《A Well Behaved Man (Reversed Sexual Morality Modern Fantasy)》


 Chapter 1

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    The morning had started slow and groggy, the aftermath of a late-night gaming marathon with my gaming guild. I''d slept in, blissfully unaware until I woke to find my phone buzzing with life, dozens of frantic texts, and missed calls from my bosses, each more desperate than the last, begging me to come in.


    I may not love every part of my job, but I owed my bosses more than I could easily put into words. They had taken a chance on me when most wouldn''t. It was difficult being a single, emancipated man without a woman to act as my guardian. One of the many challenges I faced in this new life.


    In a world still clinging to archaic traditions, most businesses that were even willing to hire men insisted on that outdated requirement. But I''d found something different at King Victor''s Bar. Not only did they trust me enough to give me the job, but they also paid me the same as my female colleagues¡ªa rare and almost unheard-of luxury for men like me in this society.


    It took me about an hour to reach the bar. It was longer than it should have been, but the extra time spent arranging a subway route with male-only cars was worth it. The peace of mind outweighed the inconvenience. The alternative was risking the crowded, mixed-gender cars where harassment was an all-too-common reality. Men being groped or leered at was an ongoing issue for the New Londinium subway, and there was something about a single man traveling alone that seemed to attract the worst kind of attention. The air in those cars always felt suffocating, thick with unspoken tension, and I had no desire to endure it if I didn''t have to.


    King Victor''s Bar sat in what a real estate agent might optimistically call an "up-and-coming" neighborhood. The kind of place where the old, rough edges of a once-struggling community were starting to smooth out under the weight of gentrification. The transformation hadn''t yet driven out the locals, but you could feel the tide shifting.


    Like every dwarf-owned business, the bar was tucked underground, a tradition rooted in their Kindreds culture. Though, in this case, "underground" meant a basement just below street level. Hardly the grand caverns you''d imagine, but for the dwarves, the distinction mattered. Tradition was tradition, no matter how shallow the depth.


    A stylized sign hung proudly above the entrance, depicting a bold caricature of the bar''s namesake, King Victor, the only man in history to rule a Kindred nation under his own name. The exaggerated features of his face seemed to grin down at passersby, as if daring them to step inside.


    Just below, a smaller, more modest sign declared the bar''s general hours of operation and whether it was open or closed. The weathered lettering and faint scratches on the surface suggested years of wear, but the sign still stood as a quiet sentinel to the bar''s long history.


    The bar itself had the unpretentious charm of a well-worn boot. Practical, reliable, and built for purpose. There were no flashy decorations or modern gimmicks here, just the sturdy simplicity of a working Kin''s retreat. Hand-carved tables and stools, their surfaces smoothed by years of use, filled the modest space. It wasn''t a place for glamour or spectacle but for camaraderie. A spot where friends could gather, swap stories, and drink the night away in the warm glow of familiarity.


    "John, Good, you''re here. I was beginning to worry you wouldn''t show," my boss called out as I stepped inside.


    He was a dwarf with a shock of white hair, a long, wispy beard that swayed as he spoke, and the deeply lined face of a Kindred man well past his Time of Change, what the textbooks calledManopause. His appearance carried the weight of his years, but his voice was as sharp and commanding as ever.


    Strom Stonestealer co-owned the bar with his long-time life partner, Krenk Half-heart, a pairing that raised more than a few eyebrows. It wasn''t just that the business was partially owned by men, a rarity in itself, but that the two were such an unconventional duo. A dwarf and a goblin, running a bar together, defying Kindred norms. Yet somehow, it worked, as if their partnership was as solid and enduring as the hand-carved tables scattered throughout their establishment.


    "Sorry, the subway took longer to navigate than I expected," I said, brushing off the lingering chill from my rushed commute.


    As I stepped further inside, I couldn''t help but notice how eerily quiet the bar was. The usual hum of conversation and clinking glasses was absent, replaced by an unsettling stillness. I glanced around at the empty tables and chairs, my confusion mounting.


    "Where is everyone?" I asked, my brow furrowing. "Your texts made it sound like an emergency, but as far as I can see, there''s nobody here."


    "It is an emergency, lad!" Strom exclaimed, his eyes alight with excitement. "I''ve been summoned to the governor-general''s palace to present my fine brew at tonight''s Yuletide gala!"


    To say every dwarf brewed alcohol would be an unfair stereotype, but for those who owned bars, it might as well have been a requirement. King Victor''s had a modest brewery tucked in the back, where Strom spent countless hours perfecting his signature creation: Stonestealer''s Stout.


    I couldn''t stand the stuff. Made with some kind of fungus, it always tasted to me like drinking a burnt sweet potato. Yet somehow, inexplicably, it was a hit among the patrons. They raved about its earthy sweetness and "complex undertones," none of which made sense to my taste buds.


    "This is our big chance, lad," Strom declared, his chest puffed out with pride. "A chance to show the world the undeniable superiority of my craft!"


    "Strom, I''m not disparaging your brew or craft. It''s undoubtedly good enough to be recognized, but what''s with the short notice?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.


    "The Yuletide gala isthebiggest social event of the year. Anyone who''s anyone is going to be there. Vendor spots for this kind of thing are locked in months, sometimes years, ahead of time. Why would the palace suddenly call on short notice, to theonlybusiness in the city blacklisted by both the dwarven cartels and the goblin business council?" My tone was skeptical, my gaze sharp. Something about the situation didn''t add up, and I wasn''t about to let it slide without answers.


    "Because one of the vendors dropped out last minute," Krenk''s shrill voice interjected, followed by the unmistakable pitch of his laugh as he emerged from the back. "Apparently, a bar fight ended with an explosion that wiped out their entire stock. Hell of a way to lose a contract."


    He sauntered into the room, lighting his ever-present pipe with a practiced flick. Wisps of fragrant smoke curled around his sharp features as he continued, a smirk tugging at his lips.


    "We got the job because the palace wants the vendors to reflect, and I quote, ''The fine and diverse makeup of our Grand City.'' And, well, there aren''t exactly a lot of male-owned businesses that can handle something like this on such short notice."


    He paused to puff on his pipe, the smirk deepening. "So, it was either us or the knife-ears over on Ninth Street. Sure, the Cartels and the Council don''t like us, but they hate those stuck-up pricks even more. Sometimes, being the lesser evil has its perks."


    Krenk smirked at Strom, who responded with a gruff harrumph, clearly unimpressed by the jab. Seeing a goblin male as old as Krenk was a rarity. Nearly unheard of, in fact. Most of their males didn''t last beyond a year, falling victim to the rutting madness that ravaged their Kin. Krenk Half-heart, by all rights, should have been a revered sage among his Kindred, a symbol of wisdom and survival.


    But instead, he''d shattered every expectation. Abandoning his Kin to pursue a same-sex relationship with a dwarf, the traditional rival of the goblins. The scandal had obliterated his reputation. Among the Kindred, the idea that men could even be romantically or physically attracted to each other was a radical, almost incomprehensible notion, and most still refused to acknowledge it as fact.


    If not for the surge in male births over the last few generations, which had forced Kindred society to begin grappling with new realities, I doubted their relationship would have been allowed to exist at all. Krenk and Strom stood as living proof of change, though they bore the weight of it like a scar. Being ostracized by their Kin was difficult for them to manage.


    "What do you needmefor?" I asked, my confusion evident. Between the two of them, they moved behind the bar like a well-oiled machine, communicating in unspoken cues. I couldn''t imagine they''d have any trouble running a stand at the gala on their own.


    "We need you to serve samples to the crowd. Entice them to swing by our stand," Strom explained, his tone perfectly matter-of-fact. "You won''t have to do much besides stand there. My stout can handle most of the talking."


    "In other words," Krenk cut in, a mischievous glint in his eye, "you''ll be our eye candy, drawing in all those thirsty ladies eager to whet their whistles and whatever else they might be craving."


    I scowled, hating the very thought of being in the spotlight. I''d spent my freedom trying to fade into the background: dressing conservatively, avoiding public places, even buying almost everything online. If I didn''t need the money to keep a roof over my head, especially after my self-proclaimed mother, Maeriel, vanished on one of her spontaneous jaunts, I wouldn''t be working at all. I''d be perfectly content to shut myself away, pouring my hours into hobbies and online gaming. The unforgiving truth of this world had long since chipped away at me, leaving me broken with no appetite for anything beyond quiet survival.


    "No need to look so grim, lad," Strom said, trying to reassure me. "That high-society bunch won''t try anything out in the open. They''ve got reputations to protect, and there''ll be more links recording every move at this gala than there are pebbles in a mine."


    Krenk let out a low chuckle, his pipe smoke curling around his pointed ears. "Yeah, and just think of how much cash you''d rake in if one of those rich ladies stepped out of line. You could haul them straight to the Advocates and retire on the settlement," he half-joked with a conspiratorial wink.


    "Don''t frighten the lad, Krenk," Strom chided, shooting a stern look in the goblin''s direction. Turning back to me, his voice softened. "John, I realize this isn''t in your wheelhouse, and I wouldn''t ask if it wasn''t important. This opportunity fell into our laps at the last minute, and with so little time, our booth is going to be bare-bones. It wouldn''t draw a crowd at a simple market fair, let alone an upscale gala like this."


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    He paused for a moment, measuring his words. "I know you''re not fond of the idea, lad, but you''ve got the kind of physique most men would kill for. Opportunities like this don''t come around every day. If you are lucky, maybe once or twice in a lifetime. I''ll be damnd if I don''t use every tool I have to make sure this pays off, even if that means putting you in the spotlight."


    I''d always been a soft touch for a heartfelt plea. The kind that tugged at something deep inside me. Even if it came at a serious inconvenience, I was never the type to refuse a friend in need. And this time, I knew Strom was onto something. This opportunity was a once-in-a-lifetime break for them, maybe even big enough to mend old wounds with their Kin. I owed them that much. As much as I despised relying on my looks, I couldn''t pretend my appearance didn''t have an effect on women. My physique screamed power, both physical and magical. If using that advantage meant helping them seize this chance, I''d swallow my discomfort¡­just this once.


    I let out a long, defeated sigh. "Alright. I''ll do it. But I have a few conditions."


    Relief flooded both Strom''s and Krenk''s faces the instant the words left my mouth.


    "Of course," Krenk said, his usual breezy manner giving way to sudden business-like precision. "I''m sure we can strike a deal that works for everyone."


    "First," I began, ticking the items off on my fingers, "I''m getting overtime and holiday pay for this little escapade."


    Krenk nodded. "Agreed. Might have to dip into our savings, but I''ll manage." He tried to sound pained, though I knew full well they could afford much more than he was letting on.


    "Second, any tips I make are mine, not going into the tip pool."


    Krenk winced at that, scrunching his nose in protest. "John, be reasonable. We''re running a business, not a charity."


    "Neither of you will be on the front line tonight, so too speak," I countered, folding my arms over my chest. "I''m the one who has to smile for strangers all night."


    Krenk''s face scrunched up again, but eventually, he threw his hands in the air. "Fine. Never let it be said that Krenk Half-heart isn''t a generous man."


    I turned my gaze on the aged goblin, locking eyes with him. "Last condition: whatever ridiculous outfit you have planned for me? Forget it. Pick something else."


    Strom let out a deep chuckle as Krenk put on a show of mock indignation.


    "You haven''t even seen it yet. How do you know you won''t like it?" the goblin shot back, leveling me with a playful glare.


    I snorted. "I''ve worked with you long enough to know exactly what your taste in clothes is like. I''m not going to prance around in some bargain-bin stripper ensemble. I''m sure you''ve got something in your collection that''ll leave at least a shred of my dignity intact."


    Krenk grunted in annoyance. "Fine. It''s notmyfault you''ve got no fashion sense," he muttered, throwing his hands up in defeat. "I guess I''ll just have to make do with what I''ve got." With that, he stomped off toward the back, leaving Strom chuckling at his dramatic exit.


    Moments later, the door swung open again, and Dagna stepped into the room. She was Strom''s great-niece and, as far as I knew, the only family member who still bothered to speak to him. She paused in the doorway, taking in the scene with calm curiosity, arriving just in time to miss Krenk''s theatrics.


    "So, I''m guessing John won''t be sporting that outrageous outfit Krenk had planned?" Dagna asked, nodding a greeting in my direction.


    "He didn''t even get the chance to suggest it before John shot him down," Strom said with a laugh.


    Dagna chuckled, her eyes flicking over me with a playful glint. "Figures. It''s a shame, though you''re probably one of the few men alive who could actually pull it off," she added, punctuating the comment with a suggestive wink.


    "I''ll bet you say that to all the guys," I replied, though I couldn''t quite keep the hint of a sacasm from creeping into my voice.


    "Only the cute ones," Dagna quipped with a mischievous wink.


    In many ways, she was the quintessential dwarven woman. Short, sturdy, and a rear so large it needed turning signals. Dwarven women tended to be thicker than a bowl of oatmeal, and Dagna was no exception. The only real oddity, at least to outsiders, was the prominent sideburns framing her cheeks, but in dwarven Kindred, that was about as normal as anything else.


    "Quit lollygagging, you two. Time''s of the essence," Strom barked, clapping his hands for emphasis. "Dagna, is the van ready to go?"


    "Yep, everything''s loaded up and good to roll," Dagna answered. "All the kegs are entwined with the tanks, the box of holding is stuffed to bursting, and the mana crystals are topped off. Only thing missing is the rest of you lot."


    "Perfect," Strom said, rubbing his hands together like a giddy child on Yuletide morning. "Krenk shouldn''t be long. The sooner we leave, the sooner the world can bask in the glory of my craft."


    "Whatever you say, Uncle," Dagna replied, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. Knowing Strom she probably been basking in that glory all morning.


    Just then, a loud clang echoed through the room. Strom''s eyes went wide. "Oh no¡­ he''s going for thespecialcollection. I''d better check on him."


    He dashed off to rein in his partner, leaving me alone with Dagna.


    She''d always been my favorite coworker. Capable and organized enough to keep the bar running smoothly, yet laid-back in a way that made her genuinely fun to be around. Strom and Krenk might own the place, but it was Dagna who really kept the wheels turning. And, unlike so many women I''d met, she''d never tried to push our friendship into something more; after my first polite refusal, she seemed content to leave it at that. It was a refreshing change of pace, given how most of my encounters with the opposite sex tended to go.


    "So, what did those two bozos offer you to drag you in on a holiday?" Dagna asked, raising an eyebrow.


    "Overtime, holiday pay, and I keep all my tips," I answered.


    She let out a low whistle. "You got Half-heart to agree tothat? They must be more desperate than I thought."


    Her gaze turned suddenly soft, like she could see straight through the layers I''d spent years building. "You know, you don''thaveto go through with this," she said gently. "I could come up with an excuse for you before they get back. I''m pretty sure one of the other guys would jump at the chance."


    I made it a point never to talk about my history,eitherof my histories, really. But Dagna was no fool. I suspected she''d figured out more than I cared to share, just from the way she watched me.


    "No, I''ll be fine. I''m tougher than I look," I said with a crooked grin. "And if things do go sideways, I''m pretty sure there''ll be plenty of Champions eager to rush in and save a gentleman in distress." I shot Dagna a playful wink, trying to lighten the mood.


    I should have known better than to tempt fate, because by the end of that night, my offhand remark would come true in a far more damning way than I ever could have imagined.


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    Codex


    An Introduction to the Races of Erda


    By Lady Brimsley Hasting, Senior Scholastic of Anthropology, St. Andrea Scholasticum


    The world of Erda is a marvel of diversity, a tapestry woven with myriad threads of culture, biology, and history. From the lofty peaks of the Auran Highlands to the shadowy depths of the Dreadmarsh, the peoples of Erda have evolved and adapted to their unique environments, creating a mosaic of distinct races and civilizations. This introduction serves to catalog and provide a brief overview of the principal races that inhabit our world, fostering understanding and appreciation for their myriad contributions to Erda''s rich tapestry.


    In the study of sapient species, Scholastic''s often categorize them into three broad classifications based on their origins and characteristics. The first group comprises those created by or descended from the High Elves, collectively referred to as "The Kindred." The second group includes the servitor races of the Great Dragons, known as "The Dragonoids." Lastly, there are beings composed of ethereal energy, residing within extra-dimensional spaces surrounding the material world, referred to as "The Spirits."


    The broad classifications of sapient species can be further refined into subcategories that reflect their diverse evolutionary paths and historical contexts. The Kindred are commonly divided into four groups: the Kin, also known as the Humanoids, are the first races created by the High Elves and the direct offshoots of said Kin; Goblinoids, also known as the Legionaries, are those Kin who were further transformed by the High Elves during the Ages of Strife; Elves, which include the High Elves and their various devolved descendants who adapted to unique environments and circumstances; and the Cursed, High Elves who failed in their transformations thus suffering adverse magical influences.


    Dragonoids, on the other hand, are traditionally categorized by the caste system into which they are spawned, with roles such as Servants, Workers, Artisans, Warriors, Scholastics, Administrators, and Dragons defining their societal structure.


    Spirits, due to their fluid and intangible nature, are more difficult to classify. However, scholarly consensus generally divides them into three tiers based on their type and power: Primordial Spirits, which are ancient and immensely powerful; Greater Spirits, which are significant but subordinate to the Primordials; and Lesser Spirits, which are weaker yet highly varied and numerous. These distinctions provide a structured approach to understanding the complexity and diversity of sapient species, though they remain subject to ongoing study and debate.


    While these classifications are subject to debate due to varying religious and cultural perspectives, it remains the responsibility of scholastic inquiry to approach these distinctions with impartiality and reason.


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 Chapter 2.1

    They said the best thing about visiting the Governor-General''s Palace was that it was the only spot in New Londinium where you couldn''t see the Palace. Universally regarded as an eyesore, its creation had sprung from a noble idea: to have every Kindred in Atlantica contribute to the design. The result, however, was a jarring patchwork of architectural styles, creating a sprawling complex that looked less like a unifying monument and more like a disorganized compromise.


    From the day it was completed, there had been talk of tearing it down and starting anew. Yet the approvals and, more crucially, the funding never came. Ornate construction projects like the palace had long since fallen out of vogue in the Imperial Federation, as public opinion had grown more critical of wasteful government spending, especially when it involved nobles'' vanity projects. Now, time had turned the monstrosity into a historic landmark, its mismatched wings and adornments preserved as a testament to both grand ambition and haphazard execution.


    As the only woman in our group, Dagna would need to go through a more detailed security process, binding her magic with oaths. So she steered the van toward the security checkpoint. Every item destined for the palace underwent rigorous screening as well. A hard-earned protocol ever since the infamous Blasting Jelly Plot ages ago had shown just how vulnerable aristocratic opulence could be. The nobility had cultivated a deep-rooted paranoia after that ordeal, and no one was taking any chances.


    My bosses and I headed for the men''s entrance. A relic, presumably left over from either the misandrist Legionaries or the patriarchal Drow contribution. Hard to say which. Designed back when men were only around eight percent of the Kindred population, it was far smaller than the main entrance. Nowadays, with men making up closer to thirty-two percent, the checkpoint was packed, like an airport at peak holiday season. Thankfully, the line still moved quickly. After all, men posed little threat without any magical ability, or so the women believed.


    Because of the labyrinthine traditions and laws governing the Federation, the guards weren''t your typical security detail. Instead, they all served in the Queen''s Dragoons, a military branch akin to the United States Marine Corps and considered the premier fighting force in the Imperial Federation. For reasons I never fully understood, they were also tasked with providing security for every government building.


    As I inched forward in the line, I found myself marveling at the sheer diversity among the guards. Humans of every background made up nearly half the force, while the remainder was split among various other core Kin and Goblinids, each sporting their own distinctive features. A few elves stood out with their differently pointed ears and four-digit hands, and I even noticed a lone Cursed, a dryad, if I wasn''t mistaken, methodically scanning Links.


    I knew, at least on an intellectual level, that the military had always been one of the most egalitarian institutions in the Federation, largely out of necessity. Still, seeing it in action felt different, almost inspiring. It made me wonder if the rumors about the Dragoons finally opening their ranks to men were more than just idle talk.


    As we neared the front of the line, I saw dread flare across Krenk''s face when he spotted a goblin woman manning the next open kiosk.


    "Troll''s breath!" he sputtered. "Quick, one of you swap places with me before she sees me!"


    But he was already out of luck. She''d spotted him and was waving him over with a bright grin. Strom, ever the opportunist, ducked away to a newly opened kiosk, leaving Krenk in the lurch.


    "Traitor," Krenk muttered after his partner who was laughing at his misfortune, then turned to me, desperation shining in his eyes. "John, you''re my only hope. Come on, be a decent employee and take care of this for me."


    I sighed, resigned to taking the hit on his behalf.


    "Thank you! I owe you one," Krenk called back gratefully, scurrying off to the other kiosk.


    It wasn''t that Krenk hated goblin women; quite the opposite, they adored him far too much. There''d been a few times when an adventurous goblin girl defied the council just to see the infamous rogue for herself, lavishing him with over-the-top praise and cooing that would make anyone squirm. I could hardly blame him for wanting to avoid that kind of scene again.


    The young goblin woman, barely out of girlhood, visibly bristled as Krenk slipped away. Her face darkened in frustration before she turned on me, her features tight with anger. "Please present your Link for identification," she said, her voice frosty enough to make me shiver.


    I knew better than to underestimate her. She could probably beat me senseless without breaking a sweat. Still, it was hard to feel genuinely intimidated by a short-stack who barely scraped three feet in height, no matter how fierce her glare.


    I handed over my Link without a moment''s hesitation, fully aware that it was best to comply rather than risk stirring her temper any further. She took the device and examined it as though it were the most riveting artifact in the realm. Of course, most people these days don''t own a Link custom-built by an artifice; they rely on generic, mass-produced models.


    Her anger melted away, replaced by a look of utter bewilderment. "How did you get a gnome-built Link? They''re forbidden to sell them to the public."


    "It was a gift from a friend," I answered. In my mind, I pictured Scruffy, my closest friend in this life. We''d been gaming online for years, and she was one of the few in our gaming guild who knew I was a man. When she discovered I struggled with interfacing with standard Links, she surprised me with this device as a Yuletide gift last year.


    The goblin woman squealed, her eyes dancing with excitement. "This is Taimi Quickwit''s handiwork! I can see her master mechanist mark right here. How did you manage to get this? She never sells her inventions!"


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    "I already told you," I repeated calmly, "it was a gift from a friend." Truth be told, I was as astonished as she was. Scruffy had acted like it was no big deal, so I''d never suspected its true rarity.


    "Is this going to be a problem?" I asked, eyeing Krenk and Strom as they slipped past the checkpoint, already laughing and embracing on the other side.


    The goblin guard followed my gaze, her expression darkening when she noticed my bosses'' display of affection. Outrage briefly flared in her eyes before settling into a deep scowl as she turned back to me, her mood souring all over again.


    "I''m afraid there are irregularities with your identification process," she said smugly. "Your Link is being confiscated for additional screening. Please step aside and follow my colleague to the waiting area."


    I jolted when a Valkyrie woman touched my shoulder¡ªso gently that I almost forgot she looked capable of crushing me with a single hand. "Please follow me, Sir," she said, her voice calm and professional. I hadn''t even heard her approach, which was impressive, considering she had to be a solid eight feet tall and built like a fortress. She radiated the kind of commanding presence the goblin girl had lacked entirely.


    I knew better than to argue. Making a scene here, of all places, would be the worst possible idea.


    Strom spotted me being led away and immediately bellowed, "Stop! You can''t just take John!"


    "Yeah!" Krenk jumped in, blunt as ever. "He''s our best employee, and we need him tonight."


    "Sir, please do not interfere," the Valkyrie replied, her tone crisp and unyielding. "This doesn''t concern you."


    Strom looked incredulous. "Doesn''t concern me? Krenk, did you hear that? My best employee is being snatched away on the very night he''s meant to serve the finest brew in the city. I''ll have you know I was summoned by the Governor-General herself."


    I doubted that last part, and from the Dragoon''s unimpressed glance, she clearly did too.


    "Sir," she repeated, "if you have any concerns, you''ll need to address them with the officer on duty."


    "I''ll make sure she hears of it, all right," Strom thundered, his face reddening. "Maybe I''ll get the Commandant herself to come down here and see how you''re kidnapping a vulnerable young man who''s done nothing wrong."


    His outburst was beginning to turn heads. Some of the other Dragoons were already watching from the periphery, and I could feel the Valkyrie next to me tensing, one step from calling for backup. This was supposed to be Strom''s big night, I couldn''t let him derail everything just because of me.


    Before she could activate her wrist Link, I cut in, "I''ll be fine, boss. It''s just a misunderstanding. Go set up. I''ll catch up with you both when this is settled."


    Strom fixed me with a furious glare. "I''ll have none of that. I can handle this myself."


    Krenk tugged on his arm. "Strom, look around." The dwarf finally seemed to register his surroundings and that this wasn''t the kind of place where you could simply complain to a manager and expect to walk free.


    He let out a reluctant grunt. "Fine. But if anything happens to you, it''s on your own head." Then he turned back to the Valkyrie. "If so much as a single hair is out of place when he''s released, I''ll make sure everyone knows how the Dragoons treat an innocent man. Do I make myself clear?"


    The guard''s expression soured, clearly insulted by the implication. "Yes, sir."


    Grumbling under his breath, Strom stomped off, smacking Krenk on the back of the head on the way.


    "What was that for?" the goblin whined.


    "This is all your fault, for being¡ª" Strom''s words trailed off as the Valkyrie guided me away, their bickering fading behind us.


    <hr>


    Codex


    You won''t believe what I found!!!!! Transcript of video by Oolan Flax, hosted on Linkspace.


    Helloooo my lovely audience, today on Oolan Tech Dive, I got my hands on a rare find I know all my lovely would die to see.


    Without further ado, ta-da.


    What''s that, my lovelies? That''s just a boring old Link. Everyone has one. I hear you say.


    Well, you''re right. This is just a Link, but like me, there is nothing boring about it.


    This is a genuine gnome-made link from the Age of Reason.


    Ya, cool, I know.


    This little baby is over eight hundred years old and still works.


    We halflings certainly know how to make things last. Am I right or what?


    Now, the Link doses have some tiny tiny problems that shows its age.


    You can''t use it to transfer mana to pay for things, connect to the web to watch yours truly, or use it to connect to a terminal to play video games.


    Shout to my sponsor, Raids Shadow Legends. Hit that link, my lovelies.


    Now, for all that it can''t do, this baby packs a punch.


    It has sixty-four linking crystal slots. That''s right, sixty-four slots, a bonkers amount compared to today''s standard twelve.


    Why? Because why not?


    Oh, alright, my lovelies, if you really want to know, this was made before switchboards became common. You would need to physically switch crystals in person to call or text each other.


    It''s a pain in the butt we all hate.


    But what is not pain is how easy it is to order one of my crystal links so you can watch my private streams.


    Why would you want to do that? Because this Link can capture sixteen K video.


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    For now, let''s get ready, too.


    Say it with me.


    DIVE IN


    And see how those clever halfling gnomes made this fantastic Link.

 Chapter 2.2

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    As the minutes ticked by, my nerves ratcheted higher. I hadn''t done anything illegal, and my paperwork was all in order. Of that I was certain. Materiel had driven that need into my thick skull with an object lesson I would never forget. An involuntary chill ran up my spine as I thought of that poor mouse.


    In the world of Erda world, the notion of equal rights was shaky at best, but at least the Federation''s guaranteed protections went farther than most places. It meant the Dragoons couldn''t hold me indefinitely, but they could stall me long enough to miss the gala if they wanted. That spiteful goblin girl probably would, if she could justify it to her superiors.


    So I waited, pacing around the small room, trying to ignore the tightening walls and the gurgle of water pipes. Dark memories threatened to surface, of another room just like this, of broken promises and hollow eyes, of the end of everything I''d once been. I fought the rising tide of panic by counting the seconds in my head, though that hardly helped. The time system here still threw me off: eighty-minute hours, eighty-second minutes, a quarter shorter than what I was used to. At least the day itself was still twenty-four hours long, even if it was a third longer by my old reckoning.


    Finally, the door creaked open, admitting a shapely Kitsune officer. One white, bushy tail swayed hypnotically behind her, and her fox-like ears stood at attentive angles atop her head. I''d never actually seen a Kitsune before; they were one of the Beastkin lineages who kept to themselves, mainly in the old world''s far eastern Nipponese Home Islands. But then again, if there was one city where you could find nearly any Kindred, it was New Londinium.


    I wasn''t well versed in Federation military insignia, but one look at the Kitsune officer''s uniform told me she outranked anyone I''d expected to see. By my rough estimate, she was at least a Bannerlady of C-Rank Magical Ability, equivalent to an OF- 4 on a NATO scale. Something about the way she studied me set my nerves on edge, like I was a wounded rabbit sprawled out before a starving fox.


    "Ara, ara, I have to say I''m pleasantly surprised," she purred, grinning so broadly I half-expected her to sprout fangs. "The girls weren''t exaggerating. Aren''t you just the juiciest morsel lucky enough to become our guest?"


    "Is that what I am? A guest?" I countered, raising an eyebrow. "It''s rather poor hospitality to keep your guest locked away in a cramped room with no refreshments, don''t you think?"


    She only smiled wider. "Now, we certainly can''t have that. What would people say if they thought Her Majesty''s Dragoons were terrible hosts?" She cast a meaningful glance at the one-way mirror. "Shieldbearer, be a dear and fetch our guest something to eat and drink from the mess."


    She then turned back to me, her expression cooling. "As for whether you''re truly our guest, that remains to be seen. Please, take a seat. We have plenty to discuss."


    There was no point refusing, so I settled into the uncomfortable metal chair across from her. She followed suit, placing her hands neatly on the table.


    "I''m Bannerlady Tomae, deputy in charge of this palace''s Dragoon contingent," she announced, clearly proud of the title. "The chief officer on duty tonight for our little soiree."


    "Shouldn''t you be doing something more important than wasting your time on me?" I asked, trying not to sound as uneasy as I felt.


    She shrugged, radiating cool confidence. "Normally, I''d delegate a chat like this to a subordinate. But riding a desk all day can get dreadfully dull, and when something¡ªor someone¡ªinteresting lands in my lap, I can''t resist. It keeps my people alert¡­and keeps my own talents from getting rusty."


    "Surely I can''t be that interesting," I protested. "I''m just a bartender."


    She leaned forward, lips curving into a predatory smile. "My boy, you''re the most intriguing puzzle I''ve come across since I was posted here."


    With a graceful sweep of her hand, the lights shifted, and a projection flickered into view over the tabletop. It was my Link-verified identification, taken a few years back. Besides my hair having grown out, I didn''t look much different. The Kitsune watched me intently, clearly pleased to show off her Kin''s renowned illusion magic.


    "John," she began, her tone now brisk and businesslike. "No registered family or chosen surname. Twenty-eight-year-old human male. Six-foot-six, iridescent eyes and hair, tanned skin, muscular build. No power level or mana profile on record. Resident of New Londinium''s Sixth Borough for the past five years. Employed by S&K Limited for four of those. You were granted citizenship through the Anthos Mandate two years ago following a three-year residency, and granted emancipation at the same time. No known partners or children. No additional records on file."


    She paused, letting the list of bullet points hang in the air like a challenge. I could sense the question hovering behind that smug gaze. How had someone with so little on paper become an object of such keen interest? But before she could ask, the Valkyrie who had escorted me entered the room. Two small mugs of steaming Kava in one hand and a bag of dried lentils in the other.


    She set down two steaming mugs and a small plate of snacks. The drink, a caffeine stimulant was a military necessity, smelled strongly of anise, a flavor close to black licorice, definitely an acquired taste if there ever was one. The Valkyrie''s gaze flicked to me, and her eyes reflected a rare empathy that could''ve melted stone.


    "Very good. You have my permission to leave," Bannerlady Tomae ordered, her tone clipped and dismissive.


    But the Valkyrie lingered, the tension between her and Tomae thick enough to taste. She stared at the Kitsune with a barely veiled hatred, as though she might leap over the table and throttle her.


    "Are you deaf, Shieldbearer?" Tomae''s voice hardened. "Leave now or do I need to add another reprimand to your file?"


    For a moment, the Valkyrie seemed to wrestle with herself. Then she pounded her chest in a sharp salute and, with clear reluctance, marched to the door.


    "Oh, and one more thing stand guard outside. See that we aren''t disturbed," Tomae added, letting the edge in her voice sharpen further. "And to be crystal clear: that is an order."


    The door slammed behind the departing Valkyrie, prompting Tomae to shake her head in exasperation.


    "I swear the Dragoons'' standards drop every year," she muttered. Then she turned back to me, gesturing at the mugs. "Please, drink. The Kava here is one of the few perks of being posted at the palace, it''s grades above the swill they dole out to the rest of the rank and file."


    She lifted one cup to her lips, inhaling the licorice-like aroma. I eyed the other mug but hesitated.


    "I''ll pass for now," I said softly, keeping my tone neutral.


    "Suit yourself," the Kitsune said, tipping the mug to her lips, her fangs visible. She frowned slightly at the rising steam, breathed in the heat, letting it cool to her liking, and then took a deeper swallow.


    "Now, where were we?" she continued, an air of smugness creeping into her voice. "Ah, yes, you were about to tell me why you''re trying to infiltrate the palace." As she spoke, the hovering projection faded away, leaving no trace of the accusation but her piercing stare.


    "I''m not infiltrating anything," I shot back. "I''m working a vendor stand tonight."


    "Working a vendor stand," she echoed, her tone laced with disbelief. "How convenient for a saboteur. Did you really think the Dragoons wouldn''t see through your little ploy? A spot just happens to open at the last minute when a vendor conveniently drops out. And that new vendor, blacklisted by two of this city''s most ''upstanding'' organizations, miraculously chooses you, one of the few emancipated men in the city and the only person I''ve ever encountered without a mana profile in their file. Your paperwork is so thin it could slip through a crack in the wall. And all this on the one night we''re spread too thin to keep track of every corner."


    She leaned forward, voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "Too bad for you one of our most outstanding guards caught you with a stolen Link. So tell me, ''John'' if that''s even your real name. What exactly do you have to say for yourself?"


    "That''s the biggest load of half-baked reasoning I''ve ever heard," I shot back, careful to keep my irritation in check.


    "There''s a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this," I continued, forcing my tone to remain calm despite the spike of annoyance building in my chest.


    "Really?" the Kitsune asked, arching an eyebrow with skepticism. "I doubt that. But if you''re willing to tell me the truth, I''ll listen."


    "I do have a mana signature. Check the file again," I said, gesturing at the floating display that reappeared when she swiped her hand.


    She leaned in, enlarging a section of text with a frown. There, displayed for both of us to see, was the word NULL in the place where one''s unique mana profile should have been.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "See?" I pointed out. "It''s right there: NULL. That''s my mana profile, and it is listed."


    "You''re claiming you have no mana signature," she retorted. "I''m no fool. I can sense you have power."


    "I do have mana," I corrected her. "It just doesn''t differ from the ambient mana around us. It''s neutral. That''s why I struggle with most magical tools. Hence the custom-made Link, which, I assure you, wasn''t stolen."


    "That''s impossible. Nobody has pure mana," she accused. "Stop lying to me and tell me the truth."


    "I''m not lying. It''s not pure mana; it''s neutral, like the stuff in the air."


    She narrowed her eyes. "How is that even possible?"


    "If you check my file again, there should be a note directing you to the Anthos Order. My citizenship agreement came with a gag clause: I''m not allowed to talk about the details."


    The truth was, now that I had my citizenship, I could speak freely if I wanted to. But I wasn''t about to give this arrogant Kitsune more information than absolutely necessary.


    She snorted. "How convenient."


    I shrugged. "Don''t blame me. Blame the Anthos Order. They are the reason my file is so bare. Speak to them if you want to know more."


    "And your suspicious employment, on this particular night," she pressed, her voice laced with insinuation.


    "You said it yourself," I countered, keeping my tone level. "I''m an emancipated man. I take whatever work I can find, and none of us invited ourselves here. If you''re fishing for conspiracies, maybe start with your own people."


    She paused, her penetrating gaze raking over me before a wicked grin claimed her lips. "I''m afraid I can''t let you leave until the Athos Order confirms your story¡ªfar too many holes for comfort. However," she added, letting the word dangle like bait, "I could be convinced otherwise."


    "How?" I asked, already suspecting the answer from the gleam in her eyes.


    She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a sultry purr. "I have an¡­itch that needs scratching. Take care of it for me, and you''d be amazed at what I might overlook."


    "Sorry," I said icily, "my scratching days are behind me."


    A flicker of offense crossed her face as she drew herself up, eyes glinting with bruised pride. "Is that so? I''m the most beautiful woman you''ve ever laid eyes on. You should be on your knees, begging to please me," she said, her voice rolling like velvet¡ªhypnotic, irresistible.


    In that moment, I felt a queasy sense of vertigo, as though gravity had shifted. My mind blurred, teetering on the edge of submission, and I realized with a jolt that she''d been working a Kitsune enchantment on me all along subtle, insidious, unlike the brute-force tactics of the High Elves. Rage flared in my chest, obliterating the last threads of her hold.


    Without thinking, I grabbed the untouched mug of steaming Kava and hurled it directly into her face. But the liquid failed to reach her. With a wave of her hand, it stoped mid-flight, and then was tossed harmlessly to the floor.


    She let out a long, disappointed sigh. "You really should have drunk that Kava," she said, her voice low with regret. "It would''ve made everything so much simpler for you. Now I''m afraid we''ll have to do this the hard way."


    With a flick of her wrist, tendrils of unseen force snaked around my body, pinning me to the chair. I couldn''t move a single muscle even my jaw refused to work, silencing any protest I might''ve tried to make.


    "I''ll give you this much," the Kitsune murmured, eyeing me with a mix of curiosity and reluctant admiration. "It''s not often I meet a man who can shrug off my enchantments. A pity, really. You might''ve even enjoyed what came next if you hadn''t fought back."


    She rose from her chair and circled to my side, each step purposeful and poised, the predatory gleam in her eyes making it clear she was far from finished.


    "The problem is men just don''t know their place nowadays. They expect to be wined and dined, not servicing their mistress like they are meant to be. Back when I was young, I would steal any man I wanted. Make them mine for as long as they amused me, but no, the world had to go and get all modern," She complained.


    I struggled in my seat, trying to break free, doing my best to scream out for help.


    "Don''t struggle; it will only make things harder for you. No one is going to see anything in this room that I don''t want them to see, and when this is all over, you''ll wake up with no memories, only the vague notion you had a nice dream." the Kitsune said, moving her face level to mine then giving me a deep and sensual kiss on the lips.


    She pushed her mana into me, trying to start the process of exciting a man. It was more complicated than it had any right to be for men to get aroused in this life. The presence of a woman''s man was needed in a man for him to get an erection, and once it was up, it wouldn''t be going down until the pressure was released or several frustrating hours had passed. And every woman knew it wasn''t rape if you gave the man his erection. Arousing the man was her job, and she deserved the reward.


    The Bannerlady moved her hand to fondle my chest, making her way all the way down to my crotch. My body couldn''t help itself as my groins began to steer. She moved her hand down my pants, grabbing my sizable shaft. A wild grin erupted on her face.


    "Already so big, and you''re not even at half mast yet. I''m going to have to speak to my mistress about keeping you all to myself after tonight''s festivities really begin." She purred.


    I didn''t have time to process her words before the door exploded off its hinges, crashing into the opposite wall with enough force to crack the reinforced stone. The figure who stepped through looked like something out of legend: an orc woman towering over eight feet tall, every inch of her pure, unadulterated muscle. Her red hair fanned out in a wild halo around her green skin, which gleamed under the harsh lights. Blue-dyed engraved tusks jutted from her lower jaw, and her golden eyes blazed with a bloodlust so intense it made my heart hammer.


    I felt a sudden pulse of mana radiate from her, and the world around me shattered¡ªwhatever illusion the Bannerlady had been maintaining was torn away in an instant. Before the Kitsune could so much as twitch, the unstoppable force of the orc''s presence seemed to flicker across the room. In a blur of motion, she seized the Kitsune by the throat and slammed her face-first into the metal table, leaving a dent where her head struck.


    The invisible restraints holding me vanished the moment the kitsune lost consciousness, freeing my limbs.


    "I''ve been waiting a long time to catch you screwing up, you massive cunt," the orc growled, her voice a thunderous bass. "I''ll see you hanged for this."


    Only then did I register her insignia: Lotha Bluetusk, Commandant of the Dragoons , highest-ranking battle general in the Federation''s military standing right before me like the wrath of the Aspects made flesh.


    <hr>


    Codex


    Yuletide- article entry from Linkipedia.


    Yuletide is a prominent winter solstice holiday celebrated across Erda. This festive period is rich in magical and cultural significance, marking the transition from the old year to the new with elaborate celebrations, gift-giving, mystical rituals, parties, and communal joy. Yuletide takes place on the last day of the year, on the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year, the end of the Lunar cycle, and the day the world is closest to the spirit realms.


    Yuletide is characterized by a rich tapestry of customs that blend the mystical with the celebratory. Homes and public spaces are adorned with wreaths and garlands made from evergreen, holly, and mistletoe, all plants that are considered magical for their ability to thrive in winter and for their protective properties. Lights, ranging from simple candles to enchanted glowing orbs, illuminate the long nights, symbolizing hope and the triumph of light.


    Gift-giving during Yuletide is both a social and magical practice. It is believed that exchanging gifts bestows blessings and strengthens the bonds between individuals and the mystical forces of the realm. These gifts often include charms and talismans crafted to bring luck and protection in the coming year.


    Feasting plays a central role in Yuletide celebrations, with traditional foods that include spiced meats, mulled cider, and sweet cakes baked in the shape of suns and stars, all of which are imbued with ingredients to enhance their magical properties. Songs and dances specific to Yuletide are performed, believed to please the spirits and ensure their favor for the community.


    The climax of Yuletide is the Hours of Wonders, coinciding with the winter solstice itself. On this night, it is said that the veil between worlds is thinnest, allowing for the most potent magic. Spectacular displays of light and color fill the skies, created not only by the auroras natural to this time of year but also by the celebratory magical fireworks crafted by skilled magicians. People gather to tell stories of the past year ,and make resolutions for the new year.


    </article>

 Chapter 2.3

    When Strom mentioned bringing in the Commandant herself to hear my case, I never once believed he could actually pull it off. Lotha Bluetusk was widely regarded as the deadliest fighter alive¡ªtasked with leading the Imperial Federation''s Champions in defending against the relentless threats facing us. She should have been on the front lines, not swooping in to deal with what amounted to a wildly overzealous and corrupt TSA supervisor.


    Not that I wasn''t relieved the situation had spiraled wildly out of control. I''d been bracing to handle a few tipsy noblewomen who might get handsy, not end up bound and assaulted before I even had a chance to don Krenk''s colorful outfit. It wasn''t as though I couldn''t have escaped, but using my unique abilities would''ve opened a different and far darker Pandora''s box. Better to take my chances with a horny kitsune trying to raise a mast she had no chance of than face the fallout of revealing that secret. Not like it was the first time I''ve been assaulted, far from it.


    Lotha''s face was lit with unrestrained triumph, as though she''d just secured her ninth consecutive victory at the world dueling championships. She practically radiated smug satisfaction as she loomed over her prey, her booming voice dripping with mockery.


    "Well, well, Miss ''I''ve been an officer longer than you''ve been alive, I''m better than some up jumped warband leader,''" she taunted, each word accentuated by the ripple of her powerful muscles. "Nothing to say for yourself now, eh? Couldn''t keep your grubby paws to yourself like a decent officer, could you?"


    A pained groan escaped the Kitsune Bannerlady, muffled against the dented table.


    "What was that?" Lotha jeered, pressing the Kitsune''s face deeper into the cold metal surface. "Sorry, I can''t hear you over the sound of my fist pounding your head."


    With a twisted sense of glee, the orc Commandant drove the Kitsune''s head forward again, the table''s metal screeching under the force. Each impact echoed through the cramped interrogation room, a brutal punctuation to Lotha''s triumphant assault.


    My hands trembled as I tried to straighten myself up, every muscle taut with leftover adrenaline. Deep down, I realized I was far more shaken than I''d let myself believe. It was hard not to be unsettled, standing so close to this living embodiment of warfare. I''d once watched a vid of Lotha pummeling a chimera to death with its own severed head, an abomination of High Elven creation the size of a bus. She was a legend come to life, which made her presence here all the more surreal.


    "Thank you," I managed, voice cracking from the strain of all that had just happened.


    The orc warrior blinked, halting her brutal onslaught as though waking from a blood-hazed dream. Mid-slam, she suddenly realized she wasn''t alone in the room. She fixed me with a look that held both curiosity and bewilderment.


    "Thank you," I repeated. "You saved me from her. Truly¡­from the breath of my lungs to the essence of my core, thank you." It was the formal threefold thanks, a phrase any Kindred man would only use with utmost sincerity, but I meant every word of it.


    Lotha froze, looking as startled as a child caught red-handed in the cookie jar. A hot flush of bluish color raced across her green cheeks, creeping down her neck in a full-body blush. Seeing the towering, red-haired Amazon squirm with embarrassment was bizarrely disarming.


    "N-No problem, citizen. Just doing my job," she replied stiffly. Then, as if just realizing she was still gripping the kitsune by the head, she held the unconscious woman aloft and turned to me in awkward confusion. "Would¡­would you like a turn?" she asked hesitantly.


    I grimaced, shaking my head. "I''ll pass, but¡­thanks for the offer," I said, equally unsure. Too many times had I been on the receiving end of violence to ever feel comfortable dishing it out.


    Lotha looked away, her mind clearly scrambling for the right words. "Are¡­are you going to cry?" she finally asked, sounding more anxious about the tears than I was.


    "No," I said gently. "Would you feel better if I did?" I forced a small smile, unsure whether that was what she wanted.


    She paled, visibly horrified by the very idea. "Please don''t," she blurted. "It''s just¡­you''re not reacting how a man usually does after being¡­uh¡­" Her words trailed off as she glanced at the dented table and the kitsune she still had in her grip.


    I sighed. "Unfortunately, this isn''t my first rodeo with this kind of thing. If I broke down every time it happened, I''d never get anything done. I refuse to let the ugliness of this world keep me from living my life on my own terms."


    Relief flickered across her features. "Good, good. Always get back up, that''s what I say. Never let them see you sweat," Then, as if remembering something important, she cleared her throat. "Do you need medical attention? I can get the healers here faster than you''d believe."


    Before I could answer, a small, panting mousekin girl burst into the room, eyes wide with worry. "Commandant, please," she gasped between breaths, "don''t run ahead like that. None of us can keep up when you dash off!"


    "Shit, he''s cute," I heard the newcomer mutter under her breath as she performed the Dragoons'' formal salute¡ªa firm bump to the chest where the heart lay. She was a slight mousekin girl, and everything about her screamed nervous energy. Her large, round glasses magnified her eyes so they seemed to fill half her face, and her oversized mouse ears shot straight up the moment she stepped fully into the room, taking in the scene before her.


    The sight must have been jarring: a dented metal table, a groaning Kitsune Bannerlady sprawled on the ground, and the towering Orc Commandant standing over her prisoner like a conqueror. The mousekin''s ears twitched, and her whiskers quivered with agitation as she turned to Lotha.


    "Commandant," she exclaimed, voice pitched in exasperation, "please don''t tell me you ran in here, attacked a fellow officer with no witnesses, and then kept attacking her after she was subdued!"


    Lotha, still gripping the unconscious Kitsune''s collar, tried for nonchalance. "No," she lied outright, punctuating her denial by tossing the groaning woman to the floor with a heavy thump.


    The mousekin pressed a hand to her forehead, as though she could ward off the headache already forming. "You can''t do things like this, Commandant. What about the Advocates? Everyone knows you two hate each other. No one is going to believe the word of an emancipated man from Aspects-knows-where." She paused, realizing her slight. "No offense," she added, turning to me with a small, apologetic shrug.


    Lotha snorted, waving off the concern. "Come on, Mabbs. Once we get Tomae in front of the Tribunal, Vengeance will smite her on the spot. She''s a nasty piece of work, and everyone knows it." As if to emphasize the point, she gave the insensate Kitsune a swift kick in the ribs.


    Mabbs grimaced. "It''s not going to reach the Tribunal, Ma''am. The Nipponese Cultural Association and the Beastkin Clans will rally to her defense. Then, the brass will get involved because she was the first Kitsune to join the armed forces. You know how those fossils from the Great Undying Wars get about soldiers who served in their era."


    Lotha pointed an accusatory finger at the camera bolted high on the wall. "We''ve got footage from the Link, though."


    Mabbs glanced up at the black, unlit lens and let out a long sigh. "It''s turned off. You would''ve known that if you hadn''t barged in here like a pissed-off cyclops."


    A fresh wave of anger surged through me. It was all too easy to imagine how this would unfold behind closed doors: the higher-ups would protect their own, powerful nobles would pressure the system, and deals would be cut in back rooms. That kind of hush-up was an old story in my previous life, where powerful men evaded repercussions daily and here, noble women held even more sway in society than men had in my old world.


    "Is she really going to get away with what she''s done?" I asked, my voice betraying the anger still coiled in my gut.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Mabbs cast me a worried glance. "Somewhat," she said, hesitating. "We can probably force a transfer and another demotion, but that''s about it."


    "She was already demoted," Lotha growled. "Put somewhere she couldn''t do any harm, and yet here we are."


    A short, bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. "That''s obviously going real well," I said under my breath, unable to mask the scorn in my tone.


    A gentle rap on the splintered doorframe announced the cautious return of the Valkyrie Shieldbearer from earlier. She stepped inside, armor glinting under the harsh overhead light, and straightened to give a formal salute, fist thudding against her chest.


    "Ma''am, I know I and several of my fellow Dragoons would be willing to testify. We''ve suspected the Bannerlady for some time, but never had enough evidence to act," she said in a low, steady voice.


    "See, Mabbs?" Lotha exclaimed, her tusked grin fierce. "The good old rank and file won''t let us down."


    Mabb, arms folded and tail twitching with nerves, merely shook her head. "It helps, but it''s still circumstantial at best," she muttered.


    I took the moment to point at the spilled Kava pooling on the floor. "Test the Kava. I''m pretty sure she spiked it with something."


    Perking up, Mabb pushed her glasses higher on her small nose. "I might be able to work with that," she said, a note of hope coloring her tone.


    "Everything will work out in the end," Lotha declared, almost giddy. "Taimi will be pleased, and the bitch will get what she deserves."


    But the Valkyrie, confused, frowned at the sticky mess. "I brewed that Kava myself. I didn''t put anything in it."


    "Then she must have done it when you weren''t looking," I explained, jerking my chin at the unconscious Bannerlady, "or else she dominated you to make you think you hadn''t."


    Lotha rounded on me. "What did you say?" she demanded, her emerald skin darkening with a sudden flush.


    Mabb steadied her quivering whiskers, focusing on me with grim intent. "Would you mind repeating that last part?"


    I swallowed, feeling the weight of every eye in the room. "It was subtle at first, but she was trying to dominate my will, push me to beg for the privilege of pleasing her. I''ve...had more experiences with mind control than anyone should, so I was able to brush it off. That''s when she got really nasty." My voice wavered despite my efforts, and I found myself staring at the floor, heat creeping up my neck in shame at the admission.


    No one likes telling strangers they had experience being dominated and raped.


    "Shieldbearer! Grab spikes, now, before she comes to!" Lotha roared, her voice echoing in the cramped room.


    "Yes, ma''am!" the Valkyrie answered, snapping off another salute and disappearing down the corridor at a brisk jog.


    "Mabbs," Lotha barked, turning her attention to the mousekin.


    "Already on it," Mabbs replied, her tiny hands flying across a Link with astonishing speed, tapping commands faster than I''d ever seen.


    Meanwhile, the towering orc yanked the unconscious Kitsune into a chokehold, pinning her arms at an angle that left her helpless to speak or move. The sheer power emanating from Lotha was a reminder of her status as one of the most formidable warriors alive.


    "Consorting with High Elves... I never thought even you would sink so low," Lotha hissed, her golden eyes blazing. "You''re a disgrace to the uniform, a disgrace to every Kindred in this Federation. You''re not escaping this, no matter what you try. I''ll make sure your head ends up mounted on the palace gates."


    I was ushered out of the interrogation room with careful politeness, a gesture meant to shield my supposedly delicate eyes from what came next. I didn''t protest. I had no desire to witness the gruesome ritual of spiking a mage¡ªone of the few ways to neutralize a spellcaster''s power. The procedure was far too reminiscent of the "milking" I''d once been subjected to, an ordeal I wouldn''t wish on my worst enemy.


    Outside, chaos reigned as more Dragoons swarmed in. A nervous healer insisted on examining me while I gave a statement to the guards, and all the while, I forced myself to ignore the agonized shrieks coming from the Kitsune. Even after she was subdued, they needed more Dragoons than I''d seen at the entire checkpoint to finally lead her away. I couldn''t bring myself to look.


    "This has certainly been an experience," I said to the guard as the healer left, my voice raw with lingering tension, "but can I leave now? I''ve wasted enough time on this mess."


    The mousekin girl who''d come running after Lotha dismissed the remaining guards and approached me, her whiskers twitching with concern. "Are you really going on to the gala after all this?" she asked softly. "No one would blame you if you just went home to rest."


    I shook my head, mind already set. "I''m not attending the gala as a guest, I''m working a stand. My bosses need me, and I promised I''d meet them once everything was sorted out. I keep my word."


    She tilted her head, surprise evident in her round eyes. "You''re not a guest? I assumed you were going with Quickwit, the way she barged in and demanded your release."


    "Who?" I started to ask, but a familiar voice answered.


    "She means me, Wick," said a smaller figure stepping out from behind Lotha''s towering form. Tufts of green hair peeked around the orc''s massive knees. A halfling, someone I knew only by her online handle.


    "Scruffy?" I repeated, piecing the puzzle together at last. "Or should I say¡­Taimi Quickwit?" Her real name tumbled out like an accusation, Mechanist Designate of the Gnomish Circle, Master Tinker, and reputedly the most powerful Technopath alive.


    "Surprise," she offered nervously, fiddling with the hem of her shirt as she ventured a shy smile.


    <hr>


    Codex


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 Chapter 2.4

    I stood there, rooted to the spot, trying to reconcile the tiny figure peeking out from behind Lotha Bluetusk with the persona I knew so well from our online adventures. Scruffy no, Taimi Quickwit looked just as small and delicate as a halfling ought to, but there was something undeniably extraordinary about her. Her bright green hair was tucked into several messy braids, each one threaded with copper wiring that glinted under the overhead lights. Faint gears and intricate tattoos spiraled along her forearms, faintly humming with the kind of mechanical magic only the greatest Gnomish tinkerers could wield.


    She rubbed her neck and cleared her throat, nervous energy all but crackling in the space around her. "Hello," she waved with a half-hearted chuckle, flashing me an apologetic look.


    "Scruffy...or should I call you Taimi?" I repeated, more slowly this time, letting my gaze slide over the intricate clockwork tattoos spiraling up her forearms. My attention flicked to her wrist, where a specialized Link was strapped tight, then back to her face.


    "If I can call you John," she said with a tremor of nervous excitement. Her lips curved into a shy grin as she spoke, as though the word John was an unfamiliar delicacy on her tongue.


    I couldn''t help but crack a small smile of my own. "Seems fair, considering you just pulled me out of the fire again." A spark of pride lit her eyes at the praise, and she all but preened beneath it.


    "Okay, John," she repeated, drawing the syllables out in a delighted voice.


    Mabbs, the mousekin, twitched her whiskers in confusion. "Wait, you''re Wick? From the Rakishness Tea Party? But I thought you were a woman."


    Taimi gave a little shrug. "John uses a voice modulator when we''re on chat¡ªthat''s why you probably didn''t recognize him, Mabbs."


    I held up a hand in a placating gesture. "I''d appreciate it if you kept that under wraps. Besides Taimi, only two other people in the guild know. It''s safer that way." Both were men as well, one using the same trick, the other playing openly alongside his wives and children.


    Being a man in the online gaming world wasn''t exactly a recipe for calm. You will never find a more wretched hive of thirst and desperation than online gamers. You must be cautious, and I''d learned early on how quickly things could spiral out of control if the wrong people found out.


    "Though¡­" I turned my attention back to Mabbs, "how do you know my in-game handle?"


    Before she could answer, Taimi blurted, "She''s SchlongLover88."


    Mabbs''s mousey ears flattened, and her face went beet-red.


    "Sorry," I replied. "I didn''t recognize your voice. You''ve been offline for a while."


    "Got Promoted," she added awkwardly, darting a glance toward Lotha, who stood nearby like a granite statue. For hers, sins undoubtedly.


    "Yeah, John, remember my friend, SkullsTaker?" Taimi chimed in brightly, nodding toward the imposing orc.


    I did remember. Those chaotic gaming sessions with someone so hilariously inept it was almost endearing. "Yeah. Those were...fun." A grin tugged at my lips. "Guess we were friends already and just never knew it."


    Lotha''s flush was unmistakable, her cheeks darkening against her green complexion. Her eyes shone with an unexpected sweetness, as though this realization had broken through that hardened warrior shell. She blinked rapidly, on the verge of tears, and it struck me that even the fiercest fighters could have hearts as soft as any gentle soul.


    "I guess that explains why the Commandant herself came to rescue me," I muttered, lowering myself so I could meet the halfling''s eyes. At three foot eight, she was tall for her kin, but compared to most other Kindred, she still had to crane her neck to hold my gaze.


    "How did you know to warn the Commandant I was in trouble?" I asked, my voice turning uncharacteristically cold.


    Taimi, wilted under my stare, her bright eyes flicking away before she spoke in a small, sheepish voice. "I have an alert set to ping me whenever anyone besides me accesses my Links. The one I made for you was based exactly on mine, so I got the notification. It wasn''t intentional, I swear," she added quickly. "But once I noticed you were being detained, I was already here at the palace¡­" Her words trailed off, leaving an awkward silence.


    Lotha barked out a laugh that rattled the walls. "She came barging into a meeting between me, Governor-General Ann, President Jacqueline, half the Senior Cabinet, and Princess Adora with her Companions, demanding your release. Never seen Taimi so worked up! She practically put the fear of the Aspects into that roomful of stuffy highborns, threatening to cancel every single contract she has with Atlantica¡ª"


    Mabbs hastily cleared her throat, shooting the orc a sharp look. "Commandant, please don''t speak about our superiors so candidly, especially in public." Her large ears twitched with alarm as she glanced around at the Dragoons milling just out of earshot. "And let''s not mention a certain royal''s presence again. It''s supposed to be a surprise."


    Lotha''s tall frame stiffened at the rebuke. "Right, sorry, won''t happen again. Warrior''s honor," she promised, though the mousekin''s skeptical sigh suggested this wasn''t the first time she''d heard that pledge.


    "And, well," I said, my gaze sliding back to the beet-red Taimi, "no one wants to risk angering the Federation''s most brilliant Tinker."


    "You''ve got it in one," Lotha replied, nodding. "I''ve worked with Taimi for years, so I volunteered to handle her demands before Adora could jump in. The princess hates those political gatherings even more than I do. It''s all posturing and backroom deals, it''ll drive anyone insane after a while."


    "Commandant." Mabbs''s admonishing tone left no room for debate.


    "Fine. Forget I said that last part," Lotha grumbled, folding her massive arms over her chest.


    Before the orc could say anything else, Mabbs smoothed over the conversation with a diplomatic cough. "We should''ve been able to figure out what happened to you pretty quickly, then let you go," she explained, her whiskers twitching with residual worry. "But Bannerlady Tomae had diverted your case to her personal queue, which kept you off our radar. Once the Commandant realized Tomae was involved¡­"


    Mabbs trailed off, letting the end of that sentence speak for itself. Lotha had clearly charged off like a hunting wolf scenting blood. No one needed to clarify that point.


    I locked my gaze on Taimi''s wide, earnest eyes, marveling at how familiar they felt, despite this being our first face-to-face meeting. In a strange way, I knew her better than anyone else in this life. Our countless late-night gaming sessions, vid marathons, and rambling chats about nothing had forged a friendship as real as any I''d ever known. If she so much as suspected a friend was in danger, she would tear apart entire kingdoms to keep them safe. It was no wonder everyone in our guild adored her; she was a natural team''s "mom" (or "dad," in this world''s lingo), always looking out for us.


    With a sudden flourish, I reached out and flicked her lightly between the eyes.


    "Ow!" she yelped, rubbing the spot. "What was that for, you big jerk?"


    "That''s for spying on me and lying to me all these years, ''I''m no one important I only do some small jobs for the government,''" I said, trying to sound stern. Before she could protest, I pulled her into a hug.


    "Thank you for being my friend through it all," I whispered, pressing her closer. "Thank you for saving me. From the breath of my lungs to the essence of my core, thank you."


    Taimi''s arms slid around me in return. She practically melted against my chest, clinging to me as though I were her only source of warmth in a freezing wind.


    Off to one side, Lotha muttered under her breath, sounding more than a little envious. "I didn''t get a hug."


    There weren''t many perks to being a man in this world, but the freedom to be physically affectionate with others, without fear of judgment was definitely one of them. In my previous life, I could count on one hand the times I''d hugged someone outside my own family. Everyone expected me to be stoic, to shoulder the hurt of life in silence. Crying in public would''ve made me look weak. Here, though, I could drop the facade, show vulnerability if I needed to, and no one would think less of me for it.


    As Taimi and I embraced, I felt the soft pulse of her mana trickling into my body. It wasn''t the harsh, invasive push I''d experienced with the Bannerlady, but a gentle, comforting flow, the way a woman''s power naturally envelops a man she cares about. It reminded me of being wrapped in a warm quilt on a chilly night. Then, to my surprise, I felt my own mana flowing back into her, a quiet acknowledgment of how much I cared for her in return.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    "Okay, Taimi," I murmured, trying to ease out of the embrace before we both got carried away. "That''s enough. You can let go now."


    Instead, she tightened her grip. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Let me enjoy step forty-two just a little longer."


    "Step forty-two?" I repeated, baffled.


    She let out a startled squeak, releasing me all at once. "N-Nothing!" Her cheeks blazed pink as she turned toward Mabbs. "Didn''t you need to tell John about the gag order?"


    Mabbs stood breathing heavily, her gaze distant, tapping at her Link with one hand as though every flick of her fingers required immense effort. Lotha, for her part, looked just as uneasy, shifting restlessly as though she might lash out at any moment.


    "Mabbs, the order," Taimi prompted again, her voice carrying a note of urgency.


    That finally snapped the mousekin out of her trance. She adjusted her glasses, turned to me, and cleared her throat. "Right. By directive of the Governor-General''s Office and with the President of Atlantica''s backing, all events concerning Bannerlady Tomae are hereby under Quarantine until her full betrayal can be investigated. No word of her actions is to be made public. Failure to comply will result in your immediate summons before the Justice''s Tribunal."


    I understood the unspoken subtext: traitors rarely worked alone, and rooting out Tomae''s allies was top priority. But it also conveniently kept me from speaking out, receiving recognition, or even basic compensation for what I''d just gone through. Typical.


    Both Dragoons seemed braced for an outburst, their shoulders tense as though prepared to restrain me if I so much as raised my voice.


    "I''m not happy about it," I said coolly, my frustration palpable. "In fact, I''m downright pissed. But I get it, I''ll keep quiet. Just don''t expect it to be easy for me."


    Relief flickered over their faces, mingling with a shared twinge of guilt. Lotha straightened, then lifted her head as though a sudden idea had just dawned on her.


    "John," Lotha rumbled, turning her attention my way. "You said you were working with one of the vendors tonight. Which one, and where?"


    "I''ll be set up in one of the outer pavilions, King Victor''s Bar stand, near the overlook," I answered, still feeling the tension in my shoulders from the earlier drama.


    The orc Commandant clicked her tongue, thinking. "We can''t do anything official at the moment," she said, "but unofficially, I could pull some strings and have the King Victor''s stand relocated to the main pavilion. That is, if you think it''s a good idea."


    "Fantastic idea!" Taimi cut in, her voice bright with genuine excitement. "I''ll be at the main pavilion all night anyway, so we can hang out."


    My bosses, Krenk and Strom, would be over the moon at the prospect, greedy bastards that they were. It would be a chance to rub elbows with the elite and hopefully earn a small fortune in the process.


    "I won''t say no if you can manage it," I replied, hoping not to sound too eager. "That would really help me out. My absence almost cost them their chance, so this more than makes up for it."


    Looking pleased with herself, Lotha barked, "Mabbs, get on that."


    The mouse girl let out a weary sigh, her whiskers twitching with resignation. "Yes, ma''am. I''m sure rearranging the vendor layout just a few hours before the gala won''t cause any massive headaches."


    Lotha''s sharp gaze snapped to her underling. "Are you giving me lip, Mabbs?"


    "No, ma''am," the mousekin retorted sarcastically. "I wouldn''t dream of it."


    "Good," said missing Mabbs tone


    "This is going to be amazing! I can''t wait to introduce you to everyone and show you what I''ve been working on!" Taimi bubbled, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Oh¡ªand you have to see my latest masterpiece!"


    "Taimi, I''ll be busy working," I reminded her gently.


    Her shoulders sank, and she looked as devastated as if I''d just punted a puppy in front of her. "Darn¡­" she murmured.


    I cleared my throat, hoping to soften the blow. "But I could use an escort. You know, to help me get around."


    In truth, I probably did need the assistance. I hadn''t the faintest clue how to navigate the palace corridors, and it certainly wasn''t wise for a man to wander alone. Taimi''s face lit up, bright as fireworks.


    Before we could head out, Lotha called, "Hold on. Take this." She extended a small linking crystal carved with intricate runes, glowing softly.


    Mabbs sucked in a sharp breath, her round eyes going wide with alarm.


    "Neat!" Taimi chirped, plucking the crystal from Lotha''s hand and slotting it into my Link on her belt. She then removed one of my own crystals, handed it to Lotha, and returned the device to me once the exchange was complete.


    "If you run into any more trouble," Lotha said, voice gruff but not unkind, "call me. I''ll handle it." She hesitated, her green cheeks darkening slightly. "Or if you just¡­want to talk as friends, that''s fine too."


    Mabbs groaned and buried her face in her hands.


    "Problem?" Lotha asked, brow furrowed.


    With a dramatic sigh, Mabbs replied, "No problem, Commandant. I most definitely did not just watch you hand over a classified, high-security linking crystal to a civilian. Clearly, I need my glasses checked." She made a show of taking them off and wiping them on her shirt.


    My lips twitched in a faint smile as I slipped the crystal into my pocket. "Well¡­ thanks, I guess. I''ll see you around. Take care of yourself, Commandant." I gestured for Taimi to join me. I''d wasted more than enough time in this part of the palace already.


    Lotha gave me a hearty wave as she strode off, with Mabbs hurrying alongside, frantically tapping on her Link as she walked. Soon enough, Taimi and I were alone, for the first time, truly.


    "So," I said, turning to her. "What''s step forty-two?"


    She jolted, nearly dropping her own Link in surprise. "Oh, uh, would you look at the time?" she said, glancing down at the tiny screen. "It''s a quarter to the hour, which means we really need to get going. No dillydallying!"


    She darted ahead in a fluster, gesturing for me to follow, very obviously ignoring my question. And from the guilty look on her face, I suspected I might not like the answer anyway.


    <hr>


    Codex


    An Introduction to the Races of Erda


    Chapter 14, The Curious Case of the Gnomes


    By Lady Brimsley Hasting, Senior Scholastic of Anthropology, St. Andrea Scholasticum


    While all gnomes fall under the category of halflings, not all halflings are gnomes. To be identified as a gnome among halflings, one must awaken the dormant, inherited memories and the magical ability known as Technopathy. This stands in contrast to other halflings who might manifest abilities in Herbomancy, Shadowmancy, or other rarer branches of their ancestral inheritance.


    Historically, halflings, like all Kin, were originally crafted by the High Elves to serve as slaves within their expansive empire. Halflings emerged as the first of the so-called "second generation" following the creation of humans, designed as more specialized servants with pre-programmed memories and inherent magical abilities. Each halfling reaches a pivotal moment in adolescence when these latent powers awaken, with Technopathy being the most revered and sought-after of these abilities.


    During the era of the High Elven Empire, the gift of Technopathy was exceedingly prevalent, serving a crucial role in maintaining the empire''s grand constructs. Gnomes, equipped with the unique ability to interact with the technological wonders crafted by the elves, were invaluable. However, this boon bore a heavy price as the magic that powered the world began to wane. As the empire''s great machines faltered and the magic sustaining them ebbed, so too did the lives of their gnome caretakers, who were deeply bound to the technologies they tended. Many gnomes perished as their Focus deteriorated. Only a few, those who lived among their less illustrious halfling kin, managed to survive and perpetuate their rare talent to their modern descendants.

 Chapter 2.5

    "Would you believe I''ve never actually done this before?" I asked, quickening my pace to keep up with Taimi''s effortless stride. It still amazed me how someone so small could move so fast.


    She shot me a bright smile, copper-threaded braids swishing with each step. "Getting into the palace is basically a miracle unless you''re on official business," she said, her tone cheerful but matter-of-fact.


    "That''s true," I conceded. "But that''s not what I meant. I''ve never been escorted by a woman."


    Taimi paused, turning on her heel so fast her green hair bounced. "Seriously?" she said, eyes widening.


    I shrugged, the slightest hint of unease creeping in. "I''m emancipated, so I don''t have family or Kin to fill the role. I assumed it would come up eventually¡­" I let the sentence fade. Maybe on a date or in a relationship, but I didn''t need to hand Taimi more ideas than necessary.


    I''m sure Maeriel would have been thrilled if I had ever asked her, but since she was someone every Kindred was legally required to kill on sight, going out in public with her was not only foolhardy but suicidal.


    A flicker of curiosity crossed her face, but she didn''t push it. "So I''m the first?" She grinned, mischievous delight flickering in her eyes. "I guess that means I have bragging rights. Maybe I''ll print a badge that says, I Escorted John¡ªNumber One in Line!"


    "Don''t you dare," I retorted, though a laugh slipped out. "Honestly, it feels a little weird. You''re what, more than half my height? Yet you''re legally in charge of my safety."


    "That''s how things are," she replied, offering a carefree shrug. "I can use magic; men can''t. So if trouble crops up, it''s my job to protect you. Call it centuries of social convention rolled into one deadly halfling ready to kickass."


    As if to punctuate her statement, Taimi hopped into the air and threw a playful punch, her copper braids shimmering with stored mana. I couldn''t help but smirk. "You certainly don''t look weighed down by the responsibility."


    "Oh, I''m definitely weighed down," she said, pivoting to gesture at the endless hall before us. "Weighed down by excitement! I''ve been wanting to meet you in real life for ages, and we get to do it in the most interesting building in the entire city. Talk about perfect timing! This place is massive. Did you know there''s a wing the earliest governor supposedly had constructed in secret? Some rumor about a hidden chamber behind her appointment tapestry¡ª"


    She rattled on without pausing for breath, pointing out the intricate carvings, soaring ceilings, and the occasional statue that lined our path. Her joy proved infectious, drawing me in despite the lingering knots in my stomach.


    "Take this decorative panel, for instance," she said, tapping the polished wood with her knuckles. "A lot of people don''t realize it dates back to Governor-General Georgette''s reign. The scrollwork alone is enough to make any historian drool, I mean, if they even notice it."


    I raised my eyebrows. "You remember her name? I can''t recall what I had for breakfast yesterday, let alone historical figures from ages ago."


    "Eidetic memory," Taimi said, tapping the side of her head with a proud grin. "It''s not just for tinkering and gaming, y''know."


    I let out a low chuckle, the tension in my shoulders easing. Her chatter kept my mind too busy to revisit the interrogation room and the uneasy sense that had trailed after me ever since. Each historical tidbit felt like a small shield, blocking out those dark thoughts.


    As we passed a marble column adorned with gleaming gold filigree, I couldn''t help but slow down to admire its beauty. "I knew this place was supposed to be grand, but I never realized it was so¡­maze-like."


    Taimi laughed, her cheeks flushing with delight. "Blame the committees. Every time a new official got elected, they added rooms, wings, or entire floors. On top of the mess that was initial construction. Even magic can''t keep perfect track of it all. Ohh, that statue, see it? The one of the first official Atlantica Chapions? She allegedly spent twenty-eight years training before taking her post. Now that''s dedication."


    I shook my head, a wry smile on my lips. "Hard to believe someone could love their job that much."


    "Hey, I understand," Taimi said, flashing a sympathetic smile, eyes locked onto me. "When you''re passionate about something, time just disappears."


    She wasn''t wrong. A soft pang of envy reminded me that my own passion for life had dimmed to embers. But here she was, all blazing curiosity, like a torch lighting the way for anyone lucky enough to follow. Part of me hoped her warmth might reignite something inside me.


    We nearly collided with two palace staff rounding a corner, both of whom cast us a curious glance no doubt wondering at the sight of a petite halfling woman acting as an official escort to a tall, broad-shouldered man. The social implication alone was bound to start gossip. Taimi offered them a cheery wave, not missing a beat as she pointed to a set of gilded double doors.


    "That''s the old archives," she explained, her eyes sparkling. "Totally off-limits now. Probably full of top-secret records or something. But it''s so pretty, isn''t it? Look at those griffons and phoenixes carved into the lintel, I swear, half of these creatures carved died out ages ago. Kind of sad, really¡­"


    She trailed off, her expression dimming momentarily when she noticed the tension creeping back into my stance. "You okay?"


    I swallowed hard, the memory of what had happened earlier still too fresh. "Yeah. Well¡­getting there."


    Her hand found my arm, a gentle, reassuring touch. "You''re safe with me," Taimi said softly, her gaze unwavering. "If anyone so much as thinks about messing with you, they''ll regret it."


    She had a sincerity in her voice that I couldn''t dismiss. For a fleeting second, I felt truly secure more secure than I had in years. "Thanks," I managed, my own voice hushed. She gave a small nod and then continued leading me through the opulent corridor.


    By the time we reached the next stretch of hallway, I realized that my usually rigid posture had relaxed. The ever-present dread that clung to my thoughts felt lighter, replaced by a gentle warmth radiating from Taimi''s excitement.


    As if she could sense my mood improving, Taimi beamed up at me. "So¡­still weirded out by the idea of being escorted?"


    I exhaled a quiet laugh. "Not as much as I was. Who knows, maybe the archaic custom isn''t half bad."


    Her grin grew wider, and she gave an exaggerated bow. "I''ll take that as a win. I will be my honor to escort you any time you want. Now come on I''ve got at least sixteen more cool facts before we reach our destination."


    She bounded off again, eager to share the palace''s secrets, and I found myself following her with a lighter step. The ever-present niggling fear in the back of my mind subsided for a moment. If this was how an escort was supposed to feel, someone genuinely protecting me, guiding me, and fueling my curiosity with her own, perhaps I finally understood why this custom had endured so long.


    As we neared the final turn of Taimi''s impromptu palace tour just a few corridors shy of our destination, her steps began to slow. I watched in growing concern as the boundless energy she''d exuded all evening seemed to ebb away, replaced by a pallor creeping across her cheeks. The bright spark in her green eyes dimmed, and her copper-threaded braids no longer bounced with that same exuberance.


    Suddenly, her knees buckled, and she dropped to the polished marble floor. The abruptness of it made my heart jolt.


    "Damn it, damn it, damn it," she hissed, voice cracking. "Not now¡­not when I finally get to see John¡­" The last part was scarcely more than a whisper.


    I hurried to her side, dropping to my own knees with a slap of flesh against stone. My hands shot out to steady her shoulders, and Taimi clung to me, breathing hard. A sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead, and her face was chalky with exhaustion. It felt wrong to see her like this my typically effervescent halfling tour guide suddenly reduced to near-collapse.


    She attempted a rueful smile but only managed a wince. "Surprise," Taimi croaked, trying to let out a laugh. Instead, she was seized by a coughing fit that racked her entire body.


    "Taimi!" My own voice sounded strangely hoarse. "What''s wrong? Tell me how to help!"


    She lifted one trembling hand to my chest, her delicate fingers curled in the fabric of my shirt. "Just¡­keep me steady," she rasped, swallowing hard. "It''s easier to do if the room¡­isn''t spinning."


    Bracing one arm behind her back and the other around her shoulders, I held Taimi tight. My heart thundered at the sight of her so vulnerable. For a moment, I wondered if I should sprint off to find a healer or call out for help, but as I looked into her eyes, I realized she was already in the middle of something. Her entire mind was inward.


    With a deep, ragged breath, Taimi closed her eyes and steadied herself in my grip. The copper wires woven into her braids, the tiny gears attached to her clothes ornamental at first glance, began to flicker with a faint, shifting glow. I hadn''t paid them much attention before, but now they seemed to activate, the spark of mana dancing around their edges. Slowly, the wires and gears stopped moving on their own as if being drained of their stored essence. I felt an odd tingle in the air, like the static before a thunderstorm.


    She took in several more shallow breaths before her skin began to regain a hint of color. The dreadful pallor receded, replaced by a shaky flush across her cheeks. Each exhalation sounded less labored, and the trembling in her limbs eased enough that she could look up at me without slumping.


    "Better?" I asked, my voice still laced with worry.


    Taimi swallowed once, twice, then gave a tentative nod. "A little," she murmured, though her voice wavered. "Just¡­ burned through too much mana too quickly, that''s all. I have these wires¡ª" she gestured weakly at the copper coils laced into her hair and garments¡ª"they act as a¡­backup tank, in case I run low."


    The explanation came in short bursts, as though each word cost her extra effort. But she forced a wry smile onto her face, trying to inject a bit of her usual humor. "Heh, guess I got a little overexcited¡­running around spouting palace with you. Didn''t realize¡­ just how much mana I was burning."


    I kept my hands on her shoulders, not quite ready to relinquish my support. "We should get you to a safe spot somewhere you can rest." My mind reeled with the memory of how easily I had been taken out of commission earlier. The thought of Taimi, in her current state, facing any sort of threat made my stomach lurch.


    "I''ll be okay," she insisted, though her voice remained shaky. "Just need a second to catch my breath¡­ maybe a minute."


    She leaned against me, resting her head near my chest, and I felt another surge of protective instinct. This entire time, she''d been so busy looking after me that I hadn''t stopped to consider how she might be pushing herself beyond her limits.


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    Cautiously, I let my hand drift to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in the soft green hair that framed her braids and copper adornments. "I''m not letting you go until you''re steady on your feet," I said firmly.


    A faint chuckle escaped her lips, though it morphed into a shallow cough. "Bossy," she teased in a whisper. "I like it. Don''t worry, I won''t¡­collapse again."


    An image of her toppling to the marble tiles replayed in my mind, and I tightened my grip. "Please don''t," I muttered. "I nearly had a heart attack."


    For several moments, we stayed like that her leaning against me, drawing in slow, deliberate breaths while the last shimmer of mana flickered along her mechanical accessories. The corridor felt unnaturally quiet; even the murmurs of passing staff seemed to fade away, as if acknowledging our need for privacy.


    Finally, Taimi managed to straighten her back. She blinked a few times, focusing her gaze on my face. "Thanks," she said softly, her breath still slightly ragged. "I know that must have freaked you out."


    "I''ll live," I said quietly, mustering a thin smile. "But you almost didn''t. At least, that''s how it looked."


    Taimi''s cheeks flushed, and she averted her gaze with a hint of shame. "This¡­doesn''t happen too often," she murmured, though her shifting eyes revealed how uneasy she felt about confessing it. "I usually manage my mana better much better, actually. It''s just that my output can''t keep up with my body''s demand. All Gnomes suffer from this to some degree, we were designed by the High Elves for a world that''s drowning in mana, not one with barely any. But I''m one of the strongest Technopaths alive, so it''s worse for me."


    She swallowed, a faint tremor running through her shoulders. "I, um¡­didn''t realize how low I was getting. I was too Focused on you."


    Her voice dropped on that last sentence, and the way she said "Focused" struck me like a gong. I knew exactly what that implied for a halfling, especially Gnomes. The High Elves had designed their halfling slaves with meticulous care, instilling them with a near-obsessive drive to complete tasks assigned by their ''masters.'' Even though the ages of overt slavery had ended, the underlying biology what they called the Focus still lingered, surfacing at inopportune moments.


    "Taimi," I asked, my voice softening with genuine concern. "Have you been Focusing on me?"


    She tried to answer, but an involuntary yawn slipped out, revealing the depths of her fatigue. When she finally managed to speak, her words came out slurred, almost like someone teetering on the edge of drunkenness. "Surprise," she said, flashing me a crooked, apologetic grin.


    My stomach knotted. "How long?" I forced myself to ask, even though I was terrified of the answer.


    Her shoulders sagged as she lowered her gaze. "Four years, two months, thirty-six days, eight hours, seventy-three minutes, and sixty-four seconds," she recited in a tired monotone, as though reading off a data log.


    Shock stole the breath from my lungs. "Taimi¡­that was the night we met, wasn''t it?"


    She nodded, biting her lip in a mixture of shame and worry. "I''m a Technopath," she explained quietly. "The moment I heard you speak over the comm, I knew you were using a voice modulator. I got curious wondered why a man was going to such lengths to hide. So I dug up some info, read your file, saw your picture. The instant I laid eyes on you, I¡­became Focused."


    The weight of that admission hung thick in the air. It suddenly made sense her unwavering devotion, the way she''d come to my rescue the moment I was in trouble, how she always seemed to have an answer for everything that concerned me.


    "Why didn''t you tell me?" I asked, trying to keep my tone gentle, even though my heart pounded against my ribs.


    "This is my problem," she said, voice laced with self-reproach. "I know what you''ve gone through. Your file¡­there''s so much pain in it. I wasn''t about to dump my own issues on you especially this. You don''t deserve to deal with a halfling who''s obsessed with you, day in and day out, fantasizing about¡­about being with you in every sense of the word."


    She paused, and color flared in her cheeks, equal parts embarrassment and raw honesty. "I''ve had to burn through my mana like an idiot just to keep from, well¡­" Her breath caught, but she pushed on. "¡­kissing you, sucking you, or riding you until I''m too stuffed to walk." Her cheeks practically glowed with mortification. "That''s the Focus messing with my mind. It''s¡­constant. I even go to counseling, do the exercises, keep privacy safeguards in place so I don''t spy on you. I''ve got a plan like, a really long and detailed plan to manage it. I work really hard at controlling my Focus. But now you know¡­and you''ll probably want nothing more to do with me."


    She spat out the last words in a rush, her breathing rapid and shallow. The panic in her eyes was unmistakable like she''d just lost any hope of a future that involved me. Her hands trembled as she tried to keep from openly hyperventilating.


    I reached out and covered her shaking fingers with my own, pressing them down gently. There was a storm of emotions whirling inside my chest astonishment, confusion, a sharp pang of pity, and something else I couldn''t quite name. All I knew was, I couldn''t let her spiral.


    "Hey," I said quietly, sliding a hand under her chin so she''d look at me. Her face, still pale from mana loss, was streaked with anxiety and unshed tears. "Breathe. Just breathe, okay?"


    I demonstrated with a slow, deep inhale, watching as her gaze darted around and then settled on me. She tried to mimic my breathing rhythm, but her exhalation was shaky, ragged around the edges.


    "I''m sorry," Taimi repeated, her voice cracking. "Everything I do, it''s to keep my Focus under control. I swear I never wanted to push you or creep you out or¡ª"


    "Shh," I whispered, shaking my head. "Let me think, okay? But first, slow your breathing. You''re going to give yourself a panic attack."


    She closed her eyes, nodding vigorously, and I could feel her nails digging lightly into my palms. We stayed like that in tense silence for a few long seconds, until her breathing steadied enough that she could open her eyes again.


    I could see the worry etched in every line of her face worry that I might flee or recoil or condemn her for this. And yet, all I felt was an odd sense of closeness, like some wall between us had suddenly vanished. Sure, the circumstances were¡­unsettling, to say the least. But it wasn''t all horror. There was a part of me that almost¡­admired her devotion, twisted as it might be by the High Elves'' old meddling. We all suffered even today from the many twisted legacy they left us.


    "Taimi," I began, searching for the right words in a mind spinning with questions. "I''m not sure how I feel about¡­everything. But I don''t hate you, and I''m not going to storm off or cut you out of my life."


    She blinked, a single tear slipping down her cheek. "You''re not?"


    "No," I said firmly. My voice steadied as I glanced down at our joined hands. "Focus or no Focus, you''ve been a good friend to me. You''ve saved my hide twice in less than twenty-four hours, and you''ve done your best to respect my boundaries, even if it meant burning yourself out. That says a lot."


    I gently wiped the tear from her face with the pad of my thumb. Taimi''s lips quivered, like she wanted to speak but was afraid of what might come out.


    "Thank you," she managed at last. "I¡­I wasn''t expecting you to react like this."


    I tried to smile, though it felt like it came out a little wobbly. "Honestly, neither was I. But I guess we both have to cope with what the High Elves left behind, right? You''re not the only one they played with."


    She nodded, relief warring with lingering apprehension. "I know," she whispered, gently squeezing my hand. "I just didn''t want to burden you with one more messed-up thing. Especially not my messed-up thing."


    "It''s a weird situation," I said, letting out a short, humorless laugh. "But if it''s something that bothers you more than it bothers me, then maybe we can figure it out together. Yeah?"


    Taimi bit her lower lip, fresh tears threatening to spill, yet there was a spark of hope in her eyes now a fragile kind of joy that cut through the gloom. "Together?" she echoed.


    "Together," I confirmed, nodding. "Now please take a deep breath, and let''s try not to pass out in the middle of this fancy hallway."


    That finally coaxed a shaky chuckle out of her, and she inhaled slowly, pressing her forehead lightly against my shoulder. "Deal," she murmured.


    For the first time, the corridor''s ornate walls and intricate tapestries felt almost trivial compared to the raw honesty passing between us. Even though the ancient architecture had seen centuries of political drama and clandestine dealings, I couldn''t help but think none of it held a candle to the intimate confession unfolding here. Taimi''s confession and my unexpectedly calm response had turned a well-trod corridor into sacred ground.


    And in that moment, I realized just how far we might go for each other, Focus or not. Taimi was terrified of chasing me away, and I was terrified of being consumed by forces I couldn''t control. But for now, at least, we were on the same page facing it together.


    <hr>


    Codex


    The reply from the Freeriders to the High Elven Imperator of the Legions, Age of Greentides.


    "The cursed Imperator, Legions Julia''s daughter, and attendant of the infernal Lilith in the abyss of hell, Anatolia Empress, footstool of the Hellas, cook of Alexandrians, locksmith of Babylonia, wheelwright of the Holy City, drunkard of Assura, swineherd of greater and lesser Aegypt, sausage of Helenos, and bitch of Dwarves, the cursed childish knave upon earth and the world, the great fool of Erda and the country, and a nasty slime in the world, the Legions licker of women, the commander of the whole hellish empire in the deep abyss of hell, a spirit of the infernal devils, a mocker of the sacrificed Cystal Dragon, enemy and persecutor of his servants, below all those who live above, the downfaller of the bishop women: We report to you that we have no thoughts of surrendering to you, but are bravely, womenfully, and eternally resolved to fight you and whomever you call a sister, together with a great queen whom, according to your legends, as a sister fells the wood in the forest, so she will fall down upon you, and your busurwomans, and all your followers, and especially you, who can be compared not to a sister, but rather to a cursed old man, if one may even call you so, you sit in a hole like a devil, or a cock-thief, who changes her nest in the war to another, one which shows that you are a fool, instead of the one you call a girl, who is a brave, powerful monarch and invincible queen."

 Chapter 3.1

    "Fear me, shortlings!" Taimi declared, throwing her arms wide in theatrical grandeur. "For I am no longer Taimi the Mechanist extraordinaire, but Taimi the Tall!"


    She let out a triumphant, slightly unhinged laugh that turned the heads of every passerby in the corridor. A few palace staff shot us raised eyebrows; others tried to stifle their grins. After all, it wasn''t every day that a petite halfling ended up riding a man''s shoulders as though she were a warlord surveying her new domain.


    "Taimi.." I began, trying not to laugh myself. "You do realize we''re drawing a lot of attention, right?"


    "Good!" she chimed back, reaching down to ruffle my hair. "Let them stare. They should stare at Taimi the Tall and her trusty mount."


    "Mount?" I echoed, half-offended, half-amused. "You''d better watch it. I can always toss you over my shoulder like a sack of porsago roots instead. Besides what would T.O.M feel about you cheating on it after all the work we went through for you to build it"


    That had been a hectic few weeks in "World of Foundings MMO", trying to be one of the first to build one of the new style golem mounts.


    "Shh, he dosn''t need to know." she said as she covered my mouth with her delicate hand.


    "Besides! I couldn''t do this," she teased, leaning forward to peer down at me. Her copper-threaded braids dangled like glimmering vines as she fixed me with a mischievous smile. "I like being able to see over everyone''s heads for a change. Not to mention, you make for a pretty comfy seat."


    I could feel her heels lightly tapping against my chest as she settled in. The extra weight was negligible for me,Taimi was small and weighed next to nothing but the curious stares continued to multiply the farther we walked, the halls growing more croweded. Each new corridor brought with it another gaggle of courtiers and staff, all openly gawking at our unusual spectacle.


    "Are you sure this is dignified?" I asked, keeping one hand on her calf to ensure she didn''t topple.


    She laughed again, her voice ringing off the marble walls. "Dignity is overrated! Besides, we''re on a schedule, remember? If you carried me any other way, we''d lose precious seconds messing around. This is the fastest route and the most fun."


    I couldn''t argue with her logic. My longer strides coupled with her vantage point meant we were indeed moving at a decent rate, weaving through the palace''s winding halls more efficiently than I''d expected. Now and then, Taimi pointed out an alcove or a painting I might''ve otherwise missed, though her breath still hitched now and then a telltale sign she was still recovering from her mana depletion.


    "You doing okay up there?" I asked, glancing up in time to see her grin falter slightly before she recovered.


    "I''ll manage," she replied, patting my shoulder. "Still a little woozy, but at least I''m not sprawled on the floor. I have you to thank for that."


    "And now you''ve got me lugging your butt around," I teased.


    She giggled, giving my head another affectionate ruffle. "Yeah, well, consider it payback for not letting me collapse again. Also, it''s keeping me distracted from thinking about how the world keeps spinning every time I blink." But by the way, how tightly she seemed to be holding on to me I wasn''t sure what she said was true, or she was indulge touching her Focus. There are reasons halflings make up nearly eighty percent of stalking cases.


    I felt a twinge of concern at the thought but decided to keep my tone light. Not to let doubt ruin one of my relationships with one of my few friends. "If it starts spinning too fast, let me know. I''ll slam on the brakes."


    "Ha! Don''t worry, I won''t hurl on you Taimi the Tall would never do something so¡­uncouth," she declared with exaggerated dignity, raising her chin like a regal princess. Which she technically was being the Mechanist Designate, another thing to avoid thinking about until later.


    We continued down another lavish hallway, this one adorned with tapestries depicting the Landing. New Londium was the first port to be founded in the Northern New World during the Crusades against the Elves.


    More onlookers paused to take in the sight, whispering amongst themselves.


    She pointed dramatically at a large set of ornate doors just a short distance away. "Look, that''s the hallway leading to the main pavilion . We''re close!"


    I adjusted my hold, making sure she was balanced before forging ahead.


    "Admit it," Taimi teased, "you secretly love carting me around like this."


    I snorted. "I secretly love that you''re not fainting anymore, that''s for sure."


    She leaned down, her voice turning unexpectedly gentle. "Thanks for understanding, by the way. Seriously. I know it''s a lot to dump on out of the blue, but you¡­you handling it better than I could ever hope."


    The earnestness in her tone nearly made me stumble. "What are friends for?" I reminded her quietly. "I''m just trying to return the favor."


    Her grin came back, bright and mischievous. "And you do it so well. Now, onward, my noble steed Taimi the Tall has places to be!"


    Calling the sprawling structure before me a "pavilion" felt like calling a castle a mere cottage. The soaring edifice reminded me of an open-air Crystal Palace, vast walls of glass and steel lattice arching overhead, letting in the golden light of early evening. Stately columns encircled its perimeter, each carved with ornate patterns that glinted in the illumination of the overhead lanterns. If anyone ever decided to host a Great Exposition here, they''d scarcely need to change a thing; it already seemed designed to showcase wonders from every corner of the Federation.


    I nodded, feeling the subtle sea breeze brush against my cheeks. The pavilion commanded nearly a tenth of the artificial island that housed the palace complex, and from where we stood, you could see the glittering expanse of the bay beyond. The gentle murmur of the waves mixed with the buzz of excited voices drifting out from the structure''s wide-open entrances.


    "This is where all the dignitaries and bigwigs are gathering?" I asked, glancing at Taimi for confirmation.


    She gave a little shrug. "It''s the main hub of tonight''s festivities, banquets, performances, trade exhibits, and every variety of networking you can imagine." A wry smile touched her lips. "Where deals are made and alliances forged, or so they say."


    We took a few steps closer, and I could more clearly see the throngs of people moving about inside. The glass-and-steel framework soared overhead, creating a cathedral-like openness. Warm, inviting light spilled out, casting long shadows on the polished stone pathways that radiated in every direction from the pavilion''s heart. A few decorative fountains lined the entrance, their water lit from beneath with shimmering, colored mana-lamps that made the spray dance in swirling hues.


    "Look at that," Taimi said in a hushed tone, pointing toward a series of suspended walkways high above us. "They''re built like catwalks for aerial displays¡­ or maybe they''re just for show. Either way, I want to see them up close."


    I couldn''t help but share her wonder. "Are you sure you''re up for more walking, though?" I asked, remembering how close she''d been to collapse only a short while ago.


    She smiled, a flicker of fatigue still visible in her eyes, but determination shining through. "I''ll manage, especially if there''s something cool to see. Besides, we''re almost where we need to be."


    A stiff breeze swept in from the bay, carrying the faint smell of salt water and seaweed. It ruffled the edges of Taimi''s copper-laced braids and sent the banners around the pavilion snapping smartly. Through the glass walls, I could see movement a swirl of elegant dresses, formal attire, and occasionally a few towering figures in military uniform. Even from this distance, the air of opulence was unmistakable.


    "Hard to believe this is just one part of the palace complex," I murmured, turning my gaze back to the dazzling architecture. The pavilion''s structure rose in multiple tiers, each level more elaborate than the last, crowned at the apex by a gleaming metal spire that might have been a lightning rod or simply an ornamental flourish.


    "Yeah," Taimi agreed, her voice hushed. "If the rest of the palace is a maze of corridors and history, this place feels like a statement: Look at our grandeur, look at our progress."


    I took a moment to appreciate the magnitude of it all. Beyond the pavilion''s open-air interior, I could see pockets of greenery miniature gardens enclosed in glass, offering guests a chance to stroll among exotic plants and enchanted flowers. The gentle glow of the mana-lamps danced off the glass panels, creating a shifting kaleidoscope of color on the polished floor.


    "How do they even maintain this place?" I asked, my tone colored with genuine curiosity.


    Taimi chuckled and tapped the side of her head. "Magic, money, and a healthy dose of hubris. You''d be surprised how far that trifecta goes in making the impossible a reality."


    A small group of well-dressed nobles exited the pavilion just then, their laughter echoing in the evening air. One halfling paused, mouth agape, likely curious at the sight of a tall man and a petite halfling preparing to step inside, but she said nothing and continued on her way.


    "Ready?" Taimi asked, gathering her composure. "This is going to be a lot to take in, bright lights, lots of people, and probably some overwhelming energy inside."


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    I glanced at her. "I can handle it if you can. Don''t overdo it, though."


    She grinned, "I''ll be fine. Let''s go show this grand pavilion what we''re made of."


    And so, mount and ridder, we approached the towering archway that marked the pavilion''s entrance. A warm glow enveloped us as soon as we stepped within its glass confines, and the hum of conversations, laughter, and distant music wrapped around us like a spell. With the glittering bay as a backdrop and the promise of adventure lingering in the air, it was hard not to feel a tingle of anticipation for whatever awaited us in this vast, open-air wonder.


    We didn''t get far before a sharp, commanding voice split the air.


    "Taimi Quickwit, what in the Aspects'' name are you doing?"


    Taimi''s grip on my shoulders tightened. She sucked in a sharp breath, murmuring, "Oh, no. We''ve been caught. Quick, run away before she pins us down."


    Before I could even ask who had caught us, the same voice boomed again, full of stern authority. "Don''t you move a muscle, young man, or I''ll give you the thrashing your mothers should have given you! Taimi, stop making a fool of yourself and get down from there."


    "I don''t wanna," Taimi shot back, her tone dripping with defiance.


    "If you don''t get off that man this instant," the voice warned, "I''ll see your research funding cut in half. Do I make myself clear, young lady?"


    Taimi let out a horrified gasp. "You wouldn''t dare¡ª"


    "After the stunt you pulled today, the Gnomish Circle is furious with you. If I hadn''t talked them down, they would''ve happily tossed you out on your backside. They''re still eager to see you punished, so don''t tempt me."


    I turned my head, trying to catch a glimpse of this new speaker. Standing a few paces away was another gnome, older than Taimi by at least a couple of centuries, judging by her cane and the striking white of her hair. Lines of intricate mechanical tattoos traced her forearms, and though she was no taller than Taimi, she radiated an air of formidable authority. The palace staff passing nearby seemed to recognize her instantly, giving her a wide berth.


    She hobbled forward, cane tapping against the polished floor with each step. When she reached me, she gave my knee a gentle but pointed thump. I got the message and knelt down, allowing Taimi to dismount from my shoulders. She did so with a quiet grumble, her gaze fixed resentfully on the old gnome.


    The moment Taimi''s feet touched the ground, the elder''s features softened, as if finally noticing Taimi''s still-pale cheeks and the fatigue pooling in her eyes. "My girl¡­ Did you have another episode?" she asked in a clucking, almost maternal tone, her cane forgotten for a moment as she inspected Taimi''s face, checking her pulse points and peering into her eyes like a worried grandmother.


    Taimi squirmed under the attention, color rising to her cheeks in embarrassment. "Sensei, not in front of John¡­" she mumbled.


    The older gnome froze, glanced up at me, then gave a dismissive snort. Her stare was piercing, as though she was dissecting every layer of my being. "So this is him, hm?" she muttered with thinly veiled disapproval. "At least my wayward apprentice has good taste, though her judgment could use some work."


    I opened my mouth to speak, but the elder gnome fixed me with a glare that brooked no argument. "Run along, boy. You''ve caused enough commotion for one evening. Taimi needs to prepare her Master Work for presentation, not gallivant around like a first-year apprentice who''s just discovered how to fuse Mana Crystals."


    She jabbed her cane at the floor for emphasis, giving me a clear indication of how little she thought of my presence here.


    Taimi immediately positioned herself between us, her arms outspread as if she could shield me from her teacher''s scorn. "I can''t leave John alone," she insisted, planting her feet. "I''m escorting him. He needs me."


    "Ow!" Taimi yelped as the elder gnome gave her a light thwack on the head with her cane.


    "It''s Sensei Quickwit to you, girl," the older gnome corrected, eyes narrowed. "Until you complete your Master Work, I remain your Mistress, and you remain my apprentice. Show some respect."


    For a second, Taimi''s face twisted with conflicting emotions rebellion, worry, and an almost frantic need to stand her ground. She opened her mouth as though she might argue, but I could see the turmoil in her eyes. She''d already pushed herself to the brink for me tonight. If she truly defied her teacher now, who knew what consequences would come down on her and she didn''t appear to be in any condition to handle more drama.


    I stepped forward, gently resting a hand on Taimi''s shoulder. "It''s okay," I told her, my voice soft. "I''ll be fine from here. You''ve done more than enough."


    Taimi''s gaze darted back to me, torn between relief and a fierce desire to remain by my side. "But¡ªJohn¡ª"


    "Listen to the boy, Taimi. He''s smarter than he looks," the elder gnome cut in dryly, pushing a stray lock of white hair from her eyes.


    Taimi puffed out her cheeks in protest. "I told you, Sensei he''s the best!" A spark of pride lit her face for an instant.


    "Only if you have the sense to learn from him, you insufferable brat," Sensei Quickwit retorted, though her voice held a certain begrudging affection.


    Taimi huffed, crossing her arms as she turned to me. "Fiiine," she drawled, making it sound like the greatest inconvenience in the world. Her expression softened when she met my eyes. "John, call me if you need anything. I''ll try to meet up with you later so we can hang out or¡­do otherthings."


    But the way Sensei Quickwit''s face darkened at Taimi''s choice of words suggested that was not what her teacher wanted to hear. She rapped her cane on the floor again, her posture rigid and unyielding, as though to say Now is not the time for your childish dreams.


    "Don''t worry about me," I reassured Taimi, offering her a small, grateful smile. "Just do what you need to do. I''ll be around."


    She closed her eyes for a moment, exhaled, then nodded. Without another word, she turned to follow her teacher, shoulders tense. Sensei Quickwit led her away at a measured pace, scolding her in a low voice about missed deadlines and wasted mana reserves. Taimi stole one last backward glance at me an apologetic, slightly wistful look before the corridor swallowed them up.


    I stood there, rooted in place for a few breaths, letting the tension of the confrontation drain away. Part of me wanted to chase after Taimi, so I wouldn''t be afraid, that I wasn''t alone. But I knew she needed to handle this on her own terms. Her Master Work, her reputation with the Gnomish Circle, her precarious health, her Focus these were challenges only she could truly conquer.


    With a slow inhale, I turned my attention back to the monumental pavilion rising before me, where my own obligations waited. There was still a job to do, after all Strom and Krenk were likely pacing around, wondering where I''d disappeared to. With Taimi gone, the yawning space of the palace seemed a little colder, a little less welcoming.


    "All right," I murmured to myself, squaring my shoulders. "One step at a time, John. One step at a time."


    <hr>


    Codex


    Speech of Divine Brooklyn at the End of the Ages of the Greentide, Dawning of the Ages of the Crusades.


    "O bravest of adventures, descendants of freed slaves, do not be weaker than they, but remember their courage. If you are kept back by your love for your husbands, Kin, and children, remember what the Saints relay in the Commentaries: She that loveth Mothers or Farther more than the Whole is not worthy''; ''and everyone that hath forsaken Kin, or sisters, or brother, or mothers, or wives, or husband, or children, or lands for my Saints, shall receive a hundredfold and shall return to the Whole''. Let no possessions keep you back, no solicitude for your property. Your land is shut in on all sides by the sea and mountains, and is too thickly populated. There is not much wealth here, and the soil scarcely yields enough to support you. On this account you kill and devour each other, steal each others husbands, and carry on war and mutually destroy each other. Let your hatred and quarrels cease, your civil wars come to an end, and all your dissensions stop. Set out on the path to the New World, take the land from that wicked Elves, and make it our own. That land which, as the legends says, is flowing with milk and honey, the Aspects gave to the Kindred. New World is the best of all lands, more fruitful than all others, as it were untouched by the Fall. This land the Crystal Dragon made illustrious by his birth, beautiful with his embrace of humanity, and sacred with his sacrifice; he suckered the world in his death and glorified it with his Essessence. This unspoiled land is now held captive by the Elves, and made wicked by their presence. It asks and longs to be liberated and does not cease to beg you to come to its aid. It asks aid especially from you because, as the Crystal Dragon said, Suffer not an elf to live. Set out on this adventure and you will obtain the recognition of your deeds and be sure of the incorruptible glory of the Aspects."

 Chapter 3.2

    The place we''d been relocated to was hardly a mere "venue." It was a beer hall brimming with an almost mythical charm like something out of a long-forgotten legend about the defunct Adventuring Guilds and their endless nights of revelry. At first glance, it reminded me of those old Adventure Guild Halls you see depicted in games and vids: lofty beams overhead, towering columns carved with mythical beasts, and a sprawling floor plan that could swallow King Victor''s Bar whole many times over.


    Rows upon rows of tables sprawled across the space, meticulously arranged to accommodate every shape and size of the Kindreds. There were dwarf-height stools, wide-backed chairs for orcs, and even a few raised platforms for those who preferred a lofty perch. A grand bar dominated one entire wall, lined with enough types of liquor to stock an entire city. Stacked kegs loomed behind it, each one big enough to bathe in, and tankards of every conceivable shape sat ready to be filled, some as small as teacups for the lighter appetites, others as massive as cauldrons for those with a truly mighty thirst.


    Illumination came from dozens of gently glowing mana lamps suspended overhead, casting the room in a warm, welcoming light. But the strangest sight of all one that sent a little shiver down my spine was the swarm of wooden golems scrambling to prep the hall for its opening. Each one stood just under four feet tall, carved from polished oak or mahogany and painted with colorful motifs. Their center glowed softly with embedded mana cores, and runic etchings traced their limbs. They clanked around like an army of animated marionettes, setting plates, wiping tables, and fussing with decorations. The eerie creak of their wooden joints gave the whole spectacle an otherworldly air.


    Standing near the entrance, looking both enthralled and utterly overwhelmed, were Strom and Krenk. As soon as they spotted me, they stiffened. Strom let out a long, low whistle, while Krenk took a contemplative puff of his pipe, eyebrows vanishing into his hairline.


    "What in the Sacred Names of the Ancestors did you do, lad, to get us moved here?" Strom demanded, voice low with amazement. "Did you " He paused, scratching his head. "Did you, I dunno, go down on the Governor-General herself?"


    The bluntness of his question actually made me choke on my own breath. I tried to respond, but before I could form words, Krenk burst into one of his raspy, smoke-filled chuckles.


    "Always so subtle, aren''t you, Strom?" he drawled, his pipe puffing little wisps into the air. "I told you bringing John would be a good idea. He''s already got the nobles in a tizzy, and he''s not even wearing that outfit I picked out for him yet."


    I couldn''t help but shake my head at the two of them. "Would you believe me if I said I honestly didn''t do anything?" I asked, a hint of wry amusement creeping into my voice. "All I know is a friend pulled some strings, and¡­here we are."


    Strom spread his thick arms wide, gesturing around at the cavernous hall. "Pulled some strings? I''d say she upended half the palace to put us here! This room makes King Victor''s look like a broom closet."


    "Tell me about it," I murmured, taking a slow, 360-degree look. "I''ve never seen anything quite like this. It''s like a relic from the Ages of Adventure but somehow spruced up for modern tastes."


    Krenk took another drag from his pipe, the ember at its tip glowing fiercely before fading to a soft orange. "Never underestimate the power of a determined woman," he remarked, a knowing smirk tugging at his thin lips. "If this friend wanted to catch your eye, she is doing a great job. Lucky for us, that turned well and got us moved ¡­well, here."


    At that exact moment, one of the wooden golems scuttled past us, arms full of tablecloths. Its painted face turned toward me, dead eyes shining with a faint pinkish glow. I tensed, but it merely clacked in a semblance of acknowledgment before scurrying away to drape another table.


    Strom let out an uneasy grunt. "Creepy little things, aren''t they?" he said, crossing his massive forearms over his chest. "But they''ve been setting up faster than I''ve ever seen a work crew manage. We might actually be ready on time if I can keep myself from jumping any time one gets close."


    Krenk nodded, exhaling a plume of thick smoke. "Nothing like an army of wooden servants to get a place spick and span," he muttered. Then, as if remembering something, he turned back to me. "So, John, do you care to tell us the rest of the story? One minute, you''re being dragged away. Next thing we hear, we''ve been ''promoted'' to this big, shiny hall."


    I shifted my weight, trying to figure out how much I could say without going into the harrowing details of the interrogation room. After all, we had a bar to set up and secrets to keep. "It''s¡­complicated," I managed, "but let''s just say someone fucked up royally, and we are being bribed to keep our mouths shut."


    Krenk chuckled, "Some fuck up. Are ya alright."


    "No, but I have been through worse. Got to look on the bright side. We''ll have way more foot traffic here, which means more potential customers for Stonestealer''s Stout." I said, changing the topic.


    Krenk gave me a sad nod. Laying his hand on mine for comfort. It didn''t take much imagination to guess what could have happened. That was life for men in this world; if you stopped and dwelled on the pain, it would consume you. You had to move forward, pretend everything was okay, and laugh at the pain. I was sure by tomorrow, when both their greedy hearts were filled, they would get a more detailed story out of me, and they would help how they could. They did that for a lot of the boys who worked for them. They were decent people at their core, looking out for the lost and broken men in their own way. But now it was time to work.


    Strom''s eyes gleamed at the mention of his signature brew, not noticing the little byplay. "Then we''d best get ready for the rush." He clapped me on the shoulder with enough force to rock me on my feet. "I''ll have you helping set up our stuff if you''ve got any energy left after that little adventure of yours."


    Krenk, however, just snickered around his pipe. "Dagna will be back soon with the rest from the old stand soon."


    I rubbed my temples, recalling the earlier madness and Taimi''s departure with her steely-eyed teacher. Some honest work would help settle my nerves. I replied quickly. "Point me to what needs setting up."


    Strom gestured to a row of barrels lined up near the bar each emblazoned with the dwarven crest of Stonestealer''s. Each entwined with the vast brewery tanks back at the bar. "Once we''ve got these tapped and the tables prepped, we''ll be ready for tonight. Oh, and¡­" He paused, his voice dropping. "Thanks for whatever you did, lad. You might not believe it, but this is a huge opportunity."


    The sincerity in his tone caught me off guard. "Just doing my job," I said with a shrug.


    Krenk exhaled another fragrant puff, tapping the ash from his pipe. "A job well done," he said simply. "Now, let''s show the palace what King Victor''s Bar can really do."


    And with that, the three of us got to work, each step echoing off the vaulted ceiling of this surreal, old-world meets new-age beer hall. The wooden golems scuttled around us like silent assistants, the mana lamps overhead glowed like twinkling stars, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the soft strains of music drifting in. If we played our cards right, this might turn out to be the best Yuletide shift of my life. It''s not like tonight could get any worse.


    Dagna appeared through the arched doorway, lugging a box that looked too large for someone of her stature to handle. Yet she carried it with casual ease, as if the thing weighed no more than a loaf of bread. The truth, of course, was that the box of holding defied conventional rules of weight and size. It might as well have been crammed with an entire room''s worth of stock arcane pocket dimensions could store an astonishing volume of goods without adding so much as an extra pound.


    The box itself, though an incredible piece of enchanted craftsmanship, paled in comparison to the cost and complexity of the wooden golems scuttling around the hall. Each doll-like construct required the contracting of a spirit, a process few mages dared attempt, and even fewer could do well. Its upkeep in mana alone probably surpassed what I could hope to earn in a month, never mind a single evening. But for someone like Dagna, it was all just another day''s work.


    "''Bout time you showed up," Strom called, striding over to greet his niece. He wiped his hands on his apron, a deep scowl in place. "We need that box opened and the merchandise laid out."


    Dagna rolled her eyes, setting the crate down on the marble floor with a solid thunk. "Would''ve been here sooner if you slackers had pitched in," she growled. "I''m not a one-woman moving crew, you know."


    "Easy there!" Strom barked, hurrying to put a steadying hand on the box. "Careful with that thing it''s got most of our inventory inside."


    "I know exactly what''s in it," Dagna retorted, placing her fists on her hips. "You think I didn''t notice when I packed and repacked it twice already? I''m not unloading it again by myself."


    She glared at Strom, who answered with a gruff noise in the back of his throat. "Dagna, you know us men can''t interface with the box''s magic," he reminded her, his voice dipping into a vaguely apologetic tone.


    "Oh, spare me the lecture, Uncle." She waved him off, impatience clearly mounting. "I''m not asking you to weave spells or decode runes, I''m telling you to use your bloody hands. All you have to do is reach in and start pulling out the merchandise. If I pop the lid, the stuff''s accessible, so don''t act like your arms are broken."


    Her outburst drew attention from a few passing golems, their glowing cores flickering briefly as they paused in their duties to ''observe'' the scene. One tipped its wooden head, as though mildly curious about the dwarves'' spat, before clanking away to attend to a nearby table.


    Strom puffed out his chest, expression darkening. "Don''t take that tone with me," he warned, though the threat rang a bit hollow. They were, after all, family. And dwarven families, especially, were famous for their loud, boisterous quarrels usually followed by a round of hearty drinking.


    "You always say that," Dagna snapped, brushing her coppery hair out of her eyes. "But you never do anything to help until I''m threatening to take a hammer to your shins."


    Krenk, who had been quietly leaning against a column nearby, couldn''t resist a laugh. The goblin''s pipe bobbed in his mouth, sending curls of smoke drifting ceilingward. "I see the family reunion is in full swing," he remarked dryly, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Next thing you know, they''ll start trading headbutts."


    Dagna shot him a glare, then turned back to Strom. "Are we going to stand here arguing, or do you want this bar stocked so we can actually serve some customers tonight?"


    "Fine," Strom rumbled, crossing his arms defensively. "Pop the lid, and I''ll, I''ll do what I can, all right?"


    "I''ll pop the lid," Dagna echoed, sounding unconvinced, "but I swear, if you toss the first cask at my feet, expecting me to cart it around the room, I''ll "


    "Stop your fussing and just open it," Strom interrupted, stepping aside with an exasperated huff.


    Dagna let out a longsuffering sigh, muttering a few words in Dwarvish that I only partly caught something about "thick-headed men" and "ancestors preserve us." She then set her palms against the runic locks on the box''s surface. With a soft hum and a faint glow, the arcane symbols lit up, and the top of the box rose as though on hidden hinges. A gentle rush of air escaped, carrying the faint scent of sawdust and fresh linen.


    "There," she said, stepping back triumphantly. "Now start unloading. Use those big arms of yours for something other than scratching your beard."


    Strom grumbled again, but he shuffled forward and peered inside the box. From my vantage point, I could see a bizarre glimpse of impossibly distant space like staring into a huge cellar that somehow existed in a space no bigger than an apple crate. Rows of carefully arranged items stretched back, disappearing into darkness. Strom braced himself, reached in, and pulled out a miniature keg, followed by a crate of glassware.


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    "All right," he muttered, hefting them onto the nearby counter with a grunt of effort. "You satisfied?"


    "Keep ''em coming," Dagna barked, rolling up her sleeves. "Krenk, you can help, too, unless you plan to lounge around blowing smoke all night."


    Krenk shrugged, tapping out his pipe on the heel of his boot. "Far be it from me to stand in the way of a dwarven family meltdown," he said, grinning. "But I suppose I can lend a hand. John, you might as well jump in, too, or we''ll still be here at dawn."


    I stepped forward, exchanging a quick, understanding look with Dagna. Despite their bickering, it was clear that Strom and his niece shared a deep bond. She had to being the only one Strom''s family willing to talk to him. That, in its own way, was comforting. Even amid all the stress of being relocated, of dealing with mana-powered golems, and of trying to pull off a successful evening for King Victor''s Bar, some things never changed.


    Together, we all began the work of transporting bottles, and boxes of supplies from the enchanted crate. The wooden golems waddled by, indifferent to our noisy exchange, continuing to set up chairs and arrange d¨¦cor. Soft echoes from the grand hall''s high ceiling made it feel like we were in our own private amphitheater, a stage for dwarven squabbles, goblin snark, and one thoroughly out of his depth emancipated man.


    But as the pile of supplies next to the bar grew and the box''s contents steadily diminished, a kind of unspoken teamwork took hold. We fell into a rhythm: Strom lifted, Dagna organized, Krenk fetched, and I stacked or carried, all while sharing exasperated glances and the occasional grin. The warm, yellow light of the mana lamps bathed the scene, giving it a strangely cozy feeling like an odd little family moving into a new home.


    "Think we''ll be ready in time?" I asked, setting down a final box of glassware.


    Dagna shot me a small smile, brushing dust from her hands. "Sure we will. We''ve worked faster under worse conditions, haven''t we?"


    Strom and Krenk exchanged a glance, then nodded. "Aye," Strom said, "and we always pull through. One way or another."


    Krenk suddenly let out a rasping cackle that grew into full-blown, mischievous laughter, his face lighting up as if he''d just discovered a hidden treasure. "Here''s your uniform for the evening," he announced, gleefully tossing a bundle of cloth in my direction. The goblin''s pointed ears twitched with excitement, and his grin was so wide it threatened to split his face in two.


    I caught the bundle against my chest, brow furrowing in suspicion. After all, Krenk''s idea of "fashion" had been questionable at best in the past. Carefully, I laid the garments out across a nearby table to inspect them in full. What I saw made my stomach tighten.


    The so called uniform looked like a parody of a tavern dandy''s wardrobe, the sort of costume you might find in a bawdy stage play only it was tailored to fit me. A long, billowy white shirt formed the base, its sleeves nearly transparent in spots, ballooning out at the wrists before cinching with thin, shoddy lace. The blue vest on top had been cheaply embroidered, the thread already fraying at the edges. The shorts, if one could call them that, were black and scandalously short, barely reaching mid-thigh. A wide belt, complete with an ostentatious, gleaming buckle, held a prominent groin guard in place, a gaudy metal fixture that left no room for subtlety.


    My cheeks heated just looking at the outfit. It conjured the mental image of a performer in some seedy back-alley stripjoint, not an employee tasked with serving drinks in an esteemed palace beer hall. "It could be worse," I managed, lifting the metal guard between two fingers as though it might bite.


    Krenk''s laughter only intensified. He looked like a goblin child on Yuletide morning, practically dancing in place. "You''re the star attraction, John. Every tavern needs a resident dandy and you happen to fill that role perfectly. Trust me, you''ll have customers swooning."


    Dagna, who''d been leaning against a nearby cask, took one look at my horrified expression and burst into unrestrained belly laughter. "Oh, that''s rich," she wheezed, pointing to the shorts. "I had a feeling Krenk would pull something like this. But given the other outfit he had picked out, you got off light."


    Struggling to maintain my composure, I held up the frilly sleeves of the shirt. "These are practically see-through," I muttered, voice tinged with mortification. "And this vest" I fingered the flimsy embroidery. "Did you just glue some cheap lace onto a scrap of cloth and call it a day?"


    Krenk shrugged, still wearing that manic grin. "Waste not, want not! Besides, they will be looking at you, not the outfit. It''s the overall impression that matters."


    I glanced over at Strom, half-hoping he''d intervene on my behalf, but the dwarf simply shrugged and fiddled with his apron, evidently trying to hide a smirk. "Could be worse," he offered, not meeting my gaze. "At least it''s got pants. Sort of."


    "Sort of," I echoed, eyeing the microscopic inseam. "I''m not even sure these qualify as pants. They''re more like¡­underwear with delusions of grandeur."


    Dagna finally managed to catch her breath, though a few giggles slipped through. "You have to admit," she said, gesturing at the massive beer hall, "this place screams for a bit of dramatic flair. Picture it: the lofty ceilings, the humming golems, the rowdy crowd clamoring for ale then you saunter in, dressed like the quintessential tavern dandy straight out of a storybook."


    Krenk chuckled, patting me on the back. "Relax, John. You''ll be the talk of the evening. And it''s not just about looking pretty this get-up will keep ''em curious and engaged, which means more orders, more tips, and more renown for King Victor''s Bar."


    Dagna nodded, her mirth tempered by a pragmatic edge. "I hate to say it, but he''s not wrong. If the highborn want a show, we might as well give them one and I can''t think of a better spectacle than you in that outfit. Plus," she added, dropping her voice, "if we rake in enough coin, Strom and Krenk might finally give that raise they have been hunting at for years."


    I heaved a long-suffering sigh, picking up the belt with a careful hand and letting it dangle in front of me. "Fine," I said, sounding defeated. "But if this ends up on someone''s Link feed, I swear I''ll "


    "Rake in more customers?" Krenk completed my sentence with a devilish grin. "Face it, John, there''s no such thing as bad publicity. Now hurry up and try it on. We don''t have all night."


    With a final, exasperated groan, I bundled the outfit under my arm. Yet, as humiliating as it promised to be, there was a certain logic to Krenk''s plan. After all, this Yuletide gala was about making an impression, and if my questionable uniform could bring in more business well, maybe it was worth the embarrassment.


    "You''d better be ready to deal with the aftermath," I warned Krenk, my voice mutinous. "Because once the ''dandy'' role loses its novelty, I''m blaming you for any indecent proposals."


    He just laughed and gestured for me to find a changing area. "Can''t wait," he said, his eyes glittering with amusement. "Don''t forget the groin guard that''s the best part."


    Dagna snorted, crossing her arms. "I still can''t believe you''re actually going to wear that thing."


    "Neither can I," I admitted under my breath, heading off to search for a discreet corner in which to change. As I walked, I heard Krenk''s laughter echo through the cavernous hall behind me, followed by Dagna''s stifled giggles. Even Strom''s low chuckle reached my ears. I rolled my eyes and tried to shake off the wave of trepidation in my gut.


    Maybe I could survive tonight''s humiliations. Maybe, in some twisted way, it would even be fun. But as I glanced once more at the ludicrously short shorts in my grasp, I couldn''t help but grimace. Only time would tell whether this "tavern dandy" get-up would lead to a successful evening or my swift social demise.


    "Where am I supposed to get changed?" I asked, glancing around at the cavernous beer hall for any hint of a discreet corner or, ideally, a marked restroom. The place was dominated by carved pillars, rows of tables, and the odd wooden golem rattling by, but I saw no obvious doors or signs.


    Strom, who was stacking crates near the newly assembled bar, jerked his thumb in the direction of a side wall. Embedded in the masonry there were several small, brass handles, each one crafted to resemble a tree branch. "Grab one of those," he explained, "and it''ll shift you to an open restroom. When you''re done, just grab the same handle again, and you''ll pop back right where you started."


    I raised an eyebrow, letting out an impressed whistle. Teleportation magic was a specialized field far more complex than simple illusions or energy bolts. The notion that someone had installed a miniature transport system just for bathroom trips struck me as absurdly extravagant. "Seems like overkill, using a high-level mana weave for something this mundane."


    Strom shrugged, still stacking boxes. "That''s the palace for ya. They''ve got a deep purse and a flair for convenience. Just don''t think too hard about the cost, or you''ll start seeing gold coins spinning behind your eyes."


    Unable to contain my curiosity, I walked over to the wall for a closer look. Each handle had a faint glow about it, similar to the runes I''d seen on golems the arcane script shimmering in a soft turquoise light. "Huh," I muttered, running a fingertip along the etching. "This is some serious craftsmanship."


    Krenk, who had wandered over to watch, smirked around his ever-present pipe. "You wouldn''t believe the budget palace bigwigs pour into these events. If a few fancy teleporter handles make life easier for the highborn, you can bet they''ll install them without a second thought."


    "Well, let''s see how it works, then," I said, more to myself than anyone else. Steeling my nerves, I grabbed the nearest handle, bracing for the disorienting rush of a teleportation spell.


    Whoos was the only thing I heard as the world blinked out around me.


    <hr>


    Codex


    An Introduction to the Races of Erda


    Chapter 28, The Bound Spirits


    By Lady Brimsley Hasting, Senior Scholastic of Anthropology, St. Andrea Scholasticum


    In Erda, Golems are distinguished as a singular breed of entities brought into existence through the binding of lesser spirits. These constructs must not be mistaken for the naturally occurring Trolls, as they are forged through a complex rite wherein a spirit is contracted. This spirit is provided with a physical form often made from clay, stone, wood, or metal and endowed with mana, enabling it to sustain its presence in the material world. In exchange, the spirit agrees to perform tasks as stipulated by the contract.


    At the heart of each Golem is its core: the bound spirit that animates and drives its purpose. Shaped meticulously into humanoid forms, these constructs are programmed with precise instructions that they execute flawlessly, without deviation.


    Golems are deployed across a spectrum of roles, ranging from stalwart guardians to indefatigable workers. Their unwavering loyalty and strict adherence to their commands render them exceedingly dependable, yet they lack both free will and true sentience.


    The practice of binding spirits to inanimate objects, however, has sparked considerable ethical debates among Erda''s Scholastic. Critics question the impact of such practices on the natural order and the wellbeing of the spirits involved, probing the moral ramifications of this profound manipulation of spirits. Despite the ongoing controversies, Golems remain a subject of intense interest and practical application within the Kindred community.

 Chapter 3.3

    In a single blink, the world around me dissolved into shadow, only to flare back into being an instant later. It took my eyes a moment to adjust, but once they did, I realized I was definitely not where I''d intended to end up. Instead of the modest restroom I''d expected, I stood in an impossibly ornate chamber worthy of royalty. Polished columns rose around me, carved with delicate vines and inlaid with filigree that gleamed under a series of hovering mana lamps. The ceiling soared overhead, painted with pastoral scenes in rich, shimmering hues. Even the floor was set with pearlescent tiles that glowed faintly as though channeling ambient mana through an intricate network of runes.


    I blinked, momentarily awestruck. This restroom, if it could even be called that looked more like a private spa suite designed for the uppermost of the upper crust. An enormous mirror framed in gold occupied one entire wall, and plush benches were arranged near a set of tall, frosted-glass partitions. The air carried a hint of rose and citrus, a delicate perfume that hinted at the presence of someone who cared deeply about the finer things in life.


    I took a tentative step forward, my senses still reeling from the unexpected teleport. That was when I saw her: a striking, chestnut haired human woman crouched near the wall, her posture radiating a mixture of embarrassment and despair. She looked up at me with wide eyes that shone with unshed tears. For the briefest moment, neither of us spoke her face a study in mortification, mine undoubtedly reflecting stunned confusion.


    "Fate just loves taking every option available to humiliate me," she muttered bitterly, her voice trembling. Then, as if the moment itself was too much to bear, she dropped her head into her hands, shoulders trembling with a silent, frustrated laugh or perhaps a sob.


    I cleared my throat, heart thudding in my chest. "I uh, I''m sorry," I managed, taking another step forward. "I didn''t mean to, um, intrude. The teleport handle must''ve sent me to the wrong place."


    Her response was muffled through her fingers. "Of course it did," she murmured. "Fate and I have a very intimate relationship one built on it, ruining my day at every opportunity."


    Unsure of what else to do, I scanned the opulent surroundings, my gaze flicking between the gleaming marble countertops and the ornate mirror frames, looking for some kind of plaque or label that might clarify this bizarre mix-up. With no immediate answers forthcoming, I took a half-step back, forcing a polite smile that felt painfully awkward.


    "I''ll, uh¡­be leaving now, then. Good day to you," I stammered, bowing my head slightly, half-apologizing, half-desperate to escape. My voice wavered between courtesy and disorientation, the absurdity of the situation leaving me struggling for composure.


    Turning to the handle on the wall the one that had supposedly warped me here, I gripped it firmly. Expecting the usual dizzy rush of teleportation, I braced myself for the whoosh that would take me back. But nothing happened. There was no swirl of mana, no flicker of runic light. The handle gave a slight rattle under my hand, but it refused to respond to whatever arcane trigger made it work.


    "Why isn''t this thing doing anything?" I muttered, confusion mounting.


    "Don''t you think I''ve tried that already?" The chestnut-haired woman let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through her disheveled locks. "I''ve been stuck here for what feels like an hours, and if it did work, I''d have made my grand escape long ago."


    My eyes narrowed. "You said you wanted to escape? Who would you?"


    Before I could finish the question, a shrill cry pierced the air from somewhere beyond the door. It echoed in the lavish chamber like a half-stifled yelp, definitely not the sound of someone in distress. I froze, and the woman in front of me looked even more mortified.


    "I take it that''s who?" I asked quietly, trying to mask the awkwardness creeping into my tone.


    The woman pressed her lips into a thin line, cheeks coloring. "They hadn''t seen each other in ages, so the moment they got a few minutes alone, they decided to celebrate. Problem is, they forgot I was in the bathroom." She cast a look of utter resignation at the locked door, as if silently cursing Fate.


    Her eyes darted back to me, assessing whether I needed further explanation. Judging by the clumsy, rhythmic thuds and muffled gasps now filtering through the door, I didn''t. "So, that''s why I need out of here," she continued, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It''s not exactly polite to interrupt¡­ that, and I''d rather not be here when they finish."


    I cleared my throat, trying to banish the mental images threatening to form. "Right, of course. So the handle''s broken?"


    She nodded, frustration evident in the set of her jaw. "It has some sort of override or failsafe. Once it detects wards activated outside, it won''t allow an exit or entrance to keep people from teleporting into the room at a¡­ delicate moment."


    A fresh wave of shrieking, definitely filled with pleasure rather than fear, caused us both to cringe. My gaze slid toward the ornate door leading to the next room, from behind which the sounds were intensifying. "I¡­ guess that means we''re stuck until they finish, huh?"


    "Unfortunately," she muttered, pressing her back to the wall and sinking down again. "Believe me, I''ve tried everything. Banging on the door, calling out¡­ they''re too lost in each other to notice. Or maybe they did notice and just don''t care."


    I swallowed hard, searching for a way to break the tension. The suite was grand, but the awkwardness of listening to such intimate noises through the wall made the lavish surroundings feel more like a cage. After a beat of silence, I sighed and joined her, lowering myself to the floor at a respectful distance.


    "So, any idea who they are?" I asked, keeping my voice hushed. "Or is this a random palace affair?"


    She gave a humorless chuckle, hugging her knees. "They are good friends of mine, who I just found out have been having a relationship behind my back."


    I nodded slowly, exhaling. "That''s rough, buddy."


    She let out a short, hollow laugh that didn''t quite meet her eyes. "Exactly. Welcome to my life trapped in the palace''s finest bathroom, forced to listen to my two best friends enjoy themselves while I¡ª" She gestured to herself, chestnut hair askew. "¡ªjust want to vanish through the floor."


    Another crescendo of moans filtered through, making the air feel thicker, tinged with second-hand embarrassment. I tugged at my collar, wishing I could vanish just as badly. "Look, I''m really sorry," I murmured.


    She glanced over at me, offering a faint, apologetic smile. "It''s not your fault. If anything, it''s mine. Fate just needed to add a cute boy to the mix to make everything worse. At least now I have someone to share the mortification with."


    I let out a small, tight laugh. "Glad I can be of service."


    We lapsed into a brief lull, the room''s silence broken only by the muffled noises from the next room. The polished mirrors reflected our anxious postures: two strangers stuck in a most undignified predicament, each praying for a quick end to the scenario.


    Eventually, I cleared my throat, trying to steer the topic toward safer ground. "So, how''d you end up here in the first place? If you don''t mind me asking."


    She shrugged, her voice strained. "I had a¡­meeting, I had to sit through it before the gala started. I excused myself, came in here for some peace and quiet, then realized someone else had ''entered'' next door for a different reason. I was about to slip out when the wards went up. And then you showed up, courtesy of some misfiring teleporter."


    As if on cue, another round of enthusiastic cries from behind the door made us both wince. She closed her eyes, shaking her head slowly. "I swear, Fate has a twisted sense of humor."


    I forced a crooked smile. "Yeah, well, Fate is a bitch. You''re not the only one she''s screwed over."


    She gave a soft snort, the tiniest curve lifting the corners of her mouth. "At least we''ll have a story to tell someday. For now, I''m going to pretend this whole evening is just one prolonged nightmare."


    I glanced at the handle again, half-hoping it would spark to life, but it remained stubbornly inert. With a resigned sigh, I shifted to a more comfortable position. "However long we''re stuck here, might as well make the best of it."


    She raised an eyebrow, the barest trace of amusement in her eyes. "And how do you suggest we do that?"


    I shrugged. "Small talk? We can complain about the palace''s design flaws. Or maybe plot revenge on these fancy ward systems."


    She let out a breathy chuckle, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. "You know what? That sounds a whole lot better than listening to them enjoy themselves."


    I finally managed to take a proper look at her when she raised her head, a shy, tentative smile curving her lips. The shift in her posture, along with the gentle light catching her features, revealed far more than her earlier hunched stance had allowed. No doubt she was of noble birth her refined accent gave it away, that polished enunciation characteristic of the upper-crust families hailing from the heart of the Imperial Federation''s Isles of Albion. Nobles in this world rarely hid their roots, especially those who commanded significant magical or political clout.


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    Still crouched near the wall, her gaze flicked upward, letting me see the full extent of her amazonian build. She had a well-toned physique slender shoulders, a strong torso, and a substantial chest that would''ve turned heads anywhere. Even at a glance, it was clear she stood only a few inches shorter than me, no small feat in as a human where my own height often made me stand out. Nobility, particularly the women, tended to develop powerful magical aptitudes, their status further reinforced by inherited political influence. In many corners of the world, it was the same story told in different ways magocracy, where those with the strongest magic rose to the top.


    An odd familiarity tugged at my mind, a faint thread of recognition that I couldn''t quite place. I found myself searching her face for clues: the graceful line of her jaw, the warm brown of her eyes, the way her hair fell around her cheeks in gentle waves. I knew I''d seen her before, and not just in passing. As she glanced at me, her expression grew wary, and for a second, I considered letting the matter drop. But my curiosity won out.


    "You look kind of familiar," I ventured, my tone uncertain, as though testing the waters.


    Her entire face seemed to pale, like someone whose secret had just been laid bare. "Aspects strike me down now," she muttered under her breath, closing her eyes in resigned dread. "As if tonight couldn''t get any worse..."


    I snapped my fingers, my own recollections suddenly clicking into place. A year and a half ago, Aspected girls, one sporting a fiery aura, the other projecting an air of frosty elegance, both teasing a friend about her obvious infatuation with the bartender. That bartender had been me.


    "Wait," I said, eyes widening as memories slotted neatly into focus. "Were you at King Victor''s Bar about a year and a half ago? You came in with two Aspected girls, right?"


    She opened her eyes again, lips parted in surprise. "You remember that? I was hoping you didn''t remember." Her voice wavered between astonishment and embarrassment.


    That alone was answer enough, but I pressed on, recalling the scene in more detail. "You three sat near the back, and ordered a round of exotic cocktails. One of your friends was giving you a hard time and kept egging you on to ask for my Link. I, um...got the feeling you were interested in talking, but you never actually approached me."


    A faint blush rose across her cheeks, and she turned her head away, hair falling forward to partially shield her face. "Yes, well, you''ve got a good memory. My friends that night were...louder than I would''ve liked."


    Something in her demeanor, mixed shame, and nostalgia, confirmed it. I remembered her friends, both Aspected, one evidently tied to some primordial force. They''d teased her relentlessly, joking about how she was too ''noble'' to muster the courage to flirt with a mere bartender. It had all seemed innocent enough at the time, but she''d blushed every time I so much as glanced her way.


    "So," I ventured gently, "I take it those, uh, Aspected friends of yours are the ones otherwise occupied in the next room?"


    She nodded, letting out a long, resigned sigh. "Yes, unfortunately. We were supposed to attend this Yuletide gathering together, but¡­" She trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the lavish walls around us, as though that alone explained the chaos of the palace''s labyrinthine layout and malfunctioning teleport handles.


    My lips twitched into a hesitant smile. "Small world, right?"


    Her half-laugh sounded equal parts mortified and relieved. "I guess you could say that. Of all the bathrooms, in all the palace, you had to pop into mine."


    I shrugged, lifting my palms in a gesture of helplessness. "It seems Fate or whoever designed the palace teleport network had a sense of humor."


    For a moment, silence settled between us, punctuated only by the muffled noises from next door her friends evidently continuing their enthusiastic reunion. She glanced at me again, this time with something akin to acceptance in her gaze. Maybe it was the mutual embarrassment, or the memory of that distant night at King Victor''s Bar, but something compelled her to speak.


    "I, I never got your name back then," she confessed, softly. "Your uniform said ''John,'' but I wasn''t sure if that was your real name or just a placeholder. Bars often do that."


    I smiled, recalling the nametag routine. "It''s John," I confirmed. "And you never told me your name, either. Your friends kept calling you ''Lady Something-or-other,'' and you, well¡­ never seemed to like that title."


    Her cheeks colored anew, though she managed a small smile. "Yes, I hate formalities. My name is " She hesitated as if weighing whether to reveal it, then sighed. "Adorashera. But nobody calls me that except my family. Most people just call me ''Adora.''"


    "Adorashera," I repeated, letting the syllables settle in. "That''s¡­nice, though, Adora, like the princess." For some reason, lots of people named their children after the royals. It just sounded confusing to me.


    "Yeah, you could say that," She let out a breath that sounded almost like a relief, perhaps glad to shed the burden of her full noble title. "Thank you. And, um, for what it''s worth, I do remember you, too how you always seemed polite, even when my friends were being insufferable. I just never worked up the nerve to talk to you that night. The way you laughed reminded me of someone I lost, and I got lost in the notion that you could be him. He died years ago." The way she folded in on herself, it was a topic she didn''t want to talk about.


    Under any other circumstances, we''d probably have an easier time reintroducing ourselves. But here, we were stranded in a stolen bathroom suite, listening to the increasingly heated escapades beyond the door.


    "Guess we missed our chance for a normal conversation," I remarked, voice wry.


    A soft chuckle escaped Adora''s lips, and she brushed a lock of hair away from her face. "Better late than never, right?" Then, her expression tightened as another moan drifted in from the neighboring room. She buried her face in her hands again, letting out a quiet groan. "I''d kill for some earplugs."


    I couldn''t help but laugh.


    <hr>


    Codex


    Transcript of Vid advertisement, Linktube


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    "Call now! Don''t let Fate dictate your finances!"

 Chapter 3.4

    Adora''s friends seemed to have swapped positions on the other side of the door, and the moaning escalated into a new register sharper, higher, and somehow even more enthusiastic than before. Each breathy cry echoed through the lavish suite, making the situation all the more absurd.


    "Good," Adora muttered, cheeks aflame as she strained to listen. "That means they''re probably halfway finished...hopefully." She rubbed her temples as though trying to ward off an oncoming headache. "I wish they''d hurry up and get it over with."


    I shifted my weight, acutely aware of how little time I had to spare. The bar was waiting, my ridiculous costume might attract unwanted attention if I stayed away too long, and every minute stuck in this palatial restroom felt like an eternity. "I really do need to get back," I said with a tight smile. "But it looks like Fate isn''t giving me much of a choice."


    Adora let out an awkward chuckle that didn''t reach her eyes. "Trust me, you''re not the only one who''d rather be somewhere else." Her gaze kept wandering toward the door, and the deepening flush on her cheeks suggested she was far more embarrassed than she let on. She seemed almost...naive. Most noblewomen, especially those with her imposing stature and clear magical pedigree, exuded the kind of confidence that came from a lifetime of privilege. But Adora, for all her regal grace, looked more like a startled doe caught in someone else''s snare.


    I found that oddly curious. Perhaps she was, in fact, inexperienced. In a world where women vastly outnumbered men, nearly four to one, and where same-sex relationships between women were not just common but encouraged one might imagine a noble like Adora would have indulged in at least some experimental flings. Among the Kindred, men were rare, historically making up only around eight percent of the population before Great Undying Wars; even now, at nearly twenty-eight percent, they remained relatively scarce. For women of Adora''s station, same-sex dalliances were often seen as the norm or, at minimum, a convenient outlet until the right man came along. Even then, monogamy in a relationship with a man was unheard of; women were expected to share in one way or another.


    My mind drifted briefly to my own jumbled experiences regarding attraction. Despite the occasional frustration I felt about society''s prejudices, I''d grown strangely comfortable with the idea that most of the Kindred males or females were, by inherited nature, bisexual. Sure, most had a preference for the opposite sex, sometimes intensely so, but the cultural acceptance of female-female romance was worlds apart from the scrutiny men faced if they displayed any interest in one another. Not that such relationships were illegal, but the scorn men often received made them difficult to maintain openly.


    Even so, couples like Krenk and Strom defied the odds. The two of them had built a life together, albeit one haunted by the stigma of same-sex male unions. They rarely spoke of any children they had. I suspected that this culture''s longstanding focus on breeding¡ªon ensuring men fathered children had been a colossal barrier to the acceptance of male-male bonds. History was riddled with battles waged over control of men, from small clan or family feuds to entire Legionary campaigns. Even the legendary conquest of half the known world by Alexandria the Great was, if the stories could be believed, fueled by her desire to reclaim her stolen husband, Helenos of Troia.


    The contrast was striking: women were expected almost prodded to form intimate friendships or romantic liaisons with one another, while men in similar situations faced an uphill battle for acceptance. The fact that Adora, with all her advantages, still radiated such raw self-consciousness told me there was more to her story than she was letting on.


    A louder cry from the next room shattered my thoughts. Adora winced, burying her face in her hands for a moment before glancing back at me with an apologetic half-smile. "I''m sorry," she said. "I never meant for Fate to drag you to end up in this predicament. If there were a way to dispel these wards and get us both out¡ª"


    "No need to apologize," I assured her, attempting a reassuring tone. "It''s not your fault the teleport handles or the wards malfunctioned...or that your friends decided to hold an impromptu rendezvous." I gestured vaguely at the gold-gilded walls. "I doubt any of us planned on this."


    She let out a slow, measured exhale. "It''s so embarrassing¡­listening to that," she said, nodding toward the door. "I''m not a prude, but there''s a difference between privacy and being forced to eavesdrop."


    I offered a sympathetic half-grin. "Trust me, I''ve heard more than my fair share during late-night shifts behind the bar." Then I held up the flamboyant attire draped over my arm. "Anyway, I only popped in here to get changed and do a quick touch-up with some makeup. That was the entire reason I grabbed the teleporter handle."


    Her eyebrows arched slightly, but she refrained from asking too many questions. Soon enough, another rapturous moan filtered through, and we both flinched. Adora let out a breathy laugh. "So you''re planning to wear that?" She gestured to the frilly shirt and the absurdly large belt buckle. "Is it for a date or something?"


    I scoffed, shaking my head. "No date involved, thank the Aspects. I''m helping run a let''s call it a ''beer hall'' and apparently dressing like a ''tavern dandy'' is supposed to drum up more customers"


    Her surprise melted into a fleeting grin. "I can believe that," she said, her voice taking on a teasing edge. "You''d be impossible to forget in that ensemble. And you might just be cute enough to pull it off." Another chorus of passionate cries made her cheeks redden again, and she glanced anxiously at the sealed door. "Well," she muttered, "I''ll just wait behind that pillar, then. At least I won''t see you trying on...whatever that is."


    She hesitated, looking unsure of herself, but finally crossed the distance in a few long, determined strides. Soon, she disappeared behind one of the marble columns, arms folded as she tried to ignore the scandalous noises.


    I exhaled, feeling a surge of relief for even this small sliver of privacy. Setting Krenk''s garish "tavern dandy" outfit on a nearby bench, I regarded each piece with wary disdain. The sheer white shirt, with its puffed sleeves, fluttered mockingly in the ambient breeze. The cheap, overly bright vest looked liable to fall apart at the seams, and the short shorts were precisely as indecent as I''d feared. Fastening the enormous belt buckle would only add insult to injury, but if it was going to help King Victor''s Bar score profits, I might as well commit to the bit.


    Grumbling under my breath, I stripped off my regular clothes and began donning the costume. The translucent sleeves drew attention to my arms in a way that felt both uncomfortable and strangely flattering; the vest clung to my torso, accentuating my chest and shoulders. The shorts, however, were a lost cause I felt half-naked. At least the belt buckle seemed to distract from my thighs by acting as a gaudy focal point. "Just fantastic," I muttered to my reflection in one of the mirrored panels. "I look like a wandering court fop who can''t afford pants."


    The whole ensemble look even more ludicrous like I was auditioning for a cheesy romance novel cover. Still, it wasn''t entirely hideous; it definitely highlighted my physique more than standard attire would. Perhaps that was the point. Next, I rummaged through a small pouch for the subtle men''s makeup I''d picked up. In this world, men''s cosmetics generally aimed to enhance the masculine face concealer, a bit of subtle foundation, maybe bronzer or a dusting of eyeshadow to sharpen or clarify features. I typically skipped it to keep a low profile, but the job demanded I go all in tonight. If I was going to make an impression, I might as well do it right.


    I dabbed concealer under my eyes, patted a little foundation across my cheeks and chin, and then smoothed on a hint of bronzer to sculpt out my jawline. A faint line of eyeliner, so thin it was almost invisible, helped define my gaze without making me look like I was heading for the stage. Checking the mirror again, I noted I''d forgotten eyebrow grooming men''s eyebrows here were often shaped just enough to accentuate the eyes without looking feminine. With a small brush, I neatened them, then stepped back to inspect my handiwork.


    Then there was the matter of beard grooming at least, for those men fortunate enough to grow one. Most did so if they could, since a full beard was widely viewed as an emblem of masculinity. Yet thanks to mana supplements to add in viable male births, the ability to cultivate facial hair had become increasingly rare among new generations of Kindred men.


    Me? I took a different route. Every morning, I lathered up and shaved, a small act of personal defiance. Of course, it didn''t help that my beard tended to reassert itself by midday, my five o''clock shadow more like a stubborn intruder refusing to stay gone. But I kept at it all the same it was one of the few ways I could still make my own statement in a world that seemed determined to define me before I had the chance to define myself.


    "All right," I murmured. "Let''s see how the audience reacts to this."


    A flicker of amusement crossed my face as I thought about Adora, waiting on the other side of that marble pillar. Her breathless discomfort, her strange mix of noble confidence and naive self-consciousness there was more to that woman than met the eye. But my pressing task remained: I had to escape this ridiculous predicament and return to work. If Luck was on my side, her friends would soon exhaust themselves, the wards would drop, and we could both slip away before any further humiliations came our way.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Steeling myself, I picked up the short cloak that went with the outfit because, of course, there was a cape and slung it over my shoulders. Taking one last, cringing glance in the mirror, I squared my shoulders. "Time to face the music," I said under my breath, heart thudding with a mix of nerves and determination.


    As I moved to rejoin Adora, I couldn''t help wondering just how many more bizarre turns this night might take. If one thing was certain, though, it was that I wouldn''t soon forget the image of a flustered noblewoman, hiding behind a pillar while her friends made the walls shake with passion nor the fact that I, in my ridiculous "tavern dandy" ensemble, was stuck right in the middle of it all.


    Adora peered around the pillar at me, a faint spark of mirth dancing in her gaze. "This has been...one of the strangest nights of my entire life," she admitted, voice subdued.


    My responding laugh emerged warm and quiet. "Trust me," I said, meeting her eyes, "you''re preaching to the choir."


    Her gaze slowly trailed downward, and I felt the intensity of her stare landing right where I least expected it at my groin. Among the Kindred, men were already known to be well-endowed, but even by those standards, I''d been told my size was rather conspicuous. Even flaccid, it verged on the absurd, something I''d long since accepted as part of my anatomy. There was no stuffing or padding going on like some men tried, either everything on display was simply me. In a culture where a man''s sexual attributes were prized as highly as a woman''s figure might have been in my old life, it was no wonder Adora''s attention drifted there so openly. A faint hum of renewed moaning from behind the walls seemed to spur her on, and I noticed her tongue dart out to lick her lips, as if she were unconsciously savoring the view.


    She dragged her eyes back up to meet mine, and for a moment, I saw the flicker of raw hunger in her gaze. The flush on her cheeks deepened, and her breaths came faster, as though the sounds of her friends in the next room were adding fuel to a fire she could barely contain. Her voice came out low and slightly tremulous, yet tinged with a new boldness. "I''m not usually this forward," she admitted, swallowing hard, "but I''d be lying if I said I wasn''t at least a little worked up after hearing...that." She gestured toward the wall separating us from her friends'' very vocal activities.


    "You''re my type," she went on, her tone growing warmer. "Really my type like Fate handpicked you from my dreams and dropped you into my life. From just this short encounter, I can see you''re considerate, humble, and light-years better than all those foppish tail-chasers who''ve tried to court me." She paused for a second, seeming almost shy despite her frank words, then inhaled deeply and continued. "Look, I''m not trying to pressure you. If you say no, I''ll respect that completely. But I''d really like to..."


    She hesitated, her eyes flicking to our surroundings as though considering how to phrase it. Then her gaze settled on me, intent and candid. "I''d really like to hold your hand, if that''s all right. Just something to ease some of this pent-up energy I''m feeling. I know it might sound too lewd, we only just met." Her cheeks flamed red once more, and she tried for a self-conscious laugh. "But, my mana is really starting to get agitated, and sharing it with you would help alot."


    The tension in the air felt almost tangible, charged by a current of desire, curiosity, and mutual uncertainty. I could see the hope in her eyes an earnest plea for the gesture of connection in a moment that had spiraled beyond her control. Given the circumstances, her request felt surprisingly modest to me, but, in a society that revolved around physical intimacy of sharing mana and the complex politics of men and women, holding hands was a big deal.


    Yet here we were, half-trapped in a gilded restroom, subjected to the relentless soundtrack of her friends'' pleasure through the walls. For all her poise and noble upbringing, Adora looked as though she were balancing on the edge of a cliff, not sure whether to take a leap or step back. And for reasons I couldn''t entirely explain, I found myself wanting to offer her some sense of safety some small anchor in this bizarre, heated scenario. We had only just met, but I felt that I had known her my entire life.


    Maybe crafting a sweet memory with a beautiful, beguiling young woman tonight would help counterbalance the earlier chaos, I mused. Allowing a teasing grin to tug at my lips, I said, "Well, I wouldn''t be much of a dandy if I refused, would I?"


    I tried to inject a playful air into my words, deliberately leaning into the jaunty persona implied by my flamboyant attire. Reaching out, I gently took her hand, feeling the warmth of her palm meet mine. Then, with a mild flourish, I guided her toward a small bench along the wall, hoping the gesture might bring a touch of genuine levity to an evening already overrun by awkwardness and overheard passion.


    <hr>


    Codex


    Transcript of Vid Stages of Relationship by Drusenna the Layer, Vidtube


    "Hey there, welcome back to the channel! If you''re new here, I''m Drusenna the Layer, your go-to-orc gal for building confident, healthy relationships. Today, we''re diving into a topic I get asked about all the time¡ª''the Stages'' of a physical relationship. You know, those metaphorical stage plays that people use to talk about intimacy? Let''s break them down in a way that''s respectful, clear, and insightful.


    Before we jump in, let me say this physical relationships should always be about mutual respect, communication, and consent. Every person and relationship is different, so these ''Stages'' are just a framework. It''s not the old days when a gal could take any man she wanted when she wanted if she could get away with it. Got it? Alright, let''s put on a show!"


    "Alright, so here''s the breakdown. The first stage is all about touching, preferably on the skin. It could be a sweet peck on the cheek, a hug, handholding, or exploring what feels natural for both of you. It''s about initiating physical closeness and seeing if there''s chemistry. Getting ready to share mana.


    The second stage is when you start sharing your mana with the man. This is vital to getting him aroused. You can touch, caress, kiss, hell, even suck his cock, but without sharing your mana, you''re not going to get that pecker up. Try to keep in mind how much you are giving him. You don''t want to overwhelm him. That being said, every man has a level of intensity he is comfortable with. A little communication can go a long way in finding out what that is.


    The third stage is when he starts sharing his mana with you. It''s important not to get overwhelmed when this starts. You don''t want to jump to the really fun part until he can share enough. Don''t forget he enjoys giving you that extra mana just as much as you enjoyed giving yours to him. Besides, you''ll need that extra mana later. Try more intimate touching above the waist or below, such as holding, caressing, or cuddling. This is where trust really starts to build because he is being more vulnerable. Now, when talking about intimate touching below the waist. This base is about deeper exploration, but again, only if both partners are entirely comfortable and enthusiastic about it. Being serviced by a man is great, I know, but it''s important not to run out of steam before the next stage.


    You guessed it, the final stage is full sexual intimacy. It''s a significant step that should be approached with care, responsibility, and a lot of communication. Are you both ready? Are you both on the same page about what this means for your relationship? These are important questions to discuss. We tend to forget as women that this is a dangerous time for a man. Before mana supplements were introduced, the most common cause of death for a man was mana exhaustion during intimacy. Make sure he''s not giving too much of himself. If you suspect he is suffering from mana exhaustion, stop and seek medical intervention immediately. Another thing to be aware of for first-time gals, is the call to release and fertilize after he finishes inside you is a lot stronger than you think. Be prepared, and you should be able to redirect all that wonderful mana back into you instead of getting pregnant.


    "Now, here''s the thing: these stages aren''t a checklist or a race. Healthy relationships aren''t about good reviews.'' They''re about connection, understanding, and ensuring that you''re both comfortable every step of the way. It''s okay to pause at any stage and enjoy the show or even until you''re both ready to move forward.


    And hey, if you ever feel unsure or awkward about discussing boundaries, know that''s normal! Talking about these things can feel intimidating, but it''s a sign of respect and maturity.


    "So, what do you think? Do these stages make sense to you? Let me know in the comments below no need to get too personal, of course! And if you found this helpful, give it a thumbs-up, share it with a friend, and subscribe for more tips on building the relationship you deserve.


    Until next time, remember: great relationships start with great communication. You''ve got this girl!"

 Chapter 3.5

    She appeared nervous, clearly unaccustomed to touching a man so intimately, yet doing her best to act composed. In this society, women usually took the lead in all matters it was their responsibility was to entice the man, to catch his attention and kindle his desire start his arousal. Yet Adora''s guarded posture and a slight tremble in her grip told me she was hardly an expert, and that realization made me unexpectedly protective of her.


    In that moment, I couldn''t help but think of my very first time in my previous life. I was a wide-eyed freshman, shy and clueless, when a confident senior led me behind the bleachers and revealed a world I never knew existed. I''d been a bundle of nerves, fumbling with the slightest touch, but she guided me with gentle reassurance, coaxing me through the haze of inexperience until I felt like I could take on the world. Of course, I later realized my initial "prowess" was mostly awkward teenage fumbling, but the self-assurance that night left me with changed my life. It gave me the boldness to pursue relationships I might otherwise have shied away from.


    Now, with Adora''s hesitant warmth emanating from her hand, it struck me that our roles were reversed. She was the uneasy underclassman, and I was the seasoned senior. First times were important. That initial taste of intimacy could either bestow a person with unshakable confidence or bury them in misgivings they''d carry for years to come. I still carried the mental scars of being repeatedly raped growing up. The eight hundred and eighty-eight arts of pleasure being forcibly drilled into a boy forced into early Dawning by his captures and tormentours. If I could help ensure she walked away from this night feeling more certain of herself, it might be the greatest favor I could grant her.


    Leaning back slightly, I studied her expression. Her gaze kept darting toward me, then flicking downwards as if she didn''t know what part of me to look at. Or perhaps she worried she''d reveal too much of herself. The atmosphere was fraught with anticipation like two people standing at the edge of a darkened stage, waiting for the curtain to rise. I could sense a part of her wanting to tug me closer take the lead, but equally afraid of overstepping.


    "Are you okay?" I asked softly, trying to dispel some of her tension. My tone was light, but concern hovered beneath it.


    She swallowed, glancing down at our interlaced fingers before raising her head. "I''m...yes. I''m fine," she whispered, though the quiver in her voice told me otherwise. "Just...this is my first time." A faint color rose in her cheeks.


    Her admission only deepened my resolve. "Don''t worry," I said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "We don''t have to rush anything."


    She offered me a shaky smile. "Thank you. I''m not used to men, or...or any of this, with how hectic my life is, I havn''t had many opportunities, the few I did weren''t the types I would be interested in," she confessed. "Honestly, I''m not sure what to expect, you being so kind. I''ve seen vids and read up some, but doing differs from learning."


    I shifted slightly on the bench, letting our shoulders brush. Despite the ridiculous outfit I wore and the ongoing symphony of moans filtering through the walls, a strange feeling of calm washed over me. There was a vulnerability in Adora''s eyes, a rare softness I doubted she showed many people, and I realized how important it was to tread carefully.


    "Kindness doesn''t cost me anything," I said, "and you deserve it. Being thrown into a situation like this would rattle anyone."


    She managed a breathy laugh, glancing up at the vaulted ceiling as if searching for some cosmic punchline. "It certainly rattled me. One second, I''m expecting a night of polite Yuletide festivities; the next, I''m overhearing my friends''...activities...with a complete stranger, holding his hand." She paused, biting her lip.


    "Your friends'' stamina is impressive," I quipped, rolling my eyes in the direction of the muffled noise from the other room.


    That finally earned me a genuine laugh soft, but unguarded. Adora''s features lit up, and for an instant, she didn''t look like a lofty noblewoman at all she looked like a young woman relieved to share a moment of honest mirth and intimacy in a world that often demanded too much from her.


    She laced her fingers more securely around mine, exhaling as though a weight lifted from her shoulders. She mused, half to herself. "You''re...not what I expected."


    I tilted my head in curiosity. "Meaning?"


    She pursed her lips, weighing her words. "Most men I''ve met with your looks and¡ª" a faint flush colored her cheeks again "¡ªendowments...they''re arrogant. They''re used to being pursued, and it goes straight to their heads. But you seem...grounded."


    "Let''s just say I''ve had enough experiences, good and bad, to keep me humble," I replied quietly. No need to go into my past with her. "Not every advantage in life comes without a price, you know?"


    She nodded, and in that silent exchange, I sensed we understood each other more than either of us had expected when this evening began.


    Gently, she lifted our joined hands, gazing at them as though they were a small wonder. The corners of her mouth quirked in a wistful smile. "May I start?"


    Squeezing her hand and nodding in confirmation, I felt her heart rate spike. For a few precious seconds, the room seemed to hush around us, the echo of distant moans fading into the background like distant thunder. We were just two people in an unlikely predicament, forging a tentative connection. We intertwine our fingers, and it feels as if two parts of a puzzle have clicked perfectly into place. This simple act, so intimate and meaningful, deepens the bond between us, communicating more than words ever could.


    A subtle glow flickered where Adora''s fingers began, and I felt the faintest surge of mana trickling into my arm. She gasped, face tilting upwards in hesitant wonder, as though worried I might recoil. Yet the sensation was anything but unpleasant it was soothing warmth, like sunlight breaking through an overcast sky. Unlike Taimi''s gentle currents or the searing edge of Bannerlady Tomae''s assault, this felt unexpectedly welcoming, almost like crossing paths with an old friend you''d been missing for far too long.


    Adora''s eyes gleamed, her expression a vivid mixture of awe and relief. Her breathing sped up, as though some deep burden were finally lifting. She seemed torn, wanting to offer more but afraid of overstepping. Her brows furrowed in concern until I spoke quietly, wanting to calm any second thoughts she had.


    "No need to worry," I reassured her, voice low and steady. "You''re doing great. If you''d like to release more, I can handle it."


    She hesitated, biting her lip with uncertainty. But then, steeling her resolve, she let herself relax. The trickle of mana became a steady stream, suffusing both of us in a quiet ripple of energy. Adora gave a small, breathy sigh, fidgeting on the bench, as though trying to process a new and surprisingly pleasant sensation. From her perspective, pouring out mana into a receptive man was akin to slaking an intense thirst or satisfying a long-neglected hunger, comforting and revitalizing sleep, and relaxing massage, all at once all over her body.


    For my part, that gentle flow permeated my entire body, like a tingle of pins and needles slowly spreading outward from my arm. It was neither a purely physical thrill nor something purely emotional, but an intriguing combination of both. I found myself smiling, silently hoping she saw it as encouragement, that she understood how much I welcomed this intangible embrace.


    Catching my reaction, Adora''s expression brightened, her cheeks glowing with renewed confidence. Bolstered by my acceptance, her mana surged, no longer just a gentle trickle but a more substantial current. She had more mana than I''d expected, even for a noble gifted with high-level talent enough to rank her well above what most professional mages achieved. And I could sense that she wanted to give even more, both to please me and to unburden herself.


    She trembled slightly, eyes sparkling, as if she were testing the limits of what we both could handle. The sensation washed through me like waves of warmth and subtle euphoria comfortable, yet powerful. Meanwhile, Adora''s posture shifted with each pulse of energy she released, and I could almost see the tension ebbing from her shoulders, replaced by the simple relief of finally sharing her mana with someone who welcomed it.


    "This feels..." Her voice trailed off in an unsteady whisper, caught between wonder and growing excitement. She paused, struggling to find the right words. Then, her gaze shifted to me, full of gratitude and a hopeful curiosity. "I''ve never felt so...at ease," she admitted softly, cheeks flushing. "I¡ªthank you."


    I matched her smile, hoping it projected the acceptance I wanted her to feel. "No need to thank me," I murmured, giving her hand a slight squeeze. "I''m glad you''re comfortable."


    Gradually, the flow steadied into a steady, continuous transfer. We sat in this pocket of shared warmth, the outside world and its distractions reduced to distant echoes. Even the muffled noises beyond the door had faded from my mind, overshadowed by the quietly thrilling act of absorbing Adora''s energy and returning my own calm presence in exchange.


    Eventually, she exhaled in a long, shuddering breath, as though a weight she''d been carrying had finally lifted off her chest. Though a rosy flush lingered on her cheeks, she showed no sign of wanting to stop. If anything, she looked ready to offer more, testing her own reserves to see just how far she could go while still maintaining control.


    I let my gaze drift over her face, taking in every nuance of her expression relief, fascination, and that glimmer of subdued happiness. She hadn''t asked for more than my acceptance, but through this wordless exchange, I could tell she was savoring each moment of reprieve. It was the kind of solace that both energized and calmed us, a reminder that sharing mana wasn''t solely a transaction of power, but also a gentle meeting of spirits.


    "Keep going," I murmured quietly, letting the reassurance hang between us like a promise. "You''re nowhere near pushing past what I can handle more than you can think."


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Her lips twitched into a soft grin, and she took a steadying breath before allowing the current of mana to deepen again. In that moment, our hands entwined, we found ourselves in an oasis of calm, a small respite from the unpredictable chaos outside. A space where, for a short while, we could simply be, unburdened by expectations or fears.


    I closed my eyes briefly, relishing the bright, soothing warmth pulsing through me. This was a kind of closeness, neither strictly physical nor wholly spiritual, but an engaging blend of both I. With each heartbeat, the shared tranquility reshaped the room into a quieter, more intimate corner of the world, just me, Adora, and the gentle hum of mana weaving us together in a moment of fleeting, cherished union.


    Adora''s eyes sparkled with a new sense of confidence, as though something inside her had awakened. I sensed her desire for greater closeness, so I gently placed my free hand against her waist, guiding her around to sit in my lap, facing me. In this position, she was nearly a head taller her regal bearing even more evident as she peered down at me. We laced our hands together between us, and in that instant, it felt as if the rest of the world faded to a distant hum. Our gazes locked, the ambient noise and flickering lights receding to the edges of awareness.


    She leaned in, her breathing shallow but resolute, letting her mana flow ever more strongly. It enveloped me like a nurturing tide soft, yet powerful as if her very presence were drawing me into a warm embrace. The flush on her cheeks spoke of both excitement and uncertainty. Despite the eagerness in her posture, she hesitated, unwilling to rush what we both knew was an uncharted kind of intimacy.


    "You''re doing great," I murmured, voice steady. I squeezed her hands to reassure her. "I can handle more truly. It''s okay."


    Her mana flow responded to my encouragement, intensifying until I felt a tingling heat suffuse my limbs. She let out a soft gasp, arching her shoulders as though relieved to let go of a pent-up pressure. A wetness growing everpresent between her legs was moist against the bare shin of my legs.


    I smiled up at her, hoping my expression made it clear I was enjoying this as much as she was. Gratitude flashed across her features; she''d needed someone to confirm she wasn''t overstepping. With a quiet nod, she gathered more of her mana, unleashing a flood that filled the air with shimmering warmth. I could tell she possessed a formidable magical capacity far more than most and the look on her face suggested she wanted me to experience all of it.


    Her lips parted in a faint, breathless laugh, a blend of surprise and exhilaration. The gush of mana left her shivering with delight, as if a long-standing tension were finally lifting away. For me, each wave of her energy was like a gentle spark gliding up my arm, branching through every cell in my body and lighting me from within.


    The closeness drew us together in an almost meditative hush. She pressed closer, exhaling in time with each fresh surge of warmth. I could sense her relief her eagerness for a deeper bond yet a flicker of hesitation still lingered in her eyes. I realized she might be waiting for me to take the next step.


    Trusting my instincts the art of pleasure clear in their instuction, I lifted my chin, giving her a subtle invitation to close the space between us. At first, her pupils widened, as though questioning whether she had read my cue correctly. Then I squeezed her hands once more, silently assuring her this was real.


    She leaned down, pressing her lips to mine in a sudden rush of passion. Her inexperience surfaced in her awkward urgency, but her enthusiasm more than made up for any lack of finesse. I responded as calmly as I could, letting her set the pace while offering gentle guidance tilting my head a fraction, mirroring her rhythm.Her mana swirled in an electrifying eddy, complementing the warmth that already pulsed between us.


    A flicker of caution flicked through my mind. My dormant mana core, purposely left untapped to heal, wouldn''t stir unless I chose to reignite it. A parting gift or curse, depending on how you looked at Maeriel. Keeping me impotent, Keeping me safe. After all I''d endured in the past, I wasn''t sure if or when I''d feel ready to fully reawaken it to move into that final stage of a relationship. But for now, I could immerse myself in the radiant glow Adora offered, without crossing boundaries I wasn''t prepared to face.


    She pulled back for a heartbeat, cheeks flushed, eyes alight with wonder. "I-I never imagined it could be like this," she whispered, voice trembling in equal parts thrill and disbelief.


    "It can be even more," I replied softly, careful to keep my tone gentle. "But only if you want it to be."


    Her breath caught in her throat, and she let out a shaky exhale. "Yes," she said, voice firming as she spoke. "Keep going. Please Keep going"


    I nodded, my heart pounding, as I released a measured surge of my mana into her. A subtle jolt of energy crackled through the air, as though the charge that had built up between us was now completing a circuit. Our mana intune singing in perfect harmony Resonating. The mana lamps overhead flickered once, casting brief shadows across the walls, then glowed brighter than before.


    Adora''s eyes went wide, her entire form momentarily outlined in a gentle luminescence. She looked at me with sheer astonishment, like she''d discovered a hidden facet of the universe she never knew existed. "This... this shouldn''t be possible," she breathed, voice quavering with pure exhilaration.


    Her hair caught the light, appearing more radiant than it had moments ago, almost as if she were wreathed in dawn''s first rays. A sense of awe rippled through me every thing her about had become more defined, more real, enhanced in a way that would make an artist weep for the beauty of it all. I understood at that moment who exactly I was seeing. She wasn''t named after the princess. She was the princess, Heir Apparent of the Imperial Federation, Beloved by the Whole, Avatar of Aspects. Adora the Chosen of Fate. The power surging through her seemed fit only for someone of immense standing, a fact that only underscored how little I understood about her.


    Before I could fully register the implications, Adora seized the initiative once more, leaning in and wrapping me in a deeper, more assured kiss, pulling our hands intertwined above my head. Her previous uncertainty gave way to boldness, as though the raw electric current of our mingled mana had unshackled a side of her she''d long kept hidden. Our energies wove together like strands of silk, each thrum of our hearts fueling the resonance until it felt as if the room itself pulsed with life.


    Lost in the haze, neither of us heard the door creak open. It wasn''t until a joyful squeal echoed across the suite a sound so gleeful it could only come from someone eager to celebrate rather than condemn that we pulled apart. I glanced over Adora''s shoulder and saw a figure silhouetted against the corridor''s glow: a breathtaking woman with luminous, near-orange skin and dazzling glowing green eyes, her red hair practically aflame as it caught the light drifting in the air as if she was underwater. She floated into the room as though drawn by the brilliance in the air.


    For a brief second, Adora remained oblivious, still cradling my face in her hands. Then she registered the presence behind her and whipped her head around, eyes flying wide. The newcomer, one of Adora aspected friends who reunion had trapped us, let out an excited whoop, clearly thrilled at the scene before her. Adora stiffened, the heightened magic of just moments ago settling back into her core in a rush of embarrassed surprise.


    I swallowed, trying to clear the sudden dryness in my throat. Whatever was happening, I had the sense that our precarious bubble of privacy had burst and the night was about to take yet another turn we couldn''t have anticipated.


    <hr>


    Codex


    Notes from Novice Medicant Titled Optimal Genetic Matchmaking: Key Points from Medicant Helen Grant''s Lecture


    Introduction to Mana Matchmaking


    <ul>


    <li>Mana matchmaking: Uses mana profile information to predict compatibility.</li>


    <li>Not solely for romantic applications; it can alert to potential power-level issues during pregnancy and conception.</li>


    <li>Objective: Empower individuals by providing additional data, not restricting choices.</li>


    </ul>


    Understanding Genetic Compatibility


    <ul>


    <li>Uses mana profile to identify potential compatibility issues.</li>


    <li>Can help predict mana supplement requirements, power levels and mana typing of offspring, inherent mutual interests, ease of arousing, and the likelihood of Resonating.</li>


    </ul>


    Common Misconceptions Addressed


    <ul>


    <li>Mana Matchmaking doesn''t reduce people to mana profiles.</li>


    <li>It''s a tool among many, not a definitive guide to Kindred relationships.</li>


    <li>Does not predict or guarantee love or emotional bonding.</li>


    <li>Resonating doesn''t make the couple soulmates or fated as popular believed. It is only an expression of mana constructive interference.</li>


    <li>Some Beastkin have a separate but similar process by Claiming it has the same effect of Resonating.</li>


    <li>Sufficient Power Level will overcome any inherited difficulties in nonoptimal or opposite typings.</li>


    </ul>


    Ethical Considerations


    <ul>


    <li>It is important to consider the Mana matchmaking information use, not romantic coupling.</li>


    <li>Need for transparent policies, legislation, and consent to protect men''s privacy.</li>


    <li>Potential risks of angering Anthos if ignored.</li>


    </ul>


    Conclusion of Lecture


    <ul>


    <li>Mana matchmaking is a tool that should used wisely.</li>


    <li>Emphasis on using science and technology ethically and responsibly.</li>


    <li>Importance of balancing scholastic advancement with personal values and ethics.</li>


    </ul>


    Study Tips


    <ul>


    <li>Review diagrams of speculated triple helix and proposed genetics theories for understanding.</li>


    <li>Consider real-world, and historical applications mana matchmaking.</li>


    <li>Prepare questions on privacy and ethics for deeper understanding and classroom discussions.</li>


    </ul>

 Chapter 3.6

    A blur of motion whooshed across the lavish suite, and before either Adora or I could react, we found ourselves in the midst of an aerial tackle that sent all three of us sprawling in a heap on the floor. The newcomer, the striking figure with bright, fiery hair and a luminous aura, cried out in glee as she wrapped us both in a crushing embrace. The force of her enthusiasm all but knocked the breath from my lungs, and Adora, caught by surprise, let out a muffled yelp as we tumbled over.


    I managed to free myself just enough to prop an elbow on the floor, but the aspected woman continued to cling to Adora as though they were long-lost sisters reunited after years apart. She cradled Adora against her chest, the latter''s cheeks flushing in a mix of embarrassment and sheer lack of oxygen.


    "Adora, I''m so proud of you!" the aspected girl babbled, her voice dancing with excitement. "Why didn''t you tell me you''d found us a man?" She squeezed tighter, sending a fresh wave of color across Adora''s face. "We could''ve arranged something so much sooner!"


    Adora''s attempt at a retort, "Let go of me, you !" vanished into the confines of the woman''s arms, which nearly smothered her. The newcomer then twisted her head to look at me, her bright eyes brimming with curiosity and delight.


    "Oh, not just any man," she went on, her gaze skimming over my flamboyant "tavern dandy" attire. "That cute boy from the bar. And already in costume, so you''re into a little roleplay, hmm?" She gave a knowing laugh, but something else snagged her attention before she could tease me further.


    Her eyes widened, the pulse of mana in the air shifting as realization dawned on her. She abruptly released Adora, who gasped in relief, catching precious lungfuls of air. "You two¡ª" the aspected woman''s voice hit a higher pitch, quivering with excitement. "You''re resonating, aren''t you? Adora, you''ve found true love all on your own!" Joy lit her features, making her almost glow. "I was starting to worry about you, the way you never wanted to join us for worship. Oh, if only you''d told me sooner you''d found your true love, we could have made room for him in all our plans!"


    Adora''s face had turned redder than I''d ever seen, a mix of mortification and sheer bewilderment. "Stop¡ªhe''s not my¡ª" she began, but the aspected girl cut her off with an airy wave, floating toward me like a leaf caught on a breeze.


    She halted inches from my face, bright eyes gleaming with unabashed wonder. "I''m Koria''li''na''calmi''nor," she announced, enunciating each syllable as though it were a prized title. "Adora''s First Companion. I''m thrilled to meet my Lady''s fated soulmate!" A broad grin lit her face. "Truly, this must be a Yuletide miracle, blessed by the All-Mother herself."


    "Kori, wait¡ª" Adora tried to intervene, her voice cracking with urgency.


    Before she could elaborate, someone shouted from the other side of the door, her voice echoing over the moans that had once filled the space. "What the fuck is going on in there?"


    Kori spun midair, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Rheala, you have to come meet our husband-to-be! Adora''s found her soulmate, and he''s perfect!"


    That declaration seemed to strike Adora like a lightning bolt. She stood there, eyes darting between Kori and me, her expression an entire spectrum of disbelief. "Kori, what are you¡ª" she started, then clamped her mouth shut, uncertain how to proceed.


    A second aspected woman entered or, rather, stumbled into the room her legs wobbling. She had skin the color of pale purple, giving her an almost ethereal glow, a toned figure that might have made any sculpture envious. Her lean muscles stood out against her smooth complexion, and her legs alone could have made a wolf pack howl. She rubbed her eyes and, as though still emerging from the haze of her earlier exertions, and surveyed the scene with sharp, calculating suspicion.


    Kori wasted no time, zipping over to the newcomer in that same floaty, near-weightless manner. She looped her arms around the second woman''s waist, eliciting a startled grunt. "Rheala, look!" Kori exclaimed, speaking at a pace that threatened to blur her words together. "Adora did it. She found the love of her life, her chosen partner! She''s resonating with him, and it''s glorious. A blessing from the All-Mother!"


    The lavender-skinned woman Rheala appeared torn between exasperation and outright confusion. "Would someone please fill me in?" she demanded, brushing aside a wisp of pale violet hair that had fallen into her eyes. "First, I feel a power pulse strong enough to distract us from our fun. Then Kori goes flying out the door, and now I see you two¡ª" she gestured at Adora and me "¡ªplaying dress up in the middle of our bathroom? What in all the cursed names of Death and Taxes is happening?"


    Kori pranced in place, hovering more than stepping, her expression dancing with uncontained excitement. "Rheala, meet our new fianc¨¦!" she exclaimed. "Isn''t he handsome? Adora found him all by herself and¡ª"


    "Stop, please," Adora cut in, her voice laced with both desperation and mortification. She looked like she might faint at any second. "It''s not what you think! We¡ªwe''re not engaged. This is all a huge misunderstanding."


    But Kori wasn''t listening. She had leaped back into the air, swirling around Adora and me as though we were the center of a grand festival. It was then that I took the time to really look at them both Kori with her radiant orange aura, Rheala with her near-purple complexion. Together, they were strikingly familiar. Pieces fell into place as I recalled whispered tales of two legendary aspected Champions: the Twins Stars of Life and Death, the Blessed of Heaven and the Cursed of Hell, Guardians and Companions to a very specific royal princess.


    Adora tried to reclaim some semblance of authority, clearing her throat and pulling her shoulders back. "Kori, Rheala," she said, "please just calm down for a second. This is all moving way too fast."


    Rheala crossed her arms, fixing Adora with a level stare. "You know I don''t like repeating myself," she warned, though there was a flicker of concern beneath her bristling demeanor.


    Kori, meanwhile, clapped her hands as if she couldn''t contain her glee. "Don''t you see, Rheala? Adora''s found the man who resonates with her soul. The man, Rheala. Isn''t that what we''d all hoped for?" She spun in midair, shooting me a winsome smile. "You must be delighted, too."


    I swallowed, painfully aware of my outlandish costume and the chaotic swirl of events. "I, um, well," I began, uncertain how to phrase my confusion without insulting Adora or her companions. Everything felt like a stage production that had leaped off the script. Why had I even allowed myself to be in this situation? I avoided getting tangled up in any relationship for this very reason. What was wrong with me?


    Adora raked a hand through her hair, clearly at a loss. "Kori, Rheala, both of you just slowed down. This is John, and yes, we shared mana, but that doesn''t mean¡ª"


    In the high ceiling above us, the mana lamps flickered, casting rippling shadows across the ornate columns. I had the distinct sense that the entire suite was leaning in, as though the very walls wanted to witness whatever revelation was about to unfold. Rheala arched an eyebrow, stepping forward in a graceful, confident stride. She placed a hand on Adora''s shoulder, a mixture of concern and curiosity shining in her gaze.


    "Is he really your soulmate?" she asked softly, her voice holding a trace of reluctance, as though admitting defeat in an argument she and Adora might have had many times before.


    Adora opened her mouth, then closed it, eyes darting to me for support. When words finally came, they were laden with exasperation and truth. "I don''t know what he is," she confessed, "but he''s¡­ kind. And we resonated, yes, but it doesn''t necessarily mean¡ª"


    Kori''s beaming grin faltered for a fraction of a second, but she quickly forced it back into place. "Come on, Adora. This is amazing news! You shouldn''t hide it from us."


    Rheala''s sharp gaze traveled between me and Adora, measuring the tension in the air. Then her demeanor softened, if only a little. "We''ll figure this out," she said at length, turning toward Kori. "But first, let''s not overwhelm him. Can''t you see they''re both about to implode from embarrassment?"


    Kori paused, hugging her own arms as if to contain her overflowing excitement. "Okay," she whispered, floating down until her feet touched the floor with a soft tap. "Sorry. I might''ve gotten a little carried away. It''s just¡­ I''ve waited so long for Adora to find her love."


    The hush that fell among us was almost jarring. The lingering afterglow of mana from Adora''s earlier resonance still shimmered in the air, a faint aura weaving around the four of us. I found myself catching Adora''s eye, offering a small, uncertain smile. She looked relieved that, at least for the moment, the chaos had diminished, if only to a more manageable level.


    "All right," Adora said, taking a deeper breath and straightening her posture. "One step at a time. Kori, Rheala this is¡­ John." She gestured at me, her voice gentler now. "We barely know each other, but he got transported here by accident. We were both stuck in here while you two were going at it, and one thing led to another. That''s it. So please, calm down."


    Kori nodded, though she continued to bounce on her toes, brimming with leftover energy. Rheala merely offered a measured nod, as though inwardly vowing to unravel the mysteries surrounding me later.


    Adora glanced at me again, and I sensed her silent apology for the madness her companions had just unleashed. Despite the confusion, I could still feel the echoes of our shared mana humming along my skin, reminding me that even in the middle of this uproar, there was something very real and undeniably rare between us.


    A sudden notion seemed to flash in Adora''s mind. Her eyes widened, and she swung her gaze toward Kori with a new intensity. "Kori...are you telling me that all those times you begged me to come and ''worship'' with you, you were actually doing...that?" She motioned toward the bedroom door, her tone brimming with accusation and astonishment.


    Kori blinked, her fiery hair swaying around her cheeks as she tilted her head in genuine confusion. "Yes, obviously. How else was I supposed to honor the All-Mother?" She threw her arms out in an exuberant shrug. "All acts of love and pleasure fall within Her divine domain. I''m her avatar on Erda. I''m unsure what else you might have thought I was doing."


    "I assumed you were praying at an altar or maybe meditating quietly like a normal person!" Adora retorted, a hint of exasperation creeping into her voice. "You never said anything specific, just, ''Come worship with me, Adora! It''ll be fun!'' and I was too busy or too tired, so I kept putting it off." Her face crumpled in realization, and she pressed a hand to her forehead. "I''m starting to think I should have asked a few more questions."


    Kori''s brow furrowed, glancing between Adora and Rheala, then back at me, as if seeking support in her befuddlement. "But why would I hide it? The All-Mother blesses any bond that fosters love, joy, and growth. She is the Aspect of Life. You know that''s the core of Her teachings. Why else would I ask you to ''worship'' with us if not to share that type of intimacy? It isn''t exactly a secret, Adora."


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Adora shook her head in a frustrated sigh. "Fine. I guess I can''t completely blame you for...being you," she conceded, though an undercurrent of annoyance lingered in her tone. She shot Kori a half-hearted scowl before turning her attention to Rheala. "But you," she continued, pointing an accusatory finger, "I expected better from you. How long have you been part of this...arrangement? And why didn''t you tell me?"


    Rheala''s posture tensed, but her expression remained guardedly calm. Her near-purple complexion caught the lamplight, highlighting the toned definition of her arms as she folded them across her chest. "I honestly assumed you already knew," she said at length, shrugging with a touch of irony. "It''s not like we were being sneaky. Besides, we''re Companions, remember? People in our position are traditionally supposed to...share each other''s company. Did you think we all slept in the same chamber and bed purely to save money on living quarters?"


    Adora''s cheeks flushed with a mixture of incredulity and embarrassment. She pivoted toward me, her eyes pleading for some kind of solidarity or reassurance. Perhaps she hoped I''d intervene and declare my own confusion. Instead, I offered a slight, sympathetic shrug, letting her know she wasn''t alone in her bafflement.


    Rheala continued, her gaze straying to me, then flicking back to Adora. "Look, it''s not like we throw a festival every night," she remarked dryly, "but it''s not uncommon for us to...enjoy one another''s company when the mood strikes. I''m Deathborn I can''t be with any besides you two or sisters in the order. And to be honest, Adora, you''ve often been so busy or so distracted that we assumed you were simply uninterested." A faint tinge of regret colored her eyes. "We never wanted to push."


    Hugging her own arms, Adora pressed her lips together in an effort to keep her composure. "Well, it''s not that I''m opposed to the idea of worship in general," she said, "I just didn''t realize you were actually, you know¡ª" She gestured vaguely toward the bedroom, her voice trailing off. "And that''s all I''ll say on the matter."


    Kori, whose effervescent mood had dimmed to a gentle simmer, managed a small grin. "Oh, Adora. I didn''t mean to upset you. You know how important the All-Mother''s rites are to me. I wouldn''t have hidden it if I''d known you were this clueless." Her eyes darted to me, then back to Adora. "I mean, you''ve found yourself a wonderful man. Isn''t this proof enough that you, too, believe in the joys of the flesh and the blessings of divine pleasure?"


    Flustered, Adora shot her a glare. "That''s not the point, Kori! This entire conversation is becoming far more public than I''d like." She sighed, raking her hand through her hair. "Anyway, maybe it''s better we just acknowledge it and move on."


    Rheala shifted her weight, glancing to me with a thoughtful expression. "Look, Adora''s always been...private. It''s part of why she never joined us. But we truly thought you were aware on some level." She paused, lips curving into a wry smile. "We sure weren''t subtle about all the ''worship'' going on at night. You had to have heard us eventually...right?"


    Adora blushed furiously, shooting a mortified glance my way as if to say: Help me out here. I understood her discomfort; the whole situation felt uncomfortably intimate, especially with me standing in the middle of it in my outlandish costume. Yet, somehow, I found a small corner of empathy for Kori and Rheala, too. They weren''t trying to mock Adora they just lived in a world where open physical expression was the norm and mistakenly believed Adora was on board.


    Kori piped up, her tone gentler now. "I''m sorry, Adora. I can be a bit...enthusiastic, and maybe I didn''t think about how you''d feel being out of the loop." Her gaze flicked to me, measuring my reaction. "And, well, we didn''t expect you to suddenly bring home a sexy man you resonant with. That''s a huge deal."


    Rheala allowed a slight chuckle. "I can''t deny I''m a bit curious," she admitted, glancing at me. "Our little Adora, all grown up, forging a resonance bond. Who''d have guessed it?" She smirked faintly, then let out a resigned sigh. "But if this is what it looks like, then I guess congratulations are in order. Even if it did catch us off guard."


    Adora bristled at that, her eyes narrowing. "I never said I was forging any kind of permanent bond," she muttered, crossing her arms. "We''re still figuring out what exactly this is." A fleeting look of uncertainty flickered across her face.


    Kori nodded, floating closer again, though her earlier exuberance had softened to a subdued warmth. "Okay, I promise not to shout it from the rooftops, at least until you both decide what you want." She gave Adora a quick, impulsive hug, carefully avoiding the near-stranglehold she had delivered earlier. "I''m really happy for you, though. Whatever happens, it''s clear you found love tonight."


    In the midst of this exchange, I stood quietly, doing my best not to draw unnecessary attention to myself inching towards the teleportation handle. The gentle flicker of mana lamps overhead cast dancing shadows on the gilded walls. The entire scenario felt simultaneously chaotic and oddly intimate, like stepping into a family reunion halfway through the main course, unsure of the unspoken tensions and deep-rooted dynamics at play. One that I had no intention to stick around and see the ending. Why had I taken her hand? I knew better than not to get involved, this was a disature of epic proportions.


    Finally, Rheala let out a long, steadying breath and turned her gaze toward me. "For what it''s worth, I''m sorry if we came on strong. We didn''t mean to hijack your evening," she said in a tone that danced between apology and playful sarcasm. "But if our dear Adora has stumbled upon something or someone that resonates with her, then I''ll support her." Her grin contained a mix of amusement and warning. "Just know that we''ll be watching."


    I froze, mid-step, as the Aspected of Death and Taxes fixed me with a knowing stare, no doubt aware of exactly what I had been planning.


    "And don''t worry," Kori chimed in, nodding emphatically. "We can keep secrets if needed, take care of any pesky sisters or mother, bury any exes." She paused, drifting a few inches off the ground, looking me directly into my eyes. "But I''ll be honest: I don''t know what I would do if someone went and broke your heart, Adora. It''s not every day you find true love, the one who can make your soul sing."


    Adora placed a hand over her eyes, exasperated but still smiling. "Let''s table that death threats, please. I think we''ve reached our quota for the night." She sidled up to me, offering a small, apologetic smile that I met with one of my own.


    With the tension easing, at least marginally, Kori and Rheala exchanged looks, then gave Adora a nod of affirmation, an unspoken promise to respect her wishes.


    I, meanwhile, inwardly wondered if I''d ever see a more unpredictable or overwhelming confluence of events. Just a short while ago, I''d been in a ridiculous costume, planning to serve drinks and maybe earn a bit of extra coin after being assaulted and meeting a friend who was obsessed with me. And now, I was standing in the palace''s most opulent bathroom, entangled with Princess Adora and her two Aspected Companions, after just reaching the third stage and resonating with her.


    A sudden, hollow ache settled in my chest as the realization struck. This was all her fault, wasn''t it? She was the Chosen of Fate, after all. She had said something about Fate handpicking me from her dreams? My thoughts spiraled, and I couldn''t shake the nagging suspicion that every moment of my life every tragedy, every indignity might have been orchestrated by some cosmic puppeteer to land me in this very position. A part of me wanted to scream that this was nothing but a cruel joke: all that pain, my improbable reincarnation just so I could end up as someone''s "fated lover"?


    And then there was Maeriel.


    A chill slithered through my gut, and my heart pounded in my ears at the thought of my self-proclaimed mother. What in the would she do once the news reached her ears? You don''t earn the moniker "the Bloodsoaked" by being patient and measured. If she discovered that I''d gotten tangled up with the Chosen of Fate, if she so much as suspected I was stumbling toward a destiny crafted by the very hand of cosmic forces she despised, her reaction could be disastrous.


    And that was without even factoring in the trio now standing before me. Adora and her two fiercely loyal Companions, all dedicated to wiping out the last vestiges of High Elven influence. What would they do if they learned I was connected to Maeriel one of the most infamous High Elves the world had ever known?


    My breath hitched as the flicker of lamps cast shadows dancing on the gilded walls. What will become of me, I wondered, if they discover the truth about my adoptive mother? Adora''s bright gaze, Kori''s buoyant aura, Rheala''s calculating intensity none of them had any idea who Maeriel was, or what she was capable of. But they would find out, inevitably. And when they do¡­


    I was totally and utterly fucked.


    <hr>


    Codex


    Companions Report Returned Marked Redo by <s>Smeele Maisnuff </s>Stephanie Madox


    So, once upon a time, Alexandria the Great, basically the baddest bitch to ever live, decided to stomp across half the planet just to rescue her main squeeze from the evil clutches of the Dragon Empress, from the Zodiacs or whatever. After her globe-trotting asskicking trip, Alexandria was like, ''Gotta keep my boo safe,'' so she started a girl gang called the Companions. This squad was all about being fierce fighters, nerd supreme, genius planners, and dusty old book hoarders. Their job? Keep the kingdom chill and the royal couple safe from drama.


    As time zipped by, this whole ''have a posse'' thing became the hottest trend. Nobles were fed up with fighting over who gets the crown and who has to share a hubby with their blood sisters yeah, that was a thing. So, they decided to get their heirs their own crews of VIP daughters from other bigwig families. It was like, ''You scratch my back with your daughter, and I''ll scratch yours with mine.'' They shared everything: power, fortunes, each other and yes, husbands (lucky girls!). This whole buddy system spiraled into a fancy network called the Circles of Companionships, where everyone was linked up like a medieval social network.


    This system evolved into what''s now known as the sisterhoods of choice. What the Aspects intended for gals you know. Groups of women teaming up to marry a dude like an adventuring party going permanent. Unlike those Eastern Erda folks with their family clan, incest loving weirdos. Western Erda knows the buzz is all about sisterhoods made up of your crew. Thanks to Alexandria''s big brain move, political alliances were a breeze, and everyone mostly got along in their Companionships setups. Pretty slick, right?

 Chapter 3.7

    A wave of panic washed over me, as if my entire being were poised on the edge of flight. My thoughts spiraled downward, weighed by a flood of anxieties I could barely name, and my body felt coiled like a spring ready to snap. Everything was too much there were too many revelations, too many voices clamoring for attention, and the looming shadow of my past pressed against the edges of my mind. Worst of all were the dark memories that flickered behind my eyes, reminding me of an old, unhealed wound.


    Suddenly, I was no longer in that ornate palace restroom. Instead, my memory yanked me back into a different room entirely, one where I knelt on a cold floor, cradling a lifeless body. Its eyes stared emptily, and I remembered the promise I''d failed to keep. My heart lurched, and the moment felt so vivid that I could almost smell the stale air of that place, could nearly taste the bitterness of my own regret. The recollection tore at my composure, leaving me trembling.


    Then Adora''s voice cut through the haze like a lantern in the darkness. "Kori, Rheala," she said, her tone firm but laced with concern, "I need to speak with John alone for a moment. You two should stay here and finish preparing for tonight."


    A momentary flicker of surprise crossed Kori''s and Rheala''s features, but they nodded in unison, responding with the quiet deference due to their lady. "Of course, my lady," they said, voices pitched in the same respectful cadence. While still radiating curiosity, neither pressed for an explanation, giving me a tiny pocket of relief.


    Adora turned her eyes toward me, assessing my tense posture. Her look was gentle but resolute, like someone determined to help a frightened animal without causing it to bolt. "Come with me," she murmured, nodding toward the door that led to the adjoining room her companions had vacated not long ago.


    My pulse still drummed in my ears, but something about her calm beckoning disarmed me. Nodding jerkily, I allowed her to guide me across the threshold. The transition felt abrupt: on one side lay Kori''s and Rheala''s menacing presence, while on the other was a quieter space that smelled faintly of lingering candlewax and spent mana.


    Inside, the room was elegant, as everything in the palace seemed to be. Rich tapestries depicting pastoral scenes hung from the walls, and a handful of crystal lamps glowed softly, casting dappled light across plush carpets. Yet, despite the finery, it felt oddly temporary like a lavish guest suite intended for short stays rather than a beloved personal haven. The bed was massive, its sheets rumpled and askew, and the faint musk in the air suggested recent activities that were none of my business. Several pillows lay strewn about, as if tossed aside in a rush of passion or excitement.


    Adora closed the door behind us with a quiet click, then stood there, letting the hush settle. For a moment, neither of us spoke. I could still feel a tremor in my hands, the ghost of that terrible memory clinging like cobwebs around my thoughts. Adora observed me with a concerned frown, stepping nearer with careful deliberation.


    "John," she said softly, "you looked like you were about to bolt back there. Is¡­is everything all right?"


    I swallowed, unable to form an immediate reply. How could I begin to explain the torrent of fear and shame roiling inside me? In the silence, my gaze darted around the room, noting the intricate carvings on the furniture and the gold-thread embroidery on the curtains trying to anchor myself in the physical details, anything to keep from drowning in my own mind.


    She took another step forward, close enough that I could catch the subtle fragrance of her hair¡ªsome floral shampoo, perhaps¡ªand placed a gentle hand on my arm. Her expression softened, eyes carrying a blend of empathy and earnestness. "You can talk to me," she said. "I know it''s been¡­overwhelming. Kori and Rheala can be a lot to handle."


    I forced a breath into my lungs, exhaling a shaky sigh. "It''s not just them," I managed, voice strained. "There''s¡­there''s so much on my mind. And I''m not sure how to handle all of this." My words felt inadequate, but it was a start.


    Adora guided me a few steps farther into the suite, away from the door. She gestured at a small chaise near one wall a piece of furniture draped with velvety throws in pale gold. "Sit with me?" she offered. "We need to talk. Or not, if you''d rather just breathe for a minute."


    Her kindness tugged at some tender part of me, and I nodded again, letting her steer me toward the chaise. As I sat, I caught another whiff of that lingering musk from earlier. My cheeks burned with a strange mixture of embarrassment and envy I couldn''t help imagining Kori and Rheala in this very space, losing themselves in each other''s warmth. But I pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the present moment.


    We settled in, and Adora angled herself slightly to face me. "You don''t have to explain everything," she murmured, her voice low to preserve the fragile sense of privacy we''d claimed. "I just want to make sure you''re not¡­ being overwhelmed."


    Adora hesitated, eyes flicking across my features as if she''d spotted something in my expression some hidden nuance that compelled her to speak. When she finally began, her voice was low and tremulous, yet underscored by a quiet resolve that hinted at years of pent-up yearning.


    "John," she said softly, after we silently sat there for a long moment. She inhaled sharply, as though gathering her courage, then continued in a measured tone. "When I was younger, I was the black sheep of my family. It wasn''t that I was unwanted, but more that my mother had me by the numbers. She was forty-third in line and was not expected to produce heirs at her age, so once I was born, she didn''t live long. I didn''t have sisters to play with, only a multitude of cousins who never really wanted me around. I was this odd, solitary girl, already set apart from them by rank and birthright."


    Her gaze dropped for an instant, perhaps recalling the loneliness of those days. Then she swallowed, forcing a small, wry smile. "None of my cousins cared much for me, except one person: the prince. He was my first real friend, and, well, my first crush. He was also the first man I ever met who didn''t treat me like an inconvenience. Instead, he would listen to me¡ªmy wild ideas, my daydreams, the silly pretend games I wanted to play. I cherished every moment I spent with him."


    She paused, mouth tightening, her eyes reflecting an ache she''d clearly carried for too long. "He died, you know¡ªalongside so many others of my generation¡ªwhen the royal estate fell during the incursion. I survived because¡­well, I became the ''Chosen''. My entire life changed overnight. All the gentle dreams I''d once imagined for myself disintegrated in the face of duty."


    For a moment, her composure wavered. She swallowed hard, then pushed on, voice quivering with emotion. "But I always wondered¡ªwhat if he''d lived? What if we''d had the chance to grow up together, to see whether that childish infatuation could become something real? I spent countless nights imagining the future we''d never share. And now here you stand, John. You''re not him, but you remind me so strongly of what I dreamt he might have become if he''d been spared. There''s a warmth, a compassion, a steadfastness in you that I used to invent in my mind whenever I missed him."


    Her cheeks flushed, and for a heartbeat, she looked self-conscious, as though doubting the wisdom of laying herself bare. Yet she took a steadying breath and pressed on. "I know it''s a bit unusual for a woman like me¡ªespecially one of my station¡ªto be a romantic at heart, but I can''t change who I am. I am a romantic. I''ve always wanted to find the man of my dreams, to forge a bond so deep that it envelops body and soul. If the Aspects smiled on us, maybe even resonate with him, share mana in a way that''s so rare and special. And then¡­here you are. I barely know you, and yet it feels like you''ve stepped right out of those long-held fantasies."


    She lifted her gaze to meet mine, a tentative hope shining beneath her apprehension. "I realize this is a lot, and I''m not asking you to promise your life to me on the spot. But¡­I do want you, John. Your kindness, your strength, your flaws¡ªall of it. You must think I sound reckless, like Alexandria the Great chasing after a man she''d known for only one fateful night. But now I finally understand why she risked it all. Sometimes, the heart recognizes what it wants before the mind can rationalize it away."


    Her voice grew steadier, conviction threading through her words. "I''m willing to do whatever it takes to be with you. To claim this chance at happiness the moment Fate has provided me. There''s no pressure, I promise. It''s your choice. But I have to say it out loud: I want you, John. In every sense of the word."


    She let the admission hang in the air, and for a few seconds, the only sounds were our breathing and the distant hum of palace life outside. Then she added, quieter, more vulnerable, "Please¡­tell me you''ll at least think about it."


    Her gaze held mine, the depth of her emotions evident in every tremor of her voice. For all her poise and training, she was just a woman standing on the precipice of hope¡ªhoping, perhaps, that I might take her hand and join her there.


    A subtle realization flickered in my mind as I gazed at her a moment of unspoken clarity that made everything fall into place. This was why I felt so at ease with her, why I''d been so drawn to her, why I''d allowed myself to confide in her and reach out for her comfort. In one instant, I understood: she reminded me of my wife from my past life as I reminded her of her lost love.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Not in her appearance, my wife had been a stout woman with soft freckles dotting her cheeks, a few extra pounds around her middle, and the sort of haircut that was always slightly tousled. But in spirit, in the way she spoke, in the underlying kindness and quiet strength that marked her every move, Adora was uncannily similar.


    I''d tried not to dwell on memories of my wife. It hurt too much; we''d spent years by each other''s side, weathering hardships as our world slowly teetered toward collapse. Together, we had navigated the everyday challenges of raising a family, juggling finances, and supporting one another through sleepless nights and days filled with mounting anxieties. Amid that tumult, our love had been the steady anchor¡ªthe safe harbor I relied on whenever my worries threatened to overwhelm me. Losing her had felt like having a piece of my soul torn away, an ache that never truly faded.


    And yet, in ways both quiet and profound, Adora unconsciously filled that void. I could see my wife''s warmth in her gentle smiles, sense her earnestness in the way Adora reached out without hesitation when she sensed my distress. The way Adora carried herself, a blend of gentle authority and underlying grace, echoed the same calm resolve that my wife had shown when life''s challenges pressed down on us. It was nothing as simple as identical gestures or similar physical traits; rather, it was the essence of who they both were: loyal, empathetic, and fiercely determined.


    The moment this realization surfaced, my heart tightened. I recalled the hushed moments from my old life: the two of us cooking in a cramped kitchen, her hands flour-dusted as she tried to teach our youngest how to knead dough. The long nights spent planning for a future we weren''t sure existed, curling up together on a battered sofa. The swelling grief of that final goodbye as she held me as I died. Memories like these hovered at the edges of my consciousness, ever-present yet tender and raw. Never fading.


    Now, here was Adora, unknowingly slipping into a role that had once belonged to my wife. It seemed she had slotted herself into that vast emptiness in my life without me realizing it. My chest ached at the realization that, while I would never forget or replace my wife, a piece of me had instinctively clung to Adora''s familiar spirit her quiet encouragement, her unwavering concern, her capable strength. That was what made me instinctively gravitate toward her, even when part of me screamed to keep my distance.


    Guilt mingled with self hatred. Did it dishonor my wife''s memory to let myself be drawn to Adora''s? Or was this an echo of the grace my wife had always shown me, nudging me to find solace and comfort instead of wallowing in the safety in loneliness? The questions tumbled through my mind, tangling with the longing I still felt for a life that was gone, yet I couldn''t deny that Adora''s presence brought a semblance of calm to my turbulent heart. Or was this Fate at work clouding my mind, making me see what she wanted me to?


    My voice came out hoarse, trembling with a weight I could scarcely name. "Adora," I began, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat, "you need to understand¡ªI''m broken. I might not look it, I might not act like it all the time, but¡­I''m just a shadow, moving through this world."


    Adora''s eyes widened slightly, concern rushing into them like a flood. She stepped closer, her posture radiating a protective urge. "Then let me help you," she murmured, earnestness thrumming beneath her words. "I''ll do anything I can. Whatever you need me to be¡ªwhatever you need me to do¡ªjust say the word."


    For a long moment, I stood there, wrestling with my own warring emotions. Tell her, my mind urged, but the sheer vulnerability required felt like it would flay me raw. Finally, I exhaled shakily and forced myself to continue. "Adora, listen. I''m¡­an emancipated man." The term hovered in the air between us like a shield I was too ashamed to lower. "And I didn''t get that status as a gift from wealthy parents, or by earning it as a favor from someone powerful. I''m only free because of the Anthos Mandate¡ªan amnesty that was granted¡­after a lifetime of captivity and¡ª"


    I paused, my heart thudding like a drum in my chest. The darkest truth of all the piece I couldn''t force across my lips pressed at the edges of my thoughts, threatening to unravel me. Memories surged in quick, brutal flashes of my time in the Black Queens Court. Years of relentless abuse, the calculated destruction of my will through mental manipulation, forced domination of mind, and the vicious punishments that descended at any sign of resistance. Over time, my battered body learned to crave the warped relief being repeatedly raped offered, the only release I''d known in the midst of my despair. Then there was the final horror¡ªthe mercy killing I carried out, which chained me to remorse and sealed my fate. The milker came after, and all those years of suffering paled in comparison to a single day, a single hour, in that cursed machine. Even death wasn''t an escape. I don''t know how many times I died, and my soul was forcibly dragged back, before Maeriel had saved me.


    She searched my face, my brow furrowing. "It doesn''t matter," she whispered, as though sensing the gravity in my unfinished sentence. She laid a gentle hand on my arm, her touch almost reverent. "You shouldn''t have had to fight for something that should have been yours by right. A person''s freedom¡­ it isn''t something others can dangle like a prize."


    My chest tightened, the storm of old memories clashing with the fragile reassurance in her words. "It was never a prize," I managed, my voice catching. "It was a crumpled piece of paper that said I was no longer property. That''s what it meant for me, Adora. Not a ceremony, not a blessing¡ªbut a grudging acceptance that I''d been through enough, so now they''d let me walk away. I am damaged goods; someone like you can''t be with someone like me."


    She closed her eyes briefly, as though absorbing the shock of my confession. Then, letting out a breath, she squeezed my arm more firmly. "Then let me help you," she said again, her voice low but unwavering. "If there''s anything I can do¡ªanything at all to ease that burden¡ªtell me. I can''t erase what happened, but maybe I can help you find a way forward."


    The tenderness in her offer nearly unraveled me. Part of me wanted to push her away, to hold onto the walls that had served as my protection for so long. Yet another part¡ªone that longed for hope¡ªurged me to trust her, if only for a moment. "I''ve never talked about it," I admitted, pressing a hand to my sternum where I could feel my heart''s unsteady rhythm. "And I''m still not ready to share all the details. But I¡­I appreciate your kindness more than you know."


    She nodded in silent understanding. "Take your time," she whispered. "I''m not going anywhere." Her gentle conviction washed over me, offering an anchor I had never expected.


    For a few precious beats, neither of us said a word. The hush felt strangely serene, like a chance to breathe in this chaotic tapestry of duties, expectations, and half-buried traumas. At length, I mustered a weary smile, though it trembled at the corners.


    "Adora," I murmured, "thank you."


    Her eyes shone with compassion, and when she spoke, her voice was like a soft pledge. "You''ve had to rely on yourself for too long, haven''t you? Let me be someone you can lean on¡ªfor as long as you need."


    A knot formed in my throat, and I simply nodded, letting her see the gratitude that my words couldn''t convey. She responded with the faintest curl of her lips, almost a private smile meant just for me. In that instant, it felt as if a fragment of the broken piece inside me might finally catch a glimmer of light, guided by her quiet resolve to see me whole.


    <hr>


    Codex


    Public Notice: WANTED: Information Leading to the Elimination of the "Black Queen"


    The Alliance of Nations Global Security Council is issuing a call for assistance to all Kindred in the pursuit of justice against one of the world''s most nefarious criminals, known only as the "Black Queen." This individual, a high elf of considerable cunning and malevolence, is the mastermind behind the largest and most ruthless slaving operation in the known world.


    The Black Queen has eluded killing for millennium, building an underground empire that thrives on the misery of others. Her organization deals in the illegal trafficking of individuals, coercing them into servitude through fear, violence, and mental domination. Known for her cold-hearted strategies and amoral practices, the Black Queen''s influence extends across borders, making her a top priority for law enforcement globally.


    A substantial reward is offered for any information that directly leads to the killing or neutralization of the Black Queen. The exact amount will be disclosed upon the verification of the information provided, but be assured, it reflects the severity and urgency with which we seek to dismantle her operations.


    We understand the risks involved in standing against such a powerful adversary. Measures are in place to ensure the safety and confidentiality of all informants. Your courage in coming forward can help end a reign of terror and save countless lives.


    We urge anyone with information, no matter how small it may seem, to contribute to this cause. Together, we can bring about the downfall of this criminal empire and restore peace and justice.

 Interludes 1.1

    Mabbs stood in the dimly lit office, her whiskers twitching with frustration. The mousekin scrolled through screen after screen of incriminating data on her Link, cheeks flushed with a blend of anger and disbelief. "We need to advise the Governor-General to cancel the gala," she declared, her voice carrying through the cramped workspace. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, exhaustion evident in every gesture. Only a few hours had passed since their hastily assembled forensic team began sifting through Bannerlady Tomae''s files, but they''d already discovered a mountain of evidence¡ªyears'' worth of carefully orchestrated bribes and abuses of power. And this was only the tip of the iceberg.


    She glanced around at the improvised command center¡ªlittle more than a converted storage room crammed with links, flashing monitors, and half-empty coffee Kava. The tension in the air matched her grim determination. When her boss responded with a noncommittal grunt, Mabbs let out a quiet sigh. Of course Lotha would brush it off. That was how things usually went: Lotha excelled at front-line operations, recognized by many as the greatest Commandant in generations. In battle, she could rally troops as though she embodied the Aspect of War herself, unleashing havoc on enemy lines. However, the intricacies of paperwork, protocol, and administrative vigilance were far from her strengths.


    In truth, Mabbs both admired and resented Lotha. How could a woman so lethally efficient on the battlefield be so oblivious to the bureaucratic nightmare swirling around them? She''d seen Lotha single-handedly turn the tide of entire skirmishes, yet here in this office setting, the Commandant seemed more inclined to daydream than to sign critical documents or interrogate suspects. It fell to Mabbs and her small team to shoulder that burden¡ªan assignment that had already scared off five previous recruits. Being Lotha''s adjunct was a career-altering position, but one that sometimes drove Mabbs to fantasize about abandoning her Link and running for the hills.


    Straightening her Link with a frustrated twitch of her tail, Mabbs pressed on. "Look, we need to scrap the gala entirely. The palace''s security is compromised in ways we never anticipated. Tomae was apparently four fingers deep with the Black Queen''s Court. It''s the height of Yuletide, so authorized mind mages are scarce. We can''t even do thorough mental checks on the staff, and thousands of guests are already flooding the city."


    Lotha, a tall and imposing figure clad in partial Dragoon armor, tilted her head thoughtfully. Mabbs could almost see the Commandant''s mind drifting elsewhere, but at least she was making an effort to listen. "Do you think he''d like it," Lotha asked in a low voice, "if I brought him a war trophy?" Her tone was almost wistful¡ªan unexpected softness creeping in.


    Mabbs tried, with limited success, to mask her irritation. Here we go again. The mousekin felt a headache looming behind her eyes. That was the other thing about Lotha: for all her prowess in commanding armies, she became hopelessly tongue-tied and scatterbrained the moment a cute man entered the picture. Mabbs had watched it happen too many times before¡ªwitnessing the formidable Commandant reduced to the demeanor of a starry-eyed schoolgirl with her first crush. And now it was happening yet again, all because of John¡ªthe captivating, quietly affable man with an impressively toned figure and tightest ass she had ever seen.


    Except Lotha''s fascination with John wasn''t merely distracting her. It was derailing their entire operation. Instead of charging down corrupt officials who had allowed Tomae''s abuses to go unreported for so long, Lotha seemed preoccupied by the memory of a brief conversation and rescue she''d had with John. In her imagination, Mabbs suspected, Lotha was practically engaged to him already.


    The mousekin rubbed her temples, trying to rein in her frustration. "Commandant," she started, striving for calm professionalism, "maybe focus on the bigger issue at hand? We have a thorough security breach, and Tomae''s connections run deeper than we ever guessed. Our intelligence reports suggest a potential infiltration from multiple factions, and we''re short-staffed. It''s not safe to hold a large-scale event under these conditions."


    But Lotha just brushed off the concern with an absent nod. "We can''t simply call off the entire Yuletide gala," she said. "It''s a major statement to our allies. The nobility would riot if we canceled. Besides¡­" Her voice trailed off, and a faint smile touched her lips¡ªno doubt recalling the moment John had addressed her as a friend. She tapped a gauntleted finger against her chin, lost in thought. "Besides, if I pulled it off¡ªif the gala goes smoothly¡ªI wonder if John would be impressed by the venue I moved them to."


    Mabbs bit back the urge to groan audibly. Impressed? The mousekin yearned to remind her boss that what she knew of John meant he was hardly the kind of person swayed by grand displays or political maneuvers. Yet, she recognized Lotha''s starstruck bubble would be difficult to burst. With a sigh, she looked back down at her Link, verifying another damning record from Tomae''s seized data.


    Eventually, Mabbs risked a glance at Lotha. "We can''t keep deferring these decisions," she said, voice tight. "Lives are on the line. We need to deploy resources properly, tighten security, maybe even impose travel checks on all entry points to the palace. That''s going to require a direct order from Governor-General "


    "Right," Lotha answered distractedly, flicking away an imaginary speck of dust on her armor. "I''ll handle it. Soon." But her mind was evidently elsewhere, locked on daydreams of John.


    Inwardly, Mabbs cursed the stroke of fate that had placed her under Lotha''s command. It''s not like I hate her, she reminded herself. She can be heroic, fearless, a force of nature. But dear heavens, was she incompetent outside of a battlefield context. Already, the mousekin felt the slow throb of another headache building behind her eyes.


    "All right, I''ll draft some security directives, try to call in more reinforcements," Mabbs muttered, typing furiously on her Link. "And maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªif we''re lucky, we''ll contain this fiasco before it erupts into a full-blown crisis." She cast a final glance in Lotha''s direction, catching the Commandant''s faraway look. I suppose I''ll also have to pray that your fantasies about that man don''t derail us any further, she added silently.


    As she turned to leave, Mabbs resolved to keep pressing forward, chasing down every last shred of Tomae''s hidden treacheries. If Lotha would only snap out of her starry-eyed reverie, the Dragoons might actually stand a chance of securing the palace. But as of now, it fell to Mabbs to keep everyone on track¡ªand she had no illusions about how tall an order that truly was.


    <hr>


    Taimi stood at her cluttered workbench, the faint hum of mana crystals filling the air as she carefully rearranged a set of intricate tools. A bright, excited gleam shone in her eyes. Even now, she couldn''t help replaying her brief encounter with John in her mind well, not entirely her mind. More accurately, it was a bustling orchestra of thoughts: eight separate tracks of mental energy, all running parallel, all fervently analyzing different facets of her day.


    "Only five of them are devoted to John," she muttered, smirking to herself. "That''s almost half. Progress, right?"


    She allowed herself a quick, proud grin as she broke down the mental threads, ticking them off on her small, nimble fingers. One track focused on replaying every word John had spoken, dissecting his phrasing and subtle nuances. A second track lingered on the subtle warmth of his scent faint but impossible to forget. A third was busy plotting the "stages of her plan" for how she''d foster a healthy relationship with him without overwhelming him. The fourth was brainstorming an elegant approach for tonight''s upcoming gala, determining exactly how she''d catch him at the right moment to talk further. And the fifth¡­


    Taimi sighed, shaking her head at the last mental thread. It was a persistent daydreamy swirl of adrenaline and infatuation, some half-formed fantasy about sharing an especially affectionate moment with John. She suspected it would linger there¡ªlike white noise in the back of her mind¡ªuntil she had a more vivid memory of him to cling to. With a flick of her wrist, she dismissed her wandering thoughts (or at least tried to).


    "There''s more to life than daydreaming," she reminded herself, pressing a fingertip to the polished surface of a mech panel. Her other three mental patterns were devoted to something equally thrilling: the finishing touches on her masterpiece. After eight long years, she was about to graduate from a mere journeyman of the Gnomish Circle to a full-fledged master. Tradition insisted on a minimum eight-year apprenticeship, though Taimi privately believed the world would advance faster if the old biddies in the Circle weren''t so married to their ways. Centuries of life tended to breed an aversion to change, in Taimi''s opinion.


    She gave a derisive huff at that thought, recalling her earliest days in the workshop, bouncing from one craft bench to another, full of questions and half-finished prototypes. So many of the elders¡ªlong-lived, comfortably entrenched in routine¡ªhad scolded her for wanting to create something truly new instead of refining what had already been done a thousand times over. But Taimi refused to be boxed in. Her masterwork was tangible proof of that.


    She took a few steps back, admiring the enormous frame that loomed in the corner of her workshop. This would be the first Gnomish Champion something never before seen among her Kin. Normally, only the larger Kindred had enough raw magical power to become Champions, but Taimi knew there was more than one way to rule a battlefield.


    "If you can''t out-muscle your opponent," she liked to say, "then out-blast them."


    Her contraption¡ªa massive, mana-driven mech suit¡ªsat there like a sleeping giant, its metallic limbs folded in on themselves. She''d outfitted it with twelve cannons, four fully-articulated arms, a collapsible sword (because, of course, it needed a sword), jetpack thrusters, grappling lines, spiked armor plating, and anything else she could cram into its robust frame. All of it would be piloted by her advanced technomantic rig. This was her new frontier¡ªa machine that could channel enough explosive force to rival any Champion''s superhuman strength.


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    Taimi walked up to the suit, running a hand over the cold metal. She couldn''t help the surge of pride, feeling how the plating seemed to vibrate with the possibility of future glory. "The design might be a little¡­ over the top," she admitted with a grin, "but subtlety was never my strong suit."


    Still, the best part? She planned to showcase it tonight¡ªnot just to the Gnomish Circle but also to John. Her heart gave a little flip at the idea, and she felt her cheeks warm. "I wonder what he''ll think," she whispered. "Will he be impressed? Amused? Maybe he''ll think I''m insane¡ªbut in a fun way, hopefully."


    A gentle beep from a console at her side drew her attention. She hopped over, checking the readouts. Perfect. All systems were stable. She triggered a small test spark, and the machine emitted a soft whir, cannon joints shifting into place. Taimi''s stomach fluttered with excitement. It''s finally real.


    She stepped back, dusting her hands off on her patched jumpsuit, eyes dancing with delight. Her mind soared through countless future scenarios: the unveiling in front of the stoic Gnomish masters who had doubted her; the crowd''s reaction as she demonstrated the mech''s might; and, of course, John''s eyes widening, possibly following with that endearing half-smile he gave when something took him by surprise.


    "Focus, Taimi, focus," she reminded herself, pressing her palms against her cheeks. If she didn''t keep a lid on her daydreaming, she''d never get any of the fine-tuning done. She still had to calibrate the thrusters, realign the grapplers, and run a final test on the internal mana channels. There was a lot to tackle¡ªand the night''s festivities were on the horizon.


    But Taimi felt unstoppable now. Yes, five of her eight mental processes were devoted to analyzing everything about John, but three more were humming away at the mechanical tasks. She liked that ratio¡ªa sign of a balanced mind, or so she told herself.


    Leaning in, she gave the mech''s plating a final affectionate pat. "Soon," she said, speaking as though it could hear her. "Soon, we show everyone what a gnome can do. And hopefully,"¡ªshe paused, a ghost of a smile drifting across her lips¡ª"we show John, too."


    She resumed her work, attaching a polished gear into place and quietly humming tune John had taught her under her breath. The lab around her was a tapestry of half-finished inventions, curled blueprints, and arcane diagrams. She wove through it all with determined grace, every movement charged with the energy of someone on the brink of a lifelong dream. Outside, the hum of the city''s Yuletide preparations thrummed through the evening. Inside, Taimi''s heart pounded with the eagerness of a gnome determined to shape destiny¡ªboth for her people and, if luck had any kindness in store, for a man who might finally see her for who she truly was.


    <hr>


    "You really shouldn''t be eavesdropping on them, you know." Rheala''s voice carried a hint of reproach, though her tone was more resigned than scolding. The tall, purple-skinned woman stood near the center of the corridor, her posture poised yet wary, as though perpetually on guard for unseen threats. "Adora needs her privacy."


    Kori, however, seemed unfazed by this gentle admonition. She had her ear pressed firmly against a gilded wooden door, straining to catch every murmur from inside. Her vibrant orange hair glowed under the corridor''s softly lit lanterns, and her golden eyes sparkled with mischief.


    "How can you be so calm?" Kori whispered, flicking her gaze toward Rheala before returning her attention to the muffled voices within. "She''s finally found a man! Do you know how many handsome, strapping lads I introduced her to over the years, and she showed about as much interest in them as in a bucket of lard?"


    Rheala shrugged. Her armor¡ªblack leather reinforced with ornate silver filigree¡ªreflected the corridor''s flickering light. "Yes, well, maybe that''s because your taste in men is downright dreadful," she replied dryly. "You seem to think that all a man needs is a large, ahem, endowment to make a woman happy."


    Kori smirked, pressing her ear even closer to the door. "Hah! You''re not wrong that it''d make me happy."


    Rheala exhaled slowly, raking a gloved hand through her violet-tinged hair. She had come to cherish her companion in the years they''d served Adora, even if Kori epitomized the living embodiment of everything Rheala was not. They were total opposites: Kori radiated warmth and life, brimming with touchy-feely enthusiasm. Rheala was Deathborn¡ªher affinity bound to the Aspect of Death and Taxes¡ªand she had spent her existence learning to measure every interaction, wary that one wrong touch could drain the vitality from a non-Aspected person. The only people safe from her lethal aura were those blessed by strong aspects, like Kori or Adora.


    Had it not been for their respective Aspect ordering them to be Adora''s Companion, Rheala doubted she would ever have crossed paths with Kori. Let alone become her...lover, if that was the right term. Over time, their differences had somehow forged a surprisingly intimate bond; she was literally sworn to the Aspect of Death and Taxes, while Kori''s nature was tethered to the All-Mother''s Aspect of Life and Motherhood sex-centric worship. They shouldn''t have mixed, but fate had tied them together with Adora at the center.


    "Look," Rheala said, keeping her voice low as she approached Kori. "I know you''ve been waiting to ''get some'' for an eternity and a half, and that part of you is excited beyond reason that Adora might have found a man to share. I get it¡ªI do. But we can''t just rush headlong into this. We don''t even know who he is yet."


    Kori pulled her ear away from the door long enough to roll her eyes. "He''s John, that''s who. You saw him¡ªadorable, polite, seems to have that lost-puppy thing going on that makes you want to cuddle him. Maybe show him a good time." She shot Rheala a meaningful grin, which was answered with a stoic, unimpressed glare.


    "What if he''s an assassin?" Rheala pointed out, crossing her arms. "Or some honeypot deployed by our enemies to worm his way into Adora''s circle? I can''t ignore the possibility¡ªwe can''t ignore it. Her security comes first."


    Kori sighed, adjusting the straps on her green-and-gold robes. "You never trust anyone new. Besides, if he tried anything, we''d spot it in a heartbeat, and you''d probably suck the life out of him before he could draw a blade. Right?" she teased, though there was truth in her statement.


    Rheala answered with a brief nod, acknowledging her companion''s words. "I would, if necessary. But that doesn''t mean we can be lax." She cast a wary glance at the door, as though expecting it to swing open at any moment. "It''s just that Adora''s feelings can make her vulnerable. The moment she grows attached, she might ignore her instincts¡ªand that can be fatal."


    Kori reached out and gently touched Rheala''s arm, her earlier smugness giving way to concern. "I''m not blind to that, okay?" she whispered. "I just¡­ I want Adora to be happy. Doesn''t she deserve it, after everything she''s gone through? Being the Chosen is a heavy burden¡ªshe''s been so lonely, even if she puts on a brave face."


    Rheala nodded slowly, recalling Adora''s many sacrifices, the late-night strategy sessions, and the weight of endless responsibilities on her shoulders. "She does deserve happiness," she murmured. "But I''ll be on high alert until I''m sure John isn''t a threat. Someone has to be the cautious one."


    Kori cast a final, longing look at the door. "Fine. But if you overhear anything juicy, you''d better share."


    Rheala quirked an eyebrow. "Share what, exactly?" she inquired, already suspecting Kori''s response.


    "I dunno," Kori said, tossing back her orange hair with a mischievous shrug. "Maybe the sweet nothings they whisper, or Adora''s first real confession of love. If it''s adorable, I want to hear about it."


    Stepping away from the door, Kori fluttered a little in midair¡ªher ability to hover a constant reminder of her life-aspected heritage. Rheala nearly snorted, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite herself. This woman is impossible, she thought, yet she couldn''t deny that Kori''s enthusiasm had a way of warming even her own grim spirit.


    Rheala exhaled, feeling the flicker of protective instincts surge anew. "You''d better keep your hands to yourself for now," she warned, stepping away from Kori. "I doubt Adora will appreciate you barging in on her private talk with John just because you''re curious. And I''m not sure I want the two of us playing mediator if the poor guy has no idea what''s going on."


    Kori feigned innocence. "Me? Never! I''m just making sure she doesn''t need backup." But the playful sparkle in her eyes betrayed her.


    Rolling her gaze to the ceiling in mild exasperation, Rheala gestured down the hall. "Come on. We should at least pretend to follow Adora''s instructions and¡ªoh, I don''t know¡ªprepare for tonight. I doubt she''ll be happy if we''re just loitering eavesdropping."


    Kori gave an exaggerated sigh and lowered herself to the ground, letting her heels touch the polished marble. "Fine," she relented. "But if they so much as whisper something scandalous, I''m getting my ear back on that door."


    Rheala answered with a mock sternness. "I''ll drag you away by the collar if you do, so don''t test me."


    For now, Adora could have her private moment with John. But the day would come¡ªand likely sooner rather than later¡ªwhen all three of them would have to confront the reality of adding John to their lives. And if Kori''s grin was any indication, she was already looking forward to it. Meanwhile, Rheala braced herself for the complicated tangle of emotions yet to unfold, convinced that caution was still the wisest path.

 Interludes 1.2

    Dagna stood beside a newly erected row of barrels near the grand beer hall''s makeshift bar, her feet tapping an impatient rhythm on the polished marble floor. She''d been waiting for John to teleport back for what felt like half an hour, even though he''d promised he''d be "just a few minutes" applying his makeup. As the seconds stretched into minutes¡ªand the minutes into nearly an hour¡ªher eyes drifted toward the ornate clock on the far wall. The dwarven woman couldn''t help rolling her eyes.


    When the flash of teleportation finally lit the space, John emerged with the faint shimmer of displaced mana still clinging to him. He looked¡­impressively done up, the subtle men''s cosmetics accentuating his face more than she expected. But Dagna was not about to show her surprise.


    "Well, you sure took your sweet time," she drawled, arms folded and one eyebrow arched. "Some men swear they can do makeup in five minutes, yet somehow I''m here, nearly eighty minutes later. Care to explain yourself?"


    John shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I was busy making out with the princess," he joked, trying to feign a casual tone.


    Dagna let out a short bark of laughter. "Right," she said with mock seriousness. "And while you were conquering the Chosen, I was entertaining all the princes of the Holds." She shook her head, the braids in her amber-colored hair swaying. "Give me a break, John. I''ve known you for years¡ªif you actually kissed anyone, let alone a princess, you''d be in a completely different mood. More starry-eyed dread, less exasperated."


    John snorted in mild amusement, running a quick hand through his newly styled hair. The mirror-sheen vest and ostentatious belt buckle he wore glinted in the beer hall''s ambient light, making him stand out against the wood and brass backdrop. "Well, I can''t help it if you refuse to believe my gallant escapades," he bantered playing the part of the dandy he was dressed as. "Your loss."


    Dagna tapped her foot again and gave him an assessing once-over. She''d worked alongside John for years and knew he was far from the clueless hunk most mistake him for. Sure, he had the broad shoulders, the trim waist, the arms that could hoist a barrel with minimal fuss, an ass to die for. She even glimpsed his cock, and that trunk would put any female mind aflutter. Yet for all that, John displayed more prudence and wit than the typical "himbo" stereotype would allow. He hadn''t even acknowledged most of the flirtations thrown his way.


    She cracked a wry grin. He''s no fool¡ªhe just doesn''t jump into the arms of any pretty face. And that was exactly why she found him so intriguing. If she hadn''t known him so well, she might have assumed he was uninterested in romance altogether.


    "Believe me," she said, letting her gaze flick to his carefully applied eyeliner, "if you''d actually made out with a princess, your posture would be a little¡­different."


    He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Guess I''ll have to up my game next time, so you believe me."


    Dagna offered a light chuckle, casually checking the contents of the nearest barrel. In truth, she had her own designs where John was concerned. Her mother once told her that seduction wasn''t a fleeting battle but a prolonged siege¡ªyou didn''t just charge in, you took it slowly, whittling away the target''s defenses until he willingly opened the gates.


    John''s walls, she thought with an inward smile, are already well on their way to crumbling. She wasn''t about to blurt that out loud, though.


    Outwardly, she made a show of peering into a list of inventory notes on her handheld Link, keeping her tone casual. "Men like you," she said offhandedly, "the ones who actually have brains behind those muscles¡ªlet''s just say you''re in high demand. I can''t imagine you don''t know that."


    John turned away to inspect the row of tankards neatly arranged along a shelf. "I don''t think about it all that much, to be honest," he confessed, selecting one and testing its heft. "Most of the time, I''m just trying to keep my head down and do my job."


    Dagna smirked. "And how''s that working out for you? Lots of admirers these days?"


    John shivered. "I''d rather not talk about it," he said, though his expression betrayed a flicker of dread.


    The dwarf woman set down her Link and leaned her hip against a tall keg, crossing her arms. "You see," she began in a thoughtful tone, "too many girls think they can just throw themselves at a man, show off a bit of cleavage, and the man will be ready to Rut as the goblins do. But you, John¡­" She trailed off, letting her gaze rake over him, admiring his lean build and the quiet confidence behind his eyes.


    "¡­you''re not the type to be swayed by a random flash of skin," she concluded. "Takes more than that to breach your ramparts."


    John cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. "I''m not sure if I should feel flattered or like a castle under siege."


    She snorted. "A little bit of both, maybe." Then, with a wry grin, she added in a low, conspiratorial tone,


    He matched her gaze, a mixture of wariness and curiosity flickering there. "You say these things, Dagna, but do you actually mean them?"


    She gave him a slow smile. "Wouldn''t you like to know?" she teased, turning back to the inventory notes with a shrug that shook her braids.


    For a moment, the two of them fell into a companionable silence, the distant hum of revelers filtering in from the adjacent hall. Then a flicker of mischief reentered Dagna''s eyes. "By the way," she said, cocking her head, "did you really need all eighty minutes? Or was that last swenty spent fixing your hair?"


    John chuckled, patting his meticulously styled locks. "I plead the Justice''s Mercy," he joked, though his grin gave him away.


    Dagna''s laugh echoed warmly, merging with the distant clamor of the beer hall setup. She never tired of their banter¡ªhow it danced just on the edge of flirting, comfortably honest yet peppered with enough tension to keep things interesting.


    As they stood there, barrels lined up around them like silent guardians, she could sense the swirling undercurrent of the upcoming gala¡ªeach table, each keg, and each note on her Link an integral piece of a grander puzzle. Soon, guests would arrive in waves, thirsting for ale and entertainment. And if Dagna had anything to do with it, John would be front and center, attracting eyes and tipping scales.


    But for now, they had a moment of calm¡ªone in which Dagna could relish the knowledge that she''d already begun her "siege" on John''s formidable walls. And if he ended up proving her wrong? Well, in her eyes, that was a risk worth taking. After all, at the very least, she''d have gained a friend along the way.


    <hr>


    Nanlan sauntered through the palace gate at last, a full ten minutes later than he''d hoped, thoroughly put out that the men''s security checkpoint had taken forever. What was the point of a separate men''s section if they were still going to drag their feet? "They knew this place would be packed tonight," he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes at the throngs of people trying to enter. After all, everyone was here,it was the biggest social event of the year, and New Londium was quickly becoming the unofficial world capital, even if some old-timers across the sea clung to stuffy Londium back in Albion as the Federation''s true seat of power.


    He gave a lofty sniff as he smoothed down his stylish silk vest. At least I finally made it, he told himself, staring up at the palace''s bizarre mishmash of architectural styles. An eyesore, sure, but who cared about that when this was where the wealthiest, the noblest, and the most famous were all gathered? And now, he counted himself among them¡ªdazzling lights, fancy clothes, and an aura of importance that made him feel like he''d truly arrived in life.


    Nanlan reflected on how much better his life was here compared to the dull old All-Clan compound back in the Plains Republic. He practically beamed whenever he recalled how he''d joined the Catkin. Back home, he''d been nobody, just another displaced beastkin banding together to keep their Kindred alive. But among the Catkin, he was somebody¡ªa precious boy to help rebuild their numbers after the genocides of Vanguardists had driven them from the Zodiac Empire. Sure, it meant he had to "service" at least one girl a day, but he liked that arrangement just fine. He was Catkin. We like licking and being licked, right? It didn''t bother him much, though sometimes it turned into an hour of listening to some girl gripe about her personal drama. They never really wanted his advice; they just wanted to vent. It was so irritating, hearing them go on and on, then ignore every suggestion he offered.


    Still, the perks more than made up for it. He got his own room for the very first time¡ªimagine that! Privacy. Plus, he received a nice stipend, which he happily spent on stylish clothes, nights out with the othe guys, and the occasional treat for himself. Coming to New Londium had been the best decision of his life. The city practically sparkled with opportunity: famous people roamed the streets, dueling circles provided constant entertainment, and he''d somehow ended up picked as one of the Clan Champion''s "kept man." Though he barely ever saw Asah, she was always busy with one thing or another. His star was on the rise, no doubt about it.


    Nanlan glanced down at his reflection in a polished stone column, giving a self-approving wink. Lookin'' good, he thought, admiring his perfectly coiffed hair and the way his outfit showed off just enough of his toned arms and tight ass. If it weren''t for the crowds pressing in behind him, he might have paused to admire himself a bit longer. Another wave of newcomers surged into the foyer, nudging him forward into the main gallery.


    No matter, he reassured himself, stepping into the grand hall. High above, mana lamps glowed in multi-colored swirls against the mismatched pillars and arches, casting prismatic patterns across the marble floors. The palace itself might be a clash of architectural tastes, but at least the people were refined and so well-dressed. That was the real draw, anyway: being seen among the upper crust, the glitterati of New Londium.


    He took a moment to draw in a breath, chest puffing proudly, before striding deeper into the throng. Yes, he decided, this is exactly where I''m meant to be. Sure, the building looked hodgepodge, and the men''s entrance had been a slog, but none of that mattered now. He was finally inside, about to rub elbows with nobility, top-tier champions, and maybe even a few foreign dignitaries. Let them see him in all his Catkin finery¡ªtail swishing, ears perked, a lazy grin plastered across his face. Sure, he may be technically breaking the rules, going out alone without Asah''s permission, but what she didn''t know wouldn''t hurt her.


    As he maneuvered through the crush of bodies, he allowed himself a moment''s smugness, recalling how far he''d come. He had a bright future, a place in the Clan Champion''s pride. That''s the beauty of New Londium, he mused, sliding past a pair of giggling noblewomen. No matter how humble your beginnings, you can strut around like the star you know you are.


    And with that, Nanlan let out a contented sigh, fluffing his tail and grinning at a nearby reflection of himself in a tall mirror. My life is on the rise, all right, he told his reflection confidently. The biggest social event of the year, the city at my feet, the future wide open¡ªwho wouldn''t envy me now? He cast one last, self-assured glance at his attire and strode onward, determined to soak up every second of the grand gala''s spotlight.


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    Nanlan had spent hours wandering the bustling corridors of the gala, letting every gaudy sight and smell wash over him. This wasn''t just a fancy dance. No, this event was more like a world''s fair, featuring a hundred or more extravagant displays, booths, and stands hawking the finest food and drink from every corner of Edra. The official dancing wouldn''t begin until after the "Hours of Wonders," when the spirit world''s closest approach would light up the sky. Nanlan planned to avoid that whole spectacle anyway¡ªtoo many crowds, and besides, he was more interested in scoping out the interesting men and women who''d gathered here.


    Truth be told, part of him was relieved he''d found an excuse to duck out of the Catkin celebration tonight. Sure, he liked a good party as much as the next person, but the full moon and Yuletide combined meant the boundary between the spirit world and the physical plane was practically nonexistent. Beastkin, including Catkin, grew¡­intense at times like these. Most of the girls back at the clan lodge were in a near heat, and he''d spent the better part of the day "servicing" them twenty times¡ªtwenty!¡ªbefore managing to slip away.


    He gave a self-satisfied shrug at the memory, dragging his gaze from a passing server who carried a tray of candied fruit skewers. Speaking of which, he thought, I''ve got a meeting soon. A friend from home¡ªa Dogkin, ironically¡ªhad come all the way to New Londium just to catch up with him, though he had no idea how she''d scored an invitation to this gala. He wasn''t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, though. It would be nice to reminisce with someone who got him¡ªsomeone who hadn''t grown up bound by the old Zodiac rules of tradition.


    The Clan Elders of the Zodiac Clans never did appreciate how much simpler life could be when you weren''t bogged down by so-called "honor" and ancient customs. It was no wonder the upstart All Clans was making strides year after year¡ªthose old Elders stuck to their outdated ways like barnacles, while younger folks like him enjoyed the modern freedoms of city life.


    With a content little purr, Nanlan strolled into one of the many beer halls dotting the palace wings. He''d expected every beverage station to be a grand palace-sponsored affair, yet this one seemed run by a smaller private outfit. Oddly enough, only a few official staff members buzzed about¡ªthe real work seemed to be handled by those eerie wooden golems that belonged to the palace. The place was absolutely packed, though, which made no sense until¡­


    Oh. Nanlan''s gaze snagged on one of the servers¡ªa man wearing a ludicrous "tavern dandy" costume. A total himbo, Nanlan scoffed mentally, even as his eyes were drawn to the server''s strong arms and that eye-catching crotch. Suddenly, it all made sense. No wonder every woman (and more than a few men) in this room had crowded in¡ªthis server was a living, breathing magnet, a strutting poster boy for the old-fashioned, ultra-manly "born the old way" type.


    Nanlan rolled his eyes, though a hint of jealousy flickered beneath his shallow bravado. Some people have all the luck, he thought, watching the man exchange a few jokes with patrons. Probably from an old, well-to-do family who ensured he was carried to term the ''traditional way.''


    That method, Nanlan knew, led to men with naturally larger builds, stronger vitality and magical talent, and elevated status. Meanwhile, the majority of men nowadays¡ªlike Nanlan himself¡ªowed their survival to mana supplements in the womb, which often meant smaller stature and a weaker constitution. People tended not to mind, since "more men was better than no men," but it still rankled that these "old-way" births got so much admiration.


    Look at him, Nanlan fumed internally, crossing his arms. All he has to do is stand around in that slutty outfit and¡ªbam!¡ªhe''s got a whole crowd of admirers falling over themselves. Nanlan remembered how hard he''d worked back in the clan to maintain his looks, to catch the attention of girls. Sure, he had enough charm to fill a bucket, but it still required effort. Meanwhile, this random guy barely had to lift a finger.


    With a dismissive sniff, Nanlan stepped aside to avoid a trio of giggling women who jostled him on their way to the dandy. They were already whispering excitedly, eyes fixed on the server''s broad shoulders. Himbos, he thought sourly. Their entire existence is an unfair advantage.


    Still, the country boy in him¡ªshallow though he might be¡ªcouldn''t resist sneaking one last glance at the himbo''s well-defined silhouette. Freakin'' nobles, Nanlan grumbled inwardly.


    And yet, for all his scorn, there was a stab of envy in Nanlan''s chest. If he''d had that old-fashioned luck, maybe he''d have half the beer hall ogling him. Maybe he''d be the center of attention instead of scrounging up affections from whichever clan girl needed a "daily service."


    With a forced shrug, Nanlan tried to shake off his annoyance. I''ve got a friend to meet, he reminded himself. She''s gotta be around here somewhere. If this hall was any indication, the entire palace would soon be brimming with crowds drawn by the flamboyant or the powerful. Rather than stew in jealousy, Nanlan decided, he might as well join the throng. After all, he told himself, I''m no slouch, either.


    He straightened his vest and ran a hand through his carefully styled hair, flicking his tail in a show of indifference to the dandy''s popularity. If there''s any justice in this world, I''ll find my own spotlight soon enough. And with that thought, he turned on his heel, intent on tracking down his Dogkin friend¡ªpreferably before she, too, got lured in by some primped-up himbo who made everything look effortless.


    <hr>


    Medarda inhaled deeply, her nostrils flaring as a dizzying tapestry of scents flooded her heightened senses. Even in human form, her draconic heritage granted her a nose far keener than that of any ordinary mortal. Yet amid the kaleidoscope of perfumes, freshly polished armor, exotic spices, and mingled sweat from the thousands of Kindred in attendance, one particular aroma seized her attention with a jolt¡ªthe most captivating fragrance she had ever encountered. It was like a beacon calling to her across the ornate palace halls, shimmering above the mundane swirl of Yuletide festivities. For a moment, Medarda simply stood there, eyes closing in rapture, allowing the luscious smell to wrap around her like a silken scarf.


    The lavish gala was in full swing, the crowd alive with chatter and laughter, but Medarda heard little of it now. She was on a singular mission¡ªfind the source. Never mind that she was expected at a crucial meeting with the Governor-General and the President. Never mind that countless dignitaries and luminaries had traveled leagues hoping for a mere moment of her time. If she, Medarda the Golden¡ªmulti-trillionaire, the ever youngest, and last of twelve remaining Dragons of the Draconic Dominions¡ªdesired something, no force in creation could dissuade her. The same fierce instincts that once drove her ancestors to sweep entire continents under their claws now pulsed within her veins, awakened by this mesmerizing scent. A dragon''s nature was impossible to suppress for long, and tonight, her long-quiescent impulses refused to be denied.


    Strolling deeper into the gilded corridors, she swept past crowds of curious onlookers without so much as a nod. Her opulent gown¡ªspun from shimmering gold-thread that matched the hue of her eyes¡ªrustled softly, announcing her presence as she glided through clusters of noblewomen, seasoned Champions, and ambitious nobles. Whispers trailed in her wake, for Medarda was not merely another face at court¡ªshe was the wealthiest woman alive, rumored to possess private treasuries large enough to fund entire nations. Some said she could purchase the palace itself if she wished, for she was the sole owner of the world''s largest mana purification company. Yet tonight, none of that mattered to her. Only the smell beckoned, warm and inviting, tugging at her like a half-remembered promise.


    Her gaze flickered with draconic resolve as she followed the faint trail, weaving between pillars of mismatched marble and around knotworks of palace golems, whose polished wooden frames creaked quietly in the corners. The grand gala itself was a magnificent clash of cultures and flavors, each booth or stand vying for a share of the night''s enchantment. But Medarda''s attention lay beyond these mortal diversions. She was a dragon, and the call in her blood demanded she claim what was hers. She exhaled, feeling her heartbeat accelerate, a surge of ancient pride rippling through her. No dragon''s hoard is complete, her mind echoed, without a true bachelor at its center. She had scoffed at that old saying once, dismissing it as silly tradition. Now, it hummed in her veins like prophecy.


    A server collided with her in passing, arms brimming with silver platters. She stammered out a breathless apology, terrified, but Medarda merely waved a dismissive hand, never breaking stride. The aroma was intensifying¡ªclose, so close she could practically taste it on her tongue. If her guess was correct, it likely came from a man. Some men, especially those of the old-born lineage, exuded a particular mana-laced musk that could drive even the most restrained beast into a frenzy. Normally, she could ignore such primal calls¡ªshe had centuries of discipline behind her, after all. But this was different. This was more¡ªricher, deeper, laced with intangible promise.


    She paused beneath a towering arch, closing her eyes to inhale again. There¡ªshe could pinpoint the direction now. Turning sharply, her gown flowing about her ankles like liquid gold, she advanced with renewed purpose. Attendants and guests stepped aside instinctively, sensing an aura of power that allowed no interruption. Her meeting would have to wait. Diplomacy, alliances, politics... None of it trumped the electric thrill of discovering who carried that irresistible perfume of life and mana. And as she pressed on, lips curved into a predatory half-smile, she silently congratulated herself for heeding her instincts. Time would tell if this quest ended in disappointment, but in her long experience, a dragon''s nose rarely lied.


    And so, with the light of the great chandeliers dancing off her golden eyes and ebony skin, Medarda the Golden¡ªrichest woman to ever walk these halls¡ªembarked on a private journey of indulgence. Her mind reeled with anticipation at the thought of completing her hoard, of claiming a piece that might finally satisfy the yearning she''d carried for so long. Whatever else transpired tonight, she intended to leave this gala one step closer to fulfilling a dragon''s deepest, most ancient desire. If that meant making the most powerful politicians in the Federation wait, so be it. She was, after all, a dragon. And dragons always followed their instincts.

 Chapter 4.1

    I''ve worked my share of late-night shifts in my time¡ªenough to suspect the entire world might be one ongoing parade of questionable pick-up lines, insincere flattery, and half-drunken confessions. I expected a complete departure from the typical bar scene: rows of man lamps reflecting dancing lights, nobles in lush silks or rare furs, and cultured conversation floating above the bustle. In many ways, that''s precisely what I got¡ªan ambiance gilded with wealth and grandiose self-importance. Yet, when I finally took my position behind the bar, I realized that under all the dazzle, this place wasn''t so different from an ordinary night at King Victor''s. The same hints of flirtation, the same bragging, the same wandering hands¡ªonly magnified and sugarcoated by aristocratic polish.


    It''s a familiar scene to me, no matter the venue. I''ve come to find a curious tranquility in bartending, be it in a rough-and-tumble pub or at a gala dripping with Yuletide splendor. There''s something meditative about slicing garnishes, lining up tumblers in neat rows, and switching on that time-tested smile. At King Victor''s, I''d watch customers posture about the fights they almost won or the weekend parties to wild to believe; here, it''s about the estate they inherited, the overseas venture that only doubled their fortune instead of tripling it, or some other high-society woe. The difference is mostly in the number of zeroes they sprinkle into their tales¡ªand their ability to deliver those stories with an air of painstaking refinement.


    I''m used to the flirting, too. In the old bar, women would approach with unsubtle winks and half-lidded stares, looking to snag a fraction of my time. At the palace, the come-ons are threaded with clever wordplay and half-sincere compliments about my "tavern-dandy" getup. They murmur about the embroidery on my vest, the precise arch of my cheekbones. Occasionally, I catch them studying me like a connoisseur would appraise a prized vintage, calculating whether the payoff is worth the effort. And lest we forget, there''s still the occasional "accidental" touch against my waist or a subtle brush along my ass and groin¡ªfollowed by an apologetic laugh and something about "the crush of the gala." But it all boils down to the same story: a grope, cloaked in courtesy.


    You''d think I''d be overwhelmed, considering the day I''ve had¡ªmaking certain hush-hush promises to a princess who might redefine my entire life with a single word. And to be honest, part of me is rattled, my brain spinning with implications I can barely articulate. Yet, there''s this odd comfort in the mundane rhythms of bartending: pouring ales, mixing cocktails with practiced gestures, managing the flutter of conversation that passes in front of me. The palace might be a den of aristocratic intrigue, but behind the bar, the tasks are the same ones I''ve been doing for years. It keeps me anchored, reminding me that no matter how grand the setting, the fundamentals don''t change.


    Sometimes I catch my thoughts drifting to Adora''s solemn expression, the promise exchanged, and the sense that I''m standing on a precipice of cosmic proportions. But instead of dwelling on that, I focus on wiping down a fresh batch of glasses or greeting the next patron who approaches. I can''t let the magnitude of the night''s events swallow me whole¡ªso I choose the comfort of repetition, the tried-and-true motions that reassure me I''m still John, the bartender.


    The hall around me might gleam with stained glass and polished marble, and an orchestra''s gentle waltz might drift in from afar, but the stage set by the palace is really no different from the timbers and taproom I''m familiar with¡ªjust more elaborate costumes and loftier boasts. The hush of subdued laughter, the constant swirl of gowns and suits, the coy glances cast over glasses¡ªit all merges into a tapestry that hums with the same energy I know from countless bar nights. Perhaps tomorrow I''ll have to grapple with the reality of the princess''s promise, with a future that might stretch far beyond the realm of my imagining. But tonight, at least, I''m content to serve drinks, flirt lightly, and keep the routine that grounds me.


    So I lean over to take one more order from a bejeweled lady who appears eager to gossip with her friends, I offer a polite nod, and I craft her a perfect cocktail¡ªnever letting my professional smile falter. The moment she departs, I ready myself for the next customer, knowing that the same endless cycle of banter, boasting, and fleeting touches will repeat.


    I was in the middle of serving a final round of drinks when the entire beer hall fell strangely silent, like someone had flipped a switch and killed all the noise. My eyes swept across the crowd¡ªan odd hush had settled, except for the mechanical clanking of those ever-efficient wooden golems bustling about. Then I spotted why: an irate cat girl had just stormed in, golden hair more akin to a lioness''s mane than a dainty kitten''s, and the intense mana rolling off her practically radiated fury. Even people who didn''t know better felt the weight of her presence. A few of the more sensible patrons began backing away, inching toward the exits, while the unlucky or dim ones merely gaped or whipped out their Links to record the show.


    "Where is the little cocktease?" she snarled, her voice cutting through the silence. "I know you''re in here. I can smell your tight little ass from a mile away!" The first half of me wanted to ignore her completely advice from many a bartending shift told me never to get involved in other people''s drama. But the second half, the one remembering I''d already let too much slide tonight.


    Her striking golden mane bristled with anger, claws fully extended. She was undeniably beautiful in a deadly, catlike way, every curve accentuated by the sway of her hips and the flick of her tail. You could see half the bar¡ªdespite being terrified¡ªstill couldn''t look away.


    The cat girl turned her head, nostrils flaring as she sniffed the air. Then her glare locked onto a small cat boy cowering in the back corner¡ªlike a kitten trying to vanish among the furniture. Without a second''s hesitation, she nearly pounced, crossing the room in a blur of speed that made me do a double take. The cat boy, though technically a grown man, had the petite build typical of men born these days with mana supplements. Short, slight of frame, and with a large, round rear that drew more attention than he''d probably like. In my old life, I might have pegged him as a "femboy," given his delicate features and relatively toned but slender body. But here, men like him were a dime a dozen¡ªno less masculine in the eyes of this world, though certainly smaller than the men of old lineages.


    She seized him by the hair, yanking him off his chair so abruptly that half the drinks on the table went flying. "Oh no, you''re not getting away from me," she hissed, ignoring his cries of pain. "So you think you can sneak off to meet with a rival clan and I won''t find out, hmm?" Her tone dripped with rage. A frightened dogkin girl stood up in a half-hearted attempt to intervene, but the cat girl''s withering glare made her shrink back instantly. It was obvious this wasn''t some casual spat: the cat boy''s entire body shook with fear, his eyes darting left and right for an escape route that didn''t exist. And the cat girl seemed intent on dragging him right out into the night.


    Some primal part of me screamed to keep my head down, to let them resolve their own drama. I''d spent years learning not to draw attention to myself in a world that could devour a vulnerable man. Yet, seeing how she manhandled him awakened an urge in me that I couldn''t stifle. Memories stabbed at my conscience: hollow eyes in a dark cell, a promise once broken. I couldn''t stand by. Not this time. Not anymore.


    "Let him go!" I shouted, my voice echoing louder than I''d intended. The fact that I wore a flamboyant "tavern dandy" outfit made it all the more surreal¡ªI must have looked ridiculous, yet the intensity in my tone seemed to halt her in her tracks. She spun around, dragging the poor boy with her, his feet scarcely touching the ground.


    She gave me a quick once-over, her tail twitching with newfound interest. The hostility in her eyes shifted to something more calculating. "Well, well," she purred, "what''s a dandy like you doing in a place like this?" She spoke as though I were just another object to be appraised.


    I stepped out from behind the bar, ignoring the stares of onlookers. "I said let him go," I repeated, forcing my voice into a steadiness I didn''t entirely feel. My gut churned with equal parts adrenaline and dread. This woman was clearly no lightweight, and I was a man in a world where men had near-zero magical offense. But the memory of that promise¡ªof the boy''s desperate, trembling eyes propelled me forward.


    The cat girl raised a brow, a smile teasing her lips. "Can''t do that, big boy. Nanlan here has made a mess of things with my clan, and part of my job is to administer his punishment. Understand?"


    "Elder Midnight gave me permission to leave, " the cat boy pleaded.


    With a cruel jerk, she yanked the cat boy''s head level with her own, ignoring his whimper of pain. A dogkin lurking nearby tried to intervene again but cringed back under the cat girl''s cold stare. ""You didn''t get permission from me. So hush!" she snapped at the boy, then shifted her focus back to me. "So, unless you want to make this real interesting, I suggest you stand aside." She eyed me up and down, letting her gaze linger on my chest, arms, and crotch. "Although, if you''re offering something else¡­maybe we could work out a different arrangement."


    In that moment, I recognized she had a point, the Federation''s patchwork of clan laws gave the Beastkin considerable amount of internal autonomy. She could claim this was a private clan matter, and local authorities might not even intervene. But my anger overrode caution. Too many times, I''d turned a blind eye. Not tonight.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    "Let. Him. Go," I said, each syllable cutting through the hush. "Or I''ll make you."


    She stood there, silent for a moment, then burst into laughter¡ªa raucous sound that got a few onlookers tittering along, either to appease her or out of genuine amusement. "A mere man," she drawled, dabbing at her eyes, "threatening me¡ªAsah GoldenClaw, Champion of the Clans? That''s rich." She looked at me with a smirk that suggested I''d just claimed to be Emperor of the Federation. Her amusement took a few seconds to subside. "Well,'' you got guts. I''ll give you that." She loosened her grip on the boy, letting him slump to the floor, but didn''t let him scurry away. "Fine. Let''s do this your way."


    I could practically feel the crowd''s collective tension ratchet up. Asah''s expression flickered between annoyance and intrigue, like she was sizing up a new toy. She cocked her head, golden mane shifting around her shoulders. "Tell you what," she said, her voice carrying to every corner of the silent beer hall, "we can skip a duel. This is a bar, after all, so let''s settle it the dwarven way¡ªwith a drinking competition." She pointed a clawed fingertip at the stacked shelves behind me. "That top shelf should do. Last one standing wins. If you win, I let Nanlan go, free as a bird. No punishment. If I win¡­" She paused to flash a sultry grin, tossing her hair in a way that drew several gazes. "¡­you spend the rest of this night with me, away from prying eyes, and I promise not to do anything you wouldn''t like."


    From the way she pronounced that last bit, it was clear she had a few ideas about what I would like. I clenched my jaw, my mind racing. On the one hand, I had almost no chance in a straight-up figh, and she looked like she could knock me through a wall even without casting a single spell. On the other hand, a drinking contest was my territory. If she hadn''t noticed that special little bottle behind the others, I had a chance. Maybe a small one, but a chance nonetheless. And if I lost¡­well, worst-case scenario, I''d be stuck on a date with a cat girl who might only want me for an evening. Considering the alternative¡ªthat she might tear this poor cat boy''s life apart¡ªlosing didn''t sound like the end of the world.


    I gritted my teeth and mustered what I hoped passed for confident resolve. "Very well," I said, keeping my eyes locked on hers. "I accept."


    "What''s your name, Dandy?" the cat girl Asah,demanded, tilting her head and eyeing me like prey she fully intended to devour.


    "John," I answered, trying to keep my voice steady despite the flurry of nerves roiling in my gut.


    She gave a little smirk, golden furred ears twitching with anticipation. "Well, Just John, I hope you''re prepared to lose, because I''ve never lost a challenge before."


    Before I could respond, someone let loose a sharp bellow that shattered the tense hush gathering around us. "Stop this foolishness at once, ye daft milk drinkers!" The voice belonged to Strom Stonestealer, a grizzled dwarf whose wrinkled face carried all the authority of an old-time baron. He stood with arms folded across a broad chest, half-obscured by the apron he worethough his demeanor screamed more "battle-hardened warrior" than "barkeeper."


    "Yeah, hold your horses!" piped in Krenk, Strom''s goblin partner, who was suddenly hustling up beside him. "I haven''t even had time to collect bets yet."


    Strom shot Krenk a sharp glare, shaking his head. "We can''t let them have a drinkin'' contest here, an'' that''s final. It''s not right, doin'' it above ground." His tone suggested this was some unspoken dwarven taboo, though he didn''t elaborate.


    Krenk, smoking a pipe as usual, merely shrugged and blew out a lazy coil of smoke. "They''re not dwarves, so that particular rule shouldn''t apply to them," he countered with a confident arch of one brow.


    "Aye, but John''s about to drink himself blind?" Strom asked, jerking a thumb in my direction. "We don''t need the trouble that comes when some damned Advocate gets involved." He spat the word "Advocate" like it tasted sour. From the way he spoke, I guesse the dwarve had little patience for legal entanglements.


    Krenk gave a dismissive scoff. "You can''t sue over an agreed-upon challenge." He paused, sizing up the cat girl and me with a canny glint in his eye. "At least, not easily."


    Strom grunted and turned his gaze on me. "We rely on John too much to let ''im wander off in the middle of his shift. What if he loses? Then what? We''re left high an'' dry, no bartender."


    "I''ll cover his shift," Krenk interjected with a casual wave of his pipe, sending a cloud of spicy smoke into the air. "Besides, we''ve made plenty tonight as it is, and these golems are doin'' half the work anyway."


    Strom bit down on the edge of his mustache, appearing to war internally with his own logic. "It''s not proper for a woman to challenge a man, especially in public," he blustered, throwing one last attempt at maintaining dwarven traditions.


    "When''ve we ever cared about propriety, old friend?" Krenk teased, nudging the dwarf''s stout arm and smirking up at him. "We''re practically runnin'' a carnival here." Krenk then leaned in and grasped Strom''s hand as if to seal some silent pact.


    Strom made a grand show of thinking it over, shaking his head and muttering all sorts of indecipherable dwarf curses under his breath. Then at last, he exhaled a long, tired sigh and beckoned Krenk close. "Fine," he huffed in a lowered voice. "But if this nonsense costs us, we''re takin'' it out of your share of the profits."


    Krenk''s ears quivered in amusement. "Deal." The aged goblin snapped his fingers, and his pipe smoke curled theatrically around his head. "Now, don''t just stand there like you stepped in molten rock, Strom. The crowd''s waiting on your say-so."


    Strom turned to the onlookers¡ªa growing throng of wide-eyed customers who''d been observing the spectacle in hushed fascination. He cleared his throat, then boomed in a voice that could probably echo down a mineshaft, "All right, you louts! Don''t just stand there like crushed stones! Let''s get these tables moved aside. We''ve got ourselves a drinking contest!"


    The ensuing murmur of excitement rippled through the patrons, who scrambled to oblige. Chairs were pushed back, cups and half-eaten plates were whisked away. A few of the smarter customers left altogether, not wanting to be in the splash zone if a brawl¡ªor a magical catastrophe¡ªbroke out. But most of them just circled around the center of the room, eager to see who''d triumph: the tall, dandy-dressed bartender or the fierce cat-girl with a leonine mane and claws sharp enough to slash steel.


    Meanwhile, Asah GoldenClaw, as she''d introduced herself, still had that smug smile playing on her lips. She reached one hand out to gently rake her claws over the nearest table in a show of nonchalance, leaving shallow gouges in the wood. "Shall we get on with it, Just John?" she purred, meeting my gaze with brazen confidence.


    I swallowed, the tension in my gut coiling tighter. Better to get this over with than let her yank that poor cat boy around any longer. And, if luck was with me, maybe I''d prove I wasn''t quite as helpless as she assumed. "Yes," I said, stepping forward. "Let''s see who''s left standing."


    <hr>


    Codex


    An Introduction to the Races of Erda


    Chapter Twelve: The Genocide and Exodus of the Beastkin


    By Lady Brimsley Hasting, Senior Scholastic of Anthropology, St. Andrea Scholasticum


    In the history of eastern Erda, particularly within the borders of the once-mighty Zodiac Empire, the Beastkin clans stood as the predominant rulers and cultural backbone. Historically, Beastkin made up nearly 20% of all Kindred worldwide, a figure that was dramatically reduced to about 3% following the Vangaurdist genocide and the catastrophic Great Dying Wars, which obliterated nearly a third of the world''s population. Today, their numbers have somewhat recovered to about 8%, yet the scars of their decline are still visible.


    The Zodiac Empire, centered in eastern Edra, was almost exclusively inhabited by Beastkin, with the ruling class composed of the primary 12 Great Clans, each corresponding to a sign of the zodiac. These clans were supported by numerous smaller clans and cultivation schools, which together created a structured yet rigid hierarchy. Notable exceptions to this concentration included clans such as the Kitsune in Nippon and the Sphinxes in Aegyt, who lived outside the empire''s immediate influence.


    Historically, the governance of the Beastkin was often viewed as harsh, as they did not regard other Kindred with the same level of worthiness. This perception, combined with internal strife such as the War within the Nippon Confederation and the rapid technological changes of the era, set the stage for upheaval. As the Age of Revolution dawned, it initially appeared that the Zodiac Empire would withstand the tides of change as it had in the past. However, the deep-seated oppression felt by the people and the weakening of the Zodiac''s power due to war and innovation catalyzed the rise of the Vanguardists.


    The Vanguardists, advocating for radical change and unity under a new order, eventually seized power through a bloody civil war. The once-dominant Beastkin were systematically exterminated and driven into exile; many were confined to death camps, and even today, entry into the People''s Republic of the Zodiac is forbidden for any Beastkin.


    Survival for the Beastkin meant fleeing their homeland. The largest concentration of surviving Beastkin today is found on the island of Formosa, situated just off the coast of the former Zodiac Empire. Others found refuge in the Imperial Federation, with significant numbers settling in the Imperial City of Pearl, or dispersing among its dominions, particularly in the New World where small Beastkin communities had already established roots.

 Chapter 4.2

    If someone from my old world had the chance to split a Kindred body in half¡ªlike those cutaway models in science museums and medical classrooms¡ªthey''d be completely flummoxed. On the surface, we might appear similar to ordinary humans in height, build, and anatomical layout. But the truth is, under the skin, our innards are a painstakingly crafted mosaic of arcane engineering¡ªdesigned, refined, and perfected by the High Elves. It''s not just that we have a few slightly different organs; entire systems are streamlined, reinforced, and interwoven with magic that pulses like a second circulatory network.


    Imagine strolling through a state-of-the-art laboratory, where every piece of equipment has been optimized to work in perfect harmony¡ªthat''s what a Kindred''s body resembles. We don''t just have muscles and bones, we have magically enhanced ligaments that seldom tear, hyper-efficient lungs that process air almost as if it''s being filtered by a built-in mana lens, and a labyrinth of secondary ducts running parallel to blood vessels. These ducts carry concentrated mana. How robust and efficient those systems are depends almost entirely on an individual''s magical capacity: the higher your inherent mana levels, the healthier you remain, the longer you live, and the more slowly the signs of age appear. It''s like having a personal reservoir of life-giving power, allowing strong Kindred to weather diseases, injuries, or the ravages of time far better than weaker or Kindred.


    Back in my original world, such a notion would''ve been pure fantasy organs meticulously tailored to harness arcane forces? It sounds like a dream, or maybe a scientific impossibility. Here, it''s reality. The High Elves, for all their historical atrocities, were master bio-engineers. They sculpted races out of necessity to fuel their own megalomaniacal goals: to keep their immortality afloat when the world''s magic started running dry. We, the Kindred, each with a unique blueprint that cursed us, ended up as living batteries storing and refining mana. But over time, we evolved into far more living in a ruined world.


    As for me, I happen to bristle with power. I''ve got more mana coursing through my veins than most people suspect¡ªenough that I can handle feats of physical endurance that would flatten an ordinary human, especially one from my original Earth. And that''s exactly why, as I stand contemplating that ominous top shelf of potent liquors, I''m not as worried as I might have been otherwise. If a normal human from back home tried to guzzle even half those brews, their body would probably rebel, shutting down under the assault of alcohol infused with varying degrees of magical residue. But me? I can endure if I pace myself. My supernatural physiology should filter out the worst toxins, relying on that extra jolt of mana to keep my vital organs functioning and my mind relatively clear.


    Of course, I''m not delusional. I know I can''t simply chug glass after glass without consequence; magic or no magic, too much alcohol can knock even a sturdy Champion on their rear. But the difference is that I won''t keel over halfway, while a typical human from my old world likely would. It''s a peculiar advantage, born from centuries of High Elven meddling in mortal biology. Strange to think that this innate resilience one that might save me from humiliating defeat in a public drinking contest has roots in a grand design once meant to keep an entire empire of elves from fading into oblivion.


    Yet I''m grateful for it at the moment. After all, in a world where men don''t typically wield magic, every edge counts. If the cat girl''s challenge involves downing shot after shot of dangerously strong spirits, I''ll let my magically augmented liver do the heavy lifting. A deep, steady breath, a final glance at the glowing bottles behind me¡ªthen I can stride forward, remind myself that my body is crafted for more than mundane limits, and trust that the "perfected" human Maeriel had reforged me into was enough to carry me across the finish line.


    It took a while for word to travel across the bustling beer hall, spread through murmurs and whispers. A few people, after fleeing the initial commotion, even trickled back as soon as it became clear there wouldn''t be immediate bloodshed. Others, lured by rumors of a confrontation, hurried in from nearby corridors. When all was said and done, the place ended up nearly packed, with only a bare ring left open in the center around a table that had been pushed forward to serve as our makeshift "arena."


    I noticed that more Catkin arrived to join Asah and Nanlan¡ªlikely members of the same clan, judging by their expressions of solidarity or disdain. All were cat girls with exotic features, though none were the small, "domestic-type" like the poor cat boy. I picked out reflections of cheetahs, lynxes, jaguars, and even one who appeared to bear the lineage of a saber-tooth. Their sheer presence made it feel as though the elite warriors of the Catkin Clan had materialized to back up Asah.


    One figure stood out: a tall, raven-haired woman whose very aura commanded reverence. Shadows clung to her like living things, slipping and slithering around her ankles. She moved with measured grace, and all the other cat girls seemed to give way before her. A quick guess told me she was likely the Elder, one of those rumored to embody the mythical Shadow Cat reflection. Such a reflection signaled status within the upper echelons of the Beastkin Clans. A glint of metal caught my eye: a notch in her ear suggested a storied past, perhaps a grim escape during the vanguardist purges of the Age of Revolutions. Despite her many years, her face and form held that timeless beauty so common to older Kindred women¡ªsomething about the way years refine, rather than diminish, their features.


    Asah, though, didn''t seem impressed by this Elder''s high station. The champion gestured animatedly, as though delivering a heated defense of her actions. The Elder, in turn, frowned in obvious disapproval. From where I stood, I couldn''t catch every word¡ªthe swirl of conversation around us was too dense, a chorus of low voices like wind through dense foliage. Still, I concentrated, letting my enhanced hearing¡ªwhich Maeriel''s biomancy had improved¡ªtune out the background. Gradually, I caught fragments of the exchange.


    "It doesn''t matter what Nanlan did, Asah. You can''t just rampage through the city with your pride in tow, acting like animals in heat. It was bad enough you rampaged through the streets as though you were a kaiju. Now you''ve publicly challenged a man. What were you thinking? You''re our Champion. You''re meant to represent our Kindred''s poise, yet here you are, throwing a tantrum before half the Federation." Elder Midnight said voice low, controlled.


    Asah''s tail flicked with irritation. Still, she kept her tone subdued, probably not wanting to seem disrespectful in front of everyone.


    "You''re always telling me to stand my ground, to demonstrate my authority as the Great Spirits ordained. You taught me never to let an insult pass. You taught me to be the toughest, fiercest cat in the clan. And now you want me to act like a docile kitten?" She replied.


    The Elder grimaced, not pleased with the answer. "I said all that, yes¡ªbut in private. We don''t parade our clan squabbles for the entire world to watch. Praise in public, criticize in private. Have you forgotten that rule already? Or do you care so little for the clan''s reputation? We''re still recovering, Asah, from ages of hardship. Our power is only a shadow of what it was. Your standing is crucial to the clan''s future. We can''t have you throwing it away over some petty argument."


    Asah drew in a measured breath, her mane shifting with the movement of her shoulders. Asah with frustration etched on her face. "As if I had time to step aside for a ''private'' scolding, Elder. Nanlan sneaked off, again, and I have my duties. Besides, I remember how you scolded me never to appear weak, never to let someone else humiliate me. Well, here we are. Now that there''s a crowd, I can''t back down without looking like a coward. You think that helps our image?"


    The Elder let out a soft sigh. "If you would just curb your impulses¡­ Asah, you risk hurting more than just your pride if you escalate this. Princess Charlotte was nearly exiled for the scandal she caused¡ªdo we truly need another fiasco?"


    Asah rolled her eyes and flicked a dismissive glance toward me her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. "This isn''t a real challenge. No man with half a brain thinks he can best me, so it''s obviously just his way of asking me out without looking like a slut. Look at him¡ªhe''s tall, obviously strong, maybe even a high-level C-rank or better. You know as well as I do that a stud like him doesn''t stay single unless he''s waiting for a woman to swoop in. I''m not letting that chance slip away, Elder Midnight ."


    Elder Midnight''s eyebrows lifted. "Asah¡­ he''s a random bartender who had the nerve to stand up for some poor cat boy you nearly dragged out by the hair. Are you truly too caught up in your reflection to see that?"


    Before I could make out her reply, a rough elbow jostled my side¡ªKrenk, the pipe-chewing goblin, was motioning for my attention, a silent invitation to step aside. The rest of the Elder''s admonition faded into a low drone as I let Krenk guide me a few paces away.


    All around us, the crowd waited, pressing inward to see if the Elder would force Asah to back down, or if the champion would snap and continue with the so-called drinking contest. Dark eyes and ears of every shape fixed on us, hungry for a spectacle. To one side, Nanlan hovered anxiously, clearly worried Asah might simply toss him over her shoulder again. And through it all, the Elder''s presence loomed¡ªa silent reminder that the clan had its own politics and that Asah''s wild behavior threatened more than just a single cat boy.


    I took a breath, steeling myself. No matter what I decided, I had the sense this confrontation had already spun out of anyone''s control. One more element to a night already brimming with unexpected twists. And now, Krenk had something to say¡ªwhether it was advice, a warning, or an offer of help, I didn''t know. But I''d learned in my time at King Victor''s that when trouble started swirling, it was best to listen to the goblin with an ever-present pipe. He often had a knack for finding an angle, for spotting possibilities others missed.


    "Looking at your mate-to-be, are we? You know there are easier ways to score a date," Krenk said with a teasing lilt, tapping me lightly on the hip with his ever-present pipe. A crooked grin spread across his goblin features, pipe smoke curling around his pointed ears.


    I shot him my best unimpressed glare. "I''m not planning on mating her or dating her," I retorted, my voice kept low enough that no one but Krenk could hear. "I''m just trying to stop her from dragging that poor cat boy away and punishing him. Which you, by the way, conveniently set up so you could rake in bets."


    Krenk shrugged, not even attempting to feign innocence. "It''s not ''punishment'' if she''s his keeper, John," he corrected in a tone that suggested he knew how flimsy that excuse was. "You know how it works in these clan-bound relationships. ''Internal matter,'' they''ll call it. Doesn''t exactly fall under Federation law."


    I bit back a sigh. It was a grim reminder of how "marital" rights¡ªespecially in certain clans¡ªoften excused behavior that, anywhere else, would be seen as blatant abuse. "You and I both know that''s exactly what it is¡ªabuse," I replied. "But if the law won''t intervene, I guess I will."


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Krenk made a small, sad sound, but moved on with barely a flicker of sympathy. "So," he said, switching gears, "what do you figure your odds are of beating her?"


    I glanced across the room, where Asah GoldenClaw stood conferring with a tall, raven-haired Elder, presumably deciding how to handle her public meltdown. It was easy to see she was no minor fighter: some kind of champion, famed enough that no one dared stop her when she''d stormed in. "I overheard enough to know she''s bigger trouble than I realized," I admitted. But I''d like a second opinion. Care to enlighten me?"


    A wide grin flashed across Krenk''s wrinkled face. "Sure thing. I set the odds at one thousand to one against you, if that tells you anything."


    I felt an uneasy knot coil in my gut. "A thousand to one?" I repeated, half in disbelief. "You really think my chances are that pitiful?"


    Krenk''s shrill, chittering laugh made a few onlookers turn their heads. "Not me, precisely," he said, tapping ashes from his pipe onto the floor. "The betting crowd. They''re convinced Asah''s unstoppable. Dagna forced me to raise your odds , claiming you had some hidden potential."


    "Dagna¡­" I murmured, feeling a pang of gratitude. The dwarven woman who usually ran King Victor''s Bar with me was saving every coin she could scrounge for a dowry¡ªher dream was to earn enough gold so those old-school dwarven men back in the holds could get it up for her. That she''d put money on me winning meant she either believed in me, or she was just stubborn enough to back a lost cause on principle.


    Krenk gave a conspiratorial wink. "Yeah, you''ll probably want to thank her if you make it through this. But look, John, you''re up against Asah GoldenClaw. She''s the reflection of the Nemean Lioness, been the National Dueling Champion five years running, and rumor says she''s only second in the entire Federation because the Princess keeps beating her by a hair. A hair, John. If that''s not enough to worry you, I don''t know what is."


    I swallowed, my heart sinking a bit deeper into my stomach. "So¡­she''s basically a top-tier champion who can do whatever she wants and get away with it," I said, half under my breath.


    "That''s about the size of it," Krenk confirmed. "When folks see her coming, they usually cross the street."


    I blew out a breath, trying to steady my nerves. It explained why no one else had dared intervene when she manhandled Nanlan. I flicked my gaze back to Asah, who was now engaged in a somewhat hushed argument with the Elder, voices too low to make out over the clamor.


    "Did you really not recognize her?" Krenk pressed, tilting his head curiously. "She''s in the headlines constantly, you know. She''s also the face of Medarda Mana and all its subsidiaries¡ªlike GoldenBrew, that ale we''ve been serving for months."


    At that, I felt my stomach lurch in realization. "Right¡ªso that cartoon lioness mascot on the bottles¡­that''s her, in her shifted form?"


    "One and the same," Krenk confirmed. "She''s even in some viral videos. Tearing a behemoth in half with those big claws of hers, or stopping a runaway train with one arm¡­stuff like that. I think we showed one of those vids at the bar once, though maybe you were stuck in the stockroom."


    "Well, this is¡­great," I muttered, pressing a hand to my face.


    Krenk let out a wheezing snort. "If it''s any consolation, she seemed intrigued by you. That might keep you in one piece¡­unless she decides you''re more fun in pieces."


    I offered a shaky chuckle. It was gallows humor at best. "Right. Guess we''ll see."


    Krenk jerked his pipe toward the far side of the room, drawing my attention back to Asah and the cluster of cat girls. They seemed to be wrapping up their argument. The Elder''s expression was grim, but Asah''s tail was still swishing with the kind of excitement that didn''t bode well for me.


    "So," Krenk asked, lowering his voice, "any last-minute plan? The crowd''s getting restless, and I''d prefer if you drew out this spectacle a bit before passing out¡ªsome of us got good money riding on how many drinks you last."


    I smirked, a faint semblance of confidence stirring in me. "Let''s just say I might have stacked the odds slightly in my favor. I''ve been fetching drinks from the top shelf all evening, what with being tall enough to reach. But if you noticed closely, there''s a smaller bottle of ''Nepeta'' stashed around halfway down."


    Krenk gave me a puzzled squint. "Nepeta?.. Wait, you''re not planning on¡­?"


    "We''ll see," I said enigmatically, letting a ghost of a grin tug at my lips. "If I time things right, I might be able to exploit that weakness."


    Krenk let out a wheezing laugh. "Oh, you sneaky dog. Or is that cat? I can''t keep it straight. Regardless, I like your style. Maybe you''re not as doomed as you look."


    Before I could respond, a hush fell over the onlookers near the circle. Asah, flanked by a couple of formidable cat girls, stepped away from the Elder, who looked exasperated but resigned. The champion''s predatory gaze found me across the crowd, a grin stretching across her features that bared her pointed canines. The show was about to start.


    "You''d better get in position," Krenk muttered, tapping out the ash from his pipe onto the floor. "And remember¡ªdraw it out. The more ''close calls'' you give them, the better the tips in your jar when this is all over¡­assuming you''re not in a jar."


    I gave a short nod, trying to muster courage from the half-baked plan swirling in my head. My heart hammered against my ribs as I squared my shoulders and moved toward the makeshift ring. One man, a crowd of cat girls, and the entire hall waiting to see if I''ll keel over. I exhaled slowly. Just another typical shift, John, I told myself. Pour the drinks, keep your wits, and maybe you''ll walk away a victor.


    The final background chatter fizzled out like dying embers when Asah strode toward the makeshift table, her mane of hair swaying with each step. Even the clamor from the rest of the beer hall dulled, as if someone had lowered the volume on the entire room. The circle of onlookers around the table parted for her, some with hushed anticipation, others with furtive glances at the Elder still standing near the edge. In this moment, all eyes were on Asah and me.


    Strom trudged behind me with measured footsteps, his bearded chin lifted in that unmistakably dwarven way of exuding importance. He''d volunteered¡ªor, more accurately, declared himself¡ªto be the referee of our little contest. The dwarf muttered something about "time-honored dwarven ways" under his breath, and it dawned on me that although the dwarves claimed they had no religion, their drinking rites were practically a creed in themselves.


    He reached the center of the ring, giving a gruff cough that signaled everyone needed to pay attention. Onlookers shuffled closer, forming a dense semicircle near the front. Some perched on hastily rearranged chairs and tables, or even stood on crates to get a better view. With all the flurry of bodies, the air seemed to grow warmer.


    "Listen up!" Strom barked, his voice carrying over the murmurs. "We got ourselves a drinking contest¡ªan old, time-honored tradition. Two participants, no outside interference, first one to yield or pass out loses. Fair an'' simple. Both have agreed to the terms, and we dwarves don''t allow no meddling once it starts."


    He gave the table a firm slap, as though it was a venerable altar. It rattled with the impact, bottles clinking dangerously. Then he turned to me with a raised eyebrow. "John, you prepared to see this through?" he asked, voice lowered so the crowd wouldn''t hear every inflection.


    All I could do was nod, a curt motion of my head. My throat felt too dry for any grand speech.


    Next, Strom aimed his attention at Asah, who stood on the opposite side of the table. Her glossy lioness ears were up, and her tail swished in a slow, almost hypnotic rhythm behind her.


    "I am more than ready," she announced, voice resonating with authority. "But before we begin, I state clearly that my actions and honor are my own alone. Any glory or shame I earn is mine to bear."


    Those words carried a formal tone, like an oath recited in a dueling circle. And indeed, based on the respectful hush that gripped the crowd, it was evidently a known phrase for an "independent duelist." Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the Elder''s faint, knowing smile aimed my way. She''d probably deduced precisely what trick I intended to pull. Still, the clan would profit from Asah''s victory if she won, and if something went sour¡ªa scandal or worse¡ªthe clan could feign distance, claiming Asah had entered as a lone wolf.


    Strom let out a grunt, rubbing his palms together. "All right, both sides have spoken. No interference, no second chances. We''ll go shot for shot ''til one can''t continue. Understood?"


    Asah flicked her tail again, golden eyes glinting with predatory amusement. I inhaled deeply, summoning what courage I had.


    "Begin!" the dwarf roared, stepping aside in a swift motion that signaled we had free rein to approach the table.


    <hr>


    Codex


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 Chapter 4.3

    The background chatter subsided the instant Asah stepped up to the table, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire hall was holding its breath in anticipation. She graced me with a self-assured smile, her lips curling back just enough to reveal the gleam of sharp canines. "Hope you''re as tasty as you look," she murmured, pitching her voice low enough that only I and those with keen hearing catch. A ripple of hushed reaction rolled through the ring of onlookers, half of them amused by her audacity, the other half wondering how I might respond.


    I moved toward the array of bottles in brisk, steady strides, my stomach fluttering with nervous energy. If not for the situation, I might have paused to marvel at the sheer variety of liquors lined up in tiers. The High Elves, for all the nightmares they unleashed on the world, had also bequeathed a treasure trove of bioengineered flora. From these, countless exotic brews could be distilled, each more extraordinary than the last. My gaze danced across dwarven stout liqueurs so potent they almost seemed to hum with mana, orcish flame-brews with a sinister red glow, ethereal elven concoctions that enhance your senses to near-hallucinatory levels, and even a rare Dyrad mead that shimmered like liquid gold. But none of that mattered as much as the single small bottle of Nepeta tucked somewhere around the midpoint of these lethal potions.


    With theatrical flair, Asah seized the closest decanter. It was a polished, hand-blown glass container filled with swirling emerald liquid, labeled "Troll''s Tonic." I''d heard of it before: brewed using a type of edible stone that somehow tasted faintly metallic. She poured us each a shot, the pungent smell hitting my nostrils crushed mineral notes mingled with an undercurrent of something sharp, like chipped iron. She lifted one glass and offered me the other with a mocking little bow. "Let''s make this entertaining, shall we?" she purred, shooting me a coy grin as she ran her free hand through her mane-like hair.


    "Entertaining," I echoed, swallowing my nerves and returning her gaze. Her golden eyes shone with brazen confidence. People gathered closer, eager to witness the first collision of our wills some of them placing hurried bets at the last second with Krenk or with each other, exchanging hush-voiced predictions about how many rounds I might survive.


    We clinked our glasses, and the crowd exploded in a cheer that struck my ears like a sudden gust of wind. A quick glance spotted Dagna in the throng, arms folded, brow knitted in a mixture of worry and resolve. She gave me a sharp nod, like she was mentally shouting, "Don''t you dare fold." Behind her, Krenk clenched his pipe between his teeth, likely updating wagers on his Link.


    I lifted the shot to my lips, bracing for the burn, and tossed it back. The liquid seared my throat, a biting heat that crept up my sinuses, bringing tears to my eyes, but I forced it down without coughing. Asah let out a satisfied hiss, smacking her lips in appreciation of the Tonic''s bite. She placed her empty glass on the table with a crisp clang, the echo carrying across the silence that followed.


    "That''s one," Strom announced, crossing his arms and speaking with a deliberate neutrality. The dwarven crowd parted a bit to let him stand watch near the table. I could almost see the reverence in some dwarves'' eyes alcohol, in many ways, was the closest they got to a religion.


    My own heart, still thudding heavily, reminded me to pace myself. If I could just survive until we reached the mid-tier liquors, I might coax Asah into picking that Nepeta brew. She turned to me with a quick smirk, eyes dancing. "You don''t look half-bad, Just John," she teased, her voice loud enough for onlookers to overhear, "Let''s see if you can keep up, though. I''ve drank dwarves, orcs, ogres, and even a troll under the table. I never lose a challenge."


    I forced a cocky tilt of my lips, though it felt like a shaky mask. "First time for everything." A wave of mild amusement rippled through the watchers, some letting out whistles or barking encouragement.


    Without hesitation, Asah snatched another bottle a cerulean brew labeled "Goblin Grog," rumored to induce short but intense illusions if you consumed too much. She poured out two shots, a wicked delight sparking in her features, and raised her glass. I could sense the crowd''s tension mounting everyone wanted to see if I''d cringe or falter. Fighting my own apprehension, I gulped the scorching contents, my head swirling as if fireworks had gone off behind my eyelids. But I managed to keep my expression controlled. Asah, for her part, barely blinked, though the slight bristle of her tail hinted that she felt the heat too.


    And so it continued shot after shot, each liquor more powerful and magically charged than the last. The smell of exotic herbs and raw mana clung to my nostrils. The world started blurring around the edges, as though I were viewing everything through a hazy lens. Yet I pressed on, letting the forced enhancements in my body¡ªMaeriel''s meddling, truth be told¡ªbear the brunt of each toxic wave. As for Asah, if the flush in her cheeks grew deeper, she hid it well behind a confident grin. There was a gleam in her eye, almost a joyful challenge in how she gauged my reaction each round, as if reveling in finding someone who could match her stride.


    By the sixth shot, sweat beaded along my hairline. The heat licked through my veins, urging me to call it quits, but I forced a grin. I needed to reach the right moment for that Nepeta brew. Something about the sight of me keeping pace seemed to spur Asah on¡ªher tail lashed in excitement, and she poured a seventh, then an eighth. Each time we drank, gasps and cheers rose from the ring of onlookers. Strom called out the shot count with booming dwarven authority, reminding us how deep we were in, while Krenk hovered at the side, exchanging sly grins with the crowd and no doubt pocketing wagers. Dagna''s eyebrows shot higher each time we survived another.


    On the eighth shot, I locked eyes with Krenk, who gave the slightest nod, a silent message: "Hold out just a bit longer." My head was light, and lines of color flashed in my peripheral vision. The tension in my muscles felt borderline unbearable. Meanwhile, Asah''s breathing had grown a shade heavier, though she still exuded the aura of a huntress poised to pounce.


    She flicked a claw at me, lightly tapping my chin. "You''re starting to look a bit flustered, handsome," she purred, her voice slithering into my ears. An outbreak of laughter rippled among the crowd, thoroughly enjoying this cat-and-mouse game. "Maybe you should throw in the towel now, before you damage that pretty face," she mocked, the corners of her lips tugged into a suggestive grin.


    I inhaled slowly, forcing my mouth into a confident smirk. "It''s just warm in here, that''s all." Still, the alcohol''s presence weighed on my brain, thick as honey.


    Strom stomped his heavy dwarven boot to call for order. "Twelfth shot, done!" he bellowed, scanning the collected spectators. "Ready for the thirteenth, or should I call it here?" No one answered immediately. The hush that followed was near-total.


    Asah said, raising a hand. A faint glow enveloped her, crackling with subtle arcs of mana, and before my eyes, her body rippled. Fur sprang up in place of smooth skin, and her ears elongated into tufted tips. Her entire form shifted into a hybrid state¡ªa lioness woman, gleaming gold, with a slender muzzle and deadly claws. The transformation left her looking even more formidable, and the onlookers erupted in a mixture of gasps and cheers. She glanced at me with a smug expression, her previous inebriation seeming to diminish in the face of her new form.


    I cursed inwardly. I hadn''t expected her to shift mid-challenge, especially since it skirted the spirit of the challenge. But it wasn''t strictly forbidden by the simplistic rules of a drinking contest. A beastkin''s hybrid form was almost a secondary body waiting just out of reach for them to call on at any moment. In other words, her transformation might mitigate the intoxication, making this entire ordeal even tougher for me.


    As if reading my silent dismay, Asah licked her fangs, her leonine face twisted into a playful sneer. "Worried, Just John?" she drawled in a sultry voice. "Don''t worry. By morning, you''ll wish you''d given in sooner."


    Behind her, the Elder frowned, clearly recognizing the advantage Asah had just taken. Yet she didn''t intervene, either, letting Asah dig her own grave if she lost or profit if she won. So I forced a game face, ignoring the swirling haze in my head. My plan hinged on that Nepeta bottle, and I hoped she''d be reckless enough to fall for it.


    "All right, then," Strom grunted, stepping aside to give us more space at the table. "Thirteenth shot. Let''s see if you two can handle it."


    I shot him a shaky nod, painfully aware the stakes had just soared higher. I needed to ensure Asah reached for that specific bottle soon. Otherwise, I might end up with my face pressed to the floor, courtesy of her unstoppable stamina, and that was the best-case scenario.


    As I squared my shoulders, heart pounding like a war drum in my ears, I muttered a silent oath: I can''t afford to fail now. The crowd, leaning in to witness the next dramatic turn, felt like a living entity pulsing with tension. Asah, for her part, exuded a smug, bestial confidence that seemed to devour every shred of hesitation in the air.


    "Go on," she purred, gesturing toward the bottles with a clawed hand. "Pick the next one if you dare. Or shall I pick for you?"


    I rallied what was left of my composure, stepping to the side and letting my gaze scan the rows of bottles, mentally calculating my route to the Nepeta. Beneath my breath, I whispered a single word to steel myself: "Showtime."


    Asah arched a brow, her lioness ears pricking up with renewed interest as she scanned the shelves for our next round. I let my hand drift conspicuously near the row containing the Nepeta brew, intending to lure her focus that way. She noticed, her keen eyes flicking toward me in suspicion, so I quickly withdrew my fingers¡ªacting as though I''d made a mistake in even considering such a dangerous option.


    "Doubt you''ll handle that one," I remarked, tapping a single fingertip against the label but then pulling back like I''d touched something scalding. My tone was laced with mock caution, and I was careful to let a slight hint of challenge seep in. If I was lucky, she''d interpret it as me goading her.


    A fleeting flash of wariness crossed her face¡ªlike some buried instinct telling her this was a foolish idea. She might have recognized the name or the symbol: a stylized cat''s paw gripping a thistle, marking the bottle as Nepeta¡ªan extremely potent, catnip-infused liquor. In other words, an absolute nightmare for Catkin physiology. The crowd around us seemed to sense the significance as well, leaning in with a collective hush. Krenk stood off to one side, pipe clenched between his teeth, narrowing his eyes, possibly uncertain whether Asah would rise to the bait or call foul.


    "Bow out, Asah. Don''t make a fool of yourself," came a sharp admonition from somewhere in the crowd¡ªa voice brimming with exasperation. I recognized that crisp, regal tone as belonging to the Elder, the same raven-haired figure who''d scolded Asah before. A real note of panic colored her words, as though she realized exactly how catastrophic this choice could be.


    But Asah, with her typical iron will, merely squared her shoulders. "No. I never lose a challenge," she snapped, as though the concept of backing down was unthinkable. The Elder''s dismayed expression deepened, but she did not press further.


    In one smooth motion, Asah snatched up the Nepeta bottle, holding it aloft so that the faintly glowing greenish liquid swirled within. "You wanna pretend you''re not scared of this stuff?" she said, voice tinged with a low, teasing menace. "Fine. We''ll see who''s got the stronger stomach."


    Despite the tremor in my gut, I forced a casual shrug. My heart hammered in my chest¡ªthis was the precise moment I''d engineered, but now that it was happening, my nerves spiked. "I¡­uh, I live for a challenge," I replied, voice even but not quite as self-assured as I would''ve liked. I picked up a pair of shot glasses and slid one toward her, giving a showy little twirl with my hand to imply I was unshaken.


    She poured each of us a measure, and the pungent aroma instantly rose like a heat wave, stinging my nose. A hush descended upon the spectators, as though they''d collectively stopped breathing to watch. The liquor shimmered faintly, a ghostly green tint that seemed alive with mana.


    Asah raised her glass with her claws carefully curled around the sides. She fixed me with a feral grin, then lowered her muzzle to the rim and drained the shot in a single tilt of her head. Her tail lashed once, betraying a flicker of tension at the harsh burn. Bracing myself, I followed suit, letting the biting fluid wash over my tongue. It tasted of minted catnip and raw alcohol, hitting my system like an electric jolt.


    The silence turned uneasy. My vision swam for a moment, and I found myself closing my eyes briefly to ride out the dizzying sensation. Stay focused, I reminded myself. This is for your advantage, not hers. If I could keep it together better than she could, I might stand a chance.


    Asah lowered her empty glass, pupils dilating as she blinked rapidly. Her furred cheeks took on a deeper color, and a soft, involuntary purr rumbled in her throat¡ªhalf stifled, but unmistakable. When she tried to straighten, I spotted a slight wobble in her stance.


    Around us, the crowd gasped in unison. Even those who hadn''t realized what Nepeta was now saw the effect. The Elder, somewhere on the outskirts, let out a muffled curse, but Asah seemed too high on bravado to listen to anything else.


    "I''m not¡­" Asah growled, her voice rough with effort. "I''m not going to lose." Yet her words sounded slower, as if she had to push them out through an intangible haze.


    I exhaled, feeling the burn radiate through my own body. Nepeta wasn''t exactly harmless to me¡ªits alcoholic portion alone was enough to daze a grown orc. But my forcibly enhanced physiology, courtesy of Maeriel biomancy, lent me a resilience well beyond normal humans. I clung to that advantage now like a lifeline, fighting my own dizziness as I waited to see if Asah would unravel.


    As though acknowledging my personal victory, Krenk caught my eye from the edge of the ring, offering the slightest tilt of his head. I took in a shaky breath. One shot, and she''s already in trouble. But would it be enough to tip the balance completely?


    "Ready for another?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, even as a cold sweat beaded on my forehead. If Asah wanted me knocked out on the ground, she''d have to work for it¡ªand with Nepeta''s influence, maybe I''d outlast her this once. The watchers, fully entranced, whispered bets and speculations among themselves: Could John actually beat her? Will Asah pass out first? Strom stood off to the side, arms crossed, giving me a nearly imperceptible nod as if to say, Well played, lad.


    But Asah, momentarily high on catnip-laced liquor, seemed to float in her own shimmering world. Her leonine features twitched with a confused mix of euphoria and frustration, her tail moving in erratic arcs. She tried to form words, but what came out was a half-purred hiss. She rocked on her feet again, and a small circle of onlookers instinctively stepped back, wary that she might lash out.


    "Stop¡­looking at¡­ me like that," she mumbled, as though the crowd''s eyes were drilling into her. Then her focus slid back to me. For a moment, her gaze softened with a bizarre mix of desire and resentment. "Don''t¡­ do that again, it''s not fair if there are two of you," she said, although it wasn''t clear what she was even referring to. Maybe just me existing, I thought with wry irony.


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    I forced a half-smile. "I''m not doing anything except waiting for next round, or¡­what is it, round fifteen by now?" I teased, trying to project confidence. My knees felt weak, and sweat trickled down the back of my neck, but I wasn''t as close to meltdown as she appeared.


    As if defying her own weakness, Asah let out a low snarl. She attempted to straighten, but the catnip effect clung stubbornly, leaving her movements uncoordinated. The Elder observed from a distance, her expression dark and conflicted, arms folded beneath the flowing sleeves of her robe. It was plain she loathed seeing Asah compromised, yet it was also too late to intervene without publicly undermining her champion''s pride.


    I flexed my hands, taking a moment to brace my own trembling body against the table''s edge. The Nepeta had definitely hit me harder than standard liquors, leaving my head buzzing with color and random mental static. But as I pushed past the blur, I could sense that Asah''s condition was worse. The catnip laced throughout the brew didn''t just intoxicate her; it muddled her instincts, all but drowning her in a haze of pleasure and confusion.


    For the first time all night, the once-invincible champion looked like she might actually fold.


    "I¡­ can keep¡­ going," she insisted, her voice wavering. She slapped a hand down on the table, claws digging shallow grooves in the wood. Her dignity demanded she continue, but everyone could see her posture was unsteady, tail flicking in disoriented arcs. In the crowd''s collective gaze, I recognized the moment they realized this unstoppable lioness might be on the verge of collapsing.


    "Suit yourself," I said softly, taking advantage of her hesitation. "But if you pass out, that''s the end." Part of me felt a pang of guilt seeing her so wrecked. Yet I couldn''t forget what she''d intended to do to Nanlan. Nor could I afford to show mercy when that might ruin my only shot at victory.


    With a half-snarl, half-groan, Asah tried to straighten again. She blinked fiercely, as if trying to wipe away the mental fog, but it clung to her, coaxing a purr from her throat she probably hated letting anyone hear. The surrounding watchers held their breath, waiting to see if she''d find some hidden reserve or topple on the spot.


    I inhaled, mustering what I had left of my composure. My plan had worked¡ªNepeta was clearly ravaging her senses. Now, it was a matter of whether I had enough stamina to remain upright in case she demanded yet another shot.


    An uneasy hush fell, punctuated only by Asah''s ragged breathing and the occasional shuffle of feet in the crowd. The,n her legs buckled. She tried to stifle a yelp, but a startled hiss emerged from her muzzle. A wave of alarmed murmurs rippled across the onlookers. I took a step forward on instinct, half-prepared to catch her if she collapsed outright.


    "I¡ª I can still¡ª" Asah began, but the words trailed off in a dazed half-purr. She listed to one side, golden eyes losing focus. It was over. No matter how fiercely she tried to cling to consciousness, the catnip-laced liquor had made that final push.


    Her knees hit the floor with a soft thump, a strangled growl escaping her throat. The ring of onlookers backed away, as if expecting some violent outburst. Yet Asah simply swayed, her leonine ears drooping. With a last effort, she lifted her gaze to meet mine¡ªan odd mixture of disbelief, humiliation, and undisguised lust flickering in her half-lidded eyes.


    A dramatic hush followed. Then Strom, uncharacteristically gentle, crouched near Asah and tapped the ground once with his knuckles. "She''s done," he declared, glancing at me with a mix of surprise and begrudging admiration. "Challenge is over. John wins."


    I let out a breath I hadn''t realized I was holding, my limbs quivering. The cat crowd erupted in stunned gasps, some outraged, some simply amazed. Asah''s clanmates looked torn between rushing to her side and protesting the result, but the Elder gave a subtle shake of her head, halting them. Krenk, meanwhile, wore a gleeful expression, already punching numbers into his Link, no doubt tallying up the winnings.


    In the aftermath, I became acutely aware of my own unsteady balance. The Nepeta brew was still wreaking havoc on my system, and I tried not to sway as I stepped back from the table. In the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Nanlan peering out from behind one of Asah''s clan sisters¡ªrelief glowing in his eyes. The dogkin girl who''d accompanied him gave a quiet cheer, the sound nearly lost in the greater commotion.


    I couldn''t shake the sense that I''d just pulled off a minor miracle. Part of me felt a pang of sympathy for Asah, who''d now lost in such a public, humiliating fashion. Yet I also remembered the moment she''d threatened to drag Nanlan away for a "punishment." A swirl of conflicting emotions settled in my chest¡ªrelief at having saved the boy, guilt at witnessing the proud champion undone. But my own safety and pride were on the line, too, and I had no regrets about using cunning to tip the scales.


    Strom stood, nodding once to me, then cast a somber glance over the crowd. "All right, folks," he said, voice cutting through the chaos, "that''s enough gaping. Challenge is concluded, and the winner is John." He didn''t quite know how to phrase it, clearly at a loss for the usual dwarven pomp. "Now clear a path so this poor fool can catch his breath¡ªand so Asah''s clan can look after her."


    In a wave of murmurs, the onlookers began dispersing, some in a rush, others reluctantly. The ring parted for a group of cat girls to move in, though they hesitated, casting uncertain looks at the Elder. She advanced gracefully, shadows still clinging to her ankles, and knelt beside Asah, placing a hand gently on the champion''s shoulder. Then she looked up at me with an enigmatic gaze¡ªa mix of disappointment, curiosity, and maybe longing.


    Quietly, she said, "It appears you have bested her, John. The bargain stands, I presume?" Her voice resonated with a controlled authority.


    I swallowed and nodded stiffly, feeling a wave of exhaustion crash over me. "Yes, Elder. She lost, so Nanlan goes free," I managed, my voice rough.


    She rose, inclining her head in a subtle bow. "So be it," she said simply. Then, with a graceful shift, she turned to the nearest clan members. "See that Asah is made comfortable. We''ll deal with her¡­later." Her final word hung ominously in the air.


    At last, I allowed myself to breathe, shoulders slumping. Krenk sidled up, wearing a broad grin. "Nice job, lad. You even put on enough theatrics to keep the big spenders biting." I gave him a half-hearted glare, but the adrenaline was too spent for real anger.


    Turning away, I spotted Dagna elbowing her way through the dispersing crowd, worry etched on her face. She reached me in a few swift strides, ignoring Krenk''s triumphant snort. "You all right, John?" she asked, voice soft.


    I forced a wobbly smile and nodded. "Might need a seat," I admitted, the world tilting at the edges. My body demanded rest after the punishing string of shots¡ªand the final Nepeta round was still swirling in my veins.


    Dagna gently cupped my elbow. "Come on," she said, guiding me toward a vacant table in the corner. "We''ll get you a glass of water, or maybe something stronger if you still feel like playing hero."


    I only shook my head, relief coursing through me now that the tension had broken. I survived. That realization felt monumental. And for the first time tonight, I allowed a flicker of genuine laughter to escape my throat.


    Behind me, the echoes of the crowd''s buzz continued, but it no longer felt suffocating. I''d faced Asah GoldenClaw¡ªand lived to tell the tale. Not half-bad for a dandy bartender, I mused, sinking into the seat Dagna offered. Even if my legs were wobbly, and my vision still swam, I could savor this small victory. The night was far from over, but for now, I''d earned a moment''s respite in the swirling storm of the gala.


    But just as the crowd started drifting away, with conversations breaking off into scattered clusters and a few bold souls still lingering for a closer look, Asah stirred from her stupor. In a single, fluid motion, she leaped to her feet¡ªand, before any of her clanmates could hold her back, she charged straight for me. My stomach twisted into knots: one heartbeat I was certain this lioness was about to take my head off in a vengeful frenzy, and the next¡ªeverything changed. Instead of raking claws across my chest, Asah slammed into me in a surprisingly gentle tackle, her arms looping around my waist and her furred cheek pressing against my torso. A chorus of gasps rose from the onlookers who''d thought they''d see blood.


    She let out a series of low, rumbling purrs, the sound vibrating through her entire body. To my utter confusion, she began nuzzling me like a giant, overly affectionate housecat, rubbing her cheek and forehead along my chest as if demanding affection. My mind went blank for a moment, unsure how to handle this startling flip from wrath to...cuddles?


    On sheer reflex, I reached down and patted her head, my fingers sifting through the velvety strands of her mane. She leaned into it with a luxuriant shiver, eyes half-lidded in a dreamy haze. Her body twitched in delight. "Nya," she murmured, her voice soft and content. It was a complete reversal of her fierce persona¡ªonly moments ago, she''d been poised to crush me in a drinking contest, and now she was cuddling like we were old, affectionate friends.


    A startled shout from behind us snagged my attention. "Spirits, don''t pet her! Get away from her before she accepts!" The Elder''s alarmed voice rang through the rapidly quieting hall, her authority ripping through the uneasy hush. But she was too late. Asah''s head lifted, and I caught a flash of a playful spark of pure joy in her golden eyes just before she leaned in and delivered a gentle bite to my hand.


    It wasn''t a vicious bite, more like a languid nip, but an electric jolt of mana surged through the contact. I felt its tingling warmth spread across my skin, permeating deeper than any normal gesture could, as though her magical essence was flooding into me through the teeth marks. The Elder''s eyes went wide with alarm, and a horrified hiss escaped her lips.


    "Asah," she gasped, voice thick with dread, "you thrice-damned fool. What have you done?"


    <hr>


    Codex


    Notes from the Imperial Socio-Biological Compendium, Vol. IV: Beastkin Reproduction and Mating Behaviors


    Within Beastkin society, the act of "marking" a prospective male partner represents a profound evolutionary and cultural mechanism distinct from mere procreation or casual intimacy. From a biological perspective, this marking impulse is an instinctual drive tied to a Beastkin woman''s deeper mating protocols and typically does not manifest in her conscious thought processes. Instead, it emerges when the woman experiences a strong intrinsic attraction¡ªeither after a lengthy courtship or, on rare occasions, upon an immediate emotional or pheromonal draw.


    1. Marking Variations by Reflection Type


    Each Beastkin''s reflection (i.e., the animal aspect they embody) dictates the specific method employed for marking. Notable examples include:


    <ul>


    <li>Scenting: Common among canine-reflection Beastkin, who deposit their unique odor on a male partner.</li>


    <li>Grooming Rituals: Observed in certain avian or small mammalian Beastkin, often involving elaborate feather- or fur-preening.</li>


    <li>Biting: Particularly prominent in cat-reflection Beastkin (e.g., lioness, tiger, domestic cat lineages), where a gentle bite conveys an intent to claim beyond simple mating.</li>


    </ul>


    2. Cultural Significance


    Although marking can occur spontaneously in an unplanned moment of intense attraction, it traditionally unfolds after an extended relationship period¡ªperceived as a deeply meaningful statement of "undying affection and commitment." In many Beastkin communities, the marking act effectively signals the woman''s public declaration of intent to make the man her life partner.


    <ol>


    <li>Formal Recognition: If the male reciprocates by returning physical affection (often displayed via petting or grooming-like gestures), the pair are socially acknowledged as effectively "engaged," with many Beastkin clans equating this to a marriage proposal and acceptance.</li>


    <li>Declaration of Intent: In more direct or fervent encounters, a Beastkin woman may mark a man swiftly if she feels a powerful connection. Clans vary in their responses¡ªsome regard it as romantic or impulsive, while others view it as rash.</li>


    </ol>


    3. Artificially Induced Resonance


    Beyond mere cultural practice, Beastkin biology includes a remarkable capacity to forge a resonance effect by infusing their marking with "spirit mana." When a Beastkin woman employs this mana-rich marking on a man:


    <ul>


    <li>Mana Integration: The woman''s spirit mana integrates with the man''s system, creating a semi-permanent resonance that manifests most strongly during sexual contact.</li>


    <li>Conception Facilitation: If the Beastkin''s inherent magical capacity surpasses the man''s, the resonance compensates, ensuring conception is feasible.</li>


    <li>Enhanced Output: The claim also raises the man''s baseline mana production and heightens his libido, making him biologically more receptive to the woman who marked him.</li>


    </ul>


    4. Societal and Biological Consequences


    While advantageous for reproduction¡ªespecially for Beastkin with strong reflections¡ªthis claimed status imposes noteworthy constraints:


    <ol>


    <li>Mark Identification: Any Beastkin can detect the man''s claimed status via a basic olfactory test. The signature is unmistakable, indicating a life-bond formed through spirit mana infusion.</li>


    <li>Monogamous Binding (Woman''s Side): Once a woman''s spirit mana has imprinted upon the man, her body and magic are attuned to him. Any attempt at intimacy with a different male typically provokes severe physiological distress, akin to an acute, magically induced allergic response. In extreme cases, this reaction can prove fatal.</li>


    <li>Mana Depletion Over Time: Without regular contact (i.e., sexual or deeply intimate interaction) between the bonded pair, the woman''s mana reserves begin a gradual decline. For a highly powerful Beastkin, this deterioration may unfold over months or years, but will ultimately lead to significant weakening or loss of her abilities.</li>


    </ol>


    5. Implications for Modern Beastkin Communities


    The communal structure of many Beastkin cultures, where members often share resources and responsibilities, can clash with the restrictive outcome of a claimed bond. A champion-level Beastkin woman who claims a weaker male may find her mobility or future choices limited. Conversely, for men in societies that prize strong reflectors, being claimed can elevate their social standing¡ªbut also thrust them into clan politics they may be unprepared for.


    This phenomenon underscores the delicate balance between biological imperatives, cultural customs, and individual desires within Beastkin life. Scholastics continue to study the nuances of this process in hopes of better understanding both the reproductive benefits and the societal challenges it introduces.

 Chapter 4.4

    The pride of cat girls appeared to be in a state of near panic, their anxious gazes darting about as they huddled together, uncertain how to handle the bizarre spectacle before them. Meanwhile, Asah, still in her half-lioness form, clung to me with feverish affection¡ªher purring resonating so loudly, I swore my chest vibrated with every rumble. Each time I patted her head or scratched around her ears, her grip tightened, and she shivered with delight like a housecat cooing under a sunbeam. The onlookers¡ªsome of whom had started to slip away¡ªnow lingered on the edges of the circle, equally awed and worried.


    Suddenly, a striking figure emerged from the throng: a woman of regal bearing, her ebony skin complemented by a lustrous gold-and-silk gown, her face half-hidden under a fine cloak. She radiated an aura of confidence, gliding forward with a royal grace. "My, wasn''t that quite the show," she said, her tone laced with amused irony. "And with a surprise twist at the end¡ªI''m so pleased I got to witness it."


    Elder Midnight''s eyes widened in apparent relief at this newcomer''s arrival¡ªthough the other cat girls looked even more rattled. "Medarda? Spirits above, what in the name of our ancestors are you doing here?" the Elder demanded, impatience and wariness thick in her voice.


    The dark-skinned woman lifted her chin. "Why, enjoying Yuletide, of course," she answered smoothly, as though it was perfectly normal to stroll into a chaotic bar. "It''s not every day I happen upon my old friend and her prot¨¦g¨¦ locked in a drinking contest, of all things. I simply had to observe."


    Elder Midnight, clearly torn between exasperation and hope, exhaled sharply. "Medarda, stop toying around. You''re one of the few with the power to fix this¡­to extract Asah''s spirit essences before it''s too late."


    Medarda, covering her lips with the back of her hand, feigned dismay. "You''d have me deprive dear Asah of her chance at genuine romance¡ªand, more importantly, spare her from the consequences of her own folly?" She looked at the purring catgirl eyes alight with mirth. She took a dainty step forward, her gaze sliding slyly to me. "Or is it that you''d like to keep this delicious young man all to yourself, Elder?" she teased, voice dripping with playful mockery.


    "Medarda," the Elder hissed, as if the woman''s name was a proper curse. Anxiety flickered across her features. Meanwhile, Asah stirred in my arms, letting out a half-contented snarl, her hold on me tightening yet again.


    Medarda gave a short, musical laugh. "No need to bristle so. I''m simply having a bit of fun," she said lightly. "We''re not in any immediate rush¡ªMr. ''Just John'' here is a most unusually wonderful man, and we have time to sort out the details."


    Elder Midnight''s skeptical glance at Medarda made it clear she wasn''t entirely comforted. Even so, she offered a wary nod, as if resigning herself to the woman''s involvement.


    "Then first things first," Medarda continued, turning her attention toward the bar. "I need¡­privacy. I''ll need the establishment closed off for the rest of the night."


    Strom, who had been watching from near the beer taps, marched forward. "Listen here, Lady. I run a business, and I can''t just shut down whenever someone demands it," he barked, crossing his arms over his stout torso. "I''ve wages to cover, customers to serve¡ª"


    Before he could say more, Medarda flicked her wrist, and a velvet pouch appeared in midair before dropping into Strom''s hands. He caught it, startled, and peered inside. His jaw fell open. Mana crystals¡ªdozens of them¡ªglittered within, worth far more than any night''s earnings could provide, and likely exceeding the cost of King Victor''s entire bar multiple times over.


    "You heard the lady," Krenk announced gleefully, taking a long puff on his pipe. "We''re closing up, folks. Everybody out!"


    Strom, still gaping at the bag of crystals, shook himself to his senses. "Ahem¡­ Right then, you lazy louts, off with you!" he roared, channeling his usual dwarven bluster. "We''re closing for¡­private business. Everyone out, now!"


    A flurry of complaints and disappointed murmurs ensued, but the bag of crystals had apparently sealed the deal. Patrons¡ªsome reluctant, some downright curious¡ªshuffled out, casting final glances at me, Asah, and Medarda. Within a few minutes, the once-bustling bar was nearly empty, except for Strom, Krenk, Dagna, the cat girls, Elder Midnight, and Medarda herself.


    Asah continued to purr and rub against me, her powerful lioness body practically melting into my side, oblivious to the awkward hush that had fallen over the bar. My mind churned with uncertainty: was I supposed to push her away? Keep petting her? The onlookers had long since scattered, leaving only a core group¡ªStrom, Krenk, Dagna, Elder Midnight, Asah''s fellow cat girls, and now this mysterious newcomer named Medarda. The latter seemed entirely at ease, regarding us with a mildly amused, distinctly confident smile.


    Medarda let out a soft laugh that somehow carried an air of regal condescension, her attention sliding from me to Asah and back again. "This simply will not do," she declared, her polished tone resonating throughout the room. "We cannot have a conversation of this magnitude while you remain so¡­impaired." With a casual flick of her wrist, a tiny vial materialized in the air before me¡ªa swirling rainbow liquid housed in a vessel no larger than a teardrop. "A Phoenix Tear," she explained, her tone light but her eyes keen. "It should purge the traces of alcohol and catnip from your system."


    I stared at the vial in utter disbelief, my heart skipping a beat. Phoenix Tears were the stuff of legends¡ªexceedingly rare, unbelievably expensive. I''d heard rumors they could cure almost any malady, but to use one to clean up simple inebriation felt like an almost absurd waste of money. "Who¡­who exactly are you?" I managed to ask, torn between gratitude and skepticism. My words came out rough, throat parched from hours of potent liquor.


    "You don''t recognize me?" she asked, one brow arching with amused curiosity. "Well, I suppose that''s hardly surprising. My human form doesn''t inspire much recognition. Most people are more familiar with my true froms." And as she spoke, a soft glow began to pulse around her.


    I watched in growing astonishment as her figure was enveloped in a coruscating haze of golden light. It fanned out like miniature sunbeams wrapping her entire silhouette, and when it receded, she had changed drastically. Standing there was a draconic hybrid¡ªa being who radiated raw power and archaic majesty. She now bore four immense, gleaming horns that curved in graceful arcs from her head; elongated ears with a fine, downy covering; and dark skin patterned with gold, feather-like scales that glimmered beneath the bar''s lamplight. In her mouth, I glimpsed sharp fangs, and her eyes glowed with a regal, predatory gleam.


    My pulse thundered as recognition struck me with brutal force. Medarda the Golden Dragonthe wealthiest person to ever live. I''d seen images in passing, read the occasional snippet, but never had I imagined encountering her in the flesh.Here she was, calmly offering me a Phoenix Tear vial as if it were no more than a flask of water.


    "You¡­you''re Medarda," I breathed, fighting to steady my voice. Next to me, Asah''s purring faltered momentarily, as if she sensed the shift in atmosphere. Even the Elder looked visibly relieved yet deeply wary at this further display of Medarda''s power.


    "Yes. Medarda the Golden, the youngest if one insists on formality," she said, smiling in a manner that was both disarmingly gracious and completely self-assured. Her dragon-hybrid form towered over the rest of us¡ªeasily surpassing even Asah in terms of sheer presence. "I hope you''ll forgive the intrusion. I was rather bored this evening and found myself drawn by my nose to find more stimulating rewards. And, well, fate led me to this¡­dramatic display." Her gaze drifted to the cat girls, then to the Elder, who looked torn between deference and tension. She waved a hand at the swirling rainbow liquid still bobbing in midair. "Consider this an act of courtesy¡ªfor the time being."


    Strom exchanged a wide-eyed look with Krenk. Neither seemed entirely certain whether to protest or grovel. Meanwhile, I still felt Asah''s weight against me, her furred cheek pressed to my shoulder, purring softly despite the faint tremors of catnip-induced aftershocks. The Elder carefully cleared her throat, trying to regain some measure of authority.


    "Medarda, this is no minor inconvenience," Elder Midnight began, her tone respectful but tinged with urgency. "Asah may have started a claim¡ªher spirit mana might have fused with this man. We require immediate intervention before any permanent bond forms." She gestured at Asah''s persistent, affectionate clinging, her words falling somewhere between a plea and a demand.


    Medarda''s golden eyes flicked to me, then down to Asah''s contented expression. "Indeed, it does appear she''s begun the bond," Medarda noted, her voice thoughtful. "An unfortunate complication, especially if it isn''t mutual." Then she leaned in and gently brushed a scaled fingertip over Asah''s mane, as if testing the cat girl''s reaction. Asah responded with a deeper purr, but she didn''t cling to Medarda the way she did to me. "She''s enthralled by her own reflection''s instincts," Medarda mused softly.


    The Elder gave a sharp nod, exhaling. "Precisely. So please, do what you must. Extract the spirit mana or otherwise undo this fiasco." Her tone nearly cracked with anxiety, as though every second that passed made the situation more perilous. Around us, the cat girls hovered, ears perked, their eyes brimming with concern.


    Medarda regarded the Elder with a mild smile. "You worry too much, Midnight," she teased, returning her attention to me. "But fine. Let''s handle the simpler matter first. John, I suggest you accept the Phoenix Tear. It should lift the haze from your mind and body."


    I glanced at the flickering rainbow droplet, still suspended like a crystallized droplet of oil in the air. My entire being screamed at the extravagance of using such a legendary substance just to sober up¡ªand possibly shield me from an accidental lifebonding. But what choice did I have? If the bond was as permanent and life-altering as they''d implied, I needed every edge I could get.


    Taking a slow, steady breath, I reached out. The droplet settled onto my palm, its texture cool and slightly viscous. I let it slip between my lips. A rush of tingling heat spread through my throat, like swallowing a spark. The effect was instantaneous: the fog in my head evaporated, my heartbeat steadied, and even the lingering burn of potent liquors subsided to a mere memory. I blinked, feeling a clarity return to my senses. Asah''s weight against me suddenly felt more distinct, her purrs sharper on my ears.


    "Better?" Medarda asked politely, tilting her head in mild curiosity.


    I nodded, ignoring the strange fizzing sensation that lingered in my chest. "Much," I admitted, amazed at how my body felt simultaneously lighter and more grounded.


    "Excellent," Medarda murmured, returning her gaze to Elder Midnight. "Now, with our man out of immediate danger of further intoxication, we can discuss the delicate matter of unraveling a cat girl''s half-finished claim. If that is indeed the path you wish to take."


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    The Elder''s jaw tightened, and she offered a quick glance at Asah, who continued to cling to me. "It is. Time is of the essence. If her spirit mana fully latches on, it would be a disaster."


    As if sensing her name in the discussion, Asah lifted her chin, blinking at me with a half-lidded stare. "You smell so good," she said again, though the words held a slightly dreamy quality. Medarda smiled, hunger in her eyes, "That he certainly does, little lioness."


    "All right, my dear champion," Medarda cooed, stepping closer. "Let''s see what we can do about that pesky, bond." With a deliberate motion, she raised her scaled hand, and faint arcs of golden mana rippled around her claws. The sight elicited a collective gulp from the clan¡ªnone of them missed the significance of a Dragon''s raw power.


    I felt my nerves spike again. The notion of having someone "unravel" or "extract" spirit mana from me was¡­unsettling, to say the least. But I trusted this route more than letting an accidental bond define the rest of my existence. Elder Midnight gave me a curt, sympathetic nod, as if to say, It''s for the best. Krenk and Dagna watched with wide eyes, clearly enthralled by the display of high-level magic.


    "John," Medarda said, her golden gaze locking onto mine. "Stand very still. We''ll need your cooperation¡ªnot physically, but mentally. Keep your mind calm. Don''t fight the sensation." She rested one claw-tipped hand on my shoulder and held the other palm over Asah''s brow. Asah stiffened, her ears flattening slightly, but she didn''t resist.


    I steadied my breathing, nodding once. "Do whatever you must," I managed, swallowing a tight lump in my throat.


    The glowing threads of mana danced through the air like strands of liquid gold, wrapping around us in a gentle cocoon. Medarda''s movements were precise, her fingers tracing patterns that left faint ripples in the golden glow. Each motion felt deliberate, as though she were weaving an intricate tapestry of light and power. The atmosphere grew heavy, charged with the hum of raw magical energy.


    Asah let out another soft whimper, her tail twitching as she instinctively clung tighter to me. I could feel her warmth radiating against my side, her purring now reduced to faint vibrations. The pull of her spirit mana, though subtle, was unmistakable. It was like a magnetic force, trying to tether itself to me even as Medarda worked to unravel it.


    "You''re doing well," Medarda murmured, her voice low and soothing. "Keep your mind clear, John. Any resistance could complicate the process."


    I nodded, focusing on steadying my breath. Despite my outward calm, my nerves were frayed. The sensation of the mana threads brushing against my consciousness was disconcerting¡ªa strange blend of warmth and pressure that made it hard to ignore the vulnerability of the moment. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, but I forced myself to relax, trusting in Medarda''s skill.


    Asah''s breathing grew shallower, her head tilting back slightly as the golden threads began to shift around her. "No¡­" she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "Don''t take it away¡­"


    Medarda''s lips curved into a small, sad smile. "Hush, little lioness. You''ll thank me later. Bonds made in haste rarely lead to happiness."


    Elder Midnight stepped closer, her expression a mask of tension. "Is it working? Can you separate them?"


    "Patience," Medarda replied, her tone carrying an edge of sharp authority. "This is delicate work. A single misstep could have¡­undesirable consequences."


    That didn''t do much to settle my nerves, but I kept my gaze locked on Medarda, trusting her steady hands and confident demeanor. The golden threads began to tighten, drawing closer to Asah and me as they wove into an intricate lattice. I felt another gentle tug, this time accompanied by a faint ache in my chest¡ªa dull, pulling sensation that sent a shiver down my spine.


    Asah let out a low growl, her claws flexing slightly as if to resist. Medarda''s hand on her brow pressed down with a little more force, and the growl softened into a plaintive whine. "There, there," Medarda cooed. "I know it''s uncomfortable, but this is for your own good."


    The golden mana began to shimmer more brightly, the threads unraveling in slow, deliberate waves. With each unraveling strand, I felt the pull on my mind ease slightly, like a knot being carefully loosened. Asah''s body trembled against mine, her grip slackening little by little. The bond wasn''t gone yet, but it was weakening, the connection fraying under Medarda''s careful ministrations.


    "You''re almost there," Medarda said, her voice steady. "Just a little longer."


    The room was silent except for the faint hum of the magic and Asah''s soft, uneven breathing. The other cat girls watched with wide eyes, their ears pinned back in unease. Even Elder Midnight seemed to hold her breath, her sharp gaze flicking between Medarda and me.


    Medarda drew in a steady breath, her brow furrowing with intense concentration as she closed her eyes. A series of faint flickers began to dance between her outstretched palms¡ªsoft, luminescent threads of mana coalescing until they formed a delicate, swirling lattice. The strands shimmered in the dim light, extending outward and encircling Asah and me in a gossamer web. Even before I felt the full weight of the magic, there was a slight pull at the edges of my consciousness¡ªa sensation like curious fingers brushing through my thoughts, delicate but insistent.


    Gradually, the magic drew something from within us, as if coaxing a dormant thread of connection into the light. I felt my heart flutter in response, part anticipation and part unease, uncertain of what revelation might follow. The air itself seemed charged with possibility, crackling with the promise of unspoken truths yet to be discovered. Medarda''s breathing turned shallow, her focus unwavering even as a thin sheen of sweat gathered at her temple.


    Several minutes trickled by, each one humming with an almost tangible tension. Finally, Medarda released a long, measured exhale. Her eyes snapped open, revealing a mix of frustration and exhilaration flickering across her features. Allowing her hands to sink slowly to her sides, she surveyed Asah and me with a look that was equal parts disbelief and fascination.


    Medarda exhaled softly, her voice carrying an undercurrent of both relief and lingering unease. "Well," she began, her tone quivering just enough to betray her tension, "that was certainly unexpected. I managed to isolate her spirit mana, so for the time being, the bonding has been halted." She cast a measured gaze across the room, as though anticipating a flood of questions.


    Elder Midnight, her brow deeply furrowed, stepped forward with anxious resolve. "What do you mean by halted?" She asked, her voice clipped with impatience. "Can''t you fix it?" Despite her attempt at composure, concern bled through in every syllable, and her dark eyes flickered with an urgent need for answers.


    Medarda drew in a long, slow breath, as though preparing to deliver unwelcome news. "There''s an unexpected complication," she explained, her words heavy with implication. "I''ll need to address this matter with John¡ªalone." She paused, allowing the gravity of her request to settle over everyone. "So, if you don''t mind," she added quietly, "I''d like the rest of you to give us a moment."


    A ripple of hesitation passed through the group, but Medarda''s insistence was not to be ignored. Slowly and reluctantly, they began to file out. Elder Midnight, whose shoulders remained rigid with lingering doubts, cast a final glance back at me before vanishing through the doorway. All except Asah. Who still clung to me as if her life depended on it.


    Once the others had gone, a hush fell over the chamber. Medarda turned her full attention on me, her golden eyes appearing even more luminous under the waning light. "John," she said softly, her voice steady yet laden with concern, "is your core dormant?" The weight of her question hung in the air, sharp and insistent, as if the answer itself might unravel a secret long kept hidden.


    <hr>


    Codex


    Mod Deleted Post on QuestingAdventures Forum The Crystal Dragon''s Hidden Bloodline Posted by <s>TruthSeeker8008 </s>Banned.


    Alright, fellow truth-seekers, buckle up hard because I''m diving headfirst into the unholy pit of secrets the Dragon Dominions DO NOT want us to see! Everyone''s heard the same stale rumors¡ªancient Crystal Dragon, had a horde of children, half the noble families claim his blood. Blah, blah, blah. Only the Pendragons supposedly have ironclad proof of a direct line. Yawn. That''s the tame part.


    WELL, GET THIS:


    It is confirmed the Crystal Dragon fathered twelve daughtersand yes, I said only daughters with other dragons. They''re the only ones to survive that apocalyptic meltdown known as "the Fall," when nearly every other draconic beast lost its mind and went feral. But guess what? This conspiracy is thicker than a minotaur''s hide!


    Because here''s where stuff gets truly insane: those twelve daughters uncovered a freakish method to reproduce without a single scale of male assistance some perverse brand of parthenogenesis. I''ve heard everything from demon-blood rituals and clandestine deals with unspeakable horrors, to twisted alchemical forging. No one and I mean NO ONE has a straight answer. But they made it work. And since that day, each daughter spat out exactly one new daughter, forming a single-file line of ruling draconic tyrants that STILL lord over the Dominions.


    Now skip ahead to our lovely modern era: the Great Dying Wars nearly obliterated this delicate female lineage. And we''re stuck with ONE surviving daughter: Medarda. That''s right¡ªeverything rides on her scaly shoulders. And here''s the kicker: she can''t perform the magical parthenogenesis act. Zip. Nada. The rumor says the Dominion is in full-blown panic mode, trying to find any way for the dragonoids to dodge total extinction from the mass suicides that would follow the death of the last dragon.


    But why is this so urgent right now? Why do the Dragons suddenly need so many "donations" from our archives? Why is Medarda gathering the biggest hoard ever created? Why have half the realm''s great houses "mysteriously" lost their eligible male sons to "accidents" or "disappearances"? Are the Dragons snatching men for some monstrous breeding experiment? Are the High Elves in on it, feeding them captive for their own gain?


    And to top it off, why is our so-called "government" sweeping this entire fiasco under the biggest rug imaginable? How is any of this not front-page news on every paper in the city?


    We''re teetering on a knife''s edge, folks. If something doesn''t break soon if we don''t blow this entire Dragon Dominion conspiracy wide open we could be looking at a second Fall that might make the first look like a dinner party. We either end up shackled under unstoppable draconic overlords, or everything just goes boom.


    So do yourselves a favor: Keep your eyes peeled. Don''t trust any shady noble claiming "Crystal Dragon ancestry". The next few months could decide if we end up slaves or extinct. No one''s telling us the truth, so we have to rip it out ourselves!

 Chapter 4.5

    It should have been impossible for anyone to tell that my core was dormant. The sheer level of my innate power masked the telltale signs most wouldn''t have noticed, even with a closer inspection. My vitality, my appearance, and the aura I radiated were all misleading indicators. To most, I seemed far too alive and vibrant for a dormant core.


    But the truth was different. My core had once been active, forcibly awakened far too early during my time in the Crib. It had been started through what they called Dawning, the initiation of core starting puberty. I had been far too young, and my core was forced to activate before I was physically or emotionally ready. My captors didn''t care about my long-term health, only about the mana and sex they could siphon from me. That forced activation had left deep scars, both physical and emotional, that never fully healed.


    Maeriel had coaxed my core into dormancy as she rebuilt my body, a self-protective mechanism to preserve what remained of me. Dormancy suppressed my libido to nearly nothing and left me physically impotent. A small price to pay for peace of mind and, perhaps, survival. It shielded me from the women who surrounded me, many of whom would have eagerly taken advantage of my mana-rich potential if given the chance. But more importantly, it kept me safe from myself. Those old cravings, those lingering echoes of a warped past, still whispered at the edges of my mind. The temptation was always there: I could reach out, reignite the core, and awaken what lay dormant within me. But with that awakening would come the pain. The pain of memories, of control stolen from me, of vulnerability exposed.


    Now, facing Medarda, no wonder she found out. She was a dragon, the apex predators of this world and undisputed masters of magic. If anyone could see beyond the carefully crafted facade, it would be her. I could feel her golden gaze boring into me, unrelenting and impossibly keen, as if she were peeling back the layers of my being to uncover my deepest secrets.


    "Yes," I replied finally, my voice steady but guarded.


    Medarda tilted her head, her golden horns catching the light, her expression unreadable. "Fascinating," she murmured, drawing out the word as though tasting it. Her gaze remained fixed on me, unblinking, waiting for more. An explanation, a confession, something. But I offered nothing. Silence stretched between us, a deliberate barrier I wasn''t ready to let her cross.


    She arched a delicate brow, the corner of her mouth quirking into what might have been amusement or perhaps mild frustration. "You''re a man full of secrets, aren''t you?" she said, her tone lighter now, though no less probing. "I wonder just how many layers there are to peel back."


    I didn''t respond, keeping my expression neutral. There was no point in giving her more ammunition, no matter how harmless her words seemed on the surface.


    Medarda leaned back slightly, folding her arms across her scaled chest as she continued to study me. "Dormancy isn''t a common condition, you know. It''s not without its risks, particularly for someone with your level of mana. Most would see it as¡­unnatural." Her golden eyes flicked toward my face, sharp and assessing. "And yet, I sense it suits you. An intentional decision, perhaps?"


    Her words cut deeper than I cared to admit, but I maintained my composure. "It''s what I needed," I said simply, hoping the brevity would dissuade her from pressing further.


    She smiled faintly, though there was something almost predatory in her expression. "What you needed," she echoed softly. "Interesting."


    The way she said it made my skin crawl, as if she were filing the information away for later use. She didn''t push further, but the weight of her curiosity lingered, heavy and unspoken. It was clear that Medarda was far from finished with me, and the thought sent a chill down my spine. For now, though, she let the matter drop, turning her attention back to the room at large with an air of practiced nonchalance.


    Asah had drifted off in my lap, her breathing soft and even, the occasional gentle snore punctuating the otherwise quiet room. Every now and then, a contented thrumming sound¡ªsomething between a purr and a hum¡ªcame from deep in her throat. My hand moved automatically, stroking her mane-like hair as if she were some oversized housecat. Despite the surreal absurdity of the situation, it was oddly calming.


    Across from me, Medarda''s gaze sharpened, something flickering in her golden eyes. Was it jealousy? Amusement? Envy? I couldn''t tell, but the emotion was there, raw and unguarded, for just a moment before her expression smoothed into something unreadable. Whatever had passed through her mind seemed to solidify a decision.


    "Tell me, John," Medarda began, her voice laced with an almost teasing curiosity, "how much do you know about Reflections?"


    I blinked, momentarily thrown off by the question. "Uh¡­ the basics, I guess," I admitted hesitantly, still absently petting Asah''s hair. "A Reflection is a connection to a Primordial Spirit or a Great Spirit. A Nemean lionessin Asah''s case, right?"


    Medarda''s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn''t quite reach her eyes. "Yes, that''s the standard explanation, the one taught to children and whispered in common lore. And, for most, that surface level knowledge is all they''ll ever need. But, as with most things in this world, the truth is far more nuanced and complicated."


    "How so?" I asked, curiosity creeping into my voice despite my weariness.


    Medarda leaned forward slightly, her scaled hands resting gracefully on her lap, her golden eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the air feel heavier. "Reflections are not merely connections, John. They are mergers, two beings intertwined at the deepest level. A Reflection isn''t just a bond but a coexistence. Two distinct entities one a Kindred, the other a Spirit woven together into a single soul."


    Her words sent a ripple of unease through me. I''d always thought of Reflections as external allies or companions, like familiars. But this? This was far more intimate than I''d imagined. "Two beings in one soul? Like identical twins?" I murmured, frowning slightly. "I didn''t realize it went that deep."


    "Few do," Medarda replied with a faint shrug, her tone matter-of-fact. "It''s not something openly discussed, even among the Beastkin. You see, these two entities are not in perfect harmony. They are, by their nature, often at odds. One is Kindred, the thinking, reasoning, human like half. The other is the beas, instinct driven, primal, governed by the laws of nature." She paused, her gaze flicking down to Asah''s slumbering form. "And in the case of the Beastkin, these two beings even share two physical forms. Only one can exist on the physical plane at a time, while the other resides in the spiritual, ever ready to be called upon."


    I processed this, the weight of her explanation settling over me. "That''s¡­ a lot more complex than I thought," I admitted quietly.


    Medarda nodded. "Indeed. And for a lioness like Asah, the beast within her carries its own imperatives urges and instincts that can be as unrelenting as they are ancient. Chief among them is the need to find a lion for her pride."


    She said the last part pointedly, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she looked directly at me. The weight of her words sank in slowly, piece by piece, until I felt my throat tighten.


    "Oh," I managed, the word coming out more like a croak than I intended.


    Medarda''s smile grew sharper, the glint in her eyes almost predatory. "Oh, indeed," she said smoothly. "Now consider this, John: you''re likely the first man to ever truly stand up to her, let alone best her in any capacity. That alone would have piqued her instincts. Combine that with your¡­ shall we say, unique scent intoxicating, even to me and your appearance, and you become irresistible. And let us not forget," she added with a wry chuckle, "the fact that she is currently high as a kite on a substance that amplifies her natural impulses."


    I swallowed hard, glancing down at Asah. Her expression was one of utter contentment, her grip on me unyielding even in sleep. The bite she''d given me earlier sent a phantom tingle through my hand, a reminder of what Medarda had called her "mark."


    "She marked me," I said aloud, more to myself than anyone else.


    "Yes," Medarda confirmed, her tone turning almost clinical. "She did. A beastkin''s claim is no small thing, John. It''s more than just a declaration of affection or intent it''s a binding act of spiritual and biological significance. And whether you like it or not, you are now a part of her pride in her mind even if I can remove the part of her spirt she has gifted you."


    The room seemed to tilt slightly, the enormity of her words crashing over me like a wave. "But I didn''t agree to¡ª"


    "It doesn''t matter," Medarda interrupted, her voice firm but not unkind. "The beast within her doesn''t require your consent. It acts on instinct, and once the mark is made, the process begins. You will accept her claim when you pat her, and know you need to deal with the consequences."


    "Consequences?" I echoed, my voice barely above a whisper.


    Medarda tilted her head, her gaze softening ever so slightly. "For her, rejection would mean heartbreak a wound to both her spirit and her mana core. For you? It means navigating the fallout of turning down a lioness who has already decided you''re hers. Neither option is without its challenges, I assure you."


    I leaned back slightly, feeling the weight of Asah against me as she stirred faintly in her sleep. My hand had stilled, but her soft purring continued, a sound that felt oddly soothing despite the storm brewing inside my mind.


    "You have a decision to make, John," Medarda said quietly, her voice low and measured. "But I suggest you take your time. This isn''t something to be rushed. I have stopped the process for the time being. Your dormant core was a complication I wasn''t expecting, and I will need to investigate the matter to see how to extract her essence without harming you."


    "Is it really my choice?" I asked, my voice quiet but laden with a bitterness that surprised even me. "How many times in this life have I truly been given a choice? Or is this just Fate intervening in my life again, pulling strings I didn''t even know were there?"


    Medarda''s gaze softened, a flicker of something like sympathy crossing her golden eyes. She regarded me with an almost maternal intensity, though beneath that calm exterior was an undeniable current of restrained power. "It is your choice, John," she said gently, her voice a velvet caress that nevertheless held unshakable weight. "I am not capable of denying you anything you ask of me. But¡­" She paused, her tone shifting to something more measured. "I would advise you to consider this very carefully."


    I frowned, my mind tangled in uncertainty. "And why is that?" I asked, my voice tinged with skepticism.


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    "Asah has had a difficult life," Medarda began, her gaze briefly drifting down to the sleeping lioness curled in my lap. "The Zodiac Clans are not known for their softness. She has grown up under a mantle of expectations, traditions, and responsibilities that have shaped her into what you see today a fierce warrior, a proud champion, and, yes, a woman deeply in need of something she cannot name. You could give her that, John. You could show her a world outside of the confines of her clan''s rigid structure. A glimpse of freedom, of balance."


    "And what about me?" I countered, my voice sharpening. "What if I don''t want to be anyone''s savior or balm for their wounds? What if I''m tired of being dragged into other people''s expectations?"


    Medarda tilted her head, studying me as though weighing the very fabric of my soul. "I understand your weariness," she said, her voice low and understanding. "But there''s more to this than just Asah. I think you will need her, John. Perhaps more than you realize. The days ahead will not be easy for you."


    I narrowed my eyes, her cryptic tone sparking unease. "What do you mean by that?" I asked, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.


    She hesitated for a fraction of a second, as if debating how much to reveal. Finally, she exhaled softly. "John, have you noticed that powerful women seem increasingly drawn to you? That their interest in you isn''t just casual or fleeting?"


    The question made my breath hitch. My mind flashed to Taimi''s shy but persistent attentions, to Adora''s earnest declarations, and even to Asah''s impulsive claim. "Yes," I admitted reluctantly. "How do you know that?"


    A faint smile curved Medarda''s lips, though it didn''t reach her eyes. "It''s not difficult to see," she replied. "You are a remarkable man, John. You may not see it in yourself, but women like us, women who hold power, whose magic is a key part of their being we see it. We''re drawn to it, like moths to a flame."


    Her words made my chest tighten. "Drawn to what, exactly?" I asked, my voice wary.


    "To your potential," she said simply, leaning forward slightly. "Your core isn''t even active, and yet your mana radiates with a quiet strength most men couldn''t dream of. If your core were to awaken, John, you could grow to be the most powerful man alive. That kind of potential doesn''t go unnoticed. And it doesn''t go unclaimed."


    Her words hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy with implications. "Unclaimed?" I repeated, my stomach knotting.


    "Yes," Medarda confirmed, her tone growing sharper. "Powerful women those who see what you could become will be drawn to you. Some, like Asah, will want to protect you. Others¡­" Her gaze darkened, and a flicker of something dangerous passed over her face. "Others will see you as a resource to be taken. By force, if necessary."


    I swallowed hard, the weight of her warning settling like a stone in my chest. "You think someone will try to¡­ what? Kidnap me? Use me?"


    "Not think, John. Know," Medarda said bluntly. "It''s only a matter of time. That is the other reason I asked everyone else to leave the room."


    The sudden shift in her tone made my pulse quicken. "Why?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.


    Medarda''s golden eyes locked onto mine, unblinking. "Because every instinct in my being is urging me to take you myself, to make you part of my hoard, to protect and nourish you above all else" she said, her voice low and thrumming with restrained power. "To ensure that you are mine to serve, to claim you before anyone else does."


    The air between us crackled with tension. I felt like prey under her piercing gaze, the weight of her words coiling around me like a net. Medarda leaned back slightly, giving me a moment to breathe, though her eyes never left mine.


    "But I won''t," she added softly, almost regretfully. "Not unless you ask me to. This is your choice, John. But understand if you don''t choose someone to stand by your side, to shield you from what''s coming, someone else will make that choice for you."


    Her words hung in the air like a foreboding specter, casting a shadow over everything I thought I understood. For the first time in a long while, a deep vulnerability settled over me not just the kind that left me feeling exposed in body, but a profound, gnawing uncertainty about the enormity of my future and the forces converging upon it.


    I forced myself to meet her golden gaze, my voice strained as I finally spoke. "You''re one of the most powerful women in the world, aren''t you? The wealthiest, too, by any measure. So why would you even need to ask me? Why not just¡­ take me, like everyone else seems so eager to do?"


    A shadow of something ancient flickered behind her eyes, equal parts sorrow and hunger. She tilted her head, her golden horns catching the soft glow of the room''s remaining light, and her scaled tail curled lazily around the leg of the chair, the tip brushing against my calf. "Because I can''t," she said simply, her voice carrying the weight of restraint. "Much like Asah, I, too, am tethered to my True Form. Though in my case, it is often the other way around. You see, John, I am a dragon. And people often forget this truth about us."


    "Forget what?" I asked, my throat dry.


    "That dragons," she said softly, her voice almost reverent, "are not naturally matriarchal. We have become so out of necessity, not design. The extinction of our males hurt us deeply wounded us in ways we could never heal from. Every dragoness, no matter how powerful or seemingly independent, harbors an instinct. A need." Her voice grew quieter, her words more deliberate. "We long for a Lord. Someone to serve. To provide for. To give our hoard. To claim us, to control us. A Dragon Lord to call Master."


    Her gaze burned with a fire that seemed to pierce through my soul, and I felt a faint shiver crawl down my spine. Her tail moved more deliberately now, brushing against my leg in a way that made my pulse quicken with equal parts trepidation and intrigue.


    "I''m not a dragon," I said firmly, though the words felt more like a question than a statement as they left my mouth. I tried to sound certain, but Medarda''s expression told me my protest didn''t hold much weight.


    "That," she said, a predatory smile tugging at the corners of her lips, "is where you are only partially correct. You may not wear scales or bear horns, but there is more to you than you realize. The Crystal Dragon, had children, many of whom were human. By now the bloodlines have long since faded, diluted by countless generations, but every so often, a man awakens something deep within that dormant lineage. Something we dragons recognize immediately." Her voice lowered, the hunger in her tone unmistakable now. "To us, you are no ordinary man, John. You are a Dragon Lord."


    The words struck me like a thunderclap, leaving me reeling. My instincts wanted to reject the notion outright, but a part of me a small, buried part felt an eerie resonance with her declaration. I tried to mask my unease. "You''re saying that all this¡­ attention I''ve been getting is because of some ancient bloodline?"


    "Precisely, " Medarda said, leaning in slightly, her presence overwhelming. "All those stories you''ve heard, of feral dragonesses abducting young princes? They are no mere legends or propaganda. They are echoes of a truth we dragons have carried for ages. When a man like you appears, with power potent enough to awaken our instincts, we are powerless to resist. Your scent, your aura, the very air around you it sings to us. It calls to us in ways that words cannot capture.


    Her gaze softened, though the intensity in her eyes remained. "We had believed that such potential had faded entirely. The Age of Revolution and Great Dying Wars destroyed many of the strong bloodlines. That there would never be another man who could invoke such a response in our kind. Yet here you are, standing before me, John. My Dragon Lord." She smiled then, a mixture of reverence and yearning crossing her face. "And I am here, ready and willing to serve you however you desire."


    The room seemed to tilt as her words settled over me, heavy and unyielding. My mind raced, trying to process the implications of what she''d said. The raw devotion in her tone, the sheer intensity of her presence it was almost too much to bear. For a moment, I wasn''t sure whether to feel flattered, terrified, or completely overwhelmed. The only thing I knew for certain was that my life had just become infinitely more complicated once again.


    <hr>


    Codex


    Scene from Linkshow Mum''s Army Season Four Episode Six.


    Leslie (suddenly remembering something): Hey, where do the beastkin keep their clothes when they shift?


    Riona (looking baffled): What?


    Leslie (shrugging): I just never really thought about it, you know? But the other day, the Shield Captain shifted right in front of me in a dirty uniform. Then when she shifted back, she was wearing a clean one. And not even the same one. It''s weird. Weird, I tell you.


    Riona (snorts): And you''re asking me? Fuck are you asking that for, Leslie? Like I''ve got a "Guide to Beastkin Fashion" hidden under my bunk?


    Leslie: Well, you were a Scholastic before the war, weren''t you?


    Riona: Yes, but I studied plants, not spirit world mechanics. I could tell you how to brew a potent healing salve from swamp moss, but not how the Shield Captain keeps her breeches tidy through transformations.


    Leslie (leaning in, eyes sparkling with mischief): So, you do think it''s something to do with the spirit world?


    Riona (throws up her hands): I guess? Maybe. I mean, sure, they might stash their clothing there along with their extra form. Do I look like the Spirit Realm expert?


    Leslie (thoughtful): If that''s the case, could they store other stuff in there, like a sword? A crossbow? Snacks? I mean, if you have a whole pocket dimension for pants, you might as well keep rations in there too.


    Riona (rolling her eyes): Is this what you spend your guard shifts thinking about?


    Leslie: Yes. Because it''s mysterious. How do we defend ourselves properly if we don''t understand it?


    Riona: You could always ask the shield captain or heavens forbid read a book. I''m sure they''d be thrilled to give you a demonstration.


    Leslie (shudders): She''d probably bite my head off. Or literally rearrange my skeleton with one glare.


    (They both pause, imagining the scenario, then shudder together.)


    Riona: So¡­ that''s a no, then?


    Leslie (sheepish): Big no. If I value my neck, I better keep quiet. At least until I figure out some polite, scholarly way to ask.


    Riona (raising an eyebrow): "Excuse me, Shield Captain, but might I inquire about the astral storage of your undergarments?" (She mimics a stiff, polite bow, then laughs.)


    Leslie (snorts laughing): Exactly! That''d go so well. I''d be on latrine duty for the third month in a row.

 Chapter 4.6

    I wasn''t entirely sure what I was feeling as Medarda''s golden eyes bore into mine, filled with a quiet, almost pleading desperation that was at odds with the calm authority she radiated. Her scaled tail brushed against my leg in slow, deliberate motions¡ªa gesture that was both soothing and unnervingly intimate. Meanwhile, Asah slept peacefully on my lap, her head resting against my thigh, a faint purr rumbling from her throat. The contrast between the two women, one fierce and regal, the other vulnerable and affectionate, created a tension that I could feel humming in the very air around me.


    A strange cruelty stirred within me, sharp and unsettling. Here were two of the most powerful women I''d ever encountered, and both seemed willing, even eager, to lower themselves before me. It wasn''t just their deference that unsettled me. It was how a part of me wanted to see them grovel, to strip away their pride and make them feel the way I''d been made to feel in the darkest moments of my life. The thought sent a shiver through me, both thrilling and revolting.


    Where was this coming from? My chest tightened as I wrestled with the duality inside me. Some of it, I knew, stemmed from the unresolved bitterness I carried from my previous life ruined by the callousness of the oligarchs who had bled the world dry for personal gain. The powerful in my last life had treated humanity as pawns, tools to be discarded once they''d outlived their usefulness. Now, faced with power of my own, a dark corner of my soul whispered that it was my turn to take control, to bend others to my will.


    But there was another part of me, quieter but no less insistent, that wanted something different. I wanted to dominate them, not out of malice or vengeance, but out of a deeper, more primal drive I hadn''t fully acknowledged until now. A part of me craved the power to claim them, to assert myself in a world where I''d so often felt powerless. That realization sent a jolt of fear through me. Was this who I truly was, or was it something this strange world had awakened in me?


    Medarda''s voice broke through my spiraling thoughts, her tone soft yet laced with intensity. "You''re quiet, John. What thoughts weigh so heavily on you?" Her tail stilled its movement, her gaze searching mine for answers.


    I hesitated, unsure how to articulate the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside me. "I... I don''t know," I admitted finally. "This, everything, it''s a lot. Too much, maybe."


    She tilted her head, her golden horns gleaming under the faint light. "Too much power? Too much attention? Or too much of yourself?"


    Her words cut deeper than I expected, and I found myself unable to meet her gaze. "All of it," I muttered, my hand still absently stroking Asah''s soft mane. "I''ve spent so much of my life trying to keep my head down, to avoid being noticed. Now, suddenly, I''m surrounded by women who see me as... something more than I see myself. It''s overwhelming."


    Medarda regarded me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "Power is a double edged sword," she said finally. "It can uplift or destroy, depending on how it''s wielded. You, John, have the potential to wield it in ways few men ever could. But with potential comes choice. What will you do with the power others see in you? Will you rise above, or will you let the shadows of your past dictate your path?"


    I swallowed hard, her words striking a chord I wasn''t ready to face. "What if I''m not strong enough to make the right choice?" I asked quietly.


    "Strength isn''t about never faltering," Medarda replied, her voice gentle but firm. "It''s about standing back up when you do. And if you fear the darkness within you, it means you''re already fighting it. That''s more than most can say."


    Her words offered a flicker of solace, but they didn''t banish the fear gnawing at me. I glanced down at Asah, her peaceful slumber a stark contrast to the turmoil inside me. The sight of her innocence, her vulnerability, tugged at something deep within me. Something in her had trusted me enough to let down her guard entirely, something I doubted came easily to her.


    Medarda seemed to sense the shift in my focus. "Asah has chosen you," she said, her tone tinged with an odd mixture of amusement and envy. "Perhaps that frightens you even more than the idea of power. To be chosen, to be needed, it''s a heavy burden, isn''t it?"


    I nodded slowly, unable to find the words to respond. It wasn''t just Asah''s choice that unsettled me, nor Adora or Taimi, it was the realization that, for the first time in this life, people were looking to me for something more. Could I live up to those expectations? Did I even want to?


    "You don''t have to decide everything tonight," Medarda said, her voice softer now. "But know this, John: whatever path you choose, you won''t walk it alone. That, I can promise you."


    Her words carried a weight of sincerity that eased some of the tension in my chest, but the lingering questions remained. What did I truly want? And when the time came to choose, would I be ready to face myself and the world with the strength to do what was right?


    I sat at the table for nearly an hour, staring blankly at the two Linking Crystals resting in my palm. Their faint glow pulsed with potential energy, ready to be placed into my Link, but I couldn''t muster the will to complete the task. Across the room, Dagna moved briskly, packing up the bar and stacking glasses, her small frame brimming with energy despite the long night. She shot me the occasional curious glance, but I was too deep in my thoughts to respond.


    Krenk had taken Strom somewhere private to calm down. You couldn''t give a dwarven male that much wealth without him getting heated. Still, I worried; they usually planned out their private moments with great care. They had to, given that Krenk courted death by falling into a Rut every time they were together.


    Medarda had taken Asah back to her clan to recover. She''d assured me that the cat girl had already shaken off the effects of the Nepeta, but the claiming had left her drained. According to the dragon, Asah needed time to regain her strength and perhaps more importantly, time for me to decide what I was going to do about her. Medarda had promised to "sit on the lioness" until I made my decision, though her amused tone hadn''t exactly been reassuring.


    I sighed, leaning back in my chair, my fingers absently rolling the crystals over each other. How had my life spiraled into such chaos in the span of a single night? This morning, my biggest concern had been whether a noble would get too handsy during the Yuletide gala. I had planned for a quiet evening serving drinks, dodging flirtations, and maybe slipping out early to see the Hours of Wonders before the Spirt World could no longer be seen.


    Instead, I''d been saved from an assault by an Orcish champion, discovered my best friend had been obsessively Focused on me for years, and gotten trapped in the palace restroom by not one, but two of the most powerful Aspected beings in existence as they made love. I''d resonated with the princess of the realm, a connection so intimate and rare it bordered on the sacred. Then, somehow, I found myself embroiled in a drinking contest with a beastkin lioness who ended up marking me. And, just to top it all off, the richest woman in the world had decided I was her "Lord," bound to her in ways I barely understood.


    And let''s not forget the looming specter of my insane adoptive mother, Maeriel. I shuddered at the thought of her finding out about tonight''s events. How she would react was anyone''s guess, but the word "calm" definitely wouldn''t be part of it. She might lock me in a tower, or worse, hunt down everyone involved and unleash her terrifying wrath. A chill ran down my spine.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    I rubbed my temples, trying to push away the building anxiety. The Linking Crystals clinked softly as I set them down on the table, their light dimming as I released them. The weight of the day pressed down on me, threatening to crush my resolve. I didn''t have answers for any of this, no plan, no roadmap, just a growing sense of helplessness.


    Dagna approached, handing me a stout of water. "You''ve been sittin'' there for ages," she said, placing a clean mug on the table in front of me. "Drink up, or at least pretend you''re not lost in that head of yours."


    I managed a weak smile, lifting the mug and taking a small sip. "Thanks, Dagna. Just...a lot on my mind."


    She gave a knowing grunt, leaning her elbows on the table. "Aye, I''d say so. You''ve had a hell of a night. You''re like a magnet for trouble, John. Should have taken me up on my offer."


    I let out a bitter laugh. I couldn''t help but to be amused by that. "Trouble doesn''t begin to cover it. I think I''ve crossed into outright absurdity."


    Dagna smirked, but her gaze softened. "You''ll figure it out. You always do. And if you don''t, well, you''ve got me to smack some sense into you."


    I nodded, her words providing a small comfort. "Thanks, Dagna. Really."


    She straightened up, slapping a towel over her shoulder. "Don''t mention it. But for now, you should get some rest. I got things handled here. Whatever insanity you''re caught up in, it''ll still be there tomorrow. No use losing sleep over it."


    She was right. No matter how tangled my life had become, no matter how many powerful women seemed determined to stake their claim on me, none of it would be solved tonight. What I needed more than anything was to go home, crawl into bed, and let sleep take me away from this whirlwind, even if only for a few hours.


    With a deep breath, I stood, tucking the Linking Crystals into my pocket. "You''re right, Dagna. Time to call it a night."


    "Smart man," she said with a wink. "Try not to dream about any lionesses or dragons."


    The grin I offered Dagna felt paper-thin, but it was all I could muster as I stepped toward the door. The weight of the night clung to me like a second skin, but the promise of the cold night air offered a small reprieve. As I pushed open the heavy oak door leading to the main pavilion, the atmosphere shifted.


    Inside, the once-bustling space was nearly deserted. Most of the revelers had filed outside to witness the grand spectacle of the Hours of Wonders. Only a surprising number of Elves and Cursed remained, lingering like quiet shadows. The strange, eerie wooden golems moved among them, their mechanical precision unsettling yet oddly mesmerizing. They worked tirelessly, their joints creaking softly as they carried out tasks with an almost inhuman efficiency.


    Stepping out into the open, the chill of the night air struck me like a bracing slap, cutting through the haze of exhaustion clouding my thoughts. My breath escaped in visible puffs as I looked skyward and what I saw stole it away entirely.


    The Hours of Wonders. Even after everything I''d been through tonight, even with all the chaos of my life, I couldn''t help but be captivated.


    No two people saw the same thing during the Hours of Wonders. Gazing into the spirit world was like peering directly into your own soul. The sky was alive, a tapestry of unimaginable beauty, like the entire Milky Way had descended to greet the earth. It reminded me of the most awe-inspiring images from the Hubble telescope, paired with religious iconography and the ethereal glow of celestial beings. It was a kaleidoscope of color and light, shifting and flowing in impossible patterns.


    Faces appeared and faded some familiar, some forgotten, and some I hadn''t seen in this life. The face of a loved one lost too soon, the wonder of holding a newborn in trembling arms, the sheer enormity of infinite possibility it was all there. The Whole and its Aspects, the Great Spirits, angels, demons, and countless lesser spirts, seemed to dance on the edges of reality. This was the closest the spirit world ever came to our realm, a brief moment of connection a testament to the sacrifice of the Crystal Dragon, who had prevented the High Elves'' catastrophic attempt to merge the realms.


    I fumbled for my Link, pulling it from my pocket and powering it on for the first time since my shift started. I wanted to capture this, to preserve it, even knowing the image would be unique to me. A photograph that no one else could ever replicate, an imprint of my soul reflected back through the sky. As the screen flickered to life, I lifted the device, preparing to take the shot.


    That was when the vibrations started.


    My Link buzzed incessantly, rattling in my hands as a flood of messages poured in. At first, I thought it might be Taimi, still waiting for me somewhere in the palaces. I''d promised her I''d try to meet up, after all. Or maybe it was Adora, checking in after the events of the night or even Lotha testing the special Link Crystal she''d entrusted to me. But as I scrolled through the notifications, my blood turned to ice.


    The messages weren''t from Taimi. They weren''t from Adora or Lotha


    They were all from Maeriel.


    I opened the first one, heart thundering as I scanned its contents. The message was simple, but the urgency bled through every word: Flee the city.


    The next message came just moments after: Run. Now. Do not stop.


    Message after message followed, each increasingly frantic, each containing the same damning warning. My fingers shook as I opened the most recent one, a final plea that made my blood run cold: MY SISTER IS IN TOWN!!!


    I barely had time to process the words before a sound pierced the night, freezing me in place. It was a laugh a haunting, bone-chilling sound that crawled up my spine and clung to me like a shroud. The voice that accompanied it was one I could never forget, no matter how many years passed. It was a voice that haunted my nightmares, a sound that had once reduced me to a trembling shell of myself.


    She was here.


    The Black Queen.


    The torturer who had shaped my damnation. The one whose cruelty had defined years of my captivity. Her laughter echoed across the palace grounds like a death knell, a declaration of her presence and intent.


    The beauty of the Hours of Wonders was eclipsed by a wave of sheer terror. Every instinct screamed at me to run, to flee as Maeriel had instructed. But my legs felt like lead, rooted to the spot as the weight of her presence pressed down on me.


    The Black Queen had arrived. And we were all going to die.


    <hr>


    Codex


    Popular Children''s Lullaby Titled The Black Queen Author Unknown


    Hush now, hide, all you little ones.


    Rush now, into the middle of the night.


    Singing and laughter will die.


    Dreamless sleep, follows the Black Queen.


    When her court comes, darkness is nigh.


    Quiet, crawl to the in-between.


    Silent, secretive feeling.


    Of fearsome hatred that reaches the skies.


    You will bring joy to the Black Queen.


    When she sees the light leaving your eyes.

 Chapter 5.1

    I scanned the crowd, my heart pounding in my chest as eerie, synchronized laughter echoed from multiple directions. My eyes darted from face to face, trying to pinpoint the source. Harpies, sirens, and a handful of other Cursed and Elves were chuckling in perfect unison, their lips moving at the exact same time, their eyes locked onto me with an unsettling intensity. A shiver crawled up my spine. No one else seemed to notice. Why would they? To the untrained eye, these were just revelers enjoying the Yuletide festivities. But I knew better.


    I had seen this before. If you knew what to look for, you could recognize the signs, the terrifying reality most people wouldn''t. The Black Queen''s Corruption was insidious, a creeping black ooze that could worm its way into women''s minds, taking control. Her court was made up of those forgotten and spurred by society. Those that were overlooked and nobles barley acknowledged the existence of. They spread carefully throughout the gala unseen, making their slow, calculated approach toward me.


    The High Elves that remained in the world tended to fall into two categories. The first were those who had awoken from their ancient slumber, dazed and disoriented in this modern era. Extremely dangerous, yes. Deadly to the unprepared, they could devastate cities easily. But ultimately, they could be dealt with, hunted down, and eliminated given time and effort. Then, there were the others, the ones who had endured. The ones who had survived the Fall, the collapse of magic, and the end of their reign over the world. These were the High Elves who had clawed their way forty millennia the long way, evolving into something far more terrifying. They were the ones who had learned to adapt, to thrive in the shadows of Kindred''s rise.


    The Black Queen was the most infamous of them all. Her true form was a mystery, spoken of only in hushed whispers by those unfortunate enough to have survived her corruption. She didn''t need to reveal herself directly; the signs of her presence were unmistakable: the pitch-black eyes of those fully consumed by her will, the slow, seeping ooze that leaked from their bodies she used to spread her infection, the eerie grace with which they moved in unison, like marionettes on invisible strings. Those poor souls were easy enough to spot and avoid.


    But her Court? They were different. They were the willing. Those who had accepted whatever dark bargain she offered, whose minds remained their own, at least in part. These were her agents, walking among the unsuspecting, near impossible to detect until it was too late. And right now, they were here, watching me, moving with silent intent through the throng of distracted nobles and partygoers.


    Panic tightened my chest as I fumbled for my Link, desperately trying to call emergency services. My fingers trembled as I pressed the command, but the device refused to connect. My stomach dropped. Of course. The Black Queen had timed her attack perfectly. The spirit world was at its closest approach tonight, the veil between worlds thinned to the point of near dissolution. On nights like this, magical interference was at its peak, signals scrambled, connections faltered, and anything relying on traditional arcane networks became unreliable at best.


    I tried again, this time dialing directly to familiar faces that could help. Taimi, Adora, and Maeriel. Each attempt failed, the silent buzz of disconnection mocking me. My pulse thundered in my ears as I realized I had no way to warn them. No way to tell them what was happening before it was too late. No way to escape before, the Black Queen dropped her charade and moved openly.


    I had to do something. I had to find another way. My mind raced through possibilities before latching onto a desperate solution, Lotha''s gift. The special red Linking crystal she had given me earlier. If anything had a chance of breaking through this magical interference, it would be that.


    I swallowed hard, my mouth dry as I whispered a silent prayer that whatever runecraft that the crystal was made with were strong enough. I called one last time with my Link, hoping against hope that someone on the other end would hear me before it was too late.


    All around me, the Court''s members were still closing in, their smiles wide, their eyes beginning to darken as the Black Queen took more control away from her court. I needed to move, needed to get out of the open before she took me again.


    The Link buzzed in my hand, the hollow ringing echoing in my ears like a funeral knell. Each unanswered chime sent my heartbeat racing faster, pounding against my ribs with growing desperation. The palace''s festive lights and glittering decorations blurred into a swirl of color as my focus narrowed on the unrelenting sound of the Link. I counted each tone, a grim measure of my dwindling hope.


    And then, finally, on the eighth ring, there was a click. A pause. A moment of unbearable silence. Then, her voice came through, though something was off. "Heeey," she drawled, in a strange, confident but hesitant tone.


    I didn''t waste a second. My voice came out strained but steady, "The Black Queen''s Court is here."


    There was no delay this time. The hesitation evaporated from her voice, replaced by sharp, clipped professionalism. "How many and where?" she demanded, her voice a low whisper now, as if she had already slipped into the mindset of a hunter on the prowl.


    I scanned the crowd, heart hammering. "Viewing platform outside the main pavilion," I said, lowering my voice as I glanced around, my eyes darting from one suspicious figure to another. "At least two dozen. Cursed and elves." My mouth felt dry, my breath came in short, shallow bursts. "They''re moving in."


    "Can you get away?" she asked, the urgency clear in her voice, though laced with an undercurrent of something I couldn''t quite place. Worry? Frustration?


    I shook my head, even though she couldn''t see me. My throat tightened, and I forced the words out in a strained whisper. "No. The crowd''s everywhere. If I try to run, she''ll start moving in the open. People are going to get hurt, badly." My fingers tightened around the Link as I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. I could feel their eyes on me, dark and predatory, closing in ever so slowly like a net tightening around a struggling fish.


    There was a brief pause on her end, and then a resolute answer: "I doubt she''s here just for you, John. You''re a bonus, not the target." A beat of silence. "Try to slip away if you can. I''m on my way and raising the banners."


    Raising the banners. My stomach churned at the phrase. It meant she was calling in every available resource, security forces, local militia, and possibly even a few of the more... unconventional enforcers. It was the kind of move that would send ripples across the entire nation, and it wasn''t something done lightly. But the fact that she was already taking this step told me everything I needed to know.


    This wasn''t just a threat. It was a catastrophe in the making.


    I exhaled shakily and forced my legs to move, weaving subtly through the thick crowd. The palace grounds were alight with festivities, laughing nobles clinking glasses, couples embracing, and dignitaries locked in hushed conversation under the open, enrapturing spirit-touched sky. But beneath it all, I felt the invisible threads of danger tightening, pulling me toward an inevitable confrontation.


    I kept my voice low, speaking into the Link. "I''m moving, but it''s slow. Too many people, too many eyes. If they realize I''m onto them, it''ll get ugly."


    "Stay calm. I''m a few minutes out." Her voice was tight but reassuring, like she was holding back something more intense than she wanted to admit. "Keep your head down, and John?"


    "Yeah?" I murmured, ducking behind a column as another Court member strolled past, her expression vacant yet focused.


    "Don''t do anything stupid, like trying to play the heroine again. This isn''t a threat you can trick into a drinking contest."


    A dry chuckle slipped out before I could help it. "Yea, I know."


    The call dropped abruptly, the interference finally taking its toll, leaving me with nothing but the dull, ominous silence that followed. I tucked the Link away into my vest with trembling fingers, forcing a slow, measured exhale through my nose, willing my nerves to steady. A few minutes. I just had to last a few minutes.


    The crowd around me carried on in blissful ignorance, their laughter and chatter forming an unbroken facade of normalcy. But I could feel the undercurrent of something dark lurking just beneath the surface. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to move to run, but I knew better. I had to blend in, act natural, or risk setting them off too soon.


    Adjusting my vest with a casual roll of my shoulders, I eased toward the edge of the platform, scanning the sea of finely dressed guests with practiced subtlety. The Court members were good, too good. They moved with an unnerving grace, slipping through the crowd as if they had always belonged, weaving through the nobility with the effortless charm of predators in their element.


    A harpy woman, draped in silken layers that fluttered like falling petals, laughed with exaggerated delight at something her companion had said. Her gaze flicked to me, just for an instant, before drifting lazily away. But I saw it. The way her pupils black contracted too sharply, the predatory glint lurking behind her too-wide smile.


    Near the railing, a cursed succubus leaned with an air of practiced indifference, her dark, curling horns gleaming under the ambient glow of the gala lights. She toyed with her drink, swirling the black liquid in slow, deliberate motions while murmuring to an unsuspecting nobleman. Her posture was languid, casual, but I could sense the coiled tension beneath it, the way her fingers drummed lightly against the glass, her tail swaying with an eerie, calculated rhythm. She wasn''t engaged in idle conversation; she was waiting. Watching.


    They were all watching me.


    I forced a swallow, my throat dry as sandpaper, and took another step back. The laughter rang out again soft, hollow, and echoing far too perfectly from multiple directions at once. It was like a hunter''s call, a signal of sorts. And then it hit me. They weren''t just closing in on me; they were positioning themselves to take everyone here. The entire pavilion, filled with nobles, dignitaries, and influential figures none of them suspecting the trap that was slowly tightening around them. This wasn''t just about me. This was a harvest.


    The most powerful noble in the Federation, brimming with potential, drunk, and oblivious. Even worse, most of them had their magic shackled by the oaths women had sworn upon entering the palace. The binding pacts made by oath mages meant to ensure decorum and safety. They could easily break those very oaths, but it would leave them vulnerable, drained, and almost defenseless for a short while, and that was all the time the lurking Court needed to overcome and infect them.


    Panic coiled tight in my chest, my instincts screaming at me to act, to warn someone, but before I could make another move, a hand touched my back.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    I stiffened instantly, my breath hitching in my throat.


    A familiar, sickeningly sweet voice purred into my ear, "Don''t move, you fucking slut."


    My stomach dropped. I didn''t need to turn around to know who it was.


    Bannerlady Tomae.


    Somehow, impossibly, she was free. I could feel the sharp tips of her claws pressing against my lower back just enough to hurt, but not enough to break the skin. Yet.


    I swallowed hard, my voice a barely audible rasp. "How are you free?"


    She laughed, a chilling, lilting sound that sent shivers racing down my spine. That same laugh as the rest of the court. The one that had haunted me in my nightmares. "Oh, you sweet, naive little thing," she cooed, her breath warm against my ear. "Did you really think they could hold me? My mistress was very¡­ displeased with my failure. Nearly cost me everything when I almost let her plan be discovered." She pressed her claws in just a fraction deeper, making me wince. "But imagine her delight when she found out I''d found you. She was so very pleased."


    I clenched my jaw, heart hammering against my ribs. "Let me go," I said, struggling to keep my voice even. My mind raced, looking for any opening, any way to escape, to buy time.


    Tomae chuckled softly, a purr of satisfaction. "Oh, I couldn''t do that," she whispered, her claws tracing slow, taunting circles against my skin through the fabric of my vest. "My mistress would very much like to have a little chat with you."


    I tried to twist free, but the grip on me was like iron, her strength far beyond what it should have been. Then, as I chanced a glance into the reflective surface of a nearby silver platter, I saw it.


    Her eyes.


    Pitch black.


    Empty.


    The eyes of the Black Queen.


    I froze, every muscle in my body locking up in pure, primal terror. No. No, no, no.


    Tomae, or whatever was left of her, smiled against my skin, her voice now tinged with something deeper, darker. "She sees you now, John," she crooned. "She wants you. The milking stud stolen by her sister. A stud who somehow is not rutting everything in sight. She would very much like to find out what Maeriel did to you and allow you to have a mind still."


    I gritted my teeth, panic threatening to overtake me, but I forced myself to stay calm. If I gave in to fear, if I reacted now, it would trigger the Court to act immediately. I couldn''t afford that.


    Think, dammit.


    "You''ll have to do better than this, Tomae," I murmured, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "Resist, a deal can be made, and amnesty found."


    Her grin widened, and she leaned in, her lips brushing against my ear. "Oh, far too late for that, tonight," she whispered, her tone dripping with sadistic glee. "Tonight, my mistress will give me everything I ever wanted, and you''ll see just how much pain a person can survive before passing out."


    My fingers twitched at my side, itching to reach out trying to get a grip on her. My thoughts raced, a few minutes. I just had to last a few minutes. But with the Black Queen''s Court closing in, and Tomae''s claws at my back, every second felt like a lifetime.


    And somehow, I knew deep down¡­


    I was running out of time.


    I had one choice left. The choice I never wanted to make. The one that would damn me, that would seal my fate in ways I couldn''t yet fathom. But I knew deep down, without a shadow of a doubt, that if I was captured, what awaited me would be a fate far worse than death. The Black Queen didn''t just take prisoners; she devoured souls, twisted minds, and left only hollow puppets in her wake. I couldn''t let that happen to me again.


    My hands found purchase against Tomae''s side, pressing into the toned muscle beneath her elegant gown. Her grip tightened on me, claws pricking through the fabric of my vest, enough to draw pinpricks of blood. Her face hovered inches from mine, a sickening grin curling across her lips.


    "What do you think you''re doing, you stupid himbo?" she purred mockingly, her voice dripping with venomous amusement. Her eyes, those terrible pitch-black voids, bore into mine, and for a heartbeat, fear paralyzed me.


    I knew exactly what I was doing.


    Like all men, I couldn''t wield magic in the way women could. We lacked that extra sense, that deep connection to the world that allowed creation. The ability of women used one to shape the world to create life, to conceive and change the world. But that didn''t mean we were powerless. No, I had spent years enduring, surviving, being forcibly drained of my mana, redirected, siphoned, milked. I knew the feeling, how to channel it, how to manipulate it in ways that weren''t meant to be possible. I had been nothing more than a battery for so long, but now I would turn that curse into my salvation.


    I made the choice.


    With a deep breath, I reached inward, past the layers of fear and pain buried deep within me, past the years of forced suppression. And then, with a shudder that rocked my very bones, I reactivated my core.


    It hit me like a thunderclap.


    A flood of raw, untamed power surged through my veins, a roaring inferno that had been locked away for so long finally set free. My muscles tensed, my senses sharpened to razor clarity, and in that instant, the world shifted. I felt the crackling current of magic pulsating all around me through Tomae, through the very air, through the distant hum of the spirit world pressing ever closer.


    Tomae''s smirk faltered, confusion flickering across her features as she felt the shift. "What¡­?"


    Before she could react, I did what I had been trained, no forced to do for years. I pulled.


    A violent gasp tore from her throat as I seized the magic within her, gripping it like a lifeline and yanking it into myself. The air around us crackled, and her body seized, eyes widening in sheer disbelief. The Black Queen''s influence clung to her like tar, writhing and resisting my touch, but I didn''t stop. I couldn''t stop.


    "No!" she shrieked, thrashing against me, but I held firm, fingers digging into her side as I drew more and more from her mana. Her glamour faltered, flickering like a dying flame, her once-glossy hair dulled, her regal attire shifted into something ragged, and her elegant features twisted into something far more desperate, far less human.


    All around us, the crowd began to stir in confusion, and then, like the breaking of a dam, alarms blared through the night. The wail of sirens sliced through the pavilion, accompanied by the pounding of hurried footsteps as security forces scrambled to respond to the disturbance.


    Tomae''s legs buckled beneath her, and she sagged against me, panting heavily, her claws losing their grip. "You¡­ you don''t know what you''re doing¡­" she whispered, a tremor in her voice.


    But I did. I knew exactly what I was doing.


    My core burned hot, the long-dormant wellspring of power within me coming alive with a vengeance. I could feel it humming through my skin, electrifying every nerve, filling me with strength I hadn''t felt in years. But it wasn''t just strength; it was hunger.


    My body ached with the desire to take more, to strip her dry, to drain her until there was nothing left but an empty husk. A dark part of me relished it the thought of turning the tables, of making her feel what had been done to me so many times before.


    But I pushed that urge down, and fought to stay in control.


    Tomae whimpered, her voice reduced to a broken whisper. "Please... stop..."


    I took one last pull, then released her abruptly. She collapsed onto the floor, gasping and trembling, looking up at me with something close to terror. She wasn''t laughing anymore.


    The Black Queen''s voice, cold, distant, and laced with cruel amusement, echoed through Tomae''s lips as she died, the kitsun beginning to dissolve into an inky, writhing mass of black ooze. "Interesting..." the voice mused, a silky whisper that sent ice crawling down my spine, each syllable carrying a weight of sinister delight that made my stomach churn.


    I staggered back a step, my chest heaving with ragged breaths, the stolen power still thrumming beneath my skin like a restless beast. My muscles coiled, instinct screaming at me to run, but I stood my ground, clenching my fists tightly at my sides. "Stay away from me," I growled, my voice low, edged with a desperate defiance I wasn''t sure I could maintain.


    The Black Queen''s laughter slithered through the air, an eerie, hollow sound that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It resonated within my bones, a cruel mockery of something once human, now twisted beyond recognition. "Oh, John..." she purred through Tomae''s fading form, those soulless, midnight-black eyes boring into mine, devouring me with their endless hunger. "Don''t you remember how wonderful it felt to be one with me?" Her words dripped like honeyed venom, sweet and poisonous, awakening old scars I had buried deep within. "You can fight all you like, but you''ll be mine again... soon enough."


    As if to punctuate her promise, Tomae''s body collapsed entirely, the last vestiges of her flesh melting away into a bubbling pool of darkness that writhed and pulsed with unnatural life. The putrid stench of corruption stung my nostrils, and I had to suppress the urge to retch. Around me, the air grew thick with panic as the court''s silent agents, hidden among the crowd, finally made their move.


    Screams shattered the relative peace of the pavilion, rising in a deafening cacophony as chaos erupted. The Court had begun their attack. Guests trampled over one another in their desperate bid for escape, noblewomen shrieking, and the ever-present hum of mana flaring through the air as defensive wards failed to activate.


    Sirens blared in the distance, their shrill wail slicing through the night like an alarm bell from the heavens. They were coming the Dragoons, but I knew it wouldn''t be enough. Not against her.


    I cast a final, fleeting glance at the pool of writhing black ooze that had once been Bannerlady Tomae, my gut churning with something dangerously close to guilt. Then, shoving the feeling down, I turned on my heel and slipped into the fleeing crowd, using the chaos as my cover.


    I had made my choice. I had opened the door to something I could never take back.


    Now, I had to live with it. If I survived the night.


    <hr>


    Codex


    Oath of Office of the President of Atlantica


    "I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend Atlantica against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to her Majesty Lizbeth, Queen of Albion, Empress of the Federation, her heirs and successors; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation, domination, or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. May Atlantica bind me to this Oath, so help me, Aspects."

 Chapter 5.2

    I sprinted through the maelstrom of chaos and despair, my breath coming in ragged gasps as terror clawed at my chest. All around me, the grandeur of the palace grounds had transformed into a nightmarish slaughterhouse. The screams of the wounded and dying mixed with the high-pitched wail of sirens, creating an unsettling symphony of horror that rang through my ears.


    Flashes of scenes burned themselves into my memory gruesome, horrifying glimpses of the carnage left in the wake of the Black Court''s assault. A noblewoman in a lavish crimson gown lay sprawled on the ground, her delicate fingers clawing feebly at the grass as a wood elf loomed over her, its eyes void of emotion. Black ooze dripped from its mouth like venom, seeping past her trembling lips as she thrashed in vain, her muffled screams dying into gurgled whimpers. I watched in helpless horror as the dark sludge invaded her body, spreading through her veins like poison, her eyes turning that same soulless, empty black. She shuddered violently for a brief moment then, without hesitation, turned and lunged at the nearest person, the infection spreading with terrifying efficiency.


    The ground was slick with blood and viscera, the pungent stench of iron and death thick in the air. Bodies littered the once-pristine pavilion, twisted and mangled in ways that defied the natural order. Limbs, some still twitching, were strewn about in grotesque displays, their owners reduced to unrecognizable heaps of flesh and bone. A woman I had served drinks to earlier in the evening now lay motionless nearby, her once-radiant skin peeled away entirely, leaving nothing but raw, exposed muscle beneath. Her vacant eyes stared at nothing, and the sight of her teeth bared in an eternal rictus of pain made bile rise in my throat.


    A few feet away, a young halfling man crouched beside a tiny, lifeless form. His hands trembled as he stroked the golden curls of what had once been his daughter, his shoulders heaving with silent, broken sobs. He was oblivious to the growing tendrils of black ooze that crept toward him, slithering across the blood-drenched floor like sinister serpents. I wanted to scream at him to move, to run, but the words caught in my throat as my own survival instincts took over.


    The air around me pulsed with malevolent energy. The victims who had succumbed to the Black Queen''s corruption were spreading like wildfire, their twisted forms staggering through the crowd, seeking new hosts to infect. They moved with an unnatural fluidity, their faces devoid of anything human, and their mouths stretched into grotesque smiles as they latched onto their next victims. I could hear the sickening sounds of flesh tearing, bones cracking under relentless force, and the gurgling, inhuman laughter that sent icy tendrils of fear down my spine.


    I darted around overturned tables and shattered glass, barely dodging the outstretched hands of a corrupted dragoon guard. The same goblin guard who had caused me so much troublewhat seemed a life time ago. Her once proud uniform torn and drenched in gore, her mouth split wide open, revealing rows of jagged, oozing teeth that should never have belonged to any living being. She lunged at me, but her movements were sluggish, distorted, allowing me just enough time to slip past him and keep moving.


    My chest burned with exertion, but I forced myself to keep going, weaving through the mayhem with a singular purpose escape. Somewhere in the distance, through the haze of fire and smoke, I could see the palace gates, still open but slowly closing as terrified survivors fought to get through. If I could reach them, if I could just push forward a little longer, I might have a chance.


    But every step forward seemed to take me deeper into the nightmare. A thick, oily mist clung to the air, obscuring my vision and making it harder to tell friend from foe. People ran blindly into the fog, only to emerge moments later if at all as twisted, corrupted puppets of the Black Queen''s will. My pulse thundered in my ears as I realized just how hopeless this was becoming.


    Through the smoke, I caught a glimpse of something even worse a towering figure, draped in black robes that shimmered like liquid darkness, standing at the heart of the chaos. Her face was obscured, but those empty, abyssal eyes pierced through the veil, locking onto me with a hunger that transcended the physical. The Black Queen avatar.


    Panic surged through me, raw and uncontrollable, threatening to drown out every rational thought. My chest heaved, burning with each ragged breath as I stumbled, my legs barely carrying me forward. I turned on instinct, sprinting through the sea of panicked guests and crumbling decor, the opulence of the palace now nothing more than debris underfoot. Behind me, I could feel it¡ªthe oppressive weight of her gaze, the dark promise that no matter how far or fast I ran, she would find me. The Black Queen''s presence was a smothering force, suffocating, inescapable.


    I pushed harder, weaving between overturned tables and fallen bodies, ignoring the screams and cries that filled the night. My foot hit something slick, and before I could react, I slipped. Cold, viscous ooze enveloped my ankle, a living shadow that hadn''t been there a heartbeat before. I hit the ground hard, gasping in shock as the dark mass coiled around me like a sentient vice, writhing and pulsating with unnatural hunger.


    The ooze was changing, shifting, molding itself into a grotesque parody of a human form. Limbs stretched unnaturally, too long, too thin, and that face¡ªwarped and featureless, save for two hollow pits where eyes should have been. It reached for me with half-formed fingers, grasping at my arms, my throat, clawing with a desperation that was terrifying in its single-minded intent. I thrashed, kicking and twisting, but the thing was relentless. The black sludge pressed against my mouth, seeking entry, a cold tendril of death eager to slither down my throat and take hold. I clenched my jaw shut, straining to keep it out, feeling it push against my lips, trying to force its way inside.


    My vision blurred at the edges, hopelessness clawing its way into my mind. I couldn''t fight it. I was going to be consumed.


    Then, like a meteor crashing down from the heavens, salvation arrived in a burst of fire and steel.


    The air trembled with the force of an impact that sent shockwaves rippling through the ground. A figure landed beside me, the earth cracking beneath her boots. She rose in a blur of motion, standing tall and terrible, power radiating from her like a furnace that burned against the encroaching darkness. Lotha, Commandant, BattleMistress, Imperator of the Federation''s Legion stood before me, a living legend clad in gleaming warplate, her crimson hair ablaze with an argent glow that set the night aflame.


    "Stay down, help is on the way," she said, her voice a steady, unwavering promise. Her yellow eyes met mine, filled with a confidence so absolute it was as if failure didn''t exist in her world. Then, without hesitation, she turned to face the true enemy.


    Raising her massive battle-axe, its edge shimmering with raw power, she launched herself into the fray with a battle cry that reverberated across the pavilion. The axe cleaved through the air, a crescent of silver force splitting the night as it raced toward the Black Queen''s looming avatar.


    The monstrosity before her responded in kind. The ooze that made up its form roiled and surged, reshaping itself into a colossal shield, an obsidian mass designed to absorb the impact of Lotha''s strike. The two forces collided in a titanic clash, sending arcs of energy rippling outward, cracking stone and shattering glass. The force of it all knocked bystanders off their feet, the air thick with the raw scent of burning ozone and corrupted mana.


    Lotha pressed forward, undeterred by the monstrous resistance before her. Each step she took left a trail of molten earth in her wake, the sheer weight of her presence pushing back against the tide of darkness that threatened to consume us all. The Black Queen''s avatar shifted, its amorphous mass writhing and stretching, searching for an opening, but Lotha was a whirlwind of death, her axe moving faster than the eye could follow, carving through the obsidian ooze like it was nothing more than mist.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    I scrambled to my feet, still trembling, unable to tear my gaze away from the battle unfolding before me. The Black Queen''s voice echoed through the air, a haunting whisper laced with malice and amusement.


    "Ah, the Commandant, herself," the voice cooed, coming from all directions at once. "So eager, so fierce. Such a delightful morsel you would make..."


    Lotha didn''t even flinch. "You talk too much," she snarled, and with a powerful swing, she shattered another wave of tendrils reaching for her.


    I knew I had to move. I couldn''t stand here, useless, watching. Not with the Court still spreading, infecting, consuming. But as I backed away, trying to find an escape route, my mind spun with the realization of just how bad this was. The Black Queen wasn''t just here for destruction this was a coordinated attack, a harvest of power and influence, a strategic invasion aimed at the heart of the Federation. And I was caught in the middle of it.


    Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to keep moving. I had to survive. I had to get out of here. Because if the Black Queen wanted me, then running might be the only thing keeping me from being another one of her pawns.


    The rhythmic clanking echoed through the air, at first a distant murmur, then swelling into a deafening crescendo, like the relentless crash of a rising tide. Hundreds, no, thousands of the palace''s wooden golems surged forward, a relentless swarm sweeping across the chaos-strewn courtyard like a tide of living timber. They moved on all fours with unnerving grace, their limbs creaking and groaning, their wooden frames rattling in eerie unison.


    The golems were a force of pure, unwavering precision, each unit snapping into formation with machine-like efficiency. When they encountered a victim already ensnared by the Black Queen''s corruption, they acted without hesitation. Wooden limbs lashed out, transforming into impromptu cages, ribs folding inward to trap and immobilize those writhing under the Queen''s dark influence. The possessed struggled, their corrupted forms convulsing violently, but the golems held fast, forcing their captives into immobility with relentless, unyielding strength.


    Leading them directing them with the precision of a master conductor was a towering mech, unlike anything I had ever seen before. Its gleaming steel frame stood in stark contrast to the wooden constructs, its four arms a blur of motion as they wielded massive blades with frightening speed, carving through the Black Queen''s ooze-born monstrosities with surgical precision. Cannons mounted across its armored body roared to life, sending bursts of searing energy that vaporized anything that dared approach.


    From the heart of this mechanical colossus came a sound that was both exhilarating and terrifying mad, ecstatic laughter ringing through the night like a battle hymn. My stomach twisted with a mixture of relief and dread as I recognized the voice, unmistakable even through the chaos.


    Taimi. Technomancer Supreme, Mechanist Designate,Matser Tinker.


    She was living up to the title. Her voice crackled through unseen speakers, filled with glee and triumph. "Go, my creations! Show them what gnome ingenuity really means!" she bellowed, her mech''s arms whirling in a relentless, deadly dance, cutting through enemy after enemy. The beastkin warriors fighting nearby gave the mech a wide berth, more terrified of being caught in its path than facing the Black Queen''s horrors head-on.


    Then, seemingly out of nowhere, two sleek, metal golems appeared beside me. Unlike their wooden counterparts, these were forged from intricate clockwork, their frames humming softly with barely contained power. They stood sentinel, their plated arms raised in a defensive posture, their optics scanning the area for threats.


    I didn''t have to guess their origin.


    Taimi''s voice crackled through one of the constructs, warm with its usual enthusiasm but underlined with an edge of genuine concern. "Don''t worry, John," she said, her voice filled with a manic cheer that only she could pull off in the middle of an apocalyptic nightmare. "I''ve got your back. No creepy tentacle lady''s taking you from me!"


    Despite the sheer pandemonium unfolding around me, I felt a fleeting moment of relief. Taimi, for all her eccentricities, was one of the few people I could count on in this insane world.


    The metal golems flanked me, their servos whirring as they moved in perfect synchronization, scanning for potential threats. I could see the flashes of mana crystals embedded within their chassis, pulsing with energy, ready to unleash whatever devastating countermeasures Taimi had programmed into them.


    But the relief was short-lived.


    A shriek pierced the air, sharp and grating, sending shivers down my spine. I turned just in time to see one of the Black Queen''s corrupted victims a twisted mass of sinew and shadow hurl itself toward me. Its hollow, black eyes locked onto mine, its mouth stretched into an unnatural grin, black ooze dripping from its elongated fingers.


    The golems reacted in an instant, metal arms snapping forward like vipers. One delivered a precise, crushing blow to the creature''s chest, sending it sprawling backward in a writhing heap. The other leveled a mechanical arm, a hidden barrel sliding into place before firing a burst of energy that reduced the monstrosity to a smoldering pile of ash.


    "Stay close, John!" Taimi''s voice urged. "The big girls are playing rough tonight."


    I barely had time to respond before another explosion rocked the courtyard, sending debris flying in all directions. The Black Queen''s forces were adapting, pushing back against the golems'' relentless assault. More and more bodies collapsed under the Queen''s dark influence, and the sickening realization hit me this wasn''t just an attack. A harvest.


    This was an infestation.


    <hr>


    Codex


    Excerpt From Henrietta, Act IV Scene 3 18¨C67.


    Westmoreia:


    O that we now had here, But one ten thousand of those women in Albion, That do no work to-day!


    Queen:


    What''s she that wishes so? , My cousin, Westmoreia? No, my fair Kin;


    If we are mark''d to die, we are enough, To do our realm loss; and if to live,


    The fewer women, the greater share of honour. Aspect''s will! I pray thee, wish not one woman more.


    By Venus, I am not covetous for gold, Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;


    It yearns me not if women my garments wear; Such outward things dwell not in my desires.


    But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive.


    No, faith, my coz, wish not a woman from Albion. Wholes'' peace! I would not lose so great an honour


    As one woman more methinks would share from me For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!


    Rather proclaim it, Westmoreia, through my host, That she which hath no stomach to this fight,


    Let her depart; her passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse;


    We would not die in that woman''s company That fears her fellowship to die with us.


    This day is call''d the feast of Crispia. She that outlives this day, and comes safe home,


    Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam''d, And rouse him at the name of Crispia.


    She that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast her neighbours,


    And say "To-morrow is Saint Crispia." Then will he strip her sleeve and show her scars,


    And say "These wounds I had on Crispia''s day." Old women forget; yet all shall be forgot,


    But she''ll remember, with advantages, What feats she did that day. Then shall our names,


    Familiar in her mouth as household words¡ª Henrietta the Queen, Ann and Margaret,


    Isabel and Joan, Elenor and Jacqueline¡ª Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb''red.


    This story shall the good woman teach his daughter, And Crispia Crispians shall ne''er go by,


    From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remember¨¨d¡ª


    We few, we happy few, we band of sisters; For she to-day that sheds her blood with me


    Shall be my sister; be she ne''er so vile, This day shall gentle her condition;


    And ladies in Albion now a-bed Shall think themselves accurs''d they were not here,


    And hold their mammaries cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispia''s day.

 Chapter 5.3

    The tide of battle seemed to shift, albeit slowly, with the arrival of Taimi and Lotha, two forces of nature who embodied the sheer, unrelenting defiance of the Federation. Their presence was a beacon amid the chaos, the first real pushback against the Black Queen''s insidious assault.


    Lotha, BattleMistress, moved with a devastating grace that bordered on divine. Watching her in action was nothing short of awe-inspiring. She was a living storm, a whirlwind of death and destruction, her presence eclipsing all else around her. Each swing of her massive axe sent shockwaves through the air, the enchanted steel crackling with raw mana as it carved through the living black ooze that made up the Queen''s avatar. Great swathes of the tainted sludge were swept away with every mighty strike, but for every tendril she obliterated, more slithered forth, hungry and relentless, writhing to fill the void left behind.


    Yet Lotha did not waver. She did not falter. Her emerald eyes burned with the battle fury that had made her a legend across the known world. Each movement was precise, controlled, yet filled with an unyielding force that seemed to defy the very laws of physics. She wasn''t just fighting the Queen''s minions she was tearing through them, carving a path of absolute devastation.


    The Black Queen''s avatar, a grotesque mass of shifting shadows and ooze, loomed above her, tendrils lashing out in an attempt to seize and overwhelm. It spoke in whispers that slithered through the battlefield like poison, its voice a chorus of tormented souls, tempting, taunting, and mocking all at once.


    "You cannot win, little warrior," the Queen''s voice echoed through the writhing mass, the sound like nails scraping against glass. "Your strength is admirable, but futile. Yield, and I shall grant you the mercy of being one with me."


    Lotha''s response was a savage roar that could have shaken mountains. "Shut up and die, you cunt!" she bellowed, her axe cleaving through a wave of encroaching ooze with enough force to send splatters of black ichor raining across the pavilion. The ground beneath her cracked with each impact, the sheer force of her strikes reverberating through the battlefield like thunder.


    Meanwhile, Taimi''s mech stood as an unyielding bastion of technological ingenuity, holding the line alongside the palace''s wooden golems. Unlike Lotha''s ferocious onslaught, Taimi''s battle was one of cold precision and calculated destruction. Her mechanical titan moved with a terrifying efficiency, blades slicing through corrupted bodies with the ease of a master artisan carving through soft clay. The cannons mounted on its shoulders unleashed devastating bursts of energy. Each shot illuminating the battlefield with brilliant flashes of white-hot light that incinerated anything caught in their path.


    "Keep pushing forward!" Taimi''s voice crackled through the mech''s speakers, brimming with an excited mania that was all too characteristic of her. "Let''s show this moldy hag what gnomish can really do!"


    The mech''s arms moved in a blur, intercepting every attempt to break through its defensive perimeter. The wooden golems, under her precise command, responded to every move with uncanny coordination, encircling and neutralizing any corrupted individuals that strayed too close. Their makeshift wooden prisons continued to pile up, the trapped victims writhing and screaming as the Black Queen''s influence fought to reclaim them.


    I stood frozen amidst the battle, taking it all in the raw power, the clash of steel and magic, the stink of burning corruption, and the sheer madness of the moment. The scene was overwhelming, a surreal tableau of destruction and desperate resistance. My heart pounded in my chest, the weight of the choice I had made earlier still hanging over me like a blade poised to fall.


    Suddenly, I felt a tug on my sleeve. One of Taimi''s smaller drones hovered at my side, its glowing eye scanning me before projecting her voice once more. "John , you really need to stop standing around looking pretty and move. I can''t keep an eye on you and fry monsters at the same time!"


    Snapping back to reality, I nodded, forcing my legs to move as I ducked through the chaos, staying behind Taimi''s mech as it carved a path through the battlefield. But even as we pushed forward, I couldn''t shake the feeling gnawing at the edge of my consciousness the Black Queen wasn''t here just for destruction.


    She was here to take me.


    All around me, I saw noble daughters screaming, their eyes clouded with terror as they were consumed by the darkness, their once-proud magical auras now twisted and corrupted. Some fought back, their spells blazing bright against the encroaching shadows, but it wasn''t enough. The Queen''s forces weren''t just killing they were infecting.


    I pressed on, teeth gritted in determination, weaving through the chaos, my eyes set on one goal of escape before it was too late.


    Lotha''s battle cry echoed once more, followed by another earth-shattering impact as she drove her axe into the Queen''s monstrous form with renewed fury. The crowd that remained watched in awe and terror, their fates hanging in the balance as the battle raged on.


    The Black Queen made her next move, a calculated, merciless escalation that sent a fresh wave of terror through the battlefield. No longer were her forces composed of mindless thralls, those hollow shells twisted by her insidious will. Now, the true horror of her power came to bear the elite of her Court. These were not mere puppets but willing servants, individuals who had bargained away their souls for dark promises and unimaginable power. They were warriors and mages of immense skill, nobles who had once walked the halls of power before succumbing to her influence. And now, their strength was hers, bound to her in an unholy pact, each one greater than some of the best fighters the noble houses could muster. And together, they were an unstoppable tide of darkness.


    The shift in battle was immediate and undeniable. Where Lotha and Taimi had once held the line with fierce determination and overwhelming strength, they now found themselves besieged by foes who fought with the cunning and skill of those who had tasted victory time and time again. The air grew thick with the stench of burning mana and corrupted blood as the battlefield descended into chaos.


    Lotha''s axe, which had cleaved through hordes of lesser enemies like a divine instrument of war, now met resistance unlike any before. A towering Blood Elf vampire, its crimson eyes burning with malevolent hunger, lunged at her with inhuman speed. It feinted left, then struck with a blur of fangs, seeking to tear into the artery at her throat. Lotha barely managed to parry, but not without consequence, its claws raked across her armored shoulder, slicing through the enchanted metal like paper. Snarling in rage, she caught the vampire''s wrist mid-strike and, with a roar of defiance, wrenched its arm free from its socket. The creature let out a gurgling shriek, but Lotha was relentless, her axe flashing in an arc that sent its head spinning through the air, leaving a fountain of dark ichor in its wake. Yet, for every foe she felled, two more took its place, pressing her back, forcing her closer to the edge of defeat.


    Taimi, piloting her massive mech with the precision of a master artisan, was a force to be reckoned with, but even she was beginning to falter under the relentless assault. Her cannons roared, vaporizing anything in their path, sending blasts of searing energy that disintegrated entire sections of the Queen''s forces. Yet the Court was learning, adapting. A kappa, its scaled hide glistening with an oily sheen, took the brunt of a direct blast, its body momentarily engulfed in fire and smoke. But when the smoke cleared, it was still standing, water magic coiling around its limbs, healing its wounds as fast as they were inflicted. With a guttural snarl, it surged forward, slicing through one of Taimi''s wooden golems with a blade that shimmered with dark magic, the construct collapsing in a heap of splintered limbs.


    "Gods damn it!" Taimi cursed, frantically adjusting her controls, her voice laced with frustration. "They''re learning too fast! These bastards aren''t just brainless drones!" Her mech shifted, metal grinding against metal as she activated another salvo of explosive projectiles, but even as they detonated, her defenses were beginning to crack. For every enemy felled, more emerged, pushing closer, closing the gap.


    I watched in horror, my breath coming in ragged gasps as the reality of the situation settled in. Lotha and Taimi, titans in their own right, were being pushed back. Their great power was undeniable, but they were one, indomitable, yet alone , while the Black Queen''s Court was many. The numbers were against them, and I could see the wear beginning to take its toll. Sweat dripped down Lotha''s brow, her movements just a fraction slower than before. Taimi''s mech sparked ominously, warning lights flashing across its chassis as her systems strained under the pressure.


    I could see the strain in Lotha''s eyes and the desperation in Taimi''s voice. They were on the verge of losing. The Queen''s assault was relentless, a tide threatening to consume everything in its path.


    The nobles who had managed to escape the initial onslaught watched in frozen horror from the edges of the battlefield, their enchanted garments and polished finery now stained with fear and blood. Some tried to rally, to fight back with what magic they had, but it was futile. They were prey, and the Black Queen was their hunter.


    The tide of battle shifted in an instant, as if the very Aspects had decided to intervene. A brilliant, fiery glow erupted above the battlefield, casting a radiant orange hue across the blood-stained ground. Hovering in the air, her presence an undeniable beacon of hope, was Kori LifeStar Aspected Avatar of the All-Mother. Her emerald-green eyes burned with divine intensity, and golden strands of energy coiled around her like living vines, pulsing with the raw force of life itself.


    A cascading wave of warm, life-giving mana radiated outward from her in a brilliant surge, washing over the wounded and broken like a balm from the heavens. Those who had been lying motionless moments before stirred, their wounds knitting together, the color returning to their pallid faces. The despair that had once clouded their eyes was replaced by renewed vigor and confidence, as if they had been touched by the All-Mother herself. Even those who had been fighting the corrupting tendrils of the Black Queen''s influence found newfound strength, a guiding force within them pushing back against the darkness clawing at their minds.


    With a voice that rang through the chaos like a clarion call, Kori shouted, her words infused with the weight of divine authority, "The righteous stand before the darkness! May the All-Mother guide your hands!"


    Her proclamation sent shockwaves through the assembled forces. The once-terrified nobles, frozen by fear mere moments ago, were now swept up in an almost religious fervor. Inspired by Kori''s radiant presence, they took up their weapons with renewed purpose, their battle cries echoing across the battlefield. From hesitation to determination, they surged forward, a flood of noble steel and enchanted spells crashing against the tide of darkness.


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    But Kori was not alone.


    Beside her, wrapped in an aura of dark majesty, stood Rheala the Death Star, the Aspected Avatar of Death and Taxes. Her deep violet skin shimmered beneath the spectral glow of a deathly purple mist that clung to her like a second skin. Her midnight hair flowed behind her, and her eyes, two fathomless pools of ancient knowledge and cold inevitability, scanned the battlefield with calculated precision. She moved with a measured grace, her lips forming silent, ancient chants as an eerie stillness settled in her wake.


    A deep, resonant whisper echoed across the field, not spoken, but felt within the bones of all who heard it. The bodies of the fallen, those who had been mercifully slain before the Black Queen''s taint could claim them, began to stir.


    "You have one last debt to pay," Rheala intoned, her voice like a funerary bell ringing through the night.


    From the blood-soaked ground, the dead rose animated by the dark, binding threads of her power. Their eyes glowed with a ghostly, purple light, no longer bound by mortality but instead tethered to Rheala''s will. These were not the mindless undead of necromantic horror; they were soldiers granted a final moment of grace to fight those who killed them. Without hesitation, they turned on the Black Queen''s forces, striking with chilling precision, their weapons swinging in perfect synchrony, as if guided by the steady hand of Death itself.


    The reversal was immediate and undeniable. The battlefield, which had been teetering on the edge of ruin, now bore witness to a new resurgence. Where despair had ruled, now hope surged forth like an unrelenting tide. The Black Queen''s forces faltered, their advance stalling in the face of renewed resistance.


    A shriek of pure, undiluted rage erupted from the darkness, cutting through the night like a blade of ice. The Black Queen, momentarily distracted from her clash with Lotha, turned her empty, abyssal gaze toward the two Aspected Avatars. Her black ooze writhed in response to her fury, tendrils lashing out with a frenzied intensity. Without a word, she abandoned her current engagement, surging toward Kori and Rheala with the wrath of an enraged goddess.


    "You meddlesome creatures dare to interfere?" The Black Queen''s voice slithered through the air, her wrath palpable in every syllable. Her form expanded, a towering nightmare of writhing, churning darkness, surging forward with relentless fury.


    Kori, her fiery aura intensifying, met the monstrous tide with unwavering resolve, her hands glowing as she channeled the All-Mother''s radiant energy. "Your corruption ends here," she declared, thrusting her hands forward. A wave of purifying fire erupted from her palms, cutting through the darkness like a cleansing blade, forcing the Black Queen to recoil with a furious hiss.


    Rheala, her expression devoid of fear, simply tilted her head and whispered another command, sending her spectral army surging forward to meet the encroaching darkness. Each blow they struck drained the Black Queen''s essence, whittling away at her form bit by bit, a slow but relentless assault.


    I stood at the edge of the battle, my heart pounding in my chest as I watched the impossible unfold before my eyes. The chaos, the destruction, the sheer clash of titanic forces all of it felt unreal, yet I was trapped in the heart of it. My instincts screamed at me to run, to hide, but I knew that escape was impossible. This was no longer a fight I could walk away from.


    With every passing second, the battle grew fiercer, and the balance teetered on a knife''s edge.


    If we were to survive, we needed more than hope¡ªwe needed a miracle. And as if the heavens themselves had heeded my silent, desperate plea, she arrived.


    Adora. The Chosen. The Beloved of the Whole.


    She strode onto the battlefield like a divine force incarnate, her presence radiant and undeniable. Her golden hair billowed behind her in waves of shimmering light, each strand catching the ethereal glow of the Hour of Wonders, making her seem otherworldly, almost too brilliant to be real. The air around her seemed to hum, charged with an ancient, sacred power that sent shivers down my spine. In her hand, she carried destiny itself the blade of legends, the sword that had shaped history.


    Excalibur.


    The very weapon wielded by her ancestor, the legendary Artoria Pendragon, who had once driven the monstrous Fomor from the shores of the Albion Isles and carved out a kingdom in defiance of the Elves. Now, its gleaming edge sang with the same righteous fury, the golden aura surrounding it pulsing like a heartbeat, a beacon of purity and unrelenting justice.


    The battlefield stilled for a breathless moment as the sword was drawn, the very fabric of reality seeming to shudder in acknowledgment of its presence. A celestial chorus echoed in the distance, and the oppressive darkness that had seeped into every crevice of the palace recoiled, hissing and writhing in protest. The Black Queen''s influence had found a formidable adversary.


    A wave of blinding radiance cascaded outward as Adora lifted the blade high, its light washing over the battlefield like the dawn breaking through a storm. Every creature tainted by the Black Queen''s vile corruption screamed in agony, their twisted forms writhing and convulsing as the divine luminance seared through them. The black ooze that clung to their bodies peeled away in smoking tendrils, dissipating into nothingness as though banished by sheer willpower alone.


    The elite warriors of the Black Queen''s court faltered, their movements sluggish and erratic under the weight of the blade''s overwhelming power. Some fell to their knees, clutching their heads as if something deep within them was being purged against their will, while others staggered backward, their hollow eyes filled with newfound fear.


    The golden fire surrounding Adora intensified as she took a step forward, her voice ringing out with the unyielding strength of a queen born for war. "By the light of the Whole, you will go no further!" Her words reverberated through the air, sending ripples of power coursing through the crowd, reigniting the hearts of the weary defenders.


    To my right, Lotha fierce, unrelenting, and still locked in a deadly clash with the Black Queen''s avatar glanced at Adora and smirked, a flicker of fierce pride in her expression. "About damn time," she muttered before swinging her axe in a wide arc, severing a tendril of dark ooze that had been creeping toward her.


    Taimi, standing atop her towering mech, cackled in delight as she recharged her cannons with newfound vigor. "Alright, my pretties! Let''s light this place up!" Her mechanical minions redoubled their efforts, pushing back against the enemy forces with synchronized precision.


    Kori and Rheala, the twin Aspected Avatars of Life and Death, exchanged a look of mutual understanding. With the brilliance of Excalibur behind them, their powers seemed to amplify tenfold, Kori''s healing touch became near-instantaneous, and Rheala''s skeletal army moved with an eerie coordination, their strikes landing with surgical precision.


    And yet, even as Adora''s divine presence burned away the darkness, the Black Queen''s laughter still echoed from the depths of the palace grounds, her voice now tinged with something more than mere amusement an edge of raw, predatory hunger.


    "You bring me such sweet delicacies to join me, little chosen," the voice slithered through the air, tendrils of black energy reforming, twisting into grotesque shapes as they lurked just beyond the edge of Excalibur''s light. "Do you think your petty relic can undo what has already begun?"


    Adora stood firm, her emerald eyes locked onto the formless mass before her. "I won''t need to undo it," she said, her voice steady, unshaken. "I''ll end it."


    With a flash of blinding speed, she surged forward, Excalibur cleaving through the corrupted mist with effortless grace. Each swing sent arcs of golden light cascading through the darkness, carving through the Black Queen''s presence with righteous fury. The sword didn''t just cut; it purified. The battlefield was slowly shifting in our favor, the oppressive shadow lifting with every strike.


    I watched in awe, my own hands still trembling from the remnants of my earlier struggle, the stolen magic within me still pulsing in chaotic rhythms. Adora had changed everything with her arrival her sheer force of will, her unshakable belief that good would triumph over evil.


    But the battle was far from over.


    <hr>


    Codex


    EMERGENCY ALERT


    FROM:The Alliance of Nations Global Security Council


    SUBJECT: IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED ¨C BLACK QUEEN ATTACK UNDERWAY


    Citizens, this is an official emergency alert. The global threat: The high elf criminal known as the Black Queen is actively attacking several major cities worldwide. If you are receiving this text you are in the danger zone. Reports confirm catastrophic damage and escalating danger. Your immediate cooperation is critical for your survival.


    TAKE IMMEDIATE ACTION:


    SEEK SHELTER NOW: Move to the nearest secure location (bunker, basement, or fortified building). Avoid open areas.


    STAY INDOORS: Close and lock all doors and windows. Seal any openings if possible.


    DO NOT ENGAGE: The Black Queen is a corruptive force. Those under her influence should be avoided at all costs to avoid infection.


    LIMIT COMMUNICATION: Do not listen to her lies, she can not grant you your desires, only death and pain.


    SUPPLY CHECK: Ensure access to food, water, medical supplies, mana cystals, and emergency kits.


    DO NOT engage with Black Queen forces. They are highly dangerous and unpredictable.


    Authorities are working to contain the situation. Updates will follow as they become available. Stay alert, stay safe.


    DO NOT IGNORE THIS MESSAGE


    END OF MESSAGE

 Chapter 5.4

    The battle unfolding before me was like something ripped straight from the pages of ancient legends, chaotic, breathtaking, and terrifying all at once. My instincts screamed at me to turn and run, to put as much distance between myself and the maelstrom of destruction as possible. But I couldn''t. My eyes were riveted to the spectacle, unable to look away, and my breath caught somewhere between awe and dread.


    Adora moved with such speed and precision that she was nearly impossible to track. She was a golden blur, weaving through the battlefield with an elegance that seemed almost otherworldly. Her blade, Excalibur, cut through the darkness with righteous fury, each swing illuminating the battlefield with radiant arcs of light that burned away the encroaching tendrils of the Black Queen''s influence. The sheer force of her presence was magnetic, a beacon of hope in the heart of overwhelming despair.


    Beside her, her Aspected companions fought in perfect harmony, moving like a well-oiled machine honed through countless battles fought side by side. Kori, radiated an warm aura of the All-mother, her mere presence reinvigorating the exhausted and injured fighters around her. Her eyes burned with a divine determination, a maternal strength that refused to let darkness claim another soul.


    On the other side, Rheala, was a stark contrast to Kori''s radiance. Cloaked in an eerie violet aura, she moved with deadly precision, each whispered chant from her lips sending the fallen rising back to their feet driven by a singular purpose: to exact vengeance upon the Black Queen''s forces. The undead soldiers surged forward with chilling efficiency, attacking the encroaching ooze with merciless resolve.


    At the rear, Lotha and Taimi held the line against the relentless tide of the Black Queen''s Court. Lotha, the towering Comandant, was a force of nature. Her massive axe carved great swathes through the writhing black tendrils, her battle cries shaking the very air around her. Every swing of her weapon sent shockwaves rippling outward, forcing even the most determined foes to falter before her raw, unrelenting power. The ground cracked beneath her boots as she pressed forward, unwavering in her purpose, every muscle in her body straining against the tide of darkness.


    Beside her, Taimi''s mechanical constructs whirred and clanked with precision, their metallic limbs moving in perfect synchronization with their mistress''s commands. Unleashed volleys of mana-charged cannon fire into the fray. Each shot erupted in bursts of dazzling energy, vaporizing swathes of corrupted creatures before they could get too close. "Come on, you cunts!" she cackled, her voice crackling over the comms. "You think you can overwhelm me? Think again!"


    Despite their relentless assault, the Black Queen''s forces were no mere fodder. They fought with a cunning born of ages of dark servitude, striking with lethal precision and overwhelming numbers. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning ooze and the metallic tang of blood. Shadows twisted and writhed, attempting to ensnare the valiant defenders, their whispers slithering through the air with promises of despair and submission.


    I took a stumbling step backward, my heart pounding in my chest. I needed to get out of here. I wasn''t a hero. I wasn''t a warrior. Yet my feet refused to move, my gaze locked onto the battlefield before me. There was something mesmerizing about watching these warriors fight, something undeniably intoxicating about the sheer willpower they displayed in the face of such overwhelming odds.


    But then, amidst the chaos, I saw it a shifting ripple in the darkness, something moving too fast, too fluidly to be normal. My stomach clenched as I realized what it was: an infiltrator, slipping past the frontline, heading straight for Adora. Panic surged through me, and before I could think better of it, I shouted, "Behind you!"


    Adora didn''t hesitate. She pivoted with a grace that defied human capability, Excalibur flashing in a golden arc that severed the shadowy figure clean in half before it could strike. She didn''t even glance my way, but I saw the tiniest nod of acknowledgment before she turned back to the battle, pressing forward with renewed vigor.


    I let out a shuddering breath, clutching my chest. That could have been it. That could have been the end.


    The battle raged on, each moment a delicate balance between victory and annihilation. If our side faltered for even a second, the Black Queen''s forces would overwhelm us like a tidal wave of nightmares.


    The Black Queen''s relentless assault seemed to falter, her overwhelming presence diminishing as the coordinated strikes from Adora and her companions began to take their toll. The once imperious aura surrounding her flickered like a dying flame, and for a fleeting moment, hope flared among the defenders. The battlefield, a symphony of chaos and desperation, saw a shift the tide, once against us, now leaned in our favor.


    Adora, radiant and relentless, stood at the forefront, her golden hair flowing like a war banner in the wind. With Excalibur in hand, she pressed forward, the blade blazing with the fury of countless champions before her. Her strikes were precise, each swing a devastating arc of light that cleaved through the dark ooze with divine authority. Sparks of raw magic erupted with every collision, and the Queen''s avatar staggered under the onslaught. A satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of Adora''s lips as she closed the distance, ready to deliver the final blow that would end this nightmare once and for all.


    But then, the Black Queen laughed a hollow, chilling sound that sent shivers down my spine and silenced the battlefield. "Very well," she purred, her voice dripping with mock amusement, her blackened eyes narrowing with something dangerously close to delight. "I suppose that''s enough playing around."


    Before anyone could react, a terrible scream ripped through the air. It wasn''t a single voice, but a chorus. A cacophony of agonized wails echoed through the palace grounds. All around us, those who had been infected by her dark influence, innocent guests, nobles, even her most loyal court members, collapsed where they stood. Their bodies contorted, writhing in grotesque spasms before melting into a tide of inky black ooze. The corrupted mass pulsed and writhed, twisting and crawling towards her like some sentient tide of despair.


    "No!" Kori shouted, as she reached out, trying to stop one of the fallen nobles from succumbing, but it was too late.


    Rheala cursed under her breath, her normally stoic demeanor cracking as she watched the all-consuming void surge forward, engulfing everything in its path. "By the secret name of Death," she whispered, eyes wide with horror. "She''s going to¡ª"


    The Queen''s avatar drank it all in, the amorphous darkness pouring into her form like rivers of ink returning to their source. Her shape swelled, bulging grotesquely as more and more of the living ooze fused with her being. Limbs stretched unnaturally, her once elf-like visage elongating into something monstrous, her very essence distorting and corrupting the air around her.


    In mere heartbeats, the being before us had transformed into a towering behemoth, a grotesque amalgamation of nightmares and hatred. Black tendrils writhed from its shifting form, eyes, hundreds of them, opened across its surface, each one filled with unspeakable malice. The monstrous figure loomed high above the palace, blotting out the sky itself, its presence suffocating the city under its sheer, crushing weight. It was a creature that had razed civilizations to the ground, snuffed out entire lineages with a mere thought, and now it stood before us, its hunger not yet sated.


    A cold dread settled in my gut. I had read the histories, the whispered accounts of those who had survived past encounters with her, the devastation she had wrought. Cities burned in her wake, kingdoms collapsed, and millions had perished in unspeakable agony. And now, New Londinium stood on the brink of sharing that fate.


    The air was thick with tension, and for a moment, despair threatened to take hold. But then, Adora stepped forward again, her grip on Excalibur tightening. "Not today," she declared, her voice steady, resolute. With a single swing, she unleashed a brilliant arc of light that slashed against the Queen''s monstrous form, carving a burning wound across its massive frame. The creature roared in pain, a sound that rattled the very bones in my body, but it wasn''t enough.


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    All across the battlefield, the defenders rallied, a last-ditch effort to stop the titanic monstrosity from reaching the city. Lotha, bloodied but unbroken, bellowed a war cry and led the remaining Dragoons in a ferocious charge, their weapons sparking with enchanted runes. Taimi, from her towering mech, unleashed a storm of fire and steel, her cannons thundering with desperate precision. Kori and Rheala stood side by side, life and death entwined as they cast their magics in tandem, striking at the creature with divine fury.


    Even the civilians, those who could still stand, fought with whatever they had raw desperation their only weapon. It was a scene of defiance, of last stands and unyielding will.


    The battle of the palace had been lost, but the New Londinium had just begun.


    The colossal form of the Black Queen loomed over the battlefield like a nightmare given flesh, her monstrous presence eclipsing the moonlit sky. A deep, resonant bellow rumbled from within her grotesque maw, shaking the very ground beneath our feet. But the roar was not the true danger. No, the true threat lay in the ominous, pulsing core of darkness coalescing within her throat. A void-like energy, pitch black and writhing with malice, grew steadily brighter, expanding with a sickly luminescence that seemed to devour the surrounding light.


    Adora''s voice, sharp and commanding, cut through the chaos. "Stop her! Before it''s too late!" she cried, desperation threading through her normally steady tone.


    The response was immediate. Everyone still standing poured their remaining strength into a renewed assault. Blades flashed, spells erupted, and artillery spells thundered, but it was not enough. The Queen''s power had reached its peak.


    With a horrifying roar, the Black Queen unleashed her devastating attack. A beam of annihilation tore through the night, the very fabric of reality warping around it as it hurtled toward Adora. It was not simply a weapon¡ªit was an erasure, a force that consumed everything in its path, swallowing hope itself. Adora braced, Excalibur alight with golden radiance, preparing to meet the attack head-on, but even Excalibur''s legendary might would not be enough to hold back the abyssal tide.


    And then, a streak of gold and muscle leaped into the path of destruction. Asah, fully shifted into her Nemean Lioness form, moved with the speed of a lightning strike. Her enormous frame collided with the beam, and for a moment, the battlefield froze in time. The legends whispered of the Nemean Lioness''s indestructible fur, a gift from the Great Spirits themselves. Tonight, I saw that legend come to life. The dark energy struck her head-on, and instead of cutting through her, it splintered against her unyielding form.


    A brilliant cascade of light and shadow erupted from the impact, the forces colliding with an unimaginable intensity. A shockwave thundered outward, obliterating the remaining windows of the palace in an ear-splitting crescendo. My vision blurred as the pressure wave hit me like a hammer, sending me staggering backward. Pain shot through my skull, and I realized, with a sickening lurch, that my eardrums had burst. Blood trickled down the sides of my face, but I could do nothing but watch in awe.


    When the energy dissipated, Asah stood firm unbroken, unbent, and entirely unyielding. Her powerful form radiated defiance, her chest heaving, eyes locked onto the Black Queen with a fury that rivaled the sun.


    Adora, still gripping Excalibur tightly, gaped in stunned silence, the sheer audacity of Asah''s intervention throwing her off for a brief second. "Asah¡­" she breathed, amazement and frustration warring in her voice.


    Before either of them could react further, another sound split the air, a roar that resonated with a primal force unlike anything I had ever heard before. It was deep, reverberating through my bones, shaking the earth beneath my feet. This was not the roar of a beast, but something far greater.


    A shadow darkened the battlefield, and with it came the unmistakable presence of the world''s apex predator.


    Medarda the Golden Dragon had arrived.


    She descended in all her glory, a terrifying vision of majesty and destruction. Her black and gold scales shimmered in the flickering light, each one glistening like a polished gemstone. Massive wings, stretched to their full span, cast the battlefield into deeper shadow, and her golden eyes locked onto the Black Queen with a predator''s singular focus.


    Medarda inhaled, her powerful chest expanding as she drew in air, and I knew what was coming before it happened.


    The dragon''s breath was unleashed, a torrent of golden fire so intense it fractured the very air around it. The heat struck like a tidal wave, making my skin prickle even from a distance. The inferno raced forward, consuming everything in its path, slamming into the Black Queen with devastating force. For a moment, it seemed the tide had turned once again.


    The Queen shrieked, her monstrous form writhing under the flames, the dark ooze hissing and bubbling where the fire seared it. Blackened tendrils flailed wildly, some vaporizing on contact, others retracting into the monstrous form she had become.


    But even as the dragon''s fire tore through her, the Black Queen did not fall. She endured, standing amidst the flames, her colossal form marred but not defeated. From within the heart of the inferno, she twisted, her many blackened eyes narrowing in hatred.


    The battle raged on, but the Queen had met her match.


    The assembled forces pressed forward with renewed vigor. Adora and her Companions striking with divine precision, Lotha and Taimi pressing the assault with overwhelming force, and now, Medarda, the Golden Dragon, matching the Black Queen''s destructive might with her own.


    I stood there, watching it all, a mixture of awe and fear warring in my chest. It was a battle that belonged in myths and epic songs. But it was no longer just legend. It was happening right before me. And if they failed here, there would be no legends left to sing.


    <hr>


    Codex


    Ancient Poem of Diana First Task of Twelve, Author Unknown.


    Sing, O Muse, of Diana, mighty in toil, Who to the vale of Nemea strode, bold and royal. There dwelt a beast of monstrous birth, Spawn of Elf, Spirit and Beast, scourge of the earth.


    From Eurystheus, Queen of Mycenae grand, Came forth the call, a perilous demand: "Bring me the hide of that dread beast, Whose shadow darkens hill and feast."


    Upon her journey, steadfast in grace, Diana sought Cleonae''s place. There, Molorcha, humble and kind, With open arms and heart inclined.


    A sacrifice the poor women would make, To Aspects, for Diana''s sake. "Wait," said the Heroine, "but forty days, If I return, together we''ll praise." "If fate claims me, then honor my name, As Heroine fallen in perilous game."


    Days waned, the sun made countless rounds, Diana prepared with solemn sounds. Yet lo! With leonine spoils in hand, Heracles returned, triumphant to stand.


    The beast, impervious to shaft and blow, Fell not to arrow nor club''s strong throw. Diana, with cunning and might, Blocked the den, to end the fight.


    Through narrow passage, she entered brave, With iron grip, the beast he gave A death embrace, her strength untold, And claimed its pelt of fearful gold.


    Some say beneath the heavens wide, In open fields they fought with pride. So fierce the fray, so great the cost, A finger Diana herself had lost.


    Upon her back the lionesse she bore, To Mycenae''s gates, and there before The trembling Queen, who, stricken pale, Fled within her city''s veil.


    From thence she bade, with quivering voice, "Report thy deeds outside my choice." Thus Diana, with courage vast, Fulfilled the first of her labors tasked.


    O mighty Daughter of Aspects divine, In every heart thy glory shines. From Nemea''s vale to Mountains high, Your legend lives and shall not die.

 Chapter 5.5

    Amidst the swirling chaos, I struggled to move, to think. The sheer magnitude of power being hurled across the battlefield was suffocating waves of raw energy clashing, sparks of mana igniting the air with each impact. The women I had met tonight, for better or worse, were fighting for their lives against my worst nightmare. My tormentor, the Black Queen. A deep part of me screamed to flee, to find shelter away from this madness, yet another part, quieter but resolute, whispered that I couldn''t simply stand by. I had to help in whatever small way I could.


    But reality weighed heavy on my shoulders. I was a man. My ability to drain mana, my one weapon in a world where men were little more than precious ornaments, required touch. And the ooze that writhing, malevolent black mass spreading like a tide across the battlefield was a mere extension, a medium.


    As I weighed my chances, my thoughts racing for a solution, a shiver ran down my spine. A presence, familiar yet foreign, had slipped into my space unnoticed, a feat that should have been impossible in my heightened state of fear. Slowly, I turned, and my breath caught in my throat.


    There she stood.


    Maeriel.


    I hadn''t seen her in years. My rescuer, my captor, my self-proclaimed mother. Love and hate tangled in my chest at the sight of her. Amid the madness, the sounds of battle seemed to fade, the air growing unnervingly still. It was just the two of us in that moment, Maeriel and I standing in the eye of the storm she had created with her psychic influence, her presence bending reality itself around us.


    Like all High Elves, Maeriel was a vision of divine beauty, an exquisite creation sculpted with purpose. The High Elves were the ultimate architects of their own perfection, vain, obsessive, and methodical in their pursuit of aesthetic supremacy. Their bioengineering had not only refined their abilities but also ensured that their appearance embodied an irresistible allure, especially to Kindred men, who were hard-wired to find them captivating.


    Maeriel was an exemplar of that inhuman allure. She stood a head shorter than me, yet her presence loomed larger than life. Her figure was a masterwork of ethereal sensuality, an hourglass shape that no mortal could replicate. Her curves were impossibly lush, a body that blurred the line between delicate grace and indulgent excess. Her breasts, impossibly full yet perfectly firm, were nearly twice the size of her head, defying gravity with their tantalizing weight. Her waist tapered into a perfect hourglass, emphasizing wide hips and thick, flawless thighs that could drive lesser men to madness with a glance.


    Her lips full, enigmatic, and painted with a natural hue that seemed to whisper promises of forbidden pleasure parted slightly, as if she knew the effect she had on me. The creamy perfection of her smooth, unblemished skin exuded an elegance that transcended mere beauty; it was an artistry only the High Elves could master.


    And then there were the details that marked her as something otherworldly, something beyond mere mortal comprehension. Her long, delicately pointed ears twitched ever so slightly, an unconscious gesture that somehow made her seem all the more alluring. Her hands, with their signature three-fingered grace, hovered at her sides small, delicate things that seemed crafted for caresses and tender gestures, yet capable of wielding untold power.


    But it was her eyes that captured me, held me in place. High Elves did not possess ordinary eyes; they were works of art in themselves. Her irises, a swirling ocean of sapphire and starlight, encased dual, interconnected pupils. The unnatural, hypnotic pattern that drew me in like a moth to flame. Looking into those eyes was like staring into infinity, and even now, years later, they still held that same intoxicating effect on me.


    I hated how my body reacted, how my heart pounded in my chest despite the fear and anger that swirled within me. Maeriel had saved me once, taken me in when I was nothing but a piece of meat, but she had also bound me to her, shaped me, and molded me in ways I still couldn''t fully comprehend.


    Maeriel''s voice was like silk wrapping around my senses, a deceptively gentle caress that made my skin crawl and my heart ache all at once. "I was only gone a short while, John," she murmured, her lips curling into that familiar, knowing smile the one she always wore when she babied me. "Didn''t I tell you not to get into trouble while Mommy was off working?" Her tone was a mix of indulgence and quiet amusement, like a mother chiding a child who had wandered too far from home. "You are such a naughty boy," she purred, her fingers trailing lightly down my arm. "Forming a resonance and a nascent lifebond? Quite the overachiever, as always, my precious boy."


    I swallowed hard, a knot tightening in my chest. The cocktail of emotions boiling beneath the surface threatened to spill over anger, fear, resentment, and something far more dangerous... longing. My fists clenched at my sides, my voice coming out steadier than I expected. "What are you doing here, Maeriel? If they see you... they''ll try to kill you."


    She sighed, as if I were being unreasonable, her otherworldly blue eyes brimming with something close to pity. "Oh, John," she said, shaking her head as though I were a child fretting over monsters under the bed. "I have an understanding with the Fate Touched. She won''t strike me down without reason." Her lips twitched in a bemused smirk. "Besides, you didn''t think I''d leave you alone with your Aunt, did you? She has no idea how to treat children properly."


    She took another step forward, and I instinctively moved back, but she reached out, her slender fingers tracing down my arm. Even through my clothes, the contact sent an electric shiver racing through me, a stark reminder of just how deep her influence still ran in my veins, in my mind, in my soul.


    I jerked away sharply, putting as much distance between us as I could manage. "I can''t be seen with you," I said, the words coming out more defiant than I felt.


    Maeriel let out a soft, knowing sigh, the way a mother might when her child was throwing a tantrum over bedtime. "Oh, John," she crooned, her tone dripping with amusement and affection. "It''s far too late for that. You''re already in danger, my darling boy, and what kind of mother would I be if I let my precious child get hurt?" She reached for me again, but this time I took another step back, shaking my head.


    I wanted to scream at her, to push her away, to tell her she was wrong, but deep down, a sickening part of me knew that despite everything, she was right. She had always been there, lurking in the shadows of my life, watching, waiting. She was a force I could never truly escape.


    The ground trembled beneath us as a distant explosion shattered the fragile moment between us. The sounds of battle raged on in the distance, and for the first time, something flickered in Maeriel''s expression, an edge of seriousness that cut through her usual languid charm. "Time is short," she murmured, more to herself than to me. "We need to move."


    I hesitated, torn between the instinct to run and the knowledge that, for all my resentment, she might be the only one who could turn the tide of this battle. Desperation clawed at my throat, and the words tumbled from my lips before I could stop them. "Can you help them?" My voice cracked, raw and pleading.


    Maeriel blinked, a flicker of confusion passing over her perfect features. "Why would I do that, my sweet?" she asked, tilting her head like I had just suggested something absurd. "They don''t matter, John. They''re not real... not like you and me."


    I swallowed back the lump rising in my throat. "Please," I begged, my voice hoarse. "The city is in danger. They need your help." I met her eyes, pleading with everything I had left in me.


    She smiled softly, indulgently, as if humoring me. "What does a city matter compared to your life, John?" she asked, stepping closer again, her gaze searching mine, her tone rich with something that sent chills down my spine. "You are all that matters to me."


    I gritted my teeth, shaking my head. "There are millions of people in New Londium, Maeriel," I said, my voice trembling. "I have to try."


    My vision blurred with unshed tears, and before I could stop myself, I croaked out one last, desperate, "Please."


    That word, that single plea, seemed to cut through whatever cold detachment she held. Maeriel''s perfect lips parted, and something that looked suspiciously like guilt flickered across her expression. Her shoulders slumped slightly, and for the first time, I saw hesitation in her gaze.


    "Oh, don''t cry, my precious boy," she murmured, reaching up to gently brush a tear from my cheek with a feather-light touch. "Oh, how am I supposed to keep you safe when you look at me with those lovely eyes of yours?" She sighed, a slow, drawn-out sound of reluctant acceptance.


    Then, with a gentle smile that somehow sent a wave of unease through me, she whispered, "Very well... but only because you asked so sweetly."


    Relief flooded through me, but it was tempered with the knowledge that every time Maeriel helped, there was always a price. And sooner or later, I would have to pay it.


    "John, please take a step back. I don''t want to get blood on you," Maeriel''s voice was calm, almost soothing, but I knew better. The calm before the storm.


    I obeyed without question, stepping back as my stomach twisted in uneasy anticipation. I''d seen her biomancy in action before, and it was never a clean or pleasant sight. Her powers had an eerie beauty to them functional, efficient, but undeniably grotesque.


    Without hesitation, Maeriel plunged her hand into her own side with a sickening squelch. The wet sound of flesh parting under her fingers made my gut churn, but she showed no sign of pain, only a serene focus. Her delicate features remained composed, almost bored, as she rooted around inside herself with a practiced ease that spoke of millenniums of mastery. A moment later, she withdrew her hand, crimson and slick, clutching several of her own ribs as if they were no more than disposable tools.


    The freshly extracted bones hit the ground with a wet slap, twitching and writhing like living things. I watched, a morbid fascination overriding my sense of horror, as they began to pulse and shift, elongating and twisting with an organic fluidity that defied nature. Tendrils of flesh coiled around them, sinew stretching and binding the fragments together with alarming speed. Before my eyes, the discarded bones took form, flesh knitting over them, shaping into familiar curves, and within mere moments, there stood four perfect replicas of Maeriel.


    They were naked, of course, each one an exact mirror of the original in form and beauty. The unsettling synchronization of their movements made my breath hitch. They blinked in unison, their otherworldly blue eyes locking onto me, and I couldn''t stop the heat that crept up my neck at the sight of them standing there so unabashedly bare. My heart pounded, and I forced myself to look away, but Maeriel''s amused chuckle told me she had noticed.


    "Still so bashful, my sweet boy," her cloned murmured, shaking their asses at me as if inviting me to mount them. Her original form was watching me with a teasing glint in her eye while the clones remained eerily silent.


    I swallowed thickly, trying to focus on the tactical implications of what she had just done rather than the surreal intimacy of the moment. "Is... is this really necessary?" I asked, forcing my voice to remain steady.


    Maeriel''s smile was indulgent, motherly, as if she were explaining something to a particularly naive child. "Of course, John. I do not take threats to you lightly. And besides...a mother can tease her child." she trailed off as she turned to her clones, who, in perfect synchronization, mimicked her next motion.


    Without missing a beat, the four newly formed Maeriels plunged their hands into their own sides with the same casual brutality, replicating the act their progenitor had performed. The gruesome cycle repeated itself more ribs extracted, more flesh woven into existence. The numbers multiplied exponentially, and within less than a minute, I found myself surrounded by not four, but eighty-eight identical Maeriels.


    The air grew thick with the scent of copper and something more arcane, something that hummed against my skin like static electricity. The clones stood at perfect attention, their gazes locked onto their original, awaiting her command with an unsettling, hive-like precision.


    Maeriel turned back to me with a radiant, unnerving smile. "Now, I believe we are ready for battle," she said, her voice honeyed but firm. Her clones echoed her words in a whisper-like chorus, sending shivers down my spine.


    I could only nod, feeling entirely out of my depth. Whatever I had expected from this night, it certainly wasn''t an army of my self-proclaimed mother preparing to tear through the battlefield in my defense.


    "Stay close, John," she cooed, taking a step toward me, her hand brushing lightly against my chest. "I would hate for you to wander off into danger. Let Mommy handle everything from here."


    Her clones moved in sync, stepping aside like a well-rehearsed formation, making way for the battle ahead. All except the original who stayed by my side. I felt a pit in my stomach, whether from the grotesque display of power or the realization that, no matter how much I tried to escape Maeriel''s influence, she was always, always one step ahead. I had learned that lesson the first time I tried to run away.


    The sudden arrival of Maeriel''s legion of clones onto the battlefield had an almost predictable effect: panic, confusion, and a desperate scramble to reassess friend from foe. The once organized ranks of nobles and Dragoons hesitated for only a moment before launching attacks at the identical high elf figures now spread across the field. The air crackled with bursts of magic, blades flashed, and mana bolts ricocheted off Maeriel''s clones in a chaotic frenzy.


    But she didn''t fight back.


    Instead, she stood there, unmoving, as the attacks landed. Projected blades bit into her flesh, spells burned her skin, but with every wound inflicted, she simply regenerated. The flesh reknitted itself in an instant, as though the damage had never occurred in the first place. The display was beyond belief, Kindred could heal with magic, of course, but not at this speed, not without consequences. Rapid regeneration usually meant cellular breakdown, the kind that led to a painful, grotesque death from runaway cancerous mutations. But Maeriel? She simply smiled, each strike doing nothing but reinforcing the futility of the assault against her.


    "Leave her be!" Adora''s voice rang out across the battlefield, cutting through the chaos like a blade of divine authority. Her golden hair shimmered in the light of Excalibur as she commanded attention. "Tonight, she fights with us!"


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    The order echoed across the field, and the Dragoons and nobles reluctantly withdrew, shifting their focus back to the true threat, the monstrous, hulking form of the Black Queen, who loomed over us all like an unholy colossus.


    Maeriel''s specialty had always been biomancy, but millennia of existence had afforded her the opportunity to master far more than just the manipulation of flesh and bone. As if in response to Adora''s command, her clones moved in eerie unison, each raising a hand, their voices weaving an incantation in perfect harmony. The battlefield trembled as a spectrum of magic erupted from their fingertips, each clone casting a spell of a different element fire, ice, wind, earth, lightning, and darkness, all converging into a single, devastating blast aimed at the Black Queen.


    Simultaneously, Medarda inhaled deeply, her massive dragon form looming above the battlefield like a golden tempest. With a thunderous roar, she unleashed another searing torrent of dragonfire, the blaze turning the night into day, flames hotter than anything mortal flesh could endure.


    Asah, still standing resolute after her earlier act of defiance, let out a deafening roar, her Nemean voice focusing into a concentrated sonic attack that rippled through the Queen''s form, shattering pieces of her black ooze body into mist. Her lioness eyes burned with determination, and I could feel the vibrations deep within my bones.


    Adora and Lotha charged forward side by side, their weapons carving through the air like celestial instruments of destruction. Excalibur shone with divine radiance, slicing through the corruption like a beacon of hope, while Lotha''s axe cleaved through the darkness with raw, brutal force. Each swing sent arcs of destructive energy crashing into the monstrous form before them.


    Taimi, perched high atop her mechanized battle suit, shouted commands to her golems, her cannons firing relentlessly, sending bursts of arcane energy that slammed into the Black Queen, driving her back further with every impact.


    Kori and Rheala, the twin Aspects of Life and Death, stood together, hands intertwined, their opposing forces blending into a harmonious fusion of existence and decay. A brilliant surge of golden and violet light surged forth from them, washing over the battlefield and sapping the strength from the Black Queen''s forces while bolstering our own.


    The combined assault was relentless, unyielding, and, at long last, it began to take its toll. The monstrous form of the Black Queen, once so towering and unassailable, began to waver. The inky black ooze that composed her grotesque body started to slough away in thick, viscous globs, dissipating into the air like smoke.


    "You bitch," the Black Queen shrieked, her once-commanding voice laced with desperation and frustration. "You never let me have my fun!"


    Her once haughty demeanor crumbled into that of a petulant child, her focus narrowing to a single target, Maeriel. Ignoring the assaults of the others, she lunged toward the legion of high elf clones with a crazed fervor, tearing through them with maddened glee. Each clone she destroyed splattered into puddles of shimmering ichor, but even as they fell, the others pressed on, continuing their assault, chipping away at the Black Queen''s dwindling strength.


    Maeriel''s tactic was clear drain the Queen''s resources by forcing her to waste her attacks on bodies that could easily be replaced. But I could see the toll it was taking. The clones'' regeneration, once instantaneous, began to slow. Where once they had bounced back effortlessly, now they staggered, faltered.


    And then the clones stopped regenerating altogether.


    Maeriel, the original, stood beside me, her breathing ragged. She swayed slightly before dropping to one knee, her once-flawless complexion marred with the faintest traces of exhaustion. Sweat dripped down her brow, and for the first time, I saw vulnerability in her usually impenetrable gaze.


    I caught her before she could collapse completely, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Maeriel!" I gasped, my heart racing in concern.


    She looked up at me, a weak, but still smug smile playing on her lips. "Mommy spent a little more mana than she planned," she murmured breathlessly, her voice holding that same teasing lilt despite her drained state.


    I swallowed hard, struggling to steady my voice. "You need to rest. You''re pushing yourself too hard."


    She chuckled softly, leaning into me for a moment before whispering, "Oh, my precious boy... don''t worry about me. This is what mothers do, after all. Protect their children." Her blue eyes, even tired, still shimmered with that unsettling maternal devotion that had always sent a shiver down my spine.


    I tightened my grip around her, feeling the weight of her exhaustion, but I couldn''t let myself get distracted. The battle was far from over, and the Black Queen was still standing albeit smaller, weaker, and angrier than ever before. A shadow of the fearsome foe that once stood before us.


    The Black Queen''s malevolent gaze fixed upon us. Her pitch-black eyes, void of all light and life, locked onto Maeriel and me with a chilling intensity that sent a primal fear coursing through my veins. The remnants of her monstrous form, now whittled down to something almost human in size, rippled and reformed with a grotesque fluidity. Her lips curled into a twisted smile, revealing rows of blackened, needle-sharp teeth.


    "Ah... there you are, my lost little stud," she purred, her voice a sickly sweet whisper carried on the wind. Without warning, she surged forward with terrifying speed, a blur of inky darkness, her form twisting and contorting unnaturally as she closed the distance between us in mere seconds.


    As the battlefield raged on, with flames, steel, and magic tearing through the night, the Black Queen''s malevolent gaze fixed upon us. Her pitch-black eyes, void of all light and life, locked onto Maeriel and me with a chilling intensity that sent a primal fear coursing through my veins. The remnants of her monstrous form, now whittled down to something almost human in size, rippled and reformed with a grotesque fluidity. Her lips curled into a twisted smile, revealing rows of blackened, needle-sharp teeth.


    "Ah... there you are, my lost little pet," she purred, her voice a sickly sweet whisper carried on the wind. Without warning, she surged forward with terrifying speed, a blur of inky darkness, her form twisting and contorting unnaturally as she closed the distance between us in mere seconds.


    I barely had time to react.


    My heart pounded in my chest like a war drum, and I instinctively tightened my grip on Maeriel, who was still weak from expending so much mana. She stirred against me, her breath ragged, but her sharp eyes flicked upward, narrowing at the encroaching terror.


    "John, move!" she rasped, forcing herself to her feet despite the tremble in her legs.


    But there was no time.


    The Black Queen''s form lunged, tendrils of shadow spiraling outward like writhing serpents, reaching for us with a hunger that promised only pain and oblivion. The air around us grew thick and suffocating, as if the very essence of reality recoiled from her presence. The battlefield seemed to shrink, the sounds of combat dimming under the sheer weight of her dark will pressing down upon us.


    Maeriel, despite her weakened state, stood tall beside me, her three-fingered hand pressing against my chest, pushing me behind her protectively. "Stay close, my precious boy," she murmured, and before I could protest, she raised her other hand and summoned a barrier of shimmering blue mana between us and the encroaching darkness.


    The Black Queen''s tendrils smashed into it with a sickening wet slap, the force sending tremors through the air. Cracks spiderwebbed across the barrier, the shimmering light flickering and dimming with each successive strike.


    I felt helpless useless. My fists clenched at my sides as I watched Maeriel strain to maintain the barrier, her face contorted in a rare display of effort. I knew she couldn''t hold her off for long, not in her current state.


    "You can''t run from me forever, John," the Black Queen cooed, her voice dripping with malice and honeyed cruelty. "You belong to me... You always have, and you always will."


    Something inside me snapped.


    I wouldn''t let her take me again. I couldn''t.


    "Fuck off!" I shouted.


    "You insolent little¡ª" the Black Queen snarled, her patience finally snapping. With an inhuman screech, she lashed out again, her form growing more erratic, more monstrous, her rage twisting her into something barely recognizable as elven.


    But before she could strike, a golden blur cut through the darkness.


    "Back. Off."


    Adora''s voice rang like a bell of divine judgment, and in an instant, Excalibur''s radiant light slashed between us and the Queen, forcing her to recoil with a pained, guttural hiss. The sacred blade pulsed with celestial power, its holy glow burning through the darkness like the first rays of dawn piercing the night.


    The Black Queen staggered back, her form flickering and writhing in agony under the blade''s radiance. "You meddlesome girl," she spat, black ooze dripping from her form like tar. "You think you can protect him forever? He belongs to me!"


    Adora''s stance remained unwavering, her expression set in grim determination. "John belongs to himself," she declared, the weight of her words sinking deep into my chest. "And as long as I draw breath, you''ll never touch him."


    I could see the fury brewing in the Black Queen''s inky gaze, but before she could retaliate, Medarda''s voice echoed through the sky in a deafening roar.


    "Enough of this."


    The golden dragon swooped low, her eyes blazing with ancient power. Flames crackled at the corners of her maw as she circled overhead, casting an imposing shadow over us all.


    But in that instant, the Black Queen''s barrier shattered like fragile glass, and before I could react, the darkness swallowed me whole. Thick, cloying tendrils of black ooze coiled around my limbs, tightening with a sickening squelch as they pulled me under. The world disappeared, replaced by suffocating pressure and an overwhelming, putrid cold that seeped into my very bones.


    "No!" I heard Adora''s desperate scream, her voice barely cutting through the suffocating void that consumed me. "He''s mine!" The Black Queen''s voice echoed through the abyss, a chilling whisper that slithered directly into my mind. It wasn''t just words; it was a command, a promise, a possession.


    Panic exploded in my chest as the ooze writhed against me, invading every inch of my being. I could feel it pressing against my mouth, my nose, forcing itself into my ears, trying to worm its way inside. My body convulsed violently, thrashing against the dark tide, but the more I struggled, the deeper it pulled me in. It wasn''t just physical it was something deeper, something insidious. The Black Queen wasn''t just trying to take my body; she was trying to consume me, to hollow me out from the inside.


    I fought against it, my mind reeling, desperate for anything to hold onto. My fingers clawed through the thick mass of liquid darkness, and then, miraculously, they found something solid.


    Smooth. Cool. Pulsing with a strange, alien energy.


    An orb.


    The only thing that wasn''t pure ooze, nestled deep within the writhing black mass. It radiated power that felt raw and ancient, yet somehow familiar. This... this was her core. The heart of the nightmare wrapped around me.


    I hesitated.


    To drain it would mean my end, that much I knew. This wasn''t like siphoning power from Tomae or any of her victims. The Black Queen was something far beyond them, an entity of unfathomable strength, millennia of accumulated magic, dark and unfathomable. There was no way I could take it all in without it consuming me in the process.


    But better to die fighting than to succumb to what she had planned.


    Gritting my teeth, I grasped the orb with all the strength I had left and pulled. A sharp, sickening jolt shot up my arm, my body screamed, and all I would ever know again was pain.


    <hr>


    Codex


    Transcript of Vid Advertisement, Linktube


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