This is the way the world ends.

The rapping at her door jolted Slappy out of a rather peaceful doze. Retirement had been good to her; she hadn’t lost her touch when it came to her old tricks, she had so much more downtime to practice them, and the leisure time was unmatched - until she was interrupted.. But when any of the Warner siblings came a-knocking at her tree, the old squirrel found it difficult to even pretend to be cross with them.

All three of them were great kids, with a lot of potential between them. The trio reminded her of her younger days, though efforts to give Slappy a permanent screen partner aside from her rotating gallery of rogues had fallen short and fallen hard. Usually followed by an anvil in fast pursuit.

The Warners were different, though; they knew how to play off of each other and hold their own with their individual talents. Talk about triple threats.

“Word to the wise, kiddo.” Slappy leaned on the door as she opened it, raising a brow at the much younger toon. “You’re only leavin’ yourself open for disappointment with a greeting like that.”

“Miss Slappy, you’re hurting my self-esteem!” Grasping his hands, his eyes began to water as if he was about to burst out in tears. A toon worth their weight in ink could cry on cue. It was, after all, the humans ate up the sad child card.

“You know how sensitive my ego is!” As he blinked again, the crocodile tears vanishing.

“Just don’t let the bigwigs at Acme Looniversity hear you say that, or they’ll never let me in. I’m already on their bad side after that whole flooding the school with electric eels thing when they took us on that tour last week. Miss Flamiel was not happy.”

He released an exhale, his hands resting on his hips.

“You think they would know how to take a joke Sheesh. I was just practicing my craft. Physical comedy is a dying medium, you know. I was just trying to show my appreciation for it." He rocked back on his heels, glancing up at her with a hopeful little grin.

"But anyway, are you going to let me in? I wanna tell you about my day at school.” A happy smile plastered on the young toon’s face.

"WHOA! WHAT THE--!?" Mirabel yelped, scrambling back on her bed until her back hit the wall. How he was able to keep said explosion of lights and sparkles contained within her tiny room was beyond her but well, that probably was due to the fact that this big blue guy was apparently an 'all powerful genie'.

While she grew up in a magical family and had grown up around magic, this still came as shock to her. Magical people were one thing. Magical, supposedly mythical beings turning out to be not so mythical was another thing entirely.

“The genuine article, at your service.” Giving a quick bow and a flourish. “Columbia, you saw? That’s quite the time skip.” Stroking his beard. “Mmm, but regardless, that doesn’t really matter right now. What is your first wish, Master? And take as long as you want to think about it. There isn’t a time limit.”

Most of the people who got his lamp tended to make wishes in quick succession. Usually they spent those wishes fixing the first ones they made, either because they made a joke wish or they wished to be king of the world, which usually meant you had a giant target on your back. And inevitably the third wish would be—

I wish I never found the lamp.

Blinking himself away from his thoughts, he looked back down at the girl.

“Also, you got a name, Master? You can just call me Genie, or Gene, or G… really whatever you want. And if you don’t mind another question… where exactly did you find my lamp, and what year is it?”

I’m super excited for the new Avatar series. The animation kind of reminds me of Voltron, but I’m really here to give my two cents on all the Korra slander.

I love Korra. I think she’s an incredible, complex character who’s vastly different from Aang and she should be. It’s pretty obvious if you’ve ever watched a TV show that Korra didn’t just wake up one day, decide to become evil, and destroy the world. The far more likely explanation is that something happened as a result of the spirit portals being left open, and the world ending up the way it is was the best possible outcome. The alternative would have been much worse.

I’ve also seen people openly saying they feel bad for Pavi because she has to fix all of Korra’s problems. The only thing I have to say to that is: clearly you don’t know anything about the show, because that’s exactly what every Avatar has to do with their predecessor.

Yangchen mostly sided with humans when they were in conflict with spirits, so Kuruk spent his entire life fighting off angry spirits. That meant he never had time to deal with human conflicts, forcing Kyoshi to handle them. (Kyoshi did nothing wrong and was perfect in every way, by the way.)

Then Roku didn’t stop Sozin when he had the chance, which led to the Hundred Year War and the genocide of the Air Nomads. Aang couldn’t resolve the growing bender vs. non-bender conflicts, so Korra had to deal with them.

The point I’m trying to make is that Avatars can’t see the future. They’re working with the information they have at the time and doing the best they can with the situation in front of them. They’ve all made mistakes aside from Kyoshi, because she’s the best. Whatever Korra did, she did because she thought it was the right thing in that moment.

As she sat by the campfire, observing the flames flicker as dawn approached. The embers glowed with a fading orange hue, casting elongated, dancing shadows over the dew-laden grass of the clearing. In the stillness of the early morning chill, the transition felt effortless. THE BURDEN OF THE SWORD SAINT'S LEGACY SEEMED DISTANT, overshadowed by the tangible reality of her present self. She reclined, feeling the gentle fabric of her brown skirt gather around her legs, a sensory reminder of the identity she had nurtured. For a few hours each morning, the world did not seek a savior; it merely recognized a traveler resting beside a fire.

As she glanced over to find her friend peacefully asleep next to her, THE GENTLE RHYTHM OF HER CHEST RISING AND FALLING THE SOLE SOUND BREAKING THE HEAVY STILLNESS OF THE WOODS. Her companion’s purple hair lay in a chaotic tangle across her shoulder, and her face was softened by a deep slumber that nearly resembled a coma. To any passerby, they appeared to be just two weary mercenaries taking a brief pause after a challenging campaign. Yet, there was a profound, quiet intimacy in this scene, a trust so complete that her friend remained undisturbed as she reached out to tuck a wayward strand of violet hair behind her ear. In these moments, she felt like, she was truly alive.

“Hey, time to wake up.”

Ever since Julies could remember, she wanted one thing: to be a knight. A hero of old who would swoop in to protect those in need, to slay monsters, and for people to acknowledge her as a brave, righteous warrior. These were the persistent thoughts going through her head when she was a young girl. Day after day, week after week, she would train until her knuckles bled and her muscles screamed for her to stop and rest, but she never listened.

Many people had looked down on her simply because she was a woman. Many assumed she was weak and would die on an unmarked battlefield. But she showed them. Her years of training paid off. She became a fierce warrior, one of the greatest swordswomen to ever be. Although her rank didn’t say as much, Julies considered herself a great, strong warrior with remarkable skill. And while it’s true she got some recognition, many still saw her as just a stupid girl.

But she wasn’t alone. She had Adelheid with her. And although she wasn’t as skilled as her, she had seen her fight, and the mistakes she made in combat were obvious and precise almost too precise, as if she was forcing herself to have the wrong footing or hold her sword at a weird angle. But regardless of her strength, they were friends and had been for as long as she could remember.

Her dream-filled thoughts would have continued if not for the warm small hand stirring her from her restful sleep. Her golden iris eyes slowly blinked open as she turned her head, looking up at Adelheid. She slowly sat up and outreached both her arms, stretching, and ran her hand through her purple locks, trying to jog her mind awake.

“Ugh… morning, Adel.” A yawn fell after as she rubbed her eyes with her hand. “Or whatever time it was. I was having such a good dream too.”

Before she stood and looked at her friend.

“I suppose we have rested enough. We should pack up camp and keep going.”

They were on a mission. Apparently a group of bandits had set up their operation on a common traveling route and had been robbing villagers. This village was situated far off from the kingdom, so the bandits probably suspected little resistance from the villagers. Luckily Julies had heard of their plight and offered to stop the bandits, and had managed to rope Adel along with her.

Bending down to start collecting equipment, she spoke out loud.

“How did you sleep?”

The voice sliced through the oppressive silence of the sickroom like a jagged shard of glass. She didn’t need to open her one good eye to identify the rhythm, the sing-song malice, the way the syllables twisted like smoke from a dying flame.

It was a sound that seemed to belong in a nightmare, yet here it was, resonating in the stale atmosphere of her refuge. She lay there, her body a hollow remnant of the warrior she had once been, feeling the mattress sag beneath her as the phantom weight of a presence loomed over her.

SHE WAS FRAIL, A SHATTERED SWORD PROPPED AGAINST A CRUMBLING WALL, BUT THE RECOGNITION WAS IMMEDIATE. CAPELLA.

She didn’t merely turn her head; she shifted her entire being toward the source of that voice, a slow, torturous rotation that felt like dragging a boulder across a frozen lake. The movement ignited a flare of searing pain through her fractured ribs, a stark reminder that her body was no longer a stronghold, but a ruin.

When her amber eye finally met the figure hovering above her, she didn’t see a woman but rather a swirling vortex of malice. Capella stood there, enveloped in an air of mocking grace, her eyes sparkling with a predatory hunger that mirrored the very poison still battling within her veins. She saw that the Archbishop gazed down at her not with hatred, but with the detached curiosity of a child tearing the wings off a fly.

"What..."

Her voice emerged as a dry rasp, a mere echo of the authority that once commanded legions. She cleared her throat, tasting copper and bile, and forced the word out with a jagged edge of lingering pride.

"What do you want, monster? I did nothing to you, and you broke me, for no reason. You denied me, a warriors death, and instead, crippled me. You have no honor."

“Broke you?” she spoke quietly. “I didn’t break you. You’re turning into something new, something truly beautiful, I promise.”

Her eyes scanned up and down the bandaged form a futile attempt to halt what was coming. The heavy scent of medical herbs clung to the air, all of it useless. The moment Capella’s blood had touched her, Crush’s old life had ended.

Reaching out, she cupped the girl’s cheek as if soothing a upset child. And really, that was exactly what she looked like right now: a pouty little thing refusing to be grateful for the gift she’d been given. If Crush hadn’t fought so hard against it, the change would already be complete. The old Crush would be gone, and the new one would already be here.

She settled near the head of the bed, still gently stroking her cheek. Outside the door, a dark pool of blood crept across the floor from the bodies of the station nurses.

“It’s okay, Crush. I know it hurts, but soon the pain will fade. Soon you’ll feel better than you ever have before. And I didn’t do this without reason.” She gave a soft shake of her head. “I’ve tried this little experiment on many different species. Almost all of them died within moments. You’re the only one who’s lasted this long. That means your will and body are strong. You’ll make a fine child of mine… maybe even my greatest creation yet.”

“I know you want the agony to end. To walk again without feeling like every vessel inside you is about to burst. To wash yourself without worrying your lungs might give out. Doesn’t that sound nice? Mmm.”

“And you should understand that words like honor mean nothing to a being like me. I stand above those petty human feelings. What you’re becoming is far greater than some ordinary warrior.” She let out a quiet scoff, as if the idea of wasting her precious blood on a mere fighter was ridiculous. “You’re going to be so much more than that.”

Leaning in until her face hovered just above Crush’s, Capella’s voice softened.

“You’re going to be my child. My very own daughter.”

He demanded, his voice slicing through the silence of the grand foyer. He stopped abruptly, HIS GOLDEN EYES narrowing as he spotted a plush, brown teddy bear sitting precariously atop a velvet pedestal. It was a grotesque addition to the room's sterile perfection, out of place, childish, and utterly unauthorized. He reached out a gloved hand to brush it aside, but as he did, a single fruit fly buzzed past his nose with an irritating, high-pitched drone. He swiped at the air, his movements precise, yet the insect danced away with a mocking agility, circling his head twice before darting toward the open terrace.

“Ugh, standards!”

She had thought male Regulus possessed a high, nasal voice rather like a child’s. How mistaken she had been. The woman’s scream that tore from that throat was pure torment, harsh and grating beyond measure.

A wide, delighted smile spread across Capella’s face as she drank in her newest creation. The form was not so displeasing, truth be told. Aside from that dreadful voice, one might even call it rather fine. Not fine enough to rank among her precious children, of course… yet still.

“Regulus, baby. No need to shout. I’m standing right here. I can hear you perfectly fine.”

“Though now that you are a proper lady, you ought to consider changing that name. It is far too mannish. You shall frighten away every potential suitor. And do try to soften that voice of yours. You sound rather like a banshee. You would not wish to end your days a lonely cat-lady, would you?”

Her dragon’s tail rose and pressed firmly over their mouth, silencing the endless cries with a cheerful little hum.

“You should be grateful, you know. Truly grateful. I am granting you the chance to walk in an entirely new pair of shoes. I might have turned you into a mere ball… or a flower… or simply another chair.” She gestured lightly toward the one still facing the wall. “That wife of yours did not seem particularly pleased by the notion. Yet had she answered my question with proper courtesy, I might have allowed her to continue her quiet little existence.”

A lie they both knew she would never permit. All beings were her playthings… even other Archbishops.

She stepped close, slipping an arm about their shoulders and drawing them tightly against her so that their cheeks pressed together.

“Think of this as the beginning of a brand new day for you. We shall voyage upon the most splendid adventures together.” Her free arm swept outward in a grand flourish. “It cannot be easy, being you. You so clearly despise solitude… yet now you have me. Your dearest, most devoted friend Capella.”

Without warning she reached down, seized a generous handful of the newly formed breast, and gave it a firm, appraising squeeze.

“But first we need to get you a new outfit. I never imagined you would have such a juicy pair on you. You’re going to be beating men off with a stick.”

Releasing her breast only to coil her tail snugly about their waist and lift them clean off the ground. Raising both hands in a mock show of innocence and forgiveness.

“I know, I know. You dislike change. You are a simple man, or now maybe a simple woman. But rest easy. Capella shall look after you most carefully.”

Walking over to the transmuted chair, still cradling them in her tail. Their bare feet struck the cold floor uselessly before she set them down upon the seat. The chair groaned beneath the sudden weight, its legs creaking as though they might shatter at any moment.

“Now then… what shall we do first?” she mused aloud, crossing one leg over the other and resting her chin upon her fist. “Women act much different than they did when we roamed with mortals. So much to keep you up on… mmm.”

She tilted her head back to regard them, eyes full of madness eyes that were many a time the last thing someone saw.

“What do you think, my friend? We are immortal so we have endless time, but that makes deciding even harder. Perhaps we might try on fine dresses… or practice a more graceful manner of walking?”

Her head swayed from side to side in playful invitation as she awaited an answer, her dragon’s tail still winding restlessly about their form like a living ribbon.

“Or perhaps we ought first to find you suitable clothing. Those tits of yours must be getting chilly.”

"Is this some kind of cruel prank?" He whispered, his voice reverberating off the immaculate marble floors with a sharpness that would have sent any servant scurrying in fear. HE CONTINUED HIS WALK, though his pace had transformed from a leisurely stroll to a brisk, tense march. He peeked into the grand conservatory, where the fragrance of lilies usually enveloped the air, but the flowers were nowhere to be found. Not wilted, not dead, merely missing. The soil in the ornamental planters lay flat and grey, as if the very essence of growth had been wiped from the room. He checked the dining hall, then the music room, then the private solariums. Each door he swung open unveiled a void of existence; the furniture remained, the gold leafing still sparkled under the chandeliers, but the warmth of human presence was conspicuously absent.

SOMEONE WAS MESSING WITH HIM.

"Where on earth could they be?" He murmured, his hand instinctively rising to massage the back of his head in a moment of true, if only temporary, confusion. It was an unusual, human gesture for a man who typically moved with the unyielding precision of a statue. The stillness of the castle had transformed from a mere absence of noise into a tangible burden, a void that seemed to pull at the very fabric of his being.

FOR SOMEONE WHO CONSIDERED HIMSELF THE EPITOME OF CONTENTMENT IN THE WORLD, THE ABRUPT ABSENCE OF AN AUDIENCE TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT CONTENTMENT FELT LIKE AN UNBEARABLE INFRINGEMENT ON HIS RIGHTS.

Life could be oh so boring sometimes, even for an immortal being like her. She didn’t consider herself a particularly patient person, but plans took time to germinate, so unfortunately for the Archbishop she was forced to wait. That didn’t mean she couldn’t find ways to entertain herself in the meantime.

One of those ways involved visiting her dear, dear fellow Bishop Regulas, the Sin of Greed, the virgin man. It had been far too long since she had paid her dearest friend a visit, and it would be unbecoming to show herself without a gift. And who better to ask about a gift for a man than his wives?

So she visited each of them one by one. The first gave her nothing but a blank stare, so she turned her into a stuffed teddy bear. The second only stared harder and became a fruit fly. The third made a small, strangled sound when she realized what was happening, and that one she turned inside out. The fourth tried to run and was promptly transformed into a flock of pretty little birds. By the time she reached the last wife, the stone faced woman finally broke, a deliciously pained expression crossing her face as her body slowly and deliberately folded and hardened into a chair. She knew Regulas’s tastes well, and a shrill, crying one would have been no good for a Bishop, so she finished the transformation cleanly and left the new furniture sitting neatly in place.

By the time she was done, the wives, the servants, and the cultists were all dead well, the lucky ones anyway. She had briefly considered making some of them into her precious children, but the thought of taking someone’s leftovers left a bad taste in her mouth. Of course, since she was visiting Regulas, she made sure to clean up after herself, leaving not a chair out of place and not a single drop of blood behind. It was such a bother. She had asked every woman closest to the man’s heart what he might like as a gift, and not one of them could give her an answer. They mostly just screamed and begged, which was hardly fitting of a lady if you asked her.

Well. Nothing for it but to ask the man himself.

Being a fly on the wall, she watched him wander his realm. The halls were emptier than she had ever seen them no footsteps but his, no voices, no distant chatter from the servants’ quarters. She even impressed herself with how thoroughly she had erased everyone. She wondered idly that if this whole Bishop thing didn’t work out, the two maids who handled the higher-ranking clergy might let her join their little cleaning crew, since it turned out she was quite good at it. But those thoughts were for another day.

Regulas finally stopped his endless pacing. She flew down beside him in fly form, then slowly began to morph, her body unfurling around him as her arms slid across his chest and her dragon tail coiled snug around them both.

“Hello there, Regulas,” she whispered against his ear, hands roaming slowly over his chest. “It’s been a while. I hope you like what I’ve done with the place. No nosy servants. None of those pesky women you call wives to be seen. I asked each and every one of them what the perfect present for their dear husband might be… but none of them could answer with anything but screams.”

She held on tighter, voice soft and pleased. “But I know how much you love the female form. So I thought of the perfect surprise.”

She began to transmute his form. The changes came slowly at first almost gentle. His shoulders narrowed and his waist cinched inward beneath her her hands. The flat chest she had been pressing against softened, then swelled into a full, surprisingly robust bust that filled her palms. His hair lengthened in a smooth cascade, straightening as it grew past his shoulders. Hips widened, thighs softened, and the last traces of his old shape melted away under her touch until nothing remained of the man who had been standing there moments before.

She slowly backed away to admire her work, a wide, delighted smile spreading across her face. “My my… now don’t you look cute.” She tilted her head, eyes bright with amusement as she took in the new curves, the longer hair, and the softer lines of the face staring back at her in shock. “So. How do you like your present, Miss?”

Well, she would be lying if she said that didn’t make any sense. Most people - herself included, she would admit - looked at Bowser and saw power, violence, the sort of ruler who would fly into a rage at the drop of a hat. The sort of leader who would kidnap princesses, fight plumbers, build elaborate traps in his castle, threaten war until he got his way.

But apparently, the fire-breathing monster had a softer, artistic side to him.

“I love the theatre, too,” Peach confessed. “When I was a child, I always dreamed of performing one day. But, well, being a Princess, it wasn’t exactly considered proper.” She waved her hand weakly. The circumstances weren’t exactly the same, but she could commiserate with being pushed into a role only because everyone else thought it suited her better.

“Perhaps the Koopa and Mushroom Kingdoms should host a community theatre program together.” She was only half-joking, cracking a small smile as she said it, but it would technically be a start to establishing a tentative peace between their respective lands. If only her Toads wouldn’t think she’d lost her head completely.

He scoffed at the idea, dragging a claw through his fiery mane while glancing over at Peach. "Yeah, right! The Koopas wouldn't appreciate somethin' like that one bit."

He shifted his massive frame, letting out a low rumble. "Besides, I'm gettin' too old now for tryin' out stuff like that anyway. But it might be somethin' Junior would like to do."

Bowser paused, his brow furrowing as he mulled it over. "The kid loves paintin', after all, and he really needs to hang out with some kids his own age. If there's one thing I'm gonna make sure of, Peach, it's that my son gets all the freedom he needs to explore his talents and passions whatever they might be."

He crossed his arms, nodding firmly. "No holdin' him back, y'know? That's important to me."

The clearing seemed to close in on him, the barrier's confines pressing tighter with every round, even though they remained stationary. His lungs gasped, nostrils flaring wide to inhale the thick evening air. Yet, he drove himself harder. The trough lay empty once more after she had went inside. He just stared at its smooth wooden base, his breath gradually calming as the last remnants of carrot disappeared from his tongue. The water had ceased to ripple, settling into a flawless mirror that reflected his elongated muzzle, streaked with dirt and bits of vegetable, completely undignified. He ought to have recoiled. Should have bristled at the shame of it all. Instead, his ears perked up, attuned to the soft creak of branches above, the distant song of the night. His tail flicked lazily, he was beyond content.

His mind was dulled, to having everything he wanted.

For the first time in years, his body was no longer a weapon. It wasn't a throne either. It was simply... a body. Heavy with satisfaction, dulled by fatigue. His hooves sank slightly into the soft earth. The barrier shimmered gently around him, transforming from a cage into a cocoon, shielding him from the world's harsh realities. No idiots. No sycophants. No need to validate his existence with grand declarations. Just the slow, steady rhythm of his own breathing.

The first stars began to appear through the violet twilight as he walked the edge of his glowing confinement. His hooves left dark impressions in the dew-kissed grass, each step deliberate despite the encroaching shadows. The barrier emitted a soft hum as he moved past, its golden light creating elongated equine shadows against the trees. He ought to have been scheming. He ought to have been furious. Instead, his ears perked up at the sound of a vole digging nearby the trough. As he huffed out, her magic, the lose of his voice, it eased him more, relaxed him.

As he would take a bite on the ground, the grass had an unexpectedly sweet flavor. His muzzle hovering just above the dew-laden blades, nostrils flaring at the strange aroma. The witch's barrier had expanded overnight, allowing him access to a small section of meadow that hadn’t existed the day before. Fresh shoots emerged between his hooves as if summoned into being by the morning light alone. His stomach tightened with something more intense than hunger, distrust. But when he cautiously nibbled at a clump, the crisp texture exploded on his tongue like forbidden wine. He swallowed instinctively.

The moonlight cast silver streaks across his back as he grazed, not the frantic, desperate chewing of before, but slow, rhythmic pulls at the sweet grass. His muzzle moved with an instinctive precision, lips skillfully separating tender blades from their roots. Each mouthful brought the subtle taste of earth and the freshness of dew, flavors that lingered in ways that human food never could. His ears twitched at every sound, a beetle scuttling under a leaf, the distant hoot of an owl, but his body remained relaxed, his tail swaying like a pendulum in the cool night air.

Morning light filtered through the cabin’s uneven shutters, casting golden stripes across the wooden floorboards. A rhythmic crunching sound filled the quiet room, wet, methodical, and completely out of place. As within her kitchen, the sound could be heard. There, with his muzzle buried deep in her ceramic bowl, he stood. His ears flicked, but didn’t lift as he knew she would awaken. His lips worked noisily, squishing raspberries against the glazed interior with the single-minded determination of a creature that had found paradise. Juice ran down his white fur in bright pink streams. A half-crushed blackberry clung to his nostril. As he was in heaven, he had never eaten, so well, in so long.

Sleep came easily to the elder elf mage. Resting beneath the blankets in her small cabin, she felt quietly satisfied. Taming the horse hadn't taken nearly as long as she'd expected, and if things continued at this pace, she would soon be free to return to what truly interested her: slaying demons and searching for rare grimoires. Mostly the grimoires. An elf mage's pursuit of magic never truly ended. There was always another forgotten spell hidden somewhere in the world, another piece of arcane knowledge waiting to be uncovered.

Lately, however, the spells that captured her attention were rarely the grand or destructive kind. A spell that pointed toward the best fishing spot, one that kept a blanket warm through the night, or another that made cleaning easier interested her far more than flashy displays of magic. Most mages would've dismissed such spells as trivial, but she never understood why. Useful magic was still magic, and that alone made it worth preserving. Those quiet thoughts slowly drifted away until sleep claimed her.

By the first light of dawn, she was already awake. After washing up and changing into fresh clothes, she wandered toward the window and immediately noticed the empty basket resting on the windowsill. The blueberries she'd gathered the day before were gone. A small sigh escaped her as she rested a hand against her face. "So you ate them all." It wasn't much of a surprise. She hadn't been feeding the horse very much, and expecting it to ignore a basket full of berries had been a little optimistic. Blueberries were easy enough to gather, even if finding ripe ones usually took longer than she remembered. It was only a minor inconvenience, nothing more.

Stepping outside into the crisp morning air, her eyes settled on the horse sleeping peacefully inside a nearby bush. She watched it in silence for a few moments before quietly summoning her staff. At the gentle motion of her hand, water rose from the nearby stream, floating through the air before pouring itself neatly into a wooden bucket. Carrying it across the clearing, she set the bucket down beside the sleeping horse and gently poked its stomach with the end of her staff.

"Wake up. It's time to start your training."

She waited only a moment before giving it another poke, her expression remaining as calm as ever. "I've already spent enough time playing around with you. I'd like to finish this soon." Her gaze wandered toward the forest beyond the clearing before settling somewhere in the distance. "There's an old ruin a few hours from here. I was planning to search it later this weel. It probably doesn't have any grimoires left..." She paused briefly, considering the thought. "...But people usually say that about the places where I end up finding one."

She let out another quiet sigh and nudged the horse's stomach once more with her staff, only slightly more firmly than before. "You're making this take longer than it needs to." There wasn't any real annoyance in her voice, only the faint impatience of someone whose plans were being delayed. "You already ate all my blueberries, so the least you could do is cooperate." She rested both hands atop her staff and waited another moment before continuing.