The dim mana lamp in my room sputtered weakly. I stiffened as the first sign of its arrival appeared—a dense, grey haze that rolled in like an unwelcome fog, stealing what little warmth the room had left. The temperature plummeted. Two bright crimson orbs pierced through the gloom, followed by the glint of wickedly sharp fangs as the haze began to clear.

  And what emerged was nothing short of alarming. The creature stood hulking and menacing, its sheer size rivaling that of a golem. Black scales, streaked with silvery flecks, glistened in the dim light. Its skeletal face boasted a long, bony nose and a maw filled with curved teeth that seemed more suited for tearing than eating. Two pairs of elongated arms ended in cruel, razor-like claws, and its tattered robes hung loosely over its frame, giving it the air of a forgotten, undead monstrosity.

  But I knew better. This was no undead. No, this was an astral beast. Gwen had lectured me at length about them—far more than I cared to hear, if I’m honest. She adored her underlings with the fervour of a collector showing off rare porcelain, recounting tales of her acquisitions from the many realms beneath Parda. Exhaustively.

  So, I knew better than to underestimate the beast before me. This one, by all appearances, was formidable—a mid-red core at least, possibly high. It exuded a quiet menace, its skeletal head twitching as it emitted a strange, chittering noise. Then, just as suddenly, it bowed low in front of me, its glowing blue claws holding out a marble-like device.

  An offering, apparently.

  I stepped forward cautiously, despite myself, reaching for the device. Belle, meanwhile, decided this was the perfect moment for pleasantries.

  “Squee!” she chirped brightly in greeting. Of course, Belle liked the beast. Belle liked everyone.

  “Squee?” she inquired, head tilted adorably. Would it like some tea, perhaps? Belle did make the best tea, or so she’d have me believe.

  To my mild astonishment, the creature gave a small, hesitant nod, pointedly avoiding my gaze. Belle positively beamed at that. She lived for moments like this, her happiness entirely too dependent on the approval of tea drinkers. And off she scampered to prepare another batch, humming contentedly to herself.

  I turned my attention back to the device—a smooth, unassuming orb of white marble, utterly mundane until given the gentlest nudge of mana. The instant I obliged, runes flared to life, swirling across its surface in an intricate dance as it floated into the air. A shimmering field enveloped the room—likely Gwen’s handiwork, an airtight spell to hush any eavesdroppers and, knowing her, with a side order of anti-divination for good measure. Thorough, as ever.

  The orb gave a faint pulse before a familiar voice shattered the silence.

  “Oh, darling! Got your message earlier, and my, haven’t you been keeping yourself splendidly occupied? How delightful!”

  I barely had time to draw breath for an interruption before Gwen charged ahead with her usual flair.

  “Now, now, I know you’re absolutely bursting with questions, but I must dash your hopes—this little tête-à-tête is going to be dreadfully one-sided.”

  Wait. Come again?

  “This message is pre-recorded,” Gwen explained. “Dreadfully sorry for the inconvenience, little dragon, but Lithrindel’s condition was… well, let’s just say it’s a smidge more precarious than I’d anticipated. I’ve had to take an extra dollop of caution, I’m afraid.”

  I scowled, swallowing back a rather creative selection of expletives as questions jostled for attention in my head. Just how dire was Lithrindel’s kingdom that even Gwen—Gwen, of all people—felt the need to tiptoe? Another mystery to shelve for later, it seemed.

  Meanwhile, Gwen’s voice prattled on, cheerful as a lark.

  “So, you’ve sniffed out traces of it in Varkaigrad.” She paused for a moment. “I must say, your draconic instincts would rarely fail us, so I’m inclined to trust your nose on this one. You said it smelled of rot, didn’t you? The same foul stench you noticed with that Elven noble.”

  I nodded instinctively, though Gwen wasn’t there to see. I’d told her before how this thing reeked to me—something no one else seemed able to sense, not even Gwen herself. She’d found that little quirk of mine endlessly fascinating. But, as usual, there was a catch. I didn’t even know what the damned thing was called. Gwen, in her infinite wisdom, had refused to enlighten me, claiming it was for my own good. How generous.

  Her voice returned, a touch more sombre.

  “Not the news I’d hoped for, though I can’t pretend to be shocked. If you’ve picked up its scent and my hunch proves correct, then the wheels are already turning. Quietly, perhaps, but turning nonetheless.”

  I flicked the orb with my claw, watching it spin lazily in the air.

  “Varkaigrad…” Gwen sighed, as if the very name carried a weight. “They’re holding a grand festival in a month’s time—an offering to their ancestral beasts. Spirit Hunt, think it’s called. The timing, I’m afraid, is suspiciously convenient. The place thar lacks the usual trappings. No sprawling temples, no throngs flocking to gilded shrines. Vraal’Kor’s isolation from such influences was supposed to be its shield.”

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  Exactly my thought. How could this… thing be worming its way into a region devoid of gods, priests, or altars? No churches, no congregations, no one even lighting a candle in devotion. It was something else entirely. Perhaps something worse.

  “I know what you’re thinking. And yes—either It has sent its vessels to play some grotesque parody of a preacher, or it’s found another way in. I haven’t the faintest clue what sort of scheme it’s spinning, but whatever it is, it’s bound to turn nasty. If It’s managed to dig its claws into Varkaigrad, it’s sidestepping the usual routes. Subtle manipulation, perhaps. Or something altogether less predictable. Either way, you need to tread carefully. You’ve seen firsthand the chaos its influence brings.”

  My gaze dropped to the orb, my claws curling instinctively. Just the once. That one time when it hollowed out the Elven noble, replacing him with something that wasn’t him anymore. My instincts had howled in protest, their screams a relentless chorus of Intruder, intruder. And the way it destabilized the dungeon—draining its hues, its Prana, the very lifeblood of the place.

  But here in Varkaigrad? No dungeon to leech from, no steady flow of energy to sustain it. What, then, would it turn to for fuel? A shiver ran down my spine at the thought.

  Gwen’s voice broke the silence, softer now but still edged with steel. “It’s testing the waters. Probing, pushing. But at this stage, it’s still vulnerable—if it hasn’t made a big move yet. I know I promised not to pull you into my schemes, so consider this the plea of a friend. Only if you feel safe, Jade. Keep your head low, stay unseen, and gather what you can. If your safety is in question, leave. Abandon everything and run. Whatever you do, don’t let it or its vessels catch wind of your existence. If it knows you’re watching...”

  “It’ll make me a priority,” I murmured, finishing her thought even though she couldn’t hear me. Not that it made much difference.

  Let them think what they liked of me—I wasn’t a fool. I knew when to bolt. But how in the blazes did she expect me to sit on my scaly backside when the entire region might crumble to pieces while I idly twiddled my claws, knowing I could have done something? Maybe it was pure spite fueling my resolve. Spite against that wretched thing. Spite that refused to let it have the final say.

  “Whatever your decision, as I’ve always said, I’ll respect it. No matter what.” Gwen’s voice trailed off as the skeletal beast beside me let out a soft, mournful whine. My gaze snapped to it just as it extended a claw, a pendant dangling delicately from its bony grasp.

  “A little safety net, courtesy of yours truly,” Gwen continued. “Channel your mana into this, and my servant here will stay attuned to your presence, no matter where you are. The Astral Plane operates... differently. He’ll find you in an instant if needed. Should you decide to investigate, focus on what It’s using to spread its influence—an object, an artifact, or even something living. Find the thread, but for the love of sanity, don’t yank it too hard until you’re prepared for what might unravel.”

  I exhaled slowly, my breath steadying as I took the pendant from the beast. Its claws lingered for a moment before retreating, creaking faintly as they folded back into place.

  “And, little dragon,” Gwen added, her voice softening with a warmth that felt almost familial, “don’t let any of this cloud how you do things. The Wave will pass soon enough, and the dungeons will be ripe for delving once more. You’re not far from your fifth evolution—impressive, really. Oh, and your alchemy education! I hear from my contacts that you’ve left quite the mark on your teacher. Making a name for yourself, are we? Ah, I wish I could see it firsthand. Watch you brewing those little potions with your adorable claws. Truly, it must be a sight!”

  Gwen’s sentimental streak was... something, to put it mildly.

  “Anyway,” she continued, her tone dipping back into seriousness, “stay safe, Jade. Don’t set yourself ablaze trying to save the world. You’re far more valuable than all of it put together.”

  “I won’t,” I murmured, though the words were more for my benefit than hers.

  “I hope the stars align so we meet again soon. Take care.”

  The orb dimmed, Gwen’s voice fading into the ether as it floated limply down into my waiting claws. A faint creak from the beast drew my attention again—it held out its claws expectantly. Ah, right.

  Carefully, I nestled the orb back into the skeletal beast’s waiting claws. They clamped around it with a decisive click and a faint rattle of its teeth—an oddly polite sort of acknowledgment, really, as if to say, "Cheers for that."

  Before I could withdraw, the light patter of familiar steps reached my ears. Belle shuffled in from the kitchen, balancing a tray on her back with the finesse of a circus performer on a tightrope. The tray bore three cups of tea, each meticulously arranged, steam curling lazily from their rims like morning mist.

  Just shy of the table, Belle paused, her tiny paws fussing over the crimson bowtie perpetually askew at her throat. With a triumphant squee! she righted it, perfection achieved, and set about her noble task.

  The first cup was placed before the skeletal beast with the solemnity of a butler presenting tea to a duke. Belle even gave a polite nod, as if expecting thanks. The creature responded with another soft rattle of its teeth, which Belle seemed to interpret as heartfelt gratitude. Undaunted, she turned to me, her sharp little claws sliding my cup into position with precision that would put the Queen’s own staff to shame.

  Of course, the bowtie slipped askew again. With a huff, she nudged it back, offered me another quick squee!—"Enjoy!"—and scurried off to retrieve her own cup.

  I lingered for a moment, letting the soothing vapours waft into my nostrils. Ahh. It was peaceful, in its peculiar way. Just a seven-foot dragon girl with tentacles, a badger with a flair for service, and a colossal skeletal astral beast sipping tea in a rather cramped room. The sight of the great beast fiddling with the dainty cup was, frankly, hilarious, but I held back my chuckles out of respect. To its credit, it even managed a rattle of thanks toward Belle, who looked positively chuffed.

  When the tea was finished, Belle bustled back in, cloth in paw, to tidy up. Meanwhile, I settled at the table, penning yet another letter. The enchantments on the orb Gwen had sent seemed one way, so I opted for the good old-fashioned quill-and-parchment approach.

  The letter detailed my recent findings, along with progress in alchemy, breakthroughs I was close to, in shifting suppressed parts of myself to remain formidable without fully transforming—tentacles, scales, claws and dimensional lamina neatly integrated into my base Drakkari form. I might have boasted a bit. Well, quite a lot, really. It wasn’t every day one made such strides, and I was rather proud of it. Minimal input from Lotte, too—though, in fairness, she did guide me a bit. Only a bit.

  With a flourish of the pen, I wrapped up the letter, bid the skeletal beast farewell, and collapsed onto my bed. Time for some well-earned rest—and a chat with Lotte, no doubt. She’d give me an earful, especially after my dismal performance on her latest test. My tentacles twitched at the thought.

  Before surrendering to sleep, I quickly summoned my stat screen for one last glance.

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