They hit the mattress with a thud.
Nyxia's vision spun. One moment she'd been clutching Loque's fur as Zhurong muttered the last of his improvised incantation. The next, she was flat on her back, staring at a beamed ceiling.
A feather mattress. Clean. Soft.
Too soft.
Boo groaned beside her, sprawled across the bed like a disassembled marionette. "Zhurong, you always take me to the nicest places." She kicked her feet up and let them rest squarely on his chest.
Zhurong wheezed beneath her boots. "You're welcome," he choked.
Loque, somehow, landed on his paws near the window, fur bristled and eyes darting around the room. A low growl hummed in his throat—not fear, but disorientation.
Nyxia sat up slowly, hands braced against the plush bedding. Her heart was still pounding from the teleportation—not just the unstable casting, but the weight of what they'd just left behind. Visions. Echoes. That looped elf with her own name on her lips.
For a moment, none of them said anything.
It was quiet. Safe. Normal.
A nightmare had given way to bedsheets and candlelight.
Zhurong lay sprawled on the edge of the mattress, arms stretched out like a corpse. "We're alive," he muttered.
Boo tossed her head back into the pillow, arms behind her head. "Feels illegal."
"It's not," Nyxia said, standing and peering out the window. "We're in Goldshire."
"You're sure?" Zhurong asked, lifting his head groggily.
She pointed. "I can see the Lion's Pride statue from here."
Boo whistled. "A soft bed and an easy walk to Stormwind. You're really trying to romance me now, Worgen."
Zhurong groaned. "Can't breathe. Boot."
"Shh." Boo kicked her heels gently against his ribs. "Let me have this."
Then the door slammed open.
All of them turned.
A woman stood framed in the doorway—tall, elegant, with gold eyes and a cascade of pitch-black hair pulled into a high braid. She wore simple innkeeper's garb, but there was a weight to her posture. Controlled. Coiled. Her eyes scanned the room once, then narrowed.
Her voice was crisp. "This room was reserved for a paying couple. Instead, I find smoldering teleport residue and the scent of unlicensed magic use."
Zhurong blinked.
Then blinked again.
His ears perked, just slightly.
She was a Dracthyr.
In visage form, but unmistakable.
Nyxia could feel the shift in Zhurong's demeanor before he even spoke. A low hum of interest, admiration, and something else.
"Oh no," Boo mumbled. "He's doing it. His eyes are gleaming. You know what that means."
Zhurong cleared his throat and tried to sit up straighter. "Madam Innkeeper, I assure you, the intrusion was entirely accidental. A temporary arcane misfire—localized and harmless."
The woman raised a sharp brow. "Do I look like someone who doesn't understand arcane structure?"
Nyxia stepped forward. "He's not lying. We were trying to port from Dustwallow. The array was half-buried. He patched it together with scrap runes and hopes."
"Not my specialty," Zhurong admitted, already brushing soot off his tunic.
"I can tell," the Dracthyr said, stepping fully into the room and folding her arms. "You flooded the ley-lines in three separate points on entry. I nearly had a panic call to the tower."
"Sorry," Boo said. "Would've knocked, but your front door doesn't connect to ancient arcane wreckage."
The woman stared at her, then at Nyxia. "You were at Theramore?"
Nyxia nodded. "The ruins."
She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I suppose I should be thankful you didn't reappear inside a table. That happened to a goblin last month. Still not sure if he ever got his foot back."
Zhurong, eyes still not leaving her, offered a cautious smile. "You're a mage?"
The woman smirked. "An innkeeper who studied at the tower. I run the Lion's Pride. The name's Sylessa."
Nyxia nodded. "We won't trouble you long. Just passing through."
Sylessa's gaze lingered. "Something about you smells like trouble."
Zhurong tilted his head. "Is that before or after the mana combustion?"
"During."
Boo finally slid off the bed, brushing dust off her jacket. "Do you always interrogate strangers in your nicest rooms?"
"I usually charge them," Sylessa said.
Zhurong reached into his satchel, pulled out a thin pouch, and handed it to her. "For the room. And for the delay."
She weighed it in her hand, nodded once, then turned to leave. "You'll want to be gone by noon tomorrow. We've got a bard competition in town and I'd rather not mix adventurers and drunks more than necessary."
Nyxia waited until the door clicked shut again.
Then she turned to Zhurong. "You were smitten."
"She was articulate."
Boo grinned. "She was terrifying. You have a type."
Zhurong didn't deny it.
Nyxia looked out the window again. Stormwind was so close now. Just up the road.
And for the first time in days, the sky outside looked normal.
The Veil didn't reach this far.
Yet.
But she could still feel it—curled somewhere in the quiet places of the world.
Waiting for its next breath.