She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but another arm pulling her in wasn’t one of them. Nor was being immediately greeted with a world that was definitely not her own.

An odd, floating head passed by her, mumbling something in a foreign language. It was when a horse—well, it had the head of a horse, but each of its legs and its torso seemed to belong to different beasts—ran past her that she began to doubt gravity. Was she walking on a wall, or had it been that horse?

Mernia tried not to think about it. With each second she confirmed that there wasn’t a point in trying.

“Ah, a visitor!”

She whipped around to face the owner of the voice, but she saw nothing.

“You silly thing. You’re not going to find me that way.” Every word came from a new direction. No matter what, she could never look to see who it was.

It was a male voice, perhaps a young adult, and off-puttingly cheerful—like those kids who’d sell the newspapers with a smile regardless of the headline. No matter who this voice was, though, it creeped her out way more than those boys did. She slowly reached for the gun on her belt.

Then she realized it wasn’t there.

“Play fair, now!” the voice taunted. “Not everyone has those fancy tools of yours! I do hope you can understand why I took it away.”

“What the hell are you?” she dared to ask. She honestly didn’t know if she wanted an answer—given her surroundings, she’d take “a hallucination right before your sudden death.” It was certainly what it felt like.

A hmph seemed to echo throughout the place. “Watch your tongue! There’s little ones here, you know. You’re not going to be a good playmate for them if you aren’t careful—and trust me, you’re going to want to be good.”

She cautiously took one step, then jumped back as a bird with a cow head zipped past her. “If you’re hiding something,” she said in a surprisingly calm tone, “I’d advise you to tell me. You might have taken my gun but I have other means of force if you make me use them.”

For a second, the whole world got darker—everything with eyes glared at her. And there were a lot of eyes.

“So quick to jump to violence! No, we’ll settle things peacefully here. You won’t get an answer like that. You’re going to have to play by my rules—which means waiting.”

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“Let me at least ask one more question. There’s a girl I’m looking for—Nebli. Is she here?”

A laugh resounded through every corner. “Of course! Though, unlike you, she was invited. She plays much nicer—they enjoy her company. I do, too. She’s quite pleasant.”

“If you do anything to her—“

“Woah, there! Do you think of anything other than spilling that mortal blood of yours? Well, I suppose you have to. You’d die without it.” A beat, then, “Extremely inconvenient, if you ask me. Do you know how many times I’ve been stabbed in the back, literally? Well, only once, but still. It’s an awful fate indeed, to be betrayed by your own creation.”

“Let’s try this again. Just who are you?”

There was a loud clapping sound. “Oh! You know what? I’ll tell you—all you have to do is play along.”

“What—“ But she stopped there.

Somehow Mernia knew that, whoever he was, he wasn’t there any more. The presence changed—though whether it was a good or a bad thing she wasn’t sure.

She felt compelled to move; a bit like someone was pushing her and a bit like she simply felt unsettled standing still. As soon as she took the first step, she started to hear that person’s voice again, though it was distant this time. While she listened, she tried to keep her eyes right in front of her, and not at the oddities around her.

“There we are,” the voice whispered softly. “I will call you… Simros. How do you feel, my creation?”

It was just silent, enough time for a short response, before there was a laugh—a maniacal one. “My brothers said I couldn’t do it! They thought I could never create a creature of my own! I’ll show them one day. They’ll see what I’m capable of…”

The scenery changed to something… slightly more specific. It was a more organized chaos—something that might have vaguely resembled a throne or altar. The pure white was stained with something, however. She would’ve thought it was blood, were it not gold in color. It looked like gryphons were darting across the ceiling—or perhaps that was the floor—though none ever got close to her.

“I have made my Angels, but I desire something… more. Let me see… yes! This is perfect for my newest creation! I will call your kind gryphons and the world will know your might.” A pause. “I should give you a name. From now on, you are known as Caeso.”

Whatever lighting was in the room flickered and an ominous air settled around her.

“My Angels think to betray me? What do they claim I have done to deserve it?” A moment passed, then there was a huff. “Perhaps complete sentience was something I should not have given them—the ability to think for themselves is a dangerous one. Oh well. They will learn soon enough what it means to disobey their creator. Caeso, I instruct you and your gryphon brethren to feign agreement with these traitors. Make them believe you are their ally. When their back is turned, do as they will do to me… but assure that my return will come soon enough.”

More of the not-blood was splattered across the room. All the gryphons in the air seemed frozen in time as whatever it was leaked from their eyes, beak, and claws.

It wasn’t until a bit of it dripped onto her skin that she heard the voice’s last message.

“They should be grateful that I’m a patient fellow. But this is a sure sign that my time is coming. The world my Angels put me in… it was dark, empty. Yet now, there is light, there are things. In this, I will create my plan, train my little ones. Then once the play is over, everyone will know who I am. If there’s one good thing about being the Fallen One… it’s that they believe I am too broken to fly again.”