Sometimes, in overwhelming situations, Daphne found herself fixating on little details that weren’t particularly relevant to the moment.

This was one of those times.

“But I don’t understand!” she shrieked as Runar dove down through the Nest Cove, following the sounds of destruction. “This is a mountain! It’s completely open to the air! How do you guard it? How do you even have an east gate?”

“Word shield!” Runar bellowed. At least, she thought that’s what he said. It was hard to hear over the roar of air whipping past her ears. The screams and crashing noises up ahead didn’t help either. “Over the whole mountain!”

“Like at the prose-shaft entrance?” she yelled.

“Yes!” Runar shouted. “Only much bigger! And no entrance words! Nothing can get in or out!”

“So the gates —”

“Weak spots!” The griffin howled. “Left open so we can escape if needed!”

Daphne had heaps more questions, all of which seemed heaps more fun than the battle they were rushing towards. But before she could ask any of them, Runar landed roughly on a ledge halfway down the cove wall.

“Listen!” he demanded.

She listened.

“The screaming stopped,” she observed. Her face brightened. “And the crashing noises too!”

“They did not stop,” Runar said grimly. “They are getting further away. Listen.”

Daphne strained her ears. “I can’t hear anything. Must be my puny human ears.”

Runar was silent. His whole being was rigid, intent upon the sounds detectable only by keen griffin senses.

Then a wave of horror flowed across their emotional link. Without a word, Runar launched into the air once more, tearing out of the Nest Cove like an arrow from a bow.

“What is it?” Daphne clung to his neck as tightly as her numb fingers would allow. “Where —”

He did not answer, but he didn’t have to. Looking down, Daphne could see they were retracing that same route she had already traversed twice in the last day. The first time had been while awake, flying with Runar. The second time had been her dream, running on foot as Amelia. Either way, the tour of the griffin city just didn’t have the same charm and appeal she’d experienced the first time through.

In fact, she was getting rather sick of the place.

Then the meaning of the journey broke on her. She began to hear crashing noises again up ahead, and sent her own horror-wave along their link.

“Runar — the Hall of Parables —”

Again, he didn’t answer. He just put an extra burst of speed.

The air was howling past Daphne’s ears like a jet engine now, but it could not shut out the sounds of destruction ahead, getting louder by the nanosecond as they raced towards the Hall of Parables. She tried to send feelings of comfort and support to Runar, but this was difficult when her own emotions were stuck in a terror-loop. The best she could do was try to keep the panic from bleeding through. Considering the relentless waves of anguish pouring from the griffin’s side of thing, he didn’t need any extra bad vibes.

Then they soared through a top window into the Hall of Parables, and all thoughts of emotional control vanished.

The Rabid Daydream was huge. It was twice as tall as the one Daphne and Mark had encountered on their first day. Its head was level with the second row of windows of the Hall of Parables, and its long arms were wreaking havoc on all the ledges that lined the walls. The floor of the hall was littered with crumbled stone.

And it was GROWING. From the air, Daphne watched in horror as the giant creature placed one long, colorless hand on the richly carved wall. The runes around its fingers flashed once, then faded, melting into one another. A sound like thunder rolled through the room. The Rabid Daydream removed its hand to reveal a square foot section of wall that was now completely blank and smooth, devoid of carving — and the Rabid Daydream itself was a good six inches taller.

While Runar circled the hall, looking for a strategic landing place, Daphne once again found herself cursing her own imagination. This was all part of the original world building. Rabid Daydreams ate words. That was how they became rabid in the first place. The more word-power they absorbed, the stronger they became.

The Hall of Parables was the heart of the ancestral griffin kingdom. It was a haven for Lorists and the most sacred site for all who followed the ancient ways. Every molecule of the building had been soaking in word-power for centuries.

To a Rabid Daydream, it was an all-you-can-eat buffet.

But the monster didn’t have completely free rein. As Runar touched down in a corner by the tunnel arch, a defiant shout rang out from across the room.

“For the Legends!”

Daphne recognized the rough, gravelly voice. She would have thought its owner was well past fighting age, but there was apparently a lot to still learn about griffins.

Vyth was circling the creature’s head like a giant silvery gnat, darting in and out faster than the lumbering monster’s reflexes could follow. Each time he got close, he landed a blow with a familiar club-type weapon.

“I didn’t think bashers would work against Rabid Daydreams,” Daphne gasped as she slid off Runar’s back.

“They do not.” The griffin was watching the battle, his face a mask of the agony pouring from him along their emotional link. “Vyth knows this. He seeks simply to slow the creature down.”

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“What about word-chains?” Daphne looked around wildly. “Where’s the armory?”

“Word-chains require Wordsmiths.” Runar winced as Vyth cried out. The Rabid Daydream had dealt the older griffin a glancing blow with one swinging arm. “All was lost in the failed assault. But thou, Daphne — make haste!”

The Prism was warm and buzzing in her pocket. Pulling it out, she uncapped it and pressed its point against the wall.

“Even this will not unmake me!”

This time, there was no wait. No tug. No need even to pull the pen from the wall. It was blown backwards, and her along with it, as a sound like thunder echoed through the hall.

Daphne stared at the wall in horror. The space where the Prism’s point had rested was now completely blank. All the carving in a three-inch square was gone.

She held up the Prism. There was, indeed, a word-chain dangling from the pen. It was the most vibrant word-chain she had made yet, not counting the water-chain from the Dalamelle of Triunity, but still…

“Daphne! Make haste!” Runar snatched the word-chain from the Prism’s point and prepared to leap into the air. “The second line, and then I shall go to Vyth’s aid!”

Daphne pointed at the blank section of wall. “But, the carvings — the words —”

“Better than the creature having its way! Quickly, Daphne!”

Her hand was heavy with reluctance, but the urgency in his voice repelled all thoughts of arguing. She placed the Prism against another section of wall and spoke the second line.

“No master can outmatch my heart!”

The thunderous sound of dying runes broke her heart, but she was ready. Even as she was propelled backwards, she lifted the Prism towards Runar. The griffin caught the new word-chain in his talons and soared off towards the monster.

Daphne tried not to think. She tried not to feel. She shut out the clamor from across the room as Runar’s battle cries joined Vyth’s, and when another loud thunderclap announced the Rabid Daydream had eaten another meal and grown another foot.

Runar would be back any moment, and he would need the other two word-chains. That was all that mattered now.

Closing her eyes to shut out the horrible blank splotches on the beautifully carved wall, she placed the Prism in a different spot. Everything felt wrong in a way she couldn’t quite articulate.

“Force can bend but cannot — cannot break me —”

Her voice was shaking, but the power in the walls more than made up for it. She was also recovering faster from each mini-explosion. Sitting up, she tore the third word-chain from the Prism and readied the pen for the final line.

This was the one that had given her trouble before. It was Runar who had saved her, calling the words across her first battlefield.

Now it was her turn to save him.

“In love alone lives f-freedom’s — freedom’s art!”

She was basically sobbing now, mourning the loss of the runes. But the words were audible. The fourth word-chain was ready just in time for Runar to come swinging back around. He caught the final two lines as she tossed them into the air, then tore back across the room without a word.

It was then Daphne realized something was wrong.

Runar had wielded the first two word-chains effectively. Daphne could see that the Rabid Daydream had one wrapped around each arm. The letter-strings should have been cutting into the creature’s colorless skin, burning and immobilizing its limbs.

But those limbs were still swinging. As Daphne watched, the Rabid Daydream knocked Vyth out of the air with one hand while the other slapped against the wall. Another thunderclap explosion and the monster grew another foot and a half before Vyth even hit the floor.

Runar gave an anguished screech, but the Rabid Daydream was already turning in his direction.

“Daphne!” The fear was gone. It was pure resolve flowing from Runar now, flooding their emotional link with terrifying determination. “Help Vyth!”

Daphne’s muscles moved before her brain, galvanized by the grim tidal wave of her bond-friend’s nerve. She was already halfway to Vyth’s crumpled form as she saw Runar circle wide, readying the final two word-chains. If he could just get the complete Word of Truth onto the creature, maybe that would do the trick.

Before she could think more, Daphne focused on her assigned task. Vyth’s eyes were closed, and his wing was bent at an unnatural angle, but he was breathing. Daphne poured some Eloquent Water into his beak, thanking every muse that she had grabbed a fresh bottle-pendant from the storage chest in the Nest Cove. After a few agonizing seconds, the old griffin’s eyes fluttered open.

“Monster…” He gave a rasping, gravelly cough and tried to stand. “Foes within the gates… protect the hall…”

“Shhhh,” Daphne soothed, pressing him back down. “Runar’s handling it.”

A shadow loomed over them. Instinctively, Daphne grabbed the elder and rolled away while a Rabid Daydream foot came crashing down, creating a little crater right where Vyth had been lying milliseconds before.

Looking up, Daphne cursed.

Runar very much was not handling it.

All four word-chains were in place. He’d managed to get the final two wrapped around the monster’s neck, which would have been impressive for a specialized Reader class, let alone a Lorist with precious little combat experience. The Rabid Daydream should have been on the ground, writhing in pain as the Word of Truth drained its life away.

But the Rabid Daydream had apparently missed that memo. It wasn’t writhing. It wasn’t even slowing down. The monster just continued its rampage around the room, its feet leaving craters in the stone floor, while its arms destroyed more ledges with every flailing swipe.

Meanwhile, Vyth had slumped back into unconsciousness. Daphne had just managed to drag the older griffin’s limp form into the relative safety of a corner when Runar landed on the floor next to her, breathing hard.

“I — I do not understand,” he panted. “The word-chains — full Word of Truth — how —”

Word-chains.

“Oh, MUSES.” Daphne grabbed the griffin’s shoulder, her eyes wide. Some old bits of world building lore were clicking into place in her mind’s eye, and the picture wasn’t pretty. “Runar, this Rabid Daydream spawned from the one Bjarni defeated, right?”

Runar hung his head. “We must assume so.”

“And it was able to spawn so fast because it absorbed the word-chains he used to defeat it, right?”

“Yes…” Suddenly, Runar’s head snapped up. He stared at Daphne as horrified awareness flowed both ways along their emotional link. “The word-chains he used to defeat it…”

“Were the same ones we’ve been trying to use,” Daphne finished. “It’s the same Word of Truth. It won’t work against this Rabid Daydream anymore because —”

“The creature has already absorbed it.” Runar’s golden face looked suddenly gray. “I was a fool…”

In that moment, a strange sound filled the air. It was the sound of total silence, jarring after the prolonged cacophony of battle. Runar and Daphne held their breath. As one, they looked up.

The monster was standing by the council dais in the center of the room. It towered over the tall platform, which came up only to its chest. One hand was reaching towards the dais, as if hungry for the extra power contained within these most sacred carvings, but that was not the most chilling part of the scene.

What was more disturbing was that the creature was absolutely still.

While one hand hovered above the dais, frozen in place, the other arm was stretched out behind the creature, as if caught in mid-swing. One foot was raised, suspended in the act of coming down with crater-making force. The huge gaping mouth made a perfect ‘O’ in the monster’s otherwise featureless face.

It was like time had stopped in the Hall of Parables.

Then a sound came bleeding around the edges of Daphne’s consciousness. It was a faint, troubling sound, like waterlogged meat sizzling over a garbage fire. The smell that accompanied the sound was along the same nauseating lines.

Daphne glanced inquiringly at Runar, but the griffin was staring up at the monster.

She didn’t want to look again. She didn’t want to see whatever was filling Runar’s eyes with that new shade of despairing terror.

She didn’t have a choice. With a deep breath, Daphne forced her eyes upwards.

The word-chains weren’t burning the creature’s skin. They were melting into it, making a sizzling sound and giving off a truly revolting stench as they were absorbed. Daphne looked up just in time to see the last bits of the two final word-chains disappearing into the monster’s neck.

The Rabid Daydream shuddered. It grew another two feet.

Then it threw back its silent head… and roared.