Tanya sat cross-legged on a cushion made from the hide of a featherlin, a creature she had yet to see personally in this world. The texture beneath her fingertips was strange—soft like down, but with a subtle coarseness that reminded her of reptilian scales. She idly traced the surface, marveling at the craftsmanship, the way the seams had been stitched with near-invisible precision. It was an odd detail to focus on, but it helped ground her amidst the strange ambiance of the room

  The space was draped in beast furs, each dyed in deep shades of black and purple—Midea's apparent preference. They hung from the walls in layered folds, giving the room a cavernous, enclosed feeling, like sitting inside the belly of some great, slumbering beast. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment, candle wax, and something richer, muskier—a mix of burnt incense and a lingering savory smell, it was the dinner that Midea had made the night previous.

  Through the tall, narrow windows, the seven-colored light of the suns streamed in, shifting as it passed through the wide gaps in the wood. The beams fractured into vibrant spectrums, casting shimmering motes of gold, violet, and blue into the air. Tanya watched as dust particles drifted in the shifting light, suspended like specks of stardust. She saw them too clearly, almost unnaturally so. Each individual fleck stood out as if magnified in perfect clarity.

  She exhaled softly.

  Another perk of being related to a monster, she supposed.

  Across from her sat Midea, the demon poised in his usual relaxed yet deliberate manner. He was draped in a loose, dark robe with purple embroidery he stitched himself that curled in archaic patterns along the edges, faintly pulsing as if imbued with some hidden power. His six-fingered hand rested on the table, fingers tapping idly against the worn wood. Tarak's tail, black and white scales gleaming under the prismatic light, swayed lazily through the air beside her, his curiosity evident even if his expression remained impassive.

  It made sense. This was one of his first lessons on wards.

  Midea steepled his fingers, his crimson eyes flicking between the two of them before he spoke.

  "I've explained that wards are shapes resonant with the Dao," he began, his voice smooth and deliberate. "But I have not gone in depth. What makes a complex ward—or rune, the terms are indeed interchangeable—is four things. And perhaps…" He paused, lips curling slightly as he lifted four fingers in the center of his six-fingered hand, "there is a fifth. Though it's hard to say."

  Tanya's eye twitched.

  The extra finger still unsettled her in a way she couldn't quite describe. It wasn't that it was grotesque, just... wrong in a deeply unnatural way. The symmetry of it disrupted something in her brain, made her fingers itch as though trying to count and confirm what her eyes were seeing. It was her human mind still not coming to peace with such a simple thing.

  Midea, as always, seemed perfectly aware of her discomfort.

  His smirk deepened ever so slightly.

  "These four are construction, linework, intent, and understanding. All of these, when put together, result in alignment," Midea explained, his crimson eyes flickering between her and Tarak, their depths sharp with calculation. His voice, smooth as ink spilled across old parchment, carried a weight of certainty, of long-practiced knowledge woven into each syllable.

  Tanya mulled over the words, rolling them in her mind like stones in a river. She had learned about wards before—nothing extensive, but enough to grasp the basic concept of carved glyphs, layered inscriptions, and the infusion of numen into their forms. Simple wards for reinforcement, barriers, or channeling energy, the kind of fundamentals any budding practitioner would know in fact it was general knowledge. Yet this…

  This was different.

  The way Midea spoke, the depth of his explanation—it touched upon something far deeper than mere technique. It wasn't about memorizing symbols or drawing shapes in the air; this was about principles, philosophy, and resonance. About how everything—chanting, spellwork, and even the nature of existence itself—was bound by alignment.

  Her brows furrowed slightly. She had felt this before, recognized the underlying pattern the first time Midea had spoken of chanting and its ability to draw upon the Dao. And now? Now it was being reinforced yet again, linking seamlessly to the foundation of wards. The principles were just too similar.

  It made sense, didn't it?

  Alignment with the Dao was the key that allowed cultivators to avoid burning through their own numen for every attack and chanting was a means to achieve this through voice, shaping the resonance of words to harmonize with natural forces. But wards?

  Wards were essentially the written form of chanting.

  "So this is similar to chanting in basic principle then?" she asked, her curiosity flaring to the surface.

  Midea tilted his head slightly, his smirk just a touch too satisfied for her liking though he showed he was impressed as well though it disappeared quickly.

  "Intent and understanding—you recognize. Linework, you can assume." His voice carried an ease to it, as though he had already predicted her train of thought. "We've spoken about the materials used in warding, have we not? About, how what you make a ward out of affects its function? The material matters, Tanya. Whether it's carved or painted into or on or simply made up of stone, bone, metal, or flesh, the strength of the medium changes the result. If you use a living material, the creature it came from will influence the ward. If it's applied to an object, then how numen conductive that object is will determine how well the ward interacts with it. Aside from that, many objects have a variety of traits which can effect the power and ability of a ward. The very essence of the material is part of the ward's function."

  Tanya nodded slowly, absorbing the information. This was… complex. Not just about scribbling meaningless symbols onto a surface, but about the very nature of resonance, substance, and flow.

  A ward wasn't just drawn.

  It was crafted. Shaped. Born from the interaction between the Dao and the physical world.

  Midea paused, his fingers curling slightly before a pulse of numen flickered between them. His six-fingered hand cut through the air in precise, effortless motions, tracing shapes of purple numen that hovered, glowing like molten silver suspended in space.

  A square appeared first. Then another. And another. Each block orbiting an unseen center.

  The pattern built itself outwards, methodical yet fluid, expanding into a larger circle. A geometric array, layered with intent, the squares shifting and twisting around it as if bound by invisible threads.

  Then came the prisms.

  Tanya's eyes widened slightly as she watched Midea draw a series of 2D prisms, interlocking like an intricate puzzle. They slotted into the squares, their angular forms sharpening against the glowing framework of the circle.

  And then—

  The lines expanded.

  Thread-like strands of numen stretched outward, connecting the prisms to the larger circle. They pulsed, shifting as if responding to some unheard frequency, weaving together into something far more intricate than a simple ward rather it was a formation.

  Tanya could feel it.

  Something in the air shifted—an imperceptible hum thrumming at the edge of her senses. She lacked the ability to sense numen but her body did absorb the energy and could faintly sense it's density.

  "Making wards out of pure numen is weaker than making them from materials, unless you put some serious firepower into said numen—or you are just of a higher layer." Midea's crimson eyes flickered with an amused glint as his fingers played idly through the dissipating wisps of numen that faded into the air. The once-intricate ward he'd formed seconds prior had unraveled, its purpose never realized, vanishing into the formless ether.

  His lips quirked slightly, exhaling as he pushed the remnants aside.

  "Simply put, the quality of my numen can't compare to a fourth-layer cultivator's. If I were to craft a ward using only raw numen, it would be inherently less effective than one made from well-attuned materials. And inherently less effective than one made from the raw numen of a fourth layer. It's also just plain exhausting to do it this way." He flexed his fingers, rolling his wrist as if shaking off some of that unseen strain.

  Tanya narrowed her eyes, filing the information away. It made sense. She had long suspected that numen, despite its potency, required stability—a medium that could anchor it into something tangible. Such is why it was channeled through the meridians and the body for techniques. It acted as an anchor for that primordial fluid. A ward crafted from ironwood, stone, or bone could act as a conduit, allowing the shape resonating with the dao to anchor itself. But raw numen wards? They were transient, fleeting, a candle burning at both ends unless sustained by an overwhelming reservoir of power.

  She wasn't surprised. But it was useful knowledge nonetheless.

  Midea gestured lazily, tapping his clawed fingertips against the wooden table with slow, rhythmic patience.

  "Linework, on the other hand, is similar to detail in chanting. As I just demonstrated, it refers to the complexity and clarity of the wards one is creating." His voice carried an air of casual certainty, as if this was knowledge so ingrained that he barely needed to think about it. "A ward not made properly will not function properly. The clearness of each inscription, the precision of each stroke, and the understanding of warding scripts—these all matter. Clarity dictates effectiveness. Without it, a ward may fail, backfire, or be so unstable it collapses on itself."

  Tarak's tail swayed absently in the air beside her, the black and white scales catching the dim light as he absorbed the lesson. Tanya, meanwhile, kept her expression impassive, though the words piqued her interest.

  Midea lifted his hand, this time tracing simpler shapes, shifting from philosophy to demonstration. The floating numen followed the movements of his fingers, swirling as if drawn by an unseen gravitational pull.

  "And then there is intent," he continued. "Which is simply what you want the ward to do. Again, the soul interfaces with creation—your acknowledgment of a rune's purpose is fundamental to the process of imbuing it with meaning."

  Tanya's lips parted slightly at that.

  "If a rune lacks intent," he went on, "then even if every other factor is perfect—the linework, the materials, the construction—it will simply not function. Meaning is what bridges the gap between symbols and reality. Without intent, creation is hollow."

  Her hands clenched slightly against her knees, her mind whirring. It sounded obvious when put into words, but it was something deeper than that.

  And then, as if sensing her thoughts, Midea's lips curved into something sharp.

  "And finally, there is understanding." His voice dipped slightly, the weight of those words settling into the air.

  With a flick of his wrist, the numen flared once more.

  "You see, Surya, to achieve a certain effect in warding, one does not actually have to understand a Dao."

  The sentence made her pause.

  Her eyes narrowed slightly, skepticism creeping in. That… didn't seem right. Understanding the Dao was fundamental to everything. Without comprehension of the world's laws, how could one shape them?

  And yet—

  She remained silent, watching as Midea lifted his hand once more.

  This time, he began to draw.

  The numen, now steadier, pulsed in a slow, deliberate dance. His movements were precise, fluid, each line an extension of a greater design.

  A circle came first, its edges smooth, seemingly perfect.

  Then, in the center, he inscribed a shape reminiscent of a star, each of its points touching the edges of the surrounding ring.

  Around this core, Midea's fingers flicked outward, adding three more circles, each equidistant from the others. Within them, he carved strange symbols, shapes that Tanya almost recognized.

  Clouds.

  At least, they looked like clouds—flowing, twisting, inscribed within the orbiting circles like miniature weather patterns captured in ink.

  Then came the arrows.

  He traced them from the three outer circles, leading them toward the central star, their curves strange, unnatural—not straight like simple vectors, but flowing like currents.

  And finally—

  A final layer.

  More circles.

  More shapes.

  More connections.

  Tanya's breath hitched slightly.

  The pattern wasn't random.

  It was structured. Balanced.

  But more than that—

  It looked eerily familiar.

  Her mind flashed back to chemistry classes on Earth, to old textbooks and molecule diagrams.

  That's what it resembled.

  Not just a ward—but a network, something living, something that mirrored the interwoven complexity of nature itself.

  Tarak, beside her, tensed. His tail stilled in midair, frozen.

  And then—

  The ward pulsed.

  And suddenly, water erupted from its center.

  A burst, quick but controlled, a thin stream flowing downward as if pulled from nothingness.

  It splashed onto the wooden table, the droplets scattering, catching the dim light before soaking into the surface.

  "Hoh!"

  Tarak exclaimed beside her, his voice filled with genuine shock. His normally sharp features softened for a brief moment, pure wonder replacing his usual detached curiosity.

  Midea chuckled, his crimson gaze flicking toward them with satisfaction.

  She herself was surprised.

  The man had seemingly created water from nothing.

  Well, not nothing, as she knew that the effect had been caused by numen—both the ambient numen the formation had drawn in and the numen that Midea had personally imbued into it. But still, to the naked eye, it had been nothing short of a miracle.

  It was so simple. So effortless. And yet, so profound.

  Her rational mind could break it down—the formation had likely pulled in latent moisture from the air, or perhaps Midea had arranged the pattern in such a way that it condensed what already existed. But the act itself, the visual spectacle, had stirred something deeper within her.

  It felt truly magical—not in the structured, calculated way cultivation often did, but in a way that appealed to whimsy.

  The kind of whimsy she had long since buried.

  Not since she was a child, no. That wasn't quite right.

  Not since she had been a child mentally. A child in a world where she had believed in the impossible without needing a logical framework to justify it.

  She narrowed her eyes, shifting slightly on the featherlin-hide cushion as she mused over the structure of the ward.

  Her first impression had not been wrong. The arrangement of the three smaller circles was oddly familiar.

  It resembled something elementary, something she had learned long ago—the simplest representation of a water molecule.

  One oxygen, paired with two hydrogen.

  She pursed her lips. Could that really be a coincidence?

  Or perhaps... not.

  Numen supposedly ran through all things.

  It was the force that bound the world together, the unseen thread that wove reality into coherence.

  If that were true, then naturally occurring shapes and structures—the very blueprints of existence—would be reflected in the language of creation.

  Her fingers twitched slightly, an old, nearly forgotten urge rising within her. A scientist's curiosity.

  She wanted to break it apart. To reverse-engineer it. To understand what exactly linked the patterns of the world she had once known to the world she now inhabited.

  Midea exhaled sharply, his crimson eyes flicking toward her with a knowing glint.

  "I have no understanding of the Dao of Water, or Flow," he said casually, lifting a hand and snapping his fingers. The remnants of the dissipating formation shuddered in response, as though obeying his gesture before completely fading away. "And yet, here I am, creating such a formation."

  The words pulled her from her thoughts.

  She looked at him, expression sharpening.

  "On the other hand," Midea continued, drawing absent patterns in the air with his clawed fingers, "if I were a cultivator who did cultivate the Dao of Water, this formation would be far stronger." His smirk deepened, though there was a faint glint of annoyance beneath it, like someone recalling the teachings of old mentors with equal parts respect and exasperation.

  "All of these factors lead to alignment."

  He tapped a single finger against the table, the sound crisp against the wood.

  Alignment.

  The word resonated in her mind.

  "Alignment with the Dao," Midea clarified smoothly, his tone carrying that same infuriating ease, as if all of this were the simplest thing in the world.

  He leaned forward slightly, his horns catching the golden glow of the dust-speckled light streaming in from the window.

  "Formations and wards wear down over time," he said. "Through deterioration of materials, through fading intent, and through sheer overuse. The amount of numen a cultivator imbues, the complexity of the ward, and the depth of their understanding—these all determine the quality of the ward or formation."

  He flicked his wrist, and for a fleeting moment, she swore she saw faint numen still lingering between his fingertips.

  "Alignment," he repeated, "is the process of our art form communicating with creation."

  Tanya's breath hitched slightly.

  The way he phrased it—our art form—

  She felt an old spark of recognition.

  This was not so different from certain theories back on Earth. The idea that mathematics, music, physics, and art were not separate disciplines, but all part of the same universal language.

  Alignment.

  It wasn't just about learning a system.

  It was about learning how to speak with the world itself.

  Midea leaned back, stretching his arms above his head in a lazy, feline manner, as if the explanation had taken nothing from him.

  "This is how you get more than you put in with wards," he continued, his voice smooth, unhurried. "A cultivator's numen alone may not be able to reinforce their blade for years straight. But a well-made ward? A well-made ward can."

  His eyes flickered, sharp with meaning.

  "Alignment draws power from Heaven and Earth, allowing the ward to fulfill its intended purpose beyond the capabilities of the one who made it. Or at least longer lasting."

  Tanya let out a slow breath, fingers pressing into the cushion beneath her.

  It made sense.

  It made too much sense.

  She had always wondered why cultivation formations and wards didn't just drain a cultivator dry. How large-scale defenses were sustained without a ridiculous output of numen.

  This was why.

  Wards were not just passive tools.

  They were bridges—extensions of laws, which in part had to be maintained by people but the world did its own lifting as well.

  "If not," Midea added, tilting his head slightly as if to punctuate the point, "wards would be nearly useless."

  His lips curled into a wry smirk, and he clicked his tongue, shaking his head slightly.

  It was subtle, but Tanya recognized it.

  That was not directed at her.

  That was directed at someone else.

  Some old mentor, perhaps.

  Or maybe—

  A memory of his own past failures.

  She ignored it and pushed on with her questioning.

  "I'm curious," Surya said, tilting her head slightly, the faintest flicker of intrigue flashing across her features. "Can they be used in battle, then? If they can be drawn purely from numen, wouldn't that mean one could wield Daos they are unfamiliar with?"

  The question lingered in the air for a moment, and in that pause, she caught the glint of acknowledgment in Midea's crimson gaze.

  A slow, knowing smile curved at the edges of his lips.

  "An interesting assertion, little monster," he mused, tapping his fingers against the wooden table, a soft rhythmic sound echoing in the quiet. "However, it is not quite as feasible as you might think."

  Surya leaned slightly forward, waiting.

  Midea flicked his wrist, and a ripple of numen stirred, coiling around his fingers like smoke before dispersing into the air. "Of course, using wards to enhance one's weapons? That is common parlance. In fact, it is one of the most effective ways to elevate an arsenal beyond its mundane limitations. However—" his smirk widened slightly, "—drawing wards mid-battle?" He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "That is nonsense."

  Surya raised an eyebrow.

  Tarak, sitting beside her, let his head tilt slightly to the right as his explanation, the smooth contrast of black and white on his horns catching the light as he observed the conversation with the same dull expresson as always though she could see the curiosity coiled in his body.

  "For one," Midea continued, stretching lazily, his posture unbothered yet his words precise, "you would have to rely on pure numen. That, in and of itself, is difficult in battle. It is difficult out of battle as well, mind you." His sharp gaze flicked to her, his smirk growing ever so slightly smug. "Do not let my ease fool you. I am an extremely talented demon of House Valefor, after all. The average non-noble struggles to even form a perfect circle of numen, much less construct an entire functional ward from it."

  His voice held that tone again—one she recognized as preening self-satisfaction.

  Surya inhaled quietly, feeling the patience slip from her grasp.

  "Yes, yes," she interjected smoothly, cutting across him before he could truly get going. "You will be an amazing and great undefeatable future Overlord, Midea. I heard you now please continue."

  The demon stopped mid-sentence, blinking.

  His mouth opened slightly, then closed. A sharp cough escaped him as he lifted a fist to his lips, clearing his throat in what was very clearly an effort to mask his momentary loss of composure.

  Surya felt Tarak shift beside her, his body warming against her side as he leaned in, his large crimson eyes gleaming with an almost unmistakable amusement. The scales along his tail twitched as he flicked it just a fraction closer to her.

  She had to hold back her own smirk.

  Midea, for his part, recovered quickly.

  "Ahem." He straightened, flicking a stray lock of dark hair out of his face with exaggerated nonchalance.

  "As I was saying," he continued, voice smoother now, as if he hadn't just been derailed, "numen manipulation at that level is difficult. When in the heat of battle, it becomes even harder. One must properly imbue the ward with intent and understanding, all while actively engaging in combat."

  A subtle motion of his fingers sent another stream of numen flickering between them, his expression becoming almost absent-minded as he toyed with the energy, weaving faintly glowing lines that danced in the air before dissolving into nothingness.

  "And then," he added, "there is the fact that an opponent can simply interrupt your effort at creation."

  Surya hummed thoughtfully, her fingers tracing along the smooth surface of the table.

  "And if a single part of the process fails," Midea continued, voice laced with the sharpness of experience, "then alignment will be off. And when alignment is off—" he snapped his fingers, the numen in the air fizzling out, "—you will get less out of a ward than what you put in."

  A waste of effort.

  An inefficient, impractical approach.

  Surya nodded at that, her mind already moving ahead, drawing conclusions before she even voiced them.

  "Simply put," she murmured, "it's a sunk cost fallacy. In battle, the risk outweighs the potential reward, rendering it unfeasible in most cases."

  Midea gave a pleased hum, his lips curling slightly. "Precisely."

  Surya exhaled, feeling her thoughts settle.

  Chanting, in contrast, was simply superior in a combat scenario.

  It had the advantage of being integrated into most sutras to begin with, allowing cultivators to access power fluidly, without having to break their momentum.

  She had her answer she supposed then. For now.

  "Now, onto the basics of ward crafting," Midea announced, his voice smooth yet edged with the weight of knowledge passed down through generations. His crimson eyes gleamed beneath the shifting light of the seven-colored suns, glancing briefly at Surya before flicking back to the empty air before him. "Wards are often related to shapes naturally found in nature."

  Well, that was a confirmation of her theory.

  Surya's fingers idly traced spirals into the soft fabric of her cushion as she leaned forward slightly, her interest piqued. She had already begun making the connection between ward formations and naturally occurring structures, but to hear it explicitly stated by someone as knowledgeable as Midea gave her a sense of validation.

  "But this isn't absolute," Midea continued, his sharp fingers gesturing idly, tracing unseen diagrams in the air. "Not every effective ward follows natural geometry, but many of the most fundamental principles are derived from observed reality. Patterns woven into the fabric of existence. Fractals, for example—" He lifted a hand and, with the faintest pulse of numen, traced the delicate form of a snowflake in the air. The intricate crystalline shape gleamed softly, its edges shimmering as if caught between solidity and dissolution.

  Surya's mind immediately leapt to known fractal structures—snowflakes, lightning paths, mineral formations, even the branching of trees and rivers. Patterns that repeated themselves endlessly at smaller and smaller scales.

  "Theoretically," Midea continued, his voice adopting a measured cadence as he twirled the fractal construct between his fingers, "a mathematically perfect fractal could have an infinite surface area within a limited amount of space. This makes them particularly useful in wards designed for energy storage, as they maximize capacity while maintaining stability. They allow numen to circulate more efficiently, layering energy without unnecessary waste."

  He waved a hand, dissolving the glowing construct, before seamlessly tracing the shape of a sphere.

  "Spheres," he said, his fingers gliding through the air, "represent wholeness. Unity. They hold formations together, acting as stabilizing cores, just as celestial bodies do in the vastness of the cosmos. In wardcraft, they function as anchors, capable of balancing multiple conflicting energies within a structure."

  The sphere faded, replaced by a spiral, its smooth curves drawing the eye inward as if pulling at the very air around it.

  "Spirals are one of the most commonly used forms in warding. They are designed to draw numen from the environment, allowing formations to sustain themselves for extended periods. They bolster longevity and increase efficiency, much like how the natural world favors spiraled structures for optimal growth."

  Surya narrowed her eyes slightly, thinking. The Fibonacci spiral. It was found in everything from seashells to galaxies, a product of efficient energy distribution. She recalled how it played a role in biological growth patterns, how plants arranged their leaves in spirals to maximize sunlight exposure while minimizing wasted space.

  Midea was already moving on, his claws gliding through the air as he sketched a star-like formation, sharp and angular.

  "Stars," he murmured, his tone holding something almost reverential, "are symbols of transformation. They burn, fuse, and collapse, birthing new elements through their deaths. In other worlds—worlds more... conventional—stars undergo nuclear fusion, a process in which lighter atoms merge into heavier ones, releasing immense energy. That transformation, that evolution, is what makes them powerful in warding. We use star formations when designing wards meant to enhance or change something. They serve as catalysts. This is unknown to you but I will teach you more about this later."

  Surya nodded slowly, absorbing the implications. A shape imbued with the very concept of change itself. Her eyes flicked to Tarak whose brows were furrowed looking utterly confused but knowledge hungry nonetheless. It was nice to see him be more expressive every so often. Her attention turned back to the demon.

  Midea continued without pause, shifting to another set of forms.

  "Hexagons," he said, sketching them fluidly, "are symbols of stability and distribution. They tessellate perfectly, leaving no wasted space. In nature, they form honeycombs, basalt columns, crystalline lattices—all structures designed to withstand force while maintaining efficiency. In warding, they are used for reinforcement, distributing numen evenly throughout a formation."

  A flick of his wrist, and the hexagons connected into a larger grid, merging seamlessly into squares.

  "Squares are similar but function more as pillars rather than distributors. They serve as axes—foundations that hold up diverging formations. The difference between a hexagonal and a square foundation is simple: hexagons distribute evenly, making them ideal for energy circulation, while squares create a rigid, solid framework."

  Surya processed the information, remembering how hexagons minimized wasted space while providing stability, a reason why bees used them for their honeycombs and why molecular structures favored them in certain arrangements. Meanwhile, spheres, despite having the most efficient volume-to-surface ratio, lacked the tessellation ability of hexagons, making them suited for containment rather than distribution.

  "And finally," Midea said, his tone shifting slightly as he traced a last set of symbols into the air—flowing, curving lines that seemed to move even when standing still, "we have flow symbols. These are essential in guiding numen, ensuring energy moves properly through a formation. They dictate current, connection, and movement between components."

  The curving arrow-like marks pulsed faintly, their edges subtly shifting like ripples on a pond.

  "This," he concluded, "is the most basic of basic foundations when it comes to wards. A culmination of observed reality, fundamental principles of structure, and the underpinning rules of creation itself."

  Tarak, who had been following along with an intense gaze, furrowed his brow slightly, his slit-pupiled crimson eyes flickering as he tried to piece together the implications. His head was likely bursting at the onset of information.

  Surya, on the other hand, remained silent for a moment, her thoughts swirling.

  It did make sense. The principles of wardcraft aligned eerily with natural structures—perhaps not entirely surprising, given that numen supposedly flowed through all things. The Fibonacci spiral was not just an arbitrary design but one of optimized growth and flow. Spirals formed in galaxies due to density waves, leading younger, hotter stars to cluster along those arms. Similarly, hexagons distributed force efficiently, which was why they appeared in strong natural structures. Circles, meanwhile, acted as anchors, representing completeness, the most efficient shape for containing energy.

  It was all interconnected.

  She glanced at Midea, her mind catching on something else.

  "If these forms are drawn from nature," she said slowly, "does that mean that wards themselves function in accordance with laws that are already inherent in the world? Are we—when crafting wards—just refining what is already present?"

  A slow, pleased smile stretched across Midea's face.

  "You're catching on quickly, little monster." His tail flicked once against the floor. "Yes. We are not creating laws so much as we are aligning with them taking them apart and recombinig them. The closer our wards mimic the fundamental patterns of reality, the more effective they become. This is the essence of alignment—the more we attune to natural structure, the greater the return on our efforts. But then again this does not have to be explicit in shape. For example stars are not shaped as such but our star symbol still serves the function of transformation. Meaning matters just as much as shape. When a wardmaster increases in skill they will be able to add a multitde of wards in a childs drawing. As I said before the dao manifests in many ways mimicking natural shapes is just one of the most direct ways to get there."

  He leaned back slightly, exhaling in something that almost resembled satisfaction. "That is why understanding is critical. One who merely copies wards will never reach mastery. One must grasp the principles, truly understand them, in order to craft wards that do not simply function, but thrive."

  The weight of his words settled into the space between them, heavy with the gravity of realization.

  Surya took a slow breath.

  She understood now.

  She had so much to learn. Her thoughts roiled underneath the surface as countless theories shot through her head.

  "Surya?"

  A voice came from her side, accompanied by a light nudge against her arm. The sensation was familiar—the smooth yet firm texture of scales gliding against her skin as her brother's tail lazily curled back into place.

  "Huh? What?" Tanya blinked, her gaze refocusing as she turned toward him.

  Tarak's crimson, slit-pupiled eyes regarded her with mild amusement twinkling in his eyes, his head tilted ever so slightly in that way he often did when studying something peculiar. Across from her, Midea had one brow raised, his sharp, demonic features arranged into an expression of slight teasing.

  "You zoned out for a while there," The demon said, his voice neutral but edged with the slightest flicker of amusement. "Your eyes were crossed, and your gums were flapping. You looked like a loon."

  Tarak blinked, leaning back lazily in his seat, his fingers drumming against the table's surface. "It wasn't bad, to be fair sister. You were muttering to yourself. A lot." Her brother said waving his hand in the air in a vague expression.

  Tanya sighed, rubbing her temples. "I really need to stop doing that," she muttered to herself, exhaling through her nose. It wasn't the first time she had been caught drifting too far into her thoughts. The habit had worsened ever since she had arrived in this world, and while she found comfort in the sheer depth of intellectual pursuit, she had to admit—she probably did look like a lunatic when she got carried away.

  Midea stretched, rolling his shoulders with a dramatic groan before waving a dismissive hand in the air. "Well, I think that's enough for the day in regards to teaching. Scram and go do child things—like wiggle your toes in the dirt or slobber on inedible objects. Whatever it is you little darklings do for entertainment."

  Tanya leveled him with a dull, unimpressed stare, her expression flat. "Is this jealousy? I imagine it must be difficult having goat feet."

  Midea's smirk twitched. "I'll have you know, my feet are exquisite. I find your digits far more unsettling in comparison."

  Tarak, ever the neutral observer, chimed in without looking up. "Didn't you curse your hooves to Satan a few nights ago when you slipped in the mud?"

  The room fell silent.

  Tarak blinked slowly, his tone as dry as a sun-bleached stone. "I remember. You tried to stand up, but you slipped again. Then your horns impaled the ground, and you were stuck for a while. It was quite the sight."

  Midea's eye twitched. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out.

  Tanya, sensing his utter defeat, grinned, the glint of victory flashing in her amethyst eyes. "Indeed," she said smoothly, rising from her seat with an air of exaggerated superiority. "I, with my clearly superior digits, will now take my leave, Midea."

  She turned to her brother, smirking slightly. "Tarak, shall we go before someone remembers how to argue?"

  Tarak, still seemingly confused at Midea's sudden speechlessness, nodded. "...Alright."

  And with that, they made their way toward the exit, leaving Midea to seethe in silence, the memory of his less-than-graceful mud encounter haunting him anew.

  ________

  Tanya brushed herself off, shaking away dust and stray thoughts. There was much to do and even more to gather for the plan she intended to set in motion tonight. She had caught wind from Midea that Luna had been staying with her mother—sleeping in her room, hardly leaving her side.

  It had only been a day, but that alone was concerning. Not because the girl needed time with her mother, but because of the way Midea's expression had darkened ever so slightly when he mentioned it. That flicker of something grim across his face—so fleeting yet so telling—meant there was more to the situation than he let on. And if he was concerned, that meant it was something worth looking into.

  Objectively speaking, Luna was now a part of their faction, whether she consciously acknowledged it or not. She had, for all intents and purposes, become Midea's biological daughter, and the demon was clearly invested in reuniting her and Tarak with their biological mother. It was her support that had made it so easy for Hathor to be put away, her backing that had ensured Tanya's rise as the reification of Wolvenblade. And, at the very least, it was Luna's very existence that had forced Tanya's hand to act in the first place.

  The girl had weight now, significance.

  Not to mention, Tarak—her battle-hardened, feral, impossibly pragmatic brother—was experiencing his first tango of the heart with Luna's sister. Tanya's mouth twitched in quiet amusement at the memory of his even drier than normal expression when he explained the situation. Apparently, Sol had roped him into playing what was effectively house with herself and two other girls. He hadn't been enthusiastic about it, but he had gone along anyway—because it mattered to Sol.

  That was just how he was.

  Tarak might not have understood the full depth of why he indulged her, but he was aware that her world had been thrown into disarray. And so, he let her pull him along, let her anchor herself to him in whatever way she needed. Tanya had no doubt that if Sol wanted to build a nest atop his head and declare it her new kingdom, her brother would merely grunt, tolerate it, and allow her to do so.

  With that thought lingering in her mind, she exhaled and stepped out of the house, pulling the door open to the embrace of the outside world.

  The air was thick with the scent of dew and morning fires, carrying with it the rich aromas of roasting meats, fresh breads, and the sharp tang of brewing herbs. The village was already alive, the market pulsing with movement—mothers bartering for produce, artisans displaying their wares, and warriors tending to their weapons. The ever-present hum of life filled the streets, a mixture of voices, footsteps, and the occasional crackling of distant woodwork.

  And, of course, the whispers.

  As she walked, she caught bits and pieces of murmured conversation, words like reification and Surya and Satyr's child slipping into the air like loose threads of gossip. Some voices were hushed, conspiratorial—filled with questions about what her ascension meant. Others carried intrigue, awe, and the occasional bitter skepticism.

  An older, matronly woman with deep-set eyes and soft, weathered hands leaned toward a younger girl beside her, her voice a gentle murmur beneath the hum of the crowd.

  Tanya didn't need to strain to listen.

  She had always been good at hearing what people tried to hide.

  "Oh, did you hear about the new reification? They say she is truly divine."

  "I don't know, Ma. These things never really last."

  "Yes, but she is different. How many reifications have hatched from an egg, can fly, and are toddlers with war plans and body counts?"

  "Well… I can't argue with that. It really does seem crazy that a normal child would be able to devise a strategy and plan that even the general couldn't. If it wasn't for the Sun's blessing, you'd think she was some insane soldier stuffed into a child's body."

  "Haha, like that could ever happen!"

  The two women burst into laughter, their voices rising over the din of the morning bustle. Meanwhile, Tanya merely stared at them, her expression unreadable, gaze flat and unamused.

  In hindsight… yeah.

  She had been hypercapable, but it wasn't as if she had accomplished anything impossible. She had merely possessed the strength, resources, and mindset to act when others hesitated. That was all. But still, the words insane soldier stuffed into a child's body clung to her mind like a burr. It wasn't far from the truth—not literally, of course, but in essence.

  A small twinge of amusement flickered across her thoughts, but it was short-lived. Maybe she had been a bit too careless, a bit too obvious. But it was far too late to cry over spilled milk now.

  Her gaze flicked to her side, noting the weight of the small pouch she had secured to her belt. It was filled with sun coins—currency given to Midea from the village, which she had taken for herself. She had no real desire to waste time bartering with stall owners over the ever-fluctuating value of goods. It was inefficient. Sun coins, on the other hand, had consistent value.

  They made it easier to fleece people.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Tanya preened slightly at the thought. Glorious business. Glorious capitalism.

  Her fingers absently traced the pouch's edge as she stepped further into the village, her mind wandering with the flow of the morning crowd. Eventually, her gaze drifted upward—drawn by the fluttering of wings and the passing shadows that streaked across the sun-drenched rooftops.

  Overhead, birds danced through the sky, their movements tracing invisible shapes across the heavens. Among them was a lone, single-legged bird with orange and grey feathers, gliding through the air with an almost eerie grace.

  A Razi.

  Tanya had learned about them from none other than the eponymous Ms. Linda, whose endless knowledge about the mundane habits of creatures had been surprisingly useful. The Razi were common here, ever-present in the skies, their sharp cries cutting through the wind.

  But they weren't the only ones.

  There were also the Filum, four-winged black birds with brilliant, iridescent feathers that shimmered when they caught the light just right. These were rarer, more elusive, but still occasional visitors. She had spotted them a handful of times, their movements more deliberate than the frantic flutters of the Razi.

  Neither species were pests in the traditional sense, but that didn't mean they were harmless.

  The Razi, in particular, had a reputation for being absolute menaces. They weren't aggressive, nor were they particularly destructive, but they ate like gluttons—and, more annoyingly, shat like demons.

  It was a common grievance among the villagers.

  If a Razi got into a field of crops, it would devour everything it could fit into its beak, then immediately defecate all over the farmers for good measure. It was as if they were personally offended by the existence of agriculture.

  As such, there were no rules against hunting them.

  Tanya exhaled through her nose, watching as the bird circled lazily above the village. Somewhere nearby, she heard the unmistakable plop of something wet and heavy hitting a surface, followed by the horrified groan of an unfortunate villager.

  She smirked.

  Glorious nature.

  As soon as that thought surfaced, a deep growl rumbled from her stomach, the sound almost predatory in itself. Hunger. It gnawed at her insides, twisting into something primal, something far beyond simple appetite. She could feel the claws of her instincts scraping at the walls of her mind, their edges sharp and eager.

  Kill and eat. Eat and kill.

  The impulse surged, as undeniable as the breath in her lungs. A quiet sigh left her lips. Well, for all the violent urges her instincts gave her, she would have to live with them. She had already accepted them as part of herself—wasn't much of a choice in the first place.

  Her wings unfurled, their silver-and-grey feathers catching the sunlight as she stretched them wide. The power within them coiled like a taut wire, and with a single flap—then another—she launched herself into the sky.

  Wind howled past her ears, threading through her hair and sweeping through her feathers. Her body moved as if it had always belonged in the air, as if she had been made for this.

  For just a moment, she felt free.

  The world below unfurled like a living tapestry. The village stretched beneath her, a vibrant mosaic of movement and sound. Spiral-branched trees swayed in the distance, their twisted limbs reaching skyward like proud sentinels.

  She saw the people—so many people.

  Men and women flirting, stealing shy glances or making bolder moves. Children shrieking with laughter as they ran through the dirt paths, kicking up dust with every step. Soldiers—some standing guard, others behaving like idiots, wrestling and joking in their off-time. Families gathered around open-air tables, breaking bread and sharing meals, exchanging stories as if the world beyond their village did not exist.

  She saw kindness—an old woman being helped across the street, her frail hands gripping the arm of a patient young man.

  She saw grief—mourners gathered in hushed circles, speaking in reverent tones, their eyes still heavy with the weight of those lost in the meteor storm a week prior.

  And she saw recovery—the slow but steady rebuilding of homes, of spirits, of lives that had been shaken but not broken.

  She had never stopped to take it all in before.

  Flying like this, watching from above—it was familiar to her.

  But in the past, when she had looked down from the sky, it had always been different. It had always been battle, always war. The sky had been filled with the screams of the dying, the thunderous explosions of rebellion and retaliation. Every time she had looked down, it had been on violence—on chaos—on ruin.

  But this…

  She exhaled through her nose, her flight leveling as she adjusted her course.

  This wasn't bad at all.

  Her amethyst eyes flicked toward her target.

  The Razi had noticed her—a predator over a meter long, wings casting a dark shadow against the sun. Its small beady eyes locked onto her for just a second before instinct took over. It let out a sharp cry and bolted, wings beating frantically as it tried to escape.

  Too late.

  Tanya let her instincts take control.

  Her jaw unhinged, stretching far too wide, her two rows of teeth lengthening into dagger-like points. Power surged through her body as her wings snapped once behind her, launching her forward at terrifying speed.

  The Razi never stood a chance.

  Her teeth sank into its body, slicing clean through flesh and bone in a single motion. Snap! The upper half of the bird disappeared into her mouth as she caught the remaining legs with her right hand, stopping them from plummeting to the earth below.

  Warmth flooded her veins. Satisfaction. Completion.

  The cycle had been fulfilled—hunting and killing.

  She felt it immediately. The energy spread through her limbs, a pulse of strength rushing through her muscles before they swelled—then contracted—adapting. Her body absorbed what it needed, the rest sinking into the abyss within her.

  But this time… this time, it was different.

  This was not her body's usual adaptation.

  No—this was something else.

  It came from the abyss.

  A shift. A stirring deep within her being, something unseen but undeniably present. A change was coming, creeping forward like the slow approach of a storm on the horizon.

  She knew it.

  She just didn't know what.

  On the other hand eating the bird raw didn't bother her. It wasn't as if she had to worry about parasites or illness—if they even tried to infest her body, they'd be hunted down before they could so much as settle in. Or perhaps that was more her body's confidence speaking rather than her own. Either way, she didn't hesitate. Hunger was hard to fight.

  She gave her head a brief shake before shoving the rest of the bird's corpse into her mouth—cartilage, bones, and all—before crunching down with ease. There was no need to chew carefully, no need to mind the shards of bone. Her teeth were as hard as steel, her gums just as tough, making the entire process as natural as breathing. Bone fragments meant nothing to her—if anything, they merely added an extra crunch.

  Swallowing, she licked the blood from her lips, the warmth of the hunt still thrumming through her veins.

  As she descended from the sky, her sharp gaze swept across the dirt roads, noting the usual movement of the village. But then—someone caught her attention.

  A man stood there, staring at her with a look of pure shock.

  His mouth hung open slightly, eyes stretched wide—so wide they looked on the verge of popping out of his skull, like some loony cartoon character who had just been gut-punched by reality itself.

  Tanya's gaze flicked over him. He was filthy, his skin caked in dust and grime. He wasn't wearing proper clothes—just a sack-like wrap that barely counted as a tunic. His bare feet were rough and cracked from travel, and the way he clutched the worn strap of a satchel slung across his chest made it clear that whatever was inside it was the only thing of value he had.

  She exhaled through her nose, clicking her tongue slightly.

  Hadn't he ever seen someone fly before?

  Well—no, she supposed it was fair to say that most villagers hadn't seen Remus fly, nor had they likely seen someone hunt in the way she just had. Still, it was starting to get a little tiring—these gawking reactions.

  She arched a brow, tilting her head slightly.

  "Is there a problem?" she asked.

  The man instantly snapped out of his daze, his entire body jerking upright. Then, as if suddenly remembering himself, he hurriedly straightened his posture and slapped a hand to his chest in some attempt at formal greeting.

  "No, my glorious reification! Great Razi Eater! The Seventh Surya!"

  And with that, he turned and bolted, his satchel bouncing against his chest as he disappeared down the road.

  Tanya just stood there, staring after him, utterly deadpan.

  …My glorious?

  Great Razi Eater?

  She ran a hand down her face. Gosh, she was never going to get used to that.

  That was a different level of brown-nosing entirely. They might as well just shove their heads up her ass at this point. She smirked, unable to help the dry amusement that flickered through her thoughts. Sycophants were a universal constant, weren't they?

  She had seen them in her past life—those who bowed and scraped, agreeing with her every word. Some out of fear, others out of genuine belief that she could do no wrong. At least… when it came to war. They were all the same, though.

  And did that guy just call me a shit-eater?

  Or at the very least, the eater of notorious shitters?

  Perhaps she was too quick to judge him.

  Her smirk twitched. Food was food. If people wanted to turn her into some absurd legend about devouring sky-rats, that was their problem.

  She shook her head, pushing away the thought. With a casual roll of her shoulders, she continued on her way, feet sinking into the dirt with every step. The sun had warmed the earth just enough that it felt pleasant between her toes, the texture of soil and stone grounding in a way she hadn't fully appreciated before.

  In truth, the demon wasn't wrong—neither she nor Tarak particularly liked shoes. They could wear them, sure, but they never saw much of a point.

  Mold? Foot fungus? Insect bites? Non-factors.

  Sharp rocks?

  The rock had better hope they didn't step too hard.

  A faint metallic taste touched her tongue, and she reached up, licking the corner of her chin.

  Blood.

  Ah… That was probably one of the reasons the man had looked so horrified. The remnants of her meal still lingered, trickling down from her lips in thin rivulets.

  Her brows furrowed slightly as she rubbed at it with her thumb. But then—

  "Hmmmm?"

  Tanya had been making her way toward the main square, where the merchants would be selling what she needed. It wasn't far, but something—something—made her pause.

  Her nose twitched.

  A scent.

  Her instincts sharpened as her senses latched onto it, a tangy, foreign musk that stirred something primal in her. It wasn't a canid. That much was certain. It was something else. Something large.

  Her stomach curled with a tension she couldn't place. How she even knew its size purely through scent was a mystery, but the knowledge settled into her mind as if it had always been there, as if the world itself had whispered its truth into her bones.

  Her path diverted.

  Silently, she moved away from the road, slipping between trees just outside a small clearing. Her wings tucked against her back as she maneuvered through the underbrush, her steps feather-light, her body naturally adjusting to a predatory rhythm.

  Her amethyst eyes narrowed.

  A form lurked in the darkness.

  In the clearing, a few wolfmen—members of the Canid Clan—were engaged in some activity, though she barely paid them any mind. They weren't the concern.

  No.

  The thing in the darkness was.

  Her muscles coiled, her breath steady, her gaze locking onto the figure just as it moved.

  Fast.

  A flash of motion—razor-sharp, raptorial—predatory.

  The beast lunged toward the Canid Clan members.

  But Tanya was faster.

  She shot forward, a blur in the dark, intercepting the creature mid-pounce. Her arm swung hard, her palm slamming into something hard and ridged—carapace? No—feathers?

  Both.

  The impact cracked through the night like a gunshot.

  The creature didn't just stumble—it flew.

  A mess of flailing limbs, feathered plates, and jagged edges was sent rocketing backward, crashing through a wall of trees with a series of brutal, splintering cracks.

  It didn't stop.

  Tree after tree snapped in its wake as it was hurled clean out of the clearing—hurtling straight into the main square with a resounding boom.

  Tanya's pupils constricted.

  "Damn it!"

  She pushed off the ground, dirt exploding beneath her feet as she raced after it, ignoring the startled… the startled howls? From the Canid Clan members behind her. Their confusion was meaningless though she was also confused at their howling. Even so, she had more pressing matters to deal with.

  She burst into the main square, the scent of wood dust and crushed stone thick in the air. Merchants and villagers scrambled, their once-ordinary morning shattered by the sudden arrival of an unknown predator.

  There.

  She saw it now.

  The thing was rising from the debris, limbs clicking, body shifting—inhuman.

  It was tall—taller than the average Canid man, meaning it towered over 6'4". Its body was a disturbing blend of avian and insectoid, with long, praying mantis-like forelegs ending in jagged, serrated edges. Its torso was sleek, interwoven with plates of chitin and patches of blackened feathers, the fusion of organic and exoskeletal armor making it look like a thing pulled straight from nightmare.

  Its head was the worst part.

  Elongated, insectoid, a hooked beak in place of a mouth, but it didn't end there. Mandibles jutted from the sides of its beak—large, curved, twitching slightly as if tasting the air.

  Tanya's gut twisted.

  But not in fear.

  Hunger.

  Her body reacted—primal instincts clawing their way to the surface, screaming to consume this thing. It was foreign. It was dangerous. It was prey.

  The beast tried to move.

  She moved faster.

  She was already there, already on it, her fingers snapping around its throat with a speed it couldn't comprehend.

  It twisted, attempting to weave away—

  But she adjusted, her grip shifting with inhuman precision.

  A sickening crack echoed through the square as she clenched down hard, its exoskeletal throat crunching beneath her strength.

  The creature shrieked.

  A high-pitched, clicking wail that sent an unnatural chill rippling through the air.

  Around her, shouts erupted—villagers, guards, the Canid Clan members she had left behind.

  But they didn't matter.

  Not now.

  Because beneath her fingers, beneath the struggling thing caught in her grasp—

  She felt something else.

  A sensation beyond instinct.

  Beyond hunger.

  Something new was stirring.

  Tanya's grip remained firm around the creature's throat, but a different kind of sensation churned in her gut—disgust. Not the visceral kind one felt upon seeing rot or filth, but something stranger.

  It was the kind of disgust one felt when seeing a particularly ugly human. Not grotesque, not malformed—just deeply, viscerally unappealing. The kind of face that made the mind recoil, not in fear, but in sheer repulsion.

  And that—that realization shocked her.

  Her hunger was there, a steady, growling force of nature in her gut, but alongside it was acknowledgment. Recognition that this thing wasn't just food. It was a viable option for reproduction.

  Her stomach twisted.

  If one asked a human to look at a group of female chickens and rank their beauty, they wouldn't be able to do it. To human eyes, they all looked the same—unremarkable, indistinct. A chicken was just a chicken. But to a rooster? Every single one would have distinct traits. Their minds were wired to see differences that a human never could.

  It was the same for her.

  This creature—this thing—was visibly slovenly. Inferior.

  Her body recognized it as an option, yet her mind recoiled, screaming that it was wrong.

  She swallowed.

  Her mother had wings, didn't she?

  Had she—had Lervea—slept with some giant cultivation bird? Was that why Tanya was like this? If that was the case, then what about Tarak?

  Her stomach flipped again.

  Was he attracted to reptiles?

  Her mind reeled at the implications, spiraling further down the absurdity. Did this mean she was now doomed to only be attracted to birds? Would she end up married to a big yellow one, living the rest of her life in some Sesame Village, shoving her face into barrels of birdseed while her children learned their ABCs from an ancient Daoist scholar in the shape of a blue-furred monster?!

  Her face twitched against her will. She almost seemed to see the image before her eyes.

  "HELLOOO WELCOOOME TO DAO SCHOLAR COOKIE DEVOURERS ABC SCHOOOLL!"

  Her brain snapped.

  "GahahahhahHAHAHAHA!"

  Laughter burst from her throat—wild, manic, unrestrained. She tilted her head back as her shoulders trembled, the sheer absurdity of it all sending waves of uncontrollable hysteria through her.

  She must have looked insane.

  Because she felt insane laughing as she was.

  "Surya?"

  A voice cut through the haze.

  Her head snapped to the side, pupils dilated in suprise.

  Hati stood a few feet away, her brow furrowed in concern, while beside her, Kofi—one of the village warriors, dark-skinned and broad-shouldered—watched with only mild disturbance, his arms crossed.

  "Are you okay?" Hati's concern was palpable, but Kofi's voice was tinged with something else—something hovering between caution and incredulity.

  Tanya blinked.

  "Huh?"

  "You good?" Kofi repeated.

  It was only then that Tanya became aware of something else—scratching.

  Her gaze lowered to the creature still clamped in her grasp.

  It was thrashing.

  Its mantis-like limbs had been tearing at her, claws scraping across her forearms, mandibles biting into her wrist. Blood—its blood, not hers—dripped from its mouth as it continued its futile assault.

  It had been desperately trying to maul her for at least five minutes.

  And she hadn't noticed.

  She had been standing there, laughing like a lunatic, while it tried—and utterly failed—to kill her.

  Kofi scoffed.

  "That raptor's been clawing and biting at you this whole time while you were laughing like a damn herbhead," he muttered.

  A sharp whack rang through the air as Hati elbowed him in the ribs.

  Tanya exhaled, forcing her expression back into something still, something composed.

  "I'm fine," she said coolly, her voice smooth as stone.

  Instead, she merely tightened her grip on the raptor's throat—just a little—before snapping it like a brittle twig. The force of her squeeze sent cracks spiderwebbing across the creature's carapace, and with a sickening pop, its exoskeleton burst. A wet explosion of amber and red—flesh, blood, shattered chitin—splattered onto the dirt beneath her feet. Its body convulsed once, then slumped lifelessly to the ground, mandibles twitching in the throes of death.

  There was probably more anger in that than there needed to be.

  And yet, the moment its corpse hit the dirt, another wave of hunger slammed into her like a stone dropped in her gut.

  She had just eaten.

  So why did she still want?

  She exhaled sharply through her nose, stuffing the sensation into the abyss at the pit of her stomach. Later. She could think about it later.

  "Woah—fucking Suns, dude!"

  Kofi's exclamation snapped her focus outward again.

  "Profanity, you lump of Razi shit!" Hati snarled, turning on him like an angry dog.

  "But you ju—"

  "Woah, what's that? I'm seeing a mutilated corpse all of a sudden," Hati said smoothly, smiling a bright, tooth-baring smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

  Kofi's mouth opened in protest—only for his eyes to catch on the way Hati's fist hovered ever so slightly in his direction. He promptly shut his mouth like the good little soldier he was.

  Tanya's lips quirked in amusement at the exchange.

  These two.

  "Raptors, you say?" she asked, rolling her shoulders as she eyed the corpse she had so efficiently reduced to pulp. "How did something that big get into the village?"

  "That's what we're trying to figure out," Hati said, stretching her arms above her head as if shrugging off a long day. "Usually, raptors don't even live in this part of the forest or jungle, yadda yadda. Can you show me where you found the dang thing?"

  There was a glint in her amber eyes, a grin creeping onto her lips like she was about to reveal some grand secret.

  "I have a bribe~"

  With a dramatic flourish, she lifted a flask into Tanya's line of sight.

  The moment she saw the milky-white liquid sloshing inside, her body recognized it.

  Rannhorn milk.

  Her toes curled slightly.

  That's unfair.

  Her mind warred with itself for exactly half a second before Tanya sighed, crossing her arms with feigned reluctance. "Well, since you're asking so politely."

  She hadn't even finished her sentence before Hati lunged, wrapping her up in a sudden, bone-crushing embrace.

  "Gah—!" Tanya made a noise of protest, wings twitching as the warmth of Hati's body pressed against her.

  She smelled like the sun and sweat and something faintly herbal like she had rolled around in dried sage and sun-drenched grass.

  "You're warm," Hati mumbled into her shoulder, completely unfazed by the bloodied mess of Tanya's hands. "This is nice."

  Tanya stiffened slightly, but at this point, she was used to it. The woman would do what she wanted and no one could stop her. Tanya certainly couldn't. She blamed this body for imprinting on the living breathing archetype that was Hati.

  "One flask," she finally muttered in surrender.

  Hati only hummed in victory, pulling back and shoving the flask into Tanya's grasp.

  Tanya took it, twisting the cap off and bringing it to her lips. The moment the liquid hit her tongue, warmth bloomed in her gut like firelight spilling through her veins.

  Gods—it was good.

  Smooth, heavy, packed with numen-rich sustenance that practically radiated energy. A drink for warriors, a drink for the strong. Indeed if you really thought about it milk was ultimately the sustenance most mammals needed out of the womb to become mighty and be able to stand on their own. In that case, it was a weakness that they became unable to process it properly and got lactose intolerance later in life. It was a failure of their biology. Was she coping with the fact that she was mentally forty fully mobile and still drinking milk? Of course not!

  She downed the flask in one go, ignoring the judging smirk on Kofi's face as he watched her with crossed arms.

  After that, Tanya was left with no excuse.

  With a halfhearted grumble, she motioned for them to follow as she turned toward the woods.

  "Come on, then."

  And with that, they set off toward the place where she had first found the raptor.

  "So Raptors are a predator from far away, then?" Tanya asked, referring back to Hati's earlier statement.

  "Not far, so to say, but far enough that it's rare to encounter them unless you're on an extended excursion." Kofi responded, his voice dry.

  Tanya mulled over his words as they continued through the underbrush. That made sense—sort of. She hadn't seen much about Raptors in her studies of the nearby fauna, and she had pored over those records to better understand the movement of creatures like the Caerig, who she assumed followed predictable migration patterns. If Raptors were uncommon, that explained why they hadn't factored into her planning.

  Still, the whole thing bothered her.

  She didn't find it impossible that creatures from farther away had been pushed toward Wolvenblade by the recent influx of Vampyrs. She could see that. The shifting food chain, the pressure of new predators—it all had a ripple effect. But the part that didn't make sense was why a Raptor, of all things, would enter Wolvenblade instead of avoiding it altogether.

  Animals were wise.

  Attacking a settlement—one filled with people—was sheer stupidity. Even desperate predators avoided well-defended communities, especially when said communities were teeming with Canid-clan warriors, each over six feet tall, each sporting teeth and claws just as lethal as the beasts they hunted.

  Even hunger wasn't a strong enough motivator here. The forest was abundant in prey.

  No, this was just… odd.

  Before she could continue to think too deeply on the matter, she realized they had arrived.

  "We're here," she announced, gesturing toward the clearing.

  She had been so focused on the conversation that she hadn't properly looked at the scene before them yet. But as she turned her head to take in the Canid-clan members standing in the clearing—

  She froze.

  The wolfmen were… sniffing each other's butts.

  Her brain short-circuited.

  Tanya slowly, very slowly, turned her head to Hati, whose face was locked in a deep, deep grimace. Beside her, Kofi had pinched his nose so hard between his fingers that his knuckles were turning white.

  "… Are they…" Tanya's voice trailed off.

  Before she could fully form the question, one of the wolfmen—a very large, very naked, and very enthusiastic individual wearing nothing but the equivalent of glorified undergarments—suddenly hopped over to them, panting like an actual dog.

  "Awooooo! Hah hah hah!" he barked, tongue lolling out.

  Tanya blinked.

  The next second, Hati's hand shot out and slammed his head into the dirt so hard that the ground trembled beneath them.

  There was an outcry from the other… well, whatever they were.

  Tanya still didn't know what exactly to classify them as at this point.

  "Where was this, Surya?" Hati's amber eyes locked onto hers with sharp intensity, ignoring the twitching body currently planted headfirst in the soil at her feet.

  "Uh." Tanya blinked again, pulling her thoughts back together. Right. The raptor. "The forest over there." She motioned toward the treeline, but then—her curiosity won out—"And what… is up with that?"

  She gestured vaguely toward the absolute disaster of a scene still unfolding before them.

  She immediately regretted it.

  One of the other wolfmen—another half-naked, fully feral individual—suddenly rose onto his legs, his back arched, shoulders hunched, and—

  And his tail was wagging.

  Like a dog about to pounce.

  A low, playful growl rumbled in his chest.

  Tanya narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

  Then, without warning, Hati's hands clamped over Tanya's face, physically covering her eyes.

  "FUCKING SCRAM!"

  Her voice boomed like a war drum across the clearing, shaking the air itself.

  The howls that followed were a mix of protest and laughter, the sharp sounds of feet pounding against the dirt as the strange, strange group scattered into the forest like a pack of wild animals.

  Kofi was wheezing beside her.

  Tanya just stood there, blinking as Hati slowly removed her hands, revealing the now completely empty clearing before them.

  … What in the empire did I just witness?"

  "Huh?" Tanya blinked, looking between Kofi and Hati as the bizarre scene of howling, tail-wagging wolfmen burned itself into her retinas.

  Kofi sighed, his broad shoulders rising and falling like the weight of existence itself had momentarily settled upon him. "There are people in the village who think we've diverged too far from our primal instincts. That we're losing our identity or some sh—"

  "A corpse."

  Hati's voice cut through the air like the edge of her spear.

  Kofi froze.

  Tanya turned to look at her.

  Hati wasn't looking at Kofi. She was polishing her spear, testing the blade's edge with a single, casual thumb.

  Kofi cleared his throat. "…Or, uh, some shaky nonsense of that sort." His tone shifted immediately to something far more polite.

  Tanya raised a brow. Huh. Efficient method.

  "They like to play and act as if they're actually animals," Kofi continued a bit warily.

  "Simply put, they're weirdos. Don't associate with them." Hati booped Tanya on the nose with a single claw.

  Then, as if the conversation had drained her of patience, she turned, plopped herself down at the base of a tree, and grabbed a rock from the ground.

  With slow, deliberate movements, she began sharpening the edge of her spear.

  The blade scraped against the stone in a steady, almost meditative rhythm.

  Tanya noted how the sound of it seemed to echo unnaturally in the clearing, as if the air itself had shifted in response to her mood.

  Kofi took a half-step back.

  Tanya, not particularly fond of sharp objects being wielded by emotionally charged people, instinctively adjusted her stance.

  Hati's amber eyes flickered as she watched the direction the wolfmen had disappeared in before her eyes flicked to the ground at the one she ended up knocking out.

  For a long moment, no one spoke.

  "Personally," she murmured, tilting her spear ever so slightly so that the edge gleamed in the filtered sunlight, "I'm of the opinion that if they want to act like animals…"

  The shadow of a grin crept across her face, though it was not a kind grin.

  "…We should treat them as such."

  "Doing that in front of my Surya is a death sentence." She glared.

  Tanya exchanged a look with Kofi.

  Neither of them said a damn thing.

  They just quietly gave the woman some space.

  Kofi, for his part, suddenly found a fascinating bit of dirt near his foot.

  Tanya exhaled slowly, stretched out her wings, and made a silent mental note to never bring them up to Hati again otherwise the woman would think she was corrupted or something like that.

  Some doors were simply meant to stay closed.

  After that incident—her lovely little introduction to Wolvenblade's version of therians—the group turned toward the trees that edged the clearing, slipping beneath the canopy. The scent of damp earth, bark, and faint traces of old blood still lingered in the air from when she had slapped the raptor for its intrusion, but Tanya's focus honed in on something else entirely.

  She caught it immediately—a faint shimmer against the bark of a nearby tree, the kind of thing that most eyes would miss entirely.

  But her vision was not like most.

  The dust was nearly microscopic, a fine powder clinging to the grooves of the wood, barely visible even under the dappled sunlight. She narrowed her eyes, stepping closer.

  That glint… it's not natural.

  She brushed her fingers lightly across it, rubbing the faint particles between her thumb and forefinger. It left a soft, almost iridescent residue behind.

  This… tracks.

  The raptor's presence here had been unnatural from the start—too aggressive, too out of place, too deliberate. And now, this powder? She could hazard a guess at what it was. Beast drawing powder.

  She'd read about its properties before, tucked away in one of the lesser-visited sections of the Wolvenblade library. The alchemical mixture had a particular scent, imperceptible to most humanoids, but irresistible to certain beasts.

  And goblins?

  Goblins were particularly adept at using it.

  Her mind pieced the puzzle together rapidly.

  The raptor hadn't wandered in by accident—it had been lured here. And the only real way it had slipped through the perimeter without notice?

  Shadowcore obviously.

  Tanya's expression darkened. Shadowcores were the best of stealth in these parts outside of perhaps something Midea could whip up with enough time. They had likely captured the beast hid themselves with the shadowcore and used beast-drawing power to incite it to enter the village when they got close enough.

  That meant something was testing their defenses.

  "Hati." Tanya turned to the warrior, her voice even. "I think there may be goblins outside the village."

  Hati froze mid-step, ears twitching slightly, her amber gaze locking onto her.

  "Goblins? Here?" she repeated, her usual casual tone replaced with sharp-edged wariness.

  "Unlikely to be a full force, but something is out there." Tanya gestured toward the dust on the tree. "Beast-drawing powder. And I suspect they have shadowcores. However, with the new routes I informed you about it should be easier to chase them through the wilds. You'll need to alert the patrols—make some moves."

  For a fraction of a second, Kofi hesitated.

  It was subtle—a flicker of hesitation in his expression, a brief moment where his rational mind likely wanted more proof.

  Hati, however, had no such pause.

  "You can count on me, Surya! I'll protect you—don't worry!" she grinned, far too enthusiastically, before seizing Tanya's cheeks in both hands and squeezing.

  Tanya barely had time to register the assault before Hati promptly turned, yanking Kofi along with her by the wrist before he could get a word in.

  "Wait—Hati—by the suns, let go of me, woman!" Kofi sputtered as he was dragged away like a particularly unfortunate sack of grain.

  Tanya stood there for a moment, watching them disappear into the trees.

  ...That was fast.

  She had expected some resistance, some discussion, but Hati's trust in her was almost absolute.

  It was…

  Tanya shook her head. No use dwelling on it. Either way, she had the authority to make these calls now, regardless of personal trust. The village would listen to her as the reification.

  She sighed, rolling her shoulders before turning back toward the main square, her mind already shifting to the next set of tasks.

  _____

  The moment she stepped into the village proper, the atmosphere shifted.

  She had expected the stares—half of her clothing had been shredded by the raptor, after all. The other half wasn't exactly pristine either, courtesy of the messy encounter.

  People whispered.

  Some cast sideways glances, others murmured beneath their breath, and a few—the ones who had witnessed the fight—gave her longer, warier looks.

  But for the most part?

  Most bowed.

  Not full, ceremonial bows—just inclines of the head, subtle gestures, hands lifted in the symbol of the Seven Suns.

  Tanya smiled in response to each and every one.

  Public image, after all.

  And besides it was convenient for her goals. More power meant more resources meaning she could figure a better way to reach for immortality. She had decided to be greedy in this life. To control her own fate after all.

  She looked towards their expressions once more.

  The people respected her. They acknowledged her status. She was not just a child prodigy in their eyes. She was The Seventh Surya. The reification.

  Just…

  She flicked a glance down at her blood-streaked hands.

  Ignore that.

  It was nothing.

  She lifted her chin, exhaling slowly as she made her way forward, the village square stretching out before her, bathed in the myriad colored hues of the setting suns.

  Tonight, she had plans.

  Tanya made her way through the bustling square, weaving between villagers bartering over fresh produce, meats, and numen-infused goods. The scent of lacquered wood and damp earth mixed with the sharper notes of spice and roasting game, creating a heady atmosphere of activity. The air thrummed with casual conversation, deals being struck, and the rhythmic clatter of metal tools working against stone.

  Her destination was a small stall nestled between a leatherworker and a wood engraver, its simple wooden frame propped up with iron nails. The stall itself was stocked with thin, polished wood tablets, each finished with a glossy lacquer, likely derived from tree sap—similar to the methods ancient China used back on Earth. The careful craftsmanship caught her eye; even among such seemingly mundane goods, there was a practiced touch. The wood had been sanded smooth, the lacquer applied with even precision, ensuring durability and a pleasing finish. She would use them to make cards.

  A young boy—well, older compared to her current form—stood behind the stall. He couldn't have been more than fifteen, barely past the cusp of childhood himself, though he carried himself with a false bravado, as if running this stall gave him some kind of power over the world.

  Tanya's amethyst eyes flickered over him, assessing.

  A smile almost crawled up her face.

  She was about to fleece the youth for as little coin as possible. Not out of necessity, of course—she had enough Sun Coins to buy the stall outright if she truly wished—but the principle of the matter. A good deal was a good deal, and exploiting weakness was as natural as breathing.

  She opened her mouth, ready to weave her words, but—

  "Well, of course, I couldn't take money from the Reification."

  Her expression froze mid-shift.

  Before she could even begin her campaign of extortion, the stall owner preemptively folded—his voice damn near reverent as he shook his head with a self-important air.

  Then, another voice chimed in.

  "Naturally! The Child of the Sun can take what they need!"

  Tanya's eye twitched.

  Her mouth closed as she turned her head, spotting another villager—a scruffy man in his twenties, his arms crossed as he nodded sagely. He stood beside an older merchant, his face lined with wrinkles from a life of hard work, who merely grunted in agreement.

  And then—

  "Oi, wouldn't that be fuckin' blasphemy, Ran?"

  "Yeah, it fuckin' would be, Dan."

  The 'Oi' threw her off completely.

  Tanya blinked, momentarily thrown out of her mental script.

  The two speakers were bearded, broad-shouldered craftsmen, likely leatherworkers judging by the pungent scent of treated hides clinging to their clothes. The one named Ran scratched his chin, while Dan, beside him, just nodded like a philosopher reflecting on the mysteries of life itself.

  She had no idea where they came from or why they had an opinion on this transaction.

  The stall owner didn't even acknowledge them, maintaining his deeply earnest expression.

  And just like that… she was getting things for free.

  Tanya's fingers twitched slightly, her merchant instincts warring with the social implications of her title. As convenient as it was, in a way, it was also…

  Annoying.

  Not because she minded getting free goods, no—that was objectively wonderful—but because it meant she had won the game before she even started.

  There was no haggling, no tension, no battle of wills.

  It was just acceptance.

  She lifted her hand in a half-hearted gesture of refusal, only to find no one looking at her anymore. The conversation had already moved on, and she was expected to walk away victorious without any struggle.

  Tanya sighed.

  Well. That was that.

  She turned away, wood tablets in hand, secured within a cloth bundle.

  Now, she just needed to swing back to the house and start preparing for the night ahead.

  Her stomach grumbled.

  She paused.

  …And maybe pick up that raptor corpse on the way.