After Arlon sat on something that felt like a rusted car part—its edges uneven, its surface dented—the monster brought over a drink.
The liquid inside the crude metal cup was an unnatural shade of green, almost glowing in the dim light.
Arlon had long since stopped judging things by their appearance.
The food he had at the academy had been strange but edible. Merlin's cooking was downright questionable, yet it had always tasted fine.
So, he took the cup without hesitation. But the moment he touched it, something felt off.
The drink was cold, yet hot at the same time.
It radiated the numbing chill of an ice cube, but the second it touched his tongue, it had the tingling heat of a freshly brewed beverage.
It was bizarre, conflicting—and strangely pleasant.
"It's nice, isn't it? Everyone who tries it reacts like you," the monster said, its voice laced with amusement. "It's my own creation."
