Agama's yellow eyes were fixed on Grub's hands as if they might combust at any moment.
"What the hell was that?" The Lacert's voice came out fractured and barely held together.
Across from him, Grub wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve. The strange mixture of Anima and Nihil had only existed for a moment, but even that brief second had felt like forcing two hostile beasts into the same cage. His wrist throbbed and a dull ache pulsed behind his eyes from the strain of holding the two conflicting energies together.
It had taken far more out of him than he wanted to admit. So naturally, he made sure Agama saw none of it.
Grub lowered his hand and stared at the blue Lacert with a calm expression.
"It's the technique that will give you a fate worse than death." He met Agama's trembling gaze without blinking. "You felt it just now. You know I'm not bluffing."
The blue Lacert looked down at the table. His claws were pressed flat against the wood as if the surface was the only thing keeping him anchored to reality. Several seconds passed in heavy silence.
Grub's eyes narrowed. "When is the attack coming?"
Agama's jaw worked silently for a moment. His defiance flickered like a candle in a draft, desperately trying to stay lit but losing ground with every gust. Then that candle went out, snuffed like a flame at bedtime.
"It's already been sent," the Lacert said quietly, his voice drained of its earlier conviction. "The order was given around the time I left for this village." He swallowed. "Based on the distance and the size of the force, I would estimate no more than six days until they arrive."
Grub leaned back in his chair and let the number settle in his mind. Six days. Not much, but more than he had feared. Enough time to prepare if they used every hour wisely.
"Really?" He studied Agama's face for signs of deception. "I hope you're not lying to me."
He let the Anima and Nihil flicker across his palm again, just for a heartbeat. The sinister pressure pulsed through the room like a single beat of a monstrous heart before Grub killed the combination and grabbed his wrist under the table. Pain lanced up his forearm from the strain, but his face betrayed nothing.
Agama recoiled from the pressure as if he had been slapped. His scales had gone from dull aquamarine to a grey, the color literally draining from his body under the weight of sustained terror.
Good.
The blue Lacert sat hunched in his chair, shaking, but one final spark of defiance pushed through the rubble of his composure. His yellow eyes lifted to meet Grub's, and when he spoke, his voice carried hollow conviction, clinging to the last thread he had.
"Colonel Gavial will have your head for this. You can't beat him."
Grub smiled. It was a thin, sharp expression that didn't reach his eyes.
"Really? I'm itching to test that hypothesis."
He stood from his chair and looked down at the broken messenger one last time. He spoke in a calculated casual tone.
"I might come back for more information later, Agama. If you cooperate when I do, maybe I'll let your family live." He tilted his head. "Trust me, it won't be hard to figure out which Lacerts you're close to."
Agama's yellow eyes widened.
"But if you decide to be difficult again, well." Grub let the silence finish the sentence for him. The implication sat between them like a blade resting on a table, pointed at no one in particular but impossible to ignore.
Agama said nothing more. His gaze dropped to the floor and stayed there.
Grub turned and tapped Luthiel's shoulder.
She flinched at his touch.
The movement was small, barely perceptible, a slight jerk of her body away from his hand before catching herself and going still. Her golden eyes darted up to his face and then away again, as if she had seen something in his expression that she didn't want to look at twice.
Grub frowned.
Why did she flinch?
The question lodged itself in his mind like a splinter. He stared at Luthiel for a moment, genuinely confused. He hadn't raised his voice at her nor hadn't threatened her. He had barely even looked at her during the interrogation. So why had his touch made her recoil?
He filed the question away without an answer and turned toward the door. "Let's go."
Luthiel eventually stood, smoothing her dress and composing her face into something that resembled normalcy. The Guardian in the corner watched them leave with an expression that blended professional respect with personal unease. As they passed, the tusked man gave Grub a gruff nod.
"Good work getting him to talk, kid."
Grub acknowledged it with a slight dip of his head and kept walking.
Then the Guardian escorted Agama from the room. The blue Lacert looked almost relieved to leave. As though escaping from a predator. Grub simply kept walking.
The two of them climbed the stairs back to the main level in silence. The cool dampness of the lower prison gave way to warmer air and brighter light as they emerged into the hallway above. Villagers passed by outside the windows, going about their routines, unaware that the timeline for their potential destruction had just been confirmed.
Once they were outside on the street, Luthiel spoke.
"Mister Grub." Her voice was quieter than usual. "What was that back there?"
Grub turned around. "What was what?"
"You." Lu frowned, her golden eyes searching his face with a deep concern. "You seemed so heartless in there. Threatening his family? Talking about fates worse than death?" She hugged her arms around herself. "It didn't feel like you."
Grub's frown deepened. He opened his mouth to dismiss the concern but stopped himself. Had he really acted differently?
Something about that nagged at him. An itch behind his thoughts that he couldn't quite scratch.
He had felt fine during the interrogation. In face, he felt focused and clear headed, everything he did was efficient. Every word had served a purpose and every threat had been calculated for maximum effect. That was just strategy, wasn't it? He hadn't actually intended to hurt Agama's family. He wasn't actually going to deliver a fate worse than death. They were tools, verbal levers pulled to extract information that the village needed to survive.
But the way Luthiel was looking at him right now suggested that something about the delivery had crossed a line she could feel even if he couldn't.
Is it the Nihil?
The thought surfaced and refused to leave. He knew he felt different when carrying it. The world became a series of problems to be solved rather than experiences to be had. But recognizing the difference and understanding its depth were two separate things. In the moment, sitting across from Agama, threatening, calculating, and pressing, everything had felt perfectly natural, and that was precisely what worried him.
Because "natural" was relative. And if cruelty felt natural while carrying Nihil, then what did that say about the power he relied on?
Grub grabbed his head and pushed the thoughts aside before they could spiral further.
"Nothing is wrong. I just had to intimidate him." He lowered his hand and looked at Luthiel with a steadier expression. "And it worked. We got him to talk. Now we know we have six days until the Lacerts arrive, and we need to tell Morrigan immediately."
Luthiel's golden eyes lingered on his face for a few more seconds, reading something there that he couldn't see himself. Then she nodded slowly.
"Yeah. I suppose you're right."
A beat of silence stretched between them. Something unsaid hovered in the space, too fragile to name but too mportant to ignore.
Then Lu simply brushed it off. Her expression brightened by degrees, the worry retreating behind a smile that was maybe seventy percent genuine.
"Well, let's go then." She skipped forward a step and fell in beside him. "No use standing around looking gloomy, right?"
Grub watched her shift from concerned to cheerful with the same speed that her aspects switched. Whether it was a conscious choice or an emotional defense mechanism, he wasn't sure. But he was grateful for it, because the alternative was a conversation about his own mind that he didn't have answers for.
They walked together through the village streets, their pace quicker now that the information was burning a hole in their pockets. By the time they reached Morrigan's house, the afternoon sun was already beginning its descent.
Morrigan listened to the report while sitting on her couch with a fresh bottle in hand. Her expression cycled through several stages as Grub relayed the details. First amusement at his interrogation tactics, then approval at the result, and finally, calculated focus as the timeline sank in.
Only when Grub finished did she nod.
"Six days."
"That's what he said."
Morrigan scratched her chin. "Then we assume five."
Grub blinked. "What?"
The old turtle pointed at him.
"Always assume your enemy arrives earlier than expected." She took a drink. "If he says six days, we prepare for five."
Grub slowly nodded. That actually made sense.
Morrigan rose to her feet. Water sloshed inside the basin atop her head.
"I'll inform the Guardians." She looked toward the village. "We've got work to do."
She healed Grub's wounds with her usual casual efficiency, the bite marks and claw gashes closing in seconds under her glowing palms. The relief was immediate, though the lingering ache in his muscles let him know how bad his injuries really were.
Morrigan called a strategy meeting that evening.
The Guardians gathered in the meeting hall along with Grub, Luthiel, and Orobas. Maps were spread across the table showing the village perimeter, the surrounding forest, and the likely approach routes from the Lacert settlement. Defensive positions were argued over, patrol schedules were drawn up, and contingency plans were layered on top of each other like armor.
Six days.
In six days, a force of trained Lacert soldiers would arrive at the village with the intent to burn it to the ground. Whether the false intelligence had successfully split their numbers remained uncertain, but even a divided force could cause catastrophic damage if the village wasn't ready.
There was a lot of preparation ahead. Fortifications needed strengthening, fighters needed training, civilians needed evacuation plans, and every Guardian needed to know their role when the first scouts appeared at the tree line.
Grub sat at the edge of the meeting, his enchanted notebook open, recording everything. His pen moved in quick, precise strokes as strategies and numbers filled the cream-colored pages.
Six days to prepare.
He looked across the room at Luthiel, who sat beside Morrigan with her golden eyes focused on the maps. At Orobas, who was pointing out terrain features with his clawed finger. At the Guardians, some of whom still regarded him with suspicion but were cooperating nonetheless.
These people were going to fight for their home. And Grub was going to make sure they won.