Nyxaria knew she had little time. The Craze Weed was still a volatile poison in the snake's system, and even though the violent madness had subsided, the brief window of lucidity felt fragile, like a flickering candle in a storm.
Nyxaria looked around frantically, her gaze sweeping across the dense undergrowth. The gnarled roots and tangled vines offered no immediate solutions for processing the Stillroot. Her mind, usually a sharp and efficient tool, struggled to find a practical way to extract the juice without tools.
No smooth stones lay nearby to crush the root, no hollowed-out logs to collect the juice. A frustrated grimace, born of necessity overriding her usual fastidiousness, twisted her lips. There was no other choice.
Nyxaria shoved the Stillroot into her mouth, the bitter, earthy taste instantly assaulting her senses. It was pungent and carried a strange, almost metallic tang, leaving a gritty residue that coated her tongue and the back of her throat.
Nyxaria chewed quickly and deliberately, grinding the tough fibers of the root between her teeth. The potent juice, thick and slightly viscous, flooded her mouth, carrying with it a strange warmth that began to spread through her chest and down her limbs.
Ignoring the lingering bitterness that clung to her palate and the odd, almost electric tingling sensation that now danced beneath her skin, she moved cautiously towards the struggling snake.
Its massive head lifted weakly, and a sluggish snap of its jaws barely reached the worn leather of her boots. The fight had been drained from it, leaving behind a weary exhaustion.
Seizing the opportunity presented by its weakened state, Nyxaria's movements were swift and decisive, honed by years of navigating dangerous encounters. She gripped its massive jaw, her small hands surprisingly strong as they found purchase on the rough, ridged scales. With a grunt of effort, she forced its mouth open slightly, just enough to administer the remedy.
A surge of grim determination propelled her forward. She leaned in, disregarding the strangely sweet, cloying fragrance that emanated from its breath – an unnatural scent for a creature of its nature – and expelled the chewed root and its potent, life-saving juice directly into the snake's cavernous mouth.
The immediate reaction was terrifying. The snake convulsed violently, its immense body tensing like a drawn bowstring. Every muscle in its colossal frame spasmed and twitched, sending tremors through the very ground. For a heart-stopping moment, a cold dread washed over Nyxaria.
Nyxaria feared she had misjudged the situation, that her desperate act had only served to exacerbate the madness, pushing the creature further into the throes of the Craze Weed's influence.
Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, the violent thrashing began to subside. The unnatural red that had clouded its eyes began to recede, like a tide pulling back from a bloodstained shore, replaced by a murky, confused obsidian blue that was so deep it bordered on black. Its ragged, uneven breathing gradually evened out, becoming deeper and more rhythmic.
The rigid tension that had coiled through its massive body eased, the immense muscles relaxing as if a fever had finally broken, leaving behind a weary, almost peaceful stillness.
The silence that descended upon the small clearing was profound and absolute, broken only by the gentle rustling of leaves in the night breeze and the sound of Nyxaria's own ragged breaths catching in her throat.
Nyxaria remained still, every nerve ending in her body on high alert, watching the massive creature with wary intensity, unsure of what to expect in the aftermath of its violent transformation.
Nyxaria took several slow, calming breaths, the cool night air stinging slightly in her lungs. The throbbing pain from her earlier injuries, momentarily forgotten in the adrenaline of the encounter, now pulsed through her limbs with renewed vigor, a dull ache that served as a constant reminder of her own battered state.
Nyxaria glanced at the still form of the snake, a knot of something unreadable tightening in her chest. "It's okay now, right?" she murmured, the question a fragile whisper in the stillness, directed more at the ethereal presence beside her than the unconscious beast.
Ari's faint form flickered, her translucent edges shimmering in the moonlight. "It should be. The Stillroot is potent. Give it a while for the effects to fully take hold and for its system to clear the residual toxins."
A wave of profound weariness washed over Nyxaria, heavier than the physical exhaustion of the fight. The pain was a sharp and unwelcome reminder of her own vulnerability, and the relentless urgency of her mission slammed back into her consciousness.
The Stillroot needed to be returned within twenty-four hours of its picking, its potency tied to that narrow window. The encounter with the snake, though necessary for her own passage, had devoured precious hours she couldn't afford to lose.
Can't waste any more time here, she thought, her mind already calculating the dwindling hours.
It will recover. I need to leave.
She turned to the massive serpent, its chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths. "You'll be fine after a while," she said, her voice softer than her usual clipped tones, a strange undercurrent of… something she couldn't quite name lacing her words.
"Just... stay away from that plant in the future." Without waiting for any sign of acknowledgment, Nyxaria turned and began to walk away, her silver hair, unbound and slightly damp with sweat, catching the faint, ethereal moonlight filtering through the canopy.
"Aren't you going to help it with its injury?" Ari asked, her spectral voice carrying a distinct note of surprise, perhaps even a hint of disapproval.
Nyxaria didn't break her stride, her focus already shifting back to the miles ahead. "I only helped it because its crazed state was an obstacle in my path. Otherwise...," her tone hardened, regaining its usual pragmatic edge, "its injuries are none of my concern. I have a far more pressing matter – an herb to return before its potency fades."
Ari remained silent, her translucent form hovering beside Nyxaria. A knowing flicker danced in her spectral eyes. She sensed the subtle dissonance between Nyxaria's harsh words and the undeniable act of selfless intervention she had just performed. The sly killer's actions often spoke louder than her carefully constructed denials.
On the forest ground, the dark blue eyes of the immense serpent, now half-lidded and completely clear of the sickly red haze, blinked slowly, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings with a dazed, newborn clarity.
The immediate chaos and pain were gone, replaced by a heavy lethargy. Eventually, its gaze, still unfocused, settled on Nyxaria's retreating back, the silver strands of her hair a beacon in the dim light.
For a long, drawn-out moment, the immense serpent stared after her as she walked deeper into the woods, a beast looking at the one who had, inexplicably, offered it salvation.