A tiny, four-headed creature tip-toed its way through the castle's halls, darting from pillar to pillar as it worked its way around security. The castle was on high alert after Rubia's guards had finally realised that she had vanished, but the two invisibility spells applied to the hydra's body safeguarded it even from the sharpest prying eyes.

It skittered through the western wing, across the training ground, and into the castle's basement. Even with most of the guards searching for the missing princess, the lower level was crawling with soldiers, fighters placed to guard the dozens of storage facilities placed below grade. The treasury was accompanied by places for foodstuffs, artifacts, cleaning supplies, art pieces, and natural resources; everything from the castle's daily needs to the treasures the royals had slowly accumulated was present in the space.

Virillius' personal armoury was located in the newly constructed seventeenth wing. Four guards stood just outside the door, alarm bells in hand and at the ready. In reality, they were useless, and not just because one of the hydra's heads had magically squeezed their brains from afar and robbed them of their consciousness. The door's lock was further enhanced by a powerful artifact that would reject anyone not accompanied by Virillius himself. It was a countermeasure added in Claire's lifetime, made specifically because a certain giant-eared gremlin had loved stealing the key, sneaking into the armoury, and making a mess. Coincidentally, and entirely unrelatedly, Claire had always had a blast playing with all of her father's stuff.

The artifact worked by placing the whole room in stasis. It simply wasn't possible to access anything inside unless Virillius was among any entering parties, at least not in ordinary conditions. As one of the hydra's heads had previously learned, stasis was easily overcome, but she refrained from relying on her phantom blood. There was no point if only two of the four heads were capable of breaking through.

It was fortunate then that there was a simple workaround—another way to disable the mechanism.

One of the four heads pinched the artificial mana vein that hooked up the lock to one of the ley lines beneath the castle and cut off the source of power. Without a constant influx of magic to maintain its costly output, the device deactivated and left the room free to access.

There was still a traditional lock in the way, but a handful of vectors was all it took to rotate its disks into place. Two of the other heads extended excitedly while the spellcasting head took a back seat with an exasperated shake. The final head yawned whilst watching the others. Its eyes had been droopy throughout the journey, but they widened when the doors swung open.

The room beyond the locked door looked like it came straight out of a museum. Much like the other underground rooms, it was darkened, incapable of receiving the light that came from the sun, but it compensated for any such lack through the glowing display cases in which everything was kept.

Varied were the glass prisons that held Virillius' armaments. The furthest wall featured a single large cage that contained the many weapons he had handled over the years—or at least those with which he had returned from battle. Virillius was known, especially during his earlier years, for shattering every weapon he wielded and replacing it with whatever he happened to find. Even those that accompanied the tail end of his journeys were often damaged beyond the point of further use.

Most common among the collection were spears, halberds, and shieldlances, armaments that could benefit from the lance mastery for which he was famed. But so too were there swords, shields, gauntlets, hammers, axes and bows, proof that he could function outside of ideal conditions.

The most eye-catching weapons were not placed in the wall-mounted display, but exhibited in the room's center. One was a giant golden spear with a shaft as thick as a forearm. It was six meters long, with its massive green blade spanning nearly a third of its total. Named Dewdromn, it was a true divine relic that Vella had presented to the previous king. It was positioned opposite a curious object of a similar origin. Ostensibly, the second weapon was a shieldlance, though it barely looked the part.

As depicted by the many examples that sat atop the wall, the average shieldlance featured an almost-rectangular protector that covered everything from the elbow to the hand. From there, the metal narrowed to a point, over the course of two meters, as would a giant armblade. It was meant to be the sort of heavy weapon that only a centaur could wield; any tiny two-legged creature that made the attempt was sure to be thrown off balance. But the weapon that Vella had given Virillius appeared subject to no such restriction. The shield resembled a buckler, albeit with a webbed pattern in place of the usual bump. It barely covered half the forearm and its widest point was maybe a third what one could reasonably expect.

Likewise, the blades attached to it were thin and light. Coming in at a quarter of the length, they were quite literally Vella's claws—the glowing pink tips that adorned her mechanical legs. One could certainly argue that they were shaped like speartips, but lengthwise, they were closer to daggers or katars.

The hydra wandered over to the display, three of the four heads intrigued by the weapons. The spellcasting head was the only one that directed its focus elsewhere. It propped up the unconscious guards with its magic and shut the door after it entered the room. The last thing it wanted was for someone to sound the alarm.

"Holy crap, there's so much stuff," said the cheeriest head.

"There's more in the back." The magical head pointed its snout towards a door. It was difficult to make it out in the darkness. Unlike the display cases, it was left without illumination. "The pieces out here are just the ones he's used in battle."

"Wait, he's used all this!?"

"I think so." The overly proud head wasn't too sure exactly when Virillius had used Dewdromn, but it wouldn't have been surprised if he had taken it out on his most recent expedition. The bigger question was why he was using anything made by Vella in the first place; it didn't seem wise to use a gift from a sworn enemy.

"Holy crap! How the heck has he gone through this much stuff!?"

The cheery head's eyes were on the moose's armour. Dozens of different sets lined the walls, each encased in a cylindrical display. They were arranged in order of the year they were retired, and nearly a third were accompanied by runecloaks that complimented the armours' effects. A similar proportion of the items were visibly damaged if not left in tatters; they had been placed on display in the same state from which they had returned from the battlefield. Though there were no mannequins for the various outfits to sit upon, their pieces were arranged exactly as they would have had they accompanied his body. It was a function of the artifacts they were placed in; Cadrian clothing shops often employed the same technology.

"A thousand years is a long time, and he's fought in a lot of wars," said the magical head.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

"I guess it kinda is. I can't even imagine what life'll be like in a thousa—wait! Boris!?"

The most tired-looking head had detached itself from the rest of the hydra and crawled over to a case that featured a pair of dual axes. Its eyes glimmered, not with admiration or interest, but hunger; one could hear its stomach rumbling even from outside the armoury. Drool dribbled from its lips as it opened its tiny mouth and extended its neck towards the glass, but it was interrupted before it could begin its meal.

"Don't eat that." The magical head used a spell to lift the detached head and pull it back towards the body. The detached head was a little disappointed, but the magical head simply pointed its snout towards the door instead. "You can eat anything you find in there, but not anything out here."

The detached head blinked for a second before scuttling right over to the door and scratching at it until it opened on its own. Even more drool poured from its lips when it saw the mountain of equipment that lay beyond. Stacked in a loosely triangular shape, the hoard was at least fifty meters across and twice as tall. Bits of gold and silver gleamed amidst the pile of steel, their shines only surpassed by those of the gemstones within. It took only a split second for the detached head to launch itself off the ground and hop right into the pile.

"Uhmmm… are you sure that's okay?" asked the cheery head. "Your dad's probably gonna freak out when he finds out Boris ate a bunch of his stuff."

"It's fine," said the magical head. "He doesn't really care much for his war trophies. He only keeps them around because people would judge if he didn't."

"Really? That seems kinda weird…"

"People keep trophies as symbols of strength," said the quietest head. "And because they make good conversation starters."

"Mmmnnn… I don't really think your dad needs either of those things. Everyone already knows he's crazy strong, and he doesn't really seem like the type of guy that likes to talk to people too much."

The head with the anti-social father shrugged. "I doubt he'd notice if a few things go missing even if he cared. The only item worth anything in that room is my armour, and I've already copied it."

"Uhmmm… are you sure? I mean, you haven't actually been in it since they moved it here, right?"

"Yes. Why?"

"'Cause it probably means there might be stuff you don't know about, and the thing Boris is eating right now looks like it's pretty important."

The head with far too much pride looked into the dark room to find the detached head in the midst of nibbling on a plaque. The fancy wooden piece had its front plated with gold and its letters carved therein. Virillius' name was carved front and center, but the ley line-pinching head doubted its sentimental value regardless. He had never been the type to display any such items. Even his war medals likely would have sat in the pile had they not adorned the uniforms out on display.

"It's garbage, just like the rest," said the magical head. "Are you done staring at all his display cases? We'll want to grab our hats if we want anything decent for dinner. Most higher-end restaurants stop seating people later in the evening."

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot that was why we were here!"

"I'm not the least bit surprised."

"Hey! What the heck is that supposed to mean!?"

"Nothing."

"It didn't sound like nothing!"

The magical head smiled. Without another word, it dragged the other two still-attached heads into the side room and levitated the massive pile with a spell so that its items could be seen more easily.

"So uhmmm… how many of these things can change their sizes?" The cheerful head tried to put on a helmet, only for the whole hydra to end up beneath it.

"Some of them. Probably."

"Probably!?"

"The items in this pile aren't exactly cataloged."

"Doesn't that mean we're probably not going to find anything?"

"Only if we're unlucky," said the quietest head.

"It's common for cervitaurian gear to be able to change sizes," added the fox-bullying head. "So it can fit different subspecies." Removing their metal igloo with a vector, it grabbed a ceramic helmet that looked like an upside down bowl and floated it over to its most gullible companion. "Here. Try this one."

"Okay." The bowl changed as soon as the head moved under it. It went through a sequence of changes, first growing to the size of the room before snapping to the cheery head's face. The ceramic expanded over the rest of its new host's head and swallowed it whole. For a moment, it almost looked like a threat, perhaps some sort of parasitic creature disguised as a helmet disguised as a bowl, but that was only because it had yet to assume its final form. A few moments later, it grew a series of grills for eye holes, nose holes, and mouth holes. They were placed in a grid-like pattern—a design meant to prevent any well-aimed arrows from slipping through the cracks. It likely would have made for a decent protector had it been any less fragile.

"Holy crap, that was freaky," said the ceramic-wearing head. "For a second, I thought it might've been cursed or something."

"Might've been," said the magical head.

"Unlikely, but not impossible," said the quiet head.

"Uhmmm… is it just me, or is that not very reassuring?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Claire! What the heck!"

"Calm down. It's just a curse."

"What do you mean, just a curse!? Curses are big deals!"

"I meant what I said." Smiling softly, the magical head fished through the floating garments until it found a beret with runes sewn into its hem. It floated the piece over to the quiet head, who rejected it with a shake.

"That one doesn't change sizes," it said. "It makes the wearer lose weight."

The magical head blinked. "You can tell what it does?"

The quiet head nodded. "I remember the runes. They were covered in my lessons."

"Wait a second, doesn't that mean you should know what they do too, Claire?" asked the cheery head.

The magical head averted its gaze. "Mreep."

Giggling, the cheerful head grabbed another trio of runed hats and lined them up in front of the quiet head. "Do any of these look like they can change their shapes?"

The quiet head moved a little closer to the outfits and squinted as it examined the tiny, runic font. "The bear head can," she said. "And so can the sun hat."

"Okay! That makes three!" The head with the ceramic headpiece smiled. "Which one do you want?"

"Mmmnnn… the sun hat," said the quiet head.

"I guess that leaves Claire with the bear then."

The proud head spent a few moments staring into the helmet's cold, dead eyes before breathing a sigh. "Fine. Give it here." It had wanted to refuse, but it found that it was impossible beneath the quiet head's expectant gaze.

Reluctantly, it donned the hunter's trophy and went from being the proudest head to arguably the one with the silliest outfit.

The detached, lethargic head returned as the once-proud head mulled over its shame, its own headdress already equipped. It was wearing a cape as a messy turban. It was impossible to say if it had donned the garment by accident or on purpose, but either way, it reattached itself to their joined body and signalled with a nod that it was ready to go.

And with that as its impetus, the hydra set off, all four of its heads ready to indulge in dinner.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.