Zai's eyes narrowed, flickering with something volatile—rage, exhaustion, and a deep, festering uncertainty. His voice cracked as he spat out the words, low and trembling with suppressed emotion.
"You're saying… you're from the future? A future where I destroy the entire universe?"His tone was jagged, unstable, and laced with disbelief. He took a breath, shaky but steady enough to speak again."Do you think I'm stupid?"
Donavan exhaled, the weight of the moment heavy in his chest."I'm telling the truth," he said quietly, then turned his gaze to Zanaria."Your teacher can confirm this."
Zanaria didn't speak. She only gave a slow, deliberate nod.
Zai scoffed and shook his head."Then you're both idiots."His voice was quieter now, colder."I expected better from you, teacher. But I suppose that was my mistake."
He turned away from them, pacing slightly, the gears in his mind clearly turning."Time doesn't work like that. You can't just... jump backwards through it like it's a hallway. And you can't move into the future either, not really—not when it hasn't happened yet. The very idea is nonsense."He stopped and looked back at them, eyes burning with intensity."The only way your story makes any sense is if this world isn't your original one at all. A parallel timeline, maybe—a branching universe. A different version of events entirely."
Donavan blinked. Even Zanaria looked taken aback by the sudden shift in Zai's explanation.
"And in that case," Zai continued, "there's no guarantee that I would ever become this so-called 'Star Eater.' No certainty at all. Unless—"He paused. His expression darkened."—no. No, that would be insane. Suicidal. No one would be foolish enough to try that."
Zanaria raised a brow."And you know all this... how exactly? Since when are you the expert on time, Zai? You're no chronomancer, last I checked."
Zai met her gaze, eyes sharp."Because I'm not a fool. And I know more about time than most so-called chronomancers could ever dream of."He paused, as if debating with himself before speaking again."Before I was born into this world as Zai, I lived another life—in another universe. One where science was... highly advanced. We had centuries of data, equations, experiments. We understood the fabric of time to a degree this world can't even begin to grasp."
He stepped closer, pointing a finger at Donavan."The only way your story works is if this is a completely different timeline—an alternate branch where events diverged. And unless someone found a way to observe timelines from outside the flow of time, they wouldn't even know what happens in any given one. That would require existing as a fourth-dimensional being—or beyond. Something that exists above time, across all points simultaneously."
He ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated but energized by the argument."Gods, this is complicated. But you see how I just told the truth, plainly? No games. No cryptic nonsense. Just facts. Try doing the same in the future, Donavan—it might actually help your case."
Zai exhaled sharply and shut his eyes, rubbing at his temples. His thoughts raced, spiraling in tight, frustrated circles.
(This is so stupid... and yet… there is a way. Gods, it's just so absurd.)
His brow furrowed deeper, and his lips curled into a grimace.
(The only way Donavan could be from the future… is if someone deliberately sent him to a parallel timeline. One almost identical to the original—close enough to the past of the main timeline to serve as a launching point. Then, from there, he'd jump into the main timeline, but earlier than his own origin point…)
He clenched his jaw, fists trembling slightly.
(But that's insane. You'd need near-infinite precision, absurd amounts of power—and complete disregard for paradoxes. Who the hell would even think to do something like that? Who could?)
The frustration was clear on his face, drawn across his expression like stormclouds gathering.
Then a voice cut through the tension like sunlight breaking fog.
"Hey… what's with all the snow?"
Zai turned. Fir had finally woken up. He stood at the edge of the lulas cabin , blinking into the air as soft flakes of shimmering snow drifted lazily around them. Oddly, he seemed cheerful—lighter than usual, as if waking from a pleasant dream.
Zanaria glanced over her shoulder."Oh, that. Yeah, that's just Farya's magic. Not real snow—just an illusion."She smiled faintly."Her illusions are so detailed they might as well be real, but don't worry. They'll fade in a few hours."
Fir squinted at the sky, then asked simply,"Who's Farya?"
Zai let out a tired breath and waved a dismissive hand."Witch. Made us fall asleep. Gave us nightmares for no reason. Got caught. Probably locked up by now."He smirked, then added with exaggerated sarcasm,"Oh, and apparently Donavan's from the FuuuTuuuer."
He dragged the word out mockingly, grinning as Donavan rolled his eyes.
Fir looked at Donavan for a moment, then shrugged."Okay."
He said it with complete nonchalance, like someone agreeing to have soup instead of stew for dinner.
Zai blinked."…That's it? Just 'okay'?"
Fir stretched, letting out a yawn."Yeah. I don't really get half of what you're all talking about anyway."Then he frowned slightly.
____________
"You're not mad?" Donavan asked, his voice tentative, almost sheepish.
Zai let out a loud, exasperated groan and rolled his eyes so hard it was almost theatrical.
"For the last time—no! Just because you're dumb doesn't mean I'm gonna be mad at you. Annoyed? Sure. Embarrassed on your behalf? Definitely. But mad?"He waved his hand dismissively."I'm only mad about the part where you tried to kill me, but hey—that's a separate issue."
Donavan opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it.
Zai brushed past him and turned to Zanaria, his expression shifting to something more thoughtful—concerned, even."I need to speak with that Farya woman. About the dream she gave me."He paused."I need to know if it was just a nightmare… or if it was something more. Something real."He glanced up at Zanaria, eyes steady."Where'd they take her, exactly?"
Zanaria exhaled and started walking, motioning for them to follow."This way. She's being held in the lower sanctum. I'll take you there."She looked over her shoulder, adding with a small smile,"I need to thank Dulla too, while we're at it."
Zai blinked."You? Thanking someone? That's rare."
Zanaria gave him a side glance."Well, she saved your life, didn't she?"
_______
As they approached the holding area, Zai froze mid-step, eyes wide with disbelief. The hallway reeked of damp stone, old fruit, and something far less identifiable.
"This... This is where they keep prisoners?"He gestured toward the rows of barred cells and strange, squeaking contraptions."It looks like a dungeon some depraved noble would hide under their mansion for—"He blinked, horrified."—kinky experiments. What is this place? Who approved this?!"
Inside the cells, several unfortunate souls were being "tortured" in bizarre ways: one was being relentlessly tickled by dozens of floating feather-spells, another had rotten fruit magically flung at their face every few seconds with comical splats. A few were trapped in furniture-shaped cages—chairs, coat racks, and even a functional coffee table—all groaning as their limbs were locked in absurd positions.
Zanaria didn't even flinch."You can thank the Witch of Torture for this one. It was all her idea."She stepped forward casually, beckoning them along."Come on, they're probably keeping Farya somewhere deeper for interrogation. Let's hope she hasn't completely snapped yet."
As they descended deeper into the twisted corridor, Zai's face turned pale at the sight of a man trapped in a rotating chandelier, spinning slowly while screaming something about his taxes.
(What kind of demented freak designed this place?) Zai thought, trying not to gag. (Who looks at medieval war crimes and says, 'Needs more whimsy'?)
Then they heard it—screaming.
But it wasn't the usual kind. Not fearful or pained exactly—more… intense. Disturbingly enthusiastic.
They reached the final chamber and pushed open the heavy door.
Inside, Farya was bound by glowing magical cuffs, twitching slightly, her expression flushed and glassy-eyed. A wiry, disheveled witch stood over her, clearly in the midst of some twisted ritual. The cuffs sparked with low pulses of magical electricity, each jolt followed by a moan from Farya that made Zai want to shove his head through a wall.
"This—" the wild-eyed witch cackled, "—is what naughty little spell-thieves get! You lie, you spy, you corrupt dreams, and THIS is your lesson!"She snapped the cuffs again. Farya whimpered and then squealed with an unnerving amount of glee.
"Shorry! I'll be a good witch, I promissh! Aaaah—YEAH!"Farya stuck her tongue out mid-scream, her eyes rolling back.
Zai recoiled in horror.
Zanaria calmly placed a hand over his eyes."Don't look. This isn't for the pure of heart."
"It's not even for the impure of heart!" Zai snapped, covering his ears."This is a war crime! Or a circus! Or both!"
The madwoman turned to them, grinning with cracked lips. Her hair stuck out like she'd been electrocuted herself, and her eyes looked like they hadn't seen sleep—or sanity—in days.
"That's Vrta," Zanaria said with a sigh."Witch of Torture. Specialist in… psychological extraction."
"Psychological extraction?" Zai echoed, watching Farya tremble in what could only be described as magical overstimulation."It looks like she's giving her a dungeon-themed spa day."
"Oh it gets worse," Zanaria said. "Sometimes she uses puppets."
Zai took a full step back."Nope. I'm done. I'm out. Farya can rot. I don't need answers that badly."
"You sure?" Fir said, leaning in with a grin."She looks like she's having a better time than we are."
_________
"Ahhh—sorry about that earlier scene," Vrta said with an unapologetic giggle, her voice lilting like broken glass in a music box."I was just trying out some new spell combos. Hehehe…"Her eyes sparkled with a kind of demented glee, the look of someone who didn't just cross the line—she couldn't even see the line anymore.
Zanaria instinctively took half a step back as the smell hit her—sweat, old herbs, and something suspiciously like mildew.Vrta looked like she'd just crawled out of a broom closet after losing a fight with a cauldron and a lightning bolt.Hair tangled like cursed vines.Eyes twitching from what had to be a multi-week caffeine bender.Clothes stained and crumpled, her whole body looking one skipped meal away from collapsing.
To the left of the room, Farya lay twitching on the floor like an overcharged marionette, mumbling "Sorry, forgive me, sorry, forgive me…" on loop.But her face?She was smiling.
A faint, dreamy little smile that made everything worse.
Zanaria pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed."Well… it's good to see you again, Vrta. I see you haven't changed. At all."
Vrta wasn't even listening. Her gaze had drifted, eyes wide and unblinking as she imagined who-knows-what. Her grin widened. It was the expression of someone thinking about something that would get them arrested in at least eight kingdoms.
Zai finally had enough.
"Are you the Witch of Torture or the Witch of Perverts?!" he snapped."This is insane! Inhumane! I'd prefer actual torture over—whatever this is! Do you even have their consent?!?"
Vrta gasped, clearly offended."Excuse you—I always get consent!"She crossed her arms, sparks crackling from her cuffs like angry fireflies."They all signed up. Mostly. I mean, some of them were… encouraged. Dulla was going to 'perfect witch' them into paste if I didn't step in, so really, I'm the merciful one here!"She giggled again."Anywaaays… are you guys here as clients? Or—"
Her eyes lit up with manic excitement, voice pitching up like a child offered candy.
Zai stared at her, and for a moment, he just watched.The shaking hands.The paper-thin wrists.The smell that could knock out a dragon.The deranged eyes, wide and glossy from what had to be three straight nights of no sleep and questionable research.She was greasy, twitchy, barely coherent—and her entire vibe screamed "saw something on the inter webs at age 9 and never recovered."
Thank the gods this world didn't have internet.
Vrta let out a long, dramatic sigh and leaned back, tossing her tangled hair over one shoulder."Ahhh, such a shame… I really would've loved to run a few more experiments. It's so rare to get male guests down here…"Her voice dipped into a husky purr before twisting into a cracked giggle."He… heh… hhuhuhYEAHAHAH…"She blushed at her own thoughts, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her already ridiculous outfit.
She was wearing what could only be described as witch lingerie for masochistic librarians. A high-collared, deep-purple corset laced with glowing rune-thread, mismatched stockings enchanted to buzz occasionally, and a black skirt that was way too short and asymmetrically cut—long in the back like a cloak, but scandalously tattered in the front. Chains dangled uselessly from her belt like fashion statements that wished they were shackles. Her sleeves were detached, enchanted to hover just over her arms, like even her clothing refused to touch her directly.
Zai took one look at her, threw up about seven layers of magical shielding around himself and Fir, and pointedly did not include Donavan."That's for nearly killing me, by the way," he muttered.
"Right... so," Zai continued, trying not to look directly at Vrta, "when exactly will Farya recover from... that? I need to talk to her—"
He was cut off by a sudden, luxurious yawn from the floor.
Farya sat up slowly, stretching like a sleepy cat, her body crackling softly with leftover magical static. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was a mess—but she looked entirely too pleased with herself.
"Mmmh~ Mistress Vrta, that was quite the session… I think I'm still a little naughty, though. Maybe just one more round to really make it stick—"She blinked, then noticed the others."OH—Hi! You're all awake! Heheh… please don't tell anyone about this!"She clasped her hands and bowed her head in shame that was clearly theatrical at best.
Zai stared.Fir blinked.Donavan just sat down, visibly reevaluating every life choice that led to this exact moment.
"I'm going to need several potions, a memory wipe, and possibly a new brain." Zai muttered."What even is your damage, Farya?"
Farya gave him a dreamy smile."Hey, you try being imprisoned by Dulla for three days. This was basically a vacation!"
"Vacation? You called her Mistress!"
"Force of habit!" she squeaked. "She was holding the shock-cuffs!"
Vrta, still blushing, waved cheerfully."My reputation grows. I live for the drama."
Vrta's twisted grin softened into something almost maternal as she patted Farya's trembling form closer to her on her lap. The fetid dungeon air did nothing to mute the soft rustle of Farya's clothes as she settled against Vrta's thigh, her ears flattened in a mix of embarrassment and relief.
Vrta's long, slender fingers drifted to caress Farya's stomach in slow, teasing circles. At each light stroke, Farya let out a tiny, involuntary yelp—equal parts surprise and pleasure—her cheeks flaming crimson.
"Now," Vrta purred, voice low and velvet-dark, "as for payment…"She leaned in, nose nearly brushing Farya's hair.Farya shivered and whispered, "Well… I can think of a way to repay you, Mistress…"
Before Farya could elaborate, Zanaria's sharp cough echoed off the stone walls. "There are children here."
Vrta froze, her mischievous smile faltering. Farya, cheeks still burning, stammered, "Oh…"
Vrta gently shifted Farya so she sat upright, smoothing an invisible crease in Farya's simple linen shift.
Fir, watching wide-eyed, piped up: "Wait—when did Vrta's clothes change? Wasn't she wearing that ratty witch's robe before? When did she… upgrade?"
Zanaria stepped forward with a bemused half-smile. "Those orbs you saw? They're just 'casual wear' enchantments. Every witch here has two wardrobes: professional and personal. A seamstress witch crafted magical garments that shift on command."
She lifted a hand, and her own attire shimmered and transformed in an instant. First, a floor-length indigo robe embroidered with constellations—its silky fabric drifting around her like a cloud of stars. With a subtle gesture, the robe dissolved into a sleek, form-fitting emerald dress, the hem swirling around her thighs in soft folds. Next, she snapped her fingers and was clad in dark combat leathers: reinforced boots, bracers etched with warding runes, and a belted tunic that hugged her frame. Finally, her silhouette rippled once more into something utterly uncanny—a second skin of fleshy, vine-like material that clung to every curve. Eyes and slender fingers wove through the living fabric, blinking and reaching as though searching for purchase on her limbs.
Zanaria laughed softly. "See? Comfy, functional, or… avant-garde. We'll find you some too, Zai. They'll adapt to your preferences—whatever you desire."
Zai reluctantly lowered one of his shields, eyeing the living dress in both horror and fascination. Farya, still flushed and clinging to Vrta's side, whispered, "I'd like… something soft, please."
Vrta's grin returned, gentler now. "Of course, my little apprentice. We'll start with something… flattering."
Zai glanced around the warped chamber, the flickering torchlight catching the gleam in each witch's eyes.
"I'm starting to notice a theme with you witches," he said, frowning. "Everyone's got a… specialty."Zanaria inclined her head, the living fabric of her last outfit writhing faintly at her feet."More or less," she agreed.
Fir tapped his chin, glancing nervously at Vrta's gleeful grin. "So… I don't want to be That Guy, but why is Vrta in charge of 'torture' when this clearly isn't torture?"
Vrta reclined in her ornate, rune-carved chair—her favorite "observer's perch"—and hummed in amusement."Oh, sweet boy, this is my punishment for heresy," she purred, voice low and predatory.Her fingers drifted to toy with the edge of her jagged corset, the chain-links on her belt clicking like ominous laughter.
Zanaria sighed, stepping forward to explain. "Vrta was exiled from every church in the southern provinces—for corrupting the faithful, seducing altar boys, defiling sacred relics… you name it. When the Council discovered her… let's just say they wanted to break her spirit. So they cursed this place."She gestured at the dungeon walls, streaked with glowing sigils that pulsed in time with Farya's residual magic."If Vrta tries any unbidden cruelty, the wards lash back tenfold—burning her soul in agony. So she's 'assigned' to oversee these so-called interrogations… as long as she keeps it consensual, she's safe. But push past the contract, and she'll die a thousand little deaths."
Vrta's lips twisted into a slow, dangerous smile. "And that," she said softly, "is why I never let my guard down." Her eyes flicked to Zai, hungry and sharp as a wolf's. "Consent is my lifeline—and yours, too, if you dare tread these halls."
She leaned forward, claws of her fingernails—rimmed in chipped black polish—scraping lightly against the arm of her chair."The churches call me the 'Predator of the South.' They still whisper my name when the moon is new, warning women and children to bar their doors."
Her gaze swept the room, lingering on poor Farya—who nuzzled Vrta's side, cheeks flushed and trembling with a mixture of fear and awe.
Zai took a steadying breath, pushing aside the discomfort still clinging to him from what he'd just witnessed.
"On that note…" he said, locking eyes with Farya, who was still nestled rather too comfortably against Vrta, "Please tell me—were the things I saw in the dream true?"
Farya blinked, then seemed to catch his meaning. Her smile turned a little sheepish, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.
"Ahh… that. Sorry, Zai, but I have no idea what you actually saw."She shrugged apologetically. "The dreams are tailored to the person. I cast the spell, but I don't get a front-row seat to the show. It's made for your mind alone."
Her tone softened a little as she added, "And sorry for doing that at all, really. It's just been… a while since I've had something that wasn't bland or—well, tasteless. You were very flavorful, if you'll forgive the phrasing."
She giggled nervously, her ears twitching. "Especially little Donavan over there… mm, all that childhood trauma was just—mwah!" She mimed kissing her fingers like a chef savoring a fine dish.
Before she could continue, Vrta leaned in with a mischievous glint and gave one of Farya's soft, fuzzy ears a playful nibble.
"Eeek!" Farya yelped, curling tighter against her mistress.
Zanaria pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed deeply. "She's a dream eater. As the name implies, she literally eats dreams—feeds on emotion, imagery, fear, joy, pain. Trauma just happens to be the richest flavor. Guess you three were a bit too appetizing."
She glanced at Donavan, who looked vaguely horrified."Congratulations. Your mental anguish is gourmet."
Vrta chuckled darkly and whispered something indecipherable in Farya's ear, making the smaller witch blush and bury her face in Vrta's sleeve.
Zai stared, somewhere between exhausted and baffled."So… the horrifying nightmare about me destroying the universe could be true, false, or some trauma-snack hallucination whipped up to feed a dream glutton?"
"More or less," Zanaria said with a shrug."Witchcraft's not an exact science."
"Wonderful." Zai muttered. "I feel very reassured."
"Well!" Vrta suddenly announced, clapping her hands with theatrical flair. "If you've gotten what you wanted—please leave!"
She stood up with a disturbing amount of energy for someone who looked like she hadn't slept in a month, then promptly scooped Farya into her arms bridal-style."I've got to teach this naughty little morsel some manners, hehehe~!" she cackled, eyes gleaming with unholy glee.
With a flick of her finger, a spell flared and Farya's outfit shimmered—instantly transforming into a frilly, lace-lined maid uniform complete with thigh-high stockings and a bell choker that jingled mockingly.
"Kyaaa~! M-Mistress, please go easy on me~!" Farya squealed in a voice that sounded just a bit too rehearsed, wiggling helplessly in Vrta's arms.
Zai stared blankly at the scene for all of three seconds before muttering,"Nope."And turned on his heel, walking straight out without breaking pace.
Donavan and Fir scrambled after him, their expressions somewhere between confusion and secondhand trauma.
Zanaria followed last, sighing as the dungeon doors closed behind them and muffled the unsettling giggles echoing down the corridor.
"Note for the future," she said calmly, brushing dust from her cloak, "never be alone with Vrta. Ever."
"Why? Because she's terrifying?" Donavan asked.
"Because she can coerce just about anyone." Zanaria replied flatly.She leaned closer to Zai and added, voice low:"I don't think you want to know what happened to the last group of boys that wandered in there thinking they could 'handle' her."
"So... where to now?" Fir asked.
Donavan adjusted his sword. "The capital. We got sidetracked, but that's where Henrietta is—and she's way more important."