The thin macaque flinched as the creature's head tilted—slow, almost curious, like it was studying a bug trapped under glass.
Its throat worked soundlessly before words finally scraped out, smooth and deliberate in a way no beast should speak. "I—it's us… your pack. We came—"
The Alpha's gaze slid past him, as if the words didn't matter. Its attention returned to the bow in its hand and the faint golden tremor of the string. The talisman's pulse quickened—once, twice—before settling into a rhythm that matched its steady breath.
The smell of blood hung thick in the air. The Alpha inhaled it like perfume.
Another macaque, braver—or perhaps more foolish—stepped forward. "Alpha… what happened to you? Why are you—"
The creature's lips curled into something that might have been a smile, though it never reached its eyes. "I… don't know. But I remember… falling. Dying. Then… something pulled me back."
Somewhere far away, in a different body, Oliver's gaze burned through another pair of eyes. His will was here—moving this flesh, speaking through this voice.
The Alpha's grip on the bow tightened, veins standing out along its wrist. The golden string gave off a faint hum the macaques felt in their bones, and instinct urged them to step back.
It took a single step forward—slow, deliberate. The earth beneath its heel groaned. "This… weapon. It feeds me."
The troop shifted uneasily, glancing at the scattered corpses of their kin. Some bore wounds clean and precise; others looked as though they'd been torn apart by something far larger.
Then his gaze drifted to the girl tied in vines—Kaede's words echoing in the back of his mind. So that's her… His eyes narrowed at the sight of her legs.
The thin macaque's voice dropped to a whisper. "And them? Did… the prey do this?"
"They did," the Alpha—Oliver—said flatly. "We can't stay here. More of these kinds of humans will come. Get to work and retrieve those green thorns from the bear."
He gestured toward the carcass. "Be fast." Then, almost as an afterthought, he crouched beside the captive girl. His hand hovered over her ankle before curling lightly around it. "I'll keep watch on this one."
The macaque hesitated. Something in the leader's voice was wrong—too even, too stripped of the feral heat they knew. But the weight of his stare left no room for questions.
Reluctantly, the others moved toward the bear's mangled body. The air reeked of blood as they began prying the jade arrows from its hide.
The Alpha stayed crouched by the girl, fingers still resting lightly on her ankle, as though measuring the pulse of her fear. She tried to pull back, but his grip tightened just enough to make the point clear—she wasn't going anywhere.
His good eye roamed over her—not with hunger or rage, but with cold, measuring curiosity. Then he released her ankle.
"Your friends have abandoned you," he said.
Her tear-brimmed eyes widened. He was speaking to her—not in guttural growls, but in words she could understand.
"Given the choice to either return with me and help you, or leave you behind…" His lip curled faintly. "They chose to leave."
He straightened, towering over her. "Now I'll give you a choice."
A pause—heavy, deliberate.
"I'm planning to take over this race," he said evenly. "Do you want a place in it when I'm done?"
Her breath shook in her throat. She searched his face for some crack, some hint it was a game. There was none—only that cold, weighing gaze.
"I…" Her lips trembled. "If it means I live… then yes."
A faint smile curved his mouth. "Good. Remember this moment—when you decided whose side you were on."
"From this day, you're my fifth disciple."
He creaked his neck. "Let's see how far we can go together. Oh—and you can call me Oliver."
Oliver wore skin that wasn't his own. He didn't lie about intent—the true foundation of cultivation and technique. In his dreamscape world, intent was its own divine talent: with it, even flawed technique could be perfected in a breath, while geniuses without it struggled.
Right now, he was that rare former—one with intent as a divine talent—fueled by experience from puppeting the bone dragon, wielding multiple flying and long-distance tools, and his deep but narrow understanding of the art.
His grip on the bow tightened as the link began to fray. The teleportation talisman flared, primed to send the corpse—and the girl—back to his main body the instant control slipped further.
Still a long way before I master long-distance puppeting.
He clenched and unclenched his right hand. "I hope it'll be a pleasure working together."