Beware of Kittens! [Day 5]

Day 5.1: Threshold

I woke with a start, Stormy kneading my chest with sharp little claws. Pale morning light filtered through the shutters, casting long shadows across the pub's interior. The previous night's events came rushing back—the Sirin called Vesna now trapped in the cold well beneath a chest of my domain soil.

I stretched, feeling surprisingly well-rested. "Good morning to you too," I told Stormy, gently removing her paws from my ribs. "Easy on the acupuncture, please."

The kitten mewed and hopped down, padding over to the cold well cover where she sat, tail twitching expectantly.

"She's fine down there," I assured the cat. "Unless you're thinking of having bird for breakfast?"

Stormy merely blinked her milky eyes in response.

After a quick meal of smoked fish and preserved berries, I decided to conduct a more thorough exploration of Svalbard in daylight. With Vesna temporarily neutralized and the Jotuns seemingly not being able to find me, it seemed as good a time as any to expand my understanding of the village and its resources.

"Want to come along?" I asked Stormy, who was cleaning herself by the door.

She stopped mid-lick and trotted over, scaling my layers of clothing with practiced ease until she perched on my shoulder like a furry epaulette.

"I'll take that as a yes," I chuckled, checking that my knife and arbalest were secure at my belt before venturing outside.

The morning was crisp and clear, the sky a pale blue canvas stretched above the ruined village. Fresh snow had fallen overnight, blanketing the destruction in pristine white, as if nature herself was attempting to erase the evidence of the dragon's devastation.

I adjusted the backpack containing a portion of my domain soil, ensuring it was secure. 

"Let's start with the northern section," I told Stormy. "We haven't explored much in that direction yet."

We made our way past the smithy and the bailiff's quarters, toward a cluster of larger buildings that stood at the village's edge. Unlike the smaller dwellings closer to the center, these structures showed signs of having been more substantial—stone foundations supporting wooden frames, some partially collapsed, others still somewhat intact.

The first building appeared to have been some sort of meetinghouse or hall. Its high-ceiling interior was dominated by a central hearth and long tables arranged in rows. At the far end stood a raised dais, suggesting this was where village elders or leaders might have addressed the community.

"The great hall," I murmured, running my hand along a carved wooden column. "Village council probably met here."

I searched the hall methodically, finding little of immediate use beyond some well-crafted pottery and metal cups that had survived the collapse of one wall. More interesting was a small chamber behind the dais that appeared to have served as a record-keeping room. Several leather-bound books lay scattered across a heavy oak desk, their pages yellowed.

I gathered these carefully into my pack. Even if I couldn't read the language, the diagrams and maps they contained might prove valuable.

The next structure proved to be a primitive schoolhouse, complete with benches arranged in rows facing a larger desk. Slates and chalk lay abandoned. On the walls hung maps drawn on parchment—crude but detailed representations of what I assumed was the surrounding region.

I carefully removed these as well, along with a set of measuring instruments I found in a cabinet—a brass compass, a sextant-like device, and several rulers marked with unfamiliar units.

Moving on, we came to a large building set slightly apart from the others. Its stone foundation appeared more robust, and the heavy oak door still hung on its hinges regardless of severe damage to the roof above.

Inside, rows of shelves lined the walls, many still laden with scrolls, books, and various artifacts. A library or archive of some sort, perhaps belonging to whatever passed for scholars in this medieval society.

"Jackpot," I breathed.

I moved through the shelves, examining titles and contents. Many appeared to be historical records, while others contained diagrams of plants, animals, celestial bodies, and what looked suspiciously like magical rituals. It was a pity that I could not read the text and Ioan’s memories provided me with no reading skills.

A section near the back held books bound in darker leather, their spines marked with dark symbols. One in particular caught my attention—a heavy tome whose cover bore an intricate tree design inlaid with silver wire.

When I opened it, I found pages of detailed illustrations depicting various creatures, many resembling the Sirin in their hybrid animal-human forms. Accompanying text looked like it described what appeared to be their abilities, habitats, and weaknesses.

"A bestiary," I murmured, carefully placing it in my pack. "Could be useful, even if I can’t read. Maybe the Sirin could read it for me… right?”

“Mrrww,” the kitten answered.

In another corner, partially hidden behind a fallen bookshelf, I discovered a locked chest reinforced with iron bands. The lock was substantial but simple, and with some effort and the modern tools hanging from my belt, I managed to pry it open.

Inside lay a collection of small glass vials, each containing a different colored powder or liquid, neatly labeled in the same script as the books. Beneath these was a folded parchment bearing what appeared to be instructions or recipes, complete with illustrations of plants and minerals.

"An alchemist's kit," I guessed, wrapping the vials carefully in cloth before adding them to my collection.

As the day wore on, Stormy and I continued our exploration, moving from building to building. In what appeared to have been an apothecary's shop, I found dried herbs hanging from the ceiling beams, alongside various grinding implements and distillation equipment.

The village's tannery yielded tools for working leather, while a carpenter's workshop provided several fine instruments for woodworking, including a set of chisels and gouges.

By midday, my front pack and wheelbarrow were full, and I decided to return to the pub to deposit my findings before continuing the exploration. As we rounded a corner near the village center, something unusual caught my eye—a small building I hadn't noticed before, partially hidden behind the collapsed remains of a larger structure.

Unlike the other buildings of Svalbard, this one appeared completely untouched by the dragon's wrath. Its walls stood straight and solid, the clay spiral red roof intact, the small windows unbroken. Most strange of all, no snow lay upon its roof or against its walls, despite the heavy fall overnight.

"That's... odd," I murmured, approaching cautiously. There was nothing visible through the small windows, they were pure black as if painted from within.

Stormy tensed on my shoulder, her tiny body rigid with sudden alertness, ears swiveling forward. A soft growl rumbled in her throat—the first hostile sound I'd heard her make toward anything other than the Sirin.

I paused, hand moving to my knife. "What is it, girl?"

The kitten's growl deepened, and she dug her claws into my shoulder.

The building's door stood slightly ajar, revealing nothing but pure darkness beyond. No footprints marred the snow around it, yet something about the structure suggested occupancy—a sense of watchfulness, of waiting.

As I hovered, uncertain, a soft sound emerged from within—a quiet, rhythmic ticking, like the countdown of a mechanical clock.

"Hello?" I called, instantly regretting breaking the silence.

The ticking stopped abruptly. For several heartbeats, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the door began to open wider, revealing a darkness too complete to be natural.

Stormy's growl transitioned into a hiss, her fur standing on end. Without warning, she launched herself from my shoulder, landing in the snow several feet away before darting behind a pile of debris.

"Stormy!" I called, but she was running, tiny pawprints leading away from the strange building. She turned and stared at me as if urging me to leave.

I stood alone, facing the widening door and the unnatural darkness beyond. No figure appeared, no voice called out, yet I felt observed, assessed by something within.

My instincts screamed danger. Without conscious thought, I found myself backing away, step by careful step, never taking my eyes off the doorway.

When I'd put about ten meters between myself and the building, I turned and hurried back toward the pub, my heart pounding in my chest. Only when the familiar structure came into view did I slow my pace, breathing heavily.

Inside, I deposited my findings on the table, mind still racing with questions about the strange building. What was it? Why did its architectural spiral-stone style not match the rest of the village? Why had it remained untouched by the dragon's attack? And what lurked within its unnatural darkness?

As I organized my collected treasures, a soft scratching came at the door. I opened it to find Stormy sitting primly on the threshold, looking for all the world as if nothing unusual had happened.

"Thanks for the backup," I said dryly as she trotted past me.

The kitten merely flicked her tail and jumped onto my soil mound, setting about her toilette with typical feline nonchalance.

I pondered the strange building as I examined my day's finds. Perhaps it was another domain of some sort—a space like mine that nullified external observations. Or maybe something more sinister, a lair of one of the magic creatures Vesna had mentioned.

Either way, it warranted caution. I decided to consult the bestiary I'd found, hoping it might contain information about the various inhabitants of this magical world. With Stormy purring beside me, I settled in for an afternoon of research.

The bestiary proved fun to page through, though deciphering the text was impossible. The script was similar to what I'd seen on the banner flying over the village gates—a runic alphabet that seemed to blend Nordic runes and Slavic elements. 

The illustrations, however, were explicit and detailed, almost lifelike depictions of creatures that seemed to have sprung from the darkest corners of imagination.

They depicted a range of creatures, from the more familiar—wolves with oddly elongated limbs, bears with multiple eyes—to the truly fantastic—beings of living shadow, humanoids with antlers or scales, creatures that seemed made of intertwined vines and thorns.

One of the images that caught my attention was of a massive, hulking beast with the body of a man fused somehow to the body of an elk, grotesquely distorted, stretched and misshapen. Its head bore enormous elk antlers, and its hands - of which there were six - ended in wicked claws. The creature's eyes, even in the illustration, seemed to hold a terrible intelligence. Below the image, a single word was written that I couldn't read, but I guessed that this was a Jotun. The Jotun was depicted dragging a smaller human form toward a dark, swampy area in the fog.

Another page depicted what could only be a Sirin—a winged figure with avian features but a humanoid body, surrounded by what was likely musical notation. The Sirin in the book was red and gold not green and black like the one in my collection.

Another page showed a red dragon, its form massive and serpentine, breathing fire that seemed to consume not just bodies but the very air around them. Beside it, smaller illustrations depicted houses and trees warped by the fire's aftermath—exactly like the dragonfire-affected building I'd used to contain Vesna.

I continued flipping through the pages, pausing occasionally to sketch particularly relevant creatures or information in the charcoal journal I'd started keeping. One image depicted a small, round building almost identical to the one I'd encountered earlier. A magical structure then, known to the locals.

Turning the page, I found myself admiring a creature that seemed to be made entirely of shadows. Its form was vaguely humanoid, but it lacked distinct features, appearing more like a hole in reality than a physical being. Tendrils of darkness swirled around it, and the artist had somehow managed to convey a sense of cold dread emanating from the figure.

The next illustration showed a being that appeared to be half-woman, half-tree.

Another depicted a small, child-like thing covered in dark feathers with big, black eyes.

As I continued to flip through the pages, my eyes widened at the array of fantastical and terrifying creatures depicted within. An illustration showed a beautiful woman with emerald skin, writhing snakes for hair, her gaze so sharp that I found myself momentarily frozen. The caption beneath likely identified her as some sort of Medusa.

Other Gorgon-like things followed, each more bewildering than the last.

Another page revealed a massive serpent, its coils seeming to stretch beyond the confines of the illustration. A world-serpent, maybe?

Another drawing revealed a girl that was half human half cat, her silver-blue eyes slitted like a pair of diamonds, hair pure white. She was wearing a detailed white dress. Unlike the other beasts she didn't look spooky, just harmless and cute.

I turned the page to find a creature that appeared to be made of living flame. Its form was vaguely humanoid and female, but her body flickered and danced like a bonfire. Where her eyes should have been, there were only pits of intense, white-hot fire.

The last page of the book depicted a pale, wrinkled woman wearing a skull mask, wearing a dress made from red-tinted bones. I could guess that the label beneath tagged her as a Volva-Yaga witch.

“Ha,” I said. “They need to add me in there. I should make myself some spooky armor or something. Dressed like a ball of fur now, that’s not very awe-inspiring.”

Stormy, who had been dozing beside me, opened one milky eye at the sound of my voice. She stretched languidly, then suddenly stiffened, ears swiveling toward the pub's door.

A moment later, I heard it too—a soft, almost imperceptible scratching at the wood, like the tentative touch of small claws seeking entrance.

I rose silently, arbalest in hand, and approached the door. The scratching continued, a rhythmic, deliberate sound that couldn't be mistaken for the random noises of wind or settling snow. A small animal, maybe?

"Who's there?" I called, voice firm despite the tension coiling in my gut.

The scratching stopped. For several heartbeats, silence reigned. Then, a voice—high and wavering, and tinny, neither fully human nor animal—spoke from beyond the door.

"Harbor... give harbor... cold outside... so cold… dragon’s breath poisons the air… please, let me in."

I rapidly would up the arbalest, remembering Vesna's hypnotic song and its almost irresistible pull. 

Was this another trap?

Day 5.2 Nightborn

"What are you?" I demanded, standing well back from the door. "Identify yourself."

A pause, then: "Small one... night-touched... seeking shelter from the day's eye. Please... harbor..."

I glanced at Stormy, who had moved to stand beside me. Surprisingly, she showed no fear, simply watching the door with curious attention, her tail swishing slowly back and forth.

"Are you alone?" I asked.

"Yes... alone... alone since dream-mother died... daylight... hurts us... please..."

The plea seemed genuine, the voice more frightened than threatening. And if this was an evil spirit, then hopefully my domain would render me effectively invisible to its magical perception.

Decision made, I stepped to the side of the door, positioning myself to attack if necessary, and lifted the bar. "Push the door open then," I said, "but know that any threat will be met with force."

The door creaked open slowly, pushed by what appeared to be a small hand—dark, almost translucent, with elongated fingers that ended in points rather than nails. A very small figure slipped inside. It was about twenty inches in height.

In the dim light of the pub, I got my first clear look at the visitor: a newborn-sized being with a dark body that seemed to absorb rather than reflect the meager sunlight filtering through the shutters. Its face was delicately formed, with large, entirely black eyes that contained no visible pupils or whites. Dark hair hung in tangled wisps and its limbs were unnaturally slender, moving with an odd, fluid grace that suggested bones arranged differently than in a human.

It wore what appeared to be a shawl of dark gray feathers. Around its neck hung a small pendant—a piece of curved bone or ivory carved with intricate designs.

"Thank... thank you," it whispered, its voice clearer now, like a child's but with an odd, echoing quality. "Harbor... good harbor. Warmth. Life. Magic."

I maintained my distance, arbalest still at the ready. "What are you?" I asked again.

The creature tilted its head, those black eyes unblinking. "Nightborn… a nav," it replied. "A child of dreams, shadow and starlight. You... You are a strange new Yaga. You sound… wrong, different. Are you a Yaga?"

"I'm a... warlock," I said.

The nightborn's eyes widened slightly. "Warlock," it repeated, as if testing the word. “Not a witch?”

“Kind of like a witch, I suppose,” I shrugged. “How’d you find me?”

“I have heard the call of a new Yaga being born across the Underside and have come to pay my respects to… you and to gain your blessing.” 

“What blessing?” I asked.

“Warmth. Life. Dreams. Magic that would permit me to persist longer.” It glanced around the pub, its gaze lingering on my mound of soil. "May I... may I rest here? Until night falls again and I fade away? The dragonbreath and the sun..." It gestured vaguely toward the shuttered windows. "It burns us so. Makes us more visible, weak and sick."

I studied the small, lanky creature carefully. It appeared genuinely distressed, its slender body trembling slightly, whether from fear or pain I couldn't tell. While caution was warranted in this strange world, turning away what seemed to be a frightened child-like being felt wrong.

"Fine. You can stay," I decided, lowering my arbalest. "But only until nightfall. And you will answer my questions."

“Yes. Until nightfall.” The nightborn nodded eagerly, its movement oddly fluid. "Yes, yes. Questions. Answers. Fair trade for harbor and life-warmth of your domain. Of course." 

“What do I look like to you?” I asked.

“Nothing,” the nav replied. “You are concealed by your domain. I can barely hear your voice if I strain extra-hard and I know not where it even comes from as it seems to dance from every direction here. A full nature spirit like Glinka would not be able to discern you at all. May I rest atop your domain?”

“Sure,” I uttered my assent, and the creature scurried to my soil pile. As it moved into the deeper shadows, its form seemed to blur slightly at the edges, as if it wasn't fully solid.

Stormy, to my surprise, followed it, approaching with cautious curiosity rather than the hostility she'd shown the Sirin. The nightborn regarded the kitten with equal interest, extending one slender hand for Stormy to sniff.

"Small guardian," it murmured as Stormy butted her head against its palm. "Wise seer that witness beyond the veil."

“Is that what she is?”

“Yes, yes. She is broken now, blind and hurt, life nearly sniffed out by the dragon's roar but she could be your familiar, a seer of fortunes…”

I pulled up a stool, keeping a comfortable distance between myself and the strange visitor. "Right then. Start with your name," I said. "If you have one."

Those black eyes fixed on me, unblinking. "Minnow," it replied. "My... sleep-mother called me Minnow. Because I am small and quick."

"Sleep-mother?"

"Yes. The one who cared for me after my death.” 

“Death?”

“I am a stillborn, a half-spirit,” the nightborn answered. “It happens sometimes, to a child who is not aligned to a god, not baptized in the waters of Glinka. The sleep-mother could not let me go after my birth-death. She dreamt of me, held onto my body. She taught me to speak, nurtured me in her dreams." A note of sadness entered its voice. "She... sleeps now. Forever sleeps. The dragon's breath took her away. What echo remained of her is bound to your domain now."

"You're from Svalbard?" I asked. "You survived the dragon attack?"

Minnow nodded, fingers fidgeting with the bone pendant. "Nightborn hide well. We sense danger before it comes. I hid deep, deep in the dark places, the catacombs beneath. But sleep-mother..." It shook its head. "The dragon found her."

I felt a pang of sympathy. Whatever this odd creature was, it had lost its mother during the same disaster that had somehow brought me to this world.

"I'm sorry about your sleep-mother," I said. "What exactly are nightborn?”

Minnow tilted its head, considering. "We are... born of the night, of goddess Nox’s marriage to mortal dreams. When humans sleep deeply, sometimes their dreams grow so strong they take form. Become nightborn." It gestured to itself. "Not human, not spirit. In between. I am a walking dream bound to a stillborn body, a soul that could not find its resting place for I was bound by my mother’s love forevermore to this half-form."

"You're... what—a ghost, an undead of some kind?" I asked.

"Yes, in simple words. A wish, a dream given form, given half-life. I walk the boundary between waking and sleeping. See what is hidden. Hear what is silent, peer into the Astral through the shadows."

I thought about the odd, anomalous building I'd discovered earlier. "The round stone building in the village, with a spiral roof of red clay tiles, small black windows, with the door that opened by itself—is that yours?"

Minnow's expression changed, a flicker of what might have been fear crossing its delicate features. "No, no. Not mine. That place is... old. A cursed place. ‘The Threshold’, we calls it. From long ago, when Svalbard was a big, grand city. Do not enter there, warlock."

"What's inside it?"

"Hunger," Minnow replied with a shudder. "The nightborn avoid it. Even sleep-mother feared it. It is where dreams go to die. Nothing returns from its maw."

“A hungry, cursed building? That sounds… concerning,” I said. “Why hasn’t the village destroyed it then?”

“Those who seek to destroy it, cannot find it. It only shows itself to new, unaware, or curious eyes afflicted by wanderlust.”

A chill ran down my spine at the words, recalling the unnatural darkness I'd glimpsed within the doorway.

"You lived in Svalbard before the dragon came? How long have you been alive?"

Minnow shrugged, the movement oddly fluid. "Time moves differently for nightborn. At times, I fade in and out of existence. Sleep-mother loved me when others would have destroyed me. Nightborn are feared by many. Misunderstood."

"Why would people want to destroy you?" I asked.

"Because we walk in dreams," Minnow replied simply. "We can... see into sleeping minds, sometimes influence what humans dream. Some nav use this power to harm. To feed on fear and suffering." It touched the pendant at its neck. "But sleep-mother taught me differently. Taught me to help, to guide the sleeping safely through darkness. You are a kind wi… warlock and so I shall aid you in kind!"

I absorbed this information, wondering exactly what kind of strange ecosystem of magical creatures populated the local environment. "Have you encountered other magical beings?”

Minnow nodded vigorously. "Many, yes. Through the shadows, I watch. The Sirin of the thousand-winter oak—I saw her hunting, singing to mortals who wandered too far into the forest leading fools to their doom. Beautiful and terrible." It shuddered. "The Jotuns who prowl at twilight—twisted and seeking to make more of their kind. And the dragon..." Its voice dropped to a whisper. "The dragon was ancient. Angry. Her fire consumes more than flesh—it shatters, shears, devours life and magic itself."

This aligned with my observations of the dragonfire's effect on Vesna's crystalline form. "What about the Yaga of the Shalish Wood? Grandhilda?"

Minnow's expression darkened. "The ancient witch. One of two. Sleep-mother warned me to avoid her. Said she collects secrets like others collect precious stones. Uses them to bind heroes and witches to her will." It leaned forward slightly. "She and others of her kind know you are here, warlock. Their spies are everywhere—in trees, in water, in wind. Nothing escapes their notice for long. She and her… sister plot to use you."

“Use me how?”

“I do not know.”

That was concerning but not entirely surprising. Grandhilda had been the one to create me—or rather, to transform whatever remained of Ioan into a witch. It made sense she would keep tabs on her creation.

"What can you tell me about the White Blight affecting the forest? And the Children of the Wormwood Star?"

Minnow's fingers worked nervously at the pendant. "The Blight is... hunger without mind, magic gone wrong. It spreads from the North, turning trees to dry ash from within. Some say it is the world's fever, trying to burn out sickness." It paused, those black eyes darting to the shuttered windows as if checking for eavesdroppers. "The Star-Children are not of this world. They were human once, but no more… no more. The Wormwood Star changed them. Minds different. Bodies warped by cold magics. Souls hollowed by its light. Serving magic bound into form. Worshiping her. They call themselves… the Arcanicx.”

"You mentioned that nightborn can see into dreams," I said. "Can you see into mine?"

Minnow studied me curiously. "Your dreams are concealed from me, protected by your domain's magic." It hesitated. "But, if you wished it, it could perhaps work. Maybe. I don’t know. It works with witches. Sometimes seeing another's dreams reveals truths hidden even from themselves."

I considered the offer. On one hand, allowing this creature access to my unconscious mind seemed risky. On the other, it might provide insights into my own situation—how I had come to inhabit Ioan's body, what had happened to his original consciousness, perhaps even clues about my purpose in this world.

"Maybe another time," I decided, not ready to trust the nav that far.

Minnow nodded, seeming to understand. "Harbor is enough for now. Questions are enough. Nightborn remembers kindness."

A thought occurred to me. "If you've lived in Svalbard all this time, you must know a lot about the village and its surroundings. Are there places I should explore? Resources I've missed?"

“Resources? Explore?” The nightborn's expression brightened. "Yes, yes! Things hidden, things forgotten. Gold and old weapons in the catacombs from the old city. Buried wealth… from before the ice came." It gestured excitedly. "And the caves beneath the eastern cliff—ores that shine like starlight, good for crafting tools of magic."

This was valuable information. "What about the dangers I should avoid? Besides the obvious—dragons, Jotuns, and mysterious buildings with dark doorways."

"The river Glinka to the south—she sleeps beneath ice, but she also always watches, trades memories and souls for power. A very dangerous bargain, for she takes as much as she gives," Minnow's voice lowered. "The stone circles in the forest clearings—old magic lingers there, not always friendly to the living. And the white fog that sometimes creeps from the North at dawn and at midnight—it carries whispers that can lead travelers astray, into Chernobog's waiting arms."

I made mental notes of these warnings. "Thank you, Minnow. One last question for now: do you know of any other survivors from Svalbard? Anyone else who escaped the dragon?"

The nightborn was silent for a long moment, head tilted as if listening to distant sounds. 

“No humans,” it replied. “Only spirits or half-spirits like me remain. They might come to you to hunt you, trade or beg for magic. It will take them time to find you. It took me days to locate you. Your domain moves around, which is… most strange. I expected to find you outside, yet I could not.”

“Yaga said I won’t be able to speak to spirits,” I said.

“At night, in my full spirit form I would not be able to see or hear you,” Minnow explained. “During the day… I am a bit more flesh, half-life… half sunk into the Astral Ocean. I become more physical in dark times. The last of Svalbard humans are dead. The echoes of their demise, their final dream fuels my physical existence. Once this echo fades, I too will fade away… that is unless a witch dreams of me.”

Day 5.3 Dream of Me

“So you want me to dream of you?” I laughed. “I see what your whole deal is then.”

Minnow's expression brightened, sharp-toothed smile stretching across its small face. "A fair trade! Harbor for service, service for dreams, dreams for life." It spread its small hands. "As in the old ways. A beneficial pact for us both."

"And what service would you provide exactly?"

"I move unseen in the shadows at night," Minnow replied. "I hear what is whispered, what is plotted. I can warn you of dangers, find treasures hidden deep, speak to the other nightborn on your behalf or chase them away if they are smaller and weaker. I am small, yes, but useful." 

I had to admit, having a scout who could move invisibly through shadows sounded valuable. "So basically, you want to be my spy in exchange for safety and... dream energy?"

"Yes!" Minnow clapped its small hands. "You understand! I am weak now, but with a witch's—warlock's dream to sustain me, I could be stronger, more useful. See farther, learn more.”

“Are other witches spying on me with their own nightborns then?”

“Yes. Amongst other creatures. I sense their gaze and Astral hooks trying to locate you.”

I smiled at the amusing prospect of domain-bound witches sending out a variety of small creatures to spy on their witch-neighbours. Like Cold War countries sending out spies to steal nuclear bomb blueprints. Did witches use navi to steal each other’s spells?

Hang on… What if Minnow already belonged to some other witch and was sent to spy on me in inception-style? Damn you, paranoia.

“Can you read this?” I opened the bestiary book.

“Alas, I was never taught how to read,” Minnow shook its head sadly.

"Well… I'll think about hiring you on as a spy," I said, not ready to commit to whatever metaphysical bond the creature was proposing. 

I thought of what else to ask the little beastie. “How do witches get stronger?”

“They drown their enemies in their domain and then the domain plant and tree roots gradually reform the bones into artifacts of power or magic foci points.”

I considered how Yaga Grandhilda was wearing some kind of animal bones on her face and dress.

“But some consider such too slow and choose blood magic instead.”

“Blood magic?”

“Easy, quick power. Easy to drown yourself in and go mad. Gradual alignment to Nox and the Infinite Abyss.”

“I see.”

“May I sleep now? I am quite tired from my search.”

“Go ahead,” I said.

Satisfied with this response, Minnow curled up on the edge of my soil mound, its form seeming to blur slightly as it settled. Within moments, it appeared to have fallen into a deep slumber, its chest barely rising and falling with shallow breaths.

Stormy approached the sleeping nav, sniffing curiously before settling down beside it, her blind eyes fixed on the small being as if standing guard.

I returned to examining the books and artifacts I'd collected during my morning exploration. The bestiary in particular held my interest, and I spent several hours studying its illustrations, trying to decipher what I could of the text through context and the detailed pictures.

As evening approached, I checked on our visitor. Minnow still slept, but something about its form had changed—it seemed less substantial, more translucent, as if it were fading into the shadows around it.

Stormy sat nearby, watching intently. When I approached, she looked up at me, then back at Minnow, as if trying to communicate something.

"What is it, girl?" I whispered, kneeling beside her.

The kitten merely blinked her milky eyes and returned to her vigil.

As the sun set, casting long shadows across the pub's interior, Minnow stirred. Its awakening was gradual—first a deepening of its breaths, then a slow unfurling of its slender limbs. When it finally opened its eyes, they seemed to absorb what little light remained, two pools of impenetrable darkness.

"Night comes," it whispered, voice even more ethereal than before. "The darkness calls to me. I must go."

I watched curiously as its form continued to change with the fading light. The contours of its body became less defined, edges blurring into the surrounding darkness. Where before it had appeared merely unusual, now it looked truly otherworldly—a being composed more of murk than substance. Less human and more like a little black bird starling woven from starlight and shadow.

"Thank you for your harbor, warlock," Minnow said, rising to its feet with an eerie, bird-like motion. "I will remember your kindness. And I will return, if you permit it, with news and knowledge."

"You're welcome to return," I replied, curiosity overriding caution. "Especially if you have information that might help me understand this world better."

Minnow bowed, a graceful, flowing movement. "I shall seek what you need. A whisper of warning, freely given: the one who calls herself Yaga Grandhilda has set events in motion that even she may not fully control—a path towards the end of everything.”

“The glaciers?”

“No. Mountain-melting hellfire raining from the awakened moon. Trust only some things which she might tell you in the Astral, warlock. Her words are seeds that can grow into binding vines. She has her own agenda that she wishes to fulfill."

With that the nav flitted away into… nothing as if diving into some extra-dimensional sky that did not exist, which my eyes could not perceive.

"Well," I said to Stormy, who had jumped onto the windowsill beside me, "that was interesting."

The kitten mewed in agreement, her dark tail swishing slowly back and forth.

I spent the evening organizing my findings. I used the fanciest blank book to sketch out a chart of witch terminology aka a Warlock Codex so as not to forget everything of value.

I began by listing the days too, starting with:

. . .

Day 1: Almost drowned, was turned into a w̶i̶t̶c̶h̶ warlock by Yaga Grandhilda. Was terrorised by a Sirin (evil bird lady) who tried to seduce me with her song

Day 2: Nearly died trying to get a shovel. Discovered I could dig up my domain and transport it. Set up base in a local pub to avoid getting spotted and eaten. Fortified the pub with deal traps.

Day 3: Second attempt by Sirin to Sirin me up. She didn't take rejection well. Shot her with an arrow, set her on fire, and she STILL wouldn't take the hint that I wasn't interested in Sirinification. 

Hunted Sirin to her lair during the day, set her magic tree on fire, beheaded her. Discovered a failed attempt at Sirinification. A̶q̶u̶i̶r̶e̶d̶ was claimed by a kitten as her new owner. Named the kitten Stormy.

Day 4: Found out that it’s really hard to kill a Sirin. Shot her and set her on fire again and threw her off a cliff. She STILL didn't die. Irradiated her for a bit with dragonfire, now keeping her in a cage in my cold well. 

Day 5: Found a creepy cursed building that gave me bad vibes. Met tiny ghost-child called Minnow who wants to be my spy in exchange for "dream energy." Fairly standard Tuesday in Thornwild for a witch, I suppose.

I turned the book over and started my own bestiary.

Magical Creatures Encyclopedia:

SIRIN: Bird-woman hybrid that hunts with hypnotic songs. Nearly immortal, regenerates from death in a more compact form. Hates dragonfire. Lives in a magic tree that grows more Sirins. Can't see into witch domains. Prone to holding grudges when set on fire. Specimen acquired: one (1) - named Vesna.

JOTUNS: "Beast-men of inverted fold-flesh" (whatever that means). Come in various flavors of horrifying. Serve some swamp-witch Master. Hunt witches and magic-users. Very bad news.

NIGHTBORN (NAV): Ghost-like dream half-life creatures sustained by human belief. Can spy, walk through dreams, and disappear dramatically. My potential employee - will require dream-based compensation package.

DRAGON: Breathes fire that melts reality. Killed entire village. Would not recommend as a pet.

YAGA: Domain-bound witch with questionable ethics. Powers include: future-sight, manipulation, and making terrible career suggestions like "go fight a dragon." Currently plotting something involving me.

ARCANICX: Humans changed by a fallen star. Use technology, collect people (Not sure why?). Have neat crow logo on their tools.

Note to self: This world is absolutely insane, and I need more modern weapons.

I sketched out a map of the village from memory. It looked a bit shoddy and for some reason it completely slipped my head as to where the creepy cursed house that ate curious children was located. 

Quest: Pretend to be a curious child by thinking wanderlust-related thoughts to find the Threshold house again and then attempt to map its location while I look directly at it.

I wrote on a new page I labelled as ‘Warlock Quests’ and attached a red bookmark to it.

Funny day outlines and Quests were mild personal entertainment in lieu of not having internet, but I needed to approach things more scientifically if I was to gain an understanding of exactly what magic was and how it functioned in terms of witches and domains, etc.

I turned a few pages and began to write:

Scientific Method for Magical Investigation:

• Observation: Gather data about magical phenomena

• Question: Formulate specific inquiries based on observations

• Hypothesis: Propose tentative explanations for magical effects

• Prediction: Determine the logical consequences of the hypothesis

• Testing: Design and conduct experiments to test predictions

• Analysis: Evaluate the results of the experiments

• Conclusion: Accept, reject, or modify the hypothesis based on results

• Repetition: Repeat the process to verify findings

With this framework in mind, I pondered over my observations so far, mentally outlined questions and then started listing some initial hypotheses about how witch-magic might function:

Hypothesis: The soil from my domain contains a form of energy that enhances biological processes in plants and micro-organisms.

Test: Place seeds in both regular soil and domain soil, controlling for other variables. Measure growth rates and compare.

Hypothesis: The magical properties of my domain are tied to my physical presence.

Test: Set up identical plant samples at varying distances from my usual resting spot. Monitor growth and vitality over time.

Hypothesis: Consumption of domain-grown plants increases my connection to the land and magical abilities.

Test: Shred domain grown grass into spices. Eat food flavored with witchgrass for a week, then switch to regular food. Keep a detailed log of any noticeable changes in perception or abilities.

Hypothesis: Dragonfire breaks down life and magic by targeting it specifically. Understand what the witch's domain targets.

Test: Expose various organic and inorganic materials from the village to my domain, track the occurring changes. Lay materials out in varying distances from the center of my domain to its edges to track where the domain effect begins to decay.

Hypothesis: The rapid healing of plant cells observed under magnification is a property that can be transferred to other organisms.

Test: Create a poultice from domain-grown plants and apply it to small wounds on injured animals (if any can be found). Compare healing rates with untreated wounds.

Hypothesis: The magical resistance to cold observed in domain plants can be transferred to inanimate objects.

Test: Soak various materials (cloth, wood, metal) in water infused with crushed domain plants. Expose these treated materials to freezing temperatures alongside untreated controls.

Hypothesis: The domain's energy can be stored or transferred to other locations.

Test: Create a series of containers filled with domain soil and plants. Move these to different locations and monitor for any retention or decay rate in magical properties.

As I finished writing, I realized the enormity of the task ahead. Each hypothesis would require careful planning, meticulous observation, and likely multiple iterations of testing. But the prospect of unraveling the mysteries of magic filled me with excitement.

As night deepened, I checked on Vesna, still silent in her trance beneath the cold-well cover. The Sirin remained as I'd left her, curled in a tight ball of feathers and limbs, seemingly unaware of the world around her.

I returned to my soil mound, stretching out with a sigh of exhaustion. Stormy padded over, settling against my side with a contented purr. Despite the new information and dire warnings, I felt satisfied with the day's progress. I was beginning to piece together the puzzle of this strange world, one fragment at a time.

As I drifted toward sleep, I found myself wondering what Minnow would find in the coming days, and whether I should risk allowing it to peer into my dreams for answers about my own mysterious origins.