"Banish me from my own home that I've been tenderly nurturing for three long decades," caretaker Argonaviss rumbled as he shoved his worldly possessions into a bag that seemed to defy the very laws of space by being bottomless. "Bloody upstart adventurer, thinks he can sniff out dungeon cores like a hound."

Dave observed the irate old man. The ex-caretaker finished packing and departed into a magical gate that snapped shut behind him with the finality of a guillotine blade.

"Well, that went quite nicely," Cedez commented, her voice a purr of satisfaction. She stretched her dark paws, each adorned with silver pads.

"Yeah," Dave nodded, his eyes scanning the estate that now belonged to him. He could scarcely believe his luck, for they had managed to pull it off.

Thanks to their machinations, the owner of Rimzadria Estate had torn up the old contract that had threatened to make Dave pay a thousand and some silver for a broken chandelier. In its place, a new contract had been drafted, one that made Dave the sole leasee of a vast, somewhat overgrown garden, a small, cozy stone cottage, and an enormous, empty, abandoned mansion with a gravity-themed dungeon nestled deep within its ancient walls.

The garden the pair were sitting in, with its wild and untamed charm, tugged at Dave's heartstrings. The decayed memories of Archmage Alaster's childhood stirred within the ex-programmer.

"So, my lord," Cedez grinned, her silver-blue eyes sparkling like the stars in a moonlit sky. "What is your first order of business?"

"Uhh," Dave scratched his ginger beard, a thoughtful expression flitting across his face as he tried to gather his thoughts amidst the overwhelming reality of his new position. "Honestly, I didn't think I'd get this far."

"Ah, I see what your problem is," Cedez replied, the corners of her lips dancing with amusement. "You've underestimated your skillful secretary," she added, winking playfully.

Dave took a deep breath, the scent of his surroundings - the earthy aroma of the overgrown garden mingling with the musty air that clung to the nearby old mansion - filling his lungs. He finally arrived at a coherent thought.

"You said four words to the caretaker and Lord Nelvash that the bracelet didn't translate," he said, his voice tinged with curiosity. "What did they mean?"

"Oh, nothing special," Cedez said slyly, her tail swishing behind her like a silken banner. "It's just some Shadow-tongue. The bracelet does not translate it because it's encrypted by shadow magic."

"Shadow tongue?"

"The language of her Divine Shadow," Cedez said. "Granted to those ennobled by her Grace."

"Are you a highborn?" Dave blinked at his companion, trying to reconcile the seemingly incongruous aspects of her character.

"Good heavens no," she laughed. "I'm just a simple cafe maid."

"No, you're not! Quit screwing with me," Dave said. "You get off work way too easily, you know everyone in town, and you can make a high Lord of Shandria shut up and concede. Who are you, Cedez?"

"Let's not ruin our little game," the foxgirl demurred.

"I thought we were friends," Dave said as he gazed into the depths of Cedez's silver-blue eyes, seeking the truth that she seemed so reluctant to reveal.

"I'm friends with everyone," Cedez shrugged, wiggling her feet and avoiding his inquisitive gaze. "Look, you're very cute, but not cute enough for me to tell you everything about everything right now. That kind of knowledge has a price."

"What kind of a price?" Dave arched a ginger eyebrow.

"One that you haven't paid yet," she shrugged cryptically, her voice a melodic sigh that seemed to resonate with the rustling leaves of the overgrown garden surrounding them.

"Well then, I'm going to assume the worst," Dave crossed his arms.

"What is the worst? Do tell me of your wild imaginings," the dark foxgirl smiled softly, daring sparks dancing behind her eyes.

"Sherlock, help me out, use your deductive powers," Dave mentally appealed to his clandestine companion.

"No," the violin replied with a sharp, discordant note.

"What do you mean, no?!" Dave mentally gaped, incredulous at Sherlock's refusal. His ghostly assistant had never denied Dave an inquiry before. Had the world gone mad? Had Cedez somehow broken Sherlock with her enigmatic aura?

He cast a sidelong glance at the foxgirl, who was idly brushing her claws, seemingly unconcerned by the inner turmoil that was roiling within him. She stuck her tongue out at Dave, a teasing gesture that only served to heighten his sense of frustration.

"Sherlock, what the hell, you're making me look like an idiot," Dave snapped mentally, feeling a disconcerting sense of betrayal at being left to flounder in this moment of need.

"No guesses, hmmmm? I suppose you're more brawn than brains," Cedez teased, her laughter dancing through the air like the chimes of a distant bell.

"Sherlock, why would you do this?" Dave pleaded, his heart aching with a sense of betrayal as he sought answers from his ethereal companion.

In response, he heard a wry, amused melody that seemed to mock his confusion.

"Because if she is our Moriarty, it is better to make you seem like a simpleton," Sherlock replied finally.

Dave let out a deep sigh, the weight of his frustration dissipating ever so slightly.

"You got me," he said to Cedez, his voice resigned. "I'm a simple man. My best guess is that you're a highborn princess who's hiding in a mobile cafe you've bought because you don't want to be in an arranged marriage with an old Baron or something."

Cedez laughed heartily, so intense that tears formed at the corners of her eyes. "Good one," she managed to say between fits of giggles.

"Perfect," Sherlock's violin sang.

Dave crossed his arms. He couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment at his inability to uncover Cedez's true nature, but at the same time, he couldn't deny the warmth that her laughter had kindled within him.

"Okay, okay, I'm done," the foxgirl hiccuped, her laughter subsiding. Her big, blue eyes, still shimmering with the remnants of her mirth, met Dave's gaze, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

"Well, if you won't fess up about your backstory, at least tell me about yourself a bit more," Dave demanded fiercely, as if he were attempting to pry open a door that had been locked for centuries.

"I live in the Cambria Snail Cafe," Cedez replied. "I like my coffee extra dark, and I like my men tall and handsome."

Dave squinted at the girl, his eyes narrowing as he tried to discern if she was merely toying with him. It was exceedingly difficult to glean the truth from Cedez who seemed to be perpetually in a good mood, in stark contrast to Remicra, whose wide palette of emotions was as vivid and visible as the colors that adorned her scales.

"Any other poignant inquiries?" Cedez asked.

"Does Murdoc live in the Cafe too?" Dave asked.

"Naw, he's got a small cottage and grandkids in town," Cedez explained.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"How is there enough room in the snail shell for a snail, a kitchen, and a place for you to sleep?" Dave asked.

"It's an extradimensional space," Cedez explained. "A space-warping rune transforms one of the small hollows in the shell's surface into a cosy apartment."

"I see," Dave murmured. "How common is extradimensional magic?"

"It's all over town," Cedez said. "The park surrounding this estate is actually far larger than it should be, thanks to the same kind of runework."

"Can extradimensional magic be learned?" Dave inquired.

"Not really," Cedez replied, arching her back like a graceful willow bending beneath a gentle breeze, her eyes half-closed as she let out a languid yawn. "You have to be born with the talent for warping space. I know a few charming space mages if you're interested in making things bigger."

She wiggled her eyebrows in a conspiratorial manner, her expression filed with mischief.

Dave pondered her words. He imagined the possibilities that such a talent could unlock, the things that it could create, and the hidden depths that it could reveal. The air around him seemed to vibrate with untapped energy of new ideas for weapons and armor.

"What do you want for helping me today?" He asked after the contemplative pause.

"Nothing," Cedez replied.

"That sounds like a trap," Dave said, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

The dark vixen barked a laugh, the sound echoing throughout the park.

"Tell me the name of your skill," she implored.

"No," Dave crossed his arms, his brow furrowing as he steeled himself.

"I thought we were friends," Cedez teased, mimicking his earlier tone with a playful lilt.

"You're cute but not cute enough for such dark knowledge," Dave retorted.

"Can you really smell dungeon cores?" She purred.

"I can do lots of things," Dave replied, his tone guarded.

"Things like smelling dungeon cores like a necromancer?" Cedez purred, her eyes alight with intrigue. "I am starting to like you quite a bit. You're an unexpected treat in colorful bowl of candy that's Shandria. You don't fit in with the rest."

"I don't?" Dave blinked.

"It's like there's more than one person inside you," she mused, her gaze piercing through the veil of his carefully constructed facade.

"Nope," Dave lied. "Just me."

"Too bad," Cedez stretched, her lithe form elongating like the shadow of a tree at dusk. "I'll be back when you're ready to be honest with me."

Dave frowned as her dark tail, spotted with silver stars, swished through the air, the sight of her departure leaving him with a sense of irate disappointment.

He opened his mouth to confess, but was interrupted by a sharp note of denial from Sherlock.

"She's onto us," Sherlock's violin sang a haunting melody. "Do not tell her about me or phantomancy."

"She helped us a lot today," Dave thought, his loyalty to Cedez warring with the trust he'd placed in Sherlock.

"She is most likely our enemy," Sherlock replied, his words a stark warning that sent a shiver down Dave's spine. "She is not what she appears to be. She is exceptionally questionable. Do not let her get under your skin!"

"Fine," Dave thought as he watched Cedez disappear into the distance.

"If you want to Netflix and Chill with someone, go to Remicra," Sherlock stated very sternly. "Do not pull on the tail of one of the most dangerous creatures in Shandria!"

"What's so dangerous about Cedez?" Dave pondered as he traversed the cobblestone road back to the lighthouse smithy. The sun overhead began its slow descent around the edge of the black hole, casting a warm, golden glow upon the world, as if bidding a fond farewell to the day.

"She knows everyone," Sherlock replied, his voice a haunting refrain that seemed to resonate within the very depths of Dave's soul. "She can speak the tongue of high Lords of Shandria and yet she is working at the Snail Cafe as a maid. It's quite possible that she is something that we were pretending to be during our first escapade in town."

"She's an agent of the city watch?" Dave thought, his mind racing with possibilities.

"A guess as good as any," Sherlock replied.

"You can't deduce who she is?" Dave asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and curiosity, as if he were desperately trying to piece together a puzzle with missing fragments.

"No, I cannot," the detective admitted. "What I can tell you is that Cedez Astra is just a mask, a performance, a ruse used to fool the gullible into thinking that she's someone cute and unimportant."

As Dave continued his brisk walk across town, the setting sun painted the landscape in hues of gold and crimson. The air was thick with the scent of city life and the perfume of flowers. His heart, however, was heavy with the weight of the secrets that remained hidden beneath the mask of the dark foxgirl, a burden that he carried with every step, as the shadows around the city grew darker.

"I do find myself behaving somewhat less restrained around her," Dave sighed. "I originally thought it was because she's attractive, but now I'm beginning to suspect that she has some kind of a charisma skill that's making me fall for her smile. I'm glad that you are not affected."

"Yes," Sherlock replied. "It is possible that her charisma magic does not extend to me, considering that I am, in fact, a decayed memory held together by Phantomancy. My presence is not of a continuous mind, more like a flickering candle flame burning in the back of your mind. I'm observing the world not through your eyes but via dissection of your memory."

"Maybe that's why she's so concerned about necromancers?" Dave mused, his thoughts weaving together possibilities. "If an allure like hers has no effect on the dead, she can't charm them into obedience."

"That's an interesting inference," Sherlock agreed.

As the last vestiges of daylight were fading from the sky, surrendering to the encroaching embrace of night, Dave approached the lighthouse smithy. The world around him was bathed in the muted glow of twilight, shadows stretching out.

The lighthouse, once a skyship beacon, now loomed before him like an ancient sentinel guarding the secrets of the past. Its stone walls, weathered and worn by the passage of time, seemed to whisper the stories of those who had come before, their tales echoing on the stormy gale that danced around the structure.

As Dave entered the smithy, the warm light of the forge cast a flickering, golden glow upon the space, illuminating the myriad tools and weapons that adorned the walls. It was here, amidst the tangible reminders of the world's inherent chaos and danger, that he found Remicra.

Her usually vibrant scales were dulled, their luster diminished by a palpable sense of irate green tone that seemed to envelop her like a shroud. Her eyes, once alight with a fire that seemed to mirror the flames of the forge, now burned with a simmering anger, their depths swirling with a storm of emotions that threatened to consume her.

"Hey," Dave said cautiously, his voice a gentle inquiry as he sought to understand the storm of emotions that seemed to rage within Remicra.

The dragoness shot him an extremely hostile glare, her eyes burning with a ferocity that seemed to sear the air.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Remicra pressed a finger to her lips, orange and green shades dancing on her scales. After about thirty seconds she opened her mouth.

"Some bastard in town must have noticed that you were visiting the smithy too often and reported it to the Overseer for a few coppers. Princess came by this morning," Remicra said, her voice heavy with the weight of her frustration. "She sniffed out the magisteel arrowheads I was making for you."

"Did she take the arrows away?" Dave blinked, his heart skipping a beat at the thought of his carefully laid plans being thwarted by the sudden visit.

"No," Remicra signed, her clawed fingers moving with a fluid grace that belied her simmering anger. "I was able to convince her that the arrows I've already made were for a poor adventurer that gave me the shard of magisteel he found in the wilds to make him eleven arrowheads in exchange for me keeping the rest of the shard as payment. I got chided for not being able to trick the adventurer that the metal was worthless. The rest of the magisteel was taken away by Princess."

"Oh," Dave murmured, rubbing the back of his head, his expression a mixture of relief and guilt. He could only imagine the ordeal that Remicra had endured on his behalf.

"Take them," Remicra said. With a resigned look, she handed Dave a set of beautifully crafted magisteel arrows, their sleek, deadly forms testament to her skill. "You might be able to shoot one of the bastards if you're lucky."

"I should have given you a voicecast ring," Dave said. "I bought a whole bunch of them today."

"I wouldn't have accepted it, because Princess would have smelled and confiscated it," Remicra shook her head. "Besides, the ward of the lighthouse is set to prevent voicecast magic."

Dave frowned.

"I'm sorry," the blacksmith said, her voice tinged with sadness. "This was fun, but all fun things end…"

As she spoke, Dave felt a shiver run down his spine, the increasingly tense atmosphere casting a cold pall over the smithy.

He knew that their time together was inexorably drawing to a close, but he refused to let go of the camaraderie that had blossomed between them. The sun fully dipped behind the event horizon of Nihilim splashing the gloom of twilight onto the windows.

Remicra's gaze remained fixed on Dave, her eyes clouded with a sense of foreboding that seemed to weigh heavily upon her as red, pyramidal runes lit around the smithy.

"You won't be able to leave this place in one piece," she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper, as if she were imparting a secret too terrible to utter aloud. "I told you not to come back here so many times, why didn't you listen?"

Dave balked, his heart seizing within his chest.

"You were tracked by Chameleon to the door of the smithy," Remicra said, her voice tinged with regret. "He gated out just a moment ago."

"How do you know that?" Dave whispered, suddenly feeling like a little mouse trapped in an inescapable cage.

"I can smell the pulse of the thin, sharp magisteel blade on his belt. The invisible bastard has been stalking the smithy all day on and off, waiting for your arrival. I expect that the five will gate into this room in just a few minutes when the shadow fully descends from the ring of darkness wrapped around town. This is where you're going to die. It was nice knowing you, Dave."