Despite their neutral demeanour, celspores are regarded as walking calamities, even when left unprovoked. These ancient, otherworldly beings release millions of hallucinogenic microorganisms in the air, propagating at alarming rate and within intervals of mere minutes. The implications were catastrophic: should a celspore infiltrate a city, the majority of its unprepared inhabitants would succumb to vivid and uncontrollable hallucinations, drowning entire populations into unmitigated chaos.

‘What are the odds,’ thought Riniock as he recalled the entry from the bestiary on that creature. ‘Coming face to face with a celspore in one’s lifetime is as likely as the gods manifesting in the material world…’ the entry had read.

And yet, here it was, an impossibility manifested.

‘…or is this simply symptoms of the bouts I’m experiencing?’

The Celspore, colossal and dread-inducing, advanced at an alarming pace. Riniock’s eyes stayed fixed on the creature, his breath shallow as he watched it draw nearer and nearer. Yet, despite his growing terror, he found himself paralyzed – his legs rooted to the ground and his wand arm frozen stiff, utterly unable to lift in defence.

The monster’s massive, all-consuming black eye loomed closer until it hovered directly before his face. Its gaze pierced through him, delving into his very soul, unravelling layers of fear and vulnerability he didn’t know existed.

And still, Riniock did not move.

Not even as cold, sinewy tendrils snaked their way up his leg, coiling around his torso like living vines. He could feel their alien texture pressing against him, but his body betrayed no reaction.

‘Don't move,’ he whispered under his breath, his voice trembling yet resolute. ‘It won’t harm me if I don’t provoke it…’

The sentence repeated in his head, a reminder keeping his composure from unfolding entirely.

The Celspore’s tendrils continued their eerie crawl, weaving themselves all over Riniock’s body like a living cocoon. Only his right eye remained uncovered, granting him a lone, distorted view of the towering creature before him.

Strangely, the tendrils applied no pressure; they didn’t constrict or suffocate. They simply draped around him, indifferent in their embrace. Yet, this unnatural stillness carried its own peril.

Riniock felt the first creeping wave of lethargy – a bone-deep weariness that grew heavier with each passing moment. His limbs grew leaden, his breathing slowed, and his exposed eye struggled to stay open.

A fog descended over his mind, blotting out thought and clarity. Then came the sharp ringing – a piercing, unnatural sound that consumed his senses entirely.

Before long, his vision blurred, his eyelid fluttered shut, and his body surrendered. Consciousness slipped through his grasp like water through cupped hands, leaving only the shrill hum echoing in the void.

Whilst comatose, Riniock’s mind became haunted with whispers and fragmented sounds. Past moments flashed before him, fleeting and muddled. Then breaking the smothering silence, came a sudden, blood-curdling shriek.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

The sound ripped through him, jarring him awake.

He found himself sprawled awkwardly over the grassy glades, as though someone or something had carefully and deliberately placed him there.

‘Gods…’ he got himself upright, one hand clutching his pounding head. Faint remnant whispers lingered still in the sombre recesses of his mind.

Riniock’s scan of the surroundings was met with eerie stillness. The celspore was gone – its ominous presence vanished without a trace. The countless celseeds, too, were nowhere in sight.

‘…what in the name of all that is darkness happened?’ Riniock murmured, his voice trembling amidst confusion.

Out of nowhere, the grass beside him gave out a groan.

Riniock’s brows furrowed as his head snapped to the side. He had been so preoccupied in his scan for the far distances of the glades that he had omitted to check his immediate surroundings.

‘Basterds…’ came a muffled curse from the ground. ‘Ploughin’ cotton pricks!’

For a fleeting moment, probably due his recent spell of hallucinations, Riniock entertained the absurd idea that the reeds themselves had gained the ability to speak. But as the figure stirred, it became abundantly clear that it wasn’t the grass cursing, but another applicant sprawled in the dirt, just as he was.

The applicant straightened, rubbing his forehead with two stretched fingers. He groaned, cursed loudly a few more times, still oblivious of the other person a few paces away from him.

And then, the figure eventually noticed him through squinted eyes, fully turning to face his direction. ‘You fell into those celseeds too?’ the stranger asked, his voice laced with annoyance. ‘Nasty little buggers.’

‘Tell me about it,’ replied Riniock, the apprehension finally resolving in his heart.

‘Let’s be glad we didn’t run into any lidthrags…’ the stranger added with a forced chuckle, brushing dirt from his garments.

‘Yeah – we got lucky.’

The man squinted at him once more, tilting his head like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Then, his face lit up in sudden recognition. ‘Wait a minute! You’re that Toglin guy!’

Riniock’s eyes narrowed at the butchering of his family name. He recognised the man now – one of Urael’s lackeys, and part of the same group that had surrounded him earlier in the yard.

‘I remember you too. My name’s Riniock.’

‘Whatever,’ the stranger replied, dusting off what dirt remained on his clothes as he rose. ‘Call me Odrean.’

Riniock got to his feet, glancing around to retrieve his bearings.

‘Don’t forget your wand,’ Odrean said, gesturing to where it lay half-hidden amongst the brush.

‘Thanks,’ Riniock muttered, crouching to pick it up. Relief flickered through him; losing it would have been a significant setback. Yet as he straightened, the oddness of his situation gnawed at him. How had he ended up here? The nearest tree was far off, and the grove where he last remembered being conscious wasn’t nearby.

It didn’t add up.

Even stranger was Odrean’s presence. If memory served, no one else had been in that grove alongside him.

Could the entire encounter with the celspore have been a hallucination after all?

Questions circled in his mind but nought was yet certain.

Whilst Riniock delved into deep thought, Odrean broke silence. ‘So, I know we didn’t exactly hit it off before, but what do you say we put all that behind us? Work together?’

Riniock’s face hardened.

His scepticism wasn’t unwarranted; Urael’s group made their intentions clear back in Gorlea. Moreover, he wasn’t one to trust easily, least of all someone who ran with that lot.

His expression spoke volumes, and Odrean quickly picked up on it.

‘Come on,’ Odrean pressed. ‘This is only a test. Any beast we come upon we can share evenly.’

‘What do I stand to gain from this partnership then if all my loot is halved,’ Riniock asked, his tone flat.

‘Think about it,’ Odrean insisted, trying to appeal to him. ‘With two wands, we stand a better chance against a lidthrag. Surely that’s what the professor is really looking for – a real trophy! Alone, it’s suicide. Even you can sacrifice this much for the benefit.’

Riniock considered the proposal carefully, his grip tightening around his wand. There was a hint of truth in Odrean’s words. Tackling a lidthrag solo was a risky gamble he wasn’t eager to take just yet.

But trusting Odrean? That was another matter entirely.