It was Vyra's idea. Let that be known. I would never do something like that myself.

Creeping up on Viper and executing a flawless pants-yank without detection was entirely her brand of mischief.

Though, full disclosure, nothing prepped me for the sudden reveal of his unnervingly smooth, bubbly backside– shining back at us like a polished moonstone. Vyra boasted she knew the "structural vulnerability" of his trousers. Apparently, she wasn't bluffing. I could never manage that kind of precision. If I tried, I'd just shred the fabric completely. One tug, and snap, wardrobe malfunction plus possible blood loss. Definitely not worth the hassle.

Witnessing his frantic scramble to restore dignity while screeching every known curse – plus inventing a few on the spot – was... memorable. Vyra was folded double, howling. I maintained a deadpan statue, pretending my lips weren't twitching.

Because I possess dignity. Unlike some gremlins.

…

Okay. It was really funny.

Dangerously funny.

The kind of funny that makes you contemplate the logistics of arson just to see what happens next. At this power tier, theoretically, I could indulge in such petty, idiotic theatrics. The world is my absurdist playground.

No. Discipline, Jade! Reject the gremlin impulse. You operate on a higher, less-pants-related plane. Hmph!

Anyway. It took Viper a solid five minutes to calm down, and now his face was stuck in a permanent flush—tinged faintly green, which was impressive. Once he found the strength to speak without combusting, he finally cut to the point.

"What the hell did you two do out there?" he asked. "I saw Pact enforcers flying through the air like kicked trash bags."

Vyra grinned like a child who'd just set off fireworks in the alchemy workshop. "That was her doing." She pointed straight at me.

I was back in my Drakkari form now—fully clothed, bracer secured. Felt restricting, honestly. Like wearing a skin-tight moral code. But whatever. Time to explain.

"I was trying out a new spell I just learned," I said plainly. No reason to lie. "Won't go into details, but it's a marking spell. Lets me track someone's location."

Which was underselling it. What it actually did was give me a live feed of the person's vicinity. Sergiy, for instance—once marked, I could feel where he was. When I focused, I saw the outline of nearby streets. I could even predict his choices before he made them—not mind reading, just... parsing probability patterns. Like watching thoughts become decisions.

Way more effective than I expected. I had assumed the spell would be a nightmare to handle, but either some hidden component—or my Intelligence stat—made it surprisingly intuitive.

Not something I was about to explain here, though. Maybe to Lysska, once she came back. But not to Viper, not now.

"Tested it on a tree," I added with a shrug. "Yielded... unforeseen results. Namely, an explosion with a five-mile wake-up call radius."

Viper groaned. "So much for subtlety. Pact will have anomaly patrols combing that forest now. Guaranteed."

Vyra laughed – a distinctly nervous chirp. Sharp enough for Viper's eyes to snap into laser-targeting focus.

"What. Did. You. Do?""

He could read her body language like a book with big font.

Vyra glanced at me for backup. I gave her nothing. Just a blink.

"Alright, fine," she muttered, then launched into a summary.

She told him how we overheard two Pact members muttering some nonsense about me being a terrorist. How we "gently borrowed" them for some light interrogation. How, thanks to my altered beast form, there was no way they'd recognize me as that Jade. Far as they knew, they were assaulted by bizarre forest entities with a taste for toes.

Vyra tactfully omitted the precise moment they'd voided every conceivable biological reservoir from sheer, soul-crushing terror.

A genuine mercy.

Viper's eyes threatened orbital escape. "YOU KIDNAPPED TWO IRON PACT MEMBERS?!"

His voice had graduated from mild concern to full-blown existential vertigo.

"We evacuate. Immediately!"

Obvious. Yet, for the first time, urgency wasn't my master. I was.

Sergiy and Milan hadn't reached HQ yet. I could tell. They'd been spotted by a few other enforcers patrolling the lower districts, and the ripple was just beginning to spread. It wasn't panic yet—just suspicion—but it was coming.

Oh, and did I mention?

If I focused on the [Observer's Mark] I placed on Sergiy, I could hear what was happening around him. Not just him—anyone nearby. His surroundings, his movement, the voices close to him.

This spell wasn't just breaking the rules I knew, it was gutting the laws of spellcraft and dragging them behind a cart.

Spells were supposed to be grounded. Logical. This? This was something else. I didn't even know what.

Maybe there was a principle behind it. Maybe I was just too dumb to understand it right now. Didn't matter. I had it, and I was going to use it.

Thibault, meanwhile, had apparently grown his limbs halfway back. Disappointing, but not unexpected.

"Well, let's move before this guy wakes up," I said, motioning to him. Then I paused. "Wait…"

If I cast [Observer's Mark] on Thibault too, wouldn't I know exactly when he woke up? Even if he tried to fake it, I'd feel the shift. With Sergiy, I could feel his awareness—a sense of presence, of being.

He hadn't calmed down, by the way. Still jittery, still radiating that quiet panic, like someone walking with glass in their shoes and pretending not to limp. There's no clean way to describe what I felt—it wasn't words or thoughts. More like… a resonance. A pressure beyond a wall I couldn't see through, but could definitely feel.

I could probably do the same with Thibault.

"Hold up," I said. "Before we leave, I need to do something."

Viper raised a brow but nodded, stepping aside. Vyra and Zoran followed suit.

I started weaving.

The moment the runes took shape, I caught the way both Viper and Zoran stiffened, faces draining pale as the full complexity of the spell emerged. To be fair, I cringed a little too. I didn't mean to be this dramatic, but the spell was flashy—too flashy. Like I was summoning an ancient deity instead of marking a guy's soul.

They weren't stunned by the glow, though. It was the structure that shook them.

If they hadn't thought I was inhuman before… yeah. That was sealed now.

Whatever they were brewing in their heads, I was leaving that to Lysska. She could handle damage control later. I had no energy for it right now.

I completed the [Observer's Mark] – then layered [Observer's Suggestion] atop it. A new node ignited in my mental topography, distinct from Sergiy's. Thibault. I could feel him now too.

And just like that—I was tired. Not physically. Just... full.

Two marks felt like my cap for now. The mental strain wasn't crushing, but it buzzed at the edge of my awareness—constant, low-grade noise pressing in.

"Move out," I said, turning. Then I paused, eyeing Zoran. "Still fuzzy on your origin story, by the way. You just… materialized post-attack yesterday."

"Lysska's asset," Viper cut in before Zoran could speak. "Deep cover under Thibault. Feeding her intel he'd lifted right from the man's own desk."

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

I blinked. That tracked.

"Played her mole right under his nose," Viper continued, "until Lysska left yesterday. Thibault must've sniffed out the setup. That's what sparked the ambush."

He shot Zoran a look laced with guilt and pity. "To keep his cover intact afterward… he had to keep playing Thibault's loyal hound. Had to sell the lie."

Ah.

Right. I did vaguely remember Lysska's cost for finding his master, three favors. Still—throwing someone not even at yellow core into that kind of deep-end was cruel. But that's just how things worked around here. No safety nets here, just concealed blades and counterfeit smiles.

And to be fair, Alice had mentioned Zoran had potential. She'd seemed mildly intrigued by him. Which meant he wasn't just deadweight.

Speaking of raw talent… my thoughts looped back to Sergiy. He had a water affinity, didn't he? That quiet alertness, the way he'd flinched before, picking up on my presence like a breeze through fog—that hadn't been just paranoia. It hit me all at once.

What if he could still sense me watching him?

Shit.

That complicated things.

I hadn't fully understood how water affinity worked yet, but it clearly involved sensory and emotional depth—something mental. Intuitive.

And if I was pushing pressure into his mental space, even just existing there via [Observer's Mark]… yeah. He'd feel it. Like a predator hovering at the edge of perception.

I focused on him again—barely—and sure enough, I felt him flinch. Eyes darting. Breath hitching.

Ugh. Poor guy.

I pulled my focus away, fast. I'd probably apologize later. Assuming we crossed paths again. For now, he'd just have to endure it a little longer. I needed to know what the Pact did next.

Still… Thalador help me, if I were constantly being watched by something unknown, I'd probably snap, too.

With a breath, I cleared the thought.

Soon, all of us boarded Viper's massive salamander mount. The beast shimmered and vanished as it camouflaged itself, the world bending faintly around its form. Our presence was already muted, thanks to my upgraded Air Sense—even as we tore across the rooftops, we were little more than whispers in the wind.

We moved fast, heading in the opposite direction this time. Middle district. The rooftops blurred past beneath us, and not a single patrol caught wind of us.

But the city? It was chaos.

Streets were jammed with carts. Families trying to flee. Screams. Arguments. The gates had been sealed by Iron Pact enforcers. Five visible riots, maybe more beyond our line of sight.

The lower district was devastated.

Enforcer squads had been deployed to suppress the more violent groups. The marketplace was wrecked. Ash and smoke danced in the air as we leapt over shattered rooftops.

I didn't know what the tipping point had been—maybe the rumors—but something had cracked wide open. And it was only getting worse.

I didn't want to admit it, but it hurt to see. The city wasn't great, but it was still ours.

Maybe this would all settle down eventually.

Maybe.

Didn't feel like it.

This felt… larval. Something colossal squirming just below the paving stones, waiting to breach and devour. I just prayed I'd be armored when it surfaced.

[You're straining at shadows beyond your reach, Jade.]

Lotte's words flashed gently into my awareness.

I smiled, whispering under my breath. The wind tore the sound away instantly, but I knew she heard me anyway.

"I just hate being blindsided. No more unprepared dragon. I'll pry out every scrap of intel. Arm myself to the fangs."

[A commendable attitude. But don't try to control the tempest— you'll wake with a shattered sternum and clipped pinions. Ride it like a falling leaf. Find the pattern within the pandemonium.]

I exhaled.

"Since when do you repeat lectures, Lotte?"

[Since you started looking like someone needed the reminder.]

True. I needed equilibrium. Breathe.

Work with what you have. Leverage the assets on hand.

And right now? I had a lot.

After we reached the middle district, Viper guided his camouflaged salamander mount eastward—towards the factory quarter. I remembered this area well. Used to be the industrial heart of Varkaigard, the engine that forged mana tools, enchantment gear, and all those little magical trinkets that made urban life bearable.

The fact we were heading there, though? That made me uneasy.

The factory district was prime Iron Pact territory. It should've been crawling with security. Except I stayed quiet. This was Lysska's crew. If they steered east, we rode east. I trusted their street-smarts—they'd navigated this city's knives far longer than me. They'd have downgraded the security protocols in their plan.

And sure enough, the moment we crossed into that sector, I counted seven Pact Enforcers in the sky—flying on swords, patrolling the main routes. Their movements were tight, synchronized. Through the gaps between the towering warehouse blocks, I could hear the unmistakable churn of gears, the pulse of magic-infused machinery.

Still, Viper didn't waver. His salamander took sharp, calculated turns through the cobbled roads like it was navigating a familiar maze. He clearly had a destination.

Eventually, we stopped in front of a small, run-down warehouse tucked between two larger ones. It looked like it had been forgotten by time—shabby enough to be ignored, but not so suspicious it would draw attention. A perfect cover.

We looped around to the back, where Viper revealed a concealed trapdoor. Hidden well. A faint pulse of magic told me it was protected—anti-divination, silence wards. Practical.

He gestured for us to move fast. We ducked into the underground passage.

Just as the trapdoor closed, a crow swooped in behind us.

Finally. That meant Lysska had eyes on us again. I'd been getting a little nervous not sensing her presence through air currents—no movement, no crows, nothing. But she was here. Good.

The stairs led down into a surprisingly large underground chamber— not a bunker, not a hideout. An enchanting workshop.

It was... impressive.

At the center, a hulking Urgoth was hammering away at a half-finished piece of gear. When he noticed us, he froze—then stood tall, tools dropping onto the table with a metallic clunk.

I recognized him immediately.

No mask this time, but that face—like a grizzly bear that learned patience—was unmistakable. This was the same Urgoth who'd decked Iron clean back during that brawl. Though here, he looked more surprised than hostile.

"This was our backup bolt-hole," he rumbled, voice like grinding stone. "What torched the first one?"

Then his gaze locked onto me.

"And… who's the new variable?"

"Our latest recruit!" Vyra chirped, sugar-coating it. "Don't tell me Venam's name slipped your mind?"

The Urgoth squinted, brow furrowing canyons. "She was a scrawny twig. Hunched like a question mark. No offense, but… what buffet did you raid to bulk up this fast?"

"Alchemy mishap," I deadpanned.

He barked a laugh. "Hope the side effects weren't nasty."

I was the side effect. A very nasty one. Not unpacking that suitcase here.

His focus snapped back to Viper. "Still waiting. Old safehouse. What happened?"

Viper groaned, collapsing into the nearest chair. "Epic-length story."

Vyra flopped down beside him like we'd just returned from a picnic, not a felony spree. "We just need a pit stop. Catch our breath. Regroup."

The Urgoth's eyes narrowed—then landed on Thibault, unconscious and trussed up.

His entire frame went rigid.

"By the ancestors' rusty hinges…" he breathed. "Is that—?"

"Thibault," Viper confirmed, a grim smirk playing on his lips. "Yeah. Hence the 'running lunatics' routine."

Brickfist's expression curdled instantly. "He's red core, Viper! What suicidal lunacy made you drag him here alive? You crave becoming wallpaper paste? You want him waking up and painting the walls with us?!"

Viper let out a humorless laugh. "He's neutered. Look: limbless, comatose, barely breathing. You honestly think he's primed for a brawl?"

Brickfist remained unconvinced. "But… how? Did Lysska pull some strings?"

Viper simply raised a hand and pointed at me.

"All her."

At first, Brickfist laughed. Like it was a joke. A good one, too—until he realized no one else was laughing. Just grim silence.

His expression twisted. "But… she was struggling against Iron when we first saw her. Barely held her ground."

It looked like he was short-circuiting trying to make sense of it. Poor guy needed a mental cooling system.

"We all have questions," Viper said, voice level. "But just know this—Thibault couldn't even lay a hand on her. She tore through his entire squad. I'll spare you the scene—mostly to save you the trauma—but we're safe because of her."

Then, with a weary groan, he grabbed a blanket from behind a pile of gear, curled up on the floor like a worn-out cat, and said, "Wake me when Lysska shows up."

Vyra was already communicating through Lysska's crow. She said she'd be back later tonight.

Finally. That gave me a little breathing room. Once she got back and took over handling Thibault, I'd be free—for a bit. I needed to isolate, mutate a few things, maybe test some new functions. The anticipation of unlocking whatever insane nonsense my next organ mutation had in store was killing me.

Brickfist returned to his work—looked like he was flattening some enchanted metal with rhythm and precision. Vyra curled up beside Viper, dozing off. Zoran stayed seated in silence, staring ahead, lost in thought.

I wasn't tired. Not really. But I yawned anyway, set my head down on the table, and shut my eyes.

Just an excuse to lock back onto Sergiy.

The moment I did, he shivered. Hard. His eyes jittered like trapped butterflies.

I didn't let myself feel guilty. Couldn't afford to. Not right now.

He was back at HQ—sitting in a clean, cold office. Milan was with him, along with three others. I recognized one immediately—Andrej, the Rakari from my interrogation with Vorak back in Vasilisa's office. He had eight stars on his collar. Milan had four. Sergiy had one.

They were reporting what had happened. All of it.

And thanks to Vyra's and my deliberately deranged "questioning" tactics, their report was… gloriously incoherent.

A masterpiece of befuddled, over-explained chaos.

"The ice-fox demanded a chromatic analysis of my morning bowel movement."

"The golden tentacle-lady theorized lunar butt-flashing could induce mass howling psychosis."

They were trying to reverse-engineer our motives. Theories flew: some fae species? Parda peeping toms? Not a single bullseye. Just wild conjecture shrapnel.

Perfect.

We'd obscured our trail so thoroughly, they were choking on their own speculation.

Eventually, the conversation ended. Both Sergiy and Milan were dismissed, probably because they still reeked like terror and bodily shame. Couldn't imagine the cleanup crew for that one.

Honestly, the plan had gone better than expected.

Sergiy was still jittery—like a cat in thunder—but he seemed to be adjusting. Sort of. First thing he did after reporting in was retreat to his quarters and clean himself up. Nobody stopped him. They gave him space. Wide space.

A few tried asking what happened.

He ignored them. Just curled up on his bunk like he wanted to melt into it.

Then… he started crying.

Uh. Yeah. Kind of awkward.

Technically, he was around my age. But I'd seen more horror than most ten-man squads combined. Maybe caused even more. He still looked green. Still had softness behind the eyes.

I didn't fault him for it. But his sniffling wasn't going to help anyone.

So I fed a trickle of mana into the mark, focused on that cold node in my mind, and whispered across it.

"I need to see how Vorak is doing. Whining won't help me. He might even know what this weird feeling I'm getting is."

…

And it worked?

His breath hitched. He wiped his face. Sat upright like someone had jammed a steel rod down his spine. The crying stopped. Just like that.

Without a word, he slid on boots, buckled his saber with grim finality, and stalked out the door with the quiet intensity of a man planning industrial espionage—or at least aggressive reconnaissance.

Beelining deeper into HQ. Presumably toward Vorak's cell.

Jackpot.

So not only could I rattle mental cages—I could motivate too. Gentle nudges toward productive action. Benevolent guidance.

Who claimed dragons lacked altruism?

Seriously, point me toward a more ethically considerate apex-predator. I'll wait.

Crickets. Exactly.

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