#baltazar

Saying that the group of people gathered in front of Kerubim Crépin’s antique shop was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed would be a gross lie. 

On the contrary, restlessness settled over the cloaked young man and woman like a heavy blanket that made it nearly impossible to breathe. Their brown and pink eyes, respectively; were crusty from sleep—or, more accurately, lack thereof—. Sizable eyebags rested underneath, adding to their sleep-deprived and slightly unhinged appearance, which wasn’t helped by the disheveled and wrinkled state their clothes were in. 

One would think they slept in their clothes from the day prior. 

And they’d be right. 

Even their odd-looking Tofu looked worse for wear, perched on the man’s shoulder as though he didn’t have the energy to flap its little wings. 

Their companions were in much better shape, although even they seemed to be more alert rather than refreshed. Even so, that did nothing to answer the question that formed inside every passersby’s mind as they walked by and noticed the strange group. 

What were Master Joris and the Ecaflips that manned his antique shop doing with a bunch of strangers?

Yugo had to rush to cover his mouth as he let out a loud yawn, sleep clinging to his eyes. “Thank you for letting us spend the night with you, Master Joris. It was very kind of you.”

“We could have just gone back home and returned today, though.” Nora was quick to point out, yelping a little when her brother nudged her side over her insensitive comment. 

Nursing her aching ribs, she shot him a look. She was just stating a fact. She wasn’t trying to be rude! 

“You’re acting as if you could sleep a wink!”

“And you’re acting as if they made us sleep on the floor.” Adamaï shot back. A placid smile remained on his beak even as he mentally argued with Nora. “They were so kind as to prepare beds for all of us.”

“Well, excuse me for finding it hard to sleep with a living house watching our every move!”

“What my sister means is that we truly didn’t want to impose on you. We easily could’ve made the trip away and back.” Yugo offered diplomatically, trying to draw attention away from his silent, bickering siblings. 

Although, if he were being honest with himself, Nora had a point. As kind as Master Joris had been to offer his home to them, between his own anxiety and how lively Luis and his masters were, he laid awake for most of the night. The fact that he had the feeling Master Joris’ collection was watching him intently didn’t help matters. 

Was that how people felt when they entered his room back home?

Atcham just waved them off. “Nonsense. You need to be as well-rested as possible for our little trek. Especially if things go south…”

“That’s not very reassuring, Atcham.” Kerubim shot him a look, to which the hairless Ecaflip shrugged. 

“One can never be too careful in Brakmar, Ke-Ke.”

“Does everybody remember the plan?” Master Joris took a step forward, arms folded behind his back. It was a little weird to see the normally hooded little man wear yet another cloak over his usual attire. 

“Yes, Papychat.” Kerubim nodded. He reached out underneath his light grey cape to fidget with his dice pendant. “We’re going to Brakmar incognito to scout out anyone who might know anything about an alliance formed between demigods and dragonblood. Even the tiniest hint can be valuable information.”

The next to take a step forward was Atcham. The feline demigod puffed out his chest proudly, placing a paw over it with a smug smirk. “And I will act as our guide.”

“Does this have anything to do with the fact that you used to be an assassin working there?” Nora quipped sarcastically. 

That earned her a dirty look from the hairless Ecaflip that she faced head-on with crossed arms and the raising of an unimpressed eyebrow. 

“Yes…” He drew out the words, making his lisp all the more prominent. “As the lovely young lady says,” his voice dripped sarcasm (and a little bit of saliva) with every syllable, “unsavoury as it is, my past does make me the logical choice to lead us all as we navigate the Red City. It’s been a while, but I believe I still have enough connections to get us some answers soon.”

“But don’t forget,” his brother interjected. “Everything in Brakmar has a price. We already know of your… delicate financial situation, so we’ll cover the expenses. However, we have enough kamas to pay for the entry fee and an informant, so if you somehow get scammed into buying anything, we might not have enough for the one thing we’re going there for. Understood?”

An amused smile drew itself on Yugo’s lips. “Thank you for the warning, Kerubim, but we’re not little kids. We’re not going to get swept up by some knick-knacks just like that.”

“Don’t be so sure of yourself, Your Majesty. It’s less about getting carried away, and more about being forced to pay if you’re not careful enough.” Master Joris said gravely. 

Nora frowned, her distaste clear in her pink eyes, “What are they, Enutrofs or something?”

“You’d think so, yeah.” Atcham muttered in agreement, his large ears pressed flat against his head. “Anyway, just be careful not to get duped and it should be fine. I know just the place where we could find what we’re looking for, so it shouldn’t take too long.”

“You do?” Yugo tilted his head to the side, his hood falling sideways slightly with his movements. 

“By Ecaflip, of course, I do!” The hairless cat sounded almost offended. “Back when I was, um, active, I used to frequent this tavern where only the most blood-thirsty, and thus, the best-paid, hitmen in the entire city would dare enter. 

“If anyone knows anything about a secret plot orchestrated by highly powerful individuals, it’s gotta be there.”

Even though he didn’t quite know how to feel at the rather overt implication that one of their guides used to be a greedy, ruthless hitman, Yugo chose to push his reservations aside for the time being. 

Atcham was their best bet and the only one they could trust on this matter, and time was running short. He gripped the pendant tied around his wrist a little more tightly.

They needed to get Amalia and Efrim back. No matter what. 

“Well, let’s hope things haven’t changed too much since you retired.” The Eliatrope King said. His eyes did a quick sweep, briefly glancing at each and every one of his companions. “Are we ready to go?”

With silent nods, Master Joris and his sons pulled up their hoods, effectively hiding their faces from view. 

“Ready.” They all said in unison. 

Nora observed the little man by her side curiously, her eyes drawn to the large, dark brown cape he wore over his usual cobalt coat. She distantly wondered if he wouldn’t be too hot with so many layers on—wasn’t Brakmar built inside a literal volcano?

“Master Joris, if I may be so bold,” she started, her tone far more polite than when she addressed his bald son, “why is it that you must hide your identity as well? I was under the impression that you were one of the greatest heroes this world has ever seen.”

Bonta’s emissary shook his head resignedly, “That may be true in most other nations, but not in Brakmar.” He explained patiently. “You see, my Lady, given both cities’ heated and long-lasting rivalry, my position as emissary of Bonta is more of a hindrance than an advantage in this situation. 

“Unlike Amakna, Astrub, the Sadida Kingdom, or even Sufokia, my role within Bontarian court does not grant me easy access to the Red City. Quite the contrary, in fact. If the King of Brakmar caught wind of my presence in his territory, he would most likely assume Queens Astra and Selene are plotting something.”

“But, if it’s really so risky for you to join us, then why come to Brakmar with us in the first place?” Adamaï flinched when he realised he spoke aloud in his Tofu form. Eyes darting around in panic, he heaved a sigh of relief when he saw no one was really paying attention to them anymore. 

“Because the matter at hand is far more dire than any possible conflict between Bonta and Brakmar.” Joris said solemnly, dark eyes shining with centuries of experience. He was careful not to divulge any details of their mission aloud.

You never knew who could be listening.

“To be frank, both cities are constantly feuding and going to war against each other.” Kerubim added matter-of-factly with a shrug. “Even if they don’t come into conflict over Papychat visiting Brakmar, they’ll find another reason to.”

“It’s a safe bet.” Atcham grumbled. 

Huh. 

Well, that was one way of putting it, they supposed…

“But enough chit-chat.” Their soon-to-be-guide got straight to the point. He rummaged through his own cloak for a moment before he pulled out several familiar flasks—golden liquid safely stashed within crimson glass. 

“All these years, I kept these recall potions just in case I ever needed to return to Brakmar.” He brought them to his eye level, admiring the way the light caught on the magical beverage inside. “I’ll put them to good use at last.”

That said, he handed one bottle to each and everyone present. Yugo had to hold Adamaï’s close to his beak because he didn’t have enough strength in his tiny wings to do it himself. 

Or actual hands, for that matter. 

Uncorking his and taking a quick sniff, Kerubim pulled a face that was soon mimicked by the members of the Eliatrope Council. He could feel his eyes water. 

“Oh, that is foul! You sure these haven’t gone bad, you fleabag?” He flashed an accusatory look at his brother. 

He, in turn, blew a raspberry at him. “Who you calling a fleabag, you fleabag?! Besides, just because they don’t taste like green Api, it doesn't mean they’ve gone bad! Recall potions don’t just lose their magical properties after a few years… or decades.”

Before anybody else could question him or have second thoughts about it, Atcham declared, “A’right, everyone! Bottoms up!” And he took a big swig of his bottle. 

Master Joris wordlessly followed suit. After flashing yet another disdainful look at the stinky drink and pinching his delicate nose with his claws, so did Kerubim. 

Exchanging one last uneasy glance with his siblings, Yugo put on a strained smile and lifted his own potion up, his siblings imitating his actions just as unconvincingly. The message was clear:

‘For Efrim and Amalia.’

And so, mustering up all their courage, they took their own swig of the recall potion. 

All six of them were gone in a flash of light. 

..........................................................................................................................

Opening his eyes blearily, Yugo blinked a few times as he adjusted to the new lighting. His first impression of Brakmar was that it was far less illuminated than Bonta. 

A lot more deserted, too. 

Where were they? 

“Everyone okay?” Yugo rushed to ask, looking around to see his companions regaining their bearings too and almost stumbling in the process. Weird. His legs were all wobbly.

And judging from everyone else’s similar dizzy states, they’d all seen better days.

“Ask me again when I don’t suddenly have six more brothers…” Nora whined, a hand rubbing at her head. “Is this how Amalia feels whenever she goes through one of our portals?” She wondered aloud. 

“Shh! You’ll let our true identity slip!” Adamaï whisper-shouted to the best of his ability from his position plopped down on his twin’s shoulder. He had to quickly place a wing over his beak to fight down the nausea. 

Nora shot him a dirty look, her sickened grimace adding to the effect, “And you’re going to let the fact that you’re not a regular Tofu slip if you keep talking in that form.” She shot back through gritted teeth. 

The dragon-turned-Tofu actually had the decency to look sheepish. 

The three of them perked up at the sound of someone getting smacked. Turns out it was Kerubim, who’d just slapped his brother in the back of his head. 

“T-that’s it.” He declared, swallowing back a burp that threatened to reacquaint him with his breakfast. “I don’t care if I have to mortgage Luis to pay for them; we’re not going back home with those spiked potions of yours. I bet we’ve killed rats with better poison than that!”

Atcham just crossed his arms and sniffed haughtily, “You’re so overdramatic, Ke-Ke.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. For now, let’s just pay the entrance fee. The manager has been giving us the stink-eye since we arrived.” Master Joris said before the luckiest Ecaflip alive had a chance to maul his brother, jabbing a thumb behind him.

Sure enough, a surly-looking Osamodas wearing an eyepatch and carrying a strange, little creature on his head was glaring daggers at them from his booth. His dark hair sticking out in all directions as his tail swayed impatiently back and forth brought a Boowolf to mind. 

Atcham let out a tired groan, his shoulders slouching in defeat. “I’ll go pay for our tickets.”

While the hairless Ecaflip talked to the man, Yugo and his siblings couldn’t help but stare owlishly at the contraption right in front of them now that they’d finally found their bearings. It looked like a minecart over a set of rails, only it seemed to be headed towards a rather large skull-like entrance through its eye sockets instead of a, well, a mine.

“Uh, what is this?” Nora was the one to ask, pointing at the cart in front of them. 

“This is the entrance to Brakmar, my Lady.” Master Joris explained, coming to stand by their side. “As you may know, the city is located inside an active volcano, so accessing it is impossible without the use of railroads.”

“Depending on how this goes, we might be able to cross ‘visiting the Trool Fair’ off of our to-do list.” Yugo muttered sarcastically to Adamaï, who nodded. 

“Just make sure to hold on tight and onto your belongings tighter. Things tend to go missing here.” Kerubim warned them airily with a cheery wink. 

A sense of foreboding took over the members of the Council of Six. As if on cue, they all tensed up and gulped loudly, holding their cloaks tighter to themselves—except for Adamaï, who simply wrapped his wings over his round and feathery form.

“Alright, I almost had to loan one of my nine lives,” Atcham announced irritably as he glared disdainfully at the smirking clerk, “but we’re in! C’mon, everyone, hop into the cart!”

Despite their reservations, knowing it was their best shot at finding Amalia and Efrim, Yugo and Nora followed Master Joris and the Ecaflip demigods’ example and hopped in. They gripped the metal bars at their disposal for dear life while Adamaï’s tiny claws gripped his twin’s cloaked poncho like a lifeline, making him wince in pain and flash him a look.

He had the feeling he would not be able to just fly after them if the cart was too fast. 

“Brakmar or not, there’s no way paying for the fee of five people costs that much. You’ve been scammed, Brother. Next time, I’ll handle the bargaining.”

“We have to pay extra for the Tofu, Ke-Ke…”

“I reiterate; you’ve—been—scammed. In what universe does a tiny Tofu cost as much as a full-grown person?!”

“Oh, don’t even start with me, Ke-Ke!”

“Boys, settle down!” Master Joris bellowed, clearly losing his patience with his adoptive sons. 

Luckily for everyone involved, when the clerk pulled one of the levers by his side, the machine screeched into life. The whirring of gears echoed around them, sending the synergy needed to the cart’s wheels.

Nora chuckled. “Can you imagine if he’d somehow pulled the wrong leve—!” The words died in the girl’s mouth the moment the cart lurched forward at neckbreaking speeds. 

In what felt like seconds, they went up the slope leading straight to the skull’s eyes and sped through them right before free-falling into a lake of lava so hot, they could all feel how it singed their eyebrows—except for Atcham, who just got burned. Right when it looked like the Eliatropes would have to save their lives by teleporting them away from the fiery liquid, the mine cart changed directions yet again, stabilising itself somewhat before beginning its ascension through the actual city. 

Their stomachs almost leapt out of their bodies with every sharp turn they took, the sheer speed the rickety old thing travelled at making it impossible to so much as take a look around as everything blurred together. By the time the minecart finally slowed down enough to stop and opened its door, its weary patrons all tumbled to the floor, becoming a groaning heap of limps. 

“I swear, if Amalia so much as complains about our portals ever again, by Eliatrope’s endless reach, so help me.” Nora had the mighty need to kiss the floor since they had miraculously evaded their impending death. But, given people’s preference for going barefoot in this world, she thought better of it. 

“Nora, careful with—urgh, whatever.” Yugo groaned. He gave up and laid belly-up on the ground, Adamaï mimicking his actions, just as disoriented. 

He’d have time to play the responsible older brother and king when everything stopped spinning. 

Though Master Joris recovered fairly quickly, it was Atcham who acted like nothing happened while Kerubim complained about old age. Standing up, he dusted himself off and happily skipped over to gesture widely with his arms. His tail swayed behind him excitedly.

“Dear friends, welcome to Brakmar, the city of darkness and evil!”

Rolling over, Yugo stood up with a grunt of effort, careful enough to not throw up from the whiplash. Raising his head in the direction the feline demigod was pointing at, he could feel his eyes widen as he let out an involuntary gasp.

To say Brakmar was nothing like Bonta would be an understatement. 

As opposed to the City of the Gods’ open skies and clean streets, a dark mantle of volcanic rock closed over Brakmar, the only light illuminating the aptly named Red City coming from the fiery magma reflecting on the rocky walls. The more they traversed its streets, the more apparent their latent dysfunction became. 

Rather than expand horizontally like Bonta, the Sadida Kingdom, or even the Eliatropes’ own civilisation in both their world and this one, the Brakmarian landscape was organised vertically. Buildings—houses, shops, businesses—were piled up together on top of red-hot cliffs; neighbourhoods connected not with roads and paths, but through rickety bridges and haphazardly located signs that anchored one side of the city to the other.

Yugo caught Nora staring when she thought he wasn’t looking, her gaze going upwards as she followed the city’s endless ascent. It was common sense that she had her mask on, but even that didn’t hide the fact that her jaw was most likely hanging open. 

While they followed Atcham’s lead, silently hoping things didn’t change enough since the last time he was here so he’d get them all lost, the Eliatrope King tugged at the collar of his poncho as discreetly as he could. With a huff, he wiped sweat off his forehead with his other hand. 

Another crucial difference with the cool, refreshing, and port-lined Bonta was that Brakmar was hot. 

Sparing a side glance to the waterfall of melted igneous rock casting everything in an orange glow to his right, it wasn’t hard to see why. 

Why would anyone want to live in a place like this?

“Last time I checked, there’s no Twelvian race that would thrive in a volcanic ecosystem. I wonder why one of the most cosmopolitan nations in this world would choose to settle down here.” Adamaï asked, seemingly reading his thoughts. Which, to be fair, was quite possible. 

“My best bet is that this is Sacrier territory.” Nora chimed in, sarcasm evident even through their link. “I heard those guys enjoy a little pain; sounds like they’d have a blast living inside a giant pot.”

If his twin caught the joking tone of her voice, he didn’t show. “But this clearly isn’t the Sacrier Kingdom. There’s people of practically every race living here!”

Once again, Adamaï’s observational skills were unparalleled. Although it was a bit hard not to notice when the answer was right in front of you. 

Eyes scanning his surroundings (and making sure to avert his gaze as soon as he made eye-contact with anyone), Yugo noticed that, for all their differences, there was one thing Bonta and Brakmar had in common: diversity. 

Unlike the Sadida Kingdom or their own territory, both Bonta and Brakmar were teeming with denizens with all kinds of cultural backgrounds—like Alibert’s little town in Amakna, but on a massive scale. A sharply dressed Sram man was advertising his products to a captivated audience in one corner, the clerk at the entrance had clearly been Osamodas, an Iop woman was shaking her laundry off from the second floor of her house, a Xelor man and his Ouginak wife were manning their shop and bargaining with a customer for a higher price…

All of them were so drastically different from each other, yet they all walked the same paths every day.

They all had one thing in common, however. 

The moment they saw them walk by, their expressions would darken and the whispers would begin. 

Master Joris wasn’t kidding. These people really didn’t like outsiders. 

In fact, the only ones who’d smile at them were a bunch of women loitering in front of a building. A very attractive bunch composed of a flirty Cra sitting on a stool, a sultry Iop making goo-goo eyes at them, an alluring Ecaflip leaning against some stairs, and an aloof Pandawa reclined on the steps. 

For a moment, Yugo thought they’d might be willing to help if Atcham somehow led them astray, but a better look at the glowing red sign hanging from the door of the building behind them had him realising maybe that wasn’t a good idea after all. 

That, and that they weren’t loitering at all. They were working.

His cheeks hotter than the very soil they were walking on, the king sped up and marched forward, closing ranks and tugging Nora along, ignoring her yelp of surprise. Just in case. 

Rubbing at her arm tenderly, the girl shot her brother a dirty look, before turning back to their guides and muttering loud enough for them, and only them, to hear, “You weren’t kidding when you said Brakmarians aren’t exactly welcoming. I’ve had so many people glare a hole in my head this past half hour that I might as well have a sinkhole on my face!” 

“Our deepest apologies, my Lady.” Joris started without turning around. “We know it’s not pleasant, but Brakmarians have always been rather cynical of strangers.”

“That’s what happens when your city is known for being a cesspool of crime and villany.” Kerubim piped up, meeting a snarl from a passerby with a hiss of his own, his hackles raised for good measure. 

That sent him scurrying off like a scaredy-Meow-Meow. The Ecaflip couldn’t help but chuckle; he still got it!

“You say that as though Bonta never played dirty…” Atcham pointed out, his pride for his former home shining through. 

“Never to the same level as Brakmar.”

“Oh, really? Then what happened with the Grimacing King was just a tragic coincidence and not some well-deserved karma, wasn’t it?”

While the Ecaflip brothers kept bickering back and forth, causing Joris to let out a long-suffering sigh and Nora to snicker as quietly as she could, Adamaï turned to his twin, “The more we hear about Bonta and Brakmar’s rivalry, the more I want to hear about it. Could you ask them on my behalf? I’d do it myself, but…” He trailed off meaningfully, flapping his wings for good measure. 

Yugo nodded. 

“If you don’t mind my asking, Adamaï would like to know—what’s the reason behind this rivalry between both cities? “ He asked as discreetly as he could. He figured the answer would be common knowledge for any Twelvian worth their salt.

It was Kerubim who, halting his own argument with his brother, replied, “It’s been like this since the dawn of time, my boy. The two cities are opposites in every conceivable way and were, in fact, conceived to oppose each other.

“You see, many centuries ago, the first ever Shushu invasion resulted in Djaul, Rushu’s most loyal follower, creating Brakmar as a bastion of evil and darkness meant to spread his master’s malice throughout the World of Twelve, then known as the World of Ten. In response, Jiva, Menalt, and Pouchecot, guardians of the months, created Bonta as a source of light and justice to oppose Brakmar. 

“Shortly after, the two cities went to war for the first time, in a confrontation known as the Crimson Dawn that left both cities ravaged and destroyed. But a miracle took place, undoing the damage and sending both territories back to their former glory.”

“Ever since then, Brakmar and Bonta have warred against each other countless times,” Atcham continued where his brother left off, not willing to let him take all the credit. “Luckily, never to the same extent as the Crimson Dawn, thank Ecaflip. Although…” He trailed off, his large ears pressed to his head in doubt. He sent his father a subtle, yet meaningful look, as if asking for permission.

“Although…?” Nora prodded gently, invested in the story. 

Joris nodded, and Atcham continued. “Although there was one time, about six hundred years ago, where Bonta was almost destroyed.”

And so, he told them how both rival cities used to have each their own champion and wielder of a Dofus: Julith the Butcher, ruler of Brakmar and guardian of the Ebony Dofus, and Jahash Jurgen, hero of Bonta and guardian of the Ivory Dofus. Once more, light and darkness shared a dangerous dance on the edge of the balance of the world. 

Yugo perked up at the sound of Jahash Jurgen, his eyebrows shooting up. He knew nothing of the man, having never even heard of him, but there was something about his name that sounded familiar. 

He could have sworn he heard it somewhere recently.

He was about to ask when, from the corner of his eye, he took notice of how tense Master Joris looked. It was subtle enough, but there was this slight tremor on his shoulders, this rigidness, that, for some reason, convinced him otherwise. 

“Julith hated Bonta with every fiber of her being, and longed for nothing more than to see it destroyed,” Kerubim went on, having replaced his brother due to him taking the lead once more. “So she and her troops went to war against the City of Light and Jahash, the two of them fighting nonstop for days, neither giving the other an inch.”

“Then how did the war end?” Yugo found himself asking.

“During that time, Julith and Jahash fell in love, their union quenching the Butcher’s desire to see her hated enemy and the city he loved so much burn. So she called for a ceasefire and the two star-crossed-lovers married soon after.”

Nora couldn’t help but swoon, sincerely touched by the romantic twist. 

“Aw, that is so sweet! I can’t believe the two cities still hate each other after something like that…”

“Well, that story doesn’t exactly have a happy ending.”

Master Joris’ voice surprised them all. Unlike his usual calmness and grit, there was something somber and sorrowful in his tone, his eyes suddenly denoting his many years. Especially the way the light in them suddenly dimmed. 

But before they had the chance to ask more about it, Atcham slowed down abruptly in front of a tavern, causing their little group to stop in their tracks in order to avoid trampling over him. His stopping was so out-of-the-blue, almost deliberate, that if Yugo hadn’t known better, he would have thought he did it on purpose.

“And here we are!” He announced, arms spread out wide. “Welcome to ‘The Backstabber’.”

The more they stared at the place, the more fitting its name seemed. 

Yugo, Adamaï, and Nora could only blink in astonishment at the establishment in front of them (and that was a very generous description). Glancing over Master Joris and Kerubim, the king could see the former looking as impassive as ever while the latter facepalmed in disapproval, shaking his head. 

To be honest, Yugo couldn’t blame him. 

And, judging from his siblings' grimaces, neither could they.

For a place that was supposed to house the best-paid criminals in the world, it was clear they didn’t invest much in its maintenance. 

The so-called bar they followed Atcham into could easily pass up for a condemned building. The wooden floorboards creaked in protest with every cautious step they took. They picked up the pace when they noticed sawdust falling from the second floor, not too keen on being buried under the debris in case it all came crashing down. 

The wall behind the bar—manned by a Feca woman wearing her blue hair up in two buns, an apron over her plain red top and brown shorts, and a pair of skaters—was littered with liquor bottles. Overpriced ones, judging from the stench emanating from her patrons, who at the same time crowded around the rickety wooden stools and tables scattered around the first floor. 

For the umpteenth time that day, their little group of misfits held their cloaks tighter to themselves as they followed behind Atcham, who ventured bravely, without a care in the world, into the business. He leaned confidently against the counter and finger-gunned the unimpressed barista with a cheeky wink and a smug grin. 

Yugo didn’t need to look to know Kerubim had facepalmed himself. Again.

“What can I get you guys?” The Feca droned out, wiping a mug with a cloth that didn’t look much cleaner. 

“Intel, my dear.” Atcham cut straight to the chase. 

She frowned. Not a good sign. 

If the hairless Ecaflip noticed her change in demeanour, he didn’t show. He grabbed a stool with his tail and dragged it over to him, hopping on it and leaning forward over the counter in an almost conspiratorial manner. The barista just blinked at him, disdain shining in her tired eyes. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know anybody who can provide the information we’re looking for, would ya?” He pressed on. 

The members of the Council of Six watched nervously as the woman set the mug down and leaned forward to look Atcham in the eyes. Hands planted on either side of him, her pouty lips pulled into a sneer. 

Then, that same sneer pulled upwards into a malicious smirk. 

“This is Brakmar. There’s nothing you can’t get for the right price…” She reminded him, rubbing her thumb, index, and ring finger together in a rather illustrative gesture. 

“Of course…” Kerubim scoffed. He pretended to cough when his father nudged him lightly on his side as a warning.

Atcham’s ears dropped, his face scrunched up in annoyance. With a groan, he rummaged through his cloak pockets and fished out a pair of kamas he handed over to the Feca’s waiting hand. 

Rubbing both coins together with a pleased smirk, she turned back to her new extortion —erm—customer. “So, what’cha wanna know?”

It was Kerubim who came to stand closer to the bar. “We were wondering if you would be so kind as to direct us to anyone present who might know a thing or two about a secret demi-divine organisation.”

All colour left her features then, eyes wide and frantic. However, just as an alarmed Yugo was about to intervene, a righteous red coloured her face. Her expression morphing into a nasty snarl, she roughly pocketed her little tip inside her apron and slammed a fist down the counter. 

If looks could kill, they would all be dead a thousand times over. 

“You nutjobs aren’t welcomed here. I’d suggest you leave and let my clients alone before I take this matter to court.” She rumbled, like a storm waiting to happen. 

Behind her mask, Nora’s expression hardened. They didn’t come all this way to get information on Efrim’s whereabouts just to have some bitter waitress working at a failed inspection waiting to happen tell them to get lost. 

Taking a determined step forward, she rolled up her sleeve and resolved to have a little chat with the glaring woman, when she felt a strong arm snaking around her midriff and tugging her back. 

“What on Elia—!” She began to protest, looking up, only for Yugo to clamp a hand over her masked mouth. 

Even though he flashed the Feca a polite smile, Nora knew him well enough to notice the angry energy he emitted. 

“Thank you for your time. We won’t bother you any longer.” He promised, to which she huffed and got back to work. Then, he sent his younger sister a look. 

“You were rolling your sleeves.” He accused, and she almost felt the need to scoff herself. 

“Yeah, so?”

“You would have revealed your tattoos right there and then.”

Oh. 

She… didn’t think of that. 

“Sorry.” She muttered, looking at the floor in embarrassment. Perking up, she voiced the question Ad formulated in her mind. “I’m surprised these people have that much faith in the legal system.” Even though she already wore her mask, she still covered her mouth with her hand as she whispered, “Didn’t you say this place is super corrupt?”

“She threatened to sue us precisely because it’s corrupt. In Brakmar, the person who wins a case isn’t necessarily the one in the right; but the person who can pay to be in the right.” Master Joris explained with a sigh. 

He knew better than to get involved in Brakmarian affairs, but their utter disregard of justice would always eat at him. 

“And considering we only have enough money to pay our entrance fee and whoever agrees to be our informant…” Atcham trailed off meaningfully and shrugged. 

“We’d lose for sure.” Yugo concluded, earning himself nods from their guides. 

“So, that’s it? We just give up and go back home?” Nora questioned, incredulous. 

But Kerubim waved her off. “Don’t be ridiculous, my Lady. We can still ask around, don’t worry.”

Yugo and Adamaï wore matching confused frowns, while Nora deadpanned. “The lady literally said she’d take us to court if we bother her customers. I don’t see how we can just ask around without getting in trouble.”

This time, it was Atcham who made a derisive sound with his mouth, spit flying everywhere. 

“Puh-lease. Every bartender says the same thing. We just gotta be careful and flash a little cash.” He patted where he kept their kamas. “The moment our informant sees some of that sweet dough, they’ll tell the waitress to scram themselves.”

“Are you sure this won’t end in us having to make a hasty retreat?” Master Joris asked, still a little worried. He trusted his son, he really did. But if there was one thing Brakmar was known for, that was screwing you over. 

His fangs glinted under the faint light. “That’s what I did back in the day.”

They all exchanged glances, and shrugged. That was good enough, they supposed. 

So, following the former assassin’s advice, they moved from table to table to try and get some answers from ‘The Backtabber’s’ patrons. At first, every single low-life gathered there would shoot daggers at the fool who dared bother them while they ate. The miraculously more murderous look on her customers’ faces would alert the Feca woman of their actions, who’d begin to stomp over to them, no doubt to make good on her promise to kick them out. 

But, true to Atcham’s words, as soon as they flashed a kama or two, their deadly reserved conversation partner would wave the woman off themselves, becoming complete chatterboxes in the span of a few minutes. 

Unfortunately, the moment Yugo, Nora, the Crépin siblings, or Master Joris brought up the possibility of a secret organisation composed of ancient, powerful demigods, they would all clamp up and rudely send them on their way. More than one by not-so-subtly brandishing a knife, hoping that seeing it glint under the faint candlelight would scare them into leaving them alone.

Even though they relented, knowing it would be much worse to retaliate, every single member of their little group couldn’t help but mentally scoff at the pathetic threat. If only these idiots knew who they were dealing with… 

The sight of an angry barista losing her patience was a far more frightening prospect—if only because the possibility of being put on trial and having their true identities discovered was too daunting. 

That, and they’d never hear the end of it from the rest of the Council of Six if they had to be rescued from their rescue mission. 

The pattern repeated itself a few times. 

Yugo tried talking to a stocky Rogue bandit with a bushy, red beard. He barely managed to finish his question when the man chugged down his Bamboo Milk mug and toppled forward, drunk and unconscious. 

Nora tried using her natural charm with an Osamodas woman wearing a brown leather bodysuit that left very little to the imagination. …if she’d wanted to actually date her, the pink-eyed girl would have been offended by how quickly she was rejected. 

Thinking he still hadn’t lost his edge from his olden adventuring days, Kerubim asked a rather bulky Pandawa. All he got was a boisterous cackle and a rather offensive comment about how that was as likely as a woman ever playing Gobbowl. 

…In response, Kerubim may or may have not lightly kicked his table to drop his fresh-off-the-oven stew over his groin. 

He also may or may have not smirked at his rather shrill cry of pain. 

Considering he’d be the most easily recognisable member of their party and that could spell a lot of trouble for them, Joris wisely chose to lurk around, keeping an ear out in case anyone said anything noteworthy. Unfortunately, he didn’t have much luck. 

And Atcham…

Well, Atcham wasted no time bolting out of a conversation as soon as he recognised the Enutrof bounty hunter he was trying to question was some dude he actually owed money to. 

“I have had about enough of you lot!” Roared the Feca woman, stomping over to them when their latest attempt at getting answers resulted in one of her customers storming off without paying for his meal. “Just you wait until the judge hears of this. Even your great-grandkids will be in my debt for this!”

Without giving them the chance to apologise or plead their case, the blue-haired waitress conjured up a shield she used to push them forward in order to kick them out of her bar. 

“Ma’am, please! You don’t understand!” Yugo tried to protest, but it was pointless. The glare she flashed him could have frozen over the very magma surrounding the Red City. 

Panic seized his thumping heart in a vice grip, ice running through his veins. No. No, no, no, no! Things could not end up like this! This was their best bet to find Amalia and Efrim, and bring them back home! 

He knew he’d been a little too hard on Efrim these past few months—they’d all been! But he was still his little brother and he loved him. He’d already suffered enough, he didn’t deserve this. Yugo chanced a glance Nora’s way, his stomach dropping at the desperation tingeing her voice. Nora didn’t deserve to spend an eternity separated from her twin until their next reincarnation brought them back together. 

That would just break her. 

And Amalia… Oh, his sweet, darling Amalia. 

Her only crime was her desire to help. She had such a passion for life, such a will to live. All she wanted was to see the world, to live adventures of her own. And all Yugo wanted to do was hold her. 

This couldn’t end without him telling her he loved—.

“Don’t worry, ma’am. They’re with me.”

The voice, with its nasal timbre, resounded around the tavern. Igniting a flicker of hope in Yugo’s heart, and, oddly enough, some dread. 

They all turned around with varying degrees of surprise colouring their features. Eyes searching for their saviour, they noticed a raised hand that stood out from a poorly-lit, far corner of the room. Perking up when their eyes were on him, the mysterious man lowered his hand slowly and beamed at them. 

The barista looked between him and the group, pursing her lips as she mulled her options. After what felt like an eternity, she eventually rolled her eyes and scoffed in annoyance. 

“Do whatever you want.” She snapped before going back to tend to a customer asking for a drink at the bar. 

Now that the coast was clear, they all made their way towards the man. The closer they got, the more Yugo had to admit he looked rather… peculiar.

Leaning back against his stool with his arms crossed, his back on the wall, the person waiting for them was clad in armour as dark as coal, with a pair of twin spirals adorning his chest plate. His broad shoulders were covered by a rather thick, milky white fur collar, while his laid-back position let them see he had rather thin legs. 

The deathly parlour of his skin contrasted both his armour and his jet-black bob. Combined with his eyes, a yellow so bright it could rival the sun, and the impish curve of his lips, there was something about this guy that rubbed them all the wrong way. 

Then again, this was Brakmar. 

Everyone’s aura was so tainted, the Eliatropes’ wakfu vision was pretty much worthless. 

The man gestured for them to take the empty seat in front of him. Atcham was the one who took the invitation, dragging the stool forward and resting his paws on the ratty table, while his companions chose to crowd around them. 

“You’re very welcome, by the way.” He smirked. 

Atcham cut straight through the chase, knowing better than to trust a (most likely) Brakmarian criminal, “That was very generous of you, bailing us out before she could sue the Shukrute outta us. Why?”

The man just shrugged, not too bothered by the edge in the Ecaflip’s voice, “Don’t get it twisted, pal. This is Brakmar; there’s no such thing as ‘generous’.”

“Of course not.” Nora mumbled with disdain. 

If he heard her, he didn’t show. “Name’s Ophis, by the way.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Kerubim drawled sarcastically, moving closer to his brother and leaning over the table with one paw. “Now, what do you want?”

Ophis raised his palms up in surrender. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it was kinda hard not to when you’ve been ticking everyone off since you arrived.” His smirk widening, he leaned forward until he was almost nose-to-nose with the hairless Ecaflip. He lowered his voice to but a murmur. “I may happen to have the information you’re looking for.” He confessed. 

“You know something about a secret plot orchestrated by demigods?” Yugo blurted out, wincing when he took notice of how transparently hopeful he sounded. 

“And dragonblood.” Ophis was quick to remind him, sounding almost offended by the omission. “But to answer your question, yes, yes I do.”

“Well?” Nora prodded, her already limited patience wearing thin. “What are you waiting for, an invitation written with magma?”

He simply rubbed his fingers together, prompting everyone to groan in unison. 

Grumbling under his breath, Atcham slammed their bag of kamas down on the table with more force than what was probably necessary. Rubbing his naked hands in delight, their new informant grabbed the money and put it away for the time being. Then, he gestured for them to lean closer, no doubt about to reveal delicate information. 

“While I cannot say with complete certainty that they’re the children of gods and dragons alike, rumour has it that, years ago, a mysterious organisation made the ruins of the fallen Kingdom of the Winds their headquarters. If I were you, I’d look there.”

“If you can’t say for certain whether they’re demigods or not, how can you be so sure this isn’t just some bandits?” Yugo questioned, not willing to be sent on a wild Dragoturkey chase.

Ophis just smiled. “Because, my dear friend, the only way to even know about the Kingdom of the Winds is to be a huge history buff, or…” He paused, letting his words hang and the silence linger. “To be old enough to remember its former glory.”

“And the only way one could remember that…” Nora started. 

“It’s if they’re immortal.” Master Joris finished, speaking from experience. 

Yugo shared a look with his siblings. They had to be demigods. 

Turning back to Ophis, he nodded gratefully, standing a little straighter. “Thank you for your help, Mister Ophis.” And with that, he left the table and made his way to the exit, his siblings and companions following close behind him. 

As they walked, Eliatropes and dragon used their mental link to discuss the latest developments in their investigation. Naturally, they would need to locate this Kingdom of the Winds first and foremost, but hopefully Master Joris and the Ecaflip brothers would be of assistance. Nevertheless, it was imperative they returned to Oma to share the news with the rest of the Council of Six. 

He gripped the pendant around his wrist a little tighter.

They needed to come up with a plan to raid the place and save Amalia and Efrim as soon as possible. 

Ophis watched their retreating backs as they left the bar, flexing his fingers slowly in a lazy wave. When he blinked, for a moment, for just a moment, his eyes turned as black as the armour adorning his body, his eyelids closing in an uneven pattern. 

His smile widened. “No, no. Thank you, King Yugo…”

..........................................................................................................................

“Ow! Prickly brambles!”

Efrim twitched for the umpteenth time in response to the doll’s constant grumbling and cursing. For a supposed divine creature, she had quite the colourful vocabulary. He let out yet another sigh of annoyance through his nose, his nostrils flaring and thin tendrils of smoke coming out of them. Even from where he rested, his snake-like tail coiled around his lithe form on the sand, his ears would perk up at the sound made by the doll’s every move. 

Up to this point she had already tried jumping to reach a crevice she could climb to get out of their cell; exploring the space in search of any kind of secret passway that frozen count and the horned harpy could have accessed through; he could distinctively make out her grunts of effort as she concentrated on willing her precious plants to get them out of there, without much success. 

Needless to say, it was all futile.

Another soft thud!, no doubt cushioned by the sand’s soft texture. A groan. 

“Are you kidding me? How can there be a room with no doors? What, did they drop us dozens of metres from the ground, or something?” She muttered under her breath, but the dragon heard her loud and clear, to his chagrin. 

Heaving another puff of air, Efrim brought his tail closer to his body, his maw plopping down its folds. Irritating as her pointless attempts were, for once, the dragon was far too distracted by his own spiraling thoughts to pay her much mind. What would have once been an incessant pain in the neck now barely qualified as white noise. 

His traitorous mind kept going back to his short-lived fight with the Xelor. 

Analysing everything that went wrong. 

Everything he did wrong. 

Even though being encased in ice was never a pleasurable experience for a reptile, the Turquoise Dragon was pretty much unharmed. He couldn’t say the same thing about his pride. 

He closed his eyes shut, as though the memory pained him.

He was an Eliatrope dragon, for the love of Eliatrope! 

A creature that had lived thousands of years during countless lifetimes. Even the people of this world, backwards as they could be, knew better than to doubt the might of a dragon. He had fought alongside his siblings to protect their people from the Mechasms—the only beings in the entirety of the Krosmoz to have ever posed a real challenge to their race. 

Ice and time magic or not, disposing of that cheeky, stalkerish aristocrat should have been a walk through portal!

And, at first, it was that way. When he first hurled that fireball to stop the count from coming near the doll, Efrim was inzinitly powerful. Mighty wings flapping and currents of wakfu coursing through his veins, he was in top shape despite the kidnapping. 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before he began to grow sloppy. 

He wrinkled his snout in disgust at himself, remembering it all. 

For a second, when it was clear Count Harebourg was beginning to gain the upperhand, Efrim couldn’t help but silently curse his luck. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, to refuse to acknowledge it, a part of him feared this would happen.

Oh, how he hated being right sometimes.

The truth was that his position as the one closest to the Great Goddess came with its own downsides. While his dragon siblings’ stamina was unparalleled, as befitting their species, his special connection to their mother meant Efrim himself wasn’t quite as resilient as them. Ironically enough, Yugo was an Eliatrope, yet his own sturdiness could easily rival any dragon’s. 

Efrim always supposed his unique circumstances were the price to pay for his divine gift. A stronger bond with Eliatrope in exchange for a weaker body. 

That didn’t change the fact that, with no way of contacting their mother, his supposed gift did little to help him in this situation. Especially when he would have had to face off against Eliatrope knows how many opponents alone, seeing as the Divine Doll wasn’t of much help, either. 

With a scoff, his sapphire eyes travelled over to where the Sadida woman was resting, sitting on the sandy floor, propped up by her arms as she tried to regain her breath. 

Despite himself, he distinctively remembered her reaction as the fight dragged on. 

He’d been keeping himself afloat, using every ounce of strength he had left not to lose his vantage point, when Efrim allowed himself to look back at the doll for a split second. The worry and pity he saw reflected in her dark brown eyes due to his predicament made his stomach churn. 

He hated it. 

At the moment, he wasn’t so sure why her concern for him provoked such a strong reaction out of him. But now that he wasn’t running low on adrenaline he could think clearly again. 

How dare she pity him when it was her fault they were in this mess in the first place?!

If she’d never stepped foot on Oma, then that horned Eniripsa’s little group of rejects never would have put his people in danger! He wouldn’t be separated from Nora!

Nora…

Not for the first time, the periwinkle dragon tried to push aside everything else and focus on finding his sister. On seeing where she was and what she was doing, and hopefully use their bond to guide her to him. 

Letting out a loud hiss, he grasped his head with both claws, as if that could keep his skull from splitting open from the pain. Remembering Qilby and Shinonomé’s lectures about headaches, he peeked over his self-made nest and rested his head against the cool, soothing sand. 

The relief was immediate, yet not enough.

He groaned pitifully, closing his eyes shut to protect them from the far too bright light. 

“That harpy must have done something to me.” He thought to himself, flinching when the thoughts seemed to echo around the chambers of his mind, worsening the pain. 

It was the only explanation. Since he awoke, his body felt heavy and clumsy, his mind drowsy and blurry. Like there was a fog so thick you could cut it with a Sram’s knife spreading through his brain. 

So thick, he couldn’t look beyond and reach out to Nora. 

He was tired. 

He was frustrated. 

He was desperate to come in contact with his beloved sister again and make sure she was okay. 

He was not in the mood to deal with that forsaken doll’s nonsense. 

“You know,” she piped up, a certain level of sarcasm in her voice that made Efrim’s skin crawl. “It wouldn’t kill you if you lent me a hand. Last time I checked, we’re both trapped here, yet I’m the only one trying to find a way out.”

“Last time I checked, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place if it weren’t for you!” Efrim snapped, regrettably raising his head enough to glare at the Sadida. A low and dangerous growl rumbled in his throat. 

The doll actually looked stunned by his answer. 

“Us Eliatropes were much better off when we didn’t need to depend on your ‘help’,” he air-quoted for emphasis, “or on being accepted by a bunch of barbarians.” He spat, a furious fire in his icy eyes. 

Grains of sand fell from the crevices on the walls as the doll remained silent, almost mockingly, as though reminding them of their predicament by mimicking an hour glass. But no matter how much time passed, the doll didn’t move. Didn’t take a single step towards him. Only held his gaze with a coldness the dragon had to admit he never expected to see from her. 

Long gone was the glint of fear that shone in her brown eyes each time Efrim stood too close. The same one that before only went away when Yugo was by her side, or she was surrounded by her father’s followers. 

He watched carefully when she hung her head low, her fringe covering her face, and she clenched her fists at her sides. The slight tremors going up and down her body gave her away. 

She was still scared, but pretended otherwise.

Rolling his eyes, the young dragon scoffed, “Pathetic.” 

He was about to lay back down when—.

“I’m so sick and tired of you.” 

The words gritted through teeth actually startled Efrim. Not their meaning. He’d be a fool to think the Divine Doll hadn’t come to resent him almost as much as he did her simply because he refused to roll over like everyone else. No. What took him aback was the way they were intoned. 

It wasn’t the whiny complaint of a spoiled child, or even the tremulous cries of someone scared. 

It was factual and said with unshakable conviction. It was a declaration. 

Confusion colouring his features, Efrim whirled his head around just enough to look back at the doll. She’d raised her head to gaze back at him, her brows pinched together and her lips pulled back in an unforgiving snarl. The dragon felt a jolt of something the more she stared back at him with those eyes so full of… of… of fury. 

It wasn’t the same outrage that emanated out of every pore on her skin after that Osamodas princess had the audacity to disrespect her. There was something raw, and real, and broken in her gaze. Something he’d only ever seen once on the doll’s face before. 

It was the same rage as the night they were taken. 

He let out an incredulous puff of air. If this spoiled flower child thought she would be able to intimidate him with just a glare, she was in for a rude awakening. 

“What did you say?”

“Oh, you heard me.” 

But she didn’t back down either. If anything, her rage had given her enough courage to face the person who was once the source of her anxiety with her head held up high. She began to close the distance between them in slow, deliberate stomps. 

“I’m sick and tired of you acting like I’m the source of all your troubles. Believe it or not, I never wanted to be kidnapped either, especially not with you! I’d rather be trapped here with just about anyone but you!”

“You didn’t look that displeased by my presence when I saved your sorry excuse of a life from that count!”

Efrim didn’t understand why he even brought that up. What did he care what this creature thought of him? 

“That is just the flower on the tombstone!” She threw her arms to the side in an exaggerated manner, most likely to mock him. “Just when I thought you couldn’t possibly be that bad if you were willing to save me from Harebourg, you go and have the nerve to victim-blame me.”

“Victim—? What is that supposed to mean?”

The question stopped her dead in her tracks. The look she sent him made it clear she thought he was a moron. 

“Well, duh. It means you’re blaming a victim for what they’ve gone through. It is literally in the name, genius…” She grumbled sarcastically, crossing her arms tightly against her chest. 

Shaking his head, seeing as that lunatic was talking nonsense again, Efrim decided to ignore her until she finally calmed down. Uncurling his tail, he began to slither as far away from her as possible, given their cramped ‘accomodations’.

“And yet, when it comes to the Mechasms, you’re always the victim who’s never done anything wrong in his life.” The moment she spat out those words, it was the dragon’s turn to halt all movement. 

Blood beginning to boil, he didn’t even turn around. “What did you just say?”

That was her one and only warning to shut up if she knew what was good for her. 

She refused to heed it. 

“I said it’s about time you stopped blaming everything on what happened with the Mechasms!”

He saw red through his blue eyes. “I am not Yugo, Doll! I will not tolerate you making light of the Mechasm War. You have no idea how much we lost. How much we suffered.”

“Of course you suffered!” The doll exclaimed back, clearly exasperated. “Nobody’s saying it wasn’t a tragedy! All I’m saying is that ever since I’ve met you, all you’ve ever done is treat me and the Twelvians as if we were the ones to betray you and your people. You’re acting as though we’re at fault for everything while you wallow in self-pity, and I can’t take it anymore!”

The dragon was actually left gaping by her confession. Wallow in self-pity, him? Oh, that was just so easy to say when you were an irresponsible child who never had to worry about anything. 

He was about to protest, eyes looking anywhere but her, when the feeling of someone grabbing him by his shoulders and roughly forcing him to make eye contact sent him reeling.

His maw dropped open at the sight of the Sadida Doll inches away from his face, her breathing hard. She must’ve closed the distance while they argued. 

Her deft fingers grabbed him by the snout and refused to let go, making sure sapphire met amber as she returned the favour from when he first attacked her. 

“You know what the funniest part of you playing the victim is, Efrim?” She asked rhetorically, answering herself before he could so much as get a word in. “The fact that you fail to see how in this situation, it’s the Eliatropes who’re the Mechasms, not the other way around.”

Indignation sparked deep within him, fueling him to overcome his sudden bout of stunned silence and find his voice again.

“How dare you compare us to such filth?! We have nothing in common with those treacherous monsters!”

The doll remained unperturbed, raising an eyebrow at most. 

“Are you sure? Because all the Twelvians see is a bunch of outsiders entering upon their world and calling it their own overnight.” She countered, smirking slightly when that shut the dragon up. “Or have you forgotten that you’re followers of a completely different goddess and with powers and technology they never had to learn to counter before? Are you really so full of yourself you thought they wouldn’t be rightfully weary of you?”

His expression hardened. “We would never cause anyone harm so long as they do not harm our own. Unlike the backwards society you serve, my people are trustworthy.”

“That’s what you say, and something I have come to know only after spending months living with you.” She conceded quietly, her eyes darting to the floor in melancholy for a second. It was gone as soon as she looked back at him. “But to the Twelvians, your word means as much as mine does to you. For the first time in your life, you and your people have to prove yourselves worthy, and you hate that. 

“Wanna know the best part?” She asked, chuckling sarcastically and mirthlessly. “You are no one to demand you be welcome with open arms when you yourself have no sympathy or empathy for anyone who isn’t an Eliatrope.”

Her last words felt like a dagger straight to his heart—piercing, well-aimed, and lethal.

“You may have plenty of reasons to distrust others, but you are not the only one.”

Only after she’d finally said her piece, did she let him go and take a step back, gravity’s sudden pull taking over while he was still distracted and almost causing Efrim to tumble down. 

Eyes wide, he glimpsed up at her, and his jaw dropped. For once, it felt as though the Sadida Doll towered over him, in more ways than one, with her arms crossed and her head held up high in defiance. Her words kept bounding back and forth in his mind, until something strange happened.

At some point, he was somewhere else, at another time. As if the entire Krosmoz had shifted underneath him. He was back at the Sadida Kingdom, and the person he was talking to was still Sadida, yet no longer a Divine Doll, but a Crown Prince. 

“I am very curious to know why you think we haven’t exactly given you reasons to trust us, however. Were you not invited by the Queens of Bonta to a banquet where you were introduced to this world’s leaders? Haven’t we chosen to trust you with Lady Amalia’s safety, even though she is much more important to us than you will ever understand? And hasn’t my father invited you to our kingdom as a sign of good will?

“Conversely, what have your people done to prove to us that you are trustworthy?” Prince Armand demanded, taking a step closer into Efrim’s personal space until he was practically breathing in his face. Challenging him. “You arrive out of nowhere and settle in our world without so much as a warning, let alone asking for permission. You trespass the sanctity of our Council meetings, showing nothing but disrespect for us, all the while you demand we accept you and embrace you as one of us. Even when you get what you want and are granted permission to come to our kingdom, our home, you have the audacity to act like we are beneath you.”

He remembered what the Sadida heir said when they were unfortunate enough to cross paths at the ball held in their god’s daughter’s honour. He remembered the way he questioned his suspicions of the Twelvians, yet acted like his own people and their actions were completely faultless. 

Efrim hadn’t wanted to admit it back then, but having the tables turned on him like that left him quite… shaken. Nowhere near as much as accidentally sharing his own vulnerability with the prince and finding out he actually had something in common with a Twelvian, though.

Just then, something the prince had said flashed through his mind, almost as unbidden as the immense wave of all-consuming shame that took over. 

“And yet you dare ask why I don’t roll over for you like some trained Bow Wow? Don’t flatter yourself, Your Grace. You are simply not worthy of our trust.”

Exactly what he’d been thinking of Lady Amalia ever since she was first sent to Oma.

For the first time since she arrived, Efrim looked at Amalia with something other than distrust and scorn. For the first time, he didn’t see a manipulative seductress, but someone who had been wronged just as much as him. Only he was the source of a good chunk of that mistreatment. 

Voice failing him, he tried to reach out a claw towards her, an undeserving pang of hurt clenching his chest when she instinctively avoided his touch. 

He really did have no one else to blame but himself, didn’t he?

He was about to speak up when the sound of rock sliding over caught their attention. Peering over, the both of them gasped when they realised the wall had given way to a corridor. They already knew better than to trust anything here, so they peered inside just in case. As expected, it was as dark as a Boowolf’s den. 

Seeing as Amalia still couldn’t use her powers for whatever reason, Efrim breathed a small fire ball to life and raised it to light up the way. They started when the fire came in contact with a sconce attached to the wall and kickstarted a chain reaction that ended up illuminating everything, revealing a narrow corridor with no end in sight. 

They exchanged a suspicious look before quickly averting their eyes, the sudden quiet amplifying the post-argument awkwardness. Amalia rubbed at her arm nervously, while Efrim scratched the back of his head. After a minute where neither did anything, the dragon came to a decision. 

Taking a deep breath to still himself, he willed his body to change according to his wishes. Squirming a little from the tingly sensation that came whenever he used his shapeshifting, Efrim felt how his tail decreased in size and split in three—his new, shorter tail, and two sinewy yet strong legs. 

When he opened his eyes, he found the doll gaping incredulously at him.

“You could do this this whole time?!”

“I’m a dragon, remember? We can all shapeshift to some extent.”

“Then why have you never grown legs before?”

He shrugged. “I always liked slithering better, I suppose. But I figured my usual form would make things quite cramped, so I opted for the most comfortable option.”

“What do you mean…?”

Her voice trailed off when she followed his claw, eyes widening when she saw he was actually pointing at the corridor, fully intending to go in. He gestured at her to go in first, which was met with the raising of a questioning eyebrow. 

“Something tells me that if we want any answers, we should play along first. For now.”

Amalia glared at him for another minute or so, before she finally gave up with a huff and a roll of her eyes. Following his instructions for once, with a clear threat of coming back to haunt him if she got killed, she reluctantly took the first step of many into the mysterious passway, with Efrim following close behind her. 

Taking one glimpse at her, the dragon knew they didn’t need a psychic link to understand the same thought was running through their minds. 

They had a very bad feeling about this. 

..........................................................................................................................

The air within the Council Room back at Oma Island was charged with tension. Agitated updates and discussions bounced around its walls, the resulting ruckus almost deafening. The atmosphere only changed to quiet sadness whenever a member of the council landed their eyes on their disappeared brother’s empty chair, a sombre reminder of what was at stake. 

Nora could feel their pitying looks whenever that happened. The lingering empathy that permeated the room. The way their eyes and voices softened in sympathy whenever they locked eyes with their little brotherless sister. They were walking on eggshells around her, and she hated it. 

After Glip, of all people, coughed awkwardly and rephrased his words, she just gave up, slouching down her chair with crossed arms and an annoyed scoff. She let the conversation take place around her, piping up when she saw fit to add her input. 

The moment they returned to Oma from Brakmar—and after they had some Mina-mandated rest—, Yugo summoned their siblings to the Council Room. It was high time they were put up to speed and that they all decided what to do next. 

First things first, they shared their findings. Going from Master Joris and his sons’ highly likely hypothesis that a group of resentful demigods were the ones behind Efrim and Amalia’s kidnapping, to that Ophis guy’s tip-off regarding where to find them. All that was left was to formulate a plan of action. 

Nora groaned for the millionth time. It was embarrassing it was taking them—a millennia-old assembly—this long to figure out a plan. They should work like a well-greased machine at this point, capable of putting any Xelor’s clock to shame!

“I don’t understand what’s not sinking in.” Chibi argued, his otherwise mellow voice raising in volume. To be honest, Nora couldn’t help but agree with him. “If they’re being held hostage at that Kingdom of the Winds, then we must go and rescue them. It’s that simple!”

He leaned forward on the communal table, panting. The prophet didn’t pay much mind to Grougaloragran placing a clawed hand on his shoulder to calm him down, but he didn’t shove him off either. 

“Exactly, if.” It was Phaeris who countered his logic. “We do not know for certain whether they are indeed imprisoned there or not. Must Phaeris remind you all of the possibility that this might be a trap?”

“He’s right. How do we know that guy from the bar doesn’t work for the real kidnappers and they’re sending us on a wild Dragoturkey chase?” Shinonomé pointed out, her head resting over her intertwined fingers. 

Qilby added, “Or that we won’t end up right where they want us.”

“That’s another possibility, yes.”

A chorus of murmurs that sounded too much like unanimous agreement echoed around the room. Nora frowned, her fingers digging into her skin to the point it almost hurt. Surely, they wouldn’t back down now that they were so close, right?

She decided to make her discontent known. 

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Her snapping drew everyone's attention back to her, her siblings’ curious, if overly cautious, eyes on her. They blinked, as if waiting for her to elaborate.

It was her pleasure. 

“I mean, are we really going to ignore the best lead we’ve had since this whole mess started just like that? Efrim and Amalia need us! This might be our one chance to get them back.”

“You are not wrong, Nora. But Baltazar reminds you it is not wise to go in unprepared either. There is no guarantee they will indeed be there. Or even that this ‘Kingdom of the Winds’ exists.” The Ivory dragon said calmly. Logic and reason were his best weapons; he firmly believed they would be able to reach other people and solve matters peacefully.

If only his more impulsive siblings didn’t set out to shake that core belief of his…

“Oh, it exists.” Yugo spoke up, his voice grave. “Or, at least, it existed.”

It was Adamaï who went on to explain, “Master Joris and the Ecaflip demigods confirmed it used to stand tall and proud centuries ago, until crisis struck.”

“At the very least, we should be able to find its ruins.” Yugo finished. 

“Still, it might be too dangerous…” Qilby winced empathetically before adjusting his glasses over the bridge of his nose.

The sound of a chair being dragged against the floor caught everyone’s attention. Following the sound, surprise coloured their faces to varying degrees at the sight of Mina standing up from her seat beside her dragon twin. Everyone but Phaeris—whose entire being emanated a sort of quiet acceptance—waited with bated breath for her to speak. 

Nora at least knew she was openly gaping.

“There is no denying we might be walking straight into a trap.” Mina conceded solemnly, her hands intertwined before her. “However, Nora is right; this is our best chance at retrieving Efrim and Lady Amalia. Can you imagine what would happen if we had the answer to our questions all along and we chose to ignore it?” She shuddered, her silver bangs swaying slightly from underneath her cyan hat. “The consequences could be disastrous.”

Nobody said a word, rather, they all looked down in contemplation. 

Unneeded one, at that. They all knew exactly what would be awaiting them if they failed—the Twelvians’ wrath and likely another war that would result in them fleeing yet again. 

A painful pang of premature grief pierced Nora’s heart at the thought of spending this lifetime without Efrim. Gone before they had the chance to patch things up between them and go back to how things used to be before the Mechasm War. 

Sensing her little sister’s turmoil, Mina went on with an encouraging smile, “Therefore, I suggest we take this chance and start preparing for the upcoming rescue mission.” From the corner of her eye, she noticed Grougal open his mouth, no doubt to protest, but she silenced him by raising her hand. “Even if it is a trap, we will not know for sure until we face the problem head-on. Even so, we are demigods too, just like our supposed adversaries; we should be able to overcome this challenge and so much more.”

Her eyes blazing confidently, she smiled, “Now, who’s with me?”

Little by little, every member of the Council of Six began to raise their hands. Naturally, Yugo, Adamaï, and Nora were the first ones to agree, but the pink-eyed girl couldn’t help the stinging in her eyes when she saw the rest join in, too, touched. 

With a pleased grin, Yugo raised from his seat. “Very well. It’s decided, then—Adamaï and I will start with the necessary arrangements at once.”

“Not so fast, Yugo.” This time, Mina had her palm facing her king. “I believe I said we would overcome this challenge. Together.” She crossed her arms and sent him a pointed look. “With a member of the Council and a Divine Doll missing, we simply cannot afford to take any chances. We will all go.”

Yugo actually sputtered at her declaration. So much so, Adamaï had to pick the conversation back up in his stead. Good thing they were so in sync his dragon twin knew exactly what was on his mind. 

More often than not, literally.

“But Mina, we mustn’t forget about our duties to our people. With the king gone, the Eliatropes need the remaining Council of Six to guide them!”

“If you think I’ll just sit idly while you go get Efrim back, Eliatrope above, do you have another thing coming.” Nora thundered, her expression filled with murderous intent. 

The Emerald Twins gulped in unison. Truth be told, it was foolish of them to think Nora wouldn’t want to come after her insistence on going to Bonta. 

“That, and, let’s face it, six Primordial Eliatropes and five Eliatrope Dragons will fare much better against an unknown number of Twelvian demigods than just two people.” Qilby pointed out matter-of-factly. Shinonomé sent him an odd look, to which he smirked slightly and winked discreetly in return. 

Catching her twin’s drift, she ventured to add, “We can always appoint Captain Millie as our regent, and leave very precise instructions on what to do if we haven’t returned after a given time.”

“Like move on to our contingency plan while they send an elite squad on a rescue mission…” Glip finished for her, his mind already filling up with ideas and possibilities. 

As their siblings discussed possible courses of action to take depending on the situation, already invested in the mission, Nora shared a relieved and grateful smile with Yugo. It looked like things were finally looking up for them.

She would get his brother back in no time, just like their king would be reunited with his unofficial queen. 

The smile dropped off her face when all their planning was interrupted by the arrival of Evangelyne and Sir Percedal.

............................................................................................................................

The air within the Council Room back at Oma Island was charged with tension. Agitated updates and discussions bounced around its walls, the resulting ruckus almost deafening. The atmosphere only changed to quiet sadness whenever a member of the council landed their eyes on their disappeared brother’s empty chair, a sombre reminder of what was at stake. 

Nora could feel their pitying looks whenever that happened. The lingering empathy that permeated the room. The way their eyes and voices softened in sympathy whenever they locked eyes with their little brotherless sister. They were walking on eggshells around her, and she hated it. 

After Glip, of all people, coughed awkwardly and rephrased his words, she just gave up, slouching down her chair with crossed arms and an annoyed scoff. She let the conversation take place around her, piping up when she saw fit to add her input. 

The moment they returned to Oma from Brakmar—and after they had some Mina-mandated rest—, Yugo summoned their siblings to the Council Room. It was high time they were put up to speed and that they all decided what to do next. 

First things first, they shared their findings. Going from Master Joris and his sons’ highly likely hypothesis that a group of resentful demigods were the ones behind Efrim and Amalia’s kidnapping, to that Ophis guy’s tip-off regarding where to find them. All that was left was to formulate a plan of action. 

Nora groaned for the millionth time. It was embarrassing it was taking them—a millennia-old assembly—this long to figure out a plan. They should work like a well-greased machine at this point, capable of putting any Xelor’s clock to shame!

“I don’t understand what’s not sinking in.” Chibi argued, his otherwise mellow voice raising in volume. To be honest, Nora couldn’t help but agree with him. “If they’re being held hostage at that Kingdom of the Winds, then we must go and rescue them. It’s that simple!”

He leaned forward on the communal table, panting. The prophet didn’t pay much mind to Grougaloragran placing a clawed hand on his shoulder to calm him down, but he didn’t shove him off either. 

“Exactly, if.” It was Phaeris who countered his logic. “We do not know for certain whether they are indeed imprisoned there or not. Must Phaeris remind you all of the possibility that this might be a trap?”

“He’s right. How do we know that guy from the bar doesn’t work for the real kidnappers and they’re sending us on a wild Dragoturkey chase?” Shinonomé pointed out, her head resting over her intertwined fingers. 

Qilby added, “Or that we won’t end up right where they want us.”

“That’s another possibility, yes.”

A chorus of murmurs that sounded too much like unanimous agreement echoed around the room. Nora frowned, her fingers digging into her skin to the point it almost hurt. Surely, they wouldn’t back down now that they were so close, right?

She decided to make her discontent known. 

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Her snapping drew everyone's attention back to her, her siblings’ curious, if overly cautious, eyes on her. They blinked, as if waiting for her to elaborate.

It was her pleasure. 

“I mean, are we really going to ignore the best lead we’ve had since this whole mess started just like that? Efrim and Amalia need us! This might be our one chance to get them back.”

“You are not wrong, Nora. But Baltazar reminds you it is not wise to go in unprepared either. There is no guarantee they will indeed be there. Or even that this ‘Kingdom of the Winds’ exists.” The Ivory dragon said calmly. Logic and reason were his best weapons; he firmly believed they would be able to reach other people and solve matters peacefully.

If only his more impulsive siblings didn’t set out to shake that core belief of his…

“Oh, it exists.” Yugo spoke up, his voice grave. “Or, at least, it existed.”

It was Adamaï who went on to explain, “Master Joris and the Ecaflip demigods confirmed it used to stand tall and proud centuries ago, until crisis struck.”

“At the very least, we should be able to find its ruins.” Yugo finished. 

“Still, it might be too dangerous…” Qilby winced empathetically before adjusting his glasses over the bridge of his nose.

The sound of a chair being dragged against the floor caught everyone’s attention. Following the sound, surprise coloured their faces to varying degrees at the sight of Mina standing up from her seat beside her dragon twin. Everyone but Phaeris—whose entire being emanated a sort of quiet acceptance—waited with bated breath for her to speak. 

Nora at least knew she was openly gaping.

“There is no denying we might be walking straight into a trap.” Mina conceded solemnly, her hands intertwined before her. “However, Nora is right; this is our best chance at retrieving Efrim and Lady Amalia. Can you imagine what would happen if we had the answer to our questions all along and we chose to ignore it?” She shuddered, her silver bangs swaying slightly from underneath her cyan hat. “The consequences could be disastrous.”

Nobody said a word, rather, they all looked down in contemplation. 

Unneeded one, at that. They all knew exactly what would be awaiting them if they failed—the Twelvians’ wrath and likely another war that would result in them fleeing yet again. 

A painful pang of premature grief pierced Nora’s heart at the thought of spending this lifetime without Efrim. Gone before they had the chance to patch things up between them and go back to how things used to be before the Mechasm War. 

Sensing her little sister’s turmoil, Mina went on with an encouraging smile, “Therefore, I suggest we take this chance and start preparing for the upcoming rescue mission.” From the corner of her eye, she noticed Grougal open his mouth, no doubt to protest, but she silenced him by raising her hand. “Even if it is a trap, we will not know for sure until we face the problem head-on. Even so, we are demigods too, just like our supposed adversaries; we should be able to overcome this challenge and so much more.”

Her eyes blazing confidently, she smiled, “Now, who’s with me?”

Little by little, every member of the Council of Six began to raise their hands. Naturally, Yugo, Adamaï, and Nora were the first ones to agree, but the pink-eyed girl couldn’t help the stinging in her eyes when she saw the rest join in, too, touched. 

With a pleased grin, Yugo raised from his seat. “Very well. It’s decided, then—Adamaï and I will start with the necessary arrangements at once.”

“Not so fast, Yugo.” This time, Mina had her palm facing her king. “I believe I said we would overcome this challenge. Together.” She crossed her arms and sent him a pointed look. “With a member of the Council and a Divine Doll missing, we simply cannot afford to take any chances. We will all go.”

Yugo actually sputtered at her declaration. So much so, Adamaï had to pick the conversation back up in his stead. Good thing they were so in sync his dragon twin knew exactly what was on his mind. 

More often than not, literally.

“But Mina, we mustn’t forget about our duties to our people. With the king gone, the Eliatropes need the remaining Council of Six to guide them!”

“If you think I’ll just sit idly while you go get Efrim back, Eliatrope above, do you have another thing coming.” Nora thundered, her expression filled with murderous intent. 

The Emerald Twins gulped in unison. Truth be told, it was foolish of them to think Nora wouldn’t want to come after her insistence on going to Bonta. 

“That, and, let’s face it, six Primordial Eliatropes and five Eliatrope Dragons will fare much better against an unknown number of Twelvian demigods than just two people.” Qilby pointed out matter-of-factly. Shinonomé sent him an odd look, to which he smirked slightly and winked discreetly in return. 

Catching her twin’s drift, she ventured to add, “We can always appoint Captain Millie as our regent, and leave very precise instructions on what to do if we haven’t returned after a given time.”

“Like move on to our contingency plan while they send an elite squad on a rescue mission…” Glip finished for her, his mind already filling up with ideas and possibilities. 

As their siblings discussed possible courses of action to take depending on the situation, already invested in the mission, Nora shared a relieved and grateful smile with Yugo. It looked like things were finally looking up for them.

She would get his brother back in no time, just like their king would be reunited with his unofficial queen. 

The smile dropped off her face when all their planning was interrupted by the arrival of Evangelyne and Sir Percedal.

............................................................................................................................

Evangelyne prided herself in her ability to keep her cool even in the most strenuous of circumstances. Such skill was pretty much second nature to any Cra; she would only be disgracing her people if she allowed herself to grow hysterical over any minor inconvenience. 

In her youth, she remained stone-faced when Prince Armand tried to court her, even when his Bwork-like, putrid breath hit her straight in the nose and all she wanted to do was puke.

In the middle of the crisis that brought her and Pinpin together, she expertly fired arrow after arrow, never taking her eyes off of her target. Even when an enemy attack reached her, she didn’t abandon her post until she passed out from blood-loss. 

Whenever she was called in at the Cra’s training camp stationed in the Sadida Kingdom’s borders because Cleophée got in trouble—for the millionth time—, she always managed to keep her anger in check until they were back home and alone, knowing it would be unbecoming to berate her sister in front of her superiors or in the middle of the street. 

Even when Princess Aurora arrived and began to give her the stink-eye, the most that slipped out was the raising of an unimpressed eyebrow whenever the Osamodas woman wasn’t looking. 

So, it was a testament of how tense the situation truly was if she was seriously having a hard time keeping her composure now that she was in the presence of the Council of Six. 

Perhaps it was because almost a dozen outsider demigods and leaders were staring her down from their seats at the table located in the middle of the room. Or maybe because she was well aware that she and Tristepin were technically intruding on a private meeting. But it took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to gulp under their unforgiving stares. 

The message was clear: they were very much not welcome. 

As though they needed any further confirmation, Master Grougaloragran raised from his seat, his long dark hair swaying with the movement. His golden eyes shone with confusion and outrage. 

“What is the meaning of this?” He demanded, right before his eyes landed on the Cra. “Miss Evangelyne, do you or do you not know entering the Council Room while a council meeting is in session is strictly forbidden for our subjects, lest there is an emergency that requires our immediate attention?”

In response, Eva kneeled down on the floor to convey her respect, her head low, years of deferring to the Sheran Sharms kicking in like muscle memory. She could feel a vein pop when she noticed Pinpin remained standing by her side. The Cra had to suppress a frustrated sigh; all those years together and he still didn’t know how to behave courteously in front of political figures. 

“That is correct, Master Grougaloragran. We are deeply sorry for the intrusion.”

“If you are aware,” Lady Shinonomé began, eying them suspiciously, “what is the reason behind such audacity? Needless to say, if our subjects need a very good reason to interrupt us, two outsiders such as yourselves have even less of a right to.”

“Guests or not, such an intrusion is unforgivable, and you will have to answer for it.” The glare her twin, Master Qilby, levelled them with could have frozen Shukrute over. 

He was about to say something else when King Yugo raising his hand stopped him. Although the bespectacled Eliatrope wasn’t very pleased by it, given how his lip curled up in distaste. 

As much as she’d learned to fear his wrath in the past few weeks, Eva was glad to see they could still count on him to treat them fairly. 

“Let us not be too hasty. I am inclined to believe they do indeed have a very good reason to barge in like this.” Even though King Yugo’s tone remained cordial and even when talking to his siblings, his voice gained a warning edge as soon as his eyes landed on their uninvited visitors. “Nevertheless, my siblings speak the truth. If it turns out to be a waste of our time, there will be consequences.”

“Like teleporting your butts into the nearest dungeon.” Nora muttered somberly, pink eyes flashing impatiently. 

The Cra felt a shiver run down her spine at the threat, but kept her head low, green eyes fixed on the floor. Taking a deep breath, she was about to rise to her feet to ask the council members for permission to carry out their plan when Tristepin opening his mouth instead almost gave her a heart attack. 

She loved that Iop-head to death, but he was not to be trusted with delicate affairs!

“We want to assist in the rescue mission. Help you bring Lady Amalia and Master Efrim back.” He said bluntly, and Eva had to fight down the urge to pull at one of his ears and berate him like a little child. She could feel her blood pressure increase. 

While Eva rose to her feet, shooting daggers her boyfriend’s way, a deafening silence fell over the room. The two of them did their best to stand tall and proud, to emanate confidence, as more than a dozen eyes studied them carefully. Some stares were curious, others derisive, and others just plain hostile. 

But they stood tall in their conviction, intertwining their fingers for mutual support. 

After what felt like an eternity, it was King Yugo who broke the silence with a wince and a pained grimace. Evangelyne felt like wincing too. That wasn’t a good sign. 

“Miss Evangelyne, Sir Percedal…” He started off diplomatically, but the way he pinched the bridge of his nose gave his true feelings of helplessness away. “As much as we appreciate your offer to help, I believe I speak in the name of the entire council when I say we cannot accept.” 

Just then, his gaze hardened and his voice grew grim. Leaving no room for argument. 

“This is a delicate matter; the future of our people is hanging by a thread, and there are two lives at risk. This isn’t something we can just entrust to outsiders.”

Murmurs of agreement echoed through the chamber. The finality in the Eliatrope King’s voice coiled itself around the Cra’s heart, squeezing it in a vice grip that almost made Eva nauseous. But she held fast to her beliefs, refusing to so much as flinch in the face of adversity. 

Like any real Cra would. 

“We understand, Your Majesty. Naturally, as rulers of the Eliatrope people, it is up to the Council of Six to decide what to do in times like this.” She said, putting a solemn hand over her chest. 

“If you understand, then why waste our time with such foolish notions?” Glip pointed out, grip tightening on his staff. 

“Because we must likewise make amends for our mistakes and failings, Master Glip.”

That got their attention. Eyes widening for a fraction of a second, the divine siblings exchanged glances for a moment before acquiescing, nodding for the blonde to continue. 

Eva smirked. This was her chance, and she would not let it slip away. 

She shared a determined nod with Pinpin, silently agreeing it’d be best if she did the talking. Maybe the two of them were currently on thin ice, but at least Evangelyne had spent enough time on their island to begin to gain their trust. 

Hand still on her chest, she went on, “As much as it pains me to admit it, I am partly at fault for Lady Amalia’s disappearance. Both you and the rulers of the Sadida Kingdom entrusted me with the mission of looking over her as her bodyguard and lady-in-waiting…” She paused for a moment, shallowing thickly. “A mission I am ashamed to say I failed at.”

Lady Nora, who’d been studying her without much interest, seemingly perked up at her admission. The Cra could feel her ears pressing against her head when the pinkclad Eliatrope straightened in her seat and stared straight at her, her brows slightly pinched in confusion.

“But you were busy helping us evacuate our subjects during the storm… You can hardly be blamed for that.”

“With all due respect, my Lady, that is precisely what I should be judged by.” The blonde protested, causing everyone’s eyebrows to raise in surprise. Everyone’s, but Yugo’s. 

“Would you mind elaborating on that, Miss Evangelyne? You were a huge help that day.” It was Master Adamaï who spoke. He sent a furtive glance at his brother, but his guarded, if a little somber, expression confirmed what Eva already knew. 

King Yugo was well aware of why she blamed herself for what happened. Chances are, he agreed with her. 

She tried to ignore the guilty pang in her chest at the realisation. 

“Because those were not my orders.” She explained, lowering her head in shame. “As Lady Amalia’s bodyguard and lady-in-waiting, my utmost priority is to her. And yet, I willingly parted from her and left her all alone merely because I was too immature to separate my personal life from my duties. 

“I dishonoured my position and put her in danger. Ever since she was taken, I cannot help but think that things would have been different if only I’d been there as I should have. Maybe we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

The Cra remained with her head hung low in spite of her unwavering posture, golden locks falling over her face and hiding the moisture glistening in her emerald eyes. Her freckled expression was scrunched up in pain as she bit down her lip to keep herself from helplessly crying.

There it was. 

Her shame and guilt and compliance were out in the open. 

She had just essentially confessed to her crimes and lack of professionalism to some of the most powerful beings currently inhabiting their planet. Beings who could tear through armies composed of their best warriors like tissue paper. Beings who were already jaded and hardened by war and tragedy, and were not willing to tolerate any more heartbreak if they had anything to say about it. Beings who had yet to recover from all the pain and suffering they had been through. 

Grieving creatures who faced the possibility of losing one of their own and were led by a man who would stop at nothing until the woman he loved was back in his arms. 

There was no doubt in Evangelyne’s mind that she would have to pay for her mistakes greatly. Either she was sent back to the Sadida Kingdom in disgrace, or Oma Island would become her grave. 

Either way, she didn’t have the heart to feel sorry for herself. 

She closed her eyes shut. She’d played the role of her own judge, jury, and executioner. 

“Evangelyne isn’t the only one who’s messed up, though.”

Eyes flying open in surprise, the Cra swivelled her head so fast she almost gave herself whiplash. Eyes wide and unblinking as she observed Tristepin. 

Her valiant Iop knight looked straight ahead, his resolve unshakable, eyes locked on the Council of Six, who stared back at him with a mixture of quiet surprise and reluctant admiration. 

He only broke eye contact with them long enough to send her a soft smile and squeeze her hand reassuringly. 

He looked back ahead immediately after. 

“Evangelyne blames herself for needing to distance herself from Lady Amalia after their fight, but the truth of the matter is that they never would have argued if it weren’t for me. I don’t know what I could’ve ever done for her to hate me so, but it’s a fact that things wouldn’t have come to a head if only I’d never stepped foot on Oma Island.

“If you’re going to blame Eva for not fulfilling her duties because of a stupid fight, blame me for causing it in the first place!”

An uncomfortable silence enveloped the room after the Iop’s impassioned speech. Dubious glances were exchanged and sceptical eyebrows raised. A part of the Cra wished she knew what they were all thinking. Another part was too afraid to find out.

“This is starting to feel more like a court room and less like a council meeting.” Master Qilby pointed out sarcastically, leaning forward with his head resting on his palm. “In which case, I have got to say, you are not doing a very good job at beating those guilty allegations.”

“We’re not trying to.” Pinpin said, and Eva seriously wondered if he truly understood what the bearded Eliatrope was saying or if he only got lucky. “We know we are partly to blame and are owning up to it. I don’t see what’s so bad about that.”

“As admirable as admitting one’s own mistakes is,” Phaeris said diplomatically, “it is still out of place when you are trying to prove why the Council of Six should allow you to join them in their search for Lady Amalia and their brother Efrim.”

“If anything, it only makes you seem even less reliable.” Chibi added matter-of-factly. 

“On the contrary, it proves our conviction and our resolve to make up for our mistakes!” Pinpin protested, taking a step forward and raising a fist while never letting go of Eva’s hand. “You may doubt us all you want, but you can’t deny that makes us extremely determined to get them back. We’d be a huge help!”

Pinpin was about to go on with his tirade when King Yugo’s voice cut through the room like a knife through butter. In an instant, there was nothing but silence and tension floating through the air. Sometimes this man’s ability to command respect from everyone around him was beyond incredible.

Beyond frightening, too.

“Alright, that’s enough.” He said, getting up from his seat at the table and making his way over to them. It took everything in Eva not to flinch away in his presence. “Evangelyne, Sir Percedal, we appreciate your offer, but we must decline. This isn’t just some ordinary rescue mission.”

“But Your Majesty —!”

“We have reason to believe Amalia and Efrim were taken by demigods”, the monarch cut off their protests, letting the new information sink in for a few seconds. Eva’s stomach dropped. “If our sources are correct, this has the potential to become a life or death situation. I mean no offence, but I fail to see what two mortals such as yourselves would be able to do against an army of divine children.”

He turned back around, his cape billowing behind him, and made his way back to his chair. But not before saying, “You would only slow us down.”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty. But while I won’t deny this could indeed be a perilous journey, I would appreciate it if you don’t underestimate us.”

Evangelyne didn’t really know where she got the courage from. Probably from her pride as a Cra resulting in outrage at having her skills dismissed. But when she spoke up to protest the king’s claims, her words somehow carried so much weight they managed to stop him dead in his tracks. 

King Yugo turned his head around just enough for his profile to be visible behind his hood.

“What?”

Eva stood a little straighter. “Regardless of my lackluster performance as of late, my King, I am a trained warrior. With years of experience guarding royalty. I would go so far as to say Master Glip will be able to verify my skills, if you are so doubtful.”

The Wakfung teacher flinched when his king sent him a questioning look, asking him to indeed confirm her claims. He cleared his throat in response. “Well… I-it’s true that Miss Evangelyne is quite the capable fighter.”

“Right.” The Cra said almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth. She gestured at her boyfriend. “And Tristepin is an experienced knight and traveller who’s fought countless threats all over the globe. We know this world like the back of our hand!

“Not to mention, if your suspicions are indeed correct, then you will be facing off against Twelvian demigods. Even though there is no doubt in my mind they will be incredibly powerful, we still have a much better grasp on the full scope of their abilities than you do, King Yugo. For you have yet to truly familiarise yourself with the different races populating this world and their abilities.”

The blonde’s green eyes were like molten emeralds. Beautiful and irresistible, but you risked getting burned if you got too close. 

“No matter how you look at it, you need us, Your Majesty.”

For a moment, nobody said anything, Eva’s laboured breathing the only sound echoing around the room as King Yugo and his siblings regarded them carefully, measuring the weight of her words. Gauging the truth behind it and whether it was worth it to heed it or not. 

After what felt like an eternity, the Eliatrope King sighed through his nose and massaged his temple, one finger raised in warning.

“We’ll think about it. For now, leave.”

........................................................................................................................

Later that night, Serviette was sent to Eva’s chambers to let her know of the Council’s decision. 

They were allowed to accompany them on their mission. They parted at dawn. 

..........................................................................................................................

The more they advanced through the narrow corridor, the more Amalia hugged herself in apprehension, her tense grip wrinkling the fabric of her armlets, sullied from spending Sadida knew how long in their sandy prison. Fearful eyes darted back and forth inside the confined space, hopelessly trying to discern anything that might hint at their mysterious destination. 

And, more importantly, if they would come to regret ever stepping foot inside this passway. 

Deep down, the doll supposed she should be grateful the passway itself wasn’t loaded with traps or other undesirable obstacles. Efrim’s flames shone proudly from the sconces lining the stone walls, a pinkish hue illuminating the path ahead. A plain old dirt path dug into the building, a sign of ancient, rudimentary construction methods—in itself a testament that, wherever they found themselves in, it had been standing for far longer than either of them. 

The narrow space forced Amalia and Efrim to stick closer than what either of them found comfortable. There wasn’t enough room to walk side by side, so the dragon led the march while the Sadida Doll picked up the rear, after she begged and begged for him to lead the way despite having entered first. A part of her was slightly surprised her fellow prisoner seemed unguarded enough to turn his back to her, thinking he’d surely resent her now more than ever after she finally had the audacity to call him out on his own actions. 

A bigger part of her just didn’t have the energy to care. 

If he suddenly turned around and burned her to a crisp with his dragon breath, it might actually be better than all this unease she’d been feeling ever since she woke up in the middle of nowhere. 

Amalia squinted and stood on her tip toes, trying to look ahead over Efrim’s shoulder and gauge how long they had left until they reached the exit.

Nothing but pinkish flames and an endless corridor. 

Lowering herself back down, the doll let out an almost inaudible huff of frustration. She honestly didn’t know how long they’d been going down this path. It could have been minutes or hours for all she cared, but if they were killed as soon as they finally reached the exit, she was going to be very mad. 

With nothing better to do than to keep walking, the doll allowed herself to take a good look at her unfortunate companion now that she had the chance. 

Overall, Efrim’s new form wasn’t that different from the serpentine silhouette she’d grown used to dreading. Same periwinkle scales shining underneath the light. Same spiky tuft of white hair on both his head and the tip of his tail—similar to his sister’s but with a bluish undertone instead of pink. Same robust snout he mostly used to snarl. Same lithe yet sinuous body. 

The only real differences were a thinner and slightly shorter tail, and a pair of spindly yet sinewy legs. But that was unusual enough of a sight to make Amalia grimace in discomfort. 

She never thought she’d say this, but she preferred the grouchy snake she’d come to know over the last few months. This was just weird. 

Amalia was so lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice when Efrim abruptly stopped, causing her to bump into him. Rubbing her forehead, she braced herself for the chiding that was sure to come, only to be left flabbergasted when all the dragon did was look at her over his shoulder. 

“It seems we’ve reached the end of the corridor.” He informed her simply, pointing straight ahead. 

Once she got over her wide-eyed incredulity, the doll finally registered the light filtering through the exit. After growing used to the reduced luminosity from the torches, she had to shield her eyes from the brightness, but she nonetheless locked her gaze with Efrim’s and nodded. 

“It could very well be a trap.” He warned, as though she didn’t already know. 

“The way I see it, we can either go back or move forward. Either way, we are trapped.”

The truth behind her words seemed to reach him, for his expression turned grim before he responded with a resolute nod of his own. “In that case, we can only hope whatever there is on the other side isn’t worse than where we came from.”

Amalia sighed. “Only one way to find out.”

Taking one deep breath, the two of them stepped forward, arms flying to their heads to shield themselves from the bright light. A few minutes passed before their eyesight adjusted enough for them to brave lowering their arms and open their eyes. When they did, however, twin gasps escaped their throats as they took it all in. 

The sight that welcomed them would have made Amalia feel right at home under literally any other circumstances. As it were, it left her both in awe and with her stomach churning. 

Hidden away inside a circular room was a massive garden, greenery spreading as far as reached the eye. Twiddling her toes, the doll could feel the soil underneath her feet, the coolness emanating from the grass blades soothing her sore feet. Taking slow, deliberate steps, she made her way inside the garden, marvelling at the streams running down the hills and valleys that were somehow encapsulated inside the room. 

Mighty sequoias reached for the skies, until their leafy mantles hid away the ceiling. Plants of all kinds littered every surface, from lush bushes to fragrant flowers and luscious fern; all of them reacting to her, as if waking up from a dream and they reached out to her. 

It was honestly the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, much better than her garden or what it could ever grow into. In fact, this place was only second to the Sadida Kingdom and Sadida’s own dimension. 

But a rather sinister touch sullied the beauty of this place, casting a shadow on this otherwise untouched paradise. 

Amalia took a few tentative steps towards a strange silhouette standing a few ways away from them, surrounded by a bed of anemone, asphodel, and bird’s-foot trefoil. All flowers with deeply disturbing meanings—withered hopes, death, revenge. But none of them as disturbing as the wooden statue they guarded: a young woman of undiscernible race, Sacrier maybe, with her arms raised and writhing, mouth hung open in an expression of indescriptable horror, as though she’d been screaming. 

Heart in her throat, she couldn’t help but reach a hand out to her face, propelled by the urge to cradle her frozen cheek and soothe her, until Efrim’s voice broke her out of her trance. 

“Whoever decorated this place has a rather macabre taste. There’s statues like that everywhere!”

“What…?” She murmured, blinking rapidly. Breaking her gaze from the statue at last, she dared look around. Gasping in horror, she rapidly stepped away from it as she took everything else in. 

Just like Efrim had said, there indeed were statues like the woman’s all over. Frozen men and women of all known races decorated every nook and cranny of the garden, standing out like a sore thumb. Some of them wore horrified expressions, others pleading ones, as if they’d tried to bargain for forgiveness or mercy from whomever they were talking to. All of them made out of wood, as if carved into the very trees, and surrounded by flowers with equally horrifying meanings. 

For a second, a wayward thought crossed Amalia’s mind. The distinct feeling that this was more of a lavishly adorned graveyard than a garden. 

She suddenly regretted ever stepping foot into that corridor. A feeling that only intensified when the door closed as abruptly as it opened. 

Whatever this place was, there was no way out. 

“Just, what is this place?” Amalia whispered, horror tingeing her tone. 

“Whatever it is, I don’t think I want to stay around long enough to find out.” Efrim mused as he swivelled his head every which way, fruitlessly looking for a way out. Just then, he set his cerulean eyes on Amalia. “You are a Sadida Doll; this is a garden—can you use your magic to get us out?”

Hesitance creeping in, Amalia nodded nonetheless and extended her hands. Closing her eyes, palms glowing a vibrant green, she tried to focus on summoning her vines, the trees, a single leaf… Anything that could help them escape. With little success.

Beads of sweat running down her forehead as she gritted her teeth, she was met with the very same block that prevented her from using her powers right before Harebourg appeared. Amalia tried to push through, to break down those walls that kept her out of the plants’ conscience, but the more she pushed forward, the more the blockage pushed her back. 

In the end, the effort proved to be too much. With a small cry, she let go and fell to her knees, bracing herself against the floor while she tried to get her breath back. 

Much to her consternation, Efrim was by her side in a flash, placing a claw on her shoulder in a manner that, if she didn’t know any better, she’d call reassuring. 

“Well…?” He urged gently, his expression falling when all the doll could do was shake her head in defeat. 

“I-I’m sorry.” Amalia panted, before shaking his claw off her shoulder. She lifted her hand up and looked at her palm in confusion. “The Brotherhood must have done something to me while we were unconscious. Each time I try to use my magic, there’s something getting in the way; as though the plants refuse to listen to me.”

“That’s… not very reassuring.” Efrim muttered. 

The doll almost laughed. Something tired and mirthless, no doubt. That had to be the understatement of the century. 

“I think they did something to me, too.” He confessed, drawing her surprised gaze to him. “I feel sluggish and I can barely use my powers myself. I can’t even get in contact with Nora.”

The new piece of information made Amalia audibly wince. She didn’t know all the details, but she did know Eliatrope and Dragon twins possessed this sort of link. A connection that transcended all other bonds and allowed them to know where their sibling was at all times. If Efrim couldn’t do the same with Nora and vice versa….

Sweet Sadida, that couldn’t be good. 

“M-maybe I can try again. When I feel less tired. A-after all, this is a garden and I am a Sadida Doll.” She offered, trying to offer a reassuring smile. But it felt weak and fake even on her lips. 

“Don’t tire yourself out, my dear. This garden only obeys me.” 

The both of them immediately tensed up at the sound of the new, mysterious voice. Taking the dragon’s proffered claw, Amalia rose to her feet, sticking close to Efrim as the two of them desperately tried to identify the origin of the voice. 

They swivelled their heads fast enough to give themselves whiplash when it then came to their right. Hidden somewhere behind the undergrowth.

“I’m afraid you are far too young to be able to channel the power needed to break my influence over my own garden.”

Again, their heads snapped in the direction of dry twigs snapping under someone's feet. As if coming alive, the fern running down the walls uncoiled its fiddleheads before parting to reveal a secret room carved into the rock. 

They gasped. 

There was a figure inside. 

When they stepped into the light, Amalia could swear she heard Efrim’s tail rattle in trepidation, while her own mouth was hanging low from shock. 

Emerging from the walls was a woman like neither of them had ever seen before, and yet, so painfully familiar. 

Advancing towards them were a pair of long, shapely legs that were barely concealed by a tantalising, sheer plum fabric that went all the way up to the woman’s bust, with a black balconette preserving her modesty despite the ample cleavage on display. The dark hues of her dress contrasted greatly with her fair skin. Even though her skirt was practically see-through, the rest of her figure was hidden by a more opaque shade. 

She was a walking contradiction; coverage that left very little to the imagination. 

But what was truly perturbing about the woman was the state everything that wasn’t covered by fabric was in. 

All over her body, her rosy skin was dry and wrinkled, her face gaunt and stretched, which brought to mind the withered and dried out husk of a tree that didn’t survive a forest fire. Her fingers were long and bony, like sinister branches knocking on your window at the dead of night. Her black-tainted lips looked like they used to be as velvety and plump as ripe peaches, but were now stretched thin into a tight line. She had washed-out pink hair cut in a bob with bangs covering one of her eyes—the exquisite preciseness behind her hairdo only highlighted its stump-like texture and utter lack of lustre. 

A lifeless violet gaze stared back at Amalia’s fearful brown one, the single black tear streaming down her withered cheek reflecting the pang of pity that the green-haired girl felt perfectly. 

The person standing before her had all the makings of a truly stunning woman, only for that beauty to be somehow lost to the sands of time. If this was his doing, then Xelor truly was an unforgiving god. 

But what truly captivated and horrified Amalia in equal measure wasn’t the fact that this woman had certainly seen better days. No. As she roamed every inch of her body, what truly made Amalia freeze in fear were their similarities. 

While easy to miss, large, garish stitches connected her limbs at every joint, the two most visible ones sewn at her shoulders. At first glance, due to their colouring, darkened by age, you’d be forgiven for thinking they were her dress straps, but Amalia knew better. Her eyes travelling upwards, she noticed how adorning her nearly bark-like bob was a headband. Just not any headband. Because Amlalia had one just like it. Made out of white birch, it crowned her head but, whereas Amalia’s own pointed down whenever she saw fit to wear it, two large leaves stood tall and proud on top of her head. 

Between the remnants of her long-lost ethereal beauty and her omnipotence over the very same plants Amalia herself had failed to tame, it didn't take a genius to realise the answer to her questions was before her very eyes. 

The woman before them was a Divine Doll; just like her. 

But, how?

She was Sadida’s youngest—which, judging by their host’s wrinkled complexion, still rang true—, and she knew all her older sisters. How was it possible that yet another one of Sadida’s creations was roaming the World of Twelve—worse still; that she’d somehow found herself roped into Lady Echo’s birdbrained schemes—completely unchecked?!

Shouldn’t her family have warned her about this?

Her horrified musings were broken by the woman’s husky voice. An attractive sound with a certain roughness in it that perfectly reflected the unforgiving passage of time. Just like her.

“Look at you. So young, so beautiful… Like a well-loved rose bush.” The pink-haired woman mused aloud, as she circled around them in slow, deliberate steps, her violet gaze distant, as though looking straight at Amalia but not seeing her at all. She tilted her head to the side in fond remembrance. “I used to be just like that, you know?”

Then, all traces of fondness were gone. 

“Until they broke me.”

“One day, I was the belle of the ball. Everyone’s most prized possession; a contest-winning hydrangea.” She went on, lost in her own distant memories while her guests could only look on, apprehensive and alert. “And the next, I was thrown aside, disposed of in the compost bin like some unwanted weed that threatened to ruin their perfect little garden. A mere parasite that stole nutrients from their next awe-inspiring rose…” She spat out, venom and bitterness colouring her features. 

Just then, she abruptly stopped her delirious promenade, causing the dragon and doll to flinch. Head tilted back, her eyes landed on Amalia, as if really studying her for the first time.

“I suppose that makes you the sunflower…” She commented disparagingly. 

“Hydrangeas… Roses… Sunflowers…?” Amalia wondered, her thoughts scrambled and uncomprehending. Those were usually considered to be the world’s most beautiful flowers, especially by people who didn’t understand everything in nature was beautiful the way Sadida’s followers did. 

But what did she mean?

“W-who.” The doll tried to say, and stopped herself, hating the way her voice wavered. She paused, swallowed, and tried again, hopefully projecting more confidence than she actually felt in that moment. “Who are you? What do you want from us?!”

If Amalia were honest with herself, she was asking more for confirmation than anything. Because even though she knew nothing of this woman, the deep familiarity pounding in her chest was hint enough of her true identity. 

Her suspicions were confirmed the moment she opened her mouth to reply. 

“I am Lacrima. The ninth Divine Doll created by Sadida to produce a Dofus.” She declared, spreading her arms wide. 

Her pride in her position was evident in the slight curve of her blackened lips as she smirked haughtily, her eyes shining with a self-satisfaction that wasn’t there mere moments before. 

As soon as it appeared, though, it was gone. The smug sneer was replaced by a tremulous sad smile that didn’t quite reach her now subdued eyes. 

“I was really looking forward to meeting my little sister.”

Ogrine heart pounding so violently she had to bring a hand to her chest to mitigate the pain, all Amalia could do was breathe out a weak, “What?”

Hands clutched tightly around the hem of her top, the young doll could only avert her gaze, the revelation proving itself too much for her to process at once. Her light green brows were pinched together, her jaw slack in shock as she tried to make sense of it all. She had the feeling all she really managed to do was gape like a fish. 

“W-what are you doing here?” She wondered aloud, momentarily forgetting she wasn’t exactly alone with her thoughts. Mustering up enough courage, she finally locked eyes with her newfound sister, brown eyes pleading and scared. “How come you weren’t there in Sadida’s dimension when I was born? Father and all our sisters were there! How is it possible that I never even heard about you?!”

Amalia didn’t miss the way a flash of something dark passed through Lacrima’s gaunt features at the mention of her absence and their family. But she didn’t have time to process what it could all mean before Efrim found his own voice and dared to voice the very thoughts she was trying so hard to bury deep within her own psyche. 

“She’s one of them!” He accused irately, one claw pointing straight at her while the rest of his lithe form coiled itself forward in a defensive stance. “She is clearly a member of this bunch of lunatics holding us prisoner!”

With a gasp, the green-haired doll turned to the periwinkle dragon, a part of herself wishing beyond hope there was no truth in his words. But when she turned back to her older sister in a feeble attempt to prevent her worst fears from becoming reality, her heart sank. 

Because Lacrima didn’t say anything to refute Efrim’s claims.

She just smirked calmly. 

Black-coloured lips sentencing her guests to their doom with nothing but a lazy curve. 

“No…” It took Amalia a little bit to realise the little word had come out of her own mouth, but once she did, there was no coming back. “No, no, no, no! Tell me it isn’t true!”

“Amalia, wait!” 

Efrim tried to reach out to her when she began to stomp her way to Lacrima, but she just shoved him off without breaking stride. Her only focus was the one who’d dare betray her own flesh and blood. 

“Tell me it isn’t true!” She demanded the closer she got to Lacrima, whose own glare was icy yet impassive as she watched her little sister advance. “T-this… This brotherhood is made up of the demigods who feel abandoned and forgotten by their own divine parents! People who are willing to do anything to get revenge on them, no matter the cost. Is it not?!”

“That is correct.”

“But Sadida, our father, is a loving and gentle and benevolent god who created his beloved daughters to be exceptional. He loves us and wants the world to feel that love. How could you turn your back on him just like that?!”

It was then that Lacrima’s carefully crafted mask cracked.

What Amalia saw underneath made her blood run cold. 

Black lips were pulled back tight into a ferocious snarl, previously dull violet eyes coming back to life with a fire strong enough to scorch all the forests on the face of the planet. Bony fingers held the fabric of her dress at her sides in a death grip, so much so it was a miracle she didn’t pierce straight through. 

Flinching, Amalia took a step back, hands up in a weak defensive stance. She could only watch, frightened, as Lacrima’s whole being began to shake with poorly concealed rage. 

“Is that what you think happened?” Lacrima questioned through gritted teeth, barely holding herself back from launching at her. Then, she scoffed, a loud, disdainful sound. “But of course you do. They poisoned your mind like they did with me! Blaming everything on me when I am the victim!”

While Amalia remained paralysed, her mind drawing a blank in the face of her sister’s cryptic words and erratic behavior, Efrim slid up to her and gently grabbed her by the shoulders to bring her closer to himself and away from the unstable woman. For once, the doll was too preoccupied to care about his uncharacteristic kindness. 

The both of them flinched when the disgraced doll suddenly bent over, clutching at either side of her head and running her branch-like fingers through her pale pink hair, effectively tussling her artificially impeccable hairdo. When she faced them, a torrent of tears was streaming down her wrinkled face. 

“No, Amalia. I did not turn our back on Sadida. Our father turned his back on me!”

Efrim and Amalia shared a glance, both of them unsure of what to do. On the one hand, Lacrima was clearly unstable and unpredictable, but on the other hand…

She was Amalia’s older sister. She couldn’t just stand idly by while she suffered. 

Ignoring the dragon frantically shaking his head ‘no’, the emerald-haired girl hesitantly reached a hand out towards the wailing woman, hoping to offer some comfort despite her own world being turned upside down. But just as she was about to touch her sobbing form, Lacrima straightened herself once again, the fright causing Amalia to retract her arm and hold it close to her chest. 

She distantly registered her back making contact with Efrim’s scaly chest. 

Even though the tears still fell, Lacrima’s expression was now resolute, rather than despairing. 

As though her mental breakdown was nothing more than a mere inconvenience, like getting spinach stuck in your teeth. 

Making her way deeper into the little makeshift jungle, her eyes narrowed in on her huddled guests, scoffing at the way they tried to keep their guards up even though it was futile. They were in her garden. She held all the power. 

It wouldn’t be until she reached the first statue, the one Amalia had been examining earlier, gently caressing its porous surface, that she’d speak up again. 

“Long ago, I was just like you. Young, pretty, full of life… How could I not? I was a Divine Doll created by Sadida himself!” She flashed her little sister a meaningful look, making sure to draw out every syllable. “As you very well said, I was born to be exceptional.

“And, for a while, I was! As Sadida’s ninth doll, I was the most beautiful one by far.” She chuckled to herself, her tone growing candid and just the tiniest bit mean-spirited, like they were just dabbling in some harmless gossip at a school yard. “I’m sorry, but have you seen our sisters? Half of them really are just living dolls, while the rest are barely humanoid. Poor Peparava is just a loaf of bread!”

That made Amalia frown. 

Was this really one of her sisters? Then, how could she badmouth the others like that? Amalia had only spent a short amount of time alongside them in Sadida’s dimension, and in spite of that she already knew they were absolutely beautiful creatures in and out. How was it possible that Lacrima didn’t think the same, fixating instead on purely superficial matters?

“With a sister like her, who needs enemies?” She heard Efrim mutter, and for once she found herself agreeing with him. 

But if Lacrima heard the dragon’s comment or noticed her sister’s disapproval, she didn’t show. Or didn’t care. She just continued padding through her garden, bony fingers reaching out to caress each and every statue she found in her path in a twisted display of affection.

Her fond smile fell as an unpleasant memory resurfaced. “But then she was born and I was swiftly forgotten.”

Amalia was almost too afraid to ask, “Who?”

“Who could it be? Dathura, of course!” She turned abruptly, the hand on the wooden Lanceforge’s shoulder gripping it tight enough to leave indents on the material. “She was everyone’s little darling. Always so kind, so helpful, so precious! Before I knew it, I had been replaced as Father’s favourite.”

“Father does not play favourites!” Amalia immediately protested, genuinely offended. 

She still remembered the conversation she held with Kerubim and Atcham back in Bonta all those months ago. Perhaps other gods like Ecaflip did prefer one child over the other. But not Sadida. He always made sure to let his daughters know they were all extraordinary; he created them like that in the first place! 

Why go through all that trouble if he was just gonna ignore the rest in favour of one of them in the first place?

But Lacrima just scoffed. “Easy for you to say. I bet you’re his new darling, being the youngest and his ‘masterpiece’ and all that.” Then, she hummed, her expression turning contemplative. “Then again, seeing what he has in store for you, maybe it’s a good thing I’m not his favourite anymore…”

“What’s that supposed—?”

But before Amalia could get another word in, Lacrima turned her back on them once more, her attention back to her retelling and the plants that instinctively reacted to her presence. At least she wasn’t lying about her influence over this place. Amalia bit the inside of her cheek. She didn’t know this woman at all, and yet she already had the distinct feeling she loved hearing herself talk more than anything. 

“Even then, I tried to act according to my station. To remain patient and focused as we prepared for our sacred mission: to seduce Osamodas’ Primordial Dragons so they’d produce the Dofus needed to bring peace and balance to this world!

“I was sure I would succeed in my task. My family may have been blind as a Skrot to think Dathura was prettier, but surely a dragon, a creature known to be attracted to purity, would see the truth…” 

She clenched her fists, her expression morphing into a resentful glower once again. 

“However, that tasteless, overgrown lizard completely failed to fall for my charms! No matter how hard I tried to get his attention, he kept rejecting me. Me! Somehow, obsolete models like Maminala, Bellodana, Razeriana, Ladysally, and Ibago succeeded in their task! How is it possible that those rags managed to succeed where I failed?!”

Amalia had a pretty good idea why and, judging from the side glance she shot Efrim’s way, he was probably thinking along the same lines. Fortunately, both of them were smart enough to keep their mouths shut. 

“And of course, of course, Dathura had to fulfill our mission, too…” She growled, her frail body shaking in barely concealed rage once again. 

This time, sinking her claws into the statute wasn’t enough. 

Before the young dragon and Divine Doll had time to react, Lacrima took hold of the Ecaflip woman’s head and, letting out a furious scream, ripped it off in an impressive and completely unexpected demonstration of strength. 

With an annoyed groan, she tossed the head aside. Unfortunately, it landed straight into Amalia’s hands. The poor girl could only blink in shock for a few seconds before throwing the disturbing thing away with a panicked cry. Even Efrim seemed ruffled by the experience, letting out a violent shudder. 

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” Lacrima huffed with a disinterested wave of her hand. “She was already dead.”

“Wait, what?”

Amalia and Efrim tentatively looked around, genuinely afraid of what they could find. Now when they observed each and every statue, they saw them all underneath a new light. 

Were these actually people back in the day? That would certainly explain their horrified and begging expressions and postures. But, how did they end up in Lacrima’s garden in the first place? And, most importantly, how did they end up becoming decorative pieces?

“Much like that fool, I thought I still stood a chance.” 

Lacrima’s pained musings broke her guests out of their thoughts. Noticing she no longer was where they left her, they swiftly looked around. Jerking their necks up, they located her high above, mindlessly sauntering in the air as the fern on the walls uncurled, acting as stepping stones for her to walk on. 

When she glanced down at them, she brushed aside the polished bangs covering half her face, letting them see the depths of her sadness. 

“Sadida promised the outcome did not matter. We were all his daughters, so whether we succeeded or not, we’d always be welcomed back with open arms. For a while, it seemed to be true.”

“See?! I told you Father doesn’t play favourites!” Amalia insisted, feeling vindicated. “If he did, you and the rest of our sisters who failed your task would have been cast aside, or punished. But no, Father loved you all, equally.”

A chill ran down her spine when Lacrima sneered down at her, true disdain glinting in her eyes. “I said, it seemed to be true, for a while.” She repeated slowly, making sure to enunciate every syllable as though she was talking to a small, foolish child. “Father may not have let my failure sully me in his eyes, but that is hardly surprising. Why, when he chose me as the one doll who would bear his children! I was convinced I had finally become the Api of his eye at long last. I had finally surpassed Dathura!”

Amalia’s expression fell, being replaced by one of utter shock and disgust. By her side, she could practically hear Efrim’s scandalised grimace. She bit her lip when she sensed his judgemental glare on her.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Lacrima ignored her. 

“But you don’t know who your true friends are until you’re faced with adversity. When everything is fine and dandy, everyone is wonderful! It’s not until they can sink or swim that they’ll show their true colours…”

Even if her sister and her scaly friend could certainly not see it from where they stood, Lacrima’s face had morphed into its stormiest expression yet. Her bangs fell back over her face, as if that was enough to hide her shame. Her black-tinted lips were pursed into a line as tight as the glare she wore. Dull, lifeless purple eyes welled up with tears as they were forced to relive those horrifying days…

This time, when Lacrima opened her mouth to speak, her voice sounded detached and distant. 

Almost as if she was telling somebody else’s story rather than her own. 

At first, even after failing to produce a Dofus to bring balance to the world, everything was just as perfect as their Father promised them it would be. They spent their days frolicking around, communing with nature, and taking long, restful naps in Sadida’s arms. Even though Dathura was now even more beloved and celebrated by their family for managing to produce a Dofus (she wasn’t the only one, she would kindly remind them all), Lacrima was no longer as bothered by all the undeserved attention as she would have been before. 

Because she had their Father’s unconditional love and affection.

He had chosen her to one day bear his children, not Dathura. What higher honour could there possibly be?

As long as she had Sadida’s attention, she didn’t need anything else.

Then that happened and her whole world came crushing down. 

One night, while they were all sleeping, a drunken Iop stumbled upon Sadida’s dimension. Any mortal would have been so disoriented by such a high intake of alcohol that they would have tumbled down and lost consciousness right then and there. But not a god. And not just any god, but the Iop god. 

The only being in all the Krosmoz capable of outdrinking him was Pandawa herself. 

If Lacrima ever needed confirmation that fate was cruel and unforgiving, what happened that night was proof enough of it. Of all the things that could have happened, it had to be the thing that ended up breaking her. 

Staggering deeper into his fellow god’s domains, Iop took notice of a slumbering Lacrima. To her immense misfortune, it was lust at first sight. 

Next thing she knew, no matter how much she begged and cried until her throat was raw, her insides were split open and she was sullied forever. Forever broken beyond repair. 

At first she was foolish enough to think Sadida would side with her, console her, and fight for her honour against that monster, but he simply kept her hidden until what happened that night became impossible to ignore. He spent all that time working on a way to do damage control, and by that she meant getting rid of the forbidden fruit she bore as a result of her unholy union with Iop. 

She gave birth to Cornu Mollu—the Evil God. 

A monster so powerful and sinister, he alone threatened to put an end to the twelve gods’ reign for good. 

So, Sadida did what he had to do. He dismembered the child, making sure his remains would never be found again. 

Some time later, Iop was punished for his transgression against Sadida, vanished from Inglorium to roam the mortal world as one of them. Only to never be heard from again. 

But Lacrima knew his punishment was nothing compared to hers. And it just wasn’t fair. She was the wronged party. She was the victim. She was the one forced to bear a demonic child only to be parted from him before she ever got the chance to love him. 

“...So why did Sadida abandon me and never call for me ever again?” She cried, her voice shrill and tremulous. She bit down her lip, hard, but that did nothing to keep her pained whimpers at bay. “Why did he turn his back on me when I needed him the most!?”

The dam finally broke. Uncontrollable sobs escaping her throat, Lacrima brought her hands to her face in a vain attempt at preserving whatever dignity she had left. Shoulders shaking, her legs lost all strength, bringing her to her knees as she cried. 

Knees buckling, heart beating painfully against her chest, her mahogany complexion as white as birch, Amalia felt like breaking down crying too. The horrendous sensation she felt when she first met Sir Percedal came back at full force, only this time it was worse. 

For she knew exactly why she felt like that. 

All along, she had been overtaken by the phantom pains caused by her sister’s tragic fate. 

That was why she reacted so violently to Tristepin's presence despite having never met him before. He was an Iop, and it was his god who once ruined her sister’s life, forever dooming her and the rest of the Divine Dolls to perpetually be left reeling from the consequences of that night and their shattered bond. 

Amalia’s utter hatred of Iops had been engraved into her very core long before she was even born. 

“But, that still doesn’t make much sense..” She somehow found the strength to think amidst all the confusion and inner chaos. “I’ve met Iops before, and I never reacted quite as strongly to them as I did Sir Percedal. So why…?”

“You say we’re ‘exceptional’ because Father made us so.” Lacrima spat out, interrupting her train of thought. Venom dripped with her every word as inky, heartbroken tears kept streaming down her withered cheeks. “But the truth is we were made to serve men. Our existence will forever be tied to somebody else. We are worthless without the men we were created for: me with Sadida, and you with that King Yugo.”

That snapped Amalia out of her trance. For a second, the horror and confusion that had taken root deep inside her mind were overtaken by a much more powerful feeling. 

Fury. 

“Don’t you dare bring Yugo into this!” She roared, and judging by the way Lacrima’s eyes seemed to widen, even her older sister was taken aback by the ferocity she spoke with. “He is nothing like Iop. He would never hurt me.”

Amalia was so engrossed in her fierce defence of her love, she completely missed the indecipherable look that passed through Efrim’s cobalt eyes as he stared at her. 

Whatever surprise the forsaken doll might have felt was short-lived, however. Her expression settled back into one of impassive neutrality. “You say that, yet you haven’t denied that your existence is tied to his.”

Amalia’s glare deepened. “I am Sadida’s eleventh Divine Doll. My existence is far too great to be reduced to that.” She said stubbornly. 

“Please.” Lacrima scoffed, rolling her eyes. It seemed their roles had reversed. Lacrima, despite suffering a mental breakdown not even five minutes ago, was now the one giving her sister a derisive once over. “You literally exist because of him. Hadn’t his people terrorised the Twelvians, Father would have never thought of creating you.”

Efrim tried to protest such accusations, but was promptly ignored by both women.

It was said that it was Eniripsa’s followers who had a way with words, while Sram’s knew how to twist a knife. And yet, what Lacrima said next felt like a serrated dagger piercing straight through her heart. 

“You boast your status as a Divine Doll, but the ugly truth is that all your worth resides in your position as the lover of an outsider, not your own.”

Eyes welling up with tears, the words escaped Amalia before she could stop them. 

“But we’re not even lovers…”

Her sister’s glare turned ice cold. 

“That just means you failed your task.” She sneered then, something vile and mocking. “Do you really think Father will take you back now?”

For the first time since she met her fallen sister, Amalia found herself incapable of uttering a single word of defence. She didn’t even know who she was supposed to defend anymore.

Their father? 

The Eliatropes? 

Yugo? 

Herself?

Eyes wide and frantic, fists clenching and unclenching around the fabric of her pants, all the young doll could do was stare back into Lacrima’s pitying gaze. It was like watching a natural disaster—absolutely horrible, but you couldn’t look away. 

The loud thumping in her ears drowning out all else, the young Sadida Doll finally allowed herself to voice the questions she’d been avoiding for so long. Distorted yet familiar voices echoing in her ears as they warned her against the gods’ true selfish nature. Warnings she actively chose to ignore because they didn’t fit into her neat little fantasy where everything was straightforward and good-natured and easy.

The truth of the matter was, she didn’t even know what to think anymore. 

A part of herself was still reluctant to believe Lacrima’s tale. Her own positive and loving experiences clashed so thoroughly with the older doll’s nightmarish retelling. But at the same time, what kind of ungrateful monster would run away from a loving home to never return unless they had truly been through Shukrute?

And Lacrima’s pain… Her anguish, her scars… 

They all felt so real. Her tears and cries had been real. As real as the feeling of getting her own heart ripped out that enveloped Amalia as she watched her sister lose herself into her madness. There was no way that could have all been some elaborate hoax. Which meant…

She swallowed thickly.

Which meant Sadida did indeed leave one of his children all alone when she needed him most simply because she could no longer fulfill her intended purpose. 

Her grip on her pants tightened as a chilling realisation dawned on her mind. 

If her father did not hesitate to abandon Lacrima over a situation where she was clearly the victim, then what did the Leafy God have in store for Amalia?

Would her father abandon her once she completed her mission of uniting Twelvians and Eliatropes? Or would he cast her aside if she gave up on her divine task and returned now?

Was there anyone in the Krosmoz who truly cared about her?

An image of Yugo, smiling warmly down at her, immediately flashed through her mind. Other times, she would have latched onto it like her life depended on it, but now the mere thought of him was painful. Like reaching out a hand to touch a burning flame. 

As much as Amalia longed for Yugo, Lacrima’s words kept echoing in her ears, her stomach tying itself up into knots the more she tried to make sense of it all. It was as though she had a splinter lodged into her chest cavity, painfully scraping against her heart with each beat whenever she thought of the man she loved.

But the thing was…

Could she even call it love?

As much as she wanted to deny it, Lacrima was right. 

She had been created for him. 

Her entire existence depended on her ability to sway a king away from potentially endangering the Twelvians in favour of his own nation. 

If the Eliatropes had never arrived at the World of Twelve, she never would have existed in the first place!

She was literally worthless without him, or Sadida! 

For all the power her position as a Sadida demigoddess granted her, she was still nothing. Just the product of some desperate scheme. 

Amalia let go of her pants, her posture loose but frozen all the same as she stared ahead, a haunting look in her dull brown eyes. 

A single tear fell down her cheek as the final question dared materialise in her mind after months of pushing it back down. 

1. Different behaviors!

Many dragons have very different personalities and emotions compared to one another. Some are more aggressive and violent while some are more gentle and calmer. But some species act similar depending on either the color or the type of dragon!

(Black dragons)

Black dragons are known to be the most chaotic type of dragon, they are the type to cause the most havoc and trouble which makes them tricksters and pranksters. And also incredibly hard to manage and raise.

Black dragons are also known to be easily jealous (said by qilby in season 2 episode 9) and can be very possessive over people they care about, which can come off as a bit of a problem because black dragons are very territorial as well.

Black dragons (depending on how they where raised) can either be very calm and mature in adult hood or very aggressive and violent.

Just like many dragons, black dragons also pick favorites. This means that if your a black dragons favorite then your their FAVORITE. For example Grougalorasalar (I hate his name omfg..) absolutely adores Julith so much that he would REVIVE her from the dead.

Black dragons are very unpredictable and are almost impossible to deal with, which is a huge problem due to them being more likely to bring chaos and destruction.

Black dragons (like Grougalorasalar) can be incredibly manipulative and dangerous, they will use their opponents emotions against them to gain an upper hand in a situation (this does not apply to all black dragons.)

Many black dragons do not really interact with society or with people in general, black dragons are very closed off and anti-social and prefer to be alone.

Black dragons are very mysterious in a way, they are very difficult to study in terms of behavior and personality, but a few things like jealous/possessive behavior, territorial instincts, aggressive behavior, and withdrawn personalities are very common.

(Blue Dragons)

There isn’t much on blue dragons but here is some info I was able to find and connect!

Blue dragons are often very wise dragons and a lot more calmer and less aggressive.

Blue dragons are more mature in a way, they aren’t as violent as some other types of dragons and are actually calm and collected.

Blue dragons are not very aggressive and are actually very easy to communicate with, Aguabrial and phaeris are the 2 blue dragons that don’t really want to fight but have to mostly due to either protecting their territory or to protect someone they are forced to serve.

Blue dragons like most dragons aren’t very social but do seem to communicate with the world of twelve from time to time (phaeris is a good example)

Blue dragons have more wisdom than most and are actually better at handling situations that require communication and understanding. (Which would make them great lawyers tbh..)

Although very little is known about blue dragons the most common things they show are good communication, higher intelligence, calm behavior and non-aggressive behaviors

Blue dragons when young are probably very easy to raise (then again no baby dragon is easy to raise..)

(Red Dragons)

Red dragons are a lot more aggressive than normal dragons and can be very dangerous if provoked.

They have a more explosive behavior and tend to be more destructive and violent.

They can also be impatient and sometimes even rude but not all red dragons are that way.

There isn’t a lot about red dragons (sobs) but they tend to just be more easily agitated or annoyed then most dragons.

Then again not all red dragons are violent by nature they just have a short-temper and tend to be more angry but they aren’t always angry.

Many red dragons aren’t violent in general for example Shinonome isn’t aggressive but rather soft spoken and very friendly (although we have no idea because SHE HAS NO SCREEN TIME.)

(Green dragons)

There is.. literally NOTHING on green dragons I am not kidding. I can’t find shit about these guys. The only green dragon I could find was Aerafal.