The little spirit boy hesitated for a long time before speaking again. His voice, soft and melodic, trembled like the ripples of water disturbed by a falling leaf.

"You shouldn't be here, human…" he said, his golden eyes darting nervously toward the canopy. "The forest doesn't like outsiders. Especially now."

Mo Han crouched to meet his gaze, his tone calm but curious. "I mean no harm. I came for something — the Spirit Well. Do you know where it is?"

At those words, the boy froze completely. His tiny shoulders stiffened, and the light in his eyes flickered — a mix of fear and sorrow.

"Spirit… Well?" he whispered, almost too soft to hear. His hands trembled slightly. "You… shouldn't go there. You'll die."

Mo Han tilted his head, studying him. "Die?"

The boy's lips quivered, and his voice cracked with emotion as he whispered, "Because that place now belongs to the Fire Python."

Mo Han's brows furrowed. "Fire Python?"

At once, the boy's expression changed — grief overtook fear. His glowing eyes dimmed, his small frame shaking as if he'd carried too heavy a burden for too long.

He sank to the ground, his knees drawn to his chest, tears spilling once more. The sound that followed wasn't like before — not sharp or painful — but low, mournful, resonating through the forest like the song of a dying flute.

Mo Han said nothing, letting the boy cry until the tremors eased. Then, quietly, he asked, "What happened? Why does this Fire Python own what belongs to your people?"

The boy wiped his face with his sleeve, then looked up. His voice came faintly, with rhythm like chanting — the natural melody of his race.

"We are the Herb Tribe," he said slowly, "spirits born from the forest's roots and leaves. We are its voice, its caretakers. There are more than five hundred families — the old, the young, and those yet to bloom. We depend on the Spirit Well for life itself. Its waters keep our souls from fading."

He paused, clutching at his chest as though his heart hurt. "But then… three cycles of the moon ago, the Fire Python came. Our elders tried to resist — but their bodies melted before they reached its scales."

Mo Han's eyes darkened slightly, his mind already drawing the image of a serpent large enough to dominate a forest, its breath pure fire essence.

The boy's voice cracked again, trembling between sobs. "We tried to flee… but where could we go? This forest is our world. Our lives are tied to it. Without the Well, we weaken. So our elders made a pact with the beast. Each month, one of our people — one man from a family — must be offered to it. Along with rare herbs, forest fruits, and a fat wild animal."

He swallowed hard. "If we don't… the python burns whole families alive. He enjoys it."

Mo Han's hands curled into fists, the faint scent of smoke flickering at his fingertips. "A forced offering… for survival."

The little boy nodded miserably. "Today was our family's turn."

His voice broke completely. "My father already died when the fire python first attacked. My mother is sick. It was between me and my brother — the only males left in our family. My brother…"

He buried his face in his hands. "He said he'd go. He said I was still small and should live longer. I told him no. I told him we'd both run. But…"

The melody of his words dissolved into quiet sobbing once more.

Mo Han felt something twist deep in his chest. He wasn't easily moved by tears — but this child's pain, the purity of it, struck him differently.

The forest had fallen silent around them, as though listening.

Finally, Mo Han said softly, "Where is your village?"

The boy hesitated, eyes full of confusion and fear. "Why?"

Mo Han stood, his gaze steady as iron. "Because I'm going to help you."

The boy blinked, stunned. "H-help?"

"I came for the Spirit Well too," Mo Han continued, "but I didn't come here to steal from those who suffer. If a beast holds what belongs to your people, then we both have the same enemy."

The child stared, mouth open. "You mean… you'll fight it?"

Mo Han nodded once. "If the Fire Python truly guards the Well, then I must face it anyway."

The little boy took a step back, eyes wide as gold coins. "No! You don't understand! It's huge! Its fire burns air itself! No one can survive! Even the elders fear to speak its name aloud!"

"I'll take my chances."

The boy's voice trembled as he whispered, "You'd die for strangers?"

Mo Han's expression softened. "Sometimes… strength isn't just for yourself. It's for those who can't fight."

The child blinked rapidly, tears glinting in his golden eyes. "You're serious?"

"I am."

He stepped closer and knelt again so their gazes met evenly. "Take me to your people. Maybe together, we can find a way."

For a long moment, the boy said nothing. Then, slowly, cautiously, he reached out a trembling hand — green fingers brushing Mo Han's palm.

"Promise you won't hurt anyone."

"I promise."

The little spirit's lips quivered into the faintest smile. "Then… follow me."

The secret path was hidden beneath the roots of ancient trees. Narrow, winding, it sloped upward through living tunnels where vines glowed with their own faint light. The air grew thick with spiritual essence, humming like music against Mo Han's skin.

After half an hour of climbing, they emerged into light — and Mo Han's breath caught.

The Herb Tribe Village was unlike anything he had seen before.

It hung high in the trees — an entire settlement built within the living forest canopy. Houses were formed from massive hollow trunks, their walls alive and breathing. Ropes of vines connected the dwellings, shimmering faintly with protective runes.

Small green children played among luminous flowers that floated like will-o'-wisps. The air was rich with the scent of herbs and pollen.

But beneath its beauty, there was unmistakable grief. Many of the villagers wore black vine sashes — signs of mourning. Others sat silently before carved wooden idols, heads bowed.

When Mo Han stepped into the open, guided by the small boy, all eyes turned toward him instantly.

The reaction was immediate.

"Human!" a woman hissed. "Why is he here?"

"Get him out before the Fire Python smells him!" shouted another.

The crowd stirred, anger flashing in their glowing eyes.

Before they could advance, the boy darted forward, arms spread wide. "Wait! He's not bad! He said he wants to help us!"

An older spirit woman — her hair white and her aura strong — approached from the front. "Help?" she repeated coldly. "Or bring doom faster?"

Mo Han bowed slightly. "I understand your fear. But I came for the Spirit Well too. If that beast holds it hostage, then our fates are already bound together."

The woman's gaze was sharp. "So you think you can slay the Fire Python when our best warriors could not?"

"I think I can try."

A ripple went through the crowd — disbelief, shock, and faint hope all tangled.

The elder spirit studied him for a long moment. "You're either foolish or fearless, human. But the pact must be honored. If you truly wish to help, then go in the place of the offering."

Mo Han inclined his head. "That is my intention."

The little boy gasped. "You… you really mean it?"

Mo Han gave a faint smile. "I said I'd help."

The elder nodded slowly, her expression grave. "Then prepare yourself, human. The Fire Python feeds when the sun sets. You'll be taken to the offering grounds before evening."

The murmurs grew louder — some pitying, others fearful. The boy clutched Mo Han's sleeve, tears welling again. "You'll die…"

Mo Han rested a hand on his head gently. "Don't worry, I have a weapon to kill the fire python!"

As the sun dipped lower through the thick canopy, painting the forest gold, the Herb Tribe began their grim preparations — and Mo Han, calm as still water, simply watched the dying light.

The hunter and the beast were now fated to meet.

-

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