Chapter 2: Hey! I Don’t Work Here!

The endless and vast emptiness of the primordial black was his first sight. Where oxygen was absent and emptied the lungs with a single exhalation, where the sky was the land of unlimited horizon. There, memories went to die, and consciousness clouded and merged with the gloom, drifting in the nothingness.

 

The only boundaries were the invisible bone, the wall that enclosed his own ego—his own essence, already devoured by dark oblivion.

 

Foolish of him, he searched frantically for something in the blackness. There was nothing, nothing existed anymore—nothing mattered. Crackling in his chest, he knew that nothing had any weight there; not even his own body or identity. The tar-like black stuck to his soles, trying to consume him like mud. His eardrums detected the distant roar of nonexistent waves.

 

He inhaled deeply, a —familiar— disgusting, bitter smell filling his nostrils. He coughed, with the strength to push the bile further up his throat and tasted the acid of his own stomach. Just being there made his guts twist, like spinning in a whirlpool for eternity.

 

That was the world of his memories, lost in nothingness.

His limbs were like anchors in the ocean, threatening to sink into the shadows, just like his feet. With a slow blink, he struggled against gravity to touch his own forehead—with his three skeletal, yellow fingers. He felt the touch on his skull but not on his fingertips, as if they were dormant. But these just passed through. He had never had a head before, not in this reality.

 

Looking up, rows of blinding greenish haze fell from the sky of infinite depth, of an endless jet hue, utterly pure and absolute. In one breath, it filled his lungs, tickling his insides and his own organs. He coughed one more time, the tuff mixed with the saliva, dripping and melting into the tar.

 

Through the obfuscating fog, the blackened, diminutive figure like its claws made its presence known in the distance. Its blurred edges; misshapen and lost in the darkness, only emphasized its presence.

 

First it was one step, then the second—before he knew it, he was already walking toward the apparition, as if drawn by gravity. He raised his hand and waved it in the air, smoke clinging to his limb. “Hey!” He called, with a slow stride towards the figure.

 

Which grew smaller, mimicking as if one with the mist.

 

He felt a tightness in his chest—as if he had swallowed an anvil, but it was not heavy, but poisonous; cutting off and obstructing his breathing. His legs swung more nimbly, the shadow mimicking his speed to vanish, to leave.

 

He had to reach it. He didn’t know why, or what for, but deep in his soul, he was certain that it should be so. Such an enigmatic shadow, fleeing from his grasp. But his —no— skull rattled as the voice coming from ahead —and from all directions at once— reached his eardrums. Something out of his realm, distorted like an old cassette, garbled to absurdity, engulfed in static. The tone was indecipherable, like an ancestral code, and he could only assume it came from one source: the shadow.

 

He opened his mouth wide, “what are you talking about? Hello?” he called once more, at the brink of running. He stretched out his arm, trying to reach the figure with his fingertips, but it was swift in its fading, increasingly obstructed by the emerald haze.

 

The blurred entity drowned in its own warped voice, losing itself in the ether, and in the static that further extinguished its words. At this point, not a fragment of its soul remained.

 

“Don’t go!” he cried, hearing his heartbeat slowly accelerate, hammering in his ribs—which felt the stagnant smoke pass through them. 

 

A handful of mist descended from above, and emerged from beneath his feet like a geyser, filling his vision with green. He couldn’t control his diaphragm, inhaling sharply, mist rolling down his throat, exploding in his lungs—bile rose from his esophagus, stomach acid splashing with each uncontrollable cough that bolted from his nostrils and muzzle. Lime flooded the senses, like the sea, to the endless end.

 

He was blind. His ears fell to the floor, buried by the tar. Nothing mattered anymore, he could only slip into the sweet singing of an eternal dream. Just as he had always fantasized.

 

…

 

“Hm. Still not awake.”

 

The voice was distant—not choked in the ocean of tar and white noise of the smoke realm, but only by the infinite distance of millions of footsteps.

 

The darkness was crumbled, broken and torn like wallpaper—thanks to the light filtering through his eyelids. It was time to come down.

 

Time to come back to reality, Felix.

 

With a groan, he lifted his heavy eyes… being greeted by the warm yellow light of an antique lamp hanging overhead. It was like sitting in a rocking chair, but with the feel of dry grass crunching under his back. A blurry figure stared down at him from above.

 

With another blink, the distinguishable yellow blur of illumination took shape; like the face of a black-headed reptile, with a yellow jaw, and droopy indigo eyes; half-open with laziness. A small smile sketched on his face, he blinked in response, opening his mouth to—

 

He was interrupted by an agonized groan. In the first moment his brain was able of processing his nerves, Felix could feel the full might of the stabbing feeling piercing through his chest, as if blood was gushing inward. He brought his hands to his midsection, only to feel the silky touch of white on his fingertips—a quick glance down confirmed that his suspicions were correct; they were bandages.

 

“…Good morning. I’m glad you woke up, I was beginning to worry,” the raspy, dull voice came from the reptile, his orange flourish sprouting from the base of his neck and drooping around his body, with his jet-tipped golden tail waving behind him.

 

He blinked once more—the sting in his eyes was horribly familiar, and gritted his teeth hard before rolling over. Big mistake, for the moment his body squirmed even a few inches, that’s when the lacerating feeling assaulted his nervous system like a viper, sending wave after wave of hellish heat. It sent him back to his original position, curled up on his back like a turtle.

 

The reptile’s hand reached out, but his fingers did not touch him; they only twitched. “Patience, moving like that will only open your wound. Smooth moves, okay?” he recommended—the volume and speed of his speech mimicking his advice.

 

Once again, he tried to strain with his elbows to propel himself forward. But yet another twinge forced him to give up, dropping to the dry grass cushioning his back, and he untensed his muscles. With a few deep breaths, his diaphragm eased along with his mind. With each inhalation, the material beneath him creaked. It was obvious he wasn’t in a bed, but he needed to check to be sure.

 

Barely cocking his head to the side, he observed what he was lying on—a bed of hay, of dry grass compiled to form a cushioned surface. He could intuit it from the whale, and the lamps, but it didn’t appear that the monsters had enough technological advances to lead a full, or comfortable, life.

 

“I did the best I could, but…” the reptile gave a quick glance towards the bandage covering Felix’s chest; his tail swaying back and forth, faintly. “Heal pulses don’t close wounds that bad. Lucky for you, it doesn’t seem to have gotten any worse,” he said, shrugging briefly.

 

His mind wasn’t yet ready to be able to process strange terms-like heal pulse, for example. It might be medicine, was the first thing his conscious mind countered, but having known the monsters long enough already to have a laceration in his chest, he vastly doubted it. With the question on the tip of his tongue, he asked, “…Heal pulse?” he muttered, throat raspy.

 

The reptile’s facial expression didn’t change, “of course, everyone asks the same thing the first time,” he commented in a relaxed tone, and inhaled deeply, bracing for an explanation. “The truth is I don’t know how I learned it either, I got the same knowledge as you,” he shrugged —it was complicated to recognize them: his shoulders, hidden by the flourish at the base of his throat— and let out a yawn, rolling his head back.

 

That didn’t explain anything. Nor was it the doubt that plagued his mind. He gulped, “no— I meant, umh…” the heat in his chest twisted up to his cheeks; perhaps this was popular knowledge for monsters, “what is heal pulse?”

 

With a reaction delayed by a few seconds, the lizard’s eyes widened. Yet he didn’t seem all that perplexed either. “You don’t know what it is?” his raspy voice held a tinge of disbelief.

 

He rasped a hum that acted as a reply, accompanied by the faint shaking of his head to the sides. This time not even the name was on the tip of his tongue—it was totally unfamiliar, a blank definition.

 

“Well…” he dragged out the last word for a while, until he fell silent. With a soft hum, he blinked and held out his paw, placing his open palm upward. “It will be better if I show you, it’s a healing move,” he said. From the center of his hand, pale pink waves emanated, covering the jet-colored surface, reaching all the way to his fingertips. “See?” the creature’s relaxed tone had returned to pick his words.

 

Felix’s jaw dropped to the floor. His eyes widened like saucers. For a moment, he reached up to rub his eyelids but it brushed against the bandages, causing a hiss to escape from his teeth. He could only stare at the circular undulations, traveling in all directions until they faded away. He was lost in their color, in their trajectory, in how they emerged from absolute nowhere.

 

“Closes small wounds. Quite useful for a doctor even if my kind doesn’t learn it naturally,” he commented, closing his hand and the ripples being crushed out of existence.

 

Monsters were capable of having hands as sharp as swords, of lifting pillars of stone that not even the most dedicated bodybuilder could in their wildest dreams, and on top of all that, healing injuries with magic. It frightened him to think of the side effects, or of the limits of these creatures’ abilities.

 

But the twinge in his heart and in his abdominal bones had one clear reminder—that he had no desire to face one of these beasts again.

 

“Felix, right?” the lizard lowered his arm, “You seem… lost. I know the cap said you were a prankster, but I don’t think you’re in the mood for that after an injury this bad,” he thought aloud, the speed of his words becoming slower. He squinted, fixing his gaze on a wall.

 

He felt lightness in his chest—this was the sweet opportunity he had hoped for. That of someone conscious who could believe his words. He opened his mouth, trying to find a way to explain himself—

 

The monster’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and he directed his gaze back to the abra. “Wait… You’re a feral, aren’t you?” he asked, lowering his voice and leaning forward a few inches. “Zelodec found you on an island and you show ignorance of things anyone would know… you must be one.”

 

…

 

There was no hope. His mouth clamped shut, jaw sealed tight.

 

Indigo pupils observed him for a few moments, gauging his expression. The air stagnated for that time, until he leaned back, a sly, relaxed smile on his face. “Don’t worry, I don’t judge. It would be hypocritical of my part,” he chuckled and shook his head faintly. “My name is Doshe. I was sleeping when you arrived, so I didn’t get to introduce myself. Nice to meet you.” His eyes narrowed again—too heavy for his lazy nature.

 

Disappointment still lingered on his tongue, and even so, he didn’t feel his heart thumping in his chest, nor his bones shivering. Muscles relaxed, tail lowered—it was a relief that the creature in front of him was only a few inches taller than he was. He was serene, like the rocking of his own bed and of reality itself. There was no strong energy exploding and unable to be contained, no evil aura… just a harmless lizard. “Can say the same,” he replied, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so faintly as to be imperceptible.

 

With a thud, Doshe sat down on the ground, his tail sweeping the cold pebble making contact with his rear end. “I’m not going to ask how life is as a feral, but would you like to ask something? You must be… confused,” for a moment, the expression on his face turned thoughtful, one of his hands going to his own forearm. “I know how it can feel, so…”

 

Though he had come to misunderstand his issue, he could appreciate the gesture of offering a helping hand. His eyebrows —just the facial movement that accompanied the motion— arched upward. It was uncanny. The sensation was unfamiliar, but he felt his heart warm. 

 

And it was an opportunity he wasn’t going to miss. He opened his mouth to inquiry—

 

The door being slammed open intercepted his words, trapping them in the web of silence. Doubts dying in his throat, Felix’s eyes shot toward the noise, only to behold the four-armed figure in the doorframe.

 

Thus ended his only chance.

 

“Felix!” he exclaimed, rushing towards them both and crouching down beside Doshe, leaning his torso and head forward to examine the abra from a close distance. “You’re fine!” even in a squat Zelodec towered over the two of them. He smiled, teeth gleaming, “as fine as you can be after fighting Huirai, of course,” he added. With his pupils on Doshe, one of his fists unfolded to deliver a lazy punch to his shoulder, “hey, Doshe! Why didn’t you tell me he was already awake?” 

 

“He barely woke up a bit ago,” he retorted, then turned his gaze to the bandage standing out on Felix’s abdomen. “Actually, he’s not quite right,” he remarked, his tail swaying to point his tip at the marble-like target. “It’s still not closed. He should rest for a good while longer at least.”

 

He gulped the beat his heart skipped.

 

Zelodec bowed his head, letting out a sigh—his smile disappeared from his face, replaced by the frown of a droopy gaze. “I know…” he looked toward the abra. “Forgive me, Felix. I didn’t expect ya to be so…” he took a pause, biting his —if it could be described that way— lower lip. “Well, that it was gonna cause ya that much harm. I failed ya as a captain, and I apologize.”

 

Even buried in the gloom of oblivion, Felix could remember the bitterness—that of a false apology. The vile words dripping with the poison of treachery. This was not one of them. It was one of those strange ones, almost tumbling into the abyss, when the intention was sweet.

 

Or maybe that was just made up by his mind—hidden by amnesia and the dream world, it was impossible to know if the uncomfortable feeling of pressure in his chest that was still warm as a blanket was familiar or not. Still, he found himself short of breath, short of words, he could only scrabble to let out a, “eh, huh… umh, it’s— it’s fine, it doesn’t matter,” shy and quiet, bringing a hand to scratch the back of his neck. He ignored the heat in his armpit coming from his abdomen.

 

Zelodec leaned in a tad closer—at this point, that was an invasion of his personal space. “All settled then?” he asked.

 

He sought to step back, sweat soaking his forehead. “Umh. Yeah?” His nonexistent confidence wavered, struggling to even get out of his throat.

 

Pulling away quicker than he approached, Zelodec pumped one of his upper fists toward the ceiling, energy bubbling in his gaze and in his new found smile. “Good!” he exclaimed before grabbing Felix’s hand, applying strength to propel him off the bed of dry hay.

 

Lifted like a dirty sock off the floor, the moment his spine straightened was when the prick of hellish warmth filled every nerve in his abdomen. The first thing he let out was an airless exhalation, a choked cry that continued with a shrinking in on himself, as if that might ease the pain. So suddenly, the stinging behind his eyes returned, as malicious as ever.

 

“Come on then, ye’ve got to get to know yer new comrades better!” Zelodec exclaimed, pulling him forward. He advanced with swift feet towards the open door, bringing Felix along with him.

 

He was dragged from place to place like a puppet, but he felt not the strings but the pain in his upper body. He inhaled through his teeth, gulping down with all his might the screech of pain that threatened to escape to the outside world.

 

Before even taking a step out of the hut, Zelodec turned his head to direct his sidelong glance toward the relaxed doctor. “Thank ye so much for healing him, Doshe! You’re the best!” the door swung to close, but a single hand from the monster stopped its movement dead in its tracks. 

 

The reptile blinked. Then his gaze went to Felix. Then to Zelodec. And with a sigh, he smiled gently before waving goodbye, “no problem, cap.”

 

In his reality, in his vision, the world was spinning. That’s how it had to be, at least that’s how Felix thought. Directions no longer existed in his mind, disconnected and disoriented. He couldn’t feel the bones in his limbs, casting a blank stare at Zelodec, who returned it with a beaming smile. 

 

Without a word, he dragged him outside and kicked the door shut. “It sure was boring to lie in bed for so long!” he commented, “don’t worry, your comrades are just as excited as ya are, boy.”

 

His guts were churned by the movement. By the time his mind came to awaken from drowsiness, he could see out of the corner of his eye how they had left the hut where his old bones were able to rest, at least for a few moments. He felt his legs move, for Zelodec was already tugging his arm forward.

 

He was powerless to decide his fate—still with the laceration on his abdomen, he was led towards the bar and the stools that swayed gently from side to side. Despite his condition, out of the corner of his eye he could observe the ring; once full and boisterous, now silent and forlorn, with the blood wiped from its surface.

 

He brought his gaze to the front, to see the owl perched atop one of the stools. His orange talons closed around the edge of the beige wood. Meanwhile, sitting in the corner closest to the fleshy walls of the clearing, there was—

 

It tainted the air, nauseating, like venom in the air. That was the malicious aura that sucked the oxygen from his lungs, causing Felix to lose his breath the instant his eyes fell upon the red-helmeted monster. He calmly and with a downcast expression was carefully gripping a stone cup. 

 

Even with the muscles of his legs rigid and feeling the throbbing of the cut, the herculean strength guided him anyway. Watching the owl, he had his name on the tip of his tongue… he remembered its beginning, but when it finally reached his mind—

 

“Strivete!” Zelodec exclaimed, one of his arms raised to wave his hand in the air in a futile attempt to get the bird’s attention. A few feet closer to his destination, he slowed the pace of his walk, eventually stopping next to the beginning of the bar. He rested two of his elbows on the wood, ignoring the wobble. “So ye got out of your room, eh? I’m glad,” he quirked a smile toward the owl.

 

Instead, he responded by deflating. A long exhale left his beak, contemplating his reflection in the liquid inside the cup he clutched with one of his wings. With a frown, he turned his body to face Zelodec. “…Yes, I have returned to quench my thirst.” His formality contained a very specific emotion, he was forced to maintain cordiality but beneath his tone irritation bubbled. 

 

Huirai chimed in, placing his stone cup on the bar. He leaned his body forward —just watching him shift caused Felix’s bones to shake uncomfortably— and glanced to the left, maintaining eye contact with Zelodec. “Ah, Captain, and…” his gaze wandered to Felix, causing his eyes to widen like plates. “Oh. Felix.”

 

“Do you require anything?” — Something as if to waste his time, hanged in the air left by Strivete’s words.

 

There was no possible way he was going to intrude on the conversation, even with his name being mentioned; so he took that short time to catch his breath—even if it was tainted by the heavy tar-like aura that poisoned the atmosphere. The warmth of a hand grasping his own did not leave him, but at least it did not tug him like a filthy, forgotten rag.

 

Zelodec waved to the red-helmeted monster —which did not mediate a word— but his eyes remained fixed on the owl. “Obviously, ya have to introduce yerself to the new recruit!” he chuckled, before backing away with a single step backwards, releasing Felix to instead give him a gentle push forward.

 

Or at least what the monster might consider to be gentle, as Felix staggered forward and his leg took a step to keep his balance. The three claws on his left hand instinctively went to grasp the edge of the bar, feeling the flutter in his heart at the notion that he might have fallen face-first into the floorboards of the building where his feet rested.

 

Strivete brought a wing to hide his beak, tilting his head up slightly. With a flicker, his eyes opened again to show those eyes full of condescension; which Felix instantly remembered, which returned his gaze. The owl huffed, covering his haughty grin. He hopped off the stool to stand in front of Felix—

 

—making noticeable the difference between their heights, the moment Strivete was forced to raise his gaze upward to see the face of the abra.

 

His eyes opened wider, while remaining more akin to thin slits to his pupils. After a few seconds where silence reigned between the two, filling the space that separated them, Strivete slowly squinted his eyes, harshly. “I am referred to as Dartrix, but to thee, so extraordinary of a peer on my rank, I am Strivete. Strivete the prodigy.”

 

…He didn’t appreciate talking to the owl, that much was clear. Felix shuffled a bit, words of a meaning that did not escape him cutting deep as a wound—but, bitterly, it was also familiar. He couldn’t even lift his own spirits at the thought of how the owl was more short than he was regardless of his vanity. “Uhm. Nice— n-nice to meet you,” he replied, the lie clawing its way out of his throat.

 

There was another pause, of awkward silence. With a soft tap of his claw and with his beak closed, the owl made a scornful noise before speaking. “I have confidence that our working relationship will be fruitful, Felix.”  

 

He nodded sheepishly—that was the only thing he could do in this situation. He watched as the owl flew back to his seat.

 

“Felix,” the voice that spoke was the one coming from the creature that had pinned his gaze upon him in total silence. Calling his name, Huirai rose from his seat to face him directly.

 

He sensed the gash, and its throbbing. Stronger than ever, like his own heart.

 

His blade-like feet made a thud as he walked, and once in front of the abra, he knelt as he had the first time he had spoken to him. “Hey. Glad to see you’re alright,” with a blank stare and a chin pointed toward his chest, the monster took a deep breath before speaking, “I wanted to apologize. It was my mistake to have gone so seriously against you.”

 

Even with the asphyxiation that his mere presence caused in him, the exhalation that left his dropped jaw was shuddering. Once again, that sensation of such slight warmth fluttering inside him was unnatural, so utterly foreign that he was incapable of naming it. Even so, his forehead was flooded with sweat, from the gentle trembling of his legs.

 

“You don’t have to forgive me, I just pray that I can make amends with you,” he added, giving a quick glance at the bandages that Felix felt as if they had a palpitation of their own.

 

Huirai’s eyes glittered a bit. It felt strange—though a squeal threatened to come from his throat, perhaps he was just exaggerating his own pain. Even if no one could see it, he looked away, and gulped down his fear, “I-It’s fine… n-no problem— really,” he replied.

 

Huirai shook his head and also did the same with one of his shiny alloy hands. “No, of course it was a problem. I insist, it was a mistake on my part,” he lifted his head, offering a gentle smile. “To make amends for my blunder, allow me to introduce myself and start over. Strangers call me Bisharp, but you may call me Huirai,” he crinkled his eyes, “a pleasure to meet you, Felix.”

 

Even with those words he could distinguish from lies, the pounding in his chest was a painful reminder that it was not a wise idea to trust. He couldn’t be sure, not around that oppressive aura that surrounded them both just by the bisharp’s presence. “I— a-a pleasure, too…” he swallowed the lump in his throat.

 

Zelodec, standing next to Huirai’s left side —Felix had been so focused on the conversation that he’d ignored him until that moment— rested a hand on his shoulder, sketching a fainter smile. “Hey, don’t blame yerself too much. You went too far but it’s not just yer fault, alrighty?” he patted his red alloy shoulder pad, speaking in a softer tone.

 

Huirai sighed, releasing a tired breath. “I know, it’s just…” his shoulders slumped slightly.

 

That movement reminded him of when he had shifted to a wilder stance. The flash in his mind of the image burned into his eyeballs made him shudder.

 

After that, that awkward silence formed between the two—even as the bisharp rose from the ground to loom over Felix again like a hawk hunting its prey, neither of them said a word, and Zelodec’s hand left Huirai’s shoulder; instead, focusing his gaze on looking around.

 

Felix took a hand to scratch the back of his neck. The feel of his claws on his skin at least distracted him from the lull that was spreading with each passing second. He didn’t know what to mumble, or even how to continue the conversation, if he even wanted to—

 

“Hey, Huirai, Strivete. haven’t ye guys seen Karoson?” Zelodec inquired, a more neutral expression on his features as he fixed his gaze on the bisharp. “I thought he was here attending as usual, but…”

 

The owl didn’t even bother to move his beak, just taking another sip of the concoction in his glass. Instead, Huirai did glance back at the four-armed monster, “he left a while ago.”

 

“Did he say why he left?” the last syllable he blurted out came out lower, and when he finished speaking, Zelodec squinted, frowning. “Don’t tell me that—”

 

Huirai shook his head, “don’t worry, Captain. He said he was going to the bathroom.”

 

With a sigh, he cracked a grin. “Good!” he gave a single clap, “good,” he repeated, then turned his gaze back to Felix. “And ya know what’s good, too? Ya getting to know more of your fellows, come on!” and as if it was already an egregious tradition, Zelodec grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. He could at least claim that it didn’t hurt.

 

“Oh, you’re leaving already?”

 

“Yeah!” Zelodec answered on his behalf—although, it was preferable that way; the conversation had grown awkward due to the quiet. “Sorry if I’m interrupting, but it would be nice for the new recruit to meet all his buddies tonight, y’know? Better sooner than later!”

 

“No, no. It’s alright,” Huirai shook one of his hands with a gentle gesture. “We can talk in the morning already. It’s getting dark too, so I’m going to sleep early,” he added, sitting back down on the stool as far into the corner as possible.

 

The four-armed behemoth grinned, “good night then, Huirai!” he replied, waving goodbye with one of his free hands. He glanced towards the owl, “gonna sleep early, Strivete?”

 

“…That is none of your concern, Captain,” he huffed. Silence hung in the air, with only Zelodec’s smile lingering on his face before Strivete sighed, “…but you are correct.”

 

He gave three thumbs up, “Alright then! Good night to you too!” he nodded, and finally, turned towards the huts, giving a quick glance towards the abra in his grip. “Come on, Felix!” he exclaimed, setting course for one of the rooms.

 

In the air, his legs were not expected to touch the slimy flesh, and the jerky movements that shifted his bandages —causing more throbbing— were reduced, so, in fact, this was a good thing. He still felt bad. He felt small, being lifted off the ground and carried like a puppy.

 

He took a look around him. Knowing it was night, the silence of the gloom was to be expected, lit by the lamps hung on the wobbly poles placed around the clearing.

 

Without too much time to think, the heavy sound of the door being kicked open interrupted his train of thought. The world became large once again, as he peered inside the shack.

 

A hay bed in one corner. Magazine-like books scattered around a cluttered room, surrounded by bottles; open or closed was irrelevant. Liquid spilled on the floor, staining the rock and flowing back and forth due to the wobbling. Glasses rolling, and a leather-like bag hanging from a rack on one of the walls of the room; next to it, a cloth cap of an unknown logo, old and torn.

 

In the center of the room, with two bottles resting at his side, the brown monster slumbered with his two arms folded behind his head—the chunks of rock he used to deliver merciless blows, now occupied as no more than mere pillows. With his chest puffing out with each inhalation, with each exhalation a loud snore left his mouth. 

 

…That scene caused a tightness in his chest. Even a stinging behind his eyes that did not rise any higher. The bitter smell and the dust of dirt made him feel bizarre. Atrocious, disgusting… homely.

 

He felt the ground on his soles—that of rock, due to the tiny stairs attached to the entrance of the huts. Zelodec paced inside the room, completely ignoring the messy environment. “Sancyel!” he roared, even his chest deflating due to the use of air he employed to shout his name.

 

That yell caused the monster’s eyes to widen suddenly, tilting his body forward as he stared from side to side. Drool ran down his jaw to his shoulder. “What, what?!” he sputtered, his sleepy tongue betraying his speech.

 

“Sancyel!” Zelodec called, this time without all the air in his lungs, and stretched all four arms out to his sides, stepping forward with a welcoming gesture. “Sancyel, ya should sleep on yer bed instead of the floor, it’ll hurt yer back.”

 

The monster mumbled, barely casting a vague glance; as if the pupils were heavy in their drowsiness, towards Zelodec. “What would you know, boss…” he growled some more. He ran a hand over his head, muttering something under his breath—it sounded like his head was going to explode. “What do you wanna?” he asked, slurring his words.

 

Zelodec snapped his fingers, “ah, right,” with a step back, he scooped up Felix —who was still frozen from the scent— by the arm and tugged him forward. “It’s introduction time!”

 

That snapped him back to reality, out of the world of oblivion that caused an excruciating pain in his chest that the laceration couldn’t even dream of mimicking. When he awoke, the first thing he saw was Sancyel still lying on the floor —except for the top, leaning forward— with a trickle of drool running down his mouth and a scowl returning his gaze.

 

…

 

Eventually, Felix gulped and lowered his gaze to the floor. Tracking the flow and spread of the stains on the pebble. It closed his throat. With the weighty silence once again filling the gaps of a conversation, he rubbed his forearm with the claws of his left hand. The scratching was even soothing—it was hard to determine the feel; whether it was skin or tiny hairs protecting his epidermis. It could even be scales. He was unaware of his own anatomy at this point—

 

“Sunkern,” a growl cut off his thought. Clenching his teeth and with a grimace accompanying the scowl, a huff came from his throat; “Are you gonna introduce yourself or are you gonna stare at the floor until next week?” the angry energy of his soul was placated by the slumber of his consciousness.

 

He had a feeling he had been insulted, though he wasn’t sure how—although he was aware of why. His claws ceased scratching, only resting on his complexion, “S-Sorry…” he muttered. “I-I’m Felix…” his pause hung more awkwardly than any wordless silence. Rummaging for what to say amongst his lost memories that told him how to interact in these types of situations, he continued with: “A-A pleasure— umh, n-nice to meet you.”

 

“Felix? Your parents didn’t love you, didn’t they?” he accompanied the comment —which caused the throbbing of his gash to become more unbearable— with a chuckle. With another throaty groan, he lifted his gargantuan body like the activation of a golem, using the rock pillars in his grip as support to rise from the ground. He outstretched his arms upward, and faced the abra, giving a yawn. “I am Conkeldurr. But feel free to call me Sancyel, I don’t give a heck,” he blurted out dismissively, a wave of his hand —which so briefly released the pillar which was his weapon— accompanied his words.

 

It was like holding an anvil to his throat. He took a deep breath, but only sniffed the bitter reek of home. This room spun his brain, in an uncontrollable spira—-the conkeldurr’s words did not help his ego; they were also a kind of familiar that gripped his heart, squeezing hard, with a power from which it was impossible to escape. He tensed his body, legs tingling with the desire to flee, but was unable to say a single word… only nod.

 

The seconds were long.

 

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Zelodec’s smile, observing the situation.

 

…

 

Eventually, the clown-nosed monster’s leg began to bounce idly— The heavy thud of stone impacting pebble broke the stillness —and Felix’s composure, which startled; feeling the vibration in his bones— into a thousand pieces, the source being the boulder pillar that Sancyel lifted and pressed against the floor. “What are you still doin’ here!?” he vociferated, his scowl deepening. “If you wanna say something else, say it! Or go away now and let me sleep!” he grumbled in his mighty voice.

 

Zelodec took a step forward, displaying one of his palms towards Sancyel. “Rum doesn’t do ya any good at night, eh?” he quipped, still with a smile plastered on his expression; said more in a lighthearted tone. “Don’t worry! We were just leaving,” he replied, taking the trembling Felix’s hand behind him. “Good night!”

 

Sancyel grumbled, a guttural growl coming from his throat. “You don’t tell me what’s good or bad for me,” he turned, stumbling back to the hay bed on which he plopped down, “and I was planning to do just that,” he barked in response, still grumbling unintelligible words.

 

He didn’t know how to react or what to even mumble—luckily for him, titanic strength once again guided his legs to a new destination; outside the hut, this time. He watched the four-armed monster close the door behind him with one of his free hands, still sensing the warmth of his grip on his own. He sighed, casting a glance at the abra. “Don’t mind him, he’s just kind of grumpy with the newbies,” he said, and let go of Felix’s hand. “But hey, that was one down!” he clapped his hands together once, “come on, come on, ya’re not gonna meet the others if ya stay here,” he laughed, and his feet began their gait once more.

 

It seemed that this time the herculean impulse of a monster was not going to drag him where he needed to go. That was good—but nevertheless, the memory of the bitter was still fresh in his mind, and he froze for a few moments before following Zelodec’s walk.

 

Unlike the tongue, trotting across the fleshy ground was not complicated due to the absence of saliva that could make it slippery. The broad back leading the way soon reached the stairs and the entrance to another room; which he punched open—at this point, he shouldn’t expect anything else.

 

Still, Felix was startled by the sudden slam of the door. He wished the monster could be gentler with the architecture of his own boat—that was odd to think, remembering that they were standing inside a living thing.

 

“Dad!” —before he could even see inside the room due to Zelodec’s broad back, he could hear the high-pitched voice of an infant. With a flash of a memory, he was able to put a picture to the words he heard; it was the blue-colored, gray protuberant creature.

 

He leaned out to the side, to peer inside the hut.

 

He saw the white paint covering the walls. Between four coat racks; wooden protrusions placed on the interior walls, hung two hammocks. One green and one navy blue, both rocking gently. A shelf of various books and scrolls leaned against one wall. In one corner of the room, a red cushion sat on a desk at floor level, with a bottle of ink lying on its surface. In the center of the room, several punching bags built of stone and nailed to the floor also shared the movement of everything else; tiny dye faces painted on them, also bruised.

 

The tiny monster stood in front of one of these. With his head bent forward, and his legs placed in the ideal position to dart out like a cannonball as he ran. He had his head turned towards Zelodec, with a bright gaze and an even warmer smile than the four-armed monster had at that moment.

 

But he wasn’t alone in the room, Felix realized. He cast a glance at the monstrous armadillo, who was observing the scene from a safe distance; closer to one of the corners than the center, with his arms folded and a calm smile on his expression. He shifted his gaze to make eye contact with Felix, but soon moved to focus on Zelodec.

 

Before anyone could say a single word, the blue creature broke his stance and instead, rushed forward to lunge his body at Zelodec, hugging one of his legs due to the size difference. 

 

The latter greeted him with a pat on the head, and a grin warmer than usual. “Heheheh, champ!” he gave another pat, hunching his body to bring his head closer to the ground. “Have ye been training while I’ve been fillin’ out papers?”

 

With a step backwards, the monster nodded fiercely with all the pent-up, infinite stamina of an infant, “Yes!” he exclaimed, turning to face the small row of punching bags. “Dad’s teaching me how to give better headbutts!” he inhaled, his chest puffing out, “I’m going to be the best recruit, Dad! Look!” — he regained the position his legs were in before he ran toward Zelodec, and pointing the top of his skull at a punching bag, he accelerated swiftly toward it.

 

With power, his gray protrusions hammered the rock, connecting with a mighty impact accompanied by the heavy thudding sound that echoed through the chamber. Such a thunderous rumble was as vibrant as the shaking of the sack —and it was hard to tell from whom the noise had come, whether from the boy’s bones or the pebble— which deformed around the blow. Chunks of stone crumbled like shards of broken glass, with cracks growing all over its surface like the roots of a cursed tree. 

 

The indigo monster fell backwards, but between them both, it was the boulder in front of him that had been damaged the most.

 

Felix watched the spectacle, his jaw reaching the floor. He felt his senses numb and dazed for a few moments. With several blinks, his brain was able to process the ability of a mere headbutt to deliver such destruction. A human could not do such a feat even in his imagination.

 

The azure creature reared up like lightning, turning on his heel to face Zelodec with a thrust outward and inflated chest and a head held high. “See, now I know how to fight better!”

 

The four-armed monster whistled, and gave four thumbs up. “Of course you do, little champ! Ya were excellent.”

 

From across the room came the sound of applause. His gentle smile grew warmer, “you’ve improved a lot these past few months, Fash.”

 

“Exactly!” Zelodec piped in, “in no time ye’re gonna be able to join us on missions! How about one day you and I go to the Thirsty Desert, eh, champ?” he asked, bending his knees in an attempt to make eye contact with the child, apparently named Fash.

 

The gleam in his eyes lit up his gaze. He jumped up and pumped his fist —hand with missing fingers— upward, “GOOD, YES! I WANNA!” he shouted in jubilation, “I can’t wait to beat the bad guys with you, Dad!”

 

He burst into a lively laugh, “and to celebrate—” with one of his arms he once again fished Felix’s scruff, dragging his body all the way into the room and to his side. “—I’ve brought ya a new friend!” with a gentle push, once again the kinetic force propelled Felix forward.

 

And just as of old, his legs were barely able to prevent his imminent fall, maneuvering so as not to lose his balance. However, he felt something that pushed him ever so slightly backwards; that being the breeze that formed as Fash rushed forward towards him, completely ignoring his sacred personal space.

 

“You’re the one who fought Uncle Huirai, woah!” with eyes wide as saucers, his gaze still still lit up with that inward glow, completely unaware of the closeness and his discomfort, “you’re still alive… How cool! How did it feel to fight Uncle Huirai!?”

 

That wasn’t a fight, it was a slaughter—a one-sided stabbing that ended with him losing consciousness in a pool of his own blood. To imagine that a child had seen that made him feel tiny, but the monster in front of him didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps monsters were just like that—violent. “Ehh…” he gulped, at loss for words, “b-bad.”

 

“Bad?” the creature cocked his head to the side. “Not exciting? Uncle Huirai is very strong,” he spoke, “and— and he fights bad people, with his swords, and he puts them in jail, and he protects the world, and he’s great!” with each new sentence, his words seemed to come out faster as bullets.

 

Felix only gulped, taking a faint step backwards to get some distance. His muscles felt stiff, but not from paralyzing terror but from the sheer sensation of not having a single word on the tip of his tongue.

 

The armadillo walked to position himself next to Fash, resting his hand on his head. “Hey, try not to overwhelm our new friend, alright?” he spoke gently, shooting a quick glance at the frozen abra.

 

“Ah—” the creature blinked, and soon shrunk in on himself, frowning with a grimace. “Sorry, new friend… I didn’t even ask your name…” he sniffed, his gaze lowered.

 

He could understand-childlike energy was hard to contain in a young soul. While it might be overwhelming for someone like him, it was refreshing in part, and he would have to be someone extremely spiteful not to forgive an infant for behaving as he should. However, in the corner of his eye he saw something unexpected—the armadillo’s expression.

 

It was only an eyeblink, short and insignificant, but something crossed his gaze. So fleeting it was, to identify it was impossible.

 

But it was like staring into a mirror, into the world where his memories were not sunk into oblivion.

 

Like a prick in his chest, he assumed the second later that it must have been his imagination. In the end, he was still numb and slowed because of the throbbing under his bandages—it was only his interpretation, of a change of expression that might never have existed at all.

 

With a pat on the head, the smile on the armadillo’s expression remained with that air of friendliness he provoked just by his presence. “Hey, it’s fine, you were just talking, that’s all. Now, introduce yourself to your new friend, alright?”

 

Fash nodded, and raised his head once more to blurt out with a smile, “hello, new friend, I’m Fash!” — perhaps it was a thing of having lost his memory, but the monster’s high-pitched voice was odd, with so much infinite energy behind it. “What’s your name? Is your name abra?” he asked, leaning a few inches forward, “I’ve never talked to an abra before! Can you blow things up, like a super powerful psychic mon? And make them float?!” Again, his rhythm was picking up a pace too much for his poor aching brain, “do— do they do like FIUUUM, and fly?! Can you fly houses with your— your— your psychic powers?! And—”

 

“Fash, let him speak,” by the phrasing it was a scolding, though in tone it was more akin to gentle indication. 

 

“Ah—” once again, he lowered his head, his body almost slumping. “Sorry—”

 

“I-It’s fine—” he interrupted him; though he soon realized that was rude, “a-ah, excuse me, umh.” At the moment, that felt instinctive. Natural. Though once the words bubbled out of his throat, he found himself forced to keep talking, “I-I’m Felix. N-Nice to meet you.” Hidden beneath his thoughts, his mind found itself devising an explanation to the mention of psychic powers—they were too extraordinary for someone like him to have, no matter what monstrous creature he had become.

 

“Nice to meet you too—! Wait, your name is Felix? That’s a funny name! Where do you come from—?” this time, that which intervened his speech was being grabbed from under the armpits and lifted into the air.

 

By none other than the armadillo, still of a kind smile that left such a bitter taste in the abra’s dry mouth. “I know you’re curious, but slow down a bit; he has to meet the others too,” he scolded —causing Fash’s sad whine— before turning an apologetic look to Felix. “Forgive him, he’s just a very curious boy.”

 

“Of course he is! Who wasn’t curious as a kid?” Zelodec chimed in, “come on, put him down, Manti. I’m sure a hug from dad will calm him down!”

 

With a loud “yes!” in reply, Fash was lowered, and ran to ram his little arms into the legs of the four-limbed monster.

 

The armadillo sighed, giving one last glance at the two before turning his attention back to Felix. “Anyway…” he bent his knees to match the heights—once again, sketching a gentle smile that seemed, at this point of barely knowing him for minutes, classic on him. “I’m Chesnaught, but call me Mantoroh. Nice to meet you,” he extended his hand to offer a handshake.

 

Or at least that was the word on the tip of his tongue.

 

He wasn’t certain how they could even do something like that—due to the lack of thumbs, or similarity between their hands. Still with doubts in his chest, he reached out to shake his hand.

 

It was odd, abnormal, almost bizarre in his mind due to the lack of multiple fingers that were not missed. But they still made a toll on his head from the knowledge that this was not how it was supposed to feel—more so because of Mantoroh’s loose, clumsy grip, which barely lasted a few nanoseconds like that before becoming firm. 

 

With belated response, he blurted out, “nice to… meet you. Also.” — He hated how familiar the feeling of a silence incapable of being filled with words felt.

 

As soon as it began, as soon as it ended. Mantoroh straightened up, posture upright and proper, concordant with that aura of bonhomie around him that caused such strange heartburn to the abra. 

 

Before he could return to the, by now this point, normal awkward silence, a clap filled the ambient sound. “Well! So that’s it then, is it?” he commented, his hand about to grab at the scruff of his neck once more.

 

Fash let out a whine, “Is the new friend leaving already? I wanted to ask him about abras…”

 

In contrast, the chesnaught turned his gaze to the four-armed monster. “Hasn’t he introduced himself to everyone yet?”

 

“No, not yet,” he shook his head, “still needs to meet Karoson,” he held up a finger, “Arinton and Conlogy,” he held them up as he mentioned the names. “But the kid must be sleeping, so they can introduce themselves tomorrow.”

 

Mantoroh nodded, and took a few steps to approach Fash, whom he lifted from under his armpits. “Well, how about we keep training?” he asked, cocking his head slightly to accompany that gracious grin that immediately settled on his face.

 

“Yes! Yes I do!” Fash nodded vigorously, his short feet swaying in the air in rhythm with his fast talking. Set down again, he hurried toward one of the punching bags, and faced Mantoroh. “How can I hit harder, Dad?” 

 

Mantoroh took a few steps to stand beside him, “You need to build up more energy in your head. You’re doing fine, but close your eyes and try to—”

 

As interested as his conscious mind might be, he soon felt the tug from the back of his throat. A force —that of Zelodec’s arm— propelled him out. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he watched as he silently waved goodbye. Another fleeting glance went to Mantoroh, showing that he reciprocated the gesture.

 

Once they were outside the shack, the warmth in his neck was notable by its absence, and once again, Felix was free from any grasp. In front of the door, he gently closed it; not that he wanted to interrupt the training they both had. By the time he turned around, Zelodec —impatient, he could determine— had already turned away, walking toward one of the huts.

 

However, he halted his gait —giving Felix a chance to catch up with him— and looked around for something. His gaze ceased scanning, and noticing that, the abra followed the monster’s gaze to the bar.

 

The lack of Huirai’s presence was evident—the bar now free of his evil aura. On top of the stools, the owl was absent… Instead, almost as a replacement, Sancyel was seated, his body leaning forward and his upper half reclining on the bar.

 

Cleaning some glasses, was the monster that caused another flash of memories in Felix-the thick—lipped creature, with his red and yellow stripes on his egg-shaped body.

 

Sancyel lifted his chin from the wood, as if his own skull weighed whole tons. Eyes squinting, he grabbed the cup next to him and drained it in one gulp. “More,” he mumbled, not bothering to look toward the one at the bar.

 

Holding up a stony glass to which he was wiping with a handkerchief, he shot a glance toward the conkeldurr. “Are you sure you don’t want something less strong?”

 

“I’m sure you should mind your own business,” Sancyel grumbled, still raising his glass to the thick-lipped hideous spawn.

 

As that conversation occurred, Zelodec trotted toward the bar —Felix following close behind— until he could rest his elbows sideways on the wood. When they arrived, the conkeldurr didn’t even acknowledge their presence, just lying head down and looking elsewhere, growling to himself. The thick-lipped monster was staring off into the horizon, with a bottle clutched by the neck and a cup in his other hand, or rather, cannon.

 

“Hey, Karoson,” Zelodec spoke, smiling broadly as was usual at this point.

 

Ignoring the babble Sancyel muttered in response, Felix took a side step to glance towards this Karoson; the flare-shouldered monster, only to not be glared back at by the blank stare with dark circles decorating his face.

 

There was no retort. The four-armed monster waited, his fingers tapping gently on the timber. It was long seconds until Zelodec grimaced, and slammed his clenched fist on the table. “Karoson!”

 

The deafening sound caused the fire monster to blink rapidly, and to the conkeldurr, he only grunted louder and mumbled a weak, “shut up…” before grumbling again.

 

Straight in posture, Karoson directed his gaze, at the same time his hands were set on course to serve the bottle of —he had the name on the tip of his tongue— rum. “Yes, Captain?” he asked, letting out a yawn in the process.

 

“You were in the bathroom, weren’t you?” Zelodec inquired, tilting his head forward a few inches, squinting. “You wouldn’t have been—”

 

“No, Captain,” Karoson intercepted, voice hoarse and slow as he spoke. “I follow the order as you requested,” he added.

 

Zelodec held eye contact longer, until an exhalation left his mouth and he leaned back again. “Good! Good. You should go to sleep soon,” he sketched a tilted smile, casting a glance towards the conkeldurr. “I’m sure Sancyel can serve himself! Haha!”

 

The conkeldurr barely turned his head to look in his direction. “Of course I can…” he slurred his words, sleepiness reigning in his tone just as before, if not stronger. He glanced towards Karoson, resting his chin on the bar. “Are you a shuckle or ya like being this hecking slow?”

 

He didn’t retort to his remark, just set the overflowing glass of liquor down right next to him.

 

“At least somebody here is good for somethin’…” Sancyel grumbled, going straight for a long swig.

 

Karoson let out a sigh, and looked over to Zelodec, nodding. “Alright, captain.”

 

“Good that you understand! And, aside from that,” the four-limbed monster grabbed Felix’s arm once more, placing him in front of him. “It’s yer turn to introduce yourself to Felix! After that ya can go to sleep.” 

 

The bar wasn’t built with someone of his height in mind, so the greater part of Karoson’s body was hidden behind the wood; at least to Felix. On tiptoe at the very least he was able to see something else, but he felt the slight warmth of his wound traveling up to his face.

 

Now that they made eye contact, the blank stare had the absence of something. Whatever it was, it caused the same pressure in his chest that Mantoroh caused in him. “I’m Magmortar, but I don’t think you’d want to refer to me by my impersonal name at work; so call me Karoson,” he said, his hands still busy wiping a glass.

 

“Nice to meet you, I’m… Felix.” There was no need to say that, “a-although, you already know that…” a nervous laugh tried to escape his throat, but even that couldn’t emerge from his chest because of the pressure in his ribs. It was familiar.

 

To his side, uproarious laughter came from the monster who had rested his hand on his shoulder. “Why, he knew that, boy!” with a sigh of relief, he caught his breath to cease his guffaws.

 

The heat in his face grew more unbearable, burning with self-consciousness in his soul.

 

Karoson, at least, did not laugh. He merely nodded, turning to the back of the counter, placing one of the bottles still resting in his grip. “If that’s all, I’m going to continue tending the bar.”

 

Zelodec opened his mouth to say something. Not a single exhale left his throat, and in the end, his jaw clenched shut. “Alright, alright…” he sighed with resignation. “Just rest later, alright?” his voice was claimed by a slower pace, something else in his tone that he had trouble identifying. 

 

He spun around once more, this time to bend down and grab something under the counter—though due to his short size, he was unable to observe his actions. “Don’t worry, I will.”

 

Sancyel mumbled some more, but at this point, his cheek rested on the timber, his eyes so heavy as to be unable to open them once more.

 

Karoson shot him a look, “I should bring him to his room—”

 

“I’ll carry him later,” Zelodec interjected. With another sigh, he spun on his heels to face Felix, once more sketching his best smile—though it was more tiny than of old. “Well, come on! Ya’ve only got one more to meet!” he exclaimed, and glanced around.

 

He took advantage of the short window of time to catch his breath, prepare his soul to be drawn into yet another conversation. Beneath his skull, the itch of curiosity urged him to inquire of what was going on—but he was aware that it was none of his business, much less to meddle in other people’s problems.

 

“Surely Arinton is in his room…” the four-armed monster muttered, bringing one of his hands to his chin, stroking gently. His gaze fell on one of the huts, and with his gaze lighting up, he grabbed Felix’s wrist.

 

He was not aware if the throbbing in his abdomen had ceased its painful burning, or had become accustomed to it due to the multitude of sudden movements he had to undergo.

 

It didn’t matter as he was dragged through the esophageal opening to his new destination. Watching the doorway draw closer, becoming taller in his perspective like a titan. In front of the entrance, he punched it open—indicated by the sound of wood crashing against the stone wall inside.

 

It was exasperating, at the same time causing his heart to overturn every time it occurred. In his innermost being, he wished with every fiber of his core that he would stop opening the doors like that, but he realized it was a futile dream.

 

Taking a side step to contemplate the interior, he surveyed the room. A chest in the corner was what first caught his eye—with its metal rim, screws anchoring it to the floor —as his legs anchored him to reality— and open, inside a plethora of long glasses and accumulated elongated green fruits; multicolored stems, from red to blue, like the buttons on a control.

 

The word was stuck in his gullet.

 

Another chest, of a smaller size, lay at the side of a bed of dry grass. Closed it concealed the secrets of its interior.

 

Next to it a bookshelf without books but brimming with sacks —apparently leather— and a long brown satchel like the wood of the entrance. Nearby, tied with a thick but short rope, dumbbells struggled to free themselves due to the wobbling of the surface on which they stood.

 

In the middle of the room, the anthropomorphic feline —Felix felt the new flash of memories embed themselves in his mind like needles in his skull— was doing push-ups with only one of his hands, the other folded across his back. He had ceased his movement, just standing motionless, his chest inches off the ground, his head twisted toward them. “Oh, Captain, what you doing here?” with one hand, he pushed against the ground to propel his whole body upward, and before gravity could send him face-first into the floor, his knee twisted to lift him higher so that his feet could finish the job of raising him with a jump.

 

With each passing minute, the monsters impressed him more and more.

 

Zelodec walked forward, dragging Felix to make way into the room. “Ya have to introduce yerself to the new guy!”

 

“With the well set gutsy skitty?” he inquired, and with a step to the side to make eye contact; or as close as possible considering his lack of visible eyes, he whistled in amazement.

 

“Yeah, exactly that one!” Zelodec chimed in for the abra.

 

Releasing his wrist, the four-limbed monster nudged him in the back. Unexpected it was, to the point that his legs threatened to thrust him forward, where gravity; which seemed to detest his guts, might finish the job. Luckily, he was able to keep his balance.

 

In front of the cat. He was as colossal as his memories could make him recall. He gulped.

 

He brought his hands to his hips —covered by a flaming belt, which he did not hesitate to feel with his palms— and lowered his head to meet his gaze. Unlike others, his knees did not bend to meet his level, but he quirked a lopsided grin. “It’s you I wanted to see, little litten!” he rested a hand on his shoulder. It felt warmer than any other. “To fight second best, even if he kicked your ass… now that’s guts!” he exclaimed, withdrawing his paw. “Who knows, if you keep it up, you oughta be as cool as me!” he pointed his thumb at his own face.

 

He wouldn’t call that courage—the perfect description was risk, and that would only kill or ruin the lives of the delusional who thought they could escape their fate that way.

 

…Or perhaps not. The depressing conclusion was one that his brain came to naturally, and he did not know why it was so, if his memories were still lost in the forgotten realm.

 

Luckily, something interrupted his thoughts: the ongoing conversation, “And now I present myself, litten!” without ceasing to point at himself, his grin grew bigger—his fangs glistening. “I’m the most powerful incineroar you will see in your life: Arinton, the fiery wrestler!” he exhaled with the pride of his own name, sparks of fire flying out of the air from his nostrils.

 

It was a distinct haughtiness from that of the owl, even if both were capable of envenoming his neurons with a bitter taste that could not leave his palate. Even with that in the back of his mind, there was no other option but cordiality. “A-A pleasure to… meet you,” he felt the familiar rattle of his bones, faint but steady in the presence of the incineroar.

 

The cat’s tail wagged behind him, revealing the spiked fur at the end of its last black stripe. “No fear, I don’t bite!” he snapped his fingers, and the finger pointing at himself swiftly changed position to point at him with his index; thumb up and the rest of his digits closed, “Unless it’s in battle! You wanna one, I’m always up for one!”

 

He felt his heart pounding in his throat, “n-no, th-thank y-you so much…” he shook his head, an attempt at a shaky smile plastered on his face. He tried to make eye contact, only to witness Arinton’s intense gaze—that caused him to shrink in on himself. For an instant, his mind conjured the image of the cat leaping up to chow down on his entrails, right in front of Zelodec, who would only celebrate. Surely.

 

Arinton’s chest deflated, a long exhale leaving his lungs with the sparks of a bonfire. “Alright… ” even his shoulders slumped, just like his enthusiasm. Soon he regained his composure, upright once with an inner gleam in his eyes. “But the offer is always open whenever you wanna!”

 

There would never be a time on earth when he would desire such a thing. He nodded anyway, swallowing the lump in his throat.

 

Awkward silence threatened once again, but once more Zelodec interrupted it with the sudden wrist grab. “Well, that’s all the introductions!” he exclaimed. “…Right?” he fell silent, one of his hands raising his fingers as he counted. After a couple of seconds, he resumed his vigor and looked toward Arinton. “…Exactly! Good luck in yer training, Arinton, but we’re leaving now! We only got the official recruiting part left.”

 

“Oh, that’s boring,” the incineroar blurted out, and cast a glance at the abra. “Good luck at that, little litten!” he chuckled—his laughter was similar to Zelodec’s, he could now tell. That same bombastic energy—only that in the cat, it was incapable of being contained, exploding like a bomb in every sentence.

 

In Zelodec, though also vast, that stamina had its moments where it dulled. But as he was dragged out, what was on Felix’s mind was related to the last thing he had heard.

 

One last step to end the nightmare, surely to begin the next. Considering the existence of the norm, just the thought of one last part made his heart grow heavier and smaller inside, as if an invisible hand was squeezing his lungs.

 

Just before leaving the shack, Zelodec turned only half his body, to sideways wave one of his hands in the air. “See ya!”

 

“Bye, and bye to you too!”

Felix could barely react in time to wave his trembling hand before the door closed in front of him, his soles now resting on the meaty floor.

 

His mind whirled, oblivious to his destination. With each new thought, his racing imagination caused another heinous notion, a new image of something grotesque that caused the throbbing in his chest to shoot out like the acceleration of a bullet. Every idea was a trigger, one more for the trembling of his bones.

 

It was impossible not to be dragged, and when he came back to reality, he was already in front of the largest hut of all; with its pebble of darker material, distinct pattern, double door rising higher than the others. “Aren’t ya excited, recruit? Ye’re only one step away from joining the crew! I hope ya keep cracking the jokes as good as the first ones!” he remarked, opening the door with a gentle push.

 

He didn’t waste a minute to step inside, prompting Felix to follow.

 

With a swift glance around him, he saw how this room was wider—more filled with life, which breathed with every wobble around it. The pictures depicted beautiful landscapes of warm deserts and lush forests, of crystalline seas and unknown monsters, smiling, lively as the captain himself; who was featured in just one of them, along with monsters resembling him. At the back of the room a hammock of yellow wool swayed with movement, hanging from two poles with antique lanterns illuminating the chamber with their dim warm light. A square pillow of red and gold-edged cotton rested screwed in front of a desk at floor level, reminiscent of a coffee table. Another cushion was positioned opposite to the other; facing the entrance, the other closer to the back. Myriad of bookshelves nailed to the walls were brimming with books and more scrolls, at their sides chests with steel locks, concealing whatever was inside. Finally, in the organized bedroom, a punching bag constructed of rock loomed beside the hammock. 

 

“Come on, sit down,” Zelodec paused next to the second pillow, an open arm gesture to point toward it. 

 

He snapped out of being lost in the atmosphere, and with a nod, sat down cross-legged. This was softer than any hay he could lie on or slimy ground to collapse on. Perhaps this was a test of patience, but he doubted it—at least, that was an idea more peaceful than anything else his brain was able to conjure up at the moment.

 

“Yeah, stay there, I’ll be right back!” he rested two of the knuckles of his lower arms against his hips, and with one of his upper hands, he held up two fingers to his forehead in a gesture of farewell. Lightning fast, he left the room in less time than Felix was able to respond to.

 

Thus, calmness crackled in the air.

 

…

 

His body slumped, the tips of his shoulders pointing downward, and his feet on the edge of the desk in front of him. Neither the throbbing in his wrist nor in his arms accompanied that of his chest, which beat along with his frail heart, now calm from all force or terror. A mere; and as sensitive as himself, instant of peace that even voiceless words could not cut.

 

In the waiting, the thought of lying down and resting tempted his thoughts. His heavy bones longed for him to close his eyes and retreat into slumber, an eternal sleep without complications or strange throbbing beneath his skin. He leaned back, oblivious to the fact that the back of his seat was lacking. Despite this, the fabric molded to his form, seeking to absorb him in its softness—he allowed it to happen, now unable to rise, lacking the will.

 

That was short, fleeting, as he already expected it to be; but what interrupted was not the booming sound of the door and the bombastic voice of a strange-looking creature, but, his own mind. Unable to outrun with distractions, his tired consciousness found a space of time to process all that he had witnessed so far, and reflect on the information, on the memories that flickered in his head.

 

Doubts lashed at him, like a vicious joke that he was unable to run away from—not now, that he was trapped with his thoughts. He didn’t knew what those monsters could even be, with not even their names on the tip of his tongue unlike other stuff. He didn’t know why he, of all people, had been transformed into one of them. He didn’t know what this bizarre place was where he was; trapped on the high seas, destined for an unknown place, far from home.

 

The notion gripped his heart tightly-squeezed it, for the very idea of a home, and having forgotten it, weighed like an anvil on his psyche. Every instance the subject came up, it was like staring into the abyss and having it stare back at him. Now he could not evade, or take refuge in the absent-minded distractions of others; he had to face the fact that his whole life was drowned in the sea of oblivion.

 

Not even the walls of his ego were capable of containing the chilling doubt of whether he was even still himself. If he was incapable of collecting his memories, those that had formed his personality and his worldview, then he was no longer himself—not anymore, even his name was built on notions he could not prove. If his memories were lost for eternity, would his identity be lost as well?

 

He could not breathe. Doubt swirled in his thoughts, and the next thing he knew, the oxygen in the room had run dry, finished and used up. No matter how fast he tried to inhale, nothing but emptiness reached his lungs, which expelled nothingness with each exhale.

 

His hands ripped at his neck, his throat closing with each passing second. A weight in his esophagus that couldn’t mimic how heavy the beating heart felt protected by his ribs.

 

He couldn’t escape—no matter what pictures hanging on the wall he tried to concentrate on, or what he diverted his mind to; it all came to the same place. That he was no longer himself, but someone else wearing the skin of a human who had transformed into an abra.

 

He closed his eyes, tightly. Hoping to wake up from the nightmare and return to reality. 

 

But there was nothing he could do. The feeling that had nested could not be ripped away, and soon it would consume his guts like a vulture, locking him to the wall of the room he was in, until there was nothing left but his shivering bones. 

 

He will never return home. He will never be human again. His identity has fallen into a dark void and it shall never return. Lost in nothingness, surely these monsters were just toying with him before devouring him—

 

“Felix!”

 

The hand that landed on his shoulder yanked him from the vulture’s imprisonment. He startled in his seat, jerked upright with goose bumps, and when he glanced to his left side, there stood the four-armed monster—with a frown and a look that was intense as well as softened. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mantoroh next to the opposite seat, about to sit down. 

 

The air still couldn’t reach his lungs, obstructed by his tight throat and the knot in his chest. He didn’t know how they had arrived there—he hadn’t even noticed their presence until that instant, for the thoughts and the ringing in his ears was more overwhelming than the ocean.

 

Zelodec crouched down beside him, and brusquely, turned him by the shoulders so that Felix’s body faced him. Establishing the closest thing to direct eye contact, he placed two of his hands on both shoulder pads, “hey. Hey, hey. Ya hear my voice, right?”

 

The touch on his skin kept him from falling deeper. He nodded, no words able to leave his lungs.

 

“Alright,” his tone was firm. “Focus on me, on my voice, alright?” he drew in a deep breath. “Look around ya, what do ya see? Name what ya see.”

 

There was no time to dwell on why he should—of what was even happening. He turned his head, contemplating his surroundings. “S-S… Some… pictures—”

 

Zelodec nodded, grip still tight on his shoulders. “What color is the frame? Say the color of things as ya name them.”

 

“B-Brown-” the words menaced to clog his throat, but with effort, they clawed their way out. His eyes darted back and forth, frantic, “a-a yellow hammock, some old gray l-lamps— a-a yellow p-paper on the desk— a jar of ink—” he swallowed spittle, gaining pace. “A brown desk, a red pillow, a-a brown chest…” he took a sharp breath. He felt the air refill his lungs. With each new word that made passage out of his insides, he felt himself being yanked out of a familiar tar pit into which he was sinking. The vulture abandoned his moribund body, the racing thoughts ceased to overwhelm his mind. 

 

“Are ya better now?” the voice of Zelodec once again jolted his psyche and grounded him in reality. His tone was not lively, but soft, similar to how Mantoroh —who looked at the situation with a frown and a concerned expression— spoke.

 

He took a deep breath, and with a hesitant nod, sighed, “y-yes.” He tried to continue, showed he wasn’t sure, but only a shaky exhale came out.

 

“Good,” he sighed, and stood up. For a moment, the expression on his face froze; with his eyebrows drawn together and his gaze piercing. But soon, he relaxed his muscles, sketching a smile. “Good! I’m glad!” he took a step back, going to lean against one of the shelves filled with books.

 

The gaze on Mantoroh’s face hadn’t changed, eyes fixed on the abra. His mouth parted, searching for words for a moment, “Do you need some time? We can wait,” he began, one of his paws —three claws rested— on one of the corners of the thick yellow paper spread out on the desk.

 

Felix promptly shook his head—the quicker this finished, the better. “N-No, I-I’m fine! R-Really,” he lied.

 

Zelodec pointed two of his index fingers at him; thumbs up, the other digits closed. “Exactly! The boy is fine now,” he cast a glance at the chesnaught, “don’t worry, Manti.”

 

Mantoroh held eye contact, then focused once more on Felix. His gaze lingered on him until eventually his frown relaxed, his body slumping slightly with a sigh. “Alright, but if you need to stop and take a moment to calm down, no problem.”

 

He nodded. The slight warmth in his chest; mixed with bile, was unfamiliar—of that, at the very least, he could tell.

 

Mantoroh answered, also with the nod of his head, and gently pushed the paper forward; now resting right in front of Felix. “This is a contract,” he stated, going to interlock his fingers as he rested his shoulders on the edge of the desk. “You probably don’t know what it is, so I’m going to explain it, alright?” he added.

 

His eyes widened like plates, the muscles where his eyebrows should be rose. Maybe he wasn’t expecting such a professional thing as a contract, of all things. “I-I know what it is…” he had a vague feeling he’d seen multitudes of those in the past. Willing himself to read, he leaned in; bringing his body closer toward the wood, and—

 

A sharp intake of breath.

 

Zelodec whistled, “Woah! So ya come from the big city?” his lower arms were folded, and his upper arms rested at his sides. His grin widened, “now that’s unexpected, bwahaha!”

 

While that opened the floodgates to the concept of monsters having cities, there was another matter of far greater severity at that instant, which was—

 

“If you know what it is… read the conditions and responsibilities carefully, and only sign if it’s fine with you,” Mantoroh chimed in, cutting his thoughts short.

 

He took a deep breath, and with his limbs faintly trembling, he gripped the sheet with both hands from the sides.

 

His heart sank in his chest—what he suspected.

 

The text was indecipherable, of runes and markings that even on the tip of his tongue he was unable to name.

 

He was incapable of comprehending, his mind blankly staring at the mountains of text—or what he assumed they were to be. The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning, however, for he noticed how the shapes of the inky black figures were in the form of… Zelodec’s feet. His brain kicked into gear, coming to the conclusion that they must have been written with feet.

 

The reason why escaped him.

 

He became self-conscious of his ignorance, the trembling in his arms increasing by leaps and bounds. He squirmed in his seat, frozen to the base of his bones, to the hot arteries that carried his blood.

 

From the corner of his eye, he caught the sight of; once again, Mantoroh’s gently frowning brow. The latter watched him silently, without changing the position of his arms… until suddenly, his eyes widened like saucers. “…Are you illiterate?”

 

That was true, but he couldn’t refrain from feeling the blood rush to his face—which burned. With awkwardness and shrinking in on himself in the seat, he gathered the energy to give a weak nod. There was no dignity left in his poor heart, if there ever was. Surrendered and sunken, he returned the paper to its original position.

 

Zelodec’s eyes were also wider than usual, but he soon frowned. “…Wait, are there illiterates in the city—?” he questioned, but bit his tongue, stopping his speech in its tracks. The next thing Felix knew he burst into laughter, “Ah, it was a joke!” Zelodec snapped his fingers, laughing harder. “So ya aren’t from the city! I totally fell for it, bwahahahaha!”

 

He only shrunk even more in himself, face still hot; maybe even more so. He squirmed in his seat, cold sweat rolling down his forehead, and brought his hands to press them to the side of his knees.

 

“Hey, it’s alright,” Mantoroh spoke in a comforting tone, tilting his head faintly to the side. “Not all pokémon can write or read, so it’s not a requirement. There’s nothing wrong with it,” with those words, his arms dropped, and he reached out his paw to grab the sheet of paper, and flipped it over to read it from his perspective.

 

The heat in his face subsided, blood still pooling in his cheek veins. 

 

He arranged the paper in his hands, “I can read the entire contract, or make a summary of each part.”

 

…A summary only increased the odds that he would be deceived, he was fully aware of the possibility. Nevertheless, his only choice was to sign—otherwise, he would have nowhere to go, nowhere to drop dead in this strange world. If there was no decision to be made, then he would prefer it to be as swiftly as possible. “Th-The… the summary is fine, thank you.”

 

Mantoroh nodded, rearranging the paper in his grasp once more, before centering his word over the symbols written in ink. “The crew operates like the guilds of the Grass Continent. By working with us, you gain permission and privilege to take and accept the missions we give you access to. For the right to work with the crew, we take a forty percent tax rate on the reward given. This tax does not apply to objects or special rewards that the client stipulates as exclusive to the recruit in charge, only for the mandatory amount of money. All rewards, monetary or physical, will be your sole and personal property, while the tax money goes to the crew pool—with which we pay the members of special roles such as the surgeon, carpenter, quartermaster and captain, as well as travel supplies and food for Beatrix,” he reported, taking silence to read before clearing his throat. “In short: sixty percent of the monetary rewards will be for your personal use, and in exchange for working in the guild, you will be provided access to feed from our supplies, as well as home on the ship and a free passport to all port cities on the Sand Continent.”

 

He took a moment to process, blinking as the gears in his head kicked into motion. In fact… the deal wasn’t negative at all—he gained home, food, free travel to different towns, and even kept the large portion of the bounty from—

 

…

 

His mind halted as he processed the remainder. About quests, guilds, and oddly named continents. “Ah, uh…” he cleared his throat, searching for how to explain his inquiries in as few words as possible, “s-sorry, but, quests?” he asked, hesitantly.

 

“Don’t ya know what a guild is, boy?” Zelodec clapped his hands together once, a wide, amused grin on his face. “Of course, of course. sure!” — he chuckled. Felix’s shoulders slumped.

 

Mantoroh’s brow arched upward, sympathy in his gaze. “You don’t know any guilds? Easy, it’s alright,” he blinked, eyes wide, and cleared his throat to explain. “A guild is a workplace that is responsible for accepting and supplying dungeon-related quests to explorers. The administration is tasked with contacting civilians and offering multiple services; food, shelter, training and advice to recruits. Meanwhile, the explorers do the missions, accept the rewards, and train to become stronger,” he informed once more, and cocked his head to the side. “And the missions are… well, missions. Requests made by civilians where they need brute force in a dungeon; exploration, rescue, or the capture of outlaws.”

 

…He was accepting the job of being a bounty hunter. He was about to puke his heart out, feeling its throbbing as much as that of his own laceration beneath his bandages. “N—No… is— isn’t there a police that, uh, deals with that…?” foolish of him, he already knew the answer would not be to his liking.

 

“Oh, don’t worry about that! We are approved and work close to the police branch of this continent,” Mantoroh replied. “Any other questions or shall we continue to the next item?”

 

Zelodec interjected, letting out a laugh. “Exactly, boy! Me and my crew work side by side with those old magnezones.”

 

That only confirmed to him that it was a dangerous occupation. Where he could die.

 

But what other option was left but to proceed? As much as the thought made his heart skip a beat, he had nowhere to flee; he could only accept the futility of his action. “L-Let’s go to the next point. Please.” His paw pressed tightly against his knee, trying to cease its trembling as he sketched a hesitant smile.

 

Mantoroh nodded, and along with a hum, continued. “By joining the crew, you are forgiven any crimes you have committed on the Sand Continent, and you will gain special rights in the towns; such as information to police records, free access to visit prisons and control zones, and ultimately legal immunity—unless the captain deems it inconvenient. After a period of seven days, the ship will sail to the next town unless an exception is stipulated for any reason the captain finds suitable,” he paused to catch his breath. “All recruits on the ship have the same rights and responsibilities to follow, as well as abiding by the same disciplinary actions should they break the stipulated rules, but there are four roles within the crew that are only filled by one person at a time; the surgeon, the carpenter, the quartermaster and the captain. The first three are decided by the latter, and the captain is the first founder of the crew.” He seemed to finish, but with a sigh, he added: “If a majority of sixty percent of the crew are dissatisfied with the captain, a vote may be called and he be removed from his position, where another vote will be given to determine the new captain.”

 

“A very cruel rule!” he slurred the first E, with a goofy grin that mimicked his tone, “so cruel that we should remove it, I say,” was the innocent sarcasm that indicated he didn’t believe his own words.

 

“In addition, the quartermaster and captain each day select an attendant who is responsible for Beatrix’s cleaning and feeding duties. Lastly, disciplinary actions for breaking the rules; which are governed by police regulations, are the captain’s decision and their severity is determined by the captain,” and rearranging the paper between his grip once more, he laid it on the desk. “That would be all.”

 

…No rights, no job benefits, no mandatory work hours or establishment of overtime pay. Besides, from the way he made it sound, they didn’t seem to be governed by legislation that would legally protect him either.

 

He had no choice. He gulped before nodding, “I-I understand.”

 

“Good,” Mantoroh shoved the ink bottle, and turned the paper in Felix’s direction before pushing it towards him as well. “Do you know how to sign?” he asked, tilting his head to one side. “Just smudge your foot, and press…” his finger hovered over the black symbols until he reached above a line, at the bottom of the sheet. “Right here. It doesn’t matter if you don’t know how to write, the shape of the foot indicates who you are.”

 

He was not motivated enough to speak, only to utter a feeble hum. He lifted his left leg; visible to all his strong shaking, and grabbed his thigh with one of his claws to try to control it—in vain. He dipped the sole very gently, feeling the black liquid trickle down his skin and drip back into the jar—viscous as tar, he grimaced at the sensation.

 

He lifted his foot and hovered over where he should sign.

 

He hesitated.

 

But with no other choice, he pressed the bottom of his foot. It felt scratchy, and as he lifted it once more, the jet mark dried quickly—the decision had been made, if one could call what had just happened that.

 

With a footstep that Felix could have sworn shook the ground, Zelodec reached over and snatched the paper from the table, roughly. “Perfect, boy, ya’re now officially one of us!” he held out his arms as if to commence a hug, and squatted down in a crouch at his side, giving an affectionate pat on the back. “Welcome aboard, recruit Felix!” The smile on his face was blinding.

 

The momentum on his back caused him to nearly fall forward, but with a quick iron grip, the four-armed monster prevented it. The vibrant vigor caused Felix to cringe slightly, not knowing how to react other than to give a nervous grin.

 

“And as a new official member, I’ll tell ya where yer bunk is!” he said, rising from the floor to take a step backwards, back against one of the bookshelves. 

 

…That he hadn’t noticed beforehand showed the slow workings of his mind—they couldn’t have had an empty room just for him, so, it was inevitable that he would have to share sleeping quarters with someone else. 

 

With a clap, Zelodec made the gesture with one of his hands as if grasping an invisible rod in front of him with a loose grip. “Alright, recruit, once ya get out of here…” he faintly twirled his index finger forward; without finishing the turn, “ya go to the left,” he tilted his head gently in that direction, “and go straight ahead, to the smaller bunk, not the long one. There we put a spare bed there to rest on.” His hand reached out to grasp his arm, and lifted the abra with a tug, “come on, let’s go!”

 

Along his nerves traveled the pain of his throbbing wound. He hissed, feeling the bile rise in his throat as his body curled around his upper abdomen. Even so, he endured it, waiting for the monster to begin his walk, to guide him once again…

 

…Which didn’t happen. “Aren’t you going to lead me?” he asked, though he was soon startled—perhaps he should have asked it in a different way, one that was less rude, less—

 

He gestured upward, as if pushing invisible smoke away. “Hey, everyone needs some alone time! And after talking to yer new comrades, I’m sure some solo time wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

 

“Your roommate is sleeping, so take all the time you want to think,” Mantoroh added, still sitting on the red pillow; now cross-legged.

 

Time to ponder, to sort out his ideas—that didn’t actually sounded like a bad plan, but he feared what would happen if he was left alone with his mind. “S-Sure,” but in the end, he determined it would be helpful, a moment to breathe. He walked to the door, reaching for the knob and turning it, “eh, uh…” he turned half his body to look sideways at them, “bye.”

 

“Good night.”

 

“See ya later, and sweet dreams!”

 

With the creak of the door he stepped outside. With the soft slamming, now only silence reigned.

 

…

 

A sigh was enough to completely deflate his lungs. His body slumped, knees aching but still standing. He was free, finally free—just him, with thoughts in his tiny skull, swimming in the seas of consciousness.

 

…The itch under his skin had not yet deserted him. Perhaps he could have ignored it, but it was still there, silent as a dull whirring sound. The yellow he wore and the muzzle that was his mouth still felt unnatural, at the same time as it was instinctive to move with these.

 

He cast a glance toward the bar. Neither Sancyel nor Karoson were to be found there, though the drool marks on the wooden counter next to an empty glass still marked their presence.

 

Turning left, he noted where he was heading—an undersized shack compared to the one from which he had emerged, next to where —he could remember— was Arinton’s quarters, that terrifying feline.

 

With each footstep, his mind became clouded with thoughts; though thankfully they didn’t feel like staring into the abyss. He wasn’t sure why his shoulders looked like that, and touching them for a moment he noticed their hardness, like bone armor. He wasn’t certain if he could remove the shoulder pads.

 

His ears —those cat-shaped, soft cartilage ones he could still remember between his fingers— twitched at a soft sound in the distance. His three clawed fingers closed and opened, brushing his palms.

 

Just the thought of the human world, of home, brought a weight in his heart. The bitterness of the memory, and the lack of it. It made him miss his thumbs, his human body—

 

Pain ran through his forehead. In the blink of an eye, he saw in front of him the door he had crashed into.

 

…

 

Fantastic. He would deserve at least twenty sarcastic applauses for that incredible feat alone. At least now his head and abdomen shared the same throbbing.

 

He took a step back, and wrapped his three fingers around the knob. He took a deep breath, feeling a shiver run down his spine…

 

…He shook his head, trying to shake off the cold that suddenly invaded his bones. Finally, he pushed open the door.

 

The stone floor was the first touch he received at his feet. What followed was his vision, observing the shelves brimming with all sorts of thick books, with —seemingly— leather forming their covers. More books were scattered and spread out on the floor; some open, some closed with bookmarks protruding from the edge. Sprawled yellowed papers rested on the smooth pebble, with strange foot symbols and drawings that he had trouble discerning what they were at the moment. A desk at floor level was accompanied by a cloth pillow, apparently of less comfort than those in Zelodec’s office. On the wood, a closed bottle of ink sat next to a stack of books. Above the desk, on the wall, was a long, colorless map, hung with nails in the corners.

 

A bed of dry grass; hay, lay in the left corner at the far end of the room. In the opposite direction, another yellow, brittle, accumulated mound stood, with no one there, and a lamp just beside it with a soft wobble.

 

He took a few steps forward. Something was noticeably absent… his companion, who was supposed to be resting at this late hour.

 

His heart skipped a beat.

 

The door creaked behind him, and swiftly, he spun on his heel.

 

A hand, white and fingerless, had closed the door. In front of him, a new monster.