The moonlight filtered through the canopy of the Black Forest. It illuminated the odd tableau in the clearing.

Marcus lay flat on his back in the dirt.

Sitting squarely on his chest was a small, grey teddy bear.

The bear had one button eye. It glinted in the pale light.

"Yo," the bear said again. His squeaky voice broke the silence. "Short time no see."

Marcus stared at the toy. His expression was completely flat.

He didn't scream. He didn't panic. He was simply too tired to process reality anymore.

He looked at the fuzzy grey lump pressing down on his diaphragm.

"You," Marcus wheezed. "Are heavier than you seem."

The bear gasped. He placed a stubby paw over his chest. He looked genuinely offended.

"That is rude!" the bear squeaked. "It is pure muscle! Well... stuffing. High-quality stuffing."

"It feels like lead," Marcus groaned. "Get off."

"You should be grateful," the bear huffed. "I was keeping you warm. You were cold as a corpse a minute ago."

Marcus blinked. He tried to take a deep breath.

The weight on his chest made it difficult.

He shifted his gaze upward.

Directly above his face, another pair of eyes watched him.

The dragon girl was kneeling by his head.

She leaned over him. Her black horns pointed down at his forehead.

Her blue eyes were wide and unblinking. They were filled with intense curiosity and lingering fear.

She looked like a gargoyle examining a statue.

"Hey," Marcus whispered to her. "Are you alright?"

The dragon girl flinched at his voice.

Then, slowly, she nodded.

She pointed a small, clawed finger at his chest. Then she pointed at the bear.

She looked confused.

"I know," Marcus sighed. "It is weird for me too."

He looked back at the bear. "Seriously. Move."

The bear grumbled something about "ungrateful humans."

He rolled off Marcus's chest and landed in the dirt with a soft flump.

Air rushed into Marcus's lungs. It felt sweet and cold.

He lay there for a second and waited for the pain.

He remembered the fight. He remembered the agony.

Elowen had kicked him. She had smashed his ribs.

She had sliced his back open with a whip.

She had stabbed his arm.

He braced himself and pushed himself off the ground.

Marcus paused, then he blinked.

There was no pain.

He touched his chest. He pressed his fingers against his ribs.

They felt solid. They didn't grind together. There was no sharp stab of broken bone.

He reached around to his back.

He felt the fabric of his shirt. It was stiff and crusty with dried blood.

His fingers found the tear. It was a long, jagged rip where the whip had hit him.

He touched the skin underneath.

It was smooth.

There was no wound. There was no scar. It was as if he had never been hit.

Marcus stared at his hand. It was stained with dry blood.

"Was it a dream?" Marcus whispered.

He looked at his left arm. The sleeve was shredded.

He remembered Elowen's sword biting into his forearm.

He remembered the sickening sound of it hitting bone.

He looked at the skin.

It was perfect. Not even a scratch remained.

But the blood on his clothes was real. The torn fabric was real.

The memory of the agony was vivid in his mind.

"I am healed," Marcus realized. "Completely healed."

He looked around the clearing.

The bear was dusting himself off. The dragon girl was watching him.

But where was the healer?

He looked up.

Perched on a thick branch of the oak tree was a figure.

It was the woman in the white dress.

She sat with her legs dangling. Her black hair flowed down like a waterfall.

She was looking down at him.

Her expression was the same as the little girl in the dungeon.

It was flat. It was bored. It was utterly indifferent.

Marcus made the connection instantly.

The little girl who healed the dragon.

The woman who killed Elowen.

The healer who fixed him.

They were all the same person.

Marcus scrambled to his feet. He felt light. His energy was fully restored.

He looked up at the woman.

"You," Marcus said. He pointed at her.

The woman tilted her head. She didn't speak.

"Who are you?" Marcus asked. His voice was filled with confusion.

He gestured vaguely at her form.

"And... what are you?"

First she was a child. Now she was a woman.

She wielded magic that could cut through mana-reinforced steel. She could heal fatal wounds in seconds.

The woman sighed.

She hopped off the branch.

She didn't fall. She floated down like a feather and landed silently on the grass.

She looked Marcus in the eye.

"I am Ventessa," she said. Her voice was calm and melodic.

She smoothed her white dress.

"And as for what I am," she continued. "I am a spirit."

Marcus froze.

His brain tried to process the information.

"A spirit?" Marcus repeated.

His mind raced back to the novel. Destiny's Harem Knight.

He had read the lore. He knew about mages. He knew about monsters.

He knew about elves and demons.

But spirits?

There was no mention of spirits in the whole damn book.

Damn that bastard of an author.

'First dragons,' Marcus thought frantically. 'Now spirits with human forms?'

'What kind of fanfiction version of the world did I land in?'

He stared at her. "You are a spirit?"

"Yes," Ventessa replied. "Just an ordinary wind spirit."

Marcus looked at the devastation in the clearing.

He looked at the spot where Elowen had been erased from existence.

He looked at his own healed body.

'Ordinary my foot,' Marcus thought. 'You are definitely not ordinary.'

"Ordinary spirits don't curse nobles to be eaten by bugs," Marcus pointed out.

Ventessa shrugged. "I have hobbies."

She looked at him. She seemed to sense his skepticism.

"You are confused about my form," she stated.

"Well, yes," Marcus admitted. "First a child. Now an adult."

"It is inconvenient to be large," Ventessa said.

She closed her eyes.

Her body began to glow. A soft white light enveloped her.

It wasn't blinding. It was misty.

Her form began to shrink.

It grew smaller. And smaller.

The light faded.

Marcus blinked. He rubbed his eyes.

Standing on the grass, where the woman had been, was a creature.

It was small. Maybe the size of a cat.

It was white and incredibly fluffy. It looked like a cloud or fat round bird with no wings.

And it had the same flat, bored black eyes.

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