The moment the dryad child returned, Morro stiffened again, his eyes narrowing with cautious distrust. She held out another offering—this time, a small handful of roasted mealworms, their golden-brown bodies glistening faintly under the starlight. The faint aroma reached him before he could react, nutty and smoky with an edge of something earthy, and his stomach twisted in response—not from hunger this time, but sheer resistance.
"Nope. I'm done," Morro muttered, his voice sharp and final. He shifted back slightly, his wrists pulling against the loose bindings as if to punctuate his point. The dryad child's head tilted, her glowing amber-and-emerald eyes studying him with quiet curiosity, but Morro shook his head firmly, his expression contorting into a look of pure defiance mixed with lingering disgust.
"Mealworms? Really?" He glared at the crispy little creatures, the lines of his face tightening as though they personally offended him. "I may have eaten that bug earlier—and don't get me started on how I feel about that—but this? This is too much."
The child didn't react, though her lips twitched faintly, a flicker of what might have been suppressed amusement. She extended her hand further, the roasted mealworms gleaming innocently in the glow of the mist.
Morro groaned audibly, his head falling back against the ferns with a dramatic thud. His gaze flicked up to the constellations above, as if seeking some form of cosmic validation for his refusal. "Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this?" he muttered to himself, the dryads around him murmuring softly as if amused by his theatrics.
The child dryad didn't withdraw, her patience unwavering despite Morro's protests. But when her glowing gaze met his again, she seemed to sense his resolve. With a small, almost imperceptible nod, she retreated, the roasted mealworms still cradled in her palm as she slipped back into the group.
Morro let out a heavy, relieved sigh, his expression shifting from indignation to weary exhaustion. As the dryads resumed their quiet whispers, their melodic chatter weaving through the mist, he closed his eyes once more, letting the hum of the realm soothe his frayed nerves. The lingering taste of fried bug remained on his tongue—a reminder of just how strange his life had become.
But then Morro froze, his emerald-and-sage-green eyes fixed on the dryad child as she glanced at him one last time. Then, with a casual shrug and no hesitation whatsoever, she plucked one of the roasted mealworms from the bowl and popped it into her mouth.
The loud CRUNCH echoed through the still air, sharp and unapologetic, like the snap of dry twigs underfoot. Morro winced visibly, his face twisting into an expression of pure horror mixed with disbelief. His shoulders stiffened, and he instinctively turned his head away, squeezing his eyes shut as though the sound alone might scar him for life.
"Ugh—nope. Nope. Nope," he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with indignation as he tried to block out the dryad child's utterly fearless enjoyment of the mealworms. Even with his gaze averted, he could hear her chewing—a steady, crunching rhythm that sent shivers down his spine.
Morro groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Of course she's enjoying it. Why wouldn't she? This is Mysterium, after all. Nothing here makes any sense. He risked a cautious peek out of the corner of his eye, only to catch her reaching for another handful of the mealworms, her glowing face radiating contentment.
His stomach churned in protest, and he quickly looked away again, resolute in his refusal to engage further. "This realm is trying to break me," he muttered bitterly, slumping back into the ferns as he resigned himself to the absurdity of the situation.
The dryads' quiet laughter rippled through the air, their melodic voices weaving softly around him. Morro let out a heavy sigh, staring up at the unfamiliar constellations overhead. How did I end up here? he wondered, exhaustion washing over him. For now, the stars were his solace—though he couldn't help but feel that even they might be chuckling quietly at his plight.
The quiet hum of the night was interrupted by the light footsteps of another figure approaching Morro. A young boy dryad, smaller and less ethereal than his elders, stepped forward. His glow was softer, his patterns of bark and light less intricate but no less magical. His amber-green eyes shimmered with curiosity and just a hint of mischief as he stopped at Morro's side, clutching a small bowl of roasted mealworms.
"You don't like them?" the boy asked, his voice high and inquisitive, laced with a blend of genuine confusion and mild disappointment. Morro stiffened, his bound hands twitching as he tilted his head toward the dryad boy with a pained expression.
"It's not that I don't like them," Morro muttered, his voice strained, "it's that I don't eat them." He punctuated his words with a glare at the bowl of glistening mealworms, his eyes narrowing in defiance.
The boy's glowing features softened, as if Morro's reaction genuinely puzzled him. "But they're Moondust Mealworms," the dryad said earnestly, holding the bowl a little higher. "Naya worked so hard to make these for you. She roasted them herself, with starfire sap and ground moondust. It's… it's an honor to be offered these."
Morro groaned audibly, his head falling back against the ferns. "An honor? For mealworms?" he muttered, his voice dripping with disbelief. But the boy wasn't deterred.
"They taste like crispy starlight," the dryad continued with enthusiasm, leaning closer as if to emphasize his point. "And there's this nutty flavor too—it's warm and earthy, like the first breath of spring. And the moondust makes them slightly sweet, like honey caught in moonbeams." He smiled, his voice brimming with pride. "Really, they're amazing."
Morro's groan deepened, his fists balling tightly at his sides. His face twisted into an exaggerated grimace, his lips curling and eyebrows furrowing in pure, unfiltered disgust. "Why?" he grumbled under his breath, his words nearly drowned out by the dryad boy's enthusiasm. "Why does everything here have to be so weird?"
The boy waited, still holding the bowl expectantly, his glowing form radiating patience. Morro growled softly, his teeth clenching as the dryads' chatter hummed faintly in the background. His stomach, unhelpfully, chose that moment to rumble again.
"Fine," Morro snapped finally, his voice edged with frustration. "Give me the stupid mealworms." The dryad boy's face brightened immediately, his smile wide and genuine as he held out the bowl. Morro snatched a single roasted mealworm between his fingers, his expression one of absolute resignation as he glared at it. He sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. "If I die from this, I'm blaming all of you."
With a deep breath, Morro popped the mealworm into his mouth and bit down. The crunch echoed through his mind again, sharper this time, and the flavor—nutty, savory, and faintly sweet—burst across his tongue. He grimaced as he chewed, his eyes squeezing shut, but even he couldn't deny it tasted… decent. Almost good. Almost.
"Well?" the dryad boy asked, his voice eager.
Morro swallowed quickly, his throat bobbing as he forced the mealworm down. "It's…" He paused, the word stuck in his throat. "It's edible," he grumbled finally, glaring at the boy as though daring him to comment further. The dryad boy laughed softly, his glow brightening with satisfaction.
As Morro lay back against the ferns, his expression begrudging and sour, he muttered to himself, "This realm is going to be the end of me."
He thought the kid was going to leave him alone now. But the kid didn't budge. Morro's stomach tightened as he reluctantly glanced up, only to find every single dryad staring at him. Their glowing forms hovered around him, their eyes—brilliant amber and emerald hues—fixed on him with an unsettling mix of curiosity and expectation. Even the child dryad, Naya, stood with her arms crossed, her luminous face tilted slightly as though silently urging him to proceed.
He groaned audibly, his head falling back against the ferns with a dramatic thud. "Oh, come on," he muttered, his eyes narrowing as his gaze darted between them. "You can't seriously expect me to eat the whole bowl."
The dryads didn't respond, though the faint ripple of their soft whispers filled the air like a melodic breeze. Their expressions, though subtle, carried an air of polite insistence—as though this wasn't negotiable. The dryad boy who had described the mealworms earlier gave him a small nod, his glowing eyes bright with what Morro could only interpret as smug encouragement.
"This is going to be a long night," Morro grumbled under his breath, his fists clenching briefly at his sides before he resigned himself to the inevitable. His stomach growled again, traitorously loud, and he glared at the bowl of roasted mealworms as though it might spontaneously combust under his fury.
"Well, if I die eating these, I hope you all feel terrible about it," he muttered bitterly, snatching another handful from the bowl. The crunch echoed through the still air as he bit into them, the nutty, savory flavor hitting his tongue with startling complexity. He grimaced, his face scrunching up in exaggerated disgust as he chewed. "Why is this so weirdly…not terrible?" he mumbled to himself, earning a faint chuckle from one of the dryads.
The murmurs around him softened, their melodic tones weaving in quiet amusement as he slowly worked through the bowl, each bite more reluctant than the last. Morro sighed heavily, glaring at the stars above as if they might offer him solace. But even the constellations seemed indifferent, their unfamiliar patterns twinkling innocently against the backdrop of his suffering.
As the night stretched on, Morro found himself wishing for a distraction—anything to pull him away from this surreal ritual. But the dryads continued to watch, their glowing forms unmoving, their whispers filled with curiosity about the anomaly that now sat among them. For Morro, there was no escape—only the crunch of roasted mealworms and the weight of celestial scrutiny.