This is... a memory? I swivel my head around to get a better look at the familiar spot. I’m standing in an aquarium—the same one from my picture frame that broke. Just like in the picture, the world around me seems frozen in time, the people like mannequins, their expressions stuck in wonder.

The exhibit my family and I are standing in front of was my favorite one, The Black Sea Nettle. I remember being so enthralled at how they changed color, only to find out later that it was lights inside the tank coloring the jellyfish. I smile a bit at that, touching the cold glass.

Seeing my family in this state feels a bit uncomfortable, and I poke at them a little as I ponder my circumstance. Am I dreaming? I don’t remember what was happening right before this, so it can’t be real. Well, I suppose the frozen world is more of a real-life indicator than my porous, at best, memory.

It feels a bit weird to be a dream, as well. I suppose I don’t remember enough of my dreams to say that confidently, but aren't they supposed to be kind of vague on details? I can see the individual stitches of my brother's shoulder bag and a keychain that I don’t remember noticing the last time he wore it. Maybe it was a gift from someone he was seeing? He can be kind of a loser when he’s infatuated.

I look up from the bag and make eye contact with Victor, whose head has turned to the right to stare at me. I freeze, feeling like I’m in danger, whether this is a dream or not.

“...Victor?” I ask, starting to smell something rancid.

“How should I know? You’re the one in my dream.” He responds, his voice identical to my brother's but the tone being far harsher. I take a half-step back, but my instincts scream at me to stay where I am, so I stop moving.

“I’m sorry if I intruded on your dream; would you like me to leave?” I ask, praying it lets me go.

“No, it’s quite alright. I doubt you’d know how to leave if you wanted to.”

He turns his head to look at the jellyfish, and I feel my legs stop quaking, the pressure nearly gone. “Can I ask who you are? Or why your dream involves my family at an aquarium?” I say, fearing the answer to both.

“I am… A fragment of a fragment. No name suits me, and I shall not have one. As for the dream... Tell me, have you ever experienced watching a television, only for someone to sit next to you and change the channel? You have changed my channel.”

His voice doesn’t sound angry; in fact, he almost sounds pleased that someone “changed his channel.” I’m not sure I wanted the interest of whatever he is, pleasant or not.

“I apologize for that; would you mind telling me how to wake up? I don’t want to impose.”

“I said that it was quite alright.” His voice echoes through me, pain wracking my body as my very bones vibrate. “You have piqued my interest, dreamer. I shall grant you a boon.”

I try not to cry out; the pain subsiding quickly. A boon? From whom, or maybe what? Accepting anything from this creature seemed unwise, but offending him would be even worse. Is this just a trap? Do I lose regardless of what I pick?

“I would be honored.” I say, possibly the least honored I’ve ever been.

“You’re quite the clever creature, aren’t you?” It says patronizingly, but means every word. “A boon from me might be a curse from your perspective, yet if you don’t accept my boon, you risk the possibility of incurring my wrath. Aren’t social dilemmas so intriguing? All we’re doing is talking, yet you’ve become completely entrapped, as if I’d threatened you with violence.”

A bit of fury takes hold within my heart at its blasé attitude, but I force myself to calmness before I lose my head. I’m being treated like an animal, but thats because to it; I likely am. If I’m going to survive through this, I have to appeal to it as what it considers me: entertainment.

“Would you accept silence as an answer?” I say, betting my life on the fact that it will either agree or be amused enough to let me live.

“Clever, but no. I will make this both easier, and more difficult for you. You may choose your boon. I, however, will attempt to turn any boon you ask for into a curse.”

My heart sinks; I'm no better off than before, really. Instead of a yes or no, where either side could be tragic, I’m now forced to compete wits with something beyond my comprehension. I could ask for something truly minor and just accept the curse that comes with it… but no, I need to impress it; I’m only alive because it's been amused so far.

“If I am to ask for a boon, then I request that you pick one for me that would benefit me the most in my current state outside of this dream.”

I wince as I say it, certain it’ll find a way to twist my words into something wretched. But I had a feeling the question had a timer, too, and this is all I could manage within that.

“Hmm. A bit stale, but adequate.” It mumbles after a moment, rubbing my brother's chin. “I will grant you this boon, little Vanguard. Pray you survive it upon waking.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

With that, it walks up to me and places my brother's palm upon my forehead. I feel something flow into me as I get a front-row seat to the jellyfish exhibit shattering behind him and flooding over us before everything goes black.

—

Cold, piercing agony rips through me as I return to consciousness. I try to scratch at the insects it feels like are chewing at my bones, but my entire body is bound tightly. My lips separate to scream, but my teeth clench to the point of groaning, unable to open. Helplessness embraces me, instinct taking control as my thoughts are reduced to a dull buzz beneath the pain.

“Her vitals are stabilizing! Don’t stop!” Someone yells, but I can’t comprehend it.

The gnawing moves on from my bones; my muscles and flesh now rent between millions of phantom teeth. I can do nothing but whimper, praying for release.

“It’s indicating a pulse of cthonic energy; everyone stand clear!” The voice is different this time—more masculine, perhaps?

The pain starts to fade slightly but is immediately replaced by a nauseating sort of static beneath my skin. The static increases, with pressure forming all around my body, like the feeling after drinking soda too fast, but everywhere. My body begins to panic further, the pressure not abating at all, something needing to get out of me. I scramble to twitch my muscles, desperately looking for a way to release it before I explode.

I feel it; something ethereal in me catches on the trigger, and I yank with all the strength I can muster.

Euphoria rushes through me, the pain and pressure a distant memory as a pleasure like no other dances up my spine. I forget where I am until a crack echoes out from my confines, a jagged line of light lancing in and stabbing at my eyes.

“Hnnng?” I groan, reaching toward the crack.

My hand brushes against it, and it flakes off like ash; the material barely held together. Pushing at it harder, whole sections of it crumble off into dust, revealing the room to me once again. Catherine kneels next to me, her arms wrapped around the egg-shaped ball of ash I’m sitting in. Her arms have jagged burns running up them like she caught a bolt of lightning, and her hair and face are a mess, mascara trailing down her cheeks.

She looks as surprised to see me as I am to see her, and I throw my arms around her neck. Tears are falling before I even know what’s happening, leaving Catherine's shirt peppered with wet dots.

“IthoughtIwasgonnadieee” I wail into her shoulder, “Ihadtoacceptaboooon.”

There, there, we can talk about it once we get you checked out.” She replies, patting my back awkwardly. “I’m glad you’re okay, Brooke.”

She helps me out of the ovoid of ash stuff—it feels like little shards of plastic—and guides me to another cloud bed they added to the room. At this point I can’t avoid looking at the rest of me, and I’m shocked to find that I’m in a shiny black dress. On its own, waking up in a strange, slick black dress would be concerning. Even more concerning, however, is where my favorite jeans and live, laugh, eat trash shirt are.

“Are my—cough—clothes okay?” I ask one of the assistants checking my vitals.

She stammers for a moment, giving away some of the nervousness her mask hides.

“I apologize, Vanguard; we do not know. This is the first procedure of its kind.”

I deflate a little, sad at the idea of losing the jeans my mom and I worked on.

“With most Vanguard, ending their ascendant form returns their clothes to them. Problem is, this was far from a normal Ascension, so all standard protocol is out the window.” Catherine calls from where she’s dipping her arms in a solution, the burns seemingly washing away. She pulls them out, and the liquid flows off of her as if her skin were hydrophobic. “If I had to guess, though, they’re fine, and you’ll be wearing them when we’re done here.”

I lay back at that, too exhausted to have even had that conversation, but relieved that I did. Roosevelt materializes and begins fretting over me, his concern palpable through our link. I swing my aching arms around him and pull him to my chest, his mental sputtering drawing a chuckle-cough from me.

“I’m so pleased that you are safe, Vangua —no, Brooke. About halfway through your ascension, I lost control of the contract, and it began writing itself. It spread throughout your entire body, and I’m not familiar with these runes. Some of them aren’t even written on this plane of existence!”

I pet his mantle, trying to sooth him as I briefly tell him we can talk about it later and that it shouldn’t be dangerous. He still seems concerned, but relaxes his tentacles against me.

The next two hours go by quietly, the three assistants running more tests to ensure my contract wasn’t degrading or anything else life-threatening. I got to see Revision pop his head in a few times before he got shooed back out of the room. The humor of a seven-foot-tall set of armor nervously checking in to see if I was okay doing a good bit to improve my mood.

“I had to accept a boon. I’m not sure if it was to my benefit or not, though.” I say, giving Catherine and Roosevelt the details of my dream.

“Honestly? That could have been any number of Great Ones; our interactions at this point are nearly nonexistent, so we don’t have much data on them.” Catherine says, sending a final pulse of healing through me.

“While it could be any number of Great Ones, based on the complexity it added to our contract, I can only assume it to be one of the Great Old Ones instead. The sort of mind required to write runes in multiple dimensions at once would be beyond something as simple as a god.” Roosevelt tacks on to her statement, and I’m almost glad I don’t have the information necessary to understand. Even the phrase "as simple as a god" makes me grimace.

“Hopefully it liked your answer enough that the only effect its boon had was changing your ascension so you’d survive, but we’ll monitor you for any changes. Until then, you feeling up to seeing your ascendant form?” Catherine asks me.

I grunt as I sit up; the pain dulled down to an after-workout burn but still present. “Yeah, I think I can manage.”

She grins as she helps pull me to my feet, clearly having been waiting for this moment.

“I think you’ll love it, though I’m curious about the theme,” her grin turning predatory.

“Don’t say it like that. Why would you say it like that?” She grabs my shoulders, turning me towards the wall-length mirror that wasn’t there a moment ago. Pursing my lips, I ponder scornfully:

“Why did it have to be jellyfish?”