It was dark at the bottom of the lake.

A millennium’s worth of undisturbed mud and flora sulked on the bed while long tendrils of weed and rush snaked out from the silt. They perpetually swayed, grasping out into the watery void. The overgrowth shielded a cluster of plant life, a contortion of weed pressed firmly into the mud at their base, suppressed into chaos over one thousand years.

But nothing is permanent.

A sound bubbled into existence—muted at first but grew stronger. It began as a whine and intensified into a shrill whistle. The single note grew, becoming a great blare as though from a hunter’s horn. Even the few fish that rested above the clutch of growth scattered. Miles away on the shore, a staunch, hooded figure snapped his gaze to the water’s surface.

The bundle of grasses and weeds trembled, and the dank water around it bubbled. The cluster began to twist as sections of the plant parcel loosened and fell. The single note radiated from it, piercing the water and shaking loose the silt and flora. As the weeds receded, a thin, sun-starved hand emerged and began to rip at its muddy bonds. More reaching fingers appeared, laboring to remove the obstacle. Tearing away tendril after tendril, the hands finally freed themselves and grasped either side of the opening they created. They pushed.

With a great heave, the cocoon was shattered, and a long, thin shape slid quietly out. It shot upward, straight and true towards the surface of the lake.

With a small splash, the shape broke the calm waters, and the cool grey light of a misty morning met its flesh.

The creature’s face was long and amphibious. Two glassy blue eyes blinked above a tapered nose as a thin-lipped mouth sucked in a lungful of air. Long, dark hair flashed into an arc, slapping the water as the being threw its head back.

The whistled peal had ended, and the area around the loch was quiet. The creature punctured the silence with a rattling cough. Over and over, he urgently and desperately cleared his throat, never quite able to catch his breath. Almost a full minute passed; the whole while the creature coughed and gargled, the only sound in an otherwise placid landscape.

“SHIT!” he shouted, punctuating the end of the coughing fit. He took another deep breath and surveyed his surroundings through teary, bulbous eyes.

The loch stretched roughly eight miles from shore to shore, dropped shallowly into a ring of mountains. Rich green grass showed iridescent in the grey morning, crawling up the slope of the valley. Far off on the western shore, the creature could see a humanoid shape staring at him.

With a sigh, he slid smoothly through the silver water towards the figure, his blueish body silently slicing through the loch's sheen surface. He reached the shore and emerged, his gaunt frame almost comically atrophied. He shook the lake water from his scales.

The figure on the shore approached.

The hem of his tattered brown robe brushed the shore as he moved toward the creature. Under a canopy of knotted and ratty hair, a tangled gray beard spilled out from the ragged hood. A pair of glittering silver eyes peered out. An ornately crafted emerald pendant hung from a chain over his chest. Carved into the emerald was a carefully fashioned tree, the roots spilling out in many directions.

The hooded figure chuckled.

“Why didn’t you transform, Wanjeon? Isn't that what lochan are supposed to do in the water?”

Wanjeon scoffed and straightened to his full six feet, just a little taller than his companion. He flexed his neck from side to side. It cracked audibly.

“No, you old idiot. You’re thinking of Selkies. Even then, it’s an option. Not a necessity.” He furrowed his brow and peered at the emerald necklace.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Still wearing that, eh?” Wanjeon asked shaking his head. “You’re like a crow—you found something shiny and now you’re holding on to it forever.”

The bearded man shrugged.

“I like having stuff. We can’t all have your… wealth of belongings.” He gestured to the naked lochan and rolled his eyes.

“Did you want to cover your mangled shame? I’ve still got some common clothes you can wear.”

Wanjeon looked down at himself.

“I don’t see the issue,” he said.

However, he accepted the raiments the bearded man tossed to him anyway. The action caused a transparent display to ignite in the air in front of Wanjeon and he quickly swiped the prompt away. Instantly, common clothes appeared over the creature’s bare scales to the bearded man's visible ease and the two of them set off along the shore.

“So, Wanjeon,” the bearded man said, slapping the lochan on the back, “how’ve you been?”

“Cold. Hungry. Ill-humored.”

The bearded man chuckled again. “I see a couple of things haven’t changed. Do you still like fried boar?” The lochan shot a sharp look at him and the bearded man sighed.

“Korr, why am I awake? You know all I wanted was to be left alone for the rest of forever. I just want to forget about what we are and that—“

“Yes, I know,” Korr interjected. “But something is different. I wouldn't have interrupted your nap otherwise.”

“I’m sure you and your followers can handle it. I don’t see why I should be dragged back from the depths of my sleep for some Quest,” Wanjeon gestured to the silent shoreline. Then he turned to look at their surroundings. “Everything looks the same.”

“The Guild of Vagrants is dead,” Korr said soberly.

Wanjeon threw his hands up and turned back toward the loch.

“That’s quite unfortunate. Perhaps when they are revived they can have another go? I don’t have the time or the care to go adventuring just because someone knocked off the guild…” He paused, considering. “I wonder if I can still get back into the dream I left? It was a particularly decent one. I was back on—“

"Wanjeon." A grave sharpness had replaced Korr's mirth. Wanjeon turned, scowling. Korr had quiet tears streaming down his face and when he spoke again, his voice was broken and raw.

“They are dead. Actually dead this time. Not even a Droplet left behind.” His shoulders slumped.

“What do you mean?” Wanjeon strode quickly across the sand and grasped Korr’s arms, “that’s impossible, Korr. Have you been so far removed from our reality that you’d forgotten?”

“I know what I’m saying. I know it’s supposed to be impossible. This thing, Wanjeon…” he trailed off, staring over the loch into some unseen void of horror. Wanjeon let go of his companion and took a step back. He wasn’t used to this version of his old friend. This Korr had transformed. He cowered. It was so unlike his old self.

After a moment, Korr cleared his throat and spoke again, his voice stronger this time. Wanjeon watched as anger replaced his fear.

“As I said, this is something different. We didn’t have a chance. Even Ezek couldn’t touch it. It hit him once. Once, Wanjeon. That was it. When he fell, I thought for sure I’d see him spring up again, cocky and beautiful and spitting off with some clever remark or another, but he didn’t. He laid there and this power consumed him, and he was gone.”

Korr drew a deep breath.

“One hit…”

Wanjeon glowered. If what Korr said was true, something about the world was very different indeed.

“What was it? An ifrean? A dragon?”

“A dryad,” Korr said, still staring into space.

“A dryad? What sort of dryad could develop that kind of ability?”

“Like I said, it’s something different.”

Wanjeon thought for a moment.

“Well, I suppose that does change things.” He opened his hand and flicked his fingers through the air. A circular display floated above his fingertips. It was transparent, with an array of different options gathered around its edges giving off a faint glow. Wanjeon selected the central hub and turned his whole hand clockwise. The hub dial spun slowly and he selected a single button. A satchel instantly materialized around his shoulder and at his waist.

“Who else do we need? Gulliber?” he asked, snapping Korr back to action, but the human somberly shook his head.

“The dryad took him too.”

“Fuck,” Wanjeon said, contemplating. “Crake?”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“Alright. Last I knew, he was in Caraig Abhainn.”

“Then let’s head that way,” Korr said, opening his own Menu.

“First,” Wanjeon said, looking down at himself, “if we are doing this, we need to do it properly. I’m a bit…light at the moment.”

Korr half-heartedly chuckled and let go of the highlighted button in front of him. He backed up his choice on the hub screen and highlighted a different option.

“Shopping?” he asked.

“Shopping,” Wanjeon confirmed.

Korr snorted and selected the new choice, and the two figures vanished.