The campfire crackled between Lenora and Crysha.
Lenora adjusted herself against the fallen log, drawing her legs closer as she prepared to continue. Her brown ears drooped beside her head. She had fought armies, faced gods, and endured Blood Lust tearing through her body—but speaking about this part of her past frightened her in a quieter way.
Across the fire, Crysha tapped one foot against the earth.
She was listening.
At least, she was trying to listen.
Her thoughts kept returning to the Dragon-Wolf crest hidden beneath Lenora's clothing.
It doesn't make sense.
Lenora had died before Derpy was physically born. Somehow, someone resembling him had met her inside the Soul Seam, returned her to life, altered her hair, strengthened her body, and placed a crest upon her.
A contract from someone who did not yet exist.
Crysha's foot tapped faster.
Unless Lenora never met Derpy at all.
Something glimmered above the fire.
A single word forged itself from golden-red light directly in front of Crysha.
DRAGO
Crysha stopped tapping.
Her blue eyes widened.
She looked to her left.
Nothing.
She looked toward the trees.
No movement. No magical presence. No hidden heartbeat disturbed the forest, and no scent unfamiliar to her reached the campsite.
The word disappeared.
Crysha stared at the empty air above the flames for a long moment.
Something had written in Lenora's fire and left no trace of how it had gotten there.
Drago.
She filed that alongside the crest and the things she did not yet understand about this forest, and her foot resumed tapping.
She remembered the wendigo siblings speaking about another Dragon-Wolf god. An ancient creature who had existed long before Derpy. She could recall pieces of their story — a challenge, a defeated clan leader, shrines built across several kingdoms — but the details refused to settle properly inside her mind.
Was Drago the one who returned Lenora to life all those years ago?
If he had been, the crest still responded to Derpy now.
That raised an even more disturbing question.
Does the crest belong to the god who created it — or to the Dragon-Wolf mantle itself?
"Auntie?"
Crysha didn't hear her.
Her thoughts sank deeper.
If Derpy inherited Drago's position, did he inherit Drago's crests as well? His bargains? His followers? His debts?
"Auntie."
How many people could still be carrying one?
"Auntie!"
Crysha remained motionless.
Lenora shot upright.
"AUNTIE!"
Crysha finally returned to her senses.
She blinked at Lenora, then followed her niece's horrified stare down toward her own arm.
Crysha's hand was resting inside the campfire.
"Ow."
She pulled it free.
Steam rolled from her fingers as the flames met the cold surrounding her skin. A thin layer of frost spread over her palm, smothering the remaining embers.
Lenora stared at her.
"Are you all right?"
"I should be fine."
Crysha flexed her fingers. The fire had reddened her skin, but her ice authority had prevented a serious burn.
"I was deep in thought."
"I noticed."
Crysha ignored the dryness in Lenora's voice and looked toward the place where the word had appeared.
"When you told me that you died and returned through a contract with someone who had not been born yet, I began questioning everything."
Lenora's ears shifted.
"I wonder whether the being you met was Drago — the previous Dragon-Wolf god."
"Drago?"
"The wendigos mentioned him. I remember enough to know that he existed before Derpy, but I cannot remember their entire story."
The fire crackled softly.
Neither woman spoke for several moments.
Crysha eventually lowered her hand.
"If a divine mantle is reincarnated, do its crests follow the next god in line?"
Lenora stared at her.
"Would every old contract recognize the successor as its new master?"
Crysha's expression tightened.
"Because if that is how it works, this could become extremely dangerous for your friend Derpy."
She did not say extremely the way someone says it when they mean very. She said it the way a god says it when she means catastrophic and possibly irreversible.
"That's a good question."
Lenora glanced down at the concealed crest.
"But I don't know."
She touched the fabric covering it.
"Whoever brought me back only gave me a simple condition. I returned to life. That is what matters."
Crysha did not look reassured. She looked like someone holding an open question with both hands and no good place to set it down.
"Lenora, dear…"
Her voice softened.
"What if the conditions were much more complicated than you understood?"
The forest became silent.
A voice echoed through Lenora's mind.
Be there for me — no matter what.
Her crest burned.
Lenora gasped and pressed one hand against it. Heat spread across her lower back, sinking through her skin and into her bones.
Images flashed through her mind.
A frightened young man falling from the sky.
Derpy crashing directly onto her.
The confusion in his eyes when he realized where he had landed.
His instinctive attempt to flee.
Lenora chasing him.
Training him.
Watching his first weapons form.
The kiss that had sealed their later contract.
Derpy's nervousness.
His kindness.
The fear he attempted to hide whenever someone became important to him.
The original words returned.
One day, I will enter the physical realm.
You will be there for me.
Lenora closed her eyes.
"When I see him again…"
The burning intensified.
Lenora's fingers tightened against her dress.
"I won't let him out of my sight."
The pain vanished.
Her crest became still.
Crysha watched her carefully.
The response had been too immediate to dismiss as coincidence. The crest had issued a reminder. Lenora had renewed her promise. Only then had it released her.
She did not say this aloud, because Lenora was already looking at the fire with an expression that suggested she understood, and was carefully choosing not to think about the implications of understanding.
Lenora slowly lowered her hand.
"Auntie?"
"Yes?"
"I want you to meet him."
Crysha raised an eyebrow.
"Meet whom?"
"Derpy."
Lenora's ears turned bright red.
Crysha looked from one burning ear to the other.
"I see."
"It isn't like that."
"I said nothing."
"You were thinking it."
Crysha allowed the corner of her mouth to rise.
"I will think about meeting him."
Lenora's ears lifted hopefully.
"But first, continue your story. What happened at the café inn?"
The hope immediately left Lenora's face.
Her brown ears drooped again.
She shifted against the log, trying to find a comfortable position. None existed. The discomfort did not come from the wood beneath her or the cold night air.
It came from knowing what she was about to remember.
Crysha opened the bottle from the wendigo Emporium.
The scented vapor rose between them.
At first, it remained pale and transparent. Then it thickened, darkening until the mist became a deep crimson red.
Shapes formed inside it.
Walls.
A bed.
A locked wooden door.
Stacks of books.
The projection sharpened until Crysha was no longer merely listening to Lenora's memories.
She could see them.
"For my first two weeks at the inn, I barely left my room," Lenora said.
Within the red vapor, her younger self sat alone on the rented bed. Books had accumulated around her in uneven piles.
"I only went downstairs when I needed food. Sometimes I spoke with Garrett or his sister, but I never remained around other people for long."
The projected Lenora looked toward the locked door several times.
Even while reading, one ear remained pointed toward it.
"I kept the key with me. I checked the lock repeatedly. Knowing that no one could enter without my permission helped me sleep."
When Lenora did leave the inn, she visited the bookshop Lola had recommended.
Most of the books she purchased concerned wind magic and acceleration magic. She studied how air pressure could redirect movement, how magical force could increase speed without destroying the body, and how momentum could be changed during combat.
But not every book was practical.
Some contained simple stories.
Others recorded the history of the human kingdoms.
"I wanted to understand humans," Lenora admitted. "I thought that if I understood their history, their laws, and their customs, I might understand why the people in that first kingdom had treated me the way they did."
She paused.
"I never found an answer that made what happened acceptable."
One afternoon, someone knocked on her door.
Lenora's hand immediately moved toward her weapon.
"Who is it?"
"It's me."
Lola's voice came through the wood.
Lenora relaxed slightly and unlocked the door.
The small rabbit girl stood in the hallway with her ears hanging low. Worry filled her face.
"Lola?"
"Hey…"
Lola looked back toward the stairs.
"Why are humans so mean?"
Lenora opened the door wider.
"What happened?"
"Can I stay in here for a while? I closed the café for the rest of the day."
"Of course."
Lola entered.
Lenora locked the door behind her before following Lola toward the bed.
"Do you want to tell me what happened?"
Lola sat beside her and rested her head against Lenora's shoulder.
That was when Lenora noticed the back of Lola's clothing.
The fabric had been shredded.
The room disappeared.
Chains replaced the walls.
The rented bed became the bed upon which Lenora had awakened after several missing days.
Men's voices returned.
The smell she had spent years trying to forget filled her senses.
Lenora stopped breathing.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
The brown strands of her hair began turning crimson from their roots.
Lola continued speaking, but Lenora could no longer understand the words.
Her hands trembled.
Her vision narrowed.
Two crimson blades threatened to form beside her.
Then a small hand rested on hers.
"Lenora?"
The memory broke.
Lenora looked down.
Lola was holding her hand.
Her crimson hair slowly returned to brown.
"I'm okay," Lola said.
Lenora struggled to breathe.
"Nothing bad happened to me."
Lenora looked toward the torn clothing again.
"But your back—"
"A man had too much to drink. He tried to stand while I was walking past him, but he fell."
Lola reached behind herself, touching the damaged fabric.
"He grabbed the back of my clothes while trying to catch himself. It ripped everything."
"You're certain that was all?"
"Yes."
Lola's face became pinker than her fur.
"I was so embarrassed that I sent everyone home and closed the café. The only people still here are the guests renting rooms."
Lenora lowered her eyes.
"Oh."
Lola tilted her head.
"I thought you were…"
Lenora couldn't finish.
Understanding reached Lola.
Her entire face turned bright red, and her fur puffed outward.
"Oh! Definitely not!"
A flame appeared above Lola's palm — small and steady, the kind that did not arrive by accident.
"Garrett told me that if anyone ever tried something like that, I should burn them to a crisp!"
Lenora looked at the flame.
So she has power, she thought. And someone made sure she knew what to do with it.
Lola smiled nervously.
"He is good friends with the other guards. They would help me if something really happened."
The fire vanished.
Lola leaned against Lenora again.
"I was wondering…"
"Yes?"
"Would you stay here a little longer?"
Lenora looked down at her.
"And get to know me and my brother?"
Lola played with her fingers.
"He seems to like you."
Her ears reddened.
"And I like you too!"
Lenora blinked.
Lola immediately thrust both hands in front of herself.
"Not romantically!"
She waved them so quickly that Lenora almost laughed.
"I mean like an older sister! It would be nice having another rabbit around. I haven't had anyone here who understands our customs or lets me braid their hair."
Lenora smiled.
"If it is only for a little longer, I don't mind."
The crest ignited.
The bedroom turned black.
Lola vanished.
Every sound ceased.
Lenora did not move.
This had happened twice before — during moments she had been content — and she had learned by now that moving made no difference. The crest did not wait for her to reach for something before it reminded her what she was for.
He is not the one.
There it was.
Remember your contract.
She had worn this mark for decades. She had felt it flare near the man who poisoned her, near strangers who startled her, near Derpy every time he was close enough for it to recognize him. But it had never fired during a smile before. It had never stopped her from being happy.
Just for a moment, standing in this warm ordinary room with a girl who braided hair and called her sister — the crest had decided to remind her.
Lenora stood very still inside the black until the bedroom returned.
Lola was still sitting beside her, unaware that anything had happened.
Lenora forced herself to breathe.
"As long as it isn't for too long."
"That's fine!"
Lola hugged her.
Lenora hesitated before returning it.
The crest remained silent.
For now.
After Lola released her, Lenora attempted to change the subject.
"I was wondering whether there are any guilds nearby — or work that needs to be done."
Lola's face lit up.
"Would you like to help here?"
"No!"
The shout escaped before Lenora realized how forcefully she had answered.
Lola jumped.
Her ears dropped.
Lenora immediately regretted it.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout."
"Oh."
"I wasn't saying no because of you."
Lenora knelt so she was closer to Lola's height.
"I meant mercenary work. Monsters that need to be slain, caravans requiring protection, or dangerous assignments outside the city."
She glanced toward the window.
"I have been trapped inside this room for too long. I need fresh air."
Lola nodded, although disappointment remained visible in her lowered ears.
"You would need to ask Garrett. I only know about things inside the café."
She looked down at her hands.
"It still would have been nice having another rabbit friend helping me."
Lenora found herself without an answer.
She wanted to leave the room.
She wanted to use her weapon.
She wanted to prove that the frightened woman hiding behind a locked door was not the only person she could become.
But she did not want to hurt Lola.
"How about two days?"
Lola looked up.
"Two days?"
"I can help you here two days every week. The rest of the time, I'll accept guild work."
Lola's ears rose.
"Really?"
"If that is acceptable."
Lola's smile filled the room.
"Yes!"
The crimson memory held on that expression.
A small rabbit girl, delighted by the promise of two ordinary days together.
At the campfire, present-day Lenora's ears sank lower.
She did not look at Crysha.
She looked at the fire and waited to see whether her aunt had noticed the same thing she had — that the crest had not fired when Lenora was afraid, or angry, or broken, or exhausted.
It had fired when she smiled.
The memories she wished to forget had not begun with violence.
They had begun with someone asking her to stay.