Few, save the eldest of the Eidolons or the most puissant among the [Venerate], recall the Carrion Wars, those long, smoldering conflicts that raged for centuries in the shadow of the Breaking of Chains. And why should they? What need is there to remember the dying embers of the Blood Wars? What purpose is served in recounting the extinction of the rat-kin and the other carrion beasts, their forms twisted by the Tenant of Consumption? If the citizens of today beheld the carrion breeds, would they even recognize them as remnants of the Tul-Tul-Tar, those wretched things that predated even the rise of the first Beast Kings? So much has been lost to time, swallowed by silence, abandoned to the dust.
– Chronicler Ithros Morvain in Echoes of the Broken Chain
Aslavain: Twenty-Four Days After the Summer Solstice
Lotem trudged through the grasslands of Dornogor on a trek north, as the sun began to crest the horizon. As the first splashes of morning light illuminated the twin crescent moons—each surrounded by coronas of orange light—he pulled a piece of bread Nessa had left ready for him on the counter. Alsarana had insisted that leaving before the sun was good luck and that the dawn light would do Lotem some good. Now, after nearly two hours of walking through the dark grasslands using the moons’ light as guidance, Lotem found his mood finally starting to improve.
Sabel stirred as he took the first bite of the bread, and the sound of a gentle yawn emanated from his shoulder while the kitten furiously sniffed the air before deciding she would rather remain asleep. The bread crunched as he chewed, and he took a moment to appreciate the sour taste of the dough. He wondered if Nessa had made the loaf or purchased it. He made a note to ask once they returned to headquarters in a few days for Hadrian’s dual with Meris.
Lotem hoped that Hadrian and Sylva’s training was off to a productive start, though he hadn’t had the chance to see them before Alsarana dragged him from bed, insisting that now was the time to begin their journey. The Trial was hours of travel north, located within a bone obelisk, though Lotem had yet to see the structure rising in the distance—soon, he hoped, as he longed more than anything to have his friends by his side. Skies above, even Casselia or Krinka would have been preferable to Alsarana.
The last time Lotem trained with the [Necromancer], he had been tasked with fighting multiple skeletons made from fused goblin bones—skeletons that took far more glee in punching him in the face than Lotem thought natural. All the while, Alsarana had told him horrifying stories from the empire of the Tul. When he compared that training to staring into the frustration flame with Krinka or bonding with Sabel and Casselia, Lotem concluded that even his time spent catching frogs would have been less miserable.
Alsarana emerged from the grass to his left like a silent specter gliding alongside him. Lotem still hadn’t figured out how the naga kept his serpentine form from rustling the grass—or, for that matter, making any noise at all. The naga moved through the grassland with the grace Lotem would expect from one of the Emerald Whispcoils native to the grasslands in the southern reaches of the Empire’s holdings. Emerald Whispcoils were said to grow dozens of feet long, with a supernatural ability to slide unseen through the towering grass stalks of the Grass Belt. Lotem had never traveled that far south, but he had heard plenty of tales of the beasts from the UlaanBal traders who called the region home. He couldn’t help but wonder why Alsarana seemed far more like a snake than a naga. Was it merely the result of his missing arms, or was something deeper at work?
“I can sense the Trial in the distance,” Alsarana said shortly after rising from the grasses. “It would be another few hours’ travel at this pace, but—” The naga met his eyes with a sudden glee. “That just feels so boring. There is only so long I can scare away anything exciting on our travels before I demand better entertainment. Worse of all, Krinka isn’t even here to help me scare the birds.” Alsarana trailed off, his eyes narrowing at a patch of grass in the distance that erupted as dozens of avian forms took to the air in sudden panic.
“Do you have to scare off every bird nearby?” Lotem asked with a sigh. He had already seen dozens of clusters of nesting birds driven away by the naga, and he was beginning to feel sorry for the creatures. Lotem could understand hunting birds for meat or sport—but merely scaring them felt more cruel than useful.
“Have to?” Alsarana pondered the question as he slithered at Lotem’s side. After a longer contemplation than Lotem thought the question warranted, Alsarana met his gaze. “I have come to a conclusion.”
“And?” Lotem asked, already regretting having done so.
“It simply wouldn’t be right for me not to practice my skills whenever I can. No, no, no. It wouldn’t be proper. You see, I—with all my natural charm and moral foundation—would only be doing the world a disservice by allowing my abilities to rust away into nothing. If I were no longer an enemy to birds everywhere, I would have failed to honor my oaths to the Mandate of Empire. You know how they feel about oaths,” he said with a knowing nod.
Lotem was confident that he didn’t really know how the Mandate felt about oaths—in fact, he was certain he knew far too little about the Mandate of Empire. He looked to the naga, who watched him with a knowing smile.
“I don’t know how the Mandate feels about oaths,” he said with a defeated sigh. “Will you tell me more about the Mandate?”
“A sincere request from a true pupil of mine? How could I decline?” Alsarana said, seeming touched by Lotem’s question. “But first, do you ever find, Lotem, my dear lad, that the best way to learn life’s mysteries is while running through the endless prairie?”
Lotem sighed. He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. “No, Als, I haven’t found that. If anything, I like my mysteries revealed over a nice cup of tea and a meal.”
“A perfect opportunity for your mentor to teach you the joys of physical exercise! I will explain the history of the Mandate—all you need to do is focus on reaching the Trial before the twin moons fade with the light of day. If you make it while the moons are still visible, I will make it worth your while. Now, run, Numen, run!” Alsarana said as his slithering form sped up, quickly passing Lotem’s walking pace. Lotem began to jog—not fast enough to tire him, but still faster than most could travel without their long legs to eat the distance.
“Too slow, too slow,” Alsarana called back as his form accelerated even further. Lotem released a low growl that only seemed to encourage him as he picked up his pace to a running speed he wasn’t sure he could maintain over miles. “Perfect,” Alsarana hissed once Lotem began to gasp for breath, his muscles burning as he pushed them to keep pace with the naga.
“The Mandate of Empire is one of the few organizations that persisted beyond the Breaking of Chains and the end of the Blood Wars. They—we, I should say—are tasked with stopping the third apocalypse.”
“The… third… apocalypse?” Lotem panted, his lungs heaving as they drew in enough air to fuel the near sprint that Alsarana demanded.
“Exactly!” Alsarana said, seeming no more tired than he was while moving alongside Lotem at a walk. “First, there was the rise of the Tul-Tul-Tar, and then the eventual Blood Wars that ended the Age of Chains. How much was lost in those centuries under the rule of the slaver? How many lives could have been saved if they had merely known what was to come? The Tenant of Consumption haunts us even to this day—you know that better than most, oh great enemy of the Tul.”
“The… second… was… the… Beast… Wars?”
“There is that famed Numen intelligence. We…” Alsarana hesitated for a breath before continuing, as though the words were hard to admit, “failed to prevent the rise of the first Beast Kings. We spoke to the Beast Lords before the first Ascension. We negotiated treaties with the beasts, confident that diplomacy could hold the wall. When the Tenant of Evolution formed, it tore through our paltry defenses like a sword through lace.”
Alsarana fell silent for a time as they traveled. Lotem’s heavy breaths grew more regular in the quiet as he focused on his own breathing while moving through the grassland. Eventually, Alsarana continued, his words now tinged with a cutting fury that seeped into his retelling.
“The [Triumvirate of the Broken Crown] joined the Sul Empire decades prior to the first Ascension. We arrived in Sabkhata with a group of Sunborn who had fled the Dominion up the Diontel River and were quickly tasked with establishing diplomatic ties with a clan of Harpy Eagles in the mountains north of the city. That was when we first met Gransa, a Beast Lord who spoke of dreams of peace. Krinka spent months learning from the beasts and documenting their culture, while Casselia negotiated a lasting peace treaty. We were successful—and peace reigned for twelve years. Then, Apalarakan ascended in the Foglands, and everything changed.”
“That is the thing about the formation of a new tenant, Lotem,” Alsarana continued, his fury growing. “It is never just one crisis that emerges. When Apalarakan ascended, it triggered a cascade of ascensions that rippled across the continent. Gransa was the third Beast King to emerge. The peace treaties we had negotiated were broken mere hours later as the Harpies attacked, and it took more than forty years of brutal struggle before the Beast Wars were declared finished. Not that we have ever fully recovered from the emergence of the tenant. How much of what has happened since can be traced back to Apalarakan’s rise?”
“What did you do?” Lotem gasped, the physical struggle forgotten as he listened to Alsarana’s tale. How many people had the opportunity to hear this retelling? It had been nearly a thousand years since the Beast Wars, yet Alsarana spoke of it as though it were real rather than history. To Alsarana, Gransa’s betrayal had been personal.
“We killed her and then ensured that every one of her kin followed. We found their mountain nests and burned them, one and all. We used the cultural knowledge Krinka had spent years collecting to pull the Harpies and their ilk out by the root. It was on those mountain tops that I earned my true class, [Harbinger of Extinction].”
Alsarana slowed, his voice lowering until Lotem had to strain to hear him. “You asked me about the Mandate of Empire, Lotem—about our purpose. It is simple: we seek to identify and, using whatever means are necessary, prevent that level of destruction from happening again. We emerged from the chaos of the Blood Wars and declared, ‘Never again.’ We have already failed once, but hear me when I say that we will not be too soft to do what is necessary this time around. Never again.”
Lotem let the silence linger as he processed what Alsarana had shared. He suspected that most would be unnerved by Alsarana’s tale and class, but he felt only a calm certainty. If he was to exterminate the Tul, what mentors could be better than these? His mind was pulled from thoughts of revenge as Alsarana hissed appreciatively at the bone obelisk in the distance. Lotem glanced at the twin moons fading from the sky, remembering Alsarana’s challenge. He picked up his pace, confident they would arrive soon and begin their real training.
Lotem looked around the Room of Threefold Oath somberly, its walls of bone, wood, and stone etched with a contract beyond his understanding. He wished Sylva were here to interpret and explain the contract to him. Looking up at the skies, he even wished Hadrian were here—if only to see the man’s wide eyes and reserved smile as he tried to figure out what was to come next. Lotem scratched Sabel’s head softly as he leaned back in the stone chair, watching Alsarana slither excitedly around the room while muttering to himself.
Lotem had reached the obelisk before the moons faded from the sky, and Alsarana had promised that he would receive a fitting reward when his hard work was done. Lotem expected little else from the naga today. Ever since Alsarana had talked about his past, the naga had seemed on edge. Lotem left him with the contract as he caught his breath, excited for what was to come. He had been assured that this trial would be very different from the one in Tir Na Nog.
“Nothing unexpected in the contract for the Trial. I, as your mentor, will be able to choose a habitat from within the borders of the empire with a specific prey in mind. So long as an Eidolon of the shrine has enough memories for the Contract of Empire to work with, we will be brought to a region filled with the appropriate flora and fauna.”
“We can choose any habitat within the empire?”
“Oh yes—though it is very clear that there are no pools of rebirth in this trial. If you want to hunt a Paragon-level threat, you could—briefly, once at least.”
“So you’re going to focus on these dream toads, and then we’ll be in the Marsh?”
“Yep, now give the shrine some blood.” Alsarana said impatiently as the ivory needle rose from within the table in front of Lotem. Lotem pricked his finger, grimacing as a cold wave spread up his arm. Moments later, he felt himself pulled away in a rush of golden light.
Lotem’s feet touched the new terrain, and his bare feet sank up to his ankles in heavy, dark mud. Lotem looked down as he pulled his left foot upward, forcing it free from the mud with a heavy, slurping sound. He grimaced, shaking his foot in uncertainty. Sighing, he set it back down, feeling the mud squelch between his toes as he began to study his surroundings.
He stood near the edge of a pool of water covered with green lilypads, and vibrantly colored flowers of every shade and hue imaginable. The landscape was a cacophony of colors—so vibrant that it almost rendered him blind. Lotem knew the Gondaran Marsh was called the Land of a Thousand Flowers, but he felt that the name did not do the region justice.
“There!” Alsarana shouted, slithering out from a patch of white flowers in a rush. Lotem turned, alert and ready for combat, only to see a frog covered in a white, milky substance desperately hopping away from Alsarana. The naga reared his head, swaying from side to side as he tracked the frog. “Get it!” Alsarana called, jolting Lotem into action.
Lotem lunged forward on instinct, only to find himself off balance as the mud held his feet firmly in place. His arms began to windmill as he toppled forward. Sabel leaped from his shoulder with a howl as Lotem fell into the mud. He felt the mud envelope his legs, chest, and face before he managed to push himself free with a heaving strain on his muscles. He slowly levered himself up until he could wipe the mud from his eyes and look around, bleary and disoriented.
“You let the frog escape,” Alsarana scolded Lotem, as the serpent moved across the mud with relative ease. “In the future, remember that your goal is to catch the frog—not yourself.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Lotem said as he searched for the source of Sabel’s howls. He found the kitten a few feet away, her orange fur caked in thick mud. Lotem gradually levered himself to his feet and walked over to Sabel before bending down to pick up the kitten. Then he made his way toward the pond ahead, desperate for something to clean the mud from his face.
“I wouldn’t get too close to the water if I were you,” Alsarana said as Lotem reached the pond and began to bend over. Lotem stopped, sighed, and looked over his shoulder.
“Why not?” Lotem asked, determined not to back away from the pool until he received a satisfactory answer. He wasn’t about to be tricked into falling over again for the naga’s amusement.
“I don’t want to get all ‘I know better because I’ve lived longer than most nations,’ but if my primal snake brain knows anything, it’s this: no one wants to be bitten by a crocodile.”
That comment cut straight through Lotem’s doubts. He squinted before stumbling backward as he noticed twin ripples of movement in the water, moving in a line and quickly approaching.
“Can’t you scare it off?” he called back. “You said a moment ago that death and injury are real here.”
“I could…” Alsarana said, drawing out the word longer than Lotem felt was necessary. “But where is the learning in that?”
“Learning?” Lotem said as he began to back up slowly, each footstep squelching in the mud. “You think this is a learning experience?”
“I like to think of all hardship as a learning experience,” Alsarana said proudly. “I find that anything can be bearable with the right mindset. Back in the 7th Age, we had this one candidate we were mentoring—”
The long snout of the crocodile emerged from the pool, its reptilian yellow eyes fixed on Lotem. As the creature began to drag itself from the water, Lotem began to truly panic. The crocodile was as wide as Lotem’s shoulders, with jaws as long as his arms and filled with razor-edged teeth. Lotem focused on moving backward one step at a time, his eyes fixed on the creature as it slid through the mud after him.
“Als, is now the time? This thing is big—like, really big.”
“Remember how the Tul ate your brother?” Alsarana called mockingly, before adding, “Oh, you don’t, do you?”
Lotem growled his frustration. “Fuck off and actually help for once in your cursed life,” he snapped.
“There’s the spirit!” Alsarana called cheerfully. “If you get angry enough, it won’t even be able to bite you.”
“That isn’t actually a solution,” Lotem growled, almost falling backward as the crocodile fully emerged from the pond and took another lumbering step toward him. Lotem felt another pulse of rage—he wanted to scream, yell, and hit something.
“I like to think of it more as applied innovation than as a real solution—it just feels fancier that way.”
The crocodile lunged forward in a burst of speed. Lotem stumbled backward before driving a fist onto the beast’s snout with all the force he could muster. His fist landed with a sickening crunch against the crocodile’s snout. For a split second, the creature’s reptilian eyes went wide—a flash of raw, instinctive surprise. Its massive head jerked violently to the side, sending a burst of foamy water and spattered mud in its wake. The creature emitted a low, guttural snarl as the impact sent shockwaves rippling through its armored scales. Its powerful jaws snapped open in an involuntary hiss. For a heartbeat, the crocodile seemed disoriented, as though the searing pain had momentarily disrupted its predatory focus. Then, with renewed ferocious determination, it steadied itself, nostrils flaring as if to gulp in the reeking air of anger, every muscle in its bulky frame tensing for the next move.
“Alsarana!” Lotem called desperately as he drew his fist back for a second strike.
“Fine,” Alsarana said, and then a cutting, dual-toned hiss—reminiscent of the one he heard when he received his [Guardian] class—emerged from the naga. Alsarana’s serpentine body rose, towering over both Lotem and the crocodile. Lotem could almost hear words chanting within the hiss, every syllable pulling his attention inward. It felt as though the words compelled him to listen—and then, in a rush, to understand.
A sense of sudden dread filled Lotem—deeper and more powerful than anything he had felt during the Trial of Tir Na Nog. It reminded him of the days, weeks, and months following the news of his brother’s death. It recalled the worst moments of his life and forced him to relive that pain. Lotem fell backward, scrambling in the mud, desperate to escape the whirling storm of negative emotions summoned by the hissing. Sabel shivered on his shoulder, cowering from the sound.
Once the hissing stopped, Lotem felt his breathing steady after the heaving, ragged gasps that had left him gasping for air. He looked around and was unsurprised to see the trailing ripples left by the crocodile as it fled across the pond.
“What… what was that?” Lotem stammered.
“That, Lotem, my dear pal, is my aura when I encourage its worst impulses,” Alsarana said with a grin, his dripping fangs sending a flash of unease through Lotem despite his best efforts. “Scary stuff, right?”
“You just… feel like that?” Lotem asked.
“When I want to,” the naga replied, swaying back and forth in a gesture Lotem thought was meant to be a shrug. “Why do you think so few beasts bothered us on our travels through the Demesne? I let loose just enough of that aura, at just the right distance, for everything to flee. Those birds I scare away? I make them feel like that. Neat, right?”
“Next time I ask for help, can you do something that isn’t quite as… traumatic?”
“Sorry, big man, but I kinda specialize in the traumatic. Why do you think I tried to get you to solve your own problems with the croc? Now that all the local frogs have certainly fled, we’ll have to navigate the marsh for several miles before we can find another region with those tricky little buggers.”
Lotem looked at the heavy mud engulfing his feet and the thick beds of flowers that he suspected concealed more mud than they revealed. He sighed. He had asked for Alsarana’s help, and he supposed the naga had given it.
“You don’t happen to know how much longer we’ll be walking through this mud, do you?”
“This mud? Oh, Lotem, my sweet pal, this is what the entire marsh is like. If you had enchanted footwear, you could walk on top of the mud—that’s what the locals do—but what’s the fun in that?”
Lotem looked between the heavy mud and his mentor with a sense of resignation. “Lead the way, though I don’t know how you expect me to catch any frogs like this.”
“That’s the thing you don’t seem to understand yet, Lotem. Casselia told us to go catch some frogs, but the frogs were never the point—it was always about the experience.”
“Getting attacked by a crocodile in heavy mud?”
“Exactly! Now let’s hope we can find a few of the local marsh snakes. I can’t wait to show those imposters who’s boss.”
Lotem sighed and lifted his foot from the mud with a slurping sound. Only two more days.
Sabel had been enjoying her day with all the nonchalant grace of a cat who knew her own importance. After feasting on meat left out by that ever-so-aromatic human, she had issued a royal decree to Lotem, summoning him to work. Ever obedient and inexplicably fond of surprises, Lotem not only complied but also decided to invite a snake along for the ride. Sabel spent much of the journey in a state of dignified dozing—her way of ensuring she’d be well-rested for whatever absurd adventure Lotem had concocted next.
Everything had been perfectly splendid until a golden light descended, depositing her in a realm of sheer olfactory madness. Streams of pollen and an onslaught of overpowering floral fragrances assaulted her senses—a mild nuisance, Sabel mused, if it weren’t for the mud. Mud, the one thing a cat could never forgive, was an affront to her impeccable taste.
And then there was that snake’s horrifying hissing, sure, it had scared off the filthy reptile emerging from the pond but at what cost? In that moment of chaotic commotion, Sabel felt Lotem’s desperate panic surge through their bond, amplifying her own reluctant terror. She had decided after she regained her composure that for a feline of such regal bearing, this ordeal was a most unseemly disruption to her perfectly ordered life.
Surveying the soggy, muddied landscape through narrowed, imperious eyes, Sabel absently licked her chest as Lotem ambled onward. The snake had disappeared soon after their trek began over hills dressed in both thick mud and deceptively beautiful blooms. Ever cautious, she had her claws securely fastened to the fur cloak she now regarded as her personal realm—though never too tight. After all, she vividly remembered the second time Lotem’s clumsy misadventure in the mud had dragged her along because she couldn’t unfasten in time. That, Sabel decided, was a lesson in humility she would not soon forget.
Sabel shuddered at the acrid tang of wet earth and decomposing plant matter as she diligently attempted to salvage the remnants of her once-pristine coat. Each lick was a ritual of indignation—a reminder that such flavors were utterly unworthy of her refined palate. With every taste of that repugnant mud, a new spike of anger surged within her, though she couldn’t quite decide whether to direct it at the meddlesome snake, or the very notion of mud itself. After all, her human would never willingly subject them to such a travesty.
For hours they trudged onward while Sabel methodically licked the grime from her fur, her fury simmering like a cauldron on the brink of eruption. Lotem, ever the stoic sidekick, seemed resigned to their fate, exuding an air of silent acceptance through their bond. Sabel attempted to mimic his calm, yet every swipe of her tongue only fanned the flames of her indignation, as if each mud-soaked lick was a personal affront to her noble sensibilities.
Finally, clarity struck her like a stray beam of sunlight through the clouds: this debacle was all the snake’s fault. In the labyrinthine logic of her regal mind, she knew that the reptilian interloper was to blame. Determined to reassert her authority—and to prove once and for all that her human was the true boss—Sabel resolved to set things right. Tired of the endless chore of cleansing her magnificent coat, she let the steady rhythm of his movements lull her into a much-deserved sleep.
Sabel awoke to the gentle hum of conversation between Lotem and that detestable snake—her newly sworn nemesis. With a languid stretch and a regal yawn, she delicately tested her bond with Lotem as she took in their surroundings. There he sat, a hapless figure on a rock that had emerged from the mire, his exhaustion nearly palpable. Naturally, Sabel attributed his fatigue to the insidious mud—and, by extension, to the meddlesome snake. Locking eyes with the creature’s disdainful glare, she tensed her legs and then pounced, launching herself from Lotem’s shoulder with both front claws extended, savoring the thrilling rush of air and weightlessness.
Yet the snake, with a casual nonchalance, swayed aside just as she prepared to clamp down on its scaly hide. Her swipe met nothing but empty air as she sailed past the elusive foe, hurtling toward yet another patch of horrid mud. A startled yell from Lotem reached her ears, and the familiar surge of concern flowed through their bond—right before she landed with an unceremonious plop into the muck.
Determined not to let this setback define her day, Sabel let out a forlorn howl that quickly devolved into a series of wet, muddy coughs as she struggled to extricate herself from the mire. How could that infernal creature have anticipated her regal assault? Sabel—renowned by all as the Fast and the Bold—found herself outfoxed by a mere snake! She swiped a soiled paw at her face, clearing just enough mud to survey her surroundings. A fresh surge of indignation swept over her as she realized the snake’s hissing was not a threat at all—it was amusement. The sheer impudence was enough to warrant another demonstration of feline superiority, if only she weren’t so hopelessly stuck. Clearly, it was collusion, plain and simple.
Lotem descended from his rocky perch and carefully scooped her up, the mud squelching with a series of slurping pops as he pulled her free. As he murmured his discontent, Sabel could sense his disappointment—a sentiment she shared, though her own letdown was tinged with vexation at having missed her target on the first attempt. With muscles tensed and eyes locked on her elusive rival, her resolve flared back to life for a brief moment—only to wane as Lotem’s hand firmly gripped the scruff of her neck, coaxing her limbs into an instant, reluctant relaxation.
Lotem’s next words, though not as bracingly encouraging as she would have preferred, still offered enough comfort for Sabel to steel herself. After all, true predators hunted only on their own terms. Perched regally on Lotem’s shoulder, she watched the snake with narrowed eyes, plotting her next calculated move as Lotem fed her a morsel of dried meat—a humble tribute to her undeniable prowess.
She settled back onto Lotem’s shoulder and allowed her eyes to close, the gentle rumble in her chest signaling approval of his meager tribute despite the persistent mud. Lotem’s tender scratches along her neck and, less decorously, her rear, lulled her back toward sleep.
Sabel was roused when Lotem set her down on the rock, stirring her from her drowsy state. A command reverberated through their bond: remain on the rock while he hunted. Reluctant to part from him, Sabel tried to communicate her objection through their shared connection. Lotem considered her silent protest for a moment, then shook his head and gestured dismissively at the mud coating her once-pristine coat. He produced another tribute of dried meat from his pocket, a bribe to allay her concerns. Sabel accepted the offering, weighing his request with cautious deliberation.
Lotem intended to leave her behind while he pursued his quarry. Sabel was confident that his worry did not stem from a lack of trust in her ability to keep pace—after all, she was his steadfast companion riding proudly on his shoulder. Nor was her stealth ever in question; she was a natural hunter, born for the shadows, and the very mud that marred her coat doubled as a perfectly crafted disguise. Thus, she deduced that his true concern lay in her comfort. With a pulse of affectionate appreciation sent through their bond, Sabel acknowledged the propriety of his care. Resolving to encourage such attentive behavior, she remained on the rock, poised to await his return.
Sabel watched as her companion left for a hunt of his own as she settled down on the rock, determined to look regal for when he eventually returned from the hunt with his prize in tow. She let the gentle swaying of the plants in the breeze and the gentle buzzing of local insect life lull her into sleep as she lounged on the rock. She awoke as dusk arrived to a luxurious scent in front of her.
Her nose twitched as the scent of fresh meat reached her. She opened her eyes and found a pair of light pink legs in front of her. Sabel—never one to decline a gracious offering—moved forwards and quickly began to eat the meat. It was a tender, yet surprisingly bouncy morsel with an exotic sweetness. As she chewed, Sabel detected subtle undertones of dew-soaked earth and—if her palette was to be believed—a whisper of adventure, as if the creature had lived a daring life before surrendering its flavor to her refined palate.
A sense of awareness began to swell in Sabel as she finished the first morsel and started on the second. She ate the second leg slowly, leaving the bones behind as a silent signal to Lotem that she had noted his offering. But as she consumed the second leg, questions began to stir in her aristocratic mind.
Why was she in the Gondaran Marsh? They were meant to be in Dornogor—she was suddenly very certain of it. That certainty made her pause. Had this frog meat wrought some strange effect upon her? And how, she wondered, did she know it was frog meat? Just a moment ago, its origin had been a mystery. Was this one of those fabled Dreamweaver Frogs that Lotem had been pursuing? And if so, where was he now?
Her sudden disquiet prompted Sabel to send a pulse of concern through their bond. Lotem responded with reassuring warmth, his silent promise that he would return soon. She could sense his focus as he stalked his first frog, a mixture of nervous excitement and determination. Yet, if his hunt had yet to bear fruit, where had the frog legs come from? Alsarana. It had to have been the Naga. Sabel paused, her nose scrunching in disdain. When had she learned that Alsarana wasn’t merely a snake kept for Lotem amusement?
Another pulse of her concern rippled through their bond as the world around her seemed to deepen in complexity—every object, every plant, every memory taking on hues of meaning she’d never imagined. Then a voice, hissing with malicious glee, filled the clearing and made her scruff stand on end.
“Such a hungry little monster. Don’t let yourself stop now, you need as much as we can squeeze down your gullet.” Alsarana slithered forward, and two more frog legs floated through the air before settling gently on the rock before her. “Now eat up before Lotem returns.”
Sabel hesitated until one of the frog legs leaped upward, smacking her in the face. A surge of anger flared within her. “I said eat, you need more of the meat. Don’t make me force you, you little runt.”
Reluctantly, Sabel took another bite of the frog leg, slowly chewing the tender flesh. Once swallowed, she glanced around and noted that Alsarana had withdrawn from the clearing. It seemed only proper—the Naga had demanded she consume the offering as a dutiful servant before retreating to let her eat in silence.
As she swallowed the last morsel of her newest repast, Alsarana reappeared, gliding closer with a fragment of the frog gripped delicately by the tip of his sinuous tail. He set the frog’s head before her with an expectant look, his gaze mingling disappointment and challenge as she shifted her stare between its vacant eye and him.
“The eye, little one—you need to eat one of the eyes.”
Sabel regarded the cloudy, unblinking eye of the frog and then fixed her imperious stare back on Alsarana. She was meant to eat that? Since when had eyeballs become a proper delicacy? With a dignified frown, she placed her paw on the stone before her and began scraping it repeatedly, as if trying to carve out a chasm into which the head might be consigned.
“Either you eat the eye voluntarily or I force it down your throat.” Alsarana glowered. “Now, this is important.”
For a brief moment, Sabel hesitated, only to feel a strange presence tug gently at her jaws. The Naga was using magic on her—an utterly unacceptable breach of feline pride. Frantically, she shook her head; when the enchantment released, she cast a withering glare his way before stooping to take a tentative bite from the frog’s eye. A white, jelly-like substance filled her mouth, and she swallowed it with a grimace. Alsarana gestured impatiently, making it clear that the entire eye was required, and so, with reluctant determination, she finished the task. No sooner had she done so than an overwhelming rush of exhaustion overtook her.
Her heavy eyelids fluttered open, ready to cast another disdainful look at Alsarana—only to find that the Naga, the frog head, and even the scattered frog bones had vanished. Sabel resolved to investigate further… after her nap.
As unconsciousness beckoned, a resonant voice filled both her and Lotem’s minds:
[Companion Evolution Obtained: Dreamlight Prowler]