The late-afternoon light scattered through the trees, turning the pond's surface into shards of gold. Ember tried to enjoy the quiet. She'd just finished convincing everyone to sit. Surely things would stay calm for at least five minutes.
She was wrong.
The "Smell" Debate
The wind-spirit hovered close to Nyxar, nose—or whatever counted as a nose for a breeze—wrinkling.
Spirit: "Oh goodness… you smell."
Nyxar blinked.
Nyxar: "What does… smell mean?"
The spirit tilted her tiny glowing head toward Bug.
Spirit: "Insect, explain 'smell.'"
Bug scratched his antennae.
Bug: "No clue. Never heard of it. Probably surface nonsense."
Ember, hearing only Bug's side, frowned.
Ember: "Wait—what's happening?"
Bug translated with relish.
Bug: "Light-bulb here says Nyxar smells, but neither of us knows what that even means."
Ember laughed, then leaned forward and sniffed theatrically.
Ember: "You guys… don't smell. Huh. Maybe—" She paused. "Wait. Is that dried blood?"
Bug shrugged all six legs.
Bug: "Yes. Definitely blood. Why?"
Ember: "When do you two ever shower?"
Bug's antennae twitched.
Bug: "What is… showering?"
Ember: "You know, dipping in water to get clean?"
Bug looked genuinely offended.
Bug: "Water is for drinking, not… recreational dipping. Underground we don't waste it."
Ember tilted her head, half-impressed.
Ember: "Okay… practical, I guess."
Nyxar simply stared at the pond as if weighing whether water was secretly edible.
The Sigil Discovery
The spirit's glow slid down Nyxar's right arm. Her eyes widened at a faint, dark mark near his wrist.
Spirit: "What is this?"
Nyxar glanced at the sigil.
Nyxar: "My beast-summoning sigil."
Bug clacked his mandibles.
Bug: "Nah, tell her the truth: that's his 'win button.'"
Spirit: "Win button?"
Ember leaned closer, eyes sparkling.
Ember: "Is that really a summoning mark?"
Bug answered like a proud sports announcer.
Bug: "Oh yes. One touch and—bam—big scary creature from the shadows."
The spirit twirled a tiny cyclone around Nyxar's hand.
Spirit: "Can you summon this 'beast' now?"
Nyxar shook his head.
Nyxar: "No."
Spirit: "Why not?"
Bug explained with mock gravitas.
Bug: "Our dark overlord doesn't 'waste magicalness' unless it's really worth it."
Spirit: "Like what?"
Bug: "Killing, hunting, taking down threats… y'know, Tuesday stuff."
Enter the Boar
A sudden rustle broke the conversation. Leaves trembled.
Thump. Thump. CRACK.
From the bushes burst a massive boar, its tusks curved like scythes.
Spirit: "Like that?" she asked, voice suddenly high.
Bug: "Yeah… something like that."
The boar snorted, pawed the ground, and charged.
Nyxar's Solo Rule
Nyxar calmly set down his pack. His eyes sharpened.
Bug (groaning): "And another thing—you should know this—if Nyxar thinks he can handle it solo, he will not summon. No matter how big or stabby the threat."
Ember leapt to her feet, panic flashing.
Ember: "What are you doing?!"
Nyxar didn't answer. He drew his dagger in one hand, spear in the other, and sprinted forward with impossible speed.
Dance of Daggers
The boar thundered closer. At the last second, Nyxar vaulted high, cloak snapping.
He landed on the beast's bristled back with catlike grace.
Bug (narrating like a sports commentator): "And he sticks the landing!"
A quick slash—dagger plunging into the boar's eye.
The creature bellowed, reared.
Nyxar drove the spear deep between its shoulders, muscles coiled like steel cables.
One final shudder, a long squeal, and the boar collapsed, sliding through the leaf litter until it stopped just short of the pond.
Aftermath
Nyxar stepped off the carcass without a drop of sweat, weapons dripping crimson.
Bug fluttered over, unimpressed but secretly proud.
Bug: "Told you. If he smells, it's mostly that reason."
Ember stood frozen, half horrified, half awed.
Ember: "You… you didn't even call the beast!"
The spirit hovered near Nyxar's shoulder, eyes wide.
Spirit: "Efficient. Brutal. Slightly terrifying."
Nyxar simply wiped the blade on a patch of moss.
Nyxar: "Threat removed. Water still drinkable."
Bug sighed dramatically.
Bug: "And that, dear surface dwellers, is our dark overlord's idea of a casual evening workout."
The forest went silent again—except for the faint ripple of the pond and Bug's satisfied wing-buzz, as if this entire spectacle had been a perfectly normal way to end a conversation about personal hygiene.