Arcadia

The moment of her animation is still as vivid as ever in her mind's eye. Try as she might, she doubts she can soften the impact of that first, true experience of being alive... of being. When she thinks about it, she feels the ghosts of those blades of grass, prickling her feet at the moment of her making; the clear tang of the air, of the trees around and the life that feeds off them; the rhythmic pull of Nature that flows through all living things that formed the place of her creation.

The two beings that welcomed her into the world are a confusing mess. She sees them, standing on both of her sides, looking at her. They're similar enough to be a brother and sister, similar enough to her to be her - and yet they aren't. She looks at the one on her left, and, in her mind's eye, the picture is double: she sees the giant, hulking mass of what is, with its horns that encircle it's head from all sides - and yet, in the same place, she sees a shape much smaller, rounder, softer - a ball of fur without horns, its jaw round and feeble. Mirroring her left, her right is a gargantuan shape, covered in moss, its horns long and gnarly - and hidden in it, she sees the figure of a creature with no fur, its body plated in scales, its eyes burning with determination. They're both holding plants, they're both covered in blood, same as her - same as the circle around her she must have risen from.

Birds chirp in the distance. The sun is heating up the ground of the Labyrinth, or as much as it can reach. The wind is still, and the air is heavy.

"What are you?", the one on the left asks her, a question that resonates down her spine.

"I am Arcadia", she answers, and the words come flowing out of her mouth, as natural as a spring's current:

"I am formed of soil and moss, of the bones of a Tundra and the heart of a Guardian. The Viridian Labyrinth is my home, and the life that grows in it is my life, too. I will protect it to my dying moments."

The shape on her right nods, satisfied. "Then go, Arcadia. Your duty lies at the border."

And she does. She knows what they meant. She uproots herself from her forming place, she readies herself - and then she leaps over their shapes and for the stretch of land that separates the Labyrinth from the rest of the world.

And then she runs. She runs through the day, chasing the sun as it moves through the sky; she runs through the night, with the moon heavy over her - always with the Labyrinth on her right and the outskirts - on her left.

She Feels whatever comes out and whatever comes in. If it does not smell of Nature, she kills it. It's simple as that. Hunting is simple. Running is simple.

Months pass.

Sometimes the prey that tries to shamble in through her border is easy to hunt - it smells of decay and rot already. Its illnesses cannot harm her - they're made to rot flesh, and she is mud and moss and bone. Diseases die inside the compost of her belly.

Sometimes the prey is tough - tough as rock, swift as shadow. Those are the real fights. Arcadia is made of Nature, however, and Nature always finds a way - and so she finds a way, too, to break rock. To chase away the shadows.

Years pass.

She does not think anything of the shambling to-be-corpse when she bites into it. It's insides smell of death, but Arcadia has eaten such before. She needs to cleanse the land.

The shivers start around an hour later. Her breath becomes laboured, her steps uneasy. Arcadia doesn't understand. It isn't in her being to understand why and what is going on with her, but she does know one - she must survive. Nature finds a way. Nature is counting on her.

She continues running, slower, shaking, single-minded. With every jump, moss falls behind in dry clumps. Eventually she runs out of moss to shed.

She runs until she cannot anymore. The mud that raises to meet her is warm. Come night, it cools. Arcadia lays in it, weak, weaker...

She thinks of home, of the climbing greenery, of the distant birds. There's something gripping at her throat, but she doesn't know what it could be.

Time passes.

The shapes that tower over her are light, whiter than bone. One of them lowers a muzzle to Arcadia's face. "…I'm telling you", comes from somewhere afar, as if underwater, "it's a dragon."

"Dragons aren't made of plantlife", the other one scoffs.

They get into an argument. One of them wins, but Arcadia is too tired to figure out which one.

She knows they pick her up and roll her onto something. She knows it moves under her as they take her away from the Labyrinth and everything she's known. Arcadia struggles to go back, but she can't. All the struggling only makes her weaker.

She can't remember what happens next. There are bits and dots of awareness, like faint flashes, out of order ("order?", a small voice in her mind asks) - a cold sensation on her forehead; the smell of burning herbs; hushed voices; a feeling of emptiness, pervasive and aching…

She comes back to her senses late at night, still weak and trembling but hardened. The choking sensation inside her she hadn't realised she had been feeling for a while is finally gone. She's under a roof, but it's not one made of branches. A… shell? A weird snail's shell? Arcadia knows little of the world, and what she knows is mostly what she was meant to know at her creation - what her purpose is, what the Labyrinth is. Whatever this is, it isn't part of that.

There is an opening on one side, and through it the darkened sky is glaring down at Arcadia. The moon is all wrong, she thinks to herself. It's shape isn't what she remembers. Arcadia shakes and pulls herself up on her weakened limbs, takes a little step.

She runs away under the blanket of the night, tripping at times, pushing herself up to continue again. The Labyrinth is out there, and it's pulling her like a magnet. At times, there's also shouting behind her, but she doesn't slow down. The voices die down eventually, leaving only the silence.

The emptiness she feels doesn't go away.

The border is cold when she reaches it, even with the sun already up. By all means, it's a glorious morning, only Arcadia cannot feel it. She sets up on her usual path, trying to get into her routine of running-

The hit is powerful and swift. Two gnarly horns crash into and under her torso, throwing her sideways and up. Arcadia looks at the creature that dared charge her of all, the protector of this place-

She sees herself, yet not quite. A gargantuan shape, a set of antlers; they could be siblings, her and it. "What are you?", she asks incredulously the beast that has taken her place, from where she lays, crumbled. The creature before her towers over her, chest wide.

"I am Arcadia", it says. "I am formed of soil and moss, of the bones of a Tundra and the heart of a Guardian. The Viridian Labyrinth is my home, and the life that grows in it is my life, too. I will protect it to my dying moments."

Arcadia stares at the creature before her, stares and then tires to look at herself. Her moss has wilted. Her limbs are twitching. The blessing of the Labyrinth is gone, replaced with only emptiness. She's prey, she realises with a start, and it's a heavy sort of realization. Arcadia weights her head down. "The go, Arcadia", she says. "Your duty lies at the border."

The other Arcadia looks at her for a while.

And then, with a few perfect jumps, it moves away. The border is wide. The pile of rotting leaves and moss here poses no danger.

Arcadia sits silently, emptied of meaning. She doesn't know what to move for. Eventually, a shadow falls on her.

One of the white creatures from before - a breed she does not know the name of - coils to rest next to her. It keeps looking at her for a while in silence. Eventually it turns to look at the Labyrinth itself. "Is this where you're from?", it asks.

Arcadia remains silent. She doesn't know what to say or how to explain.

"Whoever that was, they didn't seem thrilled", the white creature says, a little quieter, almost shy. Arcadia looks in the direction of the other Arcadia. "I'm not longer welcome", she says. Her voice is rough from little use. The white creature lifts its head, clearly surprised to hear her speak. It tilts its head, and its horns catch the morning sun. "Then come back with me", it proposes. "Let us actually heal you before you leave again."

Arcadia spends a long time looking at the other Arcadia's direction, and then at the Labyrinth itself. "Alright", she says in the end. The white creature gets up and waits for her to follow. Only the Labyrinth senses her word for what it meant: a goodbye.

She leaves behind the greenery and everything she had known, for the world of prey she now belongs to. Next to her, the white creature hums to itself, not at all bird-like, but in a way, it's almost… comforting.