The Madman of the Woods | ONC 2024 Shortlist | Vampire Romantasy | Supernatural

1 Awoken

The nightly song of the cicadas played on repeat as the fog rolled over the forest floor, disrupting no leaves or ferns along its journey. It was silvery gray, not white, and it pulsed with power only the supernaturals could feel.

Weaving between trees, the fog concentrated around a dirt mound that covered an earth tomb forgotten by time. The leaves shimmered, reflecting the glow of the fog's energy while it lazily circled the mound. The silvery whirlpool briefly flashed, illuminating the surrounding tree trunks, and then the fog retracted into the center where it started taking solid form.

It left behind the body of a man lying on a mossy bed with arms crossed over his chest. He wore robes of green, brown, and gold, and his long, silvery hair splayed beneath him like a peacock's tail. When he opened his midnight-blue eyes, he stared at the tree canopies swaying to the rhythm of a gentle breeze and took a moment to appreciate the symphony of the forest. His awakened senses drank in the rich sounds and scents. The insects, the nocturnal critters, and the owls hooting were the eternal virtuosos. Regardless of the century, the sounds of the forest never changed. It was constant—as was he.

Once upon a time, people had given him a nickname, intending it to be an insult, but he proudly wore the title. Lailoken, the madman of the woods, was awake once again.

Awake and thirsty. He was so thirsty...

While running his tongue over his fangs, Lailoken slowly placed his bare feet on the soft, damp foliage. Judging from his thirst, it had been at least a century since he stepped through the forest. As he walked, he listened and observed, letting his senses feast on his surroundings. If he was in luck, he'd run into a herd of deer on the way to the town. He could use fresh blood before he went exploring.

As he approached the break in the trees, a discovery gave him a frown. The forest... where had it gone? He could swear he was deeper in. Had a wildfire decimated its size?

He stumbled into a shallow trench followed by an unfamiliar substance on the ground. A road? He gingerly placed his bare foot on it to test it. It was solid, black like the night, rough to the touch, but strangely also warm. And quite clean.

"No more mud on my feet," he said with a smile.

His long hair glided on the breeze as he hopped from foot to foot, giggling to himself. He jumped and spun in place, suddenly in the mood to dance. He felt so alive, so awake, and so ready to discover what else awaited him ahead.

He jumped thrice as high as a human could and floated down to land on his back, aided by the silvery fog that cushioned his fall. The sky seemed brighter than expected, dimming the stars, but he could see enough. Staring up, he pointed out the constellations he knew, noting their positions in the sky.

"June," he said. "Perfect month."

He closed his eyes and took a long breath, listening to the rhythmic swaying of the trees. The forest whispered about weather forecasts and warnings of insect infestations. Lailoken's silvery fog scattered around, penetrating the forest floor and climbing tree trunks, checking on them and getting their attention.

"What happened to the rest of you?" he asked the forest.

Men, the trees replied in unison.

They spoke of the day of great sorrow when their kin fell under the screech of a tool louder than a million cicadas and were hauled away, never to be seen again. Trampled seedlings, destroyed flora, extinct fauna. We are doomed, they said.

"Surely, you exaggerate," he jested. "Why would men need so many of you?"

The trees continued complaining, talking over each other, lamenting for their future. They'll never stop. Help us, oh, Wild One. No one else will hear our plea.

Lailoken sighed, and with the help of his fog, he rose from the ground. "Fine. Show me where those evil men are. I'm sure we can come to an agreement to stop this nonsense."

Trees could be so dramatic sometimes, but he owed them for the protection they offered. He hopped down the road, dancing and humming an old melody, guided by the excited voices of the forest.

You should feed soon, the trees said.

"I know. I know," he whined. His throbbing fangs wouldn't let him forget. "Let's talk to those men first, then I'll go hunting."

You must be thirsty, they continued. Parched and withering away. Imagine how sweet that warm blood will taste.

He groaned. "I don't need your reminder."

Sweet blood flowing through those veins, pumping. Pum-pump. Pum-pump. Pum-pump. Imagine sinking your fangs into the heart while it's still beating. How long has it been since you tasted a fresh heart?

Lailoken didn't even notice when he stopped dancing. One moment he hopped down the road, the next, his body lost its solidity and turned into a fog, which sped down the road in the direction of the men. He was no longer Lailoken, The Mad. He was The Wild One, a force of nature, a predator.

Sweet, sweet blood awaits, the trees urged, guiding him forward.

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A/N: How do you like Lailoken so far? 

And those trees...