“We’ve tried everything off-the-shelf,” Abelard said, leading the three into the forest after signing a lenient contract, his men trailing behind. “Nothing has worked so far. We were discussing about hiring a Potioneer for a custom brew when you knocked on our door.”

  The damp trail, the rustling leaves, the lush trees, the tweeting birds, and even the yo-yoing temperature that alternated with each bend in the path couldn’t distract Ewan, for when the other Seroyotes peeked at them from the woods, the problem he noticed snatched all his attention. It had become common knowledge for those who read on the species, and Abelard’s ask also hinted at it—the inhabitants of the island had an aging population. Not a single cackle of a child or a curious whisper of a boy had met their advance, the youngest who stared at them looked older than Stefan.

  “Do you know the cause?” Ewan asked.

  “Our best guess is that it’s a curse,” Abelard said, sending the other men away. “We’ve had our fair share of ups and downs, we’ve made friends and enemies even when we tried not to, so it’s not a surprise. But this has been our biggest hurdle yet, if we can't solve it, we’ll go extinct.”

  “What is the problem exactly?” Kidd asked. “You can't do it, or you can't have a child?”

  “Men have lost their drive, and women have become barren,” Abelard said. “Even when we forced them, it didn’t work. They all know what they must do, but they still can't do it.”

  “Have you tried it with other races?” Lance asked. “Maybe humans.”

  “No, we can't do that. We tried once, we mated with other races, but the offsprings lost our identity, they birthed not a single Seroyote,” Abelard said and turned around, looking at Ewan as the silhouette of a ‘Y’ shaped mountain flickered through the foliage behind him. It rose from the ground, then its peaks went their own way and reached for the clouds. Instead of two contrasting mountains, it was a mountain with two contradicting peaks—the icy left glaciated its half while the sweltering right poured glowing hot lava on the island.

  “I’ll need blood and flesh samples from your people,” Ewan said, looking at the towering mountain with sparkling eyes, its bizarre nudged his curiosity and had him entranced. Why, how, and what; the questions rioted in his mind. “It’ll be even better if I can do some tests on them directly.”

  “I’ll get you the blood and flesh, but I can't guarantee a live subject,” Abelard said with deep wrinkles on his forehead.

  “Do what you can, and I’ll do what I can,” Ewan said, and they shook hands.

  “The strip of woods between the two peaks has a cozy temperature,” Abelard said, pointing at the section of the mountain where the peaks parted ways. The two extremes clashed and rested in the strip, the balance creating a welcoming ambience. “You can live there. And use the mountain as you wish, just don’t destroy it.”

  …..

  Orange peeled the dark skin on the edge of the right peak and feasted on the slumbering lava, his mouth and nose smoking after each chomp, while Frost dug a deep coffin in the ice and buried himself, dozing off when his rite began. Both their upgrades wanted time and neither needed Ewan’s assistance, so when they settled into a humdrum routine and their instincts took over, he backed off and made the new hut in the center his humble home, setting up his Potioneering table.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The ocean formed his backdrop, the verdure forest fenced the hut, leaving a clearing to be his lawn, and he lounged beside the pond and waited for Abelard, playing with the fishes. Since he was in a foreign territory, even with the amiable reception based on the contract, he refrained from stretching his legs and halted his daily pattern.

  And when the faux sun touched the waters, Abelard’s men bowed at his gate, their wings furled behind them, and entered on his nod with the samples he wanted. Yet, the blood they carried in the cooking pot had clogged in the bottom, while the mangled flesh they had in plates wafted a rotting stench with dark around the edges. The primitivity pulled a sigh from Ewan, and the men fidgeted…

  “Sir, is there something wrong?” the man carrying the flesh asked.

  “This won't work. The blood’s clogged, and the flesh is gone too far, when did you take the samples anyway?” Ewan said. “Never mind. Is it okay if I take samples from you guys, you have the same problem I presume?”

  They looked at each other and talked in hushed voices, though they were too close to Ewan for any secrecy.

  “You can discuss this among yourselves or with Sir Abelard if you want. If you don’t want me to take your blood and flesh directly, you can try on your own again, just get me fresh samples. I can provide you with ice containers and…blood thinners too...”

  As his word trailed towards the end from the oddity, a flock of mynah birds broke off from their swarm in the sky that rivaled the biggest cloud and swooped down towards their group, some splitting for different parts of the island, slipping into the protective shield. His Varos didn’t react, his instinct stayed muted as well, the birds bore no hostility towards him.

  The biggest in the flight went for Ewan while the rest dispersed for the panicking men with wings. They’d almost taken up their arms when the birds halted before them and unrolled into a pristine scroll, curvy fonts stuffing it to the brim, the words leaning at an angle.

  And a few sentences on top announced its identity—it was a contract, and the Airadia’s sentience oversaw it.

  . And it has 40+ chapters ahead of the Royal Road release on it!

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