Clarity washed over me.
That strange telepathic link I'd seen earlier—loading in my peripheral like a suspiciously fast progress bar—had finally finished. No buffering. No lag. Just… connection.
I always thought telepathy would feel like random voices barging into your skull unannounced. Like a cosmic group chat you never signed up for. Honestly, if I couldn't see who I was communicating with, I'd already be halfway to convincing myself I'd gone full schizophreniac—hearing voices from wherever voices come from when they ruin lives.
Good news: I wasn't crazy.
Well.
Not yet.
"Uhuh. Yup."
The acknowledgment slid into my head cleanly. No mouth moving. No sound. Just meaning. Because, of course—telepathy. Which I was still very much not used to, thank you very much.
The beholder—and me, dangling with it like very fragile emotional baggage—kept ascending toward the jagged opening in the broken lab dome.
Then it started popping.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
I'd seen it do this from a distance before, sure. But up close?
Absolutely not the same experience.
The beholder's circular mouth—located right under its massive eye—opened wide. Rows of huge, fang-like teeth parted as it regurgitated floating eyes one after another. Wet. Glossy. Coated in thick strings of drool that stretched before snapping with an awful little schlk.
Each eye popped free with a sound not unlike uncorking something that should never have been sealed in the first place.
They were just eyeballs.
With tentacles.
Soaked in saliva.
Unsettling didn't even begin to cover it.
Uhh, eww.
I kept that thought internal, obviously. You don't insult someone while they're actively vomiting eyeballs for you. That's just manners.
The newly spat floating eyes wiggled, oriented themselves, then drifted outward, forming an orbit around the beholder—and unfortunately, me.
One.
Two.
Three.
I lost count.
Anyway.
Back to the task at hand.
"By the way," I said, turning my attention to the tiny beholder near me, "what will I call you? What's your name?"
I really didn't want to accidentally commit some racial slur against the beholder species by calling him something like hey you.
"Name?"
The response was instant—and delighted.
"I could have another name!?"
It sounded like a kid being handed candy the size of their head.
"Another?" I asked. "You already have a lot of names?"
"Yes! Many!" it said proudly.
"Hey you. Rotten eye. Little ball. Stupid. Come here. And many more!"
It paused, glowing with genuine happiness.
"Isn't it great? I have many, many names."
"Ohhh."
I don't know what I expected. Something ancient, maybe. Long. Ceremonial. Like one of those African names with twenty syllables that tell an entire family history. Or like my Grade 4 classmate—John Anthony Niño Silver Jude D. Angeles—who demanded we call him Silver because it sounded cool.
But no.
This little guy didn't even know what a real name was.
A prompt popped into existence.
Name Familiar: Y / N
Yeah. Hard no to hey you, stupid.
I thought yes, and the Y highlighted before fading into:
Familiar Name: _______
Alright. Think.
Bullseye?
No.
Eyesore?
Too mean.
I thought about how we named our dogs growing up. Black dog? Blacky. Brown dog? Browny. White dog? Whitey.
So… Eyeyie?
Nope.
It had tentacles.
Squidy?
Still no.
Then my stomach growled.
Kalamares.
Crunchy. Golden. Dipped.
My mouth watered.
Kala.
Familiar Name: Kala
The prompt faded.
"Your name is Kala," I said, my stomach betraying me with another growl.
Kala did a full spin midair.
"KALA!"
The word exploded inside my head like an EMP.
Static flooded my vision.
"Oh—wow—my brain," I blurted, grabbing my head.
"Kala, kala, kala! My name is Kala!"
It circled me, chanting like a toddler who'd just unlocked speech and planned to abuse it.
We burst through the hole in the dome and into open air.
That's when I noticed the light.
The world had shifted into evening—yellow and orange hues brushing against the beholder's eye, making it glisten. Above us, a dark blue sky stretched like a canvas, stars scattered carelessly across it.
The beholder lowered itself and gently unwrapped its tentacle, placing me on solid ground.
It leaned in, inspecting me.
"Uuuh… wuuuuh…"
It tapped my head.
"Mom said to take good care of me!" Kala announced proudly.
"Or she'll eat you alive!"
"I—I will, uh—Beholder mom," I said carefully. Very carefully.
The ancient beholder reached out, grabbed Kala, and pulled him into a massive snuggle. Its giant eye shimmered.
"Uuuuh!"
"It's okay," Kala said softly. "I'm going to be okay."
"Wuuuwuuu," the beholder cooed.
"I'll eat until I can't float anymore," Kala added cheerfully, "just like you always say!"
"Uuuuh, wuuu."
"Yep! I'll beam him just like how you taught me!"
"What?" I said. "I'm right here, you know."
The beholder released Kala, patted him on the head, then looked at me. A long stare.
It nodded.
Then it floated away, followed by its orbiting minions.
"Wait!" I called out. "I have questions!"
And I really did. This thing had seen everything—this place from its heyday to its ruin. Answers were floating away with it.
"Not the time, Master," Kala said.
"Why?"
"Look!"
I did.
"Oh. My. G."
My General Awareness screamed.
Target Identified: The Gorgolin
It stood before the lab—immense, unmoving.
Its eyes burned like searing coals, thin smoke curling upward in the dimming light. Armored plates like a pangolin's carapace covered its massive frame, horned protrusions casting jagged shadows across the labyrinth floor. Gorilla-muscular. Upright. Breathing hard, steam huffing from its mouth.
Around it, beasts bowed.
Direwolf Lizards.
Rabboars.
Raptorbills.
And worse.
Royalty.
I remembered the rule.
Bow, and it passes.
But this time, it wasn't passing.
It was staring at the ancient beholder.
"GRAAAAAAW!"
The roar shook the labyrinth walls, vibrating the ground like a declaration of war.
The beholder didn't flinch.
Its irises burned red.
The floating eyes mirrored it, snapping into hexagonal formation—cannons ready.
"Master!" Kala shook me violently. "Stop drooling! We need to go!"
He shoved something into my hand and closed my fingers around it.
"A scroll. Mom's orders!"
Ancient Scroll of Entrance
Definition: Transport to a location's entrance.
"Uh—"
"No uhhs! Just escape!" Kala snapped.
"Mom can't fight at full force while protecting us!"
He was right.
This wasn't a fight.
This was a catastrophe.
I tore the leather string free.
The scroll unfurled, glowing, whispering.
"UUUUUWAAAAAA!" roared the beholder.
"GRAAAAAAA!" answered the Gorgolin.
Lasers fired.
The Gorgolin charged.
Kala latched onto me.
The world folded inward—
And sound was swallowed by darkness.