Headed by a Snake

Coraline had looked away for... maybe five seconds, max.

When she looked back, the diagram on the wall had undergone a complete transformation. What was once a series of neat lines and precisely measured curves was now a dizzying mess of skewed circles, spiraling script, and jagged runic lines.

The longer she stared, the more her skull squeezed her brain. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest. The room began to spin.

"A-ah... hh..." Her throat... it closed.

Air...

She needed air.

Lone grabbed her arm, keeping her steady... "It's okay. I got you. Just breathe..."

That... was the stupidest advice she'd ever heard.

She wanted to push him away, but... she also didn't want to fall on her face. She swallowed hard, clenched her eyes shut, and focused.

That way, she could breathe... slow... steady... breaths...

--and not because she was told to! But because she didn't want to pass out!

"Boss," Lone raised his voice, "Change it back, please."

"Mm. Just wait a moment... and... there."

Coraline blinked her eyes... looking up at the wall again. It was back to how it was before...

Ahaha! She LIVED! She pushed Lone away, "S-sir Tychon. How... did you do that?"

"Weak illusion," Tychon explained simply... "Single line disrupt."

The noble's words were... painfully short for something that came out of his mouth.

He was... chewing on something?

"That doesn't make any sense!" Coraline shook her head, approaching Tychon and scowling up at him, "You-- you're not a Circle Mage! How can *you* do something like that?"

Tychon raised an eyebrow, "I'm an Unranked Caster. Doesn't stop me from using mana. Even children can cast spells in the Kingdom, you know."

...Coraline knew that. But... she had zero idea what that implied! Magic was *hard*! And formation magic was not something normal people studied!

"Um. What does that mean, Boss?" Lone bared his teeth.

Yes! Please explain in full to us lowly plebeians!

The noble shrugged as he gulped down a bite, "I don't have to use a sword to disturb the surface of a pool-- a small pebble will do."

"Anyroad," Tychon continued, "--this formation prevents the activation of most all types of spells. However, there are two major loopholes that have been added afterward. Persistent items are allowed-- as the engine in the room needs to function... Then, there are two spell types exempt: transformative and illusory."

"Whaaaat?" Lone furrowed his eyebrows. "Why those two?"

"Likely for certain guests who use magic to hide their identities," Tychon mused, "Any effective spells from those schools are Second Circle-- and quite expensive to lengthen the duration or make permanent. The Windwright's Guild would not easily offend a passenger of such wealth."

The noble then took another bite of something in-hand. It looked like... meat jerky?

Utilizing her Elven powers of quickness and alacrity, Coraline grabbed at Tychon's wrist.

He DODGED!

BLEIGH!

"Wh-why do you have that?!" She yelped.

Tychon half-turned away, possessively guarding his snacks, "I was hungry. Get your own."

Lone sighed, staring at the deck... "You... you want some of mine?"

"Sir! WHY do you have that?!" Coraline insisted.

The noble raised an eyebrow, "The rules allow food to be brought on-board. I honestly don't know what exactly you're asking..."

"WHERRRE WAS IT?!"

Tychon's eyebrow twitched... "I... kept it with my travel gear. Where else would I keep it?"

"You... you didn't bring travel gear," Coraline fumed as she clenched her fists... "All you brought is..."

She took a step back, crossing her arms... "The ring... You have it... Don't you?"

Tychon pursed his lips for a moment... then reached into the lining of his robe. Upon removing his hand, he revealed a familiar-looking item, "I do."

Coraline sighed. She should have known. The noble threw a tantrum nearly every single time things didn't go his way.

She sharpened her glare to daggers, "Tell me how you got your ring back... and tell me now."

"Tss," The noble scoffed. "I'm starting to dislike your tone of voice, young lady."

"Boss, come on. Please?" Lone hurried to Tychon's side, lowering his voice to a soft whisper... "Don't be mean to my girlfriend."

"Your WHAT?" Coraline stared in disbelief at Lone's dumb face, "Y-you, shut up! I'm not your girlfriend yet!"

Lone frowned... "You weren't supposed to hear that."

"I'm an ELF, stupid!!" She shouted, "I can hear pretty much everything!!

"And YOU!!" Coraline pointed to Tychon angrily, "Why are *you* SMILING?!"

Tychon wasn't really smiling-- he was wearing a subtle smirk, which might as well have been a smile coming from him.

He pursed his lips, "Hm. I was amused by your artful usage of the word 'yet.'"

Oh.

AHHHHHHHHHH!!! WHY DID SHE SAY THAAAAAAT?!

"Boss!" Lone pleaded, "You promised to help."

"Fine," Tychon sighed.

...

⟬ Flashback: Tycondrius' room, evening of the first sun on the Golden Eagle. ⟭

Tycon placed his puzzle box down on the desk.

He was defeated by an inanimate object.

It didn't help that Lone's arrhythmic snoring made him want to commit murder.

It was time to take a break. It was late enough in the evening, after all. A brief escape would be appropriate.

Standing up from his chair, he stretched his back, then his arms and legs.

« System, activate Snake Form. »

⟬ Small Shadow Snake Form Activating... ⟭

Allowing his System to guide him, the transformation magic shifted his muscles, shrunk his bones, had his soft skin hardening to something more defensible.

The noise his internal organs made as the magic took effect was... unsettling. The feeling of it twisting and compressing was... nightmarish... It would be even worse when he eventually shifted back to his disguise.

He sighed internally, realizing that he'd have to get used to being human again. It took a few bells for everything to feel comfortable in his bipedal form.

Tychon took a moment to appreciate his body... shadowy, with dark smoke wisping from his scales like steam...

The evening's stealthy work would be most efficient in his Shadow Form.

His natural form was larger, white-scaled, and armored. He used it sparingly, as his enemies did not need to know the whereabouts of the Ivory Prince of Charm.

Besides, murdering witnesses was a pain and carried a degree of risk.

Moving forward, his scales gripped easily to the wooden floors, allowing him to scale the wall and slither into the air vent.

...It was cold, up there-- which was to be expected.

Using the System's mapping functions, he gained a general understanding of the Golden Eagle's layout. He traversed his way over and down... dropping into the hold.

The ship's security was terrible.

In the hold was a single prison cell-- the bars flimsy and its cleanliness questionable.

The ship's main formation was plastered on a wall behind a thin illusion spell. Tycon had his System record the information for later perusal.

The large lockbox containing the passengers' contraband was out in the open, its only defenses a physical lock and a magical formation.

Re-assuming his human form, Tycon sat cross-legged in front of it.

Something took notice of him.

It came from the Engine Room... but that wasn't important.

The lockbox's defensive formation was hidden in the paint upon its wooden face... and were constructed by the Banker's Guild, as the guardswoman had stated a few bells prior.

The Dwarves... they released 'new' formations each year, allowing them to charge their customers annually. However, its core remained practically unchanged. Likely, the cost and effort of a complete rewrite was deemed inefficient.

It was yet another security oversight-- this one, not the fault of the Windwright's Guild.

The Banker's Guild was the largest and most recognizable authority on locks. Any respectable locksmith in the Realm would seek to familiarize themselves with their very formations.

That included himself. Why or how he had such knowledge, he had no idea.

It was convenient, though.

⊰ go away ⊱

Tycon ignored the outlandish thought in his head, tapping the large chest with his finger... modifying the formation, as he pleased.

⊰ g o . a w a y ⊱

A presence was adjacent to him, not a fulm away... 'staring' intently. It wasn't very large, similar to a Popoto in height. Tycon could even describe it as 'cute.'

With how horrible security had been thus far, he didn't have much respect for whatever-it-was. If he hadn't transformed into a human, he doubted it would have noticed him, at all.

As he worked, the air around him grew warm-- perhaps a precursor of hostility.

Tycon found it comfortable.

On that account alone, he decided to address the Elemental Spirit with reasonable politeness, "I'll be just a moment, little one."

⊰ no stealing ⊱

"I won't be," He assured. "I only seek to reclaim what is mine."

Flipping the box lid open, Tycon retrieved his spatial ring. Nothing else in the box looked expensive or was worth stealing, anyroad.

The blur pranced over to the opposite side of the chest, and using one of its 'arms', pushed the lid closed.

⊰ go away or burn ⊱

Tycon rolled his eyes as he stood up. As dangerous a threat as the Elemental Spirit posed, he didn't feel like taking it seriously, "Right."

...He patted the formless warmth on its 'head,' "Thank you for your patience, little one."

⊰ stop ⊱

Chuckling to himself, Tycon shifted back to his snake form and slithered back up into the vents.