There was a peculiar charm to this forsaken continent that had captivated Gwen when she first arrived.

The people here had such fragile faith, like spun sugar dissolving at the first hint of warmth. Their gods had remained silent for centuries, yet the moment something sinister Whispered honeyed promises through a keyhole, they swore it was divine. Pity they failed to notice the stench of doom wafting through the cracks.

When the crown, the nobility, and their precious clergy began to fester from within, their souls hollowed out and replaced with something grotesque, it was only a matter of time before the entire continent crumbled like a damp biscuit.

Take the man before her, for example. He still clung to blind faith in his goddess—though whatever was left of that devotion had long since rotted to the core. Like the others, he couldn't see the rot, couldn't smell it, couldn't feel the weight of it dragging him down.

And Gwen? She wasn’t even visible to him. He thrust his sword ahead, oblivious to her presence—behind him, beneath him, everywhere. The eye peering through a tree’s knothole, the grains of sand locking his boots in place, the wind gripping his hand. Even the mana itself, pausing, twisting, coiling—her domain, her essence. It all moved at her whim, and oh, how it delighted her to dance.

“The wind... ah, did you hear it?” Gwen smiled, her voice dripping with mockery, as the man swung his blade toward the little dragonling. Yet his precious metal mana betrayed him again, refusing to obey his will. She cradled the tiny black-and-white creature in her hands, the badger clutching a bag of monster skin filled with cores, its beady eyes anxious as it watched the battle unfold.

“Curious, isn’t it?” Gwen mused, tilting her head. “What did the little dragonling see in you to make you her first supplicant? Personally, I’d have gone for someone a touch... scalier.” She smiled again, her gaze fixed on the dragonling as arcs of silver mana streaked toward her, only for most to miss their mark.

The ground answered Gwen’s command, turning his steps sluggish, disrupting his rhythm, twisting, merging, and rendering his careful footwork utterly pointless. His frustration was palpable, his strikes increasingly erratic, and Gweneth didn’t even bother learning his name. It wasn’t worth the effort.

Of course, despite her meddling, the man still had the upper hand against the dragonling. A low red-core—nothing extraordinary outside this wretched, suppressed land, where progress crawled at a snail’s pace—but here? Grit alone had dragged him to this level, and she supposed that was... admirable. In a tragically naive sort of way. Still, to her, watching him wield his mana was like watching a toddler fumble with a sword. She might have felt sorry for him if it weren’t so thoroughly entertaining.

The man roared again, demanding she show herself. Half of her was tempted to oblige—oh, how delightful it would be to grant him a final wish. She could trap him in her nightmare realm, let horrors skin him alive, ever so slowly, while his physical body remained intact. A poetic end, really. But alas, she wasn’t ready to step into the light just yet.

Oh, her true quarry was infinitely more captivating. Gwen’s gaze slid to the cave, its pitiful excuse for a barrier standing as defiant as wet parchment. Somewhere within, an elven noble was on the verge of summoning something delightfully monstrous, and Gwen had no intention of spooking it before it arrived. Imagine the tragedy if her snack caught wind of her presence and fled. Poor Gwen, left famished once more—utterly heart-wrenching. Sob.

The voice in her head chimed in, as unwelcome as ever.

[Must you always do this, Gwen?]

“Oh, Kaelen, your disapproval is like music to my ears,” she quipped, her lips curving into a predatory grin. As if to mock his incessant nagging, she twirled her finger lazily, summoning a thread of sand to snake up the man’s boot. “It’s harmless fun. I’m merely... entertaining myself.”

[Harmless? You’ve been ‘entertaining yourself’ for an entire day, doing the precise opposite of what you promised when you demanded I let you swap places in Lithrindel. You’re noisy. And inefficient.]

Griffins. They were as joyless as a funeral in a rainstorm. Kaelen’s tone carried the clipped precision of someone who would alphabetize their sighs if given the chance. Gwen could practically see the sharp lines of his ever-present frown.

“Noisy? Me? I’m offended.” She sighed dramatically, her tone dripping with theatrical woe. “There isn’t a wyvern alive more subtle than I. Truly, your lack of faith wounds me.” She paused, her grin sharpening. “Besides, you fret too much. This little morsel couldn’t scream loud enough to summon help even if I planted him on the Order’s bell tower. And admit it, Kaelen—you’re curious, aren’t you? A dragonling. Here. On this forsaken continent. Not some shapeshifting beast-kin impostor, but the real thing. A supposed father, memories tampered and muddled. Hiding among humans under the guise of a temporary shifter enchantment.”

[Erryn would be ecstatic to know a new-born of her kind has turned up, but, Gwen, focus. The summoning—]

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“I haven’t forgotten,” she cut in, her slitted eyes gleaming as she tilted her head towards the cave. The air was heavy with unnatural vibrations, the fabric of reality thinning—whatever lay beyond, it was stirring, and it promised to be delectable. Her voice dropped to a sinister purr. “I’m waiting for it, too. Tell me, though—don’t you think it’s poetic? Lithrindel’s nobles are blind, drunk on their supposed divinity, serving as nothing more than golden chalices for this ravenous abomination. Deliciously ironic, isn’t it?”

[Poetic? Spare me. Aurelia’s decay is inevitable, especially after your ‘efforts.’ Three vessels, Gwen—three. Dispatched from the town you were supposed to be monitoring before you dumped the work on me.]

“I was... playing the long game.”

[You were stalling.]

“I was not!”

[And now you’re stalling again.]

“And now you’re insufferable,” she snapped, dismissing him with a flick of her wrist. The vine around the man’s boot yanked his sword sideways, sending him careening into a nearby boulder with a satisfying crunch.

Her attention flicked to the dragonling. The little creature had seized the moment, darting forward to swipe at the man, leaving a gash across his armour. Not bad. Smart, too—the dragonling quickly retreated before the man’s tedious metal mana could counter. Gwen watched, enraptured, her grin widening.

“What are the odds she’ll win?” she mused.

[Your kind’s devotion and obsession with dragons is as predictable as it is misguided. Stop meddling. Pick her up, take her somewhere safe, and figure out how on earth she ended up here. But she’s not your concern right now.]

“Oh, but she is,” Gwen pouted. “I won’t rob her of this experience. Besides, watching her is quite diverting while I wait for the real prize to ripen.” Her gaze slid back to the man, who staggered upright, blood staining his armour from his own sword mana’s recoil.

The voice in her head paused, a rare but welcome reprieve, before it returned with its usual insufferable persistence.

[Could I, perhaps, persuade you to abandon your next... meal? Before its essence displaces yet another innocent soul?]

“Innocent?” Gwen let out a low, mocking laugh. “That noble brat reeks of entitlement, not innocence. But now that you’ve mentioned it, perhaps I should leave a tether in his mind. Just imagine—his final moments, when his soul realizes the path to power was a lie. Devoured and replaced, all while his body marches on like a puppet. Oh, I could even refine it into a new torture technique for the Nightmare Realm!” Her smile widened. Sharp. Dangerous.

[You’re hopeless.]

“And you’re dull.”

[Well, this ‘dull’ griffin is cleaning up your messes. Again. Try not to unravel the entire framework I’ve established, will you? Remember the next step.]

“I haven’t forgotten,” Gwen said, her tone dripping with mockery as she squished the little badger softly with her fingers. “Pursuit of pleasure doesn’t equate to incompetence, Kaelen. And when it comes to the next phase, I’m far more suited to the task than you.”

[...Reluctant as I am to admit it, you might have a point. Just finish your meal and move on—you’re already running late.]

“Oh, don’t worry,” Gwen purred, her forked tongue flicking over her fangs as she turned her attention back to the cave. Anticipation writhed through her like a serpent, her scales shifting faintly. “I’d hate to disappoint you.”

The voice in her head blessedly fell silent, leaving Gwen to revel in the spectacle before her: the little dragonling’s battle.

Was Kaelen right about wyverns’ instinctive devotion to their creators, the dragons? Perhaps there was a glimmer of truth in it. Gwen couldn’t deny a peculiar, detached sort of protectiveness toward the audacious creature. It wasn’t all-consuming, but it thrummed faintly, like a melody played just out of reach. Watching the dragonling, whether she was experimenting with magic, rallying monsters, stealing shiny things, or brewing poisons to sow delightful chaos on a battlefield, stirred something strange in Gwen—a sensation she hadn’t felt in ages.

It was ridiculous, really. Something about the little one’s sheer audacity made her cold heart flutter. Barely two weeks old, and already an embodiment of raw chaos. If humans compared it to anything, it might be the way they adored their cats—mesmerized by their bold mischief, grotesque little hunts, and obliviously daring escapades. Every action the dragonling took was tinged with that irresistible charm.

But oh, how Gwen wanted to snatch her up, this feisty, scrappy little creature. Instead, she restrained herself, fingers twitching as she subtly manipulated the elven warrior’s footing. A flick here, a stumble there—just enough to keep the dance going.

The fabric of reality thinned further. It was almost time.

Yet despite Gwen’s interference, it was clear the dragonling was losing ground. Blood dripped from her wounds—deep gashes etched across her scales. One wing was shredded, her claws chipped, her tail severed. Exhaustion visibly weighed her down. Though the elf hadn’t landed a fatal blow, his relentless assault was wearing her thin.

Gwen’s fingers flexed, her restraint tested to its limits. She refused to fully intervene, instead watching and offering the occasional nudge. It wasn’t enough.

The elf’s sword finally found its mark, slicing through the dragonling’s legs and incapacitating her. She crumpled, her small body trembling with exertion. The badger in Gwen’s hands shifted anxiously, letting out a worried chirp.

The elven warrior, confident in his victory, loomed over the downed dragonling. His voice boomed, mocking her pitiful interference and taunting her to show herself. He raised his sword for the killing blow.

“Ah,” Gwen breathed, her lips curling into a smile. “Too bad for you.”

With a rumble, the soil coiled around the little creature, enveloping her in a divine cocoon. The elf’s sword descended, but the moment it struck the protective shell, he was flung backward, crashing against the trees with twice the force.

Gwen clapped her hands, her grin widening. “Splendid! A draw... for now,” she mused, her gaze lingering on the cocoon. But not for long. Once the dragonling emerged from her evolution, the scales would tip decisively in her favor.

She glanced at the thinning fabric of reality. Eight minutes until it tore completely. The dragonling’s evolution would complete in two. Plenty of time for the next act of this delectable drama.

Gwen’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, little one,” she purred. “SHOW ME MORE!”