“Little-Brother, I do not wish to say that I told you this would be so…”

“Thanks for your support, Swift.”

I’m lying, pigged-out on my bed, while I stare into the metal surface of my silver blade that shows me nothing more than a dumb mutt staring back at me.

“I…I do not think we can blame them, Raziel,” Swiftrunner said beside me. “They are scared. As they should be. The Darkseed cannot be stemmed by anyone other than the Lightborn. All races of Arwyll know this to be true.”

I twirl round onto my back and stare at the crumbling scars on the ceiling.

I’ve heard whispers outside since Palka’s council. Hushed whispers. Some from outside the window, others from downstairs where I know Mia and Myra are conferring about what happened.

I huff, tucking my tail between my legs.

“You think I can do this, Swift?”

“You are the only one who can,” he replies. “Though I agree – it is a dishonorable thing to perform an assassination in this way – “

“I don’t give a cat’s crap-filled litter box about that!” I shout. “Who cares about honor? I got about 6 hours before this General Thorn comes to get his hostage back, and I just wanna know if I can actually take this guy down.”

“General Thorn,” Swiftrunner murmured. “The Clan know nothing of him besides his great betrayal of the Greycloaks. It is said he announced a retreat during their battle with the Darkseed. As a result, the last Lightborn fell, as did his allies.”

I turn round to see the seriousness in his eyes. He’s never even seen this guy, and even just his story chills his wolven heart.

“Raziel, we wolves do care about honor,” he says. “And there is at least one Elf here that feels the same.”

A knock at the door, as though Swiftrunner’s predicted it. By the smile on his face, I feel like that actually might be true.

“My kingdom for wolf-senses,” I murmur.

Myra creaks open the door while I mewl into my mossy pillow, sinking into my own sadness.

“Can I come in?”

“It’s your house.”

Swiftrunner’s eyes dart between us quickly.

“I shall aid the rebuilding efforts below,” he says. “Excuse me.”

Myra bows to him as he walks out, and we’re now alone. Alone with a lovely awkward silence between us.

“How’s the rebuilding going?” I ask.

She brushes a stray silver bang out her brow and tucks it behind her ear. “Glenheim is sustained by the Mistress’ magic. Her mind is currently re-shaping the boughs and mushrooms, compelling them to grow again. But we are doing what we can below. She is taxed today, having to keep Seneca at bay.”

“Hm,” I huff. “Well, maybe you should join ‘em.”

More silence follows, and without looking at her I know she’s twiddling her thumbs.

“Raziel,” she says. “I don’t think this is fair. But you must understand Lady Palka’s word is law.”

I jerk up, noticing her surprise as I do so, and that she’s now clasped her hands behind her back.

“It was my decision,” I say. “I mean, it’s all I’m good for, right? I’m just a little fluffy sword to be used.”

She bristles. “You know I do not think this.”

“Your sister does.”

She meets my tired eyes with her own, and I can at once see the fury burning behind them, mixed with profound sorrow.

“She is scared,” Myra replies. “Just like the rest. Just like Palka.”

I cough. “I thought your Mistress was perfect?”

“You really think me so mindless?” she asks me, biting her lip and moving forwards. “You don’t think I know that our ways are warped by hatred? Hatred of the world out there? Look at me Raziel and tell me that’s what you think of me.”

I hold her gaze for only a second before looking away.

“I know you’re not like that,” I murmur. “Is that all you’ve come here to tell me? Because I’ve got a suicidal fight to prepare f-“

The room is suddenly bathed in light as she reveals what she’s been holding behind her back: a resplendent silver chestplate and chain tunic, glittering with the same sheen as her own.

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“Did you forget, Raziel?” she says. “I am your Master. You think I would abandon my student when he is about to face his greatest test yet?”

I look at the armor and see a dumb pup look back at me again, only this time he deserves to look like an idiot.

Mithril Chainmail

Effect: Protection from bladed weapons and basic projectiles. Very shiny.

Armor type: Flamboyant

As if it would be anything but.

“Myra,” I say. “Is this…”

“No,” she replies immediately. “I’m not dressing you in someone else’s arms. I had the Glenmaiden smith make this for you. I told you: you are one of us, even if they do not see you that way.”

She draws her milky-white fingers across the surface of the armor.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” she says. “When the time comes, and you face the demons of the world, I will stand beside you.”

“But that’s not what Pa-“

“I’m not doing this for Palka,” she says. “I am doing this for the world we have so clearly rejected. I am doing this because I want to, and because I hope that the Lightborn will remember that at least one Elf of Glenheim did what was right when the time came.”

I look up at Myra as she fits the armor round me. It’s snug, warm, but admittedly a little more cumbersome than I’d like. As I struggle to breathe under the weight, that’s when my cheeky Lightborn skills kick in.

[Choose an Armor Proficiency]

Cute

Flamboyant

Stuffy

Alright! My mind screams as I beam up at Myra, trying to act tough. Flamboyant it is! Though, let’s be honest, I’m the most down-to-earth little pup there can be!

Armor Proficiency chosen: Flamboyant (LVL 1)

You may now use armor with this property without a weight penalty

Now we’re talking…

I rise up and look into Myra’s face. Even though the shadow of her sorrow is still there, she can’t hide the blush of pride that’s settled over her cheeks.

“You think I can do this?” I ask her.

“If not you,” she replies. “Then none can.”

I nod and give a little wiggle of my tush.

“Then it’s settled.”

I jump down and give a little shake before waddling away, looking, if I do say so myself, positively strapping.

“What will you do?” she asks me.

“Well, I’ve gotta be stealthy, don’t I?” I reply. “Gonna go work on my [Softpaws] and see if I can’t become a master assassin overnight. Gotta admit, no matter how good this Thorn guy is, he won’t see a Corgi coming.”

As I waddle away with the gift of Myra’s armor and trust, trying not to become giddy, I hear her give a final gulp.

“Raziel,” she says. “Don’t hate Mia.”

I pause for a moment, remembering vividly the look of anger that had come over my Elven Goddess’ face down there, in Palka’s domain. Then her words come crashing back to me:

He’s the reason they’re here!

“I’m a Corgi,” I reply quietly as I leave. “We couldn’t hate even if we wanted to.”

…

[Softpaws: LVL III]

*ABILITY MORPH AVAILABLE

Choose either:

1. KITTEN-STEP: Your observations of the feline-race and their dexterous ways have helped turn your paws into shock-absorbers. Once per day, you may completely negate the damage dealt from a fall by landing on your paws.

2. SNEAK-ATTACK: You may attack a foe after dispelling [Softpaws] to strike at their vitals, with a 40% chance to kill most lesser foes outright and cripple larger enemies. Note: some creatures may be perceptive enough to intercept your attack.

*When using a dagger, chance of an instant-kill on lesser foes is increased to 70%

Sometimes, I’m a genius.

Granted, those moments are few and far between. But I take ‘em when I can.

I found the door to the disgruntled baker’s house open as I prowled around the stronghold, baring witness to the miraculous repair efforts of the Elves who padded up the walls with some secretive salves, and the reaching plants themselves who knit their bodies together as the greatest surgeons might.

When I saw the aged Arthelia was snoozing away next to a spoiled batch of jam tarts, I decided to start my sneaking. I tiptoed around her whole house without making a sound, steeling myself in the face of all her tauntingly tantalizing treats left out on her stalls. She’d not exactly been my greatest supporter down there. But still – this is one dog that won’t be resorting to theft.

Now, if you’d chanced by me prowling about in here, I know that’s the conclusion your mind would jump to. But that’s on you, Mr or Mrs, not me.

I’m just a Corgi training his little paws to do God’s work.

And for once it’s working.

I nose the [Sneak Attack] option (You really think I’m gonna go with the kitten one?) and feel the foreign blood within me quicken and pulse. Now, the sensation is barely even a tickle. Could be that the Lightborn’s blood is – what – adapting to mine now? Could be that where I begin and he ends aren’t really so separate anymore.

That would explain these weird visions I’ve been having. Flashes of memories, maybe. Even though they feel so real. Always spurned on by a flash of dazzling light from somewhere nearby.

…Kinda like the light that’s shimmering in front of that creamy bagel in front of me.

Arthelia’s left it on an unassuming stool by her kitchen table, and my nose is starting to twitch of its own accord.

And it’s the voice of my stomach that starts arguing with my brain while my savliating tongue draws closer and closer to the melted cream-cheese delight:

Ok, you did say you’d just come in, train, then leave. You promised. So…

But, counter-argument: that thing looks really tasty.

-Come on, Raziel. The last thing you need is to give these Elves another reason to hate you.

-Then again, I am going to kill the bad guy and save them all, right? Don’t I deserve a preemptive reward? It’s not like I’m asking for their first-born children or anything, right?

-Can they even have children?

-I dunno.

-It’s worth thinking about.

-True that. You know what helps get the mind working? Food.

-You make a persuasive case.

-Thanks <3

Thus resolved, I clamp down on the sticky, gooey, breaded piece of heaven.

A piece of heaven with probably the palest cream I’ve ever seen stuffed inside it.

…Like, really, really pale.

Almost like…

It happens before I can even blink.

The four walls of Agathae’s kitchen simply open up and swallow me. I feel like I should be falling, but instead I feel the smooth sensation of solid floor beneath me. Tiles of perfectly arranged, sparkling flooring start snapping into existence in front of me, making a little bridge amidst a void of nothing.

And at the end of the bridge…

“Oh, oh no…”

The Pale man turns and smiles his meaningless, snake-like smile at me.

“Hello again, Asset 5.”