Perhaps Mr. Biggins would know something about it. The old dragon had been alive for centuries, after all. If anyone might recognize the significance of recurring dreams about eggs wreathed in blue flame, it would be him.
A cart rumbled past, splashing through a puddle. Adom sidestepped neatly, avoiding the spray.
Mr. Biggins's shop wasn't far now. Just past the baker's and around the corner. The wooden sign—"Weird Stuff Store"—came into view, swinging gently in the afternoon breeze. No cats today. They were rarely here as of late.
Third sponsor, and perhaps answers about the dreams. Two birds, one stone.
Adom rolled his shoulders, feeling the lingering soreness from last night's fights. The cuts on his arm had already completely healed, leaving only faint pink lines where Dasha's claws had struck.
[Healing Factor] was certainly useful, even if it drained him for heavier wounds. And sleeping seemed to accelerate the healing, too.
Zuni chirped again from his pocket, more insistently this time.
"I know, I know," Adom muttered. "We'll get lunch after this."
The quillick's answering chirp sounded suspiciously like disagreement.
As Adom reached for the shop door, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder at the busy street. For a moment, he'd felt... something. A prickling at the back of his neck, like he was being watched.
But the feeling passed as quickly as it had come. Just nerves, probably. Or lack of sleep.
The bell above the door jingled as Adom pushed it open, releasing the shop's scent— this time, a peculiar blend of old parchment, exotic spices, and something faintly metallic.
Emma stood behind the counter, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, absentmindedly reshelfving a row of small crystal figurines. She looked up at the sound of the bell, her rehearsed greeting already halfway out.
"Welcome to Weird stuff st—oh, hey Adom!" Her professional smile shifted to genuine recognition. A small crystal dragon nearly toppled from her hand before she caught it with an impressively quick save.
"Hey Emma. It's been a while." Adom nodded, stepping over what appeared to be a self-sweeping broom that had fallen asleep on the job. The bristles snored softly against the floorboards.
Was this by design?
"Almost three weeks." She carefully set down the dragon figurine. "I was starting to think you'd found a better weird stuff store."
"As if such a thing exists." Adom glanced around at the impossibly cramped shelves that somehow contained more items than the space should physically allow. "How's fourth year treating you?"
"Brutal." She tapped a thick tome beneath the counter. "Professor Lachtna assigned a fifteen-page essay on the sociopolitical implications of healing magic. Due tomorrow."
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"Sounds thrilling."
"About as thrilling as watching paint dry on a sloth." She blew a stray hair from her face. "How about you? Still the Academy's most famous third year?"
"I prefer 'enigmatic,'" Adom replied. "Is Mr. Biggins around?"
"Yeah, he's in the b—"
"ADOM SYLLA!" The voice boomed from somewhere behind the beaded curtain at the back of the shop, causing several delicate glass objects to rattle ominously on their shelves.
The curtain parted with dramatic flair as Mr. Biggins emerged, resplendent in a purple top hat adorned with what might have been peacock feathers (if peacocks were fluorescent and occasionally blinked). His coat—a patchwork affair of at least seventeen different fabrics—swirled around his ankles as he strode forward.
"Perfect timing! Absolutely perfect!" Mr. Biggins declared, adjusting his monocle, which magnified his right eye to almost comical proportions. "I was just saying to myself, 'Biggins, what you need right now is an Adom Sylla,' and lo and behold—here you are!"
Emma stifled a laugh. "I was just telling him you were in the—"
"No time for explanations!" Biggins cut her off, seizing Adom by the arm with surprising strength. "Terribly urgent business, my boy. Simply can't wait."
"Whoa!" Adom found himself being steered toward the door.
"Emma, dear!" Biggins called over his shoulder. "Mind the shop! Everything is one hundred percent off for the next hour!"
Emma's eyebrows shot up. "One hundred percent off? As in... free?"
"Precisely! Marvelous grasp of mathematics you have." Biggins beamed at her. "Take care of yourself as well! Don't let the miniature kraken out of its tank—it's been rather moody since Tuesday."
Before Adom could process what was happening, he was halfway out the door, Zuni chirping in confusion from his pocket.
"Wait—one hundred percent off?" Adom asked. "Are you looking for another employee or going out of business?"
Biggins tsked, pushing him fully outside. "As greedy as a dragon, this one! Already has a mountain of gold and still wants discounts."
Did he just imply dragons are greedy? Adom wondered, not for the first time.
He'd always wanted to ask if the stereotypes were true, but something about Biggins's knowing smile always made him hesitate.
The door closed behind them with a definitive click, Emma's bewildered expression visible through the window as she looked around at the suddenly free merchandise.
"She'll be fine," Biggins said, adjusting his hat. "Probably."
"Wait—slow down!" Adom tried to dig in his heels, but it was like trying to anchor a ship with a teacup. Biggins propelled him forward with uncanny momentum, weaving through the crowded marketplace with the precision of a needle through fabric.
Yes. That was... the perfect description. This could only be a spell, as Adom was not even using his legs, they were just... moving between people, like fluid.
Did that make sense?
That did not make any sense.
"No time for dawdling!" Biggins declared, his purple hat somehow remaining perfectly balanced despite their pace. They were probably faster than a horse at full speed right now. "No time at all!"
The afternoon crowd was thick—merchants haggling, customers browsing, street performers juggling what appeared to be small flaming salamanders. A cart of apples tipped over as they rushed past, sending fruit rolling across cobblestones.
"What's going o- WHOA!" Adom nearly collided with a woman carrying a stack of fabric bolts. "Sorry!" he called back as Biggins yanked him onward.
Zuni chirped frantically from his pocket, tiny quills vibrating in agitation.
"Aha!" Biggins exclaimed, not slowing. "Listen to your little friend there! Quillicks know! They always know!"
"Know what?" Adom stumbled over an uneven paving stone. "What is he saying?"
Biggins suddenly stopped—so abruptly that Adom nearly crashed into him. The old shopkeeper's expression shifted, playfulness giving way to something sharper, more focused. He turned to face Adom directly. His pupils were a line, vertical.
"You're being followed, my boy," he said, voice dropping to just above a whisper. "By shadows."
Adom's blood ran cold. "Shadows? What do you—"
Biggins was already moving again, pulling Adom down a narrow alley between a bakery and a blacksmith's shop. The sounds of the marketplace faded slightly, replaced by the hiss of a forge and the scent of baking bread.
"Don't look now," Biggins murmured, "but they're right behind us. Have probably been since you left your dormitory."
Instinctively, Adom glanced back. The alley appeared empty save for a stray cat licking its paw.
"I don't see anything."
"Of course you don't!" Biggins sounded almost delighted. "That's why they're called shadows, not 'obvious pursuers wearing bright orange hats'!"
They emerged from the alley into a smaller square. A fountain burbled at its center, children tossing copper coins into the water.
"Now that they know you're aware of them," Biggins continued, his pace quickening, "they'll likely move to capture rather than follow. Oh, how exciting!"
"Exciting?" Adom hissed. "I don't even know who 'they' are!"
"Details, details!" Biggins waved dismissively. "The important thing is that we're having an adventure!"
Adom tried to process this madness as Biggins dragged him across the square. He scanned it but saw nothing suspicious—just ordinary people going about their day. No one seemed to be paying them any particular attention.
Then he saw it—or rather, didn't see it. A patch of... nothing. Like a piece of the world had been cut out, leaving a person-shaped hole in reality. It moved with purpose through the crowd, which parted unconsciously around it.
"What the—"
"Don't stare!" Biggins yanked him behind the fountain. "They feed on attention!"
"They what?"
"Figure of speech! Mostly!" Biggins adjusted his hat. "Now, I hope you're not afraid of heights."
Before Adom could respond, Biggins grabbed his arm with both hands. The world lurched sideways, then upward.
"What are you—PUT ME DOWN!"
But it was too late. The ground fell away beneath them. Wind rushed past Adom's face as they shot upward, leaving his stomach somewhere around his ankles. Buildings shrank below, people reduced to specks.
They were flying.
Actually flying.
Zuni chirped in alarm, clinging to the inside of Adom's pocket.
"I HATE FLYING!" Adom shouted over the wind, eyes screwed shut.
"Nonsense!" Biggins called back cheerfully. "Everyone loves flying! They just don't all know it yet!"
Adom risked opening one eye. The city sprawled beneath them, a patchwork of rooftops and streets. People continued their business, apparently oblivious to two figures soaring overhead.
"Why isn't anyone looking up?" Adom managed, fighting nausea.
"We're invisible to most," Biggins explained, steering them east with casual ease. "A simple perception filter. Only those with the Sight can spot us now."
"The Sight?"
"Mages with certain talents, children under seven, cats, and faeries, of course."
"Faeries?!"
"Naturally!"
Adom's tears—whether from the wind or sheer terror, he wasn't sure—blurred his vision as they soared over the eastern districts. The city gave way to suburbs, then to countryside, and finally, the coastline came into view—a long stretch of sand meeting the vast blue expanse of the ocean.
Biggins began to descend toward a secluded cove, hidden from the main beach by jutting rocks. No people. Just sand, waves, and seabirds circling overhead.
Their landing was less graceful than their takeoff. Adom's feet hit the sand first, his knees buckling beneath him. He sprawled forward, face planting into the cool, damp sand as Biggins landed beside him with the delicate precision of a ballet dancer.
"There we are!" the shopkeeper declared, dusting off his coat. "Safe and sound, miles from any shadows!"
Adom pushed himself up, spitting sand. "What," he demanded, "the HELL was that?!"
"Oh, shadows?" Biggins said, brushing sand from his outlandish coat as casually as if Adom had asked about the weather. "Nasty little things. Like parasites, really. They attach themselves to the mortal plane through cracks between dimensions. Must be working for a greater demon, judging by their coordination."
Adom's heart pounded in his chest. His mouth opened, but no words came out. The blood rushing in his ears drowned out even the sound of the waves.
Biggins let out a hearty laugh. "No need to be afraid, my boy! You're with me, after all." He adjusted his monocle with practiced precision. "Most people go their entire lives without seeing shadows. Consider yourself fortunate!"
Adom finally found his voice. "Fortunate? They were hunting me like—"
"One moment, please." Biggins held up a finger, turning toward the horizon.
He clacked his fingers together—a simple snap that shouldn't have sounded like thunder. A shockwave rippled outward, distorting the air like heat over summer roads.
The effect was immediate.
Where there had been nothing but empty beach and sky, Adom now saw them—black figures moving across the sand. Not running, not walking, but gliding. Their forms shifted and wavered, like smoke caught in conflicting winds. They had no faces, just darker spots where features should be.
Adom scrambled to his feet, hands already weaving the pattern for a thunderbolt spell. Electricity crackled between his fingers.
[Thunderb-]
"Oh, no need for that," Biggins said, pulling a set of small glass bottles from his seemingly bottomless pockets. "If they knew who I was, they'd have never followed us here. Poor decision-making, really. In their defense, the shadow brain is quite small. About the size of a pebble."
The shadows advanced, their movements becoming more erratic as they drew closer. One lunged forward, stretching impossibly long, its dark mass hurtling toward Adom.
Biggins stepped in front of him and uncorked a bottle.
What happened next defied explanation.
The shadow screamed—not with a mouth, but with its entire being. The sound pierced Adom's ears like icicles. The black mass contorted, stretched, and then collapsed inward, sucked into the tiny bottle as if it were a black hole.
Biggins corked it casually. "See that? It's all in the wrist." He tossed the bottle to Adom, who caught it reflexively. Inside, the shadow pressed against the glass, its form contorting in rage or pain.
Two more shadows attacked simultaneously, one from above, one from below. Biggins sidestepped the first, uncorking another bottle. The shadow above him screamed as it was pulled in. The one below tried to wrap around his ankles.
"Oldest trick in the book," Biggins scoffed. He stomped his foot, and the sand beneath the shadow turned to glass, trapping part of its form. "You see that, Adom? Always control the battlefield! Remember that!"
The trapped shadow thrashed wildly. Biggins uncorked a third bottle, capturing it with a flourish.
"Are you taking notes? There will be a quiz later!" he called over his shoulder, dodging another attack with a dancer's grace.
Four more shadows circled them now, moving in perfect synchronization. They attacked from all sides at once.
Biggins spun in place, bottles in both hands. His purple hat never moved. The shadows shrieked as they were captured, their sounds cutting off abruptly as the corks went in.
"Teamwork!" Biggins exclaimed. "Shows higher intelligence! Bravo!"
Three more shadows emerged from behind a rock formation. Two charged forward while the third held back.
"The cautious one's the leader," Biggins told Adom. "Always look for the one that hesitates."
The attacking shadows met the same fate as their companions, sucked into bottles with almost comical efficiency.
The leader turned to flee, stretching itself thin, moving across the sand faster than any human could run.
Biggins sighed. "They always run."
Then he simply wasn't where he had been. One moment beside Adom, the next directly in front of the escaping shadow. He hadn't seemed to move—just relocated, as if the space between were an inconvenient detail.
"Going somewhere?" he asked, bottle already uncorked.
The shadow's scream was louder than the others, more desperate. Then silence as the cork went in.
Biggins walked back to Adom, nine bottles clinking in his pockets.
"And that's how it's done," he said, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves. "Shadows are nasty, but predictable. They actually love light, love fear, and have absolutely no appreciation for fine millinery." He adjusted his hat for emphasis.
Adom stood frozen, the bottle still clutched in his hand. Inside, the shadow pressed against the glass, a living blob of darkness.
"What... what are you going to do with them?" he finally managed.
Biggins took the bottle from Adom's hand and examined it like a fine wine. "Oh, various things. Shadow essence has many uses."
He pocketed the bottle and looked at Adom directly, all traces of whimsy suddenly gone from his face.
"So," Biggins said, his voice now serious. "I think it's time we had a little talk, don't you? Have you been dream walking lately, my boy?"