Glenn could feel the creature thrashing violently within his grasp, darting and recoiling like a bullet trying to break free.

  Yet instinct told him this was no ordinary being—certainly something of great value—and he had no intention of letting it escape.

  He slowly tightened his hand, reducing the space within his palm until the thing was securely trapped in one fist.

  “I’ll ask the old man about this later,” he muttered under his breath, then returned to where he had left the girl. After confirming that she was merely unconscious, he quietly placed her back within Hank’s farm, where others would soon find her.

  Running swiftly, Glenn soon spotted the old man on the road leading into the outer woods of Bayek, seemingly preparing for a journey.

  “Hey, old man!” Glenn called out from afar.

  The elder stopped, glancing back in mild surprise as Glenn approached at a run.

  “Where are you headed?” Glenn asked, slightly out of breath.

  “Got invited by a friend to handle some business,” the old man replied casually, then nodded toward Glenn’s right hand—still in its lupine form and clenched tightly. “What’s wrong with your hand?”

  Glenn raised it slightly. “I caught a strange creature—it jumps incredibly fast. I was afraid it’d get away.”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed in thought. “What kind of creature? Tell me exactly what happened.”

  Glenn recounted the encounter in brief.

  As he listened, the old man’s expression shifted—from surprise to a grave seriousness.

  “You recognize it, don’t you?” Glenn asked at last.

  After several seconds of silence, the old man spoke. “From your description, it sounds like a Flameborne Worm. I can’t be certain of the subspecies—there are many, with only the subtlest distinctions among them.”

  “Is it valuable?” Glenn asked.

  “Valuable?” The old man gave a dry laugh. “It’s among the rarest of magical materials. A single one could fetch over a thousand gold coins.”

  “A—thousand?” Glenn nearly choked, his fingers tightening around the creature as if terrified it might slip away. He swallowed hard.

  If I sell this thing, I might never have to work again! he thought gleefully.

  But seeing Glenn’s expression, the old man sighed. “I’d advise you not to sell it.”

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  “Why not?” Glenn asked, cooling his excitement.

  “Because creatures like this are nearly impossible to find. Many magicians spend their entire lives searching for one. If you sell it now and someday need it yourself, you’ll regret it bitterly.”

  “So rare…?” Glenn was stunned. His luck, it seemed, was extraordinary.

  “What exactly can it do?” he pressed.

  “The Flameborne Worm is the only living creature capable of producing Impure Fire on its own,” the old man explained. “That fire is essential for many high-level spells, runic formations, and magical artifacts. Some powerful magicians who lack a worm risk their lives by venturing into the Demon Abyss to harvest stray fragments of Impure Fire. Few ever return. Only the strongest survive such expeditions.”

  Finishing his explanation, the old man glanced at an old pocket watch.

  What a treasure… and I can’t even sell it, Glenn thought ruefully, flexing his hand around the trapped worm. “Then how should I keep it? Build a cage or something?”

  “If you can find a cage strong enough, sure,” the old man said. “It doesn’t need food or water—just the ambient elemental energy in the air. You only need to collect its discarded shells occasionally; they make excellent storage materials.”

  “I don’t have a cage like that,” Glenn admitted—it had only been a figure of speech.

  “I thought as much,” the old man said, smiling faintly. “Simple enough—just weave a pouch out of your wolf fur.”

  “You can do that?” Glenn blinked in surprise. “You’re not joking?”

  “I don’t have time for jokes. It will work,” the old man replied confidently.

  Glenn had no choice but to believe him. Still, he recalled the old man’s earlier grave look and asked, “You’re hiding something, aren’t you? I saw your face when you realized what it was.”

  The old man chuckled softly. “You’ve grown sharper, haven’t you?”

  Glenn said nothing, waiting.

  Finally, the elder sighed. “The appearance of a Flameborne Worm often heralds calamity. I once read that in an ancient chronicle—and the records of every sighting since seem to bear it out.”

  “You mean you think a disaster’s coming?” Glenn asked.

  The old man neither confirmed nor denied.

  Glenn glanced at his hand, feeling the worm’s restless movements. After a moment’s thought, he asked, “What kind of disaster are we talking about? Natural ones?”

  “Natural?” The old man frowned, unfamiliar with the term.

  “Hurricanes, earthquakes—disasters caused by nature itself,” Glenn explained.

  After a pause, the elder shook his head. “No… not those. More often it’s a beast tide, or the emergence of some great evil being. Such events don’t happen by nature’s hand.”

  Hearing that, Glenn actually felt relieved. Natural disasters he could endure—so long as his property remained safe.

  “There’s still time,” the old man said, checking his watch again. “Let me tell you the basics about the Flameborne Worm before I go.”

  Glenn straightened, listening intently.

  “The origin of the Flameborne Worm remains unknown. Newly born, they possess almost no intelligence. Only after parasitizing a living host do they gain awareness—mirroring the intellect of their host.

  “Whether by instinct or design, they tend to choose humans as hosts. They rarely infest other intelligent species. Once they’ve absorbed enough knowledge, they often seek to change hosts—usually to one of higher power or status. The criteria for this change vary: time, physical compatibility, even gender.

  “When they finally understand how precious they are, they learn to hide. But magicians have long since invented tools to detect them, so true concealment is nearly impossible.”

  With that, the old man began to walk away. “That’s all I know. Be careful—it’s a treasure worth stealing.”

  As Glenn watched him disappear down the road, he resolved to guard the creature well.

  Then, breaking into a run, he hurried home—he needed to weave that pouch immediately.

  When he arrived, Tia was nowhere to be found; she must have gone to visit the elf girl, just as he’d suggested.

  He searched the house for suitable materials, but without proper tools—and with one hand still injured—crafting anything proved difficult.

  Left with no better choice, he decided he’d have to fetch Tia back for help.