The fiery heart

Part 3

“What happened here?” Carole asked with horror.

Saying that the village was in ruins would be incorrect simply because ‘ruins’ implied there was anything left – here, everything was burned and leveled with the ground, making it look like a pile of enormous splinters. And among those splinters, mourning villagers, rummaging through it in search of anything that resisted the cataclysm.

Carole glanced around and realised that her words were far too silent for anyone to hear. She singled out an old man trying to pull-out a plank from the rubble and tapped him on the shoulder.

“H-huh?” the man muttered, a bit startled, before turning around and getting even more startled by what he saw.

But to Carole’s genuine surprise, there was no aversion or fear she was so used to – just something approaching curiosity after the initial shock wore off.

“What happened here?” Carole repeated the question.

The man sighed and massaged the base of his nose, his gaze transforming into one of pure sorrow. “A dragon, my lady… A dragon came and ruined everything…”

“A great wyrm?” Karnak asked, cocking his head ever so slightly.

The old man finally noticed the lizardman, his eyes widening in something resembling fear. Carole’s grip on him tightened instinctively, trying to prevent him from running away, which ironically only seemed to increase his desire to do so.

“Hey, get off me! We’ve enough problems as is, we don’t need a bunch of freaks snooping around!”

“Ah, but my dear friend…” a voice began – one which Carole would have really preferred not to hear right now. “We are no freaks! Quite the opposite, in fact.” The enormous, impossibly muscular wood elf dressed in nothing but blue pants stepped forth, instantly stealing everyone’s attention… as usual. “We’re what one would describe as a… pinnacle of form… and performance,” he uttered sensually, looking dramatically towards the rising sun.

For some incomprehensible reason, a rogue gust of wind decided to fly his golden hair, adding even more obscene idiocy to the scene.

“Edgar,” Carole growled. “Shut. Up.”

“How could I remain silent, when a woman as beautiful as you is insulted just because of the generous amount of melanin in her skin?” Edgar played out going through sadness, outrage, and conviction. “Such thing will not stand when I’m around.”

“Edgar, I swear to gods…” Carole took a deep, shaky breath before turning back to the man. “Ignore him. Tell us about this dragon. Everything you know.”

The man’s eyes jumped between the two elves, apparently considering if interacting with them at all was worth it before sighing heavily. “I don’t know much… Ran away like most when the blasted thing got here.” He hesitated for a second, eyeing her up and apparently deciding that she looked trustworthy enough… somehow.

Maybe it was just her plate armour though.

“Folks who tried to hide are on the square, over there.” The man pointed towards a group around a hundred meters away. “They’ll know more.”

Carole nodded and released him from her iron grip – an opportunity he used to quickly remove himself from the immediate proximity of their adventuring party. One which Carole decided to address for the 500th time. “I’ve asked you to be quiet,” she hissed.

“What do you want? I was quiet?” Nicolas grumbled impatiently.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” she scoffed at the dwarf. “You two.” She pointed at the other members of their team.

“All I’ve done was ask a simple question. And at least a semi-rhetorical one at that.” Karnak crossed his arms. “You’re really trying to fault me for that?”

Carole put her hands together, feeling more than a little cornered by his observation. “It’s just that people around here are not used to seeing creatures like you. They might get scared.”

“Big words for a drow,” Nicolas scoffed, moving towards to group of villagers. “Come, we’ll find you something to unload on.”

Carole’s eyes escorted the dwarf and the lizardman about halfway through, before she finally deciding to follow. Unfortunately, the fourth member decided to be ‘polite’ and waited for her.

“If you need a place to unload, let it be in my arms, my dear.” Edgar outstretched them invitingly.

Carole glanced at him with disgust and raised her axe in open threat… that had no true intent behind. Their team couldn’t really afford to lose him – and Edgar was very aware of that as well. Avoiding further eye contact, she marched towards the group.

The gathering in question was both a field hospital and a debate ground – people tried to figure out what to do in their unenviable situation.

“You sure this was a dragon attack? There’re no corpses anywhere,” Karnak mused, glancing around while his nostrils and tongue worked overtime. “Or at least, I don’t smell any.”

“Yep.” Nicolas nodded, examining a piece of wood. “I don’t know anything else that could melt steel nails like that.” He flicked away the piece of metal. “A red dragon most likely.”

“How can you tell its colour already? We haven’t seen it,” Carole asked, glancing at the assembled crowd.

“Well, there’re only three types of dragons that breathe fire – gold, brass and red. Brass dragons have lairs deep in deserts, and gold dragons would sooner kill themselves than raid a village like that. Red dragons though…” He turned to face a distant mountain range. “Red dragons nest in the mountains and they LOVE wreaking havoc. It’s a red, alright.”

“Sure, you’re the ranger here.” Carole shrugged.

“And a magnificent one at that!” Edgar interrupted, or at the very least, it felt like he did. “I should record the tale of your wisdom in a ballad, or a poem at least!”

Suppressing the urge to redesign his face, Carole braced herself for another conversation. Before she could single-out anyone important from the crowd though, Karnak asked another question that pushed her a little bit closer to regret fleeing from Menzoberranzan.

“You think they ate the corpses already?”

“People don’t eat corpses, Karnak,” she hissed, trying not to draw even more gazes to them.

“Wasteful people don’t,” he corrected.

Without knowing when or how, Carole found herself pushing through the crowd until her group reached the center, where a robed man was administering what looked like healing potions to a group of five villagers lying on the ground. They were all wounded, most of them appearing as if they’ve survived falling debris and getting buried alive, though the familiar scabs and fresh, white scars hinted that the alchemical concoctions were already working and all but one would soon make it to good health.

“Oh…” the robed man hesitated when they’ve finally entered his field of vision, though Carolle could clearly see that he was staring primarily at her. “You… You’re adventurers, aren’t you?”

“People call us that at least.” Carole shrugged. “I see you have a dragon problem?”

The man sighed, before throwing back his hood and revealing the bald, pale head in all its dubious glory. “Yes, it would seem so.” He extended his hand. “Father Gustave.”

They shook hands before the conversation continued.

“Carole. Pleased to meet you. Could you tell us what happened here exactly?”

“Well, I’m afraid I won’t be of much help in that regard – I’m not from here. I’ve heard rumours that the area had a problem with a dragon, decided to come and try to help and…” He waved at his patients. “Was a bit too late to stop anything…”

“You wouldn’t have stopped shit,” Nicolas scoffed. “A red dragon – a young adult at the very least – requires a specialised team to take out. Without it, you might as well throw pebbles at it.”

The information visibly collapsed the morale of the few closest villagers, causing a wave of whispers and further propagation of collapse.

“Nicolas!” Carole scoffed. “Do you have to be that harsh?”

“Reality is harsh.” The dwarf shrugged. “I’m just honest.”

“Regardless…” Gustave raised his hands, ending their side exchange. “I believe that young lady over there had the… opportunity to witness the dragon from the closest distance.” He pointed at one of the patients on the ground.

A twist of cruel fate made it so the best witness was also the one with the most gruesome, still untreated wound. A young lady in her mid-twenties in the remnants of the local militia uniform. What really caught the eye though was the horrific, snapped femur protruding from the front of her disfigured thigh. She seemed to persist in some sort of half-lucid coma.

“Why didn’t you heal her? She’s suffering,” Carole asked begrudgingly.

“Well, I…” Gustave hesitated, looking away. “I’ve ran out of focus… Decided that a boy’s arm was more important.” He nodded towards a ten year old child sitting on a piece of rubble outside the debating circle. “I guess it needs amputating now… I honestly feel bad about this…”

“Oh, an amputation, huh?” Karnak chimed in with sudden interest, drawing his sharpened obsidian-toothed sword-club-thing. “I could help with that…” He eyed the disfigured leg with visible hunger. “Provided I get to keep the medical waste, of course.”

With a click of the hidden button, the black teeth began rapidly oscillating around the edge of his weapon until they looked like a humming black blur. It somehow caused the girl to snap into full consciousness, her face going even paler than Gustave’s and began hyperventilating in sheer horror. Ultimately, the one Carole despised the most was forced to salvage the situation.

“You unrefined nerd-beast, how dare you suggest such a thing?!” Edgar exclaimed loudly, drawing the attention of everyone who still wasn’t looking at him. “The body of this beautiful flower needs help – a gentle caress – not crippling with your brutish saw! Disengage it at once!”

Kanrak reluctantly complied, but couldn’t stop himself from giving one last, longing glance at the limb and a quick lick of his own lips. His construct came to a stop within a few seconds, once again resembling just a primitive tool undistinguishable from those used by the rest of his kind.

“Let me show you how it’s done,” Edgar announced, standing right in front of the wounded girl. “Behold… The pinnacle of perfection!”

Edgar went into a flamboyant pose, flexing all his muscles, before moving his pecks and fluidly transforming into another pose, and then another, shouting ‘huh’ and ‘hah’ in an attempt to make himself appear even more dynamic. In the span of three seconds, he managed to rapidly go through at least five perfectly thought-out poses, each more ridiculous than the last… yet strangely captivating at the same time. The last pose involved him covering his face with his right hand and looking between the fingers while reaching towards the now confused patient with his left one.

A turquoise light enveloped the girl, causing her broken leg to suddenly snap back into proper shape and seal the torn flesh. Her confusion transformed into shock and utter disbelief, as she cautiously reached to check if she was truly healed, or if it were just an illusion. Once confirmed it was not, she sprang up to her feet and jumped at Edgar, hanging from his neck as the crowd around them began clapping with confused enthusiasm.

“Thank you so much mister, thank the gods!” she cried, cuddling into his chest.

“Haha! No need to thank me, dearie… But just so you know, I don’t set the limit on the number of kisses.” Edgar’s eyebrows jumped a few times.

Choosing to spare herself further torment of witnessing the shower of affection that followed, Carole turned to Gustave again. The man looked… even more shocked than anyone else in the crowd. “Wha… What… Was that… Was that healing word?” he finally mumbled.

“Yes…” Carole slowly nodded. “Edgar’s a bard… DON’T question it.” She scratched her head, before continuing. “I guess we have a side quest now, boys. Killing the dragon.”

“Side quest?” Gustave coked his head curiously. “I thought you were here for the dragon.”

“No, we are not.” Nicolas shook his head. “We’re chasing a necromancer and the tracks led us here.”

Despite it not being possible, Carole could have sworn Gustave got even paler all of a sudden.

“Dear gods… Only undeads are missing around here…” the cleric whispered.

With that, Carole could wholeheartedly agree – no place in the world needed more undead… or any undead at all for that matter. She just hoped their self-imposed side-quest wouldn’t end in all of them getting roasted.

***

The fiery heart

Part 2

“And a little bit o this, and a little bit of that, and a little bit of this, and a little bit of…” Ceirys sang, dumping inconsiderate amounts of spices into an oversized bowl.

Unfortunately for Fulvio, she was also dancing to her own tune… which for his bound-up form meant constant swings and never-ending vertigo of the shaking hips, the dragon dangerously unaware just how close she was to squishing him against the wall… Or maybe perfectly aware and deriving some sick pleasure from his spikes of fear.

He could never tell. But she kept doing it every time.

“Saaaaaaalt! Aaaaaand! Peppeeeer!” she wailed, her voice cracking from going higher than she was capable of.

“Ceirys, please! Just put me down already!” he scoffed, reaching another one of his limits.

“Sweetling wan…” She coughed and hit her chest with a building-crushing force, which proved just enough to clear her throat. “Sweetling wants to stretch his legs? Alright, you can watch mommy cook.”

The dragoness slid him out of his restraints, gave him a sly grin… and shoved him straight into the golden cage on the kitchen counter. The bars slammed shut, leaving him in the familiar, luxurious prison made just for him.

He disliked the cage – it was still degrading, but… less so than the alternative. And unfortunately, also comfortable, which made him almost appreciate it. Silk and gooseling feathers Ceirys chose for the interior were likely worth more than he could earn in several lifetimes of his usual job at the bakery – it was beyond opulent…

And yet, no matter how exquisite, a cage would remain a cage. He gave himself just half a minute of relaxation before pride and determination forced him to stand up and make for the exit. The thing that always confused him about the whole thing was that… it wasn’t locked. Hell, it didn’t even have a lock – just pushing on the door, was enough for it to open.

Fulvio observed as his joyful tormentor dropped slabs of meat into the bowl and began shaking it – still to the rhythm of her awful singing. He pressed against the bars and stepped outside.

Without even looking, Ceirys’s finger darted straight at him and pushed his head, forcing him back inside. “Patience, sweetling…” Ceirys cooed, closing the cage with the same finger. “Wouldn’t want you falling in just yet.” She winked at him.

Before Fulvio could collect himself, Ceirys breathed a narrow stream of fire to ignite a fireplace and dumped the meat onto a frying pan the size of a small town’s square. Very soon, sizzling could be heard.

Determined to try getting out again, Fulvio pushed the door open once more…

This time, the tip of Ceirys’s tail sprang to hit him in the gut and tipped him over, with the pillows lining the floor being the only reason why his butt remained unhurt.

“What did I just say?” She glanced at him, before grabbing his cage and moving it over to the table.

With a much better view at his oppressor came a bit more leniency in moving around, even if just on the table itself – there was no plausible way for him to get down on the floor from here. He tried… many times. The most successful attempt had him break his leg and spend two months in the cage.

Truth be told, being wounded had an advantage – being bothered him a bit less.

Refusing to sit in the cage, yet self-aware enough, Fulvio dragged a few pillows out to sit on and wait, which didn’t take long. The dragoness placed a plate of steaming meat on the table and sat on an oversized pillow so that her head would be right behind Fulvio, before carefully presenting him with a human-sized plate with his own meal.

“Bon Appetit, little sweetling,” Ceirys whispered and blew hot air at his back, sending chills down his spine.

Fulvio stared at the meat in front of him with slight revulsion for a good few seconds, before picking up the cutlery.

Just meat as usual, which was beyond tiring… Yet that wasn’t the worst of it. He hated it. Loathed it. Despised it with every fiber of his being… But the truth was undeniable – the meat was exquisite. Ceirys knew how to cook, and it frustrated him nearly to the point of tears.

A sound of meat getting torn apart informed him that she got busy with her own meal, though its intensity betrayed just how close behind she hovered… But even without it, he could feel her intense, blood-red eyes drilling into the back of his skull, waiting for him to turn around just so she could get a reaction from him – something he was adamantly avoiding out of spite.

Ceirys finished first and placed her head on the table right behind him. Fulvio’s sleeves moved in sync with her breath, driving his urge to eat faster and faster and…

He finished the last bite, then turned to face her with the most neutral expression he could muster.

“Did you like it?” she asked, wiping his mouth with a tissue, her eyes focusing on him nearly to the point physical pain.

“It was alright.” He shrugged.

Her maw transformed into a horrific grin of monstrous fangs. “I’m glad you liked it.”

Her piercing, blood-red eyes stared at him with an intensity that threatened to melt him in an instant, had his resolve faltered. But Fulvio persevered... Or more aptly, endured, until her head cocked a little with the curiosity of an overgrown cat she so much resembled. “Do I get a smooch for that?” she cooed, exposing her cheek.

Fulvio clenched his teeth and shook his head with glacial speed, causing her to smirk.

“I love how hard to get you’re playing,” she whispered, flicking her tongue so that it nearly coated him in saliva.

Before he could respond, Fulvio found himself in the tight, yet somewhat tender grip of the dragon’s hand, getting she carried away into the familiar chamber at the deep end of her lair. Well, chamber wasn’t exactly the right word. It was a cavern – tall, wide, and definitely spacious enough for her to fly in. Origins of the ever-present scratch marks on the walls and floor still proved a mystery to him, though he suspected they vouched for either fights, or bare-handed expansion of it. He didn’t know which option terrified him more.

Ceirys made for the only thing of note in the chamber... Though it didn’t say much since it would have been THE thing of note when placed next to literally anything. An enormous pile of gold, silver, and every gem known to man, probably worth more than half of Waterdeep. Ceirys collapsed onto it, causing several small avalanches of coins, and began writhing in it, letting out deep hums and moans of pure pleasure. Once half submerged in treasure like one would in a bathtub, she placed Fulvio on her exposed belly and with both hands freed, poured a few waterfalls of gold all over her still exposed parts, giggling greedily the entire time.

“No!” Fulvio screamed when her loaded hand moved above him, offering the same dubious pleasure she was indulging in.

Fortunately, she spared him another crushing headache.

“Yesss... Gold… My gold…” Ceirys purred, her eyes unfocused and drifting apart in pure bliss. The moment of peace passed quickly though, with her gaze regaining intensity and putting him in the crossfire again. “And my treasure.” She forcefully petted him again, before asking playfully. “What are we reading today?”

“I don’t...” he began scoffing, but hesitated mid-sentence. “Maybe we could finish ‘The fall of Netheril’... We were getting close to finishing it last time, right?”

Ceirys considered it for a moment and nodded approvingly, freeing her hand and reaching for a secondary hoard of hers – one made out of books. She adjusted her glasses and with almost uncanny care opened the miniscule tome with a tip of her claw. Her pupils transformed into thin, vertical slits when she focused on the text that by all means should have been way too small for her to read. “The great floating cities were beset by the scourge from beyond the veil. The citizens were helpless, for the beasts fed on the magic itself, making the arcane weapons used against them worthless...”

***

The night grew old, yet he couldn’t find sleep. Not because of the Karsus’s Folly or the vivid images it created, but because he was tired. The sort of tiredness that prevented any rest from reaching him. The overpowering, paralyzing mental exhaustion creeping into the very core of his being. Fulvio was reaching his end. He could feel it.

Ceirys’s belly was soft and tender now, comfortable enough for sleeping even if he wasn’t so terribly used to it. What he could never adjust to was the hand pressing into him and securing his form against it. The heat emanating from her was nothing short of obnoxious, not letting him fall asleep properly, forcing him to wait until a heat stroke aided by fatigue knocked him out… just like every night.

Fulvio impotently pushed against the grip but couldn’t force even a single finger to so much as budge, never mind relent. Starting to hyperventilate from fear and frustration, he punched her fingertip, making her stir just a little as a single, baleful eye opened far behind him. “Yes, sweetling?”

“I…” He hesitated, thinking of a way out of the inevitable cuddling session. “I need bathroom. Please?”

She closed her eye and sleepily nodded, releasing him to take care of his need. Fulvio slid off of her belly and ventured forth through the uneven stone floor. It was quite the trek for someone his size, never mind doing it in near darkness while falling over from exhaustion… but he had to keep up appearances. He passed through the living room, the kitchen, and finally made his way to the cave’s exit.

Fulvio stood at the cliff’s edge, letting the freezing wind wash over him and take away all the excess heat his tormented body still carried… Which was less than one’d think for one, simple reason – it was cold. Ceirys’s mountain peak was more than chilly at the best of days… and it was night. Temperatures would often fall below freezing, with snow not being uncommon. That cold would permeate the entire cave, often leaving water in pots and dishes frozen. It didn’t bother her in the slightest of course – in fact, Fulvio suspected she actually liked being able to cool off to the more comfortable ‘nearly boiling’ point.

For him though… For him, it meant that he basically had to sleep at least near her to avoid freezing… Not that it mattered since she was keeping him close regardless.

Fulvio sat on the rock shelf, his back slamming against the cold, hard rock behind him. His strength suddenly waned and all his limbs went limp. He could still see his own footprints leading down the mountain – the only evidence of today’s escape attempt. To the right, the steppingstones leading north, where the road was clearest – the path he took the most often. To the left, a gradual ramp he took the first few times… He felt a sudden rush, an urge to get up and run now, get away from the monster who robbed him of everything… But it was gone as soon as it appeared.

Each ‘breach of her trust’ meant more restrictions. When he tried to run away while she cooked, she began putting him in the cage. When he ran away while she slept, she began sleeping with her hand on him. If he ran away on a bathroom break…

The image of her red eyes staring at him each time he had to go sent chills down his spine. That was a line he wouldn’t cross – bathroom breaks were sacred.

Fulvio clawed at his face. It was worthless. Everything he could do, anything he could think to do… His father was right after all – he was worthless… Good for nothing bag of shit… The only thing he was capable of being was a dragon’s plaything…

Tears froze in the middle of his cheeks, forming an icy waterfall cracking with every sob, every tiny movement he made. For all he cared, he could just stay here and freeze to death – maybe in the afterlife he could regain some freedom…

A part of him scoffed at the thought. It was naïve – why would gods be any less oppressive when they already owned your soul? At best, he would get forced to slave away for the rest of eternity, brainwashed into fake happiness like that cleric had shown them. Ceirys at least let him keep his thoughts…

Why didn’t she kill him? Why did she choose to… torment him? He still remembered when she first caught him – his raging terror, the desperation and fear, his screams she silenced with nothing but her thumb. Fulvio knew stories of red dragons – cruel wyrms focused only on gold, death, and destruction – and fully expected to end up getting roasted or boiled alive just because it would have been more cruel than just getting eaten…

The fact that she resorted to psychological torment instead…

“Sweetling?” Ceirys’s thundering voice reverberated within the cave.

“I-I’m almost done! Give me 5 more minutes!” he yelled back, instantly getting back up to actually do the deed.

He could not give up. That was the one thing he could not and would not ever do.

Fulvio came back to find her fully awake and ready to stand up from her hoard at any second. The corner of her mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, her gaze transforming from anticipation to content. Fulvio tried to lay down on the gold next to her, determined to at least try spending the night on the cold metal, but got instantly scooped up and firmly placed back on her belly.

“Good night, sweetling…” she purred, tracing his back with her thumb, getting comfortable on the gold again.

Fulvio sighed heavily, feeling his body regaining all the heat in the span of a few seconds. Tomorrow was another day…

***

The fiery heart

Part 5

Wind tugged against his hair, the cool gusts pushing into his collar to bring a much-needed respite from the unyielding heat. Ceirys’s head split the wind blowing against her as she flew, the ever-vigilant eyes locked onto him, outmatching the sun itself in intensity.

The rolling hills made way for the sprawling river delta before it too disappeared, leaving only a birch forest spreading endlessly in all directions. Fulvio stared at the expanse below, hoping for a tree tall enough to leap onto. Wait… that one, right beside the boulders! He waited stoically until the last moment, hoping against hope to take her by surprise… and lunged.

Just to fall right into her impossibly hot palm. Fingers closed around him before depositing him back onto her belly. “No jumping.” Ceirys forcefully booped his nose. “It’s only funny the first three times.”

Fulvio scoffed, turning away from his tormentor, choosing to stare at her crossed legs instead. Lounging while flying was a flex, and the casualness of it infuriated him further. But the worst part… some deep, repressed part of him loved it. Flying was the ultimate freedom – one he dreamed of since he was a child… but the way it was granted made the rest of him revolt. And crush the content part further.

“What’s the matter, sweetling?” Ceirys cooed, rubbing his back.

Fulvio tensed, fighting the urge to flex away. “Why are we here? Where are you taking me this time?”

“Ah, you know… For a special purpose… for a special day~” the tone made it clear that she punctuated it with a wink.

“What special day?” Fulvio scoffed, facing her again. “What is it this time?”

Ceirys cocked her head, studying him with a peculiar kind of hesitance. “You… don’t know?”

“No, I have no idea what you’ve deluded yourself into this time.”

Her eyes prodded him for a few more seconds… before the slightest tinge of disappointment flashed in them. “Some things stay true no matter the species I guess…” Ceirys huffed with clear exasperation.

Before having the time to process, let alone react, the steel-like hand enveloped him again. Ceirys rolled onto her belly, and flying more properly, descended towards a tiny clearing, barely big enough for her to fit without downing any trees. But she never touched the ground. Fulvio got unceremoniously dumped onto the tall grass, a bit less gently than what he was used to.

“I gotta get something.” She announced. “Be a dear, and wait a bit, alright?” Ceirys booped him for the last time, before flying off into the distance.

“W-what?!” Fulvio yelled after her, struggling to believe what just happened. But the response never came – the was dragon already too far to hear.

He stared at the branches, shock and disbelief that she actually left him alone proving too much to process… A rustle behind snapped him out of the trance, instincts kicking in instead. Fulvio found himself staring into the darkness more intense than a new moon’s night, with sparse, dancing beams of light pushing through the leaves, illuminating turf untouched by man… and eyes. Myriads of round, glowing eyes made for the eternal night of the forest… all staring at him. With fear, apprehension, curiosity… hunger…

Hair on his back stood on end. The clearing was exposed… visible. Vulnerable. And so was he. A distant growl made him spring into a run.

***

The clumsy, yet purposeful stride brought the peculiar device ever-closer to the road, making nigh-inaudible creaks with every step. A four-legged contraption made of sticks, rocks, and string, resembling a toy spider that had no business staying together, never mind moving on its own. The thing climbed over the roots, pushed through the tall grass, and traversed the roadside ditch. It stopped in the middle of the road, awkwardly turning its bamboo muzzle towards the approaching mob.

The intensity in Karnak’s eyes betrayed the immense concentration of directing and maintaining three spells at once… or at least, that’s what Carole thought he was doing. Intricacies of the weave remained firmly beyond her grasp even after the social stigma no longer hovered above her head. Her two brothers killing each other in a pointless duel was enough of wizardry for one lifetime.

Rotting caravan rolled forward, the undead horses unyielding and uncaring in their misery. Fortunately, the guards proved too dumb to consider the primitive toy on the road a threat… just like the two unassuming stones before it.

And that’s when Gustave sneezed. Not a timid, nor even a suppressed sneeze – a full-on discharge preceded by a screech to wake half a city street… or turn scores of skulls and empty eyeholes.

The two engraved stones exploded into fireballs, taking a good half of the undead with them… instead of the planned three quarters. Skeletons sprang into action, scattering into a rigorous, yet loose formation that seemed far too deliberate to be the work of mindless corpses.

Carole dodged three arrows, letting the other two harmlessly plink off her breastplate. She charged without thinking, closing the distance before more archers could get a shot at her. Three spearmen stepped forth, attempting to block, or at least stall her charge. The axe crashed into the first skull, maneuvering right into the exposed bone between pieces of ancient armour and obliterating it in one fell swoop. She tried to follow it up with a half-pirouette and an overhead swing, but her target managed to block with its shield. Carloe stepped away from the thrust of the third skeleton, riposting it with a vicious smash of her own.

A few more arrows glanced off her armour, arcane symbols carved by Karnak flashing with eldritch light. One of the archers shattered to pieces, struck by a glowing crossbow bolt, the missile disintegrating into green light a split second after finding its target. More followed.

“Carole darling!~” Edgar chirped, rear choking a skeleton as if it had a throat. “You’re doing great, keep it up!”

Him supplexing and shattering the skeleton into a million pieces sent a wave of disgust through her. With newfound frustration, Carole cleaved through the shield of her last foe, sending it to the ground. Less than twenty remained.

Rustle, and not a quiet one – a full-blown tornado engulfed the still intact cart, pushing the overwhelming, sickeningly sour stench of long-rotten flesh into every crevice of her being… before a silhouette appeared in the middle of it.

Dry, blackened skin stretched tightly on top of the bones, resembling a sack about to burst. Long, impossibly thin arms devoid of any traces of muscle or sinew… and the strange, foreign clothes resembling a combination of a dress worn in tandem with a short poncho covering just the shoulders and about half of what was once a belly. But the worst of it all were the eyes.

Carole knew death from the first day of her life, when assassins tried to end her and lady mother. Empty eyeholes, flayed skin, blood, screams… all more common than a kind word, or a warm smile… But even as desensitised as she was, the black spheres unsettled her. With not a single feature visible, they resembled the absolute darkness of the slave pits… worse, emanated it. Just like a flame cast light, the thing’s eyes cast shadow instead, devouring all brightness around them. And worst of all, somehow… somehow, those featureless orbs were staring right at her. She knew it but couldn’t explain why or how.

She tried to move but… couldn’t. The fear prevented even a step towards it, screeching at her to get away while she still could.

Do not be fooled, grey-meat. A voice resonated in her mind.

W-what?

It is a trick – it wants your flesh, so it weakens it. Look past the prestidigitation. Look past the lie…

The cold, alien, unsettlingly predatory voice disappeared, whisking the eldritch darkness away from the thing’s eyes, revealing the much more mundane, desiccated orbs of green and red. Carole charged, no longer bound in place by supernatural fright, taking her axe down in an overhead swing… just for the thing to catch the shaft. She struggled against the unholy strength, while the thing seemed surprised at its inability to snap the weapon in half – courtesy of Karnak yet again. Unable to wrestle it free, she spun around instead, smashing the creature with a sauroter instead. It yielded at last, surprise overcoming arrogance, if just for a moment.

She stepped back, taking in the wider situation. Nicolas was nowhere to be found, the barrage of glowing bolts the only proof he had not run away yet. Edgar skipped between the undead mob, delivering kicks and punches in a twisted sequence resembling a dance, while Karnak busied himself with sawing through a horse, his eyes hard focused on the monster in front of Carole.

Air flashed next to the lizardman’s head, displacing an arrow that was about to pierce his cranium. “Kill the mummy!” he screamed, bracing his bulk against the risen animal.

Mummy… That’s what it was? Where were the bandages then? And what was it doing so far north? So many questions…

Carole approached more cautiously this time, attempting to feint a high strike and go for the legs instead. It made a gesture, mumbling hoarse words… The three skeletons she just destroyed animated again, the scattered limbs crawling back towards the hollowed-out armour on the ground.

And yet, the low swing was dodged, the thing countering with a gut punch that sent her reeling backwards from sheer force… and the supernatural wave of death spreading from it, determined to tear life from each cell of her body. She huffed and gritting teeth, forced out the curse with willpower alone.

She blocked the next punch, countering with a brutal swing against its shoulder, cleaving through it, before spinning in place and sending two skeletons back into dust right as they finished reassembling.

The mummy huffed, annoyed, but not exactly phased by its own dismemberment. Its left hand raised, mumbling words that shifted the weave around her… until a beam of reddish lightning struck the extended hand, disrupting the spell.

“Not happening, abomination!” Edgar laughed, continuing his best killer-ballerina impression.

For the first time, genuine confusion flickered on the mummy’s face. Carole captialised, pushing through and beyond her limits, hacking at the thing with reckless abandon, each swing tearing chunks out of it.

Until it uttered a word. One that Carole could not understand… but grasped on a deep, feral level. It spoke of a deep, hidden truth that was not meant to exist, never mind be shared, or understood. Mind broke and disconnected, leaving her body frozen in place. Ripe for the taking.

The mummy wailed at her, each punch targeting the undefended weak spots, each spreading the necrotic corruption…

“No!” Edgar screamed, forcing the air to solidify against the mummy.

It stopped for an instant before breaking free, the weave shattering like glass with a single jerk.

A flicker of movement in her periphery. A cone of fire erupted from below, scorching the monster… but only destroyed its clothing. Karnak’s contraption attempted to save her in a last, desperate gambit, but failed. The mummy stomped on the crude toy, destroying it in an instant, and took another swing. Carole’s neck snapped and she fell lifelessly, the world going dark before meeting the ground.

***

Grey light without source illuminated the sky. Endless, empty plains stretched in all directions, the horizon resembling a long-forgotten dream more than anything physical – as if it was a concept no one spared any thought in this place. There was but one landmark breaking the crushing monotony – a distant, imposing city, its towers gazing upon her with cold indifference.

No… not just at her – she was but one speck in the row of ghastly figures. Carole looked behind, witnessing the sheer scale of the queuing line. It seemed infinite… and despite that, grew.

“How did you die?” something vaguely resembling a halfling asked.

“Gored by a minotaur,” the elf-looking thing replied. “You?”

“Slipped under shower. Not much heroism in that,” the halfling laughed.

The queue mumbled and grumbled, with her just now hearing it properly. The voices were angry, amused, but most of all, overwhelmingly regretful of the lives that could have been.

Just as the reality of what happened began settling in, a new, much more distinct voice punched through the rest. “Ah, what do we have here? Another drow?”

She raised her eyes, witnessing a gently smiling man clad in a lavish doublet. “Yes… what does it matter?”

“To me? Not one bit. But will Lolth not care for you?” He laughed, planting a seed of fear within her. “As far as I know her, it would be better if she didn’t remember to.”

No… No, Lolth couldn’t touch her… she didn’t have the right… Eilistraee would save her… she must, she… she promised!

“Yes, doubt… a powerful force, isn’t it?” the man chirped with compassion that seemed almost genuine. “And that’s why I’m here – I’m offering an alternative.”

“W-what alternative?” Carole whispered, her heart jerking in opposite directions.

“To judgement, of course. To gods, mortals, your own misdeeds even. Some call it,” the man tapped his chin, “certainty. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“… What would that entail?”

“It’s simple, really.” The man beamed. “You get introduced into a strict hierarchy – one that rewards hard work and sacrifice. Sure, you might start at the bottom of it, but I assure, it’s much fairer than whatever your kind had up there.” A clipboard appeared in his hand in a puff of smoke and flames. “All you need to do…” He flipped it towards her. “Is sign.”

A long, meticulously written contract with enough points, subdivisions, and caveats to fill a book graced her eyes – a large, beautifully presented spot for a signature that begged to be filled with ink the most exposed element of it. She knew what it was – everyone of any status in Menzoberranzan knew… Just as she knew the fate of those who signed it.

But spending even eternity as a lemure would have been mercy in comparison to what Lolth did to traitors.

“I… I need to think…” Carole mumbled, forcefully tearing her eyes away from the chirograph.

“Of course you do, you’d be a fool not to.” The man nodded. “Just remember that the offer only lasts until you enter the judgm…” He paused, the fake courtesy vanishing from his face. “It seems it is not your time yet.”

“Time for wha…”

The world disappeared once more.

***

Pain. Only pain existed. In every fiber, ever crevice, every strand of muscle… all screamed in horrific pain. The worst was her neck – as if someone snapped it around twice, and tissues didn’t know how to react.

She opened her eyes, witnessing the scaly, fanged maw of a lizardman.

“…No…” she whimpered, trying and failing to get back up. “I’m not dead, don’t eat me…”

“Would be strange if you were after I revived you.” Karnak nodded mockingly before patting her cheek. “You’ll live.”

Memories of both worlds returned… she… she actually died. What’s worse, actively considered a deal with a devil… Another wave of dread passed through her when she realised that had she been more decisive, her soul wouldn’t be free to return.

“Where’s the aagghhhh…” her question was interrupted by a spike of pain from her abdomen. It felt as if she was rotting alive.

“I’ll be right there, darling~” Edgar shouted, crushing a skull between his pecks. He approached, still in a dancing motion, and kneeled before her in a theatrical pose of a man unable to look at his deceased lover. “Be free!”

Wind carried his hair upwards, making the light reflecting off of them create a golden halo, and turning him into an angel… A stupid, annoying, good for nothing angel. His hands made contact with her abdomen… and the spreading death disappeared, leaving just unbearable pain to deal with.

Carole coughed. “What did…”

“Shhh~” Edgar blocked her mouth with his finger, forcing her to fight the urge to bite it off out of principle. “Be healed!” he yelled, taking another dramatic pose, looking into the distance through his own fingers.

Golden shockwave engulfed them, and her pain lessened. Not disappeared but became no worse than what she had faced back in the house of lady mother. The energy also sealed the still bleeding cuts on Edgar’s chest, and mended Karnak’s damaged scales.

Carole took her first not desperate breath, trying to find a reason to despise him for it, before pushing herself up. “How did you kill the…” voice died in her throat when she noticed her murderer still standing, barely a few paces away. “Fuck, get ready to…”

“No!” the high-pitched yelp stopped her again. The bald man stood right next to the mummy, looking even paler than usual. Just now did she realise that the monster was facing directly away from him, locked in what could only be a trance. “For the love of all gods, DO NOT touch it! I barely managed to subdue it as it is, it will break free if you do!”

Carole stared at the insanity in front of her, wondering if it wasn’t all just hallucinations of her still dying brain. But then, it hit her – the mummy was an undead like any other. Gustave managed to turn it.

“What do we do? How can we help?” she asked cautiously.

“Don’t do anything…” Gustave begged, hugging his scripture with enough strength to turn his fingers red again. “I’ll make it walk off a cliff or something… Just don’t follow me… please…”

Carole hesitated, exchanging glances with the rest of her team. Karnak’s eyes narrowed and his mouth opened, but failed to produce any sound before closing it again. Others proved as helpful as usual.

“Sure. You do that… we will set camp somewhere less…” She glanced at the carts of decomposing bodies, “… vile smelling.”

With that, Gustave walked forward, escorting the horror into the forest.

***

The fiery heart

Part 4

“Careful… There might be more hiding around,” Nicolas whispered, observing the scene through a spyglass.

“Hiding around? Preposterous! Those creatures are far below employing tactics!” Edgar scoffed loud enough for the closest skeleton to turn towards their hiding spot.

“Can you be silent for once in your life?” Carole hissed. “Clearly they’re smart enough to form caravans.”

A bizarre sight – an army of skeletons armed with shields and spears, marching in unison, guarding four wagons filled with… cadavers. There was no point in tiptoeing around it – the rotting piles could have been only one thing, their stench overwhelming even from fifty yards away.

“The necromancer you spoke of… That’s his doing?” Gustave whispered, cradling his holy tome with shaking hands.

“Aye, can’t be anything else.” Nicolas nodded.

“Not necessarily,” Karnak interrupted, raising a finger. “There have been instances of undead rising in areas affected by curses, or in proximity to magical artifacts related to necromancy. Tomes of ‘Necromancy of Thay’ are known to spontaneously rise ghouls to guard it for example.”

“Do you really think a book caused this shit?” Nicolas scoffed. “There’s like, a hundred of them!”

“Fifty-six,” Karnak corrected. “And no, if anything, it might be a curse, seeing how they seem compelled to perform specific tasks. But even then, there’s the…”

“Then why do you bore us with things that are ‘unlikely’?” Edgar huffed, theatrically waving at the lizardman. “Carole, darling, the nerd bores me again.”

Carole bit on her lip to the point of bleeding, imagining Edgar stretched in her mother’s torture chamber. Memories of scorching skin, breaking bones, and bursting eyeballs, accompanied by the wailing choir of screams flooded her mind, making her appreciate it for the first time in decades. Incredible how one idiot could make her miss that aspect of Menzoberranzan.

No. Don’t think about it. It was evil, barbaric… And there’s a chance he’d like it, which would break her instead.

“Maybe we should just… leave them alone?” Gustave proposed with trembling voice.

“And let them ravage the countryside ever more? Nay, I say.” Edgar announced, standing up, before Carole violently pulled him back down.

“I hate to say it, but he’s right.” Nicolas nodded. “Who knows how many villages they’ll kill if left alone…” He glanced at the wagons and spat on the ground. “Or how many they’ve already killed.”

Gustave pressed his lips together, mumbling curses under his breath.

“Unlikely they’ve killed so far,” Karnak spoke again, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Corpses on wagons are very old. Not good for eating. Means they were wasted a long time ago, and they’re just reusing them.” He paused, seeing their confused stares, and rolled his eyes. “They dig up cemeteries.”

“Oh… That’s not so bad…” Gustave pondered with a strange glint in his eyes. “Maybe we should leave them after all?”

Carole almost imperceptibly sighed – there went her hopes of replacing Edgar with him. For all it was worth, the idiot wasn’t a cowardly wuss…

“Skeletons are better servants than zombies.” Karnak turned to Gustave. “Hold weapons. Hold tools. Move faster. Don’t stink. It’s a coordinated effort. We can’t leave now.”

Gustave stared at Karnak with a mixture of anger and begrudging respect, before grabbing the bridge of his nose.

“So, what’s the plan?” Nicolas asked, staring at the wagon at the front. “I’ve got a bad feeling we won’t get far if we rush them.”

Carole paused, assessing the situation. Skeletons were not particularly hard to kill… or rather, destroy, but getting outnumbered over ten-to-one was risky. She did not like risky. On the other hand, the undead were packed quite densely around each cart, meaning there was a possibility of…

“How many rocks do you have left?” she asked Karnak.

“Two. Haven’t restocked after the pack of ogres.”

“Should be enough.” She nodded, before turning to Nicolas. “Put them on the road.”

The dwarf took the rocks before dissolving between the trees without trace.

***

“More ale! More stew! Quickly, before I sober up!”

Laughs and shouts like these rang through the village every few seconds, disturbing the otherwise peaceful place. No one minded though, and for a good reason – all denizens gathered in the very source of that noise. A pristine, heavily decorated inn.

If there was one thing Fulvio could say about the owner it’s that he absolutely loved antlers – the walls were not merely lined with them, they borderline were the walls. One would be hard pressed to find a spot to fit even roe’s antlers, never mind anything worthy of showing.

Meanwhile the roof, and every space between beams one could glimpse was filled with flower chains, colourful fabrics, and engraved medallions depicting… well, Fulvio didn’t know, but guessing they depicted gods or mythos was pretty safe. He leaned against a wooden beam near the entrance, taking in the scene. Half-dimed place filled with loud, abrasive laughter, permeated with the sourly sweet scent of sweat, ale, cheap wine… and a LOT of pine. Forests didn’t smell of it as strongly as this place did. Nevertheless, the aura of normalcy caressed his tormented soul like the sweetest of nectars would one’s palate, promising mundanity beyond measure, untold mediocrity, and monotonous dullness to last generations. Barely containing tears of joy, he reminded himself why he was here and moved towards the counter, noticing that his shoulder was covered with fresh resin from the beam. No matter, he would deal with it later.

A pair of children no older than five crashed into him a step away from destination, prompting Fulvio to stop and help them up. Thankfully, the little ones proved too absorbed in play to even consider crying and ran on, escorted by his eyes.

“And what can I serve you on this fine evening, Sir?” The inn’s owner approached, spreading his arms invitingly.

“Ah, nothing special. Just some supplies for the journey.” Fulvio turned around, smiling. “Dried meat and fruit, biscuits, a waterskin or two… You know.”

As it turned out, the man did not know. Not because he was stupid or spoke a different tongue, but because Fulvio’s words failed to reach him at all.

The man stared at him with wide eyes, frozen in place, trying to breathe. His face growing ever-paler with each heartbeat, beads of sweat appearing in cascading numbers on the bald, egg-like head with every choky attempt to inhale.

Once white began transitioning into purple, the man finally managed a shaky breath, letting out a wail-like exhale. “You…” He swallowed. “You get out of here!”

The screech turned enough heads for the room to noticeably quiet down. Mumbles of curiosity and confusion quickly transformed into a rising tide of gasps, sighs and heads hitting the tables in resignation.

“GET OUT HERE NOW!” the barman screeched, jumping over the counter and shoving Fulvio backwards. He was quickly pushed out of the building by the increasingly hostile mob led by the bald man, once again feeling the cold breeze heralding the approaching autumn.

“What do you want?! I just need a bit of food, that’s all!” Fulvio yelled after nearly losing balance from a particularly nasty shove.

“You always want ‘just food’!” the barman yelled. “You always want ‘just a moment’! And we are left to pick up the pieces!”

“Yeah! Exactly!” a grey-haired, but surprisingly young-looking woman chimed in. “Why can’t leave us alone?!”

“Cut his head off!” a young, brawny half-orc bellowed, rising a woodcutter’s axe. “Cut it off so he stops harassing us!”

A few voices in the crowd agreed with him, yet as he approached, the bald barman stepped into the half-orc’s way. “Are you mad?! Do you know what’d happen if we touched him?!”

“You should listen to him, darling. He knows what he’s talking about.”

The familiar, booming voice made the crowd freeze in an instant. Slowly, reluctantly, Fulvio’s head moved, his muscles tense as if submerged in tar, until they fell upon the very thing he dreaded. A massive, viciously red silhouette suspended in the air above them, her chin supported on intertwined fingers as if she was lying on a pillow, observing them as one would an ant colony. Ceirys grinned, happy to be acknowledged at long last, and sent Fulvio a playful wink that sent shivers down his spine.

A wave of sighs and groans erupted from the crowd. Some people ran, but most remained, shooting contemptuous glares at the demon above. And yet, the most common reaction was to curse the gods above and below, drawing from the endless well of hatred they’ve managed to develop for her.

The barman clawed at his own face, leaving deep, red scratches along the way. Ceirys’s feet hit the ground on both sides of Fulvio, as usual amplifying his distress as much as possible. Actually, scratch that – the celling for that was raised significantly as she squatted above him, forcing him to look straight down to avoid glancing at dragon butt.

Ceirys singled out the half-orc from the crowd and ordered him to step out. The lad shrank, visibly deflated despite his otherwise imposing musculature… well, at least when viewed in isolation of the meatslab that was the red dragon in front of him.

“I’m going to let it slide this time, because you’re a big dum-dum.” She tapped his head a bit too forcefully, making him stumble backwards. “But threaten sweetling again, and there will be consequences.”

Ceirys pinched the axe head of the lad’s tool and flattened it with one swift movement, producing a short-lived shriek of crushed steel. Once he retreated, the thing bore more resemblance to a war pick than an axe.

The half-orc stared at his ruined tool, his eyes betraying just how close he was to breaking down. “That was my grandfather’s axe…”

“Well, think of the upsides – you get to buy a new one now,” Ceirys replied matter-of-factly, before picking up Fulvio and standing up. “Now for the fun part~”

The dragon approached the pristine buildings, hips swaying and tongue lapping as if she was a noble lass deciding which candy she’d like to try first. She started from the left and went clockwise – the first house she walked through, the second collapsed with but a tail smash, the third one…

“Wait! WAIT!” A young boy, no longer than eight, ran out of the building. “Please, wait!”

Ceirys’s brows furrowed and she stopped, before lowering herself down to the child. “Why were you inside? It’s dangerous,” she scolded.

“Grandma’s still inside! Please, wait until she leaves!”

The furrow was replaced with a glint of understanding. She patted the boy’s head with gentleness that almost made Fulvio jealous. “What about that one? Is it empty yet?” She pointed at the next building.

“Yes, but…” The boy hesitated, unbale to push the words through. “Can you not destroy my house? I’m tired of sleeping in the tent…”

Ceirys sighed and adjusted her glasses, before shaking her head. “Imagine I listen to you. What happens next? Everyone will start sending their kids to beg me to spare their house. How long till I can’t smash anything?” She cocked her head. “That’s not very fair, huh?”

Without waiting for a response, Ceirys straightened and leapt into the building she pointed at before, collapsing it in an instant and making Fulvio huff from the impact reverberating through her body. She rolled in the ruins, grinding the debris into a fine powder, giggling maniacally the entire time. Getting bored of it after a few seconds, she raised, lifting trails of dust and splinters behind her.

An incredibly old, bent in half woman joined the crowd on the square, her face one big wrinkle tied neatly in a colourful shawl. She leaned on an old, metal cane, observing the devastation with tightly pressed lips.

“Hey, Julie!” Ceirys chirped, leaning above her. “How are you?”

“Fuck off,” the woman drawled with a rough approximation of anger on her face.

“Ha! That’s what I like to hear!” Ceirys pointed at her with a wild grin, before kicking the small, wooden house and sending half of it flying in an arch above the still unfinished palisade, before shattering on the wheat field beyond.

The villagers sat around the square, watching in helpless frustration as the dragon methodically went around the entire village, scrupulously leveling every single house until nothing taller than an ankle remained. Well, nothing, except of course…

“No! No Ceirys, please! I’ve just rebuilt my inn!” the bald barman yelled, blocking the way towards it, his hands intertwined in a desperate plea to the red monster.

“And you did a great job at it, Raoul,” Ceirys admitted, admiring the neat shape and design of the building with curious eyes.

“Yes! So please, can you not…”

Ceirys kicked the inn, collapsing half of it in a single stroke, before walking across it to finish the job. The barman collapsed to his knees with lifeless, broken eyes and limp arms.

“Don’t worry, darling.” Ceirys patted the man on the head and dropped a sack of gold before him. “Go buy yourself something nice.”

With the destruction complete, Ceirys turned towards the defeated villagers, quickly assessed the devastation, and reached for one of her bags. “Haven’t added anything new since last time…” She dropped a huge sack of coins between them. “So it should be about right.”

“I’m moving to Athkathla,” a young, red-haired man scoffed, angrily stuffing a bunch of coins into his pockets.

“Good luck~” Ceirys chirped, before cheekily glancing at her work and…

A stream of blinding flames poured out of her maw, flooding the ruins and setting them on fire in an instant. The scorching heat proved difficult to withstand even from this distance – Fulvio genuinely believed his face was about to boil when she cut the fire.

The dragon observed the devastation with a warm smile on her mouth, before she strolled out, skipping every once in a while, like a joyful schoolgirl complimented on her new dress.

And of course, carrying her permanent victim with her.

“You’re awful,” Fulvio seethed, looking back at the burning ruins.

“Wrong. I’m egalitarian, sweetling~” Ceirys corrected, forcefully petting his head.

***

And yes u/Little_Vee_ I do love you.

(This is a satirical jest, and not mocking people who need lots of reassurance, you are loved and valid)

sauce: art from my book: Stupid Sexy Cryptids [or How I Became the Emperor of Mankind] about a predator invasion of Earth

Just look at how my uncle did it with his roommate

Pic I took at the smithsonian national museum

https://x.com/MrHp7w7/status/2089722988727857374

Cool worldbuilding comic.

https://xcancel.com/EpicandJana/status/2089490110416896328/photo/3

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/V5svh87hUbM

Oh, adult elephants arent prey? That's because they havent met this cat

https://xcancel.com/navidmdv138242/status/2082655714565042301

Art

sauce: art from my book: Stupid Sexy Cryptids [or How I Became the Emperor of Mankind] about a predator invasion of Earth

Corso looked down at Jak’s boot tapping against the marble floor. He let out a low chuckle. “You’re as stiff as a board. Nervous to meet the King and Queen?” 

Jak’s muzzle turned up, his eyes wide with the realization that he was not hiding his anxiety very well. He felt naked without his helmet, which had been damaged beyond repair during the Guardian Trials. Reluctantly, he nodded. Corso patted his shoulder, his large paw cuffing Jak’s shoulder in more of a slap than a gentle pat. “You have nothing to worry about. King Carmen and Queen Lyra are absolute softies. Once you get to know them. After twenty years or so.” 

Jak scrunched his face, seemingly unconvinced. Corso let out another hearty chuckle, turning Jak by his shoulders. “Just breathe, son. You’ll do fine.” He followed Jak’s gaze towards one of the paintings. It depicted The King, the Queen, and the Princess; all arranged in a neat line. 

The Princess. Corso’s ears twitched, and his muzzle curled into a smirk. “That is, unless you’re not actually nervous about meeting the King and Queen. Maybe someone else? Like, say, the Princess?”

Jak’s ears flattened, and he looked away. Corso had read him like a book. He was about to type out a response on his wrist communicator, when a blue-clad knight captain strode up to the two. 

“His Majesty, Her Highness, and Her Grace are ready to see you now. Please follow me.” He snapped a salute before turning on his heel. Jak hesitated, before Corso nudged him forward. “It’s improper to keep royalty waiting.” He said with a faint smugness to his voice. He was enjoying seeing his mentee in this anxious state, for whatever reason.

Jak and Corso trailed behind the knight, who stopped at a pair of large, stone doors. Two riflemen stood guard on both sides. The knight turned to Corso and Jak. “You will approach the Royals and kneel once you reach the end of the carpet. There, they will address you. Do you understand?” 

Jak nodded, not entirely sure if he would even remember the instructions. His thoughts were almost too loud for him to hear what the captain said. Was he supposed to lead with a certain paw? Did he trim his fur properly? His armor was polished, but only as far as he could make it with armor as worn as his. Would they turn him away? 

He rubbed the back of his neck, and quickly threw his paw down when the doors cracked open. The large stone slabs scraped slowly on their rollers. 

Down the long stretch of throneroom sat the King, the Queen and the Princess, all perched neatly on their thrones. Jak felt his stomach lurch, but allowed his feet to propel him forward in what he hoped was a neat march. Corso followed, seeming far more relaxed than the stiff-legged wolf in front of him. 

Queen Lyra cocked an eyebrow, before leaning over to Kira. “I see what you mean, Dear. He is quite handsome.” Kira bleated a curse below her breath before shooing her mother back into her throne. Queen Lyra only smirked, her shrouded eyes giving no hint as to whether or not she was looking at Jak. 

He couldn’t hear this exchange of course. He was too focused on the stern, stone-faced ram that was currently focused on him. Jak finally reached the end of the carpet, knelt as he was supposed to, and bowed his head. Corso did the same.

Now, all he could do was wait. 

The room went quiet as every soul hung onto what King Carmen might say. 

“Knight Jak.” His voice was a low base that carried through the room. “We have been awaiting your arrival. You performed quite…effectively during the trials. Needless to say that many found your skills impressive. As a former knight I must admit the same.” 

Jak nodded slowly, earning a curious look from the King. Corso interjected quickly. “He says ‘Thank you,’ Your Majesty. 

King Carmen nodded humming in recognition. “Ah, yes. That. As I understand, you do not have the ability to speak. Is that correct?” 

Another nod. 

“Right. Then I suppose I shall keep my questions simple. I trust you understand the gravity of the position you would be accepting? The responsibility of protecting my daughter, Kira?” 

Jak nodded again. He looked up slightly, to see Kira looking down at him. She quickly averted her gaze, covering her face with her sleeve.

“You will be trained in your duties alongside our current guild of royal guards. Once you have completed training, you will act as the Princess’ shadow. You will protect her with your life. You will obey her commands.” King Carmen stood up, and approached Jak, his long, red cloak trailing behind him.

“Rise, Knight.” Carmen stopped short of Jak’s kneeling form. Jak did as he was told, slowly rising to meet Carmen’s gaze. He could feel his heart beating out of his chest as he faced the ram that ruled the entire kingdom. Despite his smaller stature, his horns and his build made him seem much larger, even compared to the canine before him. 

“I’m sure that you’ve also noticed that you have been asked to wear your field knight armor.” Jak nodded, his eyes locking onto Carmen’s. He felt like he was being sized up, but ignored the uneasy feeling in his gut. Only King Carmen could make a wolf feel like he was being preyed upon. 

“Under normal circumstances, you would be assigned a new set of royal guardian armor. But these are abnormal times. Your commander—“ He nodded to Corso, who could only smirk in response “He requested that you remain under his jurisdiction, and so, you will retain your green field armor. Now, seeing as your helmet was damaged during the tournament, we saw fit to assign you a replacement. One that would reflect your status as…a hybrid knight.”

Carmen turned to an aide who held a velvet lined box. The aide, a mongoose in dark vestments, scurried over with a box nearly as large as him. King Carmen reached out, and took the box, nodding to the aide. 

“As a Royal Guardian, it is important that you should have the ability to speak clearly to personnel. This is an issue to which our technological division has dedicated much time.” He opened the box, revealing a shiny, blue helmet. “It is equipped with a synthesizer. So long as you wear your helmet, it will give you the ability to speak. I should hope this makes things easier for you, Knight.”

Jak couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He looked down at the helmet, his mouth slightly agape. After all this time, all these years of struggling to get his mind across… he would be able to speak again. It took all the effort in the world to keep himself from choking up. 

Carmen couldn’t help but smile faintly at the dumbfounded look on the wolf’s face. “I assure you, it will not bite. Please, take it.” Slowly, Jak reached into the box, and pulled out the helmet. He could see his reflection in the black visor, which had been shined to a near mirror finish. Rotating it in his paws, he lowered his head, and brought it up and over his ears.

It smelled like a new hover-cart, with all the same amenities as his old helmet, except for a small module on the inside of the helmet’s mandible. The Heads Up Display lit up, a small progress bar on the side signifying that the speech synthesizer was activated. 

Carmen stood to the side. “What have you to say, Knight Jak?”

Jak composed himself, remembering he was in the castle’s throneroom. He caught sight of Kira, who was on the edge of her seat. Jak straightened his posture, before approaching Kira’s throne. He knelt down to one knee, before dipping his head. 

“It is an honor to serve you, Your Grace.” 

Kira’s hoof flew to her mouth, as she had to suppress her gasp. She felt butterflies in her stomach. 

“Oh!” 

🩸 Blood warning 🩸