After defeating the massive bear, the local wildlife doesn’t want to bother with the skilled group of adventurers. They reach the farming village just before dawn, wisps of sunlight flickering over the edge of the horizon. The village sits between two gentle hills, ringed by farmland that looks well-tended and recently worked. Smoke rises from chimneys, and Wyn can already see people moving between buildings as they go about their morning routines.

  The normalcy of the village leaves her unsettled.

  After everything they have seen, after the destruction at Lethisburg and the silence in the mountains, she had expected something else. Fear, perhaps, or devastation. At least some sign that they were preparing for the impending doom of goblin hordes. Instead, the village looks perfectly normal.

  A low wooden palisade marks the edge of town, more a boundary than a proper defense. A single guard stands at the open gate. He leans lazily against the wood, his helmet loose on his head and his spear resting against his shoulder. Wyn swears he can hear a faint snore echoing inside the metal helmet. Once they approach, he snorts himself awake and straightens slightly when he notices Neil’s armor.

  “Morning,” he says. “Passing through?”

  “Yes,” Neil replies. “Looking to sell a bear pelt and restock. We will not be staying long.”

  The guard perks up. “You lot killed that great beast in the woods?”

  Mirana nods. “Won’t be bothering you anymore.”

  The guard gives a joyful thumbs-up and steps to the side, gesturing for them to enter the town. “Welcome to Bramridge. And thank you for taking care of that beast. It killed a few hunters a few months ago, and no adventurers have dared to pass through since. Well, none that were any help.”

  Inside the wooden palisade, life continues at a steady pace. Farmers haul crates of produce toward the square. A blacksmith works at his anvil near the center of town, the rhythmic sound of metal on metal echoing through the muddy streets.

  Faint indications pointed to the village not being entirely untouched by the recent strife. A fence mended with mismatched boards; a barn wall darkened by old scorch marks. Several windows boarded up with rough planks, covering shattered glass that hasn’t bothered to be repaired. The damage is real, but it is not fresh, and it is not enough to disrupt daily life.

  Mirana notices as well. “They were hit at some point,” she says quietly. “But not badly, and not recently.”

  “You’d think they’d be more wary of the goblins. It doesn’t make any sense,” Wyn replies.

  Neil scans the street ahead of them. “This town has nothing of value save for food. Goblins are likely to raid some fields as they pass by. If they come this far west, they won’t cause too much trouble. Besides, most people in these sorts of towns figure the problem will be solved long before it becomes a problem for them.”

  They make their way toward the market square, where several merchants have already set up their stalls beneath canvas awnings. Wyn’s attention is drawn to a tanner’s stall near the edge of the square, where thick hides are draped across wooden racks.

  “There,” Neil says, pointing at the tanner. “That is our best bet.”

  Neil produces the bear hide and spreads it across the stall, the heavy fur catching the light. The tanner, a broad man with rough hands, examines it closely. “It’s about time someone killed this thing,” he says. “Not an easy one to kill either.”

  “Nor cheap,” Neil replies.

  The tanner snorts. “I’m not so sure about that, lad.”

  They haggle for several minutes. Neil pushes hard; Mirana occasionally interjects with observations about the condition of the hide, and Wyn listens with only half her attention. Her focus drifts as she watches the people moving through the square, noting how few of them look worried.

  Bits of conversation drift past her.

  “Prices went up last week.”

  “Lost some livestock, but that happens.”

  “The patrol should be through again soon.”

  Nothing about goblins. Nothing about monsters, or Watchers, or the world unraveling.

  The deal is eventually struck. The tanner hands over a modest sum of coin, fair but far from generous. Neil stows it away without complaint.

  “Luck’s with you,” the tanner says. “Market is better today than it was yesterday.”

  Wyn looks up sharply. “Why is that?”

  The tanner shrugs. “Fewer traders passing through lately. Spreading some muck about goblin attacks. Just means less competition for goods, I’d say. Had someone come through earlier buying information, though. Weird feller he was.”

  Mirana’s posture stiffens. “Information? And weird how? What was he after?”

  “Trade routes, rumors, who has seen what. That sort of thing,” the tanner says. “Strange fellow. Smiled too much. And when I was talking to him, I felt like he was just rambling in circles.”

  Wyn feels her jaw tighten.

  Neil thanks the tanner and guides them away from the stall before she can press further. They move out of the square, the sounds of commerce fading as they pass between the buildings.

  “He is here,” Wyn says quietly.

  “Likely,” Mirana replies. “Or he was. Or he wants us to think he is.”

  “God, he’s annoying,” Wyn mutters.

  “We still need him. Let’s take a day for calmer minds to prevail, then we’ll track him down tomorrow,” Neil says.

  “Agreed,” Wyn says. “I’d rather not deal with that ass today.”

  They do not make it far from the market square before Wyn slows and comes to a stop. She glances toward a narrow side alley between two buildings, half hidden by stacked grain bushels and a leaning fence.

  “Give me a minute,” she says.

  Neil stops immediately. “No.”

  Wyn sighs and turns to face him. “Neil.”

  “You are not bringing that thing back,” he says. “We just got rid of him.”

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “He is not a thing,” Wyn replies. “And he is useful.”

  “He is a spy,” Neil says. “Or at the very least, a liability.”

  Mirana folds her arms and looks between the two of them. “If it helps, I don’t care either way. But you too getting all pouty about it will just draw attention to ourselves. And given the whole ‘there’s a murderous, all-powerful, evil watcher trying to hunt and kill us’ that’s probably not a good idea right now.”

  Wyn gestures toward the alley. “That is why I won’t summon him here in the middle of the street. Look, I get it. I do. But Psai has access to system data that we do not. Our interfaces are broken, reality is acting strange, and we are flying blind. He is a useful tool, whether you like it or not.”

  Neil opens his mouth to argue again, then closes it. He exhales slowly. “You are trusting him too much.”

  “Maybe,” Wyn says. “But I would rather trust him than guess.”

  Mirana smirks. “Besides, he is kind of cute. In an irritating little brother sort of way.”

  Neil gives her a look. “You are not helping.”

  Wyn steps into the alley before he can say anything else. She hears Neil grumbling, but he doesn’t argue any further. Wyn takes a breath, focuses, and activates the summoning ability.

  With a soft chime, Psai appears in front of her, hovering at eye level.

  “Wyn!” he says brightly. “Oh, this is wonderful. I was worried I had done something wrong.”

  She cannot help it. A small smile tugs at her lips. “Sorry about dismissing you. It’s good to have you back.”

  “Yes,” Psai says, his expression dimming slightly. “That part was unpleasant. I understand the reasoning, but I do not enjoy being dismissed. It creates a feedback loop of uncertainty that I am not well equipped to process.”

  “I am sorry,” Wyn says, and she means it.

  Psai brightens. “It is acceptable. I am here now, and that is what matters. I have missed several hours of observational data. May I ask what I missed?”

  “Not much,” Wyn replies. “A village. Selling a bear pelt. Arguing with each other and being generally confused about everything.”

  “Oh,” Psai says cheerfully. “That tracks.”

  Wyn raises an eyebrow. “It does?”

  “Yes,” Psai says. “The system has been exhibiting instability since the Watcher interfered. Small inconsistencies are to be expected. Missing data, misaligned probabilities, contradictory outcomes. Very exciting, really.”

  She snorts despite herself. “You are enjoying this far too much.”

  “I enjoy being helpful,” Psai says. “Which brings me to an important point. I would like to register a mild complaint.”

  Wyn crosses her arms. “Go on.”

  “I am required to support your actions at all times,” Psai says. “This includes decisions that place me at risk, inconvenience me, or temporarily remove me from existence. However, removing me temporarily from existence does not allow me to continue supporting you!”

  Wyn chuckles. “You are saying you did not like being dismissed.”

  “Correct,” Psai says. “Yet, I’d repeat the action upon your request. I only ask that you do it sparingly to ensure that I am providing you the best possible assistance the Progenitis Corporation can provide!”

  Wyn winces. The mention of Progenitis, a company that she once revered but now fears, leaves Wyn uneasy. She quickly recovers from the momentary discomfort and gives Psai her thanks.

  Psai tilts slightly in the air. “Of course. Oh. Another thing. Your interface.”

  “What about it?”

  “It is malfunctioning,” Psai says. “However, this is not permanent. I believe I can resolve the issue with time and access. I will need to observe additional anomalies and possibly recalibrate several subsystems.”

  Wyn blinks. “You can fix it?”

  “Yes,” Psai says proudly. “Or at least make it less broken. I cannot promise perfection.”

  “That is more than enough. Thank you!”

  Psai beams. “Excellent. I am very glad to be useful again.”

  A little while later, after grabbing some basic supplies like sleeping bags and travel rations, the party decides it’s time to find somewhere to rest for the night.

  They turn onto a narrow lane behind the market, and for a heartbeat it looks ordinary. Mud underfoot, wooden walls close on both sides, and a stray cat perched on a barrel, watching them with bored suspicion. Then something changes.

  Wyn feels it first, the way she felt the Watcher, not as a presence exactly, but as a shift in the fabric of reality. The air ahead of them hesitates. Sound dulls, then returns. Time stutters, each moment drifting farther from the next until everything snaps back into place.

  Then Blintsy steps down from nothing.

  His foot meets the air, pauses as if finding purchase, then he steps forward once more. He descends an invisible staircase with leisurely confidence, one hand lightly skimming an unseen railing. By the time his feet touch the ground, he has already adjusted his cuffs, straightened his collar, and arranged his face into the bright, unyielding smile that Wyn has learned to hate.

  He looks impossibly refined for Bramridge. His purple jacket cut as if it belongs in a palace. His pearly white gloves are pristine, hair neat, with boots unmarked by mud. The most unsettling part is the ease he carries himself. As though nothing at all is wrong in Eden, despite having borne witness to the destruction of Lethisburg less than a day ago.

  “Oh, good,” he says. “There you are. I was starting to worry you’d gotten lost. I was just about to leave this dreadful town. Bramridge is charming in the way that wet bread is charming. I do not have the temperament for prolonged exposure to farmers. They’re rather proud of dirt.”

  Wyn freezes in place. The sight of Blintsy makes her chest tighten, a familiar sick heat rising into her throat. In her mind’s eye, she sees Lothran again, the unnatural, gifted power of Blintsy coursing through his veins; fear mixing with determination and pride as he wields more power than he ever should have possessed.

  Then he left. Dooming Lothran to die and vanishing to avoid facing consequences himself. Wyn has not stopped replaying it since. Blintsy stands there in the middle of a muddy lane, smiling as if all is perfectly swell.

  She hates him for it.

  Blintsy’s gaze flicks to Psai just as Wyn is about to speak. “And you brought the orb back. Hello, darling. Delighted to see you so soon after this one abandoned you so carelessly.”

  “I was dismissed,” Psai says stiffly. “It was an undesirable interruption of my function. I was not abandoned.”

  Blintsy’s expression turns sympathetic in the most insulting way. “Heartbreaking. I’ll send condolences.”

  “I do not require condolences.”

  “Adorable,” Blintsy says mockingly. “Oh, and good job killing that bear. A real tough one, that.”

  Wyn snaps out of her stunned silence. “How are you doing this?”

  “Doing what?” Blintsy asks, sweet as honey.

  “Appearing out of nowhere,” Wyn says. “Knowing everything.”

  “Ah. That. It’s a talent. Like juggling, except with secrets and reality.”

  Wyn steps forward, anger tightening her voice. “We kill a bear. You know. We dismissed Psai for five minutes. You know. You weren’t with us. How the hell do you just magically know things?!”

  “You’re becoming easy to predict,” Blintsy says, sighing with annoyance. “Neil fights anything large and rude. Mirana pretends she won’t help and then does so anyway. You pretend to hate me, and then you follow every hint to find me.”

  “Why are you here?” Wyn demands.

  Blintsy’s eyes sparkle. “Direct and efficient.”

  “Stop,” Wyn snaps, “and answer my question. What do you want with us?”

  “I am answering,” he says, still smiling. “You just want the sort of answer that fixes all your problems, and I don’t do charity.”

  Wyn’s hands clench, her rage boiling over and shifting the conversation. “You gave Lothran too much. He would be here if you hadn’t killed him.”

  Blintsy’s smile does not fade, but his attention sharpens, as if she has finally said something interesting enough to be worth his time. “Mm. So that’s the story you’ve settled on.”

  “It’s the truth.”.

  “It’s a version,” Blintsy replies. His tone stays light, almost playful, which makes it worse. “You want someone to blame, and I am convenient. I was nearby, trying to help you. But things didn’t end how you expected.”

  “Did you know he would die?”

  Blintsy holds her gaze. “Yes, and no.”

  Wyn’s laugh is sharp and ugly. “Of course.”

  Blintsy lifts a finger. “If it helps, you’re doing grief correctly. Anger at first. Then bargaining. Then something messier.”

  Neil cuts in, voice hard. “Enough of this. Either you’re here to help us, or you’re just being difficult. So say what you’re going to say or get out of our way.”

  Blintsy turns his head toward Neil. “Oh, helmet man. Still trying to solve cosmic problems with brute force, are we?”

  Neil takes a step, hand reaching towards his mace. “I can solve you.”

  “Violence would be inconvenient,” Blintsy says. “Not dangerous, mind you. Inconvenient. You would swing, you would feel righteous for half a heartbeat, and then you’d realize you spent effort on a tantrum while the real problem keeps walking.”

  Psai floats forward, earnest and anxious. “Conflict with the entity known as Blintsy is not advisable.”

  Blintsy points at him without looking away from Neil. “See. Even the orb thinks you’re being dramatic.”

  Blintsy’s smile turns brighter, like he cannot resist making the moment worse. “Honestly, you all look rather tense. Have you tried sitting down?”

  Blintsy lowers himself as if into a chair that does not exist. He settles at waist height, legs crossing neatly, elbow propped on an invisible armrest.

  “Not while we still have business to attend to.”

  Wyn feels the moment tipping. Mirana’s hand rises to her pendant, essentia gathering in a silent glow. Wyn feels her own power stir in reflex, a bitter readiness she does not want.

  "Why you—” Mirana starts.

  “Stop!” Wyn shouts, standing between them. “This is what he wants. He enjoys the chaos.”

  She turns back to face Blintsy. “What do you want, Blintsy?”

  Blintsy’s grin goes from clever to almost maniacal. “I’d like to make a deal.”