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American Revolution, 1780, Unknown Battlefield

Gunpowder filled the air, traveling on the wind. Strong and fresh, burning and stinging the nose and throat. In the distance, muskets and fire sounded out. Screams and shouts, of the dying or injured. The drums of war, rallies and calls. He walked through it all. Walked with no purpose, other than escape. Escape from the pain. Escape from death.

He walked, through the remains of the field, aimlessly. He didn't know where he was going. It didn't even matter that he was now walking amongst the wrong side. He was dying. He knew that. Two shots. They stung and burned. Amidst the distant sounds of gunfire and smoke, he heard something. The trickle of water. A stream. He followed the sound, at calm and peace, lured by it.

Amidst the dead and dying he walked, the sound of the stream calling to him. A background noise, sweet and relaxing. He walked, stumbled, one foot in front of the other, until at last, he found it. There it was. Gentle and slow, gurgling off smooth polished rocks in little currents. He stumbled forward, faster than expected, lost his balance, and fell into the water.

He traveled, downstream, rocked on gentle currents. He was awake. He watched the sky travel up above, and eventually, even the screams and shouts, the sound of gunfire, faded. All that was left was the stream. Gentle and flowing, he traveled slowly. Too weak to stop it. And slowly, over time, the view changed. From open sky, on a midsummers day, to trees. Thick and tall, branches towering and lush. From fields of smoke and gunpowder, the land seemed to grow greener over time, the trees towering in strength, ancient and tall. As he traveled down the stream, listening to the quiet gurgle, and leaves on the wind, a voice rung out. It traveled as if it were on the wind itself.

"You tread upon sacred ground. Leave or face ire, trespasser."

His eyes traveled about, searching for the source of the voice, as he looked around. All around him lush plants grew, healthy and strong, bright and fertile. He continued floating downstream, until he came to a gentle rest against rocks. He stayed there for some time, caught against the smooth stones blocking him from going any further.

He struggled to stand, but couldn't. As he looked down at his side and across his stomach, the water that flowed by was red. He collapsed, on the side of the stream, placing one hand on the dirt. His eyes closed, heavy set, until the voice sounded out once more.

"You spread death and misery, black poison in the air. You tarnish this sanctuary with the foulness in your heart. A chance you were offered. Now, there is no turning back."

It had to be a trick. He was seeing things. Hearing things. As he lay on the side of the stream, before him the ground quaked. Roots upturned soil, breaking through, as they twisted and wound, standing tall. The earth was dragged with them, along with plants and small bushes, which held no protest.

A light bloomed as the roots took shape, twisting and winding, arms, legs, a body. The light grew stronger, brighter, and soon, small insects swarmed around the light, drawn to it, captivated. He had no strength to move. No strength to fight. He couldn't believe his eyes. But he watched, captivated, astonished.

The insects swarmed, clinging to the light, as they too lit up, flocking towards the source. The light flowed through, along roots and bark, in the veins and roots of plants, which traveled like veins themselves, winding along the roots. Atop its shoulders, adorning it like a cape or mantle, sat plants. And as the light reached the peak, burning through old bark, eyes of green stared out to him.

He didn't know what it was. But it was beautiful to him. He slid his hand out, on the damp earth along the stream, inch by inch, as the creature, now fully formed, an elegant mass of roots and twisting plants, old bark, and the core which burned brightly through all of it, clung to by insects which sought the warmth it emanated.

It stared down at him, as it stepped out, placing a foot down on his hand, gnarled roots toughened and hard. It stretched fingers, long and sharp, roots blackened from the earth that clung to them.

"Foul mortal, I rid you of this sanctuary."

The warmth in his heart changed. As he looked up to green burning eyes, fear replaced everything, and with weakness in his arm, he raised a hand.

"Please........help......"

The creature paused, tilting its head. The voice it carried, like a song on the wind, echoed.

"You seek aid. Escape from death. Your fate, the result of your blindness. Your cruelty."

The slender creature bent down to its knees, as it loomed over him. The voice, sweet and gentle on the wind, still commanded great presence, great disdain.

"You will find no peace here. You have chosen your path. Your blood taints the earth, and it knows who you are. Your fate is deserved."

He shook his head slowly, clutching the wounds in his chest.

"I....served......my country."

The creature reached out, with one sharpened, dangerous hand, and picked him up by the scruff of his clothing. The smell of damp earth greeted him, as did the pain in his wounds, as he was held up. He stared at green eyes, burning with light, anger and wrath. The voice on the wind, so serene and calm, still filled him with dread.

"You served your country, but not your people. Your blood flows into the earth, and it knows. You've spread death, and pain. Suffering and misery. And now your war encroaches on this sanctuary."

The creature flexed its other hand, holding him up with ease.

"And now, at the end of your life, you seek help. Protection, from the seeds you have sown."

He shook his head, as the creature held him close. Eyes, so serene and beautiful, held great anger.

"I will not offer help to you mortal. Instead, I offer you something else. The ground you stain upon is not done with you."

Rearing back one hand, sharpened, ancient bark, the creature punched him, traveling through his chest. Pain spiraled through him, as he was held there, as dangerous eyes watched him. The insects that buzzed around its core traveled up its arm, the same arm that his blood now spilled down.

"A pact with the earth. Hear me and obey. This is your oath, your duty. You shall not rest while you walk this earth. I place upon you, this curse."

The insects did not stop or halt, now climbing into the open wound in his chest. They stung and burned, a feeling of pain he'd never known. The creature continued.

"Your heart is mine, foul and cruel. I replace it with that of the earth. You are duty bound, condemned for your crimes against your fellow man. Be gone trespasser, and walk the earth now."

The last of the glowing insects flooded into him, the height of his pain being too great, as his vision spun. The creature released him, dropping him into the stream, as it pulled out its hand, now stained in blood. The water of the stream caught him, and once more he looked up to the sky. The creature stepped above him, watching.

"Go now, and atone. You work will never be done. The life you seek to cling to is given."

In its bloodied hand it held up something red. A heart.

"But your heart is mine. Your purpose, your drive, is mine. Go now, in toil and service. A soldier you are. A soldier you will always be."

The current of the stream carried him away, leaving behind the ancient trees in its wake, and the elegant creature, with a voice of the wind, mired in anger. The pain faded, and so too did he.

World War II, 1940, Unknown Battlefield

Rain fell on the ruins of the city streets. Pattering down on the helmets of several men, clinging to the shelter of their rubble. Hurried whispers and shouts were spoken, as beyond their pile of rubble, lay a soldier, out in the street.

"Listen! We can't go out there! That sniper's waiting! He picked off O'Malley in the leg for a reason!"

"We can't just leave him out there! He's bleeding out for Christ's sake!"

"Stow it! We have to move! Keep your heads down. Move fast."

He watched the men bicker and fight. He stayed crouched, huddled in silence. Thumbing the bolt on his rifle like a ticking clock. He always did this. Always had a twitch. It was how he knew. Every time he tried to fight it. Because he knew what was coming. As the rain only fell harder on the bombed out ruins, pattering off helmets, as the other soldiers, both old and young, bickered and fought, on the verge of blows.

A calm washed over him, and he spoke, able to hold it back no longer.

"What about the family?"

All heads turned on him.

"O'Malley went out there for them. They're still out there too."

The older one, the leader, shook his head.

"It was suicide. He knew that."

He thumbed the bolt on his rifle. He couldn't do it. Dropping his rifle, he shook his head, before standing upright, to the shouts of others as they tried to pull him down. Pushing past them, he ran out from cover, onto the rain soaked streets. O'Malley was still there. He'd start with him.

As he ran towards the fallen man, the crack of fire sounded out, and pain lanced up his leg. But he knew. That sniper was a crack shot. He should have been dead now. Stumbling onto the street, he looked out to O'Malley. One hand in front of the other, he pulled himself. The destination so far, the pain biting him as he pushed anyway.

In a hushed silence, the others listened, daring not to peek out from cover. No second shot was taken. That was it then. Rain pattered on their helmets. Another casualty. But slowly, a grating sound was heard. The scuff of boots on the road. The sound of a struggle. One step. Two steps. Staggered and slow. The sound grew stronger, louder.

And then, finally, another shot rang out. The falling of two men could be heard. But not before O'Malley fell within arm's reach of those behind shelter. He was pulled, quickly behind the rubble, groaning in pain, but alive.

The sound of footsteps did not echo again from the other man.

Cold rainfall woke him. Cold to the bone. Pain arrived second. As he opened his eyes, across his hand, crawled something. One single little creature. It fluttered on wings, buzzing and erratic. A bright warm glow emanated from it. And like that, it fluttered off. Its small warm light vanished in the rain and darkening skies.

He rolled over, pain more present than ever. His neck stung. Dog tags. Ripped off of him. He knew, then. The sniper was dead. The family was safe. O'Malley was alive. And he was dead. His name, dead. He pushed himself upright, struggling to stand.

One shot, in his leg. He could walk, with some help. Another, through his back. Missing his spine by inches, shattering on his ribcage before it could exit. It was always like this. He looked out to the ruins of buildings. He had no weapons. No ammo. Maybe he could find the sniper's body.

It was time to start again.

1984, Unknown Location

In silence, he walked. Through the old fields, as the wind blew through them in long winding paths. This place was familiar to him. It had been, a very, very long time. But he found it. The centuries had not been kind. But still, he remembered this field. The battle that was held here. Looking back on it, he shook his head. It all seemed so trivial now.

But this field was not what he was after. The ancient site that his eyes traveled over meant nothing to him. It was what lay beyond these blood stained fields that called to him. Beckoned him to search. In the late hour of the day, as the sun sunk lower, he stared out among fields of gold and yellow. There. Quiet and barely audible. The sound of water on rocks, gentle and slow.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the fields around him. He stepped forward, following that little trickle of water on rock. The sound grew louder, as he stepped forwards without fear. Just like before, the sound stood out to him. It was gentle and calm, and called to him. And at last, as he opened his eyes, there it was. The little stream, gurgling over smooth rocks in gentle currents.

He sat down on the edge of the stream, listening to its calm. It had been so long. So long since he'd ever even remembered what calm was. This stream, was peace to him. Looking into his jacket, he unholstered a small pistol, sliding it out. He toyed with it in his hands, twirling it round and round.

Some part of him already knew. This stream was not ordinary. It worked differently. And in order to reach the destination he sought, he needed to replicate how he found it before. He'd tried before. Going back. And he was un-successful. As he watched the river flow, he raised his weapon up and fired once into the river. The pistol discharged with ease.

He sighed. It was worth a try. Pointing the pistol at his chest as he stood, he found the spot he was looking for. If anything stood out in his long memory, it was the two wounds he once held. He took a deep breath, and pulled on the trigger. A clink as the weapon jammed. He swore in frustration as he threw the pistol into the grass.

"Why!? Guardian, I play your game no longer! I cannot do this anymore!"

The wind on the field and the gurgle of the stream met his ears.

"ANSWER ME!"

The last rays of light vanished as the sun went down, leaving him only in darkness. He kicked up dirt and sat down on the stream's edge, frustrated. As he sat in cold silence on the edge of the water, something crawled across his hand. Small and erratic. It buzzed on small wings, a dim glow emanating from it. The insect buzzed on his hand, before flittering off.

It buzzed around him like a fly, annoying him. And he realized it. These little creatures, were signs. They appeared only briefly, before fading from vision as they buzzed away into the distance. This one did not. It landed on his hand once more, buzzing and skittering. He stood up suddenly, holding his hand out. The insect fluttered off, buzzing forwards in the grass along the stream.

Instinctively he stepped forward, drawn to the little source of light in the dark. And as he grew close, the insect buzzed away once more. He nodded, watching as it hovered in the area, waiting for him.

"Okay guardian. I will play your game."

In the night he traveled forwards, lured on by the insect and its dim light. The stream was always there, granting him comfort as he stepped forwards in darkness, trying to keep up with the little creature. In the night, he could tell that the land was changing. It was growing thicker. The plant life stronger and healthier. Eventually he found his way into trees, and he knew where he was going.

As he pressed deeper into the heart of forest, more insects joined the lone one that he followed. They clung to the ancient and impressive trees, dim light marking a path for him to walk in the darkness. He walked with no measure of fear, or even excitement. But the small part of him that was still alive enjoyed this. It was beautiful. A sanctuary. Maybe, after all these years he finally understood the ire of the guardian that called this place home.

He had been all across the world. Through wars and battle. But in his brief moments of respite, he had searched for answers. This guardian, as he'd come to call it, was something ancient. Written deep into the mythologies of people of the world. The ones who walked in the woods. Those close to nature. A protector, a watcher, a guardian. Folklore and stories across the world all painted a similar story and picture. But they could only tell so much.

As he pressed forwards through the forest, a path marked for him by hundreds, no, thousands of insects as they grew in number, something greeted him on the wind. It stood out from the gurgling of the stream as it wound through the trees and rocks. It was like a song. Gentle and flowing. And, finally, after the centuries, the same voice met his ears.

"And so the soldier returns. Drenched in blood as the winds of time wound on. Through fire you stepped, again and again. And at last, you return."

He continued walking along the path. He spoke calmly, step by step as he continued walking.

"I am finished Guardian. I want no more. This curse of yours I wish to bear no longer."

The voice on the wind, gentle and calm as always, still managed to retain disappointment in it.

"You disappoint me. Surely, after all this time, you realize that your curse is something more?"

He stopped in his tracks.

"What then? Punishment? Atonement? Surely, my crimes are long overdue and paid for?"

The voice returned once more.

"You are not absolved of your crimes. You committed many, even when blessed with life. A life that you sought to cling to. But you committed such crimes for a cause. One that does not fall on deaf ears."

He spun on the spot, looking all around him through the thick forest.

"Enough games Guardian! Either tell me or release me from your grip! I am done."

"Are you so blind that you cannot see yourself in the mirror? Very well warrior. Let the voices of those in your past show you who you are."

The wind grew louder, like whispers at first, which grew in intensity. Voices. Many voices. His eyes traveled about, looking for the source of the voices all around him, as he struggled to listen and hone in on just one. The glowing insects took off from their perches on the trees, flying up into the night air and leaving him to be consumed in the darkness with the voices, as their light scattered on the wind. There were hundreds of them. Thousands. People he'd killed. People he'd met.

People he'd saved.

They all whispered to him in a chorus that he could barely understand. But as time wore on, the anguish, and pain on the voices disappeared. And the tone changed. As it did, the insects returned in a great swarm of light through the ancient trees, swirling around him. The buzz of thousands of wings competed but eventually merged with the voices, turning into a grand chorus that crashed over him. And he saw it.

He saw them, in the swirls of light around him. People, faces he'd long forgotten. Faces he'd never even seen before, of those he'd helped, but never had the chance to receive their gratitude. As he stood in silence, the whisper of voices died on the wind, disappearing into nothing, as the insects began to swirl together as one. Their light merged into one grand display of light, as plant life came to life, and began twisting itself together.

Roots upturned themselves from the ground, and before his eyes, the Guardian took shape. But it was not the form he had once remembered. Rather than aggressive wood and sharpened bark, it seemed to take on a softer form among plants. Soft roots and vines intertwined, as insects flittered about and clung to it, as light bloomed out from its core, bright and powerful. As the swarm died down, eyes, now a gentle warm glow over the violent, dangerous green that once stared at him, now took their place. As always, its voice was gentle as the wind.

"You may not have remembered them all, but the earth does. And it remembers your change of heart."

He squinted, smiling.

"My change of heart!? You took mine!"

The figure of plants and vines tilted its head.

"Your memory is long. But are you so certain that what you saw with your eyes was true?"

He stepped towards the Guardian, pointing at it.

"No. You took my heart. You, you did something to me. I was your puppet! I did none of that of my own free will!"

Bright eyes watched him, as the figure stood tall, unafraid. Instead, it spoke, soft as ever.

"Listen to your heart. Close your eyes, and listen to it speak."

Sounds faded as he became aware. Something new greeted him. The awareness of his heart, beating alive and well after all this time. It was steady and strong. He closed his eyes, listening. Everything became simple background sound to him. Even the calm of the stream disappeared. In its place, was a heart that beat. It slowed, and quickened. It was his. It was always his.

He returned to things, to a darkness in the forest, as all the light had disappeared. He spun on the spot, looking for the Guardian. But it was nowhere to be found. In the quiet of the forest against the babble of the stream on the rocks, he stood in a profound still. He spoke, almost as if he were lost once more.

"Guardian. Don't leave me."

The voice on the wind spoke once more.

"Through the centuries of man and their conflicts, you made peace. You did not falter, you did not waver. You fought for the common man. The family. The child. Through ages of conflict, you served no true side but that of a true warrior. Protecting those who could not do it for themselves."

His eyes searched in the darkness for something, anything.

"And what was I?"

"When you tread upon this ground for the first time, you were as cruel as most mortals are. But through time, you changed. You fought not for the country. Not for the money. You fought for peace. You threw yourself in front of death so that others did not have to, again and again."

"You tricked me."

"You felt pain. You knew pain would come. You had free choice the entire time. You even turned on your fellow man when they fought for the wrong. You took life, fought only for the sake of preserving it as best you could."

"Then what am I? Am I a saint? A sinner? A soldier? The things I've seen...... the things I've been a part of....."

"You remained resolute through all of them."

"But why? Do I not deserve my rest?"

A single insect fluttered nearby, buzzing around him in the darkness as it cast only a small light around him.

"This sanctuary chose you. It will keep you alive because it is a life worth keeping. You are a guardian. A soldier. A protector of your people. But all need rest. You are welcome here, any time."

As he watched the light of the sole insect buzz around him, his thoughts grew hazy. Sleep claimed him, something so heavy and inviting. He had never realized it before until now. Centuries had passed him by. And for the first time, he was at peace. He did not fight it. He let himself lie where he fell, for once in his long life, content.

Present Day, Unknown Location

In the hustle of the small life, he sat, watching. People, coming and going in and out of the bar, as he sat at his respective table. He was waiting for someone. Someone he hadn't seen in a long time. As he watched the crowds from his quiet corner, the doorbell rung as it was pushed on by the old door. And he recognized the person that walked through instantly.

Years had gone by since he'd seen her. So long, in fact, that she'd grown tall since. She was a young adult now. As the woman walked by on her way to start for the evening, he gave her a simple smile. She saw him, and smiled back. But it was simply a smile with no recognition behind it. He nodded quietly as she passed him by.

She didn't remember him.

Of course, how could she? She was just a child when he found her. One fateful night, he found her, lost and alone. Sitting out on the street by her lonesome. Nobody seemed to notice her. But he did. And so he inquired. The tale told a thousand times. A tale he'd heard across every corner of the world. The dysfunctional family. This little girl was commonly known in the town and so she was passed over by most.

But as a little child, she sparked something in him. It was a newfound life. A newfound love for things. This little child all by her lonesome, suddenly meant the world to him. And so he did his best. Carried her with him. Asked around town. And found her a home she could belong in.

He was nudged out of his thoughts as the very same person passed him by, stopping at his table. With a simple smile that looked exactly as it should on her face despite the long years, she started wiping his table as she cleaned things off.

"I take it you're done here? Don't mind me, I can get you some more if you want."

He smiled, watching her.

"No. No thank you."

The woman squinted.

"I've seen you somewhere before haven't I?"

He shook his head.

"No. I'm just passing through here. I just must have one of those faces."

"No, no, I'm good with faces. I've seen you before."

He chuckled.

"Well, maybe I think I know what it is."

The woman brought out a piece of paper and a pencil.

"I take it this is a conversation worth starting over something to eat, since all you've had is a few drinks?"

He laughed, something he'd rarely done in a long time.

"I guess it is. Okay. What do you have?"

The hours wound down in the bar as passerby came and went, and eventually, there was time enough that the woman could sit down with him in the quiet hours of the night. She sat across from him now, a mug in hand as she watched him intently.

"I had a father, he passed away about, oh, I don't know, 7 years back or so. But he was a traveler. Freelance mercenary. He used to tell me stories about places he went to."

The woman clutched her cup, as things started to make sense to her. At least, in her foggy memory. He raised his eyebrows.

"I'm sort of a traveler too. Following in my old man's footsteps I guess. But I've heard the name of this town before. You're Sara, aren't you?"

Realization crept into the eyes he watched. Old memories of when she was a child. Happy times he'd given her, if only for a brief moment in time. It was good to see that. But it stung too. And suddenly, he was driven to flee. As if he were on the battlefield once more. He rose out of his chair suddenly.

The woman before him stood up.

"Wait where are you going!?"

He pulled out a piece of paper, writing a number down on it, before leaving it on the table. He looked over the woman once more.

"I'm sorry for intruding. I should go."

He watched her, the confusion on her features something he too had seen before. And he couldn't help but smile.

"Sara. Take care of yourself."

He grabbed his jacket from the chair, leaving what he owed on the table quickly before turning around and leaving.

As he walked along the fields, following the stream and its quiet, distant allure, he checked his phone over. Sara had since called him several times. Of which he never answered. He had said everything on his scrawl of paper. She was to call him, if she was in trouble. And that was it. As he walked along the stream, he shut his phone off, a sign of respect for the place he was entering.

It was almost ritual now. He felt like a monk, high atop the mountains in their monasteries. He spoke quietly as he followed the stream, knowing that the guardian of this last bastion and sanctuary would hear him.

"I don't know if I can do it anymore."

It was still early dawn yet, as the sun peaked across the fields. But in the light of the sun, he could swear he saw little sources of light, out in the fields, fluttering of their own accord.

"This place is always here for me. You are here for me. But, what if I wanted to stop?"

Nothing answered him as he continued his trek along the stream.

"I can't, can I? I'd watch them grow old. Watch them die. And I'd just forget about them eventually."

He hadn't noticed it, but he'd unknowingly made the transition already. He was stepping into the thick growth of practically another world. Unseen and hidden. A voice greeted him on the wind, finally. It was different this time. It conveyed a softness to him.

"It is a curse that comes with the blessing. A burden not easily carried by most."

Over the years, the Guardian had been there for him. Changing in manners and appearance like the seasons to reflect his own actions and remind him that he was always welcome here. No longer was there twisted and gnarled bark, and dangerous, sharpened extremities. No longer was there hostility. He sat down on the edge of the stream, watching it flow by.

"Why? Why, guardian, is it my burden? Why am I to carry this? How can I fix everything?"

He watched the stream trickle by, as the serene voice spoke.

"Believing you can fix everything, is the mistake of a mortal who carries too much power. You cannot fix everything."

"Then what is my purpose?"

"Your purpose is to endure."

"Why?"

"Can you not see it?"

"I see many things guardian. I've seen many things. All across the world. Things that I can't sleep with at night."

"And yet, you suddenly cared for Sara."

He perked up, looking around him in the thick trees.

"How do you know about her!?"

"The earth knows her. It knows her tears. And it remembers you. She is kind. She is pure. You created that."

"Me?"

"Had you not turned your gaze to her, and helped her, made her smile, made her feel safe, she would not be who she is today. Your purpose, soldier, guardian, is to protect that which is special, wherever you find it. You endure because as you grow older you cherish life. You cherish and protect the good that exists in mortal men."

"And I do that by killing them?"

"No. You protect those who need protecting. You cannot save them all. But the ones that you do save, the moments you create, no matter how small, are valuable."

He laid back on the ground, staring up at the thick canopy of leaves high above in the vast trees. He sighed, listening to the stream in silence.

"Why, guardian? Why should I care? Why is it me?"

He could hear it. Feel it in the earth as roots twisted. As he laid down on the edge of the stream the guardian took shape around him. No longer gnarled roots, twisted and jagged. But the gentle flowing roots of soft plants. Arms wrapped themselves around him and the voice of the guardian became surreal as it no longer traveled on the wind but was spoken to his ear in person.

"A question that many in ages past have asked."

"And what was your answer?"

"Because I am the last."

The stream gurgled by slowly as it always did, and he paused at the words. The guardian was never one for blunt chatter it seemed.

"The last of what?"

"This forest that you see. It is the last of its kind. I am the only guardian left who stands to defend it. All others, are gone now."

Old memories, ancient and long since buried returned to him. The first time he had ever found this creature. It was angry. Livid at his trespass. Maybe now he understood why.

"Guardian. What happened to the others?"

"They faded. Withered and died."

"Why?"

"Our world. The veiled world behind yours, is dying. Our barriers weaken. And then man, in their ignorance, stumbled upon these sanctuaries, these wells and sources, and burned them to dust. Cut them and destroyed them, used them."

He sighed. It made sense now. It all made sense. He was never supposed to find this place. But he did. He stumbled upon it. And the guardian, being the last one standing, acted to defend its home.

"Guardian. Your barriers are weakening, aren't they?"

"Yes."

He nodded silently. He wasn't affluent in the ways of the guardian. This world she spoke of, a veiled world beyond his. He knew nothing of it. All he knew was that this sanctuary was a place he called home. Over the long years he'd returned here, and been welcomed in peace. And now he understood. There was a choice to be made.

"Guardian. Your power fades. You can't hold up alone here forever, can you?"

"No. Eventually man will stumble upon this ground, just like you."

"And what happens if I leave?"

"One day you will return and this will be gone. You will be the last. You are already the last."

"And yet you send me out into the world with proclamations that I am to help my own kind. Why?"

"Everything changes. Everything dies. Even the earth knows that. It knows that one day this sanctuary will fall and even I will wither. When that day happens, you will be the bearer of the weight. You, a once mortal man. Your soul is pure. More than you know. More than you ever gave it credit for."

He pondered things. Reaching into the pocket of his coat, he pulled out his phone, rolling it over in his hands.

"Guardian. Tell me she'll be safe. That little girl. Sara."

"She means much to you, doesn't she?"

"Guardian. Will she ever need me? Will she ever have to call my name, call this phone because she's afraid?"

"No. Your act, your kindness made her strong. Her path ahead will be one that is well lived."

He nodded.

"Then that will have to do."

He pushed himself up, away from the embrace of the roots that clung to him and they let him stand. He looked all around him at the ancient forest.

"I will stand with you Guardian. I am a soldier. I pledge to protect this sanctuary with every breath I take. As a soldier, you have my word."

Silence passed by on the wind and the stream gurgled by.

"Thank you."

Several Years Later

He stood watch. A sentinel on the borders of the forest. Day and night he watched. Never faltering, never wavering. But he was only human. And in the years that followed, the sanctuary, his home, changed with the seasons yet again. And over long years spent, so did the Guardian. He learned many secrets from her.

One of them being that long, long ago she was not the force she was today. She too, was human. But she gave up her form, a sacrifice, to be bound to this sanctuary in its defense. And so over time, he found something buried deep in her gnarled roots and vines. A friend. And something more.

The outside world faded from his memory as he stood watch, through rain or snow, thunder and lightning. He was immortal. He did not sleep. He did not eat. But where his mind wanted comfort, something, and someone, the Guardian was there for him. And on days that he wanted rest, she was there. To talk. To tell ancient stories of her own and to teach him in the ways of old.

And through all of it, something special was forged. No longer was there any hint of hostility in her to him. For she had a deep abiding respect for his choice to remain here. And likewise, over time as her own, ancient humanity appeared, he grew to respect her as well. Grew to like her. Grew to love her.

Over the years, he could see the change happening. Her humanity emerged and bloomed like a flower. And likewise, he fell into the role of a Guardian. But she never called him that. And he no longer called her Guardian. They were on equal footing now. This place was hers. This place was his.

And on the days that he retreated to the thick ancient forest to relax, to talk, and enjoy time in the company of another, she was there. A form she had taken that paled in comparison to any other for it was beautiful. It was a form that she had grown into and changed, a form that held him close, held him tight.

A form he could lose himself in, as after all, he was only human. Wrapping and twisting vines as always formed the majority of her body, with hints of bark and wood, acting as bones to keep her form sturdy. Green, twisting veins of light and power etched themselves into her form. But she was soft and gentle now. All across her body plant life bloomed in hues of colour. Vines twisted and curved and took the shape of the woman she once was. And they held onto him so tightly.

He would spend nights with her, watching the stars, entwined with her in the light of the strange insects that glowed in the forest. She changed and evolved, growing supple lips, green and smooth that he found himself stuck to. Growths, the supple contours of breasts took shape, heavy, swaying and soft plant flesh that grew in his absence.

Filled with sap and bloomed flowers on the ends, bright and inviting to him when he returned. This forest was theirs and so they could share whatever they desired. Those mounds, soft and green grew swollen and bloomed, and when he visited her, he found his mouth drawn to them. The smell of sweet flowers emanating from her as sap leaked from them, sweet and mildly sticky.

Her leaves would shudder as he milked them, caressing those mounds and squeezing them, watching as thick sap leaked from them and dripped onto the earth at her feet. Or he would make her voice, like a song on the wind cry out as he drank from them. Like honey or nectar, the sap made him feel better, relaxed him and calmed him.

Her vines entwined with him, surrounding him and consuming him as they held him in place and he stared out to deep green eyes and the crown of bark and gentle leaves that shuddered when he touched her, milked her or caressed her. And farther down, on hips so soft and smooth, between thighs of vines, bloomed a flower.

A large, bright and inviting flower that only ever opened to him when he held her and made her voice of song on the wind cry out in pleasure. Because the plants were sensitive to touch. Supple and firm, heavy and filled with water. Squishy and gentle, smooth to his touch. The flower opened and invited him, smelling sweeter than even the sap that leaked from her breasts.

And as she entwined him in her vines, she lowered her hips down to him, and pressed that gaping flower to him. It was smooth, but tough. Leathery and long. Upon entering her the flower would close on him, entrap him further in her loving grip and repay the favor. It would milk him. Ripple and contract, and leak sap as it sucked on him. She would sway her hips and buck them as that gorgeous flower that bloomed at her thighs sucked and trapped him in sticky sap.

And he watched with delight, as it milked him and he responded in kind by filling it. Filling it with seed and watching it expand and grow, filled to the brim as it bulged. She would grind her hips with his and keep him trapped there in the long, starry nights, wrapping around him so completely and holding him tightly. In the dark of the forest his moans went unheard and her voice that traveled on the wind, shouts of pure pleasure made him rise with her.

This place was theirs to enjoy. And enjoy each other they did.

The more he fed her, the more love he showed her, the more her form changed. Plants adapting and growing to refine her sculpted body and features into a creature of true beauty. And her beauty, her own love and care for him only spurred him further to love her further.

He let himself go to her completely in those moments of peace, letting her flower suck and trap him, letting her nectar drown him in its sweet scent and flow, as he held onto her hips tightly or pulled her close, bringing those intoxicating lips of hers to his, sweet yet mildly bitter. He sucked on her lips, toying with them as he felt them crease and bite themselves as he released into her flower or milked her.

And as the night ended, and her moans, her songs on the wind became screams, high and long as he could pleasure her no more, as she couldn't handle the pleasure that rippled up her body, she collapsed on him, resting as he held her close in the night. Her vines would retreat slowly, leaving them resting together in the damp earth. Her body, those supple, gentle orbs having been milked shrunk and their beautiful flowers closed. Her flower, seeping of sap, honey, his own fluids, withdrew and closed, satisfied.

And when the morning sun rose, he would rouse, and step into the gentle stream with her. Her vines would consume him again, rubbing and caressing him as she cleaned him off of her sticky sap, those intoxicating lips of hers kissing his neck as she pressed herself to him in affection, the long strands of her mossy hair draped over him in the morning fog of the forest.

She would sing songs to him as she held him, so gently. And in time, he would sing with her, a gentle lullaby to the wind. And then he would rouse once more, stand and hold her, talk and tell her how much he loved her. For she was something of beauty to him and more than that.

Her laughs, her fiery, green eyes that held power and temper, giggles and a gentle nature that emerged with his love, and someone who would listen to him and be there for him, always, as likewise, he too, would be there for her.

He had found his peace.

He was a soldier. But now a soldier of a different kind.

He fought not for power. Not for greed. He fought not for king and country.

He fought to defend.

And he was violent, and brutal in his defense. But he was merciful.

The years and seasons had changed him.

And he grew wise. And when the power of the sanctuary began to waver and the shroud that protected it began to splinter, and intruders trespassed, he was there to greet them, always.

He was there to greet them alongside his friend, his lover, his temper and his ire. She was wrath and rage and temper, a mother wanting to protect. And he was calm. Gentle and loving, but firm when he had to be.

He wanted peace. And he tried his best, did his best, to make peace. And he did.

The seasons had changed him. The seasons had changed her.

And he knew the seasons would eventually change, because nothing ever stood still forever. But he held hope in his heart that the seasons would bring warm winds and peace with them. But in the meantime, he would stand guard.

He would love and he would care. Show compassion and forgiveness.

But if he ever had to, he would make the earth run red with the blood of those who did not listen to reason and peace.

But he did it, not in the name of war. Not in the name of revenge or hate.

But in the name of love, to protect it and cherish it.

He was a soldier.

And he would stand guard, always.