A Lesson in Fists, A Secret in Centuries

The rest of the day bled into a tranquil night, passing without any hint of trouble. As the sun began its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and violet, the distant Kaur-Koram forests became a smudged, blurry silhouette against the horizon. The sight ignited a restless energy in Flitterwing, who was now desperate to be on his way. He began to pester Malakor relentlessly about their departure, a constant buzz of anxious queries, until the demon’s patience finally shattered.

“Go yourself if you're so damned worried about getting there!” Malakor’s voice boomed, laced with fury. “However, the rest of us are leaving in the morning.” That declaration seemed to quell Flitterwing’s nagging, for the most part.

Jianna felt as if she had only just drifted off to sleep, succumbing to the promised rest, when Malakor’s low murmurings roused the entire camp. It was the crack of dawn, the sky still a soft, bruised purple, and he was muttering something about being “off-schedule.”

“We’re on a schedule?” Jianna mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. She stretched with a deep groan that echoed the protest of her aching muscles, the hard ground having offered little comfort through the night. As she blearily folded her blanket and stuffed it into her suitcase, she noted that the campfire had already been doused to cold ash and Malakor’s own pack was neatly arranged and ready. She wondered how long he had been awake, a silent, solitary sentinel in the pre-dawn gloom.

“Aye,” Malakor replied, his tone sharp with impatience. He stood with his own heavy load already secured to his back, watching the others stir. “An’ if we dinnae wanna be late, we’d be better t’ get a move on.”

Unsurprisingly, Flitterwing was the first to be fully packed and prepared, his slight frame vibrating with readiness. While Jianna slowly organized her belongings, Malakor moved to tend to Blynn, deftly examining and re-wrapping the Satyri’s wounds with practiced hands. Both Jianna and Blynn struggled to shake off the clinging remnants of slumber, their movements sluggish and heavy. Their lethargy earned them a growing sense of agitation from their two companions, who practically had to drag them to their feet to finally begin the day’s trek.

At last, they crossed the unseen boundary that marked the edge of the Fey territories and ventured into the sprawling expanse of the Kaur-Koram forest. The air grew cooler under the dense canopy of ancient trees. Malakor had explained to them that although humans were the most populous race in the world, Kaur-Koram was considered neutral ground. No single race could lay claim to this wild, untamed land.

Within the verdant labyrinth of the jungle, Flitterwing seemed to come alive, truly entering his element. He entertained himself with breathtaking displays of aerial acrobatics, soaring between the massive trees at incredible speeds. He would dodge colossal, gnarled trunks by mere millimeters, his daredevil maneuvers sending a continuous ripple of anxiety through Jianna. She watched with her heart in her throat, perpetually terrified that a single miscalculation would end with him crashing headfirst into solid wood.

Malakor’s irritation with the Fey’s antics was a palpable force, mounting with every near-miss and joyful whoop. His patience finally snapped when Flitterwing, in a particularly audacious move, nearly sideswiped him during his game. With a speed that belied his size, Malakor’s hand shot out, snatching the Fey by his long, flowing braid and yanking him to a dead stop in mid-air.

“Will ye stop yer goddamn foolishness an’ settle… down…” Malakor’s command trailed off, his voice losing its sharp edge. His gaze abruptly shifted, sweeping across the surrounding woods, his eyes narrowing with a sudden, intense focus. He had sensed something. Forgetting the fistful of hair he still held, Flitterwing twisted himself free from Malakor’s slackening grip, his own expression turning uneasy as he peered in the same direction.

“Malakor…?” Jianna began, her voice barely a whisper, as if she feared any loud noise would shatter the fragile tension. “What is it? What’s going on?”

“Somethin’s out there,” Malakor growled, the sound a low rumble in his chest. “But I dinnae know whot…”

The attack, when it came, was shockingly swift. It burst not from the direction they were all watching so intently, but from their flank, catching them completely from behind.

The actual battle, however, was over almost before it began. It was a small band of Aelvin, and the moment Malakor and Flitterwing launched their furious counterattack, the assailants melted back into the dense foliage. True to form, the two warriors had instinctively formed a protective circle around Jianna, the one they perceived as the weakest among them. She suppressed a flicker of annoyance at being so readily shielded. She loathed the feeling of being a helpless damsel in need of rescue, but reason quickly prevailed over her pride. Even with the recent combat lessons from Flitterwing, she knew they were both far superior fighters.

“That… was quick,” Flitterwing commented, his head whipping around as he scanned the thick undergrowth for any sign of movement.

“They’re still here,” Blynn announced, his large, sensitive ears swiveling like radar dishes. “They’ve just stopped attacking.”

“Wh—” Malakor started to ask why, but he was cut off by Flitterwing’s sharp cry.

“There’s one!” the Fey shouted, and without a second thought, he launched himself into the woods after the fleeting shadow of an Aelvin he had spotted.

Malakor swore under his breath. “Fey, damn you! C’mere!” He lunged forward, his hand outstretched as if to grab him again, but he only grasped empty air. In that same instant, his eyes caught a new threat. A small projectile, a little missile, was arcing through the air, aimed directly at Jianna. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t pause to think; his orders were to keep her from harm, and that command was absolute. He threw himself between the human girl and the flying object, his hand reaching out to intercept it.

The missile—a tightly packed paper bag—collided with Malakor’s unyielding hand and burst on impact, showering him in a fine, milky-white powder. The dust billowed around him, a choking cloud that invaded his nose and mouth, making him gasp and sputter. A powerful wave of nausea and dizziness washed over him, and he lost his balance, staggering sideways before collapsing heavily into a thicket of ferns and disappearing from view.

“Malakor!” Jianna screamed, her heart hammering against her ribs in a frantic rhythm of panic. She had no idea what that powder was, but seeing its immediate and devastating effect on the demon terrified her.

She took a few desperate steps toward where he had fallen, but a firm hand clamped down on her wrist, halting her. She turned to see Blynn, the Satyri, still staring intently into the trees, his ears twitching rapidly. After a long moment, he slowly released her, a look of profound bewilderment on his face.

“They’re gone,” he murmured, his voice laced with disbelief. “I can’t hear any of them anymore. But… I can hear Flitterwing swearing up a storm.”

“I don’t care what Flitterwing is doing!” Jianna cried, her fear overriding all else. She shoved past him, pushing toward the spot where Malakor had vanished. “Malakor could be hurt!”

She reached the bushes and began frantically pushing aside the dense brush and ferns, shouting his name. Then, she stopped dead, her frantic movements ceasing as she froze in place. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She had found him.

“Oh my god, Malakor…” she breathed, a strange note in her voice. “What happened to you…?”

And then, to her own surprise, Jianna burst out laughing.

“I’ ‘tain’t funny…” a high-pitched, childish voice snarled from the greenery. The comical change in his tone only made her laugh harder, tears of mirth streaming down her cheeks.

“What are you laughing at, Miss Florian?” Blynn asked as he cautiously approached them. Unable to speak through her peals of laughter, Jianna simply pointed.

Blynn froze, his gaze following her gesture. He stared at the figure nestled amongst the ferns, his own eyes widening in utter shock.

A rustle of leaves announced Flitterwing’s return. He stormed into the small clearing, his face a thundercloud of frustration.

“They got away!” he fumed. “They just vanished! Right, what’s so hilarious about the little fuc—” He cut himself off as he finally saw what had captured their attention.

“Malakor…” Jianna managed to gasp, punctuated by a giggle. “Over here… hehe… You have to see him.”

A curious expression replacing his anger, Flitterwing stepped closer. As his eyes landed on their companion, he too began to chuckle, the sound growing into a full-throated laugh.

“Ye could show a bit more seriousness ‘ere…” Malakor groused from his nest of ferns.

“I’m sorry, Malakor,” Jianna said, finally wrestling her laughter under some semblance of control. “It’s just… I never imagined you could ever look so…,” she snickered, “cute!”

And he was. Malakor was, undeniably, adorable. He had shrunk to a fraction of his former size, now no bigger than a common housecat, with a slightly pudgy, childlike physique. His eyes, though still large for his face, now seemed rounder, a feature that only amplified his newfound cuteness. He looked like a miniature, toddler version of his formidable self. The ferocious scowl he wore was comically undermined by his new features, looking more like a petulant pout. The image was made all the more ridiculous by the tiny coughs and sneezes he let out, residuals from the enchanted powder.

“What in the world happened to you?” Blynn inquired, still staring. “You look like you’ve… shrunk.”

“It’s a de-aging spell,” Flitterwing explained, though his expression grew more troubled as he spoke. “It’s a Fey enchantment that reduces an opponent to the size of a small child. It’s a tactic used only in the most desperate attempts to escape.”

“They’ve got a bloody Fey on their side now?” Malakor exploded, his tiny voice cracking with rage. “Who’s next? That damned Council of old?” He let out a sigh, forcing himself to calm down. “Tell me, Fey, is this spell ferever? It took me a long time t’ get t’ the age I am.”

Flitterwing knelt, dabbing a finger on Malakor’s forehead to collect a sample of the white powder. He examined it critically before giving a knowledgeable nod. “Just as I thought. We Fey call this Juventa, or Second-Life in the Trade Tongue. The true spell, the cast version, takes time to prepare and requires an enchanter of considerable power, since you’re altering a whole person. So, sometimes a wizard will create a powdered version—which requires even more powerful magic to craft—and sell or distribute it. Spells that are cast can last as long as the caster wishes, but the powder version almost always wears off within a few days.”

A wave of palpable relief washed over Malakor. “Tha’s good.”

“Aww,” Jianna pouted playfully. “But you’re so cute like this!” In a sudden movement, she swooped down and lifted him up, her hands tucked under his armpits.

The magical transformation had rendered him so much smaller that his pants no longer fit. Not even close. As Jianna lifted him, she inadvertently began to pull him right out of them, but Malakor would not suffer that final humiliation. With a furious squirm, he grabbed the waistband of his trousers, clutching them tightly around his waist to preserve what little dignity he had left.

Jianna held the sulking demon out at arm’s length. “You’re kind of small, aren’t you?” she remarked with a grin. “You’re about the size of my cat back home, and she’s not a big kitty.”

“Sae I wa’ small when I wa’ young!” Malakor shrieked, his accent thickening with his outrage.

Flitterwing let out a low whistle. “Sounds like someone missed his nap, eh?” he taunted.

“I ain’t a child,” Malakor snarled. “An’ I’d appreciate it if ye’d remember tha’, al-right?”

Laughing, Flitterwing reached out and ruffled Malakor’s hair as one would a toddler. “Sure thing, Malakor.”

A blur of motion from within Jianna’s grasp was followed by a deep growl, and then a yelp of pain from Flitterwing, who leaped back, clutching his hand.

“He bit me!” the Fey howled in disbelief. “The little jerk actually bit me!”

Jianna felt not an ounce of pity. “Serves you right. You shouldn’t tease him.” She looked down at the furious bundle in her hands. “Even if he does look so cute, don’t you, little Malakor?”

“Don’t make me bite ye too,” Malakor deadpanned.