Location: Still foothills-adjacent near Whatever-its-called-wick. Solid ground continues to be vastly underrated.

  Actually managed something resembling a peaceful morning. Brewed a pot of the good Silver Needle tea acquired from the nervous Faeling merchant. Found a relatively comfortable chair that the Hair hadn't completely colonised. Was contemplating maybe, possibly, actually trying to organize the potion ingredient shelf – the one that currently looks like a magical ecosystem threw up on it. Might even tackle writing about basic drying charms for the 'guide'. Felt almost domestic. Civilized, even.

  Naturally, that's when someone knocked on the door.

  Not a tentative tap like a lost traveller, nor the aggressive banging of a tax collector (they usually send magically amplified demands these days anyway, saves on shoe leather). This was a slow, heavy, thump... thump... thump. Like someone was hitting the wood with a bag of damp earth.

  My first reaction was annoyance. Who the hell...? My house isn't exactly on a main thoroughfare, even when it is near a town. It deliberately parks itself in slightly inconvenient, out-of-the-way spots. Usually ensures privacy. Usually.

  Hauled myself up, muttering curses under my breath. The Hair, sensing potential novelty, detached itself from the rug it was examining for lint deposits and flowed silently behind me towards the door, radiating unhelpful curiosity. I mentally warned it not to trip whatever poor sod was out there.

  Opened the door about six inches, peered out warily. Standing there was… well. It was roughly humanoid, about six feet tall, and composed entirely of tightly packed moss, damp earth, and what looked like small, flowering weeds. A pair of glowing, amber-yellow lights served as eyes, blinking slowly in the earthen face. A Moss Golem. Great. Just what I needed. They move slowly, communicate poorly, and usually smell faintly of decomposition and stagnant water.

  It blinked its amber lights at me again. Then, with a sound like rocks grinding together, it rumbled something that might have been vaguely syllabic, but mostly sounded like subterranean indigestion. It raised one thick, mossy arm and held out… a small, slightly damp, lumpy package wrapped in broad leaves and tied with vines.

  I stared at the package. Then at the golem. "Right," I said flatly. "Delivery?"

  It made another grinding noise and nodded its whole head, dislodging a small shower of dirt onto my doorstep. Charming.

  "Is it… for me?" I asked, trying to decipher any kind of addressing sigil on the leaf-package. Nothing obvious.

  The golem just stood there, holding out the package, amber eyes blinking with infinite, earthy patience. The Hair, meanwhile, had crept forward and was now cautiously sniffing the golem’s leg, probably wondering if it counted as 'flora' or 'furniture'. I subtly kicked the Hair back with my foot before it decided to try 'pruning' the golem's ankle-weeds.

  "Look, pal," I sighed, "Is there a name? An address? A magical postage rune I missed?"

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  Another rumble. It gestured vaguely back the way it came, towards the town, then pushed the package forward slightly more insistently. Fine. Whatever. Probably mis-delivered magical fertilizer or enchanted seeds meant for some hedge-witch down the lane. Easier to take it and figure it out later than try to have a nuanced conversation with sentient compost.

  I took the damp package. It smelled earthy and slightly… metallic? Odd. "Alright, thanks. Have a… mossy day."

  The golem blinked, rumbled one last time, turned with excruciating slowness, and began its heavy, thumping trek back down the hill, leaving muddy footprints on my welcome mat (which is purely ironic, I don't actually welcome anyone).

  Closed the door. Stared at the lumpy package. The Hair immediately tried to 'help' unwrap it by snagging the vines with its strands. "Get off," I snapped, batting it away. "Let me see what fresh nonsense this is." Or maybe I’ll just chuck it in the garden and see what grows. Could be interesting. Could be aggressively invasive carnivorous vines. Fifty-fifty chance, really. Standard odds around here.

  ...Actually, curiosity wins over caution. As usual. Can't just leave a weird, damp, slightly metallic-smelling mystery package lying around. What if it hatches? Or explodes? Or worse, what if it's interesting and I ignore it? Can't have that.

  Carried it over to the main worktable, pushing aside half-finished notes and a suspiciously stained crucible. The Hair followed, flowing onto the table surface like an overeager tide, strands already probing at the vine bindings again. "Alright, alright, settle down," I muttered, gently pushing the probing tendrils away. "Let me at least run a detection charm first."

  Wove a quick, basic 'Is This Going To Curse Me, Explode, Or Generally Ruin My Afternoon?' spell. Nothing. No obvious malice, no trapped energy waiting to spring, no residual curses stronger than mild mildew. Just… damp leaves, vines, and that faint, cold metallic tang beneath the earthiness.

  "Fine. Your way," I told the Hair, gesturing to the vines. It practically vibrated with excitement (a truly unsettling sensation when it's draped over your arm) and set to work with surprising delicacy, individual strands deftly loosening the knots. Took it about thirty seconds. Show-off.

  Peeled back the layers of broad, leathery leaves. They were cool and damp inside, preserving whatever was within. Nestled in the centre, sitting on a bed of softer moss, was not fertilizer, nor seeds, nor carnivorous vines-to-be. It was a sphere. Palm-sized, perfectly smooth, made of what looked like pure, flawless obsidian. It absorbed the light in the room, reflecting nothing. And the moment my fingers brushed against it, I recoiled slightly. It was cold. Not just cool from the damp leaves, but unnaturally, deeply cold, like touching ice that leeched warmth faster than it should.

  No markings. No seams. Just a perfect, cold, black sphere.

  The Hair seemed unsure about it. It extended a few tentative strands towards the sphere, then pulled back sharply as if touching something unpleasant. It settled for coiling around the discarded leaves instead, keeping a wary distance from the sphere itself. That alone is unusual; normally it wants to investigate everything.

  Tried another diagnostic charm, something a bit more specific for identifying magical resonance or composition. The spell just… slid off the surface, like water off polished glass. No reading. Nothing. Either it’s completely inert, or it’s shielded by magic far stronger or stranger than my quick diagnostics can penetrate.

  So. A mysterious, unnaturally cold, magically inert (or heavily shielded) obsidian sphere, delivered by a Moss Golem for no discernible reason. Wonderful. Just absolutely fucking wonderful. Another perfectly inexplicable object to clutter up my house and my mind.

  Stuck it on a shelf between a jar of solidified lightning and a fossilized trilobite that occasionally whispers existential dread. It fits right in, really. I'll deal with it later. Or never. Probably never. Back to organizing those potion ingredients. At least they usually have the decency to be identifiable.