[Realm: ??lfheimr]
[Location: Quadling Country]
("T-this is really bad…!")
The Cowardly Lion's thoughts tangled over one another as he stared at the aftermath.
The Hamr-Heads lay scattered across the rocky ground, their massive forms crumpled where they had fallen. Their hamr-shaped skulls bore visible dents and dark bruising. Torn scraps of cloth hung even more ragged than before. So groaned faintly; others were fully unconscious, sprawled across the shallow craters ford by their own failed charges.
The air still carried the dust Grimm's movents had stirred.
At the center of it all stood the armored figure—long red hair fallen loose down his back, pristine black gauntlets unmarked despite the force they had delivered. He had not drawn a blade; he did not need to.
Puck hovered beside him, slowly turning in place to take in the scene.
"You certainly didn't hold back," she murmured, her tone sowhere between observation and accusation. She eyed a particularly battered Hamr-Head and winced slightly. "I suppose it helps that they're so ugly. Makes it easier not to feel bad."
"It was a factor," Grimm admitted without hesitation.
Puck looked at him sharply. "You are far too calm right now."
He did not respond imdiately.
She drifted closer, lowering her voice. "Do you actually understand what you just did? This wasn't so roadside scuffle. You beat down a dozen subjects inside Quadling territory. And their ruler is not so minor local official."
"You already said that, but co what may," Grimm replied evenly, beginning to walk forward through the valley as though nothing of consequence had occurred, "I will handle it."
"'I'll handle it,'" Puck repeated under her breath, following him. "You say that like it solves everything." She folded her arms as she floated alongside him. "You sound confident now. I doubt that will change. But that doesn't make consequences go away."
Grimm made a faint dismissive sound from within his helm and continued onward.
Behind them, the Cowardly Lion remained rooted in place.
He stared at the unconscious Hamr-Heads, then at the receding figures of Grimm and Puck.
He truly could not understand what went on inside the mind of a man like that. What kind of person deliberately provoked a powerful witch—soone known across the land—for the sake of curiosity?
It wasn't bravery.
It wasn't recklessness alone; it was sothing else. Sothing he couldn't na.
Slowly and hesitantly, the lion began to move again. He trailed after them, paws heavy on the stone. He did not want to be alone when the consequences arrived.
Because they would arrive.
The Good Witch's ire would descend soon enough for the havoc caused within her domain. However minor the damage might seem to Grimm, it was still damage. Still defiance. Dread coiled tighter in his stomach with every step.
("Glinda was always powerful… more so than most witches.") The thought ca unbidden. ("Most of the problems in Oz could have been solved by her if she truly wished it. I don't doubt she could help across the entire realm if she committed herself.") He swallowed. ("B-but if soone like that turns her focus against you… then it's over.")
He lifted his gaze toward Grimm's broad armored back. Puck at least seed to grasp the severity of the situation. She had warned him, and she understood what it ant to anger a Quaesitorum mber.
But she was not afraid. Not outwardly.
Grimm, on the other hand, appeared almost indifferent. Perhaps he simply did not understand the scale of Glinda's power. Or perhaps he understood—and did not care. Few in Oz held affection for the Hamr-Heads. They were abrasive, territorial, and difficult.
But they were still hers.
Still under her protection.
And no matter how benevolent she was considered to be, even benevolence had limits. And Grimm was going to push those limits, the lion was sure of that much at least. He didn't like how confident he was in it. Was Grimm rely that insane? Surely all of this could not just be attributed to curiosity. No, definitely not. But the lion knew well enough that Grimm was not 'normal'; this was a monster after all, sothing beyond him.
The lion's steps slowed slightly, the valley ahead felt heavier than before.
It gradually widened as they walked.
The tight rock walls eased apart, giving way to broader hills that rolled outward in varying layers. Sparse patches of trees dotted the landscape ahead, their shapes small against the open terrain. The sky felt larger here and less confined.
Yet neither Grimm nor Puck paid much attention to the imdiate change in scenery.
Their focus shifted farther—far to the south.
To most eyes, the distance would have been aningless. The horizon blurred into a haze, there was nothing distinct enough to na.
But Grimm slowed.
Then stopped.
"A castle?" he asked quietly, his voice intrigued as he fixed his gaze on sothing impossibly far.
Puck blinked and squinted in the sa direction. "Wait, you can see that without enhancing your vision?" She hovered closer to him, narrowing her eyes further. "I had to sharpen mine with magic just to make it out clearly."
"It rises beyond the trees," Grimm continued, as though confirming it to himself. "Fortified outer walls. Central tower elevated higher than the rest. Perfect symtry. It was most likely built to be seen."
Puck gave a low whistle at his analysis.
He did not react outwardly.
"Would that be where the Good Witch resides?" he asked.
"That's right," Puck confird. "That stretch of sand between here and there isn't small. And unless you're planning to actually go faster we'd have to cross a desert to get there." She drifted a little higher, scanning the terrain. "At your current pace? Probably a week. Maybe more if you stop to analyze every mildly interesting rock formation."
Grimm resud walking.
"If the path offers nothing of value," he replied, "we will increase our speed."
Puck followed alongside him. "You say that every ti. And then sothing minor happens—sothing barely worth noting—and suddenly you're slowing down again. Deciding whether it deserves your attention." She sighed. "This is going to be a cycle, isn't it?"
"Rest assured," Grimm replied, "the next sufficiently dull occurrence shall serve as motivation to accelerate."
"That better be a promise," Puck said sternly, though there was no real bite to it. "Because I am not floating through a desert for a week just so you can contemplate the texture of sand or sothing." A small pause followed. "Your lieutenant," Puck continued, shifting topics abruptly, "how did she deal with that? With you being… like this?"
After a brief silence, he spoke again, his tone more reflective.
"She did not need to tolerate it."
Puck glanced at him. "Need to tolerate what?"
"My indecision," he clarified.
She tilted her head.
"In my realm," Grimm continued, "everything that could be intriguing was already known. There were no mysteries left to pursue. No undiscovered lands. No unknown threats. Knowledge was cataloged and archived quickly." He walked steadily as he spoke. "When novelty surfaced, it was brief and all too fleeting. Eventually, even that would beco familiar. Interest fades when nothing truly unknown remains." He paused slightly. "It makes for a gray world."
Puck looked at him for a mont longer than usual.
"That sounds depressing," she said lightly, though the lightness felt intentional. "A gray world? One where nothing surprises you? Where curiosity has nowhere to go?" She looked ahead at the rolling hills and distant trees. "Everything here feels alive to . Chaotic, sure. Dangerous, sotis. But colorful. There's always sothing new, maybe even unpredictable."
"Symptoms of a fool, perhaps," Grimm replied.
"Hmph." Puck folded her arms imdiately. "I am absolutely not reacting to that."
"Good," Grimm said calmly. "That indicates progress."
She gave him a very dry stare. "You really are insufferable."
"My observation was not an insult."
"It absolutely is when you say it like that," she shot back. "You could at least try sounding pleasant once in a while."
Silence.
"Go on," she pressed. "Call
clever. Or perceptive. Or pretty. Or at the very least, pleasant to travel with."
"That would be lying."
She gasped. "I will smack you."
The Cowardly Lion trailed behind them, watching the exchange.
For reasons he could not quite explain, the bickering grounded him. In a land that often felt unstable—where threats erged without warning and safety never lasted long—their petty argunts felt strangely normal. Almost comforting.
Two beings debating sothing as simple as pace, rather than survival.
It made his breathing steady.
Just a little.
Perhaps the world was not entirely hostile.
Perhaps—
The air shifted.
A sudden hum tore through the open valley, the lion's ears twitched sharply.
He looked up just in ti to see it.
An enormous javelin of light, blazing white-gold, cutting across the sky with violent speed. It was not drifting or descending gently, it was barreling toward them with such speeds that the sound barrier burst. Its was far too fast to even attempt to follow.
("Ah, of course.") The lion almost dryly thought.
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