Three days had passed since the clash with the warlock Eldreet. The elf still slept soundly, and the sword continued to hover in the middle of the house, though now without a trace of its former energetic aura.

  Jay sat with his arms crossed over the back of a chair, staring intently at the sword. Layla was fast asleep, wrapped around the elf under a fluffy blanket.

  “If you’ve got something to say, artifact, spit it out already. I’ve never seen anything like you. Why’d you protect us… and where the hell did you come from?”

  No response.

  …

  Jay could barely see past the mountain of books, ancient tomes, and moldy scrolls threatening to topple at any moment. He shot a pleading look at the figure sprawled on the bed—a young woman with long, fiery red hair and round-rimmed glasses that glinted indifferently in the window’s light. Amy, the most powerful mage in the kingdom (and possibly the laziest), lay on her stomach, kicking her feet in the air while engrossed in the final volume of her favorite manga—a sacred relic from the distant lands of the Eastern Hemisphere… or something like that.

  “Thanks for the help, Amy… I think I might find a clue here,” Jay muttered, adjusting the weight of the books in his arms. “You sure you don’t wanna actually pitch in?”

  Amy huffed without looking up from her pages.

  “Hmmm…”

  She blew a strand of hair out of her face and turned the page as if the fate of the world—printed in black-and-white with action lines and sparkly eyes—depended on it.

  “Come on, for old times’ sake!” Jay pressed. “There’s a magical artifact floating in the middle of my living room. Doesn’t that sound even a little interesting to you? Mages love this mystical stuff, don’t they?”

  “Jay,” she said, her voice dripping with the annoyance of someone interrupted at the climax of a story, “I’m reading. And honestly? I’ve seen so many things float, glow, or threaten to destroy the world that my excitement died ages ago. Want a magical artifact? There’s a room full of them on the third floor. Go have fun.”

  “Wow, what a cold heart. You used to be cooler… Fine, I’ll check these books. Maybe I’ll find something about waking sleeping elves…”

  Amy froze.

  Slowly, she lifted her face from the manga, her crimson eyes blazing with sudden intensity. The freckles on her face glowed like shy embers.

  “Elves? Y-You’ve got… an elf sleeping at your place?”

  “Oh, now you’re interested, huh?” Jay flashed a cheeky grin. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Amy.”

  In a flash, Amy tossed the manga aside, grabbed her cape and hat with the speed of someone who’d heard “open bar for elves,” and shouted:

  “We can’t waste time! An unknown magical artifact and an elf in a coma? This could be dangerous, Jay! Or… amazing… Grab my boots!”

  “Wow, mention pointy ears, and your mood flips like that. Nice to see how much you care about your friends, shorty.”

  “Oh, come on… they’re mystical, enlightened beings, full of pure, ancient beauty! I love… studying them, whenever I can. Hehe…”

  “Pervert.”

  “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?! Don’t say that! It’s not like I…”

  “Pervert. Let’s go. Aethon’s already saddled and ready.”

  Amy yanked on the boots Jay kicked her way, still muttering incomprehensible complaints. As she stomped down the tower’s stairs, her cheeks puffed out, she grumbled:

  “I’m not a pervert… leave me alone…”

  Jay, grinning victoriously, followed behind, the clomp of his boots echoing through the spiral staircase alongside Amy’s complaints—and the impatient neigh of Aethon waiting under Edsoria’s gleaming sky.

  ...

  “Meow… I’m out of ideas. I gave it my all, but this elf won’t wake up no matter what, meow…”

  Layla sat by the bed, arms crossed, tail drooping like life had lost all flavor. Around her were traces of what was clearly a feline-style first-aid session: pillow feathers scattered everywhere, magical glitter floating in the air, a gift ribbon tied around the elf’s forehead, and a faint whiff of grilled fish. It was chaos, but with charm.

  “I did my special feline dance… I shouted, I meowed, I slept on top of her… nothing wakes this sleepyhead! This is tough, meow… Oh, wait, I got it!”

  Her eyes sparkled like gems polished by an overcaffeinated jeweler. With an acrobatic leap, she dove into a wardrobe drawer, sending clothes, papers, and a mysterious vial labeled “DO NOT INHALE” flying.

  She emerged triumphant, clutching two patched-up socks with buttons sewn on as eyes. One red. One blue. A dramatic silence hung in the air.

  “That’s right, elf girl! Get ready, ‘cause if you don’t wake up… you’re gonna witness my BARD BATTLE! Better brace yourself, meow, ‘cause it’s about to get wild… MEOW!!”

  With a theatrical spin, Layla yanked a folding screen in front of the bed like she was parting the curtains of a grand theater. She planted her axe in the floor like the centerpiece of a circus tent, propped a stool as her stage, lit herself up with a magical lantern tied to her tail… and began.

  “MEOOW! I’m Elanthos the bard!” she declared, waving the red sock with a squeaky voice.

  “And I’m Elenthos the bard!” she added, with the blue sock in a deeper, nasally tone.

  “And now, dear lady elf,

  Prepare for our song!

  It comes straight from the soul…

  Or maybe just our imagination!”

  “If you don’t open your eyes soon,

  You’ll miss this one-of-a-kind show!

  With rhyme, rhythm, and dance,

  And a touch that’s pure glow!”

  Layla twirled the socks in circles, like characters in an enchanted ballet. The screen wobbled with the intensity of her performance. The red sock jumped forward:

  “Elanthos is me, the smoothest of all!

  With my lute, I charm even an emperor’s hall!”

  “But I, Elenthos, am the bard without peer!

  With my jokes, I make even the dead dance and cheer!”

  Both socks (or rather, both of Layla’s paws) started smacking each other like they were dueling— trading absurd rhymes and feline flips.

  “If you don’t wake with our glorious display,

  We’ll have to pull out the most dangerous play!”

  “Oh no! You wouldn’t dare!” gasped Elenthos, feigning shock.

  “Oh, I dare… the enchanted pun solo!!”

  Layla blew into a tiny flute with such force it produced a ridiculous sound, somewhere between a off-key whistle and a bewitched kettle’s sigh. She spun in pirouettes, dropped to her knees in front of the bed, and proclaimed:

  “…And with this unmatched spectacle, worthy of imaginary awards and even applause from statues, I beg you, mysterious elf: WAAAKE UP, FOR THE LOVE OF MEOW!!”

  Silence.

  Then, clapping. Not exactly enthusiastic, but—well—surprisingly sincere.

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  Layla blinked, confused. The bedroom door was wide open. In the doorway, Jay and Amy stood watching like they’d stumbled upon a rare natural phenomenon. Jay, with his usual chill grin, clapped slowly. Calmly. Proudly?

  Layla let out a high-pitched yelp and leaped like a cat zapped by lightning. Her tail puffed up so much it looked alive. In a clumsy scramble, she slipped from behind the screen and belly-flopped onto the floor—socks still clutched in her paws, eyes wide, face frozen in pure mortification. Like she’d been caught casting forbidden magic in the throne room.

  She lay there, sprawled, mouth agape, unable to breathe. Her bronzed face now blazed a red so intense it’d make any market chili beg for mercy.

  Amy raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips.

  “This the kind of crew you roll with now, Jay? She’s not exactly playing with a full deck, huh…”

  “Layla… loved the show, but pull yourself together, crazy cat. We’ve got work to do,” Jay said, shaking his head but with a faint smile.

  “MEOW—rrgh! Uh… I-I was just… trying to… meow her soul back or something, meowrr…”

  She curled up, trying to hide her face with the red sock while the blue one slipped from her paw and hit the floor with a loud ploc.

  “Come on, keep an eye on the girl. Amy and I are gonna check out the sword,” Jay said.

  Amy strutted into the room like she owned the place.

  “Hold up, Jay! Let’s check the elf first! It’s worrying, a gorgeous girl who won’t wake up. Could be a deep sleep enchantment, a kiss curse, or who knows…”

  “Chill, Amy. The weapon might be causing this. Let’s start there. You’re the biggest magical item expert I know, remember?”

  Amy huffed, a half-smile creeping in.

  “Fine, fine. If you insist, let’s see what we’ve got here…”

  Jay walked to the corner where the sword rested, and Amy followed, pulling out a magnifying glass with a red lens and black silver rim, inspecting the object with sharp eyes.

  Layla, still on the floor, took a deep breath, like she’d just run a marathon of embarrassment. She glanced sideways at the sleeping elf and muttered:

  “…Hope you at least enjoyed the show, you ungrateful sleepyhead…”

  And she slunk behind the screen, leaving just the tip of her tail visible—defeated, but dignified.

  ...

  Amy knelt before the sword hovering in the center of the room, not even bothering to hide her enthusiasm. Jay stood beside her, watching with restrained attention. The blade gleamed under the ambient light as if absorbing every particle around it—yet, at the same time, it seemed to reflect nothing at all. As if it were made of a material existing on another plane.

  “…Hmph. This thing… it’s not from Osandia. Not from anywhere I know,” Amy murmured, almost in a reverent whisper, her fingers hovering over the metal without actually touching it.

  The sword was imposing. A longsword with a broad blade, split into two filaments that parted in the center and rejoined at the tip—a design that defied physics yet seemed perfectly functional here. One half of the blade floated slightly, detached yet immobile, as if suspended by its own will, holding its position with supernatural precision.

  Near the guard, a metallic sphere—also suspended in midair—rotated slowly, emitting a soft, low hum. Just above the hilt, separating it from the blade, was a teardrop-shaped crystal of an impossible blue, a blue that seemed to have more than three dimensions, a blue the mind could barely follow without getting lost.

  The guard, sturdy and adorned with runic inscriptions in an utterly alien language, looked forged from aged silver tinged with blood and light—a metallic hue that shifted between bronze and crimson, with golden details that flickered as if alive.

  Jay kept a respectful distance.

  “So? Picking up anything?”

  “I’m picking up a lot… and nothing, all at once.” Amy narrowed her eyes, brushing the runes with a small silver wand. “This thing… it’s old. Old as time before time. But it’s got no trace, no magical signature, no detectable curse, nothing that should be here.”

  She jabbed the wand into the floor, frustrated but with gleaming eyes.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it… it’s like this weapon was made to be incomprehensible. And that’s amazing! Jay, you have no idea what you’ve stumbled onto!”

  Jay crossed his arms, a bit concerned.

  “This weapon, apparently, protected the girl. It came out of nowhere and just… stayed since then.”

  Amy sprang to her feet, pulling a faceted crystal the size of a walnut from one of her coat’s many pockets, set in a copper ring with delicate golden wires snaking around it. The crystal glowed faintly when exposed, as if eager to be used. She held it over the sword and began conjuring arcane circles on the floor, tracing sigils with her fingertips that left glowing trails in the air.

  Suddenly, she froze.

  Her eyes locked on the crystal, then the sword. A sharp glint flashed through her gaze, like a lightning bolt of realization. She stepped back, nearly tripping over a freshly drawn rune, and muttered:

  “…It’s not just old. It’s not just powerful. This thing… it calls.”

  “Calls…?” Jay asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Amy continued, almost to herself, in a hushed tone.

  “No known magical signature. None. As if it was made to fool every kind of arcane tracking. And yet… the crystal reacted. It never reacts to dead things. Or sealed artifacts.” She ran a hand through her hair, visibly thrilled and worried at once. “This means… it’s alive. Maybe not alive like a person, but alive like an anchor. A beacon.”

  She turned to Jay, her eyes still fixed on the newborn idea.

  “It’s a summons. An invitation. Or a challenge. I don’t know. But this isn’t just a weapon… it’s a presence. And the kind of thing that answers it…”

  She didn’t finish.

  Jay frowned, already sensing what was coming.

  “What kind of ‘thing’?”

  Amy hesitated, then glanced up at the ceiling, as if feeling something approaching.

  “The kind that crosses realities. The kind that doesn’t knock.”

  And then, as if the universe had been listening, a tear ripped through the air, violent as a thunderclap. A crimson vortex tore open the space in the ceiling, scattering sparks and gusts of magical wind that sent papers, books, and even the rug flying. Layla, still behind the screen, shrieked:

  “MEOWWW!! WHAT THE MEOW WAS THAT!?”

  A grotesque creature emerged from the portal—an amalgam of liquid shadows, glistening tentacles, and a deformed stag skull, floating as if submerged in a different time and gravity. Its eyes, if it even had eyes, locked straight onto the sword.

  Amy’s eyes widened, a huge grin spreading across her face as she shouted:

  “It drew something! I KNEW IT!”

  Jay summoned his enchanted blade, which flared into his hand with a burst of blue light.

  “Outside the house, NOW!” he yelled, but the floor was already cracking, shelves toppling, the portal still open.

  Amy snapped her fingers, opening another magical circle.

  “No time. Pull Layla!”

  Layla, terrified and still with a sock tangled in her tail, leaped toward the sleeping elf.

  “I’ll stay! I’ll protect the girl! Go, go, go!!”

  Jay hesitated for a split second but trusted her.

  “Be careful, Layla!”

  “You too! Don’t die, meow!”

  Amy grabbed Jay’s arm, and they vanished in a flash of purple light, pulled out of the dimension.

  Layla was left alone in the room with the sword, the sleeping elf… and a freshly unleashed magical chaos.

  ...

  Jay and Amy materialized amidst a vast expanse of floating stones, like a celestial arena shattered into a thousand suspended platforms in the void. The creature emerged right behind them, roaring with multiple voices at once, a sound that seemed to rise from the bones themselves.

  Amy instantly conjured a web of flaming runes that ensnared two of the beast’s tentacles.

  “You handle the head, I’ll take the rest!”

  “Hah! As always,” Jay shot back, casting a luminous blessing that spawned illusory duplicates of himself, confusing the creature’s movements.

  The battle was ferocious.

  The creature, forged of ebony plates and pulsing flesh, dragged itself through the dimensional void with claws that warped the space around them. It roared with voices from a thousand wrong throats.

  Amy struck first.

  She traced sigils in the air with surgically precise gestures, glowing lines slicing through the darkness like razors. Then, she whispered words in High Osandian, each syllable vibrating through the plane like distant bells.

  “Crystal blades, become flames! UNFAERAEFIRUR!!” her voice boomed as the final sigil locked into place.

  From above, a rain of flaming crystalline lances plummeted with surgical precision, piercing the creature’s flanks and blasting open scarlet craters. Amy folded the space around her with a single wrist twist, repositioning herself midair as if the world spun to her whim. Misshapen tentacles lashed toward her, but she unraveled them with a snap of her fingers and a stern glare.

  Jay didn’t lag behind.

  He leaped between the floating fragments of the dimension, tracing sigils on the move. A golden aura enveloped his body as his deep voice echoed across the battlefield:

  “Let the Light guard my paths, AD-DASTAKRAE!!” he shouted, summoning a shield of pure light that deflected the beast’s attacks with metallic clangs.

  He spun, conjured another sigil in the air, and finished:

  “Let Gram’s Living Fire consume it! UNDASTAFIRANDAE!!”

  A sacred explosion erupted from his palm, striking the creature’s chest. Its carapace split open with a roar, spewing putrid smoke that bubbled in the thin air.

  The clash stretched on for minutes—a dance of magic and destruction, light and chaos, with both combatants moving as if accustomed to defying the laws of possibility.

  Finally, the creature let out one last distorted cry and began to dissolve, its flesh turning to sludge, its essence evaporating like cosmic smoke sucked back into the void.

  Jay, sweating and panting, leaned against one of the floating pillars of the dimension.

  “This is what that sword attracts? Then that girl’s in deeper trouble than I thought.”

  Amy, serene as if she’d just brewed a cup of tea, dusted her hands with a gesture and watched the vortex slowly close.

  “And that was just the first one. I’d bet my soul more are coming.”

  They exchanged a silent, knowing glance, one that lingered longer than it should have… and returned together to the physical world.

  ?