The lion — if one could still call it that — was enormous. As tall as a house. Its fur shimmered like burnished bronze, and its mane flowed like liquid sun, glowing faintly with embers that fizzled out with every shake of its great, grumpy head.
Lavender stared at it, eyes narrowed, blade steady in one hand, totem pulsing faintly in the other.
"Well, you're a bit dramatic," she muttered, brushing a curl from her face. "Was the roar truly necessary?"
The lion responded with another thunderous growl, like a violin played by an angry volcano. Its paws dug into the earth, claws carving fissures into mossy roots.
Lavender took a step back — not out of fear (she rarely entertained such a dull thing), but out of respect for theatrics. She appreciated a good entrance.
With a flick of her wrist, the dagger shifted shape. The blade shimmered and melted into a coiled whip of silver filaments. She twirled it playfully.
"Listen, Sparkle-Paws," she said, "I've had a very long day. I passed out in my own warehouse, got mildly stabbed by a decorative snake, woke up in an unfamiliar forest cave, and I'm currently unsure if this is all just a particularly vivid hallucination or an invitation to destiny."
The lion blinked.
Then — astonishingly — it sat.
Not collapsed. Not pounced. Sat. With regal grace and the faintest hint of curiosity, like a scholar considering a strange new text.
"Well," Lavender said, slightly thrown off. "That's... surprisingly civil of you."
She lowered her whip. The lion tilted its head, and for a moment, she swore its eyes flickered — not just with light, but with thought. Ancient thought. Old magic, coiled and sleeping, now stirring.
It let out a soft chuff, then gently pawed the earth. A trail of glowing moss lit up at its touch, forming a faint path through the trees.
"Oh," she said. "You want me to follow you."
The lion gave what could only be described as a very dignified nod.
Lavender tucked the totem under one arm, snapped her ring back into dagger-form just in case, and followed.
---
The path led through twisted trees with silver-veined bark, their leaves shimmering like fish scales. Bizarre birds chirped nonsense above her head — one sang in rhyming couplets, while another kept shouting the word "left!" for no discernible reason.
Lavender had to admit — she was impressed.
"Ten out of ten," she said aloud to the trees. "Whimsy levels are immaculate."
As they walked, the lion paused occasionally to look back at her, as if checking she hadn't wandered off or gotten distracted by an unusually handsome rock. (She had, in fact, stopped twice already for that very reason.)
Eventually, they reached a clearing — perfectly circular, blanketed in blue grass that smelled faintly of ink and cardamom.
In the center stood a figure.
Not human.
Not beast.
Something in between.
Its form shimmered, like it hadn't quite decided what it wanted to be. A long cloak of feathers draped across its back, and its face was obscured by a wooden mask carved with a wide grin.
The lion bowed.
Lavender… did not.
"Hello," she said. "Are you going to explain what's going on, or are you another magical being who prefers dramatic silence and vague gestures?"
The masked figure didn't speak — not at first. Instead, it tilted its head, and the air shifted.
The totem pulsed.
Lavender looked down.
The black snake was glowing softly in her arm, its gemstone eyes bright as galaxies.
The figure raised a hand and, at last, spoke in a voice that sounded like pages turning in an ancient book.
"You have awakened it."
Lavender raised an eyebrow. "It? Do be more specific. I collect quite a few its."
"The Totem of Thorns," the voice said. "Lost across worlds. Feared by kings. Desired by monsters. Touched only by the foolish… or the chosen."
Lavender blinked. Then she smiled.
"Well," she said cheerfully, "lucky for you, I happen to be both."