Kael sat on the mossy ground, his gray robes brushing the dirt as he idly traced patterns into the ground. His orb hovered beside him, its faint glow casting shadows across the forest floor. He stared at it, his thoughts swirling as he recalled the moment Jello had returned, translucent and wavering in the void, a fragile light in the endless darkness.

Jello now bobbed nearby, his green mass quivering faintly as he moved about the clearing. The slime’s presence brought Kael a strange comfort, a sense of companionship that cut through the ever-pressing solitude of the square. Yet the appearance of Jello’s spirit lingered in Kael’s mind, a question he felt he needed to ask.

“Skrindle,” Kael said suddenly, breaking the silence.

The imp materialized beside him in a puff of smoke, his wings fluttering lazily. “Yes, Master?” he said, his usual grin fixed in place.

Kael gestured toward Jello, his expression thoughtful. “When I found Jello in the void… he was a spirit. Like you.”

Skrindle’s grin faltered, the ever-present mischief in his eyes dimming “Me?” he asked, his tone feigning lightness. “I don’t see the resemblance.”

Kael’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’re translucent. Faint. Like Jello was, before the reincarnation.”

Skrindle’s eyes darted to the orb, his claws fidgeting at his sides. “Ah, well, you see…” He coughed, a sound that was more for effect than necessity. “That’s entirely different. Completely different. Jello’s a summoned creature, and I’m…” He waved a hand vaguely. “An imp of infinite wisdom. Your guide, your companion, your… invaluable advisor!”

Kael raised an eyebrow, his silence pressing.

Skrindle’s wings buzzed frantically as he clapped his hands together. “Speaking of companions,” he said quickly, his voice taking on a forced cheerfulness, “why not summon your new one? The will-o’-wisp, yes? Exciting stuff!”

Kael frowned but let the topic drop. “The will-o’-wisp,” he repeated, his attention shifting to the orb. Its surface shimmered as he focused, the faint outline of a recipe appearing within the glowing depths. The list was short but precise, each ingredient etched with ethereal clarity.

Summon: Will-o’-Wisp

Requirements: Nighttime, one human skull.

Kael’s brow furrowed as he read, his voice low. “A human skull?”

“Oh, plenty of those around, Master,” Skrindle said with a casual wave of his hand. “Between the recent… visitors, you’ve got a veritable treasure trove of them scattered about.”

Kael’s frown deepened. “But it’s still day.”

“Ah, yes,” Skrindle replied, spinning lazily in the air. “The recipe is clear about that, isn’t it? Nighttime only. The wisps thrive in the dark, you see. The shadows call to them, whisper sweet nothings, that sort of thing.”

“Recipe,” Kael murmured, his voice distant. “There are more of these?”

Skrindle perked up, eager to latch onto the new line of conversation. “Oh, countless, Master! Recipes for monsters, traps, treasures—everything a growing square needs. You’ll find them scattered throughout the world, hidden by other Masters, claimed by adventurers, traded at gatherings. Why, some Masters dedicate their entire existence to hunting them down.”

Kael tilted his head, his thoughts drifting. The idea of more recipes, more creations, intrigued him, but it also felt like another chain binding him to this strange role he didn’t fully understand. For now, though, his focus remained on the task at hand.

“Tonight, then,” Kael said finally, his voice firm. “I’ll summon the will-o’-wisp tonight.”

Skrindle clapped his hands together, a sharp, gleeful sound. “Excellent, Master! Truly excellent! In the meantime, might I suggest a leisurely inventory check? That loot won’t examine itself!”

Kael knelt by the orb, his claws tracing its surface. Its faint glow pulsed in time with his heartbeat, the energy within as much a part of him as the air he breathed. He reached inside, his fingers sinking into the shimmering light as though plunging them into water. The orb rippled, and the loot emerged, one piece at a time.

The silver blade came first, its edge keen and unmarred by the grime of battle. Kael turned it over in his hands, the weight of it balanced, the craftsmanship undeniable. A weapon for a warrior—a fool who had wielded it against him and lost. He set it aside, his gaze shifting to the next item.

The bo staff followed, its surface worn smooth by years of use. Scratches and dents marred the wood, but it still held its integrity. It, too, was set aside.

Finally, his hand found the amulet. It was small, unassuming, its chain simple and its design delicate. The pendant depicted a woman seated on a flower, her hands outstretched in a gesture of peace. The artistry was fine, the lines of her face serene, her expression soft with compassion.

Kael turned the amulet over in his hands, his brow furrowing. The image was foreign to him, and yet it stirred something deep within—a memory, or perhaps a longing, though he could not place it. He held it up, the blue glow of the square casting strange shadows across the pendant’s surface.

“What does this mean?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

Skrindle materialized beside him, the imp’s translucent wings fluttering as he peered at the amulet. His sharp-toothed grin faltered slightly, his usual air of mockery replaced by something more thoughtful. “Ah, that,” Skrindle said, gesturing vaguely. “That’s a symbol of one of the human gods. The Healer, they call her. Goddess of health and life, all that touchy-feely nonsense.”

Without thinking, Kael lowered his head and closed his eyes. He held the amulet close, its cool surface pressing against his palm.

“Healer, if you can hear me… speak.”

Nothing came.

He opened his eyes, his expression hardening as he stared at the pendant. The serene figure seemed almost mocking now, her grace an affront to the silence that followed his plea.

“There’s no answer.”

Skrindle snorted, folding his arms. “Of course there’s not. What did you expect? That the Healer would come rushing to chat with a Master of the Square?” He chuckled, his sharp teeth glinting. “Humans and their gods don’t care about us, Master. You’re wasting your time.”

“And the Masters? Do we have gods of our own?”

Skrindle tilted his head, his wings buzzing faintly.

“Masters don’t need gods,” he said, his tone flippant. “We make our own rules, carve out our own domains. But…” He hesitated, his grin faltering for a moment. “There is one name that some speak with reverence. The Dread Architect.”

Kael stiffened at the name, his claws tightening around the amulet. “The Dread Architect,” he repeated, the words heavy on his tongue.

Skrindle nodded, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “The closest thing to a god the Masters have. A legend among us. His labyrinths were said to be unmatched, his squares a graveyard for adventurers. Some say he was unstoppable. Eternal.” Skrindle’s grin returned, sharp and knowing. “But even gods fall, don’t they?”

Kael didn’t respond. He stared at the amulet in his hand, its silver chain dangling like a lifeline between him and the strange, unknowable world beyond his square. The Healer’s face remained serene, untouched by the weight of Kael’s thoughts.

“Even gods fall,” Kael murmured, his voice barely audible. He lowered the amulet, slipping it back into the orb’s depths. Its glow pulsed faintly as it accepted the item, sealing it away with the rest of the loot.

******

Ryan hung limply against the tree, the ropes cutting into his wrists, his breathing slow and measured. The bruises on his face had darkened, and the spark of arrogance in his eyes had dimmed, replaced by something more wary, more resigned. His hair, once neatly combed, was now matted with dirt and sweat.

Kael approached him with deliberate steps, his gray robes swaying faintly in the evening breeze. The sickle hung loosely from his belt, a silent reminder of the Master’s dominion. Kael’s gaze was sharp, unreadable, as he stopped a few paces from his prisoner.

“Tell me about your Gods,” Kael said, his voice low, almost bored.

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Ryan blinked at him, then let out a short, harsh laugh. “My Gods? You, a Master, want to know about the Gods of men?”

Kael’s expression didn’t change. “I’m curious,” he said simply, his tone flat. “Tell me, and I’ll make your stay… comfortable.”

Ryan laughed again, harder this time. “Comfortable? Like the pit you threw me in? Or the slimes gnawing at my boots?” He shook his head, his grin widening. “You’re a liar, Master. Comfort doesn’t exist in your square.”

Kael didn’t rise to the bait. He crouched down, his gaze steady as he studied the man before him. “Perhaps I am,” he admitted. “But tell me anyway.”

Ryan snorted. “Why should I? So you can mock them, too?”

“No,” Kael said simply. “So I can understand.”

Ryan blinked, his amusement faltering for a moment. He tilted his head, as if trying to discern if the Master was serious. “Fine,” he said after a pause, his voice carrying a mocking edge. “I’ll tell you. Maybe the gods will come and strike you down for listening.”

Kael’s lips twitched, a faint ghost of a smile. “Have you ever met them?”

Ryan frowned, his grin faltering further. “What?”

“The gods,” Kael said, tilting his head. “Have you ever seen them? Spoken to them?”

Ryan’s brow furrowed, and he looked away, his grin slipping entirely. “No,” he muttered.

Kael leaned closer, his voice soft but insistent. “Then how will they come for me, if even you have never met them?”

Ryan let out a frustrated sigh, his head rolling back against the tree he was tied to. “What are we even talking about?”

“You tell me,” Kael said coolly. He rose to his full height, his green skin glinting in the red light of the square. “I asked about your gods, and you laughed. Are they so far away that even their faithful can only laugh in their names?”

Ryan glared at him, his jaw tightening. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Kael replied. He crossed his arms, his tone still flat but with an undercurrent of curiosity. “What are they called? What do they command? Why do you serve them?”

Ryan gave a bitter chuckle. “You really are curious, aren’t you?”

Kael nodded, his expression inscrutable. “I am.”

The rope that bound Ryan’s wrists creaked faintly as he shifted against the tree. His eyes, still defiant despite his captivity, fixed on Kael. “There are eleven gods,” he began, his voice steady but edged with bitterness. “Each with their own role, their own symbol. The Farmer, the Healer, the Scholar… all the way to my god—the Warrior. God of war, strength, and righteousness.”

“War. Righteousness. But you’ve never met them.”

“No. But they’re there. In the light, in the air, in the way things happen. That’s faith.”

“Faith in something you cannot see or never met?”

“You won’t understand, you monster.”

Kael laughed, a big hearty laugh. “No, I won’t understand.”

“Answer me this. Righteousness, you say,” he said softly, the word rolling off his tongue as if tasting its weight. “Is war ever righteous?”

Ryan gave a short, humorless laugh. “Funny coming from you,” he said. “A Master asking about righteousness. Your kind doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”

Kael’s green skin caught the light of the square, his expression calm but unreadable. “Explain.”

Ryan’s grin was cold and sharp. “Masters are the reason for war. You invade our homes, desecrate our lands, kill our people. You’re monsters, all of you.”

Kael’s gaze narrowed slightly, his voice even. “I am trapped in this square. How can I invade anything?”

Ryan snorted, leaning back against the tree. “I don’t know how it works,” he admitted. “But Masters come out of their squares all the time. For war, for conquest. Always for death.”

Kael’s lips pressed into a thin line. He turned away, his clawed hands clasped behind his back as he walked a few steps into the clearing. The orb hovered silently at his side, its glow dim and watchful. For a long moment, he said nothing, the weight of Ryan’s words settling over him like a shroud.

Vor’s name surfaced in his mind like a fragment from a broken dream. The massive demon warrior, standing tall and defiant in his ornate armor, his armies clashing with the Golden Legion. Kael had seen him at the gathering, a towering symbol of strength and domination. But now, as he turned Ryan’s accusations over in his mind, he thought of Vor differently.

Had Vor been invading? Or had he been defending his square, his territory, his people? The image of Vor’s molten blade, slicing through his enemies, seemed less like conquest and more like survival.

He stopped, staring at the ground as the weight of the thought pressed against his chest. Could he leave? Would he leave? The square had been his cage and his fortress, but what lay beyond it? War, as Ryan claimed, or something else?

Kael glanced back at Ryan, who watched him with wary curiosity. The adventurer’s words had stirred something in him—a flicker of doubt, of curiosity, of possibility.

Without a word, Kael turned and walked away. Skrindle appeared as he reached the edge of the clearing, the imp’s sharp grin as constant as ever.

“You’re quiet, Master,” Skrindle said, his voice laced with mock concern. “What’s on your mind? Not that fool’s talk of gods, I hope.”

Kael didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

******

Night had settled over the square, the blue glow of the walls dimmed to a softer hue, casting long shadows through the trees. Kael stood at the center of the clearing, ready to summon his new companion. Before him, a human skull rested on the ground, its hollow sockets staring into eternity.

His claws tightened around the orb as he focused, the shimmering magic within it stirring under his touch. The skull glowed faintly, its surface fracturing with lines of light as though it were cracking under unseen pressure. Slowly, the bones began to disintegrate, fading into nothingness as the light condensed into a single, vivid spark.

The spark hovered in the air, a soft blue hue that seemed almost alive. It flickered and danced like a flame, its movements quick and curious. The glow of the will-o’-wisp illuminated Kael’s green skin and the faint lines of his furrowed brow. He watched the creature, enthralled by its motion, as it circled him in slow, deliberate arcs.

“It’s… beautiful,” Kael murmured, his voice barely audible.

The wisp paused, as if hearing his words, before circling Kael once, its movements quick and curious, before settling just out of reach, as if to observe its new master.

Kael regarded it in silence, his expression unreadable. The wisp’s hue mirrored the walls, its light casting faint shadows across his features. It pulsed gently, as though waiting.

“I’ll need to name it,” Kael murmured, half to himself. His mind drifted to Jello, to the ritual that had brought him back, and the importance of the name that followed. A name gave purpose, identity. This creature, too, would need one.

He tilted his head, his gaze following the wisp as it hovered in the air, its light mesmerizing. “Blue,” Kael said finally, the word soft yet certain. “Your name is Blue.”

At the sound of its name, the will-o’-wisp flared brightly, its hue deepening to a richer, more vibrant blue. It darted upward, spinning in an ecstatic spiral before returning to hover before Kael. It pulsed twice, almost as if in acknowledgment.

Skrindle snorted, crossing his arms as he floated beside Kael. “Blue, is it? A real stroke of genius, Master. Good thing Jello didn’t end up as ‘Green,’ or we’d all be swimming in creativity.”

Kael shot him a glance, his gaze cool but not unkind. “It suits him.”

Skrindle shrugged, his sharp grin widening. “Fair enough, Master. But you might want to start thinking outside the color wheel before your square ends up sounding like an artist’s palette.”

Kael ignore the joke and turned his attention back to Blue, who hovered just above the treetops, his light a beacon against the darkness. Kael extended a hand toward the will-o’-wisp.

Blue floated back slowly, its light softening as it drew closer. It hovered just above Kael’s palm, its warmth faint but comforting. For a moment, Master and summon regarded each other in silence, the bond between them forming in the quiet glow of the square.

The blue walls of the square loomed around Kael, their shimmering light rising high into the endless dark of the night sky. They stretched upward like sentinels, their glow constant, impenetrable. Kael stood at the center of his domain, his orb cradled in one hand as he tilted his head, studying the barriers that enclosed him. He had thought of them as a cage, a prison of magic and rules, but tonight, staring into their unyielding expanse, an idea began to take shape.

“Blue,” Kael said softly, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the square.

The will-o’-wisp hovered nearby, its azure glow casting faint shadows on the ground. It flickered at the sound of its name, darting toward Kael with a quick, inquisitive motion.

Kael’s eyes never left the walls. “Fly,” he said, raising a hand toward the sky. “As high as you can. Show me what’s out there.”

The wisp hesitated for a moment, its light pulsing faintly, as if considering the command. Then, with a burst of speed, it shot upward, its trail of blue light a streak against the darkness. Kael closed his eyes, focusing on the orb. The connection between him and Blue pulsed, and slowly, the world shifted.

Through Blue’s eyes, the square fell away, shrinking into a patch of trees and earth enclosed by the radiant walls. The perspective lifted higher, revealing more of the land beyond. Kael’s breath caught as the veil of his isolation lifted for the first time.

Squares. Dozens of them. Scattered across the landscape like a patchwork of glowing blue and crimson, each one distinct yet eerily similar to his own. Some were larger, their walls enclosing sprawling forests or jagged mountains. Others flickered red, the telltale sign of invasions unfolding within. Kael could almost hear the distant echoes of battle—the clash of steel, the cries of adventurers, the roars of summoned beasts.

Farther still, beyond the grid of squares, lay a village. Its lights twinkled faintly in the distance, nestled between rolling hills. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and Kael could just make out the faint outlines of buildings clustered around a central square. It was a settlement—the ones humans call Newvale, undoubtedly the place where the intruders had come from.

Kael’s mind drifted to Lira, her shy smile and nervous laugh. She had spoken of dreams, of wings to carry her beyond the confines of her square. The thought had seemed distant then, and improbable. And here, through Blue, Kael had come close to that dream. He could see the world beyond the walls, beyond the cage he had thought was absolute.

“When the portal opens,” Kael murmured to himself, his gaze fixed on the distant village, “I’ll have something to tell her. Something worth sharing.”

When Blue returned, it circled Kael once, its light bright and playful, as though eager to share its discoveries. Kael watched it, his thoughts racing. The outside world had revealed itself, a glimpse of something vast and unknowable. And for the first time, the walls of the square felt less like a prison and more like a challenge.

“Thank you, Blue,” Kael murmured, his voice low. He turned his gaze back to the horizon, where the faint glow of the village lights still lingered in his mind.

The world outside was waiting. And soon, he would share this with Lira. The thought of her wings seemed less distant now, less like a dream and more like a possibility. Perhaps they could both find a way to fly.

******