I am Shadow, a year and two arcs old, and I am a monster masquerading as an adventurer. My close friend Maribel and I are on a quest, bound for the village of Fel.

As we draw near the village of Fel in the early evening, we pass miles of fields with stunted, sickly crops. The ground is still damp from last night's rain, and the air carries the sour scent of rotting vegetation and the steady buzz of insects. Huckleberry groans in frustration as she and Buttercup strain, slowed by the heavy wagon sinking into the muddy road.

"These must be the cursed fields," Maribel muses, her eyes scanning the tree line ahead of us, using our map to shield her eyes from the sun setting beyond it.

"There is no curse," I say, continuing to scan the fields with my diagnostic eye. "The soil is depleted and riddled with pests."

"So, same as the rest of the country," Maribel scoffs. "Why do they think they are cursed?" she adds thoughtfully.

"Hard to say. They may have local superstitions," I say flatly. "In the end, no matter what they think the cause is, completing the quest requires the crops be made healthy."

"That's on you then, big guy," Maribel says with a shrug. "I don't know spells like that."

I'm not surprised, but I am a bit disappointed. It had seemed highly unlikely an actual curse would have been placed on these farms. In a country with so few mages, who would cast the spell? Why target just the fields in this remote village, and to what end? That kind of mystery would have been more interesting to solve, and a curse far quicker to dispel. Revitalizing miles of exhausted crops, on the other hand, will take days and more mana than I currently have stored.

"I think the village is just inside the grove of trees," Maribel says, glancing from the map back to the road ahead.

A thick fog rolls in as we draw nearer to a forest of very tall redwood trees whose canopies rise high above, swallowing the last light and cloaking the area in shadow. The air does not cool, the humidity does not change, and there is no wind to carry the mist. There is nothing natural about this fog. By the time the road brings us past the first massive tangle of roots at the base of one of those trees, the haze is so dense we can barely see past the mares' noses.

"Where did all this come from?" Maribel mutters as she rummages around behind the driver's seat, fishing out our crystal lamp. She lights it and hangs it off the front of the wagon. The glow reflects off the mist in a yellow haze but does little to restore our sight.

I ease back on the reins and the horses settle into a slow, cautious walk. We are wrapped in a blanket of gray, but my enhanced senses are not so easily defeated. I can see we have entered the village. Our wagon passes small homes cut out of the massive redwood roots and burrowed into the ground. Tiny round wooden doors seal tunnels so narrow even Maribel would struggle to squeeze into them.

"Predator Sight," Maribel intones as her pupils turn scarlet. "They're hiding," she adds, looking from burrow to burrow.

The residents of Fel seem to have fled in a hurry before we arrived. An axe lies beside a stack of wood, halfway through being split. A basket sits abandoned, its weaving only partway finished. It looks as if the entire village dropped what they were doing and hid. But from what?

"Think we scared them?" Maribel asks in a worried tone.

I do not answer, my mind's eye already fixed on the images being transmitted by my hummingbird scout. I watch as it weaves its way through the trees further down the path, circling the true culprit. Something has managed to cloak its presence with the aid of this enchanted fog: a massive, nine-foot-tall wolf-like beast with its head buried in the collapsed roof of a burrow.

My scout circles at a safe distance, giving me a clear view of our target without drawing its attention. There is no doubt this is the monster we are looking for. Then my vision goes black and I find myself back in the wagon beside Maribel. The transmission from the hummingbird cuts off abruptly and my connection to its thoughts is gone. He is gone.

"Put me on!" Envy says urgently.

"The Fenrir is ahead," I say, bringing the horses to a halt and rising to my feet. "This is not fog. This is illusion magic." A strong illusion too, strong enough to defeat my threat detection, but now that I am aware of it, I can break it.

"Dispel," I intone, holding one hand out to Envy and the other over myself. The fog instantly thins, stripped of its magical concealment, and the red outline of the Fenrir becomes clearly visible ahead of us, just around a bend in the road and half-hidden behind several trees.

"Well, that did not take long," comes Envy's deeper, distorted voice as Maribel dons the mask. It seals seamlessly to her face. Through my mana sense, I watch the distinct signatures of Maribel and Envy converge into one. It is no longer just Maribel who gracefully leaps down from the wagon beside me. It is the version of her that shares control with Envy.

I leap down beside her with a heavy thud, my boots sinking a few inches into the mud. Beside me, Envy intones the usual enhancements: Iron Hide, Lion's Heart, Enhanced Speed, Thought Acceleration, and Strength Magnification.

Maribel has never learned these spells on her own. But with Envy's mask on, they meld completely, Maribel's instinct and will joining with Envy's power and knowledge until they act as one.

The white glow of her enchantments has not even faded before I cast another on her and myself. "True Sight." I then turn to the horses and layer the same spells over them. They whinny and shiver as if bursting with energy, pawing at the ground.

Turning back to Envy, I find her masked face tilted slightly in confusion. "Why'd you do that?"

"Dispel removes any current illusions, but True Sight will block future illusions," I explain.

"No, why did you just enchant our horses?" Envy asks.

"I do not want our horses to die," I say defensively. The giant wolf-like Fenrir reminds me of the time I was careless and lost a horse, and I would prefer that not happen a second time.

"Okay, but usually it takes a while to learn how to control yourself when you are enhanced without getting yourself or anyone else hurt," Envy says, watching as Huckleberry's squirming rocks the wagon from side to side. "Aren't you afraid of what they might do?"

I pause. I have not really thought about that, but what is done is done, and we do not have time to debate it with a C-rank monster tearing the village apart ahead of us.

"I am not dragging this ruddy wagon back to Astradel," I say flatly as I start trudging down the road toward the Fenrir.

Envy shrugs and then follows after me, loading bolts into her miniature arm-mounted crossbow.

"So, we doing the usual? You distract him while I turn him into a pincushion?" Envy asks as her third bolt clicks into place.

"Just be careful," I say as I draw my sword, rounding the bend in the road to see the beast still digging around inside the burrow roof.

"Got it," Envy says before vanishing through a portal behind me, reappearing behind the cover of a bramble bush with a clear view of where I will confront the beast.

I raise my hand, gathering mana to launch a stone javelin, but the Fenrir pulls its head from the burrow the moment I begin channeling. Its large, glowing yellow eyes lock straight onto me. Clamped in its jaws is what looks like a sack of vegetables; several potatoes spill out through a tear and thud into the mud.

A deep, thunderous growl rolls from the beast as its lips peel back, baring its teeth in a vicious glare. It squares its stance with mine as if daring me to take the shot. I fully intend to. This beast does not scare me. I have killed hundreds of wolves. This is just a very large, very powerful wolf that happens to use magic.

The stone spike I have summoned tears a tunnel through the fog as it launches toward the Fenrir. With surprising agility, it twists aside; my projectile zips past its head and slams into a tree behind it. A shower of splintered redwood rains down as the Fenrir growls again.

I start to prepare another salvo when its guttural growl seems to shift, echoing strangely, as if it is all around me. No… a second monstrous growl.

"Behind you!" Envy warns me telepathically.

I whip around to see a second giant beast looking down at me from atop a gnarled tangle of roots at the base of a great tree behind us. Its fur is white with thin black stripes, its feline body crouched and ready to spring.

"It's a Byakko," I mutter as I stare up into predatory blue eyes, arcs of electricity leaping across its bristling fur. The ruddy guild request didn't mention a second C-rank beast; now they've got me surrounded.

The Byakko's massive paws flex, its claws carving deep grooves into the twisted roots with a harsh scrape. The Fenrir's grey mane bristles as it sizes me up. I brace myself, barrier raised, but unsure which side will strike first.

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There is a sharp crack of thunder and a shockwave that shakes the village. The Byakko is gone, the fog blasted away from where it was an instant before as a volley of bolts slams into the roots it had been standing on, thudding into empty wood.

I look around as the fog dissipates. The growling has ceased, and there is no sign of either creature. Even with my mana sense, I can find no trace of them. Were they illusions too?

A small pile of broken wood beside the road catches my eye. I could not see it clearly until the fog lifted, but I recognize it now as the shattered remains of the hummingbird puppet.

Illusions cannot break things, nor do they steal food. The potatoes that spilled from the pilfered sack still lie on the ground where they fell. That was no illusion either. And I am fairly certain my True Sight spell would have allowed me to see through any if there had been. Which leads to another troubling question.

"Since when do Byakkos and Fenrirs work together?" Envy asks as she drops out of a portal beside me.

"What kind of Fenrir steals potatoes?" I counter.

"Something seriously strange is going on," Envy says, walking over to the burrow the Fenrir had been raiding. She punts one of the loose potatoes aside as she goes.

"And since when do you miss?" she adds over her shoulder.

"I missed once, you missed three," I fire back.

Envy chuckles at my barb before slipping down into the burrow. I continue down the road, looking for any other clues, but it seems the only damage, other than the collapsed burrow, was caused by us.

"No bodies or blood in here," Envy says, exiting through the burrow's door, hunched over to fit. "Gods, how short are these people?"

"You have met Lady Abigail," I answer, glancing toward the opening door of a much larger burrow farther down the road where it splits. The tree it is cut into is the largest in view, and the burrow sits near what appears to be the center of the village. A few furry faces poke out the open door, eyeing us. "Foxkin are on average around four and a half feet tall."

"Aww, they're so cute," Envy says telepathically as two foxkin slowly exit the burrow and head toward us. Both are a mix of black and white fur, dressed in brown robes with ill-fitted metal chest plates. Their ears are pinned back as they approach us cautiously. I attempt a friendly wave to ease the tension, causing both to flinch.

Each carries a long-barreled firearm like those used by the Hyperion military, now leveled at Envy and me. These weapons look as though they have been neglected for decades, their stocks dry-rotted and their metal badly rusted. The foxkin gripping them tremble, clearly terrified.

"No need for alarm, we are adventurers sent by the guild," I say in as friendly a tone as I can manage.

"Yeah, calm down, we just saved you guys," Envy adds indignantly.

Both foxkin respond by spouting a jumbled mess of high-pitched screeches, yelps, growls, and barks that, based on their gestures and the brandishing of their weapons, is probably some command for us to do something. But since neither Envy nor I speak Foxkin, I have no idea what that something might be.

"This is very not cute," Envy adds during a brief pause in the screeching and threatening, when they seem to be waiting for us to do whatever it is they just demanded. Her comment only triggers another wave of shrill noise.

"I wouldn't be too concerned," I say boredly. "Those aren't even loaded." I had already scanned the weapons the moment they exited the burrow and realized they were no real threat.

"And even if they were loaded," I say louder now to be heard over the screaming foxkin, "I am fairly certain they pose more of a threat to the person firing them than to their target."

They flinch and step back at my words, or more likely due to my raised voice. Behind them, a third foxkin exits the burrow, white fur mottled with speckles of grey, unarmed and dressed in indigo and white robes. They hobble slowly toward us, leaning heavily on a wooden cane as they call out in Foxkin to the other two.

The two foxkin guards look from the newcomer back to us before slowly backing away. Several more exit the burrow, calling out to the one with the cane, but they fall quiet when she finally speaks.

"Welcome, adventurers. Please forgive these overzealous youngsters," she says in a distinctly elderly feminine voice. "They dishonor us all by treating guests so discourteously." She adds a small bow in our direction. The two young guards and the gaggle of curious foxkin pouring out of the large burrow all mirror her bow.

"There was no harm," I respond, relieved she speaks Common but unsure whether I should bow back or not.

"I suppose it was you who drove those terrible beasts off?" she asks, looking around warily as if not entirely sure they are gone.

"Yes, we did," Envy lies smoothly.

"And would you by chance be Chief Wahns Yings?" I ask.

The elderly foxkin chuckles and shakes her head. "That'd be my dear husband, but he does not speak your human language, so please tell me what brings you to our village." As she speaks, her gaze flicks to the sword in my hand and her voice takes on a touch of trepidation. I immediately sheath my sword.

"I am Shadow, and this is Envy," I say, gesturing to Envy and then to myself. "We are here in response to three requests he made to the guild." Beside me, Envy fishes the three sheets of parchment bearing the requests from her pocket.

"Thank the spirits!" the elder foxkin says joyfully. "I had given up hope anyone would come. Please, please come in so we can discuss the great evil that has befallen us."

She shuffles back toward her den, barking orders and gesturing animatedly to the others. A flood of foxkin, young and old, pour out of the oversized burrow. What must have been the entire village that took shelter inside now spills into the street, crowding around us. The chief's wife waves for us to follow as the mass of furry faces watch us with wide, curious eyes.

Envy and I follow her toward the burrow entrance, which I eye with growing skepticism. We stop short of the door, its frame reaching only as high as my hip joint. Miss Yings turns back to see what is holding us up, her eyes starting at my waist and slowly traveling up to my face as she realizes the problem.

She mutters something in her own language, then offers me another bow and says, "Perhaps we should talk... outside."

A moment later, a small round table is set in the grass outside the burrow, with four small pillows placed around it for seats. Miss Yings kneels on one cushion and gestures for us to join her. Maribel sits cross-legged beside her, and I slowly lower myself onto the pillow across from the chief's wife. My knee sinks straight through the cushion and into the soft soil beneath. There is a small pop and a flurry of goose down, followed by a few gasps from the crowd of onlookers. Miss Yings's brow twitches slightly as her eyes follow one of the drifting feathers down to the table.

"We are grateful you have come, Masters Shadow and Envy. Our village has been cursed," she says darkly. "For eight years, anything that grows in our fields withers and dies, and our village suffers regular attacks from those horrific beasts."

"I am confident we can solve those problems for you," I answer, as an orange-furred female foxkin in a floral-patterned robe steps forward and sets three teacups and a dainty teapot on the table before us.

"But what can you tell us about this bandit problem?" Envy asks, placing the relevant request on the table between us as the foxkin quietly pours tea into each cup.

"Bandit?" the elderly foxkin repeats with a shake of her head. "It is an evil spirit, a curse, not just a bandit."

The orange-furred foxkin bows and slips away.

"What do you mean by 'evil spirit'?" I ask, leaning in with interest. I have never seen such a thing myself. Ren has only read books that mention how beastkin tribes tend to worship nature spirits, praying to them and making offerings for blessings of health and good harvests. Researchers from Arcadia have even found fae posing as those spirits. So if by spirits they mean the fae, then would an evil spirit simply be a particularly malicious fae?

"She is a curse upon us all, divine punishment because one among us," she says, pausing to throw a scathing glance toward a burrow in the distance, "violated the laws of nature and made a bargain with death."

Well, that was perfectly vague and answered nothing.

"So this evil spirit, you say, is punishing you how?" Envy asks skeptically. "And how is that connected to the monsters and your crops?"

"Those are the punishments!" Miss Yings answers passionately. "We angered the spirits, so they have sent the cursed one to wither our crops and even turned our guardian beasts against us! You must kill the cursed one living in the forest to end our famine and these attacks."

Envy and I let her words hang for a moment. She looks frantically between us, as if searching our masks for some sign that we understand. I am convinced she believes what she is saying, but her story is not adding up.

Fenrir and Byakko are rare and territorial. And did she call them guardian beasts? They are not known to hunt in groups, let alone help each other. Nor do they eat potatoes. As powerful as they are, it is hard to believe this village could survive even one of them.

"How many have the beasts killed?" I ask.

Miss Yings blinks, sitting back in confusion.

"You said you have been suffering regular attacks from two very dangerous monsters," I continue, "so I would expect the death toll to be rather high." I glance around at the crowd gathered around us. Many appear thin, certainly underfed, but none seem maimed.

"Many have died from starvation, our homes destroyed," she says slowly, glaring at me defensively.

Envy drums her fingers on her knee, thoughtful. I am sure she sees the problem without me having to say it. The fields are not cursed. The bloodthirsty monsters have not actually killed anyone. Everything is being blamed on an evil spirit they now want us to kill.

"Can you describe this evil spirit to us?" I ask.

"She takes the form of a foxkin girl with fur as pure white as the moon and eyes of blood red," she answers, her tone dropping to a low whisper, as if that image alone should be terrifying. "But be careful, adventurers. The spirit will take the form of what you trust, make you doubt yourself, make you trust it. I warn you, do not hesitate. If you find the beast, don't let it speak. It speaks only lies. Slay it before it slays you!"

She punctuates her final word by slamming her little fist on the table, sending her teacup toppling and spilling its contents. Maribel snatches up the guild request, saving it from being drenched in tea.

That certainly fits the description of a fae, and a fae is certainly capable of draining crops and controlling beasts. But something tells me the elderly foxkin woman is too devoted to her own superstition to accept that explanation.

"And where was she last seen?" Envy asks, tucking the request back into her pocket and pulling out the map. She holds it out to Miss Yings, who leans in close and squints at it.

"Here," she says, placing the tip of her claw on the forested area southwest of Fel.

"Very well. Leave it to us, Miss Yings," I say, standing slowly, brushing muddy feathers from my legs as I straighten to my full height. Envy follows my lead.

Moments later, we return to our wagon, trailed by a group of curious, chittering foxkin. In our absence, Huckleberry has wrenched free from her harness and raided a nearby burrow's garden. We arrive to find her happily munching on anemic-looking correl roots while Buttercup watches on disapprovingly.

After removing Huckleberry's enchantments and repairing her harness, we set off again, heading deeper into the forest in search of this supposed evil spirit. I am not sure what we will find, but I am certain of one thing: we have been lied to, and we have not yet learned the truth of what has happened to Fel.

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