Honestly, I wasn't sure if what I wanted would really happen — until, out of nowhere, a grotesque hole opened above my head. A black, throbbing void, as if the very fabric of the world had been torn. Then, without warning, something fell from it.
The ground shook when the heavy body hit, sending up a wave of dust and small stones. My instincts pushed me a step back, heart racing, and only then did I realize what it was.
A rabbit. No — a giant rabbit, almost my size, which landed awkwardly and rolled once before standing up. Its fur was white but stained with shades of gray, as if time itself had drained away its purity. What surprised me most, though, was its attire: a fine red linen suit, visibly worn, with small frayed lines at the shoulders and elbows. From the jacket pocket hung an old gold chain attached to a watch, which it quickly yanked out with a distressed tug. It was exactly how I imagined it would be.
Its eyes — huge, red, moist — darted in all directions. It was the look of someone cornered, but also frantic, as if aware of an invisible countdown about to hit zero.
— Oh dear, oh dear... I'm going to be late! But... where am I? Oh dear... — muttered the Giant Rabbit, not even noticing me at first. Its voice was thin, almost childlike, but carried a strange note of despair that made my skin crawl.
I forced myself to swallow hard and stepped forward. The silence around us was so thick I could hear my own heartbeat. Behind me, I felt the weight of the others' gazes — confused, tense, Malaca's hand already resting on the handle of her axe.
— Pleasure to meet you, Mr. White Rabbit. My name is Fly... maybe I can help you get where you need to go. Want my help?
He turned to me so fast his long whiskers quivered. His eyes fixed on me, wide, the watch now clutched between his paws as if it were his last anchor to sanity.
— Help? Ah... yes... yes... maybe... maybe you can — he said, panting, his chest rising and falling in a frantic rhythm. — But time... time waits for no one...
— Fly, what does this mean? — growled Malaca, her hand already half drawing the blade, the axe gleaming dangerously under the crackling firelight.
— Quiet, please — I asked, raising a hand to her without even taking my eyes off the rabbit. — I'm... negotiating now.
The White Rabbit stared at me a second time. His large ruby eyes darted toward me, wet, blinking too fast, as if each eyelid were trying to flee reality. He still seemed confused and fearful, his nose twitching. But when he noticed the way out was blocked — by armed warriors, by staff-wielding mages, by the very cave itself seeming to close in around him — he let out a hoarse sigh, like someone laying down their arms.
— Hello... boy... — he said, his voice fragile and whispery, dragging each word. — I... must get where I must get... How can you help me? Quickly!
He was exactly as I expected: a creature made of pure anxiety, consumed by haste, by worry, incapable of sustaining even a linear thought. It was almost painful to watch him.
— Very well, what I ask is simple. — I took a deep breath, speaking with deliberately calm slowness, trying to control the pace. — Give us something to eat and something to drink. In return, I'll take you where you need to go. How does that sound?
Behind me, I heard Varnak snort, but no one dared interrupt. They knew that, somehow, inexplicably, this was under my control.
The rabbit's eyes widened even more, if that was possible. He pressed the watch against his chest, as if trying to calm his racing heart. Then he let out a nervous little laugh.
— Oh dear... you're friends with that guy... that one... with the weird hat... Oh dear, let's hurry, just get me out of here, I need to leave!
And then he turned, rummaging through his jacket pockets with almost desperate haste. First he pulled out something that definitely shouldn't have fit in there: a squashed carrot cake, yet strangely appetizing, its orange frosting gleaming like glass under the dim light. Then a bitten carrot — the bite mark still moist, almost fresh, which made me shiver. Next, he drew what looked like a shimmering candy, wrapped in a translucent paper that shifted colors like a tiny liquid rainbow.
Not satisfied, the rabbit shoved his hand into the other pocket and pulled out an old teapot, cracked porcelain still releasing small clouds of steam, along with some tiny cups. The sweet, floral scent escaped immediately, filling the air around us, leaving us all dizzy for a moment. Finally, he drew a tiny vial, the liquid inside gleaming in shades of blue and gold, as if it contained tiny fragments of stars.
He shoved everything into my hands so quickly he nearly dropped the teapot.
— Here, here! Done, done! Now... take me! Before... — the rabbit stopped abruptly, ears quivering, nose sniffing the air. His eyes widened even more, as if he'd heard something we couldn't. — Oh dear... quick... quick...
— Thank you very much, White Rabbit. I hope you have great luck on your quest… and give my regards to Alice for me. Oh, and watch out for the Queen of Hearts — I said in an almost playful tone, though a slight chill ran down my spine.
The Rabbit froze. His entire body went rigid for a second, ears standing up as if catching sounds from very, very far away. Then, slowly, he turned his head and his red eyes locked onto mine. It was a gaze far too deep for a mere rabbit — as if trying to sift through my thoughts, to figure out how I knew those names. For a moment, I felt I had said more than I should have.
But then he smiled. Or at least gave something that resembled a crooked, trembling smile, showing his long white teeth. He raised one paw and gave a small, almost respectful wave.
And at that instant, the air beside him folded and a black hole opened, a tear of pure darkness. He looked at me one more time, as if wanting to memorize my face. Then he leapt — and vanished into the void, which sealed behind him with an almost inaudible snap. But not before throwing a glove at my feet.
Silence fell heavy. I only then realized everyone had been holding their breath. No one had dared even cough during my interaction with the White Rabbit.
— What the hell just happened here...? — growled Varnak, his voice low, almost hoarse, as if afraid to break some lingering spell.
It was enough for the elders to start whispering among themselves, nervous. One of them traced a protective sign against evil spirits in the air.
I took a deep breath, trying to keep my tone steady, though my hand still trembled slightly holding the steaming teapot. The sweet vapor continued to rise, curling through the air, leaving a trail of floral scent that seemed to dance around our noses, almost intoxicating. Carefully, I set the teapot on the ground, afraid my shaking hands might drop it.
That was when I noticed the white glove — almost forgotten near my feet. It was made of thick linen, yet at the same time soft, reminding me of the comforting touch of blankets warmed by a fireplace. I picked it up slowly, feeling the fabric slide between my fingers, almost alive.
The moment I slipped it onto my hand, it molded itself around my fingers, tightening gently, fitting as if it had always belonged to me. The warmth was immediate and soothing, spreading up my arm to my elbow, dissolving some of the tension I hadn't even realized I was carrying.
I looked at the glove, flexing my fingers, fascinated. It adapted to each movement, neither loose nor too tight. It was as if it were breathing with me, lightly pulsing, in tune with my own rhythm.
Behind me, I heard Siman clear his throat. I turned and saw that he and Varnak were watching me closely, almost restrained, as if unsure whether to stop me or wait and see what would happen.
— Hm... that... is an artifact — murmured Siman, brow furrowed, eyes fixed on the glove as if seeing something beyond the fabric. — Can you feel it? This glove is... bonding to you.
— Yeah... — I replied, trying to sound calm, but my voice came out strangely hoarse. — I feel it.
— Sorry for the delay, everyone. Siman, if you could evaluate these items he left us, I think it will be clearer to all what I've done — I asked, giving the mage a brief look, who seemed as curious as he was tense.
Siman took a hesitant step forward, as if every inch of ground might hide a trap. His wide eyes fixed first on the steaming teapot, then on the carrot cake, the bitten carrot, the shimmering candy, and finally lingered on the tiny vial that seemed to hold living fragments of stars.
— Varnak… — he murmured without even blinking, in an almost reverent tone. — If what I'm seeing is true… we might be holding not mere magical items, but genuine artifacts.
Varnak let out a low grunt, something between irritation and anxiety, and motioned for Siman to continue.
Then, for the first time, I saw how a true artifact appraiser worked. Siman raised his hands, took a deep breath, and slowly his fingers began to pour out threads of pale blue light, stretching through the air like ethereal webs. When they touched the items, these lights spread, pulsing softly, as if the objects were coming alive and breathing.
Siman seemed completely absorbed, murmuring arcane words I couldn't understand. His eyes danced between each object, and the self-writing quill he had brought with him began scribbling on five scrolls that I honestly had no idea where he'd pulled from, recording everything frantically.
Meanwhile, Malaca came closer, her expression full of questions. Her gaze jumped from the teapot to the cake, then to my hand covered by the glove, as if trying to piece together the whole puzzle.
— Are you planning to keep secrets even from me? — she asked, her tone almost hurt.
I sighed and looked at her, trying to maintain a peaceful smile. — Of course not. Honestly, I'm still not entirely sure of everything. But I suspect the edible things... — I pointed to the cake and the carrot — ...will most likely let us grow in size, strength, or something like that. I can't say exactly how much or for how long.
Malaca raised an eyebrow, surprised. Her eyes sparkled with something between fascination and greed.
— Damn... an item like that would sell for two hundred gold coins at least, depending on how much it enhances the body... But what about that liquid? — she pointed at the small vial, involuntarily licking her lips at the sweet scent it released.
— Ah, that? — I shook my head, serious. — Not for us. Actually, I believe it has the opposite effect... it shrinks whoever drinks it, both in size and power. I planned to keep it to use against the creature we're going to face, but... like almost everything that comes from this kind of magic, I have no idea of the right dose or the duration.
My theory was simple — or at least, I wanted to believe it was. I suspected it was impossible to apply multiple distinct statuses in a single invocation, at least not in the straightforward way many imagined. Practically speaking, each invocation seemed "designed" to carry only one central effect.
But... there were exceptions. The witch's ability, for example, proved that almost cruelly. She could create a status that, by some twisted trick of her magic, brought more than one effect simultaneously, something completely outside the patterns of other abilities.
That led me to an even bolder hypothesis: the problem wasn't trying to apply multiple statuses to an invocation — but rather the type of ability used as the catalyst. If I truly wanted to create something that generated multiple powers, I couldn't simply stack buffs or debuffs and expect them to fuse. I would need to find, or develop, an ability whose very core was the multiplication of statuses. Something designed to absorb, replicate, and distribute diverse effects.
In other words, instead of trying to accumulate different spells onto a single enchantment, I should focus on finding the spell that made it possible to sustain multiple statuses at once. A completely different paradigm — and dangerously seductive.
Malaca fell silent, chewing over that information, eyes fixed on the vial. Then finally her gaze dropped to my hand.
— And that glove? — she asked in a whisper heavy with suspicion. — What does it do?
— That... I have no idea. I think it was just a gift from the White Rabbit. — I shrugged, but felt the weight of the warm, pulsing fabric around my fingers, reminding me it wasn't that simple. — I didn't feel anything dangerous... by the rabbit's look, it didn't seem like something that would harm me. But to be honest, that's just what I think.
— And still you put it on your hand... — she said in an almost scolding tone, eyes fixed on the contours of the glove as if expecting it to bite or strangle my wrist at any moment.
I was speechless for a moment. A hot flush crept up my neck. In that instant, I realized how stupid my decision might have seemed — but I also understood that, deep down, I had trusted that confused rabbit in a strange, irrational way. Maybe it was magic, or just fate playing tricks.
Malaca only sighed, gripped the handle of her axe, and gave me one last look, half worried, half conspiratorial, before turning to watch Siman finish his ritual.
After some time, Siman, clearly out of breath, finally completed his analysis of each of the items. Varnak quickly snatched the parchment and began to read.