“HOLY SHIT…!!!” Andreas shrieked as he jumped back from the creature, fumbling for his gun and almost dropping it. There was screaming and the clambering of desks as people jolted from their seats and tried to move as far from… whatever it was, as they could.

  I jumped back from my seat, so surprised I forgot to compensate for my improved body, and slammed my back into the gophers behind me, splaying them onto the floor.

  “Now, now, please, calm down. Any more of this and you will hurt my feelings. Make me feel like I am not welcome here or some such nonsense” the creature spoke in its unnaturally clear voice, stick-like arms held in front of it, palms wide open, in a gesture of harmlessness.

  It did very little to help.

  Everything about the creature was simply… wrong.

  It was too tall, too thin, looking like a brisk breeze would snap it, even its hands were chalk-white, spindly fingers like the legs of some massive albino spider ending in pitch black, sharp nails.

  It wore some sort of fur-collared, brown overcoat over something very close to a striped two-piece suit. Like a caricature of Victorian clothing one would see in period-piece movies, only ridiculously elongated and jingling with dozens of rings and coins sewn onto the surface of its fabric.

  “Well, this is embarrassing. I’m certain I tapped into the correct cogital frequency. Can my words not reach you?” The creature continued, tilting its head and tapping a finger the length of a walking cane against its temple, in a way that would have been almost comical if not for how unnatural the monster was.

  “What the fuck are you?” Andreas roared, finally managing to level his handgun towards the monster. It would have been brave if not for the fact that he had moved in such a way that the frozen-in-fear Samantha Evans was conveniently between him and the creature.

  “Oh good. So you do understand. Delightful. Then, once again…” the creature settled it’s plumed hat on it’s head, pinched the wide brim and bowed again, flourishing it’s hat in long arc, ending with one hand outstretched and the hat across a chest barely a little wider than a 14 year old boy’s. It was all very theatrical. And equally disconcerting.

  “Greetings. This most humble merchant is named Puck”

  I could only stand there, legs bent, ready to bolt at any hint of danger, watching as Andreas moved a little to better use Samantha as a shield, even going so far as to put one hand on a shoulder and keep her still.

  “Puck? A merchant? What the hell’s a Puck…”

  “Oh no no no, my dear boy” the creature intoned, shaking one finger like a metronome.

  “It’s not a what, it’s a who, and the who is myself, Puck, Feyvolken Merchant. Not A Feyvolken Merchant, but THE Feyvolken Merchant” he straightened at the waist to his full height, spreading his arms dramatically.

  “Merchant Extraordinaire. Entrepreneur Beyond Reproach. Trailblazer of such far sight that I am first among my kind to approach the natives of our fine amalgamation of Worlds in order to establish beautiful and enterprising trade agreements of superlative financial prosperity to all parties involved”.

  Puck then immediately did several bows, as if expecting people to applaud. When no one did, he placed the hat back on his… head… and crossed his arms behind his back, waiting.

  The words “Amalgamation of Worlds” were ringing in my ears, reminding me of what the vampiress had said.

  But I wasn’t going to say anything. Not yet. For now I was just another face in the crowd, content to stand far enough away from the action and just observe. Something I intended to keep doing until I knew for sure the damn thing wasn’t a danger to me.

  “A-Alright? Ok? So….” Andreas began only to be swiftly interrupted by Mina’s small voice.

  “Wait. Fey…volken? Puck? That’s a character from A Midsummer Night’s Dream and mythology. Are you a fairy?” she said, standing behind her sister who had procured the broken length of a chair leg from somewhere and was actively trying to shush her.

  Blazing golden stars blasted into existence around Mina and Tina in a series of pops like firecrackers and the two women screamed aloud and scurried away.

  “Yes, Bravo, my dear. I have not yet tasted enough of your world’s magic to know of this “Midsummer Night” or your mythology, but where I come from, I am indeed a fairy, a sprite, a fey” Puck said, applauding, or at least trying to, despite the length of his fingers making some sort of clacking sound that made my skin crawl. Like monster spiders having a drunken orgy.

  “But, those are your words for us. My kind prefers the term Feyvolken. The Fey Folk”.

  He said with another flourish then quickly stood back up, tapping the wooden chin of his mask.

  “Though I suppose calling it your world and my world is a tad meaningless at this point. It’s all OUR world now. Yours and mine”.

  My mind was working a hundred miles a minute, posing question after question that I could ask, but I clenched my mouth shut. As many questions as I had, there was one thing my brain kept reverting to. This thing had mentioned trades and merchants more than once and if ever there was the personification of the Faustian Deal, it’d be this gangly looking freak that looked like it was there just to drag you to Hell.

  Last thing I wanted to do was say the wrong thing and damn myself by mistake. It may have sounded silly or superstitious to those that didn’t believe in such things, but I’d just witnessed enough “impossible” things in the last 24 hours, I sure as hell wasn’t willing to risk it.

  “Well, you sure don’t look like no fairy” Andreas snapped, gun still leveled at the creature.

  “And what do you mean our world? What happened?”

  Puck’s fingers danced lightly across his mask, the subtle tap of his knuckles against wooden surface ringing out in the heavy silence. His head tilted ever so slightly, the feathers in his hat fluttering with the movement, and the air around him seemed to thicken, like the space itself was holding its breath.

  “No, no, no,” he murmured, voice slipping from playful to something more sinister, as though he was savoring the moment. “That is valuable information. Worth something. And I’m not willing to part with it without compensation.”

  Andreas, as expected, didn’t understand the danger he was courting. His anger surged in waves, and he shoved Samantha out of his path like she was little more than an inconvenience. His hand tightened around his gun, and with two long strides, he stormed toward the creature.

  “Yeah? Well, how about you fucking tell me anyway?” Andreas snapped, venom dripping from each word, barrel inches away from the creature’s chest.

  Puck didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. His finger froze in mid-tap, hovering above the mask, as if time itself had stilled in the wake of Andreas’s defiance. Then, slowly, Puck’s head tilted downward, his gaze—those blazing blue orbs—locking onto the man.

  The air seemed to shift with a subtle crackle, the room growing colder, heavier, as though something ancient had just awakened. The blue lights in Puck’s mask deepened, darkened to a molten red, and with it came a chill that sank into the marrow of my bones. When he spoke, the sound didn’t come from his throat—it seemed to rise from the very depths of the earth itself, a rumbling tremor that shook the air, reverberating in my chest with the force of a distant quake.

  “Understand your place, fleshbag.”

  The words were neither shouted, roared or bellowed, only whispered. But it was clarity. Crystal and undiluted clarity.

  We were as beneath this thing as ants were beneath us. Barely worthy of consideration, and no more a threat than a dust mite to a bear. Our guns, our minds, our humanity, everything about us stood as less than insignificant compared to this creature.

  All this became known to me, spoken directly from that voice into some primeval part of my brain, the same part that dealt with instinct. And by the looks on the faces of those surrounding me, they were feeling the exact same.

  It ended as suddenly as it began, leaving the air thick and heavy, like a storm that had already passed but left its weight behind. I exhaled in a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, and the others around me did the same. Some of them, unable to keep their footing, slid down to the floor or collapsed against the nearest wall, terror twisting their features into grotesque masks of dread.

  Despite the intense urge to flee, to put as much distance between me and whatever the hell that was, some dark, morbid curiosity kept me rooted to the spot. I couldn’t look away. I turned my eyes back to the stage.

  Andreas was a broken man, slumped on the floor, his gun abandoned beside him like a useless toy. His body was shaking so violently I could see it even from across the room, and his eyes—wide with fear—darted around as if expecting the floor to swallow him whole. He looked small. Weak. For once, I almost felt sorry for him.

  Almost.

  Puck, though, had not moved an inch. He stood exactly as he had before, still as a statue, his finger suspended in the air just inches from his mask. His "eyes," those haunting, glowing orbs, shifting back to their original blue hue.

  He moved with the sudden, sporadic motions of an arachnid and I flinched instinctively, bracing myself for what I was sure would be a violent, bloody end for Andreas.

  But it never came.

  Instead, to my shock, Puck's impossibly long, spindly fingers wrapped themselves around the man’s shoulders with an eerie gentleness. The moment was absurd, surreal—he lifted Andreas from the floor as if the man weighed nothing, his trembling form dangling in the air like a ragdoll.

  And then, as though this were some kind of bizarre, twisted form of hospitality, he pulled a fine kerchief from the pocket of his overcoat and, with meticulous care, began to dust off the still-quaking young man, the gesture somehow more disturbing than any act of violence could’ve been.

  “Oh, but let’s not let this nastiness impede the burgeoning beginning of our most profitable and amicable business associateship, no no no, my dear boy” Puck rang out, his voice returned into that sing-song, jovial and cultured tone.

  “Right… yea…. S-sure…. Sorry about that….” Andreas attempted to speak, words slurred and tangled.

  “Umm… e-excuse me?” Mina spoke from behind her Tina-shaped shield, her voice shaky.

  Puck’s head snapped to her in a movement so immediate it wouldn’t have been surprising to see it simply pop off his shoulders.

  “Yes, little one?”

  Mina hesitated for a few seconds more, probably as disconcerted by the unnatural movements as everyone else, but eventually, to my surprise, squirmed herself out from behind her sister and stood in front, taking a few deep breaths.

  “Yo-You said you were a merchant? Correct?”

  “THE Merchant, my dear. Trailblazer Supreme. Entrepreneur Extraordinaire. The Magna Carta and Magnum Opus Manifestation of all commerce and financial pursuits” it sang out, holding one finger up for emphasis, other hand resting against the small of his back, chest puffed up in peacock-like posturing, as if expecting at any moment for the assembled people to burst out into roaring applause.

  “Well… okay… but, what do you sell?” Mina continued, trying and miserably failing to regain some semblance of composure in her voice.

  “Ah, yes, EXACTLY!” Puck gesticulated rapidly and, with no motion, no sound, not even so much as a pop, he was suddenly right in front of the girl, as if he had been there from the very beginning.

  Mina squeed and jumped back, only her sister’s quick grab preventing her from splaying onto the floor.

  “Finally, we can begin talking in earnest. Quite honestly, I was already getting somewhat bored of no one addressing the proverbial elephant in the room. But you seem to be a more adequate conversation partner, at the very least” Puck continued, either indifferent or just pretending not to have noticed her reaction.

  “As for the WHAT, my dear, the answer is simply…” Puck drawled, his voice smooth and unhurried, splaying those gangly aberrations of his arms above himself.

  A flash of light, and my jaw dropped.

  Food, water bottles, weapons—an endless array of objects—hovered above him, each encased in a glowing blue aura. The sheer quantity was staggering. It was as if all the world's possessions had been brought together in one, single, impossible collection. Mundane things like cans of beans and packets of chips floated alongside gleaming swords, their blades etched with markings so intricate they made my eyes hurt just to look at them. Pieces of armor—blackened steel, smooth iron—danced in the air, some tarnished, others gleaming as if freshly forged.

  It didn’t stop there.

  I saw crates, their lids creaking open to reveal ingots of metals that defied all my knowledge—some gleaming with an ethereal sheen, others pulsing with an otherworldly glow. Glass vials, delicate and fragile, filled with liquids that shimmered in hues I couldn't name, swirling in patterns that defied nature itself.

  The spectacle was overwhelming. The display stretched beyond the limits of the amphitheater, spiraling upwards, spiraling outwards, like the night sky had cracked open and its treasures were spilling down into the room. Each floating object hummed with purpose, like they were all pieces of some grand, cosmic puzzle. The sheer volume of it was enough to make my head spin. And it kept going.

  Not just filling the space, but extending into infinity, objects so far away that they blurred together, impossible to identify. A collection of things beyond human understanding—yet they were all there, hovering in Puck’s strange, eerie hold.

  Puck moved his hands back together and, with the same suddenness the display had appeared, it evaporated, and I was once again staring at the cracked and dirt-marked plaster of the ceiling.

  “Anything, dear child. Anything that you want, need and do not even know you want or need. I have amassed an inventory in my long life that you cannot even begin to comprehend. And more than a few of your world’s knick-knacks and bobs in the last twenty four of your fleshling hours. If it does not exist in my inventory, I can acquire it”.

  “What’s the catch?” Lizzie Landon shouted out, emerging from the press of people still hugging the wall.

  Puck turned his head to regard her, tilting it slightly.

  “The catch?”

  “Yeah? The catch. The rub. The monkey’s paw. Nothing’s free, so what’s the catch?” Lizzie continued, hands on her hips, face locked in a show of feigned fearlesness.

  “No catch, my dear. I am an honest merchant. Pay me the currency I desire, I give you what you ask for. Simple, no?”

  “Oh yeah, sure, sounds simple enough? But you haven’t yet told us the currency you’re asking for. So I’m assuming the catch’s right there” Lizzie cut the Fey creature off, showing a surprising amount of gumption in the face of such an alien creature.

  Puck brought up one long finger, and although I couldn’t see any facial features, his entire attitude expressed joviality.

  “Ah, but of course, after all, the foundational block by which all commerce comes into being is currency. And the currency I ask is that which all Feyvolken seek, my dear. Magic!”

  Lizzie’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again.

  “Magic?”

  “Magic my dear. Raw, untamed, undiluted, untainted, pure and pristine. Magic. The raw stuff of reality” Puck meandered on, voice growing more passionate and almost hysterical with each spoken word, as if he was some epicurean describing the best gourmet meal ever conceived.

  “That which is to our kind both sustenance and pleasure. Meaning and Purpose. Goal and endless pursuit. Magic”.

  “I… don’t think…. humans have… magic?” Mina blurted out.

  The Fey creature snapped its head back and let out a shrill, grating sound that could have been a laugh.

  “Oh no, sweet child, all creatures can harvest magic. But you, humans, are…. hmmm…. how should I put this nicely” he said, once more resuming to tap on the featureless mask of his face.

  He snapped his fingers together and continued.

  “So dreadfully incompetent at gathering even a singular morsel of the ambiental magic around you, it’s almost amusing to watch. Like blind newborn kittens, mewling around in the dark”.

  “In that case, why us?” Mina asked suddenly, all apprehension gone from her voice, replaced with cold calculation. Her mind was working. Rummaging information. And her change in demeanor told me something.

  She’d just latched onto something.

  “Hm?” Puck tilted his head, almost owl-like.

  Mina took one step forward.

  “You mentioned you’re a trailblazer. The first to make contact with… our kind. And that our kind are abysmal at harvesting magic. So why us? Why not the myriad other humans in the world right now?”

  I caught the flow of her thoughts and mentally congratulated the petite woman. She really did live up to the rumors about her mind. Unfortunately, it seemed like Puck was similarly smart enough to catch the trap that had been laid out for him.

  The Fey creature smacked his hands in a mock applause.

  “Oh bravo, little one, bravo. Smart. An answer hidden in a question. Bravo. Whether I answer your question or not, you would still gain another answer, specifically in regards to your query as to what’s happened to the humans beyond the obscuring mist wall of your Boundary. My most sincere congratulations in trying to swindle this old merchant”

  He continued to clatter his hands together in that mocking applause, and I could see Mina chewing on her bottom lip. It’d been a good effort. But no dice.

  “However” Puck said, suddenly stopping mid-clap “I’m a bit too ancient to fall afoul of little stratagems like that. The Fey Courts are home to such deception and politicking that would make your feeble little meat-filled head burst”.

  He held his hands together, fingers interlaced, as if considering something, letting the uncomfortable silence draw on for long seconds.

  “But, I suppose it would be a show of professionalism on my part to give you a small inkling as to the valuables I can offer, free of charge”.

  The Fey leaned in towards a slightly backpedaling Mina, conspiratorially.

  “After all, there is very little more valuable than information”.

  The alien creature straightened to his full height once more and raised one finger.

  “In regards to the unasked question, yes, there are myriad other native humans of your former world outside your Boundary. Sadly, the aforementioned number is growing smaller with every passing hour. Death is claiming it’s due, I’m afraid, and your kind are woefully unprepared for the tribulations of my former world”.

  Puck half-raised a second finger, quickly interrupted by Tina Miller.

  “Wait, wait, we need some more context here. Boundaries, former worlds, tribulations, what’s that all mean?”

  The Fey’s head snapped to the tall woman, making the amazoness shrink and shy away in a show very much unlike our school’s wrestling ace.

  “Now, now, I have agreed in my magnanimity to share some information free of charge. Everything else other than what I choose to share, will require payment. Now, If I would be permitted to continue?”

  Tina shrank even further back, hugging the wall, the Fey’s smoldering gaze fixed on her. Finally, he fully raised a second finger.

  “In regards to the question asked, why choose you? The answer is quite simple. One of you is in possession of the very currency I seek. And considering our worlds have only just melded together, the speed at which this was done is surprising. Not the first of your kind to acquire the aforementioned currency, but among the first, and as such, optimal candidates for this most beauteous of mercantile pursuits”.

  I was starting to get fed up with him and his knack for speaking a lot without saying much. More than that, everything he was saying only served to raise more questions, which I suspected was by design. His entire spiel had still offered no specifics and he had gone quiet again, as if waiting for a follow-up question.

  And it soon came, from a very unexpected place.

  “Oh for the love of…. will you just tell us?” Lizzie Landon just shot out with no preamble and a surprising amount of hostility targeted towards the creature.

  Was it bravery? Ignorance? Or just stupidity?

  Either way, Puck seemed to just ignore the abrasive tone and took it as his que to continue, angling those two fingers so as to point.

  In my direction.

  “The stones, my dear child, the stones he has squirreled away in a pouch”.

  Dozens of eyes locked onto me, and the torrent of curses that flooded my mind would’ve made even the saltiest sailor redden like a cherry. There went my carefully constructed plan to keep out of the spotlight, shattered like glass on stone.

  I reached into my pocket, fingers brushing against the coarse fabric of the makeshift pouch and pulled it out. The ragged fabric fell open, revealing ten jagged black shards inside, each pulsing with streaks of deep blue that twisted and danced across the obsidian surfaces. They glowed faintly, erratic flashes coursing through them like living lightning.

  The gophers around me began to retreat—slowly at first, then in a full-blown scramble— as Puck appeared in front of me, in the same impossible, unceremonious shift of motion that he seemingly liked to do.

  “Shit!” I hissed through clenched teeth.

  A low, rattling hiss emanated from the mask, like the warning sound of a snake ready to strike, as it crouched in front of me, the blue orbs of his eyes affixed onto the stones in my hand.

  "Ah... such an aroma," his voice rasped, thick with a twisted sort of pleasure. "Wild magic... crystallized mana... untainted aether. Unshaped, unbound. Divine."

  Patter echoed in the stillness, a thick, clear liquid slowly creeping down the edge of the wooden mask, dripping onto the floor in heavy drops.

  Was it… drool?

  The creature behind the mask seemed so lost in whatever it was sensing that it couldn’t even keep control of its own body.

  This was it.

  The bargaining chip.

  This was my only shot to get some answers and despite every cell in my body screaming for me to just chuck the bag in its face and get as far away from this damn freak of nature, I instead closed my fist around the stones, engulfing them in the rancid, dirt-stained cloth.

  Puck’s head immediately snapped to me and two small points of crimson started to spread in those endless pools of blue.

  “You wanna do commerce? Then you explain, first. After all, it ain’t commerce unless both parties know the worth of their wares right?” I hissed, more to keep my teeth from chattering rather than any form of anger.

  Puck studied me for what felt like an eternity, his gaze unblinking, unwavering. Then, with deliberate slowness, he rose to his full height, towering over me. My neck strained, muscles aching as I forced myself to meet his gaze, the weight of his presence pressing down like a physical force.

  The silence stretched on, thick and choking, and his eyes, those burning points of crimson, flickered, blazing bright and dimming again in a slow, unpredictable rhythm.

  Then, without warning, the creature chortled—an unsettling, almost curious sound. And the thing coiled in the back of my head, something primal and ancient, froze.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  It went still, paralyzed.

  Fear?

  I couldn’t tell. But something deep inside me trembled in response, as though whatever it was, had just recognized something far older than it.

  And it had been noticed in turn.

  “Oh? Interesting. I see you, boy” Puck whispered, loud enough for only me to hear.

  The cold, clammy hand of fear gripped my spine once more and I gulped.

  Shit.

  This thing had seen me. Not the person, Jon. But the vampire. He knew. And he knew I didn’t want anyone else to know.

  Puck wrapped his lanky arms behind the small of his back and, with the driest of chuckles, spoke again.

  “Ask then, my dear human” he said, emphasizing the last word with frigid sarcasm.

  The unsaid message was clear : Step out of line with my questions, and he’d spill the beans about my little secret.

  I chewed on the inside of my lower lip hard enough to draw blood, a reflexive action, formed habit long time ago that came out whenever I felt backed into a corner, then gulped the knot in my throat down.

  I still held the stones he wanted in my hand, and the fact he hadn’t just swiped them, meant his whole spiel about transactions was, at least in part, the truth. He couldn’t just take them, I had to give him these glowing rocks.

  As soon as the question formulated itself in my mind I became fully aware of how silly and inane it would seem to anyone else in this specific apocalyptic circumstance. But I had to know. I couldn’t just ignore the risk of inadvertently performing a blasphemy of the highest order by sheer ignorance.

  It was something all too common in everything from fantasy stories, comics and folk cautionary tales. The Faustian Deal. I had to make sure this wasn’t that.

  “I found these stones in the chests of the gob… the green creatures I killed on the way here. Are these like their souls or something?”

  Quiet followed, both from the other students and the Fey creature standing in front of me.

  Swiftly broken by Puck doubling over in a fit of trilling, bird-like laughter, slapping a hand against his, so thin it was virtually non-existent, thigh, all trace of his hostility, all but gone.

  The laugh went on for several long minutes, and it was all I could do to stand there, black stones clenched in my hand, a mixture of anxiety and confusion cocktailing my insides.

  “I apologize, my apologies, young man” Puck gasped, slurring words through barks of laughter, holding a hand over what was probably his abdomen.

  “I am not mocking you, simply the question. The sheer ludicrousness of such a statement is amusing to me”.

  Puck fell into another minute-long fit that ended with him gasping for air, hands perched on his knees. A minute more and he drew back to his height, hands clasped behind his back, trying to regain decorum, an act made all the harder by him still slurring half his words through chuckles.

  “My dear boy, the very concept that something as powerful and sacrosanct as a soul, any soul, even the soul of the most inferior of creatures, could ever be trapped or held in something as trivial as crystal, or anything for that matter, is simply… moronic”.

  Puck shook his head and the joviality in his voice evaporated.

  “Allow me to make this abundantly clear. For all our power, strength and age, even we Feyvolken know better than to even attempt to muck about with souls. There are powers and laws far beyond even us, and any attempt to impede upon the eternal Cycle or even touch upon a soul, carries with it consequences your feeble minds could not even begin to comprehend.

  No, my boy, the souls of those creatures you’ve slain have moved onto the roads of their deeds. Those crystals you hold house nothing more than their reservoir of magic, or mana you may call it, in crystalised form.

  I am Feyvolken, child. We trade in magic, not souls. We’re neither stupid nor suicidal enough to even attempt to trade in souls”.

  I didn’t know why, whether it was the calm steadiness in his words, the concrete-like surety or simply a feeling inside me, no different than when he’d threatened us, but I knew he was speaking the truth.

  The same way you know that water’s wet and grass is green. It was a simple statement of fact.

  “Alright” I murmured.

  “Alright so then, why didn’t I find any of these crystals in the zombies…” I added, only to quickly correct myself with the word the vampiress had used.

  “... the rotbloods?”

  Puck simply shrugged.

  “Abundantly simple. The “goblins”, as you’d refer to them, are creatures endemic to what was once my world. By the nature of their anatomy, they unconsciously accumulate ambiental magic throughout their lives, which crystallizes inside their flesh. The rotbloods however, are a byproduct of nothing more than a disease. Vehicles of flesh to house the epidemic that is the Putrescent Swarm. The Rot-Flies that make up this swarm lack the anatomy necessary to absorb mana and, as such, their hosts do not absorb mana either”.

  I nodded. His speech had given some answers even as it had raised more than enough questions.

  What were the Putrescent Swarms? The Rot-Flies?

  I decided to push my luck a little further.

  “And humans can’t absorb mana either?”

  Puck nodded indifferently.

  “Correct. Though, do not confuse two different elements, child. The Goblins, Orcs, as you call them, absorb magic by the make of their anatomy. Like parasites. Tape-worms upon existence. My kind refer to them as they are. Sinborn. Filth. Barely above lampreys.

  We Feyvolken, and a number of races other than us, have the capability to harvest magic, to draw it in, so to speak. Not in the parasitic way of the Sinborn.

  Where that worthless filth traps the aether inside their rancid flesh, we give it form and function, use it to create worth and beauty.

  Humans can do much the same, but are simply the most incompetent at doing such a thing. Your kind are simply too short-lived and too narrow-minded to properly attune to the aetheric winds”.

  “Why do you call them Sinborn? And how many other races are there from your world? Besides humans I mean?” I rapid-fired question after question.

  Puck simply slowly shook his head.

  “Valuable question with a valuable answer. Will not give it freely”.

  I chewed on my bottom lip again.

  Had I just reached the limit of what he was willing to answer?

  “Okay. One last question, then. You kept saying my world, your world, our melded world. What happened to our two worlds?”

  Puck inclined his head and chuckled dryly.

  “Come now, boy. That is clearly valuable information. Why would I give it for free? No, no, no, my dear sweet child. That specific question I will not answer for anything less than a hundred Aether Stones”.

  I sighed and racked my brain for another question, only to have my thoughts cut off by Puck.

  “But that’s enough. I refuse to humor any more queries unless they are of a mercantile nature. Your measly ten Aether Stones are very much starting to be ill-worth the hassle. If we won’t be doing business, I will take my leave” he said in a dry, bored tone.

  It was clear that I’d just reached the end of his patience.

  “Alright. Then, how much food and water will this get us?” I asked quickly.

  These were my stones, true. And sure as anything, I’d been the one to earn them. Using them to help this bunch of hypocritical pricks felt like ash on my tongue.

  But like or not, this was the only idea I had on how to delay the possibility of having to go outside during the day. If they got their hands on food and water quick, any thought of going back out there would evaporate, at least for a time. And all I needed was to buy time until nightfall.

  Puck, clearly pleased with the turn our conversation had taken, snapped his fingers sharply, the sound cutting through the air.

  “Finally,” he muttered, smooth voice carrying a sense of satisfaction.

  With a flamboyant flourish, the Fey creature drew his long stick-thin arm to his side and where it passed, an absolute cornucopia of provisions appeared as if from nothing.

  My jaw dropped as I witnessed the abundance.

  There were crates of cured meat and salted fish, sausages and hams wrapped in coarse linen rope, piles upon piles of vegetables so fresh they looked as if they had just been plucked from the ground. While all these provisions held an old-timey look , as if taken straight out of a medieval county fair, there were also bags of junk food, chips and sweets, cases of plastic bottled water, clear and pristine as though pilfered from the nearest convenience store.

  I realized, then, that this wasn’t pure magic. At least, not in its entirety. It wasn’t some conjured creation. Puck’s “inventory” seemed more like a collection—things snatched from places both near and far, gathered from… everywhere.

  The spread in front of me was enough to keep everyone here in the black for at least a week, maybe even more with proper rationing.

  The gophers drew closer, hunger and thirst overcoming their earlier reticence and more than a few of the other students had begun walking toward the pile.

  Puck had simply extended his arm towards me, palm open, silently demanding the Aether Stones, blue orbs glinting and glowing with expectation.

  Before I could do anything, the sharp sound of boots on hardwood floor tore my attention away, and I turned just in time to see a fist hammering towards me, the sharp glint of gold plated steel shining in its grasp.

  Then it collided with my face, solid steel crushing my nasal cavity into a red ruin. This wasn't some stone-arrowhead fired from a shoddily made bow, the cut by an emaciated goblin or the lunge of an uncoordinated undead. It'd been a strike with the butt of a handgun, a surprise attack, carrying with it all the weight of someone more than two heads taller than me. bearing a prize fighter's physique. All muscle and fury. Had I still been human, it would have knocked me out cold, at the very least. Had I still been human, it would have reduced my maxilla bone to rubble.

  But I wasn't human.

  So I only stumbled back, Aether Stones clattering loudly onto the floor, a hand clutched to the pulverized mess that was the bridge of my nose.

  “ANDREAS!”

  Samantha’s shrill cry sliced through the haze of pain, dragging my blurry vision upward. My eyes barely opened, still half-squinting from the force of the strike, but very much able to curdle the blood in my veins.

  There, standing over me, was Andreas— face flushed with rage, veins bulging and throbbing across his neck and forehead, gripping his gold-plated Desert Eagle, the barrel aimed directly at me. His fury was palpable, and his finger hovered precariously over the trigger.

  “You been holding out on me gopher? Huh? You little shit?” Andreas snarled.

  It was stupid. Some idiotic nonsense and everyone knew it. How could I have been holding out on him when no one here had known about any of this.

  Magic? Mana? Aether-Stones?

  This was new ground for everyone, Andreas included and this whole show was nothing more than the volatile idiot’s only way of dealing with the unknown.

  Find someone weaker than him to take out his frustrations on.

  “Not weaker. Not anymore. He is prey”

  The voice came from the depths of my mind, unbidden and unwelcome. It slithered up from the shadows of my thoughts, the dark impulse uncoiling itself like a serpent and thrashing within me. It fought against the years of learned fear, the gut-deep terror of Andreas's past abuse. My own voice, twisted and guttural, more growl than speech, echoed in my skull.

  “He tried to kill us”

  The voice wasn’t wrong.

  If I hadn’t been a vampire, a hit like this could have outright killed me. Even if it had been just the busted up nasal cavity, it would've been enough to drown me in my own blood and phlegm. Hell, my throat was already clogged with it. If I were still mortal, I’d be thrashing on the floor suffocating right about now. In a world without hospitals and surgical interventions, it would've been a debilitating injury.

  Luckily, since I wasn’t mortal anymore, I didn’t need to breathe, and I could already feel the shards of bone and cartilage slowly, painfully move in order to knit back together.

  But it changed nothing.

  “Blood for blood. Tooth for tooth” it hissed from the darkest parts of my mind. Red painted my sight, a deep gurgling growl began to reverberate through my chest and I could feel my canines begin to flex out of their sheaths.

  The voice was right.

  Why should I tolerate this?

  Why should I let this meatbag do what he wants? My vision began to swim with the sight and sound of meat splitting under my teeth. All it would take was a lunge and…

  *SMACK!!!*

  Before I could even begin to move, an open hand smacked itself against Andreas’s face and a smartly dressed figure sat herself in front of me protectively.

  “What the hell is the matter with you?” Samantha Evans shrieked into Andreas’s face.

  “Are you insane? You could have killed him? How in the hell do you expect him to know that those stones were valuable, have you lost your…?”

  She trailed off as Andreas slowly shifted his gun and pressed it to her mandible, cold murder in his eyes, breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

  The unpredictable, volatile animal that all of us gophers knew, was showing his face.

  “Piss off outta my way” he hissed.

  From behind, I couldn’t see Samantha’s face, but the way her legs were trembling, the woman was horrified. And yet, she didn’t move out of the way, still shielding me with her presence.

  Andreas growled again, his nose inches away from her’s.

  “You don’t touch me, got it? And you don’t get into my damn business, you uppity cu…”.

  Lizzie suddenly popped up from behind him, a comparatively slender arm, draped across him.

  “Baby, calm down. Calm down. We got other things to deal with, yeah?” she quickly whispered, rubbing his chest.

  Andreas held his glare on Samantha for a few more moments, his eyes burning with murder.

  Then, without warning, he lowered his weapon, the Desert Eagle swaying in his hand like an afterthought, and that twisted, fake grin returned to his face. It was a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, but it was there—mocking, insincere.

  "Wop. Sorry about that, Miss E, nerves got the better of me. My bad."

  His tone was smooth, too smooth, like oil sliding over stone. With practiced indifference, he holstered the gun, the click of the leather strap almost too loud in the tense silence. Then, in a swift motion, he bent down and snatched up the fallen Aether Stones, his hands moving with almost casual grace, as if this entire display had been nothing more than a momentary lapse.

  "I’ll deal with the merchant," he muttered, his words dripping with false joviality. The malice, however, remained, just beneath the surface, a silent threat that lingered like a shadow too close to the light.

  I forced my feet beneath me, body swaying like a tree in a storm, more of trying to keep myself from digging my thumbs into the bastard's eyes than any sort of real damage. The taste of blood and bile lingered in my mouth as I reached for the now-empty rag, pressing it to my face, as much to stanch the flow, as to cover my lower mouth before my lengthening teeth forced it open and let the proverbial cat out of the bag.

  Before I could fully regain my balance, Samantha was there, hands quick as lightning. She lunged for me, fingers wrapping around my arms, desperate to pry them apart and check on the wound.

  “Quick, let me see…” she whispered, still trembling and pale-faced, but her eyes filled with worry. She, at the very least, seemed to know how dangerous the blow I’d been dealt could be.

  I twisted, forcing myself from the woman’s grasp, and turned my back to her.

  “Ab bhine” I tried saying, my voice coming out warped as much from the wound as from my canines, and made for the back of the group.

  The mental tug-of-war between myself and the impulse had been won by me, but only by sheer dumb luck. The sheer audacity of Samantha smacking that bastard and putting herself between me and him had been enough to snap me out of the decision I had been making.

  The decision to tear the bastard’s throat open.

  But just barely.

  Had it been half a second more, it would have gone so much different.

  “Jon…” I heard Samantha shout behind me and felt a hand grasp for my shoulder.

  “Ab Phuging Phine” I slurred back, voice muffled by the rag, shaking her hand off.

  Without intending to, my eyes caught Lizzie Landon’s and she quickly turned her head. It hadn’t been fast enough for me not to notice the mixture of pity and scorn in them, but I didn’t bother wondering or trying to dissect the look, merely stomped towards the back, shouldering my way through both gophers and students until I reached the wall, pressing the rag against my face as hard as I could.

  Tim, bless his heart, had moved before me and pulled a chair. With a curt nod in the form of thanks, I slumped into it.

  “You okay man?” he asked, and held a bundle of cloth for me to take. With another nod of gratitude, I pressed the rest of the bundle and motioned for him to keep his eyes on the still unfolding events.

  Samantha’s eyes stayed fixed on me, concern clear on her face. But as soon as I sat down, she pulled off her glasses and turned away, wiping a hand across her face. She was close to breaking—trying to keep everything under control in the midst of all this chaos was wearing her down.

  “Now. Food is good, but I saw you had some guns in your inventory” Andreas’s voice sounded out and I paid Samantha Evans no more mind.

  Puck shrugged nonchalantly, whipping his spider-leg of an arm again. From this distance and sitting down, I couldn’t see what had appeared, but based on the groans I was hearing, it was probably a very small amount.

  “Only that?” Andreas half-shouted. “Okay? What about ammo for the guns we have?”.

  Puck whipped his arm again and another series of groans echoed in the amphitheater.

  “Not gonna lie, Fey-man, the amount you’re offering is… subpar” Andreas growled, the faintest edge of frustration dirtying his tone. I smiled beneath the rags.

  Even from the back, I could tell Andreas was biting his tongue, trying not to spout off some threat or cuss. This would probably mark the first time in the bastard’s life he hadn’t been able to just outright push his weight around willy-nilly.

  Puck simply shrugged with obvious indifference.

  “Food is something universal, infant. I can acquire it easily, and in case of a stock shortage, I can simply recreate it from the aether”.

  He snapped his fingers and an AK popped into existence in his hand.

  “But these… guns, you call them? The stock I have as of yet been able to find has been limited. And my native world did not have these. As such it will take days for me to properly examine and understand how to recreate them from the aether”.

  Another snap, and the gun disappeared, only to be replaced by a box of rounds.

  “And this… ammunition?” he said with a scornful tone “I am beginning to think that recreating such trinkets from nothing is too much an investment of magical power for far too little profit. The alloy, the primer, the black powder, all deeply complex aethiric simulacra, for something that becomes expended after only a single strike?”

  Puck flicked the box and it disappeared into thin air.

  “Wasteful. No, I think not. The inventory of guns and ammunition will remain relegated to what I can find in this melded world of ours. So until I have successfully increased the stock, it shall come at a premium cost”.

  The silence stretched on, each passing second dragging out longer than the last as Andreas stood there, chin resting in his hand, lost in thought. As the minutes ticked by, the low murmurs grew louder, turning into frustrated demands. The other students were losing patience, urging him to just “get the food and water already.”

  With a sudden snap, Andreas whipped his head around to face them. The noise died instantly. The room went still. Eyes dropped, mouths snapped shut, and the air seemed to freeze. Everyone was still haunted by the image of a red-faced, furious Andreas, anger barely contained— the moment when he’d nearly turned that fury on Miss Evans. The memory hung thick in the air, fresh and sharp, reminding them all just how quickly things could unravel, freezing the protests in their throats.

  Everyone likes to think themselves the hero. The one who speaks up. But the reality is that most people are all too content to wait for someone else to do that.

  With a garbled, alien sound reminding of a bored groan, Puck cleared his throat.

  “If I may offer advice?”

  Andreas lifted his head, his attention clearly piqued.

  “Alright?”.

  Instead of speaking, Puck bent over, hand open and extended.

  “One Aether Stone”

  “Excuse you?”

  “Advice is information. And information is…”

  "Valuable. Yeah, we get it." Andreas finished the Fey creature’s sentence, his voice cold, and held the silent stare for a few long seconds. Then, with a deep, resigned sigh, he plucked one of the Aether Stones from the pile and flicked it toward Puck, deliberately tuning out the murmurs of groans and protests that rippled through the crowd of students around him.

  With a fluidity that defied all reason, given his strange, gangly form, Puck snatched the Stone from the air mid-flight, slipping it into his breast pocket before anyone could blink.

  "Very well," he said, his voice dripping with the slightest hint of satisfaction. "At long last, some commerce has been made. Now..."

  Without a word, Puck clasped his hands together, his movements a blur, and in a heartbeat, he flung his arms wide. What followed nearly made me drop the rag I was still pressing to my face.

  Before Puck, suspended in a shimmering sphere of iridescent blue, floated not an object or food, but something far more unnerving—a swirling series of black markings, shifting and twisting in and out of shape. One moment, I saw the outline of a sword, an axe, a skull, a bow. The next, the shapes morphed, contorting into formless black streaks that swirled and pulsed with a mind of their own, like the bubbles in a lava lamp, chaotic and unpredictable.

  “This," Puck’s voice rang out, almost reverent, “what you are witnessing, infants, is the singular, most coveted service the Feyvolken can offer." He paused, eyes gleaming with a mix of pride and malice. "Behold, children, the Class Markings.”