The meaning remained clear through the Soul Link. Not a word Etzel had translated—not exactly, but something deeper, a concept carried directly enough that language was unnecessary.
The Wispkin stood on DK’s shoulder, staring toward the distant convergence region. Her wings trembled.
Etzel watched her. A few minutes ago, she had been exhausted enough to fall asleep against DK’s armor; now she was rigid, alert, afraid.
Etzel stepped closer. “You know that feeling?”
The Wispkin answered in her own language—fast, soft. Etzel understood none of the sounds. The Soul Link carried fragments instead: Fear. Discomfort. Foreign. Familiar. Then—Not natural.
Etzel’s expression tightened. “You know what it is?”
The Wispkin hesitated. Then the bond carried a clean answer: No.
Etzel waited. “You’ve seen it before?”
Another hesitation: No.
“So you don’t know what’s there.”
No.
“You just know it shouldn’t feel like that.”
This time—Yes.
Etzel breathed out. Good. Sort of. The mystery had not suddenly been solved by a creature he had summoned five minutes ago; that would have been convenient enough to become suspicious.
DK looked toward the horizon. “Can she feel the dungeon?”
Etzel turned. “The Sector 14 one?”
“Yes.”
That was a much better question. Etzel looked at the Wispkin, pulled up the regional map, and pointed toward Sector 14: “Here.” Then toward the convergence zone: “And here.”
She obviously could not read the map, but the Soul Link carried enough intent to compare two places. The Wispkin focused.
For several seconds, nothing happened. Then Etzel felt something through the bond: Sector 14 (discomfort, weak, faint wrongness), and then her attention shifted toward the convergence region, where the response sharpened instantly (fear, pressure, wrongness, much stronger).
Etzel looked at DK. “She feels both.”
“The same?”
“No.” He watched the Wispkin. “The dungeon is… wrong.” He searched for the right word. “But the center is much worse.”
DK’s eyes narrowed. Etzel looked back toward the horizon. “So she isn’t reacting because it’s a dungeon.”
“Apparently not.”
“She’s reacting to whatever is happening to them.”
“Possibly.”
Etzel looked at him. “I was one sentence away from optimism.”
“You did not have enough evidence.”
“Maerin really has infected you.”
Etzel eventually answered her, very carefully:
Etzel: Yes. A summon can sense something.
Maerin replied almost immediately:
Maerin: DK?
Etzel glanced at the knight, then at the tiny Wispkin on his shoulder:
Etzel: Not DK.
Silence. Three dots appeared, disappeared, and then Sivenne entered the conversation:
Sivenne: YOU HAVE ANOTHER SUMMON?
Etzel closed his eyes:
Etzel: This conversation has deteriorated.
Tessa appeared next:
Tessa: Is it okay?
Etzel stopped. Of course that was Tessa’s first question. He looked at the Wispkin; she had lowered herself slightly against DK’s pauldron, still tense, but stable.
Etzel: Yes.
Maerin:
Maerin: Rank?
Sivenne:
Sivenne: What is it?
Tessa:
Tessa: Is it hurt?
Etzel stared at the three messages, then looked at DK. “Three people. Three completely different priorities.”
“Predictable.”
Etzel typed:
Etzel: F-Rank.
The response was immediate:
Sivenne: You chose an F-Rank summon at Level Ten?
Etzel stared:
Etzel: I dislike the judgment contained in this message.
Sivenne: I asked a question.
Etzel: Aggressively.
Maerin:
Maerin: Ability set?
Etzel paused. No. He was not giving that away. Not yet.
Etzel: Support.
Maerin:
Maerin: That is vague.
Etzel: Correct.
Sivenne:
Sivenne: You’re becoming annoying.
Etzel smiled:
Etzel: Becoming?
Tessa:
Tessa: You said it senses something. Is it scared?
Etzel looked at the Wispkin again. That question hit closer:
Etzel: Yes.
The conversation stopped being funny. Maerin replied first:
Maerin: Tell Renn exactly that.
Etzel did not. Not yet.
The language problem became impossible to ignore once they moved away from the anomaly. Etzel pointed at a tree: “Tree.”
The Wispkin said something. Etzel repeated the sound—badly. Her face tightened. “Tree.”
She repeated her word again. Etzel tried—worse.
DK watched. “You are damaging the language.”
“Learning involves mistakes.”
“You have made several.”
“Supportive.”
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They moved to a rock: “Rock.” Another Wispkin word. Etzel tried; she winced.
“That one was close.” The Soul Link delivered a very clear: No.
Etzel frowned. “I felt that.”
They tried water, ground, sky, Etzel, DK. That last one produced trouble. Etzel pointed at himself: “Etzel.” The Wispkin repeated something close enough, and he nodded: “Good.”
He pointed at DK: “DK.”
The Wispkin looked at the knight, then said something completely different. Etzel blinked. “No. DK.”
She repeated her own version. DK looked at Etzel: “I prefer hers.”
Etzel stared. “You don’t even know what it means.”
“Neither do you.”
“Unacceptable.”
Finally, Etzel pointed toward her: “Name?” He touched his chest: “Etzel.” Then her: “Name?”
Understanding crossed the Soul Link. The Wispkin straightened, touched her own chest, and spoke slowly: “Saeva.”
Etzel concentrated. “Sa… va.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Saeva.”
“I said that.”
The bond delivered: No.
DK said: “You did not.”
Etzel looked between them. “I am surrounded by hostility.” He tried again: “Saeva.”
A pause. The Wispkin—Saeva—gave the smallest nod. Etzel smiled. “There.”
DK said nothing. Etzel pointed at him: “That was correct.”
“Yes.”
“I require acknowledgment.”
“No.”
Saeva made a short sound, and the Soul Link carried amusement. Etzel looked at her. “You’re learning dangerous habits.”
He also learned something else: Saeva did not like being called a healer. Etzel discovered that by calling her one. “You’re a healer.”
Immediate irritation through the bond. Etzel paused. “You literally healed me.”
More irritation. Saeva shook her head.
Etzel frowned. “Not a healer?”
She nodded. DK looked toward him.
Etzel tried again. “Support?” Saeva hesitated—less rejection.
“Protector?” A little closer.
“Loot-enhancing forest accountant?” Confusion.
DK said: “Stop.”
“I’m narrowing the category.”
“You are not.”
Saeva said something sharp. Etzel caught only the emotional shape: she helped, she protected, she restored, but none of those alone defined what she believed herself to be.
Interesting. Etzel looked at the tiny figure. “Fine.” He raised both hands. “Not a healer.”
Saeva relaxed.
“Although you are objectively very healer-adjacent.”
Her eyes narrowed again. Etzel smiled. “Progress.”
They tested Sylvan Ward after returning to a secluded training area—carefully, a word that had come from DK repeatedly.
Etzel stood several meters away while Saeva hovered beside him. “Barrier.”
She understood the intent through the bond. A faint green light spread across Etzel’s body—not a dome, not armor, more like a transparent layer just above his skin. Leaves of pale light appeared briefly along the edges, then vanished.
The System confirmed it:
Etzel lifted his arm. “I don’t feel anything.”
DK held a wooden practice sword. “That is not evidence.”
“You sound like Maerin.”
DK struck Etzel’s forearm lightly. The barrier flashed; Etzel felt the impact, but less of it. He blinked. “Oh.”
Saeva watched intently. “Again.”
DK struck harder. The barrier brightened, and a thin crack of green light crossed it, but it still held.
Etzel grinned. “Again.”
DK looked at Saeva—her wings were already beating slightly harder—and then back at Etzel: “No.”
Etzel frowned. “We need to know the limit.”
“We know it is limited.”
“That is philosophically accurate and experimentally useless.”
DK struck once more, controlled, hard enough to matter. The barrier shattered in a brief spray of green light, and Etzel took the remaining force through his arm, stepping back: “Ow.”
Saeva dropped several centimeters in the air. Etzel noticed, and DK lowered the weapon: “Enough.”
Etzel rubbed his arm. “Five percent is more noticeable than it sounds.”
“Yes.” Especially when the incoming hit was one that might otherwise break something.
Etzel looked at Saeva. “Can you do two?” He pointed at himself, then DK.
Saeva frowned. The intent carried through the link: two targets. She hesitated, then tried. A barrier appeared around Etzel (thinner) and another around DK (even thinner). Saeva’s wings immediately slowed, and both barriers flickered.
Etzel raised a hand. “Stop.”
The light vanished, and Saeva dropped again, this time landing on DK’s shoulder without pretending it had been a choice.
Etzel looked at her. “So you can.”
The bond delivered: Yes.
“But it splits you.”
A pause, then: Yes.
At F-Rank, one useful barrier, or multiple weaker ones at much greater strain. Good. That was a real limitation; Etzel liked real limitations, as they tended to prevent death by overconfidence—sometimes.
He tried requesting another Verdant Mend for his shoulder. Saeva stared at him, then shook her head.
“Why?”
The Soul Link carried: Not enough.
“Not enough what?”
Saeva touched her chest: Fatigue. Reserve. Rest.
Etzel nodded. “So you have a cooldown.”
Blank look.
DK said: “Reserve.”
Etzel sighed. “Less fun word.”
Saeva settled more comfortably on DK’s shoulder. Etzel looked at her. “You are enjoying this arrangement too much.”
The bond carried: Safe.
Etzel slowly looked at DK. “She says you’re safe.”
DK nodded. “Good.”
Etzel waited. “That doesn’t bother you?”
“No.”
Interesting. DK did not even pretend annoyance. Etzel filed that away.
They went hunting later—not for Level progression, since Etzel knew better than to expect much from something significantly weaker now, but rather to test Saeva. Public reports gave them an easy target:
The creature was broad, heavy, and irritable. Etzel was Level Ten. This should not be difficult.
Should not.
The Ashhide Boar saw him, lowered its head, and charged.
Etzel sighed. “Predictable.”
Saeva launched from DK’s shoulder. Green light formed around Etzel:
The boar hit. Etzel angled the spear; the barrier flashed, absorbed part of the impact, and broke, but that fraction mattered. Etzel kept his footing, turned with the charge, redirected, and the boar stumbled past.
Etzel shortened his grip—one thrust behind the foreleg. The boar screamed, turned, and made a second charge. No barrier this time; Saeva’s reserve was still low. Good. Etzel handled it himself: basic spear work, distance, timing. No Witness, no False Line, no need.
The third thrust ended it:
Etzel lowered the spear. “That felt dramatically less terrifying than yesterday.”
DK said: “It was weaker than you.”
“Yes. I noticed.”
Saeva hovered over the corpse. The System changed:
[Summoned Unit Participation Registered.]
[Support Contribution Registered.]
Saeva blinked. Etzel felt surprise through the bond. Another message appeared:
[Sylvan Wispkin — Level Progression gained.]
Etzel smiled. “There.”
Saeva looked at him. “You get progression too.”
She did not understand every word, but the bond carried the idea of growth and improvement. Her surprise changed into something warmer: interest. Good. No Level increase, just progression. Appropriate.
Then Etzel’s own message appeared:
[Level Progression gained.]
The amount felt—tiny, almost insulting. He waited. Nothing else.
“Almost nothing.”
DK looked at the corpse. “It was weaker than you.”
“I know.”
“Then?”
“I am complaining recreationally.”
The real surprise came when Etzel began processing the corpse. Normal Ashhide materials were useful—hide, tusks, meat, occasionally reinforced bone. He was examining one tusk when the System changed:
┌────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ [SURVEY RECORD: MATERIAL IDENTIFIED]│
│ Ashhide Heartwood Tusk (Uncommon) │
└────────────────────────────────────────┘
Etzel stopped. That was not impossible, just better than expected. He looked at Saeva. She looked at the tusk, then at him.
A second line appeared:
[Verdant Fortune Active.]
Etzel stared. Not that Verdant Fortune caused this, not proof (probability did not work that way), but still—the effect had been active.
DK looked at the material. “Luck?”
Etzel continued staring at Saeva. “Statistically annoying.”
Saeva radiated unmistakable pride.
Etzel pointed. “You don’t even know if that was you.”
More pride. “Excellent. Confidence without evidence. You’ll fit in.”
DK looked at him. Etzel paused. “Do not say it.”
“You taught her.”
“That is speculation.”
Then he remembered the actual problem. Etzel held up the Uncommon tusk—potentially valuable, useful, possibly worth significantly more than standard material. And—
“I still can’t sell it.”
DK nodded. “Correct.”
Etzel looked at Saeva. “This ability is mocking me.”
She did not understand; the Soul Link carried only his frustration. Saeva looked amused.
“That’s worse.”
He packed the tusk with the rest. One day: registry, legal sale, money. Until then, his growing collection of increasingly valuable objects would continue serving as an elaborate storage problem.
Saeva returned to DK’s shoulder on the way home. Etzel offered his hand; she looked at it, then at DK, and went directly to DK.
Etzel stared. “I summoned you.”
Saeva settled into the pauldron. The bond carried: Safe.
Etzel pointed at DK. “She’s using you.”
DK answered immediately: “Good.”
Etzel stopped walking. That answer was different—not tolerance, approval. He looked at the tiny Wispkin tucked safely beside the knight’s neck, then at DK. Protector. Even before his memories. Even before his name. Some things apparently remained.
Etzel smiled slightly. He did not joke. This time.
That evening, Etzel finally gave Maerin a proper answer:
Etzel: My new summon senses the central signature as wrong.
He waited, then added:
Etzel: She does not know what it is.
Maerin replied after several minutes:
Maerin: Renn wants you to ask her something.
Etzel frowned:
Etzel: What?
The answer:
Maerin: Ask whether it feels dead.
Etzel stopped. That was—specific. Too specific.
He looked at Saeva. She was sitting on DK’s shoulder while DK examined a damaged strap on his shield. Etzel approached. “Saeva.”
She looked over. Etzel had to communicate the idea mostly through the Soul Link: Center. Signature. That feeling. Then—death. Dead.
Saeva’s expression changed. She looked toward the distant region, focused.
Etzel waited. The bond carried uncertainty, then: No.
Etzel breathed out. “Not dead.”
DK looked up.
Then Saeva reacted again, her wings twitching as another meaning arrived. Etzel’s relief stopped halfway: Not alive either.
Silence. Etzel stared at her.
DK rose. “Not dead.”
“No.”
“Not alive.”
“No.”
Etzel rubbed his face. “Those should cover most options.”
“Apparently not.”
“I hate this world.”
Saeva looked between them. Etzel knelt slightly so they were closer to eye level. “Then what?”
She did not have the words; that became obvious immediately. The Soul Link filled with fragments: Not growing. Not breathing. Not living. Not dead. Held. Bound. Waiting.
Etzel’s expression changed. He focused. Again.
The meanings came imperfectly as Saeva struggled, and then one concept became stronger than the others: Contained.
Etzel went still. “Contained?”
Saeva looked at him, her wings trembled once: Yes.
DK said nothing.
Etzel opened the regional map: nineteen dungeons, nineteen doors, one central signature, energy inward, energy outward. Something at the center that Saeva did not perceive as alive, or dead. Something contained.
Etzel stared at the map. “If the doors separate two sides…”
DK looked toward him.
Etzel’s eyes remained on the convergence region. “…which side is the cage?”
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