The Hunter's Rest was chaos in a bottle. The tavern ceiling dripped from spilled ale and steam, and a dozen adventurers hollered stories about gutting hydras, escaping demon brothels, or wrestling sentient tree gods into submission. Tankards clashed like war drums, and every corner crackled with either a fistfight or someone arm-wrestling a beast with horns.
At a table in the center, red-suited and red-faced, Dante Vaerdyn was performing a one-man play for his audience of half-empty mugs. His red and white hair was tied into a thick, bushy braid that swung behind him like a whip with every dramatic gesture. His matching beard hung like a festive curtain, braided and glittered with crumbs. His light brown eyes were glazed with drink, his neck bore jagged scars, and he was bellowing like a stage actor halfway through a breakdown.
"'And lo, said Valterin the Hollow-Handed—if thine limbs must burn, let it be by thine OWN fire, and not by the leash of cowardice!'" he cried, slamming a mug down hard enough to spill three more. "Drellid Varn! Spine of the Unbroken Rift! Chapter thirty-seven, losers!"
Cainan, unimpressed, stepped forward through the haze. Behind him trailed the others: Lynzelle, bouncing on her heels like she was about to burst into a full sprint just for fun, Astrid fluttering casually over a mug of glowing green ale, and Qorrak, who had to duck just to enter the bar with his four arms tucked close like a monk squeezing through a birth canal.
Cainan leaned over Dante. "So this is Dante?"
The drunk noble turned dramatically, arms outstretched like he was waiting for a spotlight. He immediately tried to throw an arm around Cainan, but Cainan snatched his wrist mid-motion.
"Name's Dante, alright!" he slurred. "You must be a fan of my literary career. Or perhaps… a DEBT COLLECTOR?! Fuuuuck TAXES! And your gold!"
Cainan's eye twitched, saying, "I hate drunks. No point in talking to him like this."
Astrid zipped in, wings buzzing. "We heard a Witch Mother's nesting in your estate. Is it true? You know—rot, curses, sacrificial pigs. The fun stuff."
Dante nodded dramatically, nearly falling off his chair. "Aye! That witch-frog needs to be purged! She bathes in goat fat and burns portraits of my ancestors for breakfast! But she's too damn strong…haha."
Lynzelle leaned in, eyes sparkling, voice pitched like a kid about to unwrap a war crime. "Then take us to her! We'll squish her like a fat, juicy rat-bug!"
Dante blinked. "What? No! You think I'm just gonna waltz back into that cursed pit and play tour guide for free? Pfft! I'm a noble, not a hiking instructor. The noble estate is HUUUGE! It's about the s-size of a kingdom! And it's all inside!"
Cainan grabbed him by the collar. "We don't have time for this."
Dante wheezed a laugh. "My spine! My heritage!"
Astrid clapped her tiny hands. "Oh! He's got the death stare going again. Love that." She flew down and started patting Cainan's bicep like a curious goblin. "So firm! So… terrifying. You just ooze violence.. Do you lift entire coffins for fun?"
Lynzelle froze. Her smile widened. Her head tilted.
"…Hey, sparkle bug," she said sweetly. "What do you think you're doing, squishing your little baby freak fingers all over my husband?"
Astrid winked. "Just appreciating muscle when I see it."
"Oh yeah?" Lynzelle roared and grabbed Astrid mid-air like a cat catching a fly, shaking her with a manic laugh. "My husband! My emotional support punching bag!"
Cainan said, "I'M NOT YOUR PUNCHING BAG!"
Astrid giggled mid-throttle. "Oh yes! Hurt me more!"
Qorrak cleared his throat, holding out a parchment Dante had suddenly slammed against his chest during the chaos.
"New job," Qorrak said. "Elsha of the Ash-Twine. Witch. Real cryptic setting. It says: 'Graven Borderlands—ash falls like snow and bells toll for names no one remembers.'"
Astrid twirled mid-air. "That sounds cursed! I'm in."
"Reward?" Lynzelle asked, half-biting Astrid's head like a squeaky toy.
"Seven hundred gold," Qorrak said.
Cainan frowned. "Huh? We're not running errands for this lush—"
"You said earlier you wanted witches to summon Espen," Qorrak reminded him. "This is one."
Cainan groaned. "…Fine. But even though I said I wanted to capture some and then let them mill themselves to summon Espen, I've never caught one before. That's why it'll be difficult to capture one. Knowing they won't ever willingly go with a witch hunter like me, and they all pretty much know who I am. I have to almost beat them to death in order for it to happen."
Lynzlle added, "Buuuut if you do beat them near death, there's no guarantee they won't bleed out or just up and die before we need them!"
"You're…actually right, Lynzelle."
Lynzelle smiled.
Dante laughed from behind, already returning to his drink. "I'll be here when you're done! Probably hungover or dead! Same difference!"
Lynzelle snatched the parchment and spun in place. "Ooooooh!! A witch hunt! Finally! I haven't burned something evil in awhile!"
She ran out the bar with the excitement of a child off her meds, dragging Cainan behind her as Astrid cackled and Qorrak sighed.
They walked through the winding veins of the towns lower quarter—where the cobbled streets sloped downward like a funnel into the belly of the old city. This side of town was split in layers, stacked atop ash-brick foundations and fading archways left behind by ancient architects whose names time had already eaten. Buildings here leaned in close, as if whispering secrets. Tattered banners fluttered in the dim sunlight like dried tongues, and rusted lanterns swayed in the wind, casting stained glass hues across muddy puddles.
Merchants shouted over one another, the scent of burnt spices, roasted root-meat, and ale soaked the air. Hollow-eyed beggars leaned against statues of forgotten saints, while chimera-tamers led horned beasts on iron leashes. It was a city where everything valuable either screamed, bled, or vanished by nightfall.
"I'll need something to bind this witch when I beat her," Cainan muttered as he walked, eyes scanning stalls of tarnished silver and bottled curses. "Something that'll keep her intact… but sealed. I need her alive for the summoning later."
Qorrak folded two of his arms and scratched his jaw with a third. "Radiance Chamber," he said simply. "Small diamond pendant. Rare. Holds the soul of whatever dies near it… then when you need 'em, crack the gem, and poof—they return, body and all. But to use it, they have to die and you have to use the pendant at the exact moment she dies."
"Exact moment..like ripping her head off or something."
"Something like that, kid."
"Also…They come back the same way they do or what?" Cainan asked.
"Yep. Mostly. They won't have all their memories though," Qorrak shrugged. "Some say it makes 'em docile. Easier to bend."
Cainan's brow furrowed. "Expensive?"
"Of course. Most black-market dealers have one buried deep in their hoards. You'll need a steep pile of gold—or something rarer."
Cainan grunted. "Most of my gold's still in Kalazeth."
"No worries," Qorrak said, flashing a grin. "I'll just sell an arm."
Cainan blinked. "Wait, what?"
"Aphurii arms fetch a wild price. Bandits love 'em. Pirates too. We regenerate slowly, but our limbs carry raw wind essence. Enchanted muscle, mystic bone, the whole package. You had a little taste of it yourself during our fight."
"You'd do that?" Cainan asked, eyes narrowing. "I'd rather you not."
Qorrak's usual cheer dulled, just for a moment. He looked ahead, voice quieter. "I've felt useless most of my life. Before I met Astrid, I was always… drifting. The Aphurii say we're meant to 'harmonize with the winds of life,' but I've never heard a damn note. If I'm being honest, I'm between the lines of good and evil. Everyone has a destiny, I'm just trying to find mine." He chuckled without mirth. "So I do what I can. Always thinking… always looking for a way to prove I'm not just taking up space."
Cainan said nothing. Just walked beside him in silence.
Ahead, Lynzelle and Astrid were locked in loud, ridiculous banter.
"—I'm telling you, you only like him 'cause he growls like a rabid wolf when he's mad," Astrid teased, zipping around Lynzelle's face.
"I do not! He's my husband! He's terrifying and broody and good looking, and he lifts so much stuff!" Lynzelle squealed, flailing.
Astrid wiggled her eyebrows. "You're obsessed. I bet you sniff his pillow."
"I—I have NEVER sniffed anything! Unless he's not in bed with me, then maybe I lightly inhale it!"
Cainan and Qorrak looked at each other fast when they heard that.
"You gremlin," Astrid laughed, dodging a slap.
"You flying fungus.."
They turned down a crooked alleyway where the shadows grew longer, and the noises of the city became warped, muffled.
Moss crept up the bricks like veins. A cracked stone arch led to a descending stairwell, torchlight flickering at the bottom like a dragon's breath.
They reached the Redvein Exchange.
The air was thick with incense, rot, and desperation. Tents and makeshift booths sprawled like fungus, with warped tarps made of stitched hides. Creatures whispered, bartered, and bared teeth. A two-headed bird squawked lullabies from a cage while a three-eyed crone offered jars of pickled tongues to a man with no mouth.
"Come taste madness—distilled and bottled!" one seller shouted.
"I've got blood-ink contracts that sign themselves!" another called.
A drunken beast-kin was getting scammed by a frog-masked child selling "nightmare worms" in folded napkins.
"Oi! You look like you enjoy pain!" a skeletal man hissed, waving severed thumbs on strings. "Buy a wishbone from a dream-killer!"
Cainan ignored them all. But Lynzelle did not.
"Ooooooh, that's shiny..!" she gasped, eyes wide as a vendor presented a crystal orb glowing with swirling lights.
"Limited edition chaos marble!" the merchant grinned. "Guaranteed to scream in five different languages if shaken! Can ward off bandits! Tested and guaranteed!"
Lynzelle reached for it, hand trembling.
Astrid grabbed her finger. "That's bait. Don't fall for it."
"BAIT?!" Lynzelle blinked, then looked at the orb again. "Oh. Right. I'm a clever lady. I knew that."
She looked away fast, making sure the merchant saw her. "Nice try, orb goblin!"
They continued deeper until they reached a broad stall at the back, where the shadows pooled thickest.
Behind the counter sat a massive, round woman dressed in layers of stitched velvet and metal chains. Her fingers were swollen with rings. Her eyes were mismatched—one milky white, the other glowing faint gold. Her braided black hair was laced with bones and keys.
Her name was Thurna Grottsoul.
She watched as the group approached, though her attention was on the man currently trying to haggle with her.
"Only two hundred for the void-tether pendant," he said. "You're extorting me."
Thurna smiled sweetly. "You're insulting me!"
Then she snapped her fingers.
A brute stepped out from the dark—a pale, tusked mountain of muscle. Before the man could flinch, the goon brought down a rusted mace with a sickening CRUNCH.
Skull met stone. Blood sprayed. The man collapsed, twitching violently as crimson pooled fast, and his body was dragged away.
"Anyone else want to insult me?" Thurna said calmly, adjusting her sleeves.
The group stood silent. Lynzelle just blinked and whispered, "Damn…."
Qorrak stepped forward through the fresh pool of blood, his expression unreadable, two of his arms folded, the other two relaxed at his sides. The air around Thurna's stall was thicker than the rest of the Exchange, like the shadows themselves didn't trust her enough to slink away. The scent of burnt oil, spiced meat, and wet stone mingled with the tang of spilled blood. People were still watching, but carefully now—whispers trailing behind them like smoke.
"It's been a long time, Thurna," Qorrak said, voice calm and measured, though it carried the weight of memory.
Thurna raised her mismatched eyes to meet his, the gold one gleaming slightly beneath the hanging lanterns. She leaned back in her chair, which creaked under her massive frame, her hands still covered in rings that looked stolen from every culture imaginable.
"Well well," she said, her voice a deep, gravel-soaked thing. "Look who remembered I existed!"
"I never forgot," Qorrak replied.
"Sure you did," she smiled, wide and jagged. "But you showed up again, and that's good enough. I got a few cursed beasts that need killing—."
He stepped closer, careful but unafraid. "—I need a Radiance Chamber."
Thurna's grin didn't fade, but her head tilted slightly. "And what for, old friend?"
"You never cared about that kind of thing," Qorrak replied. "Didn't give a damn what your artifacts were used for. Just cared about coin, or…opportunity."
A glint passed through Thurna's eye—sharp and sly. Then she laughed, shaking her heavy shoulders, the chains around her arms clinking like windchimes in a crypt.
"Ha! Just seeing if you remembered how I work. Good. You ain't gone completely soft!"
"I remember more than you think," Qorrak said.
She nodded slowly, then tapped one ringed finger against the stone slab of her stall. "We used to make good coin, you and me. You brought me parts no one else could get. Cursed eyes, marrow from long-dead saints, screaming hearts. All the nasty stuff. People paid good gold for 'em."
"I remember."
"Then you just up and left." Her tone didn't shift, but the hurt lingered underneath like something rotting in the cellar.
Qorrak paused. Then, quietly, "Didn't feel like I was meant for it. That hole inside me—working with you didn't fill it. Felt like I was doing someone else's job, not mine."
Thurna was silent for a moment. Then she nodded again, slower this time. "I respect that."
Without another word, Qorrak extended one of his arms. The lower right one. Strong, muscular, marked with faint ritual scars and wind-born sigils. He held it out toward Lynzelle.
"Cut it clean. Quick," he said. "And Cainan, if I scream too loud, knock me out."
Cainan replied with concern, "Wait.."
Lynzelle's eyes sparkled as she reached for her scythe, already unslinging it from her back. "Gotcha!" she said brightly, the curved edge hissing in the low light. Her smile stretched wide, feral and delighted.
But before the blade could sing, Thurna raised a single hand.
"No."
Lynzelle halted, eyes wide and confused, like a dog told to stay after the chase had begun.
Thurna stood. The crowd shifted behind her stall, eyes glinting, ears leaning in. She was larger on her feet than she seemed sitting—broad and monstrous in her layers of dark fabric, swaying like a storm cloud.
"The Radiance Chamber ain't exactly a hot item these days," she said. "Only one I got was dredged up from an old ruined kingdom that's been long abandoned. They say it was crafted by some wizards. Wizards who belonged to a royal family who tried to save the king during a raid from the kingdom of Sorneth.. but failed. A soul-purse, they called it. Said it could trap the final breath of a dying man, if you had the timing right. Had to bleed a spirit medium to prime it—heartblood only. Once used, never again. And no refunds if it cracks."
She turned slightly, reaching beneath her stall, rummaging through layers of stitched cloth and rusted drawers until she retrieved a velvet-lined box. She didn't open it yet. Her eyes went to Astrid.
"I'll give it to you," she said. "But I want the fairy."
Astrid froze mid-hover. Her wings gave a nervous buzz.
"Wait. What?"
Thurna licked her lips slightly. "You're rare. Good condition. And you talk. Plenty would pay for something like you. What are you, some kind of glitterbug?"
Qorrak, Cainan and Lynzelle said at the same time, "YES."
Astrid scoffed at them, "Damn you all!" Then she looked over at Thurna. "And Absolutely not—hell no—nope—wrong fairy!" Astrid zipped backward, nearly hiding behind Qorrak's head. "And I'm an Aurumkin fairy!"
"Aurumkin…sounds fancy. And expensive."
Lynzelle, grinning with mischief, nudged Cainan.
"You know… it's kind of a good deal."
Cainan's lips curved slightly. "I mean… it solves our problem."
Astrid shrieked. "YOU TRAITORS!"
She flailed wildly, squirming as Lynzelle jokingly reached to hand her over by the wings. Cainan even helped by pretending to unhook her satchel loop.
"Stop it, stop it! I'm a living being! I have rights!" Astrid yelled, kicking at air. "This is against the Geneva Spirit Accord or something—I'm sure that's a thing!"
Qorrak said, "You made that up."
"Yes!"
But then Qoreak said, "No deal," he told Thurna. "You want her? Fight for her."
Thurna's face didn't change. She watched him like a crocodile in the shallows, then smiled slow.
"In the arena, then."
Astrid's wings stopped buzzing. "Excuse me?"
"If she wins," Qorrak said, "we keep the necklace, and the fairy."
Thurna's grin returned. "If I win, I keep the fairy… and your arm. All of them. Gotta get more out of it since you left me. If I didn't understand where you came from, I wouldn't even be having negotiations with ya'. You know I too…searched for a place to call home. And still looking."
Lynzelle and Cainan turned at the same time, eyes narrowing.
"You can fight?" Cainan asked.
Astrid gave a nervous giggle, backing away slightly. "Y-yeah, haha… somewhat…?"
Thurna turned then, her voice a thunderclap.
"FIGHT IN THE PIT!" she roared. "EVERYONE TO THE ARENA!"
A fresh roar echoed across the Exchange. Heads turned. Lanterns swung. Vendors shut their stalls. The whisper became a flood of footsteps and clanking armor.
"A fight?! In the Arena?!"
"It's about time!"
"It's been too long since a fight."
Thurna glanced down at Astrid one last time.
"Don't chicken out, little fancy Aurumkin."
Cainan walked beside Qorrak as the crowd started moving.
"They just… have an arena sitting down here?"
Qorrak nodded, pushing through the packed flow of people and beast-kin. "Yeah. For when trades go sideways. No better way to settle a price than with blood. Winners gain more than just goods—word spreads. Respect grows. It opens doors. Even outside this filthy town."
Cainan glanced back at Thurna, who was stretching her thick arms and cracking her knuckles.
"She usually fight in it?"
"Only when she really wants something," Qorrak said, voice even.
"You think Astrid will be okay?"
Qorrak gave a small smile.
"She won't lose."
..
The tunnel widened into a thunderous pit of life. Cracked stone walls, slick with underground moss and marked with deep blood-grooves, framed the entry into the arena district—a jagged coliseum carved into the gut of the earth. Spiked lanterns burned with violet fire, lighting the cavern like a roaring mouth. The crowd was thick, layered with sweat, noise, and the scent of flesh-cooked spices. Shouts, jeers, and laughter bounced against the black iron archways.
Beast-kin of all forms crowded the path—horned deerfolk in silk shawls whispering superstitions, a six-eyed hyenakin in plate-mail chewing on a metal femur, lizard-blooded mercs clinking crystal dice and throwing bets. One man wore a stitched bear carcass as armor, his eyes alight with silver venom, laughing at a masked woman hissing threats in three tongues. An enormous froglike merchant hawked fried heart-globes on spears, while a pale scholar in red ink tattoos scribbled notes about the bloodline markings of the competitors.
"All bets close at the bell!" one barked. "Ten-to-one on the fairy losing an arm!"
"Twenty on the freak with the griffon club!"
"Put me down for thirty she bites her damn wings off!"
In the center of it all loomed the arena itself. A vast bowl of stone and rune-bound iron, sunk deep into the cavern's floor like the eye of a buried god. Its ring was jagged, asymmetrical—no elegance, just violence. Spikes jutted at angles, some rusted, some blood-wet. Chains hung like torn jewelry. Bone lanterns dangled from towering horns embedded in the upper stone rim. The sand inside was dark—not from dye, but old, soaked blood. Ghostfire braziers ringed the edge, their glow trapped beneath crystal domes. There were no seats. The crowd stood packed along natural shelves and ridges, looking down like vultures over a carcass.
But off to the side, the smell of sizzling meat and sweet oils pulled Lynzelle's nose in another direction. Her head whipped toward a steaming food stand.
"What's that?" she asked quickly, pointing to a rack of charred, honey-glazed mandrake ribs glistening with chili jam.
"Mandrake ribs," Cainan muttered. "Do you want that?"
"And that?" She pointed again, this time to crisped bat-wing pastry with gold dust and eyeball filling.
"Nightwing tarts. I think…"
'I'm not really used to eating things outside of Kalazeth. The empire gave us sophisticated and royalty-like food. So it's hard for me to remember every name of things. Last time I came across food like this and actually ate it was before I met Idrathar.'
Lynzelle gasped, "What about that?" A stack of meat-cubes bubbling in dark broth with black noodles.
"Gutpot. Mostly boar stomach. Sometimes rat. It's gross."
Lynzelle beamed.
"Okay okay. I see what I want…I want everything!"
Cainan sighed. "Fine. Oh yeah, you're going to learn about how coin works. I haven't shown you that yet."
He pulled out a small pouch and showed her three coins: dull copper, polished silver, and a sun-bright gold medallion etched with the Red Sigil's seal.
"This—" he said, holding up the copper, "—gets you basic street food. Low-end stuff. Bread, broth, maybe fungus dumplings."
He flipped to the silver. "Mid-tier. Hot meals, low-magic goods. Enough for a bed in some places."
Then the gold. "High value. This gets you magic-forged weapons, enchantments, luxuries. Some nobles trade in platinum and sunbars, but that's a little advanced and would take me all day to explain."
He reached into her belt pouch. "You got silver and gold from the witch raid yesterday. So pick wisely."
Lynzelle was starry-eyed.
She leaned in to watch him sort coins, their faces nearly touching. As Cainan explained conversion rates—how twelve copper made a silver, and ten silver a gold—Lynzelle just watched him. Eyes tracing his lips. His focused brow. The way his scar twisted faintly when he talked. He didn't even notice.
Eventually, he handed over payment, and Lynzelle clutched a massive basket piled high with food—sizzling skewers of flame-boar tongue, bone-pie pastries, fried mushroom lungs dusted in powdered marrow, and ghostpepper dumplings glowing faintly.
She turned to the vendor and wrapped her arm around Cainan dramatically.
"My husband is the greatest man alive!"
The vendor, a crooked-toothed molekin, squinted. "Hey, haven't I seen you somewh—?"
"No," Cainan cut him off flatly, already walking away.
They made their way toward the arena, the crowd thickening, chants rising.
Lynzelle was hugging the food basket, cheeks puffed and flustered as she bit into a tongue skewer. "Mmm… thanks, by the way. You didn't have to buy it. I mean, I love that you did, but—you didn't have to."
Cainan looked away, his face slightly red. "Not happening again."
She giggled. "Hmmmm? Is that you getting flustered?!"
"I'm your only real guide in this world right now," he said, trying to refocus. "If I can teach you how things work, I should. You being confused could… I don't know, explode the world."
Lynzelle laughed through a mouthful of marrow pie. "Haha! Explode the world?! Am I some monster to you?"
"Yes."
"Aww thanks!"
"Your welcome."
As they walked, she offered him a piece of steamed bat-belly wrapped in herb-ash rice. The smell hit his nose—rich, smoky, tempting. "Eat."
"I'm not really in the mood to eat," he said.
But then his stomach growled. Loudly. He tried to hide it. "Anyway, we should—"
Lynzelle stuffed the food in his mouth mid-sentence.
Cainan gagged, eyes wide, nearly tripping. He fell back with a muffled curse, mouth full of burning spice and sticky rice. Lynzelle landed on top of him, straddling him, her hands still pushing the food in.
"I heard your stomach! No take-backs! I'm not letting you starve, idiot."
His muffled protest turned into more choking. The crowd stepped around them as if this happened often. This was nothing to them.
Moments later, they arrived at the edge of the arena. Lynzelle was smiling, her cheeks stuffed and hands greasy. Cainan stood beside her, face flushed, crumbs stuck to his chin and his pride.
Qorrak looked at them with a furrowed brow.
"Well I'll be damned…what exactly did you two get into?"
"She-she tried to kill me!" Cainan exclaimed.
Lynzelle, still eating peacefully, replied with a smile while chewing, "Hm? No I didn't. I just want you to eat."
Cainan looked down, thinking 'Lynzelle…Zaara…Aris…Foxxen….Tojin…Raijin…Selvaria…Yuniper…and Idrathar, are the main ones who seemed to be really concerned with me eating. I never really had an appetite, because food tends to slow me down. I remember when I was worrying myself about food. I got so used to not eating because getting access to food was hard. Even if I would beg as a child to strangers, people weren't as trusting. Thinking I was being used to lure them into some cave and let witches eat them.'
Cainan didn't look at Lynzelle, but he said silently without anyone hearing, "Thank you."
Down in the pit, Astrid hovered in the center, her wings twitching nervously, yet her face grinning. Across from her, Thurna stepped onto the bloodstained sand. She now wore nothing above the waist but wrappings and fresh crimson warpaint. In her fists she gripped a massive weapon—an entire leg bone of a griffon, aged and bleached, bound in iron straps and spiked carvings. Old runes danced across it, faintly glowing.
Thurna cracked her neck and looked up at Astrid.
"You easy, glowbug?"
Astrid grinned.
"Totally."
She was lying, of course. She loved violence.
A hush fell over the arena for a split-second.
Then Thurna moved.
Aflicker of raw bulk and strength, she burst forward with a predator's grin, boots cracking the stone beneath her. For someone with a barrel-sized gut and arms thick as siege logs, she was terrifyingly fast—too fast. Her muscles rippled like coiled ropes under her skin, and she swung the massive griffon bone in a high swing, letting out a bark of laughter.
Astrid only smiled.
The moment the bone made contact—
BOOM.
The impact cracked the earth. A towering dust plume swallowed the middle of the arena, chunks of debris flung like cannonballs, scattering the first tier of onlookers. The stone shuddered, split, and then began to repair itself—jagged grooves knitting together with glacial slowness, as if the very arena had a pulse.
Cainan and Lynzelle both leapt up instinctively.
"Damn it—" Cainan started, hand already reaching for his chains.
But Qorrak raised a hand from beside them. Calm. "Just watch."
Beneath the storm of stone and dust, there was a low rumble. Then—
CRACK!
A fast strike came from the heart of the smoke.
Thurna's face jerked back, blood spraying from her nose as she was bashed full-force in the cheek with some bone, her enormous form flung into the wall like a ragdoll. The arena crowd exploded in cheers and shrieks.
From the dispersing dust, Astrid emerged—still floating, but now she wasn't Astrid.
She shimmered.
Her body had shifted—broadened, hardened, mimicking the thick frame and muscular mass of Thurna. But her skin glowed a translucent teal, veins shimmering with luminescent light. Glittering fairy wings flared from her back, fluttering softly as she spun her newly acquired griffon bone with perfect form, copying Thurna's stance.
Lynzelle blinked, awestruck, meat pie halfway to her mouth. "That's… that's her? That's Astrid?!"
Then, she went, "WOOOO!" standing and shaking her food basket. "GET HER, MIMIC-BUG!"
Astrid laughed, "This is for Cainan!"
Lynzelle's emotions changed, and she said with a straight face, "Die for all I care."
Astrid smirked, wings flapping lazily. "You hit hard," she called out to Thurna.
Thurna pulled herself from the wall, nose bleeding, and chuckled, spitting blood onto the sand.
"You little freak. You copied me good."
"Pretty sure I look better than you, though."
The arena groaned as the stone beneath their feet reformed, cracks zipping closed like a stitched wound.
Thurna wiped her mouth, still grinning. "You think wings make you stronger?"
"No. But they make me prettier. This is the best day ever!"
Both women charged again, weapons raised like twin meteors.
Cainan stared, eyes narrowed. "What the hell… What even is her ability?"
Qorrak nodded, arms crossed. "Her Soulbrand allows it. Astrid can mimic her opponent's body and power once she's hit by them. It's automatic—reflexive. The moment her body experiences a direct strike, it adapts, restructures itself to reflect the enemy's physical form and strength."
"She has to get hit first?"
"Exactly. But if the first hit is fatal—it's over. That's the risk."
Cainan nodded slowly. "So she gambled that hit wouldn't kill her…"
"Always does. She's an Aurumkin fairy, remember? She said it herself—in Laevmara, deep within its roots, sleep the God Larvae. Divine logics, unborn deities—wrapped in flesh, waiting. The Aurumkin sang them into sleep, balanced them. They maintain that dormancy. They're guardians of metaphysical equilibrium."
"She's a pressure valve for literal gods," Cainan muttered.
Qorrak nodded. "So her Soulbrand reflects that logic. She adapts under threat. She doesn't store power. She reshapes herself in reaction to it. It's not essence-stealing or mimicry—it's metaphysical negotiation. Body-to-body stuff."
"That's… insane."
"And delicate. Her mimicry doesn't copy magical output perfectly. Her fairy body isn't built to hold prolonged surges of enemy power. She has a window. A short one."
Cainan's eyes narrowed. "So she needs to end the fight quickly."
"Before her mimicry starts to fail or backfire, yes."
Lynzelle—mouth stuffed with steaming bat-lung and glowing onion-globes—chewed happily, eyes still locked on the fight. Her cheeks were flushed with spice and awe.
"Mmmff—Qorrak? What about Thurna? She's strong, but is she magic too?"
Qorrak chuckled. "No magic. Thurna doesn't need it. That griffon leg she's swinging.. I killed the beast. It was cursed—tainted with rage from an old witch. We had it cleansed by some priests and priestesses. She took it as her weapon."
He pointed down as Thurna swung hard and Astrid barely blocked, pushed back mid-air.
"The bone is unnaturally durable. And it carries momentum—fast swings. But that's not all."
Cainan raised a brow. "What else?"
"If Thurna blocks an attack correctly, she can counter by redirecting a portion of the force back at her opponent. One swing—condensed revenge. Problem is, it puts strain on her skull. Nosebleeds. Headaches. Sometimes worse."
"So they're… evenly matched."
"For now."
In the arena, both women smashed together again—bone against bone, wings flaring and dust rising.
Astrid laughed as she parried a strike, spinning mid-air. "Your bones got a temper!"
"Yours squeal like a harp when they crack!" Thurna roared, swinging upward.
Steel, blood, and fairy light blurred into the dusk-lit pit.