The air in the training hall was thick with the hum of magic, the faint crackle of power still lingering after Lorelai's last attempt. The purple orb had pulsed with energy before it detonated, scattering light and sending crates and dummies flying. Her heart still raced from the effort, her body shaking slightly with the residue of the spell. She was beginning to get the hang of it, her speed had drastically increased after obtaining the skill.

Lorelai swallowed, her throat dry from the strain of constant practice. The dungeon delve was in a few days, and she wanted to ensure the Gravity Centrifuge spell right, comfortable enough with it to do in her sleep. Siktra could see her filled with determination.

Siktra gave a grunt of approval before turning to leave. “Good. I’ll be watching, Lorelai. Don’t disappoint me.”

As the trollkin instructor’s footsteps faded, Lorelai remained in the circle, wiping the sweat from her brow. The room felt oppressive, heavy with the weight of the power still echoing through the air. She breathed in deep, trying to clear her mind. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached out, calling the force of gravity to her. She focused, pushing past the distractions, willing the orb of gravity magic to form. Slowly, it began to materialize between her palms, swirling like ink in water, dark and deep. The pull of gravity grew, stretching out, creating a small vortex that tugged at the air around it.

She was just about to test her control over it when she heard a strange sound—a soft, deliberate cough from the corner of the room.

Lorelai stiffened, startled. Her magic wavered for a second, and the orb flickered before stabilizing. She turned her head sharply, her pulse quickening. The figure standing at the entrance of the training hall was… unexpected.

A man stood in the doorway, his broad frame taking up most of the entrance. He was tall, though not towering, and very rotund, with a thick belly that bulged beneath the layers of worn, faded clothes. His greying hair was matted to his scalp in a loose, unkempt way, and his face was lined with age, a network of wrinkles around his small, beady eyes. He wore an old, threadbare coat and heavy boots that clacked loudly against the stone floor as he moved. His presence seemed to fill the space in a way that Lorelai couldn’t quite explain, her instincts screaming that he wasn’t just some old man. There was something about him, something that felt... off.

"Ah, pardon me, young lady," he said, his voice gravelly but oddly warm. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your training.”

Lorelai narrowed her eyes, her hand instinctively reaching for her sword but managed to quell the impulse. She didn’t recognize the man. He certainly wasn’t part of the academy’s staff. He wasn’t dressed like a teacher, nor did he carry any sign of authority. Still, something about his presence felt… unsettling.

“Who are you?” Lorelai asked, her voice firm. She stepped back slightly, she was posed like a viper ready to strike. The air felt dense, as though the weight of his presence was drawing all of her attention, leaving no room for distraction.

The man gave a low chuckle, wiping his hands on his coat. “Ah, straight to the point, I see. I like that. Don’t worry, child. I’m no threat. Just an old man, here to collect a favor.”

Alarms rang out in Lorelai's mind, “A favor?” Lorelai echoed, her voice steady despite the growing unease in her chest. “I don't owe anyone a favor?”

The man’s eyes gleamed with an odd, knowing light. He gave a long, exaggerated stretch before answering. “Don't owe anyone a favor is it. You sure it's no one at all? You see, I’ve been watching you. You’ve changed, thanks to my...subordinate.” His eyes raked over her, and for a moment, Lorelai felt an uncomfortable shiver crawl down her spine. “And since he helped you, it's now your turn to help me.”

Lorelai didn’t trust him, “I don’t know you,” she said, her voice sharper now. “I don’t deal with strangers in places like this. You’re out of place. What do you want?”

Magic began to hum in the air around them, it was foreign, heavy with something more ancient than the academy’s spells, more primal than any magic she’d encountered here.

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The man smiled, slow and wide, showing too many teeth. “Ah, it’s cute. You think you’ve got everything figured out, don’t you?” His voice dropped an octave, becoming deeper, almost hypnotic. “But the world’s bigger than you know. And you don’t have the luxury of ignoring certain… truths.”

Lorelai’s fingers flexed, responding to the increasing tension in the room. Her instincts told her to act, to strike first but she couldn’t risk attacking someone who might have some sort of influence, some power she didn’t yet understand.

The man’s grin deepened, then he sighed dramatically, wiping a hand over his face. “I suppose I’ve dragged this on long enough.” His voice dropped another notch, becoming more gravelly, more intimate. “You want to know who I really am, don’t you?”

Lorelai stiffened. No, she thought, feeling a sudden cold grip tighten around her chest. “Who are you?” she demanded again, this time with more force.

The man chuckled again, the sound like a soft rumble. “I suppose I’ve been playing this part too long. Let’s drop the pretense, then, shall we?”

Without warning, the air in the room seemed to shift, thick and heavier than any humidity. The mana itself had suddenly thickened, pressing down on everything around them. The temperature noticeably increased, and the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to stretch unnaturally long. The faint sound of his voice distorted as though something otherworldly was beginning to leak through.

Then, the transformation began.

The man’s form rippled, not like a simple illusion, but as though reality itself was bending around him. His round, rotund body stretched and thinned, skin cracking like dried earth, revealing ivory, steal-like bones beneath. His hands, once thick and human, elongated into clawed appendages, and his coat twisted into dark, shadowy strands that writhed and contorted with a life of their own. His face seemed to elongate, skin pulling taut, revealing a skull-like structure beneath, glistening with black veins.

Lorelai stumbled back, her breath catching in her throat. The man before her was no longer an old, greasy stranger; instead, standing in his place was something terrifying—a figure draped in shadow, with crimson eyes that burned like hellfire. His smile was no longer kind or playful, but a wide, sharp-toothed grin, as if savoring the fear that flickered in Lorelai’s chest.

“You are asking yourself who I am, aren’t you?” The creature’s voice was deep, resonating with a power that nearly crushed her lungs. The words were spoken with a familiarity that grated against her sense of reality. “I am Demos, the bone devil. We’ve already made an arrangement.”

Lorelai’s blood ran cold; the bone devil. The very name struck fear into the hearts of even the most hardened adventurers. A creature of unimaginable power, a demon whose very presence forecasted disaster.

“No,” Lorelai breathed, barely able to keep her voice steady. “You—you can’t be...”

“Oh, I am,” Demos replied, his voice dripping with amusement. “You see, like I said I’ve been watching you, Lorelai. Ever since you started walking down this path, I’ve had my eye on you. You have potential—far more than you realize. You lack, what you truly need, is someone to show you the true depths of your power by retrieving your divine spark.” He took a step closer, and the floor beneath him seemed to groan with the weight of his presence.

“I’m collecting my favor. I need you to obtain a special item that just so happens to be on the second floor of the dungeon,” he continued, his voice like velvet over razor blades. “It will help us track down your divine spark by analyzing your blood, which we have already collected.”

Lorelai stood her ground, her breath coming faster now, heart racing. The pressure in the air was almost unbearable. Her mind screamed at her to run, to escape, but something about Demos held her in place. It wasn’t just his power, it was as if he was alluding to knowing more about her than she did.

“If I do this, you wont bother me, or contact me again,” Lorelai asked, despite the fear gnawing at her insides. “I won’t cooperate any further with you.”

Demos tilted his head, and for a moment, his eyes darkened with something darker than mere amusement. “You think you have a choice? You think you can ignore what’s coming?” His voice grew colder, sharper. “You will learn. Sooner or later Lorelai, it’s just a matter of when.” He paused but looked at her quizzically, "Very well, per the previous arrangement, one favor owed no more."

Lorelai’s fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword, but she didn’t move. Demos regarded her with a long, appraising look, the intensity of his gaze like a physical weight. Then, with a sigh that sounded more like a growl, he straightened up. “Very well, the item is called the Wayward Compass, happy hunting.” His smile returned, twisted and sharp. With a final mocking bow, Demos vanished into the shadows, leaving Lorelai standing in the silence of the training hall, her breath coming in ragged bursts, heart still pounding.

She was alone again, but the weight of his words lingered in the air, suffocating her. Lorelai shook her head, trying to clear the fog of dread clouding her thoughts. Whatever game Demos was playing, whatever he was after... she wasn’t ready to be a part of it. She knew deep down, that he wasn’t done with her. Not by a long shot, and that terrified her more than anything else.