Chapter 3 - # **Chapter 3: The Salty Sapling**

By fifteen, Alaric had mastered the art of doing nothing—or so he thought. He'd turn into a willow to eavesdrop on maids gossiping about Lorne's latest scheme, or a mossy rock to skip history lessons in the dusty library. "Why swing a sword when I can photosynthesize?" he'd quip, sprawled in the sun, his skin faintly green from a recent transformation. Gavric and Lorne rolled their eyes, but the court buzzed with whispers—demon scouts at the borders, vampire thralls in the hills. Alaric ignored it, napping as a fern by the stables.Then Mira arrived—a mercenary with fire-red hair and a scar across her cheek, hired to bolster the palace guard. She found him dozing, a blade glinting in her hand. "Wake up, princeling!" she snapped, tossing it at his chest. Alaric jolted, sprouting a thorn burst that deflected it into a hay bale. "Next time, aim for someone who cares," he grumbled, brushing off leaves. She smirked, twirling another dagger. "Lazy and lucky. My kind of trouble."That night, he woke to smoke—demon scouts had torched his favorite picnic spot, a shady grove by the river. Stumbling out in his nightshirt, he found charred stumps and a scout lurking, its claws glinting. "Now it's personal," he growled, sprouting a spiky shrub. Thorns jabbed blindly, grazing its leg as it hissed and fled into the dark. "Yeah, run, you glorified campfire!" he yelled, then flopped onto the ash-strewn grass, panting. "Effort's overrated. Someone else can chase it."