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The air grew cooler immediately. The smell of death intensified. The floor was uneven, littered with loose stones, more bones, feathers, and pieces of other recent kills. The sound of dripping water echoed through the cavern. A few faint scuttling noises could be heard. The darkness was almost palpable, pressing in from all sides, the only relief coming from the occasional patches of bioluminescent fungi that cast a sickly, greenish glow over the rough stone walls.

Even after so many decades, Ivain still knew the way. He navigated the narrowing, twisting network of tunnels with a clear head and an even clearer purpose.

Finally, the tunnel widened into a large chamber. In the center of it, a throne of jagged rocks jutted from the floor, crooked and sharp as teeth.

“Alright, you wrinkly old bastard. Enough hiding in the shadows. Get out here and remind me why I bother keeping you alive.”

His voice echoed through the cavern, bouncing off the stone walls and into the darkness.

Then came the shuffling—slow, uneven—paired with the sharp scrape of a crooked staff.

“You always were impatient, weren’t you?” The Bodach’s voice rasped through the chamber, thin as dry leaves. Cloaked in tattered robes, it drifted forward in a halting rhythm.

Scrape. Shuffle. Pause. Scrape.

Most of its body was hidden beneath the cloak, but what little showed was wrong. Its skin sagged in loose folds, as if time had hollowed it out, leaving only a husk barely clinging to bone.

Of course, Ivain knew better. The visage of the old man was a charade. A farce to hide the bloodthirsty beast within.

He tossed a sack at the foot of the throne. Blood seeped through from its contents. It landed with a dull thud, spilling open to reveal its contents: skin, pale and translucent.

The Bodach finally found some speed. It hobbled over, leaning on its gnarled staff as equally gnarled fingers grasped greedily.

Sarina didn’t think he took threats to his leadership seriously. But he did. He just preferred actions instead of words to deal with the problem.

Lord Carrick Blackdell had been a thorn in his side long before the siege, embezzling funds and forging dark alliances. He was almost assuredly funneling money to the human trafficking operations that were always rife on the island, though Ivain had never had enough evidence to pin him in court.

More recently, he’d been spreading rumors and sowing dissent about Ivain’s leadership capabilities, his ultimate plan being a coup d’état, intending to use the opportunity of the siege to seize control of the island.

This Ivain had on good authority. And thus, he felt no remorse whatsoever using his life for a greater purpose.

Plus, the idea of a monster flaunting that vain bastard’s face all across the mountain, ripping beasts to shreds with its teeth, brought him no small amount of satisfaction.

A sly grin formed on the Bodach’s dry, cracked mouth. “Oh, such a generous offering! Truly, your benevolence never ceases to amaze me. I do hope you don’t expect too much from my humble abilities.”

The Bodach was one of the Eldritch—a Weave beast. It didn’t have a physical form, which is why it needed skins to use like puppets. Its true form drifted outside the Weave, beyond time’s reach—where past, present, and future existed all at once. That was how it slipped between them.

“I need you to deliver a message for me.”

The Bodach’s black, depthless eyes glinted with dark amusement. “Ah, another message to the past.” It inspected the new skin meticulously, running its fingers over every inch. “How many times have you sent me on these futile errands? And how many times have you been met with nothing but silence?”

“Try anyway.”

The Bodach’s grin stretched impossibly wide, the corners of its mouth curling upward in a way that defied natural anatomy. “Desperation suits you, noble. I’ve been hearing rumblings in the mountain. The spirits are excited. They say a new queen is coming.” A little giggle erupted from it. “I bet she tastesdelicious.”

Ivain’s breath came out in a slow, controlled exhale, masking his rising rage. “Touch her, and you’ll find out just how far I’m willing to go to protect what’s mine.”

The Bodach gnashed its teeth but wisely said nothing.

“I need you to find a time mage named Bilal. Tell her I need her. That the situation is dire and involves her goddaughter.”

The Bodach chuckled, a dry, brittle sound. “Have you forgotten, White Fox? The time mages are dead. Even if I did deliver your message, there’s nobody coming.”

“Then when you find Bilal, tell her she needs to find a way to cheat death. That she made a promise, and I’m collecting.”

“You always were stubborn.”

The Bodach uncurled, stretching to its full height. All seven feet of it.