Still rubbing his temples, Traebus shook his head and exhaled sharply. "Okay, that''s enough world-breaking revelations for one day." He turned toward the vault door of his lab, placing a firm palm against it. With a smooth motion, he activated the intricate runes he had carved into the reinforced stone, sealing the lab tightly shut. No more magic. No more existential crises. Just normal, practical work.
Despite the mental exhaustion weighing on him like a lead blanket, his body still thrummed with energy. He wasn''t physically tired—if anything, he felt restless, like his limbs wanted to keep moving despite his brain screaming for a timeout. The best way to work off that excess energy? Farm work.
He strode toward the budding farmland, inhaling deeply as he approached the rows of plants he had painstakingly cultivated. His eyes immediately widened in surprise. The plants had grown a lot—far more than he had expected in such a short time.
Dusk, trailing beside him, flicked an inquisitive pulse of curiosity. They shouldn''t be this large already.
"No kidding," Traebus muttered, stepping up to the nearest stalk of unfamiliar grain. The broad, deep green leaves stretched toward the sun, vibrant and unnaturally healthy. He ran his fingers over the surface, noting the strange texture—almost waxy, yet firm. He pulled one of the stalks free and examined it. "Alright, let’s see what’s edible."
Sparky trilled eagerly, his tail flicking as he darted closer.
Traebus decided to start simple, snapping a single leaf off and giving it a cautious nibble.
Instant regret.
His entire mouth dried out instantly. It was as if the plant had sucked every drop of moisture from his tongue, leaving behind the taste of raw disappointment and betrayal. He spat it out immediately, coughing. "Oh, fantastic. We’ve invented instant dehydration."
Dusk flicked an amused thought. At least now we know what not to eat.
Glaring, Traebus moved on to another plant—this one had small, bulbous fruit-like growths hanging from its vine. They looked innocent enough, a soft orange color with a faint, sweet aroma. He plucked one and hesitated before taking a small bite.
The flavor was... indescribable.
Not bad. Not good. Just there. Like someone had taken the idea of food, boiled it down to pure neutrality, and removed any and all joy from it. He chewed slowly, then swallowed.
"Okay. This one won’t kill me. But it also tastes like absolutely nothing. I feel like I just ate the concept of a snack without any of the enjoyment."
Sparky trilled, flicking an image of himself being dramatically poisoned.
"You are not dying, you little drama magnet."
He moved on to the third plant—a thicker-stemmed vine with dark, speckled leaves. It had a slight peppery smell, which was promising. Taking a careful bite of one of the leaves, he was pleasantly surprised by the mild, earthy flavor—somewhere between spinach and mild spice.
"Okay, okay, this one actually isn’t bad! We might actually have food that isn’t a cruel joke!" He turned toward Dusk and Sparky, triumphant. "We are not going to starve!"
Dusk flicked a thought at him. Unless we eat the first one again.
Traebus scowled. "I am never eating that again. That thing was an abomination."
He dusted off his hands, surveying the farmland with a bit more appreciation. "Alright, plants. You win this round. But I will figure out which of you is worth keeping. And which of you is only good for tricking unsuspecting enemies into regretting their life choices."
Sparky flicked an image of Tank eating an entire field of the moisture-draining plants, looking profoundly unbothered.
"...On second thought, maybe Tank can be our taste tester.
Traebus turned toward the grazing three-horn, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Oi, Tank! Get over here, I need your culinary expertise!"
Tank, who had been peacefully chewing on some low-hanging foliage, snorted loudly and lifted his head. His tail flicked once in what could only be described as mild interest, and with slow, deliberate steps, he began his lumbering approach.
"Alright, big guy," Traebus said, gesturing toward the selection of mysterious plants. "You eat everything anyway. Let''s see if you have some taste buds or if you''re just a walking disposal unit."
Tank huffed, lowered his massive head, and—without hesitation—snatched an entire bundle of the moisture-draining plant into his mouth.
Traebus and the lizards watched in tense silence.
Then, Tank’s chewing slowed.
His tail flicked once.
His nostrils flared slightly.
And then, with immense precision, he spat the entire thing out in a perfectly compacted, saliva-soaked ball of rejection.
Sparky squeaked and scrambled backward to avoid the flying plant wad, trilling in protest.
Dusk flicked a thought at Traebus. That was a very clear response.
Traebus nodded, arms crossed. "Alright, so that one''s a hard pass."
Undeterred, he grabbed one of the flavorless fruit and held it out. "What about this? It doesn’t taste bad, but it doesn’t taste good either. It’s like…" He paused. "Like eating an idea of food instead of actual food."
Tank sniffed it, hesitated, and then plucked it gently from Traebus’ hand. He chewed slowly, his massive jaws working methodically.
This time, there was no rejection spitball.
Instead, Tank simply looked at Traebus, then flicked a vague mental impression of indifference.
Traebus blinked. "Wait, wait, you can do that? Since when do you give food reviews?!"
Tank grunted, the mental connection lingering just long enough to confirm that yes, he absolutely could, and he simply hadn’t felt the need to before.
Dusk flicked an amused pulse of understanding. Your bond with him isn’t just physical. He is not an idiot.
Traebus stared at Tank, who had already moved on to sniffing the next sample like a professional food critic. "So, what, you’ve just been watching me suffer through bad food and laughing about it in your giant head?!"
Tank exhaled through his nostrils in a way that sounded suspiciously amused.
Traebus threw his hands up. "Unbelievable. You’ve been holding out on me this entire time! I could have had an actual farm consultant instead of guessing which of these things were edible!"
Sparky trilled in mock outrage, flicking an image of himself also being betrayed by this newfound knowledge.
Dusk, meanwhile, simply sat back and observed as Tank continued his dignified sampling, occasionally sending flashes of taste impressions—bitter, woody, good crunch, vaguely spicy, disgusting, edible but not worth eating again.
Traebus sighed and rubbed his temples. "You know what? Fine. You win, big guy. From now on, you’re officially the food taster. But if you ever knowingly let me eat something like that first plant again, I swear—"
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Tank grunted noncommittally and snatched another bite of something leafy.
Dusk flicked a final amused thought. This is the best decision you''ve ever made.
Sparky trilled enthusiastically, sending an image of himself wearing a tiny chef’s hat next to Tank, both of them giving food ratings.
Traebus groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I hate how much sense this actually makes. And I hate even more that Sparky is currently leafing through my brain like it’s a library of bad decisions."
Sparky flicked another image at him—this time, it was of a dramatically exaggerated version of himself flipping through a massive, ancient tome labeled ‘The Great Compendium of Traebus’ Worst Ideas’. The lizard trilled smugly as he mimed turning the pages with an invisible monocle and a tiny pointer stick.
"Oh, you little menace!" Traebus jabbed a finger at him. "Stop treating my life like some grand academic case study!"
Sparky responded with another flicker of thought, a full lecture hall of tiny Sparky clones taking notes as a larger version of himself stood at a podium.
"Oh, that is it!" Traebus reached for him, but Sparky zipped away, hopping onto Tank’s head for safety.
"Get back here and fight me, you little lightning goblin!" Traebus fumed.
Sparky trilled mockingly, his tail flicking in amusement as he sent another image—himself standing victorious atop a podium labeled ‘Undefeated in All Debates Against Traebus’.
Dusk, watching the chaos unfold, finally intervened with a sharp pulse of exasperated authority. Enough. You’re both idiots.
Traebus and Sparky both paused, mid-argument, blinking at Dusk.
"Well, excuse me, oh wise and mighty Dusk, for engaging in some well-deserved retribution," Traebus huffed, crossing his arms.
Dusk simply flicked a heavy wave of exhaustion at him. You two could bicker for eternity over nothing. Let’s move on before I lose the will to live.
Sparky, entirely unrepentant, flicked one last mental image of himself scribbling furiously in a notebook titled ‘Dusk’s Patience: A Study in Rapid Decline’.
Traebus groaned. "I hate both of you." He shot a glare at the tiny lightning lizard, who trilled innocently while flicking another image of himself dramatically writing on a chalkboard labeled ‘Traebus’ Poor Life Choices’. "You know what? I’m starting to think you are the bad decision, Sparky."
Shaking his head, Traebus turned his focus back to the farmland. As much as he enjoyed verbally sparring with his companions, he still had actual work to do. He stepped between the rows of crops, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Alright, let’s make this a little more efficient."
With a few calculated gestures, he knelt at the edge of the farm plot, pressing his palm to the earth. "Time for some quality-of-life improvements."
Using deliberate precision, he began inscribing an enchantment array into the soil, designed to automatically distribute water between the rows. The concept was simple: a flow-control system that would fill the irrigation channels when water levels got too low and shut off once they reached the ideal level. No more hauling buckets. No more overwatering. Just self-sustaining magic.
Sparky, having fully recovered from their previous argument, flicked an image of himself reclining on a lounge chair, sipping from a ridiculously oversized cup labeled ‘Effort-Free Farming’.
Traebus rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, but if this works, I won’t have to waste half the day keeping everything alive."
Dusk flicked a thoughtful pulse. As long as you don’t overcomplicate it and flood the entire field.
"One time! That happened one time!" Traebus huffed. "And besides, this is controlled water flow. See?" He gestured to the runes, which now glowed faintly as they activated, linking the farm to the water well’s storage basin. "Now it’ll only trigger when the ground starts to dry out."
Tank, still lazily chewing on some perfectly acceptable plants, grunted in approval, which Traebus took as a solid endorsement.
A moment later, a soft gurgling sound echoed through the ground as the first trickles of water seeped into the channels, perfectly distributing moisture between the rows.
Traebus stood, crossing his arms with immense satisfaction. "And that, my friends, is how you farm intelligently."
Dusk flicked a dry thought at him. I’ll believe it when it doesn’t flood overnight.
Sparky sent an image of himself floating away on a tiny makeshift raft, labeled ‘The Great Farm Disaster’.
Traebus groaned. "Why do I even bother?"
Shaking off the inevitable mockery from his so-called allies, Traebus turned his attention toward something actually productive. A thought had been nagging at him—food preservation. As it stood, hunting was an ongoing necessity, and while they had plenty of meat, storing it long-term without spoilage was a challenge.
"Alright, new project," he muttered, rubbing his hands together. "We need a proper smoker. Something big enough to handle a full-sized three-horn if we ever take one down."
He barely finished the sentence before instinctively sending a mental apology to Tank.
Tank, in response, flicked back a pulse of total indifference, as if to say, As long as it’s not me or mine, I do not care.
Traebus exhaled. "Good to know you’ve got a strict ‘not-my-problem’ policy."
Dusk, flicking through his own thoughts, added a note of agreement. It would solve our food issue for weeks at a time.
Sparky, on the other hand, immediately flicked an image of himself lounging atop a mountain of smoked meat, looking immensely satisfied.
"I like where your head’s at, Sparky," Traebus said, nodding. "For once."
Rolling his shoulders, he started mentally drafting the design. The smoker would need to be large, enclosed, and vented properly to prevent anything from catching fire while still allowing the smoke to cure the meat effectively. He’d need separate compartments for heat control, and maybe some stone racks to keep things elevated. The idea was already growing into something much more elaborate.
Dusk flicked a knowing thought. You’re overcomplicating it already.
"That’s my process, and you know it," Traebus shot back. "Now let’s go see where we’re putting this thing."
After surveying the area, Traebus decided the best spot for the giant smoker was near the storage room. It made the most sense—easier access, fewer trips hauling meat around, and it wouldn’t be right next to the house in case something inevitably went wrong. Which, knowing him, was a very real possibility.
With a deep breath, he set to work, rapidly constructing the smoker out of reinforced stone. He built thick walls to contain the heat, a vented chimney system, and multiple stone racks inside for optimal smoking capacity. It was, in his own humble opinion, a masterpiece of engineering.
Then, because he couldn’t just leave well enough alone, he got an idea.
"What if I automate the fire system?"
Dusk’s frills twitched in immediate disapproval. What if you didn’t?
"Oh, come on, what’s the worst that could happen?" Traebus said, inscribing a rune-based ignition system at the heart of the smoker. "Just a little self-sustaining fire enchantment—adjustable heat, controlled output."
He connected the final rune, and the smoker rumbled to life.
For exactly two seconds, everything seemed perfect.
Then, with an ominous whoomp, the smoker detonated a two-hundred-foot gout of fire straight into the sky.
Sparky let out a shocked trill and clung to Dusk’s head, while Dusk staggered back, his frills flared in absolute horror.
Traebus could only stare upward as the flaming column of death pierced the clouds, creating what could only be described as a volcanic eruption of very, very bad decisions.
"Huh," Traebus said after a beat. "That might be a little too much fire."
Dusk turned slowly to look at him, his unblinking stare radiating pure judgment. A little?
Sparky, meanwhile, was vibrating with absolute glee, flicking an image of himself riding the fire column like an unstoppable deity of flame.
"Okay, fine, adjustments need to be made!" Traebus admitted, frantically waving his hands as if that would make the fire go away faster. "But—on the bright side—it definitely works!"
Dusk exhaled sharply, turning away before he lost the will to live. I need a break.
Tank, watching from a distance, merely let out a long, unimpressed grunt before lying back down, utterly unbothered by the apocalypse-level barbecue that had just occurred.
"Alright, alright," Traebus muttered, already sketching out fixes in his head. "I’ll tweak the fire system so it doesn’t launch the equivalent of a solar flare into the sky every time we smoke some meat. Minor oversight. Very minor."
He was about to begin making the adjustments when Dusk suddenly went rigid, his frills snapping up as his head turned sharply toward the gatehouse.
A pulse of unease shot through their bond. Blood.
Traebus didn’t hesitate. He spun on his heel and sprinted toward the gatehouse, dragging his hand along the ground as he went. Stone erupted upward, forming into a long, jagged spear in his grip—reinforced and honed in seconds. If something was bleeding outside his walls, that meant something dangerous was near his doorstep.
Sparky and Dusk raced after him, their bodies low and ready for a fight. Tank followed more slowly, his massive bulk moving with calculated purpose, sensing the shift in their urgency.
By the time Traebus vaulted up to the gatehouse platform, his heart was pounding. He braced his spear and peered over the edge, expecting a monster, a predator, something feral trying to breach their defenses.
What he saw froze him in place.
A woman.
A real, living, sentient woman—but she was not human.
She stood just beyond the gate, backed against it, her breath ragged, her bright green eyes sharp and intelligent despite the pain written across her face. Her clothing was archaic, something that looked straight out of the Bronze Age—woven fabric layered with leather and reinforced with small plates of beaten metal and bone, like armor meant for someone who had never seen ironworks. Straps crisscrossed her body, securing a belt filled with small tools, a knife, and something resembling a primitive charm or talisman.
And she wasn’t alone.
Lurking just a few feet away from her were massive reptilian creatures, their sickle-like claws clicking against the stone bridge as they prowled forward in deliberate, predatory movements. They moved with a hunter’s patience—intelligent, calculating, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
A dozen of them crowded the bridge just behind her, muscles coiled and ready to lunge, their long, feathered tails flicking with anticipation. Beyond them, across the bridge on the mainland, dozens more gathered in a shifting sea of scales and hunger, their eyes gleaming like distant lanterns in the dim light. They stretched as far back as he could see, their bodies rippling with suppressed energy, waiting for the hunt to begin in earnest.
Traebus’s fingers tightened around his spear. He locked eyes with the woman.
He had seconds to act.
The only thing that came out of his mouth was a dumbfounded, "Hello, neighbor."
And then, her legs gave out, and she collapsed against the gate.