I stared at the chaos around me and sighed. Damn. Turns out, going plus-sized came with its own line of extra-large problems. Materialized into the material plane and I'd already pancaked an already-dead sofa, splintered the table like a breadstick, and sent a tentacle flailing into the kitchen side—where it promptly KO'd a few innocent pieces of glassware and some poor, unsuspecting china.

It had all happened the moment I materialized here. Clearly, I needed a roomier hideout. Preferably one that didn't cry under pressure. Full dragon form was looking increasingly impractical in tight quarters, and while half-dragon might've worked, I was carrying a full shipment of "don't ask" in my maw.

Speaking of which, I gently deposited the goods from my mouth—carefully, like a cat coughing up treasure. Rows of vials, each with its own ominous glow, clinked softly onto the floor. A whole smorgasbord of mysterious liquids: potions in every shape of vial, unholy cocktails that smelled like bad decisions, and a scattering of papers—my research notes, mostly anti-divination charms scribbled onto slim wooden badges with elegant silver script nestled in the grooves.

Bracer on, I slipped back into my Drakkari form from the half-dragon. Ah, the comforts of a more compact shape. And… yep, hunch confirmed. My "base form" really did flavor the final presentation.

I studied the fractured window's reflection. Hmm. My face had… matured. Not weathered, just as if time had sanded down my edges into something statuesque. Taller too. Golden hair had spilled out, long and shining like I'd been kissed by a sunbeam. My eyes… violet, with starry spirals whirling slowly inside. They looked like someone had trapped a galaxy in a teacup.

Horns were still arched like crescent blades, but gilded instead of silver. As for my skin, it used to be this pure silvery-white—now it shimmered faintly gold, like I was permanently basking in good lighting. Not unnatural, just… radiant. Like someone who drinks water, stretches regularly, and maybe devours some divinity on weekends.

So much for playing the meek, helpless card. That ticket just self-destructed.

I turned slowly, checking for other changes, but it seemed that was the extent of it. Familiar features still in place—same face, same frame. I was unmistakably me, just dressed in a fancier skin. Like putting on a new robe that felt both foreign and intimately worn. Anyone who wasn't really paying attention wouldn't even clock it. Anyone who was would need a solid pause and a touch of existential crisis.

Hopefully, once I returned to the Alchemy Tower, I could play this off as an unfortunate run-in with my own potions. Classic "whoops, transmutation mishap." Vasilisa knew I'd been knee-deep in transmutation research; the story would hold water—and maybe a little bubbling acid.

True, I could craft tonics to revert my appearance, but, well… issue was such temporary fixes requiring endless reapplication. One missed dose, and poof: golden goddess mode during a covert op. Cue interrogation. Cue side-eye. Cue migraines.

Better to own it. Introduce this as the "revised edition." Truth, lacquered with strategic omissions. If deception's the game, play it with finesse. After all, the best lies wear honesty's tailoring.

Anyway, before I forgot and someone came waltzing in, I slipped back into my outfit. A blend of robe and dress, floor-length and black as midnight regrets, embroidered with violet butterfly motifs that shimmered faintly when the light caught them. Fancy, dramatic, a little mysterious—just the way I liked it.

Then came the heels. Oh yes, the heels. Because why settle for boring flats when I had superior biology and taste? Practicality is for peasants, and my biology laughed at gravity. Again, these weren't just any stilettos—they were alchemically reinforced and spell-bound to stay pristine, no matter what chaos I stomped through. And the best part? Each heel had a hidden dagger, neatly tucked away, ready to spring out with just a touch of mana. Never got to use them, though. Bit redundant, really—when you are the weapon, accessories are mostly for show. Still, a hidden dagger in your shoes just has a certain charm. Maybe I'd get to use them one day.

Overkill? Perhaps. But redundancy is its own armor, and there's poetry in stabbing someone with your footwear.

A dragon can dream.

For now, though… my gaze drifted back to the elf on the floor—soaked in my saliva, muttering incoherently. He twitched now and then, his body slick with sweat. My concoction was working beautifully. Oh, Thalador, I would pay to peek into whatever nightmare cocktail was currently chewing through his brain.

I stole one last glance at the window's jagged glass. Ran my fingers through my golden waves, ruffling them into something just shy of glamorous disarray. I still wasn't sure about this look. I stood out way too much now. Granted, I'd always drawn attention—pale skin, silver hair, crimson eyes—but back then I looked fragile. Before, my pallor and silver locks screamed "tragic waif." Now I radiated hazard, like a blade left casually unsheathed. Subtlety had retired.

…hah.

I'd have to figure out a fix for that too. Hard to lure prey when you're practically a walking red flag with fangs. People don't stroll into the lion's den when the lion's lounging on the welcome mat, smiling.

Anyway, priorities. Doltharion would be out cold for hours—five, maybe six, if my estimate was right. Even a red core like him couldn't shrug off what I'd given him. It was enough to paralyze a yellow core permanently if they didn't get healing in time.

He mumbled something unintelligible, twitching. I grabbed him by the neck and hauled him up with one arm. Light as a feather. A twitchy, sweaty, muttering feather.

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I still hadn't decided exactly what I was going to do with him. Oh, I'd kill him, no question there. But not before I squeezed out every drop of intel I could—specifically, why the elves were cozying up with the Vor'akhs. But first...

I tore off his clothes, methodically removing anything valuable. He was decked out—an enchanted dagger, a short shockblade, something wand-like... but my eyes caught on two particular items: a ring and a pendant.

The pendant looked plain, almost deliberately so, but there was something off about it. My instincts practically screamed don't touch with mana. I set it aside gingerly. Whatever it was, it wasn't my problem right now.

The ring, though? That had potential.

I couldn't see the enchantment directly, but I had other ways. My mana control was sharp enough to split atoms if I wanted. I threaded the finest strands of energy I could manage through the ring, feeling for its magical shape.

Most people wouldn't try that. Most people couldn't. But I wasn't most people.

The enchantment was intricate—like trying to read a spiderweb in the dark—but after a minute, it clicked. Spatial pocket enchantment. My eyes widened.

Only the second time I'd seen one.

The last time… Ugh. My stomach turned.

The last time was when I'd been kidnapped. When that knight had tapped his own spatial ring and handed Jord that cursed tome. Why the hell did his face have to pop up now?

I scowled and slapped the naked elf hard across the face as he mumbled through his fever dream.

"Quiet. You're ruining my mood."

He crumpled onto the shattered sofa—hardly a threat to a red-core's spine. Built like a siege engine, those types. Still, the scene gouged up old ghosts. The kind that scratched at wounds I thought had long since scabbed over. I sank onto the only intact sofa, letting the quiet stretch. My mind wandered—dangerous thing, really. It drifted to Father. To that bitch Elise and her little torment troupe. Were they off ruining someone else's life now, now that I wasn't around to be their favorite chew toy?

… Their names still smoldered on my ledger of grudges, though the entries felt… quaint now. Petty squabbles next to apocalypses. As for Father—Gwen said he'd left his post as an enforcer. Said he was working as an adventurer now. Monster extermination quests. Just… roaming the world, finally free of the burden I used to be.

I was happy for him. Genuinely.

Not that it stopped a small, persistent part of me from hoping we'd meet again someday. Okay, maybe more than just a small part.

A sliver of me still itched to track him down, stitch our frayed threads. A larger sliver wanted to lace Elise's tea with something that'd give her gang permanent gastrointestinal remodeling. Petty revenge for petty cruelty. I wouldn't kill them… probably. Maybe just skin them a little. Symbolic exfoliation.

Hah. Thalador, distraction was a fickle muse.

Old memories circled like vultures. What could have been. What was. What might still be. I saw faces—Stephan's flashed across my thoughts. Oh yeah, that guy. Helped him out of the dungeon back then. Told me to find him after I got out. Spirit Hunt Festival, wasn't it? That's what he invited me to.

That was coming up soon. Here, in Varkaigrad of all places. Maybe we'd run into each other again. He and Lysska were the only two who'd ever seen me in full dragon form. Gwen too. Not that I was trying to start a trend.

Also… Spirit Hunt. After everything that had gone down, I wasn't even sure they'd still hold the damn festival. I'd shaken things up a lot. Too many variables now. Everything felt like it was unraveling faster than I could catch it.

And just as I thought that, something pinged the edge of my Air Sense.

Hmm. Large, quadrupedal. Beastly. Salamander-like gait. Two riders. Breathing rhythm matched familiar patterns. I'd seen this beast before.

Vyra and Viper. That was their ride.

Well, it's not like I had anything better to do. Lysska was still up there probably. I wasn't sure how she'd explained any of that. Hopefully she was safe. She had bailed me out. But right now my thoughts were a raging sea and I was stuck paddling with a spoon.

And now Vyra was starting to grate. I could feel them circling the building like I was some damn predator nest.

Seriously?

I tracked their movement through Air Sense. They weren't approaching directly—just slinking around, trying to be subtle like I wouldn't notice.

My patience was already hanging by a thread. So I stomped to the door and flung it open with a slam.

"I can see you both fucking creeping around—get in here before I lose it—"

The words barely left my mouth before I saw it.

Flash of blue. Sharp glint. The sudden, bone-deep chill.

A frost axe lunging straight at my face. Lightning fast.

Didn't matter how fast the strike was—I saw it coming a mile away. I phased right through the swing, let it pass harmlessly through me, and didn't stop. Slid through the attacker's body like mist, reappearing behind Vyra in a blink. Fingers cinching her throat before her pupils could dilate.

"Rude," I purred. "No knock? No 'hello, here's an axe'?"

She stiffened, a rabbit realizing it's been taxidermied mid-leap.

"V-Venam?"

Not my name. But it was one she'd used enough times, and considering I was trying to stay hidden... it'd do. I kind of liked it anyway. Sharp, clean. A new name for a new mess.

"You're late," I hissed.

Vyra laughed—an awkward, sheepish noise.

I wasn't amused.

"I can see you too, creeping back there," I snapped, head whipping toward the camouflaged shape of Viper behind the beast. "Your stealth's not gonna work on me. Drop the cloak or I'll skin it off you."

The air shimmered. Distorted. And finally, the other one materialized—Viper.

Saryn kin, wrapped head to toe in leather-like armor. Face half-covered in a cloth mask, only his eyes visible. Slitted emerald eyes, watching with clinical precision.

Except then… his gaze darted away. His face, or what little of it I could see, went a darker shade of green. He coughed.

Wait—was he blushing?

Even his salamander mount averted its gaze, suddenly fascinated by a pebble.

I blinked. Something was off.

Then I noticed the mother on the sidewalk across the street—a horrified gasp, followed by her shielding her child's eyes like I was some eldritch nightmare.

Vyra had looked at me, then immediately looked away.

What the hell—?

That's when I saw it.

The dress.

Lying there. Right on the porch where I'd phased through Vyra.

Clothes don't phase with me.

My brain short-circuited as realization slammed into me.

I was. Completely. Naked.

Mortification detonated in my skull—a supernova of oh-gods-why. Ears blazing like emergency beacons. Soul evacuating the premises. Systemic.exe has stopped responding.

I vanished.

Tapped my dimensional lamina and phased out of the material world instantly. Flickered back inside, snatched my robes, shot Vyra a "speak-of-this-and-die" glare—she was barely holding in laughter at that point—then slammed the door in her smug, barely-contained face.

Of course, that's when her laughter exploded. Full-blown, hyena-ish, unhinged, rattling the hinges.

Meanwhile, I was inside pulling on clothes as fast as draconically possible, while mentally screaming at the gods, the world, and myself.

F̷͕̈́U̸̩͝Ç̴͠K̶̼͝ ̸̗̆M̵̪͛E̴̻͐ ̶̰̌S̵͇͝I̶̭͌D̶̡͝Ȩ̶͑W̴̰̋À̵̱Ÿ̴̙́Ș̶͑ ̵̤̎W̶̟̐I̸̙̋Ṱ̸͆H̷̗̏ ̷̧͝ä̸̹́ ̴̝̈́S̶̳͛P̷̱͌Ò̸̗O̷͍͝N̴̰͌!!

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