Nyzara / Vertdae 16 / y’996 – Dawntide27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCGpr0lZT4I
Words carried on the wind as a mail courier whistled a half-forgotten tavern tune, its melody curling through the harbor air like smoke from a dying fire. He slipped a white-and-blue checkered envelope, sealed with a golden emblem, into the narrow brass slot of a towering estate. The letter disappeared with a soft clink. Stepping back, the courier adjusted his visor and took in the structure before him.27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ70kyB9wsPC
It stood in stark contrast to the rest of the block. Most of the nearby buildings were lively multi-story shops, inns, and taverns—constructed from well-cut timber and reinforced with steel framing. Ornate woodwork adorned their façades, some with hand-carved motifs of animals or constellations, while others boasted oversized painted signs and decorative patios with matching lanterns and polished furnishings.
But this place—this corner compound—was something else entirely. It sprawled like a private campus just off the harbor's edge, complete with its own discreet marina tucked behind the property. Several buildings loomed five stories tall, rising above their neighbors like quiet sentinels. Each was crafted from rich timber and blackened steel, their sleek, sloped roofs lined with black shingles and webbed with an elaborate gutter system. Even in the rain-muted daylight, the open shutters and wide glass windows on every floor hinted at wealth and careful design.
Though currently unlit, the ground floors bore decorative fuel chambered sconces housing torches spaced with meticulous symmetry. One building had a sturdy wooden sign dangling from black iron chainwork that read: Smith & Goods. Beside it stood a sister structure, connected at its upper stories, marked: Inn & Tavern.
Behind them stretched a broader, squatter building—half-garage, half-barn—with arched bay doors wide enough to swallow a double-decker military caravan whole. The barn’s rear yard was no ordinary pasture, but a cultivated grove brimming with rare magical flora. Tall, gnarled trees of Magicwood, Darkwood, and Dragonwood reached skyward, their roots weaving into the manicured earth. Some corners were dense with underbrush, forming a near-impenetrable curtain of green that wrapped the estate in natural privacy, aided by a high red-brick wall encircling the entire property.
At the center of the compound rose the tallest structure: a skyport tower, bold and crowned with a massive sign reading Private Skyport. Two airships hovered in the mist above, docked under partial awnings at the topmost platform. One was an aged beauty, shaped like a seafaring galleon reborn for the skies. Its elongated gas envelope shimmered dully in the mist, held aloft by old magic and compressed ether. From its stern sprouted three dragon-winged structures—two sweeping out to either side, the third jutting down beneath. Built into the wings, slender mana jets waited silently, dormant but deadly.
Parallel to the older skyship, docked across the opposite side of the skyport tower, loomed a vessel of a newer generation. Though still echoing the elegant curvature of a seafaring wooden galleon, this ship bore no gas-filled envelope. Instead, multiple propellers rose from the deck like mechanical sentinels stationed atop its mast-like pylons—sail-less, staggered in height and thickness, each spinning with a deliberate slowness. They weren’t meant for lift; they functioned as wind turbines, feeding the ship’s internal mana engines buried deep within its armored hull.
Beneath the vessel, a series of circular mana jets dotted the underside, evenly spaced and discreetly recessed. Each jet glowed with a piercing blue hue, thrumming like arcing lightning, and could pivot freely in any direction without protruding beyond the sleek silhouette of the hull. Just like the older vessel, this ship bore the same wide, dragon-wing structures protruding from its stern, reinforced with steel and fitted with slender rear-mounted mana thrusters. But unlike its companion, the ship’s engines were alive, softly humming with restrained power as it floated still and stable in the morning haze.
Docked below, nestled in the private marina behind the establishment, floated a different kind of beast entirely—a massive naval ship, built from dark timber and gleaming dragonsteel. Its silhouette was fierce and practical, a fusion of cargo hauler and warship. Towering masts hoisted neatly tied sails, and the deck brimmed with multi-level cabins and reinforced underdecks that stretched far below the waterline. Cannons lined its sides with eerie discretion, carefully hidden behind folding shutters on both port and starboard. Mounted atop its upper decks were rotating ballistae—silent, but ready.
At the prow of the ship, carved in flawless detail, was a haunting figurehead: a siren, seductive and melancholy, carved from pale, silverwood. Her harp rested against her bare thigh, her expression caught between song and sorrow.
The mail courier strolled along the sidewalk’s edge, his tune still dancing quietly from his lips. The morning sun finally caught his face, casting faint warmth as it crested the ocean’s horizon. Soon, the city would stir. He was glad to be finishing his rounds before it awoke.
Passing one of the open gates to the estate, he took note of two double-decker caravan wagons parked outside the garage. One was badly burned—its hull scorched and its harnesses melted into a tangled black heap. The second wagon car remained mostly intact, hitched with thick tow cables to several smaller support wagons lined up in front of it.
Several garage bays stood open, revealing identical caravan wagons within, neatly parked and under active repair. Steam-driven spider-like constructs—made of brass and iron—scurried over the wagons' surfaces, some bearing replacement planks, others welding steel plates into place. Hissing steam vented from their jointed limbs, rising in sharp bursts as they toiled without pause.
Parked along the street, a merchant wagon sat hitched to two heavy horses, its bed stacked with barrels of ale, crates of tinctures, and bundles of healing solutions. Small and mid-sized goblins, clad in weathered cloaks and tunics, bustled about. These weren’t the feral kind that plagued the wilds—they were sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued, and industrious. Some barked orders while tallying on clipboards, others counted with stubby fingers, and the rest wheeled cargo through the gate in practiced formation.
As the courier turned the corner, he caught the sound of a woman’s voice—raised and growing sharper—arguing with one of the goblins near the entrance to the main building. He kept walking, not breaking pace. He’d seen this scene play out before. Whatever it was, it had become a weekly ritual at this peculiar harbor estate.
Around the front of the building beneath the Inn & Tavern sign, a small figure hovered in the air like gravity was more of a suggestion than a law. She was impish and elf-like, barely three feet tall, with dusky grey-lavender skin and wild shoulder-length hair the color of ash and smoke. Two small devilish horns peeked from the tousled bangs that tangled around her soot-covered steampunk goggles. The lenses were rimmed with retractable magnifiers—half extended, half jammed—and sat crooked over her eyes as if she’d been too busy to fix them for days.
Her body shimmered with strange digital patterns that pulsed across her skin in hues of black and toxic green, forming glove- and boot-like designs that flickered like arcane circuitry. Though technically unclothed, the intricate markings were precise and modest, like clothes painted on by some glitchy divine hand. A fuzzy scarf-cloak clung to her shoulders, twitching as she moved. Her eyes burned red, vibrant and furious, locked onto a goblin in front of her who looked like he wanted to disappear into his clipboard.
“You’re short two barrels of wine. Again!” she snapped, floating erratically in the air like a storm trapped in a bottle. “This is the third week in a row. What in the multi-fucking hells is going on? You trying to rip me off?”
The goblin’s hands shook as he shuffled through a sheaf of crumpled receipts, invoices, and scribbled math. Several papers slipped free and began to fall—he snatched at them midair with frantic, clawed fingers.
“Me very sorry!” he wheezed. “Other bad and nasty goblins has been attacking wagons on the roadses! Robbing everything! Very dangerous!”
After finally catching the last page, he straightened up, panting. “Me promise! Many wagons raided. Wine shipments been coming up shorts.”
Adel—the impish elf—pinched the bridge of her nose, her irritation radiant enough to curdle milk. “How is that my problem? I have a tavern to run. Hunter parties to supply. Gears to lube. Furnaces to maintain. I'm paying a lot of coin for things that keep turning up empty.”
The goblin’s ears drooped. “Me puts up job at guild, but no one takes jobbie yet. Very hard to get help nowadays.” He perked up suddenly, snapping his fingers like he’d discovered fire. “Gobbie give you deal! This time, it’s on us. Next time—half off for tasty wine, promise!”
Adel glared, then gave a curt nod. A black-and-green digital rift tore open in the air beside her like a zipper slicing through reality. She reached in with one arm and yanked out a bulging sack of gold coins, dropping it squarely onto the goblin’s clipboard. The weight of the bag sent the board crashing to the ground, papers flying in every direction.
Without another word, the rift blinked out of existence. Adel floated toward the tavern’s entrance, kicked the door open mid-air, and slammed it shut behind her.
Inside, she drifted to the long central countertop that served as the inn and tavern’s operations hub. Ledgers, account books, contracts, and shipment logs were stacked beside a brass-capped cash register bolted into the hardwood, while a reinforced safe was tucked beneath. She landed with a quiet tap of her boots onto the counter’s surface and began flipping pages in one of the logbooks with her foot, not even looking up when a familiar voice spoke from the shadows.
“You know, Adel,” came the dry, teasing tone of Vlad, “you really don’t have to work so hard now that Morrak and Torgan are back. You and Lumi could take a break. Everyone’s here now.”
She twisted her neck slightly, casting a sideways glance at him over her shoulder, as if annoyed to even be reminded of his existence.
“Oh, yeah?” she replied, voice dripping sarcasm. “Now that everyone’s just suddenly back, there’s more to do. We’ve got a shipment incoming right now—and whoever the hell followed you guys home has their wagons blocking half the damned driveway.”
She flipped another page with her heel and continued, “Wagon cars five and six need major repairs. Again. We just finished replacing the mana engine and hull plating on the Ragnarok II from when you decided to crash it, by the way. I just sealed the hole Lizyra blasted through the Siren’s Song after the last sea run. Oh, and—because no one asked—I went ahead and had Nox’s dungeon completely redone to be more dragon-appropriate.”
Another page flicked. Her foot paused.
“We’re also extremely low on coin. So unless you finished every one of your contracts, and this isn’t some surprise early return because someone lost a boot or threw a tantrum—” she narrowed her eyes, “—then this week’s gonna suck.”
Scratching the back of his head, Vlad offered a sheepish grin. “Well… we didn’t exactly finish all the contracts we had, yet. But—” he held up a finger, “—we did come across a few in the field that paid more than expected. Plus, we had a run-in with a shadow dragon and managed to harvest about a hundred and fifty flasks worth of its blood, along with claws, hide, scales—you name it.”
Adel slammed the ledger shut with a sharp thud, the echo bounding through the empty tavern like a punctuation mark of disbelief. She turned in midair, extending one finger in front of her like a stylus against an invisible page. Glowing red glyphs of arcane script unfurled in the air, hovering like scribbled ink made of magic as she began scribbling out mental math.
“How big did you say this dragon was?” she asked, pausing mid-equation.
Grinning like a kid with a stolen gem, Vlad replied, “Didn’t say yet. But it was at least four times the size of Nox.”
Adel’s eyes widened. The floating math flared brighter, then rearranged itself with new calculations.
“Four times... Nox?” She whistled. “Based on his last weight and measurement logs, a shadow dragon of that scale would bring in—” she blinked, recalculating again, “—more gold than every one of the contracts you all were supposed to be out finishing.” She slapped her palm to her forehead, sighed deeply, and let her legs dangle midair. “That actually takes a lot of stress off my shoulders. Between the repairs, the restocking, and the renovations still pending... even on the low end, that should more than cover the costs.”
Vlad leaned against the counter, shifting his weight. “That bastard’s the one that tore through part of the caravan. If Isaac and the gang hadn’t met up with us at Cyrus Village—and this guy named Glacius hadn’t helped—we’d have never made it back here in time.” His voice dropped lower. “Also… Onyx, Osira, Lizyra, and our new friend Zhara got hit hard in the field. They’re recovering, but Isaac and Vyncent think it’s best we lay low here for a while.”
Adel groaned, rubbing her temples. “That doesn’t surprise me. Honestly, I was expecting you to say Lizyra turned Isaac into a tree again and someone chopped him down by mistake, or Theo caused another explosion that took out half the caravan.”
Vlad’s grin faded.
He looked away and said quietly, “Also… Avry’s dead. She was killed by one of the necromancer’s thralls. Turned into an abomination.”
He pulled a small, softly glowing soul crystal from his pouch and placed it gently on the counter. The gem flickered with a faint purple hue, pulsing like a heartbeat in glass.
“We managed to catch her soul,” he said. “But… there’s not much we can do.”
Adel froze.
“You let Avry die?” she hissed, the words like venom dipped in lightning.
Vlad’s eyes welled as he stood there, trembling. “She pushed me out of the way. Took the full force of the hit. By the time I realized what was happening, it was already too late.” His voice cracked. “It was over before I could even draw my weapon.”
The rift opened again—black and green, like a wound tearing open in space beside Adel.
Without a word, she swept the soul crystal off the counter and dropped it into the void. The rift snapped shut like a door slamming in the face of fate.
“It’d be an insult,” she muttered, voice low and raw, “to use her for an arcanix… or as fuel for some mana battery.”
She flopped backward onto the counter, legs kicking out lazily as she stared at the ceiling.
“Fucking necromancers. They came in like a plague after the Purge. And the Empire? They do nothing for the southern reaches past the Emberspyre mountains. Avry was one of the last people actually fighting them. Now she’s just… gone.”
At that moment, the door behind the counter burst open and Morrak came stomping in, followed closely by Torgan. Each carried a teetering stack of crates and gear, their arms full of tools, components, and fresh supplies.
“Come on, ya weepy sods!” Morrak bellowed, thumping the crates down across the counter. “We’ll have time to mourn and hold hands after we give Avry a proper funeral. Right now we’ve got an arse-load of work to do!”
Adel rolled just in time to avoid being buried by the boxes. She floated upward toward the rafters, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, her expression unreadable.
Informatively, Torgan said, “Vyncent also requested that you and Lumi switch out with me and Morrak on the next expedition. We’ll be splitting into parties. It’ll be a few days before we all set out again, but I figured you should know.”
Adel wiped a few tears from her cheeks, her voice quieter. “It’s been a while since I’ve been out in the field.”
Morrak chimed in, “Vyncent and Isaac headed to the Mage’s College to look for new jobs and contracts. Aurora’s out back talking with Glacius—the gentleman who helped us tow the wagons—and they’re waiting on the goblins to finish their delivery. Everyone else is either asleep or off doing their own thing. You should go get some rest, Adel. I’d bet you’ve been up for days.”
Adel stretched and yawned as she floated down onto a precarious stack of boxes on the counter. “It’s been a few days since I closed my eyes for anything longer than a blink,” she muttered. After a moment, she rolled off the box and onto the floor. Her small horns barely poked up over the countertop as she rifled through the drawers. “But unfortunately, there’s still way too much to do around here for me to take a nap.”
Morrak chuckled, shelving some of the boxes. “Well, Lumi’s in the tavern. She’s cooking up breakfast for everyone. I’d recommend grabbing a bite. I saw Isaac brought back some rare game. There’s a haunch hanging in the cooler that should make for some mighty fine bacon.”
Vlad leaned over the counter, eyes lighting up. “Bacon, you say? After weeks of raptor meat and travel rations, I almost forgot what real food tasted like.”
Torgan’s stomach growled loud enough to make them all glance his way. He winced. “Glacius made some good food before we towed the wagons back, but I could eat a whole hog right now.”
Sunlight spilled through a nearby window, catching the green tint of his skin as he stood tall. Without another word, Torgan turned down the hallway. “I think I’ll go see if she needs any help, actually.”
Adel groaned in frustration, slamming a drawer shut. “I swear I’ve misplaced my keys again.”
“Maybe if you wore actual clothes, you’d have a pocket or two to keep them in,” Vlad teased, voice rich with mock sincerity.
Fuming, Adel’s horns slowly rose over the counter as she floated upward, glaring daggers into his face. “Clothes don’t feel right against my skin,” she hissed. “And I don’t need clothes—I can make any design I want appear right on my body.”
Leaning closer, Vlad asked the obvious, already grinning. “But you can’t make pockets, can you?”
An invisible force cracked across his face as Adel’s palm met his cheek in a stinging slap.
“You know damn well I can open temporal storage rifts!” she shouted. “And stop ogling my body, pervert.”
Still rubbing his cheek, Vlad replied, “Yeah, I remember—very vividly. You threw me into one and nearly suffocated me when you sealed it.”
He sighed. “Wouldn’t call those ‘pockets’ though. Not exactly on your person. And for the record, I wasn’t ogling you. Especially not in front of your father.”
Adel’s pale gray cheeks flushed red. She stammered, “Well… if I hadn’t caught you peeping on Ifera, you wouldn’t have been in there. I’m surprised you didn’t suffocate.” She held up fingers as she counted. “The average Hume would’ve died three or four minutes before I let you out.”
Laughter erupted in the room as Morrak joined in.
“Vlad’s resilient!” the dwarf bellowed. “I’ve seen him crawl back from worse. Took a Norog’s warhammer to the chest while venturing across the spines of Emberspyer—smashed to bits!” He slammed a heavy fist onto the counter to illustrate the blow. “Got ripped clean in two by a snow yeti up on Hailshaven’s peaks!” He grabbed his beard and yanked it apart theatrically. “And down in the forgotten mines of Dagranoth I saw him—”
“Enough!” Vlad cut in, his face hot. “I don’t need a play-by-play of all the times I died. I’m not resilient. If it weren’t for Kitsune, Esmerelda, or Avry’s healing magic, I’d be dead six times over.”
With a wicked smirk, Adel purred, “Oh, keep going, Daddy. I wasn’t even close to climaxing yet.”
Morrak gagged and scowled. “Good gods, Adel! Mind your tongue! There could be customers just down the hall!”
“Oh?” Adel snapped. “But bragging about our dear pervert’s many gory deaths is perfectly professional tavern conversation?”
Morrak flushed and muttered, “Might’ve gotten carried away.”
Adel, entirely unfazed, twirled midair and hovered over the counter. “We’re the best at what we do. Honestly, we could all walk around naked and still rake in business.”
As she landed back on the floor, the digital green and black tattoo-like designs that decorated her arms and legs began crawling up her body like intricate circuitry, forming across her skin with a shimmering, fluid motion. They coiled around her torso and wrapped around her waist, stopping just below her neck, just beneath the fuzzy black scarf resting on her shoulders.
“But I guess since everyone’s home,” she muttered, stretching once more, “I’ll make myself look a little more presentable.”
Her boots clicked lightly on the floor as she passed through the hallway, the lenses on her soot-covered goggles shifting slightly as she moved. Without looking back, she strolled through a doorway and out into the drive port between the garage and tavern.
Outside, the goblins were still busy loading and unloading supplies. Glacius stood beside Aurora and Osirus, arms crossed, expression tight as he observed the organized chaos. Alongside the goblins and the skittering spider-like automatons, several golems of varying size and material hauled the heavier loads—hulking stone constructs lumbering back and forth under goblin direction. They moved with blank purpose, like sluggish titans following ancient commands, but Glacius’ unease was directed elsewhere.
Behind one of the parked caravan wagons, just barely visible through the open bay doors of the garage, he spotted it—a figure cloaked in shadow, tall and spectral, its deep-blue glowing eyes locked unblinking onto him. A wraith, he thought. Watching.
Before he could speak, the hiss of magma sloshing against the paved driveway drew his attention. Adel came wobbling around the corner, and behind her, looming like a nightmare pulled from a volcanic fault, was a golem of obsidian and molten fire.
“What the fuck are you doing out here?!” she barked, whipping around with fury etched across her face.
The magma golem raised one blackened, half-solid hand—clutching a massive forge-hammer—and let out a sound that was less a voice and more a landslide: the grinding of stone, the rumble of earth, the groan of something ancient shifting in the deep.
Glacius instinctively took a step back, surprised. Adel, however, rolled her eyes.
“What the hells do you mean it’s too cold in there?” she snapped, clearly understanding the seismic moaning like it was plain Hume tongue.
The golem groaned again, arms waving clumsily. Globs of molten rock splashed against the driveway—one landing dangerously close to Glacius’ polished boot.
Recoiling from the heat, Glacius interjected with strained civility, “My gods, madam! The way you employ your summons is—” he hesitated, grasping for the right word, “—unethical. And frankly, most absurd.”
A few goblins nearby erupted into snickers, pointing and wheezing at Glacius’ distress.
Adel spun around in mid-air, floating up to Glacius’ eye level with a glare. “Who are you to judge how I use my summons? Anyone with a cunty little mustache like that has no right to scold me!”
She turned back toward the golem and shouted, “Get back inside! You’re ruining the pavement and the cobblestone, you overgrown lava turd!”
With a groaning sigh, the golem stomped away, magma dripping from its limbs, trudging through a large archway into a separate workshop beside the garage.
Osirus chuckled warmly. “Oh, how I missed you, Adel. Our last expedition without my favorite little Nyx was far too quiet.”
Aurora, less amused, frowned. “You should be nicer to our guest. Glacius has done a lot for us these past few days.”
Adel shot back with biting sarcasm, “So I’ve heard.”
Clearing his throat and straightening his coat, Glacius offered diplomatically, “Let’s start over, shall we? I’m Glacius, proprietor of Glacius Concoctions in Cyrus.” He gave a practiced, elegant bow.
Adel eyed him skeptically, a smirk slowly curling across her face before she bared her razor-sharp teeth in a grin. “I’m Adel. Daughter of Morrak and co-owner of this fine mess.”
Surprised, Glacius arched a brow. “I’d very much like to hear how a dwarf came to father a Nyx Fae.”
Rolling her eyes, Adel fired back, “Obviously, he’s not my blood parent, you twat. He took me and my sister in when we were at our lowest.”
Glacius glanced around at the bustling grounds. “Given the number of summons and constructs in operation, I’d say you’ve inherited his ambition.”
Boasting with no hint of humility, Adel said, “I only have this many summons because I don’t have enough hands to do it all myself. Morrak may have taught me how to swing a hammer, but I taught him how to use it properly in the end.”
“Is that so?” Glacius replied with amused curiosity. “Well then, allow me one more question: Why is there a wraith skulking about your garage?”
Before Adel could answer, a voice called out from the shadows where the wraith had been lurking.
“That’s just Roo. He’s on our security team.”
A young woman emerged from one of the parked wagons inside the garage. She was only slightly taller than Adel, with skin a few shades paler and bangs that hung long across her forehead, the rest of her white pixie-cut cropped neatly above her ears. She wore a black tunic embroidered with red thread, a matching cloak that fluttered faintly in the breeze, and tall boots that echoed across the stone as she walked. She looked more Hume than Fae, but the sharp crimson of her eyes and the telltale gleam of fangs betrayed her kinship to Adel.
Her long, elven ears peeked out from beneath her hair, adorned with small rings and charms that glinted in the light. Unlike the smaller fae like Esmerelda or Zhade, both Adel and Lumi belonged to a rarer, larger breed known as Nyx—formidable, nimble, and capable of flight without the need for wings. Though petite by comparison to humans, their presence filled a room—or in Adel’s case, a street.
Aurora burst out, “Good Dawntide to you, Lumi!”
Lumi drifted over with the same effortless levitation her sister used, her small form bobbing gently like a leaf on a breeze. “Please excuse my sister, sir,” she said to Glacius, her tone polished and polite. “She can be... rather crass.”
With a rebellious snort, Adel shot back, “Just because I don’t sugarcoat everything like you do doesn’t make me crass.”
Glacius grinned, clearly enjoying the sibling banter. “It’s a fine establishment you have here. And with so many of you running about, it’s honestly a wonder I haven’t heard of this place before now. You've certainly made a name for yourselves here in Cedaroc.”
Osirus chimed in, “Well, usually everyone's out in the field. Lumi and Adel rotate with Morrak and Torgan, so I’m not surprised you haven’t crossed paths until now. Plus, with how many of us there are, even we forget names sometimes.”
Floating to her sister’s side, Lumi added, “And most of what we have now came from Theo spoiling us with his ex-military funds.”
Still clearly impressed, Glacius said, “However you fueled your ventures, I remain impressed. Even if your summoning practices are… unorthodox. Having this many summons active at once suggests you’ve got a vast and stable mana pool. When I dabbled in summoning in my youth, I could barely hold anything for more than five minutes.”
Lumi tilted her head, curious. “Why did you stop? Most people can’t even get that far, even after years of study.”
Glacius looked at her, watching her float like a buoy on calm waters. “Back then, I was poor. Couldn’t afford the tools or reagents. Unlike innate summoners, I had to rely on scrolls, rituals, and séances. All that requires materials that can be… prohibitively expensive.”
Adel laughed. “Oh, come on. After a few years, you build bonds. Once you’ve done that, you don’t need all that ritualistic fluff. Or at least, I don’t.”
Glacius’ gaze drifted back to the wraith lurking near the garage, his eyes narrowing. “Alchemy and item enchanting turned out to be more my strength anyway. I turned it into a business. But if I were to get back into summoning, maybe I’d conjure up a worm or two—have it grind ingredients or clean the lab.”
Before Adel could respond, Osirus cut in, clearly growing impatient. “Alright, before we get another three-hour tangent about worms and summons and who summons best—I’m starving. Lumi, you said there was breakfast. Where is it? And what are you doing out here?”
Lumi turned to glance at the wagon behind her. “I lost a spatula,” she said plainly. “I thought maybe I left it in my room after the last expedition. I went to check, but Sakura was asleep in there, and I didn’t want to wake her. Torgan’s finishing things up in the kitchen while I look.”
Osirus’ eyes went wide. Then, without a word, he spun around and took off at full sprint toward the tavern, his long coat whipping behind him like a cloak. “I hope you didn’t mean he’s finishing off the food! That damned orc!”
Lumi giggled. “You’re welcome to join us, Glacius. The hog Isaac brought back should feed everyone for days.”
Brushing off his coat, Glacius smiled warmly. “I appreciate the offer, truly, but I’ve already had my Dawntide coffee. Eating before Midsol never sits well with me. Besides—” he gestured to the street “—your gobbie delivery looks like it's about finished. Once they’re gone, I’ll be able to move my wagons and stop clogging up your drive port.”
Adel grinned, baring her rows of needle teeth. “They might be goblins, but their ale, wine, recovery brews, and meads are better than most of the local dwarven breweries. Even when they short us, they make up for it. Since most cities won’t do business with them, we’re lucky to be on their route.”
A note of concern slipped into Glacius’ voice. “One of them warned me—said rival goblin gangs have been ambushing caravans on the southeast roads. Advised I take the long route back to Cyrus, just to be safe.” He glanced toward the blackened, battered caravan wagon still parked by the garage. “I truly am sorry again about the damage your vehicle took. Please know, anytime you’re in Cyrus, your stay and meals are on the house. I have business ties with nearly every merchant there, so I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. After what you all did for that town... it’s the least I can offer.”
Lumi smiled softly. “Morrak will want to speak with you before you leave, I’m sure. He’ll want to thank you properly for what you did.”
The last of the goblins hopped into their wagon as the supplies finished unloading. The scrappy goblin from earlier, still balancing a towering clipboard, called out cheerfully, “Danks fer shoppin’ Gobbie Goods!”
The wagon creaked and rattled as it pulled away, disappearing down the street and around the corner.
Glacius’ men finished unstrapping the charred wagon, then boarded their own vehicles. Glacius paused at the first step of his carriage, turned, and gave one final wave.
“I left a communication arcanix with Theo. If you ever need to reach me, you know how. Thank you again for your hospitality. I hope your weekend is peaceful and productive.”
He disappeared inside as the door shut quietly behind him. His carriage rolled away, down the drive port, the sound of hooves and wheels slowly fading into the morning bustle.
A sound not unlike a war drum tumbling down a stone spiral staircase thundered from Aurora’s stomach. She clutched her gut with an embarrassed smile. “Well, I guess that’s my cue to go eat.”
Turning to Adel and Lumi, she asked, “Will you be joining us?”
Lumi returned a gentle nod and smile, while Adel sighed and said, “Yeah, I’m starving—but I’ve gotta find my keys first. I’ll catch up in a bit.”
Without another word, she floated off through the tavern’s entrance, disappearing up the spiral staircase that wound its way to the third floor. Her boots never touched the steps as she hovered, her goggles bouncing slightly with each upward drift. At the top, she zipped down a hallway lined with mismatched lantern sconces, then suddenly reversed course when a glimpse through an open doorway caught her attention.
Inside the room, Theo sat hunched in a chair puffing from his pipe, a lazy swirl of smoke spiraling toward the ceiling. Across from him, Lizyra was upright in bed, her body wrapped neck to toe in clean white bandages like a half-unwrapped gift. Her expression was equal parts defiant and exhausted. In Theo’s hand was a brilliantly cut emerald, secured in an ornate gold housing that glinted with a subtle inner glow.
“Hey, Adel!” Theo called out, holding the gem aloft between his fingers. “What do you make of this thing?”
Adel floated into the room and plucked the emerald from his hand without hesitation. Dropping her soot-stained goggles down over her eyes, she flipped a few magnifying lenses into place until her vision tunneled into the crystalline depths.
She cleared her throat. “If this didn’t come from Lizyra, I’d call bullshit. Probably say you’d both been smoking too much of your reality-melting herbs. But there’s something strange about this one’s internal lattice—it’s definitely not a gem I’ve come across before.” She folded her lenses back with a click and handed the emerald back to Theo. “Also… the way this gold casing is shaped? It’s not ornamental. It’s a key. Or part of one.”
Wrapped in her cocoon of bandages, Lizyra perked up, her voice soft but determined. “I told you it wasn’t a dream! How else would I have gotten all these injuries? Osira even said she came to check on me and I was gone!”
She ran her fingers across her mouth and blinked in surprise. “Hey—my teeth are fixed!”
Theo chuckled, puffing out a ring of smoke. “You can thank Kitsune for that. She said the damage would’ve been permanent if she hadn’t healed you and slathered you in that tincture she brews. Said you even bit her a few times in your sleep.”
Adel let out a snort of laughter. “You really are a walking hazard. Maybe you should stick around here for a while—help out in the shop. Less chance of you getting turned into a pincushion. Plus, Isaac wouldn’t be breathing down your neck every ten minutes.”
Lizyra pouted. “Hey, come on. Some of you act like Isaac’s a tyrant.”
Adel shrugged dramatically. “I never said that. Personally? I think he’s the best-looking one in the whole crew. But still, he never checks in on me.”
Theo raised a brow, pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth. “It’s not like I’m sitting right here or anything.”
“Oh hush,” Adel shot back. “I see you out there charming women left and right. But Isaac? I’ve never seen him chase anyone. He’s always got his nose in the next mission or glued to Lizyra’s safety.”
Theo sighed, straightening in his chair as he waved off the banter. “Alright, alright—when Isaac and Vyncent get back, we’ll hold hands and sing songs about how dreamy he is. But for now, can we please focus?”
He set the emerald down on the table with a soft clink. “We need to take this to someone who actually knows what they’re looking at. I’ve got a contact in the capital—a proper relic appraiser, not some street vendor with a glass eye and a fake monocle. If anyone can figure out what this thing really is, it’s him.”
With a scrunched nose and a sharp edge in her tone, Adel said, “Yeah, I’ll pass on that. I’d rather ram a glowing fire poker up my ass than spend one minute in the capital.”
A voice called lazily from the doorway, unexpected and perfectly timed: “I’d bet you’d actually like that.”
Everyone turned to see Onyx leaning against the doorframe, toying with a wooden toothpick, picking casually at something wedged between his teeth.
“I’m willing to bet the little squirt was sleepwalking again. Probably snatched that jewel without even realizing it. Someone must’ve caught her in the act and tried to beat her ass. Wouldn’t surprise me if there’s a tree growing where it doesn’t belong—maybe even back at Glacius’ place in Cyrus.”
Lizyra’s lips pressed into a deeper pout as she defended herself. “I wasn’t sleepwalking! And I would never steal from someone.”
Onyx raised a brow, looked from her to the gem on the table, and smirked. “Could’ve fooled me. Maybe you just need to be poisoned, mana-suppressed, and shot in the back for your theft instincts to kick in.”
Theo pressed his fingers to his temples, voice heavy with regret. “If I weren’t so out of practice... I should’ve been able to teleport you inside the caravan before he shot you—or summoned Sakura to slit his throat. I’m sorry.”
Lizyra sprang up from her bed, nearly unraveling her bandages in the process, revealing a dangerous flash of bare skin before catching herself. “I’m glad you didn’t!” she shouted. “You all get too eager to kill the moment someone gives the green light. I’m more upset about what Nox did to him.” She grabbed her wide-brimmed hat from the bedside table and shoved it onto her head, despite being halfway undressed. “I just don’t get why that man wanted Nox so badly.”
Still lazily working the toothpick between his teeth, Onyx said, “Probably wanted to eat him. Non-feral dragons are leaner, but meatier. And these days, you don’t see many of them around—least not ones as healthy as Nox.”
Lizyra, now tugging on her gloves, narrowed her eyes. “If someone tried to eat Nox... I might just slit their throat myself.”
Adel’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “Now that’s the spirit.”
Onyx tilted his head toward the emerald on the table and added, “You know... that thing kinda looks like something I saw in one of your grimoires, Theo. Back when I knocked a bunch of your crap off your desk looking for your herb pouch.”
Theo blinked. “Why were you looking for my herb pouch again?”
Eyes lighting up as if he'd been waiting for this moment, Onyx launched into the tale. “You don’t remember? Few expeditions back—you were stuck on the shitter. Told me, telepathically, that you had a strain of something that could help with the, uh, evacuation.”
Lizyra, now pulling on her leggings behind the privacy of a corner, burst into wild, wicked laughter.
Theo’s face flushed red, nearly as crimson as the blood moon Rossa. “Have you no shame, man? I told you that telepathically to avoid this exact conversation.”
Onyx continued, undeterred. “Yeah, yeah—and while I was hunting for the pouch, the caravan was rocking hard. One of your lamps tipped over and caught your desk on fire. I panicked, grabbed the nearest thing—your inkwell—and dumped it on the flames. Didn’t help.”
Adel, with the certainty of someone walking into a punchline, asked, “So how’d you put the fire out?”
Right on cue, Onyx flashed a grin. “Pulled out my cock and pissed on it.”
Lizyra and Adel exploded into uncontrollable laughter, the kind that rattled the lungs and stung the eyes. A rogue fart slipped out mid-laugh, and that only sent them deeper into hysterics.
Theo sat in burning silence, his composure fracturing. “And why, exactly,” he growled, “are you telling me all this again?”
Still laughing, Onyx said, “Because I swear that thing on the table looks just like something from one of your books.”
Theo’s jaw tightened. “I have hundreds—no, thousands—of books scattered around. Even if you’re right, do you know how long it would take to find the right one just because you think you saw a picture?”
Still giggling, Lizyra added, “Shouldn’t be too hard. Just sniff for the one that smells like piss.”
Theo scowled, eyes narrowing. “Don’t you start too, Lizyra.”
Hovering toward the door, Adel waved a hand. “Well, as much fun as it is talking about Onyx’s cock,” she said, deadpan, “I actually have things to find. If I come across a piss-drenched book, I’ll let you know.”
She paused in the doorway, adding with mock gravity, “Also, there’s food downstairs. I recommend getting some before Morrak, Torgan, and Kitsune devour it all.”
Without waiting for a reply, she zipped down the hallway and slammed the door to her room behind her. After a good stretch of rustling through drawers and piles of scattered gear, she groaned and muttered, “I should’ve just put them in void storage.”
Then something sparked in her brain. A memory. A lazy solution. Her eyes flicked toward a small wooden door embedded halfway up the wall. She flung it open, curled up, and dropped inside, floating downward through the laundry chute like a lazy leaf caught in a breeze.
As she descended past the upper levels, muffled voices filtered in from behind the closed tavern room doors. Conversations passed by like ghostly echoes until one voice caught her attention—Osira’s.
“—like her sheets weren’t even disturbed. As if she never got out of bed. The blanket still looked like she was lying there. Like some ghost was sleeping in her place.”
Another voice chimed in—Gwen’s. “You think Theo taught her that teleport spell?”
Then Ifera: “I don’t know. But did you see that thing she brought back from wherever she vanished to? Looked like something out of the Emperor’s vault.”
Osira sounded skeptical. “How would you know what anything in the Emperor’s vault looks like?”
Ifera responded, her tone shifting to something almost proud. “When I was a slave, I was taken inside once—auctioned off with others. I saw a lot in there. There was this guy in a cage, shoved into the corner.”
She paused before correcting herself. “Actually... he was just a skeleton at first.”
Gwen’s voice rang with disbelief. “There was a skeleton in a cage in the Emperor’s private vault?”
“Yeah,” Ifera went on, tone flat. “Mid-auction, he just... burst into flames. Like, poof. His body grew back around his bones while he screamed, and no one even looked twice. There was some kind of mechanism built around the cage—a circle of mirrors, a light shining in through this pinhole in the wall...”
Another pause.
“As soon as he reformed, the light hit him again. He combusted. Screamed. Burned to bone. Over and over. And the nobles? Didn’t even blink.”
“That’s sickening,” Osira snapped.
“I know, right?” Ifera said. “The fact they didn’t care was the worst part.”
“No,” Osira said firmly. “The fact that they were holding a secret slave auction in the vault is what’s sick. They already sell people in broad daylight on the capital streets. So what was so special about that one?”
Adel floated on, drifting deeper down the chute as the voices faded behind layers of stone and timber. She emerged at the bottom—a hidden subfloor laundry and washroom bathed in dim magical light.
No normal-sized person could’ve fit down the chute, but at just over eighty centimeters, Adel was anything but normal.
She glided across the tiled floor, out through the side door, and made her way through a few narrow passageways. A long spiral staircase of stone spiraled downward like the throat of some ancient creature, and she descended with practiced ease.
Finally, she emerged into a cavernous sub-level: part underground forest, part private sanctuary. It was a tranquil, verdant hollow of subterranean trees and strange luminous bushes, all nourished by unseen magic and quiet trickling water.
In a clearing nestled at the heart of it all, Nox and Zhara sat across from each other, locked in what could only be described as an intense staring contest—neither flinching, neither blinking, their expressions unreadable.
Floating over to them, Adel said, “Funny seeing you two down here. Most newcomers are usually terrified of Nox for a while.”
Zhara turned her head slowly, eyes wide—not with fear, but awe. “Dragon,” she said softly, as if tasting the word.
Nox looked up at Adel with an almost identical expression of wonder, his glowing eyes locked on Zhara. He rumbled with a low, affectionate purr that vibrated through the chamber like distant thunder.
Adel, now intrigued, hovered a little closer and tilted her head. “You’re not… like a dragon in disguise or something, are you? Hiding in human skin?”
Zhara gave a strange hiccup of a sound—something between a chuckle and a breathless gasp. She simply repeated, “Dragon.”
Adel blinked. “Okay, well… not exactly clarifying, but sure.”
Turning her attention back to Nox, she said, “Anyway, I hope you’re enjoying the changes I made down here. It used to feel like some dank, soul-sucking dungeon, so I remodeled a bit—made it more ‘dragon chic.’” She pointed toward a shadowy corner. “Even left a pile of gold over there, in case you’re one of those greedy types who likes sleeping on coins.”
As her eyes drifted toward the glittering mound near the pond, she caught sight of something metal gleaming atop it—a ring of keys.
“I knew I left those down here.”
She zipped over and snatched up the keys triumphantly, then hovered near the stairwell. Looking back at Zhara and Nox, she smirked. “Alright, you two—don’t start humping or anything. Lizyra’s been through enough emotional damage already.”
Without shifting, Zhara calmly responded, “DRAGON.”
Adel raised an eyebrow but didn’t reply. She spun in midair and zipped back up the winding stair, retraced her path through the corridors and laundry room, slipped up the chute like a ghost rising through the walls, and landed with a thump in her bedroom on the third floor. She slammed the chute door behind her, floated over to her door, and locked it tight.
With a flick of her wrist, she tossed her goggles onto the bed. The space before her split open, not like a door, but like a wound tearing into reality. A sleek incision of blackness parted the air. Wisps of dark, purple miasmic fog crept outward from the void like fingers testing the room.
She drifted inside.
No light. No walls. No ceiling. Yet everything could be seen clearly, as if lit by some internal force. The floor beneath her was meticulously-cut black stone, covered in a thin sheen of water that reflected everything with a glassy shimmer.
And stretching in every direction—endless rows of shelves. Organized. Precise. Towering. Each shelf cluttered with crates, artifacts, and trinkets, catalogued with obsessive care. Golems moved between the aisles, some assembling new shelving, others filing items with mechanical efficiency.
One of them turned to glance at her as she passed, its gemstone eye pulsing briefly. Then, wordlessly, it returned to its task.
Adel floated onward, keys jangling in her fingers, until she reached a small clearing: a circular platform rising just above the water’s surface.
At its center stood a single safe—ornate, reinforced, and ancient. She unlocked it with a click, the heavy door groaning open.
Inside, only a single small wooden table.
Upon it: a piss-smelling book, and a second emerald—gold-laced, identical to the one Lizyra had brought back.
Adel stared at the twin of Lizyra’s emerald, the glint of gold filigree wrapping around the gem like an elegant snare. It shimmered in the low, sour light of the void, whispering a secret she couldn’t quite hear.
The piss-smelling book sat beside it, almost mocking the gravity of the discovery.
Her fingers hovered over the gem, then withdrew.
Something about this didn’t feel random.
Two identical relics.
One from a dream.
One sealed away in her personal vault.
She closed the heavy safe door with a metallic thud and turned toward the abyss behind her. The endless rows of shelves stretched on like the ribs of some great, sleeping beast—silent, watching.
“Something’s not right,” she murmured to no one.
And the void did not disagree.27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfkglJCmALP
