D/D 1: Unnerving Encounter.

Author's note: Hey guys, it's me, your one hundred thousandth favorite author! I've decided to try my hand at writing a story with a somewhat complex OC and narrative. I only have a vague idea of where this is going, so I'll be taking as many suggestions as possible. Don't hesitate to share your thoughts or ideas!

Updates will depend on how the story is received—if it gets a lot of love, I'll try to update it regularly. If not, updates might be a bit slower so I can focus on my 2B fanfiction. Without further ado, enjoy!

"Speech"

"Thougts"

Nestled within the thick edge of the forest, where towering trees wove a canopy of rustling leaves, a wooden cabin stood in quiet solitude. The structure wasn't anything fancy — just a few rooms, walls made from the same dark wood that surrounded it, and a chimney that puffed out lazy curls of smoke. The roof sloped unevenly, as if it had seen better days, but that didn't matter. It kept out the rain, and that's all that counted.

A small garden lay untended beside the cabin, overgrown with weeds and wildflowers, while a few chopped logs were haphazardly piled near the door, waiting for an axe that hadn't been used in days. The place had an air of forgotten charm, much like its owner — simple, unbothered by the world's chaos, content in its own quiet existence.

Inside, the scent of pinewood mingled with the earthy aroma of damp moss. The walls were lined with hunting tools, A library with a handful of stray books scattered across its shelves, and a mirror that had clearly been neglected for some time. A bed — a simple wooden frame with a heap of wool blankets thrown on top — sat in one corner, unmade as usual.

It was quiet here, away from civilization, and that's exactly how he preferred it. Out here, no one bothered him, and there were no expectations to meet. No chores being yelled at him, no tasks being thrust his way. Just his cabin, the forest that seemed to swallow everything whole, and the comfortable peace that came with solitude.

In the middle of a small, dusty room, the cabin's lone inhabitant lounged on the floor, cross-legged and relaxed. The stillness of the space surrounded him, punctuated only by the occasional creak of the wooden walls, as if the cabin itself was settling into the tranquility of the moment. He was a young adult with a lean build, dressed in comfortable, well-fitted clothes that bore the marks of his lifestyle—simple but cared for. His tousled hair, a dark shade that mirrored the forest's shadows, fell casually over his forehead. His deep-set black eyes, youthful yet reflective, hinted at a world of thoughts swirling beneath his calm exterior.

In one hand, he held a worn book, its pages yellowed with age. In the other, he absentmindedly fiddled with a valis coin long fallen out of circulation, chewing on it and oddly savoring its metallic taste. This coin, a relic from his late parents, had become a source of comfort. Whenever anxiety gripped him or his thoughts ran too deep, he instinctively gnawed on it. The simple act grounded him, pulling him away from the complexities of life that felt distant yet pressing.

Life as an orphan had shaped his views, instilling a deep-seated dislike for change. To him, change was an unwelcome guest, a disruptive force that threatened to uproot the simplicity he cherished. Every time ambition crossed his mind, it left a bitter taste behind. Why strive for more when the comforts of today felt secure? To him, effort seemed like an unnecessary burden, one he preferred to sidestep whenever possible.

In his mind, there was a clear distinction: some people thrived on the thrill of the chase, taking pleasure in their attempts to change the world, while others were content to spectate, watching life unfold from a distance. But for him, standing on the sidelines felt insufficient; he wanted to be neither the ambitious player nor the passive observer.

As he reflected on these thoughts, the familiar rhythm of his morning routine began to unfold. The sun poured through the small, grimy window, casting a warm glow over the cabin. With a slight grunt, he pushed himself up from the floor, stretching his limbs to shake off the drowsiness that clung to him. The scent of dusty air drifted in, mingling with the faint aroma of wood smoke lingering from the night before.

He shuffled over to the stack of logs by the door, grabbing his axe with one hand and setting to work on chopping firewood. Each swing of the axe was a rhythmic dance, the sharp blade biting into the wood with satisfying cracks. He paused every so often, wiping the sweat from his brow and allowing his mind to wander. There was something comforting about this routine—an echo of simplicity that soothed his restless spirit.

Next, he tended to his small garden. Kneeling in the rich earth, he pulled weeds, his fingers brushing against the vibrant leaves of the vegetables he had nurtured. The warmth of the sun on his back felt good, and he breathed in the earthy scent of the soil. It was a slow, methodical process, but he reveled in it, relishing the quiet connection to the land.

After the garden, he moved on to the laundry, hanging his clothes on a makeshift line outside. The gentle breeze rustled the fabric as he stepped back, admiring the sight of his humble home surrounded by the serene forest. It was a moment of peace, an escape from the chaos that often lurked just beyond the trees.

Once his chores were complete, he allowed himself a well-deserved nap. Finding a cozy spot in the shade of a tree, he settled down, letting the tranquility of his surroundings wash over him. Thoughts drifted through his mind like clouds, and he reveled in the stillness of the moment, feeling a comforting sense of stability in his simple existence.

However, as he lay basking in the gentle warmth of the sun, a nagging thought crept into his mind, disrupting his tranquil rest. He remembered that he had to make a trip to the village today. He could almost hear the villagers' chatter and the clinking of trades being made, the chaotic rhythm of life that seemed so far removed from his peaceful existence. The memory of pelts waiting to be traded and reports about monster activity flickered through his mind—uninteresting tasks that felt more like useless chores than necessities.

"Why can't they just come here?" he muttered to himself, the annoyance bubbling up like a bitter taste. The village always seemed to demand his presence at the most inconvenient times, pulling him from the comforts of his cabin.

With a sigh, he pushed himself up from the grassy spot beneath the tree and made his way back to his cabin. Once inside, he glanced around the small room, eyeing his scattered belongings. Reluctantly, he began gathering his things, feeling the weight of each item as if they were chains tethering him to the world beyond his door. The thought of leaving behind the tranquility of his routine irked him, but he knew he had no choice. With a resigned sigh, he set his mind to the task ahead, already longing for the solace of his cabin upon his return.

After walking for a while, the familiar sounds of the village began to filter through the trees, growing louder with each step. As he finally stepped into 'Randonass' Village, the contrast to his secluded cabin hit him like a gust of wind. The village lay sprawled before him, a patchwork of simple wooden structures and thatched roofs, nestled within the embrace of the surrounding forest. The air was alive with the sounds of laughter and chatter, the unmistakable hum of daily life in full swing. Children darted between houses, their carefree shouts mingling with the clattering of hooves on cobblestone paths as a merchant's cart rumbled past.

Villagers glanced up as he walked by, their faces lighting up with friendly recognition. "Morning, Al!" called out a middle-aged woman carrying a basket filled with fresh produce, her eyes crinkling with warmth. He offered a halfhearted wave in return, his thoughts still clinging to the comfort of his cabin, where the world felt more manageable.

"Don't forget, the harvest is soon! We'll need your help this year too!" another villager chimed in, a thin man leaning against a fence. "You're not getting out of it this time, Al!"

Al smirked slightly, shaking his head. "Yeah, I'll see what I can do," he replied, feeling the familiar tug of reluctance. Helping out with the harvest sounded like more effort than he was willing to invest.

Another villager, a burly man with a bushy beard, tipped his straw hat as he passed. "You out trading again, Al?" he asked with a chuckle, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "Hope you brought something good this time!"

"Just the usual," Al shrugged, mumbling a noncommittal response, his mind preoccupied. The warmth of their greetings was lost on him, feeling like an echo in the back of his mind rather than a genuine connection.

A group of children ran past him, one of them calling, "Hey, Al! Can you show us how to catch fish again?"

Al paused, a flicker of interest sparking in his chest, but he quickly suppressed it. "Maybe next time, I'm busy today," he said, forcing a smile as he continued on his way.

With each greeting and call, Al felt the village's vibrant life pulse around him, yet he remained distant, a solitary figure drifting through a world that felt both familiar and foreign. The thought of his simple cabin and the peace it offered tugged at him, reminding him of the comfort he left behind.

As he approached the village square, the scent of fresh produce wafted through the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the market. Stalls lined the cobblestone path, each brimming with colorful fruits and vegetables, while merchants called out their wares to passersby. Al's stomach grumbled at the sight of ripe tomatoes and crisp greens, but he pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand.

He made his way to a stall run by a stout woman with kind eyes and a welcoming smile. She was known for her vegetables, always fresh and vibrant, and today her booth was overflowing with colorful harvests. Al glanced at the pile of pelts slung over his shoulder, their supple texture a reminder of the successful hunt he'd had last week.

"Morning, Al!" the woman greeted cheerfully, wiping her hands on her apron. "What do you have for me today?"

"Just a few pelts from the last hunt," he replied, setting the pelts down on the wooden counter. "Figured I could trade them for some supplies."

"Let's take a look," she said, examining the pelts closely, her fingers tracing the soft, warm fur. "These are quite nice. I can offer you two sacks of potatoes and a bundle of carrots for them."

Al raised an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest. "Two sacks? That's a bit low, don't you think? These pelts are in great condition. You won't find better in the village."

She hesitated, glancing at the pelts again. "Well, they are nice, but potatoes and carrots are in high demand with the harvest coming up. What about three sacks of potatoes?"

"Three sacks are a start," he replied, leaning against the stall casually, "but I think you can do better. I'd also like some of that fresh bread from the bakery. You know the baker's not too keen on giving me deals."

Her eyes sparkled with amusement, a knowing smile creeping onto her face. "You really think you can get me to part with my bread, Al? That's a tall order."

"Only because you know it's worth it," he shot back, a playful grin tugging at his lips. "I've seen how much you sell that bread for. I'll even throw in a few extra coins if you're willing to make it four sacks of potatoes and the bread."

She regarded him for a moment, weighing her options. The gleam in her eyes showed that she respected his bargaining skills. "Alright, you drive a hard bargain. Four sacks of potatoes, a bundle of carrots, and a loaf of bread," she finally agreed, "But only because I like you."

"Pleasure doing business," Al replied, his grin widening as he carefully loaded the sacks onto his shoulders. He felt a sense of satisfaction wash over him, knowing he'd secured a fair deal without losing his usual laid-back demeanor.

Walking away, he felt the sun warming his back, and he couldn't help but smile at the exchange. The villagers might see him as a simple man living in the forest, but he knew how to play the game when it mattered. With supplies in hand, he felt ready to tackle whatever the day had in store.

Once he finished his trade, Alistair reminded himself of the other reason he had come to the village today. Recently, he had noticed increased monster activity in the woods surrounding his cabin. Strange sounds echoed through the nights—low growls and unsettling rustlings that disrupted the peaceful stillness he had come to rely on. Claw marks marred the trees, deep grooves that hinted at something lurking just beyond the tree line. Living in the forest had made him attuned to its natural rhythms, and these disturbances raised his concern.

Given how often he roamed the forest, Alistair had taken it upon himself to keep an eye on things. He had become something of an unofficial scout, watching for anything out of the ordinary and reporting back to the village chief whenever he encountered something troubling.

Determined, he made his way to the chief's modest office, ready to discuss his growing concerns. However, upon arrival, he found the door ajar and the room empty. The familiar scent of old parchment lingered in the air, but the space felt unusually quiet.

"Oi, where's the chief?" Al asked a passing villager, a wiry man carrying a bundle of firewood.

"Oh, you just missed him," the villager replied, shaking his head. "He's meeting with an important visitor today—a lady who just arrived in the village. She's quite the sight, I hear."

"A lady?" Al echoed. "What's so important about her?"

The villager shrugged. "Not sure. Rumor has it she's some kind of noble, dressed in some fancy clothes. The chief seems pretty on edge about it. You know how he is."

Al rolled his eyes, annoyance creeping in. "So, he's too busy to talk about monsters, huh? Great." He turned to head back, but his curiosity got the better of him. "Where can I find them?"

"Probably near the village entrance," the villager replied, nodding in that direction.

With a sigh, Al made his way toward the village entrance, his curiosity outweighing his annoyance.

The village chief stood tall, his broad shoulders and weathered face exuding authority. Streaks of gray ran through his hair, framing a brow that appeared perpetually furrowed in concern. His sharp eyes often darted nervously, reflecting a mind constantly at work, balancing the village's needs with the challenges of leadership.

He stood before a mysterious woman, a wave of fear and trepidation washing over him. Clearing his throat, he tried to muster some confidence, but it quickly slipped away under the weight of her presence. "W-welcome to our humble village, l-lady goddess," he stammered, his voice wavering slightly. "What c-can we do for you?"

The woman smiled, her voice smooth and sultry, wrapping around the chief like snake. "I'm merely passing through, traveling the lower world," she explained, her tone playful yet laced with an icy authority. "I seek a place to rest for the night. Surely a humble village like yours has a spare room for a wandering goddess?"

The chief wiped the sweat that had gathered on his brow, his mind racing as he weighed his options. "W-well, the village is quite crowded at the moment," he stuttered, glancing around as if hoping for some 'divine' intervention. "I'm not sure I can find you a place…"

The woman leaned closer, her eyes sharpening playfully. "Oh my, are you really going to let a poor goddess sleep outside?" she teased, her voice low and enticing. "You do know that can bring you bad omens, don't you?"

He gulped, the gravity of her words sinking in, and for a moment, he could almost feel the weight of the village's misfortunes bearing down on him.

"Oi, Chief!" A familiar voice broke through the tension, and both the chief and the mysterious woman turned to see Alistair striding toward them, his expression a mix of annoyance and urgency.

The chief's eyes brightened at the sight of Al, relief flooding his features. "Perfect timing, Al! E-Excuse me, lady goddess!" he exclaimed, pivoting toward Al. "I need to speak with you for a moment."

"About what?" Al asked, crossing his arms. "If it's about monster sightings in the forest, I'm all ears—"

"Al! A goddess is traveling through and needs a place to rest for the night. Unfortunately, the village is full. Could you—"

"Hell no," Al replied instantly, huffing in exasperation. "I'm not taking in a goddess. I can barely keep my own place clean."

The chief's face flushed a deeper shade of red. "If you don't let her stay, it'll bring a bad omen to the entire village! We can't have that!"

"Not happening," Al insisted, shaking his head. "I didn't sign up for goddess-sitting. I'm a hunter, not a hotelier! What do I look like, a fucking innkeeper?"

The chief's flailing hands grasped for a compromise. "You'll be helping the village! Think of it as a… a favor! I'll owe you one!"

"What kind of favor could you possibly owe me?" Al asked, eyebrow raised.

"Anything!" the chief blurted out, his eyes wide with desperation.

"Anything?" Al echoed, a sly grin spreading across his face.

"Absolutely! Anything!" the chief insisted, nodding fervently.

With a dramatic sigh, Al rolled his eyes, finally relenting. "Fine! But don't expect me to roll out the red carpet. I've got my own shit to deal with."

Al turned around to look at the woman he'd be hosting for the night, and his breath hitched at her sight. She was a vision: jet-black hair cascading down her back like a silky waterfall, framing a doll-like face adorned with moles in perfect places, giving her an ethereal quality that felt almost unreal. Her eyes, as dark as the night sky, held a cold beauty that could kill, accentuated by the delicate glasses perched on her nose. They lent her an air of sophistication that seemed at odds with the carelessness of her gaze, exuding an aura of mystery and power that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It confirmed what the chief had said—she was indeed a deity.

But what captured Al's attention most was the gigantic pair of Boo—

"My eyes are up here, child," she teased, tilting her head slightly, a cold smile playing on her lips that felt both inviting and chilling. Her gaze held a mix of amusement and challenge, as if daring him to look again.

Caught off guard, Al mustered his most stoic expression, forcing himself to maintain eye contact. "I was not looking at anything, lady goddess," he said, his voice a bit too high-pitched for his liking.

Her smile widened, her dark eyes glinting with amusement. "You know that you can't lie to a deity?"

A beat of silence hung in the air, thick with tension and Al's embarrassment.

"A-Anyway," he stuttered, shaking off the awkwardness, "follow me, lady goddess. Your travels must have left you quite tired."

She followed him, still smiling eerily, each step echoing with a grace that seemed almost unnatural. Al led the way, trying his best to ignore the unsettling feeling of her presence behind him, convinced that he was now somehow a character in a bizarre tale of hospitality gone wrong.

"Just so you know," he said over his shoulder, "my place is a bit messy. You might have to dodge a few… distractions. And, uh, if you see any dishes in the corner, they're not as moldy as they look."

"Oh, I'll be sure to keep my eyes peeled," she replied, her voice smooth like silk, "for both the dishes and other… distractions…"

"Speaking of which, what should I call you, child?" she asked.

"Uh, it's Alistair," he stammered, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Alistair Altirias, but just Al is fine."

"And what about you, lady goddess? What should I call you?" he inquired, trying to keep his composure.

"Nyx," she responded, "You may call me Nyx."