So, here’s the deal, golem crafting is a very lottery-adjacent experience. Depending on the summoning symbol you chose, the materials you used, and even the shape of your golem, you can end up with a fairly broad spectrum of potential spirits. However, as in many things, not all are created equal. There are Magis that dedicate years, lineages even, to proper crafting and endowment of spirits. It’s best if I don’t tell you how my golems tend to go in comparison.

Anyway, this giant crumbly snake made of regular, if iron-rich, dirt is not exactly a high-end offering. So, from the get-go I wasn’t expecting a powerful or spectacular spirit to appear. And that is why I made a mistake; I forgot the clause symbols to exclude the spirit types that I don’t want showing up.

In my defense, inverted spirits tend to be extremely prideful, so it never crossed my mind that there might be one desperate enough to bind itself to my puppet. I also shouldn’t have skipped out on the negotiation phase, but I was too tired to want to think about it. I used a standard contract, with standard terms, so now I have to deal with it.

Long story short, my snake puppet is now inhabited by a spirit that many would consider malevolent. On the plus side, it has to listen to me since I’m the one acting as the tether and can dissolve its connection to the body whenever. On the negative side, it doesn’t have to be very nice about how it listens to me.

That’s why I, my partner, and my five captives in their ice-capsules are now on a very bumpy ride inside the pseudo-stomach of a snake-golem. At the very least, I wanted to ride on top, but my new golem had other ideas. As is, we barely had time for my wisp to reabsorb the magic from the excess ice, leaving only the muddy puddles behind as evidence.

Zephyr, as he had introduced himself, had agreed to the contract without inspecting anything first because of how rare it is for a summons to be open to any spirit whatsoever. Despite knowing that the vessel might not be suitable for a greater wind elemental such as himself, he hadn’t been happy to realize it was barely suitable for even a low-class formless spirit. Even less so after I explained that I dared to summon him for "menial labor" as he called it.

Unfortunately for us both, the standard contract terms are a minimum of four weeks, or until the Magis dissolves the tether, and I couldn’t afford to send him back. The puppet would turn into mush, and I don’t have the energy to make another of the appropriate size. The only reason I could do the first summoning was because it needs barely a strands-worth of energy if you aren’t trying to subjugate the spirit that's summoned.

As for how the Harpy’s Nest took our departure, all I could hear were various yells of terror and even more property destruction as Zephyr decided to bash down another wall on his way out. The only reason I can tell where we are at all is because I can feel the intensity of the leyline flows. As ordered, we are being carried south, but clearly, we’re taking the most turbulent possible path. Those other people are lucky to be icicles right now.

Several hours later finds us in the blush of dawn somewhere nearby one of the humble villages I’d stopped at on my way to the Nest. It didn’t have an official name, but the locals had called it Redstone. It was then that we were promptly regurgitated into a patch of especially sharp grass. Zephyr huffs, an impressive act without lungs, and circles his long body around the makeshift camp forming temporary walls with his red clay body.

We would stay here a day or so, until my energy recovered enough to deal with my captives safely. As is, I wouldn’t be able to cast the translation spell to understand them, or any other magic I might end up needing. And while I could just search their belongings, drop them off somewhere, and call it a day, truthfully, I want to know why.

A pulse-stone is an odd thing to take if not for money, especially considering the who of this situation. They could have just bought one in Gold Port, and yet they chose to travel into the Great Forest instead. Reputation aside, from the beginning it was odd for the Hounds of all possible groups to do such a thing. In short, it’s a mystery. I’m also a bit curious about the wannabe ninja and his not-quite-a-magic-sword. Well, I’d get my answers tomorrow.

Update: curiosity does kill the cat and the cat is me.

You see, I thawed out my new friends and confiscated all their stuff before waking them up. And I found the fairy-stone! So naturally I think today is going swell. Mission accomplished, except I still have to deliver it, but I’d be able to travel pretty fast once I hit the tree line of the forest. The fairies would be happy, I’d be happy, we’d all be happy—but I should know better; life is rarely ever so straightforward.

And I had questions. Questions that started with “Who are you, anyway?”

Would you have ever guessed that the wannabe ninja with crimson hair and plum-red eyes was the very fate I’d been avoiding? This is the guy that a child was supposed to hunt down and kill for the sake of the world or Arkos or whatever? This guy that can’t be much older or younger than I was? It certainly wasn’t the first time that I questioned the sense of that so-called prophecy, given that it had hinged the fate of at least one kingdom on the shoulders of an untrained child. But to think it was a prophecy about one child being sent to slay another… Let’s just say I’ve never regretted going against fate less.

Needless to say, I did not disclose that I am his supposed archenemy decreed by the heavens, because I am not an idiot. At least, not that much of an idiot. As far as they know I’m just a soldier/Magis whose only business with them is the prison escape incident and all related events.

“So…” I toss the sparkly green stone up and down in my hand, showing them that I have it already, “what exactly did you want this for, anyway?” I watch their faces, one shocked, one outraged, and two resigned; the injured Hound hadn’t woken up readily, so I left him to rest although he was still tied up like the others.

“You thief! That life-stone is ours, we found it first!” The Hound, since he had refused to introduce himself, began struggling against the binds I’d placed. “Untie us, NOW, or I’ll-”

The sole woman amongst them, Eris Clawgrid, kicked him, exasperated. She clearly had a better grasp on what sort of position they were in at the moment. I raise my eyebrows at him to express my disbelief.

“Hmm? It seems like you don’t understand which of us is at the other’s mercy, here. I didn’t have to let you live after I caught you, much less anything else.” I crouch in front of him, using a glowing hand to lift his face as a reminder. He looks like he’s about to spit or start yelling again, a vicious snarl twisting up his face as his brown eyes attempt to kill me. Yeesh, aggressive, this one. A petty part of me wants to pull his cheek a little bit. Hmm…

“Please,” thee Lord Dreadfang Slayer himself interjects, “I apologize on behalf of my subordinate. Spare him, I will take responsibility for any anger he has caused you.” His voice urges me to switch my sights over to him instead. A rather sentimental thing to do, offering himself up like that. And, might I add, strangely docile for someone who’s supposed to be an evil scourge. Especially docile for someone that pointed a sword at me.

Dropping my hand, I pivot slightly to face him, something about his eyes catches in the back of mine; they’re hard to look at, but also hard to look away from.

“No! My lord, you mustn’t offer yourself up like that. If the Magis requires a sacrifice to appease their anger, they should take one of our lives, not yours.” Sigil Nightcress speaks up from the other side of Eris, concern and reprimand overflowing in his voice.

I sigh, drawing their attention before some weird argument about loyalty and friendship can break out. This isn’t some novel, you know.

“Relax, I didn’t bring you here to kill you. I just want answers. So, which of you feels like talking?” I back up and sit, completing the circle. Then I gesture to the fairy-stone again. “The big guy called this a ‘life-stone’, I can guess, but I’m wondering what that’s all about too.” I do my best to make myself comfortable, but trodden sharp grass isn’t an amazing thing to sit on. Leaning against Zephyr is marginally more comfortable, but he grumbles at me for it before going back to whatever conversation he was having with my little spirit guide.

I stare unblinking into Sigil’s amber eyes, thinking he might be the easiest to discomfort and I am not disappointed when he starts speaking seconds later, averting his eyes a fraction.

“In our homeland, there’s an old story about a special kind of stone. It’s a green crystal, and if you pick it up, they say you can feel a heartbeat. That’s what we call a life-stone. They say you can find them in fairy villages, hidden within one of the houses. The reason we went looking for one is because…” he trailed off, eyes sliding towards his comrades and then towards Dreadfang. He casts his gaze down, “It’s because life-stones are said to be capable of granting miracles, even to those that cannot wield magic.”

Dreadfang’s eyes widen and understanding seeps across his face. As if he didn’t know why they’d done this until just now either.

“Sigil, you and the others- you risked so much for me?” His eyes were almost glassy, the edges tensed in pain, as his voice faded off. As if he couldn’t believe that his own vassals would do such a thing for him. As if he wasn’t worthy of it.

“Who else would we do this for?” The big guy spoke up, his tone far calmer than I expected of him. Eris nodded firmly in agreement, a glancing look of approval on her face that I suspected was uncommon.

She added, “You are our lord, my liege. No matter what, nothing will change that. The Hounds serve you alone.” Her general indifference giving way to unyielding sincerity.

And then the tears really did start to overflow. I wonder if they just forgot that I’m here.

It’s a strange experience, to watch your supposed fated enemy break down and cry. Somehow, no one feels like a monster or a beast when you see them cry. Or rather, when you do happen to witness such heart-rending sobs and wails, it drags you back viscerally to a time when you felt the same way. A primordial sorrow that can dwell within any beating heart that screams I am alive, I am hurting to all near enough to hear it.

More than anything else, it begs me to know why. It’s such a lonely sound, aching and desperate. Pining. Hopeless and hopeful all at once. Grieving and relieved. Young, and yet far too old. And then I know why those eyes of his stick with me; it’s because they look just like mine used to, lost and afraid. 

For once, I don’t care that it isn’t my problem.