Eugene closed the door of the mushroom tower behind him, every muscle in his body still tight with adrenaline. He refused to slump or fall apart. He pressed his back against the warm, spongy wall, inhaling deeply through his nose, then out through his mouth. Focus.
The lantern hung by his side, its red jewels glinting in the bio-luminescent glow of the tower’s interior. Cozimia’s voice came through immediately, a honeyed whisper in his ear. “Eugene?”
He swallowed, eyes scanning for any immediate threats. “I’m fine,” he said, though his heart pounded like a war drum. His gaze flicked to the small puddle of blood Qlaark left in his wake. A new twinge of guilt gnawed at him, but he forced it down. “I’ll live.”
Cozimia hummed softly, as though amused by his bravado. “You’re handling this better than most.”
“Am I?” He lifted the lantern, his grip still firm enough to make his knuckles go white. “I just disintegrated half a man, Cozimia. And you’re telling me I’m ‘handling this well’?”
“Yes, sugar, I am,” she replied, her tone matter-of-fact. “You’re standing. You’re talking. You’re thinking logically about what just happened. Many would have collapsed right there on the street.”
Eugene exhaled sharply through his nose, pushing a hand through his hair. “I guess I don’t have the luxury of falling apart.” He swallowed, forcing away the haunting mental image of the guard’s face. “What was that spell you gave me? ‘Hospitable Rebuke’? Because it sure didn’t feel ‘hospitable.’”
“I didn’t realize how potent the magic would be once it flowed through a human host,” Cozimia answered, sounding genuinely contrite. “I rarely tie my essence so directly to a mortal, especially one not from this world.”
Eugene nodded to himself, letting the words sink in. “So this is going to keep happening if I don’t learn to control it.”
“Precisely,” Cozimia said. “There’s a war on the horizon, and you need to know your own power—know how to wield it without causing… unintended consequences.”
Despite the knot in his stomach, Eugene felt a grim sense of resolve settle over him. “I don’t want to kill people by accident.”
“Then we train.” Her voice was gentle yet firm. “The pact we share can be shaped. Refined. You can master spells that subdue instead of obliterate, or channel your will in smaller, more precise ways.”
A shudder rolled down Eugene’s spine—traces of leftover adrenaline, more than fear now. “All right,” he said, drawing a slow, steady breath. “You’re right. I need to learn.”
He was almost surprised at how easily the admission left his lips. An hour ago, the idea of accepting magical instruction from a strange Jennie would’ve felt ridiculous. Now, it was the only logical step that didn’t involve more bloodshed.
“Good,” Cozimia purred. “We’ll start with focusing exercises. I can show you how to channel just enough energy to defend yourself or others without… disintegration.” A wry note crept into her tone. “Though in fairness, that guard did seem intent on killing you first.”
Eugene let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, I’d prefer no more half-bodies on my conscience.”
He paused, remembering Qlaark’s parting grin—bloodied though it was. The Toucanfolk had gone right back out there without hesitation and, apparently, had a knack for picking up on city gossip.
Cozimia’s voice brightened. “The toucan man. I like him—talkative, but resourceful.”
“He’s… something,” Eugene conceded, thinking of that beak and the frantic chatter. “Why’d you bring him up?”
“Because he seemed surprisingly fearless in the face of danger—and he seems to know his way around these streets.” There was a hint of a smile in Cozimia’s words. “We may have to navigate treacherous areas as you learn. It wouldn’t hurt to have someone like him on our side.”
Eugene mulled over the idea. “He did mention he’s usually at the Bazaar District.” He sighed, pushing off the spongy wall and taking a few tentative steps toward the tower’s main chamber. “All right, we’ll keep Qlaark in mind. First, though, I need to figure out where I can train—somewhere I won’t end up murdering half the city if I sneeze.”
Cozimia chuckled softly, the sound reverberating through the lantern. “I promise, it won’t be that volatile once you learn to harness it.”
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
Eugene scoffed, letting a hint of dry humor slip. “Forgive me if I don’t take your word at face value.”
“Now, now, sugar,” she teased, “I didn’t say it wouldn’t cause a little ruckus. You’re still pretty new to this world’s magical currents—and your unique place in them. But we’ll figure it out together.”
He just shook his head, stepping further into the tower’s winding corridor. “We’d better.”
Outside, the night was still alive with distant shouts and flickers of torchlight—evidence of the commotion Eugene had stirred. War might be coming, but so was the immediate fallout of his first brush with lethal magic. One crisis at a time, he told himself.
Not wanting to go back out there, for risk of being arrested or worse, Eugene decided to head back to his room. He would deal with it tomorrow.
----------------------------------------
Eugene wandered through the chaotic streets of the Bazaar District, feeling more out of place with every step. The city hummed around him—vendors hawking strange wares, street performers juggling fire, and merchants loudly boasting about the quality of their questionably sourced goods. The noise, the smells, the endless movement—it was all starting to blur together in a way that made his head spin.
He sighed, glancing down at the coin Krungus had given him, the grumpy face staring back with the words: You're holding it wrong. He stuffed it back into his pocket and looked around, wondering where to start.
Then he heard the voice.
A loud, powerful voice that cut through the chaotic hum of the marketplace like a clarion call.
“We have all strayed from the path, but the path does not stray from us!”
Eugene blinked and followed the sound, turning a corner into a small, dusty square where a familiar figure stood atop an overturned crate. There, in the center of it all, was Qlaark—his hunched, fidgety form transformed into something almost regal. He stood tall, his patched coat fluttering slightly in the warm breeze, his brightly colored feathers gleaming under the morning sun.
Despite only having an audience of two elderly toucanfolk women perched on a nearby bench, Qlaark preached as if he were standing before an audience of thousands. His voice was deep and resonant, his wings spread wide for emphasis.
“We are not defined by our failures, my friends, but by our CHOICES to rise again!” His eyes burned with passion, and for a moment, Eugene could almost believe he was witnessing something profound. “And who among us has not fallen? Who among us has not looked at our reflection and wished it were another face? But hear me now—our pasts are not shackles! They are bricks in the road leading us to redemption!”
The two old toucan women clucked their approval, nodding sagely, their beady eyes wide with admiration.
Eugene crossed his arms and watched, fascinated. This was not the same nervous, jittery Qlaark he had met last night. No rapid, chaotic speech. No darting eyes or anxious shifting. While he preached, Qlaark seemed... whole.
“Ranvar does not tally our misdeeds like some tax collector of souls!” Qlaark declared, pointing skyward with dramatic flourish. “*No, my brothers and sisters, Ranvar asks but one question—do you wish to change? And if the answer is yes, then you are ALREADY on the path!”
Eugene frowned. Ranvar. Another name in a long list of things he didn't understand.
The speech went on, a stirring sermon about redemption, second chances, and the power of taking responsibility for one’s actions. Qlaark’s voice carried effortlessly, passion dripping from every syllable, and Eugene found himself...listening. Actually listening.
Finally, Qlaark took a deep breath, letting his gaze sweep across his small but enraptured audience. “So go forth, my friends! Live your lives, but live them with purpose. And remember, even in the darkest alley, the light of redemption is but a step away!”
The old toucan women clapped politely as Qlaark stepped down from his crate. He nodded graciously to them and exchanged a few hushed words before they shuffled off, murmuring about what a “fine young bird” he was.
Stepping forward, Eugene cleared his throat. “That was... uh, something.”
Qlaark blinked and turned to him. “Oh! Eugene! You, uh, you heard that?” His confident demeanor flickered, and the fidgeting started again—fingers tapping against his side, his good wing twitching. “I—I mean, I hope I didn’t bore you or anything! Sometimes I get a little carried away.”
“No kidding.” Eugene smirked.
Rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, Qlaark chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s just... when I preach, everything makes sense, you know? Like, all the noise in my head just—clicks—into place. But talking one-on-one?” A nervous laugh escaped him. “Not so easy.”
“You seemed pretty sure of yourself up there,” Eugene said with a shrug. “Guess that’s... your thing?”
“Yeah! It’s what I do. What I have to do.” Qlaark’s head bobbed quickly. “Ranvar calls me to preach, and I preach.”
“Ranvar,” Eugene repeated, folding his arms. “God of...?”
“Second Chances.” Pride puffed up Qlaark’s chest. “Ranvar’s all about redemption, renewal, and walking the right path—even if you’ve stepped off it a hundred times before.”
An eyebrow arched. “So, he’s real?”
A laugh burst from Qlaark. “Of course he’s real! What, you think I’m just standing out here talking nonsense?”
Eugene scratched his chin. “I mean... maybe?”
With a sly grin, Qlaark leaned in. “Listen, Ranvar doesn’t show up with trumpets and lightning bolts, if that’s what you’re thinking. Most of the gods here in the city, they’re more... subtle. They’ve had to exist with each other for so long they’ve learned they can’t all go around doing miracles all day. People would lose their motivations.”
“So, gods exist, but they’re not walking around handing out miracles?” Eugene asked slowly.
Qlaark clucked his beak. “Not usually. It’s more like... they nudge. They guide. You don’t always notice it, but when you look back, you realize they were there all along.” A tap against his temple emphasized the point. “You gotta be paying attention, though. Otherwise, you miss it.”
Glancing around at the bustling market square, Eugene mused, “And everyone in the city believes in this Ranvar guy?”
“Not everyone,” Qlaark admitted. “Some follow others, like the Guilded One—patron of merchants—or Mister Horsh, if you're into the whole doom-and-gloom thing.” He rolled his eyes. “City’s got gods for everything. Hospitality, war, love, revenge...”
Eugene smirked. “Let me guess—there’s a god of getting scammed in the marketplace?”
“Oh, several,” Qlaark replied without missing a beat.
Eugene chuckled, shaking his head. “And you? You’re all about second chances?”
“Yeah. Everyone deserves one, don’t you think?” Qlaark’s smile softened.
Eugene considered that for a moment before sighing. “Maybe.”
Qlaark grinned again and patted him on the back. “You’ll get it, Eugene. Just gotta open up to it. Now, uh, what brings you to my little slice of the city? You... need something?”
Eugene hesitated before pulling out the coin Krungus had given him. “Yeah. I need to find someone. And apparently, you're the only guy I know in this madhouse.”
Qlaark’s eyes widened as he examined the coin. “Ooooh, this is... a whole thing, isn’t it?”
“You have no idea,” Eugene muttered.
The toucanfolk somehow snapped his fingers. “Lucky for you, Eugene, I know a guy who knows a guy. Let’s find your mystery man.”
And with that, Eugene followed the enthusiastic toucanfolk deeper into the Bazaar District, still unsure whether he'd just found his guide or his greatest distraction.