The moon hung high above the Spirit Woods, casting a silver glow upon the forest floor. The river shimmered beneath its gaze, flowing softly as if it too were holding its breath for what was to come.
At the base of Grandmother Willow's tree, John Smith stood beside Pocahontas, their fingers lightly brushing, hearts still beating rapidly from the battle not long ago. The air carried the scent of moss and wet leaves. Fireflies blinked quietly in the distance.
"I want peace," John said, his voice low. "I've seen what those things can do. And I've seen your people—how much they've already lost. This has to end."
Pocahontas nodded, her eyes searching his. "We must unite the tribe and your people… Only then can we defeat the Heartless—and stop Ratcliffe."
Behind them, Grandmother Willow stirred. Her wooden face turned toward them, her eyes glowing with quiet understanding.
"This is a path of courage," she murmured. "But even the brightest rivers must weather the storm before they reach the sea."
Pocahontas looked to her, resolute. "We'll make them see reason. We have to."
Then, in the silence between words, John reached for her hand, and Pocahontas stepped into him, her eyes soft. Their lips met in a gentle kiss, a brief, sacred vow exchanged without a single word.
But they were not alone.
From the brush beyond the clearing, Kocoum's dark eyes flared with fury. His jaw clenched, fists trembling at his side. Next to him, hidden in the shadows, Thomas, the young settler, stood frozen.
"John…?" Thomas whispered, unsure.
Kocoum needed no words.
With a roar fueled by heartbreak and betrayal, he charged from the trees, spear in hand. Pocahontas barely had time to gasp as the warrior lunged straight for John, eyes burning with grief and rage. "Kocoum! Stop!"
John dodged to the side, trying to disarm him without hurting him.
But Kocoum didn't hear. Couldn't hear.
Only vengeance spoke now.
The spear came again, a blur of death—but just before it struck—
Bang.
A single shot echoed through the woods.
Kocoum staggered, dropping his spear. He looked down at his chest, eyes wide in disbelief. Then he turned.
Thomas, holding a smoking musket, stood trembling behind him.
"I… I had to," he choked, tears in his eyes. "You were going to kill him."
Kocoum's body dropped to the earth, limp.
Pocahontas screamed.
John fell to his knees, hands over his head.
Thomas dropped the musket in horror. "I didn't want to—he—he was going to—"
"Go," John said sharply, rising to his feet. "Now. Before they find you."
Thomas hesitated, then turned and disappeared into the trees.
Only moments passed before the sound of shouts rang through the woods—tribesmen rushing to the scene.
They found John Smith still beside the body, arms raised in surrender.
Pocahontas stood over Kocoum, her eyes wide with grief.
The warriors seized John, pulling him roughly to his feet. Blood covered his hands—not his own.
Chief Powhatan arrived moments later. He took one look at his fallen warrior—his future son-in-law—and his eyes hardened like stone.
"You… did this," he said to John, voice shaking with rage.
"No!" Pocahontas cried. "He didn't—he tried to stop it! It was an accident! Someone else shot—"
"Enough!" Powhatan snapped, silencing her. "I warned you not to get too close to them. And now, my best warrior lies dead."
He turned his back, grief and fury choking him.
"At dawn," he said without turning. "The settler will be executed."
"Father—!"
"No more," he said. "You've chosen your path."
Two warriors took John away. Pocahontas, sobbing sank to her knees beside Kocoum but was grabbed and taken by another warrior.
After the others left the clearing, Grandmother Willow's branches creaked gently.
From the darkness of the trees, a figure emerged, quiet as moonlight.
Helios.
He stepped slowly from the shadows, his gaze locked on the lifeless body of Kocoum.
Above his open palm floated a glowing pink heart, surrounded by luminescent white rings of light. It pulsed gently, like a firefly caught in a dream.
Grandmother Willow turned to him.
"So," she said softly. "Was this the path you wished to see?"
Helios shook his head. "Not exactly."
He looked down at the heart, his voice low. "This… has nothing to do with what I wanted."
His hand rose, and the white rings of light spun faster.
"This… was what was necessary."
The rings peeled away, dissolving into light. The pink heart drifted skyward, glowing faintly until it vanished into the stars—returning, perhaps, to the world's heart.
Helios didn't smile. He just stood, silently, staring at the heavens.
Then his eyes drifted back to the ancient tree.
"You knew this would happen," he said. "Didn't you?"
Grandmother Willow's expression did not change.
"If you hadn't," Helios continued, "you wouldn't have tried to warn her. Telling her what was coming in hopes that she would choose another path."
"All I can do is give her choices to make and watch as she makes them but make no mistake, outsider; I care for the girl, and if your actions harm her, you shall answer to me," said Grandmother Willow in a stern almost threatening manner.
"I'll take that to heart, but what if she herself makes a choice that harms herself? Will you still hold me accountable?" asked Helios
The forest held its breath.
And Grandmother Willow did not answer.