Ten minutes later, Ray was feeling human again.
The Crimson Weaver’s ‘Neural Gastronomy’ skillwas working its magic, clearing the mental fog and restoring his focus. He watched the creature, which was currently investigating a potted plant by dissolving into the pot and popping out of the soil.
“Time for an interview,”
Ray decided.
He wiped his mouth and focused.
He activated the Prima; Naturalist’s ‘Beast Speak’ skill.
The world shifted. Ray didn't hear words. Instead, his mind opened to the intuitive language of the animal kingdom, posture, scent, intent, and projected imagery.
Immediately, the Primal Naturalist burst into the forefront of his mind, practically bouncing with excitement.
Naturalist: “Here we go mate! Will you look at that little ripper! He’s a bit of a mystery wrapped in a shadow, isn’t he? An absolutely gorgeous specimen!”
Ray prepared to project a question, but the Archetype cut him off.
Naturalist: “Whoa there, mate! Hold your horses! You can’t just barge in with the interrogation lamp. He’s skittish as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. You gotta show some respect! You gotta come at him sideways. Project ‘Safety’ first, then ‘Curiosity.’ Low and slow, yeah? Let him know you’re not looking for a fight, just a yarn.”
Ray took a breath, adjusting his mental posture. He suppressed the urge to demand answers and instead softened his mental projection, wrapping his question in feelings of warmth and safety.
He looked at the creature.
“Where do you come from?”
Ray asked, projecting the concept of Origin/Home.
The creature stopped playing. It turned its Golden Eyes to Ray.
A series of images flashed into Ray’s mind, sharp and vivid.
Image 1: The Deep. Cold. Crushing weight. The smell of rot and ozone. Endless tunnels of stone saturated with corrupted, violet mana. Ray recognized the image immediately, the Sunken Vaults beneath the academy. The creature was small, hiding in the cracks, terrified of the larger, corrupted beasts roaming the dark.
Image 2: The Vent. The rumble of the containment ward. The valve in the ward opening. The rush of pure aether from it.
Image 3: The Purification. A blinding explosion of golden light. Pure Aether flooding the tunnels. The corrupted creatures screaming and burning away. But the shadow… the shadow didn't burn. It was "scrubbed." The violet taint was incinerated, leaving a core of pure, sterile void.
Image 4: The Sanctuary. Seeking warmth. The creature attracted to the aether on the other side of the containment ward, tiny and terrified, squeezing through the closing valve of the ward, following the scent of the golden light into the Genesis Chamber just before the seals locked.
Ray blinked, processing the data.
Naturalist: “Well, I’ll be… This little bugger is a survivor! A ‘purified corrupted creature.’ He was born in the muck, but the Aether blast scrubbed him clean. He’s an elemental paradox, mate, a shadow that’s addicted to the light. No wonder he likes you; you’re a walking heat lamp!”
“What can you do?”
Ray asked, projecting Capability/Action.
The creature looked at a ceramic mug on the table. It walked forward, and instead of hitting the ceramic, it dissolved into smoke, flowed through the solid object, and reformed on the other side without disturbing the tea inside.
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It was the ultimate scout. Unstoppable entry, absolute stealth.
With the dinner plates cleared and the interrogation finished, the atmosphere in the suite shifted from tense mystery to a strange kind of domestic normalcy.
Ray moved to the living room sofa, watching the creature, an elemental paradox capable of walking through walls, as it batted at a dust mote that only Rina seemed able to see. It was absurd. He had just engaged in a high-stakes magical engineering project, negotiated with a corrupted ecosystem, and now he was watching a void-creature play like a kitten.
“What shall we call it?”
Ray said, leaning back in his chair.
Rina, who was clearing the plates, smiled.
“It does need a name, Young master.”
Ray rubbed his chin, looking at the creature. He felt the urge to give it a handle that sounded impressive.
“How about… Catzilla?”
Ray suggested, testing the weight of the word.
“Or Ninja Mitten?”
The creature stopped grooming its tail. It looked at Ray, hissed softly, and deliberately turned its back on him to face the wall.
Scholar: “Please stop. You are embarrassing us. 'Ninja Mitten'? Really? I am revoking your naming privileges.”
Veteran: “Target is unimpressed. Abort strategy.”
“Tough crowd,”
Ray muttered. He tried again, aiming for something edgier.
“Night Puff? Spook?”
The creature turned its head and stared at him with flat, unimpressed golden eyes. It projected a feeling of profound disappointment, as if wondering how a being with so much Aether could have so little taste.
Rina giggles, covering her mouth with her hand to hide her amusement.
“Young master, your naming sense is… truly unique. Perhaps we should let the creature decide?”
“I’m trying here,”
Ray defended, feeling his cheeks heat up slightly. He thought some more and thought of something rugged.
“Obsidian? Midnight?”