A Zoologist’s Guide to Surviving Magical Creatures

Landvaettir closed his eyes for a moment before answering.

"It doesn't seem so. The fragment holds great power," Landvættir said. "But the price has been paid. The burial grounds are safe."

As it drifted toward me, I hesitated, my instincts screaming that this wasn't going to be pleasant.

I reached out to take the fragment, but the moment my fingers brushed its surface, a new wave of sensations hit me—this time, not pain, but a flood of images.

I saw a paradise of waterfalls and vibrant flora shimmering under an eternal sun.

Ahead of me was a lake, its surface shimmering like molten silver, surrounded by lush greenery. Waterfalls cascading into crystal-clear pools. A place so serene it could only be described as paradise.

I was no longer in the burial grounds. I was there, standing at the edge of the lake, the air warm and fragrant with the scent of blooming flowers.

"This... this is the same lake," I murmured, recognizing it from the fragment's previous memory.

And then a woman—ethereal, radiant—not the creator I'd expected, standing by the water's edge. She was beautiful in a way that seemed almost otherworldly, her presence radiant and calming. Her presence felt familiar, though I couldn't place why.

When she saw me, she smiled, and the warmth in that smile felt like it could melt glaciers.

"My son," she said, her voice soft but clear. "You're finally back."

"Son?" I echoed, blinking in confusion.

I stared at her, my mind racing. She must have thought I'm that so-called creator who looked like me.

"You must have been mistaken. I'm not your son."

She gestured to the lake, where I caught sight of my reflection. But it wasn't the creator I saw staring back—it was me, dressed up in my MECCP uniform.

"You've made it so far, Carl," she said, stepping closer. "You don't remember yet, but you will. I was the one who named you. You're my son. Remember this."

My heart raced as her words sank in. Son? What did she mean? And what was I supposed to remember?

She was saying something, but I couldn't make it out. The sound was distorted, like a TV showing a scene but with the volume turned all the way down.

Before I could ask, the vision faded, and I was back in the burial grounds, the fragment clutched tightly in my hand.

"What does this mean?" I whispered, but deep down, I feared I already knew. This looked too real to be just a fragment's memory of the creator.

Agnos and Landvættir were staring at me, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern.

"You alright?" Agnos asked.

"I..." I shook my head, trying to piece together what had just happened. "I think I just met my mother."

Their eyes widened, and for once, even Agnos was at a loss for words.

"Your mother?" Landvættir repeated, his tone skeptical.

"Yeah," I said, my grip tightening on the fragment. "And apparently, I've got a lot of explaining to do."

"This mother you speak of, could you describe her? I'm afraid the fragment could have jumbled your memories in the process..." Landvaettir asked, his expression still skeptical, his brow furrowing as though trying to decipher my words.

"Well... she's beautiful," I said, the words spilling out automatically.

Then I paused, a strange emptiness washing over me. My mind felt blank, as if I'd reached into a well and pulled up nothing but air.

Something was missing—something vital—but I couldn't grasp what.

"Actually..." I hesitated, my voice quieter now. "I don't remember what she looked like... now that you asked."

The admission felt heavier than I expected, as if speaking it aloud solidified the void in my memory.

I glanced at Landvaettir, hoping for some reassurance, but his skeptical gaze had softened, a flicker of understanding in his eyes.

*******

As we emerged from the depths of the Forbidden Dungeon, a sense of accomplishment tinged with bittersweet relief filled the air.

Landvaettir, now unbound from the fragment's oppressive hold, stood at the entrance of the ancient burial grounds. His translucent form shimmered faintly in the soft light filtering through the dense canopy above.

Despite his newfound freedom, he made a decision that didn't entirely surprise me: he was staying.

"This place feels like home," he said, his voice carrying a solemnity that left no room for argument. "I will protect it from those who come with greed in their hearts."

It had taken an extensive amount of persuasion and reasoning from me to convince him that the grounds deserved a guardian who chose to be here, rather than one bound by force.

Now, Landvaettir had purpose—and maybe even a sense of peace. I gave him a nod, knowing better than to get overly sentimental.

"Don't go too hard on adventurers just looking to snag a shiny bauble, though," I quipped. "Not everyone's trying to desecrate the place."

He gave me a rare smile before disappearing into the shadows of the burial grounds. And just like that, it was time to leave.

Agnos and I trudged back to the Troll Chief's settlement, where the cacophony of troll life greeted us long before we arrived. It was almost comical how such a noisy community had become the center of a problem we'd been tasked to solve. When we explained the outcome of our journey to the chief, his hulking frame visibly relaxed.

"The Forbidden Dungeon has a guardian now," I told him. "So excessive raids won't be an issue. You'll have some peace."

"And the noise problem you intend to resolve?" the chief asked, his booming voice carrying a hint of skepticism.

"I've got a solution," I replied. And oh, what a solution it was.

The troll mating noise issue was, to put it lightly, an acoustic nightmare. It wasn't just the volume—it was the sheer endurance of their celebrations.

Trolls, as it turns out, are completely immune to magic, which made most conventional solutions useless.

But I had a stroke of genius.

If magic couldn't affect trolls, maybe it could affect their environment.

I pitched the idea during a video conference with Dr. Philippe and some very skeptical members of the Norse community council.

"Right," I began, trying to keep my voice steady as Bjorn, the council's lead representative, glared at me with arms crossed. "So, the issue is… delicate."

"You mean the fact that their mating calls could wake the dead?" Bjorn scoffed. "Aye, it's delicate. Delicately ruining our lives."

Gruk, the troll representative and one of the tribe leaders, leaned back in his oversized chair and growled, "Not our fault humans have puny ears. We celebrate love loud and proud."

Dr. Philippe adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. "Gruk, while we appreciate your cultural values, the decibel level of your celebrations is a public health concern. Carl, please continue."

I nodded. "Thank you, Dr. Philippe. As we all know, trolls are immune to magic—"

Bjorn impatiently interrupted, "We know that. Trolls are about as magical as a rock. What's your point, Carl?"

I swallowed the snark bubbling up in my throat. "The point is, their huts aren't immune. If we enchant the huts with noise-reduction magic, it won't affect the trolls directly, but it will contain the sound. Think of it like soundproofing a concert hall—except the concert is…"

"Gruk and Grunga's duet of eternal passion," Gruk supplied proudly.

"Y-yeah. That."

Bjorn muttered something about the screeching of a thousand banshees, but I pressed on. "We've already developed a prototype. MECCP will cover the enchantment costs. All we ask is that the Norse council splits the construction expenses with the trolls."

Bjorn leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Why should we pay for this? The trolls make the noise; they should foot the bill!"

"Why should trolls pay?" Gruk growled. "Neighbors complain, not trolls!"

I held up my hands. "Look, I get it—no one's thrilled about spending money. But think about the long-term benefits: peace, quiet, and no more insomnia-induced axe fights in the village square."

Bjorn glared at me for a long moment before finally huffing, "Fine. But only if it works."

The following day, MECCP workers delivered a shimmering, rune-covered hut to the troll settlement. A group of troll volunteers eagerly shuffled inside. The moment they closed the door, the muffled thumps and deep, guttural singing began. Outside, though, there was absolute silence.

Bjorn's eyes widened. "I'll be damned. It actually works."

Gruk nodded approvingly. "Gruk approves. Now Grunga and I can celebrate without humans crying like babies."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "That's great. I'll let the team know we're good to start mass production."

Bjorn muttered something about getting fleeced, but even he couldn't hide the relief on his face. He and Gruk shook hands—a rare moment of interspecies harmony.

I decided to take the opportunity to snap a photo of this momentous occasion with my phone. I had an idea to include it in MECCP's Mythigram feed to showcase our efforts in conserving habitats and improving interspecies relations.

It would also serve as a milestone of my achievements as a Conflict Mediator Officer (CMO) in Mythica and a proud member of MECCP's permanent staff.

Behind them, one of the trolls started doing a celebratory jig inside the enchanted hut, making it shimmer like a disco ball. I shook my head and muttered, "Another crisis averted… until the next one."

With that crisis averted, I should have known Agnos had something up his sleeve. He waited until the Troll Chief and Norse council were basking in the glow of our success before bringing up his "favor."

"Now that we've resolved your issue," Agnos began, in that too-smooth tone of his, "I have a request. Open the Lyngvi hidden realm."

The room's mood shifted instantly. The Norse council members exchanged uneasy glances, and the Troll Chief's brow furrowed deeply.

"That's... not possible," one of the councilors finally said.

Agnos's smirk faltered. "Not possible? Or not willing?"

"We don't have the token," another councilor explained. "Lyngvi can only be accessed with a specific token, and it's out of our hands."

Agnos narrowed his eyes. "Then who has it?"

The answer made me spurt my raspberry juice from my mouth.

"Fenrir," the Troll Chief rumbled. "He bought the land where the hidden realm resides. It's private property now."