The morning air was brisk, the scent of dew and moss thick on the wind. Mist clung to the forest floor like a low-slung veil, curling around their boots as they made their way down a narrow path. Trees loomed above Charles and Diana, tall and ancient, their twisted branches forming a vaulted canopy that filtered the pale light into shards of gold and green. Leaves whispered softly overhead, rustling like voices too faint to catch—secrets passed between the trees.
It was a different world entirely from the polished marble halls of the academy. Here, the air hummed with wildness. The earth was soft and damp beneath their feet, every step cushioned by a bed of fallen leaves and moss. The deeper they went, the more Charles felt it: the sense of being watched. Not in a threatening way, but as though the forest itself was aware of them—curious, attentive, waiting.
Diana led the way with confident strides, her satchel slung across her back. Inside, the carefully rolled drawing of the dog lay protected in a reinforced tube. She didn't look nervous—if anything, she seemed energized by the adventure.
Charles followed close behind, eyes flicking from shadow to shadow. It wasn't the beasts that worried him—though one squirrel-like creature the size of a wolf had just darted through the underbrush. No, it was the idea that this might not work. That the drawing might not hold enough accuracy. That his memories of Earth might fail him when it mattered most.
"I thought you said these beasts are harmless," he said, gripping a low-hanging branch for balance as they descended a small slope.
"They are," Diana replied, not slowing. "Well—most of the time. Just stay close."
"Reassuring," Charles muttered.
Diana smirked without looking back. "Don't worry. I've been in here plenty of times. Most of the beasts near the outer rim are too lazy to bother attacking unless provoked."
"Define 'provoked,'" Charles said.
"Like, stepping on one. Or smelling like food. Or staring at their young for too long."
Charles blinked. "So basically, existing."
"That's one way to put it."
They continued in silence for a while, the only sounds the crunch of undergrowth and the occasional call of unseen creatures. At one point, a translucent bird with four wings swooped overhead, chirping a melody that shimmered in the air like a music box tune. Charles couldn't help but glance at Diana in awe.
"You grew up around all this?" he asked.
Diana nodded. "It was normal for me. The academy's forest is one of the few safe wild zones left. Outside the barrier? Much worse. But here, it's mostly contained."
"Still better than a zoo," Charles muttered.
Eventually, Diana halted in a small clearing bathed in sunlight. A ring of smooth stones formed a natural circle at the center, worn down by time and weather. The trees here thinned, allowing warm light to fall across the moss like a soft spotlight. It felt sacred somehow—like a place the forest had set aside on purpose.
"This'll do," she said, kneeling and slipping off her satchel.
Charles watched as she carefully unrolled the drawing, placing it in the center of the ring. The image still glowed faintly, just as it had the night before. The brush strokes shimmered under the morning light, the dog's friendly eyes staring up at the canopy.
"Alright," she said, drawing a small blade from her belt. "We'll try a passive carnation first. I'll imbue the drawing with my gana, then direct it toward a target. If it works, it should manifest in a few seconds."
"What are we using as a target?"
Diana pointed behind him. Charles turned to see a low, slow-moving creature waddling between two trees. It looked like a cross between a tortoise and a lizard, with moss growing on its shell and stubby legs that sank into the ground with each step.
"That's a florn," she said. "Low-tier beast. Perfect for this."
She stood, brushing off her hands. "You might want to stand back."
Charles stepped to the edge of the clearing as Diana knelt beside the drawing. She closed her eyes, resting her fingertips gently on the glowing parchment. A faint pulse spread from her hand, rippling outward like a stone dropped into still water.
Then—movement.
The drawing shimmered. A soft breeze kicked up, spinning leaves across the clearing. The light around the parchment intensified, forming strands of magic that twisted into the air like smoke. Diana's eyes snapped open, glowing faintly with the same light as the drawing.
The florn, now just beyond the clearing, lifted its head curiously.
With a small gesture, Diana extended her hand. The magic strands surged forward, striking the creature like threads of golden silk. It froze. For a moment, everything was still.
Then the transformation began.
The moss on the florn's back shivered, then receded. Its shell softened, reshaped. Limbs stretched, shifted. Fur—actual fur—sprouted from its scaly hide. Its face elongated, forming a rounded snout. Ears emerged, twitching. A tail flicked.
In less than ten seconds, the beast was gone.
Standing in its place was something new. Something impossible.
A dog.
A real, living dog.
It shook itself, fur ruffling, then looked around with bright eyes. It was a large breed—something like a golden retriever—with a thick coat and a panting tongue. It stared at Diana, then bounded toward her and began to lick her face.
Charles's mouth fell open. "It worked," he whispered.
Diana laughed, her voice half in disbelief. "It actually worked."
The dog barked—a high, joyful sound—and spun in a circle before rolling in the moss.
A soft chime rang out. Diana stiffened, her eyes widening. From the air, a number shimmered into view: 1000.
Diana gasped. "One thousand points?!"
Diana stared at the number as it slowly faded from the air. "That's… That's first-tier. Drawing, That's legendary."
"I told you," Charles said, grinning. "Dogs are amazing."