Something feels off.

  As I step through the portal, a weird, nagging sensation buzzes in the back of my mind. It won't go away.

  Every time I try to poke at it, some kind of distorted vision flashes across my brain—never anything I can recall afterward, just a flood of unpleasant emotions left behind. Dread. Guilt. Maybe fear.

  I step a bit to the side, giving room for the others to come through the portal, and chew on my bottom lip. Through the bond, the tentacles prod at me, sending pulses of questioning emotions. Paranoia lingers beneath the surface of their thoughts.

  Well, at least I know it’s not their doing. They seem more paranoid about me than the other way around. Not that I could ever fully control them anyway.

  “Beatrice?” Mary’s voice comes from beside me. “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

  Snapping out of my thoughts, I glance at her.

  “Are you really sure you can’t read minds?” I ask. “How do you keep guessing what I’m thinking?”

  “Pfft. If I could read minds, I wouldn’t be here,” Mary chuckles. “Besides, no one needs psychic powers to read you. You wear your emotions like a headline.”

  “No, I don’t,” I huff, immediately reaching for my face and trying to force it into what I hope is a neutral expression. “You just got lucky.”

  I bite down harder on my bottom lip.

  Damn it. Damn it. No matter how close we are, I should be unreadable.

  Mary just hums at me, smug. I glance down at her and feel one of my eyes twitch.

  What the hell is that supposed to mean? And why does she sound so smug about it?

  A few tentacles stir, slowly turning in my direction. Their emotions ripple toward me—confused, maybe a little worried.

  Before I can respond, I catch sight of Mark gesturing for everyone to move.

  We move forward, boots squelching against the swampy floor. I scan the surroundings. The dungeon is dense with trees, their roots protruding across the muddy ground, some submerged in dark water. The trees don’t grow very tall—the ceiling is low, barely twice the height of an average man.

  Mark, our designated leader for this run, cups his hands over his mouth. A gust of red asura blasts out, igniting everything in front of him in flames.

  “GRAAAHHHH!”

  Shrieks echo as several shadows burst from the swamp. Most of them collapse instantly, their bodies charred to a crisp.

  Some of the newer porters around me gasp.

  “Stay alert,” Mark says, voice steady. “Monsters—especially dungeon monsters—should never be underestimated.”

  He starts barking orders to the hunters, the ones tasked with fighting. Occasionally, he tosses a few instructions toward us porters, but mostly leaves us alone. Watching from a distance, I slowly nod.

  Hmm. Not bad. Not bad at all.

  I glance at the porters beside me, then nod again.

  That little show of power? Effective. A good way to establish leadership and stomp out any early dissent.

  Mark moves with purpose, casually flicking bursts of flame whenever monsters approach.

  And look at the way he controls it. Efficient, measured—no flashy waste, just enough power to do the job. Oh god. Beautiful.

  “Beatrice,” Mary sighs beside me. “Please rein in your emotions. You’re scaring Mark.”

  “I’m just observing,” I say, not taking my eyes off him as I discreetly wipe away some drool. “It’s important to understand the abilities of the people we’re traveling with.”

  “Right…”

  “Besides, it’s not like I can help it. Essevians are naturally drawn to asura.”

  Through the bond, the tentacles pulse again. This time the message is weirdly clear: Not even we are that obsessed. You’re scaring us too.

  For the rest of the day, our entire team marches through the swampy mud.

  Every twist and turn reveals more of the same trees with protruding roots—some bearing strangely pulsing purple fruits between their branches, others with leaves that resemble blood veins.

  'Bam!' 'Bam!' 'Bam!'

  Crouching behind several boulders, I let several tentacles drape themselves over Mary like a blanket.

  "Ow, hey," the woman grumbles. "You're heavy. Get off already."

  Not acknowledging her, I slightly peek my head over the boulder and watch several hunters engage in battle with a mob of monsters.

  Two hunters near me and Mary have their swords drawn, facing a hog-like monster.

  Asura emanates from the metal of their swords, brightly lighting up the monster in a pink-and-blueish glow.

  The hog monster rears its head back, using its horns to shove a hunter who got too close.

  The hunter quickly dodges at the last second, barely avoiding a pierced torso.

  The other hunter uses that opportunity to charge at the hog while it’s distracted.

  "Hyahhh!" a hunter screams, slashing their sword down on the monster's head.

  A flash of asura bursts upon the sword meeting flesh. My mouth drops as I stare at the scene with wide eyes.

  What a waste! Look at the way they're just throwing their asuras around! Was it really necessary to create such a bright flash! over a boar-like monster?! All that's going to do is drain your reserves before something truly dangerous shows up!

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  "Get down, you fool!" Mary’s voice rings out beside me as she yanks my head down. "Are you trying to get your head sliced off?!"

  As she pulls me down, I feel a rush of wind brush past where my head just was.

  Once we’re sure the danger has passed, we slowly poke our heads out from behind the boulder.

  "Booyah!" one of the hunters shouts, waving his sword overhead. "Now that's how you take care of a monster!"

  The other hunter high-fives him before dragging the monster’s body toward an increasingly large pile of corpses.

  "Come on," Mary says, dragging me toward them. "We better get to work."

  As Mary drags me by the collar, I glance off to the side.

  ...Ugh, I don’t even want to touch the work of someone who uses their asura so irresponsibly.

  We pass several hunters on our way. Many carry their kills toward the growing pile of monster corpses, where others not on active duty keep watch.

  Plenty of them glance at Mary and me as we walk by. A few stare a little too long before quickly looking away.

  Some porters already near the pile eye us as well—some outright glaring at me, others subtly scooting away. I roll my eyes at their reactions.

  Once we’re closer, I crouch down. Tentacles begin to move behind me, some already pulling out my tools.

  As I drag one of the corpses closer, I catch Mary struggling with the straps on her backpack.

  "Ugh, always a pain in the ass," she mutters.

  Her eyes drift toward the tentacles. “It sure would be nice to have some helpers.”

  Without a word, I take a knife from one of the tentacles and begin dismantling the carcass. A few tentacles set down containers; others prepare preservation fluids.

  "Not when it's the middle of the night and you wake up to find them controlling your body to wolf down several dishes of cheese products at some random restaurant," I respond, carefully slicing the hide from the meat.

  "...Wait, that happened?" Mary asks, shocked. "Why haven’t I heard about this?!"

  "It was when we"—I gesture at the tentacles, then at myself—"were still getting used to being one being. Fun stuff."

  I narrow my eyes slightly, glancing to the side.

  If you call fighting for control and waking up paralyzed while your body devours cheese 'fun.' Way too many close calls.

  I carefully sever the head and hand it to a few tentacles for modification before storing it in a container.

  "Alright, did that monster wrong you in a past life or something?" Mary suddenly asks. "At this point, I can hear it rolling in its afterlife."

  Pausing mid-slice, I raise a brow at her. “What?”

  She gestures toward the carcass.

  I follow her gaze. The corpse looks rough—limbs unevenly cut, some still barely attached.

  I blink slowly, staring at the mess.

  ...Shoot.

  Through the bond, I hear the tentacles’ mix of laughter and mild scolding.

  I avert my gaze and shove them out of my head, throwing up a thick mental barrier.

  "Scoot over," Mary says, twirling a knife before getting to work. "It’s not too bad. Still salvageable."

  Before I can object, she’s already at it. A flurry of motion follows—her hands a blur as she dismantles the monster with clinical grace.

  Moments later, everything’s sorted into neat containers.

  “Phew,” Mary sighs, wiping sweat from her brow. “That was trickier than I thought.”

  I nod and clap my hands together.

  An expert’s an expert for a reason. If her asura organ weren’t so pitifully small, Mary would’ve been a famous hunter.

  A nearby porter gasps, staring at her in awe.

  “Wow, how did you do that?” the boy whispers—not quietly. “I can’t even get through this tough hide, and you did it in a flash!”

  Mary chuckles and puffs her chest a little. “A few years in and you’ll be twirling knives in no time.”

  “Whoa!” the boy gasps. “Really?!”

  “Of course!” she hums, placing a knife in his hand. “Best way to learn is practice. Make sure to twirl your knives often, especially when dismantling.”

  She gives him a thumbs-up. “You’ll master it in no time.”

  Watching from the side, I tilt my head with half-lidded eyes.

  …No. Pretty sure you’re the only one who twirls knives as a porter. Should I even let this continue…?

  “Oh,” the boy says, finally glancing at me. His expression shifts, and he jerks back.

  Suddenly aware of my presence, he curls in on himself.

  “Um, sorry,” he mumbles, scooting far away.

  “Wait!” Mary calls as he scrambles to the far side of the pile. “Don’t you want to see how I work on the head?! Maybe the horns?!”

  He’s long gone, leaving behind only a cloud of dust.

  “Ah,” she mutters. “…Well. This is awkward.”

  I shrug. “But not unexpected,” I add, standing.

  “Really,” Mary huffs. “It’s like he saw a ghost or something.”

  I raise a brow and hum softly.

  …Well, technically. More like an undead. With tentacles.

  “And here I was, trying to get you a friend,” she sighs. “That one seemed pretty well-adjusted.”

  “That again?” I ask, eyeing her. “Why do you keep doing this?”

  She tilts her head, frowning thoughtfully. “It’s not healthy to be some recluse teenager, y’know. I think you should try to get along with others.”

  I open my mouth, but she lifts a hand.

  “Yes, I know you’re at least 18 and technically an adult,” she says quickly. “But still. You need real social interaction. When I say make friends, I don’t mean just me or the tentacles stuck to your back.”

  I cross my arms and scowl at her. “Well, I don’t need anyone else,” I huff.

  And why include the tentacles? We literally put up mental walls to block each other out most of the time.

  “And don’t think I didn’t notice,” Mary says. “What was on your mind just now?”

  I blink. “…What?”

  “Something was bothering you,” she says, giving me a look. “You clearly looked upset.”

  Feeling my jaw slightly drop, I quickly close it and shake my head.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, regarding her carefully. “When have I expressed such things?”

  “Pfft, please.” Mary scoffs. “You think I wouldn’t know how you are after all this time?”

  A shadow falls over her face as her smile falters just a little.

  “You know I’m always on your side, right?” she says.

  Chewing on my bottom lip, I frown down at her. “…Yes…?”

  “Just know I’m always trying to do my best for you,” she continues. “So please don’t ever hesitate to reach out to me.”

  Please don’t shut me out, her words seem to say.

  Staring at her with unblinking eyes, I slowly relax my unconsciously tense shoulders.

  Lowering my head, I’m about to open my mouth—

  when she suddenly claps her hands together.

  “I’ll take care of the rest of the corpses,” Mary declares. “Should be done in a flash.”

  “It’s fine,” I say, reaching for my tools. “I just need to take care of—”

  “Oh no you don’t,” Mary interrupts, slapping at my hands. “I know how you get when you’re like this. Go help pick some herbs with the other porters.”

  I start to protest, but Mary crosses her arms and gives me a look.

  “I’d like to finish work early today,” she teases, gently nudging my right arm. “Besides, you know more about herbs than I do. Mind picking some I can use for tea?”

  I raise a hand, trying to speak again.

  “Oh look, there’s a couple of porters out gathering herbs over there,” she cuts in, pointing toward a few Essevians slowly moving away from us. “Why don’t you join them?”

  Before I can get another word out, she’s already pushing me in their direction.

  “Wait, wait,” I say, digging my boots into the dirt. “Don’t you need me for anythi—”

  “Nope,” Mary cuts me off and gives me a light push toward the small group on harvesting duty. “You desperately need to meet some new people.”

  “But—”

  She clasps her hands together, making her eyes as big as possible in a begging face. What’s supposed to be cute is quickly neutralized by her wrinkles and the awkward way both corners of her mouth point downward.

  I stare at her expression for a full minute, blubbering uselessly as my brain tries to form words.

  …Fuck… that’s just nastyplay.

  Letting out a long sigh, I drag a hand down my face. “Fine.”

  “Fantastic,” Mary says brightly. “This is great. Now remember to smile, say hi, and socialize.”

  Waving a finger at me, she grins. “I better see you make a friend by dinner.”

  With that, she bolts off in a flash toward the pile of monster corpses.

  Standing there awkwardly, I let out a small cough. A few tentacles shift slightly, their tips turning toward me. Even without the bond being open, I can still sense their exasperation.

  Turning toward the group of porters harvesting vegetation, I move to catch up with them.

  On the way, I pass two men—hunters I recognize from earlier observation.

  As we pass each other, my ears unconsciously tune into their conversation.

  “What do you think about this Essevian?” one of them mutters.

  “Hmmm… a bit much,” the other replies. “Let’s go with one. Might be easier for him.”

  I pause mid-step and glance back, watching the two men slowly walk away.

  Their eyes linger uncomfortably on an Essevian in the distance, busy carrying a basket full of weapons.

  Narrowing my eyes, I stare at them for a moment longer before forcing myself to turn away.

  As I continue toward the porters, something wriggles in the back of my mind.

  A pit begins to form in the bottom of my stomach.