The moment Deirdre stepped through the door, the air changed. A deep, cool humidity enveloped her, clinging to her skin and carrying the rich, earthy scent of damp moss and decayed wood. The faint trill of unfamiliar creatures echoed through the gloom, their cries overlapping with the soft rustle of wind through distant trees.
She inhaled deeply, letting the wonder of the place wash over her. Before her stretched the endless expanse of the Witchlight Fens—a realm where twilight reigned eternal. Pools of still, dark water reflected the sky above, a canvas painted in hues of indigo and violet. The moon hung low and impossibly large, its surface glowing with a faint purple light, encircled by a shimmering silver ring. Stars dotted the sky like scattered gemstones, their light rippling faintly on the waters below, as if the heavens were mirrored in the swamp.
Clusters of ancient trees rose like sentinels from the marsh, their trunks twisted and gnarled, their bark streaked with silver as though kissed by the moonlight. Long, delicate vines hung from their branches, aglow with soft bioluminescence. Between the trees, tufts of glowing fungi and moss clung to the soggy ground, their faint lights casting halos of emerald, blue, and violet.
Deirdre’s boots squelched softly as she stepped forward, careful to avoid sinking too deeply into the spongy, wet earth. Her gaze darted from one wonder to the next—the way the mist curled lazily above the pools, the sudden flicker of movement as a translucent frog leapt from one mossy stone to another, the faint hum of a thousand unseen insects blending into a soothing rhythm.
The Witchlight Fens weren't just a collection of specimens to her—they were a living manuscript, each creature and plant a carefully inscribed word in an ancient, breathing text. Her work with the Fennor Institute wasn't about extraction, but preservation. Every sample collected was meticulously documented, every ecosystem carefully mapped to understand the delicate magical interconnections that sustained these extraordinary Domains.
She couldn't help but smile. Every new Domain filled her with this same sense of awe—a kind of reverence for the multiverse's endless capacity to surprise and enchant her.
Behind her, Hoch chuckled. “Not bad, huh? The Witchlight Fens always leave an impression. First time I came through, I thought I’d fallen straight into some kind of dream.”
Deirdre glanced back at him. His posture was relaxed, his grin easy as he leaned on his walking stick, a casual observer rather than a true participant in the moment. It irked her, the way he seemed so detached from the magic of the place.
“Dream or not,” she replied, “this place is alive. It’s more than just a backdrop—it’s a whole ecosystem, perfectly balanced.”
Hoch shrugged, his grin widening. "Balance, sure," Hoch said, his voice carrying an edge of mockery. "Or maybe it's just chaos wrapped up in a pretty package. Depends on how you look at it."
Deirdre's fingers tightened on her collection jar. She'd heard this argument before—from academics who saw Domains as resources, from mercenary Collectors who viewed magical ecosystems as nothing more than potential profit. "Not chaos," she said quietly. "Just complexity beyond your understanding."
Needle, who had taken point, said nothing. His movements were deliberate, his sharp eyes scanning the shadows for threats. Unlike Hoch, there was no amusement in his demeanor—only wariness. Deirdre noticed the way his fingers hovered near his bow, as if he expected danger at any moment.
A soft trill from her pack drew her attention. Deirdre reached back, her fingers brushing against the flap as if to reassure her hidden companion. “Not yet, little one,” she whispered. Orsafi shifted inside, her gem casting a faint, reassuring glow through the fabric.
Hoch’s voice cut through the quiet. “You’ll want to keep your eyes open for the pools. Some of them have a habit of grabbing people when they get too close.”
Deirdre frowned but nodded, her gaze scanning the dark water. As if on cue, a ripple spread across a nearby pool, though there was no breeze. She paused, studying it carefully, before stepping closer to a tree whose roots rose like arches above the swamp.
“Looks safe enough,” she muttered, testing her weight on the drier ground beneath the tree.
“You’re quick to trust,” Hoch said with a smirk, though he made no move to follow.
“I trust what I can see,” Deirdre replied, her voice steady. “And what I’ve studied. This isn’t my first wetland.”
“Fair enough,” Hoch said, his tone laced with humor. “But trust me, sweetheart. The Fens like to keep their secrets. Watch your step.”
Deirdre didn’t respond, too focused on the environment around her. She knelt down near a patch of moss, its faint glow pulsing in time with the gentle ripples of the nearby water. As she reached for her tools, she couldn’t help but feel a quiet thrill of anticipation.
This place was a treasure trove, and she intended to treat it with the respect it deserved.
Deirdre moved carefully through the Fens, her boots finding purchase on the damp, uneven ground. The air was alive with subtle movement—ripples across shallow pools, the sway of luminous vines overhead, the rustle of unseen creatures in the dense underbrush. Every step felt like a revelation, each corner of the Domain revealing some new wonder.
She crouched near a patch of Moonpetal Ferns, their delicate fronds glowing faintly under the light of the purple moon. The silver veins running through the leaves seemed to pulse, as though the plant itself were alive with magic. Deirdre reached into her pack, retrieving a pair of small shears and a collection jar.
"These are perfect," she murmured to herself, her voice low. She clipped the first fern carefully at its base, ensuring she left enough of the plant intact to allow it to continue growing. She added a small amount of water to the jar, watching as the fern floated gently in the liquid. "They’ll propagate this way," she explained quietly, though no one had asked.
Hoch observed her from a distance, leaning lazily against the trunk of a tree. "You always this delicate about it?" he asked, his tone light but carrying an edge of condescension.
Deirdre straightened, brushing the damp earth from her gloves. "You don’t get second chances with plants like these," she replied. "If you damage them, you might as well not take them at all. They’ll wither before you make it back." Her gaze flicked to him, sharp and unwavering. "Not that you’d know much about that."
Hoch grinned, unfazed. "Fair enough. You’ve got your way, I’ve got mine. Long as it gets the job done, right?"
Deirdre didn’t answer, her attention already shifting to another nearby fern. The patch was large enough to support the dozen or so fronds she needed, but she worked methodically, taking only one or two from each cluster to minimize disruption. With each fern, she repeated the process: a clean cut, careful placement in the jar, and just enough water to sustain them. When she sealed the container, the gentle glow of the fronds gave the impression of fireflies caught in a glass lantern.
Behind her, Needle shifted, his boots crunching softly on the damp ground. He hadn’t spoken much since they’d arrived, his presence more shadow than companion. Deirdre felt his eyes on her as she worked, an unspoken judgment in his silence. It made her skin crawl, but she refused to let it distract her.
"First batch done," she muttered, rising to her feet and adjusting her pack. "Next stop: Driftshade Bulbs."
Hoch gestured lazily toward a nearby thicket. "You might find them over there. That glow looks promising."
Deirdre followed his gaze, her breath catching as she approached. The Driftshade Bulbs grew in clusters at the base of a tree, their round, pearlescent forms releasing a faint mist that hung low to the ground. She knelt down, her movements slow and deliberate, studying the plants for a moment before reaching out with her tools.
"Careful with those," Hoch warned, his grin fading slightly. "They pop if you so much as look at them wrong."
"I’m aware," Deirdre replied curtly, focusing on her work. She slid a thin bladed knife beneath one of the bulbs, lifting it gently from the mossy soil. The bulb trembled in her grasp, its surface shimmering like a soap bubble. Deirdre exhaled slowly, steadying her hand as she placed it into another container, sealing it with a twist.
She repeated the process, working her way through the thicket until she had gathered enough to fill her order. Each bulb was handled with the same care, their faint mist curling inside the jars like captured clouds. Her movements were precise, her focus unbroken, despite the prickling awareness of Hoch and Needle watching her every move.
"That should do it," she said finally, brushing her hands against her trousers and adjusting her pack. The soft glow of her collected samples cast an otherworldly light against her back, a quiet reminder of her success.
Hoch pushed off the tree and stretched, his casual grin back in place. "Nice haul," he said, his voice light but edged with something sharper. "Now for the fun part. Let’s find those slimes."
Deirdre’s jaw tightened, the joy of discovery tempered by the reality of her situation. She glanced at Needle, who remained silent but watchful, his sharp eyes scanning the misty terrain. Hoch’s grin was as sharp as ever, his demeanor casual but calculating.
"Right," she said, her voice firm. "Let’s move."
As they ventured deeper into the Fens, the thrill of exploration warred with the growing tension in her chest. The plants were just the beginning, and the challenges ahead would require more than just steady hands and careful tools.
The landscape of the Fens shifted as they ventured deeper. The shallow pools gave way to larger, murkier bodies of water, their surfaces broken by clusters of black reeds and luminous lily pads that floated like miniature moons. The purple glow of the moon above reflected off the water, mingling with the bioluminescent plants to create an ethereal, dreamlike quality to the swamp.
“Slimes like these are usually drawn to places where magic is most concentrated,” Hoch said, his voice breaking the silence. He gestured to a dense copse of twisted trees ahead, their gnarled branches draped in glowing moss. “We’re getting close.”
Deirdre followed his lead, though her attention remained on the environment. Every sound—the croak of a distant frog, the rustle of leaves, the soft splash of water—felt amplified in the stillness. Despite the presence of Hoch and Needle, she couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of the Domain. Even the air seemed alive with energy, humming faintly in her ears.
“Stay sharp,” Hoch said, stepping carefully over a fallen log. “The Gliders can be tricky to spot.”
As if on cue, a faint glow emerged from the shadows. Deirdre paused, her breath catching as she caught her first glimpse of a Luminescent Glider. The slime was unlike anything she had seen before—a semi-transparent, jelly-like creature that hovered just above the water’s surface. Its body emitted a soft, pulsing blue light, reminiscent of a firefly. Within its translucent form, faint veins of silver shimmered, giving it an almost celestial quality.
“There,” Hoch said, nodding toward the glowing slime. “That’s what you’re after, right?”
Deirdre nodded, her eyes never leaving the creature. “Yes, but we have to be careful. They’re sensitive to stress—if we’re too rough, they’ll dim, and we’ll lose them.”
Hoch smirked but said nothing. Needle, however, didn’t wait for instructions. In a swift, practiced motion, he reached out with a long-handled net and scooped up the slime. The creature’s glow flickered and dimmed almost immediately, its once-bright light fading to a pale blue.
“What are you doing?” Deirdre snapped, her voice sharp. She rushed forward, glaring at Needle as he held the struggling slime. “You can’t just grab them like that! You’re stressing it out.”
Needle shrugged, his expression unreadable. “It’s a slime. It’ll be fine.”
Deirdre snatched the net from his hands, her frustration boiling over. “No, it won’t! You’ve already damaged its glow, and if you’d been rougher, it could’ve dissolved entirely. These aren’t mindless blobs—they’re living creatures.”
Needle stepped back, his lips curling into a faint smirk. Hoch chuckled, clearly amused by the exchange. “Easy, sweetheart,” he said, holding up his hands. “No need to get so worked up. We’re here to get the job done, remember?”
Deirdre ignored him, her focus entirely on the Luminescent Glider. She crouched by the water’s edge, speaking softly to the creature as she gently transferred it from the net into a glass jar. Inside, she added water from the swamp and a clump of moss to mimic its natural environment. The slime’s glow steadied slightly, though it remained dim.
“There,” she said quietly, sealing the jar. “Now it has a chance.”
She placed the jar carefully in her pack, then turned to Hoch and Needle, her gaze hard as steel. “If either of you mishandles another creature, we’re done. I’m not here to destroy the balance of this place like a common thug.”
Her words were pointed, her glare directed squarely at Needle. He shrugged again, looking bored, but Hoch raised an eyebrow, his grin widening.
“Balance, huh?” he said, his tone light but with a hint of something darker beneath it. “I’ll give you credit—you’ve got a soft touch. But balance doesn’t pay the bills, does it?”
Deirdre didn’t respond, her jaw tightening as she turned away. She moved further into the swamp, scanning the dark water for signs of more Gliders. Her heart ached as she thought of the creature’s dimmed light, the careless harm Needle had inflicted. But she wouldn’t let it happen again—not if she could help it.
After several minutes, she spotted another Glider, its soft glow reflected on the water’s surface. This time, she approached slowly, her movements deliberate and unthreatening. She crouched low, speaking softly as she extended a container filled with moss and water toward the slime.
The creature drifted toward her, its movements slow and fluid. Deirdre held her breath, her hands steady as she coaxed it into the jar. Once it was inside, she sealed the container, her chest swelling with relief.
“Got you,” she whispered, placing the jar in her pack alongside the first. A pair should be enough for Fennor’s contract, though she wished she could stay longer to observe the creatures in their natural habitat.
Hoch clapped his hands together, breaking the moment. “Two down, and no casualties. Not bad, Collector.”
Deirdre shot him a withering look but said nothing. Instead, she rose to her feet, brushing dirt from her gloves. “Let’s move. We still have two more slimes to find.”
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Hoch's grin didn't reach his eyes. "Lead the way," he said, the endearment conspicuously absent. Something in his tone made the hair on the back of Deirdre's neck rise—a hint of impatience barely masked by false congeniality.
As they continued deeper into the Fens, Deirdre’s wonder at the Domain was tinged with a growing unease. She couldn’t shake the feeling that her companions—especially Needle—saw this place as nothing more than a resource to exploit. The thought made her stomach turn, but she pushed it aside. For now, her focus had to remain on the task at hand.
The deeper they ventured into the Witchlight Fens, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. The shimmering pools gave way to dense thickets of trees, their branches entwined like skeletal hands grasping at the twilight sky. The air grew heavier, laden with the pungent scent of decaying vegetation and the faint tang of magic. It was as though the Domain itself was watching, its unseen presence pressing against Deirdre’s skin.
She paused at the edge of a wide clearing, her sharp eyes scanning the terrain. The ground here was uneven, riddled with shallow pits filled with stagnant water. Beyond the clearing, a ridge of jagged rocks jutted out, their surfaces glistening faintly under the moon’s purple light.
“We’re close,” Hoch murmured, his voice low. He stepped up beside her, his expression oddly serious for once. “Ironbelly Oozes like places like this. They’re territorial, though, so keep your guard up.”
Deirdre nodded but didn’t respond. Her focus was drawn to the faint movement in the distance—shadows shifting among the rocks. At first, she thought it was the wind, but as the shapes emerged, her breath caught. A pack of Sylvarie Hounds padded into view, their silver fur glinting like liquid metal under the moonlight.
The creatures were stunning, their lean, muscular bodies exuding both grace and power. Their glowing eyes, bright as starlight, scanned the clearing with predatory precision. The leader, a larger hound with an intricate pattern of silver streaks on its flank, raised its head and sniffed the air. The others followed, moving as one—silent and deadly.
“Sylvarie Hounds,” Deirdre whispered, her voice barely audible. She crouched low, her heart pounding as she gestured for Hoch and Needle to stay back. “Don’t move. If we leave them alone, they won’t bother us.”
Needle, however, didn’t listen. He had already nocked an arrow, his movements smooth and practiced. Before Deirdre could stop him, he let the arrow fly. It struck one of the smaller hounds in the flank, the creature letting out a sharp, pained yelp before collapsing.
“No!” Deirdre hissed, her voice harsh with shock. She whirled on Needle, her eyes blazing. “What the hell are you doing?”
Needle shrugged, already moving toward his kill. “Good money in silver fur,” he said casually, slinging his bow over his shoulder. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”
“I said to leave them alone!” Deirdre snapped, stepping in front of him to block his path. Her voice shook with a mix of anger and disbelief. “These creatures aren’t part of the contract—they’re not even a threat to us!”
Needle’s expression darkened, and he stepped closer, his towering frame looming over her. “Move,” he growled, his voice cold. “You might be here for moss and slimes, but I’m not leaving that behind.”
Deirdre stood her ground, her hands clenched into fists. “No,” she said firmly. “You’re not taking another step.”
The tension crackled between them, sharp and dangerous. Needle’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a sneer. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Collector.”
“Enough,” Hoch’s voice cut through the standoff like a blade. He stepped forward, his tone calm but laced with authority. “Let him take the fur, Deirdre. It’s done.”
Deirdre’s chest tightened, the weight of Hoch’s words sinking in. She looked between the two men, her stomach churning. “You’re okay with this?” she asked, her voice trembling with disbelief. “We’re supposed to be working together.”
Hoch shrugged, his grin resurfacing. “It’s just business, sweetheart. Needle’s got his way of doing things, and you’ve got yours. No harm in that.”
“No harm?” Deirdre repeated, her voice rising. She gestured to the fallen hound, her hands shaking with anger. “That creature didn’t need to die. You don’t care about balance or respect—you’re just here to take whatever you can get.”
Hoch’s grin faltered slightly, but he said nothing. Needle, meanwhile, brushed past her, his movements deliberate as he approached the fallen hound. Deirdre turned away, her stomach twisting as she heard the sound of a blade slicing through fur.
The remaining hounds watched from the ridge, their glowing eyes filled with a mix of fear and anger. They didn’t attack, but their presence felt heavier, their silence a haunting reminder of what had been taken.
Deirdre clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She had made a mistake—partnering with Hoch and Needle had been a mistake. They didn’t care about the Domains or the creatures within them. To them, this place was nothing more than a resource to exploit.
As they moved on, Deirdre couldn't shake an unsettling feeling. Needle's casual brutality with the hound wasn't just a momentary lapse—it felt calculated, deliberate. And Hoch's easy acceptance troubled her more. She'd worked with opportunistic Collectors before, but something about this pair felt different. The way Hoch watched her, gauging her reactions, felt less like partnership and more like calculation.
Her gaze fell on her pack, where Orsafi remained hidden. The carbuncle’s faint glow seeped through the fabric, a quiet reminder of why she had to keep going. She couldn’t afford to fail Fennor’s contract, but every step deeper into the Fens felt heavier, weighed down by the choices she had made.
“We’ve got work to do,” Hoch said, his voice snapping her out of her thoughts. “Let’s not waste time.”
Deirdre nodded stiffly, her jaw tight as she turned and began walking. She didn’t trust herself to speak—not yet. The anger and regret bubbling inside her were too raw, too sharp.
The path ahead was shrouded in mist, the air thick with the hum of unseen magic. Deirdre took a deep breath, steadying herself. She had a job to finish, but one thing was certain—this partnership couldn’t last much longer.
Deirdre followed Hoch and Needle as they pushed deeper into the misty expanse of the Witchlight Fens. The marshy terrain gave way to a patch of elevated ground, where the air seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly glow. Ahead, a grove of ancient, moss-laden trees loomed like sentinels, their gnarled branches weaving together to form a natural canopy. The faint rustle of unseen creatures stirred the heavy silence.
As they stepped into the clearing, Deirdre’s breath caught. Tiny floating lights drifted lazily through the grove, each casting a soft, verdant glow. They danced like fireflies, their light reflecting off the water-slick leaves and pooling faintly on the moss-covered ground. The Wisps seemed to pulse gently, in time with some unseen rhythm.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Hoch said, breaking the silence. His voice was tinged with a kind of greedy wonder as he gazed at the Wisps. “Verdant Wisps. A marvel of magic. Alchemists pay handsomely for these little beauties—rare ingredients for growth elixirs, you know.”
Needle snorted, his sharp eyes tracking the glowing orbs. “Too easy to spot in the market, though. Glow’s a dead giveaway. They’d better fetch enough to make it worth the trouble.”
Deirdre ignored them both, her attention on the Wisps. She crouched low, observing how they hovered above patches of moss and fungi. The spores drifting around them sparkled faintly, like motes of stardust. She realized the Wisps weren’t just floating aimlessly—they were entwined with the life around them, sharing some symbiotic connection with the enchanted flora.
She unslung her pack, retrieving a crystal jar lined with faintly glowing runes to ensure the Wisps’ safety. A faint smile tugged at her lips as she whispered, “Let’s do this carefully.”
She took a small lightstone from her belt, holding it gently in her palm. With a subtle twist of her wrist, she activated it, allowing the soft glow to pulse in time with the Wisps’ own rhythm. The lights responded, slowly drifting closer, their movements deliberate and curious.
“Look at her, coaxing them like some woodland sprite,” Hoch said, leaning lazily against a tree. “You’re something else, sweetheart.”
Deirdre ignored him, her focus on the delicate process. As the Wisps floated closer, she slowly opened the jar, tilting it slightly. The first Wisp drifted inside, its soft glow suffusing the jar with emerald light. A second followed, then a third. Deirdre’s movements were steady, her reverence for the creatures evident in every careful gesture.
She secured the jar, glancing at the grove again. She would need more to meet the contract’s demands but knew better than to over-harvest. For each Wisp she collected, she ensured others were left behind, maintaining the delicate balance of the glade.
“That’s it?” Needle scoffed, crossing his arms. “We’re surrounded by these things, and you’re stopping there? We could grab double that, easy.”
Deirdre straightened, her eyes flashing with irritation. “No, we can’t. Taking too many could destabilize this ecosystem. The contract is for a specific amount, and we’re not here to raid this Domain like common poachers.”
“Speak for yourself,” Needle muttered, his gaze fixed on the glowing lights. His fingers twitched, as if itching to reach out and snatch one.
Hoch chuckled, stepping between them. “Ease up, Needle. Let the lady work her magic. No sense stirring the pot when we’ve already got what we need.”
Deirdre glared at Needle but said nothing. She focused on gathering her tools and sealing the jar in her pack, her movements precise. As she rose, she cast one last look at the glade. The Wisps floated peacefully, their glow undiminished, as if grateful for her care.
“Let’s move,” she said curtly, her tone leaving no room for argument. She felt Needle’s scowl on her back as she strode forward, but she refused to let it weigh on her. The sooner this was over, the better.
The swamp grew denser as they moved further into the Witchlight Fens. The ground squelched beneath their boots, and the air hung thick with a metallic tang, an unnatural sharpness that made Deirdre’s skin prickle. The faint glimmer of stars above was obscured by low-hanging mist, and the occasional splash in the distance hinted at creatures unseen.
Hoch paused, sniffing the air. “Smell that?” he asked, a grin creeping onto his face. “That’s iron in the water. We’re close.”
Deirdre crouched near a pool of brackish liquid, her keen eyes scanning the area. The ground here was veined with streaks of reddish-brown, as if the very earth bled iron. Clusters of reeds with silver-tipped edges swayed gently in a breeze that didn’t exist. A faint hum emanated from somewhere beneath the water, a deep vibration that Deirdre could feel in her bones.
“Keep an eye out,” she said, her voice low. “Ironbelly Oozes don’t like intruders. If they sense us, they’ll defend their territory.”
Needle scoffed, his bow already in hand. “Defend with what? They’re just slimes.”
Deirdre shot him a sharp look. “With acid, Needle. Potent enough to eat through your boots and then your legs. So unless you want to find out how fast you can run barefoot, keep your distance.”
Hoch chuckled, clearly amused by the exchange. “Let the lady lead, Needle. She’s got the knack for this sort of thing.”
Deirdre ignored them, focusing instead on the subtle ripples in the pool. She reached for a slender rod from her belt, its tip faintly glowing with runes designed to detect movement in the water. Slowly, she lowered it into the pool, her eyes narrowing as the hum grew louder.
There. A dark shape stirred beneath the surface, its movements slow and deliberate. As the figure emerged, the water parted to reveal an Ironbelly Ooze—a deep green slime shot through with gleaming veins of silver and copper. The metallic strands pulsed faintly, as if alive, and the ooze undulated with an almost mesmerizing rhythm.
Deirdre exhaled softly. “There’s one,” she murmured, reaching for an enchanted containment jar. “Stay back and keep quiet.”
She inched closer, her movements fluid and deliberate, careful not to disturb the water too much. The ooze paused, its surface rippling as if sensing her presence. Deirdre stopped, her hand hovering above the water. She gently lowered the jar into the pool, letting the ooze investigate the foreign object.
As the ooze oozed into the jar, Needle shifted behind her, his boot scuffing the ground. The sound was faint but enough to make the creature quiver, its pulsing silver veins flaring briefly.
“Hold still,” Deirdre hissed, her voice sharp but controlled. She steadied the jar, waiting as the ooze calmed and finally slithered inside. With practiced ease, she sealed the container, the runes on its surface flaring to life.
“Got it,” she said, securing the jar in her pack. She straightened, her gaze scanning the pool for movement. “I’ll need at least two more.”
As she worked, Hoch leaned against a nearby tree, watching with idle curiosity. “You’ve got a talent for this,” he said, his tone light. “Ever think about turning that skill into something more lucrative? Plenty of Keepers out there would pay top coin for a good hunter.”
Deirdre shot him a sidelong glance as she lowered another jar into the water. “I’m not a hunter. I’m a Collector. There’s a difference.”
Hoch smirked, clearly enjoying her defiance. “If you say so.”
She ignored him, her focus back on the task. The second ooze was smaller, its veins less pronounced, but it slipped into the jar with little resistance. Deirdre sealed it quickly, stowing it in her pack alongside the first.
As she reached for another jar, her fingers brushed against the vials clipped to her belt. A thought crossed her mind, and she hesitated, her gaze flicking to the oozes. Their acid was dangerous—corrosive enough to melt most materials—but it could also be incredibly useful in the right hands.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Hoch and Needle were preoccupied. Hoch was talking, his voice low and amused, while Needle scowled at something in the distance. Deirdre moved quickly, using a slender pipette to draw a few drops of acid from the surface of the pool. The liquid shimmered faintly as she transferred it into two small vials, securing them tightly and slipping them discreetly into a hidden pouch on her belt.
“Just in case,” she thought, the weight of the vials reassuring against her hip.
The final ooze was more cautious, its movements slow and deliberate. Deirdre took her time, coaxing it gently into the jar with a combination of patience and skill. When it was finally secure, she rose, her muscles aching from crouching but her heart steady with satisfaction.
“That’s all of them,” she said, turning to Hoch. “We’re done here.”
Hoch pushed off the tree, his grin as easy as ever. “Good work, sweetheart. Let’s get out of here before something nastier than a slime decides to show up.”
Deirdre nodded, though her unease lingered. As they began to make their way back through the Fens, the acid vials pressed against her side like a silent reminder: if things went sideways—and she was certain they would—she needed to be ready.
The Witchlight Fens seemed to close in around them as they retraced their steps, the air growing heavier with each passing moment. The mist thickened, curling around their legs and muffling the sounds of their movement. The eerie glow of the bioluminescent flora cast shifting patterns of light across their faces, but Deirdre’s gaze remained fixed ahead, her mind focused on the safety of her gathered resources.
Her backpack felt heavier than usual, not from its contents but from the tension that had built between her and her companions. Orsafi had remained silent and still, sensing the unease radiating from Deirdre. The carbuncle’s quiet presence was a small comfort as they neared the edge of the Fens.
Deirdre finally broke the silence. “We’re close enough now. Let’s use your gate stone and get out of here,” she said, glancing at Hoch. She kept her tone calm, masking the flicker of suspicion that had taken root in her chest.
Hoch’s grin spread slowly, his teeth catching the faint purple glow of the moonlight. “Gate stone, right. About that...” He trailed off, his hand slipping beneath his cloak as if searching for it.
"Your gate stone?" Deirdre repeated, a flicker of unease passing through her. Hoch's evasiveness was nothing new—she'd worked with enough opportunistic Collectors to recognize selective answers. But something about his smile felt different this time. She pushed the thought away. They were almost done with the contract.
That’s when she felt a sharp pain bloom in her side. Her breath hitched as the world seemed to tilt, her hand instinctively flying to the source of the pain. Warmth spread beneath her fingers, and she looked down to see the glint of a blade, Needle’s hand still gripping the hilt.
Time slowed. Deirdre’s legs buckled as Needle yanked the dagger free, the motion deliberate and practiced. She stumbled, falling to her knees as the sharp ache in her side deepened, stealing the air from her lungs. Her backpack shifted, and she felt Orsafi stir within.
“Just business,” Hoch said, his voice almost apologetic. He crouched in front of her, his expression unreadable. “Don’t take it personally, sweetheart. A girl like you? You’ll bounce back—if you survive.”
Deirdre gritted her teeth, her vision swimming as she tried to push herself upright. Needle was already working to wrench her pack from her shoulders, his bony fingers pulling at the straps with a practiced ease.
She clutched the pack, her grip weak but desperate. “Don’t...” she choked out, her voice trembling with pain and fury.
“Let it go,” Needle growled, his tone impatient. He yanked harder, and the strap slid free. Orsafi let out a sharp, distressed trill, the sound muffled by the fabric.
Hoch tilted his head, his gaze flicking to the pack as he stood. “What’s got you so attached, huh? Something shiny in there? Maybe we’ll take a peek once we’re clear of this muck.”
Deirdre’s fingers fumbled at her belt, her thoughts hazy but focused on one thing: the vials of acid. Her hand closed around one of the containers, the cool glass a lifeline in the chaos.
With a burst of determination, she twisted the vial free and threw it. The acid splashed across Needle’s arm, the liquid hissing as it ate through his sleeve and skin. He let out a strangled cry, jerking backward and dropping the pack.
Deirdre slumped forward, her breathing shallow. “Orsafi... run...” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
The carbuncle burst from the pack, her gem glowing fiercely. She darted into the shadows, her small form disappearing into the mist. Hoch cursed, his grin finally faltering.
“Damn it, Needle! Get her back!” Hoch barked, his calm demeanor fracturing for the first time.
Needle clutched his arm, his teeth bared in pain. “Forget it! The furball’s gone, and she’s not going anywhere either.” He gestured to Deirdre, who lay crumpled on the ground, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.
Hoch sighed, his composure returning as he wiped his hands on his cloak. “Fine. Leave her. Let’s grab what we can and get out of here before anything with teeth decides to join the party.”
Deirdre watched through blurred vision as Hoch and Needle rifled through her supplies, their movements hurried and careless. Rage and despair twisted in her chest, but her body refused to cooperate. The wound in her side throbbed, each pulse a cruel reminder of her failure to see the betrayal coming.
As the two men disappeared into the mist, their laughter echoing faintly, Deirdre was left alone. The Fens seemed to close in around her, the once-enchanting glow of the flora now casting long, ghostly shadows.
Deirdre's fingers twitched against the damp ground, her blood soaking into the mossy soil. She wanted to fight, to scream, to do anything, but the betrayal was like a weight pressing her down, heavier than the pain in her side. She lay motionless as her vision blurred. Somewhere deep inside her, rage flickered, fragile but unyielding—a stubborn ember that refused to die
Somewhere in the distance, a faint shimmer caught her eye—an errant flicker of light, soft and warm, barely visible through the thickening fog. Was it real, or a trick of her fading senses? For a heartbeat, she thought she heard a faint chirp, high and delicate, like a familiar voice calling to her.
“Orsafi?” Her lips parted, a whisper of her companion’s name slipping out, but the world around her was slipping away too fast. The light flickered again, or maybe it didn’t, and the shadows swallowed her whole.