A few days passed quietly in Anwansi Village. At least, they were quiet on the surface.
Each morning Grub would wake up in the small room he had rented for him at the inn, get dressed, grab his notebook, and make his way to Teacher Orobas's classroom. The horned teacher seemed to grow more interested in him with every passing lesson. Whenever Grub answered a question correctly or asked for further explanation, Orobas's eyes would light up with genuine excitement. The man clearly loved knowledge, and Grub was quickly realizing he had found someone who might rival his own obsession.
That alone made these last few days worthwhile. Luthiel had stopped coming with him though.
She never said why. She simply wasn't there the next morning, or the one after that, or the one after that. They still saw each other throughout the day. She would appear in the afternoon or at meals or standing quietly near Morrigan's house, but she didn't follow him back into the classroom.
Luthiel had also become noticeably quieter.
At first Grub assumed he was imagining it. Luthiel had always shifted between different appearances and moods so abruptly that it was difficult to know what was normal for her. But after several days of watching her more carefully, he realized that something had definitely changed.
It was not her appearance that had changed. She was still in the same form Grub had come to think of as her default—golden eyes, blonde hair braided neatly at the front, the polka-dot dress. All of it is the same. But her smiles came slower now and her steps had lost their bounce. She had also been humming much less.
When Grub asked if she was alright, she replied with "Yes, Mister Grub" in a voice that clearly meant the opposite.
And whenever they walked together through the village, Grub began noticing something he had somehow overlooked before.
The stares. They came from all directions.
Grub had been noticing them more and more over the last few days. At first he assumed the looks were directed at him. He was the strange creature after all. The outsider. The wacky-looking 'Sky-Fallen' boy from who knows where. Of course people stared. He had assumed it was just the curiosity of seeing the strange thing's guide. But these looks weren't primarily centered on him, much to Grub's shock.
It was Luthiel.
Some villagers only glanced briefly before looking away. Others whispered to one another. A few openly stared until Luthiel lowered her eyes and kept walking.
And these looks were different. They were older and more practiced than the looks he'd been getting. There were villagers here who obviously hadn't looked her in the eye in what seemed like years. Old women who would glance at her and then deliberately look away. Children who slowed their games when she walked past and only started up again once she was gone. Once, a baker had slid Grub his loaf when they bought bread together, and then found something to do at the back of the shop when Luthiel reached for hers.
This was her home. She had lived here for years, and yet she carried herself like someone who never fully belonged.
The realization sat uncomfortably in Grub's chest.
He wanted to ask her about it.
He wanted to ask why everyone looked at her like that. Why she seemed so sad lately. Why she kept changing into different versions of herself. Why she was so kind to him despite being treated so strangely by everyone around her.
But whenever he considered bringing it up, the words refused to come.
Grub was many things. Comforting was not one of them.
So he said nothing. For now.
Luthiel also had not managed to arrange a meeting with Morrigan Craftania.
Apparently the old chief had been unusually busy over the last few days, and every time Luthiel asked, the answer had been the same.
Later.
That meant Grub was still stuck when it came to actual combat training and practical Anima usage. Thankfully, he had made progress elsewhere.
Teacher Orobas had agreed to meet him privately in the village library in two days. Just the thought of it was enough to make Grub feel a spark of excitement.
A library filled with rows of books and written records. A place filled with knowledge waiting to be pulled from shelves and written into his notebook. He could hardly wait. If everything went well, his notebook would be filled with more information than ever before.
Perhaps he would invite Luthiel to come along. Assuming she wanted to, of course.
That night, Grub lay on his back in the bed at the inn, staring at the wooden ceiling overhead. Moonlight filtered through the window, painting pale shapes across the room.
A candle on the table by the window had burned down to a thumb. While somewhere, a dog—or whatever passed for a dog —made a single low noise, and then nothing.
Thoughts in Grub's head drifted through the events of the past few days.
The classes. The village. The library appointment.And, inevitably, Luthiel.
His thoughts kept circling back to her.
What is her deal? Why is she so easily knocked sideways by a single hard look or a careless word? I personally don't care much about how people view me. Why did her appearance and attitude shift so dramatically? What the hell is up with that? Also why is it that she is so weird? Is it because of her strange shifts that she is outcast?
Grub had heard her called strange a dozen times since arriving in this place. He had heard her called worse. Yet he had never once seen her defend herself.
Why do I care enough to keep thinking about it?
Grub hated not knowing things and lacking answers. There was a part of him that wanted to take her apart and label every piece. He knew that was wrong but he couldn't help himself.
He hated not knowing.
Eventually his eyelids began to grow heavy and his vision began to blur. Then suddenly—
Ring.
A sharp tone sounded from his wrist and at the same time, a small jolt of pain shot through his arm.
Grub's eyes snapped open. Looking down at the bracelet wrapped around his wrist, he let out a long, irritated sigh.
The Mgbaaka Maara was ringing. It was time to report.
Grub dragged himself out of bed, pulled on his coat, and slipped silently from the inn.
The village was still and dark and the night air was cool. The moon was lower than he had expected. The walls of the village were quiet.
Anyone awake would assume he was relieving himself in the woods like a strange creature might. No one was wary enough to assume anything. Only the occasional lantern flickered in the distance as he moved through the sleeping streets and out toward the forest.
The clearing was the same as it had been.
The Lacert waiting for him, however, was not.
Grub noticed it as soon as he stepped through the brush.
This one was different. Different build, different scales, different face. He was shorter and broader than the last messenger, his green scales duller and almost gray in the moonlight. There were three long scars across his snout that ran from the corner of his eye down to his jaw. His arms hung loose at his sides instead of being folded neatly across his chest and his eyes carried none of the casual indifference the previous messenger had shown.
This one looked cold and dangerous.
Grub quickly dismissed the observation as ultimately unimportant and stopped several feet away.
The Lacert wasted no time.
"Well?" he demanded. "What have you learned regarding their defenses? Their military strength? The weapon?"
Grub kept his expression blank.
"I have not learned much about those topics yet."
The Lacert stared at him for a moment. Then his expression shifted into a slow, deliberate scowl. Without a word he reached into a pouch at his belt and pulled out a small object, a compact button.
Grub's stomach tightened at the sight of it.
The Lacert noticed Grub's change in expression and a cruel smile spread across his face. It was the same smile Grub had seen on the Colonel and on a few of the others—a slow, scaled pull of the lips back from the teeth that did not move any other part of the face. The teeth were a disgusting yellow.
"The Colonel has grown tired of your lack of progress," the messenger said, turning the button over between his fingers.
"You have done nothing of use. You have walked their streets. You have sat in their schoolroom. You have eaten their food.Yet you have nothing to show for it." He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
"I was sent here with orders. You know." The messenger continued while eyeing Grub.
Sweat began to gather at Grub's brow as he watched the Lacert's thumb glide across the surface of the device.
Grub said nothing. His eyes didn't dare leave the button.
"If your report had nothing of value," the Lacert continued, his thumb gliding across the surface of the device, "I was to press this. And that mgbaaka maara of yours would handle the rest." The messenger leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper.
The Lacert held the button up between them, his thumb hovering just above the center.
He let the moment stretch. Then, slowly, he pulled his thumb away.
"You have one more week.'
One week to provide valuable intelligence regarding the village's military capabilities and the location of the weapon."
His grin widened.
"If you fail, the next time your bracelet rings…" He tapped the button lightly. "…will be the last sound you ever hear."
The Lacert burst into laughter. The sound echoed through the clearing, sharp and mocking. It went on for so long that Grub thought he may never stop.
Then, just as suddenly, he composed himself and leaned in close enough for Grub to smell his breath.
"Hurry up, you strange little creature. Time's ticking"
He stepped back and jerked his head toward the village.
"Now scram."
Grub turned and walked away. He kept his pace steady until he was out of sight. Only then did he allow himself to breathe. His mind raced the entire way back.
One week. Seven days.
Seven days to either get this damned bracelet off, or to gather enough real information to survive the next report. Those were his options. Anything else was death.
By the time he slipped back into his room at the inn, he had already begun forming a plan.
Tomorrow. He would dedicate the entire day to studying the Mgbaaka Maara. No casual prodding like before. Real, focused examination. Every seam, every rune, every angle.
The day after. The library with Orobas. If there was a weapon worth a Colonel's attention in this region, the library would have something on it. And if there was a way to remove a tracker from his wrist, a man who had read every book in the village might know.
Afterward. He would press Luthiel again about speaking with Morrigan. If he could train under the chief and learn more about Anima, perhaps he would gain the power and understanding needed to survive. And while doing all of that, he would continue extracting whatever information he could from both Luthiel and Morrigan or anyone who knew something of value.
It was not a perfect plan. But it was a plan.
Grub climbed back through the window of the inn and shut it carefully behind him. He pulled his boots off, threw them to the floor, and crawled under the blanket.
He stared at the ceiling again. His mind should have kept churning. It wanted to. But exhaustion was heavier than fear, and slowly, without permission, his thoughts drifted somewhere else.
The Ridge.
He thought of Gravel's voice. The smell of fish smoke. The way the survivors gathered at the fire when they wanted to feel like they were safe and how quickly they recovered from the giant grub attack.
He thought of Wrighty. That big stupid grin. The way he called him Doc like it was a name worth having.
A faint smile touched Grub's lips before he could stop it. He hoped they were alive despite the doubts he had.
Then sleep took him.