From behind a nearby root cluster, the MereShaman floated into view, arms crossed and ears back in unmistakable offense.

  "Unbelievable," he snapped, voice pitched with disgust. "What is that thing doing in your presence?"

  "Hello to you too," I greeted with a waved.

  "I was being polite," he huffed. "You have no idea how difficult it was to hold that barrier long enough to aim it properly. Your guest ruined the entire symmetry."

  He gestured at Yaella, who had already turned calmly to face him. The petals around her shifted, responding to her intent with a slow orbit.

  "I sensed contamination," he declared. "Or something worse. The kind that sits very still and pretends not to be watching your soul like it's calculating how many teaspoons it weighs."

  "Thank you for your concern," Yaella said, expression mild.

  "You're not welcome," he sniffed, flaring his sleeves. "I should've known. Wanderans. Always showing up where they don't belong, flaunting their pretty magic and their hereditary superiority. Honestly, the whole silver-hair-and-moonlight thing is so on the nose it hurts."

  The petals snapped.

  Before he could blink, four of them snapped outward, lengthening in an instant. Then four. Eight. They darted toward the trees where the distortion had originated and twisted in a tight spiral. A shape was yanked out of the mist with a surprised yip and bound midair, limbs tucked, mask crooked. The real MereShaman. The mirage one vanished.

  His restraints were not harsh or painful—just impossibly firm. He floated there, suspended mid-rant, mouth open in frozen offense.

  Yaella stepped forward, completely unbothered.

  "Such noise for such a small creature," she said softly.

  His eyes widened beneath his mask. "Unhand me, witch!"

  She gave him a look that was almost amused. "You're a Merecritt, yes? Alpha-variance psionic type. Dominant-stage. You… in particular… prone to melodrama."

  "That is slander."

  "I find you adorable."

  I was trying not to laugh. Which was concerning, because nothing about this should have been funny.

  "I am a Zeldritch-class anomaly," he shouted, thrashing uselessly against the petal-restraints. "My hatred for your people is genetically encoded. I have trauma in my DNA from Wanderan spellbinders. Your empire once tried to trap an entire Merecritt fluffle and keep them in a meditation garden!"

  Yaella nodded slightly. "Yes, that sounds like something we might have done. We've always adored your species."

  "Adored?!" he squeaked.

  She reached forward and, with one perfectly steady hand, scritched him behind one of his large, twitching ears.

  He jolted. Froze. His tail snapped upright like a flagpole.

  "I hate you," he whispered. "So much."

  She continued scratching lightly with one finger. "You're very soft. This is why we wanted to keep you."

  "Unhand me this instant! I am a Dominant-Stage Alpha Variance Barrier-master! My apex is so high I had to round down!" He snapped, but the snap lost its bite as she scritched again, just behind the left ear.

  A sound escaped him that might have been a suppressed purr.

  Yaella inspected him like one might a protesting kitten stuck in a curtain.

  "Elita," she said over her shoulder, "remind me later to prepare a holding sphere."

  The MereShaman gasped. "You wouldn't dare."

  "Why wouldn't I? You're clearly rare… and exceptional. Culturally sacred. We kept your kind in the Imperial Garden Menageries back in the third dynasty. My family considered you lucky."

  This was becoming unsettling for me. "You're saying Wanderans used to… keep Merecritts as pets?"

  The MereShaman let out a full-body shudder. "It was not petdom! It was a mutually agreed-upon arcane coexistence—! We offered cryptic wisdom in exchange for pampering and ceremonial snacks!"

  "Is that what you're calling lap pillows and grooming rituals now?" Yaella asked. She twirled her fan and gave his belly an affectionate poke with one petal.

  "Release me foul Wanderan! A Zeldritch being of my prestige hates Wanderans, you know! Passionately! Historically!"

  She smiled.

  "I know."

  And then, because she was clearly far too good at this, she cupped one hand under his ears and scritched again.

  His head dropped an inch.

  "This is... deeply degrading," he muttered, voice muffled through his mask. "I demand at least three apologies and a steamed root dumpling for compensation."

  Yaella tilted her head, like she was considering it.

  I walked closer, watching the scene with a deeply conflicted mixture of secondhand embarrassment and morbid fascination. "Is this normal?"

  "No," the MereShaman hissed. "This is coercion!"

  "It's just scritches," Yaella said, loosening the petals around him. They shimmered once, then drifted back into formation around her like nothing had happened.

  The MereShaman fell half a foot before catching himself with a sulky hover.

  "You'll regret that."

  Yaella returned to her usual posture, clasping her hands at her waist. "I sincerely doubt it."

  He floated back toward me in a huff, tail puffed, fur bristling. "You brought that here?"

  "She showed up on her own," I said.

  "Do you even realize what she is?" he snapped. "Wanderan nobility. Restriction magic. The worst kind. They smile and tell you they only want peace, and then they repurpose your soul into a containment glyph."

  "She didn't do that."

  "Yet."

  I looked at Yaella. She was still watching us with that same placid grace, but her eyes were a little too focused; lingered on him like he was some rare species she wasn't quite done cataloging.

  "She didn't hurt you," I said with a hint of inquiry.

  "She pet me."

  "You attacked her first."

  "She's practically glowing with abyssal control," he said, voice full of venom and nerves. "That's not just ambient magic. That's refined Sinastral Resonance, which is—!"

  "Classified," Yaella said gently.

  He froze, turned, then glared. "See? Terrifying."

  Yaella turned her attention back to the path ahead. "If your friend is finished, shall we continue?"

  I gave the MereShaman a long look. "You coming or not?"

  He floated backward a few inches, robes fluttering like a miffed noblewoman at a canceled gala. Then he spun around and bolted into the trees, muttering curses in at least three forgotten dialects.

  Yaella stepped beside me.

  "You tolerate him well."

  "He's impossible. But honest."

  She glanced ahead, the petals spinning slowly. "That's rare."

  I didn't ask what she thought of honesty. I just kept walking.

  "You just restrained a Zeldritch-born spatial caster like it was a kitten in a laundry bag."

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  "He startled Elita," Yaella replied, brushing an invisible speck from her sleeve. "That will not be tolerated."

  "Is this how Wanderans usually interact with Merecritts?"

  “Usually we feed them, give them warm rocks, and let them sulk in garden shrines."

  I shook my head. "He's going to talk about this for weeks."

  "Good. He was lonely."

  From behind us, from deep in the trees, came one last outraged shout.

  "AND I WAS NOT PURRING—"

  Yaella suddenly reached out, her hand stopping short before my cheek. I darted half a meter back as I sensed danger behind that belying gesture.

  Her face expression didn't shift, remaining neutral and calm as usual, but her hands lowered like she was trying not to startle a nervous deer. "May I?"

  "…Are you seriously asking to pet me?"

  She didn't blink, only meeting my startled gaze with a smile. "Not in that form. Though it would be disrespectful to assume intent."

  "Ahem," another voice that wasn't Yaella's but sounded just like hers escaped from Elita's… mind?—because no mouth existed on the creature. It was almost telepathic as she resumed to speak.

  "Lady Yaella, we must make haste in our departure from Szylla's domain."

  Yaella's face shifted to a frown, still as delicate and poised as before. She turned her attention back to Elita, who was floating on ahead of us. "Yes, you're right."

  I felt a little bad for Elita. That was all she needed to say for Yaella to get it, instantly.

  "So," I said, awkwardly trying to diffuse the tension. "You have a ship?"

  "A very old one." I had only joked. She looked at me, her expression shifting to something solemnly serious. "She's seen better days. But she'll get us off-dimension."

  I looked around half-expecting her to simply manifest the darn thing in the midst of the forest.

  And of course she did, when she gave a priggish clap of her hands. A shimmering portal of petals rippled into existence, revealing a sleek, oblong ship landing toward us from above. But being old? That ornate boat looked pristine and gorgeous like a bouquet with her signature petals orbiting it like it was Saturn itself. Though it was small, maybe large enough for four or five passengers.

  "Is it safe to enter?" I asked, eyeing the ship's hull warily.

  "It's safe."

  I gestured for her to go ahead as the gentlewoman that I tried to present myself as, but she stood her ground and indicated that I should go first as the ship finally stopped short above the soul-soil.

  I could've just floated up there, but I decided to humor her. As I approached, the side of the ship opened. There were no steps, but the floor tilted down to make it easier to walk in.

  "This is a first I've been on a Wanderan ship," I said, looking around the interior. "Fancy."

  There weren't any seats, except one that appeared like a throne of blossoms. Instead there were a bunch of mini-jellyfish creatures just like Elita operating inside as if they were Mission Control Specialists than sailors. They worked on what I could only assume were the controls.

  It was a lot more peaceful than I expected. And quiet. The jellyfish floated silently around their tasks, the only sound coming from the occasional hum of machinery and the soft buzz of magic.

  Yaella sat upon the flowery throne, Elita beside her. I stood awkwardly near the edge of the ship, my eyes darting from one control panel to another.

  "I can't believe I'm leaving Szylla in this ship," I said, "but if you're willing to help me. I'd be a fool to say no."

  "We are not leaving Szylla's domain," Yaella said. "Just another dimension. UvoSath."

  "Oh." I paused. "That's even better."

  Yaella leaned forward, her magenta eyes flashing with a hint of something sharper than before. "The ship may have an AI, but Elita's mind is not just some mechanical drone. She can guide us through the void. Her mind is tied to the Abyssal Void itself."

  The Abyssal Void. The place where Zeldritzon had originally manifested from and continued to do so. The place that I was familiar with and had walked through once or twice. Szylla's Dark Forest being one of those.

  "You've traveled through it before?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. I can use someone who knows what they're doing."

  I nearly thought I heard laughter from Yaella's direction, despite as soft as it was. When I turned back, she held her fan over her face, her shoulders shaking with silent amusement.

  I raised a brow. "Enjoying yourself?"

  "I'm sorry," she said, lowering the fan. "But you remind me of a friend of mine. He was also convinced he knew what he was doing. And he was wrong every time."

  "Your friend sounds like an dork then," I said, with more than a hint of pettiness.

  Her lips curved in a smile. "An absolute dork in fact. Nevertheless… that polite fool kept me alive. Maybe you'll do the same."

  I didn't say anything. Just kept walking.

  The ship hummed softly beneath us. There were no windows—nothing to see but the blank white interior and the shimmering murals. It didn't feel like we were moving at all. The only proof was the subtle shift of the floor as it lifted us back into the air and away from the forest.

  Yaella sat in her throne, head resting lightly on one hand. She didn't move.

  "How long does it take?" I asked, breaking the silence.

  "Not long. UvoSath is just two passages through this dimension, so we have only to rise."

  I nodded. But she'd been quiet for the past few minutes, just sitting there, watching. My. Back. Particularly the Merecritt tail that swayed nervously to her unprompted scrutiny.

  I resisted the urge to cover it with my hands like a nervous child. "What is it?"

  "May I ask a personal question?"

  "It depends."

  "Why did you come here?"

  The question surprised me. I hadn't been asked that in a while. Mostly because most people assumed it was the opposite—that I'd run away from somewhere else.

  "I didn't have a choice." That response was as honest as it came. "I didn't know I'd end up in a world filled with monsters, but that's been my fate since then." I followed up with a smile. "Ah, but don't worry. I've adapted."

  Yaella's gaze remained focused on my face, her expression calm and still. She watched me quietly for a moment before speaking again. "I understand," she said. "Sometimes, when your world ends, there's nothing left except the dark."

  I felt something stir behind my eyes. Something hot and cold at the same time, like an old bruise waking up after being pressed on.

  I swallowed it down.

  "I didn't say my world ended."

  "I'm sorry." Her voice was soft, quiet. "I can't imagine what that must be like."

  "That's all right," I said.

  She proceeded to blurt out something I probably should've expected. "Would you do the honor for me by transforming? Into your Merecritt form that is."

  I gave her a look. "That's a little sudden."

  "I mean no disrespect," she said, bowing her head slightly. "But I find your species beautiful and fascinating. It would be a shame to not see you in your natural state."

  I rolled my eyes and gave in. There was no point in trying to resist when someone was already expecting it. With a deep sigh, I allowed the magic to shift and change my body.

  In an instant, after bones and muscles rearranged themselves, I was small, cute, fluffy. Even smug as I pressed my paws on my hips.

  Yaella was still as I turned toward her, hovering gently in my Merecritt form. My ribbons swirled around me like breath, trailing streaks of soft light in the low twilight. Every motion I made was deliberate, but I couldn't shake the sense that I was... being watched. Not just by Yaella's eyes—but by something deeper. Something hidden in the air around me.

  I knew that feeling. I'd felt it before. It wasn't malicious. Just... aware. Akin to holy fixation. Like a scholar glimpsing a living miracle. Or a child seeing a myth take form under moonlight.

  That, in itself, was unnerving.

  "That is... absolutely beautiful," Yaella said, her eyes wide with awe. Her fingers traced a shape in the air, and one of her petals drifted over to inspect me. It floated in a gentle arc, like it was mapping out the contours of my fur.

  "You're doing that thing again."

  "What thing?" Her tone was perfectly innocent, which meant it absolutely wasn't.

  She stood from her seat and approached. I floated back an inch, bumping into the wall. Damn it. The moment my lilac-tufted ears brushed into view, I knew I'd made a mistake.

  Her steps were slow. Controlled. But every one of them screamed calculated approach vector. She was circling me like a predator. No, far more dangerous like someone about to commit a gentle crime.

  "You're… exquisite," she said softly. "Perfectly balanced. The color gradient on your silver fur… the way the ribbons respond to your mood…"

  The fan opened with a sharp snag. But she didn't use it to shield her face. She fanned me.

  I blinked. "Are you… seriously cooling me off?"

  "You look warm. So fluffy. So dignified. Your shimmer layer is ethereal. A perfect 7:3 glow ratio."

  That was not a normal compliment.

  "Yaella," I said slowly, ears twitching back. "You're… looking at me like I'm—"

  She booped my nose with a soft poke. "...May I?"

  "May you what?"

  I felt the rise of a growl start in my chest. "If you want to do me in like the MereShaman, I will end you."

  She laughed—a sound that was somehow more beautiful than it had any right to be. "I only want to feel how soft you are."

  She was already reaching out to touch before I could answer. Then I felt the light pressure of her finger against my fur. It was warm and gentle. I didn't pull away. More like the not-so-sane beast side of myself didn't want to.

  "Your fur is so soft," she said, her voice practically a breathless whisper. "So smooth. Like velvet."

  "Of course it is. It's mine." My eyes lidded under the rhythm of her touch.

  She smiled. "That's not what I mean. It feels like something more. Something I can't describe. Like touching a dream."

  Her hands continued to stroke my fur, and I couldn't help but let out a low purr. I almost lost my awareness as she cradled me in her arms, then proceeding to walk back toward her seat.

  "It's almost like touching mana itself. So warm. So pure. So alive."

  I looked up at her. She was still smiling as she spoke.

  "Is it really that impressive?"

  She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she held me close against her chest, stroking my fur. The sensation was relaxing—soothing even. I allowed myself to settle against her, listening to the steady sound of her hollow heartbeat.

  "You know, I'm not supposed to tell anyone this," she said finally. "But there was a time when Wanderans lived in harmony with all the other species of our world. We had trade agreements, joint missions, and even cultural exchanges. But there were always a few who didn't agree with us. Who thought we were lesser than everyone else. So they started wars."

  "Wars?"

  She nodded, her eyes lidded slightly. "Long before we were even considered a thought as a civilization. But even now I recall seeing them tear through entire cities like wildfire. Our armies had never faced anything like it before. Our defenses were destroyed in seconds. And every time we tried to fight back, we lost more people than we could count."

  Her smile settled into a frown. "To this day, these skirmishes are known as the Zeldritch-Wanderan wars."

  "I didn't know." I said with bitterness beneath my heart. The Wanderans seemed to have suffered as horribly like us Humans.

  She shrugged lightly, but it wasn't dismissive. Just calm acceptance. "Very few does," she said. "My ancestors erased them from history. They hid their defeat. They didn't want the shame of admitting that they'd been bested by something they didn't understand."

  There was a silence between us for a moment before I finally broke it with another question.

  "What happened after that?"

  She looked up from where she had been petting me, her expression soft and curious. "The Zeldritch won. And our people were forced into exile."

  I didn't speak. I didn't know what to say.

  Her hand lifted from my fur, and she touched my cheek gently, tracing the outline of my whiskers with one finger.

  "I do not resent them. But the hatred toward the Zeldritch runs deep within my people. And sometimes, it feels like it will never end."

  She sighed softly, her eyes closed. When they opened again, there was a lightness behind them, like the weight had lifted away.

  "But enough about that," she said, her voice warm and light. "You're going home now."

  I nodded. Then paused.

  "Where is your home exactly?"

  "Not here."

  That sounded more like an answer than it should have been.

  "I don't suppose you're just going to take me back to Earth, are you?"

  "No."

  "Well, shit," I muttered. "There goes that plan."

  She smiled again. This time it felt genuine—less careful, less controlled.

  "You're not so bad KiAera. Perhaps you'll find a way to protect your home here."

  I didn't say anything. I just watched her.

  She didn't look away. She just met my gaze with her own. I felt like I was seeing more than just her surface. There was something else underneath. Like she'd cracked the mask just enough to let me see past it.

  Then Elita flickered.

  "Brace yourselves," she said. "We're not alone!"

  The ship jolted—just once. Barely enough to notice.

  Then came Elita's voice again, soft and sharp as a chime in the void.

  "Lady Yaella… something is following us."