R.H. DONOVAN

A centuries-old guardian guards a cursed forest… but why do they?

BACKGROUND: This is a story I made on the 2 Jan 2025 using a prompt that I had ChatGPT create as part of a writing exercise.

THE PROMPT:

ChatGPT: A centuries-old guardian of a cursed forest is forced to guide a lost traveler through its treacherous paths. As they journey together, the traveler begins to uncover the guardian’s tragic past—and the true nature of the curse they’re bound to protect.

Q: Hmm, I love this prompt. But let’s do a technical challenge for it. Give me a requirement that I have to put in the story.

ChatGPT: Write the story in exactly 1,500 words. Additionally, include a single sentence where the guardian reveals their most painful memory without directly stating what it is, leaving it for the reader to infer.

THE STORY:

Creaking.

The edge of the village was covered by miles of vine stretching far into the valley. No edge of its end could be seen, aside from this very point. It covered a province and more; perhaps a whole nation. Mist lingered in the air, lighting up the forest like a cloth against candlelight.

Joshua looked at the pathway laid before him. Maintained and cleared, graveled by some friendly voice. His pack laid heavy on him, sweat pooling upon his shirtback. His sword holster scathed, the leather binding him and pinching him at the waist.

Forest air was sweet and welcoming. Even in the village, where the warmth of fireplaces and distant voices echoed there was a greater feeling in the air. But not this air; a mere step away. It was cold. It was grasping. A chokehold.

He cleared his throat.

“Hello there!” he yelled. “I request the guardian’s presence!”

Bird croaked. Wings fluttered.

Silence.

Just like the tavernmaster said. Scream to the forest and it will come.

“Hello! Anyone there?” he yelled more.

Laughter muttered behind him. Joshua turned at two villagefolk who stopped mid-step on the main street.

Joshua shook away. “Of course it’s a trick.”

Creaking.

He turned towards the darkness emanating from the mist. At the edge of the tree–in the tree?

“This mustn’t be a joke!” yelled Joshua.

Birds croaked. Wings fluttered. Trees snapped.

The ground thumped.

And the darkness grew out of the mist.

Joshua turned towards the villagefolk. They dropped their carts and ran. A few leaned back along the tavern walls, distant eyes peering at their voices.

From the edge of the path, the trees parted ways. Leaves shuttered and branches fell. The gravel kicked out and the thumping continued.

Its eminence brought itself forward. A tree lumbering forward, like a fairy tail from childhood or a fear mongering. Father Nature himself couldn’t have made such a more horrendous creature out of the regular.

It appeared a man and tree at both times. A broccoli head of low-lying shrubbery. Legs of bark and somehow the cracked arms of a man. A face stoic and low lying. Like cutouts, or the end of broken branches.

Joshua stepped forward. His saber sliced through the end of its holster, and he held it with both hands.

It was twice his height. Slow and lumberous, like creatures of the Savannah. But unnatural in all ways it should be. Its brown eyes pierced a view into Joshua.

It stood in the clearing of the grounds

“Relax your arm my friend,” it spoke. It very voice shook the ground.

He lowered the end, the saber eventually falling to his side.

The creature turned its head, the wood creaking over what spine it had. “You speak?”

“Are you the guardian?”

“What else may there be?” it chuckled, its laugh like boulders falling down a mountainside.

Of course it was. Such mysticism in this province…

“I need escort deeper into the forest,” ordered Joshua. “What is your payment?”

It turned, walking towards the forest. “That you don’t get lost. Now follow.”

Joshua turned towards the villagefolk, who had now returned to their daily lives. The tavernmaster stood leaning against his doorway. His smile forever absent, brown eyes hidden under the cover of a leather cap.

The gravel crunched below Joshua’s feet as he fell into the forest. In mere feet, the village disappeared under the mist. And with that, the past he knew fell into it as well.

Deeper into the forest, the path had darkened to the Earth. The gravel receded into wood chippings, and wood chippings receded into flattened grass. Until now, where there were only the clearings of the tallest saplings.

For a mile they traveled, Joshua silent as much as the creature lumbered forward. Despite its slow pace, it kept a rush on Joshua, whose pack slowed him down.

“Do you even know where I need to go?” said Joshua.

“The forest knows,” said the creature, raising a wooden finger. Perhaps no larger than a branch.

Joshua hummed. “Cryptic are we?”

“You seek the beginning of a journey,” it said. “You task yourself with finding the spirit of this forest and using its powers to heal you.”

“How–are you a mindreader?”

It groaned. “We are not all magical, traveler. I simply know that as true, and I simply sense it since all others who venture to the province do the same.”

“And you are tasked with, creature?”

Its hums were… vocal. Loud and deep. “Guardian, please.”

*Creature* to anyone from beyond this province. There was no longer a good magic in this world. Only the unknown magic.

“My apologies,” said Joshua.

It was silent for several steps. Perhaps it was too name-calling to merely call it a creature. It was certainly smarter than one.

“I guide the path to those who venture beyond the main, venturers who wish to seek parts of the Old Kingdom.”

“I see, your magic protects you?”

“Incorrect,” it said, darting an eye down at the man. “The magic is only… overcoming… here.”

With one more step, the reached a clearing in the forest, marked by a flattened ground and a rock at the very center. The creature rose its hand, stopping Joshua midstep. Mushrooms stood tall around this area; rising well to his height. And despite the darkness, the distant rising and falling of the foothills were visible.

“We’re halfway there.”

“Take a rest, you must eat and drink,” it said, pointing towards a well.

Joshua dropped the pack, the tools slamming into the ground. The glass vials were well-kept at the top of the bag, his sleeping pack used as a cushion.

It took a side step towards the outer edge of the clearing, as it looked outwards into the unknown. Joshua to the side of the well that was between them, so that he faced outwards at the opposite direction.

As he dropped the pail, it splashed into the water below. The water level was high here; just a few feet below the top soil. It was swampy water; and he could only assume how vile it would taste.

But as he lifted the bucket and tasted the first sip of its contents he realized it was crystal clear. Like mountain water. Youthful, as if untouched by the seeping of nature.

He looked up at the guardian behind him.

“Guardian, I take it that you do not eat or drink?” said Joshua.

“No,” it said. “I need that no longer.”

“Keep close,” said the creature.

The bird was green. A dark green, like shrubbery. A camouflage that made sense in these lands. It was the shape of a crow in all ways, only meters larger.

As it crashed into the ground, gravel and chips spread outward. It croaked a great noise.

Joshua rushed forward, pulling his sword as he did. He stood strong-foot forward, the blade ready.

It croaked once more, a predatory croak. The animal swept forward, its wings spreading out to angle its aim. The claws pointed forward like knives. Joshua raised his saber and pointed it towards the bird’s stomach. One good slice and the–

A rush of leaves. The creature stood in the way, its arms outstretched. The bird slammed into its trunk, the claws digging into the sides.

Wood chips knocked off its side, littering the ground.

Its sides bled a red sap. One too liquid to be truly sap. It dripped down the legs. But the creature stood tall. It grabbed a hand of grass and slapped it to the wound.

“We should go,” said Joshua.

“Nay, now is not time.”

“We’ll leave when you are rested.”

It was evening when the path became more pronounced. The mist had lowered in its intensity, and the forest spoke more in the shutter of winds than the creaking of the forest. An orange sun beamed over the treetops, the ground now casted in the shadows of the next tree over.

The path spread out, reaching to the edges of a wall. Joshua looked below his feet, and realized that he was no longer in gravel, but brick. And the edges of this sunken land were actually the crumbles of buildings.

As they reached the end of this new path, they found themselves in the remains of the square.  One that was enumerated by vine and overgrowth. The trees practically cracked the brick-laid road, their cover providing shade to once busy city roads.

In its center, a clocktower that rose from the remains of a church. Its vines stretched far and above the surface, to the height of the bell. Red sap dripped from its entrance, wounds fresh from those that cut from its flesh.

The clocktower remained there, a creak emanating from its door. If it weren’t for the overgrowth, perhaps the dials would still spin.

“This forest changes a person. I urge you not to stray from the path.”

“Of course, guardian.”

And as he looked up, and turned, the guardian was gone.