Time slipped by quietly.
When the fox finally rose from the basin, water streamed from its fur in thin rivulets, steam peeling away as it stepped onto the warm stone floor. It gave a sharp shake—droplets scattering outward as its fur fluffed back into place, the cleansing formations completing their work with a faint, satisfied hum.
The lingering scent of blood was gone.
Only clean fur… and wine.
The fox padded forward, paws soundless against the polished stone, turquoise eyes settling on the lizard.
It was still there.
Curled around the jars like a miser guarding a hoard, its body slack with comfort, wings loosely folded at its sides. One jar lay empty, another tipped precariously as it drank, throat working in a steady rhythm—
*glop… glop… glop…*
Each swallow slow, deliberate, relentless.
The fox stopped a short distance away.
"…You're really going to finish half of them already," it muttered.
Its gaze swept over the scene, sharp and calculating despite the casual tone.
Half gone.
And yet—
The lizard's breathing was steadier now.
The faint tremor that had once run through its limbs was gone.
The steam rising from its scales was stronger, rhythmic, no longer erratic or uncontrolled.
Even the haze clouding its golden eyes had thinned, retreating just enough to be noticeable—like fog beginning to lift at dawn.
The fox exhaled softly.
So it hadn't been exaggerating after all.
It leaned lightly against the edge of the table, tails swaying once behind it.
"…Hmph. At least you're putting it to good use."
Its gaze lingered, thoughts turning inward.
*If this much wine can already stabilize it to this extent…*
*Then once the silk comes into play…*
The fox shook its head, cutting the thought short.
One thing at a time.
For now, it simply stood there, watching the lizard drink—half amused, half wary—fully aware that whatever creature this was, it was changing faster than it should.
And that, more than anything else, made things interesting.
Suddenly, the fox's ears twitched.
A faint ripple brushed against its spiritual sense—soft, deliberate, carried through the room's formations rather than forcing its way inside.
The jade token at its side **glowed**.
"Hm?"
The fox reached into its storage pouch, pulling the token free as the light pulsed once—steady, polite.
"…Looks like the food's already here," it said, tone neutral but faintly expectant.
It glanced back over its shoulder.
The lizard hadn't even noticed—still drinking, tail flicking lazily as another jar tipped higher.
Figures.
The fox turned and padded toward the entrance, muttering under its breath as it went.
"With what I paid for this place, it better be something decent. If they bring me dried spirit grains and call it a meal, I'm never coming back here again."
It lifted the jade token, channeling a thin thread of qi into it.
The wall rippled.
The concealed doorway unfolded without a sound, formations parting like water.
The fox stepped forward—
—and stopped.
Standing just beyond the threshold was a **server**, posture impeccable, head slightly bowed. A lacquered tray floated before them, stabilized by soft formation light. Upon it rested several covered dishes, each sealed with faintly glowing runes to preserve heat and freshness.
The scents drifted in immediately.
Rich broth.
Roasted spirit fowl.
Steamed grains infused with mild qi.
And beneath it all, something herbal and sharp—meant for recovery rather than indulgence.
The fox's ears perked.
"…Oh," it said, surprise slipping through despite itself.
"Well. That's… acceptable."
The server spoke quietly, careful not to intrude.
"Three-star room provisions, as requested. Balanced for recovery and spiritual stability. If there is anything you wish changed, honored guest, Moonveil Pavilion will accommodate."
The fox studied the tray for a moment, then stepped aside and gestured with its muzzle.
"Give it."
It lifted a paw, a thin thread of qi extending effortlessly. The tray drifted from the server's hands, the dishes separating smoothly as the fox guided them inside. The server didn't react—only bowed once more, eyes lowered—as the doorway sealed behind them, formations knitting back into perfect silence.
The room was theirs again.
"Hmph," the fox muttered as it turned away, carrying the dishes with ease. "It's been a few months since I last bothered eating."
It padded toward the table, movements unhurried.
"Don't need it to survive," it continued casually. "But going too long without food dulls the senses. And I didn't pay twenty-one stones just to let half of it go to waste."
The dishes settled onto the table one by one, neatly arranged—broth near the edge, roasted spirit fowl placed with care, grains and herbs set to the side. Steam rose softly, scents filling the room.
The fox hopped onto the table, sitting back on its haunches as it inspected the spread.
"…Good," it said simply.
It leaned forward and took its first bite in far too long.
The food was warm. Properly prepared. Balanced—nothing extravagant, but solid and nourishing.
The fox's shoulders eased, just a fraction.
For a brief moment, there was no urgency, no calculation—only the quiet act of eating, the room sealed within layered formations, the lizard drinking itself steadily into recovery.
Then the fox paused mid-bite.
Its turquoise eyes drifted from the food… to the table… and finally to the lizard.
One jar. Two. Three.
Now the **seventh** lay tilted in its claws, already half-drained.
The fox simply stared.
"…Figures," it muttered under its breath.
It set the food down, ears flicking once as it watched the lizard gulp wine like water, utterly uninterested in anything else in the room.
"So much for that," the fox added dryly. "I had a feeling regular food wouldn't even register for you."
The lizard didn't respond. Didn't even look up.
It merely tipped the jar higher, swallowing another long draught. Its wings twitched faintly as warmth spread through its body, a subtle shimmer rolling across its scales—its body digesting, refining, converting the wine with unsettling efficiency.
The fox's gaze sharpened.
"…You're not just drinking," it realized quietly. "You're refining it."
Its tails swayed once, slow and thoughtful.
"Hah. Of course you are."
It leaned back slightly, studying the lizard with renewed interest as faint wisps of energy curled around it—so thin they were easy to miss unless one knew exactly what to look for.
The fox shook its head, a mix of disbelief and reluctant admiration crossing its features.
"I really shouldn't be surprised anymore," it said. "Yet somehow, you keep managing it."
It glanced at its untouched meal, then back at the lizard as another jar was drained without hesitation.
"…At this rate," the fox added calmly, "I'm going to need to find you a winery."