Part I — The Dream Keeps Score

  Celica didn’t let Derpy rest.

  Not really.

  Rest was what you did when you could afford to be soft.

  And Derpy—Derpy was a man split down the seam.

  “Again,” Celica said.

  Derpy’s boots scraped ash as he reset his stance. The dreamscape’s shoreline rolled out in every direction—gray, quiet, stitched together like someone had sewn a battlefield from leftover nights.

  Celica circled him like a teacher with claws.

  “You’ve got most of it already,” she said. “Outdoor fights. Real fights. Experience. You’re not starting from nothing.”

  Derpy swallowed.

  He wanted to believe her.

  He wanted to believe anything that didn’t taste like helplessness.

  Celica lifted her hand.

  The air rippled.

  And then—

  Derpy’s pets dropped into the dream like they’d been pulled through a curtain.

  Mia hit the ash first, ears twitching, eyes wide.

  Sphinx landed beside her with a soft thump, tail flicking once—alert, ready.

  Derpy’s throat tightened.

  “Mia… Sphinx…”

  They looked at him.

  Then the dream’s weight settled on them.

  Their eyelids drooped.

  Their bodies sagged.

  And they folded down into sleep like someone had pressed a switch.

  Derpy’s hands curled.

  Celica’s voice stayed calm. “They’re safe. But you need them here. You need to learn to fight with them—on purpose.”

  Derpy stared at his pets, asleep at his feet.

  The window in the sky blinked again.

  And somewhere beyond it—

  Sinister Derpy moved.

  Lenora noticed.

  Of course she did.

  Lenora Strayheart didn’t miss shifts in air. She didn’t miss the way a room’s temperature changed when danger walked in.

  She stepped into the edge of the dream—half in, half out—like she’d found the seam and decided it wasn’t allowed to exist.

  Her blade came up.

  Not at Celica.

  Not at Derpy.

  At the other Derpy.

  The one in the window.

  The one wearing Derpy’s face like a mask that fit too well.

  Sinister Derpy paused.

  Then sighed.

  Ace stood behind Lenora, arms folded, eyes sharp—watching the way you watched a fuse.

  And then Vaeloria stepped out from the room like a queen checking her own chessboard.

  Her gaze flicked once—toward the place Riven had torn reality.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Toward the Mk. dolls.

  Toward the capital’s nerves.

  “What’s going on,” Vaeloria said.

  It wasn’t a question.

  It was a command wearing silk.

  Sinister Derpy didn’t answer her.

  He didn’t even look at her.

  His eyes stayed on Lenora.

  And the strangest thing happened.

  He didn’t posture.

  He didn’t threaten.

  He looked… tired.

  “I don’t get it,” Sinister Derpy muttered.

  Lenora’s grip tightened. “Get what.”

  “Why he’s attached,” Sinister Derpy said, voice low, like admitting it cost him. “Why Normal Derpy keeps… choosing.”

  Lenora’s blade didn’t move.

  Ace didn’t move.

  Vaeloria watched anyway—quiet, sharp, not offended, just taking inventory.

  Sinister Derpy exhaled.

  Then he did something that made Lenora’s brows twitch.

  He came clean.

  “But you swear,” he said to Lenora, voice rough. “No one can know this.”

  Lenora didn’t lower her blade.

  But she didn’t strike.

  “Say it,” she said.

  Sinister Derpy’s gaze held hers.

  Lenora’s jaw flexed.

  Then—one sharp nod.

  “I swear,” Lenora said. “No one.”

  Sinister Derpy’s shoulders loosened by a fraction.

  “Derpy’s playing chess,” he said. “It’s a fluke. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone.”

  Ace’s eyes narrowed.

  Sinister Derpy kept going—still to Lenora, still refusing to give Vaeloria the satisfaction of being addressed.

  “He’s using this time to train,” Sinister Derpy said. “Lewd. The pets. Himself. I’m just here so nobody tries to take him away.”

  Lenora’s voice went flat. “Take him away from what.”

  “From himself,” Sinister Derpy snapped—then caught himself, like he’d almost said too much.

  He dragged a hand down his face.

  “We came up with this when we were first captured,” he admitted. “A deal. A split. Five days. Rules. Boundaries.”

  Vaeloria’s eyes sharpened.

  Sinister Derpy’s gaze never left Lenora.

  “He cares too much about you,” he told her. “And Lewd. And Vespera.”

  His mouth twisted.

  “And Vaeloria,” he added, still not looking at her, like the name tasted like smoke. “The she-demon of the elven queen.”

  Vaeloria’s smile was small.

  Not warm.

  Not offended.

  Interested.

  Sinister Derpy’s voice roughened.

  “He wants to get to know Ace,” he said. “And he wants Lewd ready—ready to use her grimoire properly.”

  Lenora’s eyes didn’t leave him.

  “So you’re playing chicken,” she said, “with the queen, the council, and the War Office.”

  Sinister Derpy’s mouth twitched.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”

  The window blinked.

  And the dreamscape swallowed them back.

  Celica’s fingers tapped Derpy’s wrist.

  “You’re overthinking conjuring,” she said.

  Derpy scowled. “I’m trying not to—”

  “—break yourself,” Celica finished. “I know.”

  She stepped closer.

  Close enough that Derpy could feel the cold radiating off her like a second heartbeat.

  “You keep reaching for the scythe,” Celica said. “Or the gauntlets. Because they’re familiar.”

  Derpy’s jaw tightened.

  Celica’s eyes narrowed.

  “You can make whatever you think of,” she said. “And it will carry frost. It will carry me.”

  Derpy’s breath hitched.

  Celica’s hand slid up his arm—gentle, then firm—pulling him in.

  “I may be a calamity book,” she murmured, “but I was an ancient dragon, yes? Your partner.”

  Her gaze held his.

  “You changed into a dragon because of me,” she said. “And the wolf because of me.”

  Derpy’s ears flattened.

  Celica’s voice sharpened.

  “You need to learn to change forms on a whim.”

  She darted.

  On a whim.

  Her fist slammed into Derpy’s shoulder.

  Cold exploded.

  Derpy’s arm froze mid-flinch—ice crawling up to the elbow, locking muscle and bone in a glittering sheath.

  Derpy hissed.

  Celica didn’t apologize.

  “Move,” she ordered.

  Derpy forced breath.

  Forced heat.

  Forced the shift.

  The ice cracked.

  Not from strength.

  From change.

  Blight circled Lewd like a storm that had learned patience.

  Lewd’s shoulders were tight.

  Her eyes kept flicking to Derpy.

  To Celica.

  To the sleeping pets.

  To the window she pretended she wasn’t watching.

  “You need a weapon,” Blight said.

  Lewd blinked. “I—my grimoire is poison.”

  “So?” Blight’s voice was blunt. “Poison still needs a hand to deliver it.”

  Lewd swallowed.

  She thought of Derpy’s sniper rifle.

  His scythe.

  The frost gauntlets.

  The gloves he wore when he fought Joker.

  Then—Ace’s hammer.

  Something that could attack.

  Something that could defend.

  Something she could swing or poke with.

  Something that could keep people back.

  The image snapped into place.

  A circular shield formed first—heavy, solid.

  A skull motif rose out of it like a warning.

  Then a sword—green, sharp, vicious.

  At the hilt, a cartridge clicked into existence like a loaded promise.

  Lewd’s breath caught.

  Blight’s smile turned sharp.

  Blight lifted her own hand.

  And summoned the exact same set.

  Shield.

  Skull.

  Green blade.

  Cartridge.

  “Let’s get acquainted,” Blight said.

  Lewd’s grip tightened.

  Blight’s eyes gleamed.

  “Prove to me,” Blight said, “that I don’t need joint custody with you and Derpy.”

  Lewd’s stomach flipped.

  But her stance held.

  Celica’s voice cut back in—clean, instructive.

  “Your beasts can transform on a whim,” she told Derpy. “You’ve been doing it since you came into this world.”

  Derpy’s eyes flicked to Mia and Sphinx.

  They were awake now.

  Padding forward.

  Greeting him like nothing had happened.

  Celica’s gaze sharpened.

  “They’re part of your weapon arsenal,” she said. “But you need to figure out how to fight with them—and fight with a weapon at the same time.”

  Derpy’s mouth opened.

  Celica darted again.

  Fast.

  Sphinx and Mia moved with him—automatic.

  The usual.

  The chibi combo.

  Mia sucked in a breath and spat a burst that was half fire, half ice—hot-white and cold-blue braided together.

  Sphinx leapt behind Celica, trying to clip her from the rear.

  Celica was too fast.

  She pivoted.

  A palm strike.

  A flash of frost.

  Sphinx skidded.

  Mia yelped.

  Both knocked back—not hurt, but taught.

  Celica’s eyes stayed on Derpy.

  “Again,” she said.

  Derpy’s hands clenched.

  His mind raced.

  His heart hammered.

  And somewhere beyond the stitched sky, the window waited.

  Like a clock.

  Like a threat.

  Like a promise.