So here I am, tailing this eccentric dwarf dy—Viking-style beard, insistent groping habit, the whole deal—marching us toward the city gates and beyond. What could possibly go wrong? If she grabs my ass one more time, I could yank her arm off, rip open her belly, and savor her intestines while she serenades me with screams. But honestly? I’m curious to see how this so-called dream pys out. If it turns out boring, I don’t mind flipping the script into a nightmare.

  There’s something oddly familiar about her, though... Nah, probably nothing. Apparently, we’re off to have a not-so-friendly showdown with a drake, along with some of her buddies I haven’t met yet. Pretty sure this is how a horror movies start. But hey, I’ve never seen a horror flick set in a magic-filled dreamscape before, so... odds are in my favor, right? At the very least, I should get points for originality.

  Isn’t this just the plot to Elm Street?

  ...No?

  Ugh, don't even get me started on the voices in my head. I used to talk to myself, but now... I actually am. Worse still, all the voices are me, so I can't tell which thoughts are mine and which are... well, also mine. I was shattered into so many pieces it's not even worth counting, and each one seems to have its own voice. Thankfully, I can feel some of them merging back into those factions I mentioned, but that's hardly a sure thing.

  You idiot, they're bored already!

  Yeah, genius, tell them something they don't know.

  —And make it snappy. We've got chaos to unleash.

  Talk about maddening. It's like trying new meds—you’re disoriented, hating every moment, but after a while, they grow on you in the worst possible way. Then, when you finally kick them, you realize just how spectacurly awful they were. Or... nah, scratch that. Comparing it to getting back with an ex is an even worse analogy.

  At least the meds had some effect. What's your excuse?

  Oh snap! She went there.

  Can we please focus? There's a dream world to unsettle.

  POINT BEING! I'm still somewhat functional after the whole shattered soul and mind situation... right? RIGHT!

  Shit, girl—YoU cRaZy!

  AHaHaHaHaHa—hEeHeEhEeHeE—mUaHaHaHaHaHa!

  I sighed and then joined in the cacophony of hysterical ughter echoing in my head, my giggles spiraling into uncontrolble cackles. The dwarf shot me a sideways gnce as her hand patted my ass in some twisted form of comfort, but I was too wrapped up in the madness to care.

  “How far until we meet up with your merry band of drake syers?” I finally blurted out between chuckles, wiping away a few bck, gooey tears. “I feel like we’ve been walking for hours.”

  Seriously, has this woman never heard of horses? Camels?

  Heck, I’d settle for a stubborn jackass at this point—anything but this endless, relentless walking.

  The dwarven woman shot me a backward gnce. “Oh, we’re but a third o’ the way, ssie. But don’t ye fret,” she somehow managed to say with an impeccably straight face, a mischievous twinkle betraying her, “if ye’re needin’ a wee breather, I’ve no qualms settin’ up a tent for a cozy bit o’ rest fer the two of us.”

  “No! No—nope. I’m good, no need for any of that! Onward, shall we?”

  “Aye, ye don’t need to be woundin’ me heart like that,” Grimmail pouted. “I’m not seekin’ a retionship or anythin’ with a humyn. Just a bit o’ fun in the desert,” she grinned. “Ye know what they say: what happens in the desert stays in the desert. Well, unless it’s between a man and a woman; in that case, sometimes ye bring home a wee one. Done that a few too many times before comin’ to this realm,” she chuckled, albeit a bit bitterly, before attempting—and failing—to swat at my backside.

  “I thought you said children are rare?”

  “Aye, that they be. I managed t’have thirteen before my world was pulled to this realm,” the dwarf said as she scratched at her beard. “That puts me in a tie for the most births any dwarf, humyn, or elf has had on written record since any of our homes were brought here.”

  “Your homes were brought here?”

  Duh, we already know this shit.

  Nothing wrong with a lore recap!

  Grimmail gnced over, eyebrows hitched high. “Where’ve ye been dwellin’, ss? Every soul’s home world was yanked right outta their reality to become one o’ the countless moons o’ V?luspá. Some moons be draped in elves, others in various kin o’ dwarfs, gnomes, or humyns, an’ others yet with creatures from the darkest nightmares: orcs, goblins... even ones with those bloody vampires. An’ then there’re those with monsters that’d freeze yer blood to stone just by lookin’ at them.

  “Theories an’ religions, they’re aplenty regardin’ the ‘why’ of it all, but none can y cim to true knowin’. The gods, they haven’t spared us a word. All I ken for sure is more souls are passin’ on than are bein’ birthed into this realm. Were it not fer new worlds joinin’ our moons, all life’d just wither away in time.”

  She paused, her eyes distant, burdened, as she bit her lower lip.

  “Take Sethia, for instance. We lost more than a thousand good souls in the first half o’ this year alone, with fewer than two new births these past five decades—and that’s what we call a good reproductive century. Were it not for all the travelers comin’ from the more hostile moons, our little kingdom’d vanish into the sands. That’s why adventurers are so crucial, ss. We need to fend off the monsters, sy our enemies, an’ ensure the darker races don’t y cim to our kind. Or else we end up like the fae folk—not many of them left now, is there? An’ it doesn’t help that we’ve been at war for so long with the vampires and beastkin. A three-way war it is, with no signs of peace.”

  Grimmail took a deep sigh, pausing to gather her thoughts before adding, “Worse still, all the signs are pointin’ that the world from where the demons hail is to be the next new moon. Might be in a year, or mayhaps in the next two hundred, but all indications show they’re sted for the next convergence.”

  Is it just me, or is her accent getting easier to understand?

  No, it’s just you.

  But aren’t I, you?

  I trudged beside the dwarf woman, the scorching sun beating down as we scaled an endless sea of sand dunes. Directionless and without a single clue as to where we were actually headed, I felt the grains shifting beneath my feet with every step. Her words, though—they had that irritating tendency to stick, worming their way deep while I tried to patch together my fragmented understanding as she continued rambling away. From the tales she spun and the echoes of past conversations, a picture began to emerge: every race, along with their homeworlds, had been abruptly yanked—isekai'd—into this realm brimming with magic.

  Of course, there were repeats: different worlds with varied strains of simir races, like endless versions of humans—or humyns—elves, dwaves, and so on. High elves, dark elves, frost elves... it's like someone was running out of creativity at a fantasy convention.

  And then, of course, the shadow over it all: birthrates had tanked. The dwarf went on about whispered myths concerning the shattered cycle of reincarnation and the death of the Primordial Goddess of Life—thanks to some Eldritch horrors. Life was on a downward spiral, death was on the upswing, and here we all were. So, to keep things from entirely falling apart, they granted everyone either immortality or just absurdly long lives, provided something didn’t kill you first. And to plug the soul deficit from all the death and dwindling births? Well, every few centuries, some new unlucky world gets yanked through the cosmic veil and tossed into orbit.

  But one particur nugget of her info left me scratching my head.

  “How do you know the demon world is next?” I asked once I finally wrapped my head around all that.

  She didn’t miss a beat. “It’s quite simple, ss,” she responded, a disconcerting calmness in her voice. “Every time a convergence is nigh, the veil thins, and souls from the reality next in line, they begin to be summoned into ours before their entire world follows, they do. We’ve been witnessin’ demon summonin’s for a good spell now, though they’re an odd bunch, those demons. Never have I seen a soul reshape their host body into their own true form before. Watched a male gnome once—turned he did into a humyn-sized female succubus, after her soul was set into the host body. Sent a chill straight down me spine, it did.”

  Well, shit. Could that mean Earth’s up for grabs, too?

  “What do you mean by ‘the veil is thin’?” I pressed.

  “Aren’t ye full of questions,” Grimmail chuckled. “Well, ss, we can’t rightly say whether the veil is bein’ thinned by summoners before a world is pulled through to this one, or if it’s the gods themselves who are thinnin’ the veil before they go about stealin’ an entire world,” she expined.

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I grumbled.

  Grimmail let out a hearty chuckle. “Aye, it’s a bit of a puzzle, isn’t it? Like ponderin’, what came first, the egg or the winged toad?” she mused, her boots shuffling through the sandy expanse.

  Winged toad?

  Do they farm those like chickens here?

  “I mean, how does summoning work?”

  She shrugged, her armor creaking slightly with the motion. “Ah, I’m nae the one t’ be askin’, ss, not bein’ a summoner nor a mage, ye ken? But, from the wee bits I’ve heard, summoners, they reach through the veil, searchin’ for souls, they are. If the stars align, or some other mystical mumbo jumbo, they link up with one an’ give it a good yank right into our reality. But here’s the ticklish bit, it’s only the soul that gets through, unlike a convergence, nae body t’be seen. So a lifeless host is needed on this side, ready an’ waitin’.”

  Come on, what's up with that accent? It keeps thickening and loosening.

  I really think Polyglot just has issues with dwarves.

  “So, it’s necromancy?” I said, mostly to myself.

  Her expression darkened, resonating with a deep-rooted disdain as she spoke. “Nah, it’s nae necromancy, ss. I’ll have none of that vile talk,” Grimmail’s voice, previously amicable, now bore a stern edge. “When I say ‘lifeless,’ I’m nae talkin’ of the dead. ‘Tis a vessel without a soul I speak of, like a ship with nae captain, sailin’ the ethereal seas above, waitin’ for a soul to take the helm. ‘Dead’ suggests somethin’ that once lived and breathed, whereas these hosts, they’re still alive, just empty, with their own souls forcibly evicted. They’d all be guilty of some manner of crime or another. But aye, darker practices exist, but, by the gods, that’s a path none should tread.”

  “…Huh.”

  A mental eyebrow arched at Grimmail’s anti-necromancy rant. So, Aurelia, the stunning necromancer vampire who unapologetically swiped my heart and soul—well, souls, plural now—was a conversational ndmine here. Noted. Love life was firmly on the Do Not Enter list.

  Magic’s celestial thievery, though... now that was a puzzle. My thoughts wrestled with the intel, trying to make it something coherent. Was she casually thinning the cosmic veil between realities to steal entire worlds? Or were clueless summoners just setting it up like a welcome mat for her? Either way, Magic was tucking worlds into V?luspá’s sky like shiny trophies. The whole thing was… baffling, honestly.

  I remember bits and pieces of that chat with Magic before she... y'know, shattered my soul like a gss ornament and utterly killed me. She was all about finding her sister, Life, which is adorable if you overlook the whole soul-murder thing. Oh, and apparently humanity is connected to the lost Titans—like, who knew? But honestly, the way she went about it just reeked of desperation.

  I mean, girl, there are better ways to handle sibling drama than breaking a goth chick into a million tiny shards. Ever heard of family therapy?

  The dwarf paused, pnting her boots firmly atop the sand dune, grains cascading from her sturdy stance. She turned, a triumphant grin breaking across her face, eyes alight with a hearty blend of adventure and welcome. “We’re here,” she decred, her voice dancing on the wind that swept across the vast, open desert.

  I cmbered up beside her, sand slipping beneath my shoes—fine, gooey bck ballerina slippers. Happy now?—until I finally stood next to the stout woman. Before us, a canyon yawned open, eerily reminiscent of the Grand Canyon back home—if the Grand Canyon was on steroids and decided it had a vendetta against tourists. A skinny little river snaked through its center, looking all kinds of pathetic from up here. But, knowing my luck, once we descended, that pathetic trickle would turn into something far less underwhelming and far more likely to drown us. Fun.

  “So, the drake and your party are down there?” I asked.

  “Aye, that they be. We’ve a small cave we often use as a campsite when we’re huntin’ in The Crack of the Desert’s Heart,” the dwarf grinned, eyes twinkling with mischief. “If ye’ve any st questions, now’d be the time, for once we make our way down, I’m suspectin’ we’ll be tanglin’ with a few small critters. Mostly feral goblins, rabid an’ the like.”

  “If you wish to keep your hand, I’d recommend removing it,” I retorted.

  The dwarf lifted her hands defensively, though a roguish grin still danced on her face. “Ah, but it’s a fine arse, it be,” she sighed, sounding almost mournful. “Like it’s made of putty, just perfectly moldin’ to me hands, it is.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Well, sorry for you, but my ass already belongs to someone else.”

  “W-What? Who’s gone and id cim to such a wonderful bounty, then?” Grimmail stuttered.

  I cracked a smile at her. “Oh, just a vampire.”

  Her expression shifted instantly to a gre. “Oi, that shite ain’t funny,” she huffed. “Let’s get a move on; we’ve still a couple o’ hours to make our way down there, we do.”

  “A couple hours?” I groaned. “I thought you said we were here.”

  “Aye, we’re here—right at The Crack of the Desert’s Heart,” she chuckled, and then added with a grin, “Now, if ye don’t take kindly to unwelcome hands on your fine arse or those perfect titties of yours, keep a sharp eye out for them goblins. The feral ones—they’ve got no care for kindness or decency. They’ll just hammer away at ye, don’t matter if ye’re man, woman, or a cursed abomination of bck goo, all while gnawin’ at your flesh.” She paused, a haunted look crossing her face. “It’s a horror, watchin’ them rabid beasts—chewin’ on their own ears even as they come for ye. And if ye fall to them? You’ll be infected with their rabies, turnin' into a mindless, gnawin’ zombie afterward.”

  She shrugged casually, as if she hadn’t just painted a nightmare scenario. “Thankfully, they’re easy enough to deal with. It’s the numbers that’ll get ye."

  Honestly, I wasn’t the least bit worried. The idea of someone biting into my false silk flesh only to find a mouthful of corrosive Bck Pudding underneath? Priceless. And as for any unsolicited "poking"—well, there’s nothing quite like watching someone realize their special limb is melting away. Melting flesh, screams of agony—a cssic. So, even if I got overwhelmed, fear was very much off the table.

  Oh, and let’s not forget about magic. Without the System’s hand-holding, spellcasting had become more about feel, imagery, and sheer unhinged willpower. Think vivid daydreaming mixed with a pinch of screw you, reality. Honestly, it was almost... fun.

  “Necrotic Fme,” I mused, already deciding it would be my go-to spell.

  Let's see how they like being the marshmallows at this bonfire!

  An odd little spell, that one. Despite my gring weakness to fire, this fme didn’t so much as singe me. My enemies, though? That was another story. It looked like normal fire—if normal fire came in an ominous shade of green with purple tips—but instead of burning, it corroded. And the smell? Exquisite—a rich, pungent perfume of rotting flesh.

  “Oi mean it, ss, keep an eye out on the cliffside as we go down. Some o’ them little buggers like to leap down on top o’ ye once ye get under them,” Grimmail warned, pulling her battleaxe from her back.

  I gave her a nod, and we began our descent into the canyon along a narrow, precarious path. One wrong step, and I could be taking a one-way dive to the bottom. Grimmail seemed unbothered by the steep drop, her short stature giving her an edge here—literally. I wondered, if I fell and spttered, how long would it take my goo to pull itself back together?

  “Why didn’t you come out here with your party from the start?”

  “Focus, ssie. Ye need t’ pay attention to them critters before they get the jump on ye,” Grimmail hissed.

  After a few minutes, her tone lightened, and she continued talking.

  “We haven’t been a party for all that long, y’ know. Still learnin’ the ropes with one another. Heck, two of ‘em are still keepin' their names secret. The third? Grouchy old wizard type—y’know the deal, all beard and cynicism. And the healer, the gnome? Well, he’s decent enough, though he’s got this weird obsession with the Ascended. Keeps bbberin’ on about climbin' the church’s ranks, whatever that means. Formin’ bonds in fresh parties is tricky business, especially when ya know the old party probably... didn’t make it. That’s us—all ‘cept the gnome, who somehow came outta nowhere with his shiny goals and church dreams.”

  Are you following any of this?

  Nope! Not a word.

  She took a deep breath, peeked over the edge to make sure all was clear, then pressed on.

  “I didn’t go back fer supplies alone; the gnome joined me. But I was takin’ too long, so he grabbed a sand sail and went back here by himself,” she chuckled softly, a hint of mencholy in her voice. “He’s good folk. ‘Tis a shame what befell him this night.”

  Wait—sand sail? What was that, and more importantly, why hadn't we used one? But her words caught me off guard. “What do you mean, what’s going to happen to him?” My voice was edged with suspicion. Was I being led into a trap?

  Grimmail’s head snapped toward me, her eyes momentarily distant and unfocused. Then, as if a fog lifted, she blinked, clearing her gaze. “What was that, ss?” she asked, genuine confusion cing her voice. “Hurry up, we’ve got to reach the others ‘fore the sun sets.”

  “Well, that was odd,” I muttered, trailing behind her. A prickle ran up my spine, a sense of being watched. But no matter how much I scanned our surroundings, the watcher remained unseen.

  And then it happened—out of nowhere. A goblin, screeching like it had just seen a ghost, leaped down from above, aiming for Grimmail. Its head was cocked at a weird angle, mouth snapping like mad, even trying to take a bite out of its own ear.

  Grimmail roared, her face twisting into a mask of fury as she swung her axe with enough force to split a tree in two. The confined space worked against her, the heavy bde gncing off the rocky cliff wall with a deafening cng, sparks flying. The goblin shrieked, its mangled body twisting as the axe’s edge clipped it just enough to send it careening backward. Its bared teeth snapped wildly at nothing but air as it plummeted into the abyss, a final wail echoing before the canyon swallowed it whole.

  “Behind you, ss!” Grimmail’s warning rang out as she swung at another goblin making a dive.

  I spun around, greeted by the chaotic sight of a whole gaggle of them—frothing, snapping, and weirdly biting at nothing—barreling down the path we had just come down. Everything about them screamed rabies—Grimmail wasn’t exaggerating.

  And I couldn’t help but think of a certain little goblin...

  A grin tugged at my lips as I lifted my hand, the ambient mana thick, almost tangible, far more substantial than the wisps I’d felt in the dungeon ruins. I let it swirl through me, merging with the image in my mind, feeling it condense before I gave it a mental shove driven by sheer want.

  —Whoosh—

  A wave of green fmes engulfed the horde like dry leaves, and honestly, I was a bit taken aback by the sheer power of the spell. The goblins’ initial cacophony morphed into something more akin to wails and sobs. A couple even seemed to snap out of their rabid frenzy, eyes clearing as if sanity flickered back in, if only for a moment. Others, in blind desperation, flung themselves off the edge, into the abyss below.

  One after another, the goblins crumbled, my Necrotic Fme turning them into little more than husks, their flesh rotting away in a horrific yet oddly satisfying dispy. Oh, and the smell was delicious! My eyes blinked in genuine surprise at the fiery spectacle before me. I mean, where did that come from, right? My magic had never packed quite THAT much punch before. Was the mana in the air supercharged here or something? Perks of the dream realm—who knows? But hey, I definitely wasn’t about to start compining about a bit of extra magical oomph!

  “Lassie, ye never did mention ye were a magus-tier caster!” Grimmail gawked, her eyes flickering between me and the smoky remnants of the goblin horde. “After obliteratin’ them so, ye’ve surely earned yourself a snug spot in m’bed—ye’ve left me positively... wet,” she cooed.

  My eyebrows shot up, both in surprise and exasperation. "You really don’t know when to quit, do—" My words faltered, eyes dropping to the dark stain spreading across her trousers.

  Her wink was as cheeky as her chuckle. "Ah, not quite in the manner ye're assumin', ss," she admitted, utterly unabashed. Despite myself, a snort of ughter escaped me.

  The dwarf had pissed herself.

  “Now, off we go, ss. Camp’s callin’ and a river rinse is in dire need,” Grimmail decred, unabashedly turning on her heel and resuming her trek down the path.

  I sauntered behind, my brows knitting above a smirk at Grimmail’s unflinching spirit. There she was, shrugging off what anyone else would find mortifying with casual whimsy. Almost a pity, really—that I was going to kill her eventually.

  Can we kill someone in a dream?

  Not sure, but I can't wait to find out!

  After some time, we were finally approaching the bottom. Grimmail, her voice a hushed whisper, subtly pointed at something across the canyon. “O’er there, ss. The drakes’ den. We need t’ tread light and easy now.” Her eyes, steady and considered, met mine briefly. “After unleashin’ that spell, yer mana must be near spent, aye? Dunna fret. We’ll round up the others soon enough, and ye can rest up, recharge yer mystical might.”

  I simply nodded, choosing not to confess that I hadn't used any of my own mana—if I even had any to begin with. My mind began to meander down a familiar path of pondering. Did I have my own reservoir of magical energy? And if so, how would I even tap into it? But then, I mentally shrugged. Why worry about that when I could harness the abundant ambient mana around me—an infinite wellspring of magic? Worrying about personal mana felt akin to menting the ck of a truck when a cargo pne was at my disposal.

  Pulling up to a petite cave entrance, Grimmail announced, “Oi, we’re here,” her voice ringing with a certain finality. My enthusiasm didn’t exactly skyrocket, considering the journey we’d undertaken to get here. Honestly, if I'd known adventuring involved this much... trekking, I might've reconsidered tagging along on a monster-and-drake-sying escapade. But hey, I was here now, biting back the cynical anticipation that she’d next tell me the real party was another three-day walk deeper into the cave.

  “Dwarf, is that you?” A voice, seasoned with age and wear, floated toward us from the dim entrance.

  "Who else would it be, the drake?" Grimmail snorted.

  “Just checking,” came back his voice with a slight grumble.

  “Ye’re the one on watch, yeah? How ‘bout the healer, did the lil’ fel make it back?” she asked, her voice dipping into a blend of curiosity and impatience.

  “Yes. Yes. He has some feather-fall-like gadget and gracefully descended into the canyon just to where you stand now. Perfectly unharmed. Though, we were all a bit miffed you hadn’t accompanied him yourself,” the man said from within the cave, still out of sight.

  Grimmail scoffed. "I ain't his ma. He wanted t'come back, and I wasn't ready, so he did it on his own. Not my responsibility." Now, y’old wizard, ye gonna let the two of us in or not?”

  “Two?”

  “Aye, found meself a magus-tier caster who’s offered t’join us,” Grimmail announced, a swell of pride lilting through her words. “An’ I’ve already called dibs, so hands off—she be mine.”

  I rolled my eyes but let the comment slide, not even bothering to argue with the woman.

  “Now, ssie, off ye go,” Grimmail nudged me forward, a sly grin sneaking across her features. “I’ll be trailin’ behind ye in a jiff. Need to give meself a quick rinse in the river—this stench from me own soaked trousers is truly startin’ to assail me nostrils,” she boomed out with a hearty chuckle.

  I dipped my head, ducking into the cavern, half-expecting Grimmail’s hand to make a familiar journey toward my backside. But, surprisingly, it didn’t. Perhaps the dispy of my magic had granted me a respite from her groping advances.

  Inside, I was greeted by the silhouette of a man, enshrouded in shadow, his form veiled by cascading gray robes. The hood pulled low over his forehead obscured most of his features, though tendrils of a wispy gray beard peeked out from beneath it. It struck me as odd, considering the apparent prevalence of immortality in this world, to see such distinct signs of aging.

  He lifted his head slightly, just enough for his eyes to meet mine, and spoke, his voice carrying a gravelly weariness. “Greetings. You can call me wizard or mage; it’s what everyone around here seems to favor,” he remarked, a hint of bitterness cing his words.

  I nodded, respecting his somber introduction with silence before responding, "Pleasure to meet you, wizard," I lied. As the seconds ticked by, I found myself squinting, studying the scant features visible beneath his hood. A strange familiarity echoed in my mind, though from where, I couldn’t quite grasp.

  I brushed off the nagging thought, turning my attention back to the immediate conversation.

  "I'm Bke," I introduced myself, utterly cking enthusiasm. This dream—or whatever game was being pyed—was starting to bore me.

  He nodded, the gesture barely visible in the dim light of the cave. “Well met, Bke. We’ll be gd of your help, especially given what Grimmail has surely shared about your tier.”

  “I’ll be honest, what do you mean by tier?” I asked, my question seemingly catching the wizard off guard.

  "I would expect someone of your caliber to know such things," he replied, his voice tinged with surprise. "Why don't we go further back into the cavern by the fire? I can introduce you to the others, and we can talk about magic, if you'd like."

  I followed the old wizard deeper into the cavern. For what felt like an eternity—just kidding! The cozy encve was merely around a bend, not far from the entrance at all. A robust bonfire roared in the middle of the space, yet the area remained curiously free of smoke.

  An elven woman sat nearby, her hair sleekly pulled back into a ponytail. Her helmet rested on the ground beside her as she attentively sharpened her sword. Her armor, marred with dents and scratches, whispered of countless battles endured. My inner critic initially wanted to suggest the use of a shield, but a quick gnce revealed one already present, resting nearby. Though I couldn't fully discern her face, the pyful dance of firelight upon her skin suggested a captivating elegance.

  My gaze then nded on the healer—or rather, a gnome—who I recognized.

  "Well, well, if it isn't Niko," I muttered, my tone dripping with dry sarcasm. "Nice to see you again... I guess."

  He looked up, blinking in apparent confusion. "I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

  Internally, I raised an eyebrow.

  So, we're pying the "I don't know you" game, huh? Noted.

  That likely answered whether the rest of this crew knew about his out-realm origins.

  From the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a fsh of pink, but a quick gnce revealed nothing.

  Suddenly, a deep male voice resonated from the other side of the cavern. "Oh! What do we have here? A woman—and a fine-looking one at that."

  I turned toward the voice, my eyes meeting a humyn man emerging from the darkness. His dark skin, shaved head, goatee, and muscur physique presented an imposing figure; his attire was a blend of barbarian and monk aesthetics. Recognition jolted through me, my mind whirling in shock and disbelief.

  "I—I killed you," I stammered, my metaphorical heart pounding in my chest. Confusion twisted into frustration. Not this again—the Dream Realm was toying with me.

  A sound from behind yanked my attention. Whirling around, I found myself face-to-face with a massive, decaying skeletal drake—bones splintered, half-rotted, yet somehow still very much alive. A wave of emerald fire, tipped with flickers of ominous purple, erupted from its gaping maw like a fmethrower, barreling straight at me!

  Seriously?

  1

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