I took a deep breath, letting my thoughts gather. Seated at the edge of my bed, tea in hand, I mulled it all over. The main reason I’d dragged Viera along on this escapade was, well, rather straightforward. The need arose from my little nocturnal jaunts.

It all circled back to the notion of shifting. A phenomenon every beast-kin species experiences upon reaching a significant power breakthrough. Specifically, a red core—a truly monumental achievement. And when I say monumental, I don’t mean a quaint village monument; I’m talking full Stonehenge levels of importance. This transformation carried profound cultural weight. It wasn’t just about turning into something flashy. No, it was about connecting with one’s latent bloodline—the so-called ancestors that every beast-kin worships with unbridled reverence. Sacred stuff, the sort of thing that gets celebrated with feasts, dances, and probably a fair share of questionable decisions.

Now, smaller transformations weren’t unheard of even before reaching red core. Take us Drakkaris, for instance. We could morph bits of ourselves to match our species—claws for hands, maws for mouths, and a smattering of temporary scales for good measure. If you had a particularly deep bloodline, you might even sprout a baby tail or wings, which, naturally, marked you as having an enviable connection to the ancestors. For us Drakkari, those ancestors were almost certainly dragons—though good luck finding that spelled out in any dusty tome. The lack of mention made me wary. Suspicious. Better safe than sorry when it came to parading my heritage.

What no one could do pre-red core, however, was fully shift into their sacred beast form. This was the ultimate transformation, held in near-religious regard. So imagine my shock when I stumbled across a local Drakkari gang who’d apparently cracked the code, shifting into beast forms well before their time. It wasn’t just baffling; it was downright alarming. A breakthrough like that should’ve had the Enforcers swooping in faster than a hawk on a mouse. Yet, nothing. Silence. Inaction.

The rumours were thick as treacle, spreading from Varkaigrad’s back alleys to the middle district, even reaching the ears of folk like Viera. Of course, she wouldn’t believe a word without seeing it firsthand—she’s pragmatic like that. Still, the rumours themselves were strange. Whispers of these shifters turning into “abominations” instead of the revered beast forms. That alone didn’t prick my curiosity, but the rotting stench I’d caught while observing these shifts certainly did. It was the same foul essence I’d sensed when that Elven heir ascended to low-gold.

Now, Vraal’Kor wasn’t exactly a hub of organised religion—no churches to speak of. Its people worshipped their ancestors instead, which, according to Gwen, made it one of the least influenced places by that Thing. And yet, here was its unmistakable stink, wafting through the air like an uninvited guest when I encountered those guys. Combine that with the higher-ups’ conspicuous apathy, and it didn’t take a soothsayer to realise something was rotten in the state of Vraal’Kor.

I was hurtling headfirst down a rabbit hole and picking up speed. I’d already sent a letter to Gwen, using the umm, method of communication she gave me, but thus far, no response. Sitting idly by wasn’t an option. My curiosity, paired with a simmering anger, gnawed at me relentlessly. That Thing, whatever it was, had no good intentions. This entire mess was bound to culminate in disaster, and I had more than a sneaking suspicion that a corrupted elf was pulling the strings.

As for Viera, she was the daughter of a lesser sect leader under one of Vraal’Kor’s five ruling families. A status I clearly lacked, being little more than a speck of dirt on the city’s boots. She had what I needed: actual strings to pull with the bigwigs. But telling her outright that people were shifting below red core? She’d laugh me clean out of the room. Still, there was something distinctly fishy about the whole situation—the Enforcers’ apathy, the garbled rumours, the mutterings about abominations. What if I could slide this problem onto the plates of the ruling families? If Viera ran her mouth to daddy dearest, maybe, just maybe, someone up top would finally pay attention.

Naturally, it was a risky gambit. Trouble and I weren’t exactly strangers, but I wasn’t keen on inviting it to tea. I could have ignored it all, turned my back, and let my curiosity shrivel like an unwatered fern. But no—something was bound to happen, and I couldn’t stomach leaving it alone. So, I dragged Viera into the mix after gathering some critical information: the same gang was targeting rival outfits in the slums. Getting the intel was no picnic, of course. It took over a month of relentless skulking, sneaking, and eavesdropping. Once I’d pieced it together, I decided to bring her along.

And now, the hard part—explaining it all without her tearing strips off me. With a resigned sigh, I began recounting the essentials. Not everything—just enough to whet her interest. I mentioned the shifting, the Enforcers’ blissful inertia, and left the juicier details under lock and key.

“I suppose that checks out,” she said eventually. “Don’t think I’d have believed you otherwise.”

I was just opening my mouth to deliver a cheeky retort, grin primed, when Viera’s voice sliced through the moment like a whetted blade. “But—where the hell were you when that guy attacked?!”

Arms crossed, voice a whip of accusation and exasperation, she clearly wasn’t buying my half-truths. Delicate work ahead. Couldn’t very well admit I’d tried to poison their leader, failed spectacularly, got my arse handed to me, and fled like the cowardly wretch I am. That wouldn’t do.

“I—” I stammered, pretending her question had knocked me off balance. “What do you mean, where was I? I was there! Same as you!”

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“There? Really?” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Because all I saw was you pulling a vanishing act while I was left scrambling to save my own skin!”

“Well, forgive me for not pausing mid-ambush to hand out a detailed itinerary,” I shot back, barely suppressing a grin as Belle, standing beside me, squinted disapprovingly. “What did you want me to do? Wave a flag and shout, ‘Follow me, Viera, this way to safety!’?”

Her glare could have liquefied iron. “You could’ve stayed, for one.”

“Stayed?” I scoffed, throwing up my hands in mock disbelief. “Oh, what a cracking idea! Stand there like a glorified punching bag for the lot of them, shall I? When I said I got half swept away by the crowd, I wasn’t exaggerating. Honestly, Viera, I thought you were sharper than that.”

She huffed, crossing her arms, but then something shifted in her expression. “You disappeared. I thought—” She hesitated, her tone softening like butter left in the sun. “I thought something happened to you. Maybe you were up to trouble, and maybe one of those thugs caught you. I’ve heard stories about the kind of... crimes those gangs commit. I just… I was scared. A little.”

I blinked, her rare vulnerability catching me off guard. “Caught?” I repeated, lowering my voice to match hers. “Oh, come now, Viera. You know me better than that. I don’t get caught. Besides, I can handle myself in a scrap. I’d have given anyone foolish enough to try a proper arse-whooping.” Which I had, of course. Oh, the memory. Delightful. Could’ve done with a bit more blood, though. Tsk. “You just lost sight of me, that’s all.”

Her frown deepened, but there was a flicker of doubt in her eyes.

“Sooo… you ran and left me to fend for myself,” she accused, her voice laced with growing irritation.

“I tactically relocated,” I corrected, my tone far too smug for her liking. “And you ran too, didn’t you?”

“I—well, yes,” she admitted reluctantly. “But I didn’t vanish into thin air like you did!”

“And yet, here I am, late because I circled back to make sure you were all right. I lost track of you in the chaos, and by the time I found a way out, you were already gone.”

“You… circled back?” she echoed, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“Of course I did,” I said, feigning wounded pride. “What kind of person do you take me for? I might be a sneak, but I’m not heartless.”

Something I said must’ve struck a chord, because her eyes softened, glistening just slightly before she darted forward and wrapped her arms around me in a hug. I froze, startled as a cat caught under a sudden downpour, but I managed to mask my shock and return the embrace. She pulled away after a moment, letting out a long, weary sigh.

“Fine. I’ll believe you—for now,” she relented, wagging a finger in warning. “But if you pull that vanishing act again, I swear to the ancestors—!”

Ah, it seemed I’d stumbled upon some rather tender nerves there. Truth be told, I had a soft spot for Viera, but making friends had never been my forte. Always the lone wolf, or perhaps lone dragonling in my case—my gaze fixed firmly on my ambitions, a fortress of books, and a dream too unwieldy for attachments. Maybe it was the ghosts of my past haunting me, but times had changed. Perhaps… perhaps it was time I entertained the notion of change, even if only as a guest for tea.

But not today. After a lively round of verbal ping-pong, I finally wrung Viera dry enough to get her to spill her little secret to daddy dearest. Now, would it have been more satisfying to have Iron tied to a chair, truth serum shoved up his crusty, scaly arse, and squealing every filthy secret like a tortured canary? Absolutely. But life’s a stingy little bastard that rarely lets you have that kind of fun. So, with a painfully polite farewell, I shut the door and slumped against it, exhaling a sigh so heavy it damn near left a dent in the floor.

I cast my eyes about the room. The storm of chaos had abated, leaving my notes and research neatly stacked on the bedside table. Books, once scattered like fallen leaves, now formed orderly towers on the floor. Belle, ever industrious badger, had clearly been busy in my absence. I prided myself on maintaining a semblance of order, a place for everything and everything in its place. Yet lately, that façade had begun to crack. My meticulousness was slipping, my actions growing increasingly frantic. And I didn’t care for it one bit. Why? A cocktail of reasons of course, none of which demanded immediate attention but all of which gnawed incessantly at my edges.

The little badger chirped from the windowsill. With another sigh, I removed my bracer, feeling the enchantment relinquish its hold on my form. The glass pane reflected my figure, and there it was—the stark reality of my transformation.

The ability wasn’t as straightforward as I’d naïvely hoped. It boasted two states, one being my dragon form (magnificent, naturally) and the other… half-human. The distinction, as it turned out, lay in that crucial word, “half.”

The reflection staring back at me made that abundantly clear. This wasn’t the half-drakkari, half-human amalgam I’d been before. No, this was something else entirely—half-human, half-dragon. A draconic visage, crimson eyes slitted like a predator’s, with silver scales glinting in the faint light. Writhing tentacles adorned with sharp, bony tips coiled along my neck and back. Wings, claws, talons, and a whip-like tail completed the picture, while silver hair cascaded like molten mercury over my shoulders. Standing just shy of seven feet tall, I was this… towering testament to draconic beauty.

I recalled my first attempt at transformation. Why on earth had I thought it would return me to my pre-dragon state? The memory threatened to bubble into a gravelly laugh, but I swallowed it down. This form was… exquisite, in its own way, just like my full dragon form.

Every upgrade, every stat increase, every skill and organ acquired—it all transferred seamlessly. The only real difference was the shape. A humanoid dragon might be just as practical, but it was no less draconic.

Thus this form too, like my true dragon form, was strictly for private viewings. Early on, Gwen had assisted me in concealing it—a blend of enchantments and shapeshifting alchemy that suppressed my more conspicuous features. But the method wasn’t perfect, suppressing not just the visible changes but some of my abilities as well. Naturally, I was working on an alternative.

I sank into my chair with yet another sigh, accepting the book Belle handed me with a nod of thanks. Flipping to the bookmarked page, I resumed my research. The focus of my studies was precise: the ability to selectively shift parts of myself while maintaining my drakkari form. Adaptability was the key, and I could feel a breakthrough looming tantalizingly close. Even Master Vasilisa had taken an interest in my work. Her obsessive fascination with alchemy mirrored my own dedication, and while I found her meddlesome, I couldn’t deny the value of her insights.

I was mid-sentence in my notes when an icy shiver snaked through the room, a familiar chill that set my tentacles twitching. My gaze snapped to the far corner, instincts sharpening. It seemed Gwen’s messenger had finally arrived.