The cave smelled like firewood and potatoes. Fang ducked inside, his shoulders tense, boots leaving streaks of dried mud across the stone floor.
Isgram was crouched near the fire, poking at a pot with a stick. Smoke sat nearby, ears twitching.
"You're back," Isgram said without turning. "Took you long enough."
Fang walked over, sat down, and stretched out his legs with a quiet grunt. "Had to take the long way back. Didn't feel like walking straight through that field again."
Isgram gave him a glance. "You look like shit."
"I feel like shit." Fang rubbed his face. "But the meditation worked. It... changed something."
"Yeah, I figured," Isgram said. "You've got that weird hum around you now. Like bad weather before a storm."
Fang didn't answer. He watched the fire for a bit, then looked at the pile of scavenged gear stacked against the wall.
"Found anything good?"
"A couple of pieces we can melt down," Isgram said. "One sword's decent. Might clean it up and use it myself."
Fang nodded. "We should keep doing that. Salvage what we can."
Isgram stirred the pot. "You thinking of staying here long?"
"For now," Fang said. "We've got cover. Food. And enough metal to start preparing."
Isgram handed him a cracked wooden bowl and filled it with potatoes and herbs. "You planning something?"
"Not yet. Just want to stop being so... reactive. Start building something useful."
They ate in silence for a few minutes. The cave was quiet except for the crackle of fire and the soft crunch of food.
Smoke hopped onto Fang's lap, its body light as air. Fang absentmindedly scratched behind its ears.
"I think I can do more with that magic," he said, voice lower now. "Use it without it using me."
Isgram raised an eyebrow. "Just don't go full dark lord on me, lad."
Fang smirked. "No promises."
---------
The fire had burned down to embers. Fang leaned back against the cave wall, and Isgram sat across from him, sharpening the half-rusted sword he'd salvaged. Smoke was curled up like a puff of lazy fog, snoring softly.
Fang was hunched over a scrap of bark, scribbling with charcoal.
"You're not drafting a battle plan again, are you?" Isgram asked without looking.
"No," Fang said. "I'm mapping the herb section."
"Ah, right. The war against poorly spaced thyme continues."
Fang shot him a look. "If we don't give basil room, it's gonna choke the sage, no? And I'm not losing."
Isgram rolled over. "We're talking about plants, not a battlefield."
"They are my battlefield," Fang said, dead serious.
Smoke, curled in the corner like a loaf of shadow, made a soft puffing noise. Possibly judgemental.
"At least the potatoes are doing fine," Isgram muttered. "You caught a look at those sprouts before you entered?"
"Healthy. And evenly spaced. Unlike someone's trench work during the planting."
"I dug three holes and called it a day. Efficiency."
"You dumped a shovel into the ground like you were looking for treasure."
Isgram shrugged. "Maybe I was."
Fang shook his head, setting the bark aside. "Tomorrow, we need to build a small fence with sticks to limit the growth of the plants. Developing this garden will also be much more organized."
"You need sleep."
"So do you."
----------
Birdsong drifted through the forest. The clearing outside the cave was calm; raindrops from the night were shining on the soil. Fang stood by the garden, inspecting the rows.
Potatoes in the main plot, shoots poking up just enough to suggest they were doing their job underground. In the herb section, thyme clustered low and aggressive, basil stood a little too proud, and sage looked like it had opinions.
Isgram wandered out with a mug in one hand, scratching his head with the other. "Alright, farm captain. What's on today's mission list?"
Fang handed him a small wooden basket. "We trim the basil, check for weeds near the sage, and pat the potatoes. They deserve it."
"Pat them?"
"They're doing good work."
Isgram sighed. "Gods. This is what we've become."
"Efficient. Organized. Slightly unhinged."
Smoke bounded past them, his shadowy form briefly imitating a basil leaf before hopping off.
"Even the rabbit's mocking us," Isgram said.
Fang grinned. "Then we're doing something right."
And with that, they got to work.
Fang watched Smoke disappear into the trees with a flick of his tail. "There he goes. Off to terrorize the local wildlife again."
Isgram took a sip from the wooden mug he had carved in the cave and cracked his knuckles. "Good. While he plays apex predator, we've got weeds to bully. Let's get to work."
The sun was climbing higher, the morning still crisp. Fang was on his knees, pushing the last of the weeds out from between the potato rows, when he heard the familiar rustling of Smoke's ethereal form returning.
The rabbit emerged from the trees, looking very pleased with itself, a few leaves hanging from its smoky fur.
"Did you find anything worth eating?" Fang asked, glancing up.
Smoke sniffed the air, his smoky body rippling slightly in the breeze, before hopping over to nibble on a stray herb.
"Real helpful, Smoke," Fang muttered, then turned to Isgram. "Well, looks like the rabbit's taking his time. You ready to move onto the sage?"
Isgram tossed his empty mug aside. "Yep. We've got sage to prune and potatoes to love. Let's get it done before high noon."
Fang was carefully tending to the herbs, the smell of the forest around him his only company. He was focused on separating the basil from the thyme when a low, almost musical dragging sound broke through the quiet.
Fang looked up just in time to see Smoke return. But this time, the rabbit wasn't just hopping back with a mouthful of grass or a twig. No, this time, Smoke was dragging four rabbits—alive and slowly losing their power to live.
They were dragged by tendrils of smoky magic that spiraled out from his ethereal body.
"Holy—" Fang blinked in disbelief, staring as the rabbits dangled in midair, twitching wildly. Smoke, with all the elegance of a cloud, trotted toward them, completely unfazed by the struggle in his smoky tendrils.
"Is that... are those real rabbits?" Isgram asked, his voice laced with a hint of awe. "And... why do they look like they're being carried by YOUR magic?"
Fang rubbed his eyes. "I—I think they are real rabbits, and yes, those are death tendrils of mine."
Smoke trotted closer, his form pulsing with dark energy, the rabbits suspended awkwardly as they struggled in the smoky tendrils. Smoke dropped them unceremoniously on the ground and hopped back a few steps, pleased with himself.
Isgram was staring at him now, mouth slightly open. "I didn't know he could do this."
Fang watched Smoke with a mix of amazement and mild concern. "Yeah. I didn't know he could do that either."
Isgram turned to Fang, raising an eyebrow. "Hold on. You're telling me you didn't know your pet could summon your magic? He will outperform you one day."
Fang scratched the back of his head. "I didn't even know Smoke could make tendrils. Hell, I didn't know he had this level of magic at all. I can use it to some extent too, but to focus on 4 targets so easily is really harder than he makes it look."
"Well, I'm impressed," Isgram said, eyeing the four rabbits as they flopped around in confusion. "Seems like everyone's got surprises up their sleeves around here."
Fang sighed, rubbing his face. "Yeah, I don't know how to feel about it yet. It's like he's unlocked a skill I haven't even figured out how to control yet."
Isgram looked between the rabbits and Smoke, who was now nibbling on a patch of thyme as though the scene of his magical hunting spree had never happened. "Well, he seems pretty proud of himself," Isgram said with a grin. "Maybe he's the one running the show around here."
Fang smiled a child's smile, "All hail king smoke, bringer of meat and food!"
Isgram was laughing his hearty dwarven laugh, "Hail smoke!"
The confused Rabbit was tilting his head at their antics.
Isgram chuckled. "At least he's useful. Looks like you'll have to step it up if you want to stay in charge."
Fang leaned back slightly, contemplating. "Maybe it's time to take a closer look at my own magic again. If Smoke's figured something out... I should be able to catch up."
"Or surpass him?" Isgram teased.
"I'd settle for not getting outclassed by a rabbit with a death wish," Fang replied dryly.
Isgram shrugged, still eyeing Smoke with a mixture of respect and amusement. "If you figure it out, let me know. Maybe I can use it to give a bit more 'oomph' to my axes."
Fang shot him a glance, his expression flat. "I'm not teaching you how to summon tendrils of darkness to carry your weapons."
Isgram grinned. "Come on, I could make it work."
"Sure you could," Fang said, not entirely convinced.
The two stared at the four rabbits on the ground, who were now in various stages of confusion, thankfully not fully deceased. Smoke hopped over and nudged one of them with his nose, watching it skitter away from his touch.
Isgram asked, "What are we going to do with them?"
Fang Shot Smoke a proud look, and he got the clue from his purple fired up eyes.
"I say we kill them and raise them from the dead like Smoke."
Isgram squinted at him. "You serious? You want to make more of those smoke-rabbits?"
Fang nodded, expression calm. "Why not? They'll listen, they're fast, and we're out in the wild. We could use a few more eyes. Especially if they have fighting capabilities."
Isgram crossed his arms. "You sure you've got the juice for that? Last time you used your magic against those elves, you slept like a bear in the winter."
Fang's eyes flicked toward the trees. "I've changed since then."
Isgram raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? How so?"
Fang looked at him, voice low. "Back at the battlefield... when I meditated, something happened. Osborne showed me things. Not just visions.
He showed me a way to absorb the death mana in that place, and it gave my mana a big boost."
A pause. Then Isgram leaned back on his elbows, gaze narrowing with that calculating glint he always got when something broke his understanding of magic. "How much mana do you have now?"
Fang shrugged, but there was a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. "One thousand and twenty-three."
Isgram sat up straight. "What?"
Fang raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"You serious?" Isgram asked, blinking. "You've been in Edenia, what, a few months?"
Fang nodded, taking another bite of his potato.
Isgram let out a low whistle. "Lucky bastard. I've been here for years, and I'm barely hitting three thousand."
Fang tilted his head. "That's 'barely'?"
"Barely for me," Isgram said, gesturing vaguely.
Fang poked at one of the planted potatoes with a stick. "And instead, you're farming potatoes and living in a cave with a smoke rabbit and a death mage."
"Living the dream," Isgram deadpanned, then chuckled. "Still—if you're gaining that much mana that fast... you sure Osborne didn't slip you a second blessing while you weren't looking?"
Fang shrugged. "If he did, he forgot to send a memo."
Isgram gave him a long look. "I don't think this place is done with you yet. It seems you can harness death itself to enlarge your mana reservoir."
Smoke chose that moment to yawn, letting out a little puff of black mist, before hopping over to the edge of the firelight and sitting like a sentinel—tendril twitching lazily behind him.
Fang watched him a moment, then said, "I'm thinking of raising a few more rabbits."
Isgram raised a brow. "As pets, or...?"
Fang didn't answer immediately. "Scouts. Maybe patrols. If Smoke can use my magic like that, maybe I can tune it through them. Make 'em work like an extension of me."
Isgram grinned. "Cute. Death bunny network."
Fang smirked. "Undead reconnaissance unit."
"You've officially gone mad with power."
"Maybe, but now I'm also efficient," Fang said.