Persuasion

The reek of charred wood still clung to Zoryana Volk’s armor. It was the dragon’s scent – she knew it – a rancid promise of fire and teeth. Each stride into the forest wasn’t a march but the pull of a tightened noose. Yet, with every step, anticipation thrummed beneath her fury. She longed for the fight, craved the righteous clash of steel against scale.

Yarilo village was a fading ember behind her. Even their wails echoed with a strange hollowness, as if the forest had begun to swallow them even before she hunted the true culprit. Rumors ran rampant amongst the villagers, whispering of other protectors who’d vanished into Veleswood – brave knights and grizzled hunters, all swallowed by the silent trees. A tremor, not of fear, but of terrible fascination, would shiver through her at those whispers. The dragon had to be stopped, yes…but a part of her longed to see this monstrous power that could erase even heroes.

The trees swallowed her the moment she stepped into Veleswood. It wasn’t the menacing darkness of a proper monster’s lair, but an infuriating display of whimsy. The sunlight filtered through leaves like lavender stained-glass, casting the ground in a plum-colored glow. Birds sang tunes that bordered on laughter, and the air itself tasted like a sugar-coated lie.

“Don’t let its beauty fool you,” she growled, the mantra familiar against the unsettling wonder that tried to crack her resolve. Yet, when a squirrel bounded into her path, its tail a plume of shimmering emerald, even her hardened heart gave a traitorous flutter.

“Goodness, a visitor!” A voice rang out, crystal clear yet with the unsettling echo of damp leaves beneath a heavy boot. Zoryana whirled, fingers tightening on her sword, ready for a monstrous apparition. Instead, she found a dragon. A dragon whose scales shimmered like the nebulae her old tutor painstakingly drew in his weathered atlas – a shifting tapestry of sapphires, violets, and a green so deep it bordered on black.

The beast – no, Ladonik, as he’d called himself – inclined his head, those unsettling green eyes gleaming. “Knight Zoryana Volk, I presume? I was beginning to think your kind had forgotten about us completely.”

Her practiced accusations choked in her throat. “Y-you can speak?”

Ladonik blinked, a disconcertingly human gesture. “Of course. Though, I must confess, your surprise is… curious. Are dragons not prone to conversation in your tales of heroism?” A subtle barb lurked beneath the silky question.

She bristled. This wasn’t right. Dragons were meant to roar, to snatch damsels from towers, not…offer tea. She gestured towards the clearing, eyes narrowed.  “This…display. Are you behind the disappearances? The fire?”

Ladonik sighed – a surprisingly human sound for such a creature.  “Such a fuss over a cup of tea…” Ladonik sighed, a hint of true weariness in his voice. “Those who came before you, screaming and swinging blades…  Did they even taste the air?  It’s sweet this time of year, wouldn’t you agree?”  He gestured with a clawed forelimb, a motion unsettlingly graceful, towards a clearing. It held, impossibly, a table set with delicate china and a plate of golden cookies. “Now, will you join me? Or must I send a formal complaint to your superiors regarding your lack of manners?”

Zoryana’s mind raced. This was a trick, it had to be. Dragons were wily, masters of illusion according to the ballads. This absurd charade was meant to lull her into a false sense of security. Yet, the air thrummed with an odd, undeniable magic, and the scent of those cookies… it wasn’t just sugar, but a heady mix of earth and starlight, tugging at her senses like invisible strings.

Her fingers itched for her sword, but something – pride, or was it a sliver of twisted curiosity? – stayed her hand. She would play this game, but she would win it. Exposing this charming facade was just a matter of time.

Something within Zoryana, something she’d thought was iron resolve, wavered. It was the absurdity of it all – a talking dragon, a tea party, the unsettling magic of it seeping into her bones. She sank into the too-small chair, her armor creaking in protest.

“Excellent,” Ladonik purred, pouring tea into a china cup so delicate it bordered on obscene. The scent rising from it was… wrong. Not unpleasant, but a swirling mixture of wildflowers, damp earth, and a hint of something old, like the dust in a forgotten tomb. He nudged the plate of cookies closer. “Eat. It helps… ground one, against the otherworldly nature of this place.”

Zoryana took a cookie, more out of defiance than any sense of hospitality. It crackled beneath her teeth, not with sugary sweetness, but a strange mix of warmth and chill, as if she were biting into a sunset made solid. Reality, he’d said. The word was a bitter pill. The perfect trees now seemed almost sinister in their symmetry, the birdsong took on a mechanical edge. And the scent…it was sickeningly sweet, tinged with an insidious, decaying edge.

“You see,” Ladonik’s voice was a low rumble, “this place, Veleswood, it’s…special. A wrinkle in the world where the veil between the mundane and the, shall we say, primordial is thin. Old forces seep through… forces far older than even us dragons.”

“Then it is evil!” The accusation burst from her, propelled by both fear and a desperate desire to reassert control over this maddening situation.

Ladonik sighed, an unnervingly human sound. “Evil? No, child. Nature, in its rawest form, is indifferent. Your human concepts of good and evil have no place here. It is simply…what it is.” He gestured at the forest. “Beautiful, yes, but with a beauty that can blind. The songs these trees sing…they can drive a weak mind to madness,” he said, a pointed look in her direction. “You villagers, you call those lost in here ‘victims’ of the dragon.  Sometimes, it’s simpler.  The farmer who wandered in? His mind was already half-broken by grief – he sought solace, and found only echoes of his despair. His empty house caught fire from an untended hearth, nothing more.”

Zoryana scoffed, but a cold tendril of doubt snaked through her. Villagers had always been superstitious. What if..?  Ladonik continued, his voice almost gentle. “This forest isn’t your child’s tale, knight. I’m no fire-breathing beast, but something…older. We dragons… we keep the balance. A harsh lesson for those who come with eyes closed and swords drawn.” He smiled, teeth like obsidian shards. “You have the warrior’s spirit… strong, but brittle. This place will crack you open – like those ‘heroes’ before you. See, then choose, Zoryana Volk.”

Zoryana’s blade was in her hand now, the familiar weight a cold comfort as the world spun. “And the villagers? The farmer?”

“Ah,” Ladonik sighed, the sound edged with an actor’s sorrow. “The old things sing beneath this pretty skin, knight. Weak minds…they hear the wrong notes, follow a tune only they can dance to. Did you ever see the farmer dance, before he…walked away?”

She scoffed, but  a tremor ran through her. Could it be true? “Lies. You feast on—”

“On those who threaten the balance,” he finished, that eerily soft voice slicing through her denial. “The old magic demands it, whether I will it or not.”

“So, I die,” she whispered, the words tasting of ash.

Ladonik leaned forward, the sunlight glinting off his fangs. “Die? Or join me. Look around, Knight Zoryana. You, of all people, can feel the power thrumming here, the heady truth of it.” He ate a cookie, the gesture chillingly domestic. “Stay, and help me navigate this place. Or become one more lost soul, a plaything for forces greater than yourself.”

The choice pierced her: fight and likely die, or…accept a monstrous bargain? Zoryana’s grip on her sword faltered. There was truth in his words, a bitter echo of the ancient lore she’d scoffed at. Places like Veleswood existed, whispers in forgotten texts. And she, Zoryana, felt its pulse beneath her skin, a terrible, intoxicating rhythm.

Another cookie disappeared into Ladonik’s maw. “Think carefully, knight,” he purred. “The longer you dither, the more the forest’s will envelops you. I fear what it might show you… a thing far less beautiful than the knight you believe yourself to be.”

The scent of decay, once a subtle edge beneath the honeyed air, choked her nostrils. The forest’s whimsy twisted and blackened. The plum-colored ground writhed, not with harmless worms, but pulsating veins reaching like grasping claws.  Birdsong warped into a chorus of tortured wails, echoing in her skull.

Zoryana gagged, her hand shaking violently. One cup of tea, one cursed cookie, and her world had capsized. Yet, beneath the terror, a perverse fascination bloomed. This was reality, she realized with a sickening lurch. This was the world unveiled – grotesque, abhorrent, and…strangely compelling.

“Do you see?” Ladonik’s voice was a hiss now, edged not with delight, but a desperate frustration. “The illusion is stripped away. It is not good, not evil… simply is. This is what mortals are shielded from, Zoryana, and look how it shatters you!”

Each word hammered at her sanity. Part of her still screamed to flee, yet that dark, newly awakened corner of her mind twisted with morbid understanding.  The farmer, those lost souls… they hadn’t been devoured, but broken by a truth too vast for their fragile minds. Zoryana swayed, the world tilting, her own sanity hanging by a precarious thread.

“No!” She slammed her sword into the table, splintering porcelain and sending the tea set skittering. “This…this is wrong! There must be another way, a…” But her words trailed off, choked by despair. Her own voice, her own beliefs, felt alien and hollow against the stark, pulsing wrongness around her.

Ladonik rose, his form seeming to flicker in the distorting light, the scent of damp earth and old blood clinging to him. “Knight, warrior, fool!” His voice crackled with a fury born of helplessness. “If you cannot accept, you will be obliterated. There IS no other way!”

“Enough!” Ladonik’s roar echoed through the dying trees. His form rippled, no longer a charming host, but a creature of midnight scales and eyes of molten gold. “You come here, blade in hand, mind poisoned with children’s tales – hero slays the monster! – and expect the world to bow to your simple story? You see only what you wish, like those pathetic villagers, blind to the truth that devoured them!”

His words cut deeper than any blade. Each accusation mirrored the doubts Zoryana had buried in a desperate bid for righteousness. Had she been the true monster all along, seeking a glorious crusade where none existed?

“There is no righteous battle here, Zoryana Volk!” Ladonik thundered, desperation fraying the edges of his rage.  “Only madness, or…” He lowered his head, eyes burning into hers. “…something far worse. Something you refuse to even consider.”

Another cookie lay untouched, its scent of stars and secrets a nauseatingly sweet lure for the terrible hunger growing within her.

“One last taste…” Ladonik held out the cookie, its starlight scent a sickeningly sweet lure. “Truth has a bitter flavor, little knight. Care for a bite?”

Zoryana’s resolve flared, the righteous knight desperate for one last, defiant stand. But even as she reached for her sword, her other self – the scholar, the reckless seeker of truth – whispered insidious promises of knowledge no matter the price.

Madness or truth… it was all dust, swirling in the howling void that roared open before Zoryana. It wasn’t a forest anymore, but the raw, bleeding edge of existence. Time shrieked, an unbearable dissonance that pulsed beneath her skin, making her very bones vibrate with the wrongness of it. Stars flickered and died in the blink of an eye. Between those flashes pulsed something beyond sight – shapes vaster than galaxies, shifting, impossible. Their presence wasn’t just seen, but felt as a searing pain, a discordant symphony tearing at the last shreds of her sanity.

Ladonik loomed, no longer a dragon, but a ragged silhouette against the blinding chaos. His form flickered, scales becoming starlight, claws twisting into nebulae. His eyes, twin voids, bored into her, not with malice, but a terrible, echoing emptiness.

“Do you see, little knight?” His voice wasn’t words, but the groan of collapsing suns, the echo of creation’s first wail. It filled her head, a cacophony that was both outside her and chillingly within. “This is the truth. It breaks all who witness, remakes them…”

She wanted to spit curses, hurl a final defiance, but all that remained was a terrible, empty fascination. She was dust, less than dust, before this yawning eternity. Oblivion opened before her, not in death, but the horror of becoming a mere fragment in this unending symphony of madness. Her scholar’s mind, twisted, broken, screamed not in fear, but in perverse exhilaration. To know this vastness, this terrible, impersonal truth…

“Erase… me,” she croaked, the words scraped raw from her throat. A laugh, dry as bone dust, rattled from what was left of her. To be a part of this, to become an echo in the cosmic scream… wasn’t that what the scholar in her had craved? Knowledge without limit, the tearing away of sanity’s safe, self-centered lies.

“It is…the easiest way,” Ladonik echoed, his voice a discordant chorus from a thousand shattered souls.

Zoryana closed her eyes – if they could still be called that. She offered herself up, not in a warrior’s sacrifice, but with a scholar’s desperate, insane surrender. Madness, truth, annihilation… they fused into one final, all-consuming act.

As Ladonik’s gaping maw, a maw lined with bleeding stars, descended, a strange stillness fell. It wasn’t the calm before a storm, but something deeper, a hush like the universe itself holding its breath. The last traces of her fear, her terror, even her morbid fascination, seemed to simply… dissolve, a prickling wrongness spreading as her skin no longer felt like a boundary, but a porous veil between her and the screaming vastness.

Veleswood faded, no longer a place of nightmares, but the gentle hush of an ordinary forest. The scent of starlight and rot dissipated, leaving only the clean smell of rain-damp earth. The villagers of Yarilo, their fear inexplicably soothed, would speak in hushed whispers of the brave knight who ventured into the dragon’s lair and brought forth peace.

And Zoryana Volk, or what was left of her, was finally, truly, part of something greater. Whether this was the dragon’s persuasion, a twisted form of salvation or a fate the old gods themselves couldn’t comprehend – not even the fading echoes in the silent wood could say.

Acknowledgements

Thanks to to Reedsy.com for providing the prompt that inspired the story.

“Write a story with the title ‘Pursuasion’.” from https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/.