Five minutes in—as Lotte had promised—I noticed the pulsing chrysalis starting to throb. It wasn’t long before I picked up a sound from within; not so much scraping as moaning, really. And then, out of the crimson, quivering mass of flesh, a vicious claw burst forth.
Or rather, a claw that turned out to be…
“Is that a damn mini mop?!”
Yes, a mop. Its handle was carved from pale ashwood, topped with a floppy tuft of undyed hemp fibers. It hacked its way through the flesh with a zeal more befitting a blade.
Then Belle tumbled out through the gap it had created.
I was nervous, after all this ritual business. What sort of changes might Belle undergo? Would she still be the badger I’d grown to adore—the one obsessed with cleaning, serving tea, and devouring biscuits? So when I saw her erge amid the ssy, oozing remains, I felt a rush of relief.
Her fur, once as dark as storm clouds, still held the sa shade but now boasted a silvery sheen—as if dusted with powdered quartz. And there was an apron tied around her waist: hospun linen, frayed at the hem and marked with mysterious, ghostly stains, complete with a few tiny pockets. Her gleaming quartz teeth hadn’t changed, but her whiskers now curled at the tips like playful calligraphy.
And in both paws, she held that mini mop like a royal scepter.
Despite everything, she was still unmistakably her old self. That, inexplicably, made feel better.
“You,” I murmured, dropping to my knees, “are absolutely ridiculous.”
At that mont, she sneezed, splattering chrysalis goo all over her snout, and let out a piercing “squee!” She quickly scooped the mop away with her tiny paw and scrubbed it off her nose.
A wave of happiness swept over as I realized our bond had deepened sohow. I’d worried that this ritual might have altered sothing more than just her appearance. Belle’s earnest, overzealous cleaning was so unmistakably her that I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Still a neat freak, huh?” I teased, brushing my fingers over the patched fabric of her apron, which slled of lye soap and damp earth. “Missed a spot.”
She chirped—“squeeee!”—and promptly attacked my boot with the mop, scrubbing away at imaginary dirt. Tiny damp streaks marked the leather.
Alice drifted closer, her blindfold askew. “This… was the intended outco?”
Belle then sprang onto her hind legs, apron flapping, and brandished the mop like a scepter as she glared at the filth around her. “Squee!!” she declared. No gri would dare stick around in her presence. With that, she resud her frantic scrubbing.
“Well, I’m not entirely sure what the outco was supposed to be,” I said, scooping Belle up from her cleaning spree. She tried to protest, but my stern glare silenced her. I’d already handled most of the ritual’s ss, and we were short on ti. “She’s still that stubborn badger—just… a bit shinier.”
Still, I couldn’t help but grumble, “Lotte, you fat dragon! You owe a very detailed pamphlet!”
Alice chuckled beside , though I could sense a lingering tremor from the ordeal. Whatever had crawled into reality monts ago had clearly shaken her.
I could only hope she’d find her footing soon.
But I was in a rush—I needed to get the hell out of here, but first…
“What about this chrysalis?”
That fleshy cocoon Belle had erged from was the unmistakable byproduct of the ritual—a glaring sign that sothing seriously ssed up had taken place. An open chrysalis would only invite the wrong kind of attention, so I had to deal with it.
“Belle. Stay.” I set her down, ignoring her indignant squee as she brandished her mop at the lingering filth.
Then, I stripped off my clothes. The transformation bracelet clattered to the forest floor. Scales erupted across my skin, bones elongating with wet cracks as half-dragon sinew reforged itself. Fire glands swelled in my throat—a forge-bellows heat begging for release.
Using Fla Jet to steer both the aim and the intensity of my flas, I pumped twenty points of mana into my fire gland. The jet of dragonfire tore from my maw—not fla, but conflagration incarnate. It atomized the chrysalis on contact, reducing eldritch flesh to ash finer than alchemist’s powder. The ground beneath bubbled into glassine slag, smoking craters where the entity’s residue had pooled.
Five seconds. A lifeti.
I wasn’t thrilled about destroying it—Thalador, that thing had been a pri alchemical ingredient—but I couldn’t risk dragging it along. It was a sure-fire way to attract trouble.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Once again, Alice worked her magic, cleansing the area of any lingering mana or divination signatures. I then retrieved my bracelet, channeled so mana into it, and shifted back to my drakkari form. The cold nipped at as I shivered, and before long I was back in my clothes. Sure, I could have shifted while still wearing them, but my half-dragon form—with all its extra height, spikes, and rippling muscle—would have shredded my outfit in seconds.
When everything was done, I took a mont to look around.
Alice drifted over the blast zone, threads weaving a final sanitizing hymn. “No traces linger, mistress. Only… absence.”
I scooped up Belle before she could start scrubbing tree bark. “Later. Now, we flee.”
***
Instead of heading back to Whisper’s place, I figured it was smarter to return to my dorm. A couple of solid reasons for that—first, I was more drained than usual. Burning through my mana three tis in such a short span? Yeah, turns out there are consequences for that. Second, I needed a good smokescreen, a little breathing room to cook up a convincing lie.
Because let’s be real—soone definitely noticed my little ritual. If Iron Pact had even a single competent mage, they’d know. And with a diviner in the mix, it was only a matter of ti before soone showed up to investigate.
And Whisper? Oh, she’d connect the dots fast. Quickpaw drops off, ritual site just a few ters away—wouldn’t take a genius.
So, I needed a solid excuse. Enter: panic-fueled escape. What else? I “saw” soone performing a ritual and bolted. Maybe even bla the Elves for good asure. Heh.
But that was a problem for morning . Right now? Too damn drained. If Whisper so much as sniffed out sothing off, it wouldn’t end well for .
And then there was Belle. Lotte claid she’d gain new abilities, beco my supplicant in the end. But what abilities? What even was she now? She ca back from that ritual with… an apron and a mop.
Argh. Monts like these made wish I could peek at her stat screen. Too bad that wasn’t an option. Guess I’d have to figure it out the old-fashioned way—trial, error, and maybe guilt-tripping Lotte into spilling so answers.
Anyway, getting back was quick. With my agility, each stride covered ridiculous ground. Soon enough, I reached the Alchemy Tower and, like before, shifted into dragon form to carry my “cargo”—Alice and my stuff—gently in my mouth.
Belle, though—
Huh?
Before I could even blink, she reached the barrier, let out a happy squeal… and just phased through it.
Ohhh. Ohhh. Looked like she got my ability to slip through solid objects now.
I gave a satisfied nod, dragon snout and all. That was going to be useful.
Wasting no ti, I dipped into the Shadow Dinsion and cut straight through the void, slipping past the third dinsion’s constraints. One smooth flight later, I phased back into reality—right in my room.
Scooping Belle up with a tentacle, I carried her to the first floor where my room was, shut the window, and finally—finally—let out a long, much-needed sigh of relief.
Hah. What a night. From thrashing the fakes pretending to be Iron Pact, to chasing down a dead detective, strolling through a eerie forest tucked inside town walls, and finally summoning a eldritch entity—just to ask for an eyeball donation.
Still, a grin tugged at my lips as I wriggled in place. It was fun. Wish every day could be just as eventful—minus the consequences. But consequences were never optional. Every action had its ripples, every world had its reaction.
I could only hope the chaos I stirred wouldn’t spiral too far.
Yeah, right.
That sounded like a problem for future . Present ? Running on fus. I shifted back, threw on my clothes, and was about three seconds from face-planting into sleep when Alice decided to chi in.
Her voice slid through my exhaustion like a knife through soft butter. “Mistress, perhaps you should evaluate Belle’s… latest developnts?”
“Later,” I mumbled into the pillow. “If she’s grown tentacles, I’d rather be surprised over breakfast.”
Alice paused, then repeated, “Mistress, would you like to assess Belle’s newfound quirks?”
I frowned but waved a lazy hand. “Knock yourself out.” Better her than —she’d do a more thorough job anyway.
With that, I finally shut my eyes.
And opened them.
Right back in that dreamscape.
Again?
The glassy lake sprawled beneath my paws, shadows squirming in its depths like eels with grievances. I groaned. Did this an I had to cross over every ti I slept now? Just great. With a sigh, I dropped onto all fours and padded toward the swirling vortex.
Sa as last ti, the water stilled the mont I entered. The cylindrical tunnel of twelve sections lood ahead—
Except this ti, sothing was different.
A ripple. On one of the right-side sections.
Huh?
Last ti, I saw a clear image of that Drakkari child. But this… this was different. No image, just an unsteady disturbance.
Was it another vision? Soone in trouble? Didn’t feel like it.
Curious, I reached toward the rippling water—
A tendril shot out. Fast. Just like before.
And again, the silent question.
Accept? Reject?
On one hand, my curiosity was gnawing at . This didn’t feel like possession—it was sothing else. I just wanted to know what this tunnel was, to understand more about this bizarre space.
On the other hand… well, nothing was stopping . Lotte could wait. And if history repeated itself, I’d wake up feeling refreshed anyway.
So, whatever.
Curiosity killed the cat, I mused, accepting the tendril. Good thing I’m a dragon.
Imdiately, inky waves surged forward, swallowing whole.
Then—sensation. Strange. Hard to put into words.
I opened my eyes—
And understood why it felt so wrong.
An opulent room stretched around . The room sprawled like a reliquary for a god of excess: walls sheathed in hamred gold filigree, each whorl cradling fist-sized rubies that pulsed like dormant hearts.
A vaulted ceiling dripped with chandeliers of frosted crystal, their prisms casting rainbows across tapestries woven from thread so fine it seed spun from starlight. Velvet drapes the color of clotting blood frad arched windows, beyond which a black sky hung heavy with unshed snow.
But that wasn’t what stole my breath.
No, that honor went to the person sitting across from .
Raven-black hair. Azure slitted eyes. Curved horns. A face I knew too well.
Because I’d worn it for sixteen years. She fidgeted on a gilded stool, muttering to the air, “Did it work? Ancestors’ ashes, Mother’ll flay if I cracked another artifact—”
And I…
I was inside a goddamn mirror!
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