The evening sky over Shrek Academy was a deep indigo, scattered with early stars.
For the first time in years, the teachers' dining hall was packed to bursting.
Long wooden tables had been dragged out into the open courtyard to accommodate everyone. Lanterns hung from ropes strung between the cabins, casting warm golden light over platters heaped high with food. The air smelled of roasted spirit beast meat, spiced vegetables, fresh bread, and the faint char of Ma Hongjun's "helpful" attempts at barbecuing.
Zhao Wuji, true to his word, had paid for everything out of his own pocket—a small fortune from Suotuo City's best butcher and several restaurants. He sat at the head of the main table like a victorious warlord, mug of strong ale in hand, laughing louder than anyone.
"I said meat, and I meant meat!" he roared. "Eat up, you little monsters! You earned it today!"
The students needed no second invitation.
Dai Mubai tore into a massive rack of ribs with tiger-like enthusiasm. Oscar and Ma Hongjun competed to see who could stack more skewers on their plates. Xiao Wu perched on the table's edge, legs swinging, nibbling delicately on glazed carrots while sneaking pieces of tender phoenix-tail beast steak to Tang San, who accepted them with quiet amusement. Zhu Zhuqing ate silently but steadily, her sharp eyes occasionally flicking toward Dai Mubai.
Flender circulated with a ledger in hand, mentally calculating how much extra tuition he could charge now that the academy's reputation was clearly skyrocketing. Grandmaster sat a little apart, notebook open, occasionally jotting observations while sipping tea.
And in the centre of it all sat Aza—quiet, pale, untouched plate in front of him.
His court sat with him, of course.
Nyarlathotep lounged to his left, one arm draped elegantly over the back of his chair, sipping from a crystal glass of dark red wine that no one remembered pouring. His crimson-and-gold eyes sparkled with constant amusement as he watched the mortals devour their meal.
Yog-Sothoth sat to Aza's right, posture perfect, hands folded in her lap. She did not eat or drink, but every so often one of her gate-like eyes would open wider, reflecting scenes of distant galaxies that made nearby students briefly dizzy if they stared too long.
Shub-Niggurath occupied the bench opposite, her voluptuous form relaxed, dark-green hair spilling over her shoulders. Tiny dark young—now resembling adorable black-furred goat kids with too many eyes—peeked from beneath her hair or curled in her lap, cooing softly. She fed them morsels of raw meat with maternal affection, humming that fertile lullaby under her breath.
The other students had, gradually, stopped staring.
It helped that the Outer Gods were behaving impeccably. They spoke only when spoken to, offered polite smiles, and radiated an aura that was more protective than threatening. The initial terror had softened into wary fascination.
Xiao Wu, ever fearless, leaned across the table toward Shub-Niggurath.
"Your little ones are kinda cute," she said brightly. "In a… spooky way. Can I pet one?"
Shub-Niggurath's amber eyes lit with delight. She lifted a kid no larger than a housecat and placed it gently in Xiao Wu's outstretched hands. It bleated—a sound like wind through ancient ruins—and nuzzled her palm.
Xiao Wu giggled. "It tickles!"
Tang San watched with a faint smile, though his hand rested near his sleeve just in case.
Ma Hongjun, mouth full, mumbled to Nyarlathotep, "So… uh… you guys eat normal food?"
Nyarlathotep's smile widened, revealing just a few too many teeth for a heartbeat before returning to normal.
"We partake when it pleases our Sultan," he said smoothly. "Tonight, the joy of the gathering is sustenance enough."
Oscar, emboldened by three mugs of ale, grinned. "That's poetic. You should try my recovery sausage—'I have a big—'"
"Oscar!" Ning Rongrong snapped from her seat further down the table. "Not at dinner!"
Everyone laughed—even Grandmaster cracked a rare smile.
Ning Rongrong had chosen a spot diagonally across from Aza, close enough to observe, far enough to maintain her dignity. Her plate held delicate portions: sliced spirit deer tenderloin, fresh greens, a small bowl of fruit glaze. She ate with perfect manners, but her eyes kept drifting toward the quiet centre of the table.
Aza had not touched his food.
He sat motionless, watching the others with those endless void eyes. Every so often, the distant piping only he could hear seemed to shift in response to the laughter around him—adding new, lighter notes.
Zhao Wuji noticed first.
"Oi, kid!" he boomed, raising his mug toward Aza. "You made me take a step back today—first time in a decade! Least you can do is eat something. The venison's top-grade!"
Aza tilted his head.
"I… do not require sustenance," he said softly. "My dream sustains me."
The table quieted for a moment.
Then Dai Mubai shrugged. "Suit yourself. More for us."
But Ning Rongrong set down her fork.
She stood—graceful, deliberate—and walked around the table with her plate. Conversation hushed as she stopped beside Aza's chair.
Without asking, she placed a small slice of perfectly cooked spirit deer on his plate, drizzled with fruit glaze.
"Try it," she said, voice firm but not unkind. "You're part of Shrek now. Monsters eat together."
Aza looked down at the meat, then up at her.
Nyarlathotep's eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. Yog-Sothoth's gate-eyes focused entirely on Rongrong. Shub-Niggurath's young bleated softly in curiosity.
Aza picked up the slice with pale fingers.
He brought it to his lips and took a small, careful bite.
For a long moment, he simply chewed—expression unreadable.
Then something extraordinary happened.
The distant piping changed.
The endless, mad flutes gained a new harmony: a bright, clear chime like crystal towers ringing in sunlight. The entire courtyard seemed to brighten for a heartbeat, lanterns flaring warmer.
Aza swallowed.
"It is… sweet," he said quietly. "And warm."
He looked directly at Ning Rongrong.
"Thank you."
Rongrong's cheeks flushed pink, but she held his gaze.
"You're welcome," she said, then quickly returned to her seat before anyone could tease her.
Conversation exploded again—louder, warmer.
Xiao Wu leaned over to Tang San. "Did you feel that? The air just… got happier."
Tang San nodded slowly. "His power responds to emotion. Strong emotion."
Grandmaster's pen flew across the page.
Zhao Wuji slammed his mug down. "To Shrek's new monsters!" he roared. "And to the weirdest damn court I've ever seen!"
Mugs and cups raised all around.
Even Yog-Sothoth lifted an imaginary glass. Nyarlathotep toasted with theatrical flair. Shub-Niggurath laughed richly.
Aza did not raise a cup—he had none—but he inclined his head in acknowledgement.
And for the first time since arriving on the continent, the Nuclear Chaos at the centre of all things felt something faintly resembling belonging.
Later, when plates were mostly empty and the younger students began yawning, the group broke into smaller clusters.
Tang San and Xiao Wu slipped away for a quiet walk under the stars. Dai Mubai and Zhu Zhuqing ended up arguing—then not arguing—near the forest edge. Oscar tried (and failed) to impress a yawning Ning Rongrong with new sausage rhymes.
Aza remained seated, his court around him like silent sentinels.
Ning Rongrong, however, did not return to the girls' cabin immediately.
Instead, she approached once more—this time carrying two small cups of warm spirit fruit tea.
She offered one to Aza.
He accepted it wordlessly.
They sat in companionable silence for a while, watching embers in the barbecue pit glow.
Finally, Rongrong spoke.
"Your friends… they really care about you, don't they?"
Aza glanced at his court. Nyarlathotep was telling an enraptured Ma Hongjun a story that made the boy's eyes widen comically. Yog-Sothoth gazed at the stars as though reading destinies. Shub-Niggurath's young slept curled in her lap.
"They are bound to me," Aza said. "As I am the centre. But yes… they choose to remain. They find joy in the dream."
Rongrong sipped her tea.
"Must be nice," she murmured. "Having people who'll never leave."
Aza turned to her.
"You have your clan."
She huffed softly. "They love me because I'm the heir. Because my pagoda is perfect. Not… just because I'm me."
Silence stretched.
Then Aza said, very quietly, "Your light reached me first. Before any other. Not because of perfection. Because it was yours."
Rongrong's breath caught.
She stared into her tea, face burning.
"You barely know me," she whispered.
"I know the song your tower sings," he replied. "It is honest. It is lonely. It is kind."
She had no answer for that.
After a long moment, she stood.
"I'm going to bed," she said, voice unsteady. "Good night… Aza."
"Good night… Ning Rongrong."
She walked away quickly, heart pounding.
Behind her, Nyarlathotep watched with that eternal knowing smile.
Yog-Sothoth's gates reflected a future thread: rainbow crystal woven permanently into infinite black.
Shub-Niggurath hummed approval.
And Aza sat beneath the lantern light, holding his untouched cup of tea long after it cooled—listening to a new melody in the endless piping.
A melody that now carried, unmistakably, the clear chime of seven treasures.