The murky waves of ink-bck ichor receded, leaving the water eerily still as my eyes snapped open, dragging me back to the comfort—or retive comfort—of my own dragon body. My gaze darted over the surface, scanning for any sign, any ripple, anything at all. But there was nothing. Just the quiet retreat of the dark tide. My chest tightened.

  Hell, how was I supposed to know I was working against a damn timer? Only in the final moments did I realize that the thread tethering me to my body was thinning, unraveling like a fraying rope. Instinct whispered that snapping it myself might’ve worked, but with the way it was dwindling, it seemed just as likely to snap all on its own. A ticking clock I hadn’t even noticed until it was almost too te.

  I’d run like mad, tearing through a maze that felt less like a sewer and more like the fever dream of an architect who hates crity. I could only hope I’d put enough distance between those kids and the cultists chasing them. Would be a damn shame if, after all that, they still got caught.

  But hey, not my circus, not my monkeys—not anymore. I did my part, and then some. My goal? A simple, clean escape. What did I actually do? Saved a sacrificial mb, sent the “alleged” head cultist to an early grave, sprinkled in a generous helping of chaos, and even bagged a shiny new level after redecorating the floor with a few smug elven skulls.

  All in an hour’s work, really.

  Still, the conclusion didn’t sit right with me. Sure, I’d made their lives harder, but had I actually stopped them? Not quite. And the real kicker? I was still flying blind. No solid intel on where these cultists were holed up, no guarantee those kids made it out, no satisfying ending tied up in a neat little bow.

  I did glean something from that smug leader’s rant, though: a mention of something awakening, something beastkin had supposedly stolen from the elves—something the cultists were hellbent on reciming. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound like the kind of thing you’d want to unwrap under the Solstice tree. Still, I’d botched their pns a little, maybe more than a little. Killing a high yellow core—or what might’ve been a red core too—had to count for something, right?

  My attention shifted back to the tunnel around me, the still water, the oppressive quiet. What in all the burning hells was that? I had possessed someone, controlled their body like some ghostly puppet master. My own body felt foreign now, as if coming back to it left a lingering disconnect.

  Peering closer, I finally caught sight of something I’d missed before: faint, nearly invisible markings etched beneath the water’s surface. The whole tunnel seemed divided into sections, twelve in total—six on each side, forming a rough square if fttened out. One of these segments was where I’d seen that girl earlier. Now, it was as empty as the rest. Except… one section stood out.

  The markings there were faintly lighter, a subtle tentacle of dark ink swirling at its center. Intriguing. I tried to interact with it—poke it, prod it, mentally scream at it—but nothing happened. No clue what it meant, but it felt important.

  My gaze followed the tunnel to where it ended. And with a sinking feeling, I realized the only creature who might have answers—the only other dragon I knew—wasn’t likely to share them without a fight. Oh, the delight of dealing with her again.

  Still, she had a penchant for breadcrumb trails, and right now, I’d take whatever scraps she tossed my way. Call me hungry, but I’d gobble them up. Better than being left in the dark.

  That was if it lead me to her. So I moved, towards the supposed entrance to my ‘dream.’

  ***

  The water rippled once and receded as I stepped through, its surface smoothing back to an unnatural stillness. My entrance wasn’t unlike that of Alice’s, like stepping through a rippling puddle in reality itself. A curious phenomenon, to say the least.

  On the other side, an endless grassnd stretched out before me, fnked by a looming mountain of bck scales. Not a mountain in the literal sense, mind you. The "mountain" shifted, revealing itself for what it truly was as a familiar draconic face peeled away from a massive rocky outcropping. Lotte. Her colossal mug turned slightly toward me, her crimson eyes gleaming with that annoyingly self-assured glint.

  Her voice slithered into my mind, smug and rich with amusement. "It appears you've had quite the eventful excursion today."

  “Ooh, ‘eventful’ is putting it lightly, Lotte. Try something in the realm of bizarre.”

  Without waiting for her to prod, I unched into the story, regaling her with everything that had happened moments before. The possession. The tether. The ink-stained chaos. Every vivid detail spilled out like water through a cracked dam.

  When I finished, she paused. “Fascinating..."

  I blinked at her, incredulous. “Fascinating? That’s all you’ve got? Lotte, I possessed someone! And while I’m not about to ask you for a dissertation on how or why—because we both know you’d give me nothing but riddles anyway—did you at least know this might happen when you gave me this… this second method of entrance?”

  Her gaze lingered on me, unblinking, before she finally spoke. "The potential always lurked beneath the surface, though I must admit, I did not foresee you plunging into it so... unreservedly. Most tread cautiously, skirting the edges of the unknown, content to gaze upon its depths without daring to breach them. But you?" Her mouth curved in what might have been a draconic smirk, if her face wasn’t the size of a hill. "You do not merely step beyond thresholds; you fling yourself past them with reckless abandon, heedless of what lies beyond. And the further you submerge yourself, the more the established order frays. Predictability dissolves into irrelevance. Some doors, once unsealed, refuse to close. Or worse, refuse to let go."

  I groaned dramatically, flopping onto the grass like a defted marionette, my cws sprawled uselessly toward the heavens. The vast expanse of sky seemed indifferent to my theatrics, though that didn’t stop me. “Whatever it was… it was interesting. I’ll give you that much.”

  Lotte’s massive draconic head shifted slightly, her tone dripping with bemusement. "I trust you found the experience... diverting."

  “Hah, diverting…” I huffed, a wry smile tugging at my snout. “Well, kind of. On that note—was my aggression heightened when I body-swapped? It felt like my very thoughts were taking a sharp turn into… vulgarity and violence.”

  Her crimson eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "That, of course, hinges entirely on the nature of the soul whose flesh you briefly commandeered."

  “Huh…” I idly raked my cws through the grass, tail flicking as I mulled it over. “No wonder my head felt like it was shoving vulgarity and violence into every avaible crevice. My thoughts weren’t nearly as… well, refined as they are now.”

  Not that I’d ever delude myself into thinking I was graceful—perish the thought—but I’ve always had a fir for verbal carnage. I can fy someone with words so elegantly they won’t even notice they’ve been reduced to smoldering metaphorical ashes until they try to breathe and choke on the soot. A damn sight better than just barking ‘moron’ at someone.

  Maybe it was Lotte’s influence. She had a talent for weaving truths into intricate little knots, never quite handing me the full picture—always leaving me to untangle her riddles.

  So much fun.

  She didn’t say anything else, her silence an answer in itself. There went my hopes of prying more information about this bizarre possession phenomenon from her. Still, I knew Lotte well enough to trust her judgment. If there had been any danger, she’d have told me outright—her one exception to her own self-imposed rules about withholding knowledge. At least I had that reassurance.

  Would I do it again, though? This whole body-possession… thing? If given the chance? Probably. But first, I needed to figure out what made someone eligible to be possessed in the first pce. Those twelve segments in the water tunnel weren’t just there for decoration—they had to mean something. Twelve candidates, maybe? Made sense. I’d have to map it all out ter, connecting the dots and forming some kind of working hypothesis.

  But not right now. This whole strange escapade had almost derailed me from my real purpose here: a final talk with Lotte before initiating the ritual to convert Belle into my supplicant.

  I had questions. Specifically about the alternate ingredients I’d purchased, all bearing simir properties but slightly divergent effects. Pale Jasper Seeds, rumored to enhance ritual resonance; Gildroot Sap, said to bind mana more efficiently to the recipient’s core; and Ashen Feather Moss, which supposedly provided an extra yer of protection to fragile mana conduits. All exotic, all expensive, and all worth the effort if they worked.

  And then there were the oh-so-practical trifles—the circle’s alignment, the mana conduits’ sturdiness, and, most importantly, whether I could soften the blow of the transformation’s side effects. Supplicant rituals, as my ever-mighty draconic mentor would remind me, were less a process and more an intricate dance. A single errant step could crack the delicate harmony between the supplicant’s essence and the dominant core. In the context of these rituals, cores weren’t just pyers—they were the orchestra, the conductor, and the damned stage. Botching it? Out of the question. Not with Belle at stake.

  After a quick exchange of words, I began to think I might’ve been stressing over nothing. Lotte waved my worries off with a nonchance that would’ve been comforting—if it weren’t Lotte. This was the same dragon who once deemed Mirror Summoning an easy task. Mirror Summoning! As if summoning a Netherbeast with my mana reserves barely scraping the bottom of the barrel wasn’t borderline suicidal.

  So yes, I was sprinkling her "A trivial endeavor, really" with a heaping fistful of salt. Still, she managed to toss me a few useful breadcrumbs, which I gratefully gathered. I nodded along, filing away her warnings: the importance of the central circle, the art of disguising my handiwork, and the ever-reliable reminder to prepare wards.

  Wards. The st time I attempted this, I had no mana, no wards, and absolutely no budget for the materials. But this time? Thanks to Gwen’s “kind” pocket money support, I could scrape together enough coin to afford the basics. Rich? Hardly. Prepared? Better than st time.

  Once everything was in pce, it was time to leave.

  “...But how do I leave now?!” I muttered, realization hitting like a hammer to the skull. Leaving before had been as simple as simuting an awakening and letting the dream unravel around me. But now? Awake and very much here, that escape route seemed less… pusible.

  "Simply retrace your steps," Lotte said, utterly unbothered.

  I scowled but decided not to argue. If the way in was being yanked by cws spun from eerie whispers, then descending back out should, in theory, work the same way.

  I closed my eyes and focused, summoning the memory of those spectral cws. Immediately, the whispers stirred, soft and sinister, brushing against my mind like shadows with teeth.

  They came, curling around me like a net of phantom tendrils, and yanked me downward. The descent felt like sliding through clouds woven from fragmented murmurs—yer upon overpping yer of voices, their meanings tangled and indecipherable.

  And then, with a jarring sm, I was back.

  Staggering, I barely managed to keep myself upright. Hah. Victory.

  “Welcome back, mistress,” Alice greeted, her tone as chipper as ever.

  “Good to be back,” I muttered, gncing around.

  One look out the window and I groaned. Morning. Morning?! How long had I been gone? I’d hoped to finish everything today, but that pn had been thoroughly derailed.

  I sighed. The ritual would have to wait. Vasilisa was already suspicious enough without me disappearing at dawn to fan the fmes. Evening, then. Tonight.

  For now, I’d just have to bide my time.