26:I[86215,["6446","static/chunks/53c13509-e7ec011f8ac7df7d.js","6711","static/chunks/8e1d74a4-841e61b20d784c5f.js","2266","static/chunks/870fdd6f-d81c5e21b0b96e34.js","5802","static/chunks/69b09407-1ce59c69e508049d.js","8500","static/chunks/8500-01a63dafd809e317.js","8437","static/chunks/8437-39ef04864806a0fa.js","6659","static/chunks/6659-a0fca0b5b95eb832.js","1610","static/chunks/1610-af6f888fe3ea871a.js","2100","static/chunks/2100-768a05088f320fce.js","6499","static/chunks/6499-3139357d7362d8fa.js","601","static/chunks/601-42518cde4342bee4.js","7663","static/chunks/7663-36eadf9c83563138.js","7870","static/chunks/7870-f026ded79a9a89b4.js","9891","static/chunks/9891-388cf3487c4bfb5e.js","2454","static/chunks/2454-11d335ce6901e263.js","7782","static/chunks/7782-4f8509118ce25d3b.js","1628","static/chunks/app/story/%5Bslug%5D/page-c4ed111418a82338.js"],"default"] 27:I[62454,["6446","static/chunks/53c13509-e7ec011f8ac7df7d.js","6711","static/chunks/8e1d74a4-841e61b20d784c5f.js","2266","static/chunks/870fdd6f-d81c5e21b0b96e34.js","5802","static/chunks/69b09407-1ce59c69e508049d.js","8500","static/chunks/8500-01a63dafd809e317.js","8437","static/chunks/8437-39ef04864806a0fa.js","6659","static/chunks/6659-a0fca0b5b95eb832.js","1610","static/chunks/1610-af6f888fe3ea871a.js","2100","static/chunks/2100-768a05088f320fce.js","6499","static/chunks/6499-3139357d7362d8fa.js","601","static/chunks/601-42518cde4342bee4.js","7663","static/chunks/7663-36eadf9c83563138.js","7870","static/chunks/7870-f026ded79a9a89b4.js","9891","static/chunks/9891-388cf3487c4bfb5e.js","2454","static/chunks/2454-11d335ce6901e263.js","7782","static/chunks/7782-4f8509118ce25d3b.js","1628","static/chunks/app/story/%5Bslug%5D/page-c4ed111418a82338.js"],"default"] 56:I[86869,[],"IconMark"] 28:T32d6,

Part E.1 — The Veteran in the Fog

Fog clung to the trees like wet cloth.

Lenora Strayheart moved through it with the kind of silence you earned, not learned—boots finding roots without looking, breath held when the wind shifted, ears twitching at every wrong sound.

The forest wasn’t just quiet.

It was listening.

Behind her, something scraped.

Not a branch. Not an animal.

A drag. Like bone on stone.

Lenora didn’t turn.

She kept walking, one hand on her sword hilt, the other pressed against the torn strap of her pack. Her fingers were sticky with dried blood—hers and not hers. The strap had snapped hours ago when she’d vaulted a fallen trunk to avoid the first set of claws.

Her squad had been louder.

Her squad had been brave.

Her squad had been dead.

Lenora swallowed the grief before it could rise. Grief was a luxury. Grief was what you did when you were safe.

She wasn’t safe.

The fog thickened.

A low, wet sound rolled through it—like something breathing through a mouth full of mud.

Lenora’s ears pinned back.

There.

She pivoted, sword half-drawn, and saw it.

A shape hunched between the trees, too tall to be a man, too wrong to be a beast. Its limbs bent the wrong way. Its skin looked like it had been stitched from different things—patches of gray hide, slick black flesh, and something pale that might’ve been bone.

Its head tilted.

It didn’t have eyes.

It had pits.

And inside those pits, something faintly glowed.

Lenora’s stomach tightened.

Calamity-touched.

She didn’t know which one.

She didn’t want to.

The creature’s mouth opened.

A sound came out that wasn’t a roar.

It was a voice.

Not words. Not language.

A mimicry of the last scream it had heard.

Lenora’s grip tightened until her knuckles ached.

She lunged.

Steel flashed.

Her blade cut across its chest and the thing jerked back, but there was no blood—just a spray of black mist that hissed when it hit the fog.

The creature’s arm snapped forward.

Lenora ducked.

Claws tore through the air where her head had been.

She rolled, came up on one knee, and slammed her palm into the ground.

Wind answered.

Not a storm. Not lightning.

Just a sharp, controlled burst that shoved the fog aside and knocked the creature back a step.

Lenora didn’t waste the opening.

She ran.

Branches whipped her face. Thorns snagged her cloak. Her lungs burned.

Behind her, the creature followed—not fast, but relentless, like it didn’t need speed because it had time.

Lenora’s mind flashed to the letter in her pack.

Captain’s handwriting.

A list of names.

A warning.

Seven.

She didn’t understand it all. She only understood the part that mattered:

If you see signs of a Calamity, do not engage alone.

Lenora’s jaw clenched.

Too late.

The ground dipped.

A shallow ravine cut through the forest, filled with slick stones and a thin stream.

Lenora’s ears twitched.

Water.

She didn’t like water in fog. Water carried sound. Water carried scent.

But it also carried escape.

She leapt down into the ravine, boots sliding on wet rock, and sprinted along the stream.

The creature’s claws scraped stone behind her.

Closer.

Lenora’s breath hitched.

She reached into her pack without slowing and felt the folded paper.

The letter.

She didn’t pull it out.

She didn’t have time.

She only pressed her fingers to it like a promise.

I’m still here.

The stream widened.

The ravine opened into a small clearing where the fog thinned just enough to show the moon.

Lenora stopped.

Not because she wanted to.

Because something was in the way.

A circle of old stones.

Not natural.

Placed.

And in the center of the circle, a small mound of ash.

Lenora’s ears lifted.

Ash in a forest that hadn’t burned.

Her skin prickled.

The creature behind her made that wet breathing sound again.

Lenora didn’t turn.

She stared at the ash.

Then she whispered, barely audible.

“Please don’t be what I think you are.”

The ash stirred.

Not with wind.

With heat.

Lenora’s stomach dropped.

She backed away.

The creature stepped into the clearing.

It paused.

Its head tilted.

Then it took one step toward the ash.

The ash flared.

A thin line of orange light snapped across the ground like a whip.

The creature froze.

Lenora’s breath caught.

The orange line didn’t burn the forest.

It burned the air.

A seam of heat, like the world had been stitched and someone was pulling the thread.

The creature recoiled.

Lenora stared.

Something else is here.

And whatever it was…

It didn’t like the monster.

Lenora didn’t wait to find out if it liked her.

She ran.

Part E.2 — One Week of Not Dying

Lenora didn’t count days by sunrises.

She counted them by the number of times she almost stopped moving.

Day one: the stitched thing followed her until dusk, then vanished like it had never existed—like it had only been sent to make sure she understood the rules.

Day two: she found a deer split open and hanging from a branch, ribs peeled back like a flower. No tracks. No predator.

Day three: she woke to bells.

Small bells.

Close.

Not a town bell.

Not a warning bell.

A collar bell.

The kind you used to keep something from sneaking away.

Lenora lay perfectly still, sword under her palm, ears pinned flat.

The bell chimed once.

Then twice.

Then stopped.

Like whatever held it had decided she wasn’t worth the effort.

Day four: the fog thinned enough for her to see the ridge line.

A landmark.

Real.

She almost cried.

She didn’t.

Day five: she tried to light a fire and the flame died the moment it touched the wood.

Not wind.

Not wet bark.

Something else.

Something that didn’t want warmth.

Day six: she found another ash circle.

Smaller.

Older.

The stones were blackened like they’d been kissed by lightning.

Lenora didn’t step inside.

She didn’t even breathe near it.

She walked around it in a wide arc, jaw clenched, fingers tight on her sword.

Day seven: her pack strap finally gave up.

She tied it with cord and kept going.

Because stopping was how the forest won.

And the forest—

was listening.

Part E.3 — The Letter That Wouldn’t Burn

When she finally let herself rest, it wasn’t because she felt safe.

It was because her legs stopped obeying.

Lenora found a rise of ground where the trees grew thinner and the underbrush gave her a little room.

Not safe.

But safer than the hollows.

She built a small fire anyway.

Low.

Smothered.

More heat than light.

Then she pulled the letter from her pack.

Captain’s handwriting.

Folded so many times the creases had become bones.

She’d tried to burn it once.

Not because she didn’t trust her captain.

Because she didn’t trust the world.

Fire had licked the edges and then died like it had been shamed.

The paper hadn’t even browned.

Lenora unfolded it now with hands that shook only a little.

A list.

Seven Calamities.

Seven names that made her stomach clench.

Not because she knew them.

Because she’d seen what their touch did.

Under the list, her captain’s final line.

A direction.

A place.

Whisperfen.

Lenora stared at the word until it blurred.

Whisperfen wasn’t a town.

Not really.

It was a rumor with a map pinned to it.

A fog-town where people went missing and came back wrong.

A place where the seams of the world showed.

A place her captain had circled like it was the only answer left.

Lenora swallowed.

“Why there,” she whispered, like the trees might answer.

The fog shifted.

Something breathed.

Not the stitched thing.

The forest.

Lenora folded the letter and shoved it back into her pack.

Then she lay down with her cloak pulled tight and her sword within reach.

Sleep came in pieces.

And in the cracks between them, she heard it.

A whisper.

So soft it could’ve been her own thought.

Seven.

Lenora’s eyes snapped open.

The fire had dimmed.

The fog had crept closer.

And for one heartbeat—

she saw a seam in the air.

A thin line, like a stitch pulled too tight.

Then it was gone.

Lenora didn’t move.

She didn’t blink.

She waited until her heart slowed.

And when it finally did, she whispered back into the dark.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “I know.”

Part E.4 — The Ash That Remembers

The next morning, the fog didn’t feel like fog.

It felt like a hand.

Lenora stamped out the coals, scattered the ash, and erased her tracks the way her captain had drilled into her.

Then she started walking again.

Whisperfen.

One week.

The forest tried to turn her around.

She refused.

By midday, the fog thinned just enough for her to see the shallow ravine again.

The same stream.

The same slick stones.

Lenora stopped so hard her boots skidded.

No.

She’d left this behind.

She’d run for hours.

She’d bled.

She’d climbed.

She’d—

The fog curled around her ankles like it was pleased.

Lenora’s jaw clenched.

“Stop,” she said, voice flat.

The forest didn’t answer.

But the stream did.

It whispered over stone.

And in that whisper, Lenora heard something else.

A faint crackle.

Like embers under ash.

She followed it.

Not because she wanted to.

Because the sound felt like a hook in her ribs.

The clearing opened.

The stone circle.

The ash mound.

Still there.

Still warm.

Lenora’s stomach dropped.

The ash stirred.

Not with wind.

With heat.

A thin line of orange light snapped across the ground like a whip.

Not at her.

Past her.

Into the fog.

Lenora’s breath caught.

The seam of heat burned the air—

like the world had been stitched and someone was pulling the thread.

Somewhere beyond the trees, something screamed.

Not a human scream.

Not even the stitched thing’s mimicry.

Something older.

Something that hated fire.

Lenora backed away, sword half-raised.

The ash flared again.

And for one heartbeat, Lenora saw it.

A shape.

Not a monster.

Not a man.

A silhouette of horns and wings—

made of ember-light.

Then the fog swallowed it.

Lenora’s pulse hammered.

She didn’t step closer.

She didn’t touch the stones.

She did the only smart thing left.

She ran.

Part E.5 — The World Tilts

Whisperfen wasn’t far.

Not on a map.

But maps didn’t account for fog that lied.

Lenora ran until her lungs burned and her throat tasted like iron.

She didn’t stop until the trees thinned and the ground began to slope—

down.

Toward lower land.

Toward water.

Toward the place her captain had circled like a curse.

Lenora slowed.

Not because she was tired.

Because the air changed.

Pressure.

Like the sky had decided to sit on her shoulders.

Her ears rang.

A heat rolled through her chest, heavy and wrong.

Not her magic.

Not wind.

Something waking.

Far away.

Across a seam.

Lenora’s hand went to the letter without thinking.

The paper was warm.

For the first time since she’d gotten it.

Her stomach dropped.

The captain’s warning wasn’t just a warning.

It was a timer.

Lenora stared into the fog ahead.

Toward the direction Whisperfen waited.

And she whispered, not to the forest—

but to whatever had just stirred.

“Don’t,” she said, voice low.

The fog didn’t answer.

But somewhere in the distance, something echoed.

A laugh.

A bell.

And the faintest, cruelest sense of being noticed.

Lenora tightened her grip on her sword.

Then she started running.

29:T32d6,

Part E.1 — The Veteran in the Fog

Fog clung to the trees like wet cloth.

Lenora Strayheart moved through it with the kind of silence you earned, not learned—boots finding roots without looking, breath held when the wind shifted, ears twitching at every wrong sound.

The forest wasn’t just quiet.

It was listening.

Behind her, something scraped.

Not a branch. Not an animal.

A drag. Like bone on stone.

Lenora didn’t turn.

Her squad had been louder.

Her squad had been brave.

Her squad had been dead.

Lenora swallowed the grief before it could rise. Grief was a luxury. Grief was what you did when you were safe.

She wasn’t safe.

The fog thickened.

A low, wet sound rolled through it—like something breathing through a mouth full of mud.

Lenora’s ears pinned back.

There.

She pivoted, sword half-drawn, and saw it.

Its head tilted.

It didn’t have eyes.

It had pits.

And inside those pits, something faintly glowed.

Lenora’s stomach tightened.

Calamity-touched.

She didn’t know which one.

She didn’t want to.

The creature’s mouth opened.

A sound came out that wasn’t a roar.

It was a voice.

Not words. Not language.

A mimicry of the last scream it had heard.

Lenora’s grip tightened until her knuckles ached.

She lunged.

Steel flashed.

Her blade cut across its chest and the thing jerked back, but there was no blood—just a spray of black mist that hissed when it hit the fog.

The creature’s arm snapped forward.

Lenora ducked.

Claws tore through the air where her head had been.

She rolled, came up on one knee, and slammed her palm into the ground.

Wind answered.

Not a storm. Not lightning.

Just a sharp, controlled burst that shoved the fog aside and knocked the creature back a step.

Lenora didn’t waste the opening.

She ran.

Branches whipped her face. Thorns snagged her cloak. Her lungs burned.

Behind her, the creature followed—not fast, but relentless, like it didn’t need speed because it had time.

Lenora’s mind flashed to the letter in her pack.

Captain’s handwriting.

A list of names.

A warning.

Seven.

She didn’t understand it all. She only understood the part that mattered:

If you see signs of a Calamity, do not engage alone.

Lenora’s jaw clenched.

Too late.

The ground dipped.

A shallow ravine cut through the forest, filled with slick stones and a thin stream.

Lenora’s ears twitched.

Water.

She didn’t like water in fog. Water carried sound. Water carried scent.

But it also carried escape.

She leapt down into the ravine, boots sliding on wet rock, and sprinted along the stream.

The creature’s claws scraped stone behind her.

Closer.

Lenora’s breath hitched.

She reached into her pack without slowing and felt the folded paper.

The letter.

She didn’t pull it out.

She didn’t have time.

She only pressed her fingers to it like a promise.

I’m still here.

The stream widened.

The ravine opened into a small clearing where the fog thinned just enough to show the moon.

Lenora stopped.

Not because she wanted to.

Because something was in the way.

A circle of old stones.

Not natural.

Placed.

And in the center of the circle, a small mound of ash.

Lenora’s ears lifted.

Ash in a forest that hadn’t burned.

Her skin prickled.

The creature behind her made that wet breathing sound again.

Lenora didn’t turn.

She stared at the ash.

Then she whispered, barely audible.

“Please don’t be what I think you are.”

The ash stirred.

Not with wind.

With heat.

Lenora’s stomach dropped.

She backed away.

The creature stepped into the clearing.

It paused.

Its head tilted.

Then it took one step toward the ash.

The ash flared.

A thin line of orange light snapped across the ground like a whip.

The creature froze.

Lenora’s breath caught.

The orange line didn’t burn the forest.

It burned the air.

A seam of heat, like the world had been stitched and someone was pulling the thread.

The creature recoiled.

Lenora stared.

Something else is here.

And whatever it was…

It didn’t like the monster.

Lenora didn’t wait to find out if it liked her.

She ran.

Part E.2 — One Week of Not Dying

Lenora didn’t count days by sunrises.

She counted them by the number of times she almost stopped moving.

Day one: the stitched thing followed her until dusk, then vanished like it had never existed—like it had only been sent to make sure she understood the rules.

Day two: she found a deer split open and hanging from a branch, ribs peeled back like a flower. No tracks. No predator.

Day three: she woke to bells.

Small bells.

Close.

Not a town bell.

Not a warning bell.

A collar bell.

The kind you used to keep something from sneaking away.

Lenora lay perfectly still, sword under her palm, ears pinned flat.

The bell chimed once.

Then twice.

Then stopped.

Like whatever held it had decided she wasn’t worth the effort.

Day four: the fog thinned enough for her to see the ridge line.

A landmark.

Real.

She almost cried.

She didn’t.

Day five: she tried to light a fire and the flame died the moment it touched the wood.

Not wind.

Not wet bark.

Something else.

Something that didn’t want warmth.

Day six: she found another ash circle.

Smaller.

Older.

The stones were blackened like they’d been kissed by lightning.

Lenora didn’t step inside.

She didn’t even breathe near it.

She walked around it in a wide arc, jaw clenched, fingers tight on her sword.

Day seven: her pack strap finally gave up.

She tied it with cord and kept going.

Because stopping was how the forest won.

And the forest—

was listening.

Part E.3 — The Letter That Wouldn’t Burn

When she finally let herself rest, it wasn’t because she felt safe.

It was because her legs stopped obeying.

Lenora found a rise of ground where the trees grew thinner and the underbrush gave her a little room.

Not safe.

But safer than the hollows.

She built a small fire anyway.

Low.

Smothered.

More heat than light.

Then she pulled the letter from her pack.

Captain’s handwriting.

Folded so many times the creases had become bones.

She’d tried to burn it once.

Not because she didn’t trust her captain.

Because she didn’t trust the world.

Fire had licked the edges and then died like it had been shamed.

The paper hadn’t even browned.

Lenora unfolded it now with hands that shook only a little.

A list.

Seven Calamities.

Seven names that made her stomach clench.

Not because she knew them.

Because she’d seen what their touch did.

Under the list, her captain’s final line.

A direction.

A place.

Whisperfen.

Lenora stared at the word until it blurred.

Whisperfen wasn’t a town.

Not really.

It was a rumor with a map pinned to it.

A fog-town where people went missing and came back wrong.

A place where the seams of the world showed.

A place her captain had circled like it was the only answer left.

Lenora swallowed.

“Why there,” she whispered, like the trees might answer.

The fog shifted.

Something breathed.

Not the stitched thing.

The forest.

Lenora folded the letter and shoved it back into her pack.

Then she lay down with her cloak pulled tight and her sword within reach.

Sleep came in pieces.

And in the cracks between them, she heard it.

A whisper.

So soft it could’ve been her own thought.

Seven.

Lenora’s eyes snapped open.

The fire had dimmed.

The fog had crept closer.

And for one heartbeat—

she saw a seam in the air.

A thin line, like a stitch pulled too tight.

Then it was gone.

Lenora didn’t move.

She didn’t blink.

She waited until her heart slowed.

And when it finally did, she whispered back into the dark.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “I know.”

Part E.4 — The Ash That Remembers

The next morning, the fog didn’t feel like fog.

It felt like a hand.

Lenora stamped out the coals, scattered the ash, and erased her tracks the way her captain had drilled into her.

Then she started walking again.

Whisperfen.

One week.

The forest tried to turn her around.

She refused.

By midday, the fog thinned just enough for her to see the shallow ravine again.

The same stream.

The same slick stones.

Lenora stopped so hard her boots skidded.

No.

She’d left this behind.

She’d run for hours.

She’d bled.

She’d climbed.

She’d—

The fog curled around her ankles like it was pleased.

Lenora’s jaw clenched.

“Stop,” she said, voice flat.

The forest didn’t answer.

But the stream did.

It whispered over stone.

And in that whisper, Lenora heard something else.

A faint crackle.

Like embers under ash.

She followed it.

Not because she wanted to.

Because the sound felt like a hook in her ribs.

The clearing opened.

The stone circle.

The ash mound.

Still there.

Still warm.

Lenora’s stomach dropped.

The ash stirred.

Not with wind.

With heat.

A thin line of orange light snapped across the ground like a whip.

Not at her.

Past her.

Into the fog.

Lenora’s breath caught.

The seam of heat burned the air—

like the world had been stitched and someone was pulling the thread.

Somewhere beyond the trees, something screamed.

Not a human scream.

Not even the stitched thing’s mimicry.

Something older.

Something that hated fire.

Lenora backed away, sword half-raised.

The ash flared again.

And for one heartbeat, Lenora saw it.

A shape.

Not a monster.

Not a man.

A silhouette of horns and wings—

made of ember-light.

Then the fog swallowed it.

Lenora’s pulse hammered.

She didn’t step closer.

She didn’t touch the stones.

She did the only smart thing left.

She ran.

Part E.5 — The World Tilts

Whisperfen wasn’t far.

Not on a map.

But maps didn’t account for fog that lied.

Lenora ran until her lungs burned and her throat tasted like iron.

She didn’t stop until the trees thinned and the ground began to slope—

down.

Toward lower land.

Toward water.

Toward the place her captain had circled like a curse.

Lenora slowed.

Not because she was tired.

Because the air changed.

Pressure.

Like the sky had decided to sit on her shoulders.

Her ears rang.

A heat rolled through her chest, heavy and wrong.

Not her magic.

Not wind.

Something waking.

Far away.

Across a seam.

Lenora’s hand went to the letter without thinking.

The paper was warm.

For the first time since she’d gotten it.

Her stomach dropped.

The captain’s warning wasn’t just a warning.

It was a timer.

Lenora stared into the fog ahead.

Toward the direction Whisperfen waited.

And she whispered, not to the forest—

but to whatever had just stirred.

“Don’t,” she said, voice low.

The fog didn’t answer.

But somewhere in the distance, something echoed.

A laugh.

A bell.

And the faintest, cruelest sense of being noticed.

Lenora tightened her grip on her sword.

Then she started running.

2a:T592f,

Part 1.1 — The Veteran in the Fog

Fog clung to the trees like wet cloth—cold weight, damp breath, a hush that swallowed distance until even your own heartbeat sounded like a confession.

Lenora Strayheart moved through it with the kind of silence you earned, not learned. Boots found roots without looking. Breath held when the wind shifted. Bunny ears twitched at every wrong sound.

The forest wasn’t just quiet.

It was listening.

Behind her, something scraped.

Not a branch. Not an animal.

A drag. Like bone on stone.

Lenora didn’t turn.

Her squad had been louder.

Her squad had been brave.

Her squad had been dead.

Grief tried to rise anyway—hot behind her eyes, sharp in her throat.

Lenora swallowed it down.

Grief was a luxury.

Grief was what you did when you were safe.

She wasn’t safe.

The fog thickened. The air turned wet and metallic, like rain trapped in old iron.

A low, wet sound rolled through it—something breathing through a mouth full of mud.

Lenora’s ears pinned back.

There.

She pivoted, sword half-drawn, and saw it.

A shape hunched between the trees, too tall to be a man, too wrong to be a beast. Limbs bent the wrong way. Skin looked stitched from different things—patches of gray hide, slick black flesh, and something pale that might’ve been bone.

Its head tilted.

It didn’t have eyes.

It had pits.

And inside those pits, something faintly glowed—like embers buried under ash.

Lenora’s stomach tightened. Her tongue tasted iron.

Calamity-touched.

She didn’t know which one.

She didn’t want to.

The creature’s mouth opened.

A sound came out that wasn’t a roar.

It was a voice.

Not words. Not language.

A mimicry of the last scream it had heard.

Lenora’s grip tightened until her knuckles ached.

Not my squad.

Not again.

She lunged.

Steel flashed.

Her blade cut across its chest and the thing jerked back, but there was no blood—just a spray of black mist that hissed when it hit the fog.

The creature’s arm snapped forward.

Lenora ducked.

Claws tore through the air where her head had been.

She rolled, came up on one knee, and slammed her palm into the ground.

Wind answered.

Not a storm. Not lightning.

A sharp, controlled burst that shoved the fog aside and knocked the creature back a step.

Lenora didn’t waste the opening.

She drove herself forward—through thorns, through wet branches, through the burn in her lungs.

Behind her, the creature followed.

Not fast.

Relentless.

Like it didn’t need speed because it had time.

Like it didn’t need to catch her right now.

Like it only needed to keep her moving.

Lenora’s mind flashed to the letter in her pack.

Captain’s handwriting.

A list of names.

A warning.

Seven.

She didn’t understand it all. She only understood the part that mattered:

If you see signs of a Calamity, do not engage alone.

Lenora’s jaw clenched.

Too late.

The ground dipped.

A shallow ravine cut through the forest, filled with slick stones and a thin stream.

Lenora’s ears twitched.

Water.

She didn’t like water in fog. Water carried sound. Water carried scent.

But it also carried escape.

She leapt down into the ravine, boots sliding on wet rock, and sprinted along the stream.

The creature’s claws scraped stone behind her.

Closer.

Lenora’s breath hitched.

She reached into her pack without slowing and felt the folded paper.

The letter.

She didn’t pull it out.

She didn’t have time.

She only pressed her fingers to it like a promise.

I’m still here.

The stream widened.

The ravine opened into a small clearing where the fog thinned just enough to show the moon.

Lenora stopped.

Not because she wanted to.

Because something was in the way.

A circle of old stones.

Not natural.

Placed.

And in the center of the circle—

a small mound of ash.

Lenora’s ears lifted.

Ash in a forest that hadn’t burned.

Her skin prickled. The fog around the circle looked… wrong. Not thinner.

Recoiling.

As if it didn’t like the air there.

The creature behind her made that wet breathing sound again.

Lenora didn’t turn.

She stared at the ash.

Then she whispered, barely audible.

“Please don’t be what I think you are.”

The ash stirred.

Not with wind.

With heat.

The air dried in a sudden ring. Char and copper filled her nose.

Lenora’s stomach dropped.

She backed away.

The creature stepped into the clearing.

It paused.

Its head tilted.

Then it took one step toward the ash.

The ash flared.

A thin line of orange light snapped across the ground like a whip.

The creature froze.

Lenora’s breath caught.

The orange line didn’t burn the forest.

It burned the air.

A seam of heat—like the world had been stitched and someone was pulling the thread too tight.

The creature recoiled.

Not fear.

Instinct.

Like something inside it remembered pain.

Lenora stared.

Something else is here.

And whatever it was…

It didn’t like the monster.

Lenora didn’t wait to find out if it liked her.

She ran.

Part 1.2 — Errands and Ordinary Lies

Derpy’s day started like most of his days did.

With someone yelling his name from another room.

“Derpy!”

He groaned into his pillow.

“Derpy, I swear to god, if you’re still asleep—”

He rolled over, squinting at the clock.

10:17.

Okay.

That was… fair.

He dragged himself up, hair doing whatever it wanted, and stumbled into the hallway.

Jubilee stood there with her arms crossed, already dressed like she’d been awake for three hours.

Tracy was behind her, leaning on the wall with a coffee like she was watching a show.

“You said you’d run errands,” Jubilee said.

Derpy blinked. “I said I’d help.”

“You said you’d help by running errands,” Jubilee corrected.

Tracy sipped her coffee. “He’s doing the thing where he pretends words don’t mean what they mean.”

Derpy sighed. “Fine. What do you need?”

Jubilee shoved a list into his hand.

Groceries.

Cat food.

Dog treats.

Something called sealant that sounded like a home repair thing and not a food thing.

And at the bottom:

Stop by that antique shop on Maple. Ask if they have any blank journals. The thick kind.

Derpy frowned. “Why do we need a thick journal?”

Jubilee shrugged. “For your writing. You keep complaining you don’t like typing.”

Derpy opened his mouth.

Closed it.

…Okay.

Fair.

He grabbed his hoodie, shoved his feet into shoes, and headed out.

Outside, the air was cold enough to make his nose sting.

His phone buzzed.

A notification.

He ignored it.

He always ignored them.

Because if he didn’t, he’d end up doomscrolling for an hour and then Jubilee would kill him.

He got the groceries.

He got the cat food.

He got the dog treats.

He got the sealant.

Then he stood on the sidewalk in front of the antique shop and stared at the window.

The place looked normal.

Old wood.

Dusty displays.

A bell on the door.

But something about it made the back of his neck itch.

Like he’d walked too close to a magnet.

Derpy hesitated.

Then he pushed the door open.

The bell chimed.

The air inside smelled like paper and metal and something faintly sweet.

The shop was dim.

Not creepy dim.

Just… quiet.

Derpy took a step in.

The bell chimed again.

He hadn’t touched it.

He froze.

“Welcome,” a voice said.

Derpy turned.

Behind the counter stood a girl.

At first glance, she looked like a cosplayer.

Long hair.

A red-and-gold outfit that looked like it belonged in an anime.

And horns.

Not cheap plastic horns.

Horns that curved back from her head like they were part of her.

Derpy blinked.

She smiled like she’d been waiting.

“You’re late,” she said.

Derpy frowned. “Late for what?”

“For destiny,” she said, like that was a normal thing to say to a stranger.

Derpy stared.

Then he glanced around the shop.

No one else.

No cameras.

No hidden friends jumping out to prank him.

He pointed at her horns. “Are those… real?”

She looked offended. “Obviously.”

Derpy’s brain tried to reboot.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Cool. I’m just here for a journal.”

Her smile widened.

“Oh,” she said. “I have the perfect journal.”

She reached under the counter and pulled out a book.

Thick.

Leather-bound.

Blank.

No title.

No markings.

Just a smooth cover that looked like it had never been touched.

Derpy’s fingers twitched.

He didn’t know why.

The girl set it on the counter.

The moment it touched the wood, the shop felt heavier.

Derpy swallowed.

“How much?” he asked.

The girl tilted her head.

“Not money,” she said.

Derpy’s stomach dropped. “Of course not.”

She leaned forward.

“I want a partner,” she said.

Derpy stared.

“…Like,” he said carefully, “a business partner?”

She blinked.

Then she laughed.

Bright.

Sharp.

Wrong in the quiet.

“No,” she said. “A bond.”

Derpy took a step back.

“Yeah, no,” he said. “I’m good. I’m just gonna—”

The bell chimed.

The door behind him was still closed.

Derpy turned.

The lock clicked.

He hadn’t touched it.

He turned back to the girl.

She was still smiling.

But her eyes weren’t playful anymore.

They were… hungry.

Derpy’s throat went dry.

“Okay,” he said. “So, like… what are you?”

The girl’s smile softened.

“A gift,” she said.

Derpy’s phone buzzed again.

He ignored it.

The girl reached under the counter again.

This time, she pulled out two yellow bracelets.

Cheap.

Plastic.

Like something you’d get at a carnival.

She set them next to the book.

“These go with it,” she said.

Derpy stared.

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to need them,” she said.

Derpy swallowed.

He didn’t like the way she said need.

He didn’t like any of this.

He reached for the book anyway.

Because he was an idiot.

The moment his fingers touched the cover, heat licked up his arm.

Not burning.

Just… awake.

Derpy jerked his hand back.

The girl watched him like she’d just confirmed something.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Derpy’s heart hammered.

He looked at the bracelets.

Then at the book.

Then at the girl.

He forced a laugh.

“Okay,” he said. “So, funny story. I actually have to go feed my pets.”

The girl tilted her head.

“You have pets?”

Derpy nodded quickly. “Yeah. Two. They’re… weird.”

The girl’s eyes lit up.

“Oh,” she said. “I like weird.”

Derpy’s stomach sank.

Part 1.3 — Mia, Sphinx, and the Truth in Teeth

Derpy got home with the groceries and the journal and the bracelets in a bag he kept staring at like it might bite him.

He kicked the door shut behind him.

“Mia?” he called.

A soft thump.

Then another.

Mia padded into the hallway like she owned the place.

She was a dog.

Technically.

A big fluffy thing with an attitude and eyes that always looked like she knew something you didnn’t.

Sphinx followed behind her.

Sphinx was… also technically a pet.

Mostly.

He was shaped like a cat, but heavier, with a thick build and a stare that made strangers step back.

Derpy dropped the grocery bags on the counter.

Mia sniffed the air.

Her ears flicked.

Then she stared at the bag with the journal.

Sphinx did too.

Derpy swallowed.

“Okay,” he said. “So. Don’t freak out.”

Mia flicked her tail.

Sphinx didn’t move.

Derpy pulled the journal out.

The room felt colder.

Not temperature.

Pressure.

Like the air got heavier.

Mia’s fur lifted.

Sphinx’s lips pulled back from his teeth.

Derpy froze.

“Okay,” he whispered. “That’s… not great.”

The bracelets slid out of the bag and clattered onto the floor.

Yellow.

Cheap.

Harmless-looking.

Mia stepped forward.

She sniffed one.

Then she hissed.

Not a normal hiss.

A hiss that sounded like a warning siren.

Derpy’s stomach dropped.

The journal on the counter…

…moved.

Not physically.

But the cover seemed to shift, like something under it was breathing.

Derpy backed up.

Then the girl from the shop stepped out of the shadows like she’d been there the whole time.

Derpy yelped.

“What the—”

She smiled brightly.

“Home!” she announced.

Derpy stared.

“How did you—”

“I followed you,” she said, like that was normal.

Mia growled.

Sphinx growled too.

The girl blinked.

“Oh,” she said. “They don’t like me.”

Derpy’s voice cracked. “Yeah, no kidding.”

The girl pouted.

Then she crouched down, eyes on Mia.

“Hello,” she said sweetly. “I’m Celica.”

Mia’s ears flattened.

Sphinx stepped forward.

The girl’s smile didnn’t falter.

She reached toward Mia.

Mia snapped.

Not at her hand.

At the air.

And the air ripped.

A thin seam opened for a heartbeat—like reality had been cut with a razor.

The girl froze.

Her eyes widened.

Then she laughed.

“Oh,” she said softly. “You’re not normal either.”

Derpy’s blood went cold.

Mia’s tail lashed.

Sphinx’s eyes glowed faintly.

Derpy backed up until he hit the wall.

“Okay,” he said. “So. We’re doing this. Cool.”

Celica stood.

She looked at the journal.

Then at Derpy.

Then she smiled like she’d won.

“You took me,” she said.

Derpy swallowed. “I didnn’t mean to.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said.

She stepped closer.

Derpy held up a hand. “Stop. Before you do whatever weird magic thing you’re about to do, I need rules.”

Celica blinked.

“Rules?”

“Yes,” Derpy said, voice shaking but stubborn. “If you’re coming into my house and messing with my life, I get rules.”

Mia growled in agreement.

Sphinx rumbled.

Celica tilted her head.

Then she smiled.

“I like rules,” she said.

Derpy swallowed.

“Rule one,” he said. “You don’t hurt my pets.”

Celica’s eyes flicked to Mia and Sphinx.

She made a small sound like she was thinking.

“Fine,” she said.

Derpy exhaled.

“Rule two,” he said. “You don’t control me.”

Celica laughed.

Derpy’s stomach dropped.

But then she stopped laughing.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Control is boring,” she said.

Derpy didn’t believe her.

“Rule three,” he said. “If we’re doing… whatever this is… it’s equal.”

Celica stared at him.

For a second, the air around her shimmered.

Then she smiled.

“Partner,” she said.

Derpy’s throat went dry.

“Partner,” he repeated.

Celica reached for the journal.

Derpy flinched.

But she didn’t grab it.

She pressed her palm to the cover.

The journal glowed.

Orange light seeped from the edges like embers under a door.

Mia hissed.

Sphinx stepped closer.

Derpy’s heart hammered.

Celica’s body flickered.

Like a bad video.

Then she collapsed into the journal.

Not falling.

Merging.

Her form folded into light and sank into the cover.

The journal snapped shut.

A symbol burned into the leather for a heartbeat—something like a flame shaped into a crown.

Then it faded.

Derpy stared.

The room was quiet again.

Mia’s fur slowly settled.

Sphinx’s growl faded into a low rumble.

Derpy swallowed.

“…Okay,” he whispered. “So that happened.”

The bracelets on the floor warmed.

Just a little.

Like they were pleased.

Part 1.4 — The Dream Contract

That night, Derpy didn’t sleep.

Not at first.

He sat on his bed with the journal in his lap, staring at it like it might open on its own and bite his face off.

Mia curled up beside him, tail flicking every so often.

Sphinx lay at the foot of the bed like a guard dog in a horror movie.

Derpy’s phone buzzed.

He always ignored it.

Eventually, exhaustion won.

His eyes closed.

And the world… shifted.

He was standing in a place that wasn’t his room.

A wide black space filled with floating embers.

Not fire.

Memory of fire.

The air smelled like smoke and old paper.

Derpy turned.

Celica stood behind him.

Not in her cosplay outfit.

In something older.

A dress that looked like it had been made from molten gold and ash.

Her horns were bigger.

Her eyes glowed.

Derpy’s throat went dry.

“You’re… not human,” he whispered.

Celica smiled.

“I never said I was,” she replied.

Derpy swallowed.

“What are you?”

She stepped closer.

“I am Celica’s Embers,” she said.

The words hit like a weight.

Derpy’s stomach tightened.

“A… book,” he said weakly.

Celica laughed.

“A legacy,” she corrected. “A Calamity. A dragon’s inheritance.”

Derpy’s mind tried to reject it.

It didn’t work.

He looked down.

The journal was in his hands.

It was warm.

Like a heartbeat.

Celica circled him slowly.

“You agreed,” she said.

Derpy frowned. “I agreed to rules.”

Celica smiled wider.

“Rules are a contract,” she said.

Derpy’s throat went dry.

He clenched his jaw.

“Okay,” he said. “Then I’m making it clear. I’m not your puppet. I’m not your servant. I’m not your toy.”

Celica’s eyes narrowed.

Then she laughed softly.

“Good,” she said.

Derpy blinked.

“That’s… good?”

Celica stepped closer until the embers around them brightened.

“I don’t want a puppet,” she said. “Puppets break. I want a partner.”

Derpy’s stomach twisted.

“Why me?” he asked.

Celica’s smile softened.

“Because you said no,” she whispered.

Derpy stared.

Celica lifted her hand.

A bracelet appeared around his wrist.

Yellow.

Cheap.

But the moment it touched him, it felt like metal.

Like a shackle pretending to be plastic.

Derpy flinched.

Celica’s voice dropped.

“These are my mark,” she said. “A tether. A promise. A leash, if you let it become one.”

Derpy swallowed hard.

“I won’t,” he said.

Celica’s eyes gleamed.

“We’ll see,” she whispered.

Derpy’s stomach dropped.

He clenched his fist.

“Equal,” he said again. “You said partner.”

Celica’s smile returned.

“Partner,” she agreed.

The embers around them swirled.

Derpy felt heat brush his skin.

Not burning.

Inviting.

Celica leaned in.

“Gather the others,” she whispered.

Derpy’s throat went dry.

“The others?”

Celica’s eyes glowed brighter.

“The other Calamities,” she said.

Derpy’s mind flashed to the list in Lenora’s letter—though he didn’t know it yet.

Seven.

Derpy swallowed.

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” he said.

Celica laughed.

“It’s destiny,” she said.

Derpy grimaced. “I hate that word.”

Celica’s smile sharpened.

“Then call it survival,” she said.

Derpy stared at her.

He thought of Mia.

Of Sphinx.

Of his sisters.

Of his life.

He thought of the way the journal had felt warm in his hands.

Like it had chosen him.

He exhaled.

“Fine,” he said. “But we do it my way.”

Celica’s eyes gleamed.

“And what is your way?”

Derpy swallowed.

“No one hurts my pets,” he said. “No one uses me. And if you try to turn me into something I don’t want to be… I’m done.”

Celica’s smile softened.

“Bold,” she murmured.

Derpy’s jaw clenched.

“Equal,” he repeated.

Celica leaned in, close enough that the embers kissed his skin.

“Equal,” she whispered.

The world tilted.

The embers became a storm.

Derpy’s stomach lurched.

And then—

He was falling.

Not in the dream.

In reality.

Wind screamed past his ears.

Mia yowled.

Sphinx roared.

Derpy’s eyes snapped open.

He wasn’t in his room.

He was in the sky.

Fog and stars and cold air.

Below him, a forest clearing.

A campfire.

A bunny girl with a sword.

Derpy had just enough time to scream—

Before he hit the ground.

And the world of Calamities finally noticed him.

2b:T107f,

Part 2.1 — Impact and Introductions

Derpy hit the ground like the world had personally taken offense.

Dirt exploded up his nose.

His spine rang.

His brain did that thing where it tried to pretend he was fine for half a second—then immediately filed a complaint.

“Ow—ow—OW—”

Something landed beside him with a heavier thud.

Mia.

She yowled like she’d been personally betrayed by gravity.

Another shape slammed down a heartbeat later—Sphinx—rolling once, then coming up in a low crouch, fur puffed, eyes narrowed like he was about to fight the sky itself.

Derpy wheezed and tried to push himself up.

His wrists burned.

The yellow bracelets were hot—not sun-warmed plastic hot.

More like someone put a brand on your bones hot.

He sucked in a breath and looked around.

Fog.

Trees.

A campfire.

And a bunny girl with a sword who looked like she’d been forged out of exhaustion and stubbornness.

Her ears were upright, but not relaxed.

Her stance was ready.

Her eyes were locked on him like he was either a threat or a miracle.

Derpy’s mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

Because what do you even say when your life just got thrown into a fantasy forest?

The bunny girl took one step forward.

“Don’t move,” she said.

Her voice wasn’t cruel.

It was controlled.

The kind of control you used when you were one bad second away from panic.

Derpy swallowed.

“I—okay,” he managed. “I’m not— I’m not trying to—”

His bracelets flared hotter.

He hissed and grabbed his wrists.

The bunny girl’s eyes flicked to the bracelets.

Then to the book.

Because the book was there.

The blank journal—Celica’s Embers—had landed beside him like it belonged.

It looked harmless.

It looked wrong.

Derpy’s throat went dry.

Mia pressed herself against his side, growling low.

Sphinx prowled a slow half-circle, tail lashing, his stare fixed on the bunny girl’s sword hand.

The bunny girl didn’t flinch.

But her grip shifted—subtle, protective.

Not just ready to strike.

Ready to shield.

Derpy forced himself to breathe.

“Hi,” he said, because his brain was useless. “I’m— I’m Derpy.”

The bunny girl’s ears twitched.

“Lenora,” she said.

Derpy nodded too fast. “Cool. Great. Lenora. Nice to meet you. Sorry about the—” He waved vaguely at the entire situation. “—falling out of the sky thing.”

Lenora didn’t smile.

But something in her expression softened anyway, like she’d been trying not to.

Then her gaze sharpened.

“You’re holding a Calamity,” she said.

Derpy blinked.

“A what?”

Lenora’s jaw tightened.

“A Calamity Book.”

Derpy stared at the journal like it might deny it.

It did not.

It just sat there.

Warm.

Patient.

Like a predator pretending to be paper.

Derpy swallowed.

“I didn’t— I mean, I—”

His bracelets spiked with heat.

He gasped.

The pain wasn’t just pain.

It was direction.

A pull.

A tug on his bones.

His body leaned before his mind agreed.

Lenora’s eyes widened.

“Hey—”

Derpy stumbled backward.

“No, no, no— I’m not doing this on purpose!” he snapped, panicked.

The bracelets burned again.

And his feet moved.

Toward the trees.

Toward the sound of water.

Lenora lunged.

Her hand caught his sleeve.

The moment she touched him, the bracelets flared like they hated her.

Derpy cried out.

Lenora yanked her hand back, shaking it like she’d touched a stove.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Those aren’t normal,” she muttered.

Derpy laughed once—sharp and humorless.

“Yeah, no kidding.”

The pull hit again.

Harder.

Derpy’s stomach dropped.

He ran. He didn’t move like a fighter.
He moved like someone being dragged.

2c:T195c,

Derpy didn’t run like a hero.

He ran like a guy who had no idea what was happening and didn’t want to die in a forest he didn’t recognize.

Mia sprinted beside him, nails tearing up dirt.

Sphinx bounded through the fog like a shadow with teeth.

Behind them, Lenora followed.

Fast.

Silent.

Derpy could hear her boots only when she wanted him to.

“Derpy—stop!” she called.

Derpy wheezed. “I CAN’T!”

The bracelets burned.

His arms jerked forward like he was being dragged by invisible chains.

The fog thinned as the sound of rushing water grew louder.

Derpy burst through the brush and skidded to the edge of a river.

It wasn’t huge.

But it was fast.

Cold.

Alive.

Derpy’s bracelets flared white-hot.

He screamed.

And the river answered.

Ice spiderwebbed across the surface.

Not slowly.

Not naturally.

It snapped outward in a violent bloom, freezing the water mid-motion.

The river’s roar died into a brittle crackle.

Derpy stared.

His breath came out in panicked bursts.

Mia barked once—sharp, alarmed.

Sphinx’s ears pinned back.

Lenora skidded to a stop behind him.

For the first time, her control cracked.

“What—” she breathed.

Then her eyes flicked to Derpy’s face.

To the way he was shaking.

To the way he looked like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

Lenora’s ears dipped.

Not fear.

Concern.

Derpy’s wrists screamed.

The bracelets weren’t just hot now.

They were searing.

He grabbed them, trying to yank them off.

They didn’t budge.

His skin felt like it was melting under plastic.

Derpy’s vision blurred.

“I can’t— I can’t—”

He staggered.

His foot hit the ice.

And the ice grabbed him.

It climbed his ankle like it was alive.

Up his calf.

Up his knee.

Derpy panicked and tried to jump back.

The ice surged faster.

It swallowed his legs.

His hips.

His waist.

Derpy screamed.

Mia lunged, snapping at the ice, but her teeth hit it and skidded off like stone.

Sphinx slammed a paw down, claws scraping, but the ice only thickened.

Lenora moved.

She didn’t hesitate.

She dropped to her knees beside Derpy and slammed her palm onto the ice.

Wind magic flared—tight, controlled.

Not to break it.

To separate it.

To wedge air into the seams.

The ice shuddered.

Cracked.

Derpy gasped as the pressure around his ribs loosened.

Lenora’s ears flattened with effort.

“Breathe,” she snapped—then immediately softened her tone, like she was mad at herself for sounding sharp. “Hey. Hey—look at me. Breathe. Don’t fight it. You’ll make it worse.”

Derpy’s eyes flicked to hers.

He looked terrified.

Lenora’s face went full pink.

Like someone had dumped heat straight into her cheeks.

She froze for half a heartbeat—too aware of how close they were, too aware of his eyes on her—then jerked her gaze away hard enough it looked like it hurt.

“…Just—breathe,” she repeated, voice stern on purpose, like stern could cover the fact she was blushing like an idiot.

Derpy choked out a laugh that sounded like a sob.

“I’m not— I’m not trying to—”

The bracelets flared again.

Then—

They changed.

The yellow plastic rippled like wax.

Black crawled over it.

Hardening.

Shaping.

Metal grew where plastic had been.

Segments locked into place.

Fingers formed.

Gauntlets.

Derpy stared at his hands as the ice around him answered the new shape.

The cold wasn’t just cold.

It was controlled.

A weapon.

A promise.

Lenora’s eyes widened.

“Frostburn,” she whispered, like she’d just named a nightmare.

She realizes that power could kill on a battlefield.

Derpy’s breath hitched.

The gauntlets hummed.

Then, as quickly as they’d formed, the black receded.

The metal softened.

The segments melted back into cheap yellow bracelets.

Derpy blinked.

His hands shook.

The ice around him cracked again.

Lenora pressed harder, forcing wind into the fractures.

Mia barked, frantic.

Sphinx growled low, pacing.

Derpy clenched his jaw.

“Okay,” he rasped. “Okay. Tell me what to do.”

Lenora’s eyes snapped to his.

Her face was still pink.

It got worse when she realized she’d looked.

She looked away again, jaw tight, like she could bully her own blush into behaving.

For a second, something like respect flickered there anyway.

“Stop panicking,” she said.

Derpy stared.

Lenora’s mouth twitched—almost a smile.

“Not because I’m being mean,” she added. “Because it’s listening.”

Derpy swallowed.

“Who’s listening?”

Lenora’s gaze flicked to the journal on the riverbank.

“The Book,” she said.

Derpy’s stomach dropped.

Lenora inhaled.

“Focus on one thing,” she said. “One rule. One anchor.”

Derpy’s mind flashed to last night.

To embers.

To Celica’s smile.

To the word partner.

To his own voice, shaking but stubborn.

No one hurts my pets.

Derpy clenched his fists.

“Celica,” he whispered.

The bracelets warmed.

Not burning.

Listening.

Derpy swallowed.

“Stop,” he said, louder. “Stop freezing me. I’m not your toy.”

The air went still.

The ice loosened.

Just enough.

Lenora shoved wind into the gap and yanked Derpy forward.

The ice broke.

Derpy collapsed onto the riverbank, coughing, shaking, soaked up to his waist.

Mia shoved her head into his chest, whining.

Sphinx pressed against his shoulder, purring—low and vibrating, like a warning disguised as comfort.

Derpy stared at his wrists.

The bracelets sat there.

Yellow.

Innocent.

Like they hadn’t just tried to turn him into a statue.

Lenora stood slowly.

Her sword stayed in her hand.

But it wasn’t pointed at him.

Not yet.

2d:T1978,

Lenora kept her distance.

Not far.

Just far enough that if Derpy did something weird again, she’d have room to move.

But her eyes kept flicking back to him anyway.

Like she was checking he was still breathing.

Derpy couldn’t blame her.

He couldn’t even blame himself.

He sat on a rock, shivering, Mia pressed against his side like a heated blanket with teeth.

Sphinx sat in front of him, tail wrapped neatly around his paws, staring at Lenora like he was judging her entire bloodline.

Derpy wiped his face with his sleeve.

“Okay,” he said hoarsely. “So. Calamity Book. That’s a thing. Cool. Love that for me.”

Lenora’s ears flicked.

“You didn’t know,” she said.

Derpy barked a laugh.

“No. I thought I bought a journal from a weird cosplayer.”

Lenora’s gaze sharpened.

“A dragon projection,” she corrected automatically—then stopped, like she’d revealed she knew more than she meant to.

Derpy blinked.

“A what?”

Lenora exhaled through her nose.

“Never mind,” she said.

Derpy stared.

“No, no, you can’t ‘never mind’ that,” he snapped. “I’m in a fog forest with a murder-book and bracelets that turn into—” He gestured wildly. “—that. You don’t get to ‘never mind’ me.”

Lenora’s eyes narrowed.

Then she looked away.

For a second, she looked tired.

And then she looked… embarrassed.

Like she wasn’t used to being questioned—and also wasn’t used to caring what the answer did to someone.

“Fine,” she said. “Calamity Books are… old. Dangerous. Sentient. They choose people.”

Derpy swallowed.

“I didn’t ask to be chosen.”

Lenora’s mouth tightened.

“Neither did most of the people who died because of them,” she said.

The words hit like a slap.

Derpy went quiet.

Mia growled low, like she didn’t like Lenora’s tone.

Sphinx’s eyes narrowed.

Lenora noticed.

Her gaze softened—just a fraction.

“I’m not blaming you,” she said, more carefully. “I’m telling you the cost.”

Derpy’s throat went dry.

He looked at the journal.

It sat on the riverbank, edges faintly warm.

Like embers under ash.

Derpy swallowed.

“Okay,” he said. “So what were the bracelets doing? Why did they drag me here?”

Lenora’s eyes flicked to his wrists.

“Tracking,” she said.

Derpy blinked.

“Like… GPS?”

Lenora snorted.

“No,” she said. “Worse. More… playful.”

Derpy’s stomach sank.

“They’re a hot-and-cold game,” Lenora continued. “They pull you toward something. Or away from something. Sometimes they lie.”

Derpy stared.

“That’s not tracking. That’s bullying.”

Lenora’s mouth twitched.

“Calamities don’t care about your comfort,” she said. “They care about their goals.”

Derpy’s jaw clenched.

“My goal is not dying,” he said.

Lenora nodded once.

“Then you need training,” she said.

Derpy blinked.

“What?”

Lenora sheathed her sword—slowly, deliberately.

It wasn’t trust.

It was a choice.

“A Calamity bearer who can’t control it is a disaster waiting to happen,” she said. “You froze a river on instinct.”

Derpy flinched.

“I froze me,” he muttered.

Lenora’s ears twitched.

“And you survived,” she said. “Because you found an anchor.”

Derpy swallowed.

“My pets,” he said quietly.

Lenora’s gaze flicked to Mia and Sphinx.

“They’re bonded to you,” she said.

Derpy stiffened.

“What does that mean?”

Lenora hesitated.

Then she said, “It means if you fall apart, they might too.”

Derpy’s stomach dropped.

Mia whined.

Sphinx leaned into Derpy’s shoulder, purring low.

Derpy clenched his fists.

“Okay,” he said, voice tight. “So what do we do?”

Lenora looked at him.

Really looked.

Not at the bracelets.

Not at the book.

At him.

Her face went full pink again.

Immediate.

Unforgiving.

She snapped her gaze away like it was a reflex, ears stiff, jaw tight.

“I’m heading to Whisperfen,” she said too fast. “There’s… information there. People who know more than I do.”

Derpy swallowed.

“Whisperfen,” he repeated.

The word felt like fog on his tongue.

Lenora nodded.

“You can come with me,” she said.

Her voice was stern.

But her eyes—when she dared glance back—were careful.

Protective.

Then she looked away again, cheeks still pink, like she was angry at her own face.

“Or you can wander alone until those bracelets decide to drag you into something worse than a river.”

Derpy stared.

Mia pressed closer.

Sphinx’s tail flicked.

Derpy exhaled.

“I don’t even have shoes for this,” he muttered.

Lenora blinked.

And then—very, very faintly—she smiled.

It was gone almost immediately.

But it was there.

Derpy looked up.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll go.”

Lenora’s ears lifted.

Her face pinked again like it had been waiting.

She looked away so hard she nearly turned her whole body with it.

“Good,” she said, stern like a commander. “Stay close.”

“But,” Derpy added quickly, “I’m not your prisoner. I’m not your weapon. I’m not your—”

Lenora held up a hand.

“Partner?” she said, like she was testing the word.

Derpy froze.

Then he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”

Lenora’s cheeks went bright.

Like, oh no, that word did something to me bright.

She cleared her throat like she could clear the heat out of her face.

“Fine,” she said. “Partner.”

Derpy swallowed.

Mia barked once, like she approved.

Sphinx blinked slowly, still judging.

Lenora glanced toward the forest.

“We move before dark gets worse,” she said.

Derpy stared at the fog.

“It can get worse?”

Lenora’s eyes narrowed.

“Yes,” she said simply.

Derpy sighed.

“Of course it can.”

2e:Tc08,

They packed fast.

Lenora’s camp was minimal—because you didn’t carry luxuries when the forest wanted you dead.

Derpy’s supplies were… not.

He had grocery bags.

A half-crushed box of cereal.

Dog treats.

Cat food.

Sealant.

Lenora stared at the sealant like it was a cursed artifact.

Derpy shrugged.

“Don’t ask,” he said.

Lenora didn’t.

They started walking.

Derpy kept glancing at his wrists.

The bracelets were quiet.

Too quiet.

Like a kid pretending to behave after getting caught.

Mia trotted ahead, sniffing everything.

Sphinx stayed close to Derpy’s leg, occasionally brushing against him like a reminder: I’m here. Don’t you dare disappear.

Lenora walked slightly in front, sword hand relaxed but ready.

But she kept glancing back.

Not suspicious.

Checking.

And every time her eyes met Derpy’s for more than a second—

her face went full pink.

Instant.

She’d snap her gaze away like she’d been caught stealing.

Like looking at him was dangerous.

Derpy tried to match her pace.

He failed.

Lenora slowed anyway.

Not kindness.

Practicality.

(But also… a lot of kindness she was pretending wasn’t there.)

“You’ll learn,” she said.

Derpy huffed.

“I was learning fine in my world,” he muttered.

Lenora’s ears twitched.

“Your world had Calamities?” she asked.

Derpy stared.

“No,” he said. “My world had bills.”

Lenora blinked.

Derpy almost smiled.

Almost.

Lenora’s cheeks warmed.

Full pink again.

She looked away like she could pretend it didn’t happen.

Because the fog shifted.

And the forest made that listening silence again.

Lenora’s posture tightened.

Derpy’s bracelets warmed—just a little.

A warning.

A tease.

Derpy swallowed.

“Whisperfen is… safe?” he asked.

Lenora didn’t answer immediately.

Then she said, “Safer.”

Derpy grimaced.

“Love that.”

They walked.

And somewhere far away—so far it would’ve been a myth if the air hadn’t suddenly tensed—something ancient stirred.

High above the fog line, where the clouds thinned and the wind ran clean, a dragon’s eyes snapped open.

Vespera.

Eldest.

Authority.

Her breath caught.

Not from fear.

From recognition.

A pulse rolled through the world—warm as embers, sharp as a brand.

A Calamity had awakened.

Not just any Calamity.

Celica’s Embers.

Vespera’s claws flexed against stone.

Her wings unfurled with a sound like thunder being swallowed.

“Impossible,” she whispered.

Then her gaze turned toward the fog-bound land.

Toward Whisperfen.

Toward the place the world was about to break again.

And she launched into the sky.

2f:Td02,

Part 2.4 — Training Before the Fog

By midday, the forest had changed.

Trees grew closer together, light dimmer, air wetter. Somewhere ahead, Whisperfen waited beneath fog and rumor—but Lenora stopped in a clearing first, where the ground was flat and the trees formed a ring.

“We train,” she said.

Derpy blinked. “Right now?”

“Right now,” Lenora repeated, marking a boundary with a strip of cloth. “If Celica’s Embers is using you as a compass, we need to know what triggers it. Heat. Pain. Direction. Emotion. The book doesn’t get to surprise us again.”

Derpy held his wrists out. The yellow bracelets looked harmless in daylight.

They weren’t.

Lenora circled him, ears twitching, eyes sharp. “Touch the book.”

Derpy hesitated. “It burned last time.”

“I know,” Lenora said. “Controlled.”

Derpy reached into his bag and brushed the book’s cover.

The bracelets warmed—gentle at first, then sharper, like a warning.

Lenora nodded. “Good. Pull away.”

Derpy did. The heat faded.

“So it reacts to proximity,” Lenora murmured. “Now—spar.”

Derpy’s eyes widened. “Spar? I don’t even—”

“You don’t have to win,” Lenora cut in. “You have to learn what your body does under pressure.”

Mia sat at Derpy’s heel, alert. Sphinx perched on his shoulder, tail flicking.

Lenora drew her sword and moved—fast, controlled. A feint. A step-in. A strike that stopped an inch from Derpy’s chest.

Derpy stumbled back, heart hammering.

The bracelets warmed again.

Lenora’s gaze sharpened. “There. Fear is a trigger.”

Derpy swallowed. “That’s… not great.”

“Then we fix it,” Lenora said. “Breathe. Watch my shoulders. Not my blade.”

Derpy forced air into his lungs.

Lenora attacked again—two clean strikes.

Derpy ducked the first, panicked on the second, and threw his hands up.

Yellow flashed black.

The air hissed.

Frostburn formed over his hands—black gauntlets venting cold like breath, frost curling off the knuckles.

Derpy froze. “Oh no.”

Lenora’s eyes widened—then sharpened with focus. “Good. Now we know.”

She pointed at a fallen log. “Hit that.”

Derpy made a face, then punched.

Ice spiderwebbed across the wood, freezing it solid in seconds.

Derpy stumbled back, horrified.

Lenora stared, impressed despite herself. “Controlled output. Not random.”

Derpy’s voice went thin. “Still terrifying.”

Lenora sheathed her sword. “Welcome to this world. Now—walk. Let’s see if it settles.”

Derpy took a few steps. Frostburn softened back into yellow bracelets.

He exhaled shakily.

Lenora nodded once. “Whisperfen is south. We get information there.”

Derpy looked at her like he was trying to decide if she was saving him or recruiting him.

Lenora met his eyes for half a second.

Her face went full pink—instant, unforgiving.

She snapped her gaze away like it burned, ears stiff, voice turning extra-flat on purpose. “Move.”

They started walking.

The fog ahead looked like a mouth.

30:Teba,

They didn’t make it far.

The forest went quiet first—birds cutting off mid-song, wind dying like someone had closed a door. Derpy’s bracelets warmed, not the gentle “south” warmth, but a sharp heat that made his skin prickle.

Lenora’s ears snapped upright.

“Down,” she whispered.

Derpy crouched.

Mia bristled. Sphinx’s claws pricked Derpy’s collar.

Then the sky screamed.

Something crashed into the clearing behind them—impact shaking the ground, dirt and leaves blasting outward.

Derpy flinched and turned.

A dragon woman stood in the crater.

Not the illusion from the shop.

Not a projection.

This was real.

Horns like a crown. Wings spread wide. Tail cutting the air like a blade. Eyes sharp with old instincts.

Vespera.

She scanned the clearing like she was tasting the air for magic. Her gaze snapped to Derpy’s wrists.

The moment she saw the bracelets, her expression hardened into something ancient and furious.

“You,” Vespera said, voice low. “Come here.”

Derpy blinked. “Uh—hi?”

Lenora stepped between them instantly, sword half-drawn.

“Who are you?” Lenora demanded.

Vespera’s eyes didn’t leave Derpy.

“Vespera,” she said. “And that human is coming with me.”

Lenora’s ears flattened. “He’s not your prisoner.”

Vespera’s lip curled. “He carries a Calamity tied to dragon authority. That is not a ‘party matter.’ That is Dragon Kingdom law.”

Derpy swallowed. “I didn’t steal anything. I got dragged into this.”

Vespera’s wings flexed. “You will say that to my queen.”

Lenora’s grip tightened. “We’re heading to Whisperfen. He needs training, information—”

Vespera cut her off. “He needs judgment.”

Lenora’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

The word landed like a line drawn in blood.

For a heartbeat, Vespera stared at Lenora like she couldn’t believe a bunny girl had the nerve.

Then Vespera moved.

Fast.

Not toward Derpy.

Toward Lenora.

Lenora reacted on instinct—shoving Derpy hard out of the way.

“Move!” she barked.

Derpy stumbled back, hit the ground, rolled.

Steel met claw with a shriek.

Lenora’s sword caught Vespera’s strike, but the impact shoved Lenora back a step.

Vespera pressed in, relentless.

“You’re protecting him,” Vespera hissed. “Why?”

Lenora’s jaw clenched. “Because you’re not listening!”

Vespera’s tail whipped.

Lenora ducked. The tail cut through a tree trunk behind her like it was soft wood.

Derpy stared, frozen.

Mia snarled.

Sphinx hissed so hard it sounded like steam.

Vespera’s eyes flicked to Derpy again.

“Human,” she snapped. “Stand up. You will come willingly.”

Derpy’s bracelets heated.

Yellow flashed black.

Frostburn hissed into existence.

Derpy’s breath hitched.

“I— I don’t want to fight!”

Vespera’s gaze sharpened. “Then don’t. Submit.”

Lenora blocked another strike, arms shaking. “Derpy—stay back!”

Derpy tried.

But the air felt like it was squeezing him.

Like the Calamity wanted the conflict.

Lenora risked a glance over her shoulder—checking if he was still there, still breathing.

Derpy looked up at her.

Lenora’s face went full pink again, like her body betrayed her on schedule.

She snapped her gaze away immediately and lunged back into the fight harder than she needed to, voice turning sharp to cover it.

“Don’t move!”

31:T126c,

Mia transformed first.

Her chibi body stretched into something massive—bones shifting, muscle thickening, fur bristling. Three heads rose, each mouth snarling, drool steaming with heat and frost.

Sphinx leapt off Derpy’s shoulder and hit the ground running.

Mid-stride, the cat expanded into a behemoth—thick, predatory, eyes glowing like lanterns in fog. His steps were heavy, but his intent was silent.

Lenora’s eyes widened.

“What—”

Vespera froze for half a heartbeat, staring.

Then her expression twisted into disgusted recognition.

“Contracts,” she spat. “Of course.”

Mia lunged.

The heat head roared—breath flashing like a furnace gust.

The frost head followed—white vapor spilling, freezing leaves mid-air.

The third head slammed in with a crushing bite, aiming to lock Vespera in place.

Vespera snapped her wings open and surged upward, barely avoiding the bite—then dropped back down with a claw strike that sent dirt spraying.

Sphinx hit her flank like a living boulder, lantern eyes burning.

Vespera staggered.

Lenora seized the opening and drove forward, blade flashing.

“Stop!” Lenora shouted. “We can talk—”

Vespera’s eyes burned. “Talk is over.”

She feinted at Lenora—then pivoted, faster than Lenora expected.

Straight toward Derpy.

Derpy’s heart stopped.

Vespera grabbed him.

Not by the wrist.

Not by the collar.

She yanked him up and pinned him against her chest with one arm like he weighed nothing.

Derpy’s face went bright red instantly.

His brain short-circuited.

Why is she—why is she so—

“Enough,” Vespera snarled. “You’re coming with me.”

Lenora’s ears flattened. “Put him down!”

Derpy’s eyes flicked to Lenora—wide, startled, and a little too aware that she’d just sounded like she meant it.

Lenora met his gaze for a heartbeat.

Full face pink.

Immediate.

She snapped her eyes away like she’d been slapped by her own feelings and raised her voice to compensate.

“Now!”

Mia snarled and lunged again.

Sphinx crouched, ready to pounce.

Vespera’s gaze flicked to them—annoyed, not afraid.

Then Derpy’s bracelets flared.

Not warm.

Not black.

They burned red-hot, like a brand being pressed into skin.

Derpy gasped. “Ow—!”

Vespera hissed and recoiled instinctively.

The heat bit into her palm like it recognized her.

Like it rejected her.

Vespera dropped Derpy immediately.

He hit the ground hard, coughing, clutching his wrists.

The bracelets cooled back to yellow like nothing happened.

Silence hit the clearing.

Lenora stared at Derpy’s wrists.

Then at Vespera’s hand.

Vespera stared too—eyes narrowed, breathing steady, but something in her expression had shifted.

Not rage.

Suspicion.

Calculation.

She stepped closer, slower now, voice low.

“…Why can you carry dragon authority?” Vespera demanded.

Derpy blinked through pain. “Dragon… what?”

Vespera’s eyes sharpened. “Those marks. That weapon potential. That Calamity’s obedience. It’s treating you like a bearer.”

Derpy swallowed. “I didn’t ask for it.”

Vespera’s jaw tightened.

Lenora stepped in, blade lowered but ready.

“He’s telling the truth,” Lenora said. “He’s new. He doesn’t even know the rules here.”

She glanced back at Derpy—just to make sure he was still with her.

He was looking at her like she’d just picked a side.

Lenora’s face went full pink again.

She snapped her gaze away instantly, jaw tight, voice going extra-stern.

“Stop staring and breathe. You’re bleeding pride, not blood.”

Vespera’s gaze flicked to Lenora—then back to Derpy.

“Then you will learn,” she said coldly. “And you will answer.”

Mia’s three heads snarled in unison, heat and frost steaming from their mouths.

Sphinx’s lantern eyes didn’t blink.

Lenora’s voice stayed firm. “Not by force.”

Vespera’s wings flexed once—restrained, controlled.

“Fine,” she said. “Not by force.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Yet.”

Fog rolled through the trees like a living thing.

And Derpy, clutching his burning wrists, felt it—deep in his ribs—the faintest pulse of amusement from something that wasn’t human.

As if Celica’s Embers had been waiting for Vespera to touch him.

32:T5906,

Fog drifted between the trees like breath.

No birds. No insects. Just the slow creak of branches and the hiss of Mia’s three mouths—one steaming hot, one spilling frost, one grinding low like a warning.

Derpy sat on the ground clutching his wrists, still feeling the phantom burn.

Lenora stood between him and Vespera with her blade lowered but ready, ears pinned back in a way that said I’m listening… but I’m not yielding.

Vespera stared at Derpy’s bracelets like they’d insulted her bloodline.

Then she lifted her gaze.

“Do you even know what you’re carrying?” she demanded.

Derpy swallowed. “A… Calamity Book.”

Vespera’s lip curled. “That’s what humans call them.”

She stepped closer, slower now—no longer lunging, but circling like a judge deciding how much mercy a stranger deserved.

“The Seven Grimoires were not books,” Vespera said. “Not originally.”

Lenora’s eyes narrowed. “Then what were they?”

Vespera’s wings flexed once, restrained.

“Ancient dragons,” she said. “The first kind. The ones who ruled before kingdoms learned to name themselves.”

Derpy blinked. “Dragons turned into… books?”

Vespera’s gaze snapped to him.

“Dragons turned into inheritance,” she corrected. “Power doesn’t die. It moves.”

She pointed toward Derpy’s wrists.

“They passed their authority forward before they moved on—before they shed their bodies and left the world behind. They sealed their power into seven vessels.”

Her voice dropped, colder.

“Seven calamities.”

Lenora’s grip tightened. “Why seal them?”

Vespera’s expression hardened.

“Because even dragons feared what they’d become if they kept holding it,” she said. “Because power that never ends… rots.”

Derpy felt the words settle in his ribs like stones.

Vespera continued, eyes distant now—speaking from history, not rumor.

“They were sealed in the Tomb of the Old,” she said. “A place built to hold sleeping gods. The books are still sentient. Still alive.”

Mia’s frost head exhaled a thin mist.

Sphinx’s lantern eyes narrowed.

“Just asleep,” Vespera finished.

Lenora’s ears twitched. “And someone woke them.”

Vespera’s jaw tightened.

“Yes,” she said. “Someone broke the seal.”

Her gaze swept the forest as if she could still see the moment.

“When the tomb opened, the Seven fled,” Vespera said. “Not walking. Not carried. They flew.”

Derpy’s throat went dry.

“They scattered in different directions,” Vespera continued, “to choose bearers.”

Lenora’s voice went quiet. “To choose weapons.”

Vespera didn’t deny it.

“To choose hands,” she said. “To choose hearts. To choose weaknesses they can exploit.”

Derpy flinched.

Vespera’s eyes flicked to him, sharp.

“Over centuries,” she said, “there have been wars over them. Kingdoms burned for them. Bloodlines ended for them. Entire armies marched because one ruler thought they deserved a Calamity more than another.”

Lenora’s face tightened—soldier recognizing a familiar pattern.

Derpy swallowed. “So… the books cause war.”

Vespera’s smile was humorless.

“No,” she said. “People do. The books just give them a reason that feels holy.”

Silence stretched.

Then Lenora asked the question that mattered.

“If they’re dragon power… why do you care so much?” she said. “You’re not part of the Sinister Seven. You’re not even—”

“A court toy?” Vespera cut in, eyes flashing. “A crown pet?”

Lenora didn’t answer.

Vespera’s voice stayed sharp anyway.

“I care because those powers were ours before humans learned to steal,” she said. “And because some of the Seven are worse than others.”

Derpy’s bracelets warmed faintly, like they didn’t like being talked about.

Vespera noticed.

Her gaze narrowed.

“Tell me,” she said softly, “what name did it give you?”

Derpy hesitated.

Lenora glanced back at him—warning and encouragement at the same time.

Derpy met her eyes.

Lenora’s face went full pink, immediate and bright.

She snapped her gaze away like it physically hurt, ears stiff, voice turning clipped. “Answer her.”

Derpy exhaled.

“Celica’s Embers,” he said.

The air changed.

Not dramatic.

Just… heavier.

Vespera went still.

For the first time since she arrived, her anger didn’t look like anger.

It looked like disbelief.

“…No,” she whispered.

Derpy blinked. “What?”

Vespera’s eyes locked on his wrists.

“Celica’s Embers was not supposed to return,” she said, voice low. “Not after it vanished.”

Lenora’s ears lifted. “Vanished?”

Vespera nodded once, slow.

“Celica was not merely a dragon,” she said. “She was a deity to my kind. A dragon-god who chose to remain behind as a guardian Calamity—an anchor of authority for the Dragon Kingdoms.”

Derpy’s mouth went dry.

Vespera’s voice tightened, like the next words hurt to say.

“She disappeared over four thousand years ago,” Vespera said. “No one knew where she went. No one knew if she was destroyed, stolen, or simply… asleep somewhere even dragons couldn’t find.”

Lenora stared. “And now she’s here.”

Vespera’s gaze sharpened into something dangerous again.

“And now,” she said, “she’s wearing a human.”

Derpy flinched. “I’m not—”

“You are carrying her mark,” Vespera snapped. “You are manifesting her weapons. And when I touched you—when I tried to claim you under dragon law—your bracelets burned me.”

She lifted her hand slightly, flexing her fingers as if she could still feel it.

“That wasn’t random,” Vespera said. “That was rejection.”

Derpy’s voice shook. “I didn’t tell it to do that.”

Vespera leaned in, eyes bright with fury and something like fear.

“That’s the problem,” she whispered. “If Celica’s Embers is awake enough to choose… then she chose you.”

Lenora stepped forward, blade still lowered but voice hard.

“So what now?” Lenora demanded. “You drag him to your queen and hope she doesn’t execute him?”

Vespera’s eyes flicked to Lenora, cold.

“My queen will decide what he is,” she said. “Thief. Vessel. Partner. Liability.”

Derpy swallowed. “I didn’t steal—”

Vespera cut him off.

“Then prove it,” she said. “Because if you’re lying, human… you’re not just holding a Calamity.”

Her wings flexed, shadowing the fog.

“You’re holding a dragon god that vanished four thousand years ago,” she finished. “And the world does not survive that kind of mistake twice.”

Vespera’s eyes stayed on Derpy’s wrists like she could peel the truth out of the metal.

“Some of the Seven are worse than others,” she said, voice low. “Not because their power is bigger. Because their nature is.”

Lenora didn’t move. “Explain.”

Vespera didn’t answer right away.

She looked at Lenora like she was deciding whether a bunny soldier deserved dragon history.

Then she spoke anyway.

“The Seven Calamities are dragon legacies,” Vespera said. “And dragons were never equal. Some were guardians. Some were tyrants. Some were disasters that learned how to speak.”

Her gaze flicked to the fog, then back—like she was reciting names you weren’t supposed to say out loud.

“I’ll tell you the Calamities,” Vespera said. “And I’ll tell you their true dragon names. So you understand what kind of judgment you’re walking toward.”

She raised one clawed finger.

“Pyro,” she said. “Dragon-name: Ignivar. The Flame-Stride. The one who treated distance like a suggestion—fire, teleportation, weapon-shifting. He loved war because it gave him movement.”

A second finger.

“Tempest,” Vespera continued. “Dragon-name: Raikoryn. The Storm-Sinner. Strength, wind, lightning—she was a battlefield made into a mind.”

A third.

“Phantasm,” she said, voice tightening. “Dragon-name: Mirrathys. The Dream-Forger. Reality manifestation. The most beautiful liar the world ever survived.”

Lenora’s ears twitched at that one.

Vespera’s fourth finger lifted.

“Blight Vein,” she said. “Dragon-name: Miasdrake. The Plague-Heart. Toxic miasma, rot, sickness that thinks. she didn’t conquer kingdoms—she emptied them.”

Derpy swallowed.

Vespera’s fifth finger.

“Marionette,” she said, and her lip curled. “Dragon-name: Puppheryx. The String-Tyrant. Puppet control. she adored obedience. Not loyalty—obedience. There’s a difference.”

Lenora’s grip tightened around her sword hilt.

Vespera’s sixth finger lifted.

“Eco,” she said. “Dragon-name: Ecoryn. The Far-Seer. Detection. Borrowing abilities within range. Twenty miles, if the old limits still hold. Eho doesn’t just find things.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“It hunts them.”

Then Vespera’s hand stilled.

Her seventh finger didn’t rise right away.

The fog thickened like it was leaning in.

Vespera’s gaze locked on Derpy again.

“And Celica’s Embers,” she said softly. “Dragon-name: Celica.”

Lenora blinked. “Just… Celica?”

Vespera’s voice went colder.

“Because she didn’t need anything else,” she said. “She was a dragon deity. A crown without a kingdom. A law without a court.”

Derpy’s bracelets warmed faintly, like they liked hearing it.

Vespera noticed and her jaw tightened.

“And the last,” she said, voice sharp again, “the one we speak of carefully—because even sleeping, it listens.”

Lenora’s ears pinned back. “Celica’s Embers isn’t the last?”

Vespera’s eyes narrowed.

“Celica’s Embers vanished,” she said. “So for centuries, we counted six in the world and one in rumor.”

She lifted her final finger.

“Celica’s Embers’ counterpart—the one that doesn’t belong to this world.”

Derpy frowned. “What do you mean?”

Vespera’s wings flexed once, restrained.

“Celica’s Embers is a bridge,” she said. “But the other is a door.”

Her voice dropped.

“Celica’s Embers has a sister-legacy. A twin hunger. A weapon that replicates weapons and summons beasts.”

Lenora’s eyes sharpened. “You mean—”

Vespera nodded once.

“Celica’s Embers,” she said, “and the one beyond—”

She paused, like the name tasted dangerous.

Then she spoke it anyway.

“Ember-Within-Ash.”

Lenora’s breath caught. “That’s… not the name we have.”

Vespera’s eyes cut to her.

“Humans rename what they fear,” she said. “Dragons remember.”

Derpy swallowed hard. “So… some are worse than others.”

Vespera’s gaze stayed locked on him.

“Yes,” she said. “And if Celica is awake—if she’s choosing bearers again—then the worst part isn’t the power you have.”

Her voice sharpened.

“It’s the power that will come looking for you.”

Lenora’s stance tightened.

Mia’s three heads rumbled—heat, frost, and crushing bite all at once.

Sphinx’s lantern eyes didn’t blink.

And Derpy, sitting in the fog with burning wrists, realized something awful:

He wasn’t carrying a “book.”

He was carrying a name that used to make dragons kneel.

Chapter 3.5 — The Relics That Hunt

They didn’t move right away.

Lenora kept her stance between Vespera and Derpy, blade lowered but present—like a line drawn in dirt that still meant something. Mia’s three heads watched from behind Derpy’s shoulder, heat and frost and that third, crushing patience. Sphinx stayed quiet, lantern eyes cutting through the fog like it was paper.

Vespera’s gaze never left Derpy’s wrists.

“Look at you,” she said softly. “Sitting there like a man who found a cursed trinket in the mud.”

Derpy swallowed. “I didn’t—”

“I know,” Vespera cut in. “That’s what makes it worse.”

Lenora’s ears twitched. “You said there were other reasons wars happened.”

Vespera’s mouth tightened. “Yes.”

She lifted her hand, palm up, as if weighing something invisible.

“The books are not the only problem,” she said. “The things made to find them are the other half of the fire.”

Derpy frowned. “You mean… trackers?”

“Artifacts,” Lenora corrected, voice flat.

Vespera nodded once. “Four.”

She didn’t sound proud.

“Dragon-made,” she said. “Built after we learned the hard way that you can’t chase a Calamity with steel and prayers. Built to counter them—not defeat them. Counter them long enough to survive contact.”

Derpy’s bracelets warmed and cooled like they were listening.

Lenora glanced back at him—just a quick check, like she couldn’t help it.

Derpy met her eyes.

Lenora’s face went full pink instantly.

She snapped her gaze away like it was a reflex and cleared her throat, voice going stern to cover it. “Keep your hands still.”

Derpy blinked. “I wasn’t—”

“I know,” Lenora muttered, still not looking at him. “Just… do it.”

Vespera’s eyes narrowed at the exchange, then returned to the point like she was forcing herself not to comment.

Lenora’s eyes narrowed. “And they let people use Calamity abilities.”

Vespera’s lip curled. “A slice.”

She raised one clawed finger.

“One artifact alone gives you a fragment—a mimic. A shadow of the real thing. Useful. Limited. Safe.”

Then her finger curled.

“But when you pair them together—all four—they stop being just trackers.”

Derpy’s stomach tightened. “What do they become?”

“A counter-set,” Vespera said. “A stabilizer. A way to resist the tricks.”

Her gaze flicked to the fog, as if she could see old battlefields in it.

“Phantasm’s lies.”

A beat.

“Marionette’s strings.”

Another beat.

“Blight Vein’s rot.”

Lenora’s grip tightened. “Echo’s hunting.”

Vespera’s eyes sharpened. “Exactly.”

Derpy stared at his wrists. “So if you have all four—”

“You can find a Calamity,” Vespera cut in. “You can confirm it. You can approach it without being swallowed whole by the first touch.”

Lenora’s voice went colder. “And if you pair them with the actual book.”

Vespera didn’t answer right away.

The pause was its own warning.

“Then you get the reason kingdoms burned,” she said softly.

Derpy’s throat went dry. “Extreme power.”

Vespera nodded once.

“The artifacts were never meant to replace a Calamity,” she said. “They were meant to keep you alive long enough to deal with one.”

Her gaze dropped to Derpy’s bracelets again.

“But paired with a real book—a real dragon legacy—they amplify.”

Lenora’s ears pinned back. “How much?”

Vespera’s voice turned sharp.

“Enough to make a bearer feel like a god,” she said.

Derpy flinched.

“Enough to make them think they can command the Calamity instead of being commanded,” Vespera continued. “Enough to start wars over who gets to hold the set.”

She lowered her hand.

“That’s why the four were locked away,” she said. “And why the people who found them didn’t stay people for long.”

Derpy’s mouth felt dry. “What are they called?”

Vespera’s eyes narrowed, like she was deciding how much truth he deserved.

“One is already on you,” she said.

Derpy blinked. “What?”

Vespera nodded toward his bracelets.

The word left her mouth like an old habit.

“Echo.”

Then she stopped.

Her eyes narrowed.

Not at the color.

At the behavior.

At the way the heat pulsed like a living thing—playful and possessive, not cold and clinical.

Vespera’s jaw tightened.

“…No,” she corrected, voice low. “Not Echo.”

Lenora’s ears lifted. “Then what is it?”

Vespera stared at Derpy’s wrists like she wanted to rip the truth out of them with her nails.

“Celica’s mark,” she said finally, and the way she said it made it sound like a curse and a title at the same time.

Derpy swallowed. “It’s… a mark?”

Vespera’s gaze flicked to her palm—the one that had been burned.

“It rejects dragon claim,” she said. “Echo doesn’t do that.”

Lenora’s eyes narrowed. “So it’s tracking, but it’s not Echo’s mimic.”

Vespera nodded once, sharp. “It’s hers.”

Derpy stared at his wrists like they’d grown teeth.

“And the other three?” Lenora asked.

Vespera’s jaw tightened. “Names don’t matter as much as what they do.”

“They matter to me,” Lenora said.

Vespera held her gaze for a long moment.

Then she spoke.

“Wyrmneedle,” she said. “A compass that locks onto residue. Ash. Blood. Mana-burn. It points toward a specific Calamity for a day—through fog, through tricks.”

Derpy swallowed. “So it can cut through Phantasm?”

“It can cut through some of it,” Vespera corrected. “If you have the stomach to pay the price.”

She lifted another finger.

“Graveglass,” she said. “A lens. It shows signatures—threads, cracks, stains in the air where a Calamity has touched the world. It helps you see disguises. Helps you see a bearer hiding behind a smile.”

Lenora’s ears pinned back. “Marionette.”

Vespera’s eyes flashed. “And Phantasm. Both.”

A third finger.

“Seal-Salt,” she said. “Vials. Circles. Wards. It reacts to Calamity presence and can slow a sleeping book’s waking—minutes, not miracles.”

Derpy’s stomach turned. “And if it’s awake?”

“Then it laughs,” Vespera said.

Silence settled again.

Derpy stared at the fog, trying to fit all of it inside his head without it splitting.

Then he asked the question that had been crawling up his throat since the moment the bracelets burned.

“If the books are sentient…” he said slowly, “why do they choose people?”

Vespera’s gaze sharpened.

Lenora didn’t interrupt.

Even Mia went quiet.

Vespera’s voice dropped, not softer—just older.

“Because they have wills,” she said. “Not instincts. Not programming. Wills.”

Derpy’s bracelets warmed faintly.

Vespera noticed.

Her lip curled. “Yes. Like that.”

Lenora’s voice was careful. “So they pick bearers for reasons.”

“They pick bearers for needs,” Vespera said. “For hungers. For loneliness. For rage. For purpose.”

Derpy swallowed. “That’s… not comforting.”

“It isn’t meant to be,” Vespera said.

She looked past him, as if she could see the Tomb of the Old through the trees.

“Some choose the dying,” she said. “A soldier bleeding out in mud. A child with lungs full of smoke. A person with nothing left but one last decision.”

Derpy’s chest tightened.

“In those moments,” Vespera continued, “a Calamity can offer a contract.”

Lenora’s ears lifted. “A bargain.”

Vespera nodded. “Life for partnership. Power for obedience. Or—if you’re unlucky—power for a leash you don’t see until it tightens.”

Derpy’s bracelets warmed again, slow and pleased.

Vespera’s eyes narrowed at them. “Stop that.”

Derpy flinched. “I’m not doing anything.”

“I know,” Vespera said. “That’s the point.”

She exhaled.

“Some choose the lonely,” she said. “The ones who have been alone so long they’d accept an uneasy comfort. A voice in the dark. A presence that doesn’t leave.”

Derpy’s throat bobbed.

“And some choose people who are already broken,” Vespera added. “Because broken things are easier to reshape.”

Lenora’s jaw tightened. “And some choose monsters.”

Vespera’s smile was thin. “Yes.”

She glanced toward the fog again.

“Not every book wants the same thing,” she said. “Some want destruction. Some want peace. Some want to be worshiped. Some want to be feared.”

Derpy whispered, “And some want to go back.”

Vespera’s eyes snapped to him.

Derpy swallowed, then forced the words out. “To their physical form.”

Vespera stared at him for a long moment.

Then she nodded once.

“Some remember their bodies,” she said. “And they hate the cage they became.”

Lenora’s voice went quiet. “And Celica?”

Vespera’s gaze dropped to Derpy’s wrists again.

“Celica is… old enough to want more than one thing,” she said.

Derpy’s bracelets warmed—almost amused.

Vespera’s jaw tightened.

“And that,” she said, “is why you don’t get to pretend you’re holding a neutral tool.”

Derpy’s voice came out thin. “I didn’t ask for this.”

Vespera leaned in, close enough that Derpy could feel heat from her skin through the fog.

“No,” she said. “But the book did.”

She straightened.

“Now listen carefully,” Vespera said, voice sharpening back into command. “If you want to survive carrying a Calamity, you learn what it wants. You learn what it’s trying to turn you into.”

Lenora’s blade dipped a fraction. “And if he refuses your queen?”

Vespera’s wings flexed once.

“Then the world will answer for him,” she said.

Derpy’s bracelets warmed again.

Not angry.

Patient.

As if Celica’s Embers had heard the word answer—and was already deciding what that would look like.”

33:T2913,

They didn’t move right away.

Not because Lenora didn’t know the direction.

Because the fog had changed.

It wasn’t just mist anymore. It felt like a boundary—like the world had decided this stretch of forest was a courtroom, and everyone inside it was already guilty.

Lenora went first anyway, blade lowered but present. Derpy followed with his sleeves pulled down over his wrists like fabric could hide a problem that burned through worlds. Mia stayed close, three heads scanning in different directions, heat and frost and that third, crushing patience. Sphinx moved like a shadow that didn’t need permission to exist.

And Vespera…

Vespera didn’t follow.

She escorted.

She walked with the calm of someone who’d never had to ask permission, and the patience of someone who could afford to wait… until she couldn’t.

Derpy felt it every time she looked at him.

Authority welded to bone.

Mixed dragon blood showed in her the way a blade shows its edge even when it’s sheathed—horns that curved with quiet menace, wings folded tight, tail still but speaking anyway. A warning written in anatomy.

Lenora didn’t glance back, but her ears stayed angled, listening for the moment “escort” became “take.”

They made it less than a mile before Derpy’s bracelets warmed.

Not a burn.

A pulse.

A tug.

Lenora stopped immediately. “You feel it?”

Derpy nodded, swallowing. “Yeah. It’s… pulling.”

Vespera’s gaze snapped to his wrists.

Not with confusion.

With recognition.

“That,” she said, “is the book playing games with you.”

Derpy blinked. “What?”

Vespera’s eyes narrowed. “Hot and cold.”

Lenora’s ears twitched. “Like a compass?”

“Like a predator,” Vespera corrected. “It doesn’t point. It teases. It warms when you’re closer to what it wants, cools when you drift, and burns when you try to ignore it.”

Derpy’s bracelets warmed again—almost smug.

He looked down at them like they’d just laughed at him.

“So it’s tracking the other Calamities,” Lenora said, voice tight.

“Yes,” Vespera said. “All six.”

Derpy swallowed. “And… Echo?”

Vespera’s mouth tightened.

“That one is not yours to chase,” she said.

Lenora’s ears lifted. “Because it’s already taken.”

Vespera’s gaze slid to Lenora, sharp as a drawn blade. “Faedurn’s Queen holds it.”

Derpy’s stomach dropped. “Seraphine?”

Vespera didn’t answer the name.

She didn’t need to.

The fog felt colder just hearing the truth.

Lenora’s grip shifted on her sword. “So if the Queen of Faedurn has Echo… then the book’s ‘hot and cold’ is going to drag us toward her.”

“It will try,” Vespera said.

Derpy’s bracelets pulsed again, warmer.

Lenora’s ears pinned back. “And you’re saying we can’t follow it.”

Vespera’s tail flicked once. A warning written in motion.

“I’m saying,” she said, “that if you stumble into Faedurn’s Queen with a dragon Calamity in your hands, you won’t get a second mistake.”

Derpy’s throat went dry. “So what do we do?”

Vespera’s gaze stayed on his wrists. “You learn what you’re holding.”

Derpy forced himself to breathe. “It’s Celica’s Embers.”

Vespera’s voice sharpened. “To you.”

Lenora’s ears lifted. “The dragon name.”

Vespera’s gaze stayed on Derpy. “To dragons, it is known by a truer name. Something older. Something that remembers what it was before it became paper and hunger.”

Derpy’s bracelets warmed—almost amused.

Lenora’s jaw tightened. “You’re saying the name itself is dangerous.”

“Names are not labels to my kind,” Vespera said. “They’re claims.”

Derpy swallowed. “So Celica has history with dragons.”

Vespera’s eyes flashed. “Celica is dragon history.”

A beat.

Then Vespera’s gaze shifted—past Derpy, past Lenora, toward the direction Whisperfen waited in the fog.

“My mission is not you,” she said.

Lenora didn’t relax. “Then what is it?”

Vespera’s voice went colder.

“My sisters.”

Derpy blinked. “Ace and Queen.”

Vespera nodded once.

“They are wanted back in dragon country,” she said. “To face judgment for crimes committed in this land.”

Lenora’s ears pinned back. “Crimes against who?”

Vespera’s mouth tightened. “Against order.”

That answer was a blade with no handle.

Derpy tried anyway. “And the Dragon Queen ordered you to bring them home.”

“Yes,” Vespera said.

“And retrieve the book,” Lenora added.

Vespera’s eyes cut to her. “By any means necessary.”

Derpy’s stomach dropped.

Lenora’s stance shifted—subtle, protective.

Mia’s three heads rumbled in three different tones.

Vespera didn’t flinch.

She just lifted her hand.

Derpy noticed them then.

Three rings.

Not jewelry.

They weren’t on her.

They were her.

Bands of dark, living magic threaded through her bones and blood, visible only when she allowed them to surface—three orbiting halos that didn’t hover like accessories so much as they remembered the shape of her hand.

When she breathed, they breathed.

When her pulse shifted, they shifted.

Woven into her.

Lenora’s eyes narrowed. “Those are…”

“Part of me,” Vespera said.

The rings adjusted.

Not fast.

Precise.

Elegant.

The kind of magic that looked beautiful right up until it erased something important.

Derpy’s skin prickled. “What do they do?”

Vespera’s gaze didn’t leave him. “They enforce dragon law.”

Lenora’s voice went flat. “That’s not an answer.”

Vespera’s mouth twitched—almost a smile.

“Fine,” she said. “Watch.”

She flicked her wrist.

Ring I slid forward.

A black-flame circle unfolded in the air—thin as thread, bright as a wound.

It tightened.

Not around a person.

Around space.

The fog inside it screamed as it compressed, heatless and burning at the same time.

“Cinderlock Halo,” Vespera said.

Derpy’s breath caught.

The circle clamped like a shackle, crushing the air within and searing from the inside out.

Vespera released it and the ring snapped back into place like it had never left—like a tendon relaxing.

Lenora stared. “That would… immobilize.”

“It would ruin,” Vespera corrected.

She lifted her hand again.

Ring II aligned.

Black flame condensed—needle-straight.

A spear-beam lanced forward and punched through a tree trunk like it was paper.

The hole didn’t smoke.

It rotted.

A lingering brand crawled along the wood, burning after impact like the fire had learned how to stay angry.

“Voidbrand Lance,” Vespera said.

Derpy’s mouth went dry. “That keeps burning.”

“Yes,” Vespera said. “Armor doesn’t matter if the wound remembers you.”

Lenora’s ears pinned back. “And the third?”

Vespera’s gaze sharpened.

“The third is why you don’t test me twice,” she said.

Ring III shifted.

Then all three rings aligned.

They spun.

Black flame bloomed into a spiral storm—beautiful, layered, precise. It hunted everything in its radius, tracing invisible targets like it could smell fear.

Mia snarled.

Sphinx’s lantern eyes flared.

Lenora’s blade rose a fraction.

Vespera held it for a heartbeat.

Then she snapped her fingers.

The spiral collapsed inward.

A final detonation swallowed the storm and left nothing but a clean, circular scar in the fog—like the world had been edited.

“Nightwreath Requiem,” Vespera said.

Derpy couldn’t breathe.

The rings settled again, sinking closer to her skin, half-vanishing—like claws retracting.

“That’s what I am,” Vespera said.

Lenora’s voice came out tight. “And you want us to believe you won’t use that on him.”

Vespera’s gaze stayed on Derpy.

“I don’t want you to believe anything,” she said. “I want you to understand what happens if you force my hand.”

Derpy swallowed. “So what do you want from me?”

Vespera stepped closer.

Not a lunge.

A decision.

“You are the current holder of a dragon Calamity,” she said. “Which means you are a moving liability, a moving weapon, and a moving key.”

Derpy’s bracelets warmed.

Vespera’s eyes narrowed. “And you are also the only reason I can’t simply take it.”

Lenora’s stance hardened. “Because it burns you.”

Vespera didn’t deny it.

She exhaled.

“A contract,” she said.

Derpy blinked. “A contract?”

Vespera’s voice went low. “You want to keep breathing? You want to keep your pets alive? You want to keep pretending you have choices?”

Derpy’s stomach twisted.

Vespera leaned in, close enough that the fog warmed between them.

“Then you make a contract with me,” she said. “Not purely kindness. Not purely control. Both. Braided together.”

Lenora’s blade rose a fraction. “And what does the contract say?”

Vespera’s eyes didn’t leave Derpy.

“It says you will not use the book to interfere with dragon judgment,” she said. “It says you will not seek my sisters before I do.”

Derpy’s throat went dry. “And what do I get?”

Vespera’s mouth tightened.

“You get my protection,” she said. “From the things that will come for you once they smell what you carry.”

Lenora’s ears twitched. “And if he refuses?”

Vespera’s rings shifted—barely.

“Then I stop escorting,” she said.

Derpy felt the meaning of that settle in his bones.

Not a threat.

A fact.

His bracelets warmed again—patient.

As if Celica’s Embers had heard the word contract…

…and was already deciding what it would cost.

34:T2682,

Fog still clung to the trees like wet breath, but the clearing had stopped feeling like a battlefield.

Not safe—never safe—but paused.

Mia’s three heads stayed low and watchful, heat and frost steaming in slow, irritated rhythm. Sphinx sat like a statue with lantern eyes, unblinking, as if the fog itself was something he could bite if it moved wrong.

Lenora kept her stance between Derpy and Vespera out of habit now—blade lowered, shoulders tight, ears pinned back in that stubborn way that said I’m listening, but I’m not folding.

Vespera’s wings were tucked, but her presence still filled the space like a law you couldn’t argue with.

Derpy rubbed his wrists. The burn was gone, but the memory of it still lived in his skin.

And deeper than that—under the pain—he could feel it.

That faint pulse of amusement.

Like Celica’s Embers was leaning on an invisible doorway, arms crossed, watching him try to be brave.

Derpy swallowed and forced himself to stand.

“Okay,” he said, voice rough. “So… you’re saying I’m basically holding a dragon god that likes to pick fights.”

Vespera’s eyes narrowed.

Lenora’s ears twitched.

Derpy lifted his hands anyway, palms out, like he was trying to calm down a room full of knives.

“I’m not saying no,” he added quickly. “I’m not stupid. I get it. There’s a contract. There’s rules. There’s… dragon law.”

His bracelets warmed faintly, like they approved of him saying the word contract.

Derpy exhaled.

“But if the contract is there,” he said, “then I want something in it that makes it even.”

Silence hit.

Not the peaceful kind.

The kind where everyone decides whether you’re about to die for being bold.

Lenora stared at him like he’d just stepped in front of a charging monster on purpose.

Vespera’s expression didn’t change—but something sharpened behind her eyes.

“Even,” Vespera repeated, slow. “You think you can negotiate with a Calamity.”

Derpy’s throat tightened. “I think if I don’t, it’s going to negotiate me.”

The bracelets warmed again. Almost pleased.

Lenora’s jaw clenched. She looked like she wanted to scold him and protect him at the same time—like both instincts were fighting for the steering wheel.

Derpy glanced at her.

Lenora’s face went full pink instantly.

She snapped her gaze away like it burned and cleared her throat too hard. “Spit it out, Derpy.”

Derpy blinked. “Right. Okay. Terms.”

He held up one finger.

“First,” he said, “you teach me magic. Like… actual control. Not just ‘don’t panic.’ I want to learn how to use it without it using me.”

Vespera stared at him.

Lenora’s ears lifted slightly—like that one landed closer to “reasonable” than she expected.

Derpy raised a second finger.

“Second,” he said, “everything the party does is a group choice. Everything comes to a vote.”

Lenora’s eyes narrowed. “That’s—”

“Fair,” Derpy said quickly. “Because I’m new. I don’t know this world. And I’m not being dragged around like cargo.”

He hesitated, then added, “Unless someone goes off by themself. Then it doesn’t apply. If you break off alone, you’re choosing your own consequences.”

Lenora’s mouth tightened like she wanted to argue but couldn’t find the crack.

Vespera’s gaze flicked to Lenora for half a heartbeat, then back to Derpy.

Derpy lifted a third finger.

“Third,” he said, and his voice got a little more stubborn, “you have to wear normal clothing.”

Vespera’s brow twitched.

Derpy pressed on anyway, because if he stopped now he’d lose the nerve.

“Like… a maid outfit,” he said, then held up a hand fast. “Of your choice. Not mine. I’m not—I’m not trying to be weird. I just—”

Lenora made a strangled sound like she’d swallowed air wrong.

Derpy looked at her.

Lenora’s face went full pink again—worse this time—like the word maid had punched her in the cheeks.

She snapped her gaze away so hard it was almost violent and barked, “Keep talking!”

Derpy flinched. “Okay! Okay.”

He lifted a fourth finger.

“Fourth,” he said, “you’re not allowed to use your full power in cities. Only… seventy-five percent.”

Vespera’s eyes narrowed. “Seventy-five.”

“Yeah,” Derpy said, trying to sound like he hadn’t pulled that number out of thin air. “Unless the party is in complete danger. Like real danger. Then you can go full power.”

The bracelets warmed, then cooled—like they were thinking about it.

Vespera’s wings flexed once, restrained.

“You want to put a leash on a dragon,” she said softly.

Derpy swallowed. “I want to put a leash on damage. There’s a difference.”

Lenora’s ears twitched, and for the first time since Vespera arrived, her stance loosened by a fraction.

Not trust.

But recognition.

Derpy took a breath, then looked straight at Vespera.

“And if you agree,” he said, voice quieter now, “then we seal it. Like a real contract. Something that can’t be twisted later.”

Vespera stared at him for a long moment.

Then her gaze dropped to his wrists.

To Celica’s mark.

To the thing that had burned her like it had teeth.

“You’re bold,” Vespera said.

Derpy’s laugh came out thin. “I’m terrified.”

Vespera’s mouth tightened, like she hated that she understood.

Lenora finally spoke, voice low and sharp.

“Vespera,” she said, “if you’re going to drag him into dragon law, then you don’t get to pretend he’s not a person.”

Vespera’s eyes flicked to Lenora.

For a second, the air felt like it might ignite.

Then Vespera exhaled through her nose—controlled, restrained, like she was forcing herself to behave in front of witnesses.

“Fine,” she said. “Say it again. All terms.”

Derpy repeated them, slower this time, like he was carving them into stone:

“One: you teach me magic. Control. Use. Safety.”

“Two: party decisions are group votes. Unless someone goes off alone.”

“Three: you wear normal clothing. A maid outfit of your choice.”

Lenora made a sound again—half cough, half choke.

Derpy shot her a look.

Lenora’s face went full pink again and she snapped her gaze away, ears stiff, muttering, “I’m going to kill you later,” like it was a prayer.

Derpy hurried on.

“Four: no full power in cities. Seventy-five percent max unless the party is in complete danger.”

When he finished, the fog felt thicker.

Like it was listening.

Like the forest itself wanted to know what kind of idiot tried to bargain with a dragon and a Calamity in the same breath.

Vespera stepped closer.

Derpy didn’t move.

He could feel Mia’s three heads behind him, ready to tear the world apart if she lunged again.

He could feel Sphinx’s stillness, coiled like a spring.

He could feel Lenora at his side, tense and stubborn and there.

Vespera looked down at him.

Then she said, very quietly:

“And the seal.”

Derpy’s throat went dry. “Yeah.”

He swallowed. “The deal ends with a kiss.”

Lenora froze.

Derpy heard it—her breath catching like she’d been hit.

He looked at her without thinking.

Lenora’s face went full pink so fast it was almost comical.

She snapped her gaze away instantly, ears rigid, voice coming out too loud. “WHY IS IT ALWAYS WEIRD WITH YOU?”

Derpy winced. “I said I wasn’t trying to—”

Vespera’s eyes narrowed, but not with anger.

With calculation.

“With dragons,” she said slowly, “contracts are sealed by intent.”

Derpy’s bracelets warmed faintly, like they were smiling.

“And with Calamities,” Vespera added, “contracts are sealed by bond.”

Derpy’s mouth went dry.

Vespera leaned in.

Not gentle.

Not romantic.

Like a judge stamping a document.

Derpy didn’t flinch.

He just closed his eyes and braced for the moment his life became something official.

Vespera’s lips met his.

A single, sharp beat.

Heat flashed through his wrists—Celica’s mark flaring like it had been waiting for permission.

The fog shuddered.

Mia growled low.

Sphinx’s lantern eyes narrowed.

Lenora stood frozen, face still full pink, staring at the ground like it had personally betrayed her.

The kiss broke.

Vespera pulled back first, eyes bright and cold.

Derpy’s bracelets cooled to yellow again—calm, satisfied.

And somewhere deep inside his ribs, that amused pulse returned.

Like Celica’s Embers had just signed her name with someone else’s mouth.

Vespera’s voice was low.

“Contract formed,” she said. “Do not test it.”

Derpy swallowed hard.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Wasn’t planning to.”

Lenora didn’t look at him.

When she finally spoke, her voice was tight and furious and embarrassed all at once.

“…We are never talking about the maid outfit again.”

Derpy opened his mouth.

Lenora snapped her gaze up for half a second—

Full face pink.

Immediate look-away.

—and pointed south like she could stab the fog with her finger.

“Whisperfen,” she said. “Now.”

35:T3dfc,

Fog still clung to the trees like wet breath, but the clearing had stopped feeling like a battlefield.

Not safe—never safe—but paused.

Mia’s ears flicked as she padded along in her normal form, watchful. Sphinx moved like a shadow above them, lantern eyes cutting through the gray like it was paper. Vespera walked ahead like she owned the road, wings tucked, rings hovering near her shoulder in a slow, predatory orbit. Lenora stayed close to Derpy’s side like she was guarding something fragile she refused to admit mattered.

Derpy kept rubbing his wrists. The burn was gone, but the memory of it still lived in his skin.

And deeper than that—under the pain—he could feel it.

That faint pulse of amusement.

Like Celica’s Embers was leaning on an invisible doorway, arms crossed, watching him try to be brave.

Behind them, the last traces of the earlier clash had already faded—Mia and Sphinx back to their smaller shapes, the air no longer vibrating with battle-pressure. The fog still watched, but it wasn’t screaming anymore.

They reached a rise where the trees thinned and the land dipped toward a low basin.

Whisperfen sat beyond it—roofs and chimneys half-swallowed by fog, like the town had been exhaling the same breath for a hundred years and never stopped.

Whisperfen didn’t look like a town.

It looked like something that had learned how to pretend.

Lenora slowed.

Then, without warning, she grabbed Derpy by the sleeve and pulled him off the path.

“Hey—” Derpy stumbled. “Lenora?”

Vespera didn’t turn around. She just kept walking like she’d decided this wasn’t her problem.

Mia paused, ears flicking, then sat like a guard dog waiting for orders.

Sphinx watched from above, tail twitching once.

Lenora dragged Derpy behind a cluster of trees where the fog was thicker and the world felt quieter.

Then she spun on him.

Her ears were pinned back.

Her cheeks were already pink—like she’d been holding something in her chest for too long and it was finally boiling over.

“That contract,” she hissed.

Derpy blinked. “With Vespera?”

Lenora’s eyes narrowed. “With a dragon.”

Derpy opened his mouth.

Lenora cut him off, voice sharp and shaking at the edges. “You just— you just let her—”

Derpy’s face heated. “I didn’t let her. It was—”

“It was a contract,” Lenora snapped. “And you acted like you were the only one allowed to make it ‘even.’”

Derpy stared. “What?”

Lenora’s hands clenched at her sides. “If we’re doing contracts, Derpy… then we do them right.”

Derpy swallowed. “Lenora—”

“I want one too,” she blurted.

Then her eyes widened like she couldn’t believe she’d said it out loud.

Her face went bright pink.

So pink it looked painful.

Derpy stared at her.

Lenora’s ears went rigid.

A thin hiss of steam puffed out of them like a kettle that couldn’t hold pressure anymore.

Derpy froze. “Did your ears just—”

“NO,” Lenora barked, face still full pink, snapping her gaze away so hard she nearly whipped her own neck. “Shut up.”

Derpy’s mouth opened and closed once. “Okay.”

Lenora took a breath like she was trying to wrestle her own heartbeat into submission.

Then she forced herself to look at him again.

For half a second.

Derpy caught her eyes.

Lenora’s face went even pinker—impossible, but it happened.

Steam puffed again.

She snapped her gaze away and spoke fast, like if she didn’t get the words out she’d explode.

“I want terms,” she said. “Because I’m in this too. I’m protecting you. I’m—”

Her voice caught.

Derpy’s chest tightened.

Lenora’s voice dropped, quieter now—still stern, but honest in a way that made it dangerous.

“I want to care for you,” she said.

Derpy didn’t speak.

He didn’t trust his voice.

Lenora kept going anyway, cheeks burning.

“And when we get to the next town,” she said, words rushing, “I want to go on a tea date.”

Derpy blinked. “A—”

“A TEA DATE,” Lenora snapped, face full pink, steam puffing hard enough it looked like she was about to start smoking. She looked away again instantly and crossed her arms like she could physically hold herself together. “Don’t make it weird.”

Derpy’s brain short-circuited for a second.

Then he managed, “Lenora… you’re the one making it—”

“Terms,” Lenora cut in, voice sharp. “Now.”

Derpy swallowed, then nodded. “Okay. Yeah. Terms.”

He lifted a finger.

“My terms,” he said, “are I learn hand-to-hand combat and sword training. Like real training. Not just ‘try not to die.’”

Lenora’s posture eased by a fraction—like that one made sense in her soldier brain.

“Good,” she said, and for a second she sounded relieved.

Then she hesitated.

Her cheeks stayed pink.

Her eyes flicked to him again.

Derpy caught them.

Lenora’s face went full pink all over again.

She snapped her gaze away instantly and muttered, “Stop looking at me like that.”

Derpy blinked. “Like what?”

“Like I’m—” Lenora stopped, jaw tight. “Just—don’t.”

Derpy nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Lenora exhaled.

Then she said, very quietly, like she was forcing herself to be brave:

“And my terms are: I protect you. I care for you. And you don’t push me out of the decision-making when it’s your life on the line.”

Derpy’s throat tightened.

He nodded. “Deal.”

Lenora’s ears twitched.

Then she swallowed and lifted her chin like she was about to walk into battle.

“And we seal it,” she said, voice clipped.

Derpy’s face warmed. “Like… the same way?”

Lenora didn’t look at him.

Her cheeks went nuclear.

Steam puffed again.

“Yes,” she said, voice strangled. “The same way.”

Derpy hesitated. “Are you sure?”

Lenora finally looked at him.

Full face pink.

Instant.

She snapped her gaze away again like it burned and shoved a finger into his chest—hard enough to make him stumble. “Stop being polite. You’re making it worse.”

Derpy laughed once, nervous. “Okay. Okay.”

Lenora stepped in.

Not like Vespera—no judge-stamp coldness.

Lenora moved like she was terrified and determined at the same time.

Her hands grabbed his shirt like she needed something to hold onto.

Then she kissed him.

Quick.

Warm.

Clumsy in the way that made it real.

Derpy’s wrists warmed—Celica’s mark pulsing like it noticed, like it approved of bond.

Lenora pulled back immediately, face full pink, steam puffing out of her ears like she was going to pass out.

She snapped her gaze away and barked, “Contract formed.”

Derpy’s mouth was dry. “Yeah.”

Lenora pointed toward the town without looking at him. “We’re going.”

Derpy nodded, still stunned.

They stepped back onto the path.

Vespera was waiting ahead, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

She looked at Derpy’s face.

Then at Lenora’s.

Then at the way Lenora refused to make eye contact with anyone on principle.

Vespera’s mouth twitched.

Not a smile.

But close.

“Done?” she asked.

Lenora’s face went full pink again.

Steam puffed.

She snapped her gaze away and snapped, “Yes.”

Vespera hummed like she’d expected that.

“Good,” she said. “Whisperfen is not a town you want to enter emotionally compromised.”

Derpy muttered, “Too late.”

Lenora whirled on him. “I heard that.”

Derpy yelped. “I didn’t mean—”

“Move,” Lenora said, voice stern, cheeks still pink. “Now.”

They reached the outskirts as the fog thickened into something that felt like a boundary.

Whisperfen’s buildings were close-packed and damp, wood darkened by years of wet air. Signs creaked. People moved like they didn’t want to be noticed.

Lenora scanned the streets, soldier eyes working.

“We rent three rooms,” she said. “One for me. One for you. One for Vespera.”

Derpy blinked. “Three rooms?”

Lenora’s cheeks went pink again.

She snapped her gaze away instantly, voice turning extra-stern. “Yes. Three rooms. Because we sleep. Separately. Like adults.”

Vespera’s eyes flicked to Lenora, amused.

Derpy nodded quickly. “Okay. Three rooms.”

Lenora continued, forcing herself back into mission mode.

“And we don’t spend coin without a vote,” she added, like she was carving it into stone.

“We find the Calamity that’s in Whisperfen,” she said. “We gather information. We do not start fights with locals.”

Derpy frowned. “Why would we—”

A shout cut through the fog.

Derpy turned.

A mouse girl stood near a corner stall—small, thin, clutching a torn satchel. Her ears were round and trembling. Her tail curled tight like she was trying to make herself smaller.

Three cat girls surrounded her.

Not playful.

Not friendly.

Their voices were sharp, laughing in that cruel way that wasn’t about humor—just power.

Derpy’s stomach dropped.

He took a step forward.

Lenora’s hand shot out and grabbed his sleeve.

“Don’t,” she said, low.

Derpy stared at her. “They’re bullying her.”

Lenora’s voice went flat. “Whisperfen punishes kindness first.”

Vespera’s voice cut in, colder. “You will draw attention. Fog towns don’t keep problems small.”

Derpy’s jaw clenched. “So we just—what—watch?”

Lenora’s grip tightened.

She glanced at him.

Derpy caught her eyes.

Lenora’s face went full pink—like her feelings and her frustration collided.

She snapped her gaze away instantly, voice sharp to cover it. “We survive first. Then we help smart.”

Derpy’s chest hurt.

But he nodded.

“Fine,” he muttered.

The mouse girl’s eyes flicked toward him for half a second—hope, maybe.

Then she looked away fast, like hope was dangerous.

Derpy forced himself to keep walking.

The inn smelled like damp wood and old stew.

They rented rooms.

Lenora handled the talking with the innkeeper like she’d done it a hundred times, voice calm and controlled.

Derpy barely heard it.

His head was full of the mouse girl’s face.

And the kiss.

And the fact that he now had two contracts sitting on his skin like invisible ink.

When he finally got into his room, he shut the door and leaned his forehead against it.

Then he crossed the room, collapsed onto the bed, and shoved his face into the pillow.

His cheeks were burning.

His brain was screaming.

They’re both cute.

He hated that thought.

He loved that thought.

Mia lay on the floor like a guard, head on paws, watching him like she was judging his life choices.

Sphinx jumped up onto the window sill and curled like a shadow, lantern eyes aimed at the fog outside.

Derpy groaned into the pillow. “I’m going to die.”

Mia huffed.

Sphinx’s tail flicked once, unimpressed.

Later that night, Derpy couldn’t sleep.

The fog outside pressed against the window like it wanted in.

Vespera’s words kept echoing in his head.

Dragon authority. Judgment. The world does not survive that kind of mistake twice.

And under it all—Celica’s amused pulse, like she was entertained by his fear.

Derpy slipped out quietly.

Mia rose immediately, silent as a trained soldier.

Sphinx followed without a sound, dropping from the sill like a shadow.

The streets were emptier at night, but not quiet.

Whisperfen never felt quiet.

It felt… held.

Like something was listening from inside the fog.

Derpy walked with his hands in his pockets, trying to think.

Trying not to.

Then he saw her again.

The mouse girl.

She was near an alley, shoulders hunched, staring at a closed shop window like she was trying to decide if glass could become food.

Her stomach growled loud enough that Derpy heard it from where he stood.

Derpy’s chest tightened.

He remembered Lenora’s grip on his sleeve.

Help smart.

Derpy exhaled.

Then he crouched and whispered to Mia, “Go.”

Mia’s ears perked.

Derpy pulled a loaf of bread from his bag—something he’d grabbed at the inn without thinking—and held it out.

He stayed back—no hero pose, no confrontation—just a quiet gift that wouldn’t start a street war.

Mia took it gently in her mouth and padded toward the mouse girl.

The girl flinched at first—eyes wide, body tensing like she expected teeth.

Then she saw the bread.

Her hands lifted slowly.

Mia set it down and backed up, tail wagging once.

The mouse girl stared at the loaf like it was a miracle.

Then she looked up.

Derpy was standing a little distance away, half-hidden by fog, waving awkwardly.

He forced a warm smile onto his face—gentle, not demanding.

Just… kind.

The mouse girl’s eyes went shiny.

She clutched the bread to her chest like it was treasure.

Then she nodded once—small, fast—and disappeared into the fog.

Derpy let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

Mia trotted back, proud.

Derpy scratched behind her ears. “Good girl.”

Sphinx’s lantern eyes watched the fog like it was waiting for something to answer.

The next morning, Derpy woke to a knock.

He opened the door, hair a mess, still half-asleep.

The mouse girl stood there.

Up close, she looked even smaller.

Her clothes were worn. Her hands were rough.

And she was holding flowers.

A whole bundle—wild, uneven, like she’d bought whatever she could afford.

She shoved them into Derpy’s arms so fast he almost dropped them.

Derpy blinked. “Uh—”

The mouse girl looked up at him with wide eyes.

“F-for you,” she squeaked.

Then she turned and ran before anyone could reject her.

Derpy stood there holding flowers like he’d been cursed.

Lenora stepped out of her room across the hall, already dressed, ears twitching.

Vespera emerged from the next door like she hadn’t slept at all, black dress neat, rings hovering.

Both of them stared at the bouquet.

Then they stared at Derpy.

Derpy’s face went hot. “I didn’t—she just—”

Lenora’s cheeks went pink.

She looked at Derpy.

Derpy caught her eyes.

Lenora’s face went full pink instantly.

She snapped her gaze away so hard it looked like whiplash and barked, “Why do you keep collecting problems?”

Vespera’s mouth twitched again.

Derpy swallowed. “She—she didn’t say her name.”

Lenora’s ears twitched. “Good. Keep it that way.”

Derpy looked down at the flowers.

Then back at the foggy street where the mouse girl had vanished.

And he had a sinking feeling that helping smart still counted as helping.

And Whisperfen was going to make him pay for it.

36:T21ed,

The inn’s walls were thin, and Whisperfen’s fog had a way of listening.

Derpy lay on his bed with his hands folded over his stomach, staring at the ceiling like it might give him answers.

Every time he closed his eyes, his brain replayed everything like it was trying to punish him for surviving:

Vespera’s voice saying dragon authority like it was a sentence.

Lenora saying tea date like it was a battlefield order.

The kiss—warm, clumsy, real—like it had rewritten something in him without asking permission.

And then there was the mouse girl.

The way she’d shoved the flowers into his arms and ran like kindness was a crime.

Derpy rubbed his wrists.

Celica’s mark stayed yellow.

Quiet.

Satisfied.

That was the worst part.

It felt like Celica’s Embers was sitting somewhere behind his ribs, smiling to herself, watching him spiral.

What do you want from me? Derpy thought.

The bracelets warmed faintly, like they heard him.

Derpy groaned and shoved his face into the pillow.

Then the door opened.

Derpy jerked upright. “I locked that—”

Lenora stepped in first, cheeks already pink like she’d been arguing with herself in the hallway.

Vespera followed behind her, arms crossed, expression set in stone.

Derpy blinked. “Uh… hello?”

Lenora cleared her throat too hard. “We’re showing you something.”

Derpy’s stomach dropped. “Why does that sound like a threat?”

Vespera’s jaw tightened. “Because it is.”

Then Vespera stepped forward.

And Derpy’s brain stalled.

She was wearing a maid outfit.

It wasn’t a costume. It was tailored—black and deep blue with subtle red-and-green accents that echoed her hair, like someone tried to make humiliation look like uniform. The bodice was fitted, the skirt layered with ruffles trimmed in blue, the apron crisp and pale, tied tight at her waist. A high collar sat at her throat with a small blue bow.

And her face—

She was blushing.

Hard.

Like her pride was actively trying to climb out of her skin and die somewhere private.

Vespera’s wings were tucked tight, tail stiff, eyes burning.

“I am a soldier,” Vespera snapped, voice cracking with fury and embarrassment, “NOT A MAID!”

Derpy stared.

Then his face went hot.

Then hotter.

Then his brain tried to reboot and failed.

Lenora stepped forward next, and Derpy’s soul left his body.

Lenora had picked one too.

Pink.

Fluffy.

Like a weaponized dessert.

The dress was soft pastel pink with a puffed skirt and white lace trim. The apron was bright and clean, tied in a bow at the back. The sleeves were slightly puffed at the shoulders, and there were fluffy accents at the cuffs and hem like someone had decided cute should be a combat stance.

It even had a little headpiece—small, frilly, and ridiculous.

Lenora’s hands were clenched at her sides like she was bracing for impact.

Her ears were rigid.

Her face was already full pink.

And when she tried to speak, she stuttered so hard it was like her tongue tripped over her own courage.

“I— I— it’s— it’s not— I mean—”

Derpy blinked. “Lenora…”

Lenora’s cheeks went even pinker. “I picked it because— because—”

They both stared at him.

Waiting.

Demanding.

Lenora finally managed, voice small and mortified, “What do you think?”

Derpy opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

His face went nuclear.

Heat climbed up his neck, into his ears, into his skull.

His vision blurred.

And then—

Steam.

Actual steam.

It blasted out of him like his embarrassment had become weather.

The room fogged instantly.

Lenora yelped.

Vespera swore.

The steam hit them like a wall and shoved them backward.

They stumbled out into the hallway, coughing, waving their hands, slamming the door shut from the outside like they were sealing a monster in a cage.

Inside, Derpy sat on the bed, face buried in his hands, dying.

Mia stared at him like pathetic.

Sphinx sat on the bed like he’d witnessed a crime.

Outside the door, Lenora and Vespera stood in the hallway, both red-faced for different reasons.

Vespera pointed at the door. “That was your fault.”

Lenora snapped, “My fault? You walked in like— like—”

“Like what?” Vespera hissed.

Lenora’s face went full pink again. “Like you were trying to— to—”

“To what?” Vespera leaned in, eyes sharp. “Make him blush?”

Lenora’s jaw clenched. “Well it worked!”

Vespera scoffed. “He blushed because I was there first.”

Lenora’s ears flattened. “No, he blushed because I— because I—”

Vespera’s eyes narrowed. “Because you what?”

Lenora’s cheeks went even pinker. “Because I’m cute!”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Vespera blinked.

Then Lenora blinked.

Then both of them—against all logic—laughed.

Not polite laughter.

Real laughter.

The kind that shook the tension loose for a second.

Lenora wiped at her eyes, still red-faced. “It’s been… a long time since I had fun like that.”

Vespera’s mouth twitched into something almost soft. “Same.”

The laughter died fast.

Whisperfen didn’t let joy linger.

They stood there for a moment, breathing, letting the absurdity settle.

Then Lenora’s ears twitched.

Her face hardened back into leader mode.

She grabbed the doorknob.

“Derpy,” she called through the door, voice stern. “Open up.”

No answer.

Vespera’s eyes narrowed. “Human?”

Lenora yanked the door open.

The room was empty.

The window was open.

The curtains fluttered.

Mia was at the sill, tail wagging once like she’d helped.

Sphinx sat on the bed like he’d witnessed a second crime.

Lenora stared.

Vespera stared.

Lenora’s voice went quiet. “…He jumped out the window.”

Vespera’s jaw tightened. “Of course he did.”

Lenora rushed to the window and looked out.

Derpy was already moving through the fog like a guilty thought, heading into Whisperfen’s streets with his hood up and his hands in his pockets.

Lenora’s cheeks went pink again—half anger, half worry.

She snapped her gaze away from the window like it offended her and growled, “Idiot.”

Vespera’s rings rotated once, displeased. “He’s looking for the Calamity.”

Lenora’s ears pinned back. “Or he’s running from embarrassment.”

Vespera’s mouth twitched. “Both can be true.”

Lenora turned sharply. “We go after him.”

Vespera nodded once. “Agreed.”

By the time they moved, both women were already changing back into armor and black dress—because outside, the town didn’t care about contracts.

Derpy didn’t know where he was going.

He just knew he couldn’t stay in that room.

Not with his heart doing backflips and his face trying to become a furnace.

Not with Celica’s mark warm on his wrists like it was laughing at him.

He walked through Whisperfen’s fog, trying to focus on the mission.

Find the Calamity.

Find the pull.

Find the—

A sound cut through the mist.

A muffled sob.

Derpy froze.

He turned toward it, moving slowly, careful.

The fog thinned just enough to reveal an alley.

And there—

Her cloak was torn.

Her dress was ripped at the shoulder.

Her cheeks were red with humiliation.

A mouse girl pressed to the wall like she wanted to merge with it, clutching something to her chest.

Derpy’s stomach dropped.

He took a step forward.

“Hey,” he whispered.

The mouse girl flinched like she expected a hit.

Derpy’s hands lifted slowly, palms open.

“I’m not— I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, voice shaking. “I just—”

Her lips trembled.

She tried to speak.

No words came out.

She just cried harder.

And Derpy, standing in the fog with Celica’s mark warm on his wrists, realized something cold and sharp:

Whisperfen hadn’t forgotten his kindness.

It had just waited for the right moment to punish it.

37:T1e45,

Derpy didn’t remember hitting the ground.

He remembered the window.

The cold slap of fog air.

The humiliating fact that he’d jumped because two women in maid outfits had made his brain short-circuit so hard it turned into weather.

And then he was outside, moving fast through Whisperfen like the town itself could swallow embarrassment if he walked far enough.

Behind him, the inn’s lantern light faded.

Ahead, the fog thickened into something that felt less like weather and more like a boundary.

His wrists warmed under his sleeves—Celica’s mark pulsing faintly, like it was amused by his panic.

Derpy clenched his hands in his pockets. “Stop,” he muttered under his breath.

The bracelets warmed again.

Not angry.

Not obedient.

Just… pleased.

Mia padded beside him, silent and alert.

Sphinx moved ahead like a shadow with intent, slipping between barrels and posts without ever looking back.

Derpy followed anyway.

He didn’t know if he was following the cat or the tug in his ribs.

Or the guilt.

Or the memory of the mouse girl’s eyes when she’d been bullied earlier—hope flashing for half a second before she buried it like it was dangerous.

Whisperfen’s streets narrowed.

The cobblestones were slick with mist, and the gutters whispered with runoff that smelled wrong—like wet stone and something old underneath it.

Lanterns glowed weakly through filmed glass.

People moved like they were trying not to be noticed.

Derpy slowed, scanning.

Calamity book, he thought. Find the pull. Find the—

A soft sound cut through the fog.

A muffled sob.

Derpy froze.

Sphinx stopped too, tail flicking once—then stepped into an alley like he’d been waiting for Derpy to catch up.

Derpy’s stomach dropped.

He followed.

The alley was narrow enough that the fog pooled thick, heavy as wool.

The lantern light didn’t reach the back.

The stones were damp, stained dark in the corners.

And pressed against the wall like she wanted to merge with it—

Lewd.

Her red hair was tangled, clinging to her cheeks.

Her big round ears trembled—one dark, one pale—flattened in fear.

Her green eyes were swollen with tears.

Her cloak was torn.

Her dress was ripped at the shoulder.

Bruises colored her skin like fingerprints that hadn’t faded yet.

She clutched a book to her chest so tightly her knuckles were white.

Derpy’s breath caught.

The cover was wrong.

A skull motif stared back at him—black and slick-looking, like it had been carved into the world instead of printed.

The corners were ornate, gold catching what little light existed.

It wasn’t fear.

It was recognition—like his bracelets had ears.

Derpy didn’t understand why his palms went cold.

He only knew his wrists warmed under his hoodie like the mark recognized something it shouldn’t.

Lewd flinched when she saw him, eyes wide like she expected him to turn away.

Derpy lifted his hands slowly, palms open, and crouched so he wasn’t towering over her.

“Hey,” he said softly. “It’s me.”

Lewd’s mouth trembled.

She tried to speak.

Only a broken sound came out.

Derpy swallowed. “What happened?”

Lewd stared at him like she couldn’t decide if kindness was real or just another trap.

Then her words came out in fragments—spilling like she couldn’t hold them in anymore.

“The… the cats,” she whispered, voice shaking. “They— they chased me. I ran. I— I didn’t—”

Her breath hitched.

“The sewer,” she said, and the word sounded like it hurt. “I fell. I couldn’t— I couldn’t get out. It was— it was—”

She gagged, swallowing hard.

“The smell,” she whispered. “It wouldn’t leave. I tried to wash. I tried. It didn’t—”

Her eyes squeezed shut, tears spilling.

“My job,” she choked out. “They told me to leave. My friends— they— they crossed the street. Like I was— like I was—”

Her tail curled tight, trembling.

Derpy’s chest tightened so hard it hurt.

Lewd’s hands shook around the book.

“And I have debt,” she whispered, voice small and terrified. “A deadline. And Whisperfen doesn’t— it doesn’t forgive—”

Derpy’s jaw clenched.

He glanced at the book again.

Lewd followed his gaze and flinched like she expected him to recoil.

“I found it,” she whispered. “In an alley. It was just there. I didn’t want it. I didn’t— I didn’t mean—”

Her breath came fast.

“It… it grabbed me,” she whispered. “Not like hands. Like… like smoke. Like it went inside.”

And then—like a tide pulling back—the sewer-stink thinned.

The book drank it like it was starving.

Lewd’s shoulders sagged as she said it, relief and terror tangled together.

Derpy’s wrists warmed again.

Stronger.

Not burning—recognizing.

The air in the alley felt sour for a second, like rain on rot.

Sphinx sat between them, lantern eyes unblinking, like he’d led Derpy here on purpose.

Mia’s ears pinned back, a low growl rumbling in her chest—not at Lewd.

At the book.

Lewd’s shoulders shook.

Derpy reached out slowly, palm open, careful.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re okay.”

Lewd stared at his hand like it was a miracle.

Then she surged forward and hugged him so hard her small body shook.

Derpy stiffened in surprise, then gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Lewd clung like she’d been drowning and he was the first solid thing she’d touched.

“Please,” she whispered into his hoodie, voice muffled. “Please don’t leave me.”

Derpy’s throat tightened.

He looked up, helpless, like the fog might give him permission to save her.

That’s when he felt it.

A shift in the air.

Not footsteps.

Presence.

The alley’s mouth darkened.

Vespera arrived first.

She didn’t need to run.

She simply appeared at the entrance, black dress neat, rings shifting—subtle, predatory.

Lenora followed a heartbeat later, silent as a bad memory.

Black armor.

Greystone scars.

Heavy shoulder guards catching the weak lantern light.

Her bunny ears twitched once.

Her hand hovered near her sword.

Both of them locked onto the book in Lewd’s arms.

The air tightened—two hungry hearts in the same breath of fog.

Lewd’s grimoire pulsed.

Not with light.

With awareness.

A sickly green shimmer crawled across the cover like mold blooming in fast motion.

Vespera’s rings rotated, reacting.

Lenora’s jaw tightened.

Derpy felt heat under his hoodie—his yellow bracelets warming against his skin.

He didn’t know why.

He only knew his pulse jumped, and his palms went cold.

Two calamities in the same breath of air.

Lewd gasped, clutching her book tighter.

The alley filled with a thin, sour scent—like rain on rot.

Vespera’s eyes narrowed.

“Blight Vein,” she said, voice low.

Derpy’s stomach dropped.

He didn’t even have time to ask what that meant before the fog outside the alley seemed to inhale.

Whisperfen smelled like wet stone and old secrets.

Somewhere beyond the fogline, something answered—quiet at first, then certain.

38:T3365,

Whisperfen smelled like wet stone and old secrets.

The town sat low in the land, half-swallowed by fog that never fully lifted. Even at midday, the streets looked like they’d been rinsed in gray—cobbles slick with mist, lantern glass filmed over, gutters whispering with runoff that had nowhere good to go.

Lewd had learned early that Whisperfen loved two things: gossip and prey.

She was both.

1. The Fall

They found her near the market steps.

Cat girls—three of them this time—moving with that lazy confidence bullies always wore like perfume. Their ears flicked in amusement. Their tails swayed like they were bored, like chasing her was just something to do between laughs.

“Mouse,” one of them called, sweet as poison.

Lewd flinched so hard her pink tail curled tight. She clutched her little satchel to her chest and tried to disappear into the crowd. But crowds didn’t protect someone her size. Crowds only hid the hands that shoved.

A shoulder bumped her. A foot hooked her ankle. Someone hissed in her ear, “Stink.”

Lewd stumbled, caught herself, and ran.

Her legs were short. Her breath came fast. Her ears—one black-tipped, one pale—twitched at every footfall behind her.

“Where you going?”

“Back to your hole?”

She turned down an alley she shouldn’t have.

The stones narrowed. The fog thickened. The world became brick and shadow and the sound of claws clicking closer.

Lewd didn’t see the broken grate until it was too late.

Her foot hit empty air.

She dropped with a small, strangled squeak—cloak flaring, hands reaching for nothing—and vanished into the sewer mouth like the town had finally decided to swallow her whole.

The fall knocked the breath out of her.

Cold water slapped her skin. Filth soaked her dress. The stink hit like a fist—rot, waste, mold, something dead that had been dead for a long time.

Above, laughter echoed.

“Did she—?”

“Oh my gods.”

“Leave her. She belongs down there.”

The grate clanged as someone kicked it.

Lewd lay in the dark with her cheek pressed to slime-slick stone, shaking so hard her teeth clicked.

She didn’t cry yet.

Not until she dragged herself through the tunnel, hands slipping, knees bruising, and realized no one was coming.

2. The Smell That Ruined Everything

She crawled out hours later behind a row of shuttered shops, coughing up sewer air.

The fog clung to her like judgment.

She tried to wash in a public fountain. The water was cold and thin and did nothing. The stink had gotten into her hair, her cloak, her skin—into the spaces between her ribs.

When she showed up for work, the manager didn’t even let her speak.

His face twisted.

“Gods, Lewd—what happened to you?”

“I fell,” she whispered. “I—I can fix it. I can—”

“You can leave.”

Her hands tightened around the hem of her dress. “Please. I need this job.”

He glanced around like her smell might infect the walls.

“Not like that you don’t. Customers complained last time you came in damp. This—this is unacceptable. Go.”

Lewd stood there for a heartbeat too long, eyes wide and wet, mouth trembling.

Then she nodded—because nodding was safer than begging—and backed out of the shop like she was the one doing something wrong.

Outside, her friends didn’t look at her.

They used to wave.

Now they crossed the street.

One of them covered her nose.

Lewd froze in place, cheeks burning, tail curling tighter.

It wasn’t just the smell.

It was what the smell meant.

It meant she was easy to discard.

That night, she sat on the edge of her rented room and counted coins until her hands shook.

Not enough.

The loan shark’s deadline was close enough to taste.

And Whisperfen didn’t forgive debt.

3. The Alley and the Book

Hunger makes a person small.

Lewd was already half-sized. Hunger made her feel like she could slip through cracks in the world and never be noticed again.

She searched alleys for scraps—anything dropped, anything forgotten. The fog was heavier at night, thick as wool. Lantern light pooled in weak circles and died before it could reach the corners.

She found the book where trash collected.

It didn’t gleam.

It didn’t call her name.

It just sat there—too clean for an alley, too heavy for something abandoned.

The cover was dark, marked with a skull motif that made her stomach tighten.

Lewd stared at it like it might bite.

Her fingers hovered.

Then her stomach growled, and fear lost to need.

She pulled it close.

The book was cold.

Not the cold of stone.

The cold of something waiting.

Lewd swallowed, opened it, and read the first line she could see.

The pages didn’t glow.

The air didn’t explode.

There was only a soft pressure—like a hand closing around her wrist.

Lewd gasped.

The book’s presence slid into her like smoke.

A binding.

Not gentle.

Not cruel.

Just absolute.

She clutched it tighter, panic rising—until she realized something else.

The stink was… fading.

The sewer-rot that had clung to her for days thinned, pulled away from her skin in invisible threads.

Lewd’s breath hitched as the book drank it down like it was starving.

Her shoulders sagged.

For the first time in days, she didn’t smell like the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

Lewd pressed her forehead to the cover and shook.

Not from cold.

From relief so sharp it hurt.

It had already bound to her by the time she dared bring it near the inn.

4. Flowers at the Door

The next morning, Whisperfen looked the same.

Fog.

Stone.

People pretending they didn’t see what they didn’t want to.

But Lewd walked through it different.

She kept the book hidden under her cloak, arms wrapped around it like it was a heartbeat.

She watched the inn from across the street for a long time.

Inside were strangers—new faces in town. New stories. New chances.

And one of them—Derpy—had looked at her once, days ago, with eyes that didn’t sharpen into disgust.

Kindness was dangerous.

Kindness made you hope.

Lewd bought flowers with the last coins she could spare.

Small ones. Cheap ones.

She stood at the inn’s door, trembling, and when the group stepped out she thrust the flowers forward like an offering.

Her voice came out as a squeak.

“F-for you.”

Then she turned and ran before anyone could reject her.

5. The Tail That Followed

She followed them through Whisperfen.

At a distance at first.

Then closer.

Every time Derpy stopped, she stopped.

Every time he looked back, she ducked behind a barrel or a post, cheeks burning, tail curling.

Vespera noticed.

Of course she did.

The eldest dragon sister moved like she owned the air around her—black dress, horns, wings folded with controlled menace. Her three rings hovered near her shoulder like patient blades.

Lenora Strayheart noticed too.

She didn’t announce it. She never did.

One moment she was there—black armor scarred from Greystone, heavy shoulder guards catching the weak lantern light—and the next she was a shadow at the edge of the street, bunny ears twitching at every sound. Her brown eyes swept the fog like she expected it to bite.

Lenora’s gaze lingered on the mouse girl’s hiding place, then on Derpy.

A look that said: Don’t be stupid.

Vespera didn’t turn her head when she spoke.

“Derpy,” she said quietly. “You have a shadow.”

Derpy blinked. “A… shadow?”

Vespera’s mismatched eyes narrowed toward an alley mouth where a small figure tried to become part of the fog.

“The mouse girl.”

Derpy’s expression softened immediately, the way it always did when he saw someone hurting.

“I noticed,” he admitted.

Lenora’s mouth tightened.

“You noticed,” she repeated, flat. “And you didn’t tell your leader.”

Derpy’s shoulders rose a fraction. “I didn’t think it was—”

“Don’t,” Lenora cut in. “Thinking is how people die in places like this.”

Vespera’s tone stayed even. “Go see what she wants. If she is a problem, I want to know before it becomes one.”

Lenora’s ears twitched. “And if she’s bait, I want to know who set the hook.”

Derpy hesitated.

Vespera added, almost reluctantly, “Be careful.”

Lenora didn’t soften. “And don’t spend our coin.”

6. Sphinx Leads the Way

They reached the inn again by late afternoon.

Vespera and Lenora went inside to check in.

Mia stayed close—chibi Doberman form, ears perked, eyes alert.

And Sphinx—small black cat, too intelligent—slipped away without a sound.

Derpy noticed the absence a beat too late.

“Sphinx?”

The cat didn’t answer.

Derpy followed the tug in his chest anyway.

Down the side street.

Past a shuttered bakery.

Into an alley where the fog pooled thick and yellow lantern light couldn’t reach.

Sphinx sat there, tail flicking once.

And in front of the cat—pressed to the wall like she wanted to merge with it—was Lewd.

Her cloak was torn.

Her dress was ripped at the shoulder.

Her cheeks were red with humiliation.

Her eyes were wide and wet and begging without words.

The cat bullies were gone, but their laughter still hung in the air like a stain.

Lewd’s hands shook around the book she held to her chest.

Derpy stepped in without thinking.

He scooped Sphinx up first—gentle, automatic—then crouched so he wasn’t towering over her.

“Hey,” he said softly. “What happened?”

Lewd’s mouth trembled.

She tried to speak.

Only a broken sound came out.

Derpy waited.

That patience—quiet, steady—was what finally cracked her.

Words spilled out in fragments.

The chase.

The sewer.

The smell.

The job.

Friends turning away.

Debt.

No one helping.

And then—this book.

Derpy’s eyes flicked to the cover.

A skull motif.

A wrongness that made the air feel heavier.

Derpy didn’t understand what he was feeling.

Only that the alley suddenly seemed too small for the air inside it.

7. Calamity Recognizes Calamity

Vespera arrived first.

She didn’t need to run.

She simply appeared at the mouth of the alley, rings shifting—subtle, predatory.

Lenora followed a heartbeat later, silent as a bad memory.

Her bunny ears twitched once.

Her hand hovered near her sword.

Her eyes locked on the book in Lewd’s arms.

And the world changed.

Lewd’s grimoire pulsed.

Not with light.

With awareness.

A sickly green shimmer crawled across the cover like mold blooming in fast motion.

Vespera’s rings rotated, reacting.

Lenora’s jaw tightened.

Derpy felt heat under his hoodie—his yellow bracelets warming against his skin.

He didn’t know why.

He only knew his pulse jumped, and his palms went cold.

Two calamities in the same breath of air.

Lewd gasped, clutching her book tighter.

The alley filled with a thin, sour scent—like rain on rot.

Vespera’s eyes narrowed.

“Blight Vein,” she said, voice low.

Lenora’s stare sharpened. “So that’s what you found.”

Lewd flinched at the name like it was a whip.

Derpy swallowed. “She’s… holding a calamity?”

“Yes,” Vespera replied. “And it is waking.”

Lewd’s tears finally fell.

“I didn’t— I didn’t mean— I just—”

Derpy reached out slowly, palm open.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re okay.”

Lewd stared at his hand like it was a miracle.

Then she surged forward and hugged him so hard her small body shook.

Derpy stiffened in surprise, then gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Lewd clung like she’d been drowning and he was the first solid thing she’d touched.

“Please,” she whispered into his hoodie, voice muffled. “Please don’t leave me.”

Vespera watched, unreadable.

Lenora watched like she was measuring how many ways this could go wrong.

Derpy looked up at them, helpless.

“She needs help,” he said.

Lenora’s voice was flat. “She needs containment.”

Vespera’s jaw tightened. “She is carrying a calamity.”

“I know,” Derpy said. “But she’s still… her.”

39:T2839,

Whisperfen didn’t announce danger.

It exhaled it.

Fog slid through the streets like a living thing, curling around lantern posts, swallowing footsteps, softening the edges of faces until everyone looked like a rumor.

Somewhere in that gray, two calamities pulsed—two hungry hearts beating out of sync.

Lenora Strayheart felt it first.

Not as heat.

As pressure.

A wrongness that made her scar itch and her bunny ears twitch toward sounds that weren’t there.

Vespera felt it too—her rings rotating in slow, predatory circles as if tasting the air.

Derpy didn’t notice any of it.

He was focused on the room door.

On Lewd.

On making sure she ate.

On making sure she didn’t cry again.

Behind the locked wood, Blight Vein breathed.

And somewhere far beyond Whisperfen’s fog, something answered.

Whisperfen didn’t care about tea dates.

1. The Arrival

They came at dusk.

No fanfare.

No marching boots.

Just a shift in the air—like the town itself flinched.

Joker stepped out of the fog first, a porcelain mask smiling where a human mouth should’ve been.

Wired gloves hugged his hands, thin lines glinting as he flexed his fingers—each movement a magician’s flourish, each fingertip a promise of poison.

Beside him walked King.

Lord Valerian.

Tall and lean, body like petrified wood wrapped in living vines and thorns, blossoms opening and closing as if breathing.

An antlered crown branched from his head, and his emerald eyes were steady as judgment.

His staff tapped the stone once—quiet.

But the street listened.

Joker inhaled dramatically.

“Ahh… Whisperfen. The kind of town that smells like a confession and looks like it wants to keep it.”

He tilted his head.

“Tell me, Valerian—do you think the fog is hiding secrets… or hiding from them?”

King didn’t look at him.

“We are not here to admire the weather.”

Joker’s mask turned toward the inn.

“No, no. We’re here because two little bedtime stories started screaming at the same time.”

His voice dropped into delighted menace.

“Two calamities. Two sins. One town.”

King’s staff tapped again.

A subtle ripple ran through the cobbles.

“The signal is fresh,” King said. “Close.”

Joker clasped his hands like a performer about to unveil the finale.

“Then let’s go meet the mouse.”

2. A Knock That Isn’t Polite

The inn’s hallway was narrow.

Too narrow for what was coming.

Lenora stood near the stairwell, armor dark, posture relaxed in the way predators pretended to be calm.

Vespera leaned against the opposite wall, wings folded tight, rings hovering like patient blades.

Derpy hovered by Lewd’s door, holding a bowl of food like it was a peace offering and shield at once.

Lewd’s voice came through the wood, small.

“I… I’m sorry. I’ll eat. I just—”

A soft knock interrupted her.

Not from Derpy.

From the other end of the hall.

Three taps.

Measured.

Mockingly gentle.

Derpy turned.

Lenora’s ears snapped upright.

Vespera’s rings rotated.

The fog at the far end of the corridor thickened, then parted.

Joker strolled in like he owned the building.

King followed like he owned the world.

Joker spread his arms.

“Good evening! Or… good mourning, depending on how attached you are to your internal organs.”

Derpy froze.

He didn’t know them.

But his bracelets warmed under his sleeves like a warning bell.

King’s gaze moved once—slow, deliberate—taking in Lenora, Vespera, Derpy, then the door.

“The calamity is behind that wood,” King said.

Joker leaned closer, as if sharing a secret with the hallway.

“And the other calamity is wearing yellow bracelets and a guilty conscience.”

Derpy’s eyes widened.

Lenora stepped forward half a pace.

“Turn around.”

Joker’s mask tilted.

“Oh, sweetheart. If I turned around every time someone told me to, I’d never get anything done.”

King lifted his staff slightly.

The air tightened.

“Open the door,” King said, voice calm enough to be merciful. “We will take the mouse and the book. You may keep your lives.”

Derpy swallowed.

“She’s not— she’s not a thing you can just—”

Joker cut in, voice bright.

“Oh, but she is. A little vessel with a little poison heart. And vessels belong to the people who know how to use them.”

Lenora’s eyes went cold.

“You’re Sinister Seven.”

Joker placed a hand to his chest in mock offense.

“Sinister? That’s such an ugly word. I prefer dramatically misunderstood.”

King didn’t react.

“We do not negotiate.”

3. The Offer

Joker drifted closer to Lewd’s door like a cat circling a cage.

His voice softened—sweet, coaxing, cruel in its gentleness.

“Mouse… Lewd, was it? You’re in there shaking, aren’t you? Because you know what that book is. You know it’s hungry.”

He tapped the wood with one poisoned fingertip.

“Come with us, and you’ll never be hungry again. Never be dirty again. Never be laughed at again.”

Lewd’s breath hitched on the other side.

Derpy’s hand tightened around the bowl.

Joker continued, savoring every word.

“We’ll give you a place where no cat girl can touch you. Where debt collectors don’t exist. Where your stink becomes a weapon, not a shame.”

King added, flat and final.

“Refuse, and you will be hunted until you break.”

Lewd’s voice trembled through the door.

“I… I don’t want to be hunted.”

Derpy stepped forward.

“Lewd, don’t listen—”

Joker snapped his fingers.

A thin wire flashed.

Derpy felt something cold skim past his cheek—so fast he didn’t understand it until the bowl in his hands split cleanly in half and clattered to the floor.

Food spilled.

Silence followed.

Joker’s mask smiled wider.

“Oops.”

Lenora moved.

Not fast.

Final.

She shoved Derpy back with one armored forearm.

“Behind me.”

Vespera’s rings lifted, humming.

King’s staff struck the floor.

THWACK.

Vines erupted from the cracks between stones, racing down the hallway like green lightning.

4. Intercept

Lenora met Joker head-on.

He laughed—actually laughed—as she drew steel.

“Ah! The bunny in black armor. Tell me, Strayheart—do you bleed red, or do you bleed regret?”

Lenora didn’t answer.

She slashed.

Joker flipped backward, wire-thin lines snapping out from his gloves.

Poisoned daggers flickered at the ends like teeth.

Lenora’s blade rang once—clean—deflecting a dagger that would’ve kissed her throat.

Joker danced, taunting.

“Careful, careful—one scratch and you’ll be sleeping forever.”

Lenora stepped in anyway.

Her style wasn’t flashy.

It was survival.

A shoulder check.

A knee to the ribs.

A blade that didn’t waste motion.

Joker’s mask jerked as Lenora’s gauntlet clipped it—hard enough to crack porcelain.

He hissed, delighted.

“Oh, you do have teeth.”

Across the hall, King faced Vespera.

She spread her wings just enough to fill the corridor with shadow.

Her rings rotated into formation.

King’s staff lowered.

Vines surged.

Vespera’s Cinderlock Halo flared—black flame licking in a tight arc, burning back the first wave of thorns.

King didn’t flinch.

He stepped forward and tapped his staff again.

The vines thickened, braided, turning into restraints meant for dragons.

Vespera’s jaw tightened.

“You’re not taking them.”

King’s emerald eyes stayed calm.

“I am taking what belongs to the Queen.”

Vespera’s Nightwreath Requiem pulsed—darkness folding like a curtain, severing vines mid-lunge.

King’s flowers shivered.

Not fear.

Interest.

5. Run

Lenora glanced over her shoulder once.

Just once.

“Derpy,” she snapped.

Derpy flinched.

“W-what—”

“Take Lewd,” Lenora said. “Run. Now.”

Derpy’s eyes flicked to the door.

Lewd was still inside.

Still shaking.

Still holding a calamity that was waking up to the smell of violence.

Vespera’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp as steel.

“If they reach her, Whisperfen becomes a grave.”

King’s vines slammed into Vespera’s barrier.

Joker’s wire snapped toward Lenora’s eyes.

Lenora twisted, took the wire on her forearm guard, and yanked—dragging Joker off balance.

“Move!” she roared.

Derpy lunged for the door.

“Lewd!” he called. “It’s me—open up!”

The lock clicked.

The door cracked.

Lewd peeked out, eyes huge.

She saw the hallway.

The vines.

The blades.

The porcelain mask.

She made a sound like a trapped animal.

Derpy grabbed her hand.

“Come on. We’re leaving.”

Lewd clutched Blight Vein to her chest and stumbled into him.

Sphinx darted between their legs.

Mia barked once—sharp and warning.

Derpy pulled Lewd down the stairs.

Behind them, Lenora and Vespera held the corridor like a dam holding back a flood.

Joker laughed as Lenora drove him away from the stairwell.

“Run, run!” he sang. “The show’s better when the prey thinks it has a chance!”

King’s voice followed, calm as a verdict.

“You cannot outrun roots.”

Derpy didn’t look back.

He ran.

Lewd ran with him.

And Whisperfen’s fog swallowed them whole—while behind, steel rang, vines screamed, and two calamities beat louder in the dark.

3a:T3e47,

Rooftops and Thorns (Whisperfen Recall Cut)

Whisperfen didn’t tell stories straight.
It replayed them like fog—out of order, but never wrong.

The rooftops were slick with breath-wet shingles. Chimneys bled smoke that couldn’t decide if it wanted to rise or drown. The whole town held itself still, like it knew something was hunting through it and didn’t want to be noticed.

Derpy didn’t have the luxury of being unnoticed.

He hauled Lewd up a narrow service ladder behind the inn, boots slipping, fingers numb. Lewd clutched Blight Vein to her chest with both arms, the book pressed tight like a second ribcage. Her new dress was already damp at the hem.

Her eyes were wide.
“I—I can’t—” she choked.

“You can,” Derpy said, breathless. “Just—just keep moving.”

Sphinx sprang up first, a black blur against gray sky. Mia followed, chibi paws scrambling, ears pinned back in focus. Derpy got Lewd onto the roof and pulled himself up after her.

Behind them, inside the inn, steel rang.A staff struck stone.And the hallway screamed.

1) Fog-Running

They ran low, hunched against the wind.

Derpy led with instinct—jumping gaps that looked too wide, skidding on wet tiles, catching Lewd by the wrist when her foot slipped. She made small, terrified sounds each time the ground fell away beneath her.

“Why are they—” Lewd gasped.

Derpy swallowed the clean answer.

“Because they want the book,” he said instead. “And they don’t care what happens to you to get it.”

Lewd’s grip tightened until her knuckles went pale. Blight Vein pulsed once—subtle, hungry. Derpy felt his bracelets warm under his sleeves like an answering heartbeat.

Two calamities, smelling each other through the dark.

2) Below: The Hallway Becomes a Cage

Down below, the inn’s corridor was no longer a corridor. It was a cage.

Lenora Strayheart fought like someone who’d survived too many cages to ever be trapped again. Her sword moved in clean, brutal lines—no wasted flourish, no mercy in the angles. She kept Joker away from the stairwell with her body, her armor taking glancing hits that would’ve opened softer flesh.

Joker made a game of it.

“Oh, Lenora,” he crooned, voice bright as a stage light. “Do you always swing like you’re trying to cut a memory out of the air?”

Lenora didn’t answer. She stepped in.

Joker spun away, laughing. “Careful! I’m fragile. Porcelain, you know—”

His wire snapped. Lenora’s blade caught it. She yanked.

Joker stumbled forward half a step—just enough.

Lenora’s gauntlet slammed into his mask.

CRACK.

A spiderweb of fractures spread across the porcelain smile.

Across the hall, Vespera met King like a storm meeting a mountain. Her rings rotated into a tight orbit, each one humming with a different promise. Black flame licked along her arm. Her wingbeats shoved fog and dust into the corners.

King’s staff hit the floor.
THWACK.

Vines erupted—thick, braided, thorned. They didn’t just reach. They claimed.

Vespera burned the first wave back with Cinderlock Halo, black fire cutting a clean arc through green. King stepped through the smoke like it was weather.

“You waste power,” he said calmly.

“I can afford it,” Vespera snarled.

“No,” King said, emerald gaze steady. “You cannot.”

His staff struck again. The floor split. Roots surged up like ribs and wrapped Vespera’s ankle, her calf, her tail—thorns biting through scale. She answered with Voidbrand Lance, a dark spear of force that punched through the vine mass and blasted King backward a step.

Flowers shuddered across his wooden skin. He absorbed it.

Then he lifted his staff with both hands.

For the first time, he put weight into the motion.

The staff came down.

The hallway buckled. A shockwave rolled through the inn like a fist. Vespera’s rings flared—Nightwreath Requiem folding darkness into a shield—

—and the shockwave still hit.

It slammed her into the wall hard enough to crack plaster. Her breath left in a sharp, wet sound. The vines didn’t stop. They pinned her. Wrapped her wings. Bound her wrists.

King stepped in close, voice low, almost gentle. “Yield.”

Vespera bared her teeth. “No.”

He tightened his grip. The vines constricted. Her rings sputtered—power flaring, then thinning. King was forcing her to spend it.

And she did.

Because if he reached the door, Derpy and Lewd were dead.

At last, her black flame guttered. Her knees hit the floor. The vines held.

King exhaled—slow, controlled—then staggered half a step as if the air had suddenly become heavy. He didn’t fall. But he had to brace his staff against the floor. His flowers drooped, petals trembling.

He didn’t kill her.

Not mercy.

Math.

He turned his head toward the stairwell.

Too late.

3) Flash: The Mask Breaks

Joker’s laughter stopped.

Lenora felt the shift in him the way prey feels a predator stop playing.

“Aw,” Joker said softly. “You ruined my face.”

“Get out of my way,” Lenora said.

He moved—no backflip, no flourish—just a sudden, vicious snap of wire.

Lenora blocked one dagger. Then another. Then a third.

The fourth slipped past.

The poisoned tip kissed the seam beneath her ribs.

A sting. Small. Almost nothing.

Joker leaned in close enough that she could smell the metallic bite of toxin.
“Rules are rules,” he whispered. “And you broke mine.”

Lenora swung.

Her blade caught the edge of his mask.

This time it didn’t crack.

It shattered.

Porcelain exploded into white shards across the hallway.

For a heartbeat, Joker’s face was visible—

—and then the man behind it went blank. Cold. Clinical.

When he spoke again, his voice was flat as a knife.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You earned the truth.”

Lenora’s fingers tightened—then loosened. Her leg didn’t obey. The paralysis crawled through her muscles like ice water.

Joker glanced once toward King, who sat braced and breathing, recovering in measured pulls.

Joker didn’t wait for permission.

“Call me Jack,” he said.

And he turned toward the stairwell.

Toward the roof.

Toward the chase.

4) Rooftop Gaps

Derpy and Lewd reached the third roofline when the sound changed.

The fighting below didn’t stop.

But it shifted—like one of the anchors had snapped.

Derpy felt it in his gut. Lenora. Vespera. Something went wrong.

He pulled Lewd behind a chimney and crouched.
“Stay low,” he whispered.

Lewd nodded fast, tears shining on her lashes. “I didn’t want this,” she whispered. “I didn’t— I just wanted to stop smelling—”

“I know,” Derpy said, voice tight. “I know.”

A shadow moved through the fog behind them—light, fast. A soft scrape of wire against tile.

Sphinx’s fur bristled. Mia growled—low, warning.

Derpy’s bracelets warmed again. Hotter. Closer.

Jack’s voice drifted up from the roofline like a lullaby with teeth.

“Ready or not,” he called, too sweet. “The curtain rises.”

Derpy’s eyes widened. Lewd clutched Blight Vein so hard her arms shook.

Derpy grabbed her hand.
“Run,” he whispered.

And they did.

Across wet shingles. Over a gap that made Lewd squeal. Past chimneys that coughed smoke into their faces. With fog swallowing their backs and a hunter stepping onto the roof behind them.

5) The Stage (and the First Bite)

A wire hissed across the roof and wrapped Derpy’s ankle.

He stumbled, caught himself, and spun.

Jack stepped out of the fog like he’d been there the whole time. “Found you.”

“Leave her alone,” Derpy said.

Jack’s eyes slid to Lewd, then back. “I will, once she stops being useful.”

Derpy forced himself forward anyway—panic pretending to be courage.

Jack moved in a blur. A dagger flashed close enough to leave a cold line of fear. Another snapped toward Derpy’s throat; he ducked, felt the wind of it.

Jack wasn’t trying to kill him.

Not yet.

He was learning him.

Lewd hovered behind a chimney, shaking so hard the book in her arms trembled.

“Derpy…” she whispered.

“Run,” Derpy said again.

She didn’t move.

Jack smiled without warmth. “She won’t. That’s the point.”

Something in Lewd cracked—not bravery, not clean. Desperation.

She tackled Jack with a shaking scream.

They hit the roof hard.

Blight Vein pulsed.

Purple seeped across her fingers like ink. A wet, poisonous aura crawled up her wrists.

Jack hissed as it touched him. His wire-gloves smoked. His skin blistered where her hands met his coat.

Lewd’s eyes flew open—horror and power colliding in the same breath.

Jack grabbed her by the collar and flung her.

Lewd slammed into a chimney with a dull, sick sound and went limp.

Derpy’s world narrowed.

“Lewd!”

6) Celica’s Embers Answers

Derpy’s bracelets flared. Yellow bands split into glowing script, pages unfolding in the air like a book made of firelight and shadow.

Celica’s Embers breathed.

Black gauntlets formed over Derpy’s fists—close-quarter, heavy, edged with cold that steamed in the fog.

His voice came out low. “Mia. Sphinx.”

Mia’s chibi form snapped—bones stretching, muscle swelling. Three heads erupted with a roar that shook the roofline.

Sphinx expanded into a behemoth, eyes glowing like lanterns in the fog.

Jack’s gaze sharpened.

Finally.

A real threat.

He spread his arms like a performer greeting an audience. “Theatrical Bloodlust.”

Strings—thin as hair, bright as moonlight—snapped into existence around them, forming a wide circle on the rooftop like a stage.

The strings tightened.

Derpy felt them tug at his sleeves. At his wrists. At his breath.

Jack moved. Razor-wires lashed.

Mia lunged; a wire wrapped one head’s muzzle, yanking it sideways. Another snapped toward Derpy’s eyes; he raised a gauntlet and felt the blade scrape sparks.

Sphinx slammed forward—only for strings to catch its limbs, halting it mid-charge like an invisible net.

Derpy forced himself through the pull, gauntlets punching, ice flaring with each strike.

Jack danced between blows, razors kissing Derpy’s arms, his ribs—thin lines that burned.

Poison seeped.

Derpy’s vision blurred at the edges. His knees wobbled.

Jack leaned in, voice almost kind. “There you go. Sleep.”

The rooftop tilted.

Fog swallowed his sight.

Derpy blacked out.

7) Purple Paws (Horror, Implied)

Lewd’s eyes snapped open.

She saw Derpy collapse. She saw Jack toss him aside like he was nothing.

Something inside her broke open.

Not fear.

Rage.

Her soft white paws turned purple. Poison oozed from her fingers like living ink. Her tail darkened, purple bleeding up the length of it. The air around her reeked—sharp, chemical, violent.

Jack snapped his wires toward her.

Lewd stepped forward.

Everything she touched hissed.

Wire hit her aura and dissolved. Roof tile beneath her palm softened and ran like wax.

Jack’s smile vanished.

For the first time, he looked annoyed.

He retreated—not from fear.

From timing.

Down below, King’s staff scraped as he pushed himself upright, still breathing hard.

Jack’s voice drifted down through the broken stairwell. “We’re leaving. Now.”

King’s emerald eyes narrowed.

Then he nodded once.

Minimal.

And the two of them vanished into Whisperfen’s fog.

Lewd didn’t stop when they left.

The poison didn’t stop.

She stumbled off the roof and into the streets like a storm given legs. Fog parted for her. Doors slammed. People screamed. Shapes ran.

Whisperfen took the rest in blurred pieces—footsteps, pleading, the wet sound of something being ruined, and then silence where laughter used to be.

By the time Lewd found the inn again, her paws were shaking and the purple had started to fade at the edges.

8) The Antidote

Inside, the hallway was wreckage. King’s vines still clung to the walls like scars.

Vespera lay bound, breathing hard, eyes furious.

Lenora stood where Jack had left her—upright, trembling, refusing to fall. Her sword was down. Not by choice.

Lewd walked past her, purple paws dripping.

Then she stopped.

She sniffed.

She smelled poison.

Not hers.

Jack’s.

Lewd pressed her palm to Lenora’s armor where the dagger had nicked.

The purple seeped—then reversed.

Like a tide pulling back.

It wasn’t healing.

It was hunger with direction.

Blight Vein drank Jack’s toxin out of Lenora’s blood.

Lenora’s fingers twitched. Her knees steadied. Breath returned in a harsh pull.

She looked up sharply—

—and saw Derpy.

Lewd had him.

Not gently. Not kindly.

Like possession.

Derpy’s body was limp, deep cuts across his arms and side. Poison still crawled through him while Celica’s Embers worked—slowly—burning it out.

Lenora’s stomach dropped.

She stepped forward.

9) Quiet Confrontation

“Lewd,” Lenora said.

Lewd’s head snapped up. Her eyes were wild. Purple still stained her paws. Her tail lashed.

Lenora didn’t raise her sword.

She didn’t shout.

She just stood there—scarred, exhausted, and suddenly present in a way that made the air feel smaller.

“You’re hurting him,” Lenora said.

Lewd’s lips trembled. “They hurt me.”

“I know,” Lenora said.

Lewd swallowed hard. “He’s mine,” she whispered, like it was the only sentence she had left.

Lenora’s eyes hardened. “He is not.”

Lewd flinched as if struck. The poison aura surged—then wavered.

Lenora didn’t move.

“Look at him,” Lenora said, voice low. “He helped you. He paid for you. He ran for you. And you’re squeezing him like a lifeline.”

Lewd’s arms tightened unconsciously.

Derpy made a faint sound—pain.

Lewd’s eyes widened.

The purple on her paws flickered.

Her knees buckled.

She let go.

Derpy slid to the floor.

Lewd stumbled backward, shaking—then turned and ran.

Not away from Lenora.

Away from herself.

10) Break Free / Move

In the wrecked hall, Vespera’s rings flared—black flame bit into braided roots—

—and the vines snapped.

She tore free, staggering, furious, breathing hard. Her rings spun hot, ready.

Lenora scooped her sword up with fingers that finally obeyed again.

She looked down at Derpy. At the fog outside the shattered doorway.

More shadows moved in it.

Not King.

Not Jack.

Something else.

Something drawn by calamity.

“Up,” Lenora ordered, voice raw. “All of you. Now.”

Vespera’s eyes narrowed. “They’ll come back.”

Lenora’s jaw tightened. “Then we move before they do.”

Outside, Whisperfen’s fog thickened.

And somewhere within it, the stage lights waited to rise again.

3b:T23fc,

Whisperfen didn’t tell stories straight.

It rinsed them.It rewound them.It replayed them through fog until the important parts were the only parts left.

They didn’t run like heroes.

They ran like survivors.

A) Stone Road

Lenora kept Derpy hooked under one arm like a sack of stubborn weight, his red hoodie darkened in places where blood had soaked through and dried tacky. His head lolled against her shoulder with every step, breath shallow, the yellow bracelets on his wrists dim as dying coals.

Lewd stayed so close she kept bumping Lenora’s hip—half panic, half instinct, like if she drifted even a foot away the world would steal him again. Her paws were white now. Clean. Too clean—like Whisperfen had licked the blood off the memory and left only the guilt.

Vespera stalked ahead, rings orbiting tight and hot, scanning the fog with eyes that didn’t forgive shadows anymore. Mia and Sphinx padded at Lewd’s heels in their chibi forms again—small bodies, big eyes, but their little steps were tense, ready to explode back into monsters if the air so much as blinked wrong.

Behind them, Whisperfen’s lights faded into a smear of amber through winter mist.

Ahead, the path narrowed—reeds, frost, and the wet smell of fen water.

Lenora’s fingers flexed as the last of the paralysis finally finished leaving her bones. Her jaw stayed clenched anyway.

“Don’t stop,” she said, voice low. “Not until we hit stone road.”

Lewd nodded too fast. “He’s cold.”

“He’s alive,” Lenora answered. Then, softer—softer than she meant to be—“We’ll keep it that way.”

Vespera glanced back once, eyes sharp. “Someone is still watching.”

Lenora’s ears twitched. “I know.”

Lewd’s tail tightened around her own waist like a belt.

The fog shifted.

Not wind.
Not weather.

A curtain, drawn aside by a hand that didn’t belong to the world.

Somewhere behind them, the mist made a sound like a needle finding cloth.

B) Watcher in the Fog

A portal opened near Whisperfen like a wound deciding it was hungry.

The air split without thunder—just a soft, tearing sound, like cloth pulled too far. Fog spilled out first, thick with fen-damp and cold reed-scent. Then came the metallic taste of magic that had been chewed and swallowed and spat back into the world.

The fog recoiled like it recognized the spell.

Riven stepped through.

She didn’t land like a hero.

She landed like a mistake.

Porcelain skin. Stitched joints. Button-black eyes that didn’t blink often enough. Her hair was neat again—purple-blue, ribbon-tidy—like she’d dressed herself up to look harmless.

It didn’t work.

Her chest hurt.

Not from the fight.

From the absence.

The Book of Echo was gone—ripped out of her like a tooth.

But the hunger inside her didn’t go quiet.

It changed.

Phantasm purred—still inside her—shaping the pain into a promise.

Riven pressed a hand to her sternum and breathed through her teeth.

“I need allies,” she whispered.

Not prey.
Not food.

Allies.

Ones she wouldn’t kill.

Ones that could help her.

Her mind flashed to Cinder—fire, teeth, stubborn loyalty.

No.

Too bright. Too loud. Too many strings attached. Too much history.

Riven’s gaze drifted through the fog instead, searching for something easier to bend.

Something useful.

Something alone.

Movement.

A small group cutting through the winter-dampened path near Whisperfen’s edge.

Riven stilled.

A dragon girl walked first—tall, confident, the kind of presence that made the air feel smaller around her.

Beside her, a mouse girl padded close—half the dragon girl’s size, one ear black, the other lighter, posture guarded like she expected the world to grab her.

And behind them—

A bunny girl in black armor, carrying a guy like he weighed nothing.

Red hoodie.

Yellow bracelets.

Even dim, they didn’t look like jewelry.

They looked like a brand pretending it was kind.

Riven’s smile crept up slowly, like a seam being pulled tight.

They’ll do just fine.

She stepped back into the fog and began to stalk them—silent, patient, learning their rhythm.

A hunter choosing not to bite yet.

Interlude: Seraphine Adjusts the Board

King and Jack returned to the castle like two stains that refused to wash out.

The throne room was too clean for them—white stone, high windows, banners that didn’t move unless Seraphine allowed the air to remember it had wind. The place smelled like incense and control.

Seraphine didn’t rise.

She didn’t need to.

Her presence did the standing for her.

King knelt first, staff laid across the floor like an offering. Jack followed, posture wrong in a way that suggested the crack in him hadn’t been patched as neatly as his mask.

“We failed to retrieve the assets,” King said, voice careful.

Seraphine’s gaze didn’t blink. “I know.”

Jack’s voice slid in, smooth as oil. “Two calamities are awake, Your Majesty.”

That earned a shift—small, but real.

Interest.

King continued, “One is in the possession of a male named Derpy. He manifests weapons… unfamiliar. Designs not recorded in our archives.”

Seraphine’s fingers tapped once on the arm of her throne.

“And the other?” she asked.

Jack’s mouth curved. “A mouse girl. Attached to him. Obsessively. She carries Blight Vein.”

Seraphine’s eyes narrowed like a blade being drawn.

“Celica’s Embers,” she murmured, tasting the name like it was a secret she hated. “And Blight Vein.”

Two calamities awake.
Two hosts bonded.A dragon agent compromised.A party leader who could break porcelain masks.

Seraphine exhaled slowly.

Then she smiled.

Not kindly.

“Change of plans,” she said.

King stiffened.

Jack tilted his head.

Seraphine lifted her hand, and the room’s shadows leaned closer to listen.

“You two are removed from this hunt,” she said. “You’ve already shown me what you can’t do.”

Jack’s smile twitched.

King’s jaw tightened.

Seraphine’s gaze drifted toward the far doors—toward the corridor that led to the dragon wing.

“I’m sending Ace,” she said. “And Queen.”

The air went colder.

King’s eyes widened a fraction. “Your Majesty—”

Seraphine cut him off with a glance. “They’re eager. They’re loyal. And they won’t hesitate.”

Her voice softened, which made it worse.

“Bring me the books,” she said. “Bring me the hosts. Alive, if possible.”

A pause.

“Broken, if necessary.”

Derpy’s Mind: The Shadow That Smiles

Derpy didn’t wake.

Not fully.

His body stayed limp against Lenora’s shoulder as they fled Whisperfen, but somewhere behind his eyelids, the world shifted.

Darkness.

Not sleep-dark.

Mind-dark.

A place where sound came muffled, like it had to swim through tar to reach him.

Derpy stood barefoot on nothing.

The bracelets on his wrists glowed faintly, casting yellow light over the void.

“Celica?” he called, voice echoing too far.

A yawn answered him.

Then—she was there.

A girl shaped from heat and page-turns and ember-light. Hair like flame caught in a breeze. Eyes bright with that smug, ancient patience.

Celica’s Embers stretched like she’d been napping.

“You’re so dramatic,” she said.

Derpy’s throat tightened. “I need help.”

Celica blinked slowly. “Mmm. No.”

Derpy’s hands clenched. “What do you mean no? I almost—Lewd almost—Lenora got—Vespera—”

Celica waved a hand like shooing smoke. “You lived.”

“That’s not the point,” Derpy snapped, then flinched at his own tone. “I can’t protect them like this.”

Celica’s expression sharpened.

“Them,” she repeated, like the word tasted wrong.

Derpy swallowed. “I need more power.”

Celica stared at him for a long second.

Then her mouth curved—possessive, satisfied.

“Fine,” she whispered.

She leaned in and kissed him.

Celica’s kiss lit him up from the inside—heat and ink and ember-bright devotion flooding his veins.

The bracelets flared.

And deep, deep in the dark behind his thoughts… something in Derpy twitched.

Not a book.Not a voice.Not a possession.

Just him—another version—curled up like a starving animal.

It didn’t wake for pain.

It didn’t wake for fear.

It only stirred when someone he cared about got taken away.

A silent, violent giggle shook its shoulders in the dark like it was trying not to wake.

For now, it stayed buried.

But it was smiling

3c:T2829,

Fog followed them like a curse that didn’t know when to quit.

Riven moved with it.

She kept to the roofs, to the broken eaves and chimney shadows, her porcelain joints quiet, her button-black eyes never blinking long enough to be called human. Below, Lenora’s group pushed forward in a tight, ugly knot—survivors, not travelers.

They knew.

Not with certainty. Not with proof.

But Lenora’s ears kept twitching toward empty alleys. Vespera’s rings kept tightening their orbit whenever the fog thickened. Even Lewd—small, shaking Lewd—kept glancing up like she could feel eyes on her skin.

Derpy didn’t.

Derpy was the weight in Lenora’s arms, the shallow breath against her shoulder, the dim bracelets that pulsed like coals refusing to die.

That worried them more than the watcher.

1) Fenward

By the time the fen-path spat them onto a cracked stone road, the fog had thinned into a low, wet haze.

A town crouched ahead—small, half-asleep, built like it didn’t expect visitors. A few lanterns burned. A few windows glowed. The sign over the only inn swung in the wind with a tired squeak.

FENWARD, the board read in chipped paint.

Vespera’s gaze flicked over it like the name carried weight.

Lenora didn’t like it.

She didn’t like walls. She didn’t like roofs. She didn’t like places with corners.

But Derpy’s breathing hitched, and his skin had gone too pale under the grime.

“We stop,” Lenora said.

Lewd’s head snapped up. “Is he—?”

“He’s alive,” Lenora cut in. Then, quieter: “He needs rest. We all do.”

Vespera’s eyes narrowed at the rooftops. “Fenward,” she murmured. “Home ground.”

Lewd swallowed. “For who?”

Lenora’s mouth tightened. “Wolves.”

Not a full explanation—just enough to make Lewd’s tail tuck closer to her legs.

Vespera’s rings tightened their orbit. “And our shadow?”

Lenora didn’t look up. “Let it follow. If it bites, we bite back.”

Above them, Riven crouched on a roofline and listened.

Bite.

She didn’t want to bite.

Not this time.

2) Riven Learns Words

Riven watched them enter the inn.

Watched Lenora shoulder the door open.

Watched Lewd hover like a frightened ghost.

Watched Vespera scan the room like she expected a blade in every cup.

And watched Derpy.

Always Derpy.

The magic in him was… wrong.

Not wrong like poison.

Wrong like a locked room with laughter inside.

Phantasm shifted under Riven’s ribs, purring at the scent.

Take it.Eat it.

Riven pressed a hand to her stomach like she could hold the hunger down.

No.

Companions.

Not food.

She tried to practice the shape of friendly in her head.

Hi.I’m Riven.Friends?

No… too blunt.

Hi. I’m Riven.Can I… join?

Her mouth twitched. The words felt like pins in her tongue.

She tried again.

“Hi. I’m Riven.”

Then, softer—like she was copying a line she’d heard once and didn’t understand.

“Can I be… friend?”

Better.

Maybe.

3) The Roofline Meeting

The inn settled into uneasy quiet.

Lenora took the smallest room and made it feel like a war camp—Derpy laid on the bed, blankets pulled tight, Celica’s Embers dim at his wrists. Mia and Sphinx curled at the foot like tiny sentries.

Vespera didn’t sit.

Lewd didn’t stop shaking.

And outside, on the roof, the fog moved.

Lewd slipped out first.

No one noticed until the window creaked.

She climbed onto the shingles with Blight Vein hugged to her chest like a shield.

Her paws were steady.

Her eyes weren’t.

Riven was already there.

Crouched near a chimney, head tilted, watching the window where Derpy lay.

Lewd swallowed hard. “Please… leave.”

Riven blinked.

She tried to smile.

It came out wrong.

“I want… friends,” Riven said, voice careful, like she was reading from a script she didn’t trust. “No enemy.”

Lewd’s tail puffed.

Riven’s mouth stretched.

Not a grin.

A seam splitting.

Her jaw opened wider than it should—wider than bone—until the darkness inside her chest became visible.

Lewd froze.

Because it wasn’t just darkness.

It was a cavity.

A hollow space inside Riven’s body like someone had carved her out and left room for something to live there.

And nested in that hollow—upright, perfectly placed, like a heart that didn’t beat—was a book.

Not Blight Vein. Not Celica.

Phantasm.

And the space around it looked… recent. Like something else had been torn out and the body hadn’t learned how to be whole again.

Lewd went cold.

Her grip tightened on Blight Vein. “Wait here.”

Riven tilted her head again. “Okay.”

Lewd scrambled back down, heart hammering, and ran for Lenora.

4) Vespera’s Choice

Lewd burst into the room. “Lenora—there’s a girl on the roof. She has—she has a book inside her.”

Lenora’s eyes sharpened. “Stay with Derpy.”

Lewd shook her head hard. “I can’t— I saw it—”

Lenora was already moving.

She grabbed her sword, jaw set, and headed for the window.

Vespera stepped forward, rings flaring. “I’ll go.”

Lenora shook her head once. “No. You stay. Derpy’s still poisoned. If he crashes, we need you.” Her gaze flicked to the dim room, the thin walls, the sleeping town outside. “And if you flare those rings in a place this small,” she added, “everything in the fog will feel it.”

Vespera’s nostrils flared.

She hated being told to stay.

But she looked at Derpy.

And stayed.

Lenora climbed out.

Lewd hovered by the bed, trembling.

And Vespera—alone with Derpy in the dim room—made a decision she hadn’t planned to make.

She sat on the edge of the bed.

Her rings slowed.

Her palm hovered over Derpy’s forehead.

Dragon magic wasn’t just flame.

It was blood-memory.

It was oath.

It was the ability to touch a soul and not get burned—if you were strong enough.

Vespera exhaled.

Then she pushed her awareness into him.

5) The Dragon God in the Dark

Derpy’s mind wasn’t a mind.

It was a room of ash and paper.

A void lit by ember-script.

Vespera stepped into it like she’d stepped into a shrine.

And there—sitting like she owned the darkness—was a girl made of heat and ancient ink.

Hair like flame.

Eyes bright with smug patience.

Celica’s Embers.

Vespera’s breath caught.

Not because she’d never seen a calamity.

Because she recognized the weight behind the smile.

“Dragon,” Celica purred.

Vespera’s rings flared instinctively. “Where did you go? You vanished. The other dragons—”

Celica’s gaze sharpened. “They don’t get to know.”

Vespera’s jaw tightened. “Answer me.”

Celica leaned back like a queen on a throne. “I chose a host. I hid. I waited. I watched you all scramble.”

Vespera’s claws flexed. “You let him get hurt.”

Celica’s smile didn’t soften. “He lived.”

“He needed to learn what it costs to keep people,” Celica added, like it was a lesson and not a cruelty.

Vespera’s anger rose—hot, protective, humiliating.

She looked past Celica.

Past the ember-light.

And saw something else.

A door.

Not a real door.

A concept.

Chains made of shadow and laughter.

Behind it—curled like a starving animal—was another Derpy.

Not unconscious.

Not asleep.

Watching.

Smiling.

Vespera’s blood went cold.

She took a step back.

The chained Derpy lifted his head.

And the smile widened.

He pushed.

The whole void shuddered.

Vespera felt a hand—not physical, not magical—press against her chest.

A shove.

A warning.

Get out.

She stumbled.

The ember-room tilted.

Celica’s voice echoed like a laugh behind a page-turn.

“Careful, dragon,” she purred. “You’re not invited into every part of him.”

Vespera tried to steady herself.

The chained Derpy smiled again.

And the world spat her out.

6) Night Holds Its Tongue

Vespera snapped back into her body with a sharp inhale.

Her rings spun too fast.

Her hands shook.

Derpy’s eyes fluttered—half-open, unfocused.

Vespera didn’t think—didn’t choose.

Her arms moved like an oath remembering itself.

She leaned down and hugged him.

Hard.

Like if she didn’t, he’d vanish.

Derpy made a small sound, confused and weak.

Vespera pulled back just enough to see his face.

He was okay.

Not fine.

But alive.

And that made her chest ache.

Then the shiver hit her again.

That locked smile.

That other presence.

Something inside Derpy that wasn’t Celica.

Something that looked like him and didn’t feel like him.

Vespera stood.

Lewd looked up, eyes wide. “What happened?”

Vespera swallowed.

She stared at Derpy.

At the dim bracelets.

At the tiny rise and fall of his chest.

Outside, boots scraped on shingles.

Lenora and Riven.

Vespera forced her voice steady.

“Nothing,” she lied.

Lewd’s ears flattened. “That’s not—”

“Morning,” Vespera cut in, too sharp. Then softer, almost pleading: “We talk in morning.”

Lewd hesitated.

Then nodded, because she didn’t know what else to do.

Vespera sat back down beside Derpy and kept watch.

All night.

And in the dark, she couldn’t stop seeing that smile behind chains.

Somewhere out in the fog, a watcher practiced a smile, too.

3d:T2c54,

Lewd didn’t go back to sleep.

She couldn’t.

Not with that hollow image burned into her head—Riven’s mouth unhinging, the inside of her body opening like a cabinet, and Phantasm sitting there like it belonged.

So she did the only thing she knew how to do when she was scared.

She found Lenora.

1) “She’s Up There. Above Our Room.”

Lenora was already halfway dressed for violence.

Sword within reach. Armor straps half-fastened. Eyes sharp even in the dim inn light.

Lewd hovered in the doorway, hugging Blight Vein like a lifeline.

“Lenora… she’s still here,” Lewd whispered.

Lenora’s ears twitched. “Where.”

“On the roof. Right above our room. She—she has a book inside her. She said she wants friends.”

Lenora’s mouth tightened like she didn’t believe in the word friends anymore.

“Show me.”

Lewd nodded fast.

They climbed.

2) The Doll on the Roof

Riven waited where Lewd had left her.

Still. Patient.

Moonlight caught the stitches along her neck and shoulders, the way her joints didn’t line up right, the way her smile sat a little too wide—like it was sewn on and never adjusted.

Lenora stepped onto the shingles and stopped.

Her face didn’t change much.

But her voice did.

“…That’s disgusting.”

The words came out blunt. Honest. Like a reflex.

Lewd flinched.

Riven blinked.

Her smile twitched.

The air around her shifted—subtle, hungry.

Not her hunger.

Phantasm’s.

Eat, it whispered under her ribs, like a reflex trying to become a choice.

Riven’s jaw flexed like it wanted to open again.

Lenora’s hand went to her sword.

Lewd’s paws tightened around Blight Vein.

Riven swallowed like swallowing hurt.

“No… eat,” she said, each syllable placed carefully. Like she was pinning something down inside herself.

Then, quieter—almost pleading:

“Want… friends.”

Lenora stared at her. “You don’t look like you want friends.”

Riven’s eyes flicked to Lewd.

Then back.

Her shoulders rose and fell like she was practicing breathing.

“Compromise,” she said—one of the longer words, pronounced like she’d stolen it from someone else.

Lenora’s brows knit. “What.”

Riven touched the stitches at her collarbone.

And then—

Her body shifted.

Not like flesh.

Like fabric being re-cut.

Like seams being unpicked and re-stitched in real time.

Phantasm didn’t heal her.

It rearranged her.

Her stitched doll form softened, reassembled—still wrong, still unnatural, but… less.

Less corpse-doll.

More… human.

The stitches didn’t vanish.

They migrated—into places that looked intentional. Decorative. Controlled.

Her posture changed.

Her face smoothed into something closer to Lewd’s and Lenora’s proportions.

A stitched human form.

The same eyes.

The same smile.

But now she looked like someone you might pass in a crowd—if you didn’t stare too long.

Lenora exhaled through her nose.

“Better,” she said.

Then, after a beat, “Still creepy.”

Riven’s smile brightened like she’d been praised.

“Better,” she repeated, as if storing the word.

Lenora kept her stance guarded. “What do you want from us.”

Riven’s gaze flicked between them.

“Companions,” she said.

Then, correcting herself: “Allies. Friends.”

Lewd swallowed. “Why.”

Riven looked past them, toward the inn window where Derpy slept.

“Magic,” she admitted.

Lewd’s fur stood up.

Riven’s hands lifted quickly—palms out.

“No take,” she said. “Not… food.”

Lenora’s eyes narrowed. “Then talk.”

Riven nodded—small, eager.

And for the first time, she spoke more than scraps.

3) Centuries of Quiet

“I wandered,” Riven said.

Her voice didn’t carry emotion the way a normal voice did.

It carried facts.

“Long time. Centuries.”

Lenora’s ears perked despite herself.

Riven continued, staring at her own hands like she was remembering how they worked.

“Eat when hungry. Sleep when tired. Walk. Watch. Listen.”

Lewd hugged Blight Vein tighter.

Lenora didn’t interrupt.

Riven’s smile dimmed.

“I had artifact,” she said.

Lenora’s ears twitched hard. “What kind of artifact.”

Riven tilted her head, searching for the right shape of words.

“Book,” she said. “Not calamity. Not like these.”

Lewd’s breath caught.

Riven’s gaze went distant.

“Show where calamity books are,” she said. “Find them. Smell them. Point.”

Lenora froze.

Lewd went cold.

Lenora’s voice dropped. “The Book of Echo.”

Riven blinked once, slow. “Echo,” she repeated, like the name was a label she’d peeled off something stolen.

Lenora’s jaw tightened. “It was taken.”

Riven nodded. “Stolen.”

“By who,” Lenora said.

Riven’s eyes unfocused, searching memory like a drawer that didn’t want to open.

“Heavy guy,” she said slowly. “Huge weapon.”

Lewd leaned forward. “What kind of weapon.”

Riven’s hands mimed something too big to hold.

“Big,” she said. “Like… door.”

Lenora’s eyes narrowed.

Riven continued, listing them like pieces on a board.

“Elf,” she said. “On broom.”

Lewd blinked. “On a broom?”

Riven nodded once.

“And knight,” she added. “Blue armor.”

Lenora’s gaze sharpened at that.

Blue armor.

A detail that sounded like a faction.

A uniform.

A problem.

Lewd’s voice trembled. “Why would they steal it.”

Riven’s smile returned, small and unsettling.

“Because it finds books,” she said. “And books find people.”

Lenora stared at her for a long second.

Then she spoke like a leader again.

“Fine,” Lenora said. “If you want allies, you don’t stalk. You don’t threaten. You don’t open your mouth like that again near my people.”

Riven’s eyes widened.

She nodded fast.

“Okay. No stalk. No mouth.”

Lenora didn’t look convinced.

But she looked… willing to delay the kill.

Her gaze flicked toward the inn window again—toward the room where Derpy lay too still.

“I’m not trusting you,” Lenora added, voice flat. “I’m choosing not to deal with you yet. My people come first.”

Riven’s smile faltered.

Then she nodded anyway, like she understood rules more than feelings.

Lewd swallowed. “Lenora… how’s Derpy.”

Lenora’s expression tightened.

“Alive,” she said.

Then, quieter: “Vespera’s with him. You can switch out if you want. But don’t wake him unless he wakes first.”

Lewd nodded quickly.

She didn’t wait for permission.

She just moved—down the shingles, down the ladder, down the hall—because the fear in her chest didn’t care about rank.

4) The Room That Smelled Like Blood

Vespera paced.

Back and forth.

Like a caged storm.

Derpy lay on the bed, too still.

Mia and Sphinx sat at his feet—small, tense, eyes locked on his wrists.

The bracelets.

Celica’s Embers.

They weren’t glowing.

They were humming.

A slow, low vibration that made the air feel thick.

Vespera’s rings tightened their orbit.

She could feel the magic moving.

Not outward.

Inward.

Derpy’s wounds—deep cuts, torn skin—were knitting together.

Not like healing.

Like something was rewriting him.

Vespera stepped closer.

Mia’s lip curled.

Sphinx hissed.

Not at Vespera.

At Derpy.

Vespera’s throat went dry.

She leaned in.

And heard it.

A sound under the skin.

Bones shifting.

Cracking.

Reforming.

“Derpy…” Vespera whispered.

His face twitched.

Not awake.

Not asleep.

Something in-between.

The humming grew stronger.

Vespera’s instincts screamed.

She grabbed his shoulder and turned him—carefully—so she could see his back.

The sheet dragged.

And the smell hit.

Blood.

Fresh.

Too much.

The bed was already soaking through.

Vespera’s eyes widened.

Because the blood wasn’t from a new wound.

It was from new tissue splitting open—from adjustment, from something forcing its way into existence.

A ripple moved under Derpy’s shoulder blades.

Like something trying to hatch.

Vespera’s rings flared.

“Stop,” she hissed—at Celica, at Derpy, at the universe.

The ripple split.

Skin stretched.

And then—

Small wings pushed out.

Bluish.

Reddish at the edges.

Not full dragon wings.

Not yet.

But real.

And behind them—

A small tail.

A twitch.

A new shape.

Vespera’s breath hitched.

The bones cracked again.

Derpy’s body jerked.

Mia growled.

Sphinx’s fur puffed like a storm cloud.

The door creaked.

Lewd stepped in.

She saw Vespera bent over Derpy.

Saw the blood.

Saw the movement.

And her brain filled in the worst possible story.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Lewd screamed.

Vespera snapped her head up. “Lewd—relax—”

Lewd’s eyes were huge, wet, terrified.

Vespera’s voice went sharp. “It’s not me. Something’s wrong.”

Lewd took one step closer.

And then she saw it.

The wings.

The tail.

The soaked sheets.

The way Derpy’s body looked like it was being rebuilt.

Lewd’s scream turned into something smaller.

A broken sound.

Vespera’s throat tightened.

They stared.

Both of them.

At the same impossible change.

And then they screamed together.

5) The Door Explodes Open

Boots.

Fast.

Heavy.

Lenora’s voice—sharp as steel.

“DERPY?!”

The door slammed open.

Lenora burst in first.

And behind her—

Riven.

Still smiling.

Still learning.

Still hungry.

She hadn’t followed to stalk this time.

The humming in Derpy’s bracelets vibrated through the inn like a bell only artifacts could hear.

And Phantasm… heard it too.

The room smelled like blood and magic.

The humming hit them like a wave.

Lenora froze.

Riven’s eyes widened.

Lewd sobbed.

Vespera’s rings flared.

And on the bed, Derpy’s new wings twitched.

Bone cracked again—

and Lenora’s breath caught like she’d seen a ghost.

3e:T3111,

The inn downstairs smelled like old wood and cheap stew.

Like the kind of place that didn’t ask questions because questions got you stabbed.

Lenora picked a corner table anyway.

Not because it was comfortable.

Because it had only one side open.

Sphinx sat in her lap like a shadow given fur.

Lenora’s fingers moved through Sphinx’s coat like counting prayer beads—slow, steady, the same motion over and over like if she stopped, something inside her would crack.

Across from her, Lewd held Mia like if she let go, the world would tilt again.

Vespera sat upright, shoulders squared, rings orbiting lazily as if they were trying to pretend they weren’t on edge.

And Riven…

Riven sat too still.

Knees tucked in. Hands folded. Smile placed carefully on her face like a mask she didn’t know how to wear.

She watched everyone’s mouths when they spoke.

She watched their hands.

She watched their throats.

Then jerked her gaze away like she’d been caught doing something shameful.

Lenora cleared her throat.

“Names,” she said.

No softness. No warm welcome.

Just structure.

“Lenora Strayheart. Leader. These are mine.” She scratched Sphinx under the chin. “Sphinx. Mia.”

Lewd swallowed. “Lewd…” she said, then added quickly, like she was afraid the silence would bite her, “and… Blight Vein.”

The book hugged to her chest didn’t respond.

But it felt awake.

Vespera’s gaze moved, assessing. “Vespera. Eldest of the dragon sisters. Contracted to Derpy.”

Riven blinked.

She leaned forward a little, like she was trying to copy the posture.

“I’m Riven,” she said.

Then, after a pause, like she was searching for the correct next piece: “Friend.”

Lenora’s eyes narrowed.

Riven corrected herself immediately. “Ally. Maybe.”

Lewd’s ears twitched. “You… you can do that? Just… decide?”

Riven’s smile brightened at being asked a question.

“I try,” she said.

Sphinx rumbled low in Lenora’s lap.

Riven’s eyes flicked to him.

Her smile didn’t change.

But something behind it did.

Hunger.

Control.

Practice.

Lenora’s hand paused in Sphinx’s fur.

“Rule one,” Lenora said. “You don’t eat anyone at my table.”

Riven nodded fast. “Okay. No eat.”

Lenora stared at her for a beat longer.

Then she shifted the conversation where it belonged.

“Now,” she said. “Derpy.”

The name landed like a weight.

Lewd’s grip tightened on Mia.

Vespera’s rings tightened their orbit.

Riven’s head tilted, listening.

Lenora spoke first, because she always did.

“He’s changing,” she said. “And I don’t like surprises.”

Vespera’s jaw flexed. “It’s not a surprise to me either.”

Lewd’s voice came out small. “Is he going to… be okay?”

Lenora’s eyes didn’t soften.

But her hand kept petting Sphinx.

“He’s alive,” she said. “That’s what we have.”

Vespera leaned forward. “We need to take him to the Valley of Dragons.”

Lenora’s gaze snapped up. “No.”

The word hit the table like a knife.

Vespera’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t get to—”

“I do,” Lenora cut in. “Because I’m the one who keeps them breathing.”

Lewd flinched.

Riven blinked slowly, like she was learning what conflict looked like when it wasn’t claws.

Vespera’s rings flared, then settled.

She forced her voice into something calmer.

“The Valley has healers,” Vespera said. “Scholars. Elders. They know dragon blood. They know what wings mean.”

Lenora’s stare didn’t move.

“Or,” Lenora said, “it’s a side effect of his calamity book.”

Vespera’s nostrils flared.

Lenora didn’t let her breathe.

“It’s from your nation,” Lenora added. “Isn’t it.”

The air went tight.

Lewd’s ears flattened.

Vespera’s voice went low. “Celica’s Embers is not ‘from my nation.’ It is a calamity. It belongs to no one.”

Lenora’s eyes stayed hard. “It belongs to him right now.”

Lewd swallowed hard. “If… if that’s what happens when you bond with a calamity…”

Her voice shook.

“Will I turn into like that?”

The question hit the table and didn’t bounce.

Lewd looked down at Blight Vein like it was suddenly a stranger.

“I’m not sure I want my book,” she whispered.

Her hands trembled.

Then she did something that made Lenora’s spine go rigid.

Lewd set Blight Vein on the table.

Not gently.

Not violently.

Like she was putting down a sleeping animal and praying it didn’t wake up angry.

The cover pulsed.

A soft glow crawled along the edges.

Not sinister.

Not hungry.

Upset.

Like a pout.

Like it hated being separated.

Riven’s eyes widened.

She leaned closer.

Not to touch.

Just to listen.

“It’s loud,” Riven murmured.

Lewd’s throat bobbed. “It’s… upset.”

Lenora’s voice went flat. “Pick it back up.”

Lewd hesitated.

Lenora didn’t raise her voice.

She didn’t need to.

“Pick. It. Up.”

Lewd’s fingers closed around the book again.

The glow eased immediately.

Like it had gotten what it wanted.

Lewd’s eyes shimmered with tears. “That’s not normal.”

Vespera watched her, expression unreadable.

“It is for calamities,” Vespera said.

Lewd’s shoulders curled inward. “That’s worse.”

Riven tilted her head. “Books feel.”

Lenora’s gaze snapped to her. “You don’t get to be the expert here.”

Riven’s smile faltered.

Then she nodded, obedient. “Okay.”

A pause.

Then Riven added, softly, like she was confessing: “I’m trying.”

Lenora didn’t respond.

But her fingers resumed their slow motion through Sphinx’s fur.

Lewd wiped her cheek with the back of her sleeve.

“So what do we do?” she asked.

Vespera’s answer came instantly.

“Valley of Dragons.”

Lenora’s answer came just as fast.

“Not yet.”

Riven’s answer came after a beat.

“…Watch him,” she said. “Listen. Don’t leave alone.”

Lenora’s eyes narrowed. “That’s the first useful thing you’ve said.”

Riven’s smile returned—small, pleased.

And then the inn door slammed open.

Laughter spilled in.

Too loud.

Too confident.

A pack.

Five wolf girls swaggered through like they owned the floorboards.

They were all fur and teeth and easy cruelty.

The leader had silver-gray hair, a thick tail, and a grin that said she’d never apologized in her life.

She scanned the room.

Her eyes landed on Lenora’s table.

And she smiled wider.

“Well, well,” she said. “Look what the fog coughed up.”

The wolves slid into the nearest table like they were claiming territory.

The leader kicked her boots up on a chair.

“Name’s Raska,” she announced, like it was supposed to mean something. “And this is Vambasta’s inn.”

Fenward didn’t have laws.

It had packs.

Lewd stiffened.

Lenora didn’t move.

Vespera’s rings tightened.

Riven watched them with the same fascinated stillness she’d used on everyone else.

Raska’s pack introduced themselves without being asked.

A lean wolf with golden eyes and a laugh that sounded like a bark snapped her fingers. “Kiva.”

A smaller one with dark fur and a sharp, mean mouth tilted her head. “Nessa.”

And the last—youngest—hung behind them.

A little wolf girl.

Brown hair. Soft ears.

Her eyes kept flicking away like she didn’t want to be seen.

Raska hooked an arm around her shoulders and tugged her forward.

“And this,” Raska said, voice syrupy, “is Vambasta’s little sister. Vemi.”

Vemi’s ears pinned down.

She didn’t smile.

She didn’t laugh.

She just sniffed.

Once.

Twice.

Her gaze drifted past the tables.

Toward the stairs.

Toward the rooms.

Toward the smell of blood.

Vespera noticed.

Her posture sharpened.

“Little wolf,” Vespera said, voice smooth, too smooth. “Come back. I need to ask you a question.”

Vemi paused.

Raska’s head snapped around.

The pack went quiet for half a second.

Then they got louder.

Kiva barked a laugh. “How dare you talk to Vambasta’s little sister like she’s some stray pup.”

Nessa leaned forward, grin sharp. “This is her inn. She can go wherever she wants.”

Raska’s eyes flicked to Lewd’s book. “And you’re sitting real comfortable for people who don’t belong here.”

Raska leaned back, stretching like a cat.

“There’s a toll,” she said. “For you to be here.”

She smiled.

Predatory.

Comedic.

Like she thought cruelty was a joke everyone should laugh at.

“Pay up,” Raska said, “or leave.”

Lewd’s throat tightened.

Mia’s ears pricked.

Sphinx’s rumble deepened.

Lenora’s hand stilled.

Riven leaned forward slightly.

Her eyes moved over the wolves.

Measuring.

Then she spoke, voice calm and honest.

“They’re annoying,” Riven said.

The pack blinked.

Riven tilted her head. “Can I eat them?”

Silence.

Then Kiva burst out laughing like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

Raska’s grin sharpened. “Oh, I like this one.”

Lenora didn’t even look at Riven.

“No,” Lenora said.

Riven nodded. “Okay.”

Lenora turned back to the wolves.

Her voice went level.

Reasonable.

Like she was talking to drunks instead of predators.

“We’re paying for food and rooms,” Lenora said. “That’s the toll.”

Raska clicked her tongue. “That’s cute.”

Kiva leaned forward. “Cute and wrong.”

Nessa’s smile showed too many teeth. “Maybe we take it in blood instead.”

Vemi flinched.

Her ears went lower.

She sniffed again.

And started to drift toward the stairs.

Vespera’s rings flared.

Lenora saw it.

Understood instantly.

Not because she knew wolves.

Because she knew what it looked like when someone scented weakness.

Lenora reached into her pouch.

Pulled out gold.

Set it on the table.

Not tossed.

Placed.

A deliberate choice.

A leader buying time.

“Take it,” Lenora said. “And go.”

Raska’s eyes glittered.

She scooped the gold with a laugh.

“See?” she said to her pack. “Easy.”

Kiva stood, stretching. “Pleasure doing business.”

Nessa winked at Lewd. “Try not to cry too loud upstairs.”

Raska’s gaze lingered on Blight Vein like she could taste it. “We’ll be around.”

Raska hooked her arm around Vemi again.

“C’mon, pup,” she chirped. “Let’s let the outsiders breathe.”

Vemi didn’t look back.

But her nose twitched.

And her eyes stayed on the stairs.

The pack left in a wave of laughter and fur.

The inn noise slowly returned.

Lenora didn’t relax.

Not even a little.

Lewd’s hands shook.

She stood up abruptly, chair scraping.

“I’m going to watch over Derpy,” she said.

Lenora’s gaze softened by half a fraction.

“Go,” she said. “And lock the door.”

Lewd nodded.

She hugged Blight Vein tighter.

Mia pressed into her side.

And as she walked toward the stairs, the book’s cover warmed against her chest—possessive, comforted, alive.

Behind her, Lenora kept petting Sphinx.

Slow.

Steady.

Like a promise.

And across the table, Riven watched Lewd go with a strange, quiet focus.

Not hunger.

Not this time.

Something else.

Something that looked uncomfortably close to wanting.

3f:T25ba,

Vambasta drank like she was trying to drown a memory.

Not a sad one.

A good one.

The comfort of the hunt.

The clean simplicity of teeth and running and knowing exactly who you were in the dark.

Her den—no, her house—was too big for one wolf. Too quiet. Too soft around the edges. The kind of place you built when you ran a town and needed people to believe you were civilized.

She hated it.

She tipped her cup back again.

The liquor burned.

It didn’t fix anything.

The front door banged open.

Laughter spilled in.

Raska first, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with the leftover thrill of bullying someone who couldn’t bite back.

Kiva followed, still giggling.

Nessa brought up the rear, smiling like she’d kept a secret in her teeth.

Vambasta didn’t smile.

Her ears twitched.

Her gaze swept them.

Then sharpened.

“Where’s Vemi.”

The pack froze like they’d been caught stealing.

Raska blinked. “She was here a minute ago.”

Kiva shrugged, too casual. “Probably went to sniff around. You know how she is.”

Vambasta’s lip curled.

“Find her.”

The words weren’t loud.

They didn’t need to be.

Nessa’s smile faltered. “Boss, she—”

Vambasta set her cup down.

Hard.

The table jumped.

“Find her,” she repeated, and this time the growl underneath it made their fur lift.

The pack scattered.

Vambasta strode out into the night, the liquor in her blood turning into heat.

She didn’t like surprises.

Not in her town.

Not with her sister.

Vemi slipped through the back door of the inn like a ghost.

No laughter.

No swagger.

Just quiet steps and lowered ears.

The front room was still loud with late-night drinkers, but the kitchen smelled like soap and old grease, and that was better. That was safe.

She took off her cloak.

Hung it neatly.

Then went to the counter where the night girl was yawning over a rag.

“Go home,” Vemi said softly. “I’ve got it.”

The girl stared. “You sure? It’s late.”

Vemi nodded.

The girl didn’t argue.

People didn’t argue with Vemi.

Not because she was scary.

Because she looked like she was always one bad moment away from breaking.

Vemi waited until the door shut.

Then she started cleaning.

Wiping tables.

Sweeping.

Stacking cups.

Busy hands.

Quiet mind.

Except it wasn’t quiet.

Not really.

Because upstairs, behind a locked door, there was blood.

And magic.

And something in her chest that kept pulling her toward it like a hook.

Downstairs, Lenora moved like she’d never stopped being on watch.

Sphinx padded beside her, silent.

Riven sat at the corner table where they’d left her.

Still too still.

Still smiling at the wrong times.

Lewd was gone.

Vespera was gone.

The air felt thinner without them.

Lenora didn’t like that.

She sat across from Riven.

No greeting.

Just eyes.

“Talk,” Lenora said.

Riven blinked.

Then nodded like she’d been waiting for permission to exist.

“Okay,” she said.

Lenora’s voice stayed flat. “Why do you want friends.”

Riven’s smile twitched.

She looked down at her hands.

Her fingers flexed like she was remembering what they were for.

“I wandered,” she said. “Long time.”

Lenora didn’t blink.

“You said that.”

Riven nodded. “Centuries.”

Sphinx’s tail flicked once.

Riven’s gaze snapped to it.

Then away.

“I ate,” Riven said, voice careful. “When hungry.”

Lenora’s fingers tightened on the table edge.

“And now you’re trying something new,” Lenora said.

Riven’s smile returned, small. “Yes.”

Lenora leaned forward.

“Why.”

Riven’s eyes flicked toward the stairs.

Toward the room where Derpy lay.

“Magic,” she admitted.

Lenora’s ears twitched. “That’s not an answer.”

Riven’s head tilted.

Then, slowly, like she was assembling a sentence from stolen pieces:

“When I am alone,” she said, “I become simple.”

Lenora’s eyes narrowed.

Riven continued.

“Hungry. Sleepy. Walking.”

Her smile dimmed.

“I don’t want simple,” she said.

Lenora didn’t move.

Riven’s voice got quieter.

“I had artifact,” she said. “Show where calamity books are.”

Lenora’s gaze sharpened.

Riven swallowed.

“Stolen,” she added.

Lenora’s voice went low. “By who.”

Riven’s eyes unfocused, searching memory.

“Heavy guy,” she said. “Huge weapon. Like—door.”

Lenora’s jaw tightened.

“Elf. On broom,” Riven added.

Lenora’s stare didn’t change.

“Knight,” Riven finished. “Blue armor.”

Lenora’s fingers went still.

“And you think friends will help you get it back,” Lenora said.

Riven nodded.

“Allies,” she corrected quickly. “Friends.”

Lenora exhaled through her nose.

“Rule two,” she said. “You don’t use my people as bait.”

Riven’s smile faltered.

Then she nodded anyway.

“Okay,” she said. “No bait.”

Lenora watched her for a long moment.

Then, quietly:

“If you lie to me, I’ll cut you apart and see what’s inside.”

Riven’s eyes widened.

Her expression settled.

Not happy.

Relieved.

A rule.

A boundary.

Something she could understand.

“Okay,” she said again. “No lie.”

Vemi approached the table like she was walking into a storm.

She held a small pouch of gold in both hands.

Her ears were down.

Her eyes didn’t look at Lenora at first.

Then she forced herself to.

“I’m sorry,” Vemi said.

Lenora’s gaze flicked to the pouch.

“What’s that.”

Vemi held it out.

“The money,” she said. “They took it. They shouldn’t have.”

Lenora didn’t reach for it.

Vemi’s hands shook.

“They’re loud,” Vemi whispered. “And they think it’s funny.”

Her throat bobbed.

“It’s not funny,” she added.

Lenora studied her.

Then she took the pouch.

Not like a victory.

Like a fact.

“Thank you,” Lenora said.

Vemi’s eyes widened like she’d never heard gratitude before.

She nodded quickly.

Then her gaze flicked toward the stairs.

She sniffed.

And her face tightened.

“Is he—” she started.

Lenora’s voice cut in. “No. Don’t even think it.”

Vemi flinched.

Lenora didn’t soften.

“You don’t go upstairs,” Lenora said. “Not tonight.”

Vemi swallowed. “Okay.”

She backed away.

Quiet.

Obedient.

But her eyes stayed on the stairs like her body didn’t believe her mouth.

Upstairs, Derpy floated in a place that wasn’t a room.

It wasn’t a dream either.

It was the space behind his eyes.

The place where Celica waited.

She sat close—too close—like she belonged there.

Like she owned the air.

Her fingers traced the bracelets on his wrists with a familiarity that made his skin crawl.

“What did you do,” Derpy asked.

His voice sounded wrong in here.

Too small.

Celica’s expression softened.

“I gave you more power,” she said, like it was a gift and not a price.

Derpy’s stomach twisted.

“How.”

Celica leaned in.

Her lips brushed his ear.

“You’ll see when you wake up,” she whispered. “Just remember.”

Derpy pulled back. “Remember what.”

Celica’s eyes glittered.

“If you can think of the weapons,” she said, tapping the bracelets, “they can make them.”

Derpy blinked.

Celica’s mouth curved.

“Those two weapons I made,” she added, voice almost playful, “were from your world.”

Derpy’s throat went dry.

RWBY. Of course.

“So I can—”

“Conjure something else,” Celica finished for him. “Anything you’ve seen. Anything you can picture.”

Derpy’s mind flickered.

A thousand blades.

A thousand guns.

A thousand ways to hurt.

He turned his head.

And saw it.

Behind Celica.

Behind himself.

A shape.

His shape.

But wrong.

Grinning.

Eyes too bright.

A laugh caught in its throat like it was waiting for permission to spill.

Derpy shuddered.

“I don’t want people to see that part of me,” he whispered.

Celica’s mouth didn’t flatten.

“That part will show eventually,” she said.

Her voice softened.

Not kind.

Possessive.

“And sooner than you think,” she added. “Partner.”

The word hit like a chain.

Derpy tried to speak.

Tried to pull away.

But the world tilted.

The inn smell rushed back.

Blood.

Wood.

Smoke.

His lungs seized.

His eyes snapped open.

And the first thing he felt was the hum of the bracelets on his wrists—alive, eager—like they’d been waiting for him to wake up and give them a name.

40:T2897,

Derpy woke up like he’d been thrown back into his own body.

Air first.

Pain second.

And then—

Wrong.

His wrists hummed.

The bracelets were warm, alive, like they were purring against his pulse.

He tried to sit up.

Something tugged at his shoulders.

A tightness under his shirt.

A pressure that didn’t belong.

Derpy’s breath hitched.

He reached back—fingers shaking—and brushed something that made his stomach drop.

Not fabric.

Not bandage.

Skin.

And a ridge.

A joint.

He froze.

Celica’s voice wasn’t in the room.

But it was in him.

Sooner than you think, partner.

Derpy swallowed hard.

He didn’t look around.

He didn’t check the door.

He didn’t check who was there.

Because if he did, it would be real.

And if it was real, someone would see.

He moved on instinct.

Fast.

Panicked.

He swung his legs off the bed.

The floor creaked.

And in the chair by the wall—curled up like she’d been afraid to blink—Lewd jolted awake.

Red hair mussed.

Green eyes wide.

She’d stayed.

She’d stayed in his room.

Like leaving him alone had never been an option.

“Derpy—?” she whispered.

Derpy’s chest tightened.

He couldn’t answer.

Not with his throat full of fear.

He stumbled to the window.

The latch clicked.

Cold night air slapped his face.

And Derpy jumped.

No plan.

No warning.

Just escape.

Behind him—

A sharp gasp.

Lewd.

She lunged for the window.

A blur of red hair and shaking hands.

She got one foot onto the sill—

And the world snapped shut.

Ice crawled up the frame in a heartbeat.

Not her magic.

Not Vespera’s.

Derpy’s.

A panic reflex.

A spell cast by his body before his mind could catch up.

A sheet of frost sealed the opening like a slammed door.

Lewd hit it with her palms.

The cold bit.

She tried again.

Harder.

“Derpy! Wait! Please—!”

No answer.

Just the night.

Just his shadow disappearing.

Her chest seized.

The room tilted.

Her ears rang.

Lewd slid down the wall, claws scraping uselessly at the ice.

Her breathing turned into little broken pieces.

In.

Out.

Too fast.

Too shallow.

Her mind filled with the same ugly thought over and over.

He’s leaving.

And the fear wasn’t polite.

It wasn’t reasonable.

It was animal.

It was old.

It was the part of her that had learned—early—that people only stayed until you became inconvenient.

Lewd’s fingers curled around Blight Vein.

The book warmed instantly.

Attentive.

Possessive.

Hungry to be useful.

Lewd’s eyes went wide.

“I— I can’t—”

Her voice cracked.

“I can’t be left again.”

The book pulsed.

Like agreement.

Like permission.

Lewd stood.

Her panic didn’t stop.

It sharpened.

She pressed her forehead to the ice, eyes squeezed shut.

Then she whispered, like a prayer she hated needing:

“Help me find him.”

Blight Vein answered.

Not with words.

With a pull.

A taste in the air.

A trail.

Lewd’s pupils narrowed.

She turned.

And ran.

Downstairs, the inn’s calm died fast.

A crash.

A scream.

Boots on steps.

Lenora was moving before the sound finished.

Vespera was already at her shoulder, rings flaring, eyes sharp.

Riven followed like a shadow that had learned to walk in a straight line.

They hit the lobby together.

Lenora’s gaze snapped to the stairs.

To the frost creeping down the banister.

To the open air leaking cold from above.

“Derpy,” Lenora said.

Vespera’s jaw clenched. “He ran.”

Riven’s head tilted, listening.

Then—

The front door swung open.

Laughter.

Again.

Like a curse repeating.

Raska and her pack spilled in, cocky and loud, eyes bright with the idea of easy prey.

And behind them—

Vemi.

Not laughing.

Not smiling.

Just there, caught in the current.

Raska’s gaze flicked to Lenora’s group.

To the rings.

To the weapons.

To the urgency.

Her voice turned slick. “Well, look at that. Leaving already?”

Kiva cracked her knuckles. “Guess you didn’t like the toll.”

Nessa’s eyes slid over them like she was picking which one would bleed prettiest.

Lenora stepped forward.

“Move,” she said.

Raska barked a laugh. “Or what?”

Vespera’s rings flared, heat and darkness coiling.

Riven’s posture shifted—attention snapping sharp as a blade.

Lenora didn’t answer with words.

She answered with motion.

A step.

A shove.

A punch that landed clean.

The pack exploded into snarls.

Chairs scraped.

Tables slammed.

The inn turned into a cage full of teeth.

Vespera’s magic snapped out—rings spinning, a warning arc of heat that forced two wolves back.

Riven moved wrong—too fast, too smooth—hands catching a wrist, twisting, dislocating with a quiet little pop like she was opening a jar.

Raska howled and lunged.

Lenora met her head-on.

Steel on claw.

Fur on blood.

And somewhere in the chaos, Vemi backed away—eyes wide, hands trembling—like she wanted to stop it but didn’t know how.

Lewd ran through the streets like her lungs were on fire.

She followed the trail Blight Vein fed her.

Not a smell.

Not exactly.

More like a taste in the air.

Cold.

Dragon.

And something sharp—fear.

Derpy’s fear.

She turned a corner too hard.

Nearly slipped.

Kept going.

The town blurred.

The fog thinned.

And then the rooftops gave way to trees.

Whispering Hollows swallowed her.

Branches clawed at her hair.

Roots tried to trip her.

She didn’t stop.

Because stopping meant losing him.

And losing him meant being alone.

Again.

She burst into a clearing.

And there—

Derpy.

He stood still like he’d forgotten how to run.

Head tipped back.

Eyes on the moon.

His hoodie was gone.

Just his shirt.

And it was torn—holes ripped clean through the fabric where small wings pushed out.

A second tear lower down.

A small dragon tail, dark and new, flicking like it didn’t know what to do with itself.

Lewd’s breath caught.

Derpy didn’t turn.

He lifted his hands.

Lewd braced.

For a weapon.

A blade.

A gun.

Something loud.

Something violent.

Instead—

A violin appeared in his grip.

Wood and varnish and impossible detail.

As if the bracelets had remembered every instrument he’d ever seen.

Derpy brought it to his shoulder.

His chin settled.

And his voice came out soft.

“Dragon’s Lullaby.”

Then he played.

The first note was so clean it hurt.

The melody poured into the trees like warm light.

It wasn’t a song for battle.

It was a song for mourning.

For homes you couldn’t go back to.

For bodies that changed without asking.

For the kind of loneliness that didn’t scream.

It just sat with you.

The sound carried.

Through the forest.

Over the town.

Across the hills.

Farther than it should have.

Like the world itself wanted to listen.

In the inn, hands paused mid-swing.

Teeth stopped bared.

Even the wolves hesitated, ears twitching, eyes glassy.

Lenora’s breath caught.

Vespera’s rings slowed.

Riven turned her head, eyes widening like she’d just heard a name she’d been missing.

And in the Castle of Faedurn—

Queen Seraphine sat up like she’d been struck.

Tears slid down her face before she understood why.

Her fingers curled around the arm of her throne.

“What was that,” she whispered.

The note faded.

But the ache stayed.

Riven took one step toward the door.

Toward the music.

Toward the pull.

Vespera caught her wrist.

Firm.

Not cruel.

A reminder.

“Remember,” Vespera said, voice low. “You can’t go rushing off.”

Riven blinked.

Vespera’s grip didn’t loosen.

“Part of having companions,” Vespera continued, “is sticking together.”

Riven stared at her hand on her wrist.

Then nodded.

Slow.

Like she was learning what loyalty felt like.

“Okay,” Riven said. “Together.”

In the clearing, the last note died.

The violin vanished like it had never existed.

Derpy’s shoulders sagged.

Like the song had taken something out of him.

Lewd rushed forward.

She wrapped her arms around him from behind, clinging hard enough to hurt.

“Derpy,” she choked. “What’s going on?”

Derpy flinched.

Then—slowly—he leaned back into her.

Not much.

Just enough to say he was still here.

Around them, lights began to flicker between the trees.

Small.

Soft.

Green-gold.

Forest sprites.

They circled Derpy and Lewd like curious fireflies.

The air warmed.

The cuts on Lewd’s hands eased.

The bruising in Derpy’s ribs softened.

Even the tight panic in Lewd’s chest loosened by a fraction.

The sprites hummed.

Not words.

A resonance.

A blessing.

Derpy stared at his hands.

At the bracelets.

At the new wings that shifted under torn fabric.

And for the first time since waking, his voice came out honest.

“I don’t know,” he whispered.

But Celica’s laughter echoed in the back of his mind anyway.

Sooner than you think.

41:T1dcc,

Queen Seraphine did not like mysteries.

Mysteries implied gaps.

Gaps implied someone else had moved pieces on her board without permission.

She sat perfectly still on her throne, fan half-open in one hand, the other resting lightly against the armrest carved from blackwood and bone. The chamber around her was cathedral-wide and cold, lit by witchlights that never flickered.

The Sinister Seven had failed.

King and Joker two of her sharpest instruments had returned with excuses instead of a calamity.

And now the air itself had carried something impossible.

Music.

Not the kind played by court bards.

Not the kind used in rituals.

This had been a lullaby that reached across distance like a hand sliding under a locked door.

Seraphine for the first time in a long time had felt something brush the edge of her awareness.

She narrowed her eyes.

Show me, she commanded, not to a servant, but to the artifact embedded in the dais beneath her throne.

The calamity-scryer obeyed.

A pulse of light ran through the veins of the stone.

Then the artifact glowed.

And an image unfolded in the air like smoke being forced into shape.

Derpy.

The boy from another world.

Standing in moonlight.

Small dragon wings protruding through torn fabric.

A thin dragon tail flicking behind him like it didn’t yet know how to belong.

His hands were lifted not in battle, not in defense but as if he were playing an invisible instrument.

And there was a mouse girl half his size wrapped around him from behind.

Clinging.

Protective.

Possessive.

Seraphine’s lips parted.

Then she exhaled a single breath.

So it was the boy’s doing.

Her gaze sharpened.

The image wavered, but the sensation didn’t.

If his power could reach her throne room if a lullaby could cross wards older than kingdoms then this was not a problem she couldn't ignore.

Seraphine rose.

Her heels clicked once.

Then again.

She began pacing, fan snapping open and shut in a steady rhythm.

If he can touch this place, she murmured, then he can touch anything.

Her fan flicked.

The corner of her mouth lifted not warm, not kind but satisfied.

Maybe I don’t send hunters, she mused. Maybe I send a greeting.

Her eyes gleamed.

Let’s see how strong he is.

A soft sound slipped from her throat the kind that sounded like silk being pulled across a blade.

Then she turned, cloak whispering behind her, and left the throne room without calling for a single guard.

Because she did not need them.

The corridor to the lower chambers was warmer.

Not from comfort.

From containment.

The castle’s roots held prisoners the way a spider held prey quietly, patiently, forever.

Seraphine’s steps slowed as she approached the iron-latticed doors.

Sir Reginal stood at attention beside them, armor polished, posture rigid, eyes forward.

He did not flinch when Seraphine arrived.

He never did.

Your Majesty, he said, voice flat.

Open it, Seraphine replied.

Reginal obeyed.

The locks clicked.

The door groaned.

And inside

Hina was perched on the edge of her bed like she’d been waiting for the moment to pounce.

Her hair was immaculate.

Her expression was not.

It was too sharp.

Too bright.

A look that belonged to someone who had learned to laugh so she wouldn’t scream.

Seraphine stepped in.

I have a job for the both of you, she said.

Hina’s expression dropped instantly.

No, she said, simple as that.

The vines answered her anger.

They erupted from the stone floor with a wet crack twisting, thorned, hungry and shot toward Seraphine’s throat.

They stopped inches from her.

Frozen.

Held in place by nothing visible.

Seraphine didn’t move.

The vines simply stopped.

As if the world itself had been told no.

Seraphine looked at them like she’d been offered a boring gift.

Unimpressed.

Why now? Hina demanded, eyes flashing. Why all of a sudden you wanted me here?

Then as if the question wasn’t enough

Hina did a jester’s cartwheel across the room.

She landed in a bow, giggling, arms spread wide like she was on stage.

Never giving your own daughter a chance, she sang, voice lilting with poison. Always deciding what’s best for her. Always deciding. Always.

Her expression snapped into something colder.

I’m not your daughter, she said. You once knew. I’m your prisoner, Mother.

The word Mother hit the room like a thrown knife.

Sir Reginal’s hand tightened on his spear.

Seraphine’s face didn’t change.

But she moved.

She crossed the room in three steps.

And she hugged Hina.

It was sudden.

It was intimate.

It was wrong.

Hina went rigid, like a doll with its strings pulled too tight.

Seraphine’s voice softened into something that could have been love if it wasn’t sharpened at the edges.

If you do this job, Seraphine whispered, I will listen to whatever request you have.

Hina’s throat bobbed.

Her eyes darted.

Suspicion.

Hope.

Hate.

All fighting for space.

This job is important, Seraphine added.

Hina hesitated.

Then slowly

She nodded.

Fine, she said, voice too light. But if you lie

I won’t, Seraphine cut in.

Hina’s expression shifted again.

Not happy.

Hungry.

Seraphine stepped back, fan snapping open.

You and Sir Reginal will go, she said. You will greet the young man.

Her eyes narrowed.

Ask him to have an audience with me.

Sir Reginal inclined his head.

Hina tilted hers.

Why? Hina asked, sweet as sugar.

Seraphine’s expression thinned.

Because I don’t think my Sinister Seven can handle this calamity, she said. And I fear what it becomes if I let it grow.

The artifact’s glow still lingered behind Seraphine’s eyes.

Derpy.

Wings.

Tail.

Music.

A boy being claimed.

Seraphine closed her fan with a sharp snap.

Bring him to me, she said.

And she left them with the order hanging in the air like a curse.

Moonlight again.

Fog again.

The Whispering Hollows didn’t care about queens.

Lenora adjusted her grip on Derpy’s shoulder as they moved, eyes scanning the trees.

Derpy walked on his own now, but he kept glancing back like he expected the forest to swallow someone.

Lewd stayed glued to him, half a step behind, hands fidgeting at her dress.

Vespera led, rings quiet but ready.

Riven trailed near Lenora’s side, watching Derpy with that intense, curious stare.

Derpy’s voice finally broke the silence.

Is everyone okay? he asked.

Lenora didn’t answer immediately.

Because the honest answer was no.

But she looked at him really looked

And heard the faintest echo of that lullaby still trapped in the air.

We’re alive, Lenora said at last. That’s what matters.

Derpy nodded, swallowing hard.

His wings twitched.

His tail curled once around his ankle like it was trying to hide.

And somewhere far behind them in a castle that thought itself untouchable

A queen had just decided to reach for him

42:T1ee6,

Daylight made Fenward look like it was pretending.

The same streets that felt like a throat at night were busy now—vendors calling, doors propped open, kids weaving between legs, noise bouncing off old wood and stone. Even the inn looked different in the sun. Less like a trap. More like a place that could almost be normal.

Almost.

Derpy kept his shoulders tight as they walked.

He’d pulled his hoodie back on before they left the room. Not for warmth. For cover. The fabric sat wrong across his back, tugging where the new joints pressed under his skin.

Lewd stayed close, half-hidden behind him, tail curled like a question mark. Riven drifted near the back, staring at everything with that quiet, hungry curiosity. Vespera’s rings were still, but her posture wasn’t. Lenora led them like she expected the day to turn on them anyway.

When they pushed through the inn doors, the noise hit first.

Talking.

Clinking cups.

A fiddle somewhere.

Then the room went… strange.

Not silent.

Just… aware.

Because in the center of it all stood a giant pink wolf.

She wasn’t just tall.

She was towering—broad shoulders, thick fur the color of sunset cotton, scars hidden under fluff, and eyes sharp enough to peel lies off bone.

Vemi stood in front of her, pinned in place by nothing but presence.

Vemi looked smaller than Derpy remembered.

And she looked guilty.

The pink wolf leaned down, muzzle inches from her sister’s face.

“You left,” she snarled, voice low and rough. “You left your post. You let strangers wreck the inn, and you didn’t even stay to clean it.”

Vemi’s ears flattened.

“I didn’t—”

“You didn’t what?” the wolf snapped. “You didn’t think? You didn’t care? You didn’t realize what that invites?”

Derpy swallowed.

Mia—still in her smaller form—waddled forward like she owned the place.

She rubbed her side against the wolf’s leg.

The pink wolf’s body went rigid.

Her gaze dropped to the contact like it offended her.

“Whose mutt is this?”

Derpy stepped forward before Lenora could.

“She’s mine,” he said.

The wolf’s gaze slid to him.

She sniffed.

Once.

Twice.

Then her whole posture recoiled.

“You reek of human,” she said, voice loud enough for the room to hear. “But you also reek of dragon.”

Derpy’s face heated.

“Sorry,” he muttered, instinctively reaching for Mia.

The wolf didn’t give him the chance.

She scooped Mia up one-handed like she weighed nothing and shoved her into Derpy’s chest.

“Keep your animal off me.”

She turned like she was done with all of them.

Then Riven spoke.

Soft. Casual. Terrifying.

“Are we staying here tonight?” Riven asked. “I don’t want the wolves’ people to assault us again.”

She tilted her head.

“I might eat them.”

Several patrons choked.

A chair scraped.

The pink wolf stopped mid-step.

Slowly, she turned back.

Her eyes moved from Riven… to Derpy… to Lenora… to Vespera.

Then to the inn itself—scuffed floor, patched wall, the faint smell of smoke that never fully left.

“You,” she said.

Not a question.

“You’re the ones who left my sister’s inn a mess.”

Derpy opened his mouth.

Lenora and Vespera spoke first.

“It was an accident,” Lenora said, voice firm.

“We didn’t come here to cause trouble,” Vespera added, calm but edged. “We were attacked.”

The pink wolf’s ears twitched.

A sharp breath cut through her words.

“You’re all the same,” she said. “People come into this town, wreck things up, then leave like it’s not their problem.”

Something in Derpy’s chest snapped.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just… hot.

A spark that had been waiting for a reason.

“We didn’t choose any of this!” Derpy shouted.

The room flinched.

Lewd squeaked and grabbed his sleeve.

Riven’s eyes widened like she’d just learned a new color.

The pink wolf stepped closer.

Her shadow swallowed him.

Teeth showed.

Claws slid out with a scrape.

“Watch your mouth, human,” she growled.

Derpy didn’t back up.

He should have.

But the fire in him didn’t care.

And then it happened.

A sinister aura rolled off him like a wave.

Not visible—until it was.

The air darkened.

The light felt thinner.

Every instinct in the inn screamed predator.

Patrons recoiled.

Faces drained.

Someone dropped a cup and it shattered like a gunshot.

Fear spread through the room in a heartbeat.

Everyone… except the pink wolf.

Vambasta stared at Derpy like she’d finally found something worth testing.

Vespera leaned close to Lenora, voice barely a breath.

“We need to talk.”

Lenora’s jaw tightened.

She didn’t take her eyes off Derpy.

But she nodded.

Outside, the day felt too bright.

Too normal.

Vespera kept her voice low.

“I went into his mind,” she said.

Lenora’s eyes flicked to her.

“You what?”

“I needed to know if he was still himself,” Vespera replied, controlled. “If the calamity was… rewriting him.”

Lenora’s expression hardened.

“And?”

Vespera hesitated.

“Something is changing,” she said carefully. “There are… places in him that don’t feel like him. Power that doesn’t feel like the boy.”

She didn’t mention the presence.

The weight.

The thing that watched her from behind Derpy’s thoughts like a god behind a curtain.

She swallowed it.

“We need to keep a watchful eye,” Vespera finished.

Lenora exhaled through her nose.

“Yeah,” she said. “No kidding.”

They went back inside.

And the inn had shifted.

Like it had decided it didn’t want them anymore.

Vambasta moved.

Fast.

Before anyone could stop her, she grabbed Derpy by the front of his hoodie and hauled him up like a rag doll.

Derpy’s feet left the floor.

Lewd screamed.

Lenora lunged.

Vespera’s rings flared.

But Vambasta was already moving.

She threw him.

Not across the room.

Out the door.

Derpy hit the ground outside hard enough to knock the breath out of him.

Then Vambasta stepped into the doorway and let out a howl.

It wasn’t just loud.

It was a command.

The sound rolled through the town like thunder.

Windows rattled.

Dogs barked.

Somewhere in the distance, other howls answered.

Vambasta looked down at Derpy.

All teeth.

All certainty.

“Most humans would die from that,” she said. “But you didn’t.”

Derpy pushed himself up, coughing.

His wings twitched under his hoodie.

His tail curled tight.

Vambasta lifted her chin.

“You’re going to be the pack’s hunt tonight.”

She howled again.

The town answered.

Then she pointed one claw at his chest.

“If you can outlast me and my pack for twenty minutes tonight,” she said, “I’ll forgive you.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“But if you can hunt me,” she added, voice dropping, “and best me in combat…”

A pause.

A promise.

“I’ll give you a reward.”

Derpy stared at her.

The inn behind her felt like a mouth.

The street around him felt like a ring.

And the day—bright, lively, normal—suddenly felt like it was holding its breath.

43:T349f,

The inn didn’t feel like an inn anymore.

It felt like a waiting room.

Lenora paced the same strip of floorboards until the wood started to complain. Back and forth. Back and forth. Boots scuffing. Jaw locked. Her ears stayed angled toward the door like she could hear the street through the walls.

Lewd hovered near the table, hands clenched in the fabric of her dress. Every few seconds she looked at the door, then at Lenora, then at Vespera—like one of them might suddenly say the right thing and make the fear stop.

Vespera stood still, which somehow made her worse.

Her rings didn’t glow. Her posture didn’t break. But her eyes kept drifting to the same empty space, as if she was watching something that wasn’t in the room.

Vemi wrung her hands behind the counter, glancing between them like she’d invited a storm inside and didn’t know where to put the chairs.

Outside, somewhere beyond the walls, a howl rolled through Fenward.

Lewd flinched so hard her tail snapped straight.

“Is that—” she started.

Lenora didn’t stop pacing. “Yeah.”

Lewd’s voice came out small. “He’s alone.”

“He’s not a child,” Lenora said, but it didn’t land like comfort. It landed like she was trying to convince herself.

Vespera’s gaze tightened. “He is changing.”

Lewd turned on her instantly. “Don’t say that.”

Vespera didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t soften it either. “I’m not trying to frighten you. I’m trying to keep you alive.”

Lenora stopped pacing just long enough to look at Vespera. “You said you went into his head.”

Vespera’s jaw set. “I did.”

Lewd’s ears flattened. “Why would you—”

“Because he blacked out,” Vespera cut in. “Because his body is doing things he doesn’t understand. Because calamity power doesn’t ask permission.”

Lewd’s hands shook. “He’s still Derpy.”

“I know,” Vespera said, and for the first time her control slipped—just a hair. “That’s why it was… wrong.”

The room went quiet.

Vespera stared at the table like she could still see what she’d seen.

“In his mind,” she said carefully, “there was a version of him sleeping.”

Lenora’s eyes narrowed. “Sleeping.”

“Yes.” Vespera’s voice stayed even, but the words were sharp. “Not resting. Not dreaming. Sleeping like a statue. Like something had arranged him.”

Lewd swallowed. “That’s… that’s just—”

“It wasn’t him,” Vespera said. “It looked like him. It wore him. But the posture was wrong. The stillness was wrong. Like a shadow had learned his shape and decided it fit.”

Lenora’s fingers flexed at her side, a habit she had when she wanted to grab a weapon and couldn’t.

Vespera continued, choosing each word like it might explode. “There is power in him that is not only calamity. There is something else—something old, something scaled, something that recognizes the book and recognizes him.”

Lewd’s eyes went glossy. “Stop. Please stop.”

Vespera’s gaze softened a fraction. “I’m keeping it vague because I don’t want you to spiral. But you asked if he’s alone.”

She nodded toward the door.

“He is not alone in his own skin.”

Lewd made a small sound, like she’d been punched.

Lenora started pacing again, faster now. “Great. Perfect. Love that for us.”

Vemi cleared her throat, voice timid. “Um… I know it looks bad.”

Lenora’s head snapped toward her. “Looks bad?”

Vemi flinched, then forced herself to keep going. “Vambasta… she’s not going to kill him.”

Lewd’s eyes flashed. “She threw him out the door!”

“She’s… dramatic,” Vemi said, like that explained anything.

Lenora’s mouth tightened. “That’s one word.”

Vemi took a breath. “She likes him.”

The room froze.

Lewd stared at her like she’d spoken another language. “What.”

Vespera’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”

Vemi’s ears flattened, but she kept her chin up. “Vambasta likes Derpy.”

Lewd’s voice cracked. “She’s hunting him.”

“That’s part of it,” Vemi said, then winced as if she realized how insane that sounded. “I mean—she… she tests what she respects.”

Lenora stopped pacing again. “Why would she respect him?”

Vemi glanced toward the door, then back. “Because he told her off.”

Lewd blinked. “He—”

“He yelled at her,” Vemi said, and there was something almost impressed in her tone. “Not many do that and keep their teeth.”

Lenora exhaled, the sound rough and restrained. “Yeah, well. He’s got a talent for that.”

Vemi’s shoulders loosened a little, like she’d found the thread that made sense. “All the males in her pack are afraid of her. They won’t even look her in the eyes when she’s angry. They… they fold.”

Lewd’s hands clenched tighter. “So she’s punishing him because he’s brave?”

Vemi shook her head fast. “No. She’s—she’s seeing if he’s real. If he’s strong enough to stand in front of her and not lie about what he is.”

Lenora’s mouth twitched, then stilled.

A short breath escaped her—more pressure release than humor.

But Lewd heard it.

Lewd’s eyes snapped to Lenora, wounded and furious. “How can you do that?”

Lenora’s expression hardened instantly, like she’d been slapped back into her role. “I’m not doing it at him.”

“It sounded like it.”

Lenora took a step toward her, voice low. “I’m doing it because if I don’t, I’m going to break something. And I need my hands steady when he comes back through that door.”

Lewd’s breath hitched.

Vespera watched them both, then spoke quietly. “If he comes back through that door.”

Lewd’s face went white.

Lenora’s eyes cut to Vespera like a blade. “Don’t.”

Vespera didn’t flinch. “Reality doesn’t bend because we dislike it.”

Lenora’s jaw clenched so hard it clicked.

Outside, another howl answered the first.

Then another.

Then a chorus.

Vemi’s hands trembled. “She’s giving him a head start.”

Lewd’s voice was a whisper. “How do you know?”

Vemi swallowed. “Because she always does when she wants the chase to be… fun.”

Lenora’s pacing turned into a tight circle.

Lewd stared at the door like she could will it open.

Vespera stood like a statue, but her eyes were far away again—watching that sleeping shadow.

And outside, in the bright daylight that pretended Fenward was harmless, Derpy ran.

Vambasta’s countdown didn’t sound like numbers.

It sounded like a threat.

She stood in the street with her arms crossed, pink fur bright as a warning sign, expression set like a challenge carved into flesh.

“Twenty minutes,” she said, voice carrying. “You live, you’re forgiven.”

Derpy’s lungs burned already and it hadn’t even started.

His hoodie felt too heavy. His skin felt too tight. Something under his shoulder blades twitched like it wanted out.

Vambasta leaned forward, eyes bright with focus. “Run.”

Derpy ran.

He didn’t think.

He didn’t plan.

He just moved.

His feet hit stone, then wood, then the side of a barrel as he launched himself up. He grabbed a window ledge, swung, and pulled onto a low roof like his body had done it a hundred times.

It hadn’t.

But something in him knew how.

His tail—new, wrong, his—snapped out under the hoodie like a counterweight when the shingles shifted. It corrected him before he even realized he was slipping.

Derpy’s stomach dropped.

He didn’t have time to process it.

Behind him, the first howl hit.

Not Vambasta’s.

The pack.

The sound rolled through the town like a net being thrown.

Derpy sprinted across the roofline, leaping gaps that should’ve been too wide. His wings twitched under his hoodie, desperate and useless—until they weren’t.

A jump went wrong.

His foot hit the edge, slipped.

For a heartbeat, he was falling.

Then his wings flared.

Not a full flight.

A violent, instinctive snap that caught air and shoved him sideways.

He slammed into the next roof hard, skidding, palms scraping.

Pain flashed.

He kept going.

He stayed pure survival.

No weapons.

No book tricks.

Just breath and speed and the terrifying fact that his body was adapting faster than his mind.

A shadow moved below.

Then another.

Wolves.

Not the giant pink one.

Smaller. Faster. Coordinated.

They didn’t bark.

They didn’t roar.

They hunted in silence.

They cut angles.

They forced him toward narrower streets, toward dead ends, toward places where roofs dipped low enough for claws to reach.

Derpy’s heart hammered.

He could feel them like pressure.

Like a storm behind his back.

A wolf launched up, claws scraping the wall.

Derpy kicked off a chimney, spun, and barely avoided teeth snapping where his ankle had been.

He landed wrong.

His knee screamed.

He stumbled.

The pack closed.

Derpy’s panic spiked so hard it tasted like metal.

“Okay,” he gasped, voice breaking. “Okay—okay—”

His hands lifted.

And Frostburn answered.

Ice crawled over his forearms in a breath, forming gauntlets that looked like blackened steel kissed by frost. Cold bit into his skin, sharp and clean.

Derpy swung.

A punch cracked into the air and a sheet of ice exploded across the roof, forcing two wolves to skid back, claws shrieking.

He didn’t aim to kill.

He aimed to live.

He used Frostburn like a shield and a battering ram—freezing shingles, making slick traps, throwing bursts of cold to force space.

It worked.

For a moment.

Then the pack adapted.

They didn’t rush the ice.

They waited.

They herded.

They pushed him toward the edge of town where the roofs thinned and the ground turned uneven.

Derpy’s lungs burned.

His wings ached.

His tail twitched constantly, trying to keep him upright.

Time became a blur of breath and footsteps and howls that didn’t sound like noise anymore.

They sounded like a clock.

Somewhere behind it all, Vambasta’s voice cut through.

“Ten minutes!”

Derpy’s stomach dropped.

He didn’t know if she was telling the truth.

He didn’t know if she was lying to break him.

He just ran harder.

By the time the world started to tilt, by the time his vision tunneled and his legs went numb, he heard it again.

“Twenty!”

The howl that followed wasn’t the pack.

It was Vambasta.

Derpy stumbled off a roof edge and hit the ground in a roll that tore his palms open. He came up on one knee, Frostburn steaming in the daylight.

His chest heaved.

He was alive.

For half a second, he thought it was over.

Vambasta stepped out from between two buildings like she’d been there the whole time.

Her posture read as approval—measured, assessing, satisfied in a way that didn’t soften her.

“Good,” she said, like she’d just watched a performance she wanted repeated. “You lived.”

Derpy glared at her through sweat and pain. “You’re insane.”

Vambasta’s breath left her in a short, rough sound. “Maybe.”

She stepped closer, then stopped—just out of reach.

Her eyes flicked to his wings, to the way his hoodie didn’t sit right anymore.

Then her expression sharpened.

“And now,” she said, voice dropping into something tight and hungry, “can you hunt me and make me yield?”

Derpy blinked. “What?”

Vambasta turned.

And took off.

Not hiding.

Not vanishing.

Leaving a trail like an insult.

The ground where her paws hit tore up in deep gouges. Branches at the edge of town snapped like they were made of straw. And the scent—hot wolf-musk, iron, pine—hit Derpy’s nose so hard it made his eyes water.

It was obvious.

It was deliberate.

A test.

A flex.

Derpy’s tail twitched.

His wings flared once, uselessly.

He swallowed, then pushed himself up.

“Fine,” he rasped.

He followed.

Back at the inn, the door creaked.

No one looked.

Lenora was still pacing.

Lewd was still staring at the street like it might swallow her.

Vespera’s eyes were still far away.

Vemi was still wringing her hands.

Riven slipped out the back like a shadow deciding it had a purpose.

Her button-black eyes tracked the alley, the rooftops, the direction the howls had gone.

She didn’t hesitate.

She didn’t ask permission.

She just moved.

“Friend,” she whispered, voice small and certain.

Then, softer—like a vow.

“Friend must help.”

44:T2ed5,

Derpy didn’t have to guess where she went.

Vambasta had made sure of that.

The forest edge outside Fenward looked like it had been insulted. Gouges in the dirt. Broken saplings. A line of snapped branches that pointed the way like a finger.

And the scent.

Hot wolf-musk, iron, pine resin.

It hit the back of his throat and made his eyes water.

His body reacted before his brain could argue.

His lungs pulled deeper. His steps found the cleanest path without thinking. His tail twitched under his hoodie, correcting his balance every time the ground dipped.

That was the worst part.

It felt easy.

Derpy swallowed hard and kept moving.

Behind him, Fenward’s noise faded into nothing. No roofs. No chimneys. No straight lines.

Just roots, wet leaves, and the quiet that made every breath feel too loud.

He stepped over a fallen log and the world changed.

Not visually.

In his nerves.

Like he’d crossed a boundary he couldn’t uncross.

A sound drifted through the trees—breath and voice, carried on purpose.

Not close.

Not far.

Everywhere.

“Good,” Vambasta called, voice light with satisfaction. “You can follow. That’s step one.”

Derpy spun, Frostburn already crawling over his forearms in a cold, black sheen.

Nothing.

Only trunks and shadow.

“Stop doing that,” he snapped.

Her voice slid to his left, as if the woods had moved her for her.

“You run like prey,” she said. “But you hit like a weapon.”

Derpy’s jaw clenched. “I’m not—”

A blur.

He barely saw her. A pink streak between trees, too fast for something that big.

Instinct screamed.

Derpy raised his arms.

Claws raked across his guard with a sound like metal on stone. The impact shoved him sideways. His boots skidded in leaf-mud.

He didn’t fall.

His tail snapped out, countered the slide, pulled him back into center.

Derpy’s stomach lurched.

Vambasta’s voice purred from behind him. “Oh. That’s new.”

He whirled.

She wasn’t there.

A second feint hit from the right—low, aimed at his legs.

Derpy jumped, wings twitching under his hoodie like they wanted to tear free.

He landed hard, knees screaming.

Her voice cut closer, sharp with delight. “Protect your neck? Or protect your wings?”

Derpy’s breath came sharp. “I don’t have—”

Another strike.

This time she went high.

Derpy threw Frostburn up and felt claws scrape ice. The cold bit into his skin through the gauntlets, a clean pain.

He staggered back, eyes scanning.

Nothing.

She was making him chase shadows.

She wanted him to panic.

To summon everything.

To burn himself out.

Derpy forced his breathing down.

In.

Out.

He kept Frostburn up—steady, not flaring.

He didn’t throw shards.

He didn’t flood the woods with ice.

He listened.

Leaves.

Branches.

The smallest shift of weight.

A heartbeat later, he caught it—one soft crunch that didn’t belong to him.

He pivoted and punched.

Ice burst outward.

The shockwave cracked through the underbrush and forced a pink blur to recoil.

Vambasta finally showed herself—half a second of teeth and bright eyes—before she vanished again.

“Better,” she called. “Not stupid.”

Derpy’s teeth ground together.

He moved forward, slow now, refusing to sprint.

He wasn’t prey.

Not here.

Not like this.

Vambasta circled him without stepping into sight. Her voice slid around him like a leash.

“Tell me,” she said, almost conversational. “Do you think you’re brave?”

Derpy didn’t answer.

“Because you look brave,” she continued. “You yell at monsters. You stand in front of my teeth and you don’t lie.”

A pause.

Then her tone sharpened.

“But I wonder if it’s you.”

Derpy’s spine went cold.

Vambasta’s voice dropped, cruelly curious. “Or if you’re only brave when someone else is in your skin.”

The words hit like a fist.

Vespera’s warning flashed in his mind—sleeping shadow, wrong posture, wrong stillness.

Derpy’s breath caught.

For half a heartbeat, he felt it.

That other presence.

Not speaking.

Not moving.

Just… there.

Like a weight behind his eyes.

Derpy’s hands tightened into fists.

“No,” he said, voice rough.

A short, sharp sound left the trees—approval or mockery, impossible to tell.

“Prove it.”

She came out of the trees like a cannonball.

Derpy barely had time to raise Frostburn.

Impact.

He flew backward, slammed into a trunk, bark exploding against his shoulder.

Pain flashed white.

His wings jerked under the hoodie, desperate.

Vambasta loomed over him, teeth bared, breath hot.

“Come on,” she taunted. “Show me the real you.”

Derpy shoved off the tree and rolled.

Claws hit where his head had been.

He came up on one knee, Frostburn steaming.

He didn’t rush.

He watched.

Vambasta’s stance was relaxed, almost lazy—like she could end it whenever she wanted.

But her eyes.

Her eyes were locked on his shoulders.

On his hoodie.

On the places his body didn’t sit right anymore.

She was testing him.

Not just his strength.

His control.

Derpy’s chest heaved.

He made himself stand.

He took one step.

Then another.

Vambasta tilted her head. “You’re thinking.”

“I have to,” Derpy said.

Her voice came back flat and satisfied. “Good. Thinking hurts.”

She lunged again—fast, brutal, designed to make him react.

Derpy didn’t retreat.

He sidestepped.

And as he moved, he dragged Frostburn’s cold across the ground.

Leaf-mud stiffened.

A thin crust formed—brittle, innocent-looking.

He kept moving, laying it down in a curve.

Not a wall.

A lane.

A suggestion.

Vambasta chased, breath loud now, snapping at his heels, forcing him to choose footing over speed.

Derpy let her.

He made the other routes look worse—louder branches, thicker roots, deeper mud.

He made the lane look safe.

Vambasta’s attention sharpened.

She saw the trap.

And she chose it anyway.

Because she couldn’t stand the idea that he could steer her.

Because pride didn’t like being guided.

Her paw hit the crust.

It held.

For one step.

Then it shattered.

The slick ice underneath caught her weight and stole it.

Vambasta’s leg slid.

Her balance broke.

Not fully.

Not enough to make her fall.

Enough.

Derpy’s heart slammed.

Now.

His wings flared under the hoodie—violent, instinctive.

Not flight.

A half-boost.

A burst of air that shoved him forward.

His tail snapped out, stabilized the dash.

He closed the distance before she could fully pivot.

Frostburn surged.

Cold sharpened.

Crystal formed.

“Diamond Flare,” Derpy breathed.

The name tasted wrong in his mouth—too clean for something this desperate.

He struck.

A dash-strike that brought him in close—then the follow-through.

Diamond-hard ice shards bloomed from his gauntlets in a brutal, controlled volley.

They slammed into Vambasta’s thigh.

Not her chest.

Not her head.

A tactical hit.

A stop.

A pride-breaker.

Blood sprayed—dark against pink fur—mixed with frost that hissed in the air.

Vambasta’s leg buckled.

She skidded, claws carving trenches into the earth.

For a heartbeat, she looked like she might fall.

She didn’t.

She caught herself.

One knee down.

One hand in the dirt.

A queen forced to kneel.

Silence swallowed the woods.

Derpy stood there shaking, Frostburn steaming, wings trembling under his hoodie like they didn’t know where to go.

His stomach churned.

He’d hurt her.

He’d actually hurt her.

Vambasta’s head lifted.

Her eyes were bright.

Then they flashed.

Anger—pure, instant, ego stung raw.

Her lips peeled back in a snarl.

The air around her felt like it tightened.

Derpy’s body screamed to brace.

To run.

To summon more.

For half a second, he saw it—how easy it would be to let that other thing inside him take the wheel.

How easy it would be to become a weapon.

Derpy swallowed the urge like poison.

He held.

He stayed himself.

Vambasta’s snarl stopped.

Not fading.

Clamped down.

Her shoulders lowered.

Her breathing slowed.

And something in her face went dead serious.

Ritual.

Respect.

She looked at the blood on her fur, then at him.

“You made me choose wrong,” she said quietly.

Derpy’s throat worked. “You chose.”

Vambasta’s gaze sharpened. “Yes.”

She pushed herself up, favoring the injured leg, but she didn’t hide the limp.

She didn’t pretend it didn’t matter.

She stood in front of him like a verdict.

“I yield,” she said.

The words landed heavy.

Not playful.

Not teasing.

A declaration.

Derpy’s breath shook out of him.

Vambasta stepped closer—slow, controlled, eyes never leaving his.

“You’re forgiven,” she said. “Not because you ran.”

Her voice dropped.

“Because you didn’t fold.”

Derpy’s hands trembled.

He didn’t know what to say.

He didn’t know what he was.

He only knew he was still standing.

High in the trees, something watched.

Riven crouched on a thick branch like she belonged there. Her porcelain skin looked almost gray in the forest shade. Her button-black eyes didn’t blink.

She didn’t move to help.

She didn’t move to hurt.

She just observed.

Her head tilted as Derpy steadied his breathing. As Vambasta spoke like a judge. As blood darkened pink fur.

Riven’s fingers curled around the bark.

A quiet sound left her throat.

Not humor.

Not grief.

Something in between.

“Friend,” she whispered.

Like the word was a tether she could hold onto.

Then, softer—almost reverent.

“Friend is strong.”

Back at the inn, the waiting-room feeling had only gotten worse.

Lenora’s pacing had worn a groove into the floor.

Lewd sat on the edge of a chair like she couldn’t commit to resting. Her hands were clasped so tight her knuckles had gone pale.

Vespera stood by the window, gaze fixed on the treeline as if she could see through miles of wood.

Vemi wiped the same spot on the counter for the tenth time, eyes glassy.

No one spoke.

Then the door opened.

A gust of cold air rolled in.

Lenora snapped her head up.

Lewd lurched to her feet.

Vespera’s posture tightened.

For half a second, all of them looked for the same thing.

Not Derpy.

Riven.

The corner she’d been in.

The quiet presence.

The unsettling little shadow that had become… normal.

Empty.

Lenora’s face drained.

Lewd’s ears flattened so hard they looked pinned.

Vespera’s eyes sharpened with sudden alarm.

Vemi’s mouth opened, then closed, like she couldn’t get air.

Lenora’s voice came out low.

“How long,” she said, “has she been gone?”

45:T5213,

The woods didn’t feel like a battlefield anymore.

They felt like a place that had been forced to remember.

The gouges were still there—trenches carved by claws, ice-scars glittering where Frostburn had kissed the earth, snapped branches hanging at ugly angles like broken fingers. The air still carried that sharp mix of pine and iron and wolf.

Derpy stood in the middle of it, breathing like he’d run a mile with his lungs on fire.

Across from him, Vambasta shifted her weight and didn’t bother hiding the limp.

She wore it like a badge.

Her thigh was crusted with frost and blood where Diamond Flare had hit. The wound wasn’t fatal. It wasn’t even close.

But it was real.

And that meant everything.

Vambasta’s eyes tracked him in silence for a long beat—bright, assessing, the way a predator looks at something that surprised it.

Then she spoke.

“Prize,” she said.

Derpy blinked. “What?”

Vambasta’s mouth tightened, like she was annoyed he didn’t already know the rules. “You made me yield. You get a prize.”

She reached behind her back and pulled something free.

Not a trophy.

An artifact.

A lens-frame wrapped in dark leather, cold as river stone—its glass not quite glass, more like a slice of night caught and polished. The rim was etched with tiny runes that looked like claw-scratches until you stared long enough to see they were deliberate.

Graveglass.

Even before Derpy touched it, he felt it: the faint pressure behind his eyes, like the world was waiting to show its seams.

Vambasta held it out.

Derpy didn’t take it right away. His fingers hovered.

“You sure?” he asked.

Vambasta showed teeth. “You earned it.”

Derpy finally took the Graveglass.

It was heavier than it looked.

Warm.

Alive with meaning.

Then Vambasta’s tone shifted—still casual, but with weight under it.

“And,” she added, “pack protection.”

Derpy’s stomach dipped. “Like… what, a promise?”

Vambasta exhaled through her nose. “Like a pact.”

She stepped closer, and the air around her felt different—older.

Not magic in the flashy way calamities were magic.

More like law.

“A formal pack pact,” she said. “Two layers.”

Derpy’s brows knit. “Two?”

Vambasta lifted two fingers.

“First,” she said. “Pack law. No wolf under my name hunts you. No wolf under my name touches you without permission. If you’re in my territory, you’re not prey. If someone makes you prey, my pack makes them regret it.”

Derpy swallowed. “That’s… big.”

“It’s honest,” Vambasta said.

Her gaze didn’t leave him.

“Second,” she continued, voice dropping like she was telling him the real rule. “Territory law.”

The wind shifted.

The trees creaked.

Derpy felt it—something subtle, like pressure behind his ears, like the forest was leaning in.

“In my lands,” Vambasta said, “outsiders don’t get to ignore pack law. If anyone breaks the pact inside my borders—wolf or not—the land marks them.”

Derpy’s throat went tight. “Marks them how?”

Vambasta’s mouth pulled back, teeth bared. “Immediate.”

She tapped her own chest once.

“Instant pressure,” she said. “Like the world suddenly weighs more. Like breath doesn’t sit right. Like every shadow is watching.”

Derpy’s fingers tightened around the Graveglass.

“And delayed,” Vambasta added, like she was listing weather. “The land logs it. A debt.”

Derpy stared.

Vambasta’s eyes sharpened. “Even if they run, it follows. Scent doesn’t wash off. Tracks don’t lie. My pack will know. The forest will keep whispering their name until the debt’s paid.”

Derpy’s stomach flipped.

That wasn’t just protection.

That was a sentence.

Vambasta watched his face, then gave a short, satisfied huff.

“You don’t fold,” she said. “You don’t lie. You don’t beg. You don’t pretend you’re something you’re not.”

Derpy’s throat tightened. “I’m still figuring out what I am.”

Vambasta’s voice slowed. “Then I’ll figure it out with you.”

She reached behind her back again.

This time it was a strip of leather—thick, dark, worn smooth by years—wrapped around a heavy metal ring etched with simple marks that looked like claw-scratches… until Derpy stared long enough to realize they were names.

Not letters.

Marks.

Like a pack’s memory.

Vambasta held it out like it was the obvious next step.

“I could make you mine permanently,” she said, casual as breathing.

Derpy’s stomach dropped.

He tried to force a sound out—something to defuse it—and it came out thin and wrong. “That’s… a lot.”

Derpy took a step back, hands up.

Not defensive.

Just careful.

“I’m not ready for that,” he said.

Vambasta’s ears angled forward.

For one heartbeat, Derpy thought she might flare again.

Instead, she exhaled through her nose like she respected the boundary.

“Fine,” she said. “Not yet.”

Not no.

Not never.

Just not yet.

She didn’t put the ring away.

She simply let it hang from her fingers like a future she was patient enough to wait for.

Derpy’s skin prickled.

The moment his fingers tightened around the Graveglass, a voice slid through the back of his mind like a match striking.

Derpy.

He froze.

The voice wasn’t Lenora.

Wasn’t Vespera.

Wasn’t his own.

It was bright and possessive and smug.

Ask her to hold out her hand.

Derpy’s throat went dry.

He didn’t move his lips when he answered.

…Celica?

A sharp, pleased sound in his skull.

Celica’s Embers.

Yes.

Now do it.

Derpy looked at Vambasta.

She was watching him like she could smell the conversation.

“Hold out your hand,” Derpy said.

Vambasta blinked. “Why?”

“I—” Derpy hesitated. “Just… trust me?”

Vambasta bared her teeth again. “You’re bold for someone who just bled me.”

Still, she held out her hand.

Palm up.

Derpy’s bracelets—those innocent yellow bands—felt suddenly too tight.

Heat pulsed.

A flicker of ember-light crawled along his wrist.

Then the air above Vambasta’s palm warped.

Not with flame.

With paper.

A single page formed as if it was being written into existence—edges crisp, surface faintly glowing, ink lines appearing like veins.

Derpy stared.

Vambasta stared.

The page didn’t burn.

It didn’t crumble.

It simply existed.

Like it had always been meant to.

Celica’s voice purred in his mind.

It’s not her.

Derpy’s heart kicked. What?

But it is her, Celica continued, delighted with her own contradiction. A page. A record. A taste. A thread. You understand?

Derpy didn’t.

Not fully.

But he understood enough to feel the danger.

Vambasta’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”

Derpy swallowed. “I… think my book did something.”

Vambasta flexed her fingers, watching the page hover above her palm like a verdict.

Her expression went still.

Not fear.

Not anger.

Interest.

“Your calamity likes me,” she said.

Derpy’s mouth went dry. “It likes… collecting things.”

Celica’s voice cut in again.

Tell her to spar with you in the morning.

Derpy blinked. Why?

Information, Celica said, like it was obvious. More data. More style. More truth. Ask.

Derpy looked at Vambasta. “Spar with me in the morning.”

Vambasta’s teeth showed. “You’re not done?”

“I’m… trying to learn,” Derpy said.

Vambasta’s eyes sharpened. “Good.”

She closed her hand.

The page sank into nothing like it had never been there.

Vambasta rolled her shoulders, then nodded once.

“Morning,” she agreed. “I’ll show you how wolves fight when they’re not playing.”

Derpy’s stomach flipped.

That sounded like a threat.

It also sounded like a gift.

A sharp burst of voice came from the treeline.

Vemi ran up like she’d been holding her breath for an hour and finally remembered she was allowed to breathe.

“You did it!” she barked, and before Derpy could react she threw her arms around him.

Her hug was tight and warm and completely unearned.

Derpy made a strangled sound. “Vemi—”

“I told you she wouldn’t kill you!” Vemi said into his hoodie, voice spilling over itself.

Vambasta huffed. “Get off him.”

Vemi only hugged harder.

Derpy’s tail twitched under the fabric, betrayed by the contact.

Vemi felt it.

She froze.

Then she pulled back slowly, eyes wide.

Derpy’s face went hot.

Vemi’s mouth fell open. “Oh my gods.”

Derpy groaned. “Don’t.”

A raw, uncontrollable sound tore out of Vemi—too loud, too delighted, too much.

Footsteps crunched through the brush.

Lenora appeared first, armor scuffed, eyes sharp, expression set like she’d been holding herself together with nails.

Lewd was right behind her, small and pale and trying not to look like she’d been crying.

Vespera followed, calm in the way storms are calm.

Mia and Sphinx padded at their heels—chibi shapes that still carried the threat of something bigger.

Lenora’s gaze snapped over Derpy’s body like an inspection.

“Still alive,” she said.

Derpy huffed. “Barely.”

Lenora’s mouth shifted.

Not a smile.

Just the edge of something that almost was.

“Good work,” she said.

Derpy blinked at her like he didn’t know what to do with praise.

Lewd stepped closer, voice so quiet it almost didn’t exist.

“You did it,” she whispered.

Derpy looked at her.

Her eyes were glossy.

Her hands were clenched.

She looked like she’d been waiting to say those words since the first howl.

Derpy’s chest tightened.

Then Lewd’s gaze darted past him.

Past Vemi.

Past Vambasta.

Searching.

“Where’s Riven?” Lewd asked.

The air changed.

Lenora’s expression drained.

Vespera’s eyes sharpened.

Vemi’s noise died mid-breath.

Derpy’s stomach dropped.

He opened his mouth—then realized he didn’t know.

Later, when the sun had started to sink and Fenward pretended it was peaceful again, Derpy couldn’t sit still.

The inn felt too small.

Too full of eyes.

Too full of questions he didn’t have answers for.

So he took a stroll.

He told Lenora he was “just getting air.”

She didn’t like it.

But she didn’t stop him.

Derpy walked back toward the place the hunt had ended.

The forest edge was quieter now.

The gouges looked darker.

The ice scars had melted into damp stains.

And then he heard it.

A wet crunch.

Derpy froze.

He moved forward slowly, Frostburn not summoned but ready in his bones.

Another crunch.

Then a soft hum.

Derpy eased around a tree.

Riven was crouched in the clearing.

Her porcelain skin looked moon-pale in the dim light. Her button-black eyes were fixed on something in her hands.

Forest sprites.

Tiny, glowing things that looked like they were made of leaf-light and mischief.

Riven was munching on them.

Like they were snacks.

Derpy’s stomach turned.

“Riven,” he said carefully.

Riven’s head snapped up.

Her mouth was stained with faint green glow.

She blinked.

Then, slowly, she tilted her head.

“Friend,” she said.

Derpy swallowed. “What are you… eating?”

Riven looked down at the sprite in her hand.

She seemed confused by the question.

“Forest,” she said.

Then, after a pause, like she was trying to be polite: “Small.”

Derpy’s throat tightened. “You can’t just eat… living things.”

Riven stared at him.

Her expression didn’t change.

But something in her posture did.

Like she didn’t know where to put the guilt.

“I… hungry,” she said.

Derpy exhaled, slow.

He didn’t want to yell.

He didn’t want to scare her.

He also didn’t want her to keep doing that.

“Okay,” he said, voice low. “We’ll figure out food. Real food. Not… sprites.”

Riven blinked again.

Then she looked at him like she was trying to understand the rules.

“Why,” she asked, “you have book?”

Derpy’s stomach tightened.

Celica’s voice stirred faintly, pleased.

Careful.

Derpy kept his face neutral. “It’s a calamity. It chose me.”

Riven’s eyes sharpened. “Calamity… talk?”

Derpy hesitated.

Then he nodded. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

Riven leaned forward, fascinated. “Show.”

Derpy swallowed. “It’s not… like that. It’s in my head.”

Riven’s gaze drifted to his bracelets.

Then back to his face.

“Mine,” she said.

Derpy’s spine went cold. “What?”

Riven opened her mouth.

Wide.

Too wide.

Her jaw unhinged with a soft, wrong click.

Inside wasn’t teeth.

Inside was a void.

A dark space that didn’t reflect light.

A hollow that felt like staring into deep water at night.

And in that darkness, something moved.

A presence.

A name.

Phantasm.

Derpy’s skin prickled.

Riven held her mouth open like she was showing him a secret.

Like a child showing a toy.

Derpy forced himself not to flinch.

“What… does it do?” he asked.

Riven’s mouth closed with another soft click.

She looked at him.

Then she lifted her hand.

The air beside her rippled.

And something formed.

A chair.

Not a real chair.

A perfect idea of a chair.

Then it melted into smoke.

Then it became a wolf.

Then it became a knife.

Then it became nothing.

Derpy’s breath caught.

“Anything,” Riven said simply. “Riven think. Riven make.”

Celica’s voice snapped in Derpy’s mind.

Be cautious.

Derpy swallowed. “That’s… dangerous.”

Riven blinked. “Danger…?”

Derpy’s hands flexed. “You don’t know how you react. You don’t know what you’ll do when you’re scared. Or angry.”

Riven stared at him like those words were rocks she had to pick up one by one.

Then she tilted her head again.

“Spare?” she asked.

Derpy blinked. “What?”

Riven pointed at him.

Then at herself.

“Spare.”

Derpy realized.

“Spar,” he corrected gently. “It means… practice fighting. Not to hurt. To learn.”

Riven’s eyes widened a fraction.

“Learn,” she repeated.

Derpy nodded. “Yeah. Would you… spar with me?”

Riven stared at him for a long beat.

Then she nodded once.

“Yes,” she said.

Behind a tree line, a soft shift of fabric.

Derpy didn’t notice.

Lewd did.

Lewd stood half-hidden in the brush, arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold her ribs together.

Her eyes were fixed on Derpy.

On the way he spoke to Riven.

On the way his voice softened.

On the way he didn’t look at Lewd at all.

Something sour twisted in her chest.

Jealousy.

Hot and humiliating.

Like someone had reached into her and stolen her only safe thing.

Riven moved first.

She opened her mouth again—wide, wrong—and reached into the dark void like it was a pocket.

She pulled out a sword.

Not steel.

Something that drank the light around it.

A magic-absorbing blade.

Then, with her other hand, she drew a shield that shimmered like a mirror.

A magic-reflecting shield.

Derpy’s heart kicked.

“That’s… a lot for sparring,” he muttered.

Riven tilted her head. “Practice.”

Derpy swallowed.

He lifted his hands.

Frostburn wanted to answer.

It always did.

But his mind flashed to the other weapon.

The one he’d finally summoned.

The one he’d never really used.

Derpy’s bracelets warmed.

A ripple of ember-light.

And Crescent Eclipse formed in his hands.

The scythe-sniper hybrid felt wrong and right at the same time—too heavy, too long, too much.

Derpy swallowed. “I’ve never used this weapon yet.”

Riven’s eyes tracked the blade.

Derpy shifted his grip, awkward.

“I’m so used to Frostburn,” he admitted. “The ice gauntlets. I haven’t had much practice with this.”

Riven stepped closer, sword angled, shield ready.

“Then learn,” she said.

Footsteps approached.

Lenora’s voice cut through the trees.

“Derpy.”

Derpy’s head snapped toward the sound.

Lenora and the group emerged into the clearing—Vespera’s gaze sharp, Vemi trailing behind, Lewd hovering near Lenora like she didn’t know where to stand.

Lewd spoke fast, like she needed to justify herself. “He found her. They’re— they’re sparring.”

Lenora’s eyes flicked from Crescent Eclipse to Riven’s weapons.

Her expression tightened.

“This is a bad idea,” she said.

Derpy’s grip tightened. “It’s practice.”

Vespera’s rings glinted faintly. “Practice becomes blood quickly with calamities.”

Riven blinked at them, unbothered.

Derpy swallowed. “I’ll be careful.”

Celica’s voice murmured in his mind.

You don’t know how she reacts.

Derpy’s stomach twisted.

Riven moved.

Fast.

Her sword flicked in a clean line.

Derpy tried to block with the scythe.

His timing was off.

The long haft caught awkwardly.

The impact rattled his arms.

Lenora’s eyes narrowed.

“He’s clumsy with it,” she muttered.

Derpy’s face burned.

He adjusted.

He stepped back.

He used his tail to steady.

He used his wings for a half-glide to shift position.

Riven pressed.

Absorbing blade.

Reflecting shield.

Derpy’s Frostburn instincts kept trying to take over.

But Crescent Eclipse demanded different rules.

Distance.

Angles.

Control.

Derpy ground his teeth and held his own anyway.

Not winning.

Not losing.

Learning.

Somewhere far away—so far it might as well have been another world—two shapes cut through the sky.

Ace and Queen.

They flew lower than they wanted to.

They kept their power tight.

No wasted lightning.

No show.

Because they didn’t know what waited ahead.

Queen’s eyes narrowed at the horizon. “Do you miss her?”

Ace’s mouth tightened. “I do.”

Queen’s voice softened a fraction. “Then why not go to her?”

Ace’s gaze stayed forward. “Because if we cross paths now, it becomes conflict.”

Queen’s jaw clenched. “She chose a human.”

Ace didn’t answer.

A strange sensation brushed their senses.

A shift.

Like dragon.

But not.

Queen’s eyes sharpened. “Did you feel that?”

Ace nodded slowly. “Yes.”

Queen’s voice dropped. “Caution.”

Ace’s wings angled. “We’ll walk the last stretch if we have to.”

Queen exhaled, irritated. “Five days.”

Ace’s eyes stayed cold. “Five days alive is better than one day dead.”

They banked, conserving power, moving with care.

Back in the clearing, Riven’s sword snapped forward again.

Derpy tried to swing Crescent Eclipse like Frostburn.

It punished him for it.

The haft slipped.

The blade went wide.

Riven’s shield slammed into the weapon with a clean, brutal strike.

Crescent Eclipse flew out of Derpy’s hands.

It hit the ground with a heavy thud.

Derpy froze.

His palms stung.

His chest heaved.

Riven tilted her head.

“Again?” she asked.

Lenora’s eyes narrowed.

The night air felt suddenly colder.

46:T3746,

rescent Eclipse lay in the dirt where it had landed, heavy and accusing.

Derpy stood there with his palms stinging, chest heaving, trying to swallow down the embarrassment before it could turn into something worse.

Riven tilted her head.

“Again?” she asked.

Lenora’s stare could’ve pinned a man to a wall.

Vespera’s rings glinted faintly in the dark.

Then her voice cut through the tension, calm and precise.

“Derpy. Can I speak with you?”

Derpy blinked, still catching his breath. “Yeah… okay.”

Lenora’s eyes narrowed. “Keep it short.”

Vespera dipped her chin once, like she’d already planned to.

Derpy retrieved Crescent Eclipse, dusted it off with the sleeve of his hoodie, and followed Vespera a few steps away—far enough that the others couldn’t hear every word, close enough that Lenora could still intervene if she had to.

Riven watched them go, unbothered, like the spar had been a simple lesson.

Lewd watched too.

Her fingers twisted together at her waist.

Vespera’s Admission

Vespera stopped beneath a crooked pine and faced him.

Her posture was formal.

Controlled.

But her eyes were sharper than usual.

“I owe you honesty,” she said.

Derpy’s stomach tightened. “Okay…”

“When you were out of commission,” Vespera continued, “I… tested the edges of your mind.”

Derpy’s breath caught.

Vespera didn’t flinch from the reaction.

“Not to harm you. Not to take. I was looking for what I sensed.”

Derpy’s hands curled into fists. “You— you went in my head?”

“I did,” she said. “And I found something.”

Derpy’s jaw clenched. “The shadow.”

Vespera’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yes.”

Silence stretched.

Derpy’s ears rang with it.

His first instinct was to snap.

To shove her away.

To tell her she had no right.

But Vespera didn’t look pleased.

She didn’t look proud.

If anything, she looked careful.

Like she knew she’d crossed a line and was standing still so he could decide what to do with her.

Derpy exhaled through his nose, hard.

“That’s messed up,” he said.

“I know,” Vespera replied.

Derpy’s throat tightened. “Why didn’t you just ask?”

“I didn’t know if you could answer,” she said quietly. “And I didn’t know if I could afford to wait.”

Derpy stared at her.

Then he looked away.

His fingers flexed.

His bracelets felt too warm.

He swallowed down the anger—not because it wasn’t real, but because he didn’t want to let it drive.

“I’m mad,” he admitted.

Vespera dipped her chin. “You have the right.”

Derpy’s shoulders sagged.

Then, against his own better judgment, he let out a long breath.

“…I forgive you,” he said.

Vespera’s eyes eased a fraction.

Derpy lifted a hand before she could speak.

“Don’t do it again.”

“I won’t,” she said immediately.

The Part of Him He Hates

Derpy stared at the ground for a long moment.

Then he spoke, voice rough.

“It’s me,” he said. “But it’s not me.”

Vespera listened without interrupting.

Derpy swallowed.

“There was a time… back where I’m from… people used to pick on me. A lot.”

His voice tried to go flat, like he could make it not matter.

It didn’t work.

“At my old job,” he continued, “it was constant. Like… every day was a test to see how much I could take before I snapped.”

Vespera’s jaw set.

Derpy’s hands shook once, then steadied.

“I got bullied,” he said. “I got messed with. I got blamed for stuff I didn’t do. I got talked down to like I was stupid.”

His throat burned.

“And I tried to be nice,” he said. “I tried to just… not make waves.”

He made a short, sharp sound that held no humor.

“Didn’t matter. They still did it.”

Vespera’s voice stayed low. “And you were fired.”

Derpy nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “And after a while… you start hearing their voices even when they’re not there.”

He tapped his temple with two fingers.

“Negative thoughts,” he said. “Chaos. This… unhinged part of me that wants to burn everything down just so it stops.”

Vespera’s eyes tightened.

Derpy’s mouth pulled to one side. “I don’t want anyone to see it. I don’t want it to get out.”

He swallowed.

“But… being here,” he said, voice quieter, “it keeps it back.”

Vespera didn’t move.

Derpy looked up at her.

“Lenora,” he said. “Mia. Sphinx. Lewd. Even Riven, weird as she is.”

His chest tightened.

“All of you… you keep it at bay,” he admitted. “Just… by being here. By treating me like I’m not trash.”

Vespera’s expression went still.

Respectful.

Almost solemn.

Derpy exhaled.

“I’m done for tonight,” he said. “I’m tired.”

Vespera nodded. “Rest.”

Derpy turned away.

He didn’t look back.

Vespera Tells the Group

Vespera returned to the others alone.

Lenora’s eyes narrowed immediately. “What did you say to him?”

Vespera’s voice stayed even. “I asked questions I had no right to ask.”

Vemi blinked. “Huh?”

Lewd’s shoulders tensed.

Vespera looked at them—at the whole cluster of people who’d somehow become Derpy’s anchor.

“There is a part of him,” she said, “that he fears.”

Lenora’s jaw tightened.

Vespera continued.

“A shadow. A chaotic, negative self he does not want anyone to see. He believes it was shaped by constant cruelty in his old world.”

Lewd’s eyes went glossy.

Vespera’s gaze flicked to her.

“He said you keep it back,” Vespera added. “All of you.”

Lenora’s throat worked once.

Then she looked away like she hated feeling anything about it.

“Then we keep doing that,” Lenora said.

Vespera dipped her chin.

Derpy’s Room

That night, Derpy locked his door.

He sat in the corner of the room with his knees pulled up, hoodie sleeves covering his hands like armor.

The inn was quiet.

But his head wasn’t.

Outside the door, Mia and Sphinx pawed softly.

A whine.

A little scratch.

Derpy squeezed his eyes shut.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

Talking about the past had dragged something up.

Something that didn’t want to go back down.

Lewd and Vemi Check on Him

A soft knock.

“Derpy?”

Lewd’s voice.

Derpy didn’t answer.

Another knock, gentler.

Lewd hesitated outside the door, uncertain.

Then her footsteps retreated.

A moment later, two sets returned.

Vemi’s voice, low and coaxing. “Okay, okay. We’ll just peek. No drama.”

Lewd fumbled with the latch.

It was locked.

Vemi leaned in, listening. “He’s breathing. I can hear it.”

Lewd’s hands trembled. “What if he’s… what if something’s wrong?”

Vemi exhaled, then produced a thin pick like she’d done this before.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered. “Inn life teaches skills.”

The lock clicked.

They slipped inside.

Derpy was asleep.

Not in the bed.

Half on it, half curled like he’d collapsed mid-thought.

Lewd rushed forward, then stopped herself.

She stared.

His bracelets—those yellow bands—were changing.

Yellow.

Black.

Yellow.

Black.

Like the color couldn’t decide what it wanted to be.

A pulse rolled through the room.

Not loud.

But deep.

Derpy’s calamity book wasn’t visible… and yet it felt present, like a heartbeat under the floorboards.

Lewd’s arms went cold.

Blight Vein stirred.

Her own book lifted from her grasp like it had been tugged by an invisible string.

It floated.

Drifted.

And settled beside Derpy—close enough that the air between them felt charged.

The two calamities pulsed together.

In sync.

Not fighting.

Recognizing.

Lewd’s breath hitched.

Vemi whispered, “Uh… is that normal?”

Lewd shook her head, eyes wide.

She pulled a chair to the bedside, hands shaking, and sat down like she could physically block anything from reaching him.

Minutes passed.

The pulsing didn’t stop.

Lewd’s eyelids grew heavy.

She fought it.

Lost.

Her head tipped forward.

She fell asleep in the chair, still facing Derpy like a guard who refused to leave her post.

Vemi backed out quietly.

She shut the door.

And this time, she didn’t lock it.

Vemi Catches Vambasta

Back downstairs, the inn was dim.

The counter was quiet.

Vemi was halfway through wiping a mug when she noticed movement near the stairs.

A shadow.

A tall shape trying very hard to be subtle.

Vemi froze.

Then she showed teeth.

“Wow,” she said loudly. “Pack leader shuffling around like a lost puppy?”

Vambasta stopped mid-step.

Her ears flicked back.

Her eyes narrowed. “Go to sleep, Vemi.”

Vemi leaned on the counter. “Not until you tell me why you’re sneaking.”

Vambasta’s jaw clenched.

Vemi’s voice turned sharper. “You’re going to see him in the morning. You literally told him that.”

Vambasta stared at the stairs like they’d insulted her.

Then she exhaled, low.

“I feel… weird,” she admitted.

Vemi’s teasing eased. “Weird how?”

Vambasta’s voice dropped. “After the battle. After he made me yield.”

She flexed her hand like she could still feel the impact.

“It’s like,” she said, “he gave me purpose again.”

Vemi blinked.

Then she nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

She looked around the quiet inn.

“It’s been lively since the party came to town,” Vemi said.

A voice from the side.

Lenora.

“Lively is one word,” she said.

Vambasta turned, caught off guard.

Lenora stepped into the lantern light, arms crossed, expression tired.

Vambasta’s mouth tightened. “You always appear like a knife.”

Lenora shrugged. “Habit.”

Vemi’s eyes darted between them, hungry for the tension.

Lenora’s gaze slid toward the stairs. “He’s sleeping.”

Vambasta’s ears angled forward. “I know.”

Lenora studied her for a beat.

Then, unexpectedly, she spoke.

“I met him because he fell out of the sky,” Lenora said.

Vemi blinked. “Wait, what?”

Vambasta’s brow lifted.

Lenora’s voice stayed flat.

“Red hoodie. Two animals. Hit the ground like the world dropped him by mistake.”

Vemi made a short sound through her nose.

Lenora’s eyes eased a fraction.

“He looked ridiculous,” she said.

Then her expression hardened again, like she didn’t want to admit the next part.

“But he can run when he wants to,” Lenora added.

Vespera’s voice joined from the dim.

“And I met them because I sensed a change in the air,” she said.

Vambasta’s gaze snapped to her.

Vespera stepped into view, rings faintly glowing.

“I thought they had stolen a calamity,” Vespera said. “One that has been missing for centuries.”

Vambasta made a low sound in her throat. “You two have had quite the experience.”

Lenora exhaled. “That’s one way to say it.”

Vambasta’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “He’s quick on his feet.”

Vespera dipped her chin. “Yes.”

Lenora’s voice was flat, but not dismissive. “He adapts.”

Vemi leaned on the counter, watching the three of them like she was watching a story write itself.

Derpy’s Dream

Derpy’s sleep wasn’t peaceful.

It was heavy.

Thick.

Like sinking.

He found himself standing in a place that wasn’t a place.

A dark stretch of nothing with faint embers drifting through it like fireflies.

Two shapes waited ahead.

Two dragons.

One was Celica—pink-white electricity crawling along her outline, eyes bright with possessive amusement.

The other was green.

Not Vespera.

Smaller.

Sharper.

Her scales looked like wet emerald glass.

She watched Derpy like she was measuring him.

Celica’s voice purred. “Look who finally stopped pretending he’s fine.”

Derpy’s throat went dry. “Where am I?”

The green dragon stepped forward.

Her voice was smooth—too smooth—like a formula spoken in a lover’s tone.

“I am a calamity,” she said.

Derpy’s stomach dropped.

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing as if she were calculating him.

“I am Blight Vein,” she continued. “A ledger of rot. A balance sheet of what the body can endure.”

Her mouth shifted, just slightly.

“But you can call me Blight.”

Celica’s electricity crackled, entertained.

Blight’s gaze slid over Derpy like she was reading numbers off his skin.

“Two books,” she murmured. “Two frequencies. One heartbeat. Do you know what happens when you force a resonance long enough?”

Derpy swallowed. “I—”

Blight’s teeth showed.

“You get a solution,” she said softly. “Or you get a reaction.”

The embers in the dark drifted faster, like the dream itself had leaned in to listen.

And somewhere far away—through wood and stone and locked doors—two books pulsed together in the same rhythm as his heart.

47:T2f9a,

Derpy stood in the ember-dark again, the air thick like smoke that never rose.

Celica’s outline crackled with pink-white electricity, her expression too satisfied with itself.

Across from her, the green one watched like a scholar watching a blade test its sharpness.

Blight Vein.

Blight.

“Why the sudden shift?” Celica asked, voice sweet enough to be a threat.

Derpy swallowed. “I don’t know. It’s like… something moved in me.”

Blight stepped closer, her gaze sliding over him in quiet, clinical passes—measuring breath, pulse, posture.

Like he was a problem she wanted to solve.

“My bearer cares for you,” Blight said.

Derpy’s throat tightened. “Lewd…”

Blight’s mouth shifted, teasing but exact. “You changed her. You altered the equation. She sees you as lover, family, brother—she cannot decide which variable matters most, so she keeps all of them.”

Celica made a low, pleased sound. “She’s messy.”

Blight didn’t look away from Derpy. “She is alive. That is the difference.”

Derpy’s hands curled. “Then why are you here? Why show up in my dream?”

Blight’s eyes narrowed, like she’d been waiting to be asked.

“I appeared because I wanted to meet the boy who changed the way I think,” she said.

Celica’s voice cut in, sharp with delight. “And because you’re interesting to watch when you’re afraid.”

Derpy’s stomach dropped. “What do you two want?”

The two calamities looked at each other.

A pause.

Not hesitation—calculation.

Then they looked back at him together.

“We want peace,” Blight said.

Celica’s expression twitched, like the honesty irritated her. “Don’t look at me like that. We can want it even if the others don’t.”

Derpy frowned. “The others?”

Celica’s electricity snapped once, a warning without words.

“This world is on the brink of chaos,” Celica said. “That’s why I came back.”

Derpy’s voice went small. “Came back from where?”

Celica didn’t answer.

Blight’s gaze slid to Celica, then back to Derpy, and for the first time her teasing eased into something like caution.

“There are counterparts,” Blight said.

Derpy blinked. “Counterparts to the calamity books?”

Celica’s stare stayed hard. “Someone is making them.”

Blight’s voice was calm—poison as math.

“Countless souls are being used as a catalyst,” she said. “A conversion. A manufacturing process. A theft of identity.”

Derpy’s chest tightened. “Is that why you’re trying to gather in one place?”

Both calamities dipped their chins.

“Maybe,” Celica said lightly, like she wasn’t talking about an apocalypse. “Maybe we stop it. Maybe we don’t let the copies finish cooking.”

Derpy pulled his hoodie up, instinctively shrinking inside himself.

The emberdark around him thickened.

And then—

A presence.

Close.

Too close.

The shadow in his mind stepped forward from the smoke like it had been waiting behind his ribs.

Its face wore his shape like a dare.

“Let me take over,” it whispered.

Derpy’s breath hitched.

The shadow slid behind him and wrapped around him from the back, chin near his shoulder like a lover pretending to be gentle.

“Let me burn this world to the ground,” it murmured. “Let me make it better for you… partner.”

Derpy tried to move.

Tried to speak.

But the dreamscape began to peel away.

He started fading.

The last thing he heard—right against his ear—was a low, delighted promise.

“You can’t keep me here forever.”

A sound followed—soft, wrong, and satisfied.

Sinister.

Chaotic.

It sent a cold line straight through his spine.

Night: Derpy Wakes

Derpy jolted awake, breath shallow.

The room was still night-dark.

Lewd slept in the chair beside the bed, curled forward like she’d refused to leave even in her dreams.

Blight Vein lay near his bracelets, close enough that the air between them felt charged.

Derpy stared at Lewd for a long moment.

Guilt.

Gratitude.

Fear.

He carefully lifted Blight Vein and placed it on the bed—gentle, like setting down something that could bite.

Then he crept out, quiet as a kid sneaking out to see friends.

Mia and Sphinx padded after him without a sound.

Forest: A Safeguard

The night air outside was cold and honest.

Derpy walked until the inn lights were distant.

Until the trees swallowed the world.

He summoned Celica’s Embers.

The book didn’t appear as a book at first—just heat under his skin, the bracelets warming like they were waking up.

Celica’s voice drifted through him.

“What are you trying to conjure?”

Derpy spoke out loud, because it felt safer than keeping the words trapped in his head.

“Something to take the bad thoughts away,” he said. “A safeguard.”

Celica’s voice slid into a purr. “You must know, Derpy… safeguards always cost something.”

His tail flicked back and forth—too fast, too anxious.

The bracelets shifted.

Yellow to black.

Then—

Red.

Derpy’s breath caught.

He focused.

And a doll formed.

A doll that looked like him from head to toe.

It slumped against a tree, unmoving.

Its bracelets were black.

Not active.

Derpy stared at it, unsettled.

Then he closed his eyes and stepped inward.

Mindscape: The Chaotic Side

Smoke curled around him.

The shadow waited there, wearing his shape like a joke.

It leaned in, voice low.

“Are you looking to let me out?”

Derpy exhaled. “I know you’ll always be part of me. You won’t fade. You’ll always be there.”

The shadow’s mouth shifted.

Derpy forced himself to keep going.

“So I want to ask you,” he said. “Will you help me fix everything… when the time comes?”

The shadow’s expression changed—protective, almost tender.

But the chaos never left its eyes.

“It’s not like I have a choice,” it said. “I want everything to burn… but that’s not an option.”

Derpy swallowed. “Not for now.”

He held out his hand.

The shadow stared at it.

Then it showed teeth.

“When you do let me out,” it whispered, “I will burn the hellscape to the ground.”

Derpy’s fingers tightened.

He nodded once.

And snapped back.

Riven: The Doll Is Eaten

Derpy’s eyes flew open.

The doll against the tree was gone.

Riven crouched nearby, chewing.

Derpy froze. “Riven… what are you doing?”

Riven looked up, mouth smudged with something that wasn’t blood—just magic residue.

“Eating,” she said simply.

Derpy blinked. “Why? That was… that was a doll I made.”

Riven tilted her head. “Tons of magic. Very filling.”

Derpy stared at her.

Then, despite himself, he let out a breath that almost turned into a sound.

“Well,” he muttered, “I guess that takes care of the food issue.”

His tail flicked again—this time slower, like a cat trying to pretend it wasn’t relieved.

They started walking back toward the inn.

Riven moved beside him, quiet.

Derpy noticed it on the way—one of her stitches in the back, loosened, pulling at the seam.

He reached out instinctively.

Riven snapped around and tried to bite him like an injured dog.

Derpy jerked his hand back. “Hey—hey. Sorry. I’m not trying to hurt you.”

Riven’s eyes were wide, feral for a second.

Then she blinked, confused at her own reaction.

Derpy spoke carefully. “Would you like me to fix that tear you’ve got in the back?”

Riven’s voice went flat. “Magic fixes everything.”

Derpy hesitated. “Yeah… but you’re still walking around with it loose.”

Riven stared.

Then, slowly, she nodded.

Not trust.

Permission.

Inn: Needle and Thread

The inn was empty and quiet—everyone asleep.

Derpy guided Riven to a bench near the wall.

He focused on his bracelets.

They shifted.

And became a small needle and thread.

The thread wasn’t normal.

It was golden-yellow, like Celica’s Embers had spun sunlight into something sharp.

Derpy began to sew the loose ends, careful and slow.

Riven sat still, watching his hands like she was trying to learn what “care” looked like.

“You’ve been moving around without proper care,” Derpy murmured.

Riven dipped her head once, like she agreed but didn’t know how to say it.

As he finished, the needle vanished back into bracelet-form.

Derpy’s eyes caught something on her neck.

Tiny engraving.

Old.

Elven script.

Not a name.

A stamp.

He leaned in.

Close enough to feel the seam of her neck under his breath.

The letters were shallow, precise—cut to last longer than the thing they were carved into.

He read the first line and his stomach dropped.

ELVEN WAR OFFICE — ARCANE MUNITIONS COMMAND.

His pulse thudded once, hard.

He kept reading anyway.

DOLL-SOLDIER PROGRAM: STITCHBORNE DIVISION.

A cold pressure filled his chest.

Not fear.

Recognition.

The kind that comes from realizing someone else’s pain has a filing system.

SPECIMEN: RVN / SERIES: VII / SERIAL: 3-19-0E44.

Specimen.

Not “Riven.”

Not “she.”

A number.

A product.

Derpy’s fingers went still in his lap.

For a second he couldn’t hear the inn at all—only the echo of that word, stamped into her like a brand.

Riven turned her doll-like head, following his gaze.

Then she hugged him.

Quick.

Awkward.

A small thank you.

She let go immediately and walked to the corner, sitting down to wait like a dog told to stay.

Derpy stayed frozen a beat longer, staring at the place where the engraving had been.

Like if he looked away, it would become normal.

Witnesses: Vespera and Vemi

Footsteps.

Vespera stood on the stairs, watching.

Vemi started to come down too, but Vespera lifted a hand—stopping her.

“Quiet,” Vespera murmured.

Vemi squinted. “What are you—”

Vespera pointed.

Vemi’s expression shifted into stunned delight.

They waited until Derpy finished.

Then they approached.

Vemi spoke first, unable to help herself.

“How did you do that? You just… fixed a magical doll.”

Derpy rubbed the back of his neck. “I just thought of sewing and… produced a needle and thread.”

Vespera’s gaze stayed on Riven, guarded. “You are fortunate she did not lash out. We do not know what she is capable of.”

Derpy’s shoulders hunched. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

Vemi’s voice softened. “Hey. Was something bothering you?”

Derpy hesitated.

Vemi nodded toward the stairs. “Lewd was worried about you. She’s probably still up in your room.”

Derpy’s throat tightened. “I know.”

He looked down at his bracelets.

Then back up.

“I was going through some things,” he admitted.

Morning: The Spar Arrives

The inn door banged open.

Cold air rushed in.

And Vambasta stepped inside like an eager pup trying to pretend she was still a terrifying pack leader.

Her ears were forward.

Her eyes sharp.

Her tail betrayed her.

She cleared her throat, forcing her voice into something stern.

“Derpy,” she said.

Then, after a beat, like the words escaped on their own:

“…Spar. Now.”

48:T1aee,

Part 1 — The Rush

Morning had barely settled over Fenward when Vambasta showed up at Derpy’s side like she’d been waiting at the edge of his breath.

“Ready,” she said. “Spar. Now.”

Derpy blinked at her, still sitting at the inn’s table with the last of sleep stuck behind his eyes.

“What’s the rush?” he asked. “We’ve got all morning.”

Vambasta didn’t answer right away.

Her ears angled forward.

Her nose twitched once.

Like she could smell the wrongness on him.

She dropped down onto the bench beside him instead of dragging him outside.

Her posture was restless, but her voice lowered.

“What’s wrong?”

Derpy’s throat tightened.

He didn’t look at her.

He looked past her.

At Riven.

Riven was near the bar, watching the inn wake up and fill with noise. She stayed close to the wall like she was part of the wood.

Derpy’s fingers pressed into the table.

Then he asked the question anyway—quiet, aimed at the wolf beside him.

“Vambasta,” he said.

She angled her head.

Derpy kept his voice steady.

“What is this?”

He spoke the lines like they were a curse.

ELVEN WAR OFFICE — ARCANE MUNITIONS COMMAND.

DOLL-SOLDIER PROGRAM: STITCHBORNE DIVISION.

SPECIMEN: RVN / SERIES: VII / SERIAL: 3-19-0E44.

The inn’s noise didn’t stop.

But Vambasta did.

Her fur lifted along her arms and shoulders in a sudden ripple, like Derpy had stepped on a boundary line.

For a second her eyes went hard.

Then she forced her voice into something casual and thin.

“I don’t know much about the Elven Empire,” she said.

Derpy didn’t move.

Vambasta continued anyway, words coming out like she was trying to cover a wound.

“But their military is strong. And… someone there is a bearer of a calamity book.”

Derpy’s stomach twisted.

A tight feeling turned, like he’d taken a punch he couldn’t brace for.

Vambasta leaned closer.

“Why are you looking at her?”

Derpy swallowed.

He kept his eyes on the table.

“Nothing,” he said. “I was reading a book from the previous town. There was a… serial stamp. With that name.”

He hated how weak it sounded.

Riven

Riven’s gaze stayed on him.

She didn’t understand the lie.

But she understood the protection.

Her hand lifted.

A small wave.

A quiet, awkward gratitude for the stitches in her back.

Derpy’s chest tightened again.

Part 2 — Lenora Walks In

The inn door opened.

Lenora stepped in, already armored in presence even before she was fully awake.

Her rabbit ears angled as she took in the room.

She spotted Derpy.

Then she spotted Vambasta sitting too close.

Lenora crossed the floor and sat down with them like she owned the space.

“What were you two talking about?” she asked.

Vambasta’s eyes flicked.

Too fast.

She answered before Derpy could.

“He was asking if our sparring session could be a double pair,” Vambasta said. “He wanted to work with you. While taking me and another person from the pack.”

Lenora’s eyebrow rose.

Her ears twitched.

She didn’t comment on the lie.

But something in her attention sharpened.

Elven Empire.

Then a cover story.

She looked at Derpy.

He was terrible at hiding things.

Lenora decided not to press.

Not here.

Not with the whole inn waking up around them.

Part 3 — Everyone Wakes Up

The bar area became lively.

Townsfolk filtered in.

Wolf cubs bounced on their paws, already asking questions too loud for morning.

Lewd and Vespera approached.

Lewd’s face was soft with relief at seeing Derpy upright.

Before she could speak, Vambasta grabbed Derpy by the wrist.

“Come on,” Vambasta said.

Then she snapped her gaze to Vemi.

“You’re up today. With me. Joint spar.”

Vemi’s ears bent down.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, sis.”

“It’s fine,” Vambasta said. “They can handle it.”

And she hauled Derpy toward the door like the morning belonged to her.

Lewd’s shoulders dropped.

“It’s not fair,” she muttered, voice small and sharp.

Vemi exhaled and followed, pausing just long enough to look back at Derpy’s group.

“You’re gonna want to come watch where we’re sparring,” she said. “It’s going to get very messy.”

Lenora, Vespera, Lewd, and Riven all tilted their heads.

A five-second pause.

Then, in the same breath:

“Huh?”

Vemi’s voice stayed flat.

“It’s because Vambasta isn’t going to hold back with him anymore.”

Mia and Sphinx

Mia and Sphinx, still in the inn, perked up like they’d been called.

Their ears snapped forward.

Then they burst through the door, sprinting after their master.

Part 4 — The Clearing

The scene shifted to the clearing beyond the inn.

Packed earth.

Trampled grass.

A ring of townsfolk forming fast.

Little wolf cubs hopped in place.

“Did it start?” one shouted.

“Is it over?” another yelled.

“It’s rare to see the Fenrir sisters in action!”

Vemi stepped forward.

Her body changed.

Fur surged.

Bones lengthened.

She dropped to four legs as she grew into a giant wolf—mythic in scale, built for tearing through a battlefield.

Derpy stared.

Shock hit him clean.

“What the heck is this?” he blurted. “How is this fair? I assumed Vemi was a timid wolf girl—not a mythical beast.”

Vemi’s ears angled back.

Her tail flicked once.

Embarrassed.

Vambasta made a sharp, satisfied sound.

Vemi’s cheeks heated like she’d been praised.

Mia and Sphinx bounded in, eager to be included.

Derpy looked at them.

Then at Vambasta.

Then at Vemi.

He exhaled.

“Okay,” he said. “I choose my pets.”

Lenora and Vespera exchanged a look.

Lenora’s voice was careful.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Vespera cut in immediately.

“Derpy. I do not think that is a good idea.”

Lewd, unable to stop herself, called out:

“Go, Mia and Sphinx! You’ve got this!”

The volume of it surprised even her.

It scraped her throat.

Riven watched from a tree at the edge of the clearing.

Her hands gripped the branch.

Worried.

Not for the match.

For the friend who had fixed her seams.

“Friend,” she said under her breath.

49:T2cb2,

The clearing beyond the inn was already turning into a little arena.

Packed earth.

Trampled grass.

A ring of excited townsfolk and wolf cubs bouncing on their paws like this was a festival instead of a fight.

Derpy stood in the middle with Mia and Sphinx at his feet—both of them still in their chibi forms, both of them vibrating with that eager, loyal energy that made his chest ache.

He crouched and scratched behind Mia’s ears first, then Sphinx’s.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice low enough that only they could hear. “Don’t worry about winning in your chibi forms. This is a friendly match, okay?”

Mia’s little ears perked.

Sphinx blinked slow, like he understood more than he should.

Derpy set his face into something gentle, trying to make it steady.

Vambasta watched the moment like it offended her.

Not the affection.

The ease.

The way Derpy could give loyalty without demanding it.

Her tail flicked once.

Then she stepped forward, rolling her shoulders like she was about to crack the day in half.

“How about a wager,” Vambasta said.

Derpy straightened. “A… wager?”

His small dragon tail twitched behind him—an anxious tell he still hadn’t learned to hide.

Vambasta’s expression tightened into something sharp.

“Just to make it interesting.”

Vemi, standing off to the side, made a noise that was half sigh and half warning.

Derpy hesitated.

Every instinct he had said this was a bad idea.

But he nodded anyway.

“Sure,” he said, confused, cautious. “What kind of wager?”

Vambasta leaned in like she was sharing a secret.

“Winner gives orders for the rest of the day.”

Derpy blinked. “That’s it?”

Vambasta’s eyes dragged over him—slow, hungry, and not subtle.

“Mm,” she said.

Drool gathered at the corner of her mouth.

Vemi’s ears flattened.

“Sis,” Vemi muttered, shaking her head. “You’re thinking lewd thoughts again.”

Vambasta didn’t deny it.

Derpy didn’t even notice.

His mind was still stuck on a different word.

Stitch—

On a different stamp.

On the Elven Empire.

On SPECIMEN.

He didn’t realize the spar had started.

Part 2 — The First Hit

Vambasta moved.

No warning.

No courtesy.

Just a blur of pink fur and muscle.

Her fist slammed into Derpy’s ribs with full force.

At the same time, Vemi’s electricity cracked across the air—an arcing lash that kissed Derpy’s shoulder and detonated the moment it touched.

Pain flashed white.

Derpy’s body lifted off the ground.

He flew.

Through one tree.

Then another.

Branches exploded.

Leaves rained.

He hit the earth hard enough to make the clearing go quiet for a heartbeat.

Derpy tried to breathe.

Something in his side shifted wrong.

Cracked.

His vision swam.

Would you like to try the page?

Celica’s Embers purred in his skull like a cat curling around a wound.

The one you recently acquired from your friend.

Derpy clenched his teeth.

“No,” he rasped.

No?

“I want to try something else.”

He stared up at the sky through broken branches, and in the pain—through the noise—he remembered movement.

Not magic.

Motion.

The way a fighter could turn anger into rhythm.

The way Yang moved.

The way she refused to stay down.

Derpy exhaled.

Then he reached inward.

Not for a weapon.

For his own body.

Retract the wings, he thought.

Keep the tail.

His dragon wings began to pull back into him.

Bones shifted.

Tendons slid.

The sound was wrong—wet and sharp and too loud.

Everyone heard it.

Derpy stood.

And started walking toward Vambasta.

Mia and Sphinx whined.

Worried.

Derpy’s voice snapped out—harder than he meant.

“Go,” he ordered.

His eyes cut to Vemi.

“Keep her busy.”

Mia and Sphinx didn’t hesitate.

They sprang.

Part 3 — Pets vs. Lightning

Mia moved first.

Too fast for her size.

She opened her mouth and fired a blast that shouldn’t have fit inside a chibi body—frost and heat braided together, a violent breath that hissed and roared at the same time.

Vemi dodged, paws skidding.

Electricity snapped off her fur in angry threads.

Sphinx hit from behind.

A clean body-check.

Vemi stumbled.

Her shoulder clipped Vambasta.

Vambasta caught her sister with impossible strength—one arm, like Vemi weighed nothing.

“What was that?” Vambasta barked.

Vemi blinked, confused. “I— I don’t know—”

Mia and Sphinx landed in front of Derpy as he stepped into the clearing.

Like shields.

Lenora’s eyes narrowed.

Derpy’s wings were gone.

But the dragon tail remained—swaying behind him like a metronome.

Derpy looked at Mia and Sphinx.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Then his gaze lifted.

The air around him felt… heavier.

Like pressure before a storm.

“Thank you for the wake-up call,” Derpy said.

His voice was calm.

Too calm.

“Shall we begin?”

He opened his calamity.

The book’s presence spread.

Mia howled.

Sphinx roared—small, but real.

Frost and fire circled Mia’s paws.

Sphinx grew—just a little bigger than before.

Vambasta’s expression reset into feral hunger.

“Finally,” she shouted. “A challenge!”

Vemi’s nose twitched.

Her ears pinned.

“Sis…” Vemi said, voice tight. “I don’t think that’s Derpy. He smells… different.”

Derpy’s eyes slid to her.

“It’s me,” he said.

Serious.

“Shall we continue?”

Part 4 — Beyond Your Comprehension

Vambasta growled.

She punched her fists together.

Pink fur ignited.

Wind curled around her like a living thing.

Fire licked through it—hot, hungry, bright.

Mocked.

That’s what she felt.

Like Derpy was wearing a new skin just to needle her.

She charged.

A storm of elemental blows.

Punch.

Kick.

Elbow.

Wind snapping.

Fire cracking.

Derpy took the first few hits—then vanished.

Vambasta’s fist went through him.

Ice.

A perfect frozen decoy.

It shattered under her next strike.

Derpy was already perched in a tree above her—balanced like he’d been born on branches.

He moved again.

Tree to tree.

Fast.

Precise.

Animalistic.

Lenora’s eyes narrowed further.

It reminded her of training.

Of being chased until your lungs burned and your instincts took over.

Derpy flicked his wrist.

Frostburn gauntlets formed—ice-blue and smoking at the seams.

Vambasta closed the distance anyway.

Derpy jumped back—

—and flicked his wrist again.

“Mia.”

Mia swapped places with him.

Instant.

A blink.

Mia unleashed a full breath of fire.

Vambasta’s fury met it head-on.

Wind screamed.

Fire collided.

The clearing shook.

Riven watched from the tree line, frozen.

Derpy’s movements—more precise now, more predatory—dragged a memory up her spine like a hook.

The battle of the three.

The ones who took her artifact.

The ones who tried to make her into something useful.

That’s what they’re trying to do to him.

Riven’s hands tightened.

Then she moved.

She jumped.

Part 5 — Riven Falls In

Riven hit the ground running and shoved Derpy out of the way.

Vemi’s electricity was already mid-flight.

It struck Riven instead.

The impact snapped her body sideways.

She hit the dirt hard.

Smoke curled off her skin.

Burn marks spidered across her shoulder and collarbone—angry, blackened lines that looked too much like melted seams.

The clearing went silent.

Vambasta’s next blow—meant for Derpy—clipped Mia.

Mia rolled.

Hit the ground.

And didn’t get back up.

“Stop!” Lenora’s voice cut through the air like a whip.

Derpy’s head snapped toward Mia.

Then to Riven.

Then back to Vambasta.

Vambasta’s face tightened into a sulk, too childish for the damage she’d just done.

“Give me more,” she demanded, breath hot, eyes wild. “Show me more of those animal movements. I want to see more.”

She rushed in again.

Point blank.

A killing-range strike.

Vemi threw herself between them.

“Sis— STOP!”

Vemi’s paws dug into the earth as she blocked Vambasta’s path.

Vambasta froze.

Her ears twitched.

Her eyes cleared like someone had dumped cold water over her head.

The wind around her died.

The fire guttered.

She blinked.

And looked at Mia.

At Riven.

At the scorch marks.

At the way the whole clearing had turned against her.

Part 6 — Aftermath

Lenora moved first.

She scooped Riven up like she weighed nothing.

Riven’s body trembled.

Her burn marks smoked faintly.

Lenora’s jaw clenched.

Derpy stood in the center of the clearing, staring up at the sky like it had answers.

His breathing slowed.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Lewd shoved past everyone.

No hesitation.

She dropped beside Derpy.

“Are you okay?” she blurted.

Derpy didn’t look at her.

His voice came out rough.

“Why would she do that…” he muttered.

Frustrated.

Not just at Vambasta.

At the feeling in his bones.

At the way power kept changing him.

At the way the Elven Empire’s stamp kept echoing in his head.

He closed his eyes.

Breathed.

Forced himself back into control.

Part 7 — Road Teaser (Ace & Queen)

The road was dirt and quiet—until it wasn’t.

Ace and Queen walked side by side toward the pressure they could both feel in the air.

Magic fluctuating.

Fighting.

Not fighting.

Like a heartbeat that couldn’t decide if it wanted to live.

Ace’s pink-white electricity crawled faintly over her fingers—precise, restrained.

She glanced toward the treeline.

“Why is there magic fluctuating from that direction?” Ace asked. “Like they’re fighting… but then not fighting.”

Queen licked her lips.

“I don’t know,” she said, voice too pleased with itself.

Drool slid down her chin.

“But as long as they’re strong… and I get to eat them… I’m content.”

Ace’s eyes narrowed.

Queen’s expression tightened into something predatory.

“It’s time,” Queen murmured, voice thrilled. “I’ll head up there and do what King and Joker couldn’t.”

She launched forward.

A blur.

Ace exhaled.

Then followed.

4a:T894,

The portal didn’t open like a door.

It opened like a wound.

Light tore across the air in a jagged oval, edges flickering with the kind of magic that looked too thin to hold.

Hina stepped through first.

The world on the other side hit her with cold, wet air and the smell of moss.

She stumbled.

Her boots sank into soft earth.

Behind her, Sir Reginal followed, armor catching the last flash of portal light.

The tear in the air snapped shut.

Silence rushed in.

No palace.

No marble.

No guards.

Just forest.

And distance.

Hina turned in a slow circle.

“Near Fenward,” she muttered.

Sir Reginal’s head tilted.

“You can tell?”

Hina’s eyes narrowed.

She didn’t answer him directly.

She listened.

Not with ears.

With the part of her that felt pressure in the air when calamity magic moved.

Something was wrong nearby.

Not a single signal.

A cluster.

A knot.

Like multiple storms trying to occupy the same sky.

Sir Reginal stepped closer.

“Oracle Vash said it would put us close,” he said. “But close isn’t safe.”

Hina’s fingers flexed.

“Safe is for people who aren’t late,” she said.

They started walking.

The forest swallowed their footsteps.

After a few minutes, Sir Reginal spoke again.

“If we find Derpy,” he said, “what do you do?”

Hina’s gaze stayed forward.

“I get what I came for,” she said.

Sir Reginal’s voice went careful.

“And if he doesn’t give it?”

Hina’s jaw tightened.

“Then I take it,” she said.

A pause.

Then, softer—still sharp, still real:

“I didn’t come through a portal to ask nicely.”

Ahead, the trees thinned.

The air changed.

A distant sound carried on the wind—voices, movement, the faint suggestion of a town waking up.

Fenward.

Hina’s pace quickened.

Sir Reginal matched it.

Behind them, the place where the portal had been was already gone.

No path back.

Only forward.

4b:T1e5f,

The inn didn’t go back to normal.

It tried.

It failed.

The crowd outside had scattered after Lenora’s order—townsfolk herded away, wolf cubs dragged by scruffs, the little arena abandoned like it had never existed. But the building held onto the pressure. It clung to the rafters. It sat in the corners.

Derpy ended up in the kitchen corner because it was the only place that felt like it had rules.

Heat.

Food.

Knives that cut what they were meant to cut.

Mia sat on a low bench near the prep table, one leg stretched out, the other tucked in. A strip of cloth wrapped her ankle and lower calf—tight enough to hold, not tight enough to bite. She had a bowl of meat in her lap, and she ate like she was rebuilding herself one bite at a time.

Not delicate.

Not polite.

Stabilizing.

Sphinx sat at her feet in chibi form, broad-shouldered for his size, eyes tracking every movement in the room. Guarding. Watching. The kind of stillness that meant he’d already decided where he’d lunge if someone tried to touch her.

Derpy stood with his back to the wall, hands in front of him like he didn’t trust them.

They were still shaking.

Not from pain.

From the memory of how easy it had been to move wrong.

To move like something that hunted.

He stared at his fingers until the tremor slowed.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Lenora spoke quietly with the innkeeper near the stove—short sentences, clipped requests. Water. Clean cloth. A private room. No visitors. No wolves upstairs.

Vemi hovered near the doorway like she’d been told to stay there and didn’t know what to do with her paws if she moved.

Her ears stayed pinned.

Her eyes kept cutting toward the hall.

Toward the room where Riven had been carried.

Derpy’s throat worked.

He didn’t look away from his hands.

“Does it hurt?” he asked Mia.

Mia tore a bite free with her teeth.

Chewed.

Swallowed.

Then she gave a short bark—sharp, annoyed.

Hurts. Not broken. Keep it moving, Master. Keep eating. Keep breathing.

Derpy’s gaze flicked to her wrapped ankle.

“Okay,” he murmured. “Okay. Good.”

Mia lowered her head back to the bowl.

Rules.

Eat.

Heal.

Simple.

Derpy wanted to live in simple.

Mia’s ears angled toward him.

Not soft.

Not forgiving.

Just present.

She barked again—lower this time.

You were different out there.

Derpy’s fingers curled.

“I know.”

Sphinx made a low sound in his throat—warning or agreement, Derpy couldn’t tell.

Mia took another bite.

Her eyes stayed on Derpy’s hands.

Then she barked once, clipped.

Riven saw it too. She read it like a trap.

Derpy’s stomach tightened.

The stamp.

SPECIMEN.

The way the word had burned into his head like a brand.

Vemi’s voice came out thin.

“I wasn’t trying to take his book,” she said.

Lenora didn’t turn.

Her answer came flat.

“Intent doesn’t change what it looked like.”

Vemi flinched.

Derpy finally lifted his eyes.

Vemi’s paws were clenched.

Her shoulders were drawn in.

She looked like she wanted to shrink into the doorframe and disappear.

“I was aiming to stop my sister,” Vemi said. “She wouldn’t listen. She kept pushing. I thought if I hit close enough—if I snapped it near him—it would break her rhythm.”

Mia’s ears twitched.

She barked once, hard.

And instead you hit Riven.

Vemi swallowed.

“Yes.”

Silence settled.

The kitchen fire popped.

A pot hissed.

Derpy’s hands started to shake again.

He pressed them together hard.

Mia watched him do it.

She chewed slower.

Then barked—short, insistent.

She moved because she thought it was the same thing. The same kind of hands. The same kind of pressure. She thought you were about to become useful.

Derpy’s jaw tightened.

Useful.

A word that didn’t sound sharp until you put it in the mouth of the wrong people.

Lenora turned then.

Her eyes cut to Derpy.

“Your book,” Lenora said. “When you opened it—what did it feel like?”

Derpy stared at the table edge.

He could still feel the weight of it in the air.

The presence.

The way the world had narrowed into angles and distance and timing.

“It felt like… the rules changed,” he said. “Like I could do anything if I moved fast enough.”

Mia’s grip tightened on the bowl.

She barked once—quiet, like she didn’t want anyone else to hear it.

That’s what she saw. And she jumped.

Derpy’s throat tightened.

He didn’t say thank you.

He didn’t say sorry.

Both felt too small.

Lenora’s voice lowered.

“We keep Riven safe,” she said. “We keep Vambasta away from her. We keep you from opening that book in front of a crowd again.”

Derpy nodded.

Mia tore off another bite of meat.

Her chewing slowed.

Recovery visible.

Sore.

But present.

Alive.

Derpy watched her eat and tried to believe in rules again.

Part 2 — Upstairs: Inactive

The back room smelled like clean cloth and burned thread.

Riven lay on the bed with her eyes open.

Still.

Not asleep.

Not unconscious.

Inactive.

Lenora had set her on her side, careful with the scorched shoulder. The burn marks had stopped smoking, but the black lines remained—melted seams across collarbone and skin.

Derpy stood in the doorway.

He didn’t cross the threshold at first.

Like the room belonged to the damage.

Like he didn’t.

Lewd was already there, sitting on the floor with her back to the bedframe. Her posture said she’d been told to stay put and had decided she’d rather be told again than leave.

She looked up at Derpy.

“Say something,” Lewd said.

Derpy swallowed.

“Riven,” he said.

No reaction.

He stepped closer.

Slow.

He sat on the edge of the mattress.

The bed didn’t creak.

Riven didn’t blink.

Derpy’s fingers hovered near her hand and stopped.

He didn’t touch.

He didn’t trust his own instincts right now.

“Riven,” he tried again. “It’s me.”

Nothing.

Lewd’s voice went low.

“She did it for you,” Lewd said.

Derpy’s throat tightened.

“I know.”

The words tasted wrong.

Because knowing didn’t fix anything.

Lenora’s steps sounded in the hall.

She paused in the doorway and looked at Riven like she was memorizing every detail.

“This is a shutdown,” Lenora said. “A fail-safe. She’ll come back when her system decides it’s safe.”

Derpy’s jaw clenched.

“And if it never decides that?”

Lenora didn’t flinch.

“Then we make it safe,” she said.

Derpy stared at Riven’s burn marks.

Seams.

Thread.

He could see the shape of the stamp in his head.

ELVEN WAR OFFICE.

ARCANE MUNITIONS COMMAND.

STITCHBORNE DIVISION.

SPECIMEN.

He shut his eyes.

Breathed.

Forced his hands to stop shaking.

Downstairs, Mia’s chewing continued.

A steady sound.

A reminder that recovery could be visible.

That it could happen.

That it could be earned.

4c:T2e46,

Derpy didn’t mean to take the prize upstairs.

It ended up in his palm anyway.

The Graveglass looked like a lens-frame someone had snapped in half and rebuilt with runes. Cold metal. Fine etching. A thin, wrong weight—like it wanted to be held close to an eye.

He sat on the floor outside Riven’s door.

Mia lay beside him, head on her paws, breathing steady. Sphinx kept watch down the hall.

Derpy turned the Graveglass over once.

The runes caught the candlelight.

Not bright.

Not pretty.

Just… awake.

He didn’t know what he expected.

A warning.

A sting.

A pulse.

Instead, the lens went warm.

And the hallway fell away.

Part 1 — Disposal

Stone under his knees.

Not Fenward stone.

Cleaner.

Colder.

A corridor that smelled like bleach and old ink.

Derpy tried to move.

He couldn’t.

He wasn’t in his body.

He was looking through a narrow slit of sight—through a doll’s fixed gaze.

Riven’s.

A tag scratched against her throat.

A stamped plate bolted to her spine.

Words pressed into metal like a verdict:

ELVEN WAR OFFICE — ARCANE MUNITIONS COMMAND.

DOLL-SOLDIER PROGRAM: STITCHBORNE DIVISION.

SPECIMEN: RVN.

Derpy’s stomach turned.

Footsteps approached.

Two elves in gray coats.

Gloves.

No names.

One held a clipboard.

The other held a hook.

“Series VII,” the clipboard elf said, voice bored. “Serial three-one-nine-zero-E-four-four.”

Riven’s fingers twitched.

A tiny movement.

A reflex.

The hook elf noticed.

He struck her knuckles with the metal handle.

Not hard enough to break.

Hard enough to teach.

Derpy felt it anyway.

A clean spike of pain.

Then the emptiness after.

“Still responsive,” the hook elf said.

“Not stable,” the clipboard elf answered. “Not compliant.”

Riven’s chest didn’t rise.

She didn’t breathe.

But something in her wanted to.

Wanted to pull air.

Wanted to be allowed to be.

The clipboard elf flipped a page.

“Procurement wants the next batch to hold a grimoire without… personality drift,” he said.

Personality drift.

Like a stain.

Like rot.

Like a defect.

The hook elf leaned close to Riven’s face.

His eyes were pale.

Clinical.

He spoke to her like she was a drawer that wouldn’t shut.

“Useful things don’t hesitate,” he said.

Derpy’s throat tightened.

Useful.

Riven’s fingers curled.

Not a choice.

A tremor.

A refusal her body couldn’t hide.

The clipboard elf sighed.

“Disposal,” he said.

The word hit like a door closing.

They dragged her.

Not carried.

Dragged.

Down a stairwell.

Past a room where other dolls sat in rows, eyes forward, hands folded.

Still.

Quiet.

Perfect.

Riven’s gaze snagged on them.

A flicker of envy.

A flicker of fear.

Then the stairwell opened into night.

A back gate.

A cart.

A heap of broken wood and cracked porcelain.

And Riven—tossed on top like she belonged there.

Derpy felt the impact.

Felt the jolt through her ribs.

Felt the way her joints screamed without sound.

The elves didn’t look back.

The gate shut.

The lock clicked.

And the world went quiet.

Part 2 — The Echo

Rain came.

Then stopped.

Then came again.

Time passed in a way that didn’t have words.

Riven lay in the trash.

Still.

But not gone.

Something under her back pressed into the stamped plate.

A disk.

A mirror.

A shard of artifact that shouldn’t have been here.

The Echo.

It didn’t speak.

It reflected.

It reflected the stamp.

Reflected the program.

Reflected the word useful until it became a shape.

A function.

A hunger.

Derpy felt it bloom inside her like a bruise turning into heat.

Awareness.

Not gentle.

Not kind.

A sudden knowing that she was lying in a pile of discarded things and that the world had decided she was one of them.

Riven’s fingers moved.

Slow.

Stiff.

She pushed herself up.

Her joints scraped.

Her seams pulled.

She looked down at the mirror-disk.

The Echo looked back.

Not her face.

Her purpose.

Her emptiness.

And it offered her a rule:

If you can mirror a thing, you can take a piece of it.

Riven’s head turned.

She stared at the closed gate.

Then at her own hands.

Then at the trash.

Hunger hit.

Not for food.

For fuel.

For something to fill the hollow where obedience had been hammered in.

She reached into the heap.

Found a broken blade.

Not the cursed one.

Just scrap.

She snapped it in her grip.

Metal bent.

And the Echo inside her learned the feeling of breaking.

Part 3 — Return

The castle didn’t expect trash to come back.

Riven moved through the service tunnels.

Not fast.

Not graceful.

Determined.

Every step pulled at her seams.

Every hinge complained.

But the Echo kept feeding her little reflections—angles, distances, the memory of doors.

She found the armory.

A door with wards.

A lock that hummed.

Riven pressed her palm to it.

The Echo mirrored the ward.

Borrowed the pattern.

The lock gave.

Inside, weapons slept in racks.

Riven’s gaze fixed on one.

A sword wrapped in black cloth.

Runes stitched into the binding.

A cursed sword.

A tool meant to punish the hand that held it.

A leash disguised as steel.

Riven reached anyway.

Pain flared through her palm.

Not heat.

Not cold.

A punishment that felt like someone trying to erase her fingers.

Her hand shook.

She didn’t let go.

The Echo mirrored the curse.

Not to obey it.

To understand it.

To hold it without being owned by it.

The pain steadied into a constant bite.

Riven wrapped the hilt.

Took the sword.

Then she took the shield.

A mirror shield.

Polished so clean it didn’t show faces.

It showed spells.

It showed intent.

It showed the moment before impact.

She strapped it to her arm.

And she went looking.

Part 4 — The Head Knight

The head knight’s chamber smelled like oil and incense.

He stood in front of a map table.

Armor on.

Sword at his hip.

A man built to look like safety.

Riven stepped into the light.

The knight turned.

His hand went to his weapon.

Then stopped.

He saw the stamp.

He saw the plate.

He saw property that had crawled back.

“Specimen RVN,” he said.

Derpy felt the way the name landed on her like a collar.

“You were disposed,” the knight continued. “That was mercy.”

Mercy.

A word the Empire used like soap.

Riven lifted the cursed sword.

The knight’s eyes narrowed.

“You can’t hold that,” he said.

Riven’s grip tightened.

The curse bit.

She held anyway.

The knight drew his blade.

Magic surged.

A binding spell—threads of light meant to lock joints, to freeze movement, to make her kneel.

Riven raised the mirror shield.

The spell hit the surface.

And turned.

It snapped back into the knight’s chest.

He staggered.

Shock in his posture.

He tried again.

A stronger weave.

A command.

Riven’s shield caught it.

Returned it.

The knight’s knees buckled.

He hit the floor.

Riven stepped forward.

The cursed sword dragged pain up her arm.

She didn’t stop.

The knight looked up.

Not afraid.

Offended.

“How dare a tool decide,” he rasped.

Derpy’s stomach twisted.

Riven brought the sword down.

Once.

Then again.

The room went quiet.

Not clean.

Not holy.

Just finished.

Riven stood over him.

Her hand shook.

Not from regret.

From the curse.

From the effort.

From the fact that she was still here.

Part 5 — The Princess

Alarms started.

Boots pounded.

Orders shouted.

Riven moved.

She didn’t run like a person.

She moved like a thing built for war that had never been taught how to be anything else.

She cut through a corridor.

Turned a corner.

And saw her.

A princess.

Young.

Not armored.

But holding a calamity book like it was a heart.

The air around it felt wrong.

Heavy.

Hungry.

The princess stared at Riven.

Not with pity.

Not with disgust.

With calculation.

Like she was looking at a weapon she might claim.

Derpy felt Riven’s hunger spike.

Not for food.

For the book.

For the power.

For the rule that said: if you have it, you can’t be thrown away.

Riven’s fingers flexed.

The Echo inside her mirrored the calamity’s presence.

Not enough to take it.

Enough to recognize the shape.

Enough to fear what hands would do to keep it.

Enough to learn:

If someone holds a calamity book, the Empire will circle.

If someone doesn’t, the Empire will make them into something that can.

The princess shifted her grip.

Riven didn’t step closer.

She stepped back.

Then turned.

And vanished into the service tunnels.

Part 6 — Fenward Hallway

The memory snapped.

Derpy sucked in a breath like he’d been underwater.

The Graveglass in his palm had gone cold again.

His fingers hurt from how hard he’d been gripping it.

Mia’s ears lifted.

She gave a low bark.

You saw it.

Derpy couldn’t answer.

His throat felt packed with ash.

He looked at Riven’s door.

And understood why she’d shoved him.

Understood why lightning near his book looked like hands reaching.

Understood why “useful” was a trigger that could turn her whole system into a shutdown.

He set the Graveglass down carefully.

Like it might cut him if he moved wrong.

Part 7 — Road Teaser (Ace & Queen)

The road was dirt and quiet—until it wasn’t.

Ace and Queen walked side by side toward the pressure they could both feel in the air.

Magic fluctuating.

Fighting.

Not fighting.

Like a heartbeat that couldn’t decide if it wanted to live.

Ace’s pink-white electricity crawled faintly over her fingers—precise, restrained.

She glanced toward the treeline.

“Why is there magic fluctuating from that direction?” Ace asked. “Like they’re fighting… but then not fighting.”

Queen licked her lips.

“I don’t know,” she said, voice too pleased with itself.

Drool slid down her chin.

“But as long as they’re strong… and I get to eat them… I’m content.”

Ace’s eyes narrowed.

Queen’s expression tightened into something predatory.

“It’s time,” Queen murmured, voice thrilled. “I’ll head up there and do what King and Joker couldn’t.”

She launched forward.

A blur.

Ace exhaled.

Then followed.

4d:T34e2,

Part 1 — Four at the Table

The inn had gone quiet in the way a room goes quiet after something breaks.

Derpy sat with his elbows on his knees, hands laced so tight his knuckles looked pale. The Graveglass lay on the table between them like a shard of winter.

Lenora stood instead of sitting.

Lewd sat with her grimoire closed in her lap, fingers resting on the cover like it might bite.

Vespera leaned against the wall with her arms folded, but her eyes never left Derpy.

Mia was not in the room.

Sphinx was not in the room.

Derpy kept his hood up.

Lenora’s voice cut clean.

“When you open that calamity book,” she said, “you change.”

Derpy blinked once.

“No.”

The word came out fast.

Too fast.

Something in his chest answered anyway—another voice with no patience.

Liar.

Lewd shifted, the floorboard complaining under her boot.

“We’re not saying you’re weak,” she said. “We’re saying it’s doing something to you.”

Derpy stared at the Graveglass.

“I’m fine.”

Vespera’s rings drifted off her wrists, slow and watchful.

“You’re not fine,” she said. “You’re contained. Those are different.”

Derpy’s jaw tightened.

Lenora stepped closer.

“Tell us what you saw,” she said, eyes flicking to the Graveglass. “Because you’ve been walking around like you’re carrying a body.”

Derpy’s throat worked.

Tell them.

Don’t.

The second voice pressed against the inside of his skull like a thumb on a bruise.

Part 2 — Apologies at the Door

A knock.

Then the door opened without waiting.

Vemi stood in the hall with her ears pinned and her paws held close to her chest like she’d been told not to touch anything.

Vambasta stood behind her.

The alpha’s presence filled the frame.

Her fur was calm, but her eyes weren’t.

“We’re here to apologize,” Vemi said, voice thin. “To all of you.”

Vambasta dipped her head once.

Not submission.

Acknowledgment.

“I pushed too far,” she said. “I wanted to see what you were. I didn’t care what it cost.”

Derpy stood up so fast the chair scraped.

“It’s okay,” he said.

Lenora’s gaze snapped to him.

“No,” she said.

Lewd’s voice followed.

“It’s not,” she said.

Vespera’s rings tightened their orbit.

“You don’t get to decide it’s okay because you want the room to stop shaking,” she said.

Derpy’s breath hitched.

His cheeks went hot.

Not embarrassment.

Not shame.

Something worse—the sting of being seen.

Lenora stepped in, softer but sharper.

“What are you hiding?”

Derpy looked away.

He couldn’t keep his eyes on her.

Because she cared.

Because it made his ribs ache.

He turned toward the door.

“I need air,” he said.

Part 3 — The Blade Line

He took three steps.

Lenora was suddenly in front of him.

Wind snapped.

Her blade rose.

The edge hovered at his throat—not cutting, not trembling.

A boundary.

A promise.

“No,” Lenora said. “You don’t walk off alone.”

Derpy froze.

Lenora’s eyes held something that wasn’t anger.

“I’m your leader,” she said. “And I’m—”

Her voice caught.

She forced it steady.

“I’m attached.”

Derpy’s throat tightened.

Lewd’s grimoire opened with a soft, heavy sound.

Pages shifted like wings.

“Me too,” Lewd said. “I don’t say it right. But it’s there.”

Vespera’s rings widened, forming a circle around Derpy—not a cage yet.

A perimeter.

“It’s been short,” she said, “but you’ve been like a brother.”

Vambasta’s fur ignited.

Not flame.

Heat in the coat, a living ember.

“You’re pack,” she said. “I won’t let you wander off until you explain what’s happening.”

Derpy’s hands slid into his pockets.

The Graveglass felt heavier than metal.

Celica’s voice brushed the inside of his thoughts.

Do you want to use the page?

Derpy swallowed.

“Not yet,” he whispered.

Part 4 — Out to the Tree Line

Lenora lowered her blade—only enough to move.

“Outside,” she said. “Tree line. Now.”

Lewd shut her grimoire with a firm sound and rose.

Vespera’s rings tightened into a close orbit as she followed.

Vemi and Vambasta stepped back to give them space.

Derpy didn’t argue.

He walked.

They moved as a unit through the inn, down the hall, out the door—careful, controlled, no panic.

Cold air hit Derpy’s face.

The forest waited beyond Fenward’s edge.

They didn’t stop until the trees swallowed the lantern light.

Part 5 — Call the Guardians

Derpy exhaled.

Then he reached.

Not for the Graveglass.

For the bond.

The air shifted.

A pull.

A thread tightening.

Mia appeared first—still bandaged, still sore—and then Sphinx, his presence snapping into place like a lock.

Mia’s ears twitched.

She gave a short bark.

Master.

Forest sprites drifted in from the dark like pale motes.

They circled Mia’s injured leg.

Light gathered.

Stitching flesh and tendon back into steadier shape.

Derpy pulled his hood farther forward.

Hiding the edges of what he didn’t want them to see.

Mia and Sphinx shifted.

Bones lengthened.

Mass unfolded.

Their true forms filled the clearing with a different kind of safety—the kind that could bite.

Derpy raised one hand.

A wall surged up around them.

Not stone.

Not wood.

A boundary of force that swallowed the clearing and the trees around it.

A contained arena.

Derpy’s voice came out low.

“I’ll tell you,” he said. “But you have to contain what’s about to happen.”

Lenora didn’t flinch.

“Then we contain it,” she said.

Part 6 — Black Up the Veins

Derpy’s rings darkened.

Yellow to charcoal.

Charcoal to black.

The color climbed from his wrists.

Up his forearms.

Over his throat.

Across his chest.

An aura shaped like a monster trying to wear him.

Magic circles ignited across the contained space—multi-colored, layered, rotating at different speeds.

Some were clean.

Some were wrong.

Vemi’s voice went sharp.

“Get ready,” she said.

Vambasta’s stance lowered.

“That’s not him,” she growled.

Derpy kept his hands in his pockets.

Like he was trying to pretend he wasn’t changing.

Like he could keep the monster polite.

Part 7 — Echo Witness (Seraphine)

Far away, behind stone and banners, Queen Seraphine watched through an Echo.

A mirrored surface.

A stolen sightline.

Her fingers tightened on the rim.

“Maybe I miscalculated,” she murmured.

Part 8 — The Thousand Stories

Back in the contained clearing, Derpy lifted his head.

His gaze angled—not at Lenora’s blade.

Not at Lewd’s grimoire.

Not at Vespera’s rings.

Past the wall.

Past Fenward.

Toward a direction that felt like a castle.

His voice came out steady.

Too steady.

“The ironic thing about life,” Derpy said, “is you’re a different person to everyone you meet.”

He looked at Lewd.

“To some, you’re quiet.”

He looked at Vespera.

“To others, you never stop talking.”

He looked at Lenora.

“Some remember you for your kindness. Others remember you for the times you ran.”

His gaze shifted again—toward the distant shape of Faydrun’s castle.

“You’re a villain in someone’s story,” he said, “and a hero in another.”

His throat worked.

Tears slid down his face.

No sound.

No performance.

Just overflow.

“To most,” he continued, “you’re a passing thought. A name you once knew.”

His fingers flexed.

Crescent Eclipse formed in his hand—metal and intent.

He charged a shot without raising his voice.

“You don’t exist as one person,” he said. “You’ll never know yourself the way others do.”

He swallowed.

“You’ll never hear your own laughter the way someone else does.”

The words hit the contained space like a bell.

Derpy’s shoulders shook once.

“You’ll never see your absence linger in another room at the same time,” he said.

A flash of his sisters—crying, searching, not knowing where he went—cut through his eyes.

“To yourself, you’re just you,” he said. “But in reality, you’re a thousand different stories.”

He aimed.

And fired.

The shot tore out toward Faydrun’s castle—not because he meant to hit it.

Because his body remembered a direction.

Because the monster in him wanted a target.

Cutaway — Faydrun Courtyard

Stone exploded.

A line of force carved across the courtyard like a scythe made of light.

Tiles shattered.

A fountain split.

Dust and water surged up together.

Guards threw themselves flat.

Servants scattered.

And Queen Seraphine—watching through her Echo—felt the impact in her teeth.

The mirrored surface in her hands vibrated.

A hairline crack spidered across it.

Her breath caught.

Not fear as weakness.

Fear as calculation.

Because that shot hadn’t been aimed with strategy.

It had been fired with emotion.

And it still reached her.

Back to Fenward Forest

The contained clearing shuddered.

Leaves shook loose.

Bark dust drifted from the nearest trunks.

Derpy’s magic circles flared.

Then he vanished.

A teleport snap that yanked him away from Lenora’s blade.

Vemi and Vambasta both tensed.

“Get ready,” Vemi repeated.

“That’s no longer Derpy,” Vambasta said.

Vespera’s eyes widened.

She turned—sensing something else.

Not a location.

A pull.

A threat vector.

Her sisters.

Her voice tore out of her.

A scream.

Not pain.

A warning that sounded like grief.

Then she bolted into the trees. Shefelt the same magic signature she grew up with.

Part 9 — The Switch

Inside Derpy’s mind, a voice pressed close.

Don’t hurt them.

Another voice answered.

Why not?

A face surfaced in the dark of his thoughts—his own, warped by hunger and permission.

A chaotic expression finally broke through.

Then the body moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

Derpy dashed.

Sound tore out of him—manic, sharp, wrong.

He grabbed Vambasta by the face before she could react. Shedidn’t expect Derpy to attack instantly.

Frostburn snapped into place.

Black ice surged.

Vambasta froze mid-motion, locked in a coffin of cold.

Lenora appeared behind him.

Wind slashed.

A magic circle flared.

The attack died against it.

Sinister Derpy lifted a hand to his own face.

“Try harder,” he said, voice sweet with poison. “I’m not the same Derpy you first met.”

He blurred again.

Vemi’s battle-wolf form barely had time to brace.

A hand.

A snap.

Black ice swallowed her too.

Lewd moved.

Her grimoire flared.

Vambasta shattered free with a roar that shook the contained wall.

“You asshole,” she howled, launching forward.

Her punch landed.

It shifted him a fraction.

A tiny step.

Sinister Derpy’s head tilted.

“Come on,” he said. “Alpha wolf—is that all?”

Vambasta jumped back, fur blazing.

“Hit me harder,” he taunted. “That didn’t hurt.”

Lewd grabbed his arm.

“Stop,” she said. “We’re your friends.”

Sinister Derpy lowered himself to her height.

“Why would I stop?” he asked. “I’m not the same Derpy.”

His gaze sharpened.

“I’m the one who will bring this world to burn.”

His voice dropped.

“Especially the Elven Kingdom.”

A beat of stillness.

The contained clearing held its breath.

“They threw Riven away like disposable income,” he said. “They never gave her a chance.”

The black bracelets on his wrists flickered.

Black to charcoal.

Charcoal to yellow.

The aura peeled back.

Sinister Derpy’s posture faltered.

“Shame,” he muttered. “Didn’t get to fully cut loose.”

Then the body snapped back.

Derpy’s eyes cleared.

His breath hitched.

He looked at the ice.

At Vemi.

At Vambasta.

At Lenora’s stance.

At Lewd’s hands on him.

At the empty space where Vespera had been.

And the chapter ended on the echo of her scream—

because the next fight was already starting.

4e:T1f3c,

Part 1 — Huddled

Derpy was on his side in the leaf litter.

Not fallen.

Curled.

Hood half-slipped, shoulders drawn in tight like he could fold himself small enough to disappear.

Tears tracked down his face in slow lines that didn’t match his breathing.

Lenora dropped to her knees beside him.

She didn’t ask permission.

She wrapped him up and pulled him in against her chest like she was anchoring a boat in a storm.

Lewd crouched on the other side, grimoire held close, eyes hard and focused.

Vemi hovered a step back, ears pinned, hands flexing like she didn’t know what to do with them.

Vambasta stood over all of them, tail moving in a steady side-to-side that didn’t match the sharpness in her stare.

The contained wall still hummed around the clearing.

Outside it, the forest kept breathing.

Inside it, the air felt too thin.

Lenora rested her head against Derpy’s.

Her voice came out low.

“Tell us,” she said. “All of it.”

Lewd’s tone left no room for dodging.

“Everything you saw.”

Derpy’s throat worked.

He didn’t lift his head.

But he nodded.

Once.

“I will,” he said.

Part 2 — Comfort Offered, Refused

Vemi stepped closer, careful.

“Derpy,” she said. “Are you okay?”

Vambasta’s voice followed, rougher.

“Do you want comfort?”

Derpy’s hands tightened in the leaves.

“No,” he said.

The word came out with a scrape to it.

He forced himself upright enough to look at them.

His eyes were raw.

“I let my anger get the best of me,” he said. “I let something out that was never supposed to get out.”

He swallowed.

“I’m sorry.”

He said it again.

“I’m sorry.”

And again, like repetition could stitch the moment back together.

Lenora didn’t let go.

She pressed her forehead to the side of his head.

“I still care,” she said.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie.

“And nobody was hurt seriously.”

Lewd’s gaze flicked over the ice residue, the bruises, the tremor in Derpy’s hands.

Her voice stayed steady.

“We’re still here.”

Part 3 — The Alpha’s Claim

Vambasta’s patience snapped.

She grabbed Derpy by the front of his hoodie and hauled him up like he weighed nothing.

Her voice hit the clearing like a thrown stone.

“You don’t do that again,” she barked. “You don’t vanish into your own head and leave your pack to guess whether you’re coming back.”

Derpy’s boots dangled for a beat.

Lenora rose with him, hands still on his arm.

Vambasta’s stare stayed sharp.

But her tail kept moving.

A steady, betraying rhythm.

Then she leaned in close enough that Derpy could feel the heat of her breath.

“You’re going to be mine one day,” she said.

Not a joke.

Not a threat.

A claim said like a prophecy.

Lenora’s ears went hot.

Her posture stiffened.

“No,” she said, voice clipped. “He’s not.”

Lewd stepped in, shoulder brushing Lenora’s.

“Not if I get him first,” she said.

The clearing shifted.

Not with laughter.

With that sharp, stupid relief people get when the blade edge moves away for half a second.

Vemi’s ears flicked.

Her gaze hardened.

The play stopped.

Part 4 — Vemi’s Request

“Derpy,” Vemi said.

One word.

Serious.

“I want to add myself to your book.”

Derpy went still.

Lenora’s grip tightened.

Lewd’s fingers flexed against her grimoire.

Vambasta’s tail slowed.

Derpy’s voice came out hoarse.

“Why?”

Vemi didn’t look away.

“Because I don’t want you to use that ability,” she said.

Derpy’s jaw clenched.

“I don’t want to use it either.”

“That’s why,” Vemi said. “If it’s going to exist, I’d rather you have me as an ally in there than you reaching for it wrong when you’re scared.”

Derpy’s throat worked.

His eyes dropped to the Graveglass.

To the place where Celica’s page had appeared before.

Lenora’s voice stayed close to his ear.

“We talk about it,” she said. “Together. No secrets.”

Lewd nodded once.

“Start with what you saw,” she said.

And somewhere beyond the contained wall—deeper in the Fenward forest—something cracked like distant thunder.

Vespera’s fight, already in motion.

Part 5 — What the Graveglass Showed

Derpy didn’t answer right away.

He stared at the Graveglass as if it might bite him back.

Then he took a breath that didn’t reach the bottom of his lungs.

“When I held it,” he said, “it wasn’t just a memory.”

His fingers trembled once, then steadied against Lenora’s sleeve.

“It was… a record. Like the world kept receipts.”

Lewd’s eyes narrowed.

“Receipts of what?”

Derpy swallowed.

“Riven.”

The name landed heavy.

He kept going before anyone could interrupt.

“I saw her from the inside out. Not her thoughts—” he corrected, quick, “not like mind-reading. Like… the shape she was made into. The parts that were stamped.”

Lenora’s hand tightened on his arm.

Derpy’s voice dropped.

“There was a stamp.”

He shut his eyes.

Words came out like he was dragging them through thorns.

“ELVEN WAR OFFICE — ARCANE MUNITIONS COMMAND. DOLL-SOLDIER PROGRAM: STITCHBORNE DIVISION. SPECIMEN: RVN / SERIES: VII / SERIAL: 3-19-0E44.”

A cold silence spread through the clearing.

Derpy opened his eyes again.

“Like inventory,” he said.

His gaze flicked to the trees beyond the wall.

“To them, she wasn’t a person. She was a weapon that could be filed.”

Part 6 — What Answered Back

Derpy’s hands curled into fists.

His voice changed—not louder, but tighter.

“And then… something in me answered it.”

Lewd leaned in.

Lenora didn’t move, but her grip turned iron.

Vemi’s eyes stayed locked on him.

Derpy’s jaw worked.

“It wasn’t Celica,” he said. “It wasn’t the book talking like it usually does.”

He looked down at his own wrists, like he could still see the black crawling there.

“It was me.”

He corrected himself.

“It wore my voice.”

A beat.

“It wanted a target.”

Lenora’s breath caught.

Derpy pushed through it.

“It kept saying things like they were obvious. Like hurting people was the simplest solution.”

He swallowed.

“It wanted me to stop caring.”

His eyes lifted to Lenora.

“To you. To Lewd. To… all of you.”

His throat tightened.

“And it kept circling back to the same place.”

Lewd’s voice came out low.

“The Elven Kingdom.”

Derpy nodded.

“It said they threw her away,” he whispered. “Like disposable income. Like she was nothing.”

His shoulders shook once.

“And part of me—part of me agreed so hard it scared me.”

Lenora pressed her forehead to his again.

“We’re here,” she said.

Lewd’s voice cut in, blunt.

“Did it tell you what it is?”

Derpy’s eyes went distant.

“No,” he said. “But it felt like… permission.”

He swallowed.

“Like it’s been waiting for me to be angry enough.”

Beyond the wall, that distant cracking sound rolled again—wood splitting, metal ringing, something bright and violent moving through the trees.

Vespera’s fight.

Already costing time

4f:T28f4,

Part 1 — The Offer

The contained wall still hummed.

Derpy sat with his back against a tree, hoodie pulled forward, hands shaking like his bones hadn’t decided whether they were done.

Lenora stayed close. Lewd stayed closer than she pretended. Vemi stood in front of him like she’d made a decision and refused to let fear edit it.

“I want to be added,” Vemi said again. “To your book.”

Derpy’s eyes stayed on the Graveglass for a long beat.

Then he nodded. Slow. Careful.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

Lenora’s shoulders tightened. Lewd’s fingers flexed against her grimoire. Vambasta watched without moving, tail held still like a metronome that had stopped.

Derpy swallowed.

“But… I’m not stopping at you.”

Vemi blinked. “What?”

Derpy lifted his head. His voice came out rough, but steady.

“If there’s one way to keep my friends close,” he said, “it’s my book.”

Lenora’s gaze sharpened. “Derpy—”

“I know what it sounds like,” he cut in, fast. “So listen. All of you.”

He looked at Vemi first.

“It would be you, but not you,” he said. “Think of it like a body double in real life—built for battle aid, or to hold my mind in place if I start to slip.”

Vemi’s ears twitched.

Derpy forced the rest of the explanation out like it hurt.

“A copy. A record. A version the book can call on,” he said. “Not your soul. Not your mind. Not your choices.”

Lewd’s eyes narrowed. “And what does the copy do.”

Derpy’s jaw worked.

“It’s… a safeguard,” he said. “If I lose control, if the wrong voice takes the wheel—then the book has anchors. People I trust. People it can pull toward me. Remind me. Stop me.”

Lenora’s voice dropped. “You’re talking about using us as restraints.”

Derpy flinched like she’d struck him.

“I’m talking about not being alone inside my own head,” he said. “I’m talking about not letting that thing decide who I become.”

He looked at Lewd.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he said. “I don’t want to be the person who can freeze my friends and call it strategy.”

He looked at Lenora.

“I don’t want to wake up and realize I did something I can’t undo.”

A beat.

Then, quieter:

“I want a way to keep you close… even if I’m the one trying to run.”

Part 2 — Who Goes In (And Who Doesn’t)

Vemi stepped forward first.

“I agree,” she said.

Lewd’s answer came next, blunt as a nail.

“Do it.”

Lenora’s eyes stayed on Derpy’s face for a long moment, weighing every tremor, every breath.

Then she nodded once.

“Fine,” she said. “But we set rules. No secrets. No using it as a weapon.”

Derpy nodded hard. “Yes.”

Vambasta’s voice cut in from the edge of the clearing.

“And me.”

Derpy’s head snapped toward her.

He didn’t answer right away.

When he did, his voice was careful.

“No.”

Vambasta’s ears angled forward. “Explain.”

Derpy’s throat worked.

“Because you’re already in there,” he said. “Not like this. Not as a copy. But… the book has a page. A record. Celica made it.”

Vambasta went still.

Lenora’s gaze flicked between them. “A page of Vambasta.”

Derpy nodded.

“And I don’t know what that means yet,” he said. “I don’t know what the book takes, or how deep it goes. So I’m not adding you again until I understand what it’s doing.”

Vambasta’s stare stayed sharp.

But she didn’t argue.

“Fine,” she said at last. “Then add your pack. Keep your rules. But don’t pretend this makes you safe.”

Derpy’s voice came out low.

“It makes me less alone,” he said.

Part 3 — The Pagework

Derpy held his calamity book like it weighed more than metal.

Celica’s presence brushed his thoughts.

Names?

Derpy didn’t answer out loud. He just opened the book.

The air in the contained clearing changed—like the world leaned closer to watch.

He started with Vemi.

A page formed. Not ink at first—structure. A pattern. A shape that felt like permission given willingly.

Then Lewd.

Then Lenora.

Each time, Derpy forced himself to breathe through it. Forced himself to keep his hands steady. Forced himself to remember: this wasn’t ownership. This was a tether they chose.

When it was done, the book closed with a heavy finality.

Derpy’s shoulders sagged.

Lenora put a hand on his head, firm.

“We’re still here,” she said. “In the real world. Don’t forget that part.”

Derpy nodded.

“I won’t.”

Beyond the wall, deeper in the Fenward forest, something cracked—wood splitting, metal ringing.

Vespera’s battle had already started.

And they were late.

Cutback — Before the Battle (Fenward Forest)

Part 4 — “Judgement”

Vespera stood between the trees like a gate that refused to open.

Ace and Queen faced her from the dark.

Ace’s hammer rested on her shoulder. Pink-white electricity crawled along the metal like a living nerve.

Queen’s shadow chains drifted behind her in slow coils, as if the night itself had been trained to obey.

Vespera’s voice came out controlled.

“You two need to receive judgement,” she said. “Then you go home.”

Queen’s answer was calm, almost bored.

“Elder sister,” she said, “you’re the one receiving judgement today.”

Ace didn’t waste words.

They lunged together.

Hammer and chains—simultaneous, synchronized.

Ace came down like a falling star.

Queen’s chains snapped forward like hunting lines.

Vespera moved.

Rings flared around her—layered shields, rotating plates of force.

The hammer hit.

The impact shook the trees.

The chains hit a heartbeat later—trying to bind, trying to crush, trying to drag her to her knees.

Vespera held.

For a moment.

Then an image slammed into her mind like a brand:

You are not allowed to use more than 75% of your power when in town or by the town.

Her breath hitched.

Her stance shifted.

She backed off—boots sliding through leaf litter—panting, forced to swallow down the part of herself that wanted to end this fast.

Queen’s chains tightened their orbit.

“Elder sister,” Queen said, voice smooth. “What’s wrong. You’re usually not this weak.”

Vespera’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m holding back,” she said, and the words tasted like ash.

Ace surged again.

Vespera caught the hammer’s handle mid-swing—hands burning from the force—and shoved Ace back with a ring-assisted burst.

Ace’s boots carved grooves in the dirt.

Ace lowered her hammer.

Then fired.

A magic impact shot—compressed force wrapped in pink-white electricity.

Vespera threw up a shield.

The blast hit like a battering ram.

Her rings screamed—metal and magic protesting—yet she stayed standing.

Then Vespera answered.

She didn’t speak the words like a prayer.

She spoke them like a sentence.

“Dragon’s Judgement.”

Her body shifted—dragon form tearing through restraint, scales and mass and ancient authority forcing the forest to make room.

A black beam erupted from her maw—straight, brutal, absolute.

It struck Queen dead-on.

Queen’s body snapped sideways through the trees.

The beam tore her wing—ripping membrane, cracking bone.

Queen hit the ground hard enough to crater the earth.

Still.

Ace’s breath came fast.

But her posture didn’t break.

She appeared behind Vespera in a blur.

Hammer raised.

And brought it down.

Vespera hit the ground.

Then again.

Three back-to-back magical impacts—each one a controlled execution.

Vespera’s rings shattered—one by one—bursting into fragments of light and metal.

Vespera’s scream tore out of her.

Not pain alone.

Fury. Restriction. The humiliation of being forced to fight with a hand tied behind her spine.

Her dragon form buckled.

Her consciousness slipped.

Ace stood over her, panting—still not even close to empty.

“Fifty,” Ace muttered under her breath, like she was counting her own output.

Then she turned.

Slowly.

Toward Fenward.

Toward the inn.

Part 5 — Collection

Hina stepped from the trees with Sir Reginal at her side.

They moved to Queen first.

Hina’s gaze flicked over the torn wing, the stillness, the damage.

“Collect her,” Ace said.

Sir Reginal lifted Queen carefully.

Hina followed, eyes cold, tracking Ace’s path.

Ace didn’t look back at Vespera.

She just walked.

Toward the town.

Toward the people inside it.

Cutaway — Fenward Inn (Cinder’s Group)

Part 6 — Rooms

Cinder’s group made it to Fenward.

They rented a room.

The air inside the inn felt wrong—tense, like the building itself had learned to listen.

Outside, far off, the forest carried the aftershock of something enormous.

And somewhere in that sound, something old was moving closer.

Final Cut — Seraphine

Part 7 — Another Dragon

Queen Seraphine paced.

Back and forth.

Her hands clenched behind her back hard enough to whiten her knuckles.

An Echo shimmered nearby—fractured, unstable—showing glimpses of the forest battle.

Two dragons.

One of them—Queen—down.

Ace—damaged, but standing.

And the third presence.

The one Seraphine hadn’t accounted for.

Seraphine’s voice came out low.

“Who is this dragon,” she whispered, “that can take out Queen… and nearly knock Ace down with her.”

The Echo flickered.

And the chapter ended with Seraphine still pacing—because whatever was coming next was no longer contained to Fenward.

50:T32b4,

Part 1 — Celica’s Warning

The road back to Fenward felt shorter than it should have.

Derpy walked with the group in a tight knot, the contained wall’s hum still lodged in his ears like a headache that refused to leave.

Celica shifted in the back of his mind—quiet, then suddenly sharp.

Are you sure you should be worried about yourself and your friends…

Derpy’s steps slowed.

…when there’s one person who isn’t here. And she’s in trouble.

Derpy’s throat tightened.

“Vespera,” he said.

Lenora’s head turned instantly. “What.”

Derpy didn’t try to soften it.

“Celica’s saying she’s not here,” he said. “And that she’s in trouble.”

Lewd’s gaze flicked toward the treeline, then back.

Vemi’s tail went rigid. “We go back.”

Derpy lifted a hand, stopping them.

“You head back,” he said. “Check the inn. Check the room. Check on Riven. Don’t split further than you have to.”

Lenora’s eyes narrowed. “And you.”

Derpy swallowed.

“I’ll track Vespera,” he said. “Mia and Sphinx can help.”

Lenora held his stare like she was trying to pin him to the ground with it.

“Be careful,” she said at last. “That’s not a suggestion.”

Derpy nodded once.

Then he turned off the road.

Part 2 — The Inn Door Opens

Lenora, Lewd, and Vemi reached the inn and found the front room crowded in a way that made the air feel thin.

A woman stood near the threshold—travel-worn cloak, healer’s hands, eyes that didn’t miss details.

Amy.

Beside her, Cinder lay unconscious, bundled in blankets like someone had tried to keep her from falling apart.

Amy looked up as the door opened.

“Y’all got a Lenora Strayheart in here?” she asked.

The room went still.

Lenora stepped forward.

“I’m Lenora,” she said. “What happened.”

Amy’s voice stayed steady, but the words were heavy.

“We asked a couple town folk,” Amy said, “and they told us you was stayin’ here.”

She gestured toward Cinder.

“Her friends were taken,” Amy continued. “Dragon people. They moved fast. Organized.”

Lewd’s jaw tightened.

Amy’s gaze sharpened as if she was forcing herself to keep the story clean.

“One of ’em—fox folk—disappeared without a trace,” she said. “No tracks. No blood. Just… gone.”

Vemi’s ears angled forward. “And Cinder.”

Amy’s eyes dropped to the unconscious girl.

“She broke,” Amy said. “Let her book take over so she could make it this far.”

Lenora’s hand curled into a fist.

“Where,” Lenora asked.

Amy shook her head once.

“Not far,” she said. “But far enough they had time to vanish.”

The inn’s door creaked again.

And the room got colder.

Part 3 — Riven Is Here (And It Goes Wrong)

Riven stepped inside.

She looked too clean for the road and too wrong for the room—like she’d walked out of a place that didn’t obey the same rules.

Her eyes moved across faces, slow, searching.

“Friends,” she said.

Then she paused.

“But no Derpy.”

Lenora’s stomach dropped.

Across the room, Kara’s body snapped into motion.

Steel flashed.

Kara dashed toward Riven with her weapon raised—too fast for a warning to catch up.

A hand clamped onto Kara’s wrist mid-strike.

Vambasta.

The wolf woman held Kara like she weighed nothing. Her nose tilted toward Riven, drawing in scent.

Then Vambasta spoke without raising her voice.

“You’re a little too comfortable startin’ trouble in my sister’s inn,” she said to Kara. “Calm yourself.”

Kara strained once, then froze—caught between pride and survival.

Riven’s gaze locked on Kara.

Then it slid to Cinder.

Recognition hit her like a switch.

These were the ones who stopped her before.

The ones who kept her from taking grimoires for herself.

Riven’s hand moved.

Cursed sword.

Shield.

She dashed.

Not at the room.

At Kara and Vambasta.

The air tore from the speed of it.

“Riven,” Lenora said—voice hard enough to cut.

Riven stopped inches from slicing them.

Her blade hovered.

Her shield angled.

Her body trembled like it was waiting for permission to finish what her instincts started.

Lenora stepped forward.

“Put it down,” she ordered.

Riven’s eyes flicked—confused, then tight.

Slowly, the sword lowered.

The shield followed.

Part 4 — Kara’s Accusation

Hours later, the inn had been cleared of most eyes.

Amy stayed with Cinder.

Kara sat rigid at a table, knuckles pale.

Lenora stood across from her with Lewd and Vemi flanking.

Riven sat on the floor near the wall like a child who’d been caught in the act and didn’t understand why the room was angry.

Kara spoke first.

“She caused trouble,” Kara said. “She broke my circus area. Mass destruction.”

Riven’s head dipped.

Kara’s voice tightened.

“She was sealed by Mina,” Kara continued. “Mina was taken. And this mess is what we got instead.”

Lenora’s gaze cut to Riven.

“Riven,” Lenora said. “Is that true.”

Riven didn’t lift her head.

A small nod.

Lenora’s breath left her slow.

“You rampaged,” Lenora said. “Destroyed things. Hurt people.”

Riven’s shoulders drew in.

“How do we know you won’t do it again,” Lenora asked. “You haven’t eaten in a while.”

Riven’s voice came out thin.

“I have not,” she admitted.

Lenora crouched slightly, lowering herself to Riven’s level—not soft, but controlled.

“Riven,” Lenora said, “what did you eat. What did you do.”

Riven hesitated.

Then:

“Wood sprites,” she said.

Lewd’s eyes narrowed.

Riven added, quieter:

“And a magical doll of Derpy.”

The room went tight.

Lenora stood.

“Go find Derpy,” Lenora said. “That’s an order.”

Riven’s head lifted a fraction.

Lenora didn’t blink.

“Being here is causing tension,” Lenora continued. “Between you and Kara. Between you and Vambasta. You’re not helping Cinder by standing in the middle of this.”

Riven rose.

Then she turned and left.

Following scent.

Part 5 — Derpy Tracks Vespera

Derpy moved through the trees with Mia and Sphinx padded close.

They were in their chibi forms—small, quick, alert.

Derpy’s eyes kept scanning the dark.

Then he stopped.

A presence ahead.

Pink-white electricity in the air.

A dragon girl stood among the trees, breathing hard like she’d fought something that mattered.

Ace.

Her hammer hung at her side.

Her eyes tracked Derpy as he approached.

Derpy kept his hands visible.

“Hello,” he said, voice edged. “Have you seen my friend.”

He described Vespera—shape, rings, the way her power felt.

Ace’s breathing stayed heavy.

“What’s it to you,” Ace said.

Celica’s voice slid behind Derpy’s thoughts.

Be careful. She looks dangerous.

Ace walked closer.

Too close.

She leaned in, sniffing him.

“You smell weird,” Ace said.

A colder voice spoke in aces head

Queen Seraphine.

“Ace,” Seraphine spoke in ace's mind , “be careful. The boy is a calamity bearer. Retrieve alive if necessary.”

Ace stepped back a few paces, hammer still ready.

“I did see your friend,” Ace said. “She’s my sister.”

Derpy’s head tilted.

“Your sister,” he repeated.

Ace’s chest rose and fell.

“My name is Ace,” she said. “Part of the Sinister Seven. And I’m here for a calamity book.”

Derpy’s voice dropped.

“You’re her sister,” he said. “What did you do to her.”

Ace answered without decoration.

“I broke her.”

She tossed something toward him.

Ring shards.

Vespera’s.

Derpy caught them, fingers going numb.

Celica pressed harder.

I’m your partner. You should listen to me. You can't take her alone.

Derpy’s jaw set.

“I can,” he said.

He opened his book.

And summoned.

Part 6 — The Vambasta Copy

A figure formed beside him—Vambasta, but wrong in the way reflections are wrong.

Derpy touched the copy’s back.

“Help me,” he said.

The copy’s eyes stayed empty for a beat.

Then the scene snapped—like the book showed a truth at the same time it created a tool.

Vambasta’s wrist.

A bracelet-burn ringed around it.

Next to her spiked wrist collar.

A warning written in flesh.

The copy’s voice came out flat:

“Doppelganger active.”

Derpy’s breath caught.

A crash of movement tore through the trees behind him.

Vambasta.

Not the copy—the real one.

She burst out of the dark at a dead run, breath ripping, claws digging for traction as she cut a line straight toward Derpy.

Her eyes weren’t on Ace.

They were on him.

Like she’d scented the split.

Like she’d felt the book make a mirror of her.

“Derpy!” Vambasta barked, voice raw with urgency. “Don’t—”

The warning didn’t finish.

Because Celica shifted.

Derpy pulled her—placed her into the core of the summoned copy.

The copy’s eyes changed.

Sapphire.

Ruby.

A new presence filled the space.

Celica’s voice came out through the double, unfamiliar and ancient.

“Odd way to bring me out,” she said. “But I guess this works.”

A pressure rolled off her—an aura that made the trees feel smaller.

Ace didn’t move back.

She darted.

Hammer swung.

Celica-in-the-double caught it.

Metal rang.

“Little girl,” Celica said, “go home. It’s not worth the trouble to get hurt.”

Ace grabbed the double and shocked her full force.

Electricity crawled over the body like a net.

Celica’s voice sharpened.

“I haven’t had a recharge in centuries.”

She punched Ace in the side.

Ace flew back.

Ice shards formed where the hit landed—frost blooming along her ribs.

Celica turned her head slightly.

“Go get your friend,” she told Derpy. “I’ll hold her off.”

Derpy didn’t argue.

He moved.

Mia and Sphinx at his heels.

Behind him, Vambasta skidded to a stop, torn between chasing Derpy and throwing herself into the dragon fight she didn’t understand.

Part 7 — Hina and Sir Reginal

The clearing opened.

Derpy saw them before they spoke.

Hina.

Sir Reginal.

Sir Reginal held another dragon girl—Queen—limp, wing torn.

Hina stepped forward.

“Hello there,” Hina said.

She swayed side to side, studying Derpy like he was a new toy someone had left unattended.

Yellow bracelets circled his wrists.

A newly developed tail flicked behind him.

Dragon wings shifted as he moved.

“You’re Derpy,” Hina said.

Derpy didn’t answer.

He walked past her toward the ground where Vespera lay.

Vespera twitched—rings gone, body shaking like the aftermath was still trying to decide if she was allowed to live.

Mia and Sphinx expanded—chibi forms unfolding into their larger bodies in a rush of muscle and fur.

Derpy kept his voice even.

“I don’t know what you want,” he said to Hina, “but can we resolve this peacefully.”

Hina’s head tilted.

“Maaaaaybe,” she said, dragging the word out.

Then she leaned forward.

“If so,” Hina continued, “could you tell me—”

The air split.

A portal opened.

Not Celica.

Not Vespera.

Hina and Sir Reginal’s work.

A woman stepped through.

Queen Seraphine.

With her:

Joker.

King.

Joker’s eyes locked on Derpy.

“I didn’t think I’d get a rematch so soon,” Joker said.

The forest held its breath.

Derpy’s fingers tightened around Vespera’s ring shards.

Mia and Sphinx lowered their bodies, ready.

Hina stood to the side like she’d arranged the board and wanted to watch the pieces collide.

And the chapter ended with everyone in the clearing—calamity, dragon, and contract—about to decide who got to walk away.

51:T232f,

Part 1 — Queen Steps In (And Derpy Breaks)

Queen Seraphine stood in the clearing like she owned the air.

Her fan rested half-open in one hand. Joker and King held position behind her—still, watchful, built like problems that didn’t need to announce themselves.

Seraphine’s gaze found Derpy.

“Boy—”

She didn’t get the next word.

Derpy’s breath hitched.

Once.

Twice.

Then it turned wrong—too fast, too shallow, like his lungs were trying to outrun his ribs.

His bones shifted.

A grind under skin.

His wings deteriorated mid-span—membrane thinning, structure collapsing like the magic couldn’t decide what shape he was allowed to be.

His tail followed—dragging, then thinning, then snapping into something else.

New ears forced their way up through his hair.

Wolf ears.

One red.

One blue.

A wolf tail formed behind him—red and blue braided together like spilled paint that refused to separate.

Derpy’s throat locked.

And then the scream ripped out of him—high, piercing, raw enough to make the trees recoil.

It carried.

Across Fenward.

Across the woods.

Across every roof and alley and sleeping room.

The forest answered.

Eyes appeared between trunks.

Pairs.

Dozens.

A ring of watching that wasn’t human.

Derpy’s knees threatened to fold.

A shadow snapped into place beside him.

Vambasta.

She appeared like she’d been pulled by the sound itself.

Her hand caught his shoulder—firm, grounding.

“Breathe,” she said.

Derpy’s chest fought her command for a second.

Then, slowly, his lungs obeyed.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

His heartbeat stayed violent, but his head stopped spinning.

Vambasta’s gaze flicked to his new ears.

Then his tail.

Her posture shifted—subtle, like she’d been caught off-guard by something she didn’t expect to feel.

Heat rose in her cheeks.

Derpy shut his eyes and forced another breath.

Now that there were eyes watching, he couldn’t afford to fall apart.

Part 2 — The Book Closes

Derpy opened his eyes.

The clearing was full.

Seraphine and her court.

Hina off to the side like she’d arranged the board and wanted to see what bled first.

Sir Reginal holding Queen (codename) limp—wing torn, body slack.

Vespera on the ground—rings gone, twitching like pain had teeth.

And the copy.

The Vambasta doppelganger stood a few paces away—Celica riding it like a borrowed body.

Derpy felt the weight of all those stares.

The forest.

The wolves.

The town.

He closed his book.

The copy went still.

Celica’s voice slid out through it—dry, unimpressed.

“Aww. Already?”

She paused, like she was listening to the air.

“Till next time, little dragon.”

The doppelganger collapsed into nothing.

Ace’s wings opened.

She lifted off, circling once above the clearing.

As she looked down, she spotted Seraphine.

Ace landed with control—boots touching earth like she’d practiced it a thousand times.

She bowed her head.

“My Queen. Why are you here?”

Seraphine snapped her fan.

“You did good, Ace,” she said. “But seeing pieces move on the board made me come out here.”

Part 3 — No Bloodshed (If It Can Be Helped)

Footsteps rushed through brush.

Lenora arrived first—blade ready, eyes sharp.

Lewd followed—quiet, heavy presence.

Vemi came with ears forward and tail stiff.

Riven appeared last—too silent, too clean, gaze fixed like she was trying to understand which rules applied.

Derpy kept his hands visible.

“I don’t want bloodshed,” he said. “Seeing Seraphine and her court here—can we resolve this peacefully?”

Seraphine’s eyes moved over the scene.

The broken rings.

The twitching fox.

The wolves in the trees.

The scorch of magic in the air.

Then she spoke in a civil manner—like a queen addressing a room that didn’t deserve her voice.

“I may not know you,” she said, “but I’ve been watching you.”

Derpy’s throat tightened.

Seraphine continued.

“The words you spoke. The music you played. The blast you sent at my kingdom—damaging my courtyard and part of my castle.”

Lenora’s head snapped toward Derpy.

Derpy didn’t flinch.

Seraphine’s fan tapped her palm once.

“Though it wasn’t a calculated attack,” she said. “I came to see the boy with so much potential. The bearer of books that were supposed to be nonexistent in this world.”

Her gaze sharpened.

“So much raw power.”

Vambasta felt Derpy’s heart hammering again.

She put her hand on his shoulder.

“Relax,” she muttered. “Your emotions are all over the place.”

Seraphine watched that small gesture.

Then she spoke again.

“I’m not here to start anything today,” she said. “Because I miscalculated.”

Her fan snapped shut.

“Kudos to you, my dear. I’m here to collect my pawns and leave.”

A portal began to open behind her—dark edge, clean cut.

Part 4 — Derpy’s Wager

“Wait,” Derpy said.

Seraphine stopped.

She turned her head slightly.

Derpy’s gaze dropped to Vespera—still twitching, still in pain.

His fingers tightened around Crescent Eclipse.

“I want a battle,” he said.

He lifted the weapon.

Pointed it at Joker.

“I want to take them both on.”

Seraphine stared at him like he’d announced he planned to bite the sun.

Lenora stepped in.

“Derpy,” she said. “Don’t do it. Let her go.”

Derpy’s voice stayed steady, but his body didn’t.

“I can’t agree with her,” he said. “They caused us pain and grief. Just once—I want to work in unison.”

Seraphine’s eyes narrowed.

“And how can you take on two of my heavy hitters,” she said, “when you had a panic attack the moment you saw Joker?”

She paused.

Then her tone shifted—transactional.

“How about I wager something worth your while.”

Her fan opened.

Inside the portal’s edge, a glass container appeared.

Mina.

Trapped.

Her calamity book pressed to her chest.

Her voice came muffled through the barrier.

“Help mew!”

She hit the glass.

Her book glowed.

“Where’s Cinder, mew?”

Seraphine rolled her eyes.

“That’s all she says in return,” she said.

She lifted her chin.

“If you beat my two Sinister Seven, I’ll give you this girl with her book.”

Derpy’s breath caught.

Seraphine continued.

“If my people win, you come work for my kingdom. You and your calamity.”

Her gaze pinned him.

“Does that sound fair?”

“I agree,” Derpy said.

Seraphine’s fan snapped shut.

“In thirty minutes,” she said. “We meet back in this place.”

Derpy swallowed.

“Or are you ready now?”

“Give me five minutes,” Derpy said.

He moved to Vespera.

Scooped her up carefully.

Carried her to a tree and set her down with her back supported.

As his breathing slowed, the wolf ears and tail faded.

His dragon wings returned.

His dragon tail returned too—both slightly bigger than before.

Lenora walked over.

And bonked him with the hilt of her sword.

“Why must you cause trouble,” she said. “You’re battered. Bruised. You need a break.”

“I can’t, Lenora,” Derpy said. “Seeing that Joker guy makes my blood boil. The way he humiliated us.”

Lenora’s jaw tightened.

“I agree,” she said. “But we can’t win. Not like this.”

Derpy grabbed her—quick, urgent.

“If we win this,” he said, “I’ll give you a special treat.”

He leaned in and whispered something into her bunny ears.

Lenora’s face went red.

She covered her face with one hand.

Then she forced herself to look up.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s give it a go.”

Her voice hardened.

“But if we lose, I’m coming with you.”

Derpy nodded.

“Deal.”

Part 5 — The Walk to the Line

Derpy and Lenora walked toward the waiting pair.

Ace stood facing Joker.

Joker didn’t move.

Derpy stayed in his dragon form—wings tight, tail steady.

His eyes locked on Ace.

The clearing held.

Fenward watched.

The wolves watched.

And the next decision would decide who got to keep Mina—and who got to keep their freedom.

52:T1827,

Part 1 — What Derpy Promised

The clearing held its breath.

Derpy leaned close to Lenora, close enough that his words didn’t have to belong to anyone else.

“If we win this,” he said, “then when we get to the next town… that tea date you mentioned.”

Lenora’s ears twitched.

Derpy kept going.

“We don’t stop at tea. We turn it into a full day. Activities. Getting to know each other. Holding hands—what couples do in this world.”

Lenora’s posture went rigid.

Derpy’s voice stayed low.

“We’re not a couple,” he said. “But I want to get to know you, Lenora.”

Heat rushed into her face so fast it looked painful.

She stared at him like she was trying to decide if she should bonk him again.

Derpy turned his head toward Seraphine’s chosen champions.

Ace.

Joker.

“Who do you want?” Derpy asked. “Because if one of us goes down, the other gets forced to take two at once.”

Lenora didn’t answer.

Her eyes were still stuck on the words he’d said.

A day.

A date.

Hands.

Derpy exhaled through his nose.

He leaned in and blew into her ear.

Lenora shuddered.

“What,” she snapped, voice too sharp for how red her face was.

Derpy repeated himself.

“Who do you want, Lenora?”

Lenora blinked hard, then forced her focus back onto the clearing.

“This is your fight,” she said. “What do you want to do? I’m here to back you up.”

Memories hit Derpy in a rush.

Meeting Lenora.

Then Vespera.

Then Lewd.

Then Vambasta.

Then Vemi.

Then Riven.

A chain of people he’d hurt.

A chain of people he cared about.

A chain of people he didn’t want to lose.

Derpy’s jaw set.

“I’m bruised and exhausted,” he said. “I’ll take the dragon girl.”

Ace.

Lenora’s gaze slid to Joker.

“You’ll be okay against him?” Derpy asked.

“I should,” Lenora said. “I’m better prepared.”

Part 2 — Allies Step In

Two hands touched Derpy.

He turned.

Lewd stood there, calamity book raised.

Her eyes were steady.

“Blight Vein wants to work with you in this battle,” Lewd said.

She held her book closer—like offering a blade with the hilt first.

Seraphine watched.

“This will be interesting,” she said.

Riven stepped forward.

“Friend,” she said.

Her mouth opened too wide.

A void.

Her calamity book showed itself—then she reached into the darkness and pulled out two things.

A cursed sword.

A mirror shield.

Riven handed them to Lenora.

Lenora’s fingers closed around the grips like she was afraid they’d vanish.

Derpy and Lenora looked at each other.

Then Derpy accepted Lewd’s offered power.

Blight Vein.

Lenora accepted Riven’s weapons.

Joker’s mask tilted.

He began his usual theatrical words—aimed like knives wrapped in velvet.

Derpy didn’t answer.

Lenora didn’t answer.

They let the words fall to the dirt.

Part 3 — Seraphine’s Rules

Seraphine stepped forward.

Her fan closed with a clean snap.

“Done preparing?” she asked, voice smooth.

Derpy and Lenora held their ground.

“The rules are simple,” Seraphine said. “This battle ends when both parties on the same side can’t continue.”

She lifted her chin.

“No killing.”

Her gaze pinned them.

“Does that sound fair?”

Derpy nodded.

Lenora nodded.

Lewd’s calamity merged temporarily with Derpy’s—Celica’s embers shifting under a new weight.

A new title burned into the feeling of it.

Celica’s Blight Embers.

Blight Vein’s voice slid into Derpy’s mind.

This is temporary, Blight said. I’m here to help.

A pause.

Lewd begged and pleaded for you to be okay. This is me helping.

Derpy swallowed.

Blight’s presence pressed closer.

You can release your sinister side if needed.

Derpy’s stomach turned.

His pets padded up in their chibi forms.

Mia.

Sphinx.

Small bodies. Sharp eyes.

Derpy looked at Seraphine.

“Are pets allowed to help?” he asked.

Seraphine’s tone turned dismissive.

“What can a mere dog and cat do?”

Joker’s head snapped toward her.

“My Queen,” he said, voice edged with real worry, “they’re highly dangerous. Don’t let them help.”

Seraphine let out a laugh.

“Nonsense,” she said. “They’re harmless. Look how cute they are.”

Her fan lifted.

“Ace. Joker. You two can go all out.”

Her voice sharpened.

“No mistakes. No wrong moves. And no killing. Am I clear?”

“Yes, my Queen,” Ace said.

“Yes, my Queen,” Joker said.

But Joker’s mask didn’t hide the tension in his posture.

Seraphine’s fan snapped.

“Very well,” she said. “Begin.”

Part 4 — The Charge

Derpy moved.

Lenora moved.

Mia and Sphinx dashed with them.

Ace and Joker held their line in the distance—two silhouettes that didn’t look like they belonged to the same world as “no killing.”

Beyond the clearing, figures in masks watched.

Observing.

Measuring.

A mysterious voice spoke from the dark.

A Riven doll stood beside him.

One masked figure held a great axe.

Another held a magic tome.

“Master,” one said, “I sense a defect in the area. Can I take it out?”

The voice answered without urgency.

“No. Worry about the battle. Let them fight until they can’t continue.”

A pause.

“We’ll deal with the defect later.”

Up in a tree, Riven perched—still, tense.

She sensed the dolls.

Not her.

Not the defect.

Her gaze searched the shadows.

And worry sat in her posture like a weight she didn’t know how to name.

53:T3df2,

Part 1 — The Fan-Snap

Seraphine’s fan closed with a clean snap.

The clearing broke.

Derpy moved first—wings tight, boots tearing up frost-damp earth. Mia, chibi-small and too fast for her size, shot ahead like a blur of fur and intent.

Across the ring, Lenora stepped in with wind at her back. Sphinx paced beside her—chibi form, but already swelling heavier with each breath, like his body remembered a larger shape.

Ace rose without hurry.

Pink-white electricity threaded along her arms in thin, precise lines. It didn’t crackle wild. It crawled—measured, disciplined, like a surgeon’s tool.

Joker tilted his mask toward Lenora.

He began speaking immediately, velvet words aimed like hooks.

“Leader of strays,” he said, voice smooth. “Do you feel it? The way your people orbit you because they’re afraid to be alone? You call it loyalty. I call it hunger.”

Lenora didn’t answer.

She advanced.

Part 2 — Ace’s First Lesson

Ace dipped.

Mia sprang—tiny body turning into a dart aimed at Ace’s ankle the moment Ace came low enough to strike.

Ace flicked her wrist.

A discipline-jolt snapped down—non-lethal, surgical, meant to stop a body without ending it.

Mia twisted midair, hit the ground rolling, then popped back up with her speed climbing again, paws already digging for another angle.

Derpy lifted Crescent Eclipse.

The weapon felt wrong in his hands.

Not the weight.

Not the balance.

The taste of it—like the metal had learned a new hunger.

He fired.

Crescent Eclipse answered with a crack that sounded like winter breaking.

A compressed frost round tore through the air.

Ace banked hard, the shot grazing past her shoulder and exploding into a spiked bloom of ice on a tree trunk.

Derpy tried to swap.

The weapon resisted.

Forty seconds.

That flaw again.

He forced the swap anyway—muscle memory, brute insistence—trying to cheat the lock by changing grip, changing stance, changing the way he held his breath.

The weapon punished him.

The next discharge came out half-formed—frost that didn’t crystallize clean, a sideways spray that bit the dirt and left a slick sheen.

Ace’s eyes tracked it.

“Unstable,” she said, calm but edged. “Your weapon’s unstable.”

Derpy didn’t answer.

He couldn’t spare the air.

Part 3 — Joker’s Needlework

Lenora closed distance.

Wind snapped around her calves, boosting her speed in the open space of the clearing. She moved honest—no wasted motion, no flourish.

Joker’s steel-wired gloves flashed.

A thin line snapped out low, aimed to catch her ankle.

Sphinx lunged.

Chibi Sphinx was bigger than he should’ve been—heavier, stronger—his paws gouging the ground as he hit the line, taking the pull meant for Lenora.

Joker’s head tilted.

“Ah,” he said. “So you brought your pets.”

His voice softened.

“Tell me, Lenora… when you fall, do they understand why? Or do they just keep waiting for you to stand back up?”

Lenora’s grip tightened.

She didn’t speak.

She surged.

Joker slid back, light on his feet, trying to pull her into a rhythm that wasn’t hers.

Sphinx paced at her flank, ready to bite the moment Joker’s footwork got lazy.

Joker’s other hand flashed.

A poison dagger kissed the air.

Lenora’s mirror shield caught the angle.

The shield flashed.

The trick bounced wrong.

The dagger spun back toward Joker’s own line—close enough to force him to shift.

Lenora pressed.

Joker’s voice stayed steady.

“You’re quick,” he said. “Quick enough to pretend you’re not tired. Quick enough to pretend you’re not carrying everyone.”

He leaned in just enough for the words to feel personal.

“But you are.”

Part 4 — The Hammer’s Last Two

Ace dropped like a spear.

Electricity coiled tight, aimed for a non-lethal strike that would shut Derpy’s muscles down and end the fight early.

Derpy lifted Crescent Eclipse and fired point-blank.

Frost burst between them.

Ace twisted mid-drop, taking the blast across her side instead of her chest.

Frost clung.

She hit the ground in a skid.

Her hammer came up.

It had been drinking impacts since the first exchange—blocked shots, glancing hits, the shock of frost detonations.

Now it answered.

Ace fired a Magical Impact Shot.

The blast hit Derpy’s guard like a battering ram.

His boots slid.

His wings flared for balance.

His shoulders screamed.

Mia darted in, snapping at Ace’s heel.

Ace didn’t look down.

She fired again.

The second Impact Shot detonated closer—meant to break Derpy’s stance, meant to force a fall.

Derpy slammed Frostburn into the ground.

Cold exploded outward—clean, disciplined, a hard reset.

Frost crawled across the dirt in a circle, biting into the shockwave’s afterpressure and pinning the ground into traction.

Ace’s hammer went quiet.

Two shots.

Spent.

Ace’s posture shifted.

She stepped in.

Hand-to-hand.

Electricity tightened along her fingers—still non-lethal, still disciplined, but now close enough to feel like a collar being snapped around the body.

She reached for Derpy’s wrist.

A shutdown-grip.

Derpy turned his forearm just enough to avoid the full clamp.

The jolt still bit.

His hand spasmed.

Crescent Eclipse dipped.

Ace pressed.

A palm strike to his sternum.

A knee aimed to steal his breath.

Derpy backstepped into his own frost circle.

Ace followed.

Too far.

Too committed.

Mia inhaled.

Frost breath blasted across Ace’s calves.

Not to freeze solid.

To steal traction.

Ace’s foot slipped.

Derpy’s gauntlet flashed.

Diamond Flare.

Ice shards burst in a tight cone—aimed low, aimed wide, meant to cut movement without cutting flesh.

Ace threw her forearm up.

Electricity flared brighter—burning the worst of the shard spray away.

But the cost showed.

Her shoulders tightened.

Her breathing hitched.

Derpy didn’t chase with rage.

He chased with math.

He fired one controlled frost round into the ground behind her.

It detonated into a ridge.

A wall of slick, spiked ice that denied her retreat.

Ace pivoted.

Derpy stepped in.

Frostburn caught her wrist.

Not crushing.

Just locking.

Mia hit the other side—fire breath this time, a short burst aimed to force Ace’s head away, to break her line of sight.

Ace tried to re-center.

Derpy didn’t give her the second.

He twisted her wrist, redirected her elbow, and drove her down into the frost circle.

Electricity snapped.

Non-lethal.

Still brutal.

Derpy held.

Held.

Then released the moment her body stopped trying to stand.

Ace lay on her side, breath sharp, muscles refusing to obey.

She didn’t look defeated.

She looked… contained.

Seraphine’s fan didn’t move.

“Can you continue?” Seraphine asked.

Ace’s fingers flexed once.

Then fell still.

“No,” Ace said.

Derpy stepped back.

Mia stayed between them, chibi-fast, teeth bared without sound.

Derpy’s chest rose and fell too hard.

He turned.

Part 5 — Lenora’s Burn

Lenora was still fighting.

Wind snapped around her again as she cut across open ground, speed boosted by space.

Joker’s wires had multiplied.

Thin lines crisscrossed the clearing like invisible seams.

Lenora’s mirror shield caught one trick.

Reflected it.

Joker adjusted.

He didn’t stop talking.

“Do you know what I admire about you?” he said. “You keep choosing pain because you think it proves something.”

Lenora drove in.

Riven’s cursed sword met Joker’s glove.

Magic tried to surge.

The sword drank it.

And Lenora paid.

Her breath thinned.

Her arm went heavier.

The sword took energy from her to keep absorbing what Joker tried to feed into the clash.

Sphinx barreled in—chibi form swelling larger, stronger—forcing Joker to split attention.

Joker’s poison dagger flashed.

A shallow cut across Sphinx’s shoulder.

Paralysis tried to bite.

Sphinx shook it off through sheer mass and momentum.

Lenora saw the opening.

She drove the cursed blade toward Joker’s ribs.

Joker’s wire snapped.

It caught her wrist.

Yanked.

Her mirror shield took the pull instead—arm rattling, shoulder screaming.

Joker leaned close.

“You’re spending yourself,” he murmured. “You can feel it. Every swing costs you more than it costs me.”

Lenora’s eyes stayed locked.

She didn’t answer.

She moved.

Wind boosted her again.

She cut through two wires with the cursed sword—absorbing the magic woven into them, draining herself to do it.

Joker’s footwork tightened.

He was working now.

Not playing.

Sphinx lunged.

Derpy’s temporary calamity merge pulsed at the edge of the clearing—Lewd’s Blight Vein overlay pressing into Derpy’s Celica embers.

A poison-thread ran through the air like a thin, ugly ribbon.

Sphinx’s teeth grazed Joker’s leg.

The poison buff bit.

Not lethal.

Disabling.

Joker’s next step came out imperfect.

Lenora capitalized.

She slammed her mirror shield into his chest.

Then drove the cursed sword in again.

Joker twisted.

The blade skimmed.

It still drank.

Joker’s posture tightened.

He was breathing harder.

Lenora was breathing worse.

The cursed sword had been feeding all fight.

And it had been feeding on her.

Part 6 — The Wait

Derpy watched.

He didn’t rush in.

He sat—just for a couple seconds—boots planted, wings tucked, chest rising and falling.

He told himself it was strategy.

Let Joker commit.

Let Lenora keep pressure.

Let the poison-thread slow the tempo.

But the truth sat under it.

He was tired.

And the old fear was climbing again.

The fear that he’d turn his head and see someone down.

The fear that he’d be too late.

Blight Vein pressed closer.

Abandoned.

Rejected.

Left behind.

Derpy’s heartbeat hit too hard.

For a blink, the wolf wanted out—ears, teeth, the urge to sprint and tear.

He caught it.

Swallowed it down until it burned.

Blight Vein leaned closer, soft as smoke in the back of his skull.

Let me help.

Derpy didn’t answer with words.

He exhaled once—slow, measured—then set his fear on the ground like a weapon he didn’t want to use.

And he picked up something worse.

His wings went still.

His spine straightened.

The shake left his hands.

When he looked up, his gaze didn’t search anymore. It pinned.

“Stay behind my eyes,” he said, voice low. “And watch.”

He lifted Crescent Eclipse.

“Okay,” he added. “Then you get to see what I’ve been holding back.”

Part 7 — Theatrical Bloodlust

Joker felt it.

Not the words.

The change.

He shifted his stance—wires tightening, gloves flexing.

And he chose escalation.

He spread his arms slightly, like he was presenting a stage.

“Very well,” Joker said. “If you insist on being the hero… then allow me to be the lesson.”

His voice sharpened.

“Theatrical Bloodlust.”

The wires snapped.

Not one.

Many.

They whipped across the clearing in a sudden lattice—aimed to control space, aimed to cut off Lenora’s wind lanes, aimed to force her into a narrow corridor where speed meant less.

Sphinx charged.

A wire caught his front legs.

Another cinched his neck.

Not choking.

Controlling.

Joker’s poison daggers flashed—two quick strikes, shallow, placed.

Paralysis crawled.

Sphinx’s chibi body swelled again, fighting the bind with mass.

But the poison made his push uneven.

Lenora cut in.

Mirror shield up.

Cursed sword down.

She tried to drink the magic in the wires.

The sword obeyed.

And Lenora paid.

Her knees threatened to buckle.

Her breath came thin.

Joker’s voice stayed in her ear.

“You can’t save them all,” he said. “You can’t even save yourself. You just keep spending your body like it’s currency.”

Lenora’s wind surged.

She forced speed anyway.

She broke the corridor.

For a heartbeat, she had him.

She drove the cursed sword toward his mask.

Joker’s wire snapped around her wrist again.

Yanked.

Her mirror shield took the pull—arm shaking.

Joker stepped in.

A poison dagger kissed her side.

Shallow.

Placed.

Paralysis began to crawl.

Lenora’s wind stuttered.

Her speed lane collapsed.

Sphinx tried to lunge.

His legs didn’t answer clean.

Joker’s wires tightened.

He was burning himself to do it.

Theatrical Bloodlust wasn’t free.

His shoulders trembled.

His breathing turned rough.

But the pressure worked.

Lenora’s cursed sword drank again.

And Lenora’s body finally refused.

She dropped to one knee.

Mirror shield scraping dirt.

Cursed sword tip biting into the ground to keep her upright.

Joker stepped back half a pace.

Not mercy.

Presentation.

“Down,” he said, like announcing a verdict.

Lenora’s eyes stayed up.

Her body didn’t.

She tipped sideways.

Sphinx tried to move.

His chibi form shuddered, bigger than before, but the poison and wires held him in a bad angle.

He hit the ground with a heavy thud.

Not dead.

Not broken.

Just unable to continue.

Seraphine’s voice cut through the clearing.

“Can you continue?”

Lenora’s fingers twitched against the dirt.

Then went still.

“No,” she said, voice thin.

Part 8 — What They Started

Derpy stood.

Mia moved with him—chibi-fast, breath ready.

Joker’s wires loosened a fraction.

Not because he wanted to.

Because Theatrical Bloodlust had cost him.

His shoulders were tight.

His stance wasn’t as light.

His gloves flexed like his hands hurt.

He still held his daggers.

He still held his mask.

But the performance had drained something real.

Derpy’s gaze pinned him.

No searching.

No hesitation.

Joker angled his head.

“Ah,” he said. “So the other one finally decides to move.”

Derpy didn’t answer.

Mia inhaled.

Frost gathered in her throat.

Derpy lifted Crescent Eclipse.

The swap lock ticked in the back of his mind.

The recoil waited.

The poison layer waited.

Blight Vein waited.

And Derpy—still in that colder posture—stepped forward anyway.

Because Lenora was down.

And Joker was still standing.

And this was what they started

54:T26f6,

Part 1 — The Main Event

Derpy began walking.

The clearing felt too wide for how little air he had left.

Joker turned his head.

A sinister smile cut across his mouth like a blade being drawn.

“Now,” he said, voice carrying like a stage call. “For the main event.”

Derpy’s heart rate stuttered—too fast, then too slow—like his body couldn’t decide whether to run or fight.

Two presences pressed in close.

Celica.

Blight.

Hands he couldn’t see but could feel settled on his shoulder—steadying, claiming.

Only he could sense them.

“You’re all over the place,” Celica said.

Blight’s voice came after, lower, patient in a way that made it worse. “If you can’t focus, then we’re done.”

Derpy’s gaze locked on Joker.

Joker straightened.

Then he reached up and removed his mask.

The face underneath made Derpy’s blood drop cold.

“My name is Jack,” he said, as if introducing himself to a crowd that had been waiting. “It’s good to be back.”

Derpy’s tail flicked uncontrollably.

The world narrowed.

And the memories came.

Part 2 — The Old Failures

A night.

Lewd—hurt—Derpy trying to protect her with shaking hands and not enough power.

Lenora.

Vespera.

Him.

All of them failing to stop what happened.

The feeling hit like a weight dropped into his chest.

Worthless then.

Worthless now.

Holding everyone back.

Another memory—Derpy dancing for a team in his world, feet missing the beat, timing wrong, the moment where you realize you’ve let people down and there’s no way to rewind.

Another—his violin, fingers too tense, notes coming out wrong, the sound turning sour in the room.

The looks.

The shunning.

Another—friends needing him and him not being there.

The guilt stacked.

It didn’t just sit on him.

It pinned.

His shadow held him this time.

A voice slid through the dark like a familiar chain.

“Remember what you said,” the shadow murmured. “You can’t get rid of me. I’ll always be there when you’re at your lowest.”

Derpy’s knees threatened to soften.

Then—

A faint voice, like a light flickering in a storm.

“Get up.”

Vambasta.

“You can’t falter now,” she said. “If you stop now, it’s over. Do you want to work for the Queen of Faydurn? Seraphine? Do you value your freedom? Move.”

Another voice cut in—rougher, urgent.

Lewd.

“Move.”

Another voice—thin, doll-like, too close to his ear.

Riven.

“Friend. Move. No fail.”

The chorus snapped him back.

Just in time.

Part 3 — Strings in the Air

Jack’s wires hissed forward.

Derpy barely managed to dodge.

The wire cut the space where his throat had been.

Jack’s voice turned playful.

“Give me a show worth dancing for, little boy.”

The word dance hit Derpy like a hook.

His stomach tightened.

His magic was low.

His body was worse.

Celica’s embers stirred.

Blight’s hunger stirred.

Derpy swallowed once.

“Celica. Blight.” His voice came out rough. “I need a favor.”

Jack didn’t rush.

He watched.

Like he wanted Derpy to beg.

Derpy forced the words through.

“I’m going to let loose what little magic and energy I have left. Can I conjure something that fits my style?”

Celica’s answer came first—warm, dangerous.

“Yes.”

Blight followed—slow approval.

“Do it.”

Derpy thought of Lewd—how her calamity moved like poison hands.

He imagined poison ice.

Gloves.

His Frostburn gauntlets shrank.

Metal and frost collapsed inward, reforming.

One glove turned black.

The other turned white—stained through with green, like rot under snow.

His sinister side leaned in, voice close enough to feel like breath.

“Can we do this together?” it asked. “I can lend you power you’ve been holding back. It’s time to start the show.”

Derpy’s posture shifted.

His voice sharpened.

A chaotic chuckle broke out of him—too raw to be joy.

“Man,” he said, “you sure got me worked up.”

He stared at Jack.

“Tell me, Mister String-Wielder—are you going to be the one to make me dance… or will you be the one who will be dancing?”

Jack’s eyes tightened.

He didn’t like the way Derpy was talking.

Part 4 — Boulder Toss

Jack’s strings snapped around two boulders.

He yanked.

Stone tore free and flew.

Derpy raised the poison glove.

The boulder hit the air in front of him—then softened, melted, and collapsed into slush and dead grit as the poison-ice ate through it.

Derpy dashed.

In a blink he was close.

Inches from Jack’s face.

Jack’s wires whipped for Derpy’s wrists.

Derpy moved wrong on purpose.

A wire wrapped.

Then shattered.

Because it wasn’t Derpy.

It was a perfect ice decoy.

Jack’s head snapped.

Derpy’s voice came from behind him.

“You’ve been so focused on me,” Derpy said, “you forgot one thing—my jester comedian.”

Jack spun.

Derpy’s hand covered his own mouth as if holding something back.

But his eyes showed it.

A wide grin.

A laugh trapped behind his palm like a secret he didn’t share.

Jack’s wires surged.

Derpy didn’t flinch.

Because the field was changing.

Part 5 — Mist Terrain

Mist rolled in.

Cold mist.

It swallowed ankles first.

Then knees.

Then the whole clearing turned into a fogged, icy terrain.

Jack didn’t realize it at first.

Mia—still in chibi form—was active.

Her ice breath had turned the battlefield into her territory.

Derpy’s steps made no sound.

He walked through the mist like it belonged to him.

Jack’s wires snapped out—blind.

They caught nothing.

Derpy’s voice came from the fog.

“You will be the one to fear me.”

A hand touched Jack’s arm.

The white-green glove.

Poison-ice spread.

Heavy.

Biting.

A slash of cold that wasn’t clean—cold with rot inside it.

Jack screamed.

Terrified—sharp, real.

For the first time.

Derpy’s voice stayed low.

“Tell me, little jester—do you fear that if you lose, Queen Seraphine will find a replacement?”

Another touch.

Jack’s leg.

More poison-ice crawled up.

His arm went limp.

His fingers stopped obeying.

Derpy’s eyes narrowed.

“That night,” he said, “you toyed with people I cherished.”

A flash in his mind—Jack toying with him when Derpy tried his best.

Looking down.

Planting fear.

The kind that becomes panic attacks.

The kind that waits behind your ribs.

“You played with your food,” Derpy said. “And you put a fear in me that still follows me.”

Ice formed around Jack’s legs.

Locked him.

Forced him still.

Mist thinned just enough to show the end.

Derpy stepped in.

Crescent Eclipse in scythe mode.

Point-blank.

Blade at Jack’s neck.

“This time,” Derpy said, “you danced for me, little jester. Not me for you.”

Jack’s eyes rolled.

His body dropped.

Unconscious.

Not dead.

Just out.

Part 6 — The Aftershock

Derpy’s legs began shaking.

The gloves still steamed with cold.

Mia grew bigger—just enough to brace him.

She pressed in under his arm, holding him up.

Seraphine stepped forward.

Her gaze went to Jack.

“Can he continue?” she asked.

Jack didn’t answer.

Seraphine crouched, checked him with a glance that didn’t need hands.

“He’s alive,” she said.

A pause.

“Well. A deal’s a deal.”

Mina—still bound to the calamity Marionette—moved in and hugged Derpy.

“Thank mew,” she whispered.

Kara rushed forward.

“Mina—”

Mina’s face crumpled.

Tears spilled.

“I’m okay,” she managed.

Seraphine’s voice cut through, sharp with promise.

“You proved you’re no joke,” she said to Derpy. “You and your friend took out two of my heavy hitters.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Next time, I won’t—”

She stopped.

Because the air changed.

Part 7 — Hooded Cloaks

Figures stepped from the edge of the clearing.

Hooded.

Silent.

Four of them.

Weapons raised.

One pulled back his hood.

An elf.

His eyes pinned Derpy like a specimen.

“Tell me, boy,” the elf said, “how long can you keep going?”

The others spoke—voices layered, wrong in a way that made Derpy’s skin tighten.

“Where is the calamity book?”

The words sounded like Riven.

Not her.

But shaped like her.

Derpy tried to move.

His body didn’t answer fast enough.

Not after the fight.

Not after the gloves.

Not after the memories.

A strike hit him.

Hard.

Clean.

He went down before anyone could react.

Mia lunged.

Too late.

Sphinx tried to rise.

Too slow.

Lenora was still down.

Jack was out.

Seraphine’s fan snapped open.

But the cloaks were already moving.

They grabbed Derpy.

And then—

They disappeared.

Mist swallowed the space where he had been.

The clearing held its breath.

And the board changed.

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fractured kingdoms

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