Sammy had become a favourite among the children, often found helping with chores or challenging anyone brave enough to a mock duel. His laughter was as infectious as it was frequent.
Lola had made herself indispensable at the infirmary, her healing magic soothing both flesh and fear. She worked quietly but with unwavering kindness, earning quiet respect from even the most reserved townsfolk.
Pupster, ever the sentinel, had drilled tirelessly with the local guards—his calm discipline leaving a sharper, more confident unit in his wake.
But now, it was time to go.
Sammy slung his satchel across his back, blades catching the morning light.
Nimby flitted overhead in tight, eager loops, chirping with anticipation.
Lola adjusted her cloak with practiced ease.
Pupster stood watchful and silent, arms crossed as he scanned the horizon.
“You’re sure we’ve got everything?” Sammy asked, glancing sidelong at Lola.
She didn’t look up as she tightened the strap on her satchel. “I’ve triple-checked. If you forgot something, that’s between you and whatever monster bites your tail.”
He grinned. “Guess I’ll just outrun it, then.”
Around them, city folk gathered faces lined with equal parts gratitude and concern. The group had become more than guests; they were symbols of hope, of something larger stirring in a world that had grown too quiet for too long.
The city elder stepped forward, bowing low with reverence. “You’ve done more than you know in your time here. Vharon is stronger for your presence. May the road rise to meet you—and your courage never falter.”
Pupster bowed solemnly. “And may your peace endure long after we’re gone.”
The group began to move toward the edge of the square when a voice called out from behind them—silken, theatrical, unmistakable.
“And here I thought you’d leave without me. I’m wounded.” Rory said feigning injury.
Sammy raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were staying here to help guide the city.”
Rory placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “While I’ve certainly enjoyed my time as Vharon’s official heartthrob and resident monk, it would be cruel to deny the rest of the world my brilliance.”
Lola let out an audible sigh. “Oh, here we go.”
He ignored her, though his gaze lingered just a beat longer on her. “Besides,” he added, his tone shifting to something a touch more serious, “I can’t shake the feeling that something big is coming.”
Sammy glanced at Lola and Pupster, who both nodded. Rory might have been eccentric, but there was no denying his instincts were often spot-on.
“And of course,” Rory said, his grin returning as he turned to Lola, “traveling with such fine company only sweetens the deal. It’s the perfect opportunity to woo my dear Lola.”
Lola opened her mouth to fire back—but faltered for a heartbeat. Her cheeks, to her horror, betrayed her with the faintest hint of pink. She quickly turned away under the guise of adjusting the strap on her satchel.
“Keep talking like that,” she muttered without looking at him, “and I’ll enchant your teeth to chatter nonstop until we reach the next continent.”
Rory chuckled, clearly delighted. “Ah, so she does care. I knew I felt a spark.”
“You’ll feel an ice lance, if you keep that up” she said, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward.
Sammy shook his head, grinning at the banter. “All right, Rory. You’re in.” He extended a hand.
Rory clasped it firmly, his grin widening. “A wise decision, young one.”
As they set off together towards the edge of the city, Lola fell into step behind Rory, adjusting her satchel with a practiced flick. She kept her gaze forward, but for a moment—just a moment—she noticed how the morning sun caught the edge of his profile, casting warm light across his tiger-striped fur and the wild sweep of his dark hair.
She blinked, shook it off, and kept walking.
Before leaving Vharon, Rory led the team to the city archives. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and dust, lit only by the dim glow of floating crystal lanterns that drifted between the towering shelves. At the centre of the chamber stood a broad, uneven stone table. On it, Rory unrolled a brittle map that crackled with each movement, the parchment so aged it looked like it might crumble under the wrong breath.
Strange arcane symbols dotted its surface, accompanied by faded annotations in a language none of the others could decipher. Only Rory’s eyes danced with recognition.
He traced a faded line with a finger, his tail swaying lazily behind him. Then he paused, tapping a spot marked by an intricate rune. “Here,” he declared. “The Valley of Whispers.”
Sammy leaned in, squinting. “Valley of Whispers? That doesn’t sound creepy at all. Why there?”
Rory straightened the folds of his robe with a flourish and grinned. “Because, my dear sceptic, legends say it’s a place where the veil between worlds runs thin. A perfect nesting ground for a Zerodian to reawaken.”
Lola, standing across from him, ran her fingers along the corner of the map where faded letters— “D.E”—had been scrawled. “But why would a Zerodian even go there? I thought they vanished at random, scattered to the aether.”
Rory clicked his tongue and wagged a finger. “Tsk, tsk. There is no ‘random’ with Zerodians. They’re drawn to places of power. Sites steeped in energy. The Valley hums with it—or so the ancient records claim.”
Pupster crossed his arms, unmoved. “And how accurate is this map? You’re asking us to follow rumours scratched onto old paper.”
Rory clutched his chest with mock agony. “You wound me, Pupster. This is no tavern rambling—it was drawn by a man who spent his entire life tracking Zerodian echoes. And more importantly...” He leaned forward, his voice dropping a shade. “The pattern matches. The map speaks of waves of energy that spike when a Zerodian begins to stir. Sound familiar?”
Lola’s eyes widened slightly. “The earthquake.”
Rory nodded once. “Exactly. If a Zerodian has awakened there, it would explain the tremors. Zerodians leave signs—if you know how to look.”
Sammy scratched his head. “So, this ancient map and your gut feeling are sending us on a wild hike into some haunted valley?”
Rory shot him a grin. “I’m many things, but misguided isn’t one of them. Trust me, Sammy—you’ll know we’re close long before we see it.”
A silence followed, thoughtful and heavy. Then Lola spoke, her voice soft. “He’s right. It’s faint, but… something’s out there.”
“Feelings won’t save us if this map’s wrong,” Pupster said gruffly, arms crossed as he eyed the path ahead. “If we’re going, we need to stay sharp. Whatever’s waiting out there won’t welcome visitors.”
Rory offered an exaggerated sigh as he swept the brittle map into his satchel. “So dramatic,” he said, flashing a grin. “But noted, oh guardian of gloom. Still—” He gave a theatrical bow. “—shall we see what the fates have in store?”
With that, they left Vharon behind, boots crunching over the dirt path that wound through rolling hills and into the shadowed forest ahead.
The air was crisp, birdsong scattered on the breeze. There was a quiet mixture of anticipation and farewell hanging over the group—uncertainty wrapped in the comfort of each other’s presence.
Nimby perched on Sammy’s shoulder, chirping with excitement.
Rory, of course, wasted no time filling the quiet with yet another outlandish tale.
“…and that’s how I convinced the duke’s daughter to lend me her prized gryphon for a midnight flight over the capital,” he said breezily, spinning a stick and narrowly missing a low-hanging branch.
Lola gave him a sidelong glance, but didn’t stop him. “Do you ever run out of breath?”
Rory grinned. “Never when I’m near inspiration.”
Lola flushed and looked away too quickly, focusing on her footing. Pupster narrowed his eyes at the exchange but said nothing.
Rory led confidently, steps unnervingly light across the rugged terrain. Occasionally, he paused to inspect strange stones or trace his fingers along bark, murmuring things only he seemed to understand.
As they reached the treeline, the forest loomed ahead tall and shadowed, the canopy swallowing sunlight. The path beyond it stretched into the unknown, promising both danger and discovery.
Sammy glanced back one last time. Vharon was already a blur on the horizon.
“This is it,” he said softly.
Lola stepped beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll be fine.”
Pupster moved up on the other side, his tone steady. “Whatever comes, we face it together.”
Rory adjusted his scarf with a flourish. “And look good doing it.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Later that night, the group sat huddled around a small fire. Sparks danced into the dark as they warmed their limbs and settled in for the night. Their gear lay strewn nearby—armour half-unbuckled, boots scuffed, weapons close at hand.
Rory pulled a battered, rune-covered book from his satchel and cleared his throat. “Since we’re venturing deeper into Zerodian territory,” he said, flipping it open, “I figured it’s time for a little crash course.”
Sammy groaned and flopped onto his back. “Great. Campfire homework. My favourite.”
“You’ll thank me, when we’re dealing with the next one”, Rory shot back, flipping to a dog-eared page.
Lola leaned in; her expression thoughtful. “What do you mean by ‘dealing with them’? We didn’t need a manual for the Mist Dragon.”
Rory’s tone sobered. “The Mist Dragon was... different. Dormant. Its essence had barely stirred. You encountered it while it was still half-asleep.”
Sammy frowned. “So, we got lucky.”
Rory nodded. “Extremely. But the ones we’re heading toward? These aren’t half-asleep relics. They’re fully awakened—and fully chaotic.”
He tapped a section of the book, letting the flickering firelight catch the ink. “Zerodians are born from ancient forces—some from storms, others from battlefields, grief, hunger, ruin. Their presence unravels the world around them if they’re not properly sealed. Their energy lingers. Warps. Festers.”
Lola’s eyes darkened. “Even after they’re defeated?”
Rory met her gaze. “Especially then. If we don’t seal them right, what comes next is worse.”
Pupster’s jaw tightened. “Then we don’t make mistakes.”
Rory nodded. “Exactly. This isn’t just about surviving the fight. It’s about understanding what we’re dealing with and making sure it doesn’t destabilise—because next time, they won’t hesitate.”
Lola’s eyes widened. “Destabilise? Like… spreading destruction even after they’re gone?”
“Exactly,” Rory said, his tone grim. “Think of them like a fire. If we don’t extinguish it completely, the embers can reignite—sometimes worse than the original blaze. That’s why the ancient sages developed a method to seal their essence into sigils. The Celestial Bind spell channels divine energy to restrain them. Once sealed, they enter a dormant state where they can’t influence the world.”
Sammy scratched the back of his head. “But how do we know the Mist Dragon won’t wake up and, I don’t know, raze a village or something?”
Rory offered a faint smile. “Because it chose to surrender. When a Zerodian acknowledges defeat and submits to a wielder, sealing isn’t needed. The bond becomes mutual—like yours with the Mist Dragon.”
Lola nodded, thoughtful. “So, it’s about intent. If they resist, they’re dangerous. But if they yield…”
“…they’re safe to use,” Rory finished, his voice quieter now.
Sammy yawned, stretching his arms overhead, but his tail flicked with interest. “All right, Professor Rory, that’s actually useful. But next time, can you draw this up as a comic? Something with cool explosions?”
Rory rolled his eyes. “You’re hopeless.”
Their laughter was brief but welcome, a small reprieve in the cool stillness of the night. The book lay open between them, runes glowing faintly in the firelight—a quiet promise of trials still to come, and the balance they’d need to maintain to survive them.
The days that followed were gruelling.
Rough trails wound through endless slopes, and the higher they climbed, the more treacherous the terrain became. Jagged cliffs cut into the sky like broken teeth, and the forest thinned into wind-swept stone and brittle undergrowth.
Eventually, Sammy stopped and let out a groan. “You sure this is the right way? ‘Cause nothing about this screams Zerodian hotspot.”
Rory glanced back, his smirk as unshakable as ever. “Ah, Sammy. You really must learn to trust in the ancient art of educated intuition.”
Sammy raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a real thing.”
“It is if you believe hard enough,” Rory said, still grinning. “Besides, the energy’s stronger now. Can’t you feel it?”
Sammy rolled his shoulders. “I feel tired. Does that count?”
“No,” Lola murmured, her brows drawn tight. “Rory’s right. The air feels… denser. Like it’s pressing in.”
Even Nimby seemed uneasy, his wings beating in shorter, more deliberate bursts as he flitted above the group.
Pupster walked several paces behind, his hand resting on the hilt of his spear. His golden eyes scanned the ridgelines, muscles tense. “Stay alert. If we can feel the pull, so can other things.”
The banter faded. A heavy silence took its place as they climbed the last incline.
Then the cliffs parted.
The Valley of Whispers spread out before them—a narrow basin framed by craggy walls, shrouded in low mist that curled along the ground like something alive. Faint whispers rode the wind—impossible to make out, yet undeniably there.
Rory stopped and spread his arms dramatically. “Ah! The Valley of Whispers. Doesn’t it just scream Zerodian?”
The group didn’t answer. Their eyes were locked on the valley, unease creeping into every breath as the low hum of unseen energy brushed against their skin.
“Yeah,” Sammy muttered, his voice low. “It screams something, all right.”
The group pressed onward, each step deliberate as they pushed through the tightening underbrush. Vines tangled like webs, their thorny tendrils snagging on weapons and sleeves. Gnarled branches clawed at exposed skin, and the canopy above grew thick enough to choke the sunlight. It felt less like a forest and more like a trap slowly closing in.
Distant cries echoed through the trees—shrill screeches, guttural howls, bone-deep roars. The air vibrated with tension, and every noise felt too close, too synchronised. Like something—many somethings—were circling.
“Anyone else feel like dinner on legs?” Rory quipped, brushing a vine from his shoulder. His tone was light, but the flick of his tail betrayed unease.
“Quiet,” Pupster said sharply, eyes locked on the shifting shadows. His grip on his spear never relaxed.
Sammy led the group, blades in hand, carving a path through the thick brush. “Feels like the forest itself is trying to stop us,” he muttered.
“Maybe it is,” Lola replied, scanning the treeline. “This place doesn’t want us here.”
The air thickened with each step, carrying a sharp, metallic scent that stung their nostrils. Strange symbols began to appear on the trees—glowing softly in green and gold, as if whispering warnings in a forgotten tongue.
Nimby chirped lowly from Sammy’s shoulder, his wings fluttering tight with tension.
Finally, they broke into a clearing.
A massive structure stood at its heart, half-swallowed by moss and time. Its crumbling stone walls were etched with ancient carvings, and roots had coiled around it like serpents. Towering spires reached upward, cracked and bent, as if the building had tried to resist the centuries. At its centre, a jagged staircase led to a dark archway—an open maw that exhaled something cold and wrong.
Lola shifted uncomfortably. “What is this place?”
Rory stepped forward; his earlier flippancy replaced with reverent awe. “I’d say we’ve found our Zerodian’s nest.”
No one spoke.
The structure loomed before them, unnatural in its stillness. Its presence pressed down like a weight across their chests. Something inside was alive. Watching. Waiting.
Sammy’s voice was tight. “Whatever’s in there, it’s not coming out to greet us. Let’s move.”
Pupster nodded once, stepping forward. “Stay close. Strike fast.”
They climbed the steps in silence. The closer they came to the archway, the more it felt like walking into a storm of invisible pressure. The air trembled. The runes on the stone glowed faintly soft, ominous pulses in the growing dark.
Nimby let out a sudden, shrill chirp, wings flaring. Sammy reached up to steady him.
“I feel it too,” Lola whispered, voice trembling. “Something’s… awake.”
Sammy’s grip tightened around his hilt. “Then it knows we’re here.”
They crossed the threshold into blackness.
The entrance yawned like a wound in the mountain, a jagged passage lit by the faint glow of bioluminescent crystals embedded in the stone. Stalactites hung like teeth above them, and the air was thick—alive with a deep, humming energy that buzzed in their bones.
“Feels like we’re walking into the belly of a beast,” Rory muttered, eyes flicking across the cavern walls.
Sammy gave a tight grin. “Let’s make sure we’re the ones doing the biting.”
Lola brushed her fingers across the carved stone, shivering. “This place… it feels like it’s watching us.”
“It is,” Pupster said simply, his voice low. “Something’s ahead. Something strong.”
They descended further.
Symbols lined the walls, glowing faintly in response to their presence.
Nimby shifted anxiously, fluttering in place as the energy thickened with every step.
Then came the sound—a low, rumbling growl that wasn’t just heard but felt, like stone grinding beneath the earth. The ground shuddered. Dust fell from the ceiling.
And from the shadows, it emerged.
A hulking shape, wreathed in mist and shifting shadow, its form warping with every flicker of the cavern’s flickering torchlight. Twin eyes, burning like embers, pierced the gloom from a face more suggestion than substance. Its limbs—twisted and gnarled—moved with a sinuous, almost balletic grace, as though reality itself struggled to contain its presence.
Lola’s instincts surged. She stepped forward, hand outstretched.
“Identify,” she commanded, her voice steady despite the tremor in her breath.
Light arced through the air, forming a familiar glyph—but this time, something was different. The glyph did not remain inert. It pulsed once, then again—before flaring white.
A clear, mechanical voice rang out across the cavern, cold and clinical in contrast to the chaos before them.
Status Report
[Species]: Beast of Anarchy
[Rank]: Mythic
[Affinity]: Chaos, Destruction
Description: This ancient Zerodian is a remnant of the world before order—a primal force of entropy and unmaking. It’s true power is sealed, but even bound, its presence fractures balance. Proceed with extreme caution.
Pupster’s brow furrowed. “Since when did your Identify talk?”
“And with that much detail?” Sammy added, his blades already drawn. “Is that new?”
“Can we discuss it after the part where we are not ripped apart?” Rory cut in; voice taut with tension.
The creature stepped forward. Malformed claws scraped against the stone, and every rune lining the cavern walls flared as if reacting to its passage. Space itself twisted, bending around its frame like heat off scorched metal.
Sammy’s stance shifted, gaze hard. “Yes... definitely not happy.”
The beast loomed; a nightmare made flesh. Its chimeric body writhed without pattern or purpose. One moment it bore the mane and claws of a lion, the next, a coiled serpent’s tail lashed behind it. Fur sloughed into iridescent scales, slick with unnatural oil-sheen. One eye blazed crimson, the other gleamed with a frozen blue—twin stars of fury and ice.
And still, it came forward.
“It’s… unstable,” Lola breathed heavily.
“Unstable is generous,” Rory muttered, a grin tugging at his lips. “This thing’s a walking disaster.”
With a roar that split the cavern air, the Beast of Anarchy lunged.
“Let’s go!” Sammy darted in, his aura flaring as he slashed at the shifting creature. His blades danced with speed, but the Beast’s chaotic form shimmered—each wound mending before his eyes.
Pupster leapt into action, grabbing Sammy’s wrist mid-air and redirecting him to safety. Using the momentum, he launched toward the Beast, spear drawn as he roared.
But the Beast coiled back and unleashed a bolt of crackling electricity.
It struck Pupster mid-air.
The Stormwarden dropped like a stone, skidding across the rock. Unconscious.
“Pupster!” Sammy and Lola cried out together.
Lola flung a healing bolt toward him, golden light arcing through the chamber. Pupster stirred—but didn’t rise.
Rory’s eyes narrowed. His aura shimmered gold as he thrust his hands forward, glyphs spiralling in the air.
Ki surged from Rory’s palms, twin bolts of emerald light blasting into the Beast’s flank. The impact staggered it—but with a piercing shriek, the creature retaliated in kind, hurling out a surge of chaotic force. Rory clapped his hands together just in time, a verdant barrier flaring to life around him as the backlash struck, shuddering with the impact.
The wave shattered the glyphs and hurled him through a wall.
“Rory!” Lola called out.
His voice echoed through the dust. “Still dashing, my love. Just bruised.”
Lola stepped forward, her hands glowing gold.” Tendrils of radiant energy wrapped around the Beast, pinning it momentarily as she cast the binding ritual.
It howled, the force of its power dimming. For a heartbeat, the battle paused.
“Nice one, Lola!” Sammy called, chest heaving.
But the moment shattered as the Beast’s energy surged. With a roar, it broke free—sending shockwaves across the cavern. Lola was hurled backward, her glow flickering out.
“I… I couldn’t hold it…” she gasped, knees hitting stone.
Nimby launched skyward, a blur of feathers and courage. Dodging arcs of fire and lightning, he clawed into the Beast’s flank, talons flaring green with aura.
The creature shrieked—but even as its wounds opened, they closed again. A whip-like tail caught Nimby mid-flight, slamming him hard against the wall. His burnt-orange fur was streaked with ash, wings crumpled against his trembling body as he slid down the stone. He fell, motionless.
The Beast grew. Towering. The air vibrated with chaos as stalactites cracked and fell around them. Its mismatched eyes fixed on Lola—still downed, exposed.
It opened its maw, a sphere of raw, seething energy forming between its fangs.
“Lola, MOVE!” Sammy shouted, diving across the field.
But she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
Then—
A low growl shook the cavern.
Pupster rose. Not staggered. Not dazed. Alive with power.
His aura flared, blue and jagged, crackling like a thunderstorm held barely in check. His spear pulsed with the same raw energy. The pressure in the cavern shifted.
“Not this time,” he growled.
He launched forward in a streak of light, faster than any of them had seen.
The Beast fired.
“Pupster roared, planting his spear in the ground.
The blast struck—met by a wall of blue light that rippled outward in violent rings. The impact cracked the earth beneath his feet. But Pupster held.
The blast fizzled.
Silence.
He stood there—panting, scorched—but unbroken.
Sammy stared, eyes wide. “I didn’t know he had that in him…”
Rory emerged from the rubble, brushing dust from his shoulders. “I did. But that was still impressive.”
The Beast snarled, gathering energy again—but this time, Pupster stepped forward, spear pointed, blue aura blazing.
“You will not touch her!” he said through gritted teeth.
? Tom Devoil, 2025. All rights reserved.
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