Hammya awoke in her bed, dazed and disoriented, with no memory of how she had gotten there.

  “Ugh… it’s two in the afternoon. That’s so late,” she murmured, her voice heavy with sleep.

  She yawned, pushed the blanket aside, and slowly sat up. After a moment of hesitation, she walked to the bathroom to relieve herself. Then she turned on the light, washed her face, and looked at herself in the mirror.

  “Hey there, gorgeous,” she said with a mischievous smile—but it vanished instantly as her gaze dropped.

  “Uh…”

  She looked up again, now frowning.

  “What…?”

  She rubbed her eyes hard and splashed her face with water again, paying special attention to her eyelids.

  “This has to be a joke.”

  Again she rubbed her eyes and washed her face, focusing on the lids. But when she looked up once more, there was no denying it: two majestic, feathered wings—vivid green like living emeralds—had sprouted from her back. The feathers shimmered with jade-like hues in the light, long, soft, and perfectly arranged. They weren’t illusions. They were real, bursting through her back as if they had always been part of her. And her shirt—torn, ruined—was the first casualty.

  “No… no way… this can’t be real.”

  She turned in place, trying to get a better look, a strange blend of awe and panic twisting her expression. She took a step back—too quickly—and one of the wings folded awkwardly against the bathroom door. A jagged edge of splintered wood drove itself into the feathers, tearing the base of the wing.

  “AAAH!” she screamed, collapsing onto the tile floor with a sickening thud.

  The scream echoed through the house like an alarm. Footsteps pounded down the hallway, followed by anxious voices. Candado was the first to arrive.

  “Hammya! HAMMYA! What happened?”

  Panicked murmurs and startled cries could be heard through the door. Europa turned the knob and rushed in.

  “Sweetheart! What was that scream? Are you hurt?” she asked, her face pale with fear.

  Candado ran into the bathroom. There was Hammya, curled on the floor, trembling. One of her wings was oozing a greenish liquid between the feathers. She clutched it tightly, as if trying to keep it from falling apart.

  “HAMMYA!!” he shouted, dropping to his knees beside her.

  She tried to pull away, but pain anchored her to the floor.

  “What happened? Why are you bleeding?” he asked, gently holding her.

  Candado reached for her hand to get a better look.

  “No… please, don’t touch it…”

  “You’re bleeding a lot. Let me help.”

  Patiently, he moved her hand and saw the tear—flesh and feathers alike—like a piece of her very soul had been ripped away.

  “By Isidro…”

  “I know…” she whispered, ashamed. “It’s awful, isn’t it?”

  At that moment, Europa and Clementina rushed in.

  “Mom, I need hot water. Clementina, grab disinfectant and bandages.”

  “On it!” they replied, darting off in opposite directions.

  “Dad, take Karen outside… and Grandma too.”

  “I’m on it,” Europa said as she turned and disappeared down the hallway.

  “Hipólito, call Nelson. Now.”

  “Yes,” came a voice from beyond the room.

  Candado carefully lifted Hammya into his arms. As he did, he noticed something hanging from her waist. At first, he thought it was part of her clothing and tried to adjust it.

  “Ow! That hurts!” Hammya yelped.

  Candado froze. He looked down and followed the line of the strange object until he found its source.

  “…Oh, by the fathers of Isidro.”

  “What was that? Candado?”

  “Hammya… I don’t know how to tell you this, but… it looks like you have a tail.”

  “You say that like it’s weird…”

  “That’s because it is.”

  He showed it to her. It was slim, green, and shimmered with the same natural glow as her wings. It twitched nervously on its own.

  “What? That can’t be real!”

  The tail jerked left, then right, then upward… and twisted unsettlingly.

  “How are you doing that?”

  “I have absolutely no idea…”

  An hour later.

  Hammya lay reclined in a kitchen chair while Nelson examined her with a flashlight. This time, he wasn’t pointing it at her forehead, but at the majestic green wings that still extended partially from her back.

  “Fascinating…” Nelson murmured.

  “What’s fascinating?” asked Europa, arms crossed.

  “They’re wings. But not just any kind…” the elderly man leaned back to get a better look. “Their structure is anatomically perfect. Every feather seems woven by a divine hand.”

  “Tell me something that isn’t obvious, Nelson,” sighed Grandma Barret.

  “I missed you too, Andrea.”

  “Old man,” Candado interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

  “All right, all right…” Nelson switched off the flashlight with a resigned sigh. “To be honest, I don’t know how or why these wings emerged. They don’t seem implanted or artificial. It’s as if they were always there… dormant.”

  “Are they dangerous?” asked Arturo, watching from the doorway with evident curiosity.

  “Here’s the strangest part,” Nelson said. “Clementina, can you help me with a scan?”

  “Of course,” she answered softly, raising her right arm. A fine scanner extended from her fingers, sweeping over Hammya’s wings from base to tip.

  Then, from her chest, came the nostalgic sound of an old printer, and a printed image slid out from a side panel. Nelson took it carefully and held it up to the light.

  “Don’t you have to develop it first?” Candado asked sarcastically.

  “You live in the past, boy,” Nelson replied in kind, not taking his eyes off the paper. “I knew it. They’re directly connected to her spine… more precisely, to the autonomic nervous system. They’ve integrated into her body as if they were just another organ.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Arturo.

  “It means they can’t be removed,” Nelson said, lowering the image. “But it also means they respond to emotional stimuli. Watch this.”

  He gently touched one of the wings. Hammya flinched.

  “Ow! Why would you do that?!”

  The tip of the wing twitched, and several feathers bristled as if alive.

  “See? They react to her emotional state.”

  “And is that good or bad?” asked Clementina, observing the wings with curiosity.

  “It’s… unique. I’ve never seen anything like it. These wings seem to reflect her emotions. They’re not just for flying. They’re a living expression of what she feels.”

  “Great,” Hammya muttered, struggling to sit up. “Now I have to watch how I feel so I don’t go scattering feathers all over the place.”

  “In fact,” Nelson added, “when you got scared, the base of the wings tensed like a muscle. They’re as sensitive as an arm, if not more. They’re connected to the spinal cord, so if they’re injured…”

  “They still hurt,” Hammya whispered, remembering the impact against the bathroom door.

  “Exactly. You’ve already seen what that means.”

  Candado sighed and pulled up a chair, sitting across from her.

  “What does this mean for her daily life?” he asked.

  “She’ll have to learn to move with them. Understand them, even. Maybe she’ll be able to retract them, like a cat with its claws—only in her case, it would be with wings,” Nelson said, gesturing to the wingspan. “They’re not just physical. They’re part of her body language now. Like a raised eyebrow… or a clenched fist.”

  “Fantastic,” Hammya said dryly. “I also have a tail. I can’t wear pants, and now I’ve got wings that react when I’m happy, sad, or furious.”

  “About your tail,” Nelson added, turning to her and briefly touching it, “it’s connected directly to the coccyx. It’s completely functional too… though I wouldn’t recommend trying to hide it. Unless you somehow can.”

  “I see,” she said, swaying it slowly from side to side with a resigned look.

  “But you look… beautiful,” Clementina said sincerely. “You look different, but no less beautiful.”

  “Sure,” Hammya whispered, blushing slightly. “Different like a carnival broom…”

  Candado crossed his arms, hesitating before speaking.

  “To my eyes, your beauty still shines like a precious stone, Hammya Saillim.”

  That drew everyone’s eyes in the room. Hammya didn’t respond right away, but a faint smile curled on her lips as the feathers of her wings relaxed and drifted down, moving as if breathing with her.

  “I see…”

  She began to sway her tail from right to left, right to left, right to left, then left to right.

  “I think I’ve gotten used to it.”

  “That’s wonderful,” said Nelson, sounding proud—of her, or maybe of himself.

  Three hours later.

  Hammya was sitting on the living room couch, trying to watch a movie. At least, that was the intention. Nelson had already left. His verdict: it was nothing serious, most likely something inherent to her nature. Hammya had dismissed the topic—or postponed worrying about it. But not Candado. Or at least, that’s how it felt. His lingering gaze hadn’t left her since, filling the room with a strange sense of discomfort.

  Hammya cleared her throat.

  “…Is something wrong?”

  “No.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  She turned her eyes back to the screen, but still...

  “…”

  “…”

  “…”

  “…”

  “…”

  Hammya picked up the remote and switched off the TV.

  “We need to talk,” she said with a sigh.

  “I’m listening.”

  “First of all—why are you staring at me like that?”

  “It’s simple. I don’t understand how this could happen.”

  “Neither do I. But here I am.”

  “Aren’t you scared?”

  “Well… yes, but not right now. It’s strange, yeah… but it feels natural somehow. I don’t know how to explain it, but inside me, it feels like this is how I was meant to be.”

  “I see. Can I touch it?”

  Hammya slowly moved her tail toward Candado’s palm.

  “Wow… how do you do that?” he asked, removing his gloves.

  “I don’t know. It’s like moving my hands.”

  Candado gently ran his fingers along Hammya’s tail.

  “There’s a bone inside, wrapped in soft skin… and silky fur.”

  Hammya watched him with curious eyes.

  “It’s amazing. So soft, so fluffy.”

  “You like things like this?”

  “I like soft and fluffy things.”

  Then, without warning, Candado rested his head on Hammya’s lap. She blinked, caught off guard, still processing everything that had happened in Kanghar.

  “Wow… this is really addicting. Does it bother you?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Candado continued to gently stroke her tail.

  Just then, Clementina walked past and paused, a warm smile on her face as she witnessed the unusual scene.

  She blinked twice—click—and captured a photo with her eyes.

  “Heh… what a lovely pair of fools.”

  And she walked on.

  Because of everything that had happened, Hammya didn’t dare to leave the house. So, there was no meeting at the guild that day. To avoid giving details, Candado simply told them something had come up and he wouldn’t be attending. His friends were worried and wanted to visit, but he declined, saying it was private.

  So Hammya spent the entire afternoon at home, doing nothing, until night finally fell.

  12:21 a.m.

  Hammya lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, reflecting on how strange her afternoon had been. She reached for her tail and examined it again. It had once terrified her—but no longer. The thought still overwhelmed her, though. She’d always known she was different. Her blood wasn’t red. Her hair was green. She felt things no human ever did. And just as she was starting to accept her difference… this happened.

  “Life, huh?” she whispered with a smile. “I’m starting to become like him…”

  Then she felt a voice stir inside her.

  “Oh… it’s you.”

  “…”

  “I know, I know.”

  “…”

  “When will I tell him? I don’t know.”

  “…”

  “What do you mean?”

  “…”

  “Well… it’s sort of true.”

  “…”

  “Okay, okay. I like him, alright? I like him a lot.”

  “…”

  “It’s just… I still can’t say it out loud.”

  “…”

  “I know I don’t talk much, but…”

  “…”

  “Fine.”

  She fell into silence again, her eyes unfocused as she stared into nothingness. The air in the room felt unusually still, like even time itself was holding its breath, waiting for her to speak once more.

  At last, the inner voice that had accompanied her all this time emerged, with that unique calm only inner voices seemed to possess—a whisper that seemed to rise from the very depths of her being.

  "About my situation..."

  "…"

  "What?"

  "…"

  Hammya let out a long, deep sigh.

  "That easy?" she asked aloud, almost sarcastically.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, eyes closed, body tense—yet her soul, curiously enough, was calm. She clenched her hands at her sides, a small gesture of focus, and then, the process began.

  Heat began to gather along her back, right at the base of her spine. She could feel her wings—those green wings that had come to mean so much to her—start to shrink. It wasn’t painful, but it was strange, like shedding a part of herself she had never fully understood.

  Her tail, once her greatest source of discomfort, slowly began to recede. The gentle sensation across her back and body was barely perceptible at first, but as it progressed, something inside her felt lighter.

  Hammya continued to inhale and exhale, her concentration so intense it bordered on trance. With each breath, she moved closer to release. The wings vanished completely, followed by the tail, which faded back into her body. In their place remained a strange stillness, as though she’d been stripped of something that had once defined her—but had somehow grown closer to her true self.

  When it was over, she opened her eyes slowly, as if awakening from a long dream.

  "I can’t believe it... it worked," she whispered.

  Then she laid back on the bed like a queen ready to rest, closed her eyes, and tried to relax. Peace. Silence. Tranquility.

  But no.

  Her wings decided to make a surprise comeback, reappearing almost comically instantly. And her tail, not wanting to miss out, poked out once more as if to say, "Miss me?"

  Hammya froze for a few seconds, processing the inevitable. Then she grabbed her pillow with a blank expression, slammed it against her face, and let out a muffled scream so full of frustration that even the bed seemed to want to comfort her.

  The Next Morning

  Hammya stood before her friends in the main hall of the guild. Everyone watched her in complete silence, their expressions somewhere between fascination, discomfort, and sheer confusion. The new green wings spreading behind her—long, soft, and gleaming like those of a renaissance angel—cast shadows across the room. And, of course, there was also her lively new tail, swaying on its own as if trying to start a conversation.

  "So?" she asked nervously, shrinking slightly under their gazes.

  "They’re beautiful," said Viki, her eyes sparkling.

  "You look cute," added Pucheta with a sincere smile.

  "It’s... a tail," observed Germán, examining her like a specimen.

  "It’s amazing!" Lucía and Erika exclaimed in unison, almost bouncing.

  "Wow," muttered Declan, shrugging.

  "I’m holding back a crude comment with everything I’ve got," said Matlotsky, his hand trembling near his mouth.

  "It’s... very noticeable," said Pak, still staring at the wings.

  "Pretty," Anzor smiled, always to the point.

  "Impressive," Andersson stated, arms crossed.

  "Cool, she turned into a cat," joked Lucas.

  The rest of the group remained silent, hypnotized.

  Hammya began swaying her tail slowly from side to side, almost by instinct… and, oddly enough, her friends’ heads moved with it in unison, as if watching in slow motion.

  "You like it, don’t you?" she said with a mischievous smile.

  Meanwhile, Walsh and Héctor slipped into the next room, quietly calling for Candado. The others remained entranced by Hammya’s dancing appendage.

  "Context?" asked Héctor as they entered.

  "What you see is what it is. She woke up, screamed, and when we got there, she was sitting in the middle of the bathroom, crying. Oh, and covered in blood."

  "Blood?"

  "She got hurt in the bathroom. A tear. Well—more like, at the base of the wings. It was… desperate."

  "God…" Walsh muttered.

  "Yeah. It was awful," Candado replied as he prepared some mate.

  "…"

  "Anyway, that’s all that happened. For now, she says she’s handling it."

  "Let’s hope she’s not pretending she’s okay," Walsh said, worried.

  "I don’t think so. I’d notice if she were."

  "If you say so…"

  Just then, the phone rang.

  "Who could it be?" asked Héctor.

  "Maybe a client," Candado replied, sipping his mate. "Want some?" he offered Walsh.

  "Oh, thanks."

  "No problem."

  Héctor picked up the phone, but his expression shifted almost instantly to one of discomfort.

  "Yes, well... I understand, sir, but—"

  "Sir? Wait, why—?" Héctor frowned.

  Candado stood, took the phone from him, and spoke in a firm voice.

  "This is Candado Barret, president of the Roobóleo Brotherhood. What’s your emergency?"

  "Oh, finally, someone important."

  "Choose your words carefully, old man. If I get bored, I hang up."

  "Would you abandon someone in trouble?"

  "I’m not the only guild. So yes, I could."

  "Alright, I’ll be quick. There's... something in my house. No one wants to help. They all told me to call you."

  "Severity of the case?"

  "It scratched me. I think it’s deadly. The police wouldn’t even show up."

  "Give me your address. We’ll come immediately."

  Meanwhile, in the other room, Hammya was explaining her situation.

  "And then, when I looked in the mirror, I panicked," Hammya recounted, eyes wide, gesturing wildly. "I thought I’d turned into a leafy, winged vegetable!"

  "Wow... I wouldn’t have believed it if you’d told me yesterday," Liv admitted, slowly nodding.

  Candado hung up the phone.

  "Brothers, we’ve got work."

  "Fantastic!" Declan cheered, rubbing his hands together.

  "I need everyone this time. Well—almost everyone."

  "What do you mean?" asked Viki.

  "Hammya, you're staying here."

  "What?! Why?!"

  "Yesterday you sprouted green wings and a tail like part of a costume. I still don’t know if that’s good or bad for your health. I can’t take that risk."

  "Is it serious?" asked Matlotsky.

  "I’d say level four."

  "That’s nearly ‘total danger’!" Viki exclaimed.

  "But why?! Why?!" Hammya protested.

  Candado sighed with resignation.

  “Hammya… did you read the manual I gave you?”

  “Yes… well… sort of.”

  “And?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t even open it.”

  Candado rubbed his eyes, as if his soul was trying to escape through his tear ducts.

  “There are five levels: simple, easy, medium, hard, and dangerous.”

  “What happened to make it so serious?” asked Andersson.

  “The client mentioned ‘a thing’ that attacked him. Until we verify it, I’m classifying it as level four.”

  “So, you don’t really know.”

  “Exactly. And I’m not putting you at risk without being prepared.”

  “I saw a robbery at a traffic light and saved you!”

  “I know, but that wasn’t a mission. You arrived when everything was already over.”

  “I saw Buenos Aires burn!”

  “And that was a mistake. You were only supposed to learn about the job. I never expected it to spiral out of control.”

  “We were attacked by the Baris!”

  “That was a level-two reconnaissance mission… until it blew up into a level four. And you fell. Amabaray would’ve killed you if I hadn’t gotten there in time.”

  “But I couldn’t just let—!”

  “Hammya,” Candado cut her off, his voice soft but unyielding. “You’re not going. You’re staying here.”

  “If I may, sir.”

  Candado found it odd that, in that moment, Clementina didn’t call him “master.”

  “Go ahead,” he said, curious.

  “I’d like to stay with the young lady, so she doesn’t feel alone,” she replied gently.

  “As you wish,” he nodded, then turned to the others. “Anyone else wish to stay behind?”

  No one answered. Only silence.

  “Good. Then let’s move,” he ordered.

  The group set off, their steps firm but silent, leaving the guild behind. The air grew denser as they approached their destination. In the distance, the shadows of the city stretched across the cracked pavement like cautious fingers.

  Time seemed to blur during the journey, until hours later, they stopped in front of the designated house. A dim, time-worn structure, as silent as the group now standing before it.

  Without hesitation, Candado stepped forward and knocked firmly on the door.

  “Stay sharp,” he instructed.

  No one replied aloud, but each nodded with resolve.

  The door creaked open slowly. An older man, his face lined with exhaustion, greeted them.

  “Good evening, Mr. Ferrero,” said Candado. “I’m Candado Barret, from the Brotherhood Guild.”

  The man looked him up and down with skepticism.

  “You? You’re just a kid.”

  “Most guilds are led by young people,” Candado answered calmly.

  “Are they really the best?”

  “Always the same question…” Matlotsky murmured into Héctor’s ear.

  Unfazed, Candado replied clearly:

  “If you don’t trust us, we can leave.”

  “Easy, Declan,” Ferrero interjected. “It’s understandable to have doubts, but I assure you, we are the best at what we do.”

  Ferrero glanced at the group.

  “You brought too many.”

  “You weren’t clear over the phone,” Candado explained. “So I brought everyone, just in case. But if you prefer, I can have only five enter.”

  The man hesitated for a second before nodding.

  “Fine.”

  Candado turned to his team.

  “Héctor, Declan, Pucheta, Lucas, and… Pak.”

  The last one startled slightly.

  “It’s tradition for the new member to witness their first job,” Candado added, looking at her.

  Pak lowered her head, grateful for the opportunity.

  "Anzor, Liv," Candado continued, "you’ll stay out front. If we don’t come out, I’ll use this bell. I’m counting on your ears, Anzor."

  "I won’t fail," he replied.

  "The rest of you will circle around the house. Germán, you’re in charge."

  "Understood," he said with a firm nod.

  Candado's team of five crossed the threshold.

  "Lead us," he ordered.

  Ferrero guided them through his home, which turned out to be more spacious inside than its modest exterior suggested.

  "Do you charge for this?" the man asked.

  "We use two payment methods: cash or a vow," Candado replied.

  "A vow?"

  "If the client can't pay with money, they offer a sacred vow. That promise can't be broken for any reason."

  "And if they do?"

  "No guild will ever help them again. And if they find themselves in trouble, not even cash or vows will buy them assistance for ten years."

  "That's harsh. I thought it’d be worse."

  "You’ve clearly never had a real problem the State ignored—and your last hope, meaning us, turned away."

  "I understand."

  Eventually, the man led them to a room at the back of the house.

  "Here," he said, pointing.

  Declan was the first to step forward.

  "Do you feel it?" Candado asked.

  "Not just feel it. I can smell it. There’s segalmatic rot in the air."

  "A spell?" Lucas cut in.

  Candado smiled faintly, bringing a handkerchief to his nose.

  "Possibly."

  "I don’t smell anything," said the man, puzzled.

  "Your segalma’s too weak to detect it," Candado explained.

  "So, what now, boss?" Pucheta asked.

  Candado turned to the man.

  "How do you want to handle payment?"

  "Cash. I’m terrible with promises."

  "Four thousand."

  "Three thousand."

  "Four thousand five hundred."

  "...What?"

  "You heard me."

  Ferrero clenched his jaw. Then sighed in defeat.

  "Fine. Four thousand."

  Everyone looked at Candado in surprise. It was the first time they’d seen him negotiate a job fee in front of the others. Usually, those conversations were held in private.

  Ferrero clumsily took out his wallet.

  "Put it away," Candado ordered, his voice calm. "We’re not done yet."

  "No problem," the man said, though he hesitated before slipping the wallet back into his pocket.

  Candado opened the door at the end of the hallway. What they found on the other side made them freeze in place.

  It wasn’t a normal room. It was enormous. There was no way something that vast could exist within such a small house. It looked more like a cave—dark and endless—as if the home hid an underground world.

  "Whoa... illusion magic," Declan whispered, his jaw slack.

  "I can’t sense the segalma," said Héctor, frowning.

  "Of course you can’t, Héctor. This is the work of a Ninth Circle spell. A habitat built by architects," Candado explained calmly.

  "Oh, God…" Pucheta muttered, taking a step back.

  "Mr. Ferrero, from this point on, please keep your distance," Candado said without turning.

  "Understood," the man agreed, backing away.

  Candado stepped forward first. The hallway sloped downward, like a ramp into the unknown.

  "Sir..."

  Suddenly, the sound of wood creaking came from behind them.

  The door slammed shut with a thunderous bang that echoed through the entire cavern. Declan instinctively drew his sword, and Pak raised his weapon in a flash.

  “Easy,” said Candado, unfazed. “Nothing’s happening.”

  “Candado…” Hector called.

  “Yes?”

  “Why did you raise the price?”

  “I played with his mind.”

  “What?”

  “Did you really look at the house?”

  “I did, but I didn’t pay much attention.”

  “Big mistake,” Candado said, reprimanding him. “The floor was parquet, expensive decor, name-brand clothes, designer shoes… but if you looked closely, he was skimping on basic expenses. Weak lighting. Neglected walls.”

  “So?”

  “I used that against him. When I raised the price, the previous one suddenly felt more reasonable. I gave him the illusion he was winning. And he took it.”

  “That’s dirty,” Hector muttered, frowning.

  “No, it’s not. It’s psychology, not dirt.”

  “Of course it—”

  “Shhh…” Candado interrupted, stopping abruptly.

  “What is it?” Pak whispered.

  “I sense hostility.”

  Everyone readied themselves.

  Declan tightened his grip on the sword. Pak held his weapon firm. Lucas rubbed his thumb against his index finger, eyes focused. Pucheta cracked his knuckles. Hector shuffled his cards without looking, as if his hand already knew what to do.

  “Get ready…” Candado murmured. “Something’s very wrong here.”

  “GET OUT!” a voice roared—guttural and furious.

  “It’s here,” said Candado, narrowing his eyes.

  Suddenly, the environment shifted. The cavern vanished, replaced by a dark, damp forest where the trees moved as if breathing.

  “I think the one who should leave… is you, intruder,” Candado replied, raising his voice.

  From the underbrush, a metal rod shot out toward him.

  Declan reacted instantly, deflecting it with a clean slash of his sword.

  “That was your last warning,” Candado said, stepping forward.

  A blinding white light exploded around them. Everyone shielded their faces—except for Candado, who stood still, unmoved.

  “Behind me! Now!” he shouted.

  No response.

  As the light faded, Candado turned on his heels. He was alone.

  “Declan… Hector… Pak… Lucas… Pucheta…” he called each name.

  Silence. The kind that only graves know.

  “I warned you,” the voice said again, no longer guttural. It was different now—clearer, as if someone else were speaking… or as if a mask had been removed.

  Candado turned, alert.

  The cave was gone. In its place stood a grand dining hall, lit by floating chandeliers, a colossal table stretching across its center.

  “What is this?” he murmured.

  A figure appeared behind him.

  “A home,” said the voice, calm and serene.