Ah, back to the good ol’ cycle of fighting, eating, and sleeping. Now that Tessa’s finally woken up, things are feeling… weirdly easier. Almost too easy. I mean, we were already getting stronger, but with her? We’re destroying monsters left and right.

  Take the Lumi Viper, for example—nasty glowing snake things with venom that could probably melt a hole through solid rock. We struggled to take down one before. One. You know how many we just killed? Two. At the same time. And honestly? It barely even felt like a fight.

  And the reason?

  Tessa.

  The way she moves, the way she dodges, the way she annihilates anything dumb enough to try and bite her fluffy wolf butt—it’s like she already knows what’s going to happen before it even does. One second, a Lumi Viper lunges at her, fangs dripping with poison. The next? She’s already behind it, sinking her teeth into its neck before it even realizes it’s dead.

  I call hacks.

  Apparently, it’s something called "Instinctual Flow." She told me it lets her fight perfectly without even thinking—her body just moves automatically, reacting before she can even process what’s happening.

  A skill that lets you dodge and attack like some ultra-intuitive, battle-hardened murder machine?

  Must be nice.

  Me? I have to actually think when I fight. I have to plan, strategize, and anticipate enemy movements. I gotta work for my kills. Tessa? She just vibes into combat like some overpowered anime protagonist.

  Totally unrelatable. Not jealous at all. Nope. Not one bit.

  …Ugh.

  It's been… I don’t even know how long. As you know, time isn’t a thing here in the labyrinth. No sun, no moon, just endless glowing crystals and mushrooms. But it’s been long enough that we’ve slept about five cycles—which, get this, is Tessa’s way of measuring time.

  Yeah. You heard that right. TESSA TAUGHT ME SOMETHING.

  Me. The one who usually has to explain the simplest things to her. The same Tessa who once spent a solid five minutes trying to figure out how to open a juice box back in our past life. I feel like the world just flipped upside down.

  Well, because Tessa, of all people, figured something out before me. What’s next? Vex giving heartfelt compliments? Goldy sitting still for more than three seconds? Victor dropping the fancy talk? No, actually, scratch that—Victor without his posh vocabulary would probably be more horrifying than anything else in this labyrinth.

  Anyway, back to the topic at hand. "Sleep cycles" as a unit of time. It makes sense, I hate to admit. Since we don’t have the sun to tell us when a day starts or ends, we just count how many times we sleep. Simple. Efficient. Effective. Tessa-proof.

  But that also means I’ve been here long enough to count five sleep cycles. Five whole cycles of waking up as a caterpillar in the middle of a monster-infested labyrinth. Five cycles of dodging things that want to eat me, dealing with Vex’s attitude, and trying not to get stomped on by creatures a hundred times my size.

  It’s not really an accurate way to measure time, honestly. Our sleep cycles aren’t exactly consistent. Some days—if you can even call them that—we wake up feeling like we barely closed our eyes, and other times we crash so hard it feels like we were out for ages. It all depends on how messed up we get in battle. The worse the injuries, the longer we need to rest.

  How do I know this? Goldy.

  She’s the strongest one in our brood, which means she usually takes the least damage. And when the rest of us are all beaten up, struggling to recover, she’s the first to wake up—and immediately starts screeching.

  I’m not kidding. Imagine lying there, still sore and half-conscious, and the first thing you hear is:

  "WAKE UP, LAZYBUTTS! WE’RE WASTING TIME!"

  Every. Single. Time.

  I swear, I’ve had nightmares where I wake up to the sound of her yelling. And the worst part? It works. No matter how exhausted we are, when Goldy starts hollering, we all start moving. It’s like some primal instinct kicks in, screaming “Get up before she gets louder!”

  So yeah, "sleep cycles" aren’t perfect, but it’s the best we’ve got. At least it gives me some sense of time in this never-ending labyrinth. Because without it, I’d probably go crazy trying to figure out how long we’ve actually been stuck in this place.

  Anyway, the current situation?

  Two of the Hatchlings in our brood finally evolved into Lesser Spiky Caterpillars, just like I did. And yeah, I’m happy for them, really. It’s a big step. Our brood’s getting stronger, which means better chances of survival. But at the same time?

  I’m frustrated.

  They caught up to me.

  I evolved into a Lesser Spiky Caterpillar much quicker than average caterpillar and I was feeling pretty good about it. Like, “Hey, I’m finally ahead of the curve!” But then—boom—these two evolved right after me while I was stuck waiting. Why? Because Tessa was out of it.

  It’s not like I regret looking after her. She just passed out completely, so of course, I had to stay behind and make sure she didn’t get herself eaten. But now I’ve been stuck at this stage while the others caught up, and I can already feel Vex’s smug energy radiating off of him. I just know he’s going to rub it in somehow.

  So you better believe that the next time Lucid Reflection shows an evolution path, I am not hesitating. If there’s a status unlock, I’m taking it. If there’s a stronger form, I’m choosing it. No more delays. No more getting left behind.

  It’s time to evolve.

  Then, right in the middle of my totally justified frustration, Tessa’s voice suddenly bursts into my thoughts—bubbly, cheerful, and completely out of sync with my mood.

  "Nur, you alright? You look like you’re thinking really super hard right now! Are you hungry?"

  Just like that, my brooding (no pun intended) is shattered into a million pieces.

  I blink at her, thrown off by the sudden shift. A second ago, I was mentally declaring my determination to evolve, and now I’m being asked if I need a snack.

  I reply with the most natural, intelligent response I can muster:

  "Uh… nothing."

  And then, to escape the conversation before she starts poking more, I immediately change the topic. Deflection 101.

  "Hey, Tessa, what’s the weirdest thing you’ve seen in the labyrinth?"

  It worked in our past life—back when we were human, whenever she got too nosy, I’d just ask her something completely random, and she’d get distracted trying to come up with an answer. Classic move.

  Now, let’s see if it still works on reincarnated wolf-pup Tessa.

  Tessa tilts her head, her tail wagging slightly as she thinks. Then, with way too much enthusiasm, she says:

  "Oh! I saw something super weird in the 4th Zone! It looked kinda like a human—like, it had arms and legs and all—but it was all skinny and creepy with these glowing red eyes and super sharp claws! But the weirdest part? Its mouth!"

  She pauses dramatically, eyes wide.

  "It had these slits on its cheeks! And when it opened its mouth more, the slits split open too—like, all the way back! And there were so many sharp teeth! It was so scary!"

  I feel my spines bristle just imagining it. That… yeah, that sounds horrifying. But before I can even react, Tessa continues, now grinning like this was some fun little adventure.

  "But don’t worry! I totally defeated it! I went woosh woosh, dodging all its swipes, then woosh bite! Claw! And then it was all—" she suddenly flops onto her back, paws curled up in a dramatic "I’m dead" pose, tongue sticking out.

  I stare at her.

  She just described some nightmare creature with a jaw that splits open sideways—probably something really dangerous—and she’s re-enacting its death like it was a game.

  …Of course she is.

  I don’t even know what to say to that.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  But hey, I managed to change the topic anyway, so plan success?

  Sure, now I have the mental image of some skinny nightmare human with a mouth that splits open sideways, but at least Tessa isn’t asking why I was brooding anymore. Win some, lose some.

  I nod, pretending to be impressed. "Wow, Tessa. That sure sounds… uh, intense."

  She beams at me, her tail wagging. "Right?! It was so scary, but also kinda cool! I mean, not as cool as me, obviously—"

  Yep. Topic officially changed.

  But before I can fully pat myself on the back for successfully derailing the conversation, a familiar, polite voice suddenly chimes in from behind us.

  "Verily, Lady Tessa, such a matter doth indeed appear exceedingly distressing. A most formidable adversary, without question. Thy valour amidst such a hideous foe is truly praiseworthy."

  I nearly jump out of my exoskeleton.

  Victor.

  Of course, he would randomly appear out of nowhere like some kind of refined specter. I don’t even know how long he’s been listening, but the way he casually butts into our conversation mid-thought makes me suspect it’s been a while.

  Tessa, however, just lights up at the praise. "Aww, thanks, Victor! It was super scary, but I totally wooshed and clawed and—" And just like that, she starts enthusiastically retelling the entire fight all over again, complete with exaggerated sound effects and reenactments.

  I sigh.

  So much for changing the topic.

  Wait a second.

  I didn’t translate anything Tessa said. At all.

  I mean, I usually have to, since she speaks verbally while the rest of us—being caterpillars—use telepathy to communicate. Tessa can understand us just fine, but none of us should be able to understand her. Yet somehow, Victor just perfectly responded to everything she said, like it was nothing.

  I narrow my eyes at him.

  "Wait… how do you understand Tessa all of a sudden?"

  Victor, ever composed, simply inclines his head.

  "Ah, dearest sister Nur, I beseech thy pardon for my tardiness in broaching this matter. By diligent observation of yore encounters and the translations thou hast graciously rendered, I have, in the course of time, discerned the essence of Lady Tessa’s utterances. Although I may not apprehend every subtlety, I find myself now sufficiently versed in comprehending her mode of speech."

  I stare.

  So, in other words—he learned it.

  Just from listening to my translations and watching battles.

  That fast.

  Before I can even fully process Victor’s ridiculous learning speed, Goldy suddenly chimes in, as loud and enthusiastic as ever.

  "Woah! Victor, you’re super smart, aren’t you?"

  Victor, ever the polite one, immediately turns to her and gives a small, respectful bow—which looks a bit weird considering, you know, he’s a caterpillar.

  "You honor me with your kind words, Young Highness. However, I merely endeavor to be diligent in my observations, so that I may better serve our brood."

  I swear, every time he calls Goldy "Young Highness," it gets me. It’s like we’re in some kind of medieval drama, except instead of knights and nobles, we’re caterpillars in a monster-infested labyrinth.

  Goldy, of course, just puffs up with pride. "Hehe, yeah! That’s the spirit! Keep it up, Victor!"

  And just like that, the conversation is now all about how ridiculously smart Victor is.

  …Honestly, I’m still a little impressed. But also kind of annoyed.

  Damn. I knew Victor was observant, but this is on another level.

  Just as Goldy finishes her enthusiastic praise, Victor suddenly tenses. His soft bristles rise slightly, his usual composed demeanor shifting into something more alert and focused.

  "A moment, my comrades." His voice, though still polite, carries a sharp edge. "Something approaches."

  Instantly, everyone snaps to attention.

  Goldy’s playful energy vanishes as she takes position, her golden spines faintly glowing in anticipation. Vex, who had been unusually quiet, flexes his venomous spines, his mandibles clicking in irritation. Even the two newly evolved Lesser Spiky Caterpillars instinctively lower themselves, bracing for a fight.

  And then there’s Tessa.

  Her expression shifts completely—her usual bubbly energy disappears in an instant. Her ears stiffen, her tail lowers, and a deep, rumbling growl escapes her throat.

  She’s ready.

  The air feels tense. None of us can see it yet, but if Victor senses something, then it’s definitely there. And it’s coming.

  From the dim glow of the labyrinth, a figure emerges—staggering, slow, and clearly wounded.

  A Myconid.

  Its fungal body is torn and damaged, one of its spore-sprouting stalks partially broken, leaking faintly glowing spores into the air. Its movements are sluggish, almost unsteady, as if it's barely able to keep itself upright.

  But it's still moving.

  Tessa’s growl deepens, her fur bristling, ready to pounce at any sign of aggression. Goldy, ever eager, shifts her weight, her red-glowing spines twitching as she waits for a signal. Even Vex, despite his usual irritation toward everything, stays perfectly still, watching carefully.

  Victor is the first to break the silence.

  "Curious indeed… It doth seem lacking in hostility, yet its wounds are most grievous. How peculiar, I must say.

  The Myconid stumbles forward, its empty eyes fixed ahead, its sluggish limbs dragging across the labyrinth floor.

  What happened to it? And what is it running from?

  Before anyone can react, the wounded Myconid suddenly twitches—then with a weak, unsteady motion, it releases a burst of spores into the air.

  The glowing cloud expands rapidly, swirling around us. Instinctively, I brace myself, half-expecting some kind of toxic effect or an attack signal. Even Tessa lowers herself, ready to lunge, while Goldy’s spines flicker with faint, unstable energy.

  But then—

  A voice.

  Not spoken. Not telepathic. Something deeper. Echoing.

  It reverberates directly into our minds, not like normal telepathy but something more distant, more layered.

  "Help… us…"

  The voice is weak, strained, yet it carries weight. Desperation.

  I exchange glances with the others. We all heard it.

  Victor, ever composed, is the first to react. His bristles twitch as he speaks. "Fascinating… This method of communication is unlike our own. A deeper connection, perhaps? Regardless, their intent is clear."

  "They're asking for help."

  Tessa, who had been tensed for battle, loosens slightly, her ears twitching.

  "Help? Help with what?" she asks, her tail flicking uncertainly.

  The Myconid shudders, their already unstable frame swaying. More spores drift into the air, carrying with them the fading echoes of that same desperate voice—

  "The colony… is under attack… The Corrupted are coming…"

  The moment those words sink in, a chill runs through me.

  The Corrupted?

  The Myconid sways again, their voice weaker, but the words it speaks next send a shock through me.

  "The Emperor… is dead… The contract is broken."

  I freeze.

  The Emperor is dead?

  Tessa tilts her head, looking utterly confused. "Huh? Contract? What contract? What’s even going on?!"

  Honestly? Same, Tessa.

  None of us fully understand, but then—

  The Myconid slowly lifts a trembling arm and points directly at Goldy.

  "You… Royal child… help us… Then… the contract will be renewed…"

  What.

  I don’t know what’s going on exactly, but I have a very bad feeling about this. Something about the way the Myconid specifically called Goldy a "royal child" and mentioned a "contract"—it’s clicking together in my head, but not fast enough.

  Before I can say anything, though—

  Goldy immediately steps forward, her golden body standing firm.

  "We will help! Please, take us to where your leaders are!"

  Goldy?! WHAT THE HELL?!

  I whirl toward her, but before I can get a word out—

  The Myconid collapses.

  The moment the Myconid collapses, Goldy takes control.

  "Quick! Make a silkbed for them!" she commands without hesitation.

  The two newly evolved Lesser Spiky Caterpillars don’t even question it—they immediately get to work, spinning strong, golden silk between them, crafting a makeshift resting place for the weakened Myconid. Their movements are fast and precise, showing just how much they’ve grown since their evolution.

  Meanwhile, I push forward, not caring about the Myconid for a second because—

  WHAT THE HELL, GOLDY?!

  I press close to her, lowering my voice but making sure she feels my frustration.

  "Goldy, what is going on? Why are we helping them?"

  Goldy doesn’t even hesitate. She turns to me, her red-glowing spines dimming slightly, her expression serious.

  "The contract," she says. "It means the peace agreement that Mother and the Myconids made."

  My mind races.

  Yep.

  I was right. Goldy told me about it before—when we first saw the Myconids ganging up on that green monster that chased Tessa.

  "You mean—" I start, but Goldy cuts me off, nodding.

  "Yes. That agreement is what kept things stable between our brood and the Myconids. But now that their Emperor is dead, that contract is gone."

  …Oh hell.

  Goldy, still completely locked in leader mode, turns to Victor without missing a beat.

  "Victor, what can we do to keep it alive?"

  Victor, ever composed, takes a moment to observe the Myconid's condition, his bristles shifting slightly as he thinks.

  "Myconids thrive on moisture and decomposing matter, but alas… we have neither in abundance," he explains in his usual calm, refined tone. "At present, all we can do is hope it recovers on its own strength."

  …Wow.

  That sounds so reassuring. I think to myself.

  This whole situation… doesn’t it remind me of someone?

  I glance over at Tessa, who is currently poking at the unconscious Myconid with her nose, ears flicking curiously.

  Yeah. Definitely reminds me of someone.

  But then a thought hits me.

  "Wait." I say, turning back to the group. "How did this Myconid even get injured in the first place?"

  Because whatever did this… might still be nearby.

  Before anyone can answer my question, something moves behind us.

  A group of Myconids emerges, but—they are different.

  Their bodies are darker, their caps have strange, unfamiliar patterns, and there’s something about them that feels… wrong.

  Tessa immediately stiffens, her ears flattening, a low growl rumbling in her throat. The others instinctively take defensive positions, but before we can react further, the Myconids release a burst of spores into the air.

  The familiar echoing voice blooms in our minds—

  "Hand over the traitor."

  Goldy doesn’t even hesitate.

  "No." Her voice is sharp, unwavering. "Who are you?"

  The Myconids pause for a moment, then their spores release another wave of whispering voices.

  "We are The Rot."

  The way they say it—"The Rot"—sends an uneasy chill through me.

  "The one you protect is a traitor to the colony."

  Goldy’s spines flicker, glowing brighter.

  "Colony?" she scoffs. "What colony? Your emperor is dead."

  For a moment, silence.

  Then, the Myconid voices return—this time, stronger, deeper, almost… reverent.

  "Yes, yes… our emperor is indeed dead… but our leader shall rise as one soon."

  I feel a knot of unease in my gut.

  That doesn’t sound good.

  Vex, ever the pragmatic one, cuts through the tension with his sharp voice, his usual snark still present but laced with a hint of seriousness.

  "Just hand it over," he says, slightly gruff. "We don’t want to mess with the Myconids here. You know what they’re capable of."

  I narrow my eyes at him, not liking his suggestion one bit. I mean, sure, Vex is often right, but there's something about this that feels off—more than just the danger we’re in.

  Goldy agrees with me, her voice low and determined as she shakes her head.

  "No." She stands firm, eyes flashing. "There’s something else going on. Handing this Myconid over to them will just make everything worse. We can’t let them have it."

  I feel a rush of agreement. This isn’t just about protecting one Myconid; it’s about understanding the greater situation. There’s something deeper here, something dangerous, and I’m not ready to blindly hand over an ally—or a possible key to what’s happening.

  I turn to Goldy, a silent agreement between us.

  We’re not giving this up.

  The opposing Myconids pause for a moment, their spores swirling in the air. Then, their voices return, sharper this time.

  "No?"

  A beat of silence.

  "Then we shall take it by force."

  At once, everyone moves, taking positions.

  We may have twelve, and they only have eight—but numbers don’t mean everything.

  Because these Myconids? They feel different.

  Their movements are sharper, more deliberate. Their darkened bodies and strange cap markings aren’t just for show.

  And as the first one lunges forward, a wave of spores bursting from its body, I realize—

  This isn’t just a fight.

  This is war.

  End of Chapter 21