3.28.25 - The Unmelting Ice of Frozen Joy pt 3

Parable 3: The Loquata of Desire and Fire

[Image: A forest pathway dappled with light as birds sing and colorful animal companions follow behind the marching trio.]

The birds of Baccyardigahn sang shimmering songs, joined by howlers, glimmering moths, and squirrels in leaf-capes. The forest pulsed with playful life as the trio skipped merrily along the central path, laughing, dodging puddles, and spinning with joy.

For a while, everything was perfect.

They marched and skipped and told jokes so loudly that even the moss was giggling. Their conversations filled the space between the trees like warm soup in a wooden bowl. Time softened. The Bag of Wonderment jiggled at their sides. They followed the main path with the dreamy certainty that all would be well as long as they stuck together.

But something peculiar was happening. The forest, so lively and symphonic just moments before, began to change.

The air felt warmer.
The breeze stopped blowing.
The green slowly gave way to gold.

They were so busy talking—about clouds shaped like waffles, or whether jelly counted as a weapon—that none of them noticed the moment the trees thinned. Or when the puddles dried. Or when the chirps and chatters of the forest creatures faded into distant echoes.

Only when the forest vanished completely did they finally stop.

They looked back. But there was no back.

Baccyardigahn had ended.

Ahead, the path was no longer a path at all. Just cracked earth, yawning dunes, and the thick, shimmering sigh of desert heat.

[Image: A wide desert panorama with the trio tiny in the distance, dwarfed by swirling heat mirages and sand dunes.]

In its place stretched a golden wasteland. A desert vast and cracking beneath their feet. The sun loomed overhead, shimmering like a spell gone wrong.

They wandered—minutes, hours, maybe years. The desert stretched like a melted scroll, endless and unreadable. Their feet blistered under the shifting sands, their sandals filling with heat and dust. The sun danced circles in the sky, casting long, looping shadows that never stayed still.

They stopped talking. Even their giggles had dried out, carried off by the wind.

Their bellies rumbled with the ghosts of forgotten snacks—a cheese cracker from two adventures ago, a jelly tart that vanished in the last storm, a dumpling Zsolista had promised but never shared. Their minds became a slow parade of memories soaked in syrup and salt.

The desert had no path, but they kept walking forward, not out of certainty—but because turning around felt like surrender. There was no map here. Just shimmer and thirst and stories beginning to thin.

Mirages danced before them: floating cookies, twirling dumplings, jelly-covered dream-bread. Queen Mother’s laughter echoed faintly in the sky.

Boka’s eyes burned with hunger and disbelief. His stomach growled louder than his voice.

Then Baby pointed, weak but certain.

"There! It’s-a-baby\~"

Across the heat, an oasis shimmered: a lush garden wrapped around a towering fruit tree, its leaves glowing gold and crimson like a flame suspended in the sky. Water gleamed below it, still as glass, and a small hut leaned at its roots like a secret waiting to be heard.

Petals drifted down in slow spirals, and the air was suddenly cool—unnaturally so, like the dream of a breeze rather than the breeze itself. Around the edges of the oasis, light bent strangely, as if trying to convince them it had always been there.

They didn’t think.
They didn’t speak.
They just ran—hearts hungry, eyes wide, souls aching for rest.

[Image: A glistening oasis centered around a mystical fruit tree, with golden water reflecting light like glass.]

The cool air of the oasis kissed their cheeks—but just as they reached it, their limbs froze. Arms mid-reach. Legs half-bent. Magic locked them in place like marionettes caught in a still wind.

From the shadows spun a golden-haired woman. Her appearance shimmered with the heat, like a painting struggling to stay still. Her golden locks rippled and split in the sunlight, twisting and weaving like living snakes made of silk and sun.

She looked old. Then young. Then old again. Each blink reshaped her—crinkles vanishing, cheeks lifting, posture bending like melted glass and reforming into regal calm. The heat did not seem to touch her. Rather, it obeyed her, curling and folding around her like a loyal ribbon.

Tiny desert snakes slithered at her feet, their scales glinting like broken gemstones. They did not hiss. They did not strike. They simply watched—silent sentinels that wove between her footsteps as though they were part of her shadow. She glided like a breeze and sang like a lullaby.

Witch: "I am Elsanna, a witch of great renown. Help me and feast, or freeze in this oasis. The fruit I seek will end your pain— But steal one bite, and bite you it shall again."

The trio gulped.

A feast? Water? Escape?

They nodded, eager as empty spoons.

Elsanna:
"Climb the tree. Bring me the Loquata of Desire and Fire. But remember—no bites. No tastes. No cheats. One nibble, and the fire will not be yours to command."

Zsolista raised her chin. "A small fruit for a great reward? Easy peasy."

[Image: The trio climbing the enormous tree, its trunk winding like a spiral staircase into the clouds.]

Their limbs unbound, they bolted to the tree and began the climb.

At first it was thrilling—like racing up a spiral of stars. But as they climbed, something shifted. The trunk twisted endlessly. The fruit never came closer.

It shimmered just beyond reach, like a dream you almost remember.

Baby paused. She closed her eyes.

"I wish the fruit would come to us. Or… that we could meet it halfway."

She whispered gently, heart forward.

And blink.

They were there.

Face-to-face with the Loquata.

It glowed with radiant firelight. The scent—spiced, soft, like warm memory and melted sugar—wrapped around their senses. Their eyes shimmered. Their teeth peeked out. Their hands trembled.

Boka reached.
Zsolista followed.

But before their fingers touched—

BONK!

Baby head-bonked them both.

Baby:
"Mind strong! Mission first! Promise sacred! No bites allowed!"

The trance shattered. Their mouths shut.

Together, gently, they plucked the fruit and carried it down.

Elsanna beamed, gold swirling around her.

Elsanna:
"You’ve done well. The Loquata is mine at last."

She took a single droplet from the stem and let it fall into the pool.

[Image: The oasis pool swirling with magical energy, transforming into three perfect, steaming bowls of sinegang.]

The waters rippled, then shimmered.

Three bowls of sinegang bloomed into being—rich broth, perfectly soft vegetables, and steaming slices of marinated meat. Cold water sparkled nearby. A basket of glistening rice steamed in welcome.

They feasted like warriors returned from battle. Their laughter returned. Their strength renewed.

None noticed when Elsanna vanished—leaving behind only a puff of frozen smoke.

Boka blinked into his soup.
"This… this dish. I remember… from the tower… It’s… Boka-boka\~!"

Baby smiled faintly.
"A remembered dream, once forgotten. Its-a-baby\~"

Zsolista’s spoon paused mid-air.
"The man from the other realm. The dream-guardian. This was his favorite. I know it. Witch? Witch…?"

But there was no answer.

Only broth and memory.

They looked around—and finally saw it. The oasis was not real. Not truly. The forest that had once thrived here was gone.

Their haste. Their hunger. Their magic. All had drained the land.

[Image: The trio casting rain and earth spells, the forest beginning to regrow around them in vibrant magical patterns.]

Quietly, they stood.

They lifted their hands.

They called the rains and summoned the roots.

From their Bag of Wonderment, they pulled forgotten seeds, sacred water, and ancient soil. The forest, though wounded, seemed to listen. The first raindrop kissed the earth like an apology. The second brought the smell of mossy memory. With each whispered incantation and careful spell, green returned.

They worked through sunrise and moonfall, through season-swirled winds that carried pollen songs. They danced in slow circles to awaken hibernating soil. They sang old rhymes taught by Queen Mother herself—spells of laughter, restoration, and leaf-shelter.

Time passed—seasons upon seasons. And the forest grew back.

Leaves unfurled like yawns. Roots stretched with soft thunder. Birds tested the air and returned their songs. Flowers blinked open in bursts of joy. Life dared to be loud again.

And only when the wind whispered “Thank you” did they move on.

Back on the middle path once more, stronger than they had left it, they marched.

Until—

[Image: A massive, moss-covered Tree King rising from the roots ahead, blocking their path with a roaring bellow.]

The ground trembled.

Roots curled. Leaves screamed.

From the soil, a colossal being rose—not summoned, not born—but remembered. It carried the shape of a tree and the fury of a forgotten oath. Moss crowned its tangled brow, and its eyes glowed like sunrise caught in stormwater.

The Forest King had awoken.

And it was not pleased.

 

Chapters for Unmelting Ice of Frozen Joy

 

Chapter 1 of 8: The Unmelting Ice of Frozen Joy

Chapter 2 of 8: The Slobbery Squirrel Stampede

Chapter 3 of 8: The Loquata of Desire and Fire

Chapter 4 of 8: The Curse of Forest King Rizzoff

Chapter 5 of 8: The Castle of the Frozen Mountain

Chapter 6 of 8: The Heart of the Frozen Castle

Chapter 7 of 8: The Choice Beneath the Ice

Chapter 8 of 8: The Last Drop of Loquata

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Journey 2 is shaping up nicely! We are up to journey 4 but we also have like 3 side stories planned on top of the main story where they are making the present. Its like a writers version of power creep, we have the project management problem of scope creep lol

But I am the one making all the decisions and I keep increasing. It keeps me busy and I feel like its helping somewhat.

I havent been writing my book, I kinda want to just post what I have so far as blog post and maybe that will motivate me to continue those stories. I want to be published but this is me self-publishing so thats kinda done? I am just not making any money lol I guess I did tell myself that I cant go into writing to make money.

Thats probably why I have my real job. 

Still the dream is to change this hobby to a Jobby.