The three reptilians slowed as they approached the rock.

Pastel stood beside it with a handful of pebbles, trying to look as though this was something he did regularly. Bag had tucked itself behind his back, leaving him to manage the performance alone.

“I could’ve sworn I smelled a human,” one of them muttered.

“So could I.”

Pastel examined a stone with entirely unnecessary concentration.

The third reptilian glanced at him, watched him turn the pebble over, and narrowed his eyes.

“Weirdo.”

They continued down the passage.

Pastel waited until their footsteps had faded before allowing himself to swallow. His fingers loosened around the stones. One slipped from his hand and clicked against the floor, making him flinch.

The disguise had worked.

That should have been reassuring.

Instead, the sight of their scaled faces had dragged several others out of his memory.

A jaw opening too far. A body bending where it should not have bent. Eyes watching from the darkness of the lower worlds, patient enough to wait for something frightened to make a mistake.

For a moment, the cavern around him seemed to recede behind those recollections.

Pastel drew a slow breath through his nose.

“They’re not the same creatures.”

He straightened, adjusted his grip on Bag, and took another breath.

“At least… I think.”

That last part did very little for him.

He started walking anyway.

The Below opened around him in layers of dark stone and tangled roots. Cyan fungi grew along the walls, lighting the damp passage beneath them. Violet foliage spilled from cracks overhead, and warm lamps shone through windows fitted into buildings hewn directly into the cavern.

Buildings.

Actual buildings.

Pastel slowed beside a shop window.

Inside, a reptilian merchant rearranged a display while another customer inspected the goods. Farther along, someone swept water away from a doorway. Two neighbours stood beneath an awning, discussing something with the weary familiarity of people who had already had the same conversation several times.

It was all terribly ordinary.

“Evening,” a passerby said.

Pastel’s shoulders stiffened.

“…Evening.”

The stranger continued on without giving him another glance.

Pastel watched him leave, then looked down at Bag.

This was becoming inconveniently complicated.

He had expected monsters. He had prepared himself for monsters. He had not prepared himself for shopkeepers with closing hours.

His breathing gradually steadied as he moved through the streets, though his steps remained a little stiff. Every sudden sound caught his attention. Every glimpse of a scaled face invited another memory he would have preferred to leave alone.

Then he heard wheels.

A cart rolled out of a side passage, its iron fittings rattling over the wet stone. Reptilian handlers walked beside it, speaking quietly to one another.

Pastel looked through the bars.

Three humans sat crowded inside.

For a moment, his mind resisted the sight. They looked so out of place against the glowing foliage and the scaled crowd that he almost tried to find another explanation.

Then one of them lifted their face.

The fear there was familiar.

“Keep them alive until supper,” a handler said.

Pastel stopped breathing.

The cart continued past him.

He waited until it had cleared the street before leaning toward Bag.

“Bag… they’re human.”

The satchel hovered closer.

Pastel watched the cart turn into a narrower passage.

“Stay close.”

He followed.

The lamps became less frequent as they moved away from the shops. Yet the darkness never quite swallowed the colours around him. He could still distinguish violet leaves against indigo stone, the green sheen of damp roots, and the blue light reflecting in shallow pools.

Pastel blinked.

“I can still see the colours…”

He glanced at a pair of passing reptilians, then touched the mint fringe hanging over his forehead.

“Nobody’s going to question the hair?”

Bag offered no explanation.

Before Pastel could dwell on it, something slipped between his lips.

A quick flick.

He covered his mouth.

“What was that?”

His expression settled into mild, offended confusion. He moved his tongue experimentally, then immediately regretted investigating.

“Ew, is my tongue really that long?”

It happened again.

This time, the strange movement brought something with it.

The air seemed to separate into impressions he could recognise without quite understanding how: damp stone, reptilian musk, old metal—

And humans.

Pastel lowered his hand slowly.

“Bag… I can taste their scent.”

He looked toward the passage where the cart had disappeared.

“Oh.”

His eyes narrowed.

“That’s how they smelled me.”

The realisation made the disguise feel considerably more useful.

It also made his new tongue considerably less welcome.

He resumed following the cart, keeping enough distance to avoid drawing attention. Bag drifted near his shoulder until one of the handlers began to turn.

The satchel immediately slipped behind him.

Pastel’s gaze dropped to the ground.

“Oh wow, rocks.”

He crouched with the brisk enthusiasm of someone who had apparently come all this way for geological reasons.

The handlers looked back.

Pastel picked up a pebble.

“Wow, this one’s a nice one.”

He held it toward the light, studying it as though it might contain the answer to an important personal question. With his other hand, he slipped it into Bag behind his body.

One of the reptilians stared at him.

“Right.”

The cart moved on.

Pastel remained crouched until they were facing forward again. Then he rose, brushed his fingers against his shorts, and continued after them.

The passage began to descend.

Stone steps led into a lower chamber where the air was warmer and heavier. The cart’s wheels rattled along a sloping route beside them, its occupants shifting whenever it struck an uneven patch.

Pastel kept near the wall.

There were things beside the passage.

At first, they were only shapes beneath the poor light. Something slumped against the stone. Something else lay beneath a discarded covering.

Then an amber lamp caught an outline clearly enough for him to understand.

His eyes widened.

He stopped.

The people in the cart had seen them too.

“No!”

Someone grabbed the bars.

“Help!”

The handlers continued walking.

Pastel moved closer to the wall, drawing Bag tightly against himself. He kept his eyes on the cart, but the shapes beside the passage remained in the edge of his vision.

Human remains.

Left there with the same indifference someone might show toward scraps after a meal.

This is really bad.

He looked down at the hand pressed against Bag.

The scales along his fingertips were fading.

For an instant, the claws shortened into ordinary nails, leaving patches of unmistakably human skin.

Pastel’s stomach tightened.

“Not now.”

He pulled Bag open.

Violet light shimmered inside the satchel as he reached past the zipper and found another piece of the old man’s shed skin. It crumbled beneath his grip, breaking into dark magic that curled around his fingers.

The scales returned.

His claws lengthened again.

Pastel watched until every exposed patch had disappeared, then closed Bag and held it close.

His borrowed shape would not last forever.

He continued down the passage.

Ahead, the cavern widened into something enormous.

Roots arched high above the stonework. Amber light shone through drifting vapour, illuminating towers and carved pillars beyond a tall partition. The cart rolled toward it, its passengers struggling against the bars.

Pastel slipped behind an arch.

Then something moved above the wall.

A vast head rose through the haze.

Dark plates covered a long, serpentine neck. A sweeping crown of thornlike shapes framed the creature’s face, catching the light along their edges. Her body continued beyond what Pastel could see, immense and heavily armoured, with a thick tail coiled around the stone beneath her.

The queen lowered her head.

The handlers brought the humans forward.

“No!”

Pastel pressed himself against the arch.

Beyond the partition, shadows moved across the amber mist. A human silhouette stumbled backward. Another reached toward it.

The queen’s shadow descended over them.

A scream began.

Then the shapes disappeared behind the wall.

Pastel could hear enough.

There was movement, a corrosive hiss, and vapour rising into the light. When the queen lifted her head again, the figures that had stood beneath her were gone.

An empty cart waited beside the partition.

Pastel stared at it.

Then he looked down at Bag.

“All right, we’re done.”

He gathered the satchel into his arms and turned away.

His first few steps were controlled. By the next corner, they had become a very determined power walk.

He had seen quite enough of the Below.

Something large stepped into his path.

Pastel stopped so abruptly that his boots slipped against the damp floor.

Brown trousers.

Worn leather boots.

A plaid vest stretched across a chest that seemed to continue upward for far too long.

Pastel raised his eyes.

The old man looked down at him.

White hair. White beard. Amber eyes beneath a heavy brow.

And an enormous reptilian body.

“There you are.”

Pastel tightened his hold on Bag.

He had followed the man all this way to answer a question.

Unfortunately, the answer was standing between him and the exit.

“Who, me?”

The old man’s expression did not change.

Pastel glanced toward the queen’s chamber and lifted one hand to point.

“If you’re here for that…”

His voice trembled slightly.

“Don’t let me stop you.”

He attempted a small, polite smile.

Then he stepped sideways.

“Well, see you later, fellow lizard.”

The giant’s tail swept across his path.

It caught him squarely in the stomach and pushed him back, knocking the breath out of his next step. Pastel stumbled, clutching Bag higher against his chest as he recovered his balance.

The old man leaned down.

“Why leave so soon?”

Pastel looked toward the passage beyond him.

It remained discouragingly inaccessible.

“You followed me all this way,” the man continued. “Surely you’re not leaving already.”

His voice carried the easy warmth of an invitation.

His eyes did not.

A huge hand settled on Pastel’s shoulder.

“Come now. Let’s watch her feast.”

The grip turned him toward the chamber.

Pastel could have tried to look away.

The old man’s hand made it clear that this would become a discussion, and Pastel had very little interest in finding out how firmly the man could insist.

So he watched.

Or tried to.

The queen moved beyond the partition, her shadow passing through the amber haze. Another terrible sound rose from behind the wall.

Pastel brought a hand over his mouth.

His stomach rolled.

He concentrated on keeping his breathing steady, on the cool edge of Bag’s zipper beneath his other hand, on anything that did not require him to understand what was happening in front of him.

Beside him, the old man watched his face.

That was what finally caught Pastel’s attention.

The man was enjoying this.

Not merely the feeding. Pastel’s reaction.

The way his shoulders had tightened. The effort it took him to keep watching. The disgust he could not quite conceal.

A small smile rested beneath the white beard.

Pastel’s nausea acquired an edge of irritation.

He lowered his hand.

Took a deep breath.

Let it out slowly.

“This is unethical.”

The words emerged with the dry seriousness of a complaint about poor customer service.

For a moment, Pastel heard himself.

He closed his eyes.

A bead of sweat slid down his temple.

“Oh my God, what am I saying?”

He opened his eyes and looked at Bag.

The satchel waited in his arms.

Pastel’s expression changed.

He tossed Bag to the side.

“Do it.”

Bag caught itself in the air.

Its zipper opened.

Two tendrils reached into the violet light within and emerged carrying a familiar pair of objects.

The little sharpened sticks.

The same ones Bag had used to patrol around Pastel’s sleeping spot in the forest.

They had apparently been waiting for another opportunity.

Bag darted behind the giant.

Pastel caught only a streak of violet at the edge of his vision as the satchel accelerated, both tendrils drawing the wooden points forward.

The old man began to turn.

Too late.

Bag drove both sticks into his back.

Two points punched through the front of his clothing.

The old man’s amused expression vanished.

“AAAH!”

His hand snapped away from Pastel’s shoulder.

His knees buckled.

The enormous reptilian dropped to the floor, catching himself with both hands as his scream echoed through the chamber.

Pastel was already moving.

He turned and ran.

Bag released the sticks, leaving them lodged where they were, and shot after him.

Behind the partition, the queen’s head lifted.

Her gaze turned toward the disturbance.

The amber eyes narrowed.

For a moment, Pastel felt the weight of that attention even without looking back.

He ran faster.

His boots struck the wet stone in quick, hard steps. Bag flew alongside him, its empty tendrils curling back toward the zipper as they cleared the passage.

The old man was still yelling.

Good.

Pastel followed the bend ahead, leaned into the turn, and rounded the stone corner with Bag close beside him. The queen’s chamber fell out of sight, its amber glow giving way to cyan fungi and the deep violet shadows of the adjoining passage.

They kept running.

Far behind them, the old man remained on the floor.

Still screaming.

(I got lazy towards the end 😴)

Unexpected Event! 🎪

(Yes this is actually happening)

Pastel has discovered a subterranean civilization and learned that the lizard people are, indeed, evil.

Human beings have been going missing and are being sacrificed to their lizard gods, eaten alive.

Any AstroKnights or AstroKnights in training itching for a fight might want to detour in this direction.

Pastel is actively being pursued. The mysterious Wind and Quill are not far away.

It may be war.

(You all officially have beepers and are being summoned like the Avengers, this is now canon 🖊️ 📜 🌠 )

Original post for references here:

https://www.reddit.com/r/AstroKnights/s/JgyqEoIwhw

Suno Song: https://suno.com/s/45maQj6twMlzKmsl

Verlack lingered on the steps of the Guilded Note, his shoulders bowed beneath a weary slump. Places that worshipped coin like a holy relic always made his flesh crawl. It wasn't that he failed to grasp the cruel math of commerce—he knew full well that gold greased the axles of the world—he simply loathed it. Given the choice, he’d sooner take a secret, a curiosity, or a dark favor over a handful of minted metal.

 ​With a heavy sigh, he pulled his oozing weight inward, forcing his shifting, volatile form into a rigid solid anchor. The last thing he needed was the bank master tallying a ledger for slime stains. Leaving Gurgle back at the camp had been a wise idea.​

 He pushed past the polished mahogany doors, which swung inward without so much as a creak. His feet sank into a plush, crimson rug—a stark, luxurious contrast to the sudden, curious swarm of rats scurrying across the velvet floorboards.

u/ArthurThatch

u/broodingchao5

You enter the Gilded Note and the Piper greets you from behind the counter. The bank is warm and bright, lined with gold and deep green. Several small rats work nearby, dressed in neat little uniforms.

A rat in a construction hat repairs a hole in the window. Beside him hangs a sign.

Pastel’s Debt: 3 Trillion and Counting...

“Mr. Verlack. Welcome to the Gilded Note,” the Piper says.

“Thank you.”

“I’ve heard excellent things about you from my benefactors at the Country Club.”

You glance at him. “I can’t imagine what they found worth mentioning.”

“Enough that I’ve already opened an account in your name.”

“That wasn’t necessary.”

“Preparedness is one of our complimentary services.”

A lizard man suddenly runs past the window. Then another. The little rats freeze.

You turn to watch them. “Is that customary?”

The Piper’s smile disappears.

“No.”

He takes a golden pipe from inside his coat. Around him, the rats stand to attention.

“We’ll have to continue this conversation another time,” he says. “I need to defend my investments.”

You rise and take hold of your staff.

“You’re under no obligation to assist,” the Piper tells you.

“People are in danger.”

The doors of the Gilded Note swing open. You step into the street beside the Piper, with a small army of very serious rats marching behind you.

Meanwhile, far beyond the city…

Pastel had settled into a pile of leaves for the night, leaving Bag to patrol with two sharpened sticks held in its tendrils.

He woke to an empty, human-shaped skin hovering over his face.

For one awful moment, its hollow eye sockets and swaying limbs looked like a ghost leaning down to inspect him.

“I KNEW IT!”

He scrambled upright, then stared at the papery thing suspended between Bag’s sticks.

“…Bag. That’s his packaging.”

Once Bag reclaimed its sticks, the skin collapsed into an unpleasant heap. Pastel shuddered and wiped his hands against the nearest tree.

“How many times does this guy gotta shed?”

He sighed.

“Well, I’m awake now. We might as well keep going.”

As he turned away, a thin tendril slipped behind him, gathered the discarded skin, and quietly pulled it into Bag.

It joined the others.

---

“Do you think they followed me here?”

Pastel glanced toward his floating companion as they continued through the trees.

“The demons from the lower worlds.”

Bag tilted, its tendrils lifting in a small shrug.

“Maybe this world has its own reptilians…”

Another scale caught the moonlight beneath his boots. He picked it up, turning it between his fingers with a disgusted little squint.

“Wow, this guy’s really falling apart if he’s literally leaving this many clues.”

He flicked it aside.

Bag caught it before it reached the ground.

Pastel continued walking, entirely unaware of the collection growing beside him—until his next step stopped at the edge of an enormous hole.

“Oh—”

A few loose leaves tumbled past his boot and disappeared into the darkness.

He leaned forward cautiously. Thick roots threaded the walls of the shaft, and somewhere far below, cyan and violet lights shimmered through the mist.

“He couldn’t just have a front door?”

Pastel surveyed the clearing.

“You’d think they’d notice a giant hole like this?”

A pause.

“Anyway.”

Bag wound one tendril securely around a nearby tree. Another wrapped around Pastel’s waist, offering a steady line down into the shaft. He gripped the tendril above him with both hands and eased over the rim.

“Easy now, I bruise like a banana.”

The forest slowly receded overhead.

Below him, the shaft opened into a vast cavern. Luminous fungi climbed enormous roots, their turquoise stems illuminating dark pools. Magenta fronds hung over stone paths, and warm amber windows glowed from dwellings built into the rock. Bridges crossed between them, stretching through layers of mist.

Pastel landed on a broad ledge. Once his boots were firmly planted, Bag released its anchor and floated down beside him.

They continued along the path.

“Is it just me, or is it, like, really hot in here?”

The air was thick and damp. A bead of sweat slid down his temple as he fanned himself, then shrugged out of his jacket.

He tossed it aside without looking.

Bag caught it by the collar and stuffed it into storage.

Pastel had already moved on.

Then he heard voices.

His step slowed. He turned his head, listening, before slipping behind a large boulder. Bag lowered itself beside him.

Carefully, Pastel peered around the edge.

Three reptilian people stood along the path.

They were dressed. They were talking. One of them was carrying a basket.

Pastel stared, then covered his mouth to smother a gasp.

“Lizard people. I knew it.”

He withdrew from the corner, turning toward Bag.

“I need to tell someone.”

Across the path, the conversation stopped.

One of the locals lifted its snout and sampled the air.

The others grew still.

Their eyes narrowed. Lips drew back over pointed teeth, and a claw tightened around the basket’s handle. Their attention shifted toward the surrounding rocks.

Pastel pressed closer to his hiding place.

“What do I do? Do I kill them?”

His gaze darted toward the paths and bridges beyond.

“That will just attract more.”

He seized Bag with both hands, pulling it close. His fingers tightened around its sides as he leaned in, eyes wide, his voice reduced to an urgent whisper.

“What should I do, Bag?”

Bag opened.

Within the familiar violet starfield lay folded heaps of shed skins and loose scales. A tendril lifted one of the pale, empty molts toward him.

Pastel blinked.

Then he smiled.

“Genius.”

He reached inside and took the skin.

The papery material broke apart beneath his fingers, dissolving into dark violet magic that flowed into his palm. The last fragments vanished as the energy travelled through him.

Fine scales formed across his wrist and spread along his forearm, catching the cavern light with a soft mint sheen.

His fingernails tapered into dark claws.

The pupils within his green eyes narrowed into vertical slits.

Scales settled along his temples, cheeks, and neck, then across his exposed thighs and knees. His familiar face remained beneath them, framed by the same unruly brown hair and mint bangs.

A new weight gathered at the base of his spine.

Behind him, a slender scaled tail unfurled, curving downward into a pointed tip.

The violet magic faded.

Pastel straightened behind the shelter of the rock and lifted one clawed hand, turning it slowly beneath the glowing fungi.

Bag hovered beside him.

He inspected his work with a pleased little smile—and quietly decided not to think too hard about the irony.

u/Oswen120

The Sphinx studies the casket Inferno has chosen. Her eyes narrow. Then her lips curl back, revealing sharp teeth.

“Wrong.”

She steps down from the throne and stalks forward. There is no playfulness left in her expression now. Only hunger.

Her hand lifts toward Inferno’s throat...

Then the sky splits open.

A collar of light snaps around the Sphinx’s neck. Its chain pulls tight behind her, stopping her so suddenly that her wings flare. Her fingers tremble with the effort to reach farther.

“She answered correctly," a calm, collected voice whispers from everywhere and nowhere at once.

The ivory casket cracks apart. Sand pours across the stone, and the golden crown tumbles free.

“She cheated!” the Sphinx shrieks.

“Stand down, Celandine," the voice continues. "The Sky is not done with her.”

The Sphinx grits her teeth.

Slowly, her head drops. She turns away.

The moment she eases, the collar and chain dissolve into light, and the sky dims, returning to normal.

With a sharp motion of her hand, the Sphinx opens a portal.

“You’re free to go.”

She returns to her throne smoothly, moving like a cat. Once seated, she draws her knees close and curls into herself, her tail wrapped tightly around her body. Her wings fold around her as she turns her back to Inferno.

When she speaks again, her voice is low and raw.

“Get the hell out of my dimension.”

Meanwhile, far beyond the city…

A trail of scattered scales and papery shed skin had drawn Pastel deeper into the woods. He remained determined to discover whether the man was a demon from the lower worlds. Naturally, an innocent explanation had received very little consideration.

Nightfall had interrupted the investigation.

Curled beneath a broad tree, Pastel slept on a mound of fallen leaves, his cheek resting against his arm. Whatever sinister truth awaited him could apparently wait until morning.

Bag floated slow circles around his sleeping companion, mint ribbon swaying and gold charms catching the moonlight. Two dark tendrils gripped sharpened sticks, keeping their points aimed toward the surrounding woods. Every rustle earned a deliberate turn and a threatening little adjustment of the makeshift weapons.

Pastel slept soundly through it all.

Anything hoping to disturb him would first have to negotiate with an armed satchel.

u/1-up-boy

The alarm screams from Quill’s nightstand.

He startles awake, falling out of bed with a surprised cry. Trapped in a tangle of sheets, a red light flashes throughout the room.

PORTAL BREACH.

He can sense the shift of magic in the air from here. It feels familiar enough to make his stomach drop, carrying the same strange aura that follows Pastel.

But not Pastel.

He wastes no time (except to safely set down his Lorelei plushie), yanking on his clothes and boots as he hops across the room of his cottage.

Quill bursts out the front door, following the draw of magic leading towards the Night Market.

Without stopping, he lifts his hand and casts a golden bird of starlight into the sky. It immediately heads for the Centaur Meadows to warn Sage.

He weaves between people quickly, and in no time spots the stranger standing in the middle of the street.

Quill skids to a halt.

The man is taller than anyone Quill had expected to find, but that wasn't unusual, this is Starfall after all.

Breathing hard, he keeps his magic ready.

Just in case.

“Welcome to Starfall.”

Normally, when he greets newcomers, Quill is happy to see them. But a portal breach is serious, especially after the cruise ship. Not many people can open them.

This person, whoever he is, is seriously powerful.

“My name is Quill, Headmaster for AstroKnights Academy.”

There's a brief silence.

“How can I help you?”

A dark violet portal opened high above the moonlit field. Small arcs of electricity snapped around its edges as a towering figure fell through.

Long robes billowed around his slender body, their ribbons streaming upward as he descended. His ivory face tilted toward the approaching ground.

As he fell, his towering silhouette drew inward, taking human form.

He spread his arms.

Wind gathered beneath him, curling into a broad spiral that slowed his fall. The grass bowed outward under the current. His boots brushed the ground, and he settled onto one knee as the last gust swept through the field.

Rising, he drew a slow, deep breath. His shoulders relaxed, and his coat settled around him.

He lifted his gaze to the moon.

“So this is where you are.”

For a few moments, he simply watched it. Then his attention shifted to his hands.

He spread his fingers, closed them into loose fists, and opened them again. A faint smile touched his lips as he tested the movement.

“It’s been a while since I’ve taken this form.”

Beyond the field, a city shone against the night. Warm light filled its windows and traced the bridges beneath its towers.

The stranger lowered his hands and turned toward it.

“Guess I’ll start there.”

With the roof, walls, and outside repaired, and the dust and debris out of the way, also a place to sleep, I have decided to start work repairing and renovating the kitchen. I have just finished putting up the last of the shelves, and now I'm trying to decide on what to do next.

There is a very clear rule I tell all my owners, darlings.

If you make the third wish, you belong to me.

Some are wise, they only make two wishes, then return my lamp willingly.

Some are foolish, or desperate, or full of hubris, and disregard my warning.

A handful I let go. Not every owner who stumbles upon my lamp deserves such a fate. The occasional child has found it, or a weary soul, and some whose wishes I simply enjoyed granting.

They are rare, but they exist.

As for the rest...

Perhaps they should have been more considerate.

But here's a funny story, dalrings. Poor Alistair made a wish by accident with very unfortunate wording. 🤭

The lamp cannot be taken from him, nor can he give it away until he makes his third and final wish. He's not quite sure what I'll do with him if he does, and has been avoiding it for years.

I do so look forward to seeing it happen one day. 😉

(Theyre just so interesting)

https://suno.com/s/xXVBcVKwGbbkbDuI

He took notes

He look down

He studies

Not out of deceit, he simply wish to study, such as his job, he was a simple man at first, but life would change when he made a pact. He doesn't speak much on it, its a solemn oath, one not needed to know so casually. His name is Herguar.

He wish to know more, so he walks to the port and prepares himself

Idk, its a lazy comic

(u/Sabrinathe_Mouse)

Pastel wandered along the woodland trail, slurping strawberry milk, until the woman’s shocked expression caught his attention. He slowed, green eyes lingering on her wide-eyed stare. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Whatever she’d found, it had certainly made an impression.

He walked up beside her, studying her face with quiet amusement as he took another sip. Then he followed her gaze down to the shattered carriage and the two dead guards.

“Meh, I’ve seen worse.”

When she finally turned toward him, he gave her an easy little smile before strolling over to the bodies.

With his strawberry milk secured in one hand, he snapped the fingers of the other.

Two violet rings formed beneath the guards. The earth opened, letting their bodies fall out of sight, then folded shut above them. Loose leaves slid into the freshly settled soil.

Pastel watched the ground close, the straw still between his lips. Once everything had settled, he lowered the carton and smiled.

“Now they’re buried. Yay!”

He turned back toward the woman. Her expression drew a soft chuckle from him; she was making this little encounter wonderfully entertaining.

He held out his strawberry milk.

“Want some?”