To my dearest teacher,
I hope this letter finds you well and that your research is progressing smoothly. I've been meaning to write to you for some time now, and today—after everything that's happened—I finally found the words and the reason.
You'll be glad to know I've made friends! Real ones. The kind you always encouraged me to seek out. They're strange in their own ways (especially one of them, I'll tell you more about him later), but they're strong, loyal, and surprisingly tolerable. We went on our first real quest together not long ago. At first, it seemed like a standard investigation—reports of missing corpses, quiet rumors of dark magic—but things turned out to be far more complicated than I imagined.
The cemetery we visited had long been abandoned, but we discovered it was being used by cultists. They were attempting to resurrect the dead—or rather, repurpose them into something horrific. When we reached the chamber where they were hiding, we found them already dead. All of them. Sacrificed. Their bodies arranged in grotesque patterns, as if meant to fuel something far beyond their understanding.
At the center of the chamber was a monstrosity. A writhing mass of twisted bone and corrupted flesh, cloaked in a thick, choking miasma. It radiated malice. It felt… wrong. Not undead, not alive. Something in between—something being used. I've fought animated corpses and spirits before, but this creature was something else entirely.
And that's why I'm writing to you.
Enclosed with this letter, I've sent a small parcel containing several bone fragments I collected from the creature after we destroyed it. Please be careful when handling them—they still hum with residual energy. What struck me as most curious (and deeply troubling) was that the beast had multiple magic cores. Not one, not two—many. It reminded me, strangely, of how staves store and channel magical energy. It made me think that this creature wasn't acting on its own at all, but was instead being controlled from a distance, like a puppet.
I've never encountered anything like it, and I'm still unsure of the implications. Could it be a new form of necromancy? Or something far older, forgotten? Your insights would mean the world to me.
Also—one more thing, and this is perhaps even stranger.
One of my companions, Donavan, used a spell during the fight that I recognized. Not from books, not from the academy… but from my own foundational spellwork. The patterns, the way the magic moved—it was undeniably mine. But I've never created that spell. I've sketched the array he used on the back of this letter as best I could from memory. Please, if you have any idea how that's possible, or if you recognize it from somewhere, let me know. It's been bothering me.
Thank you, teacher, for everything. I'm still trying to follow the path you helped me find, and even when I stumble, your teachings guide me.
Your student—now and always,Zai Aultur
P.S. Fir says hello. He's convinced Donavan's some sort of stalker, or possibly an ex. I don't think either of those are true... probably.
__________
"Haah… that's all, right? Yeah… that's all I wanted to tell Teacher," Zai muttered, setting the quill down beside the folded parchment. He held the letter in his hands for a moment longer, staring at the slightly uneven handwriting. A small smile tugged at his lips. "I hope she's okay…"
He rose from the desk in the corner of his small inn room and walked toward the window. The night air was cool, brushing softly against his face as he unlatched and opened it. The distant sounds of the town settling into sleep filtered in—muted footsteps, creaking signs, the low hiss of wind brushing across rooftops.
Zai raised the enchanted whistle to his lips, a gift from his teacher. He blew into it, but no sound came out—at least, none a normal ear could hear. The air shimmered with mana, coalescing before him in the form of a bird-like creature. Crude in shape, with jagged wings and glowing eyes, it nevertheless had a strong, sure presence.
"Here," Zai said softly, tying the scroll to its leg. "Fly fast. Don't let anything catch you."
The creature gave a mechanical chirp before taking off, its wings cutting through the night sky like ink on silk. Zai watched it vanish into the dark, then shut the window.
"Well, that's that... I'll get some sleep. Tomorrow we collect the reward."
He flopped onto the bed, face-first, sighing into the pillow. For a while, he stared at the wall in the dark, letting his thoughts wander. Could Donavan really have just heard about the cultists from town?
He frowned.
No… Something about him is off. The way he fights, the way he looks at me… it's like he already knows who I am. No, more than that—it's like he knows what I'll become.
Zai turned onto his side and pulled the blanket up.
His eyes fluttered closed.
Then opened again.
He hadn't moved. He hadn't made a sound.
But something was wrong.
Zai's instincts screamed in silence. The air had shifted. The room felt heavier, like something ancient and watching had stepped into it.
He didn't move. Didn't breathe deeply. His eyes remained closed.
But he knew.
He wasn't alone.
The presence was unmistakable. Cold, focused. He didn't need to look.
Donavan.
Zai could feel the man's gaze boring into him from the foot of the bed. No sound. No motion. Just a weight—a suffocating stillness that pushed down on him like a curse.
(Please leave. Please leave. Please leave. Gods, what are you doing…?)
Donavan stepped forward. Soft. Measured.
Now he stood directly above Zai. Looming. Watching.
Zai felt his muscles coil under the covers. Every nerve screamed to move, to conjure a barrier, to throw a bolt—anything. But he waited. Too much unknown. Too much risk.
Then—shhhkt—
The chilling sound of metal sliding free from a sheath.
His heart stopped.
(He drew it. Why is he drawing a sword!?)
Zai's breathing slowed until it barely stirred his chest. His fingers twitched with the start of a spell he didn't dare cast yet.
Then—Donavan finally spoke. Quiet. Low. Almost… sad.
"I was sure… if you had any trace of him left, you'd have attacked me by now."
Zai's eyes snapped open, glowing faintly. His hand surged with blue magic, forming a sigil between them.
"You mind explaining what the hell you're doing in my room with a drawn sword!?" he hissed.
Donavan stood there, sword lowered—not threatening, but not entirely relaxed either. His expression unreadable. Troubled. Determined.
"I had to know," he said. "Whether I'd made the right choice saving you. Or if I'd just damned this world again."
Zai blinked. Confusion tangled with anger, fear, and rising curiosity.
"...What are you talking about?"
But Donavan just turned to the window, sheathed his blade, and without another word, leapt into the night, vanishing as swiftly as he'd appeared.
Zai sat up, heart pounding, sweat dripping down his temple. The room was silent again. But the weight of what just happened pressed on him harder than any battle had.
"What the fuck is wrong with that guy…" he muttered, but part of him already feared the answer.
_______________________
Somewhere in the frozen expanse of the northern woods…
The wind howled like a chorus of dying wolves through the skeletal pines, branches creaking under the weight of snow and time. In the middle of this cursed forest stood a crooked cottage that looked more like an overgrown fungus than a house—its roof bowed under layers of moss and ice, and magical wards glowed faintly like lazy fireflies around its perimeter.
"CAW… CAW…"
The sound pierced the quiet night.
"CAW… CAW…"
A magical bird, malformed but functional, flapped and tapped at a high window. Its feathers shimmered with unstable enchantment, and a faint trail of mana crackled behind it as it floated in place, completely unfazed by the biting cold.
Inside, something stirred.
Heavy boots hit wooden floorboards in rapid succession—then stumbled, swore, and resumed at a faster pace. The window flew open with a violent snap and a pale hand shot out, snatching the bird from the air like a hawk catching prey. There was a brief puff of magic as the creature exploded into nothingness, leaving behind only a glowing scroll.
A breathless voice muttered in the dark:"Please don't be from Zai. Please be a death threat. Or an exploding curse. Or taxes. Literally anything but—"
The scroll unfurled. There was a pause. Then:
"...Dear Teacher..."
A beat.
Then hell broke loose.
"HE WHAT?!" the voice shrieked, echoing into the woods like the scream of a banshee. The light in the cottage blazed to life with a violent flash of blue flame.
"MAGICAL BONES? CULTS?! MALIC?!" Books flew off shelves as wards went haywire, reacting to the sheer emotional instability now radiating from their owner.
She was pacing now, practically dragging a trail of magical destruction in her wake—papers burst into flame, enchanted vials vibrated themselves off tables and exploded.
"HE FOUGHT A BEAST COMPOSED OF SOUL-BLENDED BONE, HARNESSED BY A REMOTE CASTING ARRAY?! WITH WHO?! WHO LET HIM GO OUT ALONE—OH RIGHT, ME!" Her voice cracked, then dipped into a terrifying growl.
"WHY DID I LISTEN TO THAT OLD HAG—'HE NEEDS TO SPREAD HIS WINGS,' SHE SAID. 'LET HIM MAKE FRIENDS,' SHE SAID." She mimicked a frail old voice, then turned and blasted a mannequin in the corner to ash.
She paused.
Read further.
Then:
"LOVER?! EX?! WHO THE FUCK IS THIS EX?! HE HAS A ROMANTIC HISTORY AND I NEVER KNEW?! HE'S SUPPOSED TO BE A SHUT-IN!!"
The walls shook. The snow outside began melting just from the intensity of the arcane tantrum taking place inside.
She kept reading. Her voice dropped to a near-whisper as her eyes scanned the spell diagram Zai had sketched on the back.
"...That's definitely his spell structure… foundational theory is the same. But those alterations... this isn't his work. Who the fuck has been touching my student's magic?"
She didn't wait for an answer.
"NOPE. NOPE. SCREW THIS. I'M DONE. LETTERS ARE FOR NORMAL PEOPLE. HE'S GROUNDED. FOREVER. I'M BRINGING HIM BACK AND HE'S NEVER LEAVING MY SIGHT AGAIN. FREEDOM IS CANCELLED."
She moved like lightning.
In the span of seconds, she cast five reinforcement barriers on the house, activated a concealment field, set fire to her correspondence drawer (just in case), summoned a dimensional bag of supplies, then enchanted her boots, gloves, coat, and forehead with layered wards so thick she was glowing like a spell-nuke.
The air cracked as she stood at her door, cloak swirling behind her, eyes burning like twin stars of magical wrath.
"Don't worry, Zai," she whispered, raising her hands skyward.
"Zanny's coming."
The transformation was instantaneous. Her body exploded into a swirl of black feathers and wild arcane energy, shifting into the shape of a monstrous, crow-like bird with eyes that shimmered with madness and motherly fury.
She flapped once—and disappeared into the storm-clouded sky like a screaming omen of doom.
______________
The first light of dawn crept into the small, bustling guild hall, casting long shadows across the rough wooden floorboards. Zai shuffled in, still half-cocked from sleep, rubbing his eyes and yawning like a bear just waking from hibernation.
"Mmm, morning!" he mumbled, stretching out his arms like a cat waking from a nap.
Fir and Donavan were already there, digging enthusiastically into a suspicious-looking meal.
"What's for breakfast?" Zai asked, blinking at the plate.
Fir grinned with a mouthful and said, "Bird meat. Not sure what kind of bird. Pretty big, though. Tasted like regret with a hint of pine."
Zai wrinkled his nose and muttered, "Sounds... nutritious." Then, heading over to the bar, he poured himself a drink, eyes still half-closed. "You guys want anything? Oh, and—did you get the reward yet?"
Donavan, mid-chew, nodded and tossed a surprisingly heavy bag of coins onto the table. The clink echoed through the room.
Zai's eyes shot open, and he nearly spilled his drink. "Whoa! I'm rich! Haha, finally!"
Fir gave him a sideways glance. "Better hold onto that—probably cursed or something."
Half an hour later
"So, you're already taking another quest? What's the deal this time?" Fir asked, wiping crumbs off his beard.
Donavan folded his arms. "Bandits. They've been hitting caravans coming into town for days. A few folks went to handle them but got... well, overwhelmed. Looks like they'll need some serious help. Capable adventurers, preferably."
Fir nodded solemnly.
Zai yawned, stretching again. "Sure, sure. Let me grab my gear. Actually, we should probably head out soon anyway—I'm thinking about swinging by the capital. Heard the Royal Academy's opening up the library for public use. I wanna see if they have any rare magic tomes or maybe some cool recipes for magical potions."
Fir and Donavan exchanged glances and simultaneously muttered, "Sounds good," and "Yeah, alright."
"Okay, I'm grabbing my stuff now," Fir said. "Don, you got your things at the inn? Come get them quick."
Donavan nodded, standing up with a grim expression.
Several minutes later
Zai pushed open the door to his room in the inn—and froze.
Inside stood a figure both familiar and terrifying: a tall woman with sharp black eyes that pierced through the dim light. Her raven-black hair was tousled, but those dark circles beneath her eyes spoke of endless sleepless nights—and maybe a slight caffeine addiction.
"Teacher?" Zai croaked.
Fir and Donavan followed behind, equally stunned.
Fir whispered, "Is that your mom?"
Before anyone could answer, a magical rope shot out of nowhere, wrapping tightly around Fir and yanking him off his feet. He yelped as he was dragged into the room and tied up like a confused, squawking turkey.
Donavan barely dodged the next rope, using a quick magical enhancement to leap backward, eyes narrowing.
The woman fixed her icy gaze on Donavan and sneered, "So, you're the bastard who stole my student's spells... and the so-called ex lover? Zai, I expected better from you."
Zai opened his mouth to protest, "Wha—"
"Hush!" she snapped, waving a sharp finger. "I'm going to deal with him first, then we'll talk."
Fir, muffled by the ropes, muttered, "Hey, I'm right here! And could you maybe loosen these? I can't even scratch my nose."
Donavan smirked, readying a defensive stance. "This should be interesting."
Donavan danced backward across the cramped room, nimbly avoiding a flurry of nonlethal blows from Zanny. Each strike was calibrated to hurt, never kill—a lesson he'd learned from Old Zai during their daily training drills in the War of Three Brothers. Yet here, facing Zanny, he felt more like a rabbit than a veteran soldier.
(Who is this woman? In my future I've only heard whispers—no name, just legends of a sorceress who bends reality to her will. She doesn't chant or use a focus; her spells flow from her like blood. She's untouchable.)
He landed lightly on the balls of his feet, heart pounding as he realized he was being pushed back by someone who'd clearly mastered magic on a level far beyond his current self. He raised his sword, braced for another test—another punishing strike—
—but instead, a soft thunk echoed as Donavan was thrown into the wall, sliding down with a stunned grunt. Then the door snapped shut, magically sealed with runes that glowed red. A chair scraped across the floor and clattered into the center of the room; Zanny plopped into it, eyes narrowing.
She gestured with a perfectly manicured finger for Zai to join her, and he followed, mind still reeling from sleep and battle both. Fir, finally freed from his rope prison, sat on the windowsill, rubbing his wrists and whispering angrily, "I so did not sign up for this…"
Zanny leaned forward, hands clasped, voice low and serious:
"Now tell me…have you done it with him?"
Zai's face went pale as linen. He blinked at her, as though she'd sprouted horns.
"What—?" he croaked.She leaned closer, eyes twinkling but voice deadly serious."Have you slept with him?"
Zai nearly choked. "WHAT?! NO! That's… I mean… Wait, is this because of that letter? I wasn't talking about that—I meant if there was any connection between his magic and mine! You know—he's got my foundational spells! And after my village died and my parents were murdered, you're literally the only person I've known, ever!"
Zanny's stern expression cracked into relief. She slapped a hand to her chest."Oh thank the gods… I thought you might be pregnant!" She jumped up, eyes widening in horror."I can't handle that—not now, not ever!"
Zai's jaw dropped. "Pregnant?! Teacher, what are you talking about? We're just party members—nothing more! Who would I even—? I'm too busy hunting my parents' killer to date anyone! And besides… I can't get pregnant! I—what?"
Zanny blinked, her face turning a faint shade of pink as she realized her folly. She pressed a hand to her forehead."Oh gods, I'm so sorry—I… that was… never mind." She cleared her throat and straightened her robes.
Then, with an amused glint in her eye, she snapped her fingers. Fir boinged back into his ropes—but this time they fell away, leaving him free to stumble.
Zanny pointed at Zai with mock severity."You—grounded. No more adventuring for you. We're going home, young man. Freedom be damned."
Zai blinked once, his expression unreadable. Then, clearly and calmly, he said:
"No."
The word hit the room like a thunderclap.
Zanaria froze mid-pace. Her head tilted ever so slightly, her eyes blinking as if her mind had just been rebooted."...No?" she repeated, voice deceptively light, stretched thin by disbelief. "What do you mean... no?" She smiled, but there was something dangerous behind it—a tremble in her lips, a twitch near her eye.
Zai met her gaze flatly, arms crossed as if he'd had this conversation a hundred times in his head."No, as in: I'm not going back with you. I'm eighteen now. I can make my own decisions. And if you remember—you're the one who told me to 'go get a life,' remember?"
He even used air quotes.
Zanaria stared at him like he'd just spoken in tongues. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. Finally, she stepped forward, her voice quieter now, more... desperate.
"Is this because of them?" She gestured vaguely toward Donavan and Fir, who both instinctively leaned back, trying to become part of the wallpaper."Because I can fix that. I'll kill them. Clean. Quick. And we'll go back. I'll make all this disappear. You'll see. I even brought your old storybooks—'The Talking Cauldron', 'The Dragon Who Ate Stars'—the ones you used to read till the pages wore thin. Remember those?"
Her voice cracked."Please, Zai. Let's just go home."
But Zai didn't flinch. He stared at her, one brow arched in sharp disapproval.
"No. Not because of them. Not because of anything but me. I made the choice. This is my life now. You let me go, and now I'm going to live it."Then, with deliberate chill, he added,"Oh, and by the way... how's the research going?"
Zanaria blinked."Research?"
"The bones."Zai crossed his arms tighter."You know—the reason I sent the letter. The reason you freaked out and shapeshifted across half the continent like a flying apocalypse. Did you even look at them, or did you just drop everything and come here like a lunatic?"
Zanaria stared for a long moment. Then her face did something incredible: the ferocious confidence and dark maternal menace drained away, replaced by something closer to sheepish panic.
"...Bones?" she said weakly.
Zai's eyes narrowed."You forgot, didn't you."
Zanaria looked away, whistling nonchalantly, inspecting her nails."Nooooo… not forgot. Just… temporarily deprioritized in favor of your psychological preservation and general safety."
Zai sighed like someone who had seen this dance before.Donavan coughed behind his hand.Fir, somehow unhelpfully, whispered:"She's scarier when she's trying to be nice..."
Zanaria clapped her hands suddenly."Okay! Group field trip! We'll go to the capital together! You get your research done, I keep an eye on you, and if anything so much as thinks about stabbing you again, I turn it into soup. Agreed?"
Zai slowly, slowly turned his head."You're not going to kill any of my friends, right?"
Zanaria paused."…Define kill."
"Teacher."
"…Fine. No killing. Permanently."
Zai facepalmed.Donavan groaned.Fir whispered again:"Do… do you think I can file for mental trauma compensation?"
And just like that, the mad sorceress, the traumatized hero, the tired wizard's apprentice, and the one guy who just wanted breakfast became one party too many.
Because the real horror wasn't demons, undead, or dark cults.
It was Zai's teacher.And she wasn't going home alone.
_______
Several hours later, the dim glow of the inn's flickering hearth was the only light left in the room. The air was thick with tension, almost palpable as Zanaria and Donavan sat opposite each other at a battered wooden table, the silence stretching long between their words. Fir and Zai had gone off to gather supplies and necessities, leaving the two alone—a rare moment for uneasy truths to surface.
Zanaria's eyes, sharp and calculating, never left Donavan's face. Her voice was low but firm, every word laced with authority and something more — an unsettling mix of care and cold pragmatism.
"Don't get close to my… student. I don't approve of your relationship. Especially knowing you stole his spellwork," she said, the barely veiled possessiveness twisting the words. She almost said "son" — she wished she could.
Donavan kept his voice steady, but the invisible magical bindings around him hummed with latent power, a clear reminder that this conversation was anything but casual. Zanaria could end it all with a mere thought, and he knew it.
"Me and your… student are not in any kind of relationship," Donavan replied evenly, "I hate him. I keep an eye on him because I have to. And I never stole anything — he taught me everything. That's the truth. Your spells should tell you the same."
Zanaria's expression shifted imperceptibly, the calm settling over her now far more terrifying than her earlier fury. She was no longer the stormy tempest, but a deep, unyielding force — a predator quietly sizing up her prey. Donavan felt a shiver run down his spine as he wondered if even his former self, battle-hardened and experienced, would be enough to survive this encounter. He thought about Zai — about the time he had killed Zanaria. What kind of monster was Zai to do that?
Sensing her skepticism, Donavan decided it was time to lay everything bare — no more half-truths, no more evasions.
"Look," he began, voice low and steady, "let me explain everything."
Several hours later, after a long, exhaustive conversation filled with whispered secrets and dangerous confessions, Zanaria's eyes gleamed with something almost like pride.
"Star Eater…" she murmured, the name tasting strange on her tongue, heavy with meaning and dread. "That… sounds terrible. Unforgivable. But somehow, knowing my student has done something so monumental — so dark — fills me with an odd sense of pride." She paused, fingers lightly tracing a pattern on the table, lost in thought. "If what you're saying is true… then Zai isn't just some orphan I picked up and grew attached to. No. He's the future killer of the universe."
Her voice dropped to a whisper, almost afraid to speak the full weight of it aloud. "But… that doesn't make sense."
Donavan frowned. "What do you mean?"
Zanaria sighed, leaning forward, eyes sharp and fierce. "Tell me, when did it happen? When did his personality shift?"
Donavan blinked. "What?"
Her lips curled into a knowing, almost amused smile. "I see. You're just an idiot then."
She straightened, voice sharper now, a teacher scolding a wayward pupil. "There are millions of spells — subtle, dangerous magic — that can twist someone kind and loving into a monster. Have you ever considered that might have happened to him? That maybe he was manipulated? Or saw something so terrible it broke him?"
She leaned back, letting the silence settle again before she continued, her voice softer but no less intense. "If you can make sure that doesn't happen… if you can keep him grounded, safe — history won't repeat itself."
Donavan stared at her, eyes wide, realization dawning. "That… that could work. Why didn't I think of that?"
Zanaria's smile was almost cruelly gentle. "Because, dear Donavan, sometimes the hardest battles aren't won with swords or spells. They're won by holding onto the ones you care about — even when they seem lost."
The dim lantern light of the inn cast long, shifting shadows across the walls. Dust motes danced through the air like drifting ash, adding to the silence that had settled between Zanaria and Donavan. The kind of silence that felt too sharp—like it was waiting to be broken.
"You stole that… was it from Zai?" Donavan asked suddenly, his voice low and cutting.
Zanaria's eye twitched—a barely perceptible flinch, but it betrayed more than she realized. Her hand curled around the arm of her chair. "Maybe..." she muttered, eyes narrowing. "Look—it doesn't matter. Zai's... odd. Soft. Not ready. That's why I want to take him back, fix him, raise him right this time. Keep him safe."
Her voice cracked with urgency, but Donavan wasn't moved. He leaned forward, the pressure of memory heavy on his chest.
"You don't get it," he said, voice laced with steel. "As much as I want that too… as much as I wish I could keep him locked away from the world… Zai is important to history. To the entire world."
Zanaria's gaze sharpened. "I know he's powerful, I made him that way—"
"No, you didn't," Donavan cut in, eyes hard. "You gave him the foundation. But everything else? The pain. The losses. The rage. That's what forged the version of Zai I knew."
Donavan stood up slowly, like a man dragging a corpse from his back. His voice was quieter now, more reverent. "Back then… before he went mad… he did so much. Saved so many. If he doesn't stay on this path, hundreds of thousands will die. Maybe millions."
Zanaria scoffed, but he ignored her.
"You think yesterday was bad?" Donavan said, stepping closer, his voice growing dark. "You saw that beast of Malic? That patchwork horror of corpses and curses? That was early. In the old timeline, nobody even knew about the cult until three years later. By then… most of this town was just a graveyard with a heartbeat. Undead wandered the streets. Children crawling on hands made of bone. Corpses dragging their souls like tattered cloaks."
Zanaria stopped breathing for a moment.
"We—me, a few nobles, and maybe two hundred soldiers—were sent to reclaim it. A last-ditch effort," he continued, his eyes unfocused, lost in memory. "It was already too late. Half the men went mad from the screaming. From the way the undead remembered. We were burning bodies that begged us to stop. I was out on patrol one night… and then the earth blew up. I thought I'd been hit with a siege spell. But no…"
He swallowed hard.
"I saw him. Standing in the middle of the crater. Covered in blood. Steam rising off his skin like he'd just crawled out of hell. His eyes—glowing blue like a star frozen in fury. His expression was cold. Surgical. That beast of Malic? The one you saw yesterday? That was its early form. He killed the fully-grown version. Alone. At its strongest. No backup. No mercy. He didn't even hesitate."
Donavan sat down slowly again, the weight of the memory draining the heat from his limbs.
"I'm terrified of him," he admitted. "But the world needs him. Because one day, something worse than that beast is coming. And when it does, the only person who'll be able to stop it is him."
Zanaria was silent for a long time. Her eyes flickered—anger, pride, fear… and something else. Something fragile. Something maternal.
"I didn't raise a monster," she said finally, voice barely a whisper.
Donavan looked at her, dead-eyed. "No. But you raised the man who kills monsters. And sometimes, that's worse."
The wind outside howled, rattling the shutters as if the world itself agreed.
_______
"Ah—achoo!" Zai sneezed violently, nearly doubling over before letting out a dramatic groan."Ugh... gods, I'm gonna get sick. Fir, my coat, please—I'm freezing! This is how I die, I can feel it!"
He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering as the light breeze tousled his already-messy hair like a cruel hand. His teeth chattered for added effect.
Fir raised an eyebrow, holding the coat just out of reach. "It's, like… barely windy."
"That's how it starts!" Zai snapped back, voice cracking. "First, a breeze. Then frostbite. Next thing you know, I'm a tragic tale told to children about why you always wear layers!"
Fir sighed, finally draping the coat over Zai's shoulders.
"Drama queen," he muttered.
"Survivor," Zai corrected, clutching the coat like a lifeline. "Barely."
Fir blinked at him, deadpan, a thick wool cloak already draped over one arm. "Zai, it's a breeze. You're not dying."
Zai dramatically wrapped himself in the coat like it was the final barrier between him and death. "You don't know that. This could be it. My last breath. Tell my teacher she wins. The world broke me."
Fir rolled his eyes as they continued walking down the cobbled path back toward the inn, arms full of food and supplies. "You literally fought a monster made of flesh and spite yesterday and didn't flinch, but now a soft breeze is taking you out?"
Zai sniffled exaggeratedly and stumbled a little for effect. "My one weakness…mild inconvenience. Go on without me, Fir. Tell the guild I was brave. Maybe. Actually no—tell them I died tragically but beautifully. Like a wind-swept hero."
"More like a wind-swept idiot," Fir muttered under his breath.
From above, a raven circled overhead.
"I think your teacher's spying on you again," Fir added casually, glancing up. "Looks suspiciously murdery."
Zai looked up from his coat cocoon, eyes narrowing. "If she dives again I'm throwing breadcrumbs and yelling pigeon."
Fir snorted, trying not to laugh. "You're insane."
Zai sniffed again, more dignified this time. "Not insane, just…delicately complex."
Fir sighed. "You're not delicate, Zai. You're just dramatic."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
Behind them, far off, the wind rustled through the trees. A soft, ominous "caw" echoed again—maybe from the sky… or the trees. Neither of them turned around.
"…She's totally following us, isn't she?" Zai asked, already regretting saying anything.
"Yep," Fir replied. "Probably planning twelve different ways to drag you home in a sack."
Zai shuddered again, though it had nothing to do with the breeze this time.
"Fir."
"Yeah?"
"If I disappear tonight… avenge me."
"I'll write pigeon on your gravestone."
"…Fair."