The kobold's claws gleamed wet in the moonlight.
Regulus' breath came in ragged bursts, his left arm hanging limp—blood pattering onto crushed ferns. The creature's muzzle wrinkled in a grin, savoring his fear like wine. Behind them, Nyx's chaise lounge had gone preternaturally still, the shadows around it coiled tight.
'She won't help.' The realization cut deeper than the gashes on his ribs. 'This is her test.'
The kobold lunged.
Regulus threw himself sideways—his boots skidding on dew-slick grass—as talons whistled past his throat. His right hand scrabbled for a weapon, fingers closing around a fallen branch. He swung blindly.
CRACK
The branch shattered against the monster's skull. It staggered, snarling, but didn't fall. Splinters rained between them as Regulus backpedaled, clutching the jagged remnant. His pulse roared in his ears.
Think. Adapt.
The kobold shook off the blow, beady eyes locking onto his injured side. It feinted left—then swiped low, aiming for his legs. Regulus jerked back, but not fast enough. Claws tore through his calf, sending him crashing to one knee.
Agony lanced up his leg. He barely registered Nyx's soft chuckle from the darkness.
"Tsk. That stance was atrocious."
Gritting his teeth, Regulus forced himself upright. The kobold circled, tail lashing, savoring the hunt. Blood seeped into his sock, warm and sticky.
Then—
A flicker of instinct. His body 'remembered' the kobold's attack pattern, the way its weight shifted before striking. When it lunged again, Regulus was already moving. He pivoted on his good leg, letting momentum carry the splintered branch upward like a crude spear.
THUNK
The wood buried itself in the kobold's eye.
The creature howled, thrashing—but Regulus held on, driving the branch deeper until its shrieks gurgled into silence. It collapsed, twitching, at his feet.
Silence
Then applause
Nyx reclined on her chaise, clapping lazily. "Bravo! A one-armed, limping victory. Truly inspirational." She examined her nails. "Though you've ruined my chaise with all that...gore."
Regulus swayed, vision swimming. His injuries screamed—arm broken, ribs bruised, leg flayed open. Blood pooled in his boot.
The goddess sighed. "Oh, don't give me that look. You're not dying." She flicked her wrist, and shadows slithered across the clearing, prying the kobold's fangs loose with a wet pop. "Bite down. Its venom accelerates healing."
Regulus eyed the blood-slick fang. "You expect me to—"
"I expect you to survive," Nyx purred. "Unless you'd rather bleed out before dawn?"
He bit down.
Fire flooded his veins. Muscles knotted, bones itched as tissue stitched itself back together. His scream was muffled by the fang, tears streaking his dirt-caked face. When it ended, he collapsed, gasping, to all fours.
Nyx loomed over him, her violet eyes gleaming. "See? Not so hard." She pressed a bare foot against his newly healed shoulder—and shoved him onto his back. "Now. Let's discuss your...performance."
Her shadow stretched, forming a chair of woven darkness beneath her as she sat astride him. Cold fingers traced his jaw.
"You fight like a dying rabbit," she mused. "All flailing limbs and desperation. But..." Her thumb brushed his lower lip, smearing blood. "You learn. Fast."
Regulus swallowed. "Is that why you chose me?"
Nyx's smile turned razor-edged. "I chose you because you were convenient." She leaned down, her breath chilling his ear. "But if you want to stay alive—to be more than a footnote in my story—you'll need to be... exceptional."
-----
Regulus woke to sunlight stabbing his eyes.
Every muscle screamed in protest as he rolled onto his side, spitting out dirt and dried blood. The clearing was quiet now—just the rustle of leaves and the distant call of some bird he didn't recognize.
Nyx was gone.
No—not gone.
He turned his head and saw her curled up on a bed of shadows, her raven hair spilling across the grass like spilled ink. She looked almost peaceful like this, her chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths.
She watched over me.
The realization settled in his chest, warm and uncomfortable. She hadn't helped him, but she hadn't left him to die either.
Regulus pushed himself up, wincing as his freshly healed skin pulled tight. He was a mess—clothes torn, body aching, face crusted with blood and sweat. But he was alive.
Nyx stirred, one violet eye cracking open. "Stop staring. It's creepy."
Regulus ignored her. Instead, he limped toward the kobold's corpse, examining it with a critical eye. Its hide was tough, but maybe—
"If you're thinking of skinning it, the claws make better daggers," Nyx murmured, already drifting back to sleep. "But do try to be quiet. Some of us earned our rest."
Regulus clenched his jaw.
Then he got to work.
The kobold's corpse lay before him, its claws still slick with blood—his blood. Regulus wiped his hands on his ruined pants and reached for the nearest one.
How hard could it be?
His first attempt was pathetic. The claw refused to budge no matter how he twisted. His fingers slipped, the jagged edge slicing his palm. He hissed, shaking out his stinging hand.
Again
This time he braced his foot against the kobold's wrist and pulled. The claw came free with a sickening pop—along with half the tendon attached. Useless.
Something prickled at the base of his skull. His skin felt too tight, his movements all wrong. Like wearing boots on the wrong feet.
Change the angle
He didn't know where the thought came from. But when he repositioned his grip—palm up, fingers curled just so—the discomfort eased. The next claw came cleaner, though still ragged at the base.
Nyx's voice drifted from her shadowy nest. "Watching you butcher that corpse is ruining my beauty sleep."
Regulus ignored her, turning the claw over in his hands. His thumb found a groove in the bone. When he pressed, the discomfort flared again—a physical itch between his shoulder blades where his Falna burned.
Wrong
He adjusted his grip. The itch faded.
A flat stone became his grinding wheel. His first strokes were clumsy, the claw skittering across the surface. That same wrongness crawled up his arms—elbows too high, wrists too stiff.
Lower...Looser
With each adjustment, the feeling eased. The stone bit deeper into the claw's base. Not perfect, but better. By the tenth stroke, he'd found a rhythm that didn't make his skin crawl.
The result was crude—a jagged shard of bone lashed to a stick with strips of kobold hide. But when he tested its weight, his fingers curled around the grip without hesitation. No discomfort. No wrongness. Just...
Right
Across the clearing, Nyx propped her chin on her hand. "Took you long enough." Her eyes flicked to the dagger. "Though I suppose it'll do. For a first attempt."
Regulus ran his thumb along the blade's edge. It wasn't pretty. But it was his.
And next time, he'd make it better.
Regulus wiped his bloody hands on his pants, leaving dark streaks across the torn fabric. The makeshift dagger—rough and uneven—hung at his side, secured by a strip of kobold hide. His stomach growled, reminding him that surviving a fight didn't fill his belly.
He glanced at Nyx, who was now lounging on a patch of moss that definitely hadn't been there before, her shadowy gown pooling around her like spilled ink.
"Uhm," Regulus began, hesitating. "I know this is a dumb question. But do you know where we are, Nyx?"
Her violet eyes slid toward him, unimpressed.
"That's Lady Nyx to you," she corrected, stretching like a cat. "And no, I just descended. How could I?"
Regulus blinked. "You're a goddess."
"And you're a mortal with working eyes," she shot back, gesturing vaguely at the forest around them. "Look for landmarks. A road. A village. Must I think for you too?"
Regulus ignored her, testing the dagger's weight again. The skill only corrected him when he wanted to improve something. It didn't force knowledge into his head—it simply...aligned his actions with his intent.
He looked up at the endless trees. "We need to find shelter before nightfall."
"Astounding observation," Nyx drawled. "Do you also know which way to go, oh wise mortal?"
Regulus scanned the forest. No paths. No landmarks. Just wilderness in every direction.
I want to find the safest route
Nothing happened
He frowned. Then he tried again, focusing harder.
I need to pick the best direction to travel.
Still nothing
Because he didn't actually 'know' how to navigate. The skill couldn't help what he didn't understand. But—
I want to move quietly.
A sudden tension gathered in his shoulders, his posture instinctively shifting—weight balanced differently, footsteps lighter. The skill responded to this, because it was something he could actively correct.
Nyx's eyes gleamed with amusement as she watched him piece it together.
Regulus exhaled sharply. "You're enjoying this."
"Immensely," she admitted, stretching like a satisfied cat. "But do hurry up. Unless you'd like to meet whatever howled in the night?"
He glared at her, then turned back to the forest. Fine. If the skill wouldn't guide him blindly, he'd give it something to work with.
Kneeling, he examined the ground—tracks, broken twigs, anything.
I want to read these signs
Nothing
But when he focused on holding still to listen better, his breathing automatically evened, his body settling into perfect stillness. The forest sounds grew sharper—rustling leaves, distant water, the scuttle of small creatures.
Water meant civilization. Or at least a campsite.
Regulus stood, pointing northeast where the sounds seemed loudest. "That way."
Nyx smiled—a slow, dangerous curve of her lips. "Lead on, little moth."
As they walked, Regulus noticed something else. Each time he consciously tried to improve something—his footing on uneven ground, how he held his dagger ready—the skill adjusted him. But when he simply trudged forward, it left him to his clumsy human movements.
It only helped when he wanted to be better.
And from the way Nyx watched him stumble, then correct, then stumble again—she knew exactly what was happening.
-----
The fire crackled between them, casting flickering shadows across Nyx's face as she picked at the roasted mushrooms Regulus had gathered. She'd complained about the lack of proper seasoning, but eaten them anyway.
A log shifted in the flames.
"Hey," Nyx said suddenly, her violet eyes reflecting the firelight. "What about your home and family? You're just going to become my blessed and disappear from their lives?"
Regulus poked at the embers with a stick. "Just assume I had no past whatsoever preceding our meeting last night." The words came out flatter than he intended.
Nyx studied him for a long moment before shrugging. "Convenient."
"What about you?" Regulus countered. "You just want to sleep forever here?"
"That's the plan." Nyx stretched out on her bed of shadows, arms behind her head. "After finally escaping Tenkai, I can finally stop working." A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "It's ironic, isn't it? The Goddess of Night never knew rest since the first gods descended over a millennium ago. Too busy maintaining the balance while the others played at being divine."
Regulus watched as her usual playful demeanor gave way to something older, wearier. The firelight deepened the shadows beneath her eyes.
"The other gods?"
"Left the rest of us to pick up their slack," Nyx continued, staring at the stars visible through the canopy.
The fire popped between them, casting embers into the night air. Nyx studied Regulus over the flames, her violet eyes reflecting the dancing light.
"You never answered me properly earlier," she said, plucking a charred mushroom from their makeshift spit. "What are your goals now that you're my adorable little mortal?"
Regulus kept sharpening his kobold-claw dagger. "Power. Money. Women." The whetstone scraped rhythmically against bone.
For three heartbeats, there was only the crackle of flames and the distant cry of a nightbird.
Then Nyx threw back her head and laughed—a sound like shattering stained glass. "HAHAHAHA! Oh, you precious, ridiculous creature!" She wiped imaginary tears from her eyes. "Could you be more transparent? Those might as well be the three words carved on every mediocre man's tombstone."
The whetstone stilled in Regulus' hand. That familiar prickling discomfort crawled up his spine—his skill reacting to something, though he wasn't sure what.
Nyx leaned forward, the firelight carving shadows across her face. "Let me guess—you thought saying the most generic possible ambitions would make you sound..." She fluttered her fingers. "What's the word? Normal?"
A log collapsed in the fire, sending up a shower of sparks.
"Fine." Regulus set down the dagger. "What do you want me to say? That I dream of being a hero? Of protecting the weak?" His lips twisted. "Maybe I just want to never feel helpless again. Maybe money and power are the only things that guarantee that."
Nyx's amusement faded into something more calculating. Her shadow stretched unnaturally long behind her, tendrils creeping toward him without touching. "Now that," she murmured, "was almost interesting."
The uncomfortable silence stretched until Nyx suddenly clapped her hands. "But! Since you've chosen the most boring possible path..." Her grin turned razor-sharp. "I'll expect you to acquire said money starting tomorrow. My pillows won't buy themselves."
Regulus picked up his dagger again. The whetstone's scrape was louder this time. "And if I change my mind?"
Nyx yawned, stretching like a satisfied cat as she settled into her bed of shadows. "Then do try to come up with better lies next time. 'Women'?" She snorted. "Please. I've seen corpses with more convincing delivery."
As her breathing evened out, Regulus stared at the half-finished dagger in his hands. The reflection in the bone showed fractured pieces of his face—and the Falna glowing faintly between his shoulder blades.
"I actually like the idea of a harem, thank you very much," Regulus quipped back.
Nyx's laughter cut off mid-chime. Her violet eyes narrowed to slits. "Oh? You're serious?"
Regulus crossed his arms, the kobold-bloodstained bandages on his forearm cracking slightly with the movement. "What's wrong with wanting a harem? Powerful men throughout history—"
"Ugh." Nyx flicked her fingers as if shooing a gnat. "Spare me your mortal delusions. Do you know how many 'powerful men' I've watched beg for scraps at my temple gates when their precious harems abandoned them?" She leaned forward, shadows coiling around her like serpents. "You reek of virgin desperation."
The campfire between them flared unnaturally high.
Regulus' jaw tightened. That familiar prickling discomfort crawled up his spine—his skill reacting to the challenge. "At least I'm honest about what I want. Better than pretending to sleep for eternity because paperwork bored you."
A dangerous silence fell. Nyx's shadow stretched toward him, the edges vibrating like plucked harp strings. When she spoke, her voice dripped with saccharine venom:
"How 'precious'. My little moth wants to play sultan." She snapped her fingers. The shadow yanked Regulus forward by his collar until their faces were inches apart. "Tell me, 'honest' boy—when was the last time a woman touched you without payment changing hands?"
Heat flooded Regulus' face. His skill burned between his shoulder blades—not correcting his stance this time, but screaming at him to think.
Nyx's smile showed too many teeth. "Ah. Never." She released him with a shove. "Here's your first divine blessing: no harem for you until you can look one woman in the eye without trembling. Starting with 'me'."
The fire died abruptly, plunging them into moonlight. Nyx turned away, her shadows forming a cocoon around her sleeping form.
"Sweet dreams, virgin king," came her muffled voice. "Do try not to wet yourself when the next monster comes."