[Decay Timer: 63 Hours, 11 Minutes, 33 Seconds]

By the time we reached the bottom of the stairs and exited back into the hallway of the castle proper it had already been nearly 9 hours since I was unceremoniously chopped down from my bush. In some ways I was a little closer to gaining a much needed evolution, and in many other ways I was nowhere closer at all. Combat? Really? I was a fucking blueberry. Whatever screwed up Gods they kept talking about really had a strange sense of humor. Seriously though, I would have settled for even a single arm. One damn arm. At least then I could ineffectively punch things and have some kind of shot.

Despite Fogwarth’s cheerful humming and occasional questions it was a relatively silent walk. We passed through several similar corridors, went by the same guards as when we entered, and exited back out of the castle proper.

The sun had been in the middle of setting now, painting a watercolor portrait of pink and orange hues as the sky slowly began to darken. The bustling street we have walked on earlier was dying down with only a handful of living things remaining, allowing me to take in the background noises of the town. The crackling fire of a nearby bakery, the shuffling of boots on cobbled stone, the chime of a smith’s hammer against an anvil. Instead of the earlier shouting between vendors and patrons there was instead idle conversations of war and harvest.

When Foggy had taken the long way down the spire I was able to get a view from the passing windows and truly got to see how large this kingdom was. Farm lands and orchards spread out for nearly endless miles in every direction like oceans of waving green life. The main township was the primary ward for activity, but I noted several smaller settlements and the scattered farmhouse as well. Veins of dirt roads connected each, all bleeding into the main town, and two enormous walls seemed to enclose the entire kingdom in separate layers.

It began to make sense why they would be concerned about one lone scout bee thing so close to the orchard. It must have meant it was within the boundary of the wall to some extent.

Knowing how large and defended this kingdom was gave me new appreciation for the quaint life of the people here in this main town.

We moved through the town, Fogwarth saying a greeting to nearly every person we passed, and we ended up at a large blacksmith forge at the heart of the town. The heat billowing from the entrance was overwhelming, and the smell of cooking metal and hot charcoal quickly knocked away the lingering aromas of food that had been abundant for most of the walk here. An orange glow of molten steel welcomed us as we stood before the workshop and watched a broad beetle-man hammer away at a red, warped sheet of metal.

“H’Acur! You old rascal! As hard at work as ever I see!” Fogwarth shouted.

The man continued pounding without any regard.

Fogwarth chuckled nervously. “Oh, perhaps the chords of my vocals are not as prominent as I had once believed! To think, they had called me Fogwarth The Living Trumpet at one time! Here…” He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Smith H’Acur! Oh, Smith H’Acur! It is I, Fogwarth! I have returned to you, my friend! Smith-“

“Curse the Gods, Fogwarth,” the Smith answered with a tired grunt, throwing down his hammer and tossing the hot metal into a bucket of water. It sizzled and popped as the heat drained away. The beetle guy turned around, a furrowed brow eyeing us both not that Fogwarth had removed me and held me at eye level. “I heard you the first time you bit twit!”

“Oh, H’Acur,” Fogwarth said over a chuckle. “My dear friend, you grow in humor each moment we are apart! What a good rib!”

The beetle man rolled his eyes. “What do ya want, prince? I have an army to arm and only days to do so.”

Fogwarth raised me up, giving me an introduction that was equally as cringeworthy as his shouting. We had our Berry or Barry exchange, the usual lines about eating me were shared, and then I was placed down in a chair in a shaded corner while the two spoke more near the roaring forge.

I was grateful to be out of the heat a bit, even though I despised that we were wasting more time. My [Hungry] debuff had prompted when we were climbing down the spire but had quickly gone away once we were outside. However, the heat of the forge jump started my [Thirsty] debuff so the debuff-free relief was short lived.

The crackling of the forge and the hissing of the still hot metal cooling off made it difficult to hear the two as the spoke, but it was made even worse when the beetle guy started hammering away again mid-conversation. This was stupid. It was all so stupid. Whatever plan the inch worm had could not possibly beat learning whatever spell or skill I could actually use.

From their motions and movements I could see the conversation was a roller coaster. Lots of hand gestures ranging from casual to angered to curious, lots of scowls followed by smirks. I hadn’t seen Foggy scowl at all since we arrived but now I could see it was the same as his pudgy smile, just upside down and equally as pudgy.

Every now and then the beetle guy would look back at me, carefully looking me over as if he was best deciding how to turn me into a protein shake.

Oh, I should have mentioned the beetle guy was an absolute brute of a thing.

His body, similar to Fogwen, was one of the most humanoid type I had seen so far. Broad shoulders, muscular arms, legs as thick as fresh cut logs, and a chest that looked like two whiskey barrels stuffed into a soot covered leather apron. His face was framed in a strong jaw with carved cheekbones, a protruding brow, and two orange-tinted human eyes. In fact, there were only a few details that made him look like a beetle at all.

He had two hard shell wings that were closed on his back, and his skin was the color of obsidian with a glossy, exoskeleton shine to it. He had five fingers on each hand and two thumbs, for a total of six fingers each. The most dominant factor was the horn that stuck out of his forehead that looked like one of those rhinoceros beetles from Animal Planet.

It was a bit off-putting at first, given his tendency to stare at everything with the scowl of an angry boxer, but oddly he was one of the more normal beings I had seen. Hell, even his teeth were normal; well, normal and completely black.

I was finally hoisted up and we gave our goodbyes before I was out on like a backpack once more. As we left the forge I watched the smith continue staring at us until we were out of sight.

“So, what was that about?” I asked, feeling a bit left out at this point.

‘‘Twas nothing, sir berry. Do not be concerned!” He answered.

“Okay then… anything I should know? Was it about helping me with my path?”

Fogwarth, normally brimming with life and excitement, sighed the same way I sighed. The same dejected and failed exhale that marked my every waking moment in this dream land. I also noticed he didn’t have his usual hum, and we had been walking back toward the castle without nearly as much pep as we arrived to the blacksmith with. I was no empath, but I could sense when something just wasn’t right.

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“Hey, man,” I said a bit softer. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“It is nothing, Barry. Nothing to be concerned with. Simply demon of the most personal variety that I must finally face. A hard truth I have treated as the boldest of lies that I must confront. But, worry yourself not, friend. I will see you reach your evolution, and I will see you survive. You still have my word.”

Barry? Did he really just not call me Sir Berry for once? No. Something was wrong. Clearly Foggy wasn’t ready to share, but something was very wrong. I stayed quiet for the remainder of our walk, allowing him the peace it seemed like he really wanted. My mind ran laps, sprinting to figure out what I was possibly going to do as I watched the sky darken further and a glitter of starlight to creep over the deep, shadowed blues of the night.

Time was running out, and now it seemed that I would be stuck waiting until morning for any progress at all. I sighed, because of course I did, and we entered the castle proper.

Sometime later we reached the main banquet hall. It was immaculate despite the haphazard hustle of it all. Long tables of ornate, dark wood stretched on endlessly with rows of seats aligned on either side. Chandeliers of wrought iron swayed overhead with bright, flickering candles, and wall sconces decorated the hall with even more dancing fire light. The banquet hall has hanging tapestries like the rest of the castle, laced in gold trim and embroidered images of moths in battle, along with detailed paintings of the Fogwarth’s family.

I noted the paintings of Fogwarth, Fogwen, and the brother I had just barely met with the guards, Foghurdt, as well as four more strange moth variants that I guessed were the other Mothric family siblings. At the far end of the hall sat a giant painting of the frightening eyeball moth king, and even seeing it sent a shiver through my berry. Another throne, large and carved of an enormous ruby crystal sat just before the painting on a raised platform overseeing the rows of tables.

More impressive than the space itself were the piles of food. Real food. Some kind of roasted meat with an amber skin sat every six or so feet of the table’s length, a savory aroma wafting off of it like expensive cologne. Mounds of cooked root vegetables like potatoes, yams, and carrots were arranged between them followed by baskets of freshly baked bread. The steam rising from the food wavered into the air like the most tasty of phantoms.

Lastly there were the fruit bowls. Heaping, mountain-like, colorful, fruit bowls. And yes, there were plenty of blueberries.

“Father’s wartime address,” Fogwarth said as he found us a place at the front table, designated for the Mothric family, high ranking officials, and neighboring emissaries. “This is where the King tells us of the future of the Mothric Kingdom, speaks of our allies and their part in our defense, and the movements of Icaraz. Tensions are at a peak, sir berry. And so, we feast. We celebrate. We honor those who have fallen and those yet to be felled. As my Companion you shall have a place at the family table, and I will hear nothing else of it!”

It was nice to see some of Fogwarth’s jovial attitude come back, even if it came and went like the flicker of an old television. He scooted around and found us a spot with the wall to our backs, and he proceeded to plop me into a tall seat then tied my harness to the rear of the chair so I wouldn’t tumble off.

I felt like a fucking toddler, but I guess it’s better than falling in front of everyone.

People began to pour in like water on a sinking ship. There were dozens, then hundreds. All flooded in and claimed seats promptly, asking what I assumed were the castle staff for water, wine or ale as they sat down. Our table also trickled in, with Fogwen entering and sitting right across from us, her malicious, confident gaze immediately falling on us.

“Princess,” I said with just a hint of poison.

She gave a crooked grin in return. “Dessert.”

Two more sat at the end of our table, both clearly emissaries of some other place. One was a frog that walked upright, wearing a fur-lined robe and a crown made of sharpened animal bones. The other was clearly another reptile of some kind, though it had feathered wings and claws for hands. It’s face was human enough, save for the yellow snake eyes and the whipping forked tongue. Both gave a warm greeting but said little afterward, choosing to sit and stare at the throne to await the King.

To my surprise Aspenoc came and sat to the other side of me, offering me another clicking laugh from his vibrating mandibles before snatching up a bread roll when he thought no one was looking. After him, two of the other Mothric siblings sat down but did not address anyone; I recognized them from their paintings decorating the hall.

“Fogetha, 5th Heir,” Fogwarth said under his breath, motioning to one. “And Fogdahn, 6th Heir.”

“That’s a lot of Fog,” I answered back, inspecting the two.

The first one, Fogetha, was human-ish from the waist up, but that’s about it. She had a serpentine body, a jade color with several sections of insect carapace connecting together, and four glowing yellow eyes. Her armor was a dark, oily leather with a cloaked hood that shadowed the rest of her facial features. Honestly it was kind of cool. I looked forward to wearing clothes again, but I can definitely get down with some badass armor.

Now, Fogdahn? Horrifying. Not a vibe. Fogdahn was what nightmares wish they could be. I tried my best not to stare so his massive single eyeball didn’t look my way, though I failed every attempt to stop. His massive eye happened to also be his entire head, and when he blinked the entire wrinkled gray flesh of his head moved and contorted, making a slurping sound when the lid peeled apart. His wings were small but there were several rows of them, all translucent like a common house fly. Then his body was cloaked by a dark, shabby robe that didn’t reveal much, but I could see things squirming and wiggling inside.

He was honestly pretty nice, introducing himself to me and asking about my time at the castle. It didn’t make it any easier to look at him.

Finally Foghurdt sat, the massive multi-limbed brawler being the last to entire the banquet hall and taking a seat diagonal to Fogwarth and I. He met his siblings with a nod, still fully covered in the gleaming plate mail of the guards with a colossal iron blade strapped to his back. His head moved, clanking metal all the while, and I could see his milky white eyes and pale blue pupils fall on me through his visor.

“You are the berry I have heard spoken of as of late,” he said with a voice like a bucket of gravel being rolled down a steep hill. “Pleasure.”

“Yeah, that’s me. I’m Barry,” I said, feigning a smile while desperately trying to be distracted by the big eyeball guy again. “Nice to meet you.”

He cocked his head like a curious German shepherd.

“You are a berry.”

Oh no.

“Yes. And my name is Barry. With an A.”

“I see,” he answered. “How moronic. Well, berry Barry, has my family’s hospitality been to your liking?”

I tried to nod out of instinct then realized I was completely failing.

“Yeah, not bad. Nice place you guys have here,” I said quickly. For some reason I really didn’t like the way he looked at me. There was something strange behind those eyes. It was as if he were staring through me rather than simply at me. “They’ve been helping me reach my evolution so I don’t die and all that fun stuff.”

He nodded, armor shifting and rattling as he did so.

“Let us hope they succeed then.”

Foghurdt turned away just as everyone else did the same. Soon every head, or giant eyeball, were staring directly at the throne. The gusts of pressure flooded the hall, tapestries, robes and cloaks all fluttering in its wake as the King lowered himself once more from the dark rafters above to hover over his throne. From the shade behind the throne walked a new figure who looked very similar to Fogwen, except with older features such as deep ravine wrinkles and stiff, graying hair that was pulled back. This person had on a gown that sparkled when the firelight hit it as if it were made of precious diamonds, made of a silky white that draped from her shoulders down to the stone floor. Her own wings were magnificent fonts of red liquid that swayed and flowed in the air behind her but never spilled a drop.

“Azreet,” Fogwarth whispered just as the King called for attention. “My step-mother.”