Chapter 19: The Name’s Razleak


    The tunnel’s gloom finally broke. A sliver of sunlight pierced the damp haze ahead, cutting through the shadows like a blade. I squinted as the musk of rot and stone gave way to the sharp, sweet sting of fresh air.


    My lungs drank it in—greedy, desperate—after hours of choking on Boglin stench and fungal rot. My clothes were wrecked, caked in filth and gods-knew-what else. I was definitely stopping by Zibbin’s the second we got back. These were beyond saving.


    “If I never smell Boglin again, it''ll be too soon,” Bromm muttered.


    While Elunara’s sigh carried the quiet relief of a healer who’d spent too long steeped in muck.


    Veldrin, naturally, was already complaining—something about the unacceptable dampness of his robes.


    Bob snorted happily, flinging muck from his tusks with a shake.


    And then there was the Imp—trailing at the rear, fingers interlaced behind his head, eyes half-lidded as he took a long, exaggerated inhale of the air.


    “So… you manifested your power. Congratulations on lighting your first spark,” the imp said, voice laced with sarcasm.


    But that smug grin faded. His eyes narrowed.


    He brought his hands in front of him, rubbing his palms together like he was warming them over a fire—or plotting something far worse.


    “If you want to control your abilities, you’re going to need my help. And that,” he added, his voice dropping into something lower, more serious, “is the truth.”


    He leaned in slightly, his expression turning sharper.


    “Go on. Ask Veldrin what he’s keeping from you.”


    My brow furrowed. Confusion knotted behind my ribs, tight and twisting. What was he talking about?


    I glanced toward Veldrin, hesitation creeping in. The imp let out an exaggerated sigh and started shooing me toward him.


    “Go on, go on, ask him!”


    Veldrin noticed. His spine stiffened, and he turned slightly in our direction. And now that I really looked at him… he did seem distant. Distracted. Like his mind was running laps somewhere far away.


    I hesitated.


    “Hey, Veldrin…” I started, my voice uncertain. “Is something on your mind?”


    I wasn’t sure if the imp was trying to mess with me—plant seeds, stir up trouble, or just enjoy the chaos. But… it couldn’t hurt to ask.


    Veldrin looked at me for a few heartbeats, unreadable as ever. Then—


    “Ah, yes… Arthur,” he said with a dismissive wave. “Don’t fret, my boy. I’ll be sure to set aside your share of the gold once we sell off the crown.”


    “Oh, what the—he’s lying!” the imp snapped, jabbing the air in Veldrin’s direction with both hands. “Go on! Ask him about the—” He made an exaggerated stabbing motion, grunting with effort.


    Veldrin noticed. His eyes flicked toward the imp, and for just a second, his jaw tightened.


    “I meant… about the spear, Veldrin,” I said, more firmly this time.


    Bromm and Elunara glanced over and stepped in closer, their attention shifting toward us.


    Veldrin hesitated, eyes flicking between each of us. Then he sighed, brushing dust from his sleeve like he needed the motion to compose himself.


    “Right. The spear,” he said at last. “As I mentioned, it was imbued with pure mana. But…”


    He drew in a sharp breath.


    “That wasn’t all. It was forged from Nocturnium—a metal not native to Selion.”


    He gestured toward the imp, face curling with visible distaste.


    “It comes from his world. Which means, Arthur… so does your power.”


    I shook my head, confused. “But nothing about me is from Selion. I’m from Earth. And you made it sound like accidental summons aren’t uncommon.”


    Veldrin gave a dry snort. “Accidental summons happen, yes. One might try for a shadow hound and end up with a soot-fiend. That’s magic for you. But never—never—has a living human come through from another world… and wielded magic.”


    He adjusted his collar, brushing off nonexistent dust, then glanced warily at the horizon.


    “Come. Let’s keep walking. We don’t want to be caught out here in the dark, not now”


    All six of us moved together, the fading light casting long shadows across the path. After a few moments, the imp strolled a little closer.


    “Ask Veldrin,” the imp said, his tone oily with mock sweetness, though the words dripped with disdain. “Ask him what he’s been hypothesizing… about this little phase shift of mine.”


    Before I could, Elunara cut in.


    “So you’re telling me the imp he’s been raving about all these years is actually real?” She turned to me, eyes narrowed like I might be in on some elaborate prank.


    “Yes, Elunara… he’s real,” I said. “And I suspect we’ll be finding more answers very soon.”


    Veldrin cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Now, Arthur. What exactly has this… thing been saying to you? What does it want?”


    “It wants to know what you’ve been theorizing. About the phase shift. How it might be broken.”


    Veldrin gave a slow nod, his expression tightening. “Yes. The phase shift is unstable. It’s trapped between realms. But there may be a way to resummon it—though not by ordinary means. It would require more than just arcane brilliance… it would require intent. Consent. And its name.”


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The imp smirked, clearly pleased with the attention.


    Veldrin continued, “I believe the phase shift could be broken with a resummoning—but not the traditional kind. Those are chaotic. Unreliable. What I’m referring to… is a Familiar Contract.”


    Before I could process that, a rock hit me square in the face.


    “But…” the imp said, as if my skull were a gong and the rock was the punctuation.


    “Ugh. But?” I asked, rubbing my nose.


    Veldrin pressed on, “But that kind of bond is usually reserved for spirits, elemental wisps, animals, fey—things born of Selion. Creatures that already share a natural connection with the summoner.


    “Demonic summonings, on the other hand, are always temporary. There’s no bond—only obedience enforced by the casting. They can’t harm the caster, and their power is limited. The more they do, the faster they’re pulled back.


    “And then there’s the problem of origin. They aren’t of Selion. That fact alone makes the ritual impossible under normal circumstances.


    “But now…” He looked at me, eyes narrowing with fascination. “Now, with you here, it would seem… it might just be possible after all.”


    “Hey,” the imp chimed in, raising a hand like he was volunteering for something. “The name. It’s Razleak.”


    POP—He vanished


    “Razleak,” I said aloud, the name tasting strange on my tongue.


    Veldrin’s eyes narrowed. A slow smirk crept across his face.


    “So… I was right.”


    Elunara, still clutching the wooden leg like it was an artifact, finally broke the silence.


    “Tarak—the Tauren. I’ve met him in passing. How do you all know him? From what I’ve heard, he’s a revered Shaman. Came from Lunareth to study and help cleanse the mana…”


    Veldrin practically hissed.


    “Revered? Shaman? Those two words don’t belong in the same sentence, my dear.”


    He turned, eyes sharp.


    “Shamans ‘listen’ to the spirits, yes—but do tell, aside from whispering riddles to rocks and interpreting the shape of moss, when have the spirits ever said anything useful? Vague warnings. Cryptic nonsense. ‘Truths’ only they can hear. Convenient, isn’t it?”


    Bromm let out a low chuckle, quickly smothered by a fake cough. Bob grunted in agreement, shaking his big head like he understood every word.


    Up ahead, the glow of braziers and torches lit the path back to the Hollow. Shadows danced between trees and underbrush, flickering like silent watchers.


    We were almost home.


    But something seemed… off.


    There was more noise than usual—more movement. Voices overlapping in a steady hum. The Hollow was always calm at this hour. This was different.


    Elunara’s eyes went wide, that same spark of energy lighting up her face again.


    Bromm huffed beside me. “Supply wagons made it,” he muttered. “Best we take a look and see what sort of wares they brought.”


    I glanced down at myself, taking in what had technically been new clothes this morning. I needed replacements. Badly.


    As I looked over the mess, I plucked off a glob of… something—from a crease in my tunic. I hoped it was mud.


    My undershirt sleeve was shredded, stained with grime and blood. My boots squelched when I walked. And the smell? I didn’t even want to think about the smell.


    Clothes weren’t the only thing I needed. More urgently—I needed a bath.


    As we approached the Hollow, I got a full view of the wagons. They were massive—easily the size of train cars—and looked modular. One had unfolded outward into a storefront, complete with hinged display cases and hanging banners that flapped gently in the breeze. There were three of them in total.


    What really caught my eye, though, was what pulled them.


    The creatures looked like a cross between an ox and some kind of oversized badger. Low to the ground with a stocky, muscular build. Their fur was thick and shaggy, swaying with each movement. Wide, padded feet thudded against the dirt path, and broad leather harnesses were strapped across their stout heads—protecting their eyes from the light and shielding their snouts with dark noseguards. Just beneath those, two massive tusks jutted forward, curving slightly toward the ground.


    Around the wagons moved figures that stood out like a wound against the natural flow of the Hollow.


    Three of them—draped in ghostwhite robes. Each wore a headdress that frayed over their eyes, and atop that, a crown of antlers that arched skyward. Not carved or forged, but natural—yet impossibly symmetrical, like the forest itself had gifted them in reverence.


    Veldrin’s tone sharpened with recognition.


    “Wild Wardens… This is peculiar.”


    “What’s a Wild Warden?” I asked, eyes drifting back to the antler-crowned figures.


    Elunara answered before Veldrin could scoff again.


    “They’re elves... an elite force of spellcasters. Not quite druids, not quite rangers—but something in between. All of them trained in Lunareth. And they’re never cheap to hire. If a caravan brought them along, it means someone was expecting serious trouble.”


    We walked up to the closest wagon. My eyes scanned the display cases, but my focus immediately locked onto the clothes—finally, exactly what I needed.


    I grabbed a fresh blue long-sleeve undershirt, a new pair of brown pants, and, after a moment of hesitation, a pair of boots. My current ones might still be salvageable if I soaked them overnight… emphasis on might.


    When I stepped up to the payment window, a gnome stood there—similar in stature to Fizzin, but older, with large spectacles and a permanent furrow in his brow.


    He looked me over—up and down—then sucked his lip and inhaled sharply, clearly disgusted by what he saw.


    That made two of us.


    “Would that be all?” he asked flatly.


    I nodded and handed over the coin.


    Just then, Veldrin stepped up beside me, arms crossed.


    “Not every day you see Wild Wardens guarding supply wagons. Roads getting more dangerous?”


    The gnome didn’t even look up.


    “Lunareth’s footing the bill. New edict they passed. Roads are worse, yeah—but it’s not just the roads. Monsters everywhere are getting more brazen…”


    After I bought my new clothes, I took a look at the other wagons. This was the only one with a storefront, which struck me as odd. I turned to Bromm.


    “Why just the one shop?” I asked.


    “Usually each caravan’s got one general store with it,” Bromm replied. “The rest are for resupplying towns and shops along the route.”


    That reminded me—I needed to speak with Haldrek.


    I needed a bigger shield. Something with more coverage than this buckler. It worked in a pinch, sure—but during that Boglin dungeon? It wasn’t enough. It didn’t cover enough area, and it wasn’t hard for things to slip past it. My arm got real tore up in that dungeon. If it hadn’t been for Elunara’s healing, I might not even have an arm.


    Elunara gave a soft goodbye and headed toward the inn. Veldrin wandered off toward Zibbin’s,muttering about damp hems and metaphysical theories.


    Bromm looked over at me and said, “I’m gonna get a drink.”


    Bob snorted in agreement, and the two of them headed off toward the inn as well.


    I made my way to Haldrek’s.


    He’d told me he’d have new stock after the supply wagons rolled in, and I wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass. I needed a new shield—and I was getting one.


    As I stepped into the smithy, I found Haldrek hammering away on something—looked like a mining shovel, or maybe some other kind of tool. Whatever it was, sparks flew as he struck, the ring of metal-on-metal filling the air.


    I tapped the bell mounted near the counter.


    Haldrek glanced over. “Arthur. Still in one piece, I see.”


    I chuckled. “Barely. This old buckler might’ve saved my life a few times, but I need an upgrade—something with a little more coverage.”


    Haldrek gave a sharp grin, clearly pleased. “I got just the thing,” he said, disappearing into the back.


    While I waited, I took in the shop. This time, there was a lot more inventory. Polished metals gleamed on every surface—hand tools, bundles of nails and brackets, weapons arranged neatly on wall racks. It felt more stocked, more alive than usual.


    Haldrek returned carrying a beautiful heater shield—broad, slightly curved, and reinforced with a thick steel trim along the edges. The upper corners were subtly notched. It looked like it had been built for both deflection and intimidation.


    The centerpiece caught my eye: a sprawling knotwork design etched into the metal, curling downward like the roots of some ancient tree. The outer edges curved inward just slightly—perfect for slicing through with a sword while keeping defense tight.


    One look was all it took.


    I left the smithy with a grin on my face, a new shield strapped across my back, and my pockets completely empty.


    As I made my way toward the inn—mostly thinking about baths and clean clothes—a gust of wind kicked up. Paper flapped violently behind me. I turned to see the bounty board rustling in the breeze.


    One poster had torn halfway loose. I grabbed it before it could fly off.


    Cleansing Needed:


    Farmstead well has turned oily black.


    Crops withering. Livestock dying.


    I scanned the rest of the board. Most of the Gnoll bounties were gone, replaced by fetch quests and busywork—gathering herbs, delivering packages, restocking supplies.


    I knew what I wanted now.


    I restuck the poster and turned back toward the inn. It was time to talk to the group and form a plan.