer he made to negotiate a deal just to let the wyvern fly for a day—no strings attached.

He doubted it. The wyvern declared that he would never let anyone tame him—even for a day—even just to fly. And his hatred only inflamed once the Domain Quest went out, and beast tamers and skilled flyers flooded the Cursed Aviary, demanding to let them tame the wyvern.

The wyvern was in a foul mood, so Aiden believed that the next morning, his trial would end, and he’d leave the aviary without ever flying him. He didn’t suspect that the beast couldn’t get the quest out of his mind, reading the line, "Oracle incentivized path to release for participating cursed avians," over and over again—dreaming of the skies.

Elana watched Mira the next morning with great anticipation. Her pupil had collected alchemic ingredients for mid-tier healing elixirs during her foraging session the day before. Now, Elana wondered if Mira’s journey with alchemy would begin, so she watched on.

Brindle was also watching from a different location in the multiverse, unconcerned about what Mira’s first action would be. He was more curious how long it would take before she gave into the strange allure and temptation of soul manipulation. He watched her lace her fingers and crack them, stretching them over her head. It was almost time to begin.

3.

I looked at Kline, staring at me with vibrant eyes nearly glowing with health and auras unseen, and then looked at a forest of plants and trees and lichen and moss and fungi, a swollen wasteland of death and fascination.

It was surreal that it was the same forest I awoke in—the same one that attacked me with a living plant, stabbed me with poisonous barbs, injured my foot, and nearly stole my soul with a fungal infection on my first day. In only seven days, it had turned from a graveyard into a forest more exciting than any in the Rocky Mountains or beyond. It felt like home.

It wasn’t easy. I had nearly died countless times, relying on Kline and luck and wit and aid to conquer problems, and I had learned magic, alchemy, and poison crafting to pull it off. I tripped on hallucinogens and obtained the gifts of multiple gods.

Yet I made it, and I could now do whatever I wanted.

And I realized then, standing in the morning air, wafting the scent of decomposing leaves and the nutty aroma of fungi, that the trial and legacies and subclasses were all irrelevant. Everything I had done up to that point was simply to gain my freedom—to break the shackles of my world’s economic realities and to avoid the violence and economic servitude on this planet. From the beginning, I just wanted to live my life however I wanted—

—and now I could.

I had the magic and weapons and alchemy and experience to pursue my passion and live life without many restraints, and that filled me with the deepest sense of satisfaction that no reward or praise ever could. So I felt a sense of relief knowing that there was one day that I was absolutely free from the trial and gods—because, to me, this freedom was what it was all about.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath of the morning air. Then I turned to Kline.

"You ready?"

He meowed, and I grinned. It was time to tend to my garden.