Goblin’s footsteps echoed through the vast corridor, mingling with the almost mechanical tread of the undead walking beside her. That undead was a revenant, one of the rarer kinds of undead, distinguished by a peculiar trait.

  Normally, the process that transforms a corpse into an undead begins long after life has ended. In rare cases, however, the process begins before even rigor mortis, while a faint measure of vitality still lingers within the body. The result is a revenant, a being nearly indistinguishable from the living.

  Revenants typically arise when the deceased possesses a powerful reason to remain in this world. More often than not, it’s something like an overwhelming desire for revenge against their killer or someone they hate to the core. In some cases, those bound in life by duty or oath might rise to fulfill that commitment even in death. This granted revenants another unique distinction among undead. They were not tethered to natural spawn points or bound to the place of their death.

  The undead walking beside Goblin was a fresh revenant, and intentionally so. They wanted him fresh.

  This one had not risen by accident. He was the product of a ritual desired by both the necromancer who performed it and by the body’s original owner. Having failed to unlock the skill Longevity, he knew his time in the world was limited. Becoming a revenant was a calculated decision, meant to preserve the unique abilities he had gained in this incarnation.

  In life, he had achieved mastery of space magic sufficient for rudimentary teleportation, along with a wide array of motion based skills. An asset like that was far too valuable to be lost to death. The necessary steps were taken to ensure it was not.

  The long corridor eventually led them to a massive door, guarded by two veiled elves. Without a word, they opened it for them and closed it behind them.

  “I’m back,” Goblin announced, like a child returning home after a long day.

  They entered a room that defied expectations. From the door alone, its grandeur was obvious. The circular chamber was filled with books, shelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling, the air heavy with the scent of parchment and ink. It was a collection worthy of the most prestigious library on the continent. Yet that was not the most striking part.

  The room was not confined to a single level. It was built like a tower, rising upward with no visible end. When no response came from her announcement, at least not from this floor, Goblin knew the person she sought was above.

  Casually, she activated her assimilation power. A pair of dragonfly wings sprouted from her back, lifting her into the air. She ascended floor after floor, each one as densely packed with books as the last, until past the seventieth level, she finally found who she was looking for.

  “There you are,” Goblin said, landing gently a couple of meters from the sofa where the person sat.

  Though calling it a sofa was only accurate by technicality. In truth, it was formed from a pair of enormous skeletal hands curved into the shape of a seat, piled high with impossibly soft cushions. Reclining atop it was the very elf Goblin had been searching for, lazily writing without using her own hands. Instead, skeletal figures worked in her stead, summoned with the same casual ease used to fashion her unique seat.

  Dressed exclusively in pink, she had black hair, cut short at the chin. Goblin wished she would let it grow longer, like a certain someone else. But alas that girl was not that certain someone.

  “Welcome back,” the elf said, pausing only briefly before returning to her simultaneous acts of lounging and redacting.

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  Goblin walked up and dropped onto the skeletal sofa beside her, immediately curling into her as she always did. The girl did not mind. She knew Goblin liked doing this.

  That said, the chest Goblin rested her cheek against was not particularly comfortable. Its only redeeming quality was its faint warmth. She could not blame the girl. Despite being over a century old, her body was still that of a ten year old girl. Curves were not something one could expect. Still, the thought saddened her. It meant waiting centuries before she could once again enjoy that warm, pillowing comfort.

  “How was it?” the girl asked.

  “How do you think it went?”

  “He was happy with the result and is looking forward to the next part of the plan.”

  “You are sure about that?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Aren’t you forgetting some details?”

  “Well, now that you mention it, I forgot to tell him that he did have something to say about—”

  “Let me guess. The mess in the Holy Capital?”

  “Spot on. I got scolded for that, apparently the mess we caused got the Executare Vicaris investigating the establishment. But seriously, what did he expect me to do? I tried to stop the girl, but I was supposed to be a helpless petal, a peon. Was I meant to stop the secretary from going rogue like she did on them?” Thinking back, remembering Ana’s actions when she found out they were being tailed, Goblin chuckled. “for someone working for a secretive and cowardly organization like the Inquisitorum Regiae, she sure was bold.”

  At that, the girl Goblin was hugging met her gaze, eyes wide with curiosity.

  “Did you feel fondness for that girl?” she asked.

  “Me?”

  “Yes. I saw it. Your vessel, your baby, went to ridiculous lengths to save her and those new friends she made. She could have waited safely in her cell, but instead she went out of her way and put herself in danger when she did not have to.”

  “It’s not that,” Goblin denied immediately.

  “Then which is it? You were either in control of Lydia, or your baby was acting on her own, which I doubt. You chose a literal baby to assimilate so you could maintain full control. A baby lacks a developed personality, dislikes, and preferences. It would not interfere with the control you would exert. That is what you said, right?”

  Goblin crawled away from her. “What is this? An inquisition?”

  “Not at all. I am simply curious,” the girl replied flatly.

  Staring into those eyes, Goblin remembered a conversation they once had about fear. When asked about her greatest fear, the girl had answered simply, boredom. To stave it off, she read. She wrote. She pursued anything that might keep boredom at bay, knowing that even centuries of books would one day run dry. Satisfying her curiosity was one such pursuit.

  Goblin understood that she was not being judged, or at least not primarily. The girl was genuinely curious about her experience as Lydia. Yet Goblin did not know how to answer, because she herself did not fully understand what had happened.

  “Come on,” she said with a half smile, half exasperation. “You know I am missing half of myself right now. Asking whether I was in control or not is a great way to give me an existential crisis.”

  “Hm,” the girl replied.

  “Let’s change the subject. This is not very interesting. Surely there are better things to talk about.”

  “I agree,” the girl said. The skeletal hands behind her closed the book she had been working on. The bony fingers lifted the sofa and carried it to another floor, where two large parchments were retrieved and handed to Goblin. “There are far more interesting things.”

  “What are these?” Goblin asked, frowning.

  “Something I am looking forward to.”

  Goblin unrolled the first parchment. It was an invitation, addressed to King Lance, summoning him to the Citadel of Magecraft. She unrolled the second and confirmed her suspicion. It was meant for the other king, King Dorian.

  “This is what I think it is, isn’t it?”

  “The land of men finally has its human monarchs since Cleon’s death,” The girl said calmly. “Is it not natural for me, daughter of the woman who granted them the chance to evolve beyond kings, to congratulate them on their ascension to Emperor?”

  A wide smile spread across Goblin’s face as she grasped the true intent behind the words. The girl answered it with one just as wicked.

  “It has been nearly a hundred years since the kings were officially granted the chance to meet me. It is time I bestow that honor. And in doing so, allow them to see her again.”

  “So this is it, then.”

  “Yes,”the girl confirmed. “Summon your other half. I will send the invitations once you are whole.”

  “Yes,” Goblin replied cheerfully.

  “And tell him it is time. After a century of preparation, the players are finally ready.”

  Standing atop her skeletal sofa, the girl, Theta spread her arms wide in a grand, yet eerily quiet declaration.

  “Let us make this Era of Kings the era it was meant to be.”