Consciousness drifts back to me in slow drips. Like water filling a bowl, my awareness gradually consolidates until I'm more than just my unconscious mind. But it's still wrong. Everything is slow, muffled, and cold. A deep, throbbing ache starts behind my eyes and spreads, making my skull feel like an overripe fruit ready to burst. Sensation prickles along my awareness. My legs and arms are splayed out to my sides, numb. That's not right. I try to move, but I'm immediately stopped by the unfamiliar weight of cold metal against my scales.

  What... happened?

  The confusion lasts but a moment before clarity asserts itself, and the memories rush in like a flash flood. Digging, hiding. The boots outside my hiding spot. The man's voice inside my head. And then the blinding pain.

  Captured.

  Panic claws at my chest, and I lash out instinctively, trying to scramble to my feet. The metal restraints clatter in resistance; thick metal clasps pin my legs and tail to the stone floor. My vision swims as I strain against them. I try to open my mouth to scream, to roar, to do something, but I find even that is blocked. A thick leather strap presses tightly against my muzzle, forcing my jaws shut. A muzzle. They fucking muzzled me.

  I struggle futilely against my bindings for a few moments before exhaustion forces me to stop. My muscles are weak, my breath ragged. The pain in my side and head tells me I'm still injured, and checking my Status, my HP is only at 37/50. I haven't been here long. Maybe a couple of hours, if my regeneration is anything to go by.

  But I'm completely helpless.

  A wave of sick terror washes over me at that fact. The feeling of being helpless doesn't mesh well with my sensibilities, and it threatens to send me over the edge. My lungs burn with ragged, panicked breaths and the smell of fear—my own fear—is overwhelming.

  I need to get out. I need to run. I need to—!

  A voice, cold and steady, cuts through my rising panic like a scythe through wheat. While not loud, it feels like it reverberates within my mind like a ringing bell. It sounds calm, which is impossible because I am not calm.

  Stop thrashing. This panic is embarrassing and unproductive.

  I blink, my mind freezing. I forget the clasps, the muzzle, the humans. The voice is mine, but at the same time, completely foreign. It holds none of my fear, none of my pain, and certainly none of my mounting hysteria. It belongs to Puzzle. But... but that's impossible. Puzzle is just... me. Puzzle can't talk.

  A new wave of horror, far deeper than the terror of capture, washes over me. A shadow skulks along the periphery of my vision, and when I turn to look, it dashes away. The back of my neck prickles, and the voice—Puzzle—speaks again, exasperated.

  Focus. Put on our big drake pants and think. We've been captured, not killed. We can break everything down later. For now, analyze. Observe. Survive.

  I force a shuddering breath past the muzzle and slowly nod, the chains restricting me. Still, the action helps center my racing mind. Puzzle is right, as always. This is just another day in the life of Aria Drake. So what if my made-up internal voice is now literally speaking to me and is a physical presence I can feel in my own head? I talk to myself all the time. This changes nothing about my situation. My body trembles with uncertainty, but I push the rising panic back and force myself to pay attention to what's around me.

  With the minimal neck movement I'm capable of, I can see I am currently strapped to a large stone table, several feet off the ground, not the floor—no cage, thankfully, but this might be worse. I'm held fast by thick iron clasps that shackle my wrists, ankles, and tail. These shackles are connected to short lengths of chain anchored directly to the table, offering only a teasing, minimal range of movement. The chains are taut; I can pull against them, but they grant no leverage, making rolling impossible. My tail, in particular, is secured by three separate bands, pinning it completely to the cold stone, and there's something around my stinger I can't quite see preventing me from extending it. Smart. Annoying as hell, but smart nonetheless.

  The room itself is cold, dry, and smells faintly of chalk and dust. The rich, earthy smell of the tunnels is completely missing. I'm probably far away from where I was originally, which is...not great. This is definitely some kind of holding area. I can see individual cages with bars made of dull metal built directly into the wall. My table currently sits in the middle of the room, outside of the holding cells. Wait, scratch that—it's not a table. It's some kind of platform built directly out of the stone floor. Gah, this isn't some kind of altar, is it? Am I being sacrificed? I sure as hell hope not.

  The room is illuminated by a series of small, humming orbs embedded in the ceiling, the harsh, almost fluorescent light casting little shadow for Puzzle to hide in. Not that it seems to stop her. I keep catching quick glimpses of dark shapes that I can't quite focus on along the periphery. The back of my neck prickles with the phantom movement. There are no windows to speak of; a basement, maybe? Possibly a castle dungeon, given the cages and the stone. I squint up at the bright white light, and now that I'm looking closer, are those monster cores? They closely resemble the small orb I pulled from the Sabertooth Stoat, just double, maybe triple the size. Is that why I'm here? Are they going to rip out my core and turn it into a lightbulb? I don't even have a core!

  Before I have a chance to send myself into a new panic, Puzzle breaks in with some choice words. The shadows writhe in frustration, and she dashes from one end of the room to the other, past... a bench?

  Stop jumping to conclusions, you scaled moron. We have more important things to focus on than architecture. Pay attention, we aren't alone.

  Oi, I resent that! It's a reasonable fear when humans are involved. Who knows what's going through their heads? They have us in chains, Puzzle. Chains! They could do—wait, you're right, we aren't alone.

  Pulling against the binding around my neck, my gaze sweeps across the room, past the empty cages, until both Puzzle and I snap to rapt attention. There, sitting patiently on a heavy, cushioned stone bench, is Mr. Knight. Although his armor may have been removed, it's still easy to recognize him. Not many people are eight feet tall, after all. The mountain of a man is covered in thick cloth bandages from his arms to his torso, and there’s noticeable swelling around his bloodshot right eye. Guess I was right about that orbital fracture.

  What strikes me the most, though, is that... this man is definitely not human.

  Honestly, I had suspected as much when I saw how tall he was, but I thought his armor might be exaggerating the illusion. Now that I can see him properly, though, he’s definitely something different. His skin is... rock. Literally, Mr. Knight is covered head to toe in a dark stone flecked with veins of silver that crisscross at even intervals, giving him a regally craggy appearance. The effect is especially noticeable around his eyes, where the veins make him look like he’s wearing particularly shiny eyeliner. It looks good on him. Frames his face well, very tasteful. His face is square, almost rectangular, and he lacks hair completely. He's not bad looking, honestly, just... marbled. Yeah, that's a good word for it.

  I scan the stone man, noting the severity of damage the Monarch inflicted, and whince. It's pretty bad. There's a deep gash on his side, looking to be hastily wrapped in white linen that weeps blood, staining the cloth dark, and multiple smaller wounds long his arms. I guess even stone people can get hurt badly. Honestly, with a wound like that, he needs to be laid up in bed, not here doing... whatever it is he's doing here. But at the edge of the wound, where the craggy stone falls away, I catch a glimpse of something softer, something dull and grey beneath the stony surface.

  Look closely. The stone is a shell.

  I narrow my eyes to focus, and sure enough, there's skin beneath the stone. Good looking out, Puzzle. Still, that's...strange. Is it just glued to him, or is it something else? That seems uncomfortable and impractical.

  As if he senses the internal interest, Mr. Knight subtly shifts his weight, rotating his torso just enough to shield the wound from view. Guess he's shy about it. Or he notices a monster staring incessantly at a vulnerable wound and doesn't want to give me any ideas. Not that I could really do anything at the moment; I'm a little indisposed.

  The other occupant of the room hovers near Mr. Knight, leaning protectively against the wall like a pilot fish next to a shark. He's pretty short; I'm not sure exactly, but he's below average. Honestly, with the size difference, it's a funny dichotomy. This one is definitely human. In fact, it's the mage I saw in the clearing, the one who was holding back the horde with those fireballs and dome.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Now that I get a proper look at him, he's definitely an older gentleman. Possibly in his mid-fifties to early sixties, his face is weathered and pale, with no visible tan lines to speak of—he must not get enough sun. Now that he's out of his armored robes, he's definitely got some heft to him. Not jolly old Saint Nick, but enough to know he's eating well. His hair is cut short on the sides, with a small top knot to pull his locks back, and his beard is braided neatly to a rough point; his mustache is similarly curved upward. He wears a simple white linen tunic with a silver serpent embroidered above his heart and dark trousers, but his hands are covered in intricate black leather gloves that glow softly around the wrists. He looks... friendly. Well, as friendly as one can look when there's a scowl plastered on their face. But there's something about the way his brow twitches that makes the stern look seem forced.

  The shadows behind him writhe, and a dark form prowls from between the two figures. Neither of them notices—definitely in my head, then. What looks to be a tail lingers around the man’s leg for a little longer than needed before Puzzle chimes in.

  This man is a threat to us. Magic is an unknown variable. Use caution.

  I nod at the warning and send soothing feelings to the presence inside my own head. The shadows around the man pulse once and uncoil, the tension settling around his feet. The figure disappears once I blink. The sight is unsettling; I'm still getting used to this new dynamic we've established. But Puzzle is right; I can't let us get hurt because I don't want to take budget Santa over there seriously.

  My internal assessment of the two men is cut short when they stand and begin walking towards me. Mr. Knight, with how severe his injuries seem to be, struggles to stand at first and, after being pulled to his feet, is forced to lean on the mage as they walk. It's a little awkward due to the significant height difference, but they manage to make it work. The mage, for his part, looks genuinely worried about the large man. They must be friends.

  With their slow pace, it takes a few moments before they reach me. Stopping in front of the platform, the three of us observe one another for several long seconds before the mage steps forward. The wrists of his gloves begin to glow brighter, producing a slightly golden hue, and after ten seconds, I feel something reach out and brush against my mind. Just as before, there's a mental click as I'm assuming some kind of magic takes hold, and then a voice rings in my head. A familiar one.

  [Good. You're finally awake. I hadn't intended you to be out for so long, but I suppose it couldn't be helped. You were decently injured by the time you were found; A mind spike on top of that was likely too much for you to handle. Well, no matter. Let's get down to business, monster. We have some questions.] The mage says. His tone is conversational, yet thick with the undertone of authority. He sounds vaguely Germanic. Clasping his hands behind his back, he begins to pace back and forth in front of me before striking up the mental conversation once more. [Despite your low Tier, the Captain here believes you have sufficient mental capacity to hold a conversation with us. If this is the case, state the name given to you by your reconstitutor. If you do not have a name, you may say so now.]

  I stare at the pacing man for several long moments before the full meaning of his demand catches up to me. I subsequently turn to glower at Mr. Knight. Why, you son-of-a—you did sell me out! I had been silently hoping he hadn't, but—I knew I shouldn't have helped you, you overgrown pebble! Damnit, how much does he know? He's probably just fishing for information, but confirming my name feels like digging myself a deeper hole. And what is this about my "reconstitutor?" The word strikes a familiar chord, but I can't quite place it. Indecision plays violently at the edges of my mind before Puzzle does something utterly unexpected.

  ?She pushes me out of the way.

  ?[Our name is Aria. To whom do we have the pleasure of speaking with, gentlemen?] Her voice is calm and flat. I can feel her presence at the forefront of my mind, and somehow, she's responded back to the mage. Even I don't know how to do that. That fact makes the scales on my hands prickle with phantom sweat, but I squash any rising feelings of anxiety. We have more important things to worry about.

  ?Her response seems to take the mage off guard, and even Mr. Knight raises an eyebrow in surprise. They glance at one another and begin talking in low voices. Ah, they weren't actually expecting a direct dialogue. Well, guess it's time we hold our own little conference with the time we have. I mentally pull Puzzle back, focusing in on the presence.

  Alright, Puzzle, what's the deal? Why'd we give our name? That confirms we're smarter than they thought. I doubt intelligent monsters are looked on favorably—look at the Monarch.

  Baseline compliance. If we lie, they may be able to tell somehow. Telling our name is a small price to pay to figure out who these men are. We need information.

  A give and take approach, huh? That could work. Let's just be careful we don't give too much away, then.

  The two men quickly finish their verbal consultation, and the mage continues the mental communication.

  ?[Very well, Aria. My name is Edmund. This is Cygnus, my second in command and long-time friend.] He clears his throat and continues. [I suppose we should explain your... situation.] He gestures to the bindings and muzzle, and I fail to suppress an eye roll. That's one way of putting it. Indignation wells up within me, but I bite it back.

  ?He continues.

  ?[You are currently being held in the city of Cotel under suspicion of being an illegal Pet of champion origin. Although you may not fully comprehend this, it is a serious charge. Under normal circumstances, you would be killed, and that would be the end of the situation; Monsters do not normally get a trial, after all.]

  [However, testimony from Captain Cygnus states that you were not only helpful but also directly responsible for his survival, as you retrieved his sword after it was knocked from his grasp and took on multiple groups of monsters alongside him after returning it to him. In light of these efforts, we are giving you a chance to continue existing. You need only answer our questions truthfully, and you will be released under special circumstances.]

  The solemnity in his voice cuts through my rising indignation. Illegal Pet of champion origin. The words are alien, but the meaning is chillingly clear: death is the default setting. My heart thumps against the stone platform, and I am tempted to thrash, but I force myself to stay still. That'd just make things worse. Still, the fact that Mr. Knight—Cygnus, I remind myself—went to bat for me makes me feel a little better. At least it wasn't a total betrayal.

  ?Puzzle breaks into my thoughts with a little more energy than she had previously. The shadows bubble around the edges of the room and she dashes excitedly from corner to corner.

  This is critical information. They are misunderstanding our origins, believing us to be a 'Pet,' whatever that means. Do not challenge the assumption; it could work well in our favor. Feign obedience. We need more information—we need to know on what conditions we will be released.

  ?I nod slowly, a barely perceptible movement against the binding. I take a moment to concoct a reply before I respond.

  [I understand. I agree to answer your questions on the condition that this muzzle is removed and you explain the circumstances of my release. Surely you can't expect a girl to trust you if trust is not given in return?] I send, raising a brow.

  ?Edmund stops pacing and stares at me, the scowl returning to his face. He crosses his arms and looks me up and down, thinking.

  ?Ooh, I don't think he liked that.

  ?[Although it pains me to have to explain this to you, Aria, you have no leverage here.] His mental voice is like a parent explaining something simple to a child. [Negotiations between two parties only work if both parties have something the other wants. You have answers, yes, but we have other ways to get them besides asking you; we're only going this route as a courtesy. As much as I appreciate your actions in saving my friend, you're still an unknown monster with dubious intentions.] His voice takes on a thoughtful tone by the end. Rubbing his chin, he offers an olive branch. [Though, given your cooperation so far, I suppose I could be convinced, as a gesture of goodwill. As you said, trust for trust. So, why should we accept your demands? Removing the muzzle would allow you an avenue for attack, which is not something we're keen on allowing.]

  [It's irritating and humiliating,] I deadpan. [But I understand that's not a sufficient reason. So, let me break this down logically.] Both of them stare at me for a moment, and I swear I see Cygnus crack a small smile, and I continue before he can speak. [I am currently chained, strapped to a platform in what I can only assume is either a castle dungeon or an interrogation room. I have little movement available to me, and let's be honest, my only real hope of getting out of here is by listening to you. However, I have the info you want. Information I don't have to tell you.]

  ?[Now, yes, you could go with whatever technique or magic you have available to you to get it without my permission, but you haven't yet. That makes me think it's not just because I helped Cygnus. I'm a monster; monsters don't get courtesy or rewards. That means your alternative method is either expensive or difficult to pull off. It is easier for everyone—and far more efficient—if I just spill it, which is something I am more than willing to do if you do two things: remove the muzzle, and explain what happens afterwards.]

  ?I let that marinate for a few moments before continuing, looking the mage straight in the eye. [Plus, let's face it, sir, you're a top-tier mage. I've seen what your magic is capable of. I'd have to be pretty stupid to attack you afterward, especially with Captain Cygnus right here. Please. I'd just like some dignity before we continue our talks.]

  Edmund stands silently for a long moment, arms crossed and scowl deepening. It's a several seconds before he speaks again, and when he does, his mental voice is laced with reluctant acceptance. [I concede the point, monster. While not expensive, the magic is not one I like to perform unless absolutely necessary. If possible, I'd much rather get information by other means.] He sighs, the sound heavy and resigned. [Very well. I agree to remove the muzzle, conditional on your immediate and truthful answer to the first question. We will discuss the terms of your release after that.]

  Before he can make to remove the restraint, Cygnus shifts. His voice booms inside my head and he stares down at me with those silver-veined eyes. His voice is calm, yet firm.

  [Her arms, too, Edmund. Remove the chains.]

  Edmund whirls around, shocked. [Cygnus, are you insane? The muzzle is risk enough! I will not let you put yourself in more danger due to some preconceived notion of obedience!]

  [Her arms, Edmund,] Cygnus sends back, holding my gaze. [She's right. She saved my life. You insult me by doubting my reasons. Her requests are more than reasonable, and she's right, we have her at a severe disadvantage. I mean, by the Path, she's completely tied down. Even if we remove the muzzle and arm restrains, do you honestly think a Tier one could free itself in the time it would take to subdue her? And even then, you could just roast her. She's been cooperative so far. Give her the small bit of dignity she asks for, or we risk losing her cooperation entirely. We both know how much you dislike using that spell.]

  ?Edmund hesitates—a long, fraught moment filled with staticing tension. Then, he sighs. His shoulders droop in a tired expression of defeat, and his gaze softens as he looks at the large man.

  ?[Alright, you craggy old oaf. I get the point.] His mental voice holds a deep, affectionate weariness. [Maybe I'm being a tad overprotective. I'm just not used to dealing with monsters like this.]

  ?As he turns to me, his expression hardens once more, but it has significantly less edge to it. [Alright, Aria. I'm going to remove both the muzzle and the forearm chains. I hope you understand that this is a show of significant goodwill towards you. If you try to attack me in any way, you will be corrected, your secrets ripped from your mind, and then killed. I hope I've made myself clear.]

  A bolt of relief shoots through me as he moves to remove my bindings, and a wellspring of giddy energy bubbles up. My gamble worked! I knew it, flattery always works. Probably helps that Cygnus agreed with me, but that doesn't matter right now. What matters is I'm finally getting this damn muzzle off!

  ?Thankfully, it doesn't take but a moment before Edmund is unbinding me. With a soft wump, the muzzle hits the platform, and a few moments later, the chains restricting my arms come undone. After a second to think, he also unclasps the ring around my neck, entirely freeing my upper body.

  ?I take a deep, ragged breath, the scent of dust, chalk, and Edmund's cologne filling my nostrils, and for the first time since my capture, I am (mostly) free to move. I shake out my wrists, open and close my jaw a few times to loosen the stiffness, and make a show of stretching my neck and back. Once I'm done, I stare directly at the two men.

  ?[Alright, boys. Now, what does little old me have the privilege of answering for you?] I ask, giving a wide smile.