Chapter 13 : Lobotomite comforts princess

Leonor huffed and turned back to the circle, her fingers twitching like they wanted to hex something but had just enough restraint not to do it out loud.

She crouched again, brushing ash from a char line that curled like a question mark trying to apologize for existing. Her voice dropped,not quite a whisper, not quite a mutter, pitched perfectly for pretending you weren’t talking to anyone in particular.

“I know how this is supposed to work,” she said. Not loudly. But tightly. Like a rope being wound too fast. “I’ve studied,really studied. Not like those first-year wand-fumblers at Bog lore who think a leyline is something you draw with a ruler. I read theory. I cross-referenced ritual patterning. I mapped out the variable drain index of every major circle in the city.”

She pulled another piece of chalk from her cloak with the kind of speed usually reserved for drawing blades. It snapped between her fingers.

“I’ve seen the Western Gate circle,” she added, biting off the words like they tasted of rust. “It hums. Not like this,” she waved at the scorched scrawl of failure before them, “,this buzzes. It’s a wrong buzz. The kind that sounds like a kettle that knows it’s about to scream and wants you to suffer with it.”

Kaz blinked. “You alright, Miss Flowerpot?”

Leonor didn’t answer. Not immediately. Because her cheeks were hot again,not angry-hot, but that prickling, awful sort of heat you got when you’d tried very hard to sound smart and only succeeded in sounding very, very weird.

She bit the inside of her cheek again. At this point, it was probably considering legal action.

Kaz didn’t push. He didn’t prod. He simply watched.

Not like an adult might, with the tired patience of someone mentally writing a progress report. But the way only another kid could, with silence that meant listening, and stillness that said: Go on. I get it.

She thought, for just a moment, about the last time she’d tried to explain something. Tried so hard. Laid it all out. And still been met with the slow, smiling condescension of people who’d already decided she was wrong before she opened her mouth.

They’d called her clever, of course. They always did. But never like it was a compliment. “So clever.” “So intense.” “So very… spirited.” Like they were trying to diagnose her with it.

She had meant it. They hadn’t. And she hated how often that still mattered.

Leonor straightened. Cleared her throat. Pointed at the teleportation circle like it had personally insulted her mother.

“Teleportation,” she said stiffly, “is extremely simple.”

Kaz nodded, wearing the expression of someone being taught advanced theory by a raccoon with a blackboard. Supportive. Encouraging. Ready to flee if necessary.

“You align the runes,” she continued, her voice starting to regain its footing, “to an elemental plane. Earth, usually, because it’s boring and doesn’t explode. Then the spell grabs you, threads you through a pocket realm, and spits you out the other side.”

Kaz raised an eyebrow. “Like a very organized sneeze?”

Leonor faltered. “Um. Sort of. The pocket realm is,look, it’s structurally sound. Mostly. Magically. It’s fine.”

She hesitated.

“There might be… a few overlaps. With the city’s sewer system.”

Kaz grinned. “So you’re telling me it flushes people.”

“Yes,” Leonor nodded. Then panicked. “No. I mean, sort of. Magic circles are excellent at pulling things in.”

“But…?”

“But less excellent at letting them out. Properly.”

She cleared her throat again.

“Think of it like… being fired through a pipe and then… pooped out.”

The circle fizzed. Possibly in protest. Possibly in disbelief.

Kaz blinked. “That’s quite the mental image.”

Leonor’s face went redder than a cursed ruby in a love triangle subplot. She folded her arms. Glared at the cobbles. Tried very hard not to cry, scream, or simply combust.

Kaz noticed the way her shoulders curled in, not with anger, but with retreat. The quiet kind. The kind that said: I tried again. And it still came out wrong.

And that made him angry.

Not the loud kind. Not the shouty, foot-stomping sort of anger. Just the hard, still kind. The kind that came from recognizing something unfair and wanting to fix it with your bare hands.

He patted the edge of the circle, soft and deliberate.

“Oi,” he said gently. “Be nice. She’s just speaking your language. Pipes. Bottlenecks. Being weird about letting people out.”

The circle made a low, offended bzzt.

Kaz shrugged. “What? You started it. You can’t be that much older than her.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Leonor peeked sideways. Not fully. Just enough to betray the glimmer of curiosity behind the blush.

“I’m nine and a half,” she muttered.

Kaz beamed. “I’m ten.”

She rolled her eyes. Huffed, because that was the only appropriate response to such juvenile nonsense. But her shoulders relaxed. Just slightly.

He lit up. “Oh, well then. My mistake. You must be a very mature nine and a half.”

Leonor crossed her arms. “You’re barely older than me.”

“And yet,” he said, eyes twinkling, “I contain multitudes. Wisdom. Grace. An encyclopedic knowledge of things that definitely aren’t edible.”

She gave him a look. The kind that could curdle milk.

Kaz forged ahead.

“It’s not just age. It’s life experience. For example: I’ve escaped three pickpockets, four arrests, and one extremely angry goose with a vendetta and suspiciously good aim.”

“Wait, that was real. I thought that was a metaphor.”

Kaz turned serious. “I wish it was a metaphor.”

Leonor’s lip twitched. Almost.

Kaz leaned in like he was sharing a state secret. “Do you know what it’s like to be hunted across rooftops by a bird with intent in its eyes? Do you?”

She shook her head, half amused, half exasperated. “You’re ridiculous.”

“No. I’m ten,” he said, solemn. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Leonor groaned. “You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

Kaz tapped his chest. “That's just the maturity talking.”

She huffed,but it wasn’t quite a sigh. The clouds were lifting, if only slightly. She wasn’t glaring anymore. That was practically a victory.

“You think making stupid jokes and acting smug is going to cheer me up?” she asked, arch.

Kaz tilted his head, considering. “No. I think reminding you that you can’t be sad while chasing me with fireballs is going to cheer you up.”

Her hands lit up instantly with a crackle of playful, very legal, very tiny magic.

“Oh look,” Kaz said, grinning as he backed away. “You’re smiling.”

She threw a spark at him. He ducked, laughing.

“Progress!” he called over his shoulder as she chased him around the teleportation circle. “The healing power of age and maturity!”

“You’re ten!”

“And thriving!”

The circle buzzed again, like it was reconsidering its life choices.

Eventually, Leonor stopped chasing him,not because she’d given up, but because she’d started giggling halfway through a half-hearted fireball and tripped over a rune.

Kaz helped her up without comment, brushing chalk dust from her sleeve with the theatrical concern of someone polishing a priceless vase.

“There,” he said. “Crisis averted. Emotional state stabilized. Reputation… slightly singed.”

Leonor muttered something rude.

Kaz plopped down beside her again and stretched out like a cat that had inherited a throne. “You know,” he said, “for a terrifying magical prodigy, you’re surprisingly flammable.”

She didn’t respond right away. Just sat there, cross-legged, hands resting on her knees. Breathing.

Then, finally, she said, very quietly: “It’s just… sometimes the magic doesn’t listen. Not the way it’s supposed to.”

Kaz glanced over, but didn’t press. Just nodded.

“Maybe it’s not supposed to,” he said. “Maybe it just gets bored of being predictable.”

Leonor gave him a look, skeptical but curious. “That’s not how magic works.”

“Not yet,” Kaz said confidently. “But give me a week, two potatoes, and a duck with nothing to lose, and I’ll prove you wrong.”

She didn’t laugh this time. But she smiled. Real and tired and a little crooked.

Kaz didn’t press. He didn’t tease. He just got back to work, adjusting runes with the kind of focus most people reserved for bomb disposal or baking soufflés.

And Leonor,quietly, steadily,got back to work, too.

Because maybe the circle wasn’t perfect. And maybe she wasn’t either.

But rough drafts deserved a shot.

Even if they had to make it up as they went along.

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System Trivia [Node: Brindleward → Wildlife Surveillance: Active Target]

Brindleward is beautiful.

The kind of beauty that doesn’t invite you in so much as trap you in its slow decay. Ivy coils up weathered stone. Lanterns flicker even when unlit. Time doesn’t stop in Brindleward, but it does forget how to walk straight.

And then there are the squirrels.

Most are harmless. Curious. Twitchy. Nut-obsessed.

But not Subject #F53-Verminiform.

→ Entity Class: Verminiform Anomaly

→ Subtype: Vampiric

→ Level: 53

→ Known Traits: Nocturnal, sapient-adjacent, observational fixation

→ Location: Mobile , perimeter rooftops, drainpipes, cathedral spires

→ Behavior: Non-aggressive. Patient. Smiling.

The squirrel does not gather food.

It watches.

For seventeen days, Subject #F53 has remained within Brindleward’s bounds. It has made direct, unblinking eye contact with 31 residents, three dogs, and one mirror that cracked of its own accord.

It was last observed hanging upside down from a lantern post during a thunderstorm. It did not move. Lightning struck five times.

The squirrel remained dry.

→ System Quest Link: ACTIVE

→ Objective: TERMINATE Subject #F53-Verminiform

→ Assigned User: [REDACTED | Classification: Anomalous System User | Origin: Unknown]

→ Status: INCOMPLETE

→ User Status: UNCONFIRMED

→ Final Location Trace: Brindleward perimeter.

→ Last Log Entry: “I can hear it thinking.”

The system is not tracking the squirrel.

The system is using the squirrel to track the user.

If the squirrel is still here…

Then so is the user.

And if the user is still here…

Then what exactly is waiting for whom?

Monitoring continues.

Do not engage. Do not follow. Do not blink.

Isn’t that fun?