It…was over.

  Before it even began, it was over.

  Those close enough to the carnage would later attest to something quite similar to a tiny natural disaster, calamity, cataclysm. A roving hurricane no port could ever endure.

  There was a yell, a screech, a mighty roar of outrage and shock…and the dragon, which had just landed and was about to enjoy its first meal, simply…was no more.

  Nobody could say the dragon “vanished”.

  Not when such violence was visited upon its head.

  Truly, the seven people who were close enough to pick out the individual sounds amidst the squall would likely be traumatised for years. They likened it to visiting a butcher and asking for a pound of ground beef, which he selected from a choice cut and tossed into a meat grinder.

  There was a whirring shriek, like a multitude of blades revving up, spinning so fast they started to whine…then ripping, tearing, rending, breaking, and sundering of flesh, blood, and bone, with a deafening crunch.

  Hardened sinew was cut like cheap thread and in the space of a heartbeat, where there had been a body the size of a small barn, there was briefly a red and black…mass…and a heartbeat later even that was gone. Two giant leathery wings, half unfurled, floated in the air for a second as gravity started to take hold, and then they, too, were minced. Then there was the sound. Like rain on a particularly bleak winter day, slapping down heavy, tangible droplets.

  Slop…slop slop…slop slop slop.

  It was like hundreds of pounds of expired meat was being tossed out of a second story window, wet and pulpy and squelchy.

  Two heartbeats after the attack started, a great red mist bloomed from where the monster once was, expanding like steam from a sea that was boiled, roiling in wrath and fury, coating everything within a hundred feet with a slick, oozing layer of blood.

  But worst of all was the gnome.

  If ever there was a true monster, it was her.

  She held onto her two swords, but let them drag across the ground behind her. She had the biggest grin anyone had ever seen, to some it looked wicked, almost manic. Her eyes, huge and expressive, glowed with pure joy, all the while little rivulets of viscera dribbled down her cheeks, splattered against her forehead and temples. Her hair, which most had seen was pitch black, was entirely soaked red. As were her clothes. And her entire body.

  Which was also lumpy and misshapen with parts that were previously part of a living, breathing dragon. Not that any of it was recognizable or usable now, as minced and pulverized as it was.

  She walked to the first man, the closest to the carnage, who still had a glowing, golden shield revolving around his body.

  “Are you okay?” she asked kindly. Or perhaps she thought she did. The man wet himself and passed out.

  Melia sighed, but did her best to keep smiling. She felt that right now, when her reputation was perhaps at its most fragile, it was important to appear friendly. Non threatening. For all the good it did.

  She passed several more people, who didn’t defecate themselves, but did back up on all fours as she came too close. She ignored their fear, gave them nods, and continued to smile.

  She made her way to the back, where the healers were stationed, pausing only long enough to ensure that the guildmaster, who was in charge of logistics, was actually doing his job.

  Slowly but steadily, order was emerging from the chaos. Despite no battle actually taking place, there were a surprising amount of injuries. People running over each other, fleeing in their fear, tripping in their haste to run away. Nobody commented on the breach of decorum, nobody tried shaming anyone for cowardice. Everyone, except the gnome, had acted the same. When push came to shove, they had been shown their own mortality, and most had been found wanting. It was a hard pill to swallow, and more than one adventurer would turn in their badge today.

  By the time Melia made it back to her friends, most of the crowd had cleared away. Teams were eager to get back to their tents, to get themselves checked over, or otherwise be anywhere else but right there. Still, Jessica, Alastair, Ellesea, and Y’cennia were right where she left them. Along with the rank 6, almost rank 7 Clark, and the rank 8 Sable.

  “Are you guys okay?” Melia asked cheerily.

  Jessica’s eyes were wide and they darted all over Melia’s face taking in the specks of giblets and streaks of blood. Part of her wanted to throw the question back at the gnome. Looking like that? And she was asking them?

  But no words would come. Even though she’d seen exactly how the tiny gnome had ended up so viciously…decorated.

  And of course, somebody took it upon themself to fill the silence.

  “By the gods, you’re the real monster,” Sable managed to say. He was looking at her with renewed vision, his normally loose tongue firmly under wraps. Any suspicion that the gnome was rank 10, higher than rank 10, was simply blown away. Melia ignored him as she focused on her companions.

  “At least you could have left something behind,” he muttered under his breath.

  Melia stopped in her tracks.

  “Excuse me?” she asked, turning slowly.

  All six of them froze.

  “Did you, perhaps, just judge me for taking care of a threat?” Melia asked, the edge of cheerfulness in her voice fraying. “Where, if I recall, you were too busy seeing how you could throw everybody else under the cart while you planned to get away?”

  He, wisely, kept silent.

  “I thought as much.”

  Melia turned back to her friends. Or at least she hoped she could still call them that.

  As much as Melia loathed Sable, he was right about one thing: she truly was a monster.

  “Well!” Melia said, as brightly as she could muster. “That’s that! Time to move on, right?”

  The girls all stared down at Melia, dumbfounded. A part of them recognized the fact that she was trying to downplay the last…had it only been 3 minutes? Maybe 5? And most of that had actually been after the…whatever the gnome did. They thought her main class probably had something to do with performing arts, seeing as her [Dancer] was so high level, but they were woefully wrong. Clearly she had yet another high level class, something strength based, and it was devastating.

  “How…how can you be so….” Y’cennia waved her hands over the tiny gnome’s form, unable to fully put into words what plagued her mind.

  “Strong?” Alastair suggested.

  “Versatile?” Ellesea proposed.

  “Filthy?” Jessica asked with her nose wrinkled up.

  “I was gonna say unbothered,” Y’cennia admitted. “But all of those work.”

  Melia looked at them sadly before glancing at her swords. They were, in fact, disgusting. She squatted down and did her best to wipe them on the grass, which only seemed to smear the guts and little chunks around everywhere else. She guessed it was finally time. Time to sit them down and have an honest, hard talk, and see where they’d all go from there.

  “Oh, hell no, that’s not gonna fly,” Jessica pointed down at the swords after being “cleaned”, watching in horror as Melia simply returned them to her inventory. She had to do something, anything, to distract her mind from the fact that an impossibly strong, in all likelihood immortal gnome had just inserted herself into their lives.

  She didn’t even know gnomes could get that powerful!

  If she let her mind dwell on it, it would probably break her.

  So, she focused on something she could do something about.

  “Come on, let’s go get you cleaned up.”

  Melia, with her brilliant smile that seemed all too brittle, followed without complaint.

  Melia sighed in contentment. If she was in a joking mood, she would have said she had died and gone to heaven, or something along those lines. It may have only been a small tub heated by a small fire, but this was the first bath she had taken in decades.

  Actually, calling it a tub was generous.

  Ebonvale was a fantasy world, with a mismatch of various historical European settings, but it wasn’t all backwater and lacking in amenities. In truth, there were many magical equivalents to technological advancements. But Abbyton was a small community cloistered in the hills of an already quiet woodland, so things like running water had not progressed there yet. They did have plenty of wells and a sophisticated drainage and sewage system, but baths were mostly taken care of in large wooden tubs that had water dumped into them by buckets rather than the beautifully designed porcelain, or even copper, fixtures that Melia expected.

  And most of their normal tubs were currently in use, having a sudden need to clean and disinfect a large quantity of visitors that had just experienced a very large spike in adrenaline and emotion. Melia understood the laws of triage, and she was very low on most lists of priority.

  So it was that she found herself sitting in what could only be described as a large cooking pot, sitting on a low hearth, over several logs slowly turning into brightly glowing embers.

  If anyone were to walk in unprepared, surely they would assume some deviant was attempting to make some sort of gnome stew.

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  But the meager heat of the small fire did not bother Melia in the least. In fact she found it to be incredibly soothing, even if it was approaching a temperature close to scalding for a normal, not-high-level adventurer. As for Melia, she was a dragon. The water could boil into steam and she would only feel a comfortable tingle.

  She was currently on her 6th tub of water, having been entirely covered from head to toe in the remains of that monster. A part of her hoped the filth would simply despawn after a while, but that was a small part and Melia wasn’t surprised when it didn’t magically disappear. The first tub she stepped into really did look like a stew, with small chunks of meat and other unidentifiable tidbits floating next to her. And that was after Jessica and Y’cennia dumped at least 4 buckets over her head to wash away the bulk of it. Her first two soaks in the tub had dyed the water deep crimson within a minute, so until the water remained mostly clear, they continually dunked her in, then drained the pot.

  They made her strip down so Ellesea could take away her clothes to wash, which were utterly and completely defiled, and Melia had to wonder if they would finally stain. She hoped not. She’d grown fond of that set, and currently her only other option was her harem pants, which were folded on a small cushion nearby her tub.

  The girls were very subdued, which Melia could understand, having just witnessed horrors like something out of a twisted nightmare, but she wasn’t sure why they were acting like servants. After Jessica’s bluster outside simmered down, they seemed very meek, and Y’cennia had actually tried calling Melia “my lady” once.

  Melia hated it.

  It felt weird, being venerated for no good reason…though she knew the reason was very good, it simply wasn’t her. Melia didn’t feel like she was a lady. She was simply Melia, and she insisted that they not start something silly like treating her differently. She didn’t miss how they all glanced at each other, and while the “my lady” didn’t continue, Melia knew it was only a matter of time before it started back up.

  That’s why she was still soaking in the pot. She was, admittedly, procrastinating. She knew she needed to have a heart to heart with her friends, her team, but it was going to be awkward, uncomfortable, and possibly painful. She wasn’t planning on moving until the cooks came by and demanded their pot so they could get started on dinner.

  Melia smiled.

  Word had reached her that the brothers and sisters of the abbey were throwing a celebratory feast for “saving the abbey from the terrible dragon”, though most of them seemed more confused and amused at the reason because to them, the threat was over and gone before they even knew about it.

  Melia’s belly gave a grumble of consent. Yes, she would welcome a feast, no matter what the reason.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Jessica was the last one back to the tents. With the abbey being as full as it was thanks to the sudden addition of a little more than a hundred adventurers, space was at a bit of a premium and they were not afforded their normal rooms. Especially since most small rooms had quickly been converted into patient rooms for the wounded (despite the fact that no wounds were caused by the disaster they were sent to prevent).

  She found her teammates gathered around a small unlit firepit, the heat of the afternoon more than enough to discourage any open flame, though the darkness of the clouds that rolled in earlier made it tempting.

  “I…don’t know what to say,” Y’cennia began. She wasn’t the youngest of the group, that went to Ellesea at 19, but she was the lowest level, and oftentimes felt most vulnerable.

  “I feel you,” Jessica nodded. She was overwhelmed, just like the catkin. She felt like the last hour or two had lasted years, like attending the bonfire lighting in Hammerfall was a lifetime ago.

  “So, what do we do about it?” Alastair asked. The unspoken elephant in the room was, as it always seemed to be of late, the gnome.

  “Is there anything we can do about it?” Ellesea snorted. Of the members of the original team, she was feeling the most conflicted. She was used to being the strongest one among them, and she knew her limits (especially compared to higher ranked adventurers), but she never let it give her a big head. Something she was incredibly grateful for right now, because her mind was racing through all the times in the last month alone she secretly considered herself better than other people.

  And now she was shown just how insignificant she was. The only reason she wasn’t dying from shame was because she never opened her mouth and said anything out loud, thank the gods.

  “Right,” said Alastair. “I suppose you’re right. There isn’t a single thing we can do about it, especially if she’s made up her mind.”

  “And if she insists on joining us still?” Y’cennia asked.

  “Then she joins us,” Jessica shook her head. “We -literally- can’t stop her. For the life of me I don’t know why she chose us, but she did. And it seems like she’s here to stay, regardless of what we think.”

  “And what do we think?” Ellesea asked. The group shared a look, taking time to meet each and every gaze and hold it. As if by unspoken command, they each spoke at the same time.

  “Not a dragon,” said Jessica.

  “Dragon,” said Alastair.

  “Dragon,” mumbled Y’cennia.

  “Not a dragon,” stated Ellesea.

  Perhaps they were expecting a unanimous vote, or maybe they didn’t know what they expected. Alastair pointed to Y’cennia.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” she said meekly. “Nobody else could ever obliterate such a powerful monster with, what, a single attack? It just…popped. Like a boil or a zit. How could she not be?”

  “That’s the exact reason I say no,” Jessica countered. “I say nothing could ever do that to a dragon. Did you hear what level it was? 1047. Not even the White Witch could…erase a monster like that, not above rank 10. I don’t know what she is, but it isn’t a dragon, and it isn’t a gnome, and it’s not from Humanity. Maybe she’s some sort of immortal demi-god? She got bored or whatever or maybe she really did sleep for a hundred years and just woke up after a nap. I don’t know. I’ve never heard of anything like it.”

  The others seemed to digest her words thoughtfully. Ellesea spoke next.

  “I washed her clothes,” she said with a shudder.

  As a [Mage], she was familiar enough with the concept of power being able to eradicate a foe. She had seen professors at the academy give demonstrations of high level spells that vaporized monsters where they stood. Just beams of light or flashes of flames, and then nothing would be left but a glassed section of ground or maybe a stump of a foot or nub of a horn that got missed.

  But all of that was from a great distance, one of the huge advantages of spellcasters. They didn’t need to get up close and personal. Intellectually, Ellesea could understand just how much gore would shower a person if they achieved the same result with a physical weapon. But she wasn’t prepared for that tiny outfit to look like the gnome went swimming through the monster’s guts.

  “So?” chuckled Jessica, but it was a poke to drive Ellesea further, not meant to deride or question her.

  “So I checked them out with the system once they were clean.”

  The others raised their eyebrows in interest.

  “I’ll have you know they’re nice clothes,” she began with a sniff, mentally preparing herself. “Nice enough for the system to grant them a name. They’re called [Reverie of the Midnight Queen].”

  She saw she had their attention and paused for dramatic effect. When she initially cast [Identify], she hadn’t expected it to work, and was shocked senseless when it did. What she saw left her incapable of thinking for several moments.

  “They are level 1. Common. Soulbound. And have no stats or bonuses at all.”

  Normal clothing was normal. Everybody knew this and everybody expected it. If somebody needed to buy a new shirt for everyday wear, they’d go find a seamstress’ shop or a [Tailor] and they’d pick up something that would last them a few months.

  Stuff high level people wore into battle was another story. Crafted gear, or gear dropped in dungeons, usually had stats, sometimes effects or modifiers. Ellesea herself wore a [Scholar’s Gown] which gave her an extra 50 Intellect and 30 Wisdom. It was “green”, meaning it was a step above common, sometimes called “good” or “uncommon”, but below blue, which was “rare” or “superior”. It was a gift from her parents when she graduated from the basic classes and chose a specialization, tailored for her specifically. It was meant to be outgrown, in the case of levels, not her physical body, which was a shame, but still, it had cost a sizable pile of gold.

  Each member of the team had been given the opportunity to scan and inspect high level gear, courtesy of Clark and the guild, so they knew that high level gear accounted for a significant portion of a class’s damage output. It was not unheard of for the absolute best gear, things approaching “epic” or “masterwork” quality to add up to 50 percent of a class’ stats.

  And this…[Reverie]...added nothing. It was cosmetic at best. Nothing but a costume.

  Ellesea’s words sunk in and she could see the dawning horror on her teammates’ faces.

  “She did that,” Alastair whispered, appalled, “Without gear? Sure, she had those swords, but…by the Light, what are her stats?”

  “Incarnation of a goddess?” Jessica asked.

  “Don’t joke about such things,” Alastair rebuked, and Jessica bowed politely.

  “So…we are undecided,” Alastair said after a lengthy bit of silence, letting everybody stew in their thoughts. “But at the very least, we know, without a doubt, that she’s high level.”

  “You think?” Jessica scoffed sarcastically. Alastair held up a hand.

  “It sounds obvious and right now, it is. Do I need to remind you that when you and I, both of us together, approached her, we didn’t even think she had a combat class?”

  “Ahh,” was all Jessica could say in reply.

  “And if we take that to the logical conclusion,” Alastair continued calmly, “We know, at bare minimum, she is over level 1000. Rank 10.”

  The others nodded and waited to see where he was going.

  “By definition, that makes her a noble. Royalty, maybe? I don’t know. Is it the same in gnomish culture? Have any of you had to deal with high level nobility?”

  He noticed Ellesea fidget and he shook his head.

  “I’m sorry, in the moment, I forgot. Ellesea, is it normal for nobles to get that strong? Hide their strength? Try and masquerade as common people?”

  “No,” Ellesea instantly denied. “On all three points. But, and I can’t stress this enough, we’re talking about normal. What passes for common thought. Who knows what some weird, bizarre person gets up to in their spare time? But if we’re talking about in the Horizon, or the kingdom of Eutevor specifically? Not a chance. Nobles are famous for hoarding every last drop of power, showboating around and gloating for everybody to see, and anything beneath them is beneath them, very much to be avoided and not worth their time. I’ve seen a level 300 count stick their nose up at a master craftsman who was only level 290. No, nobles would do none of that.”

  “Except for you,” Jessica smirked and playfully nudged Ellesea.

  “What can I say?” Ellesea sighed and slumped dramatically. “I’m a deviant.”

  “Enough self depreciation,” Alastair chuckled. “We wouldn’t have you any other way.”

  “She wouldn’t have ever agreed to come with us any other way,” Jessica muttered, and the others laughed.

  “So how are we supposed to treat her?” Alastair genuinely wanted to know.

  “For one, I don’t think she wants to be treated like a noble,” Y’cennia muttered. The others glanced at her and she sighed.

  “She scared me, and I didn’t know how to address her, so I tried doing it like I’ve seen people in the guild when important higher ups come by. I called her ‘my lady’ and her face crinkled so bad I thought she had constipation.”

  “Ok, so no honorifics,” Jessica smirked.

  “But she isn’t a low level adventurer,” Alastair countered. “No matter how much she acts like a noob. We can’t just treat her like she signed up for a joint quest that we all agreed was a good fit.”

  “Why not?”

  Everybody froze, and Y’cennia in particular leapt up from her seat. She was used to having the best hearing out of their group and she wasn’t used to people sneaking up on her. Everybody’s head whipped in the direction of the voice, and sure enough, there was the tiny gnome, dressed in her bright pink [Dancer]’s gear with the billowing legs and flowing sleeves. It looked incredibly comfortable in the sweltering heat.

  Melia walked to the middle of the group and stared up at each of them.

  “Why can’t you treat me like before?”

  This wasn’t how she planned on having “the talk”, but she had heard them talking about her as she was walking up and she didn’t want to eavesdrop. She turned to Ellesea first.

  “Thank you for washing my clothes. I’m sure they were very gross. I’m sorry I made you do it.”

  “Oh,” was all Ellesea could say. Case in point: nobles did not apologize. She handed the tiny bundle over and watched it disappear into the gnome’s inventory.

  Melia turned to Alastair.

  “I’m not a noble. As far as I know, I don’t even belong to a kingdom. If ever I did, I’d say it was this one, but I don’t even know if anybody I knew from back then is still alive today. I wouldn’t be a good fit in that crowd at all.”

  “And,” he gulped nervously, “You want us to…what, act like you aren’t a million levels above us?”

  “I know it’s not possible,” Melia cast her eyes down, saddened, “But I wish you would. I meant what I told you before. I don’t have any friends. I want to be with people my age. Can’t you understand my impossible circumstances? Anybody I knew, if they’re still alive, has grown up, moved on, had families and lived their lives. I don’t have anybody to relate to. I can’t go back to being alone, not now…I’m…even if I wasn’t a gnome, I’d be an affectionate person. I’m starved for touch, for contact. Please don’t keep me at arms length.”

  Alastair visibly swallowed, and Melia could hear the others behind her reacting in their own way. But leave it to Jessica to say exactly the right thing at the right moment.

  “You’re a gnome? I thought you said you were a dragon.”