Luckborn

Otter knew, without a doubt, that he and all his friends were doomed. He also knew they wouldn't die quietly. He steeled himself for their final stand when something changed.

A breeze stirred the mist. Light shifted, and a figure stepped forward, silent and deliberate. Cloaked in dusk and shadow, face obscured by a deep hood. Otter recognized the shape instantly—the hooded figure he'd seen twice at the Academy and once in Brighthaven, the one whose presence he never understood.

The Kaosborn noticed. One of them lunged forward with a clicking shriek.

The figure didn't move. Not until the creature was within striking range.

Then it blurred. Steel gleamed. The Kaosborn froze mid-leap—then crumpled in on itself, throat opened by a line too fine to be real.

The others turned, snarling and shrieking, glowing eyes burning with aggression.

But the figure was already gone, dissolving into the fog like a wraith.

Then, a heartbeat later, they reappeared behind the cultist. The one in the ornate, shimmering robes—the one who had stood apart, watching. The leader. He barely had time to react. He shouted something in a guttural tongue and thrust a hand forward. Purple fire flared in his palm.

Too slow.

Two knives flashed in a spiral arc. One shattered the spell mid-cast, severing fingers in a spray of blackened blood. The other struck the cultist's shoulder, burying itself to the hilt.

He screamed, staggered back, then vanished into the reeds, bleeding.

The remaining Kaosborn broke. Their unity collapsed in an instant. Some surged toward the figure with shrieks of rage. Others scattered wildly into the marsh, fleeing whatever force had just upended their confidence.

"Now!" Erin barked.

Fridley's fingers were already moving. "Clear a path!"

He thrust both hands forward, summoning a roiling sphere of fire. The spell burst against the largest cluster of fleeing Kaosborn. Flame ripped through the fog in a blinding flash, sending smoke and charred reeds skyward. The shockwave knocked two more Kaosborn into the water, limbs aflame.

Milo followed it up with a Mind Spike, targeting one of the stragglers trying to rally. The creature went stiff, screeched once, then collapsed in a heap of twitching limbs.

Sage raised her hand and called down a final column of divine flame. A wounded Kaosborn crawling through the mud let out a short, sharp cry before going still.

Jasper drove his shield into a panicked foe, teeth bared, and didn't stop until the creature was a broken mess beneath him.

Otter fired twice, striking two targets in the chest and causing them to stumble mid-charge.

"Run!" Erin shouted again. "While they're scattered!"

Unlike the Kaosborn mob, the team moved as a unit as they fled. Sage and Fridley brought up the rear, watching the fog for any signs of pursuit. Milo limped slightly, one leg bloodied but functional. Jasper staggered but waved off help.

They fled through the reeds and fog, adrenaline and instinct propelling them forward. As they pulled away, Otter couldn't help himself. He looked back.

The shadowed figure stood at the center of the path, unmoving. Six Kaosborn corpses surrounded them. Their blades—if they were blades at all—dripped with something darker than water, gleaming faintly in the fog.

The figure turned their head—just slightly—and looked straight at Otter.

There was no greeting. No signal.

Only the faintest tilt of the chin. Then the mist swallowed them whole.

***

Otter ran like he'd never run before.

Erin and Jasper were ahead of him, their strides long and efficient, eating up ground with practiced ease. They moved like people built for this—steady, unrelenting. Sage kept pace beside him, her breathing sharp and uneven but determined. Behind them, he could hear Milo's footsteps faltering—just slightly out of rhythm, losing ground inch by inch.

Otter's lungs were on fire. Every breath felt like inhaling broken glass. His chest throbbed with each step, and the weight of his pack slammed into his shoulders like a mallet with every stride. But he didn't slow.

Sawgrass tore at his legs. Branches whipped at his arms and face. The soft, sucking marsh beneath their feet gradually gave way to firmer ground—but they didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Not yet.

And then—Milo broke.

He doubled over mid-stride, dropped to his knees, and vomited into the brush before collapsing onto his side with a groan.

"Hold up!" Otter called, skidding to a stop.

The others slowed, turned back, and one by one crumpled into the grass beside the tree line, their bodies spent. For several minutes, none of them spoke. Their breathing was the only sound—ragged, desperate, alive.

Otter lay flat on his back, chest rising and falling like a bellows. His vision pulsed with each beat of his heart. For a while, there was nothing in his head but the rhythm of his own breathing.

In. Out. Burning. In. Out.

He heard Milo whimper nearby. Jasper groaned, probably rolling onto his side. Otter wanted to check on them, but his body refused to move.

Time slipped by—long and elastic. A few minutes. Maybe more. Eventually, the rush of blood in Otter's ears subsided. His breath eased. Speech returned.

"Do you think they're still chasing us?" he rasped.

As if in answer, his wrisplay vibrated softly on his wrist. The screen lit up.

Congratulations! You survived a Kaosborn ambush. You were aided by a high-level ally. XP has been reduced.

200 XP Earned.

"Two hundred XP," Otter muttered.

Milo rolled onto his back, face flushed. "You're kidding."

Otter held up his wrist.

Jasper gave a breathy, humorless chuckle. "Would've been a thousand if we'd handled it ourselves."

"Better than zero," Sage murmured.

"Better than dead," added Erin.

They lay in the grass, the breeze tugging at their damp clothes and pulling the heat from their skin. For a moment, no one moved. Just silence, breathing, and the rustling of leaves.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

"What was that?" Fridley asked, staring at the sky. "That figure. That... shadow."

Otter sat up slowly. "I've seen them before."

Everyone turned toward him.

"You mean back during winter break?" asked Erin.

"Yeah, and twice at the Academy."

"You think it's the same person?"

"I know it is. The way they moved. The cloak. The... presence."

Sage frowned. "So who is it?"

"I don't know. Someone pretty high level, I guess. Apparently, they worked some kind of mind magic on me a while back so I wouldn't recognize them."

Milo sat up at that, eyes wide. "That's who this is?"

Otter shrugged. "Pretty sure."

"Do you think it could be someone the Guild sent to watch us without telling us?" asked Jasper.

"Why would they do that?" asked Erin. "Talk about a waste of resources. What about Overseer Blackwood? Do you think it could be him in disguise?"

Otter shook his head. "He was pretty upset my brain had been messed with. So, I don't think so. I honestly can't figure out who it could be or what they want with me."

"Well then, who else would go to that much trouble to stalk you through swamps and murder Kaosborn like it's nothing?" Jasper asked.

"Maybe it's your dad," offered Milo.

Everyone stared at him. "What? You know you're all thinking it."

Otter sighed. "If my dad weren't locked up in some mysterious prison, I doubt he'd be lurking in shadows and watching me nearly die three times before stepping in. Whoever this is, they've been following us for a while. Watching me, specifically."

"Well, whoever it is, I'm glad they showed up when they did," said Jasper. "I thought we were goners."

Eventually, Sage stood, checking each of them for injuries. Milo had a long, shallow gash along his back—ugly, but not dangerous. Jasper had a few cuts and bruises. Otter had a dozen small stings and scratches he hadn't noticed until she touched them.

But remarkably, no one was seriously hurt.

They resumed their journey toward Brighthaven, legs stiff and hearts still racing from the near-death sprint. No one spoke much. They just walked—grateful to still be walking at all.

By dusk, they'd put real distance between themselves and the edge of the marsh. When they finally made camp, it was in a quiet glade beneath swaying trees. They laid out their gear, posted a rotating watch, and huddled into their bedrolls.

That night, everyone slept with one eye open.

And Otter dreamed of knives in the fog, and a faceless figure watching from just beyond the reach of firelight.

***

By the time they reached the Brighthaven Guild Hall, late afternoon light had begun to soften into dusk. The city bustled around them with a kind of cruel indifference: carts clattering over cobblestones, merchants packing up wares, children laughing as they chased each other through alleyways.

Life moved on. Unbothered. Unaware.

The group entered through the front hall, mud-caked and weary. Fridley flashed his badge and offered a few clipped words, and they were quickly ushered into a backroom normally reserved for internal strategy briefings.

The chamber was dimly lit by a single everlamp fixed to the ceiling. A long table filled most of the space, its glass surface protecting pinned parchment maps and a grid of labeled brass tokens arranged like a battle game. Notes and sigils were scrawled in careful inked lines.

A tall, narrow-faced man with spectacles and a thin braid tucked into his collar joined them soon after. He introduced himself as Kessek. "Fridley," he said as the door shut behind them. Then his gaze fell on the others. "The rest of you are unknown to me."

"We're Auxiliary team 17-B, sir, from Aurelia," said Otter.

Kessek's expression didn't change. "Noted. Fridley, why are you here?"

So Fridley told him what had happened. About the distress signal and the others going out to investigate, about the comm crystal malfunctioning. He handed it over without being asked. Kessek took it, turned it over once, then set it aside like a paperweight.

Fridley's tone grew heavier when he described the remains of his team. His jaw clenched. Erin and Otter offered brief details where necessary—adding context, timeline, anything useful—but otherwise let the story unfold in silence.

"We almost didn't make it," said Fridley. "They attacked us as we were leaving. Whatever they're doing in there, they didn't want word getting out."

"Good thing you did, then," said Kessek.

It wasn't until Otter placed the scrap of parchment onto the table that Kessek's composure shifted.

The man leaned forward, hands behind his back. He didn't touch the fragment—just read it aloud, eyes narrowing as they traced the strange writing. He focused on the glyph in the corner. His brow furrowed.

"You've seen it before?" Otter asked.

"Something close to it," Kessek murmured. "Reports coming out of the western regions. Similar symbols carved into trees, branded into beams of burned-out villages. Always after Kaosborn attacks."

Sage stepped closer. "So this isn't isolated."

"No," Kessek said. "This is part of something bigger." He straightened and nodded to Fridley. "You did well bringing this back. All of you. I have to report this up the chain, but I'll be dispatching several teams to the marsh for follow-up."

"Is there anything else we can do to help?" Otter asked.

"Maybe. Did you bring that package you were supposed to deliver back with you?"

They all looked at each other. No one had given it a second thought after everything that had happened.

"I did," said Fridley, pulling the package out of his backpack and setting it on the table. "Without knowing what's in it, I didn't think it was safe to leave it there."

"My thoughts exactly. Go ahead. Open it."

Fridley removed the brown paper wrapping, revealing a small reinforced box, sealed tightly. Affixed to the lid was a folded letter with a wax seal. Fridley peeled it free and opened the letter inside.

He read silently for a few moments.

"Well, what does it say?" Kessek asked, impatience creeping into his voice.

Fridley cleared his throat. "It's from a man named Veylan. Says he's a naturalist from Aurelia. The letter is addressed to Beezle, our team Scout. Apparently, Veylan found a creature during a survey of the Drenn Wastes—a marsh that, according to him, was obliterated in a wildfire not long after."

Fridley paused. "He believes this may be the last of its kind. He says the creature appeared ill—weak, maybe even dying. So he placed it under a hibernation enchantment. Temporary, though. A few weeks at best. He hoped the marsh near the outpost would provide the right conditions for its recovery—or at least prolong its survival."

"The last of its kind, eh?" said Kessek. "Why send it to Beezle?"

"I remember Beezle talking about Veylan once," answered Fridley. "He studies under the man for a time. Said he was the finest naturalist in the Realms, and hoped to follow in his footsteps one day. Maybe start a Society or something dedicated to the protection of all critters, great and small. Anyway, Beezle would have done everything he could to nurse this thing back to health and ensure its survival."

"I see. Well, let's see the thing."

Fridley unclasped the latches and lifted the lid.

Inside, nestled in a carefully arranged nest of moss and silvery runes, lay a small, smooth-bodied creature. Its skin was a dark, inky violet with mottled stripes of dull green. Tiny ridged fins crested its back. Gills fluttered faintly along its neck, but its eyes remained closed. Its body was motionless, curled like a sleeping kitten.

Otter stepped closer, transfixed. "It looks like a salamander. But… not."

"Look at those stripes," said Sage. "They look bioluminescent."

"Very cool," said Otter, wanting nothing more than to whip out his notebook and start sketching.

Kessek sighed. "I suppose I'll have to contact this Veylan and inform him that the package could not be delivered as intended. Unless…" He paused, giving Otter and his crew a long look. "Unless you will do the honor and return it to him, thereby saving me the trouble. Since you are already going back to Aurelia."

"We'd be happy to, sir," said Otter.

"Hmmm," said Milo. "I worry about the time left on that hibernation spell. Maybe we could find someone closer who could help?"

"I know someone," said Jasper. "An old guy who lives outside my village. People call him the Hermit of Crookpine Hollow. Bit of a loon, but they say he knows everything there is to know about rare creatures. Might be worth a shot."

"What's the name of your village?" Kessek asked.

"Tarnbrook."

Kessek gave him a blank stare.

"By carriage, it would add two days to our trip back to Aurelia. More if we have to go on foot."

"Well, I can't authorize this as a paying job. No contract beyond delivery to the outpost, but I'm not going to forbid it. I think it's a worthy endeavor, and one I'd send an aux team on if I did have a contract. I'll make sure Greaves knows what you're up to."

"Understood," said Otter. "Thank you, sir."

Kessek nodded and turned back to the table, already making notes on a clean ledger. "If the creature survives and the identification proves valuable, the Guild may issue a formal bounty for the effort retroactively. No promises. But bring back information. And if it dies… I want to know that too."

"Got it," said Jasper, a little more solemn now. "We'll do our best."

Otter looked down at the creature again. Even in stasis, it seemed delicate—fragile in a way that made his protective instincts kick in. He had no idea what it was, where it came from, or what it might become, but he felt—deep in his gut—that it mattered.

"We'll take good care of it," he said, softly.

Milo leaned closer. "What are you going to name it?"

Otter blinked. "We're naming it now?"

"Why not?" Milo grinned. "If we're dragging it halfway across the continent, it deserves a name."

Otter considered. "Let's see if it makes it through the next few days first."

"Fair," said Milo.

Fridley gently closed the box, resecuring the latches, and handed it to Otter. "I suppose this is where we say our farewells. Thanks for your help."

Otter nodded. "Likewise. I don't think we'd have made it back without you."

Kessek dismissed them with a wave. "Go get some rest. You've earned it. And take a bath. You all reek."

Jasper smirked. "Thanks for noticing."

As they filed out of the room, Otter's wrisplay buzzed.

New Objective: Ensure the salamander's survival.

The words flickered for a second, like he'd seen in the past. A glitch? Otter's eyes narrowed in thought. A lot of people were watching bigger threats—monsters, Kaos cultists, conspiracies.

But sometimes, saving something small could matter just as much.

He followed the others into the fading light, the box and its sleeping secret tucked carefully under his arm.