Hippocoon land

4. The Lyres and the Return Amelinda’s smile flickered, fingers closing around her ring as if it could shield her from the alcove’s lingering chill. “Thanks, Ham,” she said, her voice bright but threaded with unease. Heracles lingered, silent, dragon scepter still warm in his thoughts. “We’ll see you again?” Ham’s crooked grin returned, though his eyes never left the corner. “Count on it. Now move.” The trio stepped onto the staircase. Wood groaned underfoot, the air shimmering as they passed another hidden door. Gwen bounded ahead, ring humming faintly like a spark chasing adventure. Amelinda followed, her peacock scepter tucked safe in the cozy nook her ring had woven—lined with books and sketches only she could see. Pride shone in her eyes. Heracles trailed last. His dragon’s rod sat in the void of his ring, but his thoughts snagged on the memory of that green-black pulse below, a shadow that still coiled in his chest. The second floor unfolded into a bookshop. Dusty shelves tow...

3. The Space Rings and the Serpent's Gaze Heracles’s gaze snapped to it. The venomous glow collapsed, vanishing as though it had never been. A cold knot tightened in his gut. He shook it off, breath ragged, hands trembling around the dragon’s rod. Against the sweat and ache, a grin broke across Heracles’s face—fierce, defiant. He had held the dragon and not let go. Amelinda whooped, her rainbow scepter flaring as she threw her arms around him. “Herc, you’re unreal!” she cried, her voice bright but trembling. Her gaze darted to the far alcove. “But… that thing. It’s giving me chills.” Heracles’s grin softened. He followed her stare. The shadows seemed to watch back. Gwen leaned against a shelf, Griffin scepter slung over his shoulder like a wanderer’s prize. He gave a low whistle. “Man, Herc, you just wrestled a dragon and won,” he said, his grin sharp as a gust through fog. His eyes flicked to the alcove, curiosity sparking. “That glow, though? Looks like trouble worth poking.” His...

2. Dragon's Blood and the Huntbound Curse Ham’s gaze locked on Heracles, eyes narrowing. For a heartbeat, they flashed gold, then dimmed. “You’re the tough one,” he murmured, voice low, almost a growl. “I see threads of past and future in most—but you?” He tapped his temple lightly. “You’re a blank. Fogged. Unreadable.” Heracles stiffened, fingers twitching. “Still,” Ham continued, studying him, “I see fire in you. Independence. Strength that won’t bow. That screams dragon.” He turned, moving deliberately to a shelf and pulled down a heavier rod. Its ironwood shaft glowed black and red, warm as coals beneath his hands. At its crown, a crystal orb cradled a single drop of crimson, swirling like molten lava, pulsing with a heartbeat all its own. “Dragon’s blood,” Ham said softly, reverent. “From a beast that kneels to none. Fierce. Untamed. The ironwood’s the only thing strong enough to hold it. Harder than the wind, harder than the feather. It will test you, Heracles—every ounce of ...

1. The Feather, The Blood, and The Storm Heracles stood frozen before the heavy oak door, his knuckles hovering, breath catching in his throat. Amelinda nudged him gently, her eyes warm with encouragement. Gwen, lounging against the wall with a restless grin, flicked a pebble into the air and caught it without looking. “Come on, Herc, it’s just a door, not a hydra,” he said, his voice light, like he was daring the world to surprise him. A weary “Come in” drifted from inside, rough as gravel. Heracles yanked the door open, its groan echoing in the narrow hallway. The trio stepped into a dim room, where oil lamps cast a soft blue glow, like moonlight trapped in glass. Shelves sagged under rows of scepters—some twisted like ancient vines, others humming with faint, otherworldly light. The air buzzed with a sharp tang, like a storm about to break. A man slouched in an armchair, half-buried among the scepters. His tangled black curls hid his face, and his patched jacket hung loose, as i...

2. The Ascending Hum The boys ducked into cubicles, shedding their armor. Chun hung the sets back on their racks, then led them deeper into the hall. The air pulsed again, a hum beneath their steps. “Where’s Amelinda?” Heracles asked, voice low. “With Chin, my assistant,” Chun said slyly. “Daughter of a tree nymph. Helping her pick something special.” They reached neat rows of uniforms—navy or black trousers, crisp jackets, white shirts, canvas shoes. Nearly identical… except for the buttons. Heracles caught a faint shimmer, the same glow his armor carried. “Not much to see,” Chun said, hoof clicking. “Check the buttons—silver, gold, even enchanted if you order early.” He leaned close. “Those pack a punch.” “I’ll take enchanted,” Gwen said at once, already fingering a gold-button jacket. “Try them on.” Chun hurried off as the bell above the door chimed for a new customer. “Let’s do this,” Gwen said, grin wide as he snatched a uniform. Heracles grabbed one too, more ...

1. The Black Armor's Whisper The alley lay silent, broken only by a slow drip against the stones. The shop’s crooked sign creaked above its sagging doors. Gwen glanced at his friends, then shoved the doors open. A brass bell clanged, sharp enough to cut the quiet. “Welcome to All-for-You Shop!” A warm voice rose from inside, lilting with odd rhythm. Behind the counter stood a goat-legged man in a neat jacket, spectacles sliding down his nose. He grinned, barely taller than Amelinda. “First-timers?” “Yeah,” Gwen said, smirk in place, confidence dripping like he already owned the room. “Hippocoon first-years, I’d guess.” The man’s eyes twinkled. “I’m Chun. Call me your guide.” The dingy alley dissolved behind them. In its place stretched a vast marble hall lit by golden lamps that hummed softly overhead. Racks of jewel-toned clothes gleamed, mirrors multiplying the space. The air carried the polished tang of fresh wood. Heracles narrowed his eyes. Threads of light shimm...

3. The Map, the Shop, and the Pleading Eyes “My little master, we’re in town,” the coachman rasped, voice rough as stone as he eased the carriage onto sun-warmed cobblestones. Gwen looked up from his scroll, a smirk tugging at his lips, eyes bright with anticipation. “Good work. Stay close—we’ll need you this afternoon.” He swung the door wide and strode out like the street belonged to him. Heracles and Amelinda followed, both watching Gwen’s tall frame cut through the sunlight. The noon glare lit his short curls bronze, a fleeting halo that made him look like the gods themselves had spotlighted his arrival. “Keep the horses ready,” Gwen called, voice easy but commanding. “Yes, little master,” the coachman replied, giving a stiff nod before steering the carriage away. The three stood in the heart of a bustling square. Perfectly cut cobblestones stretched beneath their feet, worn smooth by generations of steps. Ochre, pale blue, and rose-dust facades leaned together, their paint fad...