“A domovoi? The hell is that?” asked Isse more to Siidi than the thing in front of her.

“I believe, young one, that it is called Airm here. And I have to admit, it is not quite the same as the old hell from home. For one, there’s a lot less fire, and the devils here are a lot less varied. The gods really didn’t give the place much thought when they made it.”

Isse stared at the… was it a spirit? What was it? Because she had no idea and, considering Siidi’s silence, she had none too.

A more pressing question appeared in her head though and she had to voice it: “Can anybody hear us outside this room?”

She was a [Spy] in the making after all and having someone walk in on her talking to a domovoi, or to thin air, wouldn’t have been good for her reputation.

“This room is warded. No one can listen in on anything said here, and I will know if someone opens that door to overhear the conversation.”

Reassured, more or less (because she couldn’t tell if the spirit was telling the truth, her spells didn’t stick), that she was safe to talk, she asked again: “What are you?”

The spirit-dog-human-whatever-the-fuck-he-was tilted his little head to the side (he was quite small even when he looked like a human) and raised an eyebrow: “Your sister-passenger doesn’t know? I could understand you, you’re young, of these times, but her? She smells old,” and as if to demonstrate that final statement he sniffed, his black nose twitching.

Isse gaped at him, panic beginning to rise inside her: it was one thing for this thing to realize she was an arachne just by looking at her, quite another or him to know about her soul half.

She got ready to reach out towards him: her Spell may have been ineffective, but spirits were spirits, and if she could work with a soul she could do the same to some kind of knock-off ghost.

I can’t remember, said Siidi, her voice a bit strained.

“Ah, you forgot. I was hoping… but I understand.”

He looked at her for a moment, calm as could be, then bowed.

“Let me present myself again: I am Kaminskyi, this house’s domovoi. For your information, domovoi are chorts. That means ‘devils’, by the by. You could say I’m this house’s guardian devil. That jogging any memory for you, old one?”

The idea of a devil being the guardian of a house, a benign one too, sounded preposterous to Isse, but before she could voice the idea Siidi suddenly shouted in joy and began blubbering about… stuff. She couldn’t quite understand, she was talking too fast.

“Ah, I see you do remember now,” said the domovoi, a smile appearing on his face as he sat down on the floor cross legged, or with his front paws one on top of the other when he appeared as a dog.

Isse, for the love of all that is arachne, pet him!

What?

Do it or I swear on the World Shapers I will find a way to tickle you to death.

With a threat like that there was no way Isse wouldn’t comply. Slowly, warily, she let her arm fall and her muscles relax as she sat back down on the ground and went to pet the little devil between his canine ears. He gladly accepted the pets, moving his head towards her approaching hand.

It was oddly therapeutic.

“That’s pleasant. Keep going,” he said as his tongue lolled out and he began panting happily, putting his head on his crossed paws, his tail swishing.

How are you doing, old chap? asked Siidi.

Isse began repeating the question for her, but was interrupted by the domovoi’s answer: “Recently? Pretty well.”

Isse’s hand froze for a moment before she sighed and went back to petting, adding her other hand to the mix and trailing it down his back. If he knew that Siidi was there then it wasn’t strange, or impossible, that he could hear her, especially if he was actually a devil.

“Oooohhh, that’s just perfect. Mind giving me a scritch behind the ears? It’s been ages since I’ve had this chance.”

Isse complied and the devil seemed to melt, that much he relaxed.

And less recently? It’s been a while since us arachne had to… go.

The devilish dog, which Isse just then noticed had little white horns sprouting from his skull, sighed through his nose as he answered: “Yes. From the day you left your Palaces and they were burned to the ground we had no one to remember our tales, to call upon us, to show us respect and follow our traditions. We… slept… for a very long time.”

By the way he looked up at the word ‘slept’ she could guess it wasn’t as pleasant as a full night’s rest.

How did you come back?

Kaminskyi smiled, showing all of his teeth: “A girl from our home brought back our tales. She told them to the people of her city, told them the words and the traditions anew, and now… now some of us are back. Not as many as before, but… it’s better.”

Isse blinked, frowning, uncertain: “Where’s your home? The original one, I mean?”

The devil moved away from her, leaving her feeling slightly sad that she couldn’t feel his soft fur in her hands anymore.

“My original home… it was burned, I think. Yes, it was burned to cinders, during the war against that absurd frenchman. It was in Suderve, in Russia. You should know about Russia, I’m told it’s still around. Diminished, but there.”

Isse gaped, her jaw nearly unhinging, her thoughts whirling around so fast she couldn’t grasp at any of them. That is, until finally Siidi did something in the back of her mind and she felt herself calm down slightly. Enough to ask the obvious question: “There’s someone else from Earth in this world? Where are they?”

The dog, now back to looking like a gnome with horns and a thick beard (so actually maybe a dwarf would be a more fitting description, but he didn’t give off dwarf vibes. He seemed too lazy), looked at her with a raised eyebrow, clearly confused: “You haven’t met her? But I can smell her on you.”

Isse blinked: “What?”

“I can clearly smell her presence on you. It’s old now, but she visited you.”

He frowned, sitting cross legged on the ground, and sniffed her way: “Ah, I understand. Yes, that makes sense. You met her in the Land of Dreams. That would explain why you couldn’t have known.”

He nodded approvingly, as if he had just done a great feat of reasoning.

“I was only ever told what she smells like, never met her personally, but they said she was strange: like a fox, mixed in with an angry leshi. An improbable mix.”

Foxes and an angry leshi? She didn’t know what the latter was, but she remembered the visits of a girl wearing a fox mask in her dreams. A girl accompanied by a much older man wearing a similar mask. A scared man who remembered deals as old Siidi, and a brave girl with an easy smile who liked to banter, joke and cuddle her spider half, a girl who had hugged her upon hearing the story of what had happened to her and her sisters.

“I see that description reminds you of someone eh? Good good. So you met our savior.”

Isse nodded, opening her mouth to say something else, to ask more questions, but was stopped by a raised hand: “I know you have questions, but I do not have answers. As I said, I didn’t meet her. I just know that she exists thanks to others like me who woke up.

“But while I cannot give you an answer in regards to the girl, I can help you in your little mission here in my house.”

“What?”

The domovoi raised an eyebrow, looking thoroughly unimpressed: “Are you dull girl? No, wait, wrong question. Rather, do you think I’m dull? Granted, I slept for a few thousand years, but I’m not that far gone. You’re a spy and you’re looking for something interesting to nab home.”

He smiled, and there was something slightly vicious about it.

Isse narrowed her eyes at him: “And why would you help me?”

“Because this family hasn’t been doing the proper rites to please me, because you’re an arachne and my kind and yours go way back, because I’m bored. The reasons are many, but you can sum it up to ‘I’m a chort and I do what I want so long as I follow the rules’.”

The young arachne opened her mouth to make him notice the oxymoron, then closed it because, again, she was talking to a devil. Or chort. Was there a difference?

“So, what, you’re just going to help me?”

The domovoi moved his head left and right, a hand under his chin, before he clicked his tongue and nodded: “Yes, I think I will. On one condition,” he raised a single stubby finger in front of him.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Let’s hear it.”

“You will tell my story. The girl, she’s helped us, brought us back, but stories take time to spread, especially in this world where they’re constantly suffocated. So you will help me, help my kind, and spread our tales.”

Isse frowned: “But I don’t know any.”

The chort nodded: “Yes, well, it just so happens that you’re talking to someone who knows many. And, I believe, the other one living inside you could tell you many more.”

At that moment the door to the room opened and in walked Gregory. He looked at her, raising an eyebrow upon seeing her on her knees on the floor (from his perspective), and Isse scrambled for a moment in her head as she deactivated her [Mana Sight] and instead cast a [Minor Illusion], showing him a small silver coin.

“Sorry, it fell out when I opened my bag of holding.”

Gregory looked unconvinced for a moment, or maybe that was just his default expression, then he nodded: “I would suggest getting that bag checked then miss. One hears stories of what happens when a bag of holding implodes.”

Isse nodded, before stopping: “They can do that?”

He nodded, bringing the tea set to the desk and depositing it gently: “Indeed miss. If a bag is old, or badly crafted, the magical stitching that keeps the space inside anchored to this reality can break and cause the space to just… go back to where it belongs. With everything that’s inside. And sometimes with a piece of the owner.”

She shivered at the mental image, her hand automatically moving to the bag and checking if she could somehow feel something wrong with it.

After a moment Gregory finally finished setting everything up for the tea and turned to leave.

“May I ask, where’s the madame? She left a while ago?”

Gregory stopped, then sighed: “She is being… effusive, with her husband. She should be back soon enough, young miss.”

She nodded and he left the room.

“Quite the loyal one that butler. He’d throw himself into a fire if it meant helping his mistress and her husband.”

Isse flinched as she heard the domovoi’s voice and turned to find him sitting on the desk, a cup in his hands that he worryingly started twirling on his index finger.

“He’s been through a lot, but at least now he’s found his peace. Did you know, he had once been trained to be a Piece of the Game.”

He put the cup down, putting his chin in his hands: “He’s been working for this family for most of his life. Saw his mistress be born and grow up, helped her massacre her whole family and now helps her keep this city running with the woman’s husband.”

The young arachne nodded and listened to the whole thing, but her head snapped around, her eyes wide, at the mention of a massacre: “Wha -”

“Have you noticed how empty this house is?”

She frowned, but now that he’d said it, the house was conspicuously empty of anyone other than the [Lady], her husband and the servants.

“She killed them all. Her parents, her brother and sisters. Can’t blame her, they were pieces of shit who cared only about themselves.”

He looked down at her sitting form, a small, bitter, smile forming on his lips: “Bet you weren’t expecting that, eh?”

After a moment she nodded.

“It wasn’t easy. Or pretty. But it had to be done.”

“How do you know this? Was it that recent?”

He shook his head: “Oh no, it happened nearly a decade ago. She was, what? Seventeen? Yes, seventeen. An adult on paper, heh.”

“Then how could you possibly know?”

Because he’s a domovoi, the spirit of the house. He knows what the house knows and sees what the house sees.

“What the old one said. The moment I became the house’s spirit I knew what had happened to its people in the last century or so. Pretty handy, am I right?”

She had to agree with that.

“So, let’s put things straight: I will tell people stories about the domovoi and you will, what? Tell me secrets? Give me useful information?”

The chort appeared thoughtful for a moment, then nodded: “Yes, that more or less sums it up. Although, do expect there to be more of the latter than the former. After all, you must be challenged a bit, or you won’t ‘Level Up’, pfui,” he spat.

Those last two words he said with enough venom to burn a hole through a wall.

“...You don’t like Levels?”

He shook his head: “They’re shortcuts. You should know, young arachne: your kind used to think the same thing. They didn’t use their Levels so much as abuse them. That’s what made them so dangerous. The people of this world, they’re complacent: ‘oh, I can’t do this? Well, let’s just do this other thing that’s easier and hope the System rewards me and gives me something to make that task easier’. That’s just wrong on so many levels, pun intended.”

…Alright… maybe let’s change subject.

He is right though.

Not now Siidi.

She offered her hand to the chort, stories from back home about the dangers of making deals with devils playing in the back of her mind.

“It’s a deal.”

He looked at her, then nodded: “No need to shake hands girl, your word is enough. Now, listen here, and listen carefully.”

Shuffling closer to the edge of the desk he motioned at his ear, making the concept clearer: “This room? It’s not Serafia’s actual office. She hates this room with a passion and spends as little time as possible in here. That’s one of the main reasons she’s taking her sweet time down there with her husband right now, which came in handy to us, eh?

“Anyways, she doesn’t have an actual office. Usually she just finds someplace comfortable anywhere in the house and works there. She has a Skill that allows her to summon the paperwork she needs to her and the servants can provide everything else she needs. The documents are kept in a storage room disguised as a closet for cleaning supplies two rooms away from here. It’s warded with enough spells to make getting in unnoticed close to impossible, but I’m sure you’ll find a way to circumvent that problem.”

He looked to the right, nodding his chin that way to show her exactly where the closet was.

Then he looked down. Then up. Then back down. He seemed uncertain.

Finally, he sighed: “There’s another thing. A vault. It’s underneath the house, with a secret passage leading down to it hidden in the fireplace of the main room downstairs. It contains many artifacts and such things. There’s something down there that I think you’ll be interested in.”

Isse frowned at that, and Siidi voiced her confusion.

For an answer, the chort snapped his fingers and something shifted in the air.

Suddenly she felt both warm and cold, as if someone had thrown her into a pile of snow while wearing her heaviest set of clothes, all after she’d spent hours playing with her friends and running around. She felt comfortable, so much so that she felt like falling asleep right then and there. Closing her eyes, she basked in the warm cold, feeling renewed and old, a child and an elder at the same time, embraced kindly and reminded of all that she had lost in a contrasting sensation that left a bittersweet taste in her mouth. She couldn’t get enough.

“What… What is this? What are you doing?”

“That, little one, is the ■■ ■■■■■ -'' he cut himself off, from Isse’s perspective at that final ‘the’.

Shaking his head, he chuckled: “Ah, I believe I can’t tell you dear. You’ll have to find out. I’m certain you’ll know what it is when you’ll see it. Now, let me tell you a story.”

----------------------------------------

When madame Serafia returned to the office she found Isse half-asleep on the armchair, her head on her left hand, a beatific smile on her face.

The [Lady] felt almost bad for having to wake her up, but she was gentle in her shaking, although her hand felt wrong as she reached for the girl’s shoulder, and when she opened her eyes, blushing suddenly and apologizing, and the woman had to get back up it felt as if she had bent her spine a lot more. Which was strange, but she chalked it up to the bad feeling this room left her every time she walked in.

After she woke up fully Isse proposed they change rooms, saying that this one felt a bit too formal for a friendly conversation. Serafia gladly accepted.

On their way out her eyes lingered for a moment too long on a corner of the room, a dark little space between the library and the wall. For a moment she remembered the many hours spent thinking about her ‘misbehavior’, all the time wasted there because she wanted to live as a child and be happy and smile instead of being cold and senseless and selfish like the rest of her family. Even though, in a way, she had been selfish when she’d killed them all to finally be left in peace and put an end to their constant demands to the [King]. Mainly the former, but the latter had also been a main point.

They spent a few hours talking about this and that. At some point her husband joined them, sharing a few anecdotes of his own.

It was during a lull in the conversation that Isse decided to keep faith to her side of the deal and, as casually as she could, told them a story of the domovoi. Serafia listened rapturously to the tale, and her husband appeared intrigued, to the point where, with a chuckle, he proposed they actually do exactly what the story suggested: simply put, to leave some food on the dining table during the night for the chort to eat.

Not long afterwards Albert came down saying that he’d done all that was in his abilities to make the clock functional again, although the enchantments were indeed damaged beyond his abilities to repair.

“The base incantation is still there though, on the old cogs. I left those to you, in case you can find someone good enough to replicate it.”

“Thank you very much, mister Albert. A servant is already awaiting you at the entrance with the rest of the payment.”

“Don’t you wish to attest to the state of my work yourself before that, madame?”

“I’m trusting you, have no fear, mister Albert.”

He bowed and, after a moment, motioned for Isse to get up and leave with him. She did so, after curtseying a bit and causing Serafia to smile and say that this had been a lovely few hours.

When, finally, they were gone, the [Lady] took in a deep breath and sighed.

“Gregory? You there?”

“Always, madame,” came the answer from behind her, where he was now standing as if he’d always been there. Maybe he had and she hadn’t noticed: after all, he was quite silent.

“So, tell me, did she do anything in that room? Or did Albert try to do anything strange?”

Gregory took his sweet time, before he answered: “I’m convinced that nothing untoward was done to break your kindly offered hospitality.”

Hah, hospitality. An old tradition of her house, dating back to nearly twenty generations ago, to her ancestor who had founded their noble house.

“Explain.”

“The girl, Isse, spent the whole time in the office sitting on the armchair, apart from a moment when she stood to retrieve a silver coin that had fallen out of her bag of holding. I heard her talking to herself then and suspected a hidden speaking stone or such, but the Spells and Wards make the use of them impossible, so she was talking to herself.

“None of the documents were disturbed in any way, same goes for the books on the shelves, and no use of mana was picked up by the Detectors. All in all, I can state with certainty that she was not attempting to do anything.

“In regards to our other guest, he spent the whole time working on the clock, only occasionally pausing to get new gears out of his bag of holding. I have seldom seen someone as professional as him in the matters of clockworking.”

And at that, the [Lady] finally relaxed and fell, her head on her husband’s lap.

“Thanks for the good news Gregory,” he said.

That night they slept peacefully and, as promised, left some food in the dining hall for the so called domovoi to eat. The next morning, they found the plate empty and a small gold coin that a [Maid] had lost beside it.

From then on every night some food was left in the dining hall.

And meanwhile, the stories of those little chorts began spreading anew.