A Zoologist’s Guide to Surviving Magical Creatures

"Hmm... What should I have today?" I mused aloud to no one in particular, a little too chipper for someone barely surviving workplace politics. "Maybe I'll try the new tacos. Word on the forums says the kitchen staff summoned real cumin this time, not just spice illusions."

"I'll drop off a few at the potluck corner." I grinned, already picturing the Sparkles and his unicorn gang happily devouring taco shells like they were treasure.

But just as I reached the cafeteria's arched entrance, I spotted something—or rather, someone—half-concealed behind the wall. A familiar silhouette lurked there, craning his neck like a nosy pelican with trust issues.

Naga. In full creep mode.

Eyebrows furrowing, I tiptoed over.

"What are you doing?" I whispered, eyeing his stakeout stance and ducking beside him.

Naga, clearly too deep in his espionage fantasy to register my voice, without even glancing at me, whispered back, "Shh. I'm trying to spot Carl. But I don't see him anywhere."

A pause.

I blinked. "You're stalking me again?"

He froze like someone just hit pause on his soul. Then, like a guilty NPC caught looting your house, he turned his head slowly toward me. Slowly, our faces met, his eyes wide, found me mimicking his exact posture beside him.

"C-Carl! Haha… y-you're here!"

"No, I'm an illusion crafted from regret and budget cut stress." I crossed my arms and stared him down. "Why were you stalking me?"

I crossed my arms as the guilt settled in his expression. His silence was enough proof. Before I could say more, he suddenly straightened up and slung an arm over my shoulders with the grace of a politician caught on a hot mic.

"Stalking? Pfft! Please. I was just, you know… looking for you! To treat you to lunch. As friends do." He flashed his trademark grin—the kind that made workers nervous and gods sign contracts without reading the fine print.

I gave him a long, suspicious stare. "Riiight. Let's go with that."

"Great! So what do you feel like eating?" he asked as we walked in together.

"Tacos. They've got a new menu. Might as well risk it."

But the moment we crossed the threshold, something shifted.

Silence.

Absolute, jaw-dropping silence.

A centaur in mid-crunch dropped his salad bowl like it had personally betrayed him. A harpy across the room spit her pomegranate juice straight into the face of an unsuspecting elf, who blinked, still chewing on a meatball.

Dozens of heads turned. Eyes widened. A fork clattered in slow motion somewhere. Even the cafeteria workers froze mid-scooping like statues in an avant-garde food art installation.

"What… the actual..." I whispered, eyes scanning the suddenly reverent, terrified crowd.

Naga, of course, remained completely unbothered. The man was a walking thunderstorm of ego and obliviousness.

When we passed through the tables, people parted like we were Moses and cafeteria was the Red Sea of meal deals. Even the taco line dissolved instantly, clearing a VIP path all the way to the salsa bar.

"Uh, Naga?" I leaned in. "Why does it feel like I just walked in with a warhead?"

"Oh," he said casually, like it was no big deal, "this is probably just because it's my first time ever stepping into the cafeteria."

"First time? You've never—"

"Nope. I usually hunt my food in the wild in my dragon form. Today I felt like mingling." He looked around, nodded approvingly. "It's nice. Smells like fresh meat and melted cheese."

I looked around at the paralyzed room.

"…You're a menace."

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

As we settled into one of the empty tables near the back—far from prying eyes and accidentally flung spaghetti aftermath—I leaned forward, eyeing him.

"Alright. Spill. Why were you spying on me?"

Naga leaned back with that easy grin of his. "I wasn't spying, Carl. I really just wanted to treat you to lunch."

Like that was a perfectly normal thing to say after being caught peeking through walls like a B-movie ninja.

I narrowed my eyes but dropped it with a sigh. "Fine. Since you're not going to tell me, I won't pry."

I bit into my salmon and egg tacos like they were my consolation prize.

Across from me, Naga just smiled, arms resting on the table. He hadn't ordered anything—which I found mildly suspicious, but hey, free lunch was free lunch.

One less dent in my Mythica Credits budget. Hooray for mysterious generosity.

A few moments passed in silence before Naga raised his hand subtly and murmured a short incantation, then he snapped his fingers. A faint shimmer wrapped around our table like a dome—noise-cancelling magic.

I paused mid-bite, chewing slower.

Noise-cancelling magic? That was overkill for casual conversation. It was almost... spy-level.

Do we even have spies at MECCP? Or were we now the spy-infested department and no one told me?

Then he spoke, voice low, tone completely different from earlier.

"Did you find anything from Viracocha?"

Ooh, this feels more like a 007 Bond vibe. My interest was piqued even though I'm hungry.

I lowered my taco, heartbeat hitching slightly. That shift in his expression—it was the serious Naga now. No grins. No jokes. Just the guy who only showed up when things were teetering on world-ending.

I gave a slow nod. "I did. But it's a bit more complicated than I hoped."

His brows pulled together. "How so?"

"The thing guarding the Eternal Prison... they're Emperor War Beasts. Four of them. Viracocha said they're vicious—like, ancient-battlefield-nightmare kind of vicious."

Naga leaned back, arms crossed, his jaw tightening. "That's... concerning."

His voice was almost a whisper. Gone was the casual dragon lounging across from me. This Naga was calculating. Dangerous. And maybe a little worried.

"So, what's your plan?" he asked after a beat.

I grinned, licking a bit of yolk off my thumb before answering.

"My plan hasn't changed. I'm still gathering everything I can on the Emperor War Beasts. Once I've got them figured out—I'll come up with something."

Naga gave me one of his rare fanged smiles—the kind that usually preceded property damage or rebellion.

"Oh? You sound pretty confident." He tapped my shoulder lightly. "I'm looking forward to seeing what you cook up."

"Don't worry. I'm making it foolproof. In fact," I smirked, leaning in with the kind of grin villains probably practiced in the mirror, "I already have a name for it."

His eyes gleamed with curiosity, dragon pupils narrowing. "Alright, hit me. What's this operation called?"

I raised my taco like a toast and declared:

"Operation: Eternal Prison Break."

Then I stuffed the rest of the salmon-and-egg taco in my mouth. If I was going to potentially break into a death fortress guarded by magical, battle-ready murder-pets, I was at least going to finish my lunch first.