The rain slowed to a sullen mist as ProlixalParagon reached the ridge overlooking the shattered coast.

  From this vantage, the full shape of the land unfurled like a forgotten memory: sharp stone crags, tidal pools that glowed faintly under their own bioluminescent will, and distant monolithic spires sloping like spine-bones of a drowned god.

  He didn’t recognize it.

  But the lattice in his chest hummed — not in warning, but in recognition.

  The air smelled of salt, ozone… and something sharp. Spiced. Earthen.

  Prolix's ears twitched.

  He turned before the voice ever came.

  It slithered in like silk on wet stone.

  “Little fox. You do have a remarkable habit of surviving things that should end you.”

  There — between two slanted stones stitched with barnacle runes — stood a figure wrapped in silver-edged ebony robes, each fold whispering as if it contained the sea itself. Gills fluttered beneath elegant arms, scent glands blooming faintly in the mist with their signature bite of spice and steel.

  PillowHorror.

  A player.

  A storm in elegant form.

  Prolix stiffened for only a heartbeat before letting out a long, sharp breath.

  “You.”

  They had met once before — in the dripping halls of a Soohan ruin, where the world buckled under the weight of divine memory and entropy's hunger. PillowHorror had fought beside them, cut down Warden and Bound Herald alike, and then vanished into the myth-wrapped dark — trailing mischief, mystery, and murmured prayers to Dedisco.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Now they stood here again. Smirking.

  Amused.

  Alive.

  PillowHorror’s yellow eyes gleamed, catching what little light the storm left behind. “My, you have grown. A class evolution, if I’m not mistaken. Still sharp around the edges though. Are you bleeding?”

  Prolix adjusted his stance slightly, brushing mud from his vambrace. “The ship crashed.”

  “Yes. I saw. Very dramatic. Very... you.” Their smile flashed rows of perfect, too-sharp teeth. “Welcome.”

  Their voice layered like running water over gravel — smooth, yet echoing with something else.

  “To the Lunar Empire.”

  Prolix blinked. “This isn’t Baigai.”

  “Oh no.” A chuckle — low and lilting. “You’ve overshot by quite a margin. The currents here are fickle. As are the gods. And I may have nudged things. Just a little.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You redirected the storm?”

  “I offered... possibilities.” They extended a hand as if tasting the air. “And Dedisco, in his bound wisdom, reshuffled the board. Nothing you weren't already courting, little fox.”

  Behind them, Kaelthari emerged from the incline path, her bardiche at the ready, posture tense — but the moment her eyes landed on PillowHorror, she froze.

  Not out of fear. Out of memory.

  “You,” she rumbled.

  PillowHorror offered her a short bow, tail flicking behind them with idle grace. “Hello again, horned warden. Still collecting charms, I see.”

  “We thought you were halfway across the continent.”

  “Oh, but I am. And here.” They grinned. “Depends which thread of me you're tangled in.”

  Prolix stepped closer, mud clinging to his boots. “Why are you here?”

  PillowHorror’s tone turned... almost serious.

  “I am here,” they said, “because the Pale Tide stirs. The Eclipsed One watches. And this shoreline? This empire of hush and hollow moonlight? It was never meant to be silent forever.”

  They turned, robes rippling behind them like a shadow tide. “And you, ProlixalParagon — you who build in ruin and wield the void not to destroy, but to shield — you are a note in the refrain.”

  “Was that meant to be comforting?”

  “No. Merely true.”

  They stopped near a shallow tide pool filled with silver-limned fish and drifting petals that had no plant.

  “I built something here once,” PillowHorror murmured. “An empire meant to remember. But memory is a cruel god, and time a poor architect. Still…” Their grin returned. “The bones of the palace remain. And now you’ve brought your Troupe.”

  Prolix frowned. “You knew we’d be here?”

  “I hoped,” they said. “I left the channel open. You crashed through it beautifully.”

  A long silence passed. The mist thickened.

  Then PillowHorror turned.

  “Come. Your people are weary. My kin… will tolerate their presence. For now.”

  “And what do you want?” Prolix asked.

  They didn’t answer immediately.

  Only smiled wider.

  “Change.”