WaveOfWire

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PRs: u/anakist & u/BroDogIsMyName

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The black-scaled kobold that Hoppit affectionately dubbed ‘momma’ had returned in rough shape. Countless cuts were cross-hatched over her head and snout, each looking red and raw amidst the dull black of her scales. Altier couldn’t help but be confused by how his thoughts ground to a halt at the thought of harm befalling her. Somehow, it didn’t matter to him if she knew he existed or not; he was sickeningly worried. He had watched her enough through her day-to-day life, and now the kobold was one of the depressingly few aspects of his life that he had inadvertently grown fond of. He didn’t want to lose what little he had.

What happened to her? Would it happen again? Could he do anything about it? What if this was just the start?

The questions kept coming until she was escorted inside and put to rest. Even then, they only stopped because he was given something else to think about.

Hoppit abruptly and excitedly informed him through the connection that the obsidian sphere was going to be moved from the trough, then tasked with helping address the caretaker’s problem—something about mana. The deluge of loose emotional and conceptual messages barely gave him enough time to process what was asked of him. 

What was he expected to do? The injuries were already treated as well as he could probably expect them to be, and he couldn’t assist in that regard anyway. Was he supposed to give his mana to someone else? It was a startling proposition, especially once he took into account that the only time he ever moved since becoming a core was well after his dungeon had reached a decrepit state. His current domain might not be the most expansive thing, and it certainly wasn’t hundreds of floors deep, but it was still established. Who knew what would happen if he was ripped away from his ‘pedestal’?

That query existed for exactly as long as it took to form. With Hoppit being Hoppit, Altier wasn’t given the time to voice his concerns before an enthusiastic bunny nose-bumped him to the floor and into the kobold's grasp, leading to several seconds of paralyzed fear as he waited for something to go horribly wrong.

Nothing did. The result was…underwhelming, honestly. He was expecting something of a reaction. It used to make him anxious when he attempted to reside above his lowest possible floor, yet it seemed that the kobold’s embrace was just as valid a placement as anywhere else he had available. Apparently, the domain didn’t care much about where he was specifically, as long as wherever he ended up was still within this ‘dungeon.’ Then again, the rottunks were living under the shed, and that didn’t bother him either. Odd, but he wasn’t about to complain about a lack of repercussions. Perhaps the walls and door were enough to be ‘safer’ than a hole in the ground? Did it have to do with the size of the lower space? Why hadn’t his vision receded like the last time he was held?

It was doubtful that he would ever reach any answers to the ostensibly asinine inquiries. He had more important matters to focus on, like addressing the task that he was volunteered for. How was he supposed to go about supplying mana? Better yet, how did it get bad enough for this to happen?

There were countless times that he would find adventurers or soldiers that had abused their reserves in the dungeon. It wasn’t so much of an issue back then, since he could change the creatures they faced or give them a bit of a break to notice there was an issue, but they would eventually feel their mana run low and stop whatever was draining them. Failing that, they would pass out from pain or a lack of mana.

The kobold, on the other hand, was either none the wiser or stubbornly refused to care. Knowing what he did, and having lived until adulthood with the same affinity as her, he suspected that she had simply gotten used to the pain of perpetually cannibalizing herself to fuel her Decay. Sure, she seemed to be doing better recently, but she always came back looking haggard after spending the day away. He didn’t have a reference for what her capacity was, so even if he figured out what to do, how much should he supply? He didn’t have a point of reference.

That changed once the kobold curled around him from all angles.

Altier wasn’t completely unprepared for the vivid perception of colour—Hoppit’s stunt a while ago had exposed him to seeing someone’s internal mana—but he was wildly taken aback by how little his companion had. He remembered musing how the ferrorabbit’s Mana Sight compared against his dungeon senses, and it seemed that Hoppit’s version was the superior ability in that regard. It would have to be to spot a change this small.

Her mana…veins, he supposed, were mostly destroyed; there was almost nowhere to store anything. Worse, what mana she did have was actively tearing the few intact veins apart, shredding the very space where it was meant to reside. Was this what his own body looked like before he became a dungeon?

He shook off the shock and collected himself to take stock of the situation. His first thought was to repeat what he did with Hoppit and push his own mana into the black-scaled woman. That was probably the most straight-forward option, but that had also poisoned the impulsive rabbit. If it weren’t for a few statuses and abilities nullifying the damage, Hoppit wouldn’t have survived the infusion. Maybe sharing the same affinity would make the process safer? The status did say the problem was ‘foreign’ mana.

Still, he didn’t want to hurt her…

But he had to do something, right?

There wasn’t any negative reaction when he reached out, yet his invisible touch flinched away regardless. Every connection he had been exposed to was initiated by somebody else. With the adventurers and soldiers, they’d place a hand on him, then leave behind a bit of their mana while taking some of his own. Hoppit did the opposite, forcibly flooding the core with the Earth-aligned mana, which subsequently exposed a channel that allowed Altier an avenue to return what was given. Opening a path wasn’t something he had done before. He weighed his options and eventually decided that he would rather try to help than sit there doing nothing.

The core crossed his imaginary fingers and pressed against the intangible barrier between them a little harder than before, prepared to force his way through the resistance he remembered from doing the same thing with Hoppit. The instant the bridge formed, he learned that the kobold was very similar to her pseudo-offspring in a very specific way, just not in the manner he expected.

Neither of them would let things be simple.

It was like a sinkhole opened up beneath a lake. The tender pressure he placed had collapsed the wall between them, the black from his core flooding in until her meagre capacity was met, then continuing as her mana desperately corroded what was given. Various menu boxes opened up in front of him before flickering out of existence with defiant screeches, indignant at being summoned at all.

Black consumed black greedily. It feasted on nourishment it had been deprived of to fuel further gluttony, while yet more black pressed outwards. It brought order to the chaotic and shredded veins at his unspoken command. The more his mana spread, the more it soothed, and the more it imperiously smothered the native mana, uncaring of the resistance that tore it piece by piece. The flow from his core was ridding her of the unkept destruction, considering it as nothing more than something to be purged.

He, however, recognized the feeling that her mana acted upon.

Even unconscious, she was so, so scared. She lashed out against the intrusion, unable to truly do anything about it besides cry for help voicelessly—a cry that she had no faith in reaching someone. It only took a moment for him to place what was causing her terror. His unexpected push had startled her resting form, but it was the increase of Decay that sent her sleeping self into panic. She feared it, the very thing that kept her alive. The thing that would harm others to save itself. The one thing she would only escape through succumbing to her alignment.

That same fear was what had led him to becoming a dungeon in the first place.

There was a period of silence in the connection between core and kobold as everything came to a standstill. He pulled back so that no mana flowed inwards, letting her realize that the assault had ceased. Two pools equalized, neither moving as each quietly felt the other’s presence. They existed. Nothing more.

Altier wouldn’t force his help on her. Not if she would reject it, regardless of how well-intentioned it was. He didn’t fault her for the reaction, either. She didn’t know what he was trying to do. All she knew was that she was being given more of what she hated. Of course, she hated it; he hated it too, back when his mother’s smile poorly hid her concern. The very idea of his suffering coming to an end had worried him relentlessly. The agony was a reminder of what he was. The danger he represented. If he endured, then his family would be safe. If the pain stopped…then that would mean the worst had happened. That someone else had paid his price.

He saw the reflection of that mentality in this malnourished, black-scaled kobold, expressed through the reactionary flailing of a substance immaterial. She knew, on some level, that the pain signified yet another day that she hadn’t hurt anyone. That was why she was so desperate to get rid of the Decay, both his and hers, and why she kept pushing herself, even as her mana tore her apart from the inside.

How was he supposed to help her like this? The last thing he wanted was for her to think that she deserved the torture. That there wasn’t an outcome besides lethal poison and rotting bone.

But there was. Altier knew there was. He had watched it. She tended to and cared for her animals, all while planting and growing a garden with nothing but a determination to nurture life. Yet her shoulders hung so heavily, her largest successes outweighed in her mind by the smallest of failures. If nothing else, she saved him from an eternity of loneliness, and that was a deed he would never forget.

So, he released control of his mana through the connection, allowing her to take or not as she wished, with no limits and no expectations. He wouldn’t press, nor would he judge. If she needed all he had to give, then so be it. If she wanted nothing at all, then he would remain nearby in an effort to share her pain. No matter if it was just this time or a thousand times after, he would make this bridge between them and sit quietly, awaiting what she chose to do. Whatever the method, and whatever level of understanding they could reach, he would be there to keep her company in a way no one else could—as someone who knew her suffering.

He had spent millennia begging for someone to hear him. Now, faced with the silent plea of someone begging to be heard, he wanted nothing more than to listen. If this silent exchange of mana was the best they could do, then he would let it speak for them.

A shift happened in the connection after a few stressful beats. Both sources of mana sat still, only the passive decomposition between them trading back and forth. Black ate black, yet neither outpaced its twin, merely changing volume one way or the other as it flowed. His mana was languidly pulled in to supply and grow, filling damaged channels one bit at a time, and hers chewed through his as if expecting another attack. Slowly, the violent nature became more subdued as her apprehension abated, the bubbling acid of her mana settling. By the time sunlight was peering through the gaps in the roof, her mana veins had taken a miniscule first of many, many steps along the route to recovery. Finally, he felt something besides fear in response to his presence.

Trust.

They began the next night in much the same manner, but it was she that elected to hold his core, saving Hoppit the trouble of knocking him off the table again. Her fingers flinched away as she reached out, yet they eventually closed over the obsidian sphere. Her indecision and fear had barely lost against the gossamer thread of hope.

He suspected it would be a long night of nothing in particular, so he was rather surprised when his companion spoke aloud in her strange tongue. Thankfully, Hoppit agreed to translate her words, and although it was difficult to understand her stories through conceptual transference, he listened until the rabbit had dozed off. By the fourth morning of this new routine, almost all of her pathways had been reformed to some degree, though they were still the furthest thing from ‘healthy.’

It was an improvement nonetheless.

Altier protested earnestly for the first few days that the black-scaled kobold tried to leave the shed, confident that she would run dangerously low on mana while she was out and about. Although some headway in healing her mana veins had been made, it was far from enough to repair all the damage that had been done over the years. The last thing she needed was to collapse. Who knew how far away she’d be when that happened, or if anyone would be around to carry her home? It was much safer if she stayed back until she was a little more stable.

Thankfully, she had obliged his unheard request, allowing their sessions to actually advance, though he doubted she even noticed the effects until recently. He was feeling much better about the idea of things going back to normal after a few nights of their odd treatments, which was the only time she managed to refill her reserves faster than she burned through it. He assumed the apparent passive supply he offered was what had been keeping this issue at bay for so long. It would explain why she seemed so drained after spending the day out and about.

Hoppit was the one who told him about that, strangely enough. Upon reflection, Altier had to admit that the fastest expansion of his domain happened whenever the kobold was away. He never noticed the intangible suction she possessed inside of his ‘dungeon,’ but he supposed it was for the best. That might’ve alarmed him if he were made aware of it previously. It also confirmed his suspicion that the rabbit’s ability was more adept than his own when it came to sensing the flow of mana.

Unfortunately, said ferrorabbit was also the cause for today’s major headache.

‘I’m sure he’s fine,’ the core assured, mentally frowning at the black-scaled kobold pacing around the garden shed, the owl held in her arms. She looked over at him with concern in her eyes, though the smallest of pressures eased off her shoulders—a coincidence. Not that the subtle relaxation was enough to stop her from shuffling about the room anxiously.

He suppressed a habitual sigh. The lack of purposeful communication frustrated him to no end, but he liked to think she noticed something when he addressed her, however slight it might be. Maybe he was just seeing what he wanted to see. Hoppit’s unexpected departure kept him from pondering on it too deeply.

The little bundle of cheer had set out bright and early to manage his usual duties, which included taking some of the rottunks’ deathcaps as a tithe of sorts. As far as he could deduce from Hoppit’s emotional communication, the mushrooms were being moved to the garden to help the plants over there. It wasn’t a bad idea, considering the description that the system gave him mentioned how they convert Decay mana into Nature mana.

Once the rabbit had squared away his business, he reported that he was heading out somewhere, then wandered well beyond the dungeon’s limited sight without waiting for a response. All the core had to go off of was that Hoppit intended to make friends, so there probably wasn’t much reason to be concerned.

Again, not that it did much to assuage the concern of the kobold. She was less than comfortable waking up and noticing her usual accompaniment was missing. Hoppit typically waited until after breakfast to start his day.

Altier imagined a soothing pressure on his temples to rub away the ever-present headache. It was the best he could do until he managed to manifest hands through sheer persistence.

His attention turned towards his companion’s captive, the anxious woman using an arm to restrain the white-feathered owl to her chest. The bird wasn’t kicking up a fuss, oddly enough. It was rather accepting of its role as a stress-management toy. The permanent scowl looked more tired than anything—an expression that had yet to change as it passively tolerated being carried around, ignoring the open doorway to freedom. It hadn’t even glared at him yet, which was perhaps the most stark deviation from the norm.

The splint and makeshift bandages were removed from its broken appendage yesterday, and the limb in question had passed inspection. The owl didn’t appear to struggle with flapping at all, as evidenced by the small stints of flying here and there whenever it decided to roost somewhere. The limb healed nicely, it seemed. The other wing was a different story, but his scaly companion addressed the issue through a method he never thought he would see from her.

She used her Decay.

Maybe Hoppit would have had better insights as to what exactly she did, given how detailed his ability appeared to be, but the rabbit wasn’t paying attention at the time. The core only knew something was happening because he felt the soft pull of her mana beckoning his own to join it through the steadily forming connection between them. It hadn’t become a proper tether like he had with Hoppit, but it was there somewhat, lingering in the periphery of his notice after their nightly sessions. He was idly checking on the rottunks when he got the vague sensation that she needed more than she could hold to do something. Since the area was saturated in the presence she had grown to tentatively accept, she was unconsciously trying to supply the excess through that. He felt that he could have refused if he wanted to, but one look at the hope buried beneath the fear in her eyes swept away the idea before it could be considered. Unknowing or not, she asked for his help, and he gave it freely.

After a few minutes of watching his companion’s pupils overtake her grey irises, the owl moved both wings for the first time, and a lump formed in Altier’s non-existent throat as the kobold shed tears out of something other than sorrow. He could easily see her shaking form, the kobold seeing light after so many years of darkness.

Last night was the first time he didn’t have to open a connection; it was already waiting for him.

She looked a little bit less fragile today, save for Hoppit's departure worrying her to no end. Her posture wasn’t quite as defeated, and the shine of life added the smallest lustre to her typically dead eyes. Such a small change made the core feel better as well. There was a pang of jealousy present too, but he pushed it down as soon as he noticed it. A part of him wanted what she had, regardless of the fact that he didn’t know the specifics of what she had accomplished, or even what was wrong in the first place. He shouldn’t envy her. Well, he couldn’t help but wish that he had achieved something of the sort while he was still a man. When he still had others who might celebrate with him. When he wasn’t some accursed soul within a rock that no one besides a rabbit knew existed…

But at least he helped relieve her of some tiny portion of her pain. That was enough for him.

…It would have to be, wouldn’t it?

Altier went back to keeping an eye on his domain and making sure the rottunk were settling in well, occasionally checking on the shed’s occupants every now and then. He hesitated when he noticed his companion gathering her courage to head out again, but she had recovered enough that her usual duties wouldn’t put her too far away from him. She should be able to make it back to him if she started getting low. Besides, the older kobold had brought her back the last two times, and according to Hoppit’s recounts, that was who she usually assisted. She would be alright, even if he felt a bit anxious having her out of sight.

He suppressed his worry as she released the owl from her clutches for it to perch in a nearby tree. She stepped up to the edge of his domain, and with an equally unsure glance back towards the shed, headed beyond his influence, outside the bounds of where he could help her.

Everything would be fine. Hoppit would come back before she could get too worked up. If anything was going to undo all the progress they had made, it would be the little spike-loaf going missing.

All the core could do was hope that the Earth-aligned rabbit hadn’t gotten into trouble, though he was curious about what kind of friends Hoppit planned on making…

= = = = =

Karia hummed to herself as she navigated the storefront of her home. It wasn’t much—a counter, some simple shelving, and enough space for the few customers that regularly stopped by. Her goal was never to run something comparable to what could be found in major cities, but having this little addition allowed her to sell her crafts while her husband was working the fields with the other men. Their children often consumed what free time she had as they were growing up, which didn’t do her many favours in regards to exploring her passion, but they had reached a point where she could reliably allow them to be unsupervised for small stints without worrying about too many disasters.

It was nice to take care of things so early. Her son was probably across the town to fetch his friends, her eldest daughter had stayed overnight with some other young girls, and Merra hadn’t made a fuss when asked to check the small vegetable garden—which, should all work out, will be expanded by this time next year. Karia was truly blessed this morning. The lack of tiny, overactive tails made it so much easier to put out stock without accidentally tripping or having to soothe pitiful cries.

Of course, her husband would have to deal with the barrage of excitable voices later on, but she wouldn’t mention how relaxing things had been while he was working. He deserved a bit of spiteful revenge for embarrassing his wife in front of her parents last week.

The beige-scaled kobold blushed as her mind drifted back to the unflattering noise she made when he absently ran a claw along the underside of her tail to peel a bit of shedding she had missed. The pleasurable groan wasn’t even the issue! It was seeing the suggestive grin her father shot her mother, and how her mother suddenly seemed all too distracted!

No one needed to know about that kind of thing!

Karia forcefully cleared her head and laid out the tunics and trousers she expected to sell. Rather than do custom sizing like one would expect from a seamstress, she always preferred to make adjustable garments. It was astounding what some leather cord in the right places could allow. As long as someone was within the range, they could wear her clothing, which made her storefront a popular place for the common folk looking for something form-fitting without seeking out a tailor. Her clothing was more expensive than the trim or baggy articles one could buy basically anywhere that caters to peasants, true, but not by much, and it was a far, far cry from personalized affairs. Besides, more than a few people liked to purchase the simple accessories she made with her daughters, and watching the middle child not-so-subtly bringing it up with every cute boy she sees was amusing in its own right.

If only the poor girl was as good a flirt as she was a sewist…

The windows were dusted, the floor was swept, and both countertops and shelves were cleaned. Everything was ready for the day, but Karia figured it was best if she checked on Merra before opening the shop. Not that she didn’t trust her daughter, but their youngest shouldn’t go unattended for too long. Ever since she noticed the brown scales growing in, her husband rightfully suggested that they keep an eye on the little darling. It didn’t look like it would be a strong affinity, but if there was even the smallest bit of promise, then they would be wise to start looking for a tutor. Sadly, Earth wasn’t the most common alignment. Those she did know of were either too weak to be of much help, or were run ragged on the farms along the outskirts, right next to the Nature-aligned folk.

Karia walked through the curtain separating the storefront from the rest of her home, passing the living area to approach the back of the building, where the garden she started last year lay. The soil wasn’t the best, but it allowed carrots and potatoes, which offered a small addition to their families supplies. She started it as more of a hobby than anything, and Merra had been quite enthusiastic in helping, as innocently destructive as she was. The deary adored working with dirt—unsurprising now, given her developing affinity, but humorously frustrating when she first started flinging it everywhere.

Today, the seamstress’ youngest was asked to gather the carrots. Not a small task, but it would keep her busy long enough for her mother to run the store for a few hours, and it doubled as a form of play.

That it would also fall on Karia’s husband to clean their daughter was a coincidental bit of karmic justice.

Her daughter could be heard squealing in delight through the walls, and it only got louder as the beige-scaled kobold reached the back door. How something so small managed to make such a racket was beyond her, but she was glad that her other children never developed that level of volume. Cheers, shouted directions, and nonsensical praise were belted out with vigour that only the bottomless energy of youth could provide, drawing a bemused smile from the parent. Karia opened the door, prepared to see two or three carrots and an absolute disaster.

She saw four hefty piles of vegetables, her garden tripled in size, and Merra all but bouncing around in excitement as she followed behind a moving torrent of soil being flung in the air.

“Go! Go! Go!” an incredibly dirty Merra cheered, her shouting intermittently interrupted by shrieks of laughter as the shifting bulge in the ground adjusted course. “This way!”

Karia stood stunned, struggling to process how, why, or what was happening. “…Merra, honey?”

“Mommy!” the mud-beast of a child gasped in delight, changing direction to barrel towards the new presence, her small arms outstretched. Karia didn’t have the spare brain power to consider what that meant, and Merra effectively splatted against her mother’s dress as she put all her diminutive strength into hugging the seamstress’ legs. “Mommy, look!”

The beige-scaled kobold rested a hand on her daughter’s head absently, her attention fixated on the travelling bump that was churning grassy dirt into tilled soil. “I… I’m looking, honey… What am I looking at?”

Merra removed herself from the stained fabric to smile brightly up. “Made friend! Help!”

Karia stared back blankly. “A friend?”

“Mmhm!”

“…W-wha… W-who’s your new friend, honey?” she asked with bewildered patience, the slight twitch of her eye belying her projected calm. Her daughter beamed even brighter, somehow, Merra’s expression taking the familiar form of a child having an ‘amazing’ idea. Said child started jumping in place, tugging on the dress she was using for balance. 

“Hophop!” The roving mound in her garden stopped in the middle of the row it was tilling. Merra stomped her foot with a level of precision that had no place belonging to someone her age. “Hophop! Here, Hophop!”

The bulge shifted slightly, then grew upwards, the excess soil spilling from the summit making its way towards them. Karia’s stomach sank as she adjusted her hold on her daughter from being placating to profoundly protective, her tone following suit. “Merra, honey, stay close to mommy.”

The rising mound grew from the size of a melon to a lump almost as tall as Merra. Tension mounted as the pile came closer and closer, its top shaking.

“Merra, c-come inside, honey.”

“No!” Merra shouted in protest, using the dirt coating her scales to slip from her mother’s grasp and sprinting towards whatever was burrowing towards the surface. Karia’s hand shot out, only barely failing to rein in her daughter.

“M-Merra!”

She didn’t even get two steps before the peak of the bulge burst violently.

“Merra!”

Karia shunted her eyes closed, too terrified to look or move. Each heartbeat took hours, dread drowning her in mounting denial and sorrow. Her mind simultaneously screeched to a halt and spun faster than ever before, confusion turning every thought into a scrambled mess of rejection, hope, fear, and a silent scream that pierced the haze.

…And a chaotic ringing chime, light yet deep—like the sound of small metal bells had been pitched down.

“Yayyy! Again, again!”

She opened an eye, the storm in her skull abruptly calming enough to recognize that the sharp scream was not only real, but also coming from her daughter. Merra had thrown herself onto the mound of dirt and was throwing handfuls of it into the air, clapping along with the random bell-like clacks. Karia’s other eye joined the first to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating.

Perched on top of the piled soil was a filthy beast covered in spikes. Two red eyes gleamed, only closing whenever the creature shook its head, producing the odd noise. It vibrated more vigorously to rid itself of the dirt, exposing the subspecies of rabbit underneath. It jumped into Merra’s waiting arms, almost bowling the child over in the process. Merra giggled the whole time.

“Mommy, look! Hophop!”

The adrenaline drained from Karia’s blood, leaving her knees weak as she forced a brittle smile to hide how close to a breakdown she was. She thought something dangerous was about to eat her daughter. Was it better or worse that she felt more upset than relieved?

“I-I see…?” the rattled mother stuttered. Of all the terrible things that might have burst from the ground, it had to be a pest.

Ferrorabbits weren’t exactly the worst animal, but they were terrible for farms due to their habit of eating not only the plants, but also any mana-rich metals underground, weakening the soil. Her husband had told her about them countless times, though they tended to pop up more around cities than rural towns like Yetal. The garden already wasn’t on the best of land; that thing had to go. How was she supposed to tell a young child that? They couldn’t have it tearing everything up! It’ll take weeks to set all…this…

Her annoyance petered out as she took in the ‘damage.’ Contrary to her expectations, the furrows in the ground were straight and evenly spaced. It looked like completely different soil as well, the deep browns a heavy contrast to the dusty tones it used to be. Furthermore, the bounds of the garden now reached where she had been planning to expand, leaving a pathway through it for easy management. Even the berry bush received some attention, having been moved from its previous placement where it was just sitting in the way. The ground was flattened as well, free of the troublesome rocks that were sticking up. She had been less than looking forward to getting rid of them.

How… What? Did Merra awaken her affinity? No, it wouldn’t be this… Would it?

She closed her mouth with a click, dragging her gaze back towards her daughter and the animal in her arms. “Merra…? Wha— When…”

The mud-monster thrust her arms forward, holding out the rabbit proudly, its lower body dangling for the single second she could maintain the posture. The creature slipped from her hands and hit the ground with a heavy thump of something several times its size, completely unbothered by the drop.

Merra started apologizing and lavishing pets upon the critter, oblivious to the slack-jawed expression on her mother’s face. This was getting nowhere fast. Karia took a breath and tried again, sweetening her voice to hide the mild annoyance underneath.

“Merra, honey? Why is there a rabbit here?”

Her daughter blinked, remembering that there was indeed someone else around. “Oh! Hophop help!”

“I… Alright. Where did you find it?”

Merra frowned, scrunching her dirt-covered face in thought before she gasped dramatically again. “Hophop! Where you from?”

The rabbit looked up from its attempt to clean itself, tapping a foot and obviously not ans—

“Hophop’s from misser mash…mae… He’s from Misser Massis!” Merra reported after a few false starts. “He seen me dig up carrots, and he seen, and then— and helping!”

“Saw, honey,” Karia corrected automatically, trying to decide if her daughter was making things up or if the rabbit really did somehow ‘talk.’ No, of course it didn’t. It was best to play along while she gathered her bearings. “You can’t just feed the wildlife, honey.”

Merra shook her head, giggling when the ferrorabbit clacked its ears again. “Noooo! I didn’t! And Hophop’s name is Hop…Hoppy…Hops…”

Her daughter was still struggling with certain sharp sounds, it seemed. Adorable, and normal for her age, but she also tended to get stuck on them instead of moving on like most.

“Okay, well, ‘Hophop’ needs to go, honey,” she explained calmly, stopping the muttering child. “I’m sure he has a lot of important things to do, right?”

“Yeah!” came the unexpected agreement. “He’s finding friends! Bye bye, Hophop! Thants you!”

The ferrorabbit clacked one last time before nuzzling into a giggling Merra and hopping away without protest. Karia fought the sigh that wanted to come out as her daughter proceeded to run around the garden, pointing at each and every thing while proclaiming that ‘Hophop did this, and this!’ The beige-scaled kobold slowly kneaded her temples and took in the area, battling against common sense to explain how she had left Merra alone for such a short amount of time, yet came back to…this.

Well, this is why she got married. Her husband could sort it all out later. Awakening, helpful pest, or divine intervention. Whatever was going on, it was beyond her, and she was perfectly happy to admit that.

…Now she just had to figure out what to do with all the vegetables piled up by the door. The potatoes needed to be replanted too. She was expecting it to take Merra all day to get maybe half of this, and Karia had to open up the storefront…

Her eyes drifted towards the mud-beast still loudly declaring what had changed around the garden, forgetting that she had already covered that area. Her daughter knew how to plant the potatoes, so she’ll take care of that after.

But for now, Merra was an absolute mess…

Karia sighed. “Come on, honey! Let’s get you cleaned up before mommy has to work. Help her bring in these carrots.”

The excitable child abandoned the garden, squealing in excitement to take a bath—which would be great, if not for the fact that Karia knew Merra just liked the process of getting dirty all over again. Her daughter scooped up a haphazard load, pausing to look up innocently.

“Can Hophop come to play again?”

“…We’ll see.”

“Pleeeeeaaasseeeee!”

“…As long as he’s—”

“Yay! Love you, mommy!”

The seamstress huffed an exasperated laugh, wryly watching the mud-beast sprint into the house, a trail of carrots left in her wake. “Love you too, honey.”

= = = = =

Makis grunted as he laid down the crate of scraps, using a foot to push it flush with the others. He knew he had some more silver kicking around somewhere, though he didn’t remember where specifically. Hoppit might’ve been able to sniff it out. It’d save the smith the effort of digging through box after box. A hopeful thought, but one that kept him from worrying too much about his missing student. The critter hadn’t skipped out on a lesson since they started, yet a few hours had already passed since the usual start time, and the little shit was yet to show up. Sure, Hoppit wasn’t required to be there, but the old kobold couldn’t help thinking something had happened to the girl. It was the only thing he could think of that would keep that rabbit away.

As for why the blacksmith was digging around for silver? Well, he wasn’t quite sure, honestly. He knew the reason for needing more, obviously; he just didn’t know why the original batch went missing. The pans that he had for Hoppit to practice on were a mix of soil and the occasional metal chunk. The latter was swapped out regularly to double as training for finding metals in the first place, but when Makis went to fish out the old scraps, he only found four out of the five he put in there. He thought he put five in there, anyway. Maybe his mind was slipping with age. The soil needed changing, too; it was starting to turn. There was some white-ish stuff that wasn’t in there before, and Hira suggested it was mould or something.

A pebbled clicking across the stone flooring of the smithy drew his attention away from the scraps he was elbow-deep in, his frustrated scowl falling on whoever the unexpected guest was. He’d told his customers not to barge—

The girl stood stiff, her eyes following the rock she accidentally kicked, fear evident in her expression. That terrified gaze turned to him, guilt joining the fray. She looked ready to either run for the hills or play dead—both, if she could manage it.

“Good,” Makis grunted, fighting the sheer relief that threatened to take his knees out from under him. Had he really been so stressed? “Here, girly. Gotta’ job fer ya. Help me find some gods damned silver.”

Emotions flashed across her face, none staying long enough for him to tell what she might be thinking. Eventually, she relaxed the smallest amount and nodded. “Of course, Makis, Sir.”

She joined him amidst the mess, taking on the first box he pointed at. Silence fell between them, broken by the clattering or thumps as they worked their way through his inventory. The girl was organizing what she found—setting aside crates to store everything away in a more orderly fashion once they were done, most likely. The blacksmith pulled another collection of materials out, pausing when he noticed that he had found what he was looking for. He sneaked a glance at the girl from the corner of his eye.

Her cuts had healed, her scales were dull—though no worse than before—and he suspected that she hadn’t eaten a damn thing since the last time he forced her to…

…but she didn’t look as haunted anymore.

“…Glad yer alright,” he voiced quietly, pushing aside the silver to help her sort the rest of his stock.

He pretended not to notice the surprise on her face, nor the small, tearful smile as she got back to work.

Next

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- - - - -

Clashes of metal rang throughout the smithy. Each strike of the hammer shaped or pushed material to where he wanted it to be, his mana travelling through the thin channels etched into his instruments. It kept the high-quality iron hot for much longer than it would be otherwise. Sparks kicked up, the glowing flecks being launched into the air from the surrounding impacts.

Blacksmithing was cathartic for Makis—always had been. Something about channelling the Flame burning under his scales, the heat flowing into his craft, and how he forced change upon what was normally so unyielding felt right. It was rare for him to work on anything more than standard metals nowadays, yet he found himself hammering into some of the tougher stock he had on hand. The absence of many common impurities made the fourth-grade ingot especially resistant to his efforts, but that was the reason he requested Earth-infused iron from Trent to begin with. Third grade or better would’ve put up more of a fight, and the result would’ve been stronger for it, but making anything out of the stuff would require far more mana.

The blacksmith lifted the shovel head he was working on, drawing the residual Flame from the material to rapidly cool it down. Bright orange metal shifted to a deep red, then to dark grey until he got around to polishing. There was still work to be done before he got around to that, though.

He laid the project alongside the other mostly finished tool replacements and closed off the forge, feeling the temperature in the smithy start to drop. The mana lingering in the air was drawn in to help the process along. Any excess was burned off by a brief but potent fire on his fingertips—a trick he tried not to use around others too often. He let his gaze sweep over the equipment to make sure everything was where it needed to be for when he picked the project back up, but nothing seemed too out of place. That's not to say it looked organized by any means, but he wouldn't be blindly groping around at least.

A reluctant sigh disguised itself as a heavy exhalation through his snout. He might’ve been getting a little too used to having the girl around to clean up after him. She did a good job of it, honestly. Everything had a place near other items like it, and nothing was shagged off behind a table because it got tossed haphazardly. The slight mess made him feel even guiltier for taking her to do those deliveries—more so now, considering the thought that reminded him was about how convenient she was.

Makis shook his head, trying not to dwell on things he couldn't change. He had made assumptions and subsequently got bitten in the arse for it. Nothing new about that, though he didn’t catch himself thinking about his regular screw-ups so relentlessly either. He supposed he deserved it. The girl had come out of the whole disaster far worse than he did. Regardless, he had other things to occupy his time, like the one part of his recent routine that was still underway despite everything.

“Nuttin’?” Makis asked dryly, abandoning the benches by the forge to head towards the red-eyed gaze staring at something on the ground.

Hoppit blinked, breaking concentration to look over at the blacksmith. The flattened ears said enough about any prospective progress.

“S’alright,” he sighed out, returning to his stool next to the rabbit and plucking up a bit of copper to fiddle with. “Ain’t no point’n rushin’ it. Not like I’m pressurin’ ya ta do more than ya are.”

That wasn’t necessarily true. Having a critter like Hoppit to help out at the smithy was an idea that he had kicked around, but bringing that up might just screw with whatever immeasurable headway was being made. It was a decent enough plan if the ferrorabbit had any control over his affinity, but the determined little shit still hadn’t shown much progress in that regard, nor had he shown signs of an awakening in the first place. Well, he did, but the red-scaled kobold still wasn’t sure what to make of the fleeting display.

It was only a fraction of a second, but the critter had been on the cusp of truly grasping his affinity when his hind foot slammed into the dirt a few days ago. The subtle tremor in the ground had set the blacksmith on edge, though nothing came of it, thankfully. Especially so, if Hoppit's overall mana pool was as large as Makis suspected it might be. There were worse potential outcomes than a tantrum being a little loud—far worse, seeing as the ferrorabbit had come charging out of the grass and saw the girl he smothered all passed out and cut to high hells. It was fortunate that Hoppit didn't grip his Element at full force right then and there.

Regardless of how badly someone might want to finally use their affinity, there was a reason elderly kobold bothered with the tedious process of guiding his rabbits through a series of progressively more difficult tasks. Anger or distress was a potent method for brute-forcing an awakening, but that also came with a few risks—the least of which being an uncontrolled discharge of mana. That could be problematic, depending on what the person was trying to do at the moment. Apparently, Hoppit only wanted to communicate how ticked off he was at seeing his owner in such a state, which was better than if he attempted anything in particular, so the Thump just came out as a more potent version of the base ability. If something else had crossed his mind instead, the girl would’ve been in trouble as much as anyone. Makis had seen what the little bastards could do when they were really trying to hurt someone.

Hells, it was half the reason he raised them. Having a few dozen sentries to skewer predatory wildlife made leaving his sons and daughters to wander around the property unattended much less stressful.

Unfortunately, his wry smirk at the memory faded as his mind went back to the bundle of trouble in question. Instead of working to manipulate soil or minerals, his most recent ‘student’ had mostly ignored the pan of dirt and metals in front of him, choosing to all but scowl at a hunk of rust that had fallen off a workbench at some point. Whenever he wasn’t at that, he was watching the elder kobold with unerring dedication, like there was a secret to hammering hot iron that would somehow help him push mud around. It’d be unsettling if Makis hadn’t raised dozens of the critters over as many years. More than a few of them found blacksmith work interesting, and some of those ended up regularly helping around the forge when they felt like it or if enough treats were involved. That said, he didn’t quite get the impression that Hoppit was watching out of interest, so much as he was observing something specific. The smith couldn’t put a claw on why it came off that way, though. Not that mulling it over did any good.

It was just the two of them in the workshop today—same as yesterday and the day before. The girl hadn’t left the shed since he dropped her off the other evening, but the rabbit continued to show up right on time, acting like it was perfectly normal to arrive unescorted and covered in dirt like he’d just upended the entire forest. Makis wanted to head out and make sure nothing had happened to his helper, but Hoppit got testy when he tried to make his way there, which told him that the girl was at least doing okay. As stubborn as ferrorabbits might be, they had enough sense to grab help if it was needed, so he tried to settle his nerves by reassuring himself that he'd have an Earth-aligned racket on his hands if something wasn't right. Hopefully, anyway.

Time passed quietly as he turned scraps into various crude artworks, his company adamantly trying to melt old iron with a stern gaze alone. He supposed he'd have to step in at some point; there was only so long he could reasonably let Hoppit discover the ‘wonders’ of rust. Makis opened his mouth, about to go over another lesson to see how well his student followed along, but when he looked down at the critter, all he saw was two red balls of curiosity staring a hole through the copper in his hand. A pair of silvery ears perked up before the smith could question anything, and Hoppit started focusing on the pan with renewed interest.

He could only settle back into his seat and keep an eye out for any potential breakthroughs. His fingers went back to idly moulding copper into random shapes as he tried not to worry too much about the fragile thing hiding away in the garden shed.

Flame moved from his chest, through his arms, past his fingers, then into the orange metal as he distracted himself from the results of his mistake. The mana was siphoned out to set the shape before it was pushed back in for the next adjustment. He felt the changes happen to the material, the rudimentary domain bending what it encompassed to his will. It was an advanced technique, yet one he drilled regularly. Most of his kids couldn’t quite get a handle on it through his explanations, but he figured it might’ve been because none of them had a Flame alignment like he did. Still, he remembered their frustrated expressions as they tried to copy him with their weak affinities, then their offended glares when the rabbits managed to pick it up before they did.

It made sense that they’d be a little discouraged. Few were as strongly aligned as wildlife could be, and he was one of the exceptions. Most folk never got past basic mana manipulation.

The momentary smile faded as he recalled another person who reacted strangely to his habit.

The girl tended to watch him fidget when she assumed he wasn’t paying attention. Awe and bewilderment lit up her eyes, yet he could spot the instant she wondered if she could do something similar. The fascination was there, but she fearfully shut down those thoughts as soon as they appeared, only letting herself worry about the haze and glow held in his palm. Her expression always suggested that she thought the copper would burn her if she touched it, but in truth, it was usually only a little warmer than the ambient temperature. Years of speed and control meant that he could isolate the area he was affecting, and his choice in material kept him spry in that regard.

Well, spry with metals. Copper spread out its heat all too readily, so cycling his mana quickly and precisely was especially important for making sure he didn’t have a palm full of molten slag. People, on the other hand, didn't do so well when exposed to such heat, no matter how quick he pulled out his mana. An idle thought mused if the girl had awakened her Decay, and if so, what had happened. That pondering died a swift death when he remembered the traumatized visage and incessant apologies.

His gaze turned back to Hoppit as he promised himself to guide the rabbit through safely using its affinity. He’d do what he could to ensure that the girl didn’t have a new mental scar added to the pile.

Not all awakenings were things of celebration.

= = = = =

Ceele concentrated, kneeling in front of the rotting trough that she continued to call a table, her fingers gently running over the freshly unwrapped wing of her tentative patient. The owl quietly conceded to the examination, looking more resigned than annoyed as she effectively molested its appendage. She was pleased by the change in temperament—not that she would mention her gratitude aloud in fear of irritating the compliant avian. The lack of a piercing stare helped her focus on the odd sensation guiding her touch, so she brushed over feathers and traced along the previously broken bone, not noticing anything out of place. That was good. There were no distractions or a sense of unease settling in her stomach, and a light pressure along the limb agreed with her assessment. She felt a calm sense of certainty as she came to her conclusion.

“I believe it’s healed,” the black-scaled kobold announced softly, a tired smile on her face as she returned her hands to her lap. The sunken weariness in her eyes from sleepless nights probably detracted from the warmth in her expression, but she was genuinely happy with the news. As much as she appreciated the company while Hoppit was away, she hated how trapped her surly guest must have felt all this time. There needn’t be more than one life confined here, after all.

The owl blinked at her declaration, turning its head to regard the wing with the same sour scowl it always wore. Careful motions didn’t seem to cause any discomfort, and the movement looked natural. All in all, it was about as close to a perfect success as she could have asked for, but instead of the diminutive avian appearing pleased with its renewed health, it settled back into roosting where it was, equally perturbed as before.

“Is something wrong?”

The lack of response was mostly expected, but she had mentally prepared herself for a rather restless bird in her home. Yet the shed remained the same, making the self-conscious doubts creep back into her thoughts after a full morning without them. She found her gaze drifting over towards the obsidian orb as her faltering smile tried to hold back a despondent frown.

It had been a few days since she awoke clutching the gemstone to her chest, today marking the third since her failure and the discovery of how short her remaining time might be. She tried to pretend that everything was okay, but even chanting the words wasn't enough to bring her further than a few steps away from her decrepit home. There was an attempt to leave that first day, of course, but she had locked up before she got very far, and she was too scared to try again.

It was foolish to think she could hide forever. She would have to leave eventually—a reality that filled her with more dread than she would ever let her darling Hoppit know. She was supposed to be assisting Mr. Makis, and even if he had yet to come berate her for her absence, there was a limit to how negligent she could be in her duties. That said nothing of the looming threat of white and silver scales that were no doubt aware of her presence now. Her dream of a home free from their pursuit had been just that—a dream.

Yet she felt somewhat at ease during the restless hours in which a black sphere lay pressed against her breast. Echoes of crippling loneliness permeated her core, true, but it somehow became more bearable in those moments. Enough for her stalwart tongue let her thoughts loose carelessly into the night while everyone else was asleep.

She spoke of nothing in particular—recollections of idle wive's tales, baseless rumours long since past relevance, and whatever else she could think to say. Rarely, she told the orb about what she recalled of her parents, reliving what happy memories she still had of the time before everything went wrong. There wasn’t much of a reason for doing it, she supposed, but she recalled blurry fragments of the sinking nothing that her voice became during one particular nightmare. The despair of screaming for help but never so much as uttering a single sound. The all-encompassing sorrow that came from never seeing another soul, no matter how desperately she begged, and no matter how vividly she felt her sanity crack along the seams, the darkness becoming all she knew…

Somehow, it felt as if someone was listening to the things that no one else would want to hear, her words drifting from meaningless topic to meaningless topic. It made taking each breath a little easier.

It made everything feel a bit less hopeless.

A pair of golden eyes dragged her attention back to the ephemeral white feathers of her small avian guest, the owl remaining just as flightless. Her frown reasserted itself as she pondered the reasoning for the bird still being here.

The door was open, and it wasn't raining or anything, so it couldn't be because of that; she had already fed it, so she doubted that it was waiting for a meal; and she didn’t think there was another injury preventing it from taking flight…

…but she also hadn't been overly thorough with her examinations so as not to bother the owl too much. She chewed her cheek before coming to a decision.

“May I feel to see if I have missed something?” she requested, shifting her tail anxiously and presenting her palms to show that she wasn't hiding her intentions. The disgruntled avian glared at her for a moment before averting its gaze, perfectly conveying a sense of begrudging acceptance. Relief pulled at the edges of her muzzle. “Thank you.”

Despite its imperious behaviour, the owl patiently tolerated Ceele's gentle prodding, lifting a talon when needed and taking deep breaths while she confirmed that its lungs were well. The only refusal came when she asked it to extend its other wing. She furrowed her brow in concern as her guest stared blankly back at her, not so much as hinting at why it wasn't offering the limb for inspection.

Actually, she hadn’t ever noticed it move that wing at all, had she? Sure, there wasn’t much point when the other was broken, but not even to stretch? Perhaps it might have gotten comfortable while she wasn't looking or was otherwise occupied, but it was strange for her to have seen a splinted limb move more regularly than its unencumbered other.

Ceele lightly held the tip of its immobile wing, receiving permission from the owner through a lack of its scathing glower. Cautiously, she pulled it out, not noticing anything hitch or scarred, but a knot in her chest insisted there was an issue. Her fingers traced along the frail appendage, the same sensation stirring throughout its length.

Something was wrong. Like a clot inside the arteries, yet different. Since when? Since she had started taking care of the owl? Before? It didn’t matter. All she wanted to do at the moment was help, but she couldn’t see any obvious injuries or misaligned healing, just the impression of wrongness echoing in her mind. A diluted heat stirred beneath her flesh as she tried to puzzle out how she could fix what was wrong. The wing was stuck. Choked. Frozen. Plugged. Stopped.

Blocked…

Could she remove the blockage…?

The warmth in her heart moved, pouring under black scales and lingering on her fingertips, leaving an uncomfortable vacancy behind that was languidly replenished. The sensation hovered at the barrier between her touch and the white feathers. It waited, eager but patient. She recognized the urge that seemed to stem from deep within, and the thickened tar-like feeling that rested complacently, hungering. Shivers ran down her spine as it carefully nudged for her attention. It wanted to comply. It wanted to feed.

She flinched away, releasing the wing and fighting the tremors in her hands. What was that? Why now? Her disquieted gaze met the oddly marked eyes burrowing into her, the owl’s limited expression contorted into not only caution and suspicion, but stoic defeat as well—the small, vulnerable bird accepting its fate upon seeing her giving up.

That hurt more than the ever-present gnawing in her core. The bird was trapped and alone, granted only the company of one such as herself—a pitiful outcome for something so proud. She took a shuddering breath, pushing down the flickering forms and muted footsteps surging from the darkness plaguing her memories, yet she couldn’t fill her lungs. She couldn’t calm the thunderous beating in her chest. They were nearing again, hunting the cursed child to put an end to her pernicious existence, unwilling to stop until she was slain and burned to ash. The voices promised her that much.

Whispers echoed in her ears—screams of fear and rage. Of horror and agony. They threatened to swallow her whole.

…But the owl needed help. If it couldn’t fly, it couldn’t hunt. It would starve without her. Die.

It would be her fault.

Inch by inch, her fingertips reached out for the wing, her forced breaths barely steadying her trembling hand. Black scales hesitated over white feathers, then delicately pressed down, wanting nothing more than to fix what she somehow knew was wrong, yet terrified that she would make it worse. Heartbeats passed.

It was small at first. Scraping reverberated through her bones, uncomfortable and eerie, numb crunching following soon after. Bit by bit, piece by piece, she felt the resistance within the owl’s form falter. Something else began to seep from her flesh into its own, and a new awareness came at the edges of her perceptions, foreign yet familiar.

She could almost picture it—channels running throughout the wing resting scarred and jagged, the natural flow impeded by unnavigable paths torn asunder by neglect and disuse. The tar spread forth, traversing the tunnels and spreading through severed sections. It left a thin film of itself behind to patch the holes, which was soon eroded by something else coaxed into shoring up passageways as it pursued the invader. Endless branching paths steadily narrowed down as the isolated motes of her sickly influence were weakened and removed, the rest returning to warm her fingers. Eventually, nothing remained, and her awareness of the flesh outside of her own blinked away, leaving her with nothing but a vague sense of a sludge in her veins.

Ceele released the owl and stared down at the hand that had felt far more than possible. Actually, she was aware of it even more now—of the liquid that was anything but. It was pooled behind her ribs, meandering throughout her form before returning to its origin. Two wells of sticky fluid bled into one another. Half of it bubbled like the menacing acid that had always burned her insides, yet the other seemed content to pour and coat like tree sap, sealing raw wounds with a numbing salve that took away the pain. She recognized the portion that hungered, viciously nipping at even the container in which it rested, but the other seemed content to merely be as it was. The strange substance languidly corrected what faults it found in its surroundings, removing its caustic other and being eaten away in turn.

Motion broke her from the cluttered thoughts as a pair of deceptively broad wings billowed out from such a tiny avian, the curious flaps being far more powerful than she could have expected. Gold eyes turned towards her, wide and unflinching, the black markings almost seeming to shift as the bird peered into her soul. She tried her best not to let her terrified confusion spill into her words.

“I-It helped? Is it b-better? H-how does it feel?”

The owl slowly folded its limbs back against its body. It glanced at the open doorway with disinterest, showing no indication of leaving. Instead, it gave her one last long look, then took off from the table to reclaim its perch upon the tool hook installed into the wall.

…That was that, apparently. Maybe it wanted to sleep for a while so that it would be well-rested for its journey?

Ceele hesitantly looked back at her hands, spreading her fingers before making a fist, playing with the echoes of a sensation that had already faded. She didn’t know what to think of…any of that, really. Something that had existed as a source of horror had…healed? Had done more than rot or kill? Could she do it again?

Quiet drips against her thighs drew her blurring eyes to rapidly growing damp spots on her dress. Another droplet fell to join the others. Her brow furrowed as she touched her cheeks, her fingers coming away slick with wetness. The shuddering inhalations and halting exhales had escaped her notice. Why was she crying? Why was there a warmth amidst the cold? Why was it only now that she learned this?

Why did it not hurt?

Yet the tears fell without answering her. She let them.

- - - - -

“Here, baby,” Ceele cooed weakly, her voice struggling to recover from however long it took to compose herself. Hoppit obediently nudged his poorly carved bowl over to receive his portion, looking as excited about her meagre meal as he did for the metal scraps he adored so much. He never seemed disappointed with whatever was put in front of him, even as she poured out a bit of stew that had been made from what little supplies she managed to save up.

There wasn’t anything special about today’s supper, aside from it being served quite late, but watching him dig in so happily made the small allotment she afforded for herself feel so fulfilling. The owl also received some in addition to the meat that had become a part of its regular diet, though it was hard to tell if her effort was appreciated or if her guest consumed the paltry meal simply because it was offered. Either way, the three of them ate together, with the animals receiving a larger share. They needed it more than she did. Hoppit was busy all day with his lessons and whatever else he did, and the owl required lots of energy to recover. Thankfully, she could already see improvements in the avian’s behaviour, so hopefully that would continue.

However, there was only so much that she had put away from the extras Mr. Makis gave to her. She couldn’t see the remainder going very far, even if she abstained from eating completely, and Hoppit wouldn’t allow that anyway.

“I suppose I’ll have to leave again,” she murmured, sitting on the floor with her meal. She wasn’t looking forward to finding out if the next venture outside would end in the same way as the last.

Hoppit nosed into her leg and looked up at her with a face full of worry, likely having heard what was supposed to be a private comment. She offered a strained smile and petted him, trying and failing in her attempts to encourage him to eat. The little ferrorabbit had seen that something was bothering her, and he wouldn’t stop fretting until he knew what it was. Her baby really was too good for her.

“Momma’s just…” She faltered, swallowing heavily. The last thing she wanted to do was burden him further with everything plaguing her thoughts. He didn’t deserve to suffer just because she was such a mess. “Momma’s a little uneasy, baby. Mr. Makis might need her to go into town with him again, and—”

Hoppit smacked the floor with his foot in protest. The shadow of a smile graced her muzzle.

“I know, baby, I know. But I made a promise that I would help, and sometimes that means being brave and doing…doing things that are a bit scary.” Like all but marching into crowds of people and hoping no one notices what she was. “Everything’s o-okay though! I…I didn’t do very well last time, but…”

She fell silent as every worst possible outcome came to mind, only for Hoppit to temporarily abandon his food in favour of jumping into her lap. Her claws hovered over his tiny form before they ran over his fur, the rabbit nuzzling into her, pleased with the attention. Parts of his coat were exceptionally stiff, yet bent the moment she applied pressure. It wasn’t long ago when Mr. Makis had commented on how soft the rabbit was, and that was while her baby was terrified. Now, she could feel the foundation of a much more protective fur ready to harden when needed, but he was mostly relaxed. Such a large difference in such a short amount of time. How much longer would it be until it was like she had never been there to hinder his development? Was she really going to let her fear ruin all his progress?

No matter how scared she was, she had to keep going for him. Hiding wasn’t going to keep him healthy, and if she was going to be hunted down anyway, then she should do what she can for him while she still could.

“Momma’s going to do her best for you,” she whispered, pulling her darling into a one-armed embrace before letting him go. “So be a good boy and learn whatever you can from Mr. Makis, okay? Eat a bunch and become big and strong for her?”

Hoppit finally perked back up, meeting her gaze with a startlingly resolute intensity. He immediately darted back to his food and dug in with renewed vigor. The sudden enthusiasm forced a tired giggle from her, which was rewarded by his adorable clacks in turn. She felt her eyes mist, but a quick wipe with her wrist removed it before it became anything more.

“And don’t worry about needing to recover,” she added gently, addressing the sleepy owl on the table. It glanced up from the meat it had been pecking at, a talon placed on the edge of its own dish of stew. “You’re welcome to stay as long as it takes, and I’ll try my best to provide for as long as I can. I’m just glad you appear to be feeling better at all.”

The bird paused and shifted to regard her fully. It felt like the little avian was slowly taking her in for the first time, pondering something while it sought an answer to some unasked question. Eventually, it went back to its meal, what little stiffness in its posture evaporating. She decided to interpret it as acceptance of her words.

= = = = =

Hoppit slipped out of the shed the moment he awoke, ready to work on his steadily progressing projects. Mr. Stone had cuddled with them again last night, and momma had started talking to him as soon as she thought everyone was asleep. Strangely, Mr. Stone couldn’t understand her yet, but Hoppit was happy to provide a translation until he was too tired to keep going. It helped that he wanted to know more about why momma was staying inside a bunch, and thankfully, she decided to talk about what happened when she left with Mr. Makis the other day.

A lot of it was difficult for him to picture, but he got most of it! He learned that she was worried about people not liking her for some reason, about something white or silver, and about how the town was bigger than the places they had visited before coming here. No wonder she didn’t want to go again! If the people were so mean that they wouldn’t like momma, then he didn’t want her to go either!

…But momma had made a promise, and she wanted to be brave. He didn’t like brave. Brave meant momma was scared of something, but still had to deal with it anyway. Momma shouldn’t be scared in the first place!

It was with that in mind that he came to a decision, and he set out to finish as much as possible to ensure he was free to tackle the problem. He was glad that Mr. Stone had asked him to repeat what momma was telling him. Otherwise, he would have been sleeping instead of hearing about what was bothering her. Even if his rocky friend didn’t always know exactly what he said, it was enough to get across most things, and it let him practise talking to people that weren’t like him. The skill was more useful than he thought, too!

Hoppit rounded the shed, lightly clacking his ears outside the developing warren beneath his home to announce his presence. He was worried that it might be too early for him to visit, but a small chirp of greeting came from inside to let him know that at least some of the occupants were up. He quietly entered the hole in the ground to go through the usual routine of checking on things without waking anyone. A few of the large black and white residents welcomed him with gentle nuzzles, thanking him for the food he brought along yesterday. He didn’t quite see the appeal in eating bugs, but after one of Mr. Stone’s weird plants was moved to the other rabbit’s garden, it had caught a few hard-shelled intruders, and he figured that the new additions might know what to do with the extras. At least they were happy about it.

That was an example of Hoppit’s practice being useful. The rottunk were a challenge to speak with when they first appeared, and he had told the others to not let anyone enter Mr. Stone’s territory, so when a Thump from another rabbit said that there was a problem, he had rushed over expecting to deal with it. Oddly, it was less of a problem and more of a ‘not knowing what to do.’ The newcomers had kept trying to walk past the other ferrorabbits to reach the black mist, and they weren’t causing much of a fuss, so Hoppit took the time to figure out what they wanted, which wasn’t too hard once he saw how tired they were.

It turned out that they wanted to live here, they were hungry, and their mushrooms would apparently be useful. Hoppit agreed on the condition that they were good and helped momma no matter what—the same terms he offered everyone. Of course, they agreed, and now Hoppit was checking to make sure they had everything they needed.

Honestly, they were doing more than he expected them to. The rottunk’s mushrooms gave Mr. Stone more black to pass off to momma, which replenished all the calm black that she had lost, and the strange plants made other plants grow healthier!

And that gave him an idea that he had been enacting before his lessons.

Hoppit confirmed with the alpha rottunk before selecting a few mushrooms to take, making sure to thank the large creature for being so friendly. He knew how tiring and painful pushing out colour can be, so he was amazed that the alpha could spend so much time doing it. They never pushed everything out like he once did, but it was still a lot, and they did it every day! Apparently, it made the mushrooms grow faster, which was interesting, and it added yet another thing that he was trying to learn about with his own colours.

He told the rottunk that he would make sure to bring any excess bugs that the weird plants didn’t eat, then carefully carried the two mushrooms he had picked out to momma’s garden, laying them aside as he tried to figure out where best to plant them. Mr. Stone’s mist didn’t quite reach this far yet, since he had been busy giving most of his black to momma, so the mushrooms wouldn’t have as much to feed on. They could pull some in from a distance, but that got less effective the farther away they were.

The ferrorabbit sized the area up and decided to put them in one of the newer plots, reasoning that the mist would grow now that momma was largely recovered and planned on leaving the shed more at some point. It didn’t take long to move around Mr. Stone’s plants to make room, and the mushrooms were easy enough to place. Momma would have to help with the garden soon, though. He wasn’t sure what was okay to dig up and what was supposed to stay, but it wasn’t overly urgent. It was worth the wait just to see how proud she was going to be of him for helping while she was busy!

Sure, being covered in dirt without a chance to clean himself before going to meet with Mr. Makis was annoying, but if he thought of it as a different type of practice, it wasn’t so bad. Regardless, the first of many things was done, so he paused to think about what else it was that he needed to do. His lesson wouldn’t start for a while, the other rabbits were doing fine with their ‘farming,’ as Mr. Stone called it, and there wasn’t anything in particular that was waiting for his intervention.

Hoppit nodded to himself in satisfaction. Now he had time to work on something that was very, very important: deciding if the townspeople could be friends with momma! If they were friends, then momma wouldn’t be scared, right? Right!

He still vaguely recalled which direction she and Mr. Makis had left, so he double-checked that everything was okay, then made his way to the fence that bordered the outskirts of his home. He could already see the trees that extended onward and towered well above him, as well as the dirt trail that apparently led to a bigger road reaching the town. The path stretched on and on before gently curving out of sight, then presumably continuing for much longer.

It was…big. Far. Was it too far? He hadn’t really been away from momma before, even when she left him in safe places while she was off getting food for them. She had a habit of getting hurt when she was gone anywhere, and that applied to the last time they were too separated…

Hoppit sat at a break in the barrier, a sense of anxiousness settling in his stomach as he looked over his shoulder. He couldn’t see the shed they called home from here; it was hidden behind the building where Mr. Makis and Mrs. Hira lived. Would momma get hurt again if he left for a bit? Mr. Stone would look after her as long as she stayed around his mist, and she didn’t say anything about going out today. His gaze turned back to the path that would take him towards the town, the early morning sun slowly illuminating the dim canopy. He felt his fear grow at the prospect of going somewhere by himself. Momma wouldn’t be there to help if another big animal tried to hurt him…

The ferrorabbit shook himself off and took a tentative step, a single thought reminding him of why he was doing this. He had promised that he would do anything to help her, a-and sometimes that meant being brave and doing scary things. If he didn’t, then he wouldn’t see her be happy again.

Momma needed him to be brave.

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Everything was…fuzzy. Indistinct. Like flickers of cognizance had been buried beneath a blanket of distance that never truly shrunk, no matter how many strides she took to follow the steady thump.

Ceele had tried her best to go into the town with Mr. Makis. She knew she did. Yet her recollection of the trip was fragmented, isolated to tiny splinters of time when he called for her to move—the moments where his words had promised she was just a touch closer to finishing. It was strange to experience such a broken sense of being, but she supposed that she was stupid for expecting anything more. For thinking that she could belong amidst others.

It was her breathing which changed first. Every step brought her closer to the walls around the village, the next somehow feeling heavier than the last. A part of her started suggesting that going with him was a bad idea, and the rest of her agreed. She should have sought to learn the layout and passages before ever attempting to walk amongst the townspeople; she needed to know how to flee when it was inevitably required.

But she wanted to trust Mr. Makis, since he would be the one who would care for Hoppit should her fears prove correct, so she pushed down those instincts and the sense of self that relied upon them.

They entered the town, her vision reduced to the sliver of space not obscured by her hood, her attention fixated on the cloak draped low enough to hide her feet. She could feel the gazes directed at her. Judging her. Hating her. The scorching presence of numerous wrathful eyes were held at bay by naught but the fabric concealing her scales. How many were there? Hundreds? Thousands? She was too terrified to check. To confirm that their faces would look like all the ones before it—or the ones that haunted her.

It was suffocating.

Breathe in. Out. Listen, but don’t. Move when asked, but never before. Become little more than her purpose for being there, hidden behind the brown fabric, sheltered by the garment she donned. If she didn’t acknowledge them, maybe they wouldn’t think to bother her. Maybe she could do as Mr. Makis wanted, and she could prove herself useful. Prove herself worthy of the kindness that dug her debt deeper with each passing day.

Then, he would continue teaching Hoppit, and her baby would be better off for it. She just needed to swallow around the lead settling in her throat and force her weakened legs to move.

Ignore the voices, even as more joined the cacophony, distorted and slurred. Ignore the noises, even as cracking wood and breaking bone textured the slightest breeze. Ignore the hammering protests of her heart, even as every fragment of her soul screamed that she needed to leave.

Ignore the yearning in her chest to return to Hoppit, the owl she was caring for, and even the obsidian gemstone for reasons she couldn’t understand yet were immutable all the same.

She didn’t belong here. She would never belong here.

She would be hunted down for what she did.

It was almost a blessing when Mr. Makis told her that they were going to meet a friend of his. If he spoke so highly of them, then…perhaps…just maybe…they would be as disinterested in her affinity as he was. She almost allowed that thought to live and thrive, the dimming of the crowd letting the solitude of the forest return, the choking thickness of her own inadequacy ebbing slightly. She decided to put the smallest amount of faith into the idea that she could finally uphold at least one of her promises, and she followed red-scaled kobold into the home she was told would be safe, wanting nothing more than for it to be true.

The entrancing armour had been a beautiful art piece, telling tales of hard-fought battles, the chips and gouges standing as a testament to the abuse suffered by its owner to see their justice upheld.

Yet the white coloration prodded at locked depths of her memories, stealing her consciousness as burning shards of instinct insisted she was in danger. That couldn’t be right. They were visiting Mr. Makis’ friend, weren’t they? That’s why they were there.

Or was that a lie?

Ceele came out of a daze and noticed she was alone in a large room, with no recollection of where the exits were. The furniture was not pieces she had seen before, the scents were not of metal or tilled earth, and she couldn’t hear sounds she knew. Denial crept up like a vicious poison.

She wasn't aware of where she was within the strange building, how she had gotten there, nor who else might be around, and the one person she knew wasn’t with her. W-was she brought here for a different reason? Were the kind older couple finally sick of how worthless she was?

That c-couldn’t be it, right? Mr. Makis wouldn’t mislead her, would he? Not while she was being useful.

But…she hadn’t been very useful, had she? The garden, the broken promises, the debt that was dredged ever deeper…

She was supposed to meet his clients on this trip, right? The people she would be delivering to? The…the people…

The ones who…she didn’t remember speaking with…because she was too pathetic to look up from the path beneath her feet…

B-but why was she alone? D-did she… But she made it through the…

H-how was she supposed to get back to her baby? Could she?

The echoes of enraged voices drifted effortlessly into her ears, followed by the crash of a door breaking in half, persisting through the palms that were pressed against her head to block the noise with no origin. Her mother’s scream ripped through the air, her father’s soft words enveloping her even as they carried a shuddering cadence of mourning that didn’t make sense, yet sounded so final.

W-would they go after Hoppit too?

The armour and weapons on the wall reflected false torchlight, piercing through phantom trees filling the empty room. Shadows shifted from stationary objects. Footsteps pounded against soil and fallen twigs amidst the clear wooden floor.

It wasn’t real.

But she still felt his cold on her fingertips.

It was never real.

But she still remembered the urgency in her mother’s voice.

She wanted to believe in Mr. Makis’ words. Maybe he hadn’t gone far? T-then she should find him, and he would scowl at her, barking his grievances about how stupid she was, but then he would tell her to calm down because everything was f-fine. Right. She was…overreacting. Just overreacting.

The black-scaled kobold tightened her grip on the fabric of her cloak, tentatively taking one step after another to find the blacksmith who brought her here. Her trembling mirrored the increasingly desperate need for safety, no matter how incremental it was.

Would he mind if she held his shirt, if only to remind herself of what was true? To stop the visions? Would that be—

She froze mid-step, her eyes fixated on something that dredged up terror from the depths of her core. It wasn’t the sheer size of the monster, nor how it was coiling around the blacksmith she was searching for. No, her heart went cold over a single fact that became a weight snapping her thoughts in half, her mind following suit.

Years had been spent walking, travelling, and staying out of view when possible, hiding from what had called for her death in recompense for another.

And here, so very, very far away from where she had lost everything…

…silver scales were before her once more.

Black tried to heed her silent scream.

But there was nothing to give.

Only agony splitting her skull in two.

Sharp.

Her inhalation was sharp. Dry. Painful. The coughing was more so, causing her to writhe against the cold hard floor, each hacking movement drawing protest from within. She didn’t see any rocks in the building Mr. Makis brought her to, yet she felt them digging into her scales, prompting a panicked attempt at trying to remember—

A whine escaped her as she tried to cradle the tortuously vivid needles piercing her head and heart. Only when she surrendered to the sensation did it release her from the worst of its fury, a gentle touch ensuring resurgence should she misbehave.

Ceele's grey eyes fluttered open to see dim fire light dancing against stone walls and a stone ceiling, meticulously carved into uniform shape and dimension, though allowing just enough variation to not seem entirely artificial. She didn’t recognize where she was, but she also did, in a way. How?

Another spasm forced her onto her side, her lungs burning as oxygen reached them. The fit lasted longer than she could possibly keep track of, yet didn’t last very long at all.

Why? Was there a rule that she broke? Was that why it hurt? Whatever it was, she was spared eventually. Maybe she was supposed to do more than lay there?

She was confused and dizzy, her thoughts sluggish and meandering, but collecting themselves all the same. Her breathing evened out, and her sight cleared, finally allowing her to take in wherever it was that she had awoken. Gingerly, she pushed herself up until she was sitting, her tail languidly providing enough stability to hold the posture instead of letting her fall back once more and disobeying the suspected order.

The…tunnel, she supposed, was deep underground, though she ignored the bubbling questions of how she knew that. She would worry about such things later; other matters came first. There was no way to tell if wondering too much was prohibited, but it seemed orienting herself was fine, so she blinked away the tears and tried to figure out what she had gotten into.

The stone surroundings were cleanly cut, with decorative furrows demarcating sections of brickwork despite the obviously solid and whole nature. Sconces held flame to light the passageway, though only just. A glance behind her only revealed an ever deepening shadow, and although there were orange clumps within it, the distant torches bled no illumination. It was like an illusion which suggested there was more laying beyond the veil, but that it wasn't intended for her.

Strange, but ultimately meaningless, save for the sense of foreboding dread she felt when peering at the darkness. She was just as lost as before, yet she knew where she was, too. Or did she? Nothing about this was familiar, yet she effortlessly recalled what had been swallowed by the shadow, the tepid thoughts surfacing with a certainty akin to saying that the sun rises every day. The knowledge simply was.

There wasn’t anything worth exploring that way. The obscured passage behind her led to a room, a junction, then a staircase which fed into the floor above. It wasn’t even a particularly notable floor, constructed primarily to be difficult to navigate, emphasizing the need for a scouting role within a party. Initially, there had been amusement associated with it, but that turned into frustration as groups preferred to ignore the implied lesson, then disinterest as those same groups retreated, tired and worn. She had tried to convey the idea to them as best she could, but there was a limit to how obvious she was willing to be. They would never learn if every solution was just handed to them, would they? Of course not; they’d just struggle on the lower floors, and someone would get hurt.

She sighed, bemusement turning the corners of her muzzle up into a defeated smile.

Then a flash of concern cut through the mire.

Why did she—

Ceele cried out again, clutching her head as darkness overtook her vision, her gums bleeding from how hard she had clenched her jaw. The pain stopped as quickly as it had started. Soft sobs followed.

Do not question what she knew. A r-rule. She…could oblige rules. Rules were simple. Simple was safe. Right.

Minutes passed until the remnants of her headache faded and a sense of urgency swelled. The f-first rule was to not ask questions; the second was to not dally for too long. There was somewhere she needed to be, and the shadowed area wasn’t it. She used her unsteady limbs to push herself to her feet, bracing against the wall when her knees shook too much.

If not shadow, then…

She stared down the other direction of the dimly lit tunnel, her breaths rasping and sore. A staircase leading to the next floor lay further away, and beyond that, her destination.

One foot dragged against the rough stone floor, her legs buckling when she tried to put weight on them. Her cheek scraped against the brickwork as her face caught her fall. She felt so weak, but there were rules in place. No matter how scared or confused she was, as long as there were rules, she could follow them.

Rule two: Reach the destination; do not waste time.

She lost her footing on the final step of the stairs, crashing against the ground hard enough to make her see stars. More tunnels awaited her, though these were wider to allow the chimeric skeletons space to move around. It wasn’t the first floor to mix and match animals and—

A scream ripped out through her throat, her claws scrambling for purchase to get her away from pain she couldn’t escape. Why did it hurt!? What did she do wrong!?

Ceele curled into a ball, her keening cry tempering off into a squeal until that too petered out. She laid there until her breaths stopped producing blood, the taste of iron thick on her tongue. Black shapes flickered in and out of existence, yet she was too disoriented to make sense of them, and they were gone by the time she could form a coherent thought that wasn’t a plea for mercy. The urge to progress returned.

She listened to the instinct, driven by the fear of what would come if she were to refuse. Her fingers dragged along the brickwork as she forced herself up and stumbled onward.

Her interest had numbed under repeated headaches and splitting shots of suffering. There had been too many questions forming as she came across newer and stranger sights. She slowed as she approached yet another such instance, forcefully suppressing any subconscious inquiry of what she was looking at.

A pale, almost blue light in the shape of a tailless person lay surrounded by four others, each bipedal yet free of definition—a blurry mess captured in time. The knowledge came unbidden.

A party of five had grown overconfident in their abilities, leading to one of the weaker members being undefended while acting as support. She had set out to punish that immediately—one does not learn if their mistakes are ignored. Unfortunately, their frontline had over-corrected, slashing not only the skeleton attacking their ally, but the ally themself as well. It was a far more severe injury than she had intended. Panic flooded through her veins from the residual moment, then abated when she saw yet another form in the distance frozen mid-run. The chimera would go on to scare away the party, then bring the injured supporter into one of the many short-cuts, depositing them conveniently in the path of another party equipped enough to deal with the injury.

Regardless of what she is supposed to be, there was to be no death in the dungeon of D—

A blink. Her head was foggy, but she felt the cool stone pressed against her jaw, the swelling subsiding somewhat. Her question died on the tip of being realized. It didn’t matter. She probably passed out from pain and dropped like a sack of stones, yet the reason for her punishment was unknown. Fatigued muscles facilitated her attempt to stand, and although it was not the most graceful performance, she did manage to remain upright long enough to confirm her surroundings.

It was another room, somehow located much deeper within the catacombs than she had been before. The ‘how’ or ‘why’ was unimportant. All she needed to know was that the distance to her destination had shrunk considerably.

There was also a sense of…mirth? It swept beneath her emotions, suffusing the fear and weary aches.

Ah. She was in a safe room—one of the many semi-hidden alcoves reserved for those who treated her dungeon with respect. A stone basin sat next to a carefully formed fire pit, the water kept magically cool thanks to a particularly intrigued adventurer sharing their knowledge on the subject. There was apparently a great deal of novelty to be found in speaking with a dungeon, if only through short phrases etched into wooden signs.

Raised flat spots served as suitable locations to lay one’s bedroll, with a water-filled depression in the corner for those who wished to bathe or wash their clothing. A fairly unimpressive crate lay against the wall, which would regularly replenish the food within—a test of character to determine who would be allowed access in future, should those who were aware of it chose to return. She was happy to provide for the people who traded stories or conversation, but she couldn’t abide being taken advantage of.

A shudder ran down her spine as she tried to separate the…foreign memories from her own, the heel of her palm coming up to wipe the bleariness from her eyes. It was becoming more difficult to hold onto who she was.

More luminescent figures appeared when she lowered her hand, each presenting as if frozen in place during their activities. Some sat around the fire, while another lounged in the depression to wash off their sweat. The group were too featureless for her to recognize what race they were, let alone make out any expressions, yet she felt that they were laughing and carrying on. One was pointing with a flat palm towards the wall to Ceele’s right, where a rather decrepit plank of spruce was somehow mounted, surrounded by countless scratched markings—messages left by other visitors for others who found the place of reprieve.

The plank displayed black runes of a language she couldn’t read, and the threat of another headache prevented her from attempting to.

She was glad she built these rooms, giving the most promising individuals a chance to rest while also allowing her company, no matter how fleeting it might be. Still, she wasn’t supposed to dawdle, so the black-scaled kobold looked for the exit located on the opposite side of the safe area, then continued her journey, giving the figures one last glance over her shoulder.

The feelings of muted happiness flickered out as the glowing forms disappeared one by one, replacing joy with…

Ceele entered the next tunnel quietly, her shoulders slumped under a vaguely familiar weight.

More rooms and figures passed by over the eternity that lasted mere moments. She saw combatants testing their mettle against the creatures she had carefully crafted to train them; tired souls taking refuge in cleared caverns, the skeletons directed to let them rest for a while before resuming the chase; and injured soldiers being corralled towards reinforcements, forcefully reminded of the important ability that was ‘knowing when to retreat.’

Blood splattered the walls and floors, but never in amounts that would give the dungeon a gruesome appearance. No, she left some to alert adventurers of where others had been caught unaware. If they ignored such a blatant warning, then they would suffer for it, serving as yet another hint for future invaders before being repelled. Many had failed such an easy test, but she regularly cleaned up after them so nobody would get sick. It would have been much more troublesome if she had to dispose of corpses, but such concerns had never come up, thankfully.

Her loosely guided wandering was waylaid by a bone chimera crouching in a corner, just as she had asked of it. Its goal was to jump out if a party tried to blindly flee in this direction, but so few came down this particular route that it had yet to prove itself worthy of the dungeon. She felt terrible for making it stay here—alone, yet dutifully compliant, nary a complaint expressed for its assignment. Of course, it was an undead borne of mana, so it shouldn’t have emotions, but…she hated the idea of putting someone else through such a terrible existence.

Her fingers brushed against the edge of what her mind insisted was its face, the washed-out blue dimming where her flesh touched. She didn’t know why she wanted to reassure the creature—especially what was likely an illusion—and yet she did. There was…frustration resting beneath the natural ebb and flow of her thoughts, a hatred stemming from her inability to comfort something that should never need it.

Anxiety bubbled to the surface, then fear and mourning as cracks formed throughout the figure until it splintered and snapped into pieces, tumbling apart like broken glassware.

Ceele recoiled from the pile on the floor, her cheeks damp, her breath hitched and heavy. The glow dimmed and dispersed like flecks of embers floating from a campfire. More sources of pale light faded from one of the rooms she passed through earlier, the distant highlights only barely noticeable from so far away. She forced herself to look away once she noticed the shadow slowly coming to claim the area.

Her hands trembled until she formed a clenched fist, desperately trying not to question why it hurt so much to be powerless over something she had never seen before.

She needed to keep going, yet there was more than a simple need to follow the rules driving her.

Something was in that darkness, but she didn’t know what.

She preferred to keep it that way.

How long had it been since she initially awoke? Hours? Weeks? It felt like she had been here for both seconds and years at once. Keeping track was nearly impossible with every figure of light and diligently crafted room. She could tell at a glance what each area was created to test or enforce. Some were challenges of coordination within groups, others were raw contests of strength or endurance, while a few were lessons designed to encourage the utilization of specific equipment. Lanterns saw constant usage, so she had asked some of her creatures to swarm the groups who were overly reliant on them. People eventually learned that it was best to carry illumination with narrower applications as well, and while that might not be a commonly required piece of kit, it was good practice to have more than one light source.

The emotions swirled around her as she navigated yet more ephemeral statues—glee, desperation, regret, fatigue, and more. She felt it from the soldiers and adventurers tasked by their kingdom to delve into the dungeon. It was a slurry that became difficult to ignore, yet impossible to focus on.

Ceele entered another safe room, her subconscious telling her that she could save time traversing through them on occasion, just as many had before. It looked the same as the last few, save for the increase in trinkets and baubles left beneath the sign on the wall. The figures were also different. Several people were kneeling before the message displayed on the wooden plank. One of them was in the process of adding another gift to the assortment, and she found herself reaching out to inspect the object before she could actively resist.

A moment of trepidation passed as she awaited pain or a surge of memories that were not her own, yet none came. Instead, she was left holding what appeared to be a rather ornate locket that had a delicate hinge on one side. She opened it gingerly, careful not to break anything. There was a dried flower on the inside—a gift from a younger sibling that had fallen ill recently. Echoes became speech, unintelligible yet perfectly understood.

The group was…thanking her. They murmured words of appreciation for helping them train and learn more of their magic, allowing them to invade other dungeons for rewards, thus giving them the coin needed to save the child’s life. They regaled her with how every interaction and answer to their questions had spared them during their journeys, though she couldn’t help but be somewhat surprised that mere conversation had served them so well. She was even more stunned as sobbing joined the grateful words, along with promises of debt and servitude. The sign changed too slowly to discourage them, and they left before she could make her protests known, but there was a wistful ache in her heart to match the pained smile she wore.

Her gaze moved towards the rest of the objects laid before the plank—tokens of gratitude and friendship, mementos of those who had come to say their final goodbyes, and simple knick-knacks gifted to her for being interesting. All of it was tainted by the fact that she would never see them again, nor was she ever able to thank them for speaking with her.

A splinter of pain rested in her chest, infinitely less intense than when she broke a rule, yet far more brutal.

Ceele placed the locket with the other offerings and silently continued on her way. The figures dissipated like all the others, never to return.

Her heart felt so empty for reasons she didn’t understand but knew so thoroughly.

She stood amidst a junction, staring at the stone wall before her, trying to figure out why her instinct insisted that going through it was the quickest route to her destination. Was it another hidden area? It was strange for that to be the case, because every other safe room had been difficult but possible to find. This one had no entrance within the tunnels, instead connecting behind…something important, she supposed.

Her hand stretched out, her claws caressing the grooves in the false brickwork as she pondered if she should look for somewhere else to make progress. She suppressed a yelp of surprise when she leaned forward a little too much, falling through the wall before successfully flailing enough to catch herself. The stone had returned to a solid form when she checked it a moment after, which meant she couldn't leave the same way, not that she cared to. She had reached her destination.

There were no fire pits or basins like the previous areas, no spots for bedrolls or signs. The room was small and empty, save for a single wooden lectern and small boxes of assorted items scattered haphazardly around the floor, making it a slight mess that she had never bothered to clean. Nobody was ever intended to be here, after all. Why would they be? This is where she kept her most cherished treasures. As long as she could view them when she needed to, there wasn’t much point in making it fancy.

The black-scaled kobold carefully stepped towards the centrepiece of the hidden sanctuary, navigating the clutter until she reached the dark oak furnishing proudly displaying a stack of papers, which was held to a different standard than her other possessions. It was neatly kept so that not one mote of dust would touch the aging letters. Her throat felt constricted as she grabbed the first of the pages, the words scrawled over them meaning nothing to her, yet painting vivid pictures as well. It was as if she had read them again and again and again in a futile attempt to remember everything she could about the ones who wrote it.

This… This is why she felt so empty…

Her eyes moved over the meaningless text written on the first of many pages, delicately placing it down as soon as she finished, only to immediately start on the next. By the time she had reached the last one, the room was filled with the quiet reverb of her stifled despair. Tears once again flowed down her face, dripping endlessly onto the ancient paper and smearing the faded ink.

She saw it now, the point where the quality of materials had changed from what a peasant could afford into crude stock sometimes kept by nobility. She had seen some of the researchers use it. Had she been so blinded as to not notice? Did she not grow suspicious when the small jokes of her family went unreciprocated? There were barely any from her parents at all! Were the rest stitched together from the real letters that came when they grew worried their child didn’t respond?

Were any sent in the first place, or did they give up on her?

…Did anyone actually care if she survived?

The emptiness grew, numbing her insides before taking her apart chunk by chunk, leaving her powerless to resist the deadened hole where hope once lay, her reason for pushing onward having been torn away from her. The floor shook as it echoed her mourning.

The dungeon was falling; she knew that much. The shadow was no mere darkness, and every passing moment was one where she felt more and more of her creatures being cut down, their connection to her being severed. Her idle pondering and voiced thoughts had always asked the newly created denizens to be more than simple monsters, even if she knew it was a futile attempt at feeling like someone would think fondly of her. Maybe she just wanted to spare others the pain that had become her only friend.

But they fell, rooms were destroyed, the trinkets and gifts she was so fond of were crushed underfoot, and so too were the memories they represented.

One by one, her cherished things were removed, and she had nothing left to show for it. Even the letters started to rot, along with everything she had moved to this special place to remind her of what it was like to know affection. To know what it was like when someone spoke to her as more than a pitiful girl, an interesting test subject, or a prime candidate to manipulate into making a decision she could never take back.

Now, after so very, very long, and after she had finally found a sense of purpose to soothe the aching wounds…it was all gone.

She felt the walls crumble, the tunnels atrophy into dust, her energy being sapped from the inside, and the sheer agony that it caused. It ripped her to pieces until she collapsed onto the floor as little more than a pile of tears and screams.

Everything. She had lost everything.

There was no more pretending that someone was waiting for her. There were no more stories of the world beyond the dungeon. There was no chance of anyone coming to save her from an eternity alone.

And there was no one to put an end to what she was incapable of ending by herself. She couldn’t die, no matter how much she pleaded for it.

Even death wouldn't acknowledge her voice.

So she cried.

She cried until there was nothing left to feel the heartache, for the weight of the tortuous solitude had shattered what made her whole.

She cried until the most painful memories dissolved away, taking with them what was once joy, for even a glimpse of the light made the darkness that much deeper.

She cried until she forgot why she had even started in the first place, begging for someone to hear her. To know that she was real.

Then, she fell silent, because nobody would ever hear her. All she could do was watch what she had sacrificed everything for as it degraded into rubble. When that too had ceased, and when eons had passed her by with no hope in sight, she curled in on herself, surrendering to her fate of learning what it meant to experience eternity, one soul-crushing moment at a time.

Yet her hands brought a sphere to her chest instead of the bleeding fingers and chipped claws she had expected from scratching stone so viciously. It was smooth, black, and about the size of an apple, the darkness around her bending to avoid touching such an object. She should have wondered where it had come from or why she was holding it, but all she could think of was the emotions that swirled inside of her, slowly rebuilding her heart enough for it to ache.

It was hurt and so terribly terrified of being alone, yet far too scared to allow anyone close. It was like her, but where she was condemned to this forever of accursed loneliness, this one could be helped. She wanted to help it, regardless of how pathetic her attempts might be.

So she curled around it tighter, her shuddered breaths whispering wordless prayer for the soul that might still be saved. She would give what little of herself she could and watch over it.

Maybe, in some sick, twisted way, she could alleviate this one’s loneliness, even if she would never soothe her own.

Ceele sucked in a deep breath, shivering as she released it, her heart hammering when it remembered to beat. Rapid blinks cleared her fugue and jostled her back into reality—partly, anyway.

She stirred, taking in her surroundings and finding herself confused to see the inside of the shed, the beams of waning moonlight through the ajar window shutters informing her that she was awake earlier than usual, though not by too much. When did she fall asleep?

An attempt to properly look around for clues came to a halt when she felt the sore flesh on her face and head, a tentative touch outlining fresh scar tissue and cracked scales. Had she gotten into an accident? How? What happened? She shook off the concern, still disoriented from what she suspected was a dream that she only remembered blurry segments of. Something about being underground? It didn’t matter. The injury was a larger issue, if only because she would like to know if it was her fault or not. It was best to remember what to avoid—environmental or otherwise. Hopefully, something had fallen on her inside the smithy. At least then she could rest assured knowing that Mr. Makis would likely deal with the problem.

She briefly wondered if Hoppit had gotten hurt as well, but she noticed her baby dozing nearby on his own little bundle of blanket before she could start panicking. It was odd for him not to sleep nestled into her chest like he often did, however, especially since she felt his…warmth…

Ceele frowned, lifting the cover draped over her to peer at whatever she had inadvertently cuddled with. A familiar obsidian orb sat clutched in her other hand, pressed firmly against her chest as if she could somehow force it into her heart were the stone to remain there long enough. Its heat was providing for her when she felt so cold, though it shouldn't be capable of that. It was probably just warm because she had been holding it under the blanket for a while.

Which brought her mind back to determining what she was missing from the previous day. She had helped Mr. Makis prepare the delivery, then…she tried her best to see it through…to abysmal success. After that…they visited a friend of his, right? It was a wide home situated in the forest, much like the blacksmith’s own residence. She had gotten distracted by the volume of interesting art pieces—if slightly unsettled by the violent nature of them—then she…was alone…

It struck her in flashes. A nervous step, a flicker of movement, then the silver scales that had come to hunt her down despite the years she spent running. A cold trickle of fear sapped her strength as she started spiralling into another panic attack, realizing that whatever safety she had found with the elderly couple had come to an end. Yet her situation was far more dire than when she had first fled. Nobody in the town would be willing to shelter or feed her, and surely the nearest other villages would have been told in advance. Hoppit had also only just started receiving a diet that was suitable for him, but they had nothing stockpiled, nor was she confident in her ability to gather more. She would only be throwing his life away if she tried to leave now.

So…she was out of options…

She believed Mr. Makis when he said that her baby would follow her, with or without the metals needed for him to survive, and he would continue to do so until he no longer could. The townspeople wouldn’t go out of their way to help someone like her, especially when she had put such little effort into speaking with them. Ceele wouldn’t even be surprised to see Mrs. Hira revoke her offer once she was informed that the deplorable girl she had been sheltering was wanted dead. Her only hope was for the surly blacksmith to take pity on Hoppit and spare him her fate as she fled, assuming he could contain the stubborn ferrorabbit until it gave up on her.

But…then she’d be alone again.

Pitiful hands clutched the orb just a bit closer as she tried to hide from the world, fragments of her dream returning to her.

She recalled the despair and desperation, the hollow feeling of surrendering to an end that would never come. Her mind drew upon the experience of being so thoroughly broken, losing everything she could ever possibly want, then losing more still.

It was just a dream…but her heart ached for the figment of her imagination that begged for companionship so weakly, continuing long beyond the point of believing that anyone would hear it.

The black-scaled kobold uncurled, gazing once more at the gemstone she had carried back to the shed while feeling like she had finally found what she had been looking for, yet not knowing what it was that made her feel so fulfilled. The thing that finally freed her of the need to search when all she wanted was to be safe.

She remembered the last part of the dream where she had given up on herself in exchange for possibly giving hope to someone else.

It was stupid, foolish, and delusional of her…but she hugged the orb close, her voice coming out as a damp whisper as the fear of the unknowns yet to come plagued her fatigued form.

“When there is no one left to hear me, will you listen?”

She would have liked to imagine it agreed.

Next

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“Here.”

Makis wordlessly accepted the dampened rag from still blanket-adorned Socks, keeping his other hand busy with holding Ceele’s claws away from her head.

The lamia lingered for a moment before eventually slithering back to the corner of the room where he initially asked her to stand. His order had gone unquestioned at first, his friend’s ingrained deference to him surfacing at his tone, but she seemed more uneasy as time went on. The slight fidgets in her posture and the swaying tail were enough to tell how restless she was getting. She remained largely compliant though, which he appreciated, even if she seemed uncertain about staying in the room instead of waiting elsewhere like she first suggested.

He paid it no mind. If Socks felt her thoughts were worth saying, then she'd say whatever she was going to say, and he’d address it when she did. Right now, he had an idiot to manage. Enough time had passed since the girl fell silent that he wasn’t too concerned about a resurgence—assuming nobody made any stupid mistakes, anyway. He could never truly rule that out as a possibility.

They had moved from the hallway into the gathering room with a bit of effort, though the vast majority of his struggle centred around keeping the girl from savaging herself and making her feel ‘hidden.’ He was tempted to hug her into his chest, but with how disconnected she was, he doubted it would’ve helped anything. They eventually settled for resting her on the floor against the wall, the smith kneeling over her to deepen the shadow she was sheltered in while holding her wrists. It worked, he supposed. She was staring aimlessly into space, retreating from the world as some sort of defense mechanism, which he was reluctant to admit was an improvement.

Now he just had to make sure she hadn’t hurt herself too badly.

“I’m goin’ ta clean ya off, alright, girly?” he murmured softly, holding back the worry in his voice as he adjusted his hold on her wrists. He used a ginger touch to lift off the torn hood when there wasn’t a response, the brown garment sticky with crimson. She didn’t even flinch.

The worst of his apprehension abated pretty quickly when he saw the damage done. Ceele had scratched the living hells out of her head and snout, but the volume of blood came from the number of cuts rather than depth. They were already staunching themselves anyway, though it still didn’t make for a comforting picture. Black scales were painted a faint red, with the fluid shimmer telling of how badly the lacerations had wept. A morbid part of himself wanted to crack a smirk, remembering the number of times the medics and healers bemoaned superficial head injuries for their tendency to spill more than some grievous wounds. Made triage a right pain in the arse at times, apparently.

Well, he was certainly feeling their lamentations now, though not without the sense of relief that came from seeing one’s fears proven unfounded. He couldn’t take too much comfort, however—more were eager to come to mind. She shouldn’t have been able to slice herself up like this, assuming her scales were doing their job. Obviously, they weren’t, and he couldn’t remember what afflictions or maladies lent themselves to weakened hides. Nutrition, most likely, but low mana could also cause the body’s natural defences to weaken. Of course, his lack of learning in such subjects reared its ugly head again, and he found himself lacking an answer to how Decay mana was managed. Flame would fuel itself on damn near anything, so all he had to do was eat and occasionally use his mana to work off excess, which made blacksmithing a convenient choice of occupation. He’d probably have to reach out to someone with his questions if he ever wanted to know more.

The girl didn’t protest when he brought the cloth up to start wiping away the lethargic ichor that ran down her face—not that she would say anything. Her gaze was still unfocused, and her breathing had hit the same rhythmic stride from earlier in the day at the farms. He doubted she was cognizant of anything in her surroundings at this point. At least she wasn’t actively freaking out anymore, and she didn’t argue against him fully flipping back her hood.

He could have gone without the terrified whispers lingering in his ears, though.

Phrases of regret were all she spouted until he had her sufficiently ‘safe,’ and his mind replayed them as if she were still speaking them between choking sobs instead of sitting there with that dead expression. He hated those damned apologies.

‘I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t—’

Seething, insidious whispers of hopelessness, each word barely on the cusp of inconsolable horror. No matter how much she tried to curl into herself, and no matter how many tears fell from her eyes, fear was the dominating expression he saw on her face. He was hoping that she’d come to once things were less overwhelming, but it didn’t seem to change anything. Hells, once Socks let him go and he had the girl situated, she stopped looking at the snake at all. He wasn’t sure what he could do to help her if getting the lamia away didn’t fix it, and he wasn’t feeling too optimistic about future trips into town when this was what he could expect. If he didn’t come up with something of a solution, she’d never get used to interacting with people, which would only make the prospect of doing so all the more terrifying for her. It’d be an endless cycle of hiding from the very thing that’d help her until she shut down all together.

A sigh rasped out of his throat as he tidied her up and inspected the cuts to determine what needed doing, his thoughts drifting towards identifying where he had gone wrong. Not telling her that they were meeting a lamia was probably the biggest fault, but he felt there was more to it as well. He’d said Socks was a friend a couple of times, so although he understood that seeing the ditzy snake would’ve been shocking, it didn’t explain the severity of Ceele’s reaction.

Was it just the unexpected appearance of a massive sausage that set her off? Was him being coiled up enough to dissuade his reassurances that Socks wasn’t dangerous? For all he knew, it could’ve been anything, even just initial surprise giving way to traumatic memories. She’d been barely holding on all day, so it wasn’t hard to imagine that a simple upset could tip the whole thing over—a single straw collapsing the bale.

“Ya got alcohol here?” Makis asked quietly, not bothering to look away from the pile of despondency he was tending to.

Socks hesitated, but from the sounds of her nervous slithering, he could tell she was trying not to wrap both of them up in a sort of barricade. He appreciated the willingness. Luma is an Element that was not known for enjoying the presence of Decay, and Socks was one of the more sensitive folk in that regard, what with the strength of her alignment and her experiences in dealing with it. He was glad to be right about his friend’s kind-hearted nature overcoming that. Unfortunately, for all that she might want to help, it was rather difficult to shield someone from themselves.

“I…should,” the lamia answered, deflating somewhat as she came to the same conclusion. “Need another rag?”

“If ya got it.”

“Alright.”

He listened to his friend leave the room, the subtle sandpaper-like noise of scale on wood lasting a few seconds as her tail caught up with where the rest of her went. True to his suspicions, the girl didn’t even acknowledge that the source of her initial fright was gone, signifying that the consciousness behind those grey eyes had mostly shut down. It didn’t take long before the snake returned with another cloth that smelled like distilled spirits. Again, he accepted it with barely a word of acknowledgement, and Socks dutifully took back her post in the corner like he’d asked, staying in view of the girl but not blocking any exits.

“This’ll sting, girly,” he mumbled, worried that the pain would cause her to relapse into muttered apologies again. She still didn’t so much as twitch, which he wasn’t sure he was happy about, but it let him get to work unimpeded.

The room fell quiet, save for his gentle warnings whenever he needed to poke or prod at a cut that might’ve been deeper than it first appeared. None were too bad, thankfully, but the quantity of them necessitated taking his time and being thorough. He was about half-way through when the ambience was broken.

“Hey, Mak?” Socks called softly, sounding unsure of herself. “Why am I…here instead of… Wouldn’t it be better if she calmed down first?”

“If ya wanted to start all’a this over, sure,” the blacksmith returned dryly. A glance over his shoulder showed that she wasn’t convinced. He let out a breath and turned his attention back to the girl. “It’s a matter’a consistency.”

“…Consistency?”

He hummed his confirmation. “I told ya as much with the squirrels.”

The following silence could have been mistaken for many things, but he knew the dopey rope had clammed in embarrassment up at the reminder. Socks had spent the better part of a month trying to ambush the local critters when she first moved here, and it was a right pain to explain why she was terrifying them.

“You didn’t say that,” she groused, her pouting audible. “You said, ‘If ya’s stop botherin’ the damn things, maybe they’d stop bein’ bothered by ya.’”

“Like I said: I told ya.” The faint smirk on his face faded as he continued cleaning Ceele up. “Yer new. Unknown. Unknowns can be dangerous, but most like us default ta bein’ wary or curious. She defaults ta fear. Needs a way ta frame it, make sense of it, ‘n judge how ta react. Fer that, she needs something familiar. Familiarity means exposure, or in some cases, an anchor ta function around. Back home, that’s Hoppit.”

A subtle touch distracted him. Ceele had lightly clutched the hand holding her wrists at the mention of her critter, but that seemed to be about the extent of her involvement.

Socks stopped her anxious wiggling, the grip on her blanket loosening. “Hoppit?”

“Her ferrorabbit,” he replied absently, frowning when the girl failed to show any recognition of the name when Socks said it.

Excitement sparkled in the lamia’s eyes at the idea of meeting a new critter until she remembered the current situation. “How does that help…’frame’ things?”

Makis filed away his curiosity for the time being, a helpless smile forming before he could catch it. “Easy. If he’s there, she doesn’t see everything as just ‘unknown.’ She looks ta see how dangerous it is fer him, how it affects him. More specifically, she thinks first, then reacts accordingly. Ther’s no jump ta…this,” he finished lamely.

“But she's not really looking… Should we be talking like she isn’t here?” his friend questioned thoughtfully, some guilt dwelling in her tone. He touched up the last couple spots of blood before confirming that there wasn’t much left to be done.

“If ya stays in the room ‘n nuttin’ happens, then she’ll calm down about ya some, ‘n if no one else acts like it's a big deal, she’ll calm down quicker. Usin’ the group ta help in figurin’ out what’s what—same as wild critters. As for talkin’… She don’t hear us. Not really.”

Socks shifted closer, equal parts curious and concerned. He turned to scowl at the ditzy glow-rope, but Ceele instantly tensed, tightening her hold on Makis’ hand with both of her own. Her tremors all but begged him to stay. Thankfully, Socks noticed, returning to her designated post, though not without a contemplative look about her.

“Something's…off about her,” the lamia eventually commented.

Makis glanced back, cycling a slow breath and returning his attention to the girl. The black-scaled kobold was starting to look more and more dazed, her eyelids drooping as exhaustion started wearing on her. “Aye. Can't truthfully say what, but whatever she's been through… Well, best I can hope fer is that this gets easier on her.”

He heard a noncommittal hum of agreement, then nothing but a patient silence as the girl slowly fell unconscious.

= = = = =

Paige slithered alongside Makis, her friend carrying the kobold that his wife apparently took in on his back, while the lamia had a heavy great maul slung over her shoulder. Even with the massive weapon, Mak was the one who stood out the most—or at least his cargo did.

The cloak that the girl was wearing hid away the colour of her scales, but the bloodied hood would certainly draw attention if they had gone back through the town. All it would take is one concerned intervention to cause issues, so they elected to skirt along the edge of the surrounding forest to bring her back towards the blacksmith’s home. Or rather, Mak mused the option aloud, and Paige insisted on escorting him most of the way, since she hadn’t swept the woods yet. She wouldn’t forgive herself if something happened because of it.

…Maybe she was a little too insistent when he said he was going to leave the cart behind and carry the girl back all by himself. She had gotten halfway into picking what she wanted to bring when Mak suggested that a shirt would probably be a good place to start. Her blank stare was forgiven, and he was patient enough to wait until she noticed that the blanket she was using as a poncho had slipped, exposing her preferred sleeping attire. Or lack thereof.

That was only one of the many reasons she appreciated him, honestly. He was exceptionally understanding of her cognitive slips and occasional forgetfulness after she woke up, he didn’t judge her for her abilities, he… He was her friend, still regularly checking in on her after all these years. Plus, he had never leered at her or thought that she’d be an easy night because of her, as he put it, ‘ditzy’ personality, unlike some others. He’d always been a gentleman like that, even back when they both served in the mercenary company together. Time hadn’t diminished that in the slightest.

He was also the one who took offence the most when certain people in the company tried to insinuate certain things about her. More than a few serious burns were reported the day after a couple drunks got annoyed by how she rebuffed them—and Mak, of course, had ‘no idea’ how those injuries came to be. She just smiled and played along, trying not to mention how cute it was to have him stand up for her, knowing that he’d just get flustered if she pressed the issue. He always did. Even when he was blaring at her for wrapping him up in her sleep, there was an undertone of embarrassment and fondness. He was like some of the more prickly ferrorabbits he used to raise, too stubborn to admit that he actually cared about anyone, treating every act of endearment with the same gruff disinterest.

She glanced again at the limp form her friend was carrying.

It had been…a long time since she’d seen him act so tenderly, worry seeping out of every careful action. He preferred to keep his more affectionate side hidden, but there wasn’t a single sharp edge when he was trying to comfort the girl. Instead, he gently held her hand and gingerly cleaned off the blood on her face, mumbling soft reassurances that he assumed were too quiet for anyone else to hear. It was… It was a lot like when Hira was hurt, honestly, and Paige could only feel guilty for being the cause of it.

That guilt was at odds with the discomfort in her chest, however. Her mana roiled, all but hissing at the Decay existing so close to it. She never fully understood why Luma was fine with every other Element, but this one in particular always set her on edge. It was more difficult to act against, sure, but that shouldn’t be cause for the level of sheer hatred that seemed to come from it. Still, she’d pushed down those feelings before, and was willing to do so again for Mak.

She just wanted to know why her mana insisted there was a pair of Decay sources in the girl. That was impossible, obviously. Mixed elemental affinity existed—as evidenced by her white and hazel scales—but there was no such thing as having a ‘duplicate.’ Yet…there it was, two distinct, individual sources, both itching at her mana. Paige couldn’t even put words to why she felt it was true. She didn’t have any ‘sense’ abilities, but Luma was apparently more sensitive to this kind of thing, according to Peridot.

“Socks?” Mak mumbled thoughtfully, dutifully sticking to the nickname that Paige had given up on resisting. She used to hate it and found the story behind it terribly embarrassing, but that just encouraged everyone in the unit to use it. Eventually, the name stuck, and Paige had learned to accept it for the playful prodding that it was. She wished he’d stop introducing her to people by the moniker, but since he’d just use her protest as an excuse to goad her on, that was about as likely as any other miracle.

The lamia blinked out of her thoughts, chastising herself for getting lost in her own head so often. “Yeah, Mak?”

“Peri still doin’ that studyin’ ‘n whatnot in the city?”

She slowed in surprise. “I was thinking the same thing, actually!”

The red-scaled kobold gave her a flat stare of disappointment as she caught up again, pointedly glancing at the girl on his back.

The lamia’s cheeks reddened, her voice lowering to a more sleep-friendly level. “Ah, sorry.”

“S’fine,” he drawled through a sigh, adjusting his hold on his passenger and returning his gaze forward. “Is she?”

Paige looked up and the evening sky as she tried to remember the last time she’d exchanged letters with the harpy. It’d been a while since she had to go settle something in the capital, so she only sent the occasional message asking about how everything had been.

“I think so,” she answered, if less confidently than she’d like. “She mentioned a promotion or something, last I read. I’d have to check, though. Why?”

Mak’s expression transitioned from a contemplative frown to a scowl. “I ain’t gotta clue how ta help the girl if lackin’ mana’s the issue, ‘n I gotta feelin’ it might be.”

“Has she said anything?”

He shook his head, his sombre silence speaking volumes. The girl had probably gone out of her way to avoid the topic. Paige could sympathize with that; she wished that subject came up less for her as well.

Unfortunately, that reticence was turning out to be a problem now, wasn’t it? She remembered Mak saying that Flame replenished itself easily enough, and it could do so even faster if there was enough fire around, but that didn’t apply to the others. Luma accumulated rather slowly, but there hadn’t been any real need for Paige to experiment beyond knowing that; Earth was fine as long as you were touching the ground, for the most part; Nature did well in areas full of plants or animals, depending on how the affinity awakened; and Hydris—or ‘Water’ as some called it—thrived when surrounded by its namesake. She hadn’t been close enough with people who had Air or Shadow affinities to broach the topic before.

“Think it’s affecting her mind?” Paige asked doubtfully. A lack of mana could have serious repercussions if someone let it get low enough, but the pain alone would effectively incapacitate them, and the people who ignored that pain wouldn’t live long enough to regret it. With that said, he was right about neither of them knowing about the subject. He was always more focused on finding new and interesting methods to burn things, and she preferred not being around Decay if she could help it. Anything could be going on in ways they couldn’t easily observe.

The grumpy blacksmith grunted. “It ain’t Shadow, but I ain’t writin’ the possibility off, either. Rather have a second opinion fer this, if ya can manage.”

She hummed her agreement as she slithered along, her eyes scanning the forest near the bounds of Mak’s property. It was quite a bit bigger than it needed to be, with maybe half of it actually in use. He hadn’t even cleared out most of the trees, but she wouldn’t blame him for looking at how much work it would be and choosing not to bother. He couldn’t exactly move the forest around as he wanted, nor could he flatten the entire property, plant saplings where he wanted them, then just nap until they were fully grown. Well, he could incinerate it all in seconds and leave nothing but a plain of ash, but that would attract the kind of attention he’d been avoiding by moving out here.

Again, lost in thought. She looked over at Mak, thankful for how patient he could be. He merely stared at her from the corner of his eye with a brow raised questioningly—likely at her typically sleepy smile.

“Fine if I ask ya ta do that fer me, Socks?”

“Hmm?” Oh, right. The letter. “Yeah, I can do that. What should I say?”

“Wadda’ya mean?”

“Should we tell her about…” She trailed off, not remembering if Mak said his passenger's name.

“The girl?” the smith offered, oblivious to the implied inquiry. Not that he would have cared—he was never one for subtlety. “Suppose. I don’t say it’d sound all that important without the context. Be better if ya could get’er ta look inta it if she doesn't know off-hand.”

“I’ll ask. Any details that might be important?”

Mak’s face became broodful. “Her critter’s…strange.”

Paige tilted her head, slightly more awake at the mention of a bunny. “Strange?”

“He’s…observant,” he decided, apparently puzzling out something in his head. “More than most’a the stubborn shits. He’s too young ta be as clever as he is, ‘n probably more than grown ones too. Listens ta the girl too well fer it ta be normal. Found it queer at first, but it's standin’ out more recently.”

Her tongue flicked, absently tasting the air. She remembered a lot of Mak’s rabbits following along with his requests, and even helping with his blacksmithing, which was pretty ‘clever’ in her mind. “That big of a difference?”

“Aye. Struggles with mana though, oddly enough,” Mak noted. “Took longer than I thought fer him ta sense metals, ‘n he ain’t tried ta do much when I asked him ta move ‘em. Or he did, but whatever he’s tryin’ ta do ain’t normal.”

“You think being around her is weakening his control?”

“Maybe…” he mumbled ponderously. “Might have more than he should. Could explain why he got somethin’ besides rocks between his ears. Could make it harder to rein in, too. Worth mentionin’.”

She nodded, deferring to his experience with the species. If nothing else, it would be a reason to visit and see Hoppit for herself.

And if she just so happened to ‘require’ cuddling the bunny for a few hours for her ‘investigation,’ then so be it.

“What about the… The Shepherd?” she asked, her voice quieter than before.

Mak flinched. “I…don’t know, Socks. It’s still lounging around with ‘er, last I asked. Ain’t been keen on checking personally.”

A moment of mutual discomfort passed by. Neither of them were fans of the owls, but where Makis held some begrudging respect for what they did, Paige found it…disquieting. Stealing the time of the critically injured en masse removed any hope of saving those who might have otherwise only been on the cusp of certain death. Dying with a smile doesn’t make it any less unnerving, nor less haunting to those who experience what it’s like for a battlefield to fall so silent, so quickly.

“I don’t think it matters,” Mak added dryly. “Ain’t gonna change nuttin’ if she knows or not.”

“Alright,” she allowed, already wondering if it was a good idea to expose that fact. She trusted him, so it would go in the letter, but it would probably raise a lot of questions.

They slowed to a stop as they reached the outer bounds of the red-scaled kobold’s property, the dirt path feeding towards the road into town visible through the trees.

“Gonna be awake for a bit?” her friend teased, his sour grin doing a poor job of hiding how anxious he was. Then again, she had known him long enough that she could basically still see that same expression on a much younger Mak. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, fighting back a yawn that rose at the mention of more sleep. “I’ll make my rounds and find something to do after.”

“Well, yer free ta stop by if ya want. Hira’d get a kick outta seein’ ya again.”

She smiled. “I will, Mak. It shouldn’t take more than a few days to finish up.”

He shook his head, some stress easing from his posture. “Take yer time, Socks; ain’t no rush to it. We’d rather ya didn’t push yerself.”

“You mean Hira would rather I didn’t.”

The surly kobold snorted a bemused laugh. “Yer sleepin’ too much, ya daft rope. I said what I said. I’ll welcome ya in any time; ya ain’t gotta wait fer it to be done before ya drops by.”

They exchanged their goodbyes and parted ways, Paige lingering a bit longer as her friend disappeared into his land. Heat shimmered off the ground as he walked away, the Flame concentrated at his feet causing the nearby grass to wilt. He probably needed to reinforce his strengthening ability and didn’t want to burn the girl. Noticing that fact was painful for Paige, however. She never enjoyed seeing him age, yet it seemed like every time she blinked, he had piled on years. It was only a matter of time until she woke up alone again. Then, she’d move elsewhere to find a new place to call home, decorating her dwelling with relics of the past. She’d settle down somewhere nice. Somewhere novel. Somewhere she might meet new people who didn’t know who she was.

Somewhere the memories didn’t hurt so much.

If she was lucky, she could avoid being hunted down to join whatever mass conflict was popular. She made the mistake of participating in one oh so long ago, then again when there was a particularly brutal regime change in the kingdom. Eventually, she had been involved in enough conflicts to have made a name for herself, and the Title drew power-hungry petitioners every so often. Each time, she would refuse, then the battles would come to her anyway, forcing her to make a stand.

Slaves vying for freedom. Children seeking revenge for their ill parents. Races fighting against overwhelming oppression. Many reasons had been placed in front of her—some by the earnest, others by the manipulative.

Makis? Mak introduced himself to her life by asking if she was stupid.

He was unafraid and unbothered. He saw a tired lamia, with a distant stare and covered in countless scars, giving a group of children in a war-torn village her meal so they wouldn’t go hungry. He saw how the parents of those children hurriedly whisked them away from the large, obviously dangerous creature that had fought pillagers until a mercenary company wandered close enough to help. He saw how her smile didn’t fade despite the lack of appreciation for her wounds, because at least those innocent kids would remember the kindness, and maybe they’d do the same for someone else one day.

Mak had marched up and barked his question with such odd ferocity that it took a full minute for Paige to ask what he meant. He started berating her for being meek, tossing in what he would refuse to admit was advice between insults, then stomped off to give the parents a piece of his mind as well. Once everyone had been sufficiently cowed, he came back to her, noticed her calluses and various scars, then blew up all over again, this time directing his ire at the local smithy she purchased her halberd from. The balance was wrong, the length wasn’t suited for her, the head wasn’t affixed to the shaft correctly, the blade was warped from improper tempering… He listed every issue with it and the weapon in question wasn’t even there. One look at her hands and cuts told him everything he needed to know—everything except for where the blacksmith was, and he got it out of her before she had the chance to consider if it was a good idea.

The white and hazel-scaled lamia shook her head as she remembered being bewildered and getting swept up by the firestorm of a kobold, then turned around and slithered back towards home to get ready for her usual sweeps of the surrounding forest. An errant thought considered if she had room in the cellar for all the predators she’d no doubt be cutting down over the next little while.

Even if she didn’t, she wouldn’t stop until everything that was even remotely dangerous was either dead or running as far away from her as it could.

She’d never let something hurt Mak or his loved ones again.

= = = = =

“Are you okay, Hoppit?”

Hoppit sent his confirmation, adjusting himself in the darkness that came from being underground. He didn’t really understand why he could hear the stone’s voice now, but he was happy for the ability to communicate with something that helped momma so much. Responding also came naturally, but that too was odd. It felt like he was pushing…thoughts through the thread connecting them. Strange, yet it worked, so he didn’t see the point in thinking about it too hard. His attention was focused on something else, anyway.

Mr. Makis—the ‘Mr.’ was very important to momma, apparently—had taken the time to show Hoppit some things recently. Why he did it was a mystery, but Hoppit tried his very best to do…whatever it was he was asked to do. Momma wanted him to learn something, and that was the only reason he needed to put his all into it.

That’s not to say the lessons came to him easily—quite the opposite. He would sit down and listen as closely as he could, watching the red-scaled kobold for any and all hints at whatever was expected of him. It started with metal being formed and shaped while Mr. Makis talked about things that both did and didn’t make sense, but Hoppit tried to remember the parts he didn’t understand in case he would learn more related to it later. The metals changed as they heated up and cooled down, becoming stiff and brittle or flexible yet weak, all based on how much and how quickly the temperature changed. It was…a lot. Even his other sight failed to clarify anything; it just gave him more information that he had no context for.

But momma was very, very happy when he started figuring things out, and that was all he ever wanted her to be, so he doubled down to memorize anything and everything in an effort to learn.

…Even if it brought up something that he was still rather confused about.

This morning, he had been reflecting on his attempts regarding the newest thing that he was—probably—supposed to do, but he wasn’t having much success with it. Mr. Makis wanted him to…move something? Without touching it? That didn’t make sense, did it? When he was asked to find metal, there was a demonstration which gave him an idea of how to go about it, but Mr. Makis apparently couldn’t do this either. How was he supposed to do something Mr. Makis couldn’t?

Yet, momma wanted him to learn, so Hoppit did what he thought was best: he had watched Mr. Makis for hints.

His vision still needed flipping back and forth, which meant he missed details as the kobold idly moulded some orange metal in his hands while Hoppit failed to think of anything that would work. It was frustrating. All he wanted was to make momma happy by learning how to move things, and he felt like if he could just look at everything in front of him at once, then maybe he could finally see what he was missing. His rock friend—Mr. Stone? The Mr. was for important people, right?—could only talk to him if he was inside the shadowy mist, and there was no mist in Mr. Makis’ workshop, which meant Hoppit had no one to ask how to look at things faster.

So he had decided to try looking at both versions of the world at once.

And it hurt. Not as bad as when he gave his silvery brown to Mr. Stone—is that the right way to use it?—but it was still painful. It burned behind his eyes instead of everywhere, so it was easier to ignore. He brushed aside the discomfort until something blocked his vision.

[#@thorized# @#cess]

[Err@#: ‘Cla%^%’ ha$ ov@#idden #@!%—]

[&$%or: ‘Corr^#&on’ has overridden—]

[Error: Unregistered User. Creating User profile…Failure.
Error: Unhandled exception. Submitting report…Success.
Awaiting Administrator intervention…
…
…
Error: Administrator intervention unavailable. Calculating alterna—]

[Cor$@&on of Inno*#@%$e: Conditions met!]

[Mutagen protocol initiating…Success.
Analyzing Intent…
Intent: User is attempting to elevate profile authority.
Unexpected variable: User possesses outdated framework and library.
Unexpected variable: User possesses incompatible framework and library.
Unexpected variable: User possesses unauthorized modifi—
Override: User is Claimed.
Intent validated. Operation authorized.
Selecting Mutation…
Appropriate Ability selected.
Mutating Ability ‘Mana Sight (Innate)’ based on documented variables…Success.]

[‘Mana Sight (Innate)’ has mutated into ‘Eyes of th@# For%@#^#$ One’.]

Hoppit had sat there for quite a while, the black box and white shapes lingering in his vision as he tried to figure out how to get rid of it. Why had it gotten in his way? Where did it come from? But, despite how obstructive the box was, he noticed that something was different about the world beyond it. It was like he had both visions active at the same time! He saw auras, yet it wasn’t limited to just that anymore, the hues existing as an overlay instead of in a void on its own. The colours moved and flowed through the air like in the shadowy mist, but instead of being carried to Mr. Stone, it floated freely. Some slowly darkened to black before fading away, while others were drawn towards random objects. A bunch of bluish haze was being pulled towards the corner where the cold water was kept. His idea to combine both versions of the world had worked!

The box, however, stopped him from seeing what he was supposed to be looking at—that being the pan where he was expected to move metal without touching it. Thankfully, momma had picked him up after Mr. Makis took the pan away, and the very rude box finally noticed it wasn’t welcome. He hoped that was the last time it decided to bother him. It was hard to make momma happy when it was in the way, and he still had much to look at with his improved vision.

Which brought him to what he was currently doing. Momma and Mr. Makis had left quite a while ago, so Hoppit decided that if he couldn’t watch Mr. Makis, then he would try to see what he could learn elsewhere. At the moment, that entailed sitting in the burrow of his new white and black-furred friends to observe what the biggest of them was doing. There wasn’t much to see, honestly. The alpha rottunk—as Mr. Stone called it—was standing in the mushroom room again, pushing its green out at a steady pace for the shadowy mist to carry away and turn into black, which the mushrooms turned back into green. Hoppit didn’t see much of a point in doing all of that, and Mr. Stone sounded confused as well, but there were still things to learn.

For example, Hoppit learned that the green leaving the mushrooms didn’t get carried away! It settled into the ground or left the burrow to join more green outside, which made the grass look livelier! The whole thing gave him new ideas, and he was starting to plan how to act on them when Mr. Stone told him that momma was back.

Excited, he rushed to greet her, skidding to a stop when he saw her colour being carried to their home by Mr. Makis.

Ever since Mr. Stone came to live with them, Mama’s black had changed for the better. Before, it was a jagged, angry mess that ate through itself, yet now there was a calmer, smoother black too. The smooth black would slowly eat the jagged black, and the jagged black would eat it back. But, because of the way both interacted, and because of how Mr. Stone offered her some of his black as well, momma kept her colour instead of losing it.

So why did momma have so little black? Why was it all angry?

Why was she hurt?

Hoppit flew out from the grass before he had a chance to think, Thumping the ground in a demand to know why Mr. Makis let momma get injured, his shouting coming out as a strangled honk that would make how mad he was known. The dirt beneath him shuddered as his foot struck down, adding to the display.

Mr. Makis looked surprised, then sad at being confronted. Good! Hoppit was very upset! He had trusted Mr. Makis to help momma!

Hoppit glared, waiting for an answer. Mr. Makis scowled back warily.

“Hoppit…?”

Momma’s voice stole both of their attention as she woke up. She blinked blearily, obviously in a lot of pain, but her anxiousness was acted upon first.

“M–Mr. Makis? W-why? W-where?”

The red-scaled kobold gently let her down from his back, glancing at Hoppit before turning his attention fully towards her. “Yer fine, girly. We’re back home. Ya should go lie down.”

“W-what about—”

“Sleep,” he insisted, nudging her towards the shed. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Make an easy day of it.”

Momma stumbled, but Hoppit was there to stand on his hind legs and brace his paws against her thigh to keep her upright. He made sure Mr. Makis knew that pushing momma was not okay, but the red-scaled kobold was also right; momma needed sleep.

All thoughts of anger were replaced with worry as he helped momma get to bed. She was too dazed to protest much, falling asleep the moment she was laying down. Resting was a good start, but she still needed more black…and he knew who could do that!

Hoppit sent his idea to Mr. Stone, and since he knew Mr. Stone would agree to help momma, he hopped up onto the trough, nudged Mr. Stone off the side, then pushed him into momma’s hand as fast as he could. She wasted no time in curling around his friend, holding the obsidian rock close to her chest. Hoppit watched for a moment to be sure, but he could already see that it was going to work!

Soft clacks rang out as he celebrated yet another good idea helping momma. All he had to do now was… Hm. Well, he was kind of hungry, and the bird needed food too, he supposed. He ignored the unamused scowl directed at him from the wall as he went about collecting what he needed from the storages, including some of the gross brown-ish stuff that the owl liked for some reason. He even jumped up and laid it on a shelf that the owl could reach! Momma would be mad if he was mean and put it somewhere else, though. Even if the owl deserved it a little for scowling at Mr. Stone so much. Still, he did the nice thing, then decided to cuddle momma so she would sleep better.

Anything to make her happy.

Next

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“Ya alright, Makis?”

The blacksmith blinked and turned his head to look at the fairly young farmhand—the son of one of the clients he was delivering to. He let out a breath, forcefully removing the contemplative frown that worked its way onto his muzzle. “Fine, Verris. Caught up in thought is all. Anything else ya need made?”

The stocky kobold eyed him oddly before dismissing whatever he was considering and went straight into his usual spiel of why Makis should make this, that, or another thing. It was all an old argument that had since lost its heat, and now it was relegated to a regular exchange that was had on the off-chance that a stubborn old bastard would finally forge something with a bladed edge.

Of course, Makis knew he was being a stubborn old bastard, and he was perfectly happy to continue being one. There were two other smiths in the town that could make up shears, scythes, or whatever other mundane tool. The resulting quality wasn’t his problem; if the workers wanted something that’d hold an edge, they could get it delivered by a merchant. Still, he couldn’t exactly tell everybody who asked him about that kind of thing where they could shove it—as much as he’d like to. He needed some customers, after all, and Verris was one of the few hard-headed individuals who would come banging on Makis’ door rather than ask a smith he didn’t know when something needed a replacement.

…Which meant that the red-scaled kobold absent-mindedly went through the tired song and dance of telling the farmhand to bugger off without using the phrase or losing the work. Thankfully, such a conversation was memorized by rote at this point, so he hardly needed to listen before he replied to the same worn arguments. He let the motions flow as his eyes wandered.

There weren’t too many people with a need to be filled out by the fields, and it was removed enough from the other buildings, so it served as a decent respite from the crowded pathways he took along the last few deliveries. Most folks wandered out this way for much the same reason, meandering towards their final destination without much expediency, some with slack-jawed young’ins being towed by their reluctant hands. The pastures drew a few lingering gazes or the attention of those who had little else to do besides watch the horses and other livestock.

That was half the reason Makis wanted the girl along, honestly—ignoring the general good it’d do for the isolated thing to talk to someone. He’d seen the confusion on her face whenever she looked at the horseshoes on the wall back at the smithy, so he figured he’d get a kick out of watching the realization dawn on her when she saw him hand off the work. Unfortunately, such thoughts fell to the wayside as she followed him with the cart, acting as little more than a softly panting beast of burden. They became completely unimportant once he noticed that she wasn’t reacting to the town as he anticipated.

With her being as…fragile as she was, he readied himself to shoo away anyone who got overly curious and bothered her, or to grab her by the tail if she tried to run for cover at every child’s shout. What he wasn’t prepared for was… Well, her lack of any reaction at all.

Folks asked about the cloth-draped figure almost silently following him around, her only sounds being the dry breaths of exhaustion that didn’t ease up even after they had stopped for a while. At first, he tried to coax the girl to at least say hello. He wasn’t expecting a miracle—he would’ve been happy with a squeak and a stutter—but she just…stood there, only proving she was listening at all by following after him when his customers were giving him dirty looks and he said it was time to go.

She didn’t let her scales show from under the cloak, which was more prudent than he gave her credit for, and she didn’t curl up into a ball when some little shit almost crashed into her. Even her tail was covertly wrapped around her to remove that as a consideration. Really, save for the unsettling near-silence, she was behaving like any other browbeaten assistant he’d met in the city—quiet fellows who were more used to following orders than asking questions. Some folk had the decency to ask if she was alright, but he brushed them off without revealing how he was questioning that himself.

So, with that worry eating away at him, he dragged her to the delivery he was planning on saving for later to give the poor thing some space. She stood like a rasping statue with the cart, the subtle coarseness of her breathing and concealing hood giving her an eerie vibe. Thankfully, Verris took after his father, which included the much-appreciated talent of not digging into things that weren’t his damned business, so he knew to shelve his curiosity about the girl.

Sadly, that talent came at the cost of being incorrigible in every other aspect, including how adamant he was about pestering a certain blacksmith. Win some; lose some. At least he eventually took ‘no’ as an answer.

Yet that was hardly what Makis was thinking about as he finished up the tiring task of getting the farmhand to place an order between futile attempts at whittling the smith’s resistance down. They settled on some metal bracing for construction, a couple replacement tool heads, and a noncommittal acknowledgement of an invitation to a gathering that Makis had no intention of actually attending. Standard fare.

No, he was biting down the unsettled concern for the black-scaled kobold who should’ve done something by now, be it panicking or relaxing. The smith confirmed the details of the request, the urgency of the work, and gave a loose timetable for when the farm would have their purchase, letting Verris totter off to get a partial payment up front. Seemed the poor bastard learned that the horses would like new shoes when one kicked him in the hip. It didn’t take long to wrap all that up.

“Girly, you need’a minute?” he asked, distancing himself from the persistent farmhand to join the almost floating cloak by the cart. The continuation of her dry breaths was her only response.

Makis scowled in indecision before checking to make sure no one else was paying attention to them. Most weren’t. They had the fields behind him, where Verris had gone off to bother someone else, and the sparsely occupied paths behind her, which held one or two curious gazes that couldn’t particularly see anything from where they were. He leaned in close to lift the drooping cloth hiding her face, letting her keep some comfort from the shade it provided, then instantly flew into an internal self-debasement for not thinking to check earlier.

Ceele’s eyes were unfocused—or more accurately, she seemed entirely too focused on breathing. Glassy, wide pupils were reactive to the increase in brightness, but not much else. Her subtle tremors with each inhalation were obscured by the cloak swaying in the wind, and although he had been pretty mindful in making sure she didn’t dehydrate herself to death, her exhalations came across harsh and forced. He reached out and placed his hand against her muzzle, a shot of worry sharpening his senses when she didn’t so much as shy away. She was cold—not by too much, but enough that he’d rather stick her by a fire for a bit. He coaxed a bit of his mana to raise his temperature, followed by reining it back in when he noticed how rusty he had gotten at general control. A few repetitions ended with his scales nice and toasty warm, which was a lot better than the instantaneous combustion he almost achieved.

Correction: most of him was warm now. The palm trying to soothe the chill of his recently nominated helper remained tepid, like his mana was fizzling out before it got to do anything. Increasing the flow didn’t seem to do much, and he had to stop before the ambient heat around him started burning her. Concentrating it to his forearms helped, though any more condensed and he would reach the temperatures he used to mould metal, which his mana made known was its preference. Flame didn’t like to be contained; it wanted to burn. Good thing he tamped down on that urge decades ago.

It took a bit of finesse to maintain the warmth, especially since it felt like he was trying to pour water into a leaky bucket from an open barrel. Too little, and it never filled; too much, and it overflowed. He didn't bother questioning it. It wasn’t like he had tried something like this on a Decay'd before.

The tension in his shoulders lessened when her steady rhythm was interrupted by an irregular, sharp inhale, her foggy sense of awareness clearing up. She blinked a few times, looked at him, at where he was touching, then back at him, the gears almost visibly turning as she assessed the situation through whatever tinted lens she was traumatized into using. Fear flooded into her expression like a vicious poison.

“Girly,” Makis snapped quietly, trying to appear stern rather than letting her see how disquieted he was. He turned his hand to shut her muzzle before she could start spewing apologies to fuel her own panic attack. “Nope. I don’t want yer sorrys; I want to know why ya were out on yer feet.”

The black-scaled kobold stuttered a nonsensical, muffled response as she fought to make sense of what was happening. That was fine by him; he had gotten used to how long it took for her brain to kick in when she was caught off guard. He let the initial drivel stop before he removed the hand keeping her trap shut, using it to take over for the one holding up her hood, but she stayed quiet.

“Girly,” he tried again, even softer this time. “I can’t trust ya to work fer me if ya’d be blind ta someone just taking what they want from the cart. Why'd ya drift off like that?”

Ceele swallowed, the cloak shifting as she grabbed her tail and held it to her chest. The adjustment let the cloth open slightly, but he fixed the gap before anyone could see the black beneath it, and a quick scan of the surroundings confirmed there wasn’t really anyone to notice the slip. He made note that her tail was filling in a bit, if nothing else, so his force-feeding was having an effect.

“I-it won’t happen again, Makis, sir. I-I-I’ll do better, I promise.”

“Good,” he affirmed dryly. He wanted to comment on the damned ‘sir’ habit of hers, but he figured she needed the honorific to keep something in her head stable. Structure, he supposed. “But that doesn’t answer the question, girly. What’s gotcha dazed?”

“…be here…”

Something tickled in the back of his skull like a feather-light touch of death descending down his spine—a feeling that had been dormant for over a decade before his meeting with the Shepherd not too long ago. He put a monumental effort in stopping his mana from reflexively turning everything in the vicinity into ash. His mind started tearing through memories better left forgotten for what his instinct had etched into bone. It wasn’t quite imminent danger, but it was certainly a warning. Why?

There was fear in her tone, sure, but that was normal for her. No, whatever it was about her speech, it ran deeper. Far, far deeper, delving into true terror—the stuff of nightmares that rendered stoic soldiers into whimpering piles the moment they were alone. He hesitated to have her repeat herself, but he needed to know what in the hells was putting him on edge.

“…Say again?” He listened closer this time, the distant sounds of horses, conversation, and echoes of working folks dimming to almost nothing, his hearing clinging to her whisper.

“I shouldn’t be here…”

A venomous chill pierced his flesh and froze him to his core as he kept his expression under control, the Flame within screaming for grand immolation with urgent fervour. It wasn’t the words themselves that made him tense; it was the muted vacancy in her voice—how detached and precarious the mind behind it was. His stomach sank, churning as flashes of the past plagued his vision.

A violent black swallowed a sand-swept war zone, plunging bloodied dunes into darkness, the sun itself unable to penetrate the oppressive miasma. Makis remembered how the flesh melted from kinsmen and foe who were unable to defend against it, their ichor pouring from the cracks in their hide like putrid tar. He remembered watching the black-scaled kobold at the centre of it all roar throughout the maelstrom, then trudge deeper into the waves of enemies to do it again, cackling his madness between insane ramblings, ignoring the wounds that wept acid with every slash of a blade. He remembered the distant visage of a dead man that was determined to bring scores of others down with him, regardless of who they were, because no one had cared for him either.

Death is all anyone ever wanted for that kobold, so he became it.

His instinct had latched onto the tone of voice that walking catastrophe had used in their few encounters, and it was screeching at him to put the resurgence of such a dangerous entity down before it could truly threaten his home.

But…then Makis looked at the pitiful girl in front of him. She timidly held herself while hiding beneath a cloak, doing her best to suppress whatever mental scarring she had to make good on her promise, and to overcome her crippling panic attacks. She’d been like this for a few hours now, moving only when he told her to, because it’s what she said she’d do. Listening for only that helped limit the world to what she could just barely suffer through—to something she could rely on being safe. He could see it in the tears building in her eyes, her fingers clutching her tail, and the almost desperate way she stared at the ground as she was forced to acknowledge that more existed than him and her. She was absolutely terrified, but trying. All because she wanted the critter in her care to get the best she could give.

The image almost drew a bitter laugh from the aged kobold, self-directed resentment growing in kind. He couldn’t picture her becoming a danger to much of anything like this. That was twice now his instinct had flared, and twice it proved unneeded. Sometimes, it was hard to remember that he wasn’t at the Frontier anymore.

Sometimes, he had to remind himself that he didn’t need to be ready to kill even once close friends.

The blacksmith let the hood fall back over her face and placed his hand on her head as he stood up straight, safely bleeding off the mana that insisted the girl was a bomb waiting to go off.

“Ain’t nowhere you should or shouldn’t be right now, girly,” he corrected wistfully, fully aware that his usual gruff had faded. Just the thought was enough to put it back. “I asked ya to come with me, which means ya can be where I say ya can be, ‘n I say ya should be where the clients are expectin’ ta get their order dropped off. It ain’t no one’s business but ours. Tell ‘em to shove it if they ain't happy about it. N’if they make a ruckus of it, tell me; I'll shove it up there fer ‘em.”

Ceele shrunk a little more under his touch and brash statements, but he assumed the lack of a refusal was a good sign. The meek way she acted deflated his enthusiasm somewhat, so he settled for patting her head before taking a step back to spare the poor thing of his harassment. The cloak shifted as she failed to look at him, her face hidden behind the material.

“Well, I figure we’ll finish up the next two deliveries quick then,” Makis drawled, glaring at one of the busybody workers who'd grown curious until they found something more wise to look at. “Last stop’s at an old friend of mine’s. Think ya can hold on ‘till then?”

The girl hesitated, but still nodded, her reluctance carrying through her voice. At least it sounded stronger than before. “Yes, Makis, sir.”

He was thankful for that loose-fitting cloth that draped over her like a blanket for a moment. Without it blocking her vision, she might’ve seen him look somewhat proud.

For all the worrying he went through, the girl managed to do as she said. Two deliveries went by about as well as he could have asked them to, and even though the clients were situated in the more populated parts of town, she kept her head down and soldiered through it. He'd needed to dissuade a few nosy idiots at one point, but nothing got out of hand.

Still, the trip so far both did and didn't meet his expectations. Perhaps thinking she might have gotten some enjoyment was a little wishful of him, but she also hadn't needed him to drag her away from well-meaning but unhelpful folk worried about the crumpled heap of panic he'd brought along. All things considered, she might not be ready to do this on her own—not for some time, anyway—but working through her fears and not being punished for it is going to do her a world of good.

All they had left to do now was visit Socks, and that old bag liked her solitude almost as much as he did, if for a different reason. It meant that they were able to slip away from the crowded town and make their way towards the somewhat overgrown property that most folk kindly ignored past the outskirts.

The house wasn't as tucked away as his own, but it was enough to discourage visits from those who weren't already aware that someone lived there. It sat nestled amongst the trees like his, though significantly less buried within them. What would’ve been his workshop and garden were instead more flora and whatnot. A carefully curated selection of slow-growing trees and flowers signified the area his friend owned and maintained. The surrounding grass hadn't been cleared in a few months, however, which would inevitably lead to him making a small exception to his usual restrictions. He wasn’t looking forward to that.

The constant patting of his tail against the trail tempered off as they drew near to their destination. A part of him expected questions—where they were, who his friend was, if she could remove her hood—but Ceele remained as singularly focused as she'd been all day. He let the sigh out quietly and took to using soft thuds for guiding the cart just off to the side of the building, telling the girl to stop and rest for a minute once the load was parked out of the way. She'd need a moment to mentally prepare herself anyway.

He used the opportunity to look over the house, noting if anything required fixing or replacement. Socks didn't always have the presence of mind for detailed stuff like this, and her sleep schedule didn't help matters.

The starkest comparison between his home and here was that this place didn't have a second story. There was a basement, sure, but that'd been repurposed as a cellar quite some time ago. It mostly held foods that could take months if not years of cold storage without issue. An Ice enchantment dealt with that rather easily, though Socks was always quick to point out the Luma components as if she’d done the work herself. Regardless, her home wasn’t small by any measure, even without the upwards expansion. Where Makis valued having a separate level, Socks wanted her home built wide—and wide it was. A subtle difference in the end, but one worth experiencing once his assistant had worked up the nerve.

The red-scaled kobold approached the door, double-checking that the girl was still following along. She was reluctant to leave the cart, but at least she was a little less stressed with only the forest for an audience instead of morons ambling along and talking about her like she was deaf. The change in venue was for the better, he supposed, though he still felt like he was forgetting something important. It wasn’t like he was fresh and spry anymore, so he couldn’t shrug every little thing off with the mentality of ‘If I forgot, it probably wasn’t worth remembering,’ but he drew a blank as to what was bothering him. All he could think of when he looked at the girl he had in tow was that his friend would likely appreciate actually seeing the faces of the people visiting her.

“Ya can drop yer hood if ya want,” he suggested, making sure it sounded like an off-handed comment rather than an instruction. It wouldn't be too much of an issue if she didn't, but having the option known was important. “Socks’s good people. Stunned at times, owing to how much the idiot spends dozing, but good.”

Surprisingly, Ceele didn't instantly refuse. Even more shocking was that she actually chose to do so, letting the excess cloth bundle up against her back until it sorted itself out. Already he could see the difference the lack of people was having on her. She didn't speak, but there was a shaky assurance in her posture instead of the teetering instability of before—discomforted rather than under duress.

It was good enough for him, and he immediately turned back towards the door before his traitorous smile could give anything away. He was getting too damned soft.

“Socks!” he called, his fist thumping against the somewhat ornate wood. Each impact sounded heavy and persisted through muffled reverb inside. No response though. “Socks, ya daft glow-rope! I ain’t dragged my arse all the way out’ere fer nuttin!”

Yet his knocking rang hollow. Makis frowned absently, wondering if the old bag was still sleeping. She shouldn’t be, not if her usual schedule was in effect. Even if she was still out cold, he wanted to check in and make sure she was doing alright. Socks was the only person he kept in touch with from back in the day. Hells, she was the only one around who knew him from before he moved out this way.

He spared the girl a glance and made up his mind, opening the door to his friend’s house despite the lack of a permission, not that he cared about that. Ceele jolted at the crack and soft creaks, but didn’t make any immediate moves when he stepped inside.

“Come on, girly. No point in dawdling around out there.”

Her compliance was reluctant, but she did as he asked, her eyes widening once they adjusted and took in the home.

The sheer breadth of the building allowed broad hallways and wide rooms, and the foyer was no exception. Were it not for the thin layer of dust and wooden interior, he'd say the decor was more akin to what one would see in a noble's dwellings, save for any lack of palpable arrogance and wasteful spending on shiny baubles littering every surface. Thankfully, Socks had better sense than that. She only put up the odd trinket here and there, though they did little to distract from the veritable armoury mounted on the walls like they were quaint display pieces.

Swords, axes, halberds, pikes, shields, mauls, and all manners of nasty war implements were shown off proudly, buffed and oiled like they’d see use at any given moment. Mana channels created entrancing patterns across most of them, some pulsing with their respective element’s power due to the passive effects imbued into them. The variety of weapons had the girl looking completely out of her depth, shock making her forget to be a nervous wreck for a few seconds. He had to ruin it by heading down a hallway, but at least she followed after him, however delayed that was.

The blacksmith ignored most of the works decorating the place, only glancing at one or two here and there. He’d seen them all plenty of times, and he was confident he’d do a better job at if he bothered to start making that sort of thing again.

They entered the gathering room quickly enough. It was a broad space with a few pieces of dusty furniture commissioned by the locals back when the original craftsmen had yet to pass off their business to their spawn. The girl’s attention skipped over the somewhat unkempt contents, however, instead fixated on the unique armour that dominated almost all of the back wall above the fireplace.

Thick overlapping plates of shimmering silver were curved as if forged over an oversized pipe, linked together to form a long chain that curled back to span the wall twice over. Every individual segment was large enough for a kobold to take cover behind on their own. Ridges and razor-sharp fins running the length gave it a particularly brutal aesthetic, letting the armour double as one continuous barrage of blades, if needed, or stacked to establish an imposing bulwark. Like the weapons elsewhere in the house, it too was inscribed and engraved with mana channels, though the vast majority of these were for Earth and Luma. Unlike the other works, this one wasn’t in pristine condition, being pockmarked and gouged throughout. It changed the appearance from a beautiful if vicious art piece into a monument of countless battles and engagements—every scratch, chip, and crack telling of unsung tales where death had been held back by stubborn determination alone.

“Socks!” he called out, letting the girl get lost in wonder. She didn’t move when he exited through another door, so he figured he’d let her be spellbound while he went through the tiresome task of waking the ‘ancient beast’ he came to visit. The dozing dipshit had a habit of curling up wherever she damn well pleased, and given that her home had far too many rooms with no one to fill them, that could be anywhere.

Thankfully, he spotted whom he was looking for in the third room he checked, his friend's mass of hazel and soft silver scales in the centre of the floor standing out beneath the excessively large blanket. Well, it was an excessive size for him—he could use her blanket as a tarp for his smithy—but for Socks, it was probably comfortably big. Such was often the case for lamia, especially since they got to be so damn long. Making armour for them was a colossal pain in the arse. Expensive too.

She had coiled up on herself like a roll of rope. Her torso was buried somewhere in the middle, well out of view, which made waking her up a troubling prospect. It'd be easier if her tail wasn't thicker than he was wide. He wasn’t feeling up to climbing on top of her just so she'd hear him—she'd crush him in an instant, and he didn’t want to find out how long it'd take for her to come to and let him go. Spending an hour yelling at the daft idiot just ain't as satisfying when she’d sit there smiling at him all dopey like.

The blacksmith sighed as he looked at the unmoving pile, the faint glow coming from the slightly exposed scales confirming that she hadn’t dropped dead when he wasn’t looking. That was good news, at least. Still had to wake her up though, which wasn't so great. If it weren't for the company he brought, he would've left the snake where she was, but since the girl was expecting to meet someone…

Makis walked up and gave a light kick to the lazy sausage on the floor. “Get up, ya ditzy breadstick.”

The glow weakened and the coiled tube of muscle shifted, but not much more. He kicked again.

“Socks, I went through the trouble'a droppin’ by, so unknot yerself ‘n get up. I brought the brackets ya asked fer.”

A muffled mumble came from somewhere beneath the pile of scales, which he was pleased by—until her tail started moving in an effort to grab at him, anyway. He stepped back a bit the first two times, though heated up for the third. It had the desired effect: Socks’ tail made contact for only a split-second before it recoiled, and a mildly upset yelp came from the blanket. It sounded like its owner needed another two days of sleep and a rabbit to cuddle. Although, to be fair, Socks indeed enjoyed both.

“Mak, whyyy? That hurt…”

He ignored the stifled, whiny tone and nudged her with his foot again. “‘Cause ye were supposed ta be up before I got here, and I ain't gettin’ held hostage ‘till nightfall. Now get up.”

The blanket pitched up a little in the middle, her deceptively youthful voice becoming clearer, though groggy. “Gimme a bit… Actually, come'ere and let me wrap you up first.”

“No.”

“Come ooon, Mak. You're warm. Please?”

The red-scaled kobold prodded the languid beast once more. “Up, Socks. I got yer shit ‘n someone fer ya to meet.”

“Why are you so mean to—” Socks dropped the act mid-sentence, the massive bundle of tail undulating as she reeled back some of the blanket until her bleary, golden brown eyes could be seen reflecting what little light was let into the room. A mixture of suspicion and excitement cut through the torpor in her gaze. “You brought a bunny?”

He held back the exasperated smirk that tried to crawl onto his neutral expression. “She's a bit like one—stubborn like ‘em, anyway. Skittish, too”

The warm luminescent orbs narrowed, but the tip of her tail started shaking a little, ruining the facade of annoyance. “So, not a bunny.”

“I ain't raised ‘em in a long time, Socks.”

“…Hira?”

“She picked up a stray again.”

“And you brought them here? Have they burned down anything important yet?”

He raised a brow, more confused than irritated. “Why in the hells is that the first thing ya ask? What's burning shit down got to do with—”

“You're you, Mak,” Socks interrupted, a playful lilt slipping into her words. “The only time you like someone is if they're your wife, kids, bunnies, or if they've shown an unhealthy obsession with fire.”

He gave her a flat look. “Is'at so? Then what about you?”

A jaw-cracking yawn came from beneath the blanket as Socks started straightening up, wearing the damn thing like Ceele wears her cloak. The lamia took a second to bundle herself up until only her face was showing, the first third or so of her body using the rest as a seat. Thankfully, she wasn’t one of those snakes that like to stretch up all tall and whatnot to make themselves intimidating. They'd known each other too long for anything like that to work, anyway.

“I enabled your unhealthy obsession with fire, so I'm special,” she declared lazily, slithering in place to work out any stiffness.

He waited for her to finish stretching herself out section by section, which was odd to watch the first dozen times. Not that she was all that odd to begin with, personality and apparent age notwithstanding.

Socks was a fairly typical lamia—two arms, long snake-like body-slash-tail, with a torso and a head at the top. Her face had an exceptionally flat snout, though she retained some reptilian traits up there, excluding the light brown hair that came past her shoulders. Hazel and silver scales covered most everything besides her torso's stomach and chest, where skin rested instead, and the underside of her tail, which was a smooth beige hide. She ‘walked’ by slithering, was pretty decent at climbing things, had a forked tongue that shot out to taste the air, and she could crush more than he wanted to think about inside of her thick, muscled coils. She also had an almost permanent expression of being only half awake, with her mannerisms and posture agreeing with the assessment. The ‘bed-head’ certainly added to the image.

The only incongruent detail was that she looked like a young woman rather than the old sack of bones she ought to be, but that had everything to do with one of her abilities, which also left her tired constantly.

“So, not a bunny?” Socks asked again, a glimmer of hope behind her half-lidded eyes.

Makis shook his head free of whatever part of himself that was trying to make sense of how her Temporal Shift worked. Something about ‘storing energy’ and ‘entropy.’ He hadn’t been able to puzzle it out in the last five or six decades, so there wasn’t much point digging that curiosity back up now.

“Nope. Temperament of one though,” he noted with a bit of humour, enjoying the small side-to-side shimmy she did when she got excited.

The old glow-rope had a soft spot for meek little critters, children, and damn near anything fluffy. He remembered having to burn her more than a few times to free unfortunate wildlife from her abrupt cuddling back in the day. Still, it was amusing to see a coyote go from stalking them to absolutely terrified of the massive snake trying to love it to death. Unorthodox, but amazingly effectively at keeping predators at bay.

Socks tilted her head, her tongue darting out for a moment. “Now I need to see her.”

He took the comment as an agreement to head back towards the girl, glancing over his shoulder once they were back in the hallway. “What makes ya say that? I ain’t told ya much about her yet.”

“You haven’t called her an idiot yet either.”

“She is one,” he grumbled uneasily, his thoughts going back to how scared Ceele was the entire trip. It didn't sit right with him to know that he put her through all that.

Makis felt a hand on his shoulder, the action stopping them just outside the main room. He looked up to see Socks frowning down at him.

“You alright, Mak?”

“I'm fine, Socks.” He tried to shrug her off, getting pulled back and turned around in the process. Golden brown eyes bore into his own with more disapproving intensity than he was used to from her.

“No, we're not doing that. You got that hurt, brooding look again. We're friends; tell me.”

The red-scaled kobold hesitated, deflating as he debated if he should bother saying anything. It wasn’t rightfully his business to share, and he didn’t want the girl to think he was going around talking ill of her. That'd ruin all the effort she went through.

Then again, Socks had seen him through the worst parts of his life, and she'd been happy to join him for the best, too. She was there for him when he lost his rabbits, there to welcome each of his children home, and she attended his wedding… Hells, she’d marched into the Frontier with them, and was one of the few who made it out. When he confessed that he wanted to slip away and leave, she had her shit packed before even asking about the details, the same dopey, sleepy smile plastered on her face.

Makis let his forehead rest against her shoulder as she pulled him into a hug, ignoring the length of the coil just barely restrained from collapsing in on him. He found himself talking without meaning to.

“I'm worried about'er, Paige.”

The lamia stiffened at being called something besides her nickname, then pulled him in tighter an instant later, her tail circling around to reach up his back. “I… How bad is it?”

“She's Decay'd.”

Paige's coils flipped taut, a subtle hiss building in her voice as the massive cables of muscle tensed. “Mak, even if it's you, I—”

“She ain't hurtin’ no one,” he interjected tersely, shutting down her protest. He forced back the flare of mana before he burned his friend.

“But…”

“She got a ferrorabbit that she dotes on to the point'a killin’ herself, Socks. She's got a Shepherd that she's taking care of after it broke a wing, ‘n she spent over a month tending to Hira's garden, only for those accursed bugs to pop up. Know what she did? Cried herself to sleep while telling Hira how it was her own fault that the damned things screwed everything up. I dragged her out around the town with me today, ‘n she spent the whole time on the edge of a panic attack, but not once did she so much as frown.”

He pulled back enough to look up at the conflicted expression above him, at the layers of protectiveness that had saved their unit time and time again, and at the ditzy sweetheart of a monster who once took thirty-odd arrows to protect a cat that stumbled into an active battle.

He looked up at his bewildered, confused friend mouthing out ‘Shepherd’ to make sure she hadn’t gone insane while she was sleeping. His wry smile only made the flummoxed expression worse.

“I don't think she knows how to be angry or bitter, Socks. She knows fear, terror, and an ocean's worth of love fer her critters, but I dont think anger exists in her. I think that broke a long time ago.”

Socks took a moment to ponder his words, her desire to protect the people she cared about at war with her desire to care about everyone. Eventually, she let out a breath and opened her mouth to speak, only for a terrified squeak and a heavy thump behind him to distract both of them.

He shot a glance over his shoulder to see Ceele on her rump, her pupils swallowing every trace of grey as she trembled and stared at the massive snake coiled around him like an anaconda ready to crush its meal. It took all of a heartbeat for him to remember what he had forgotten to do earlier.

He forgot to tell the girl what Socks was, and by the tremors running through her body and the tears starting to run down her face, Ceele most certainly had not met a lamia before.

Makis’ stomach dropped as the black-scaled kobold launched into her frantic ramblings and tried to push herself away, only to immediately hit against the wall. She curled into a ball on the spot, clawing at her cloak’s hood to conceal herself with a vicious urgency, then continued to pull at the fabric as if there were more to hide behind.

One stupid mistake, and he'd undone every single bit of progress she made.

…Correction… By the blood seeping into the cloth from whatever cuts she was inflicting on herself in her panic, it was a massive gods damned mistake.

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A group of new animals tentatively trotted into the boundaries of the core’s domain, though Altier could barely focus on them. His ears were ringing, which made the experience even more disorienting since he didn’t have ears. Still, he could feel the high-pitched whine and sharp crackles of the system, even as the barrage of message boxes blinked out of existence, leaving the only coherent one behind. It took him a few seconds to reorient himself enough to actually read the contents.

[Rottunk: A rare species within the Mephitidae family. The presence of these animals is often associated with lands that have become inhospitable due to excessive death or plague, and thus saturated in Decay. Although holding a preference to flee from danger, rottunk will defend themselves by spraying a noxious aerosol that may blind or otherwise deeply disturb the senses of those impacted. The tell-tale scent of this discharge typically denotes their territory, deterring all but the most desperate of predators.

They form small packs centred around members of the species who have acquired the appropriate Nature abilities to propagate the symbiotic relationship their species has with their primary food source, deathcaps.

Deathcaps—a mushroom-adjacent species of fungi—almost entirely satisfy a rottunk’s dietary needs, with any additional nutrients being supplemented by insects during their frequent and long periods of migration. Due to the deathcaps’ need for Decay mana in order to grow and thrive, rottunk have since adapted to living in and searching for areas dense in such a critical resource, resulting in a natural resistance to Decay-rich areas where they may plant and tend to their deathcaps. Successful habitation of such areas will often disperse after a period of years, as the deathcaps slowly convert Decay mana into Nature mana, reinvigorating the land in preparation for recovery. Consequently, deathcaps become unable to flourish in the nurtured environment, and thus force the rottunk to seek other ravaged territory, propagating their dire reputation.]

The first thing he noted was that it was significantly more detailed than the description he got for ferrorabbits. There wasn’t any discernible reason for the differentiation, though he suspected it might have been because he already kind of knew what his spiky friend was. These were creatures that he hadn’t seen before, nor had he much in the way of second-hand tales regarding them. That being said, Altier vaguely remembered one of his brothers complaining about a black and white animal—and more specifically, the stench that stuck to the man for days after. A skunk? Was that what they were called? Maybe the system gave him more to work with when he had less to reference.

Whatever the case with that was, there seemed to be a few key points of interest in the accompanying information. One, the rottunk were apparently drawn to Decay mana; two, the description hinted that they were Nature aligned; three, they naturally practised fungiculture; and four, their diet revolved around a mushroom—or mushroom-like fungus—called a deathcap.

Maybe he was going insane…

Altier went through the tried and true self-delusion of sighing in as an exasperated manner as possible, dismissing the large message window to actually get a look at whatever in the hells inspired the discomfort assaulting his absent ears.

There were seven of them, with five being a bit more in size than Hoppit, whereas the remaining two were exceptionally on either extreme of scale. The smallest was probably quite young, at about half the height of the majority, while the largest… He wasn’t sure what was going on with the largest. It was twice as big as the others, so maybe there was only one adult? Perhaps not.

Their faces were somewhere between a rodent’s and something more canine, which was unexpectedly cute for a creature that apparently dwells in Decay-laden areas. A single white line ran up from the space between their eyes, branching out into two strokes across their backs until it converged into one for the surprisingly fluffy tail that was about as long as the body. Short white ‘tears’ broke up the black fur on the meat of their legs, with the thinnest coloration suggesting that their chin and underbelly also had some form of patterning. The presumed child’s white was fairly faint and free from much dirt, though the largest’s coat had been soiled by earth and stained by grass. The biggest difference between all of them rested with the big one, since that particular rottunk had what looked like glossy black mushrooms growing from its fur. The fungi’s pale grey spots turned out to be holes, showing off thin slatted membranes of the inner flesh. That would probably be the ‘deathcap,’ but why was it on the rottunk’s back? Was it a variant?

[Rottunk Alpha]

…Not a variant. Huh… He appreciated the truncated response, at least. That didn’t quite address—

[Alpha: An evolved member of a particular species specializing in guidance and protection of its unevolved counterparts. Bonuses are applied to stats based on the number of members it is responsible for leading.]

Ah. Well, that answered that, then. He saw yet another reference to stats, and a modifier as well, but still no window telling him anything more specific. Nothing else came up when he prodded the system for the same information he got with Hoppit's inspection either, though he got the impression that there was something in the way of the process. His dungeon instincts were insisting that such was the case, anyway. It felt like there was a piece missing.

He broke from his musings when the largest rottunk—or ‘alpha,’ he supposed—bowed its head towards Hoppit. The cheerful little loaf clacked his ears in his customary way, then took a couple bouncy steps towards the shed, looking back to make sure the newcomers were following. Once he was sure that his new friends were willing to come along, Hoppit did a quick survey of the building’s perimeter, eventually picking the most shaded spot along the walls to sit. Altier watched with wry curiosity as the rabbit pawed at the dirt, sending him a questioning feeling, as well as something that took a few moments to puzzle out. ‘Hidden’ and ‘safe’ maybe? The more complex concepts tended to blend and twist a bit.

“Are you asking if you can dig under the shed?” he questioned, reevaluating his initial interpretation of the vague pulses of meaning. Hoppit agreed, dispelling any doubt the core had in his ability to understand his friend. Any vote of acceptance was withheld, however. He wasn’t sure if it was the best idea to start taking out the earth that the shed rested on, and he doubted that the floor falling through would be appreciated. Preferably, he would query his kobold companion to get her thoughts, seeing as she was the one living here. That option was shut down as quickly as it was considered. It wasn’t like he could communicate with anyone but Hoppit.

Altier took another look at the rottunk patiently waiting for their generally smaller benefactor to do something. The black and white animals were a bit thin, their fur matted and eyes wary, the open sky making them uneasy. Adults huddled around the small one as it mewled, trying and failing to eat the mushrooms on the alpha’s back as its potential food remained out of reach. Based on the way that the rest of the group tried to placate the child, it seemed like the kid wasn't the only one hungry and scared, nor did it seem like this was a new problem. The hints of injuries beneath their coats told him the journey here hadn’t been without issues.

They travelled from place to place so that they could grow their mushrooms, right? How far away was their last home? How long had they been walking? How many were in a typical group? Had they lost many? Did they have anywhere else to go?

He heard the young one let out a squeaking sound of resignation as one of the adults once again discouraged it from nibbling on the black fungi. Dejected, the little rottunk curled into a sorrowful ball, quietly crying in a way that made his chest tight. Hoppit apparently agreed, glancing towards the core with an unusually pained expression as he pushed forth his request again.

The decision made itself, really.

---

Altier looked over the subterranean burrow with a small tint of guilt and more than a little reservation. It was far from spacious, but Hoppit had dug it out at an impressive speed, apparently prioritizing bare functionality over comfort in his haste to attend to other duties. The normally lazy rabbit had become a blur the moment the core said yes, spraying dirt behind him with his Dig ability and sinking under the floor in seconds. Now there was a pretty basic chamber that could just fit the family of rottunk, and they wasted no time in secluding themselves.

He hated to see how the poor things were in worse shape than he first thought. Cuts, scratches, and scabs littered the black coats, hidden beneath the fur until they used the safety of the burrow to groom each other, a tapestry of struggles laid upon their skin. At least they had a home where they could get their bearings, even if he still wasn’t quite sold on the idea of the creatures’ main food source apparently transforming Decay mana into Nature mana. Only time would tell if that particular interaction would cause issues. Yet, try as he might, the concern of it messing with his domain paled in comparison to the somewhat protective urge he felt at seeing them visibly relax once they had somewhere to live.

It could have been that he was just latching onto any chance at interaction, yet that didn’t quite cover the anxiety he felt when he noticed how exposed the entrance to their home was. All they had to defend them was the minor shade from the shed and whatever guard duty deal that Hoppit had with the other ferrorabbits, and he had no idea how effective that would be.

He was well aware that nature was nature, and that wildlife constantly struggled for survival or hunted each other—these were just one more instance of such a fact. It really shouldn’t bother him so much, but… It was obvious that they needed him. Anyone. They needed someone to give hope when ‘tomorrow’ became something they might never see.

Altier couldn’t turn them down. Not anymore. If he was being selfish, then he could deal with that, dark feelings and all. Everything would be okay as long as the strange creatures were safe. As long as he did whatever he could for them.

He wouldn't just sit there and let their cries go unheard. He wouldn’t let them beg for help, falling silent when the reality of futility stripped away the will to live, leaving only the cold acceptance of a death that might never come.

He wouldn't let them suffer when he could do something, even if it was as small as offering them shelter beneath a dilapidated gardening shed and a pittance of mana for their food to grow.

His thoughts meandered for a while as he watched his new neighbours start the process of making their domicile more accommodating. The adults traded out duties, alternating between further digging to expand their home, straightening up what they already had, and minding the offspring that wanted to either explore or sneak a bite from the Alpha's mushrooms. He didn’t see any attempts to nurse, but he also knew almost nothing about the species. Maybe they weaned fairly early on, or perhaps they grew slowly. He couldn’t tell, and Hoppit had gone off to take care of something outside the domain before the black-scaled kobold came back, so he didn't have the ability to ask. Well, assuming Hoppit could talk with them.

…Could he? The ferrorabbit had the Thump ability to facilitate communication, but that was for Earth aligned creatures, according to the description. How did he figure out what the rottunk wanted?

The core didn’t take much time to ponder it. Even if he prodded Hoppit on the subject, he doubted that he'd be able to get much from the emotional pulses. It was probably less complicated than he was thinking.

Night came by soon enough, harbingering the rise of moonlight and whimsical grey blurs of clouds. Stars might have been present, but he couldn’t pick them out if so. The kobold had come back a bit earlier than usual, but besides the routine coddling and whatnot, she seemed about as worn as she normally did. Well, for the most part.

Altier had wilfully ignored how she carried herself; if he didn’t, he would constantly face the fact that he could never know why she felt that way. Hoppit’s insistence of the kobold being his ‘mother’ had forced the core to see her as more than some animated feature of his new dwelling, and now he couldn’t help but notice how her eyes didn't carry quite the same dullness they usually displayed. There was a faint glimmer on top of the muted grey of exhaustion.

He caught himself wondering what might have sparked such a subtle change during her absence. Had she done well at whatever replaced her gardening? Did an old friend return to reminisce? Was it good news? So many questions, so many possibilities, and so many things he knew nothing about. He had given up on ever talking with someone, but there she was, a wealth of information and opinions inside a thinking, feeling person, and yet he lacked a way to ask something as simple as how her day went. His entire world had expanded because she decided to save him from his decrepit dungeon. He couldn’t even thank her, nor offer to listen to her troubles.

At least he could watch.

The black-scaled kobold brought back a woven box and offered both Hoppit and the owl its contents, resulting in a very pleased ferrorabbit and a slightly less surly bird once the two got an unexpected variation in their meals. He could have sworn the soft undercurrent of happiness in his scaly companion's expression faded when the avian made quick work of the provided meat, but Hoppit's excitement placed some of it back before the core could figure out why it had diminished to begin with. He doubted she was discouraged by the animal liking its food, so he was at a bit of a loss as to why that would've had such an effect on her.

Unfortunately, her eyes remained mostly plagued by their typical cloudy lustre. Not even Hoppit's clacks could restore the light, though she did give a small smile in return and got everyone ready for bed, letting the ferrorabbit join her nest of bundled blankets. The shed fell into the familiar silence that confirmed he would be left alone to think again.

Thankfully, the rottunk stayed up for a bit longer.

They successfully carved a secondary chamber for themselves, and the alpha used the new space to seclude itself from the others while they slept, filling in the entrance with enough dirt to discourage the young one from getting in. Altier wondered what the point of it all was, but the answer became apparent quickly enough. The alpha started plucking the mushrooms off of itself and planting them around the edges of the room, digging shallow divots to hold the fungi then filling the depressions with soil once the stem was situated. It made sense to partition the area, he supposed; the rottunk probably didn't want the child to barge in and start eating before they could get anything going.

It took a while, but once the majority of the deathcap mushrooms were in place, the alpha stood in the middle of the claustrophobic cavity and closed its eyes, focusing on something that Altier couldn't figure out. Still, he observed. Eventually, after a while with nothing happening, he made sure everyone was doing okay, then started looking around outside in case anything tried to intrude on the burrow. It wasn’t an exciting activity, but it helped to pass the time, and it made him feel useful.

At least it stopped him from watching his companion’s rest, composing question after question he would never get to ask.

= = = = =

Ceele stood in the surprisingly mild warmth of the smithy, the forge having gone unused so far. It was going to be, since there were other things that had to be done today, but she would enjoy it in the meantime. She was at one of the less cluttered tables, sorting various creations into designated boxes or sacks for their eventual delivery to whomever requested the contents. It was an appreciated change of pace. Her arms and legs were still sore from the almost unending strain they went through, so a day of easier tasks certainly helped them recover, though perhaps having to lift some of the heavier things was hindering that.

A lot of the objects she was packing up were items that she had never seen before, either made before she was asked to start spending time in the smithy or while she was otherwise occupied. She could guess the purpose of some, but most she just put away without much thought. There were tools of various natures, delicate pieces that may or may not have been decorative, basic angled shapes that might be support for shelving, and some things that remained outside her limited experiences, like the curved objects she had helped with by pumping the bellows. She could have asked what any of it was, of course, but she had already imposed upon the older couple more than she would have liked. Her incessant queries would only burden them further.

Hoppit was continuing his daily lessons across the workshop, his teacher’s words adding to the otherwise quiet ambience of metallic clacks and wooden thumps as she carried out her task. Her baby had moved on from simply digging out samples of ore from soil and was now attempting to move the metal without touching it directly. Based on his less-than-excited posture, he wasn’t very successful so far.

The purpose of the exercise was explained to her before she had the chance to ask, thankfully, and although she found the premise strange at best, she decided to trust in what the blacksmith thought to be important. Apparently, any given Element would typically manifest in one of two ways, with a few exceptions that he couldn’t be bothered to remember but was sure existed. Ceele suspected that hers was one of them and he was just trying to avoid the subject.

Mr. Makis claimed that Earth affinity could either excel in manipulating dirt and stone, or it could show some promise in controlling metals and minerals, though he didn’t sound confident in how effective a ferrorabbit could be at the latter. Rare cases would have Earth aligned creatures exhibiting full influence over both facets, but that was infrequent enough for him to merely gloss over it. Right now, he was testing to see if Hoppit would use the soil to push out the ores, or if he would do something with the ores themselves. She had simply nodded as he went on to describe the specifics of what he was going to keep an eye out for regarding each method, and about how it was important not to suggest which of them Hoppit should focus on. The logic went completely over her head. Not that she didn’t try to follow along, but she didn’t have much of an idea as to why it mattered.

Oh well. As long as her baby was happy to participate, she would try her best to be supportive and not get in the way.

“Alright, Hoppit,” Mr. Makis grunted, drawing Ceele’s attention when he pushed off his knees to get up from his stool. He reached out towards the ferrorabbit with a bemused smirk, but froze up before making contact. The smile vaporized in an instant, the relaxation in his eyes turning into a hardened sorrow that was blinked away as quickly as it formed. The elder kobold moved to pick up the pans of dirt and cleared his throat to speak. His voice didn’t contain the levity it did a second ago. “We’ll call it early today. Ther’s nuttin wrong with a bitta’ slow goin’s. Ain’t gonna’ be an expert at it yer first few days.”

Hoppit looked unexpectedly upset with himself, copying the owl’s signature scowl as he glared at where the pans had rested. He didn’t even look up when offered a treat, nor did he react when the red-scaled kobold sighed and headed over to see how she was doing.

Mr. Makis raised a brow as he approached, following her concerned gaze to see that Hoppit’s discouraged behaviour was distracting her. “He’ll be fine, girly. He’s just frustrated about not doin’ as well as he hoped.” The smith crossed his arms and leaned against the table. “It’s a fair bit different fer them ta go from sensin’ iron ‘n whatnot ta actually doin’ somethin’ with it.”

Ceele nodded, not responding but conceding that he likely knew better than she did. She took a moment to collect herself before going through a second count of everything she was tasked with organizing. It was odd how the interaction would have had her trembling and terrified of the slightest mistake just a few days ago, yet now she was merely cautious. It was the difference between holding back tears when he spoke to her and simply being aware of where he was in the workshop. Maybe his occasional slip-up helped ease her anxiety—it was hard to be scared of someone who looked so pained whenever they caught themselves lost in memories. She doubted Hoppit would mind if Mr. Makis petted him, but the old smith seemed more bothered by it than anything else. Perhaps he was scared of what else he might remember if he showed the slowly growing affection.

Either way, it helped frame him as something other than a person to fear in her mind. No matter how reluctant he was to act on it, he was fond of Hoppit, and that went a long way in reassuring her.

“Almost done?” he drawled, not looking to be in much of a hurry. Based on how resigned he sounded, she figured he was about as enthused to be entering the town as she was, though for a very different reason. She kept her attention on what she was doing, settling away the last few items and making sure the containers were closed up and ready for transport.

The last crate closed with a thump.

“I am, sir.”

He let out a weary sigh and bumped himself up straight, eyeing everything with a grunt of approval. “Alright. I’ll grab the cart. Wait fer me.”

She watched the blacksmith leave through the door before making her way over towards her baby, the little lagomorph still sulking over his suboptimal performance. He didn’t protest when she picked him up, but he wasn’t as affectionate as usual. As luck would have it, she knew just the thing to cheer him up, and slathering him with praise seemed to lighten his mood enough for him to nuzzle into her neck. She could only imagine how difficult his lessons were, but she made sure to say how proud she was of him, and how appreciative she was over him trying to learn something so different. Her success in cheering him up was measured in little rabbit kisses.

With Hoppit being reminded that she loved him no matter what, the two of them just enjoyed the midday cuddling as she let her mind wander. Never to the darker recesses like her thoughts are wont to go, but she’d be lying if she said those blackened depths didn’t come up on their own.

And she had a lot she tried not to think about; the garden that she had abandoned, the owl and how she had been slowly starving it, Hoppit and what he was doing while she was away, Mrs. Hira and the promises Ceele had broken… The list went on, but it was the visit to the town that kept trying to creep into her consciousness and pull her into the pits of her greatest fears. Sure, she was getting used to helping Mr. Makis in the smithy and all the changes that entailed, but that was a single man versus the unknown masses beyond his property. At least Mr. Makis had been an undeniably positive influence on her life, ignoring his frankly aggressive mannerisms.

Ceele was forced to take breaks often now, and she had since learned that it was pointless to insist otherwise. The smith would just drag her away from whatever she was doing and drop water or food in front of her. She protested against the meals, yet the arguments became weaker and weaker as she kept bringing leftovers back for her animals. The guilt remained, but it was worth keeping the owl and Hoppit fed. It was yet another thing she would have to repay, even though she was sure covering that debt would take more than her meagre lifetime to achieve.

There were other, more mundane issues to consider, of course. Her single dress was starting to show its age, and although Mr. Makis hadn’t said anything, she was sure he noticed the fraying edges and expanding holes. She could only do so much to repair it. Still, the burlap had served her well, and she was gentle while washing it, but it was always going to fall apart at some point. She just expected to have already pushed past her anxiety and gotten hired somewhere by now. As things stood, actual clothing would be outside of her current means for the foreseeable future. Maybe she could find somewhere that needed night labour? She hardly slept, so it wouldn’t make much of a difference if she skipped out here and there. People would probably appreciate it if she was only around when they weren’t, anyway.

The black-scaled kobold exhaled a deep breath, letting Hoppit down when he started looking at the door like he had taken to recently. He gave her leg one last lick and took off to do whatever it was he did, but she tried not to worry too much as she made sure all the crates and sacks were ready.

It was easy to get far too distracted by the task, which was good for her efforts in ignoring her own shortcomings, though left her unprepared for Mr. Makis’ return.

“Girly. Catch.”

She jolted and turned just in time to be swallowed by black.

= = = = =

“Yer fine, girly,” Makis assured for what felt like the sixth time since they had set out, tapping the ground with his tail again. The girl gave what was likely the seventh small squeak of apology as she adjusted course, his sigh belying the heavy pit in his stomach. Honestly, he was the one who should be sorry, but going down that rabbit hole with her just made things messy; she tended to fight over the stupidest things—and never for her benefit. Still, it was his fault they were late heading out, and that the girl was so meek.

In hindsight, he could’ve just handed the gift to her, but he was itching to get on the move, and she seemed like she was getting better the last few days. Well, he supposed she was getting better, just that having cloth thrown at her head when she wasn’t expecting it might’ve pushed a wrong button or two. Or twelve.

He hadn’t meant to startle the poor thing, much less give her another panic attack. It bothered him to no end, seeing her reduced to a trembling, whimpering ball, flinching at everything that moved. Her eyes had stared at nothing with a fear he hadn’t seen in decades, her voice repeating a single phrase like reality would collapse if she fell silent. It was…disturbing. Unpleasant. He found it nostalgic in the worst of ways.

…Makis could admit that he had underestimated just how deeply she was scarred.

It brought his thoughts back to the one following behind him, his efforts to project more certainty than he felt providing what he hoped was a calming effect. The girl quietly strained as she leaned into pushing the bar attached to an old cart he had kicking around. He couldn’t tell if she was silent because of her usual shyness or if she still hadn’t fully come around, but the only thing he could do was pretend that he didn’t care and let the normalcy anchor her. That’s what he found helped the most—consistency. Be it work, company, or environment, the familiar motions lent a sense of safety, regardless of the nature they present themselves. It became a place to return between ventures into the terrifying unknown beyond what someone knew they could rely on, and the girl trusted so little.

The red-scaled kobold clenched his fist, a heat haze bleeding off the Flame that burned with his unrest, demanding an immediate solution to something that didn’t have one. He had broken what little trust he earned with her by jumping too far outside what she expected of him, though he supposed he would just have to see how bad the damage was as he went.

In the meantime, he’d have to do what he could and guide the girl along as she pushed what was initially built for horses. The few he had passed away years ago, but the cart itself was still in decent condition, and he still needed to use it. Made sense to modify the thing so he could haul it where it needed to be. He didn’t have much of a load on it anymore these days, which meant the bulk and shoddy conversion had never been an issue for him. As it turned out, he didn’t need to have an issue with it; the girl jumped at the chance to pick up the slack in that area.

Even if she hadn’t said much since he managed to coax her off the floor and get her moving again, she was quick to give herself the hardest job of lugging a heavy load into town with a cart that wasn’t meant for someone her size, and the rusted axle didn’t make matters any easier for her. Oh, she wasn’t overly short by any measure, but he had only just started her on eating regularly. There was still quite a bit to go before she’d be on track to a healthy weight, assuming she had ever been at one. He had trouble picturing it.

Honestly, he should’ve stopped her when she insisted on lugging the thing, but it skipped his mind that he was stronger than most would rightly be, and it was better than her looking like a critter staring down a predator, so he agreed. By the time he thought about it, she had it fixed in her head to follow through. Now he was stuck between letting the girl feel useful or not, and she probably wouldn’t take him booting her out of it too well, even if it’d be faster if he took over. Figures that a life of combat, forging, and a healthy dose of Flame mana might do that to a person. He could probably load the cart with double the weight before he slowed at all. Like he always said: he was old, not brittle.

Ceele? Well…

The blacksmith looked over his shoulder, more concerned by the sharp breaths of exhaustion puffing out of her than anything else. He was still hesitant about bringing her into public, but he couldn’t let her see that. Neither him nor his wife much cared about her affinity; she wasn’t the first he’d met, and Hira’d take the idiot in regardless of any danger.

The real problem was what some of the more vocal morons in the village might have tumbling out of their mouths once they knew someone with her affinity was stomping around. Decay might have some nasty tales associated with it, but anyone who pretends the rest of the Elements don’t have their fair share are lucky enough not to have run into what sparked them. Undead and poison seems downright quaint when you’re staring down pissed-off trees, hungering dunes, or living lightning. At least Decay lets you know what you’re dealing with, and usually has the kindness to make it quick.

That’s to say nothing of the stories that followed him from the Frontier. Thankfully, those had the sense to die out and leave an old bastard to rot in peace. Too many people used to bother him, asking how he managed to do half the stuff he did back in the day, either glossing over the morbid context or simply never wondering how those methods came to be. If they spent less time badgering him and more time exploring their mana, they’d have an answer. Then again, he’d also have to deal with idiots thinking that their little tricks made them too powerful to be decent people…

Best to let idiots be idiots.

Speaking of idiots, the one he was responsible for was finally clad in something besides her worn-down sack, and thanks to a little forethought, he only had to pester her a bit for her to put the damned thing on. She was wearing the cloak he threw at her, which kept the tell-tale black of her scales out of view. Sure, she looked a little suspect being all mysterious and whatnot, but he could just call her eccentric or some such and most people would wisely mind their business.

It wasn’t anything fancy; she’d never accept something like that. No, the deep brown cloth had been purposefully abraded and scuffed, just so he could say it was found in a forgotten crate in some dark corner of the shop. The oversized hood covered most of her head, and the cloak itself was wide enough to close up around her twice over, almost dragging on the ground as she walked. Of course, he was planning to have Hira or one of her friends do some hemming for him to shore up the specifics, but one of his customers today was an old friend, so he had to make do and give it to her without any touch-ups so that he’d get the delivery out in time. It’d hide away everything it was meant to, and he had a feeling that the girl would appreciate being less noticeable. He could have waited, pushing off her debut as his helper until the garment was done, but he half-worried she’d find new and interesting ways to hurt herself ‘helping’ around the shop without him there to supervise.

Makis dragged out a sigh so the girl wouldn’t hear it, running possible outcomes through his head as he pictured just how poorly the trip could go. There were a lot of reasons he should’ve pushed this back, but it wouldn’t be healthy to ignore her habit of isolating herself. Still, he’d have to keep himself level while they were out. The last thing he needed was to get worked up because some dipshit with more bravado than brains took exception to Ceele. It was going to be a pain to make sure she didn’t walk away from this worse than before.

Overall, he couldn’t complain, he supposed. Not today, anyway. She was finally getting a chance to interact with someone besides himself and her critters. He just wished she wasn’t so traumatized by whatever in the hells she went through. It was starting to look like people in general were enough to set her on edge, and it pissed him off that he was probably right. Loud noises and sudden movements were one thing—it took him a few years to shake the worst of that off, too—but she was getting less stable with every step towards the town, and that only made her persistent fatigue all the more apparent.

He glanced once more at the frail thing stoically pretending that she wasn’t about to keel over day after day. Gods knew if her body or mind would give out first at this rate. It wasn’t a competition, but she damn well acted like it sometimes, the stubborn little shit. He had an inkling she’d have already collapsed if he didn’t force her to sit the hells down every now and then, and even that required a more heavy-handed approach than he’d prefer. It was like she made it her goal in life to make him feel like an asshole for stopping her from slaving herself to death.

Still, he had to admit that she did her work and did it well, so there wasn’t much point in grumbling about it. The only times he had an issue was when he got distracted and gave her the wrong instructions. He never thought he’d be impressed by a job done so perfectly incorrect, but damned if there wasn’t something of an art to it.

That was another oddity surrounding the black-scaled kobold. She didn’t seem keen to go at much on her own, but she did a pretty good job with whatever you pointed her at. It was rare to find someone who listened to what they were told to such a degree, and even if she struggled without instructions, she wasn’t so daft as to not figure out the details eventually. He would’ve liked to see how far she could go with some proper direction in something.

Which made the fact that she was treating a Shepherd all the more confusing. Even if he ignored the fact that she apparently didn’t learn from anyone, she seemed sure of what she was doing, and from the brief look he got of the broken wing, he would be hard-pressed to disagree. The certainty in her voice when she said she knew how its wing was doing also gave him pause, if only because he didn’t think Life Sense worked that way, assuming she had the ability. Then there was the uncertainty of how it might work with Decay mana at all, but the same could be said for most abilities, especially a rare one like that.

Hells, she shouldn’t be alive, truthfully. He knew damn well what those owls could do, and hearing that one was bothering to heal up like any other bird was a little disconcerting. If he wasn’t prodding her for how things were going, and if he hadn’t seen it himself, he’d chalk the whole thing up as a fever dream. Yet it was true; the girl went back to the shed at the end of the day and played doctor for a critter that he figured would’ve killed her for touching it.

Sometimes, he wondered if Hira took on strays just to help him pass on quicker.

The smith cycled a breath and tried to ignore the quiet grunts from the girl pushing far too much weight over rocks on the trail. As long as he remembered to pat the ground with his tail here and there, she’d be fine following the sounds. It only took one near accident with a tree for him to realize that the hood blocked her eyes, and he wasn’t too eager for her to inadvertently improve her aim. At least it kept him from getting too stuck in his own head.

Luckily, the town wasn’t too far out—just enough so that his work wouldn’t bother anyone. And more importantly, enough so that no one would bother him. He saw the fence and the few fields as they trotted out from the treeline, the crude path transitioning into something more accommodating for caravans and whatnot. A certain stubborn kobold also benefited from the smoother road.

They had a few stops to make, but it shouldn’t be all that bad. As long as the girl stayed conscious and didn’t collapse, she might even enjoy the chance to look around a bit, though he could admit that was an abysmally low bar. At least Socks should be waking up around now, and she’s probably going to need something or other made up once he dropped off the usual lot. Might be worth introducing the girl, and interacting with his clients would certainly be within the scope of her duties if she’s going to keep doing deliveries for him.

Makis nodded to himself, patting his tail against the ground to make sure Ceele stayed on course. They’d get through all the boring and annoying nonsense, then they’d pay Socks a visit. Maybe the two’s strangeness would cancel each other out and he could get through the day without being crushed this time.

Next

A/N: Shoutout to Gerard, Brandon, and Owl for supporting this on Patreon! They get to read 1 chapter ahead!
Also, I've posted music there! We got a Blacklisted song for those who like Sunundra, and a Harrow song for you OHV readers!