The light faded like a receding tide, leaving behind a phantom warmth across Regulus' back. His fingers brushed over unmarked skin, yet he could feel it—the divine covenant etched into his being.
Nyx lounged on her suddenly-materialized chaise, examining her nails. "Marvelous. Now fetch me those pillows."
"Can I see my status?" Regulus asked.
"See?" She blinked owlishly. "Do you see parchment? Ink? A secretary? No? Then listen closely, little moth." She yanked him down by the collar.
Her whisper carried the weight of prophecy:
"Regulus Nihil.
Level 1.
Strength: I0.
Endurance: I0.
Dexterity: I0.
Agility: I0.
Magic: I0.
Skill: Numquam Itineris."
A pause.
"...You know what to do."
Regulus stiffened. The Latin phrase unspooled in his mind like a remembered dream—Never Lost. But before he could speak—
"Magic: None." Nyx continued cheerfully. "Developmental Ability: 'Professional Footstool Candidate.' That last one's negotiable if you find my jasmine pillows."
But then the forest erupted with guttural growls. Nyx's shadow stretched toward the noise, then recoiled in theatrical disgust. "Ugh. Goblins. How common."
The creatures emerging from the underbrush were wrong—their leathery green skin stretched taut over knobby joints, eyes like pus-filled sores gleaming with mindless hunger. The stench hit him next: rotting meat and swamp water, so thick he gagged. Regulus' breath came in short, sharp gasps. His heart pounded so violently he feared it might crack his ribs.
This is how I die. The thought rang with terrifying clarity. Not in a hospital bed surrounded by loved ones, not peacefully in his sleep, but here, in a world that shouldn't exist, torn apart by monsters straight from a childhood nightmare. His knees trembled, muscles locking in primal refusal. He'd never been in a fight, never thrown a punch that wasn't a playground scuffle. The closest he'd come to violence was watching and reading fiction, and those heroes always had weapons, armor, training—
The first goblin lunged.
Claws flashed. Regulus stumbled back, arms flailing. Razor talons ripped through his sleeve, scoring shallow lines across his forearm. The pain was startlingly bright, shockingly real. He fell hard, elbows scraping gravel, the impact jolting up his spine.
Nyx clapped her hands together, amused. "Oh! This is even worse than I imagined!"
The goblins circled, their yellowed claws clicking against stone. Regulus' breath came in short, panicked bursts as he backed against a tree. His hands shook—no weapon, no training, just the phantom warmth of the Falna burning his back.
The second one dashed.
Instinct made him swing. His punch was wild, elbow flaring out awkwardly. The goblin dodged easily, cackling as its claws raked across his ribs. Pain flared—but deeper, his body started to feel uncomfortable.
When the third came, he adjusted his body to what felt right. His elbow tucked in tighter this time, wrist straightening at the last moment. The blow still missed, but the goblin had to sidestep, its beady eyes narrowing in surprise.
A fourth attacked from the side. Regulus tried to dodge but stumbled, his feet tangling. That same dissonance flared across his body—and he shifted his weight distribution differently, his knees bending just enough to regain balance. The claws whistled past his face, close enough that he felt the wind of their passing.
He kicked out blindly, missing the goblin's knee by inches. The creature sneered—until his next kick snapped out straighter, harder, connecting with a sickening crack. The goblin howled, clutching its leg.
It was happening faster now. Every failed attempt, every mistake, made the next movement sharper, the methods going through a process of elimination. When the largest goblin charged, Regulus didn't think—he pivoted on his back foot his muscles had just learned, twisted his hips just so, and drove his fist straight into its throat.
The goblin collapsed, gagging. The others froze.
Regulus stared at his bloody knuckles, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He hadn't won—he'd barely survived—but something undeniable had happened.
From her chaise, Nyx yawned dramatically. "Ugh, keep it down, Regulus," she mumbled, already curling up to sleep. "Some of us are trying to dream about silk sheets."
Panting, Regulus turned to see Nyx curled up on her chaise, already half-asleep.
"You're sleeping?!" he shouted, voice cracking. "I'm getting mauled and you're— And why aren't they attacking you?!"
Nyx cracked one violet eye open. "Goblins target the weakest in a group, darling." She yawned. "Try not to die before morning. I'd hate to break in a new footstool."
Before he could retort, a new sound froze his blood—the snap of branches, the wet snuffling of something much larger approaching. Nyx's shadows coiled tighter around her chaise as the forest fell ominously quiet.
The goblins fled.
Silence settled over the clearing—then shattered as a scaled, rust-colored creature slithered from the undergrowth. A kobold, taller than the goblins but hunched, its muzzle wrinkled in a snarl that showed needle-like teeth. Saliva dripped from its jaws as it sniffed the air, lizard-like eyes locking onto Regulus.
"Oh, come ON!"
Regulus clenched his fists—then deliberately unclenched them. One opponent. Just one. That had to be better than a pack, right? He exhaled through his nose, ignoring the throbbing cuts on his ribs.
Don't pray to her. Don't give her the satisfaction.
The kobold lunged.
Regulus dodged left—or tried to. His body, still thrumming with the aftereffects of overexertion, moved a half-second too slow.
CRUNCH.
White-hot pain exploded through his left arm as the kobold's claws found their mark. He barely bit back a scream, staggering as warmth seeped down his sleeve. His fingers twitched uselessly. Broken? Dislocated? He couldn't tell—only that the limb hung limp at his side, screaming in protest when he tried to move it.
The kobold licked its claws clean, tail lashing.
Nyx, from her chaise, was silent.
Not amused. Not bored. Just... watching.
Regulus' left arm hung useless, blood dripping from his fingertips to the trampled grass. The kobold circled, nostrils flaring at the scent. His stomach twisted—not just from pain, but from the realization that she wasn't laughing anymore.
That scared him more than the teeth.