I woke up with a start, Stormy kneading my chest with sharp little claws. Pale morning light filtered through the shutters, casting long shadows across the pub's interior. The previous night's events came rushing back—the Sirin called Vesna now trapped in the cold well beneath a chest of my domain soil.

  I stretched, feeling surprisingly well-rested. "Good morning to you too," I told Stormy, gently removing her paws from my ribs. "Easy on the acupuncture, please."

  The kitten mewed and hopped down, padding over to the cold well cover where she sat, tail twitching expectantly.

  "She's fine down there," I assured the cat. "Unless you're thinking of having bird for breakfast?"

  Stormy merely blinked her milky eyes in response.

  After a quick breakfast of smoked fish and preserved berries, I decided to conduct a more thorough exploration of Svalbard in daylight. With Vesna temporarily neutralized and the Jotuns seemingly not being able to find me, it seemed as good a time as any to expand my understanding of the village and its resources.

  "Want to come along?" I asked Stormy, who was cleaning herself by the door.

  She stopped mid-lick and trotted over, scaling my layers of clothing with practiced ease until she perched on my shoulder like a furry epaulette.

  "I'll take that as a yes," I chuckled, checking that my knife and arbalest were secure at my belt before venturing outside.

  The morning was crisp and clear, the sky a pale blue canvas stretched above the ruined village. Fresh snow had fallen overnight, blanketing the destruction in pristine white, as if nature herself was attempting to erase the evidence of the dragon's devastation.

  I adjusted the backpack containing a portion of my domain soil, ensuring it was secure and grabbed a wheelbarrow to carry harvested things in.

  "Let's start with the northern section," I told Stormy. "We haven't explored much in that direction yet."

  We made our way past the smithy and the bailiff's quarters, toward a cluster of larger buildings that stood at the village's edge. Unlike the smaller dwellings closer to the center, these structures showed signs of having been more substantial—stone foundations supporting wooden frames, some partially collapsed, others still somewhat intact.

  The first building appeared to have been some sort of meetinghouse or hall. Its high-ceiling interior was dominated by a central hearth and long tables arranged in rows. At the far end stood a raised dais, suggesting this was where village elders or leaders might have addressed the community.

  "The great hall," I murmured, running my hand along a cracked, carved wooden column. "Village council probably met here."

  I searched the hall methodically, finding little of immediate use beyond some well-crafted pottery and metal cups that had survived the collapse of one wall. More interesting was a small chamber behind the dais that appeared to have served as a record-keeping room. Several leather-bound books lay scattered across a heavy oak desk, their pages yellowed.

  I gathered these carefully into my wheelbarrow, wrapping them in a cloth tarp to keep snow from ruining them.

  The next structure proved to be a primitive schoolhouse, complete with benches arranged in rows facing a larger desk. Slates and chalk lay abandoned. On the walls hung maps drawn on parchment—crude but detailed representations of what I assumed was the surrounding region. Sadly, I had no idea how to read the letters or the runic numbers on the board.

  I carefully harvested everything, along with a set of measuring instruments I found in a cabinet—a brass compass, a sextant-like device, and several rulers marked with unfamiliar units.

  Moving on, we came to a large building set slightly apart from the others. Its stone foundation appeared more robust, and the heavy oak door still hung on its hinges regardless of severe damage to the roof above.

  Inside, rows of shelves lined the walls, many still laden with scrolls, books, and various artifacts. A library or archive of some sort, perhaps belonging to whatever passed for scholars in this medieval society.

  "Jackpot," I breathed.

  I moved through the shelves, examining titles and contents. Many appeared to be historical records, while others contained diagrams of plants, animals, celestial bodies, and what looked suspiciously like magical rituals. It was a pity that I could not read the text and Ioan’s memories provided me with no reading skills.

  A section near the back held books bound in darker leather, their spines marked with dark symbols. One in particular caught my attention—a heavy tome whose cover bore an intricate tree design inlaid with silver wire.

  When I opened it, I found pages of detailed illustrations depicting various creatures, some resembling the Sirin in their hybrid animal-human forms. Accompanying text looked like it described what appeared to be their abilities, habitats, and weaknesses.

  "A bestiary," I murmured, carefully placing it in my pack. "Could be useful, even if I can’t read. Maybe the Sirin could read it for me… right?”

  “Mrrww,” the kitten answered.

  In another corner, partially hidden behind a fallen bookshelf, I discovered a locked chest reinforced with iron bands. The lock was substantial but simple, and with some effort and the modern tools hanging from my belt, I managed to pry it open.

  Inside lay a collection of small glass vials, each containing a different colored powder or liquid, neatly labeled in the same script as the books. Beneath these was a folded parchment bearing what appeared to be instructions or recipes, complete with illustrations of plants and minerals.

  "An alchemist's kit," I guessed, wrapping the vials carefully in cloth before adding them to my collection.

  As the day wore on, Stormy and I continued our exploration, moving from building to building. In what appeared to have been an apothecary's shop, I found dried herbs hanging from the ceiling beams, alongside various grinding implements and distillation equipment.

  The village's tannery yielded tools for working leather, while a carpenter's workshop provided several fine instruments for woodworking, including a set of chisels and gouges.

  By midday, my wheelbarrow was full, and I decided to return to the pub to deposit my findings before continuing the exploration. As we rounded a corner near the village center, something unusual caught my eye—a small building I hadn't noticed before, partially hidden behind the collapsed remains of a larger structure.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Unlike the other buildings of Svalbard, this one appeared completely untouched by the dragon's wrath. Its walls stood straight and solid, the clay spiral red roof intact, the small windows unbroken. Most strange of all, no snow lay upon its roof or against its walls, despite the heavy fall overnight. A spiral pattern of red and black bricks seemed to twirl around the entire building, making it look excessively whimsical and out of place.

  "That's... odd," I murmured, approaching cautiously. There was nothing visible through the small windows, they were pure black as if painted from within.

  Stormy tensed on my shoulder, her tiny body rigid with sudden alertness, ears swiveling forward. A soft growl rumbled in her throat—the first hostile sound I'd heard her make toward anything other than the Sirin.

  I paused, hand moving to my knife. "What is it, girl?"

  The kitten's growl deepened, and she dug her claws into my shoulder.

  The building's door stood slightly ajar, revealing nothing but pure darkness beyond. No footprints marred the snow around it, yet something about the structure suggested occupancy—a sense of watchfulness, of waiting.

  As I hovered, uncertain, a soft sound emerged from within—a quiet, rhythmic ticking, like the countdown of a mechanical clock.

  "Hello?" I called, instantly regretting breaking the silence.

  The ticking stopped abruptly. For several heartbeats, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the door began to open wider, revealing a darkness too complete to be natural.

  Stormy's growl transitioned into a hiss, her fur standing on end. Without warning, she launched herself from my shoulder, landing in the snow several feet away before darting behind a pile of debris.

  "Stormy!" I called, but she was running, tiny pawprints leading away from the strange building. She turned and stared at me as if urging me to leave.

  I stood alone, facing the widening door and the unnatural darkness beyond. No figure appeared, no voice called out, yet I felt observed, assessed by something within.

  Something at the edge of my thoughts seemed to call me in, to investigate the mystery of the darkness, to step into the room and to light a torch, to discover what treasure might be hidden within.

  My rational instincts on the other hand screamed "magical danger" and so I repeated the mental techniques established during my first Sirin encounter to scatter and reorder my thoughts. Then, step by careful step, never taking my eyes off the doorway I grabbed the wheelbarrow and retreated away from the mysterious building.

  When I'd put about ten meters between myself and the building, Stormy rushed onto my shoulder once again.

  I shuddered and hurried back toward the pub, my heart pounding in my chest. Only when the familiar structure came into view did I slow my pace, breathing heavily.

  Inside, I began to deposit my findings on the table out of the wheelbarrow, mind still racing with questions about the strange building.

  What was it? Why did its architectural spiral-stone style not match the rest of the village? Why had it remained untouched by the dragon's attack? And what lurked within its unnatural darkness?

  "Thanks for the backup," I said as Stormy jumped off me.

  The kitten merely flicked her tail and jumped onto my soil mound, setting about her toilette with typical feline nonchalance.

  I pondered the strange building as I examined my day's finds. Perhaps it was another domain of some sort—a space like mine that nullified external observations. Or maybe something more sinister, a lair of one of the magic creatures Vesna had mentioned.

  Either way, it warranted caution. I decided to consult the bestiary I'd found, hoping it might contain information about the various inhabitants of this magical world. With Stormy purring beside me, I settled in for an afternoon of research.

  The bestiary proved fun to page through, though deciphering the text was impossible. The script was similar to what I'd seen on the banner flying over the village gates—a runic alphabet.

  The illustrations were explicit and detailed, almost lifelike depictions of monsters that seemed to have sprung from the darkest corners of imagination.

  They depicted a range of creatures, from the more familiar—silver wolves with oddly elongated limbs, bears with multiple eyes—to the truly fantastic—beings of living shadow, humanoids with antlers or scales, humanoids that seemed made of intertwined vines and thorns.

  One of the images that caught my attention was of a massive, hulking beast with the body of a man fused somehow to the body of an elk and a spider, grotesquely distorted, stretched and misshapen. Its head bore enormous elk antlers, and its hands - of which there were six - ended in wicked claws. The creature's eyes, even in the illustration, seemed to hold a terrible intelligence. Below the image, a single word was written that I couldn't read, but I guessed that this was a Jotun. The Jotun was depicted dragging a smaller human form toward a dark, swampy area in the fog.

  Another page depicted what could only be a Sirin—a winged figure with avian features but a humanoid body, surrounded by what was likely musical notation. The Sirin in the book was red and gold not green and black like the one in my collection.

  Another page showed a red dragon, its form massive and serpentine, breathing fire that seemed to consume not just bodies but the very air around them. Beside it, smaller illustrations depicted houses and trees warped by the fire's aftermath—exactly like the dragonfire-affected building I'd used to decay Vesna's otherwise indestructible egg-form.

  I continued flipping through the pages. One image depicted a small, round building with a spiral pattern that looked similar-ish to the one I'd encountered. A magical structure then, known to the locals.

  Turning the page, I found myself admiring a creature that seemed to be made entirely of shadows. Its form was vaguely humanoid, but it lacked distinct features, appearing more like a hole in reality than a physical being. Tendrils of darkness swirled around it, and the artist had somehow managed to convey a sense of cold dread emanating from the figure.

  The next illustration showed a being that appeared to be half-woman, half-tree.

  Another depicted a small, child-like thing covered in dark feathers with big, black eyes.

  As I continued to flip through the pages, my eyes widened at the array of fantastical and terrifying creatures depicted within. An illustration showed a beautiful woman with emerald skin, writhing snakes for hair, her gaze so sharp that I found myself momentarily frozen. The caption beneath likely identified her as some sort of Medusa.

  Other Gorgon-like things followed, each more bewildering than the last.

  Another page revealed a massive serpent, its coils seeming to stretch beyond the confines of the illustration. A world-serpent, maybe?

  Another drawing revealed a girl that was half human half cat, her silver-blue eyes slitted like a pair of diamonds, hair pure white. She was wearing a detailed white dress. Unlike the other beasts she didn't look spooky, just harmless and cute.

  I turned the page to find a creature that appeared to be made of living flame. Its form was vaguely humanoid and female, but her body flickered and danced like a bonfire. Where her eyes should have been, there were only pits of intense, white-hot fire.

  The last page of the book depicted a pale, wrinkled woman wearing a skull mask, wearing a dress made from red-tinted bones. I could guess that the label beneath tagged her as a Yaga.

  “Ha,” I said. “They need to add me in there. I should make myself some spooky armor or something. Dressed like a ball of fur now, that’s not very awe-inspiring.”

  Stormy, who had been dozing beside me, opened one milky eye at the sound of my voice. She stretched languidly, then suddenly stiffened, ears swiveling toward the pub's door.

  A moment later, I heard it too—a soft, almost imperceptible scratching at the wood, like the tentative touch of small claws seeking entrance.

  I rose silently, arbalest in hand, and approached the door. The scratching continued, a rhythmic, deliberate sound that couldn't be mistaken for the random noises of wind or settling snow. A small animal, maybe?

  "Who's there?" I called, voice firm despite the tension coiling in my gut.

  The scratching stopped. For several heartbeats, silence reigned. Then, a voice—high and wavering, and tinny, neither fully human nor animal—spoke from beyond the door.

  "Harbor... give harbor... cold outside... so cold… dragon’s breath poisons the air… please, let me in."

  I rapidly would up the arbalest, remembering Vesna's hypnotic song and its almost irresistible pull.

  Was this another trap?

  Support Kittens with your ratings and help fight against fake ratings from non-readers!