The directions from my inaugural follower were simple.

Walk straight ahead.

And yet as I paused scarcely a few paces within a hollowed out cavern fit enough to host a whole family of dragons or a modest buffet at the Royal Villa, all I saw before me were obstacles.

Not because they blocked my path.

But rather because they impeded my eyes.

Brass chandeliers so worn they absorbed the light of their candles. Carpets so faded that all I saw was the poorly chiselled stone underneath. And a string of tables clearly meant for a kitchen and not a dining hall.

Here, there, and everywhere, I saw less a hovel and more an emporium specialising in all the gifts intended as insults.

The woollen tablecloth was particularly notable. To suggest that those at the table were so barbaric that a literal rug was needed to absorb the dribbling food stains was a taunt as fine as it was appropriate.

Drunken attendees shuffled around the tables laden with covered plates.

Few bothered with embarrassment as hands darted beneath the metal cloches, drawing forth slivers of cold meats, shrivelled fruits and boiled disappointment.

A lack of shame which echoed up and down this cavern.

With wine glasses in hand, men and women boasted cheeks as scarlet as their robes. Yet despite the monotony of the colour, not every garment was equal.

I noted the differences with a glance.

A hint of embroidery. A double-sewn cuff. A belt of leather.

Small bits of decoration hoping to highlight one’s lack of importance from the next.

Naturally, I knew none of them. Yet while I recognised no faces, I was all too familiar with the grating laughter. The boastful chatter. The glint of coins exchanging hands.

And most of all, the stench of ambition drawn from a well all here hoped to climb from–mostly upon the heads of each other.

I gasped at once.

These … These were not ordinary hoodlums.

They were nobility.

There could be no mistake. Whether it was my own or those halfway across the continent, all nobility wore a smile excavated from the same barrel of tar.

This … This was more than a simple dragon conspiracy.

I’d stumbled upon something with implications so far beyond what I should involve myself in that I could see the ocean levels rising from the tears of my diplomats!

A plot beyond the schemes of the dispossessed, but this land’s aristocracy!

And that … that was wonderful.

Why … here I thought I’d need to contend with an adversary with a minimum of guile! Yet anyone who made an error so grave as to entrust opening a peanut shell to nobility meant my presence was utterly surplus!

Even without me, they were destined to sabotage themselves!

“Oho … ohohoho! C-Coppelia! Do you see what I see?!”

Beside me, my loyal handmaiden looked up from a large buffet plate she’d requisitioned in the past five seconds. A few of those present wrinkled their noses at her lack of discretion.

I beamed with pride.

My, barely a day upon her return and she was already ruffling the feathers of her land’s nobility! I was an excellent tutor!

“Mmh?” Coppelia quickened the pace of her chewing, then loudly swallowed. A tut was directed her way. I was almost moved to tears. “What do you see? Because if it’s seasoning, you need to tell me where.”

I eyed the spread of … things gathered on her plate.

Whether they used to be alive or were currently wishing for their end, I had no idea. And given the way Coppelia was now ignoring her food, neither did she.

I shuddered.

“My apologies, I see no seasoning. But I see something even better. Your land’s nobility.”

Coppelia blinked.

Then, she gazed at the gathered assembly of miscreants.

“Eeehh … I dunno … I’m with the goblins on this one.”

“Whatever you’re thinking is not what I’m suggesting. No, what I’m saying is that you may rest at ease. The fears you hold regarding the wellbeing of your dragon will not come to pass. After all, anything involving even a smidgeon of the gentry is doomed to failure like a crème caramel without the caramel.”

Coppelia nodded, all the while nibbling on a macaron from her own pouch.

“Oh. You’re right. I feel a lot better now.”

I smiled brightly.

Indeed! I cared not how insistent Roland was that burned coffee paste was the same colour and had its own unique flavour profile. It was dire. And so was whatever dreadful scheme this was.

“This is a rare smidgeon of luck,” I said with a nod. “We can now proceed with a skip in our steps … provided that it leaves enough room to skip over the holes in the ground. Sadly, I must still take your homeland into account.”

“We’re not that bad.” Coppelia paused. “... Actually, nevermind.”

“Exactly. To be felled by a piano now would be an embarrassment my kingdom could never recover from. With that in mind, I suggest we proceed to whatever trials and tribulations await us with both caution and disdain. But mostly disdain.”

“Okie~”

Coppelia gave a lazy smile.

It wasn’t quite the frown I wanted … but disdain came in many forms. And against the litany of trapped corridors, bottomless pits and toppling cheese the schemers of Ouzelia would toss at me, casual disregard was also appropriate.

Thus, I wasted no time in leading the way.

Paying little attention to the affront against intrigue around me, I strolled past the gathering of schemers. A tiny whiff of home as I ignored all the dealings in the shadows of my father’s court.

Except this time, it wasn’t the kitchens which awaited my excursion from my bedroom.

It was a discreet wooden door waiting at the end of the cavern.

Dull enough to be mistaken for a servants’ entrance, I’d scoffed at enough brochures to know about the cost-saving ploys of mountain lairs. Where a vault door into the depths was unaffordable, simple trickery was used instead.

A surprise, then.

This one came with an additional level of deception.

A plaque to the side, its shininess clashing horrifically against the unvarnished door.

Inner Sanctum

The Bewitching Oracle

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

I rubbed my eyes.

Strangely, the words failed to change.

I peered around the door, searching for another sign pointing to where the corridors bristling with magic, arrows and acid pits could be found. There wasn’t any.

“... Coppelia, why does this door suggest we’ve already reached our destination?”

“I think because we have. Gosh. We barely made it.”

My loyal handmaiden giggled. I felt nothing but grief.

“0/10,” I declared without hesitation. “The worst trap I’ve ever seen. Whoever invented this desperately needs a stroll through Clarise’s observatory. Perhaps an exploding tile could trigger a flashback to a childhood where creativity still existed.”

Coppelia leaned forwards, squinting as she peered through a keyhole.

“Hmmmm … I’m not sure I can give this one a rating.”

“True, it’s certainly passed the point of ineligibility. This is an insult to what’s found even in brochures. Such a door needs to come at the climax of a weary and bloody excursion when all thoughts of caution are disregarded by the lure of an ending. Which amateur puts this right at the beginning?”

Coppelia leaned back. She tapped her heel against the ground, then peered high into the ceiling.

“Actually, I think this might just be a door.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t think it’s trapped. There’s no lesions for any falling objects or parting surfaces. I’m not getting any magic from the door itself and there’s definitely something wider than a trapped corridor beyond. A big room with someone inside.”

Demonstrating a subtlety to match my own, Coppelia flicked at the door.

Nothing exploded.

“... Congratulations!” she said with a beam. “I think this might be it! Your journey in Ouzelia is almost over~”

I shook my head at once.

“This can’t be it, Coppelia. This is never it.”

“True, there’s probably something that will eat you with tiny little teeth on the other side. But you’re also due some luck. Ouzelia is about give and take”

“In that case, I only expect to be given a catapulted fruit slime. Little else can match the quality of such a low-grade trap.”

Thus–with all the lack of regard it deserved, I stepped back only slightly as Coppelia prodded the door open.

Creaaak.

Not even a semblance of resistance.

Despite the presence of a keyhole, it wasn’t even locked. I waited as the door swung open, hoping against hope. And yet despite the noise Coppelia was generously adding to by closing and opening the door again, no rush of guards came to greet us.

All I saw instead was the sight of an altogether different cavern.

The roughly hewn walls still remained, but this one came elevated with matching tiles, fluted pillars, a stone altar and even the faint rays of dusk seeping through cracks in the wall like light through a stained window.

It was almost akin to a temple. One where the greatest feature was the ability to wash the masses which came to seek wisdom here.

A shallow pool made up the centre of the room.

However, despite being wide enough to host the drunkards in the main cavern, it was instead occupied by a single user.

A woman sitting upon the top of the steps leading into the basin.

I knew at once she was as comely a maiden as my knights could stop to harass.

Long lashes, soft features, kind eyes and a demure expression to match her robes. Hers were even simpler than her followers. They were brown like the pilgrims which clogged up the street outside Reitzlake Cathedral, but devoid of the mud which also caked them.

For a moment, she did nothing, instead allowing her bare feet to soak within the waters. Then, as she twisted a braid of scarlet hair, she finally looked up and smiled.

“Welcome to my meeting room,” said the Bewitching Oracle, her voice light and sociable, as though she were inviting us to a table in a tavern. “Please come inside. Would you like to take a seat?”

She gestured at the stone steps beside her.

I ignored the invitation as I slowly stepped inside, waiting instead for the click to hail the coming volley of acid arrows. Still, nothing came.

“Are you the Bewitching Oracle?” I queried while expertly poking the tiles before me.

“I am, indeed.”

“The leader of this cult?”

“Yes.”

“The one who stole a dragon?”

“So it is said.”

I nodded. And then I prodded at a potted fern on a stand. Coppelia’s diligence went even further as she picked up a small vase and studied its value.

“Why isn’t anything exploding?” I asked, daring to tempt fate. “And for what reason are you here and not at the end of a long and winding maze?”

“Well, I suppose the answer to both is practicality.”

“You’ve a bespoke trap?”

“No. This isn’t a trap.”

“I don’t understand.”

“This is neither a trap nor a maze. I think it’d be rather tiresome if it took an odyssey just to meet with me. I pride myself on being personable, so there’s no need to go through any needless trials. My door is just a short walk from the entrance outside.”

She offered a smile bereft of deceit.

I retreated a step, more appalled than by any amount of nobility she had gathered.

“Surely … Surely you jest?”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you claiming that not only are none of the decorations set to explode, but that this is the full extent of your mountain? A mountain. Why have a mountain if not to make financially extravagant use of the space?”

“Because mountains are cozy. And also very hard to dig through.”

I was stunned.

Why … I expected little and received less … but this?

“Outrageous. What sort of bottom-tier, throwaway side distraction are you to not even possess a falling piano? Do you know where you are?”

“Yes. My inner sanctum. Also my meeting room. Falling pianos are very dangerous. I wouldn’t want any needless injuries while I’m working.”

“Where are your guards? Your private army of hirelings?”

“I don’t have any.”

“I saw goons outside wielding cudgels.”

“Those are not weapons. They are tools to help grind the incense powder I use for my candles. Everyone likes to help, so everyone receives one.”

I threw up my arms in exasperation.

“You have a responsibility! If you’re going to form a cult and steal a dragon you need to follow through with every part! This half-heartedness is a disgrace! Do you have any notion of how much I’ve been inconvenienced to be here?”

The scarlet haired maiden gave a smile.

“Responsibility is rarely a thing monopolised by one,” she said with a hint of amusement. “For we are all entangled by the vines of this world. The dew sings while the songbird withers. Nothing taken is given, and nothing given is taken.”

I jabbed my finger towards her.

“Do not reply with vague words while pretending they make sense! And that last bit is literally just the same sentence repeated in reverse! … Where is the dragon?! I have a very busy schedule, and every item on the agenda is to return home!”

The Bewitching Oracle laughed. A tinkling sound which rang as much within this sanctum as it did within my very head.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her tone laced with appalling over-familiarity. “It’s hard to break from my role. But I hope to now finally see that chance come true. I’ve been waiting for you. And I believe we’ve much to offer each other. So please, take a seat. I highly advise it.”

“I shall remain standing. I don’t intend to stay, not least for unsolicited advice.”

“Ah? But mine is excellent. And I’ve so much to offer for a princess from afar.”

My response was lost to Coppelia’s audible hum.

No longer busying herself by valuing the items to be used as initial compensation for my time, she was instead studying the smiling maiden as she would a new breed of hoodlum.

“Yup~ something about her isn’t right.”

“Well, that much is obvious. To not even have a single corrosive geyser hiding at the bottom of this water basin is obscene. At what point does she intend to douse us with a spray of acid?”

Coppelia leaned forwards slightly. Her eyes squinted slightly.

“Actually, I don't think she can.”

Without offering an explanation, she promptly lifted up a silver vase. She thought about it for a moment, then put it down and picked up a brass one instead.

And just like that–she casually lobbed it towards the sitting woman.

Pwish.

Only to see it pass through and into the basin.

An illusion.

“Ooooh~ that’s a really unique one!” said Coppelia with a nod of appreciation. “Not a trace of magic whatsoever! And not even because it’s being hidden!”

I regarded the smiling visage with curiosity.

“How odd. She appears exceptionally lifelike. I can even smell the incense from her.”

“Yeah. That’s because this illusion is special. It doesn’t actually exist.”

“I fail to understand. Isn’t that the nature of illusions?”

“No, what I mean is that this illusion really doesn't exist. I think it’s being projected directly into our heads. That’s why she’s so real.”

I had nothing but bewilderment. And also slight concern. My head was sacred. Answers to questions that my tutors claimed were wrong were held in there, such was the amount of layers in my mind.

“Directly into our heads? Who can even do that?”

Pwip. Pwip. Pwip.

A moment later, the sound of falling liquid answered.

I turned to see a wet pool already on the floor … and then the dribbling which caused it.

Descending from the ceiling, the great frame of a bulbous horror floated down.

An amalgamation of nightmare and shadows.

A dozen tendrils crawled like the hair of a medusa, surrounding a giant lidless eye as scarlet as the hair of the woman who had now vanished into the abyss.

For that is where this creature had come from.

As its grotesque tongue flopped beyond twin rows of countless fangs, its pulsing iris jerked a thousand times in a single moment. I sensed with a shiver as every inch of us was appraised, before the horror broke into a twisted impression of a smile.

Bwam.

The door to the sanctum slammed shut to an invisible hand.

I hummed for a moment.

And then–I nodded in satisfaction.

“Very well. I withdraw my criticisms.”