The forest was ancient, older than even Skalavestrix could remember, and he had walked the earth long before the first kingdoms had risen from the dust. It smelled of damp earth and decay, every shadow seeming to hide secrets that whispered faintly as the dragon made his way through the gnarled trees. His scaled form moved with grace, though he kept his wings folded tightly against his back to avoid the thick, twisting branches.

Above him, the dense canopy blocked most of the sunlight, allowing only thin beams to penetrate and dance on the moss-covered ground. The air was heavy with the scent of herbs and something more elusive—something sharp, metallic, and faintly reminiscent of blood. He could feel the pulse of old magic here, a thrumming undercurrent that tugged at the edges of his awareness, guiding him toward his destination.

Ahead, the infamous chicken-legged hut of Baba Yaga came into view. It stood in a clearing, perched atop its spindly legs, its crooked roof sagging under the weight of centuries. The legs twitched and scratched at the ground as though impatient, the entire structure alive with restless energy. Strings of bones, feathers, and trinkets hung from the eaves, clinking softly in the breeze like a macabre wind chime.

Skalavestrix stopped just at the edge of the clearing, his crimson eyes narrowing. He could feel the weight of powerful wards woven around the hut, layers upon layers of enchantments designed to deter, confuse, and, if needed, destroy intruders. It was impressive—craftsmanship that even he could respect, though he doubted it would have stopped him if he truly wished to force his way through.

But this was not a time for brute force.

The dragon exhaled a plume of smoke, steeling himself. His reasons for coming here were not ones he relished, but they were necessary. Baba Yaga’s recent meddling had unsettled the delicate balance of their ancient agreements, and it was his duty to understand her intentions.

He stepped into the clearing, the wards brushing against his presence like invisible hands. They recognized his power, acknowledging it but allowing him passage. The door of the hut creaked open before he could knock, and an all-too-familiar voice floated out.

“Come in, little monkey,” Baba Yaga called, her tone laced with amusement.

Skalavestrix froze. His claws dug into the soft earth as a ripple of irritation passed through him. He had taken great care to maintain this form, to bury the legacy of Sun Wukong beneath the scales and fire of the Flame-Scaled Sovereign. For her to address him so casually—and with such precise knowledge—was an insult he wasn’t sure he could ignore.

He stepped through the door, ducking his massive frame to avoid hitting his horns on the low doorway. Inside, the hut was impossibly large, the space bending to the whims of its mistress. Despite the fact that he was far larger than the outside of the hut, the inside had more than enough space for his gargantuan form. Shelves crammed with jars, books, and strange artifacts lined the walls, while a massive cauldron bubbled in the center of the room, filling the air with a pungent aroma.

Baba Yaga sat at a table carved from a single slab of dark wood, her skeletal frame swathed in layers of tattered fabric. Her eyes, sharp and dark, twinkled with mischief as she regarded her visitor.

“Skalavestrix,” she said with a sly grin, her fingers drumming lightly on the table. “Or should I call you by your other name? It’s been so long since I’ve had the pleasure of a visit from the great Monkey King.”

“You will call me Skalavestrix,” the dragon growled, his voice low and rumbling. “I left that name behind long ago.”

Baba Yaga laughed, a raspy sound that filled the room and seemed to echo unnaturally. “Oh, you may have shed the name, but the spirit remains. No amount of scales or fire will hide that from me, little monkey.”

Skalavestrix ignored the jab, though his tail lashed behind him, betraying his annoyance. “I did not come here to discuss the past,” he said. “I came to understand your actions. Why have you taken one of my champion’s companions as your disciple? You know the restrictions we are bound by concerning mortals.”

The witch’s grin widened, and she leaned back in her chair, the bones on her necklace clinking softly. “Ah, so that’s why you’ve graced me with your presence. You’re here about her.”

“You know the rules, Old Irontooth,” Skalavestrix said, his tone hardening. “We are forbidden from interfering too directly in the lives of mortals. Choosing a disciple among them skirts dangerously close to breaking our accords.”

Baba Yaga raised an eyebrow, her expression shifting to one of mock innocence. “And yet here you are, meddling in the affairs of mortals yourself. Sending champions, forging destinies, bending the threads of fate to suit your whims. Tell me, Sun Wukong—how is that any different from what I’ve done?”

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“I do not seek to make them mine,” Skalavestrix snapped. “I guide them, but their choices remain their own. You, on the other hand, have taken one under your wing, bound them to your will.”

The witch chuckled again, a dry, rasping sound. “Oh, you overestimate my influence. I’ve done nothing of the sort. She came to me of her own accord, seeking knowledge and power. I merely opened the door.”

“And what door is that?” Skalavestrix demanded. “What price have you extracted from her in exchange for this... mentorship?”

Baba Yaga’s grin softened into a knowing smile. “You wound me, dragon. Do you think me so cruel as to exploit a young mortal’s desperation?”

“Yes,” Skalavestrix said bluntly.

The witch cackled, clearly delighted by his response. “Fair enough,” she admitted. “But in this case, I assure you, her choices are her own. I simply saw potential in her—potential that even you overlooked.”

Skalavestrix’s eyes narrowed. “Potential for what?”

Baba Yaga leaned forward, her dark eyes gleaming. “To change the world, of course. The same reason you chose her champion. You see, for all your wisdom, you still underestimate mortals. They may be fragile, fleeting creatures, but their spirits burn brighter than even the stars. And her spirit...” She trailed off, her smile growing. “Well, let’s just say it caught my attention.”

The old Witch leaned back in her chair, her bony fingers tracing the edge of her mug, where some steaming, unidentifiable brew swirled in eerie patterns. Her sharp eyes flickered with mischief, but there was a weight behind her gaze now—a depth that reminded Skalavestrix she was no mere trickster.

“And speaking of spirits,” she continued, her voice soft but cutting, “what of your champion? Jack, is it? Quite the interesting mortal, that one. Brave, resourceful... but oh, the secrets you’ve kept from him.”

The dragon stiffened, the faint glow of his scales pulsing with irritation.

“I have kept nothing from him that he did not choose to forgo,” he replied, his voice even but carrying an edge of warning.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that you had your reasons,” Baba Yaga said, her grin growing. “But let’s not pretend your hands are entirely clean, shall we? Blocking his memories, leaving him that little crystal... You might as well have tied a ribbon around a locked box and said, ‘Here, open me at your own peril.’”

Her words hung in the air, as sharp and cold as the steel of a blade. Skalavestrix’s tail flicked behind him, the only outward sign of his rising frustration.

“He consented,” the dragon said firmly. “He made the choice willingly, knowing what was at stake. I offered him paths—several, in fact—and the memory crystal was but one. It was his decision to take the harder road, to embrace the challenges before him without the burden of what came before.”

“And yet, you guided him down that road, didn’t you?” Baba Yaga said, her tone light but her gaze piercing. “You knew he’d choose the crystal. You nudged him toward it, as you always do with your champions. How convenient that the path you preferred was the one he thought was his idea.”

“I gave him freedom,” Skalavestrix said, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. “He could have walked away from the crystal, from the path entirely, and lived out a different life. That was his right. But Jack—” He paused, exhaling a plume of smoke as if to steady himself. “Jack chose to shoulder the burden. That is his strength.”

“Or perhaps his folly,” Baba Yaga said, her voice soft but biting. “You speak of freedom, yet you weave such intricate webs around your champions that they’d never know they were ensnared. How much of their ‘choices’ are truly their own, Flame-Scaled Sovereign? Or should I call you by your older name, Sun Wukong? You were always so fond of your games.”

“Enough.” Skalavestrix’s voice was sharp, his eyes narrowing into slits. The room seemed to darken, the air growing heavy with his presence. “You claim to see all, Baba Yaga, but you misjudge me. My Champions choices are his own. His path is his to walk. My role is to protect the Realm, not to dictate their fates.”

“And yet,” the witch said, unbothered by his rising anger, “here you are, in my little hut, questioning my choices while defending your own manipulations. Tell me, does it ever get tiring, pretending to be above it all?”

Skalavestrix straightened, his massive form towering over her, his golden eyes burning with a fierce light. “Do not mistake me for one of your pawns, Baba. I have not come to justify myself to you. I came to remind you of the laws we both swore to uphold.”

Baba Yaga’s grin faded, and for the first time, her expression grew serious. She set her mug down, the sound of its base tapping against the table echoing unnaturally loud in the room.

“You tread a fine line, old friend,” she said, her voice low and cold. “Just as I do. But do not forget—we play this game for the same reason. The mortals may be fleeting, but their fire fuels the very balance you claim to protect. And sometimes, that fire needs to burn a little brighter, even if it risks consuming them.”

For a long moment, neither spoke, the silence between them thick with tension. Finally, Skalavestrix broke the stillness, his tone measured but firm.

“Do not let your flames burn out of control, Baba Yaga,” he warned. “You may think yourself above the consequences, but the balance always demands payment.”

Baba Yaga leaned back with a smirk, her sharp teeth gleaming in the dim light. “And you, little monkey, would do well to remember that sometimes, even the best-laid plans can unravel when the threads are pulled too tight.”

With that, Skalavestrix turned and strode toward the door. As he reached the threshold, Baba Yaga’s voice followed him, soft but unmistakably pointed.

“Give my regards to your champion,” she said. “And tell him... not every secret needs unlocking. Some doors are better left closed.”

He paused, his claws gripping the doorframe, but he did not look back. Without another word, he stepped into the forest, the door creaking shut behind him.

The shadows of the ancient woods seemed deeper now, the path ahead shrouded in uncertainty. Skalavestrix moved with purpose, but his mind churned. Baba Yaga’s words, as maddening as they were, carried a sliver of truth.

Perhaps Jack’s choices were his own. But the weight of those choices—and the consequences that followed—were a burden they both would have to bear.