Ancient records and historical accounts made one thing clear: Dream Sprites were not a malevolent race like Nightmares. While both fed on dreams, Dream Sprites never intentionally hard the drear.
However, in their quest for richer dreams—their source of sustenance—Dream Sprites would sotis use their innate gifts to steer a dream in extraordinary directions. From a human perspective, this manifested as dreams that triggered extre emotional highs and lows.
Much like what had just happened. While it seed malicious, it could just as easily be dismissed as a cruel prank.
"Don't be afraid. I'm not going to kill you."
This was the truth. For the mont, Jenkins had no intention of killing it.
"And rest assured, if you can answer a few of my questions, I'll let what happened earlier slide."
This was a lie. Jenkins had every intention of getting even.
"What do you want to ask?"
A soft, child-like whisper echoed in his mind—a ntal dialogue. For incorporeal, spiritual beings like Dream Sprites, telepathy was instinctual.
"Who sent you to attack us?"
He was certain this was no accident.
"I cannot say. I am bound by a contract. If I reveal the other party, I will suffer a terrible punishnt."
Jenkins glanced at Hathaway, who didn't seem surprised by this outco.
"Then why are you here? Are you being kept by soone?"
This was Hathaway's question.
"No! Please, do not insult ! I am Zhuoman, a free Dream Sprite! This evening, as I traveled through the rift between reality and the dream world, I caught the scent of Spirit-Blocking tal. That is what drew here."
Spirit-Blocking tal was a man-made, B-class Extraordinary item. But as with all things in nature, what was poison to one was sustenance to another; for a select few spiritual races, it was a delicacy. Papa Oliver had told Jenkins as much, but he'd never expected a Dream Sprite to be one of its admirers.
"You saw the owner of the tal?"
"Yes. We made a contract. The person gave a large piece of the tal and tasked with probing each of your dreams to identify the Enchanters among you."
Its words rang true, which ant the killer was also an Enchanter. And from what Jenkins had observed at the manor, besides himself and Hathaway, the only other Enchanter present was Mrs. Hydra.
"Her?"
Jenkins wondered, his mind filled with suspicion. At the sa ti, he motioned for Hathaway to ask another question.
"Whose dreams did you invade?"
she asked.
The Dream Sprite fell silent for a mont before answering in a timid voice:
"The two of you, as well as Briny Mikhail, Allen Garcia, and Yura Rick."
Everyone lost in the storm had returned safely—a near-impossible feat that had clearly aroused soone's suspicions. This had to be one of the reasons for the killer's probe. But it wasn't necessarily Mrs. Hydra. After all, possessing Spirit-Blocking tal and being able to form a supernatural contract didn't automatically make soone an Enchanter, though the odds were high.
Bound by the contract, the Dream Sprite Zhuoman refused to divulge any information about the human. Soon, however, Hathaway found a loophole. Contracts, after all, were notoriously difficult to make perfectly airtight; even the confidentiality pacts used by the Church were known to fail on occasion.
The loophole was simple: the contract's restrictions were weaker within a dreamscape than in reality. Jenkins followed the sprite as it slipped into the dream of a servant downstairs, where it conjured a rough silhouette of the human in question.
The figure was hazy and its face was obscured, but it clearly didn't match the build of the middle-aged Mrs. Hydra. It was almost certainly a man, but there were more than a dozen n in the manor with a similar physique.
"Could it be an ordinary person? Or is there an Enchanter we don't know about living in the manor's tunnels?"
At the mont, those were the only two possibilities.
Jenkins wanted more information, so he decided to employ a little trick. He and the Dream Sprite were still within a dream, and here, Jenkins had the ho-field advantage.
"Sir, I won't run away. Could you please not squeeze so hard?"
The irregular, seven-colored mass let out a pitiful squeak, but the man imdiately tightened his grip, silencing it. Jenkins casually tossed it onto the street. The dreamscape had shifted to that of the male servant enjoying a sumr afternoon at a streetside dessert shop.
"I can't see his face. You need to conjure a clearer one."
"Oh, sir, I really can't!"
It shrieked in the middle of the street, but the passersby in the dream showed no reaction whatsoever.
"Alright, I'll ask again. Answer carefully. What is your na?"
"Zhuoman!"
"When did you appear in this manor?"
"Thirteen minutes past six in the afternoon!"
"Your age!"
"1,298 years old!"
"The number of dreams you invaded tonight!"
"Five."
...
Jenkins fired off dozens of questions, most of which the Dream Sprite had already answered more than once, so it replied almost without thinking. He was employing an ancient, primitive interrogation technique; the principle was simple, but it just might work.
"Why did I catch you?"
"Your soul is exceptionally powerful!"
"The na of the human you contracted with."
"K... ah~"
It answered subconsciously, but managed only a single syllable before being engulfed in black flas. Its scream was so agonizing that the dreamscape itself began to fracture. Jenkins instantly snatched the burning mass in his bare hands and ripped them both out of the dream.
The maneuver successfully extinguished the black flas, but it also caused the Dream Sprite to completely shut down all communication with Jenkins. It silently crawled back through the hole in the ice and into the cup, offering no response no matter how much Jenkins threatened it.
Seeing this, Jenkins, at Hathaway's request, sealed the bowl with ice once more and handed it over to her.
"It's probably useless now, but still, be careful," Jenkins warned.
"Don't let it out. It knows we're Enchanters."
"I know."
The girl answered with her head lowered, still holding the bowl. Jenkins detected a dangerous undercurrent in her tone.
The "K" sound the Dream Sprite had uttered almost certainly belonged to the na of its contractor, but far too many n in the manor had nas that could fit. Jenkins couldn't even be certain he'd heard it right. After all, it had only been a partial syllable before the contract's backlash cut it off, and plenty of other sounds were similar to "K".
He discussed the matter with Hathaway for a long while before returning to his room. The cat on his bed was still awake; it stood up to greet him as he entered. Jenkins reached out to scratch its chin, but the cat recoiled in disgust.
"Is there a strange sll on my hand?"
He murmured, shaking his head. He raised his hand to his nose and sniffed, his brow furrowing instinctively.
"Sulfur..."
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