"Dream walking?" Adom asked, the words feeling strange in his mouth. "What are you talking about?"

Biggins studied him. The playful shopkeeper was gone, replaced by someone sharper, more focused.

"Have you been having unusually vivid dreams lately, my boy? Dreams that feel more real than they should?"

Adom's mind immediately flashed to the apple tree, the blue-flamed egg. The cave that felt more solid than any dream had a right to be.

"Wait—that was dream walking?!"

"Well, sort of." Biggins carefully arranged his bottles in a row on a flat rock, each shadow pressing against the glass like angry smoke. "True dream walking is an active skill. What you've experienced sounds more like you've been... invited. Pulled into someone else's dreamscape."

"Someone else's? Who?"

"Spirits are generally the only beings capable of dream walking. Some fae, too." Biggins tapped one bottle thoughtfully. Its occupant recoiled. "More likely, a fae has been pulling you into their realm while you sleep."

Adom sat down heavily on a nearby rock. Sand clung to his clothes, but he hardly noticed. "Why would they do that?"

"That," Biggins said, "is the interesting question." He gestured at the bottled shadows. "These fellows don't typically hunt humans at all. For them to track you—to follow you from the dream realm into the waking world—means you caught their attention. A human crossing into their territory would be quite unusual."

"I don't know what to make of what I saw," Adom admitted, running a hand through his sand-dusted hair. "It seemed significant, but I don't understand why."

"Shadows usually serve demons," Biggins continued. "Which means you've attracted the attention of something far more dangerous than these little parasites."

Adom's brow furrowed. "I... thought demons were extinct."

"Not extinct," Biggins corrected, his voice dropping lower. "Just... contained. Mostly." He tapped the bottle. "These little fellows suggest that 'mostly' might be becoming 'less so' these days."

The dragon looked at him. "Tell me exactly what you saw. Every detail."

Adom closed his eyes, trying to recall the dream precisely. "There's a cave. Not dark, somehow. In it grows an apple tree, its branches spreading out, basking in sunlight even though we're underground. The roots twist around the base of the trunk, and nestled among them is... an egg."

"An egg?"

"Yes. Not a bird's egg. Larger. About the size of my head. And it's wreathed in blue flames that don't burn anything."

Biggins stroked his chin. "Anything else? Any sounds, sensations, presences?"

Adom hesitated. "I think... there was someone else there. I never saw them clearly, but I felt watched. A presence. A woman, maybe. She spoke in what I assumed to be fae language."

"Hmm." Biggins tapped his fingers against his thigh in a complex rhythm. "A dryad, most likely. The tree would be hers—her physical anchor to our world."

"But why pull me into her dreams? I've never even met a dryad."

"Another excellent question." Biggins gathered his bottles, tucking them carefully into various pockets. "I'll need to investigate this further. Dryads don't typically interact with humans unless they have a very specific need. And they certainly don't share visions of blue-flamed eggs."

He approached Adom, suddenly serious. "In the meantime, we need to ensure you don't accidentally drift back. If shadows have found you once, others might follow."

"Others? What others?"

"Let's just say shadows are the less ambitious of the dream predators." Biggins raised his hand toward Adom's forehead. "May I?"

Adom hesitated, then nodded.

Biggins pressed his index finger to the center of Adom's forehead. A warm sensation spread outward, like honey flowing under his skin. For a moment, Adom's vision swam with golden light, and then—nothing. Just the normal afternoon sun, the sound of waves, the smell of salt.

"There," Biggins said, withdrawing his hand. "With this, you shouldn't be able to dream walk again—accidentally or otherwise. You'll be invisible to what should not see you."

"What did you just do?" Adom asked, touching his forehead. It felt normal.

"A simple warding," Biggins replied vaguely. "Nothing to concern yourself with."

"But what about the dryad? If she's trying to contact me for a reason—"

"If a dryad truly needs to speak with you," Biggins interrupted, "she'll find another way. One that doesn't involve painting a target on your back for every shadow creature between here and the Far Realms."

For a long moment, Adom just stared at Biggins.

The old shopkeeper stood there, casually brushing sand from his outlandish coat as if they hadn't just battled shadow creatures. As if he hadn't just casually mentioned demons being interested in Adom. As if everything about this situation was perfectly normal and required no further explanation.

Adom opened his mouth to demand answers, but Biggins cut him off.

"Young Adom. You've already got enough on those shoulders," he said, his voice unexpectedly gentle. "Always overthinking, always worrying. Always trying to carry the weight of every problem you encounter." He adjusted his glasses. "It's a commendable trait, but also exhausting. For you, most of all."

The words hit. Adom closed his mouth.

"Focus on what's in front of you," Biggins continued. "The things within your control. Let others handle what you can't." He tapped the bottles in his pocket. "Yes, a demon showing interest in you is concerning. But I'll look into this matter."

Adom let out a deep exhale.

"So," Biggins said, his tone brightening, "why don't you tell me why you really came to my shop today? I doubt it was just to discuss your dreams—though that turned out to be rather fortuitous timing."

Adom blinked, realizing how far they'd drifted from his original purpose. "I... actually came to ask for your help with something else entirely."

"Thought as much." Biggins smiled. "Well? Out with it, then."

Adom cleared his throat, abruptly shifting mental gears from demon hunters to business plans. It felt absurd to discuss something so mundane after what had just happened, but Biggins was waiting expectantly.

"I'm trying to secure a seat on the House of Merchants," Adom explained. "I need three sponsors from existing guild members. I've got one lined up already, possibly two, but I was hoping you might be able to help with the third."

"Ah! Guild politics!" Biggins clapped his hands together. "Delightful mess, those are."

He dropped down onto the sand, crossing his legs. The bottles in his pockets clinked as he settled.

"We've been reviving the Order these past few months," he said, voice becoming more measured. "Contacting old allies, reestablishing connections. Not quite operational yet, but we're getting there."

Adom nodded. He couldn't count on the Order's resources right now, not while Biggins was busy with the painstaking reconstruction. This had been the case for months—a topic of several late-night discussions over tea in the back room of the shop.

"Finding trustworthy members is harder than you'd think," Biggins continued, pulling a pocket watch from his vest. "People can hide their true intentions remarkably well, even from a dragon."

The Order's fracturing wasn't news. What had once been an organization dedicated to protection had seen several of its branches drift toward power and control over the decades. Biggins had been methodically verifying each member, a process that couldn't be rushed.

"I can help with your guild situation. I know several members who owe me favors—some dating back centuries, if I'm being precise."

"Centuries," Adom repeated flatly.

"Well, from the time of the 'other' Biggins before me." Biggins winked. "I'll pull a few strings. Get you those sponsors."

Adom's shoulders relaxed. At least something was going right today. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

"By the way," Biggins said, adjusting his hat, "I was quite impressed with how you handled the Silverback situation."

Adom stared at him. "You were there?"

"Of course I was there! You think I'd let you wander into that deathtrap alone?" Biggins looked genuinely offended. "After all the work we've put into keeping you alive this far?"

"But if you were there, why didn't you help? That thing nearly killed me!"

Biggins sighed, suddenly serious. "The goal of the Order is to prepare you, young Adom. To give you structure, allies, resources. My personal goal is to see to it that you develop properly. That means not intervening at the slightest sign of danger."

He tapped his hat thoughtfully. "But yes, I do check up on you from time to time."

Adom felt a knot in his chest loosening.

"Well, that's one thing taken care of then," he said, brushing sand from his trousers. "Now I just need to buy the property with Cass, and we'll be set."

"Before you go," Biggins said, rising to his feet with unexpected grace, "how about a little duel?"

Zuni, who had been quietly examining a sea shell, perked up instantly.

"A duel?" Adom glanced between Biggins and the quillick. "Now?"

"Why not?" Biggins stretched his arms above his head. Several joints popped. "I'd like to see how far you've come. How that skill of yours has developed overall."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Perhaps I could give you a few clues on how to better channel so much strength in such a little body." He winked. "I know a thing or two about that particular challenge."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Zuni chirped excitedly, circling Adom's legs.

Adom hesitated, then broke into a grin. After some time holding back, measuring his strength, carefully controlling every movement—the chance to go all out was too tempting.

"Alright," he said. "Let's do it."

Biggins nodded, looking pleased. He removed his coat and hat, putting them on the ground.

"The beach should give us enough room," he said, walking toward the water's edge where the sand was firm. "And fewer things to break out here."

Adom followed, rolling his shoulders.

"Rules?"

"Don't kill me, I won't kill you." Biggins shrugged, then adjusted his glasses. "Beyond that, let's see what you can do."

Hah. As if.

Zuni scurried to a nearby rock for a better view as Adom took a ready stance. The sun cast their shadows long across the sand. The tide was coming in, waves lapping at the shore just beyond their makeshift arena.

Biggins stood perfectly still, hands clasped behind his back. He looked completely at ease, like an elderly gentleman waiting for a carriage.

"Whenever you're ready," he said mildly.

Adom didn't need to be told twice. He lunged forward, pulling on his skill, feeling the familiar surge of power filling his limbs. He'd start with something simple—test the waters.

Biggins remained motionless, watching Adom approach with that same mild expression.

Just as Adom was about to reach him, the old man smiled.

His fist met nothing but air.

"Too direct," came Biggins's voice—from behind him.

[Flow Prediction]

The world slowed around him as he sensed the old man's presence. He spun, already countering with a low sweep.

Biggins wasn't there either.

"Better!" the shopkeeper called from five paces to the left. "But you're just reacting."

Adom pivoted again, this time reaching deeper into [Silverback's Might], letting the raw power fuel his speed. He launched a flurry of strikes—each one missing as Biggins seemed to leave afterimages, always one step ahead.

"You're using strength like a hammer," Biggins commented, casually sidestepping another attack. "But it should be a blade."

Frustration built in Adom's chest. He paused, breathing hard, and watched Biggins, who hadn't even broken a sweat.

"Stop trying to hit me and hit me," Biggins said with a grin.

Adom narrowed his eyes. The old man was enjoying this a little too much. He closed his eyes for a second, focusing on [Flow Prediction], letting the ambient sounds and movements around him paint a picture.

When he moved again, it was with purpose. He feinted left, then right, creating his own rhythm of motion.

"Now you're thinking," Biggins said, still evading, but with slightly more effort. "Channel that strength through your whole body, not just your strikes."

Adom tried a different approach. Instead of chasing Biggins, he positioned himself near the water's edge, using the environment to limit the old man's movement options.

"Clever," Biggins nodded approvingly. "But—"

He suddenly appeared in Adom's blind spot, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. "—limiting your opponent's movement means nothing if they're still faster than you."

Adom spun, channelingAll his strength into a palm strike that should have caught anyone—even someone as quick as Biggins. But the old man simply raised a finger, redirecting the force of the blow upward into empty air.

"Seriously?!"

"Good power," Biggins said. "Poor efficiency."

For the next few minutes, Adom tried every combination of strikes and tactics he could think of. Biggins countered each one without ever seeming to exert himself, offering critiques as they went.

"That remarkable skill you have, [Flow Prediction] was it? It alerts you to danger, but you're not using it proactively."

Then it just went on and on and on. Advices on advices.

"Don't waste energy. Every movement should have purpose."

"Strength isn't just in your muscles—it's in how you use them."

Finally, after a particularly aggressive combination that left Adom panting, Biggins caught his wrist mid-strike. The old man's grip was like iron—gentle, but immovable.

"Enough," Biggins said. "You've improved significantly Young Adom. You could hold your own against many opponents now in pure combat."

Adom nodded, catching his breath. Despite not landing a single hit, he felt oddly satisfied. There was something liberating about going all out, even if it hadn't been enough.

"Can I ask you something?" Biggins released Adom's wrist. "Have you ever tried using your full strength combined with Fluid?"

"Fluid?" Adom frowned. "I... have thought about it, but would that not be too soon? I mean, I haven't gotten used to my new skill yet."

"Your skills don't have to exist in isolation," Biggins said. "They can inform each other, enhance each other." He tapped Adom's forehead lightly. "Right now your mind sees them as separate tools. What if they were aspects of the same tool instead?"

Biggins crossed his arms, studying Adom with a critical eye. "You're mentally blocking yourself. I can see it in how you move."

"What do you mean?" Adom wiped sweat from his brow.

"You've spent some time suppressing your [Silverback's Might]. Holding back. Being careful not to break things—or people." Biggins gestured at the shoreline around them. "That creates habits. Mental barriers. Your body learns that using full power is dangerous, so it automatically restricts itself."

Adom frowned. "But isn't that good? I mean, I don't want to accidentally crush someone's hand when I shake it."

"Control isn't suppression," Biggins replied. "One is mastery, the other is fear." He picked up a handful of sand, letting it pour through his fingers. "Right now, you're trying to hold back an ocean with your bare hands. Eventually, that dam will break."

Adom was struck by how different Biggins seemed now. Gone was the eccentric shopkeeper with his oddball humor and rambling stories. This Biggins was focused, analytical, almost stern. It was the first time Adom had seen him this serious, and it was... slightly unnerving.

Had he been faking his personality?

"So what's your solution? Just let it all out and hope for the best?"

"The opposite, actually." Biggins dusted his hands. "You need to become intimately familiar with your full capacity. Face it head-on. Only then can you truly control it with precision."

Adom considered this. It made sense in a way he hadn't thought about before.

"It's like learning to drive a fast carriage," Biggins continued. "You don't practice at half speed and then suddenly take it to full throttle on a crowded street. You find an empty field, push it to its limits, feel how it responds, and develop the muscle memory to handle it properly."

"And you think combining it with Fluid is the way to do that?"

"Precisely." Biggins nodded. "Fluid enhances and stabilizes. It will give you a framework to channel the raw power you already possess more effectively."

Adom took a deep breath. He'd never attempted to use Fluid alongside his permanent [Silverback's Might]. The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying.

"Fluid isn't just about power," Biggins added. "It's about harmony. Balance. It can help you integrate this strength that's now part of you, instead of treating it as a foreign element you need to constantly wrestle with."

"Alright," Adom said after a moment. "Let's try it."

He planted his feet firmly in the sand, closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly. The first step with Fluid was always the same—finding the center. The quiet place within where energy naturally gathered.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Adom searched within himself for the familiar spark—spite. It wasn't hard to find. The annoyance of not landing a single hit on Biggins. The frustration of being so easily outmaneuvered. The determination to prove himself to the old dragon.

These feelings coalesced, igniting like kindling catching a flame. The familiar warmth started in his core, spreading outward along pathways through his body. Like water finding channels in dry earth.

"Whatever your emotions are," Biggins instructed quietly. "Let it flow naturally."

Adom nodded slightly, keeping his eyes closed. The warmth intensified, becoming a heat that traced his limbs, his fingers, the base of his skull. His heartbeat quickened as blue light began to shimmer across his skin—the visible manifestation of Fluid.

"Now, let it interact with your strength," Biggins said. "Don't try to separate them. Think of them as aspects of the same force."

Adom allowed the Fluid to flow into the spaces where his [Silverback's Might] resided permanently—the constant power beneath his skin.

The response was immediate.

The always-present strength in his muscles seemed to awaken fully—not just the surface-level power he normally accessed, but something deeper, more refined. The blue glow of Fluid deepened, then blazed brighter as his spite fed it, a constant fuel source that made the energy pulse and surge.

"Good," Biggins murmured. "Now stabilize it."

Adom struggled as the energies seemed to fight each other at first—Fluid wanting to flow smoothly, his inborn strength pushing to explode outward.

"Don't control them. Direct them," Biggins advised. "Like rivers joining to form something greater."

Adom adjusted his approach, and suddenly the energies aligned. It wasn't a new sensation exactly—more like his existing strength had been amplified, layered upon itself. The familiar power he'd grown accustomed to was now concentrated, refined, like steel folded upon itself dozens of times.

"Open your eyes," Biggins said.

Adom did. Everything looked the same, but he felt different. More solid. More present. As if he'd been living as a partial version of himself until now.

"How does it feel?" Biggins asked.

"Honestly?" Adom whispered. "Nothing much."

"Try a simple movement first," Biggins suggested. "Just take a step."

Adom nodded and lifted his foot to step forward.

He shot into the air.

"Whoa!" The exclamation escaped him as he flailed, suddenly airborne. Gravity reasserted itself quickly, and he plummeted back down, landing with enough force to send sand spraying in all directions.

Biggins, somehow, remained completely dry and sand-free. "Perhaps a bit less enthusiastic next time," he said, though he was clearly fighting a smile.

Adom got back to his feet, feeling simultaneously embarrassed and exhilarated. "That was... unexpected."

"Try again," Biggins encouraged. "But think 'gentle tap' rather than 'forceful step.'"

Adom nodded, took a breath, and tried again. This time he barely lifted his foot from the sand, applying the tiniest fraction of force he could manage.

He still rose off the ground, but landed more gracefully.

This is ridiculous.

"Better!" Biggins clapped his hands together. "Now, try to reach me." He backed up about thirty paces and stood waiting.

Adom studied the distance, calculating. If the slightest movement sent him flying, how was he supposed to—

"Stop overthinking," Biggins called. "Just move. Feel it. Adapt."

Adom exhaled, letting his instincts take over. A spark of spite flared at Biggins's commanding tone, making his Fluid burn brighter. He pushed off, intending a simple leap forward.

The world blurred. Wind rushed past his face. One moment he was standing in the sand, the next he was flying past Biggins like a bolt from a crossbow.

"Too far!" he yelped, tumbling through the air. He twisted mid-flight, trying to correct his trajectory, but it was like steering a runaway carriage. He hit the sand hard, rolled, and came to a stop facing the sky, breathing hard.

When he sat up, spitting out sand, he saw Biggins walking calmly toward him.

"You'll get the hang of it," the old man said cheerfully. "It should take you about a month to stop crashing into things."

Adom stared at him. "A month?"

"Well, if you're particularly stubborn about it." Biggins offered a hand to help him up. "Most figure it out faster."

Adom accepted the help, marveling at how the combined powers still coursed through him. Despite the rough landing, he felt incredible.

"Again," he said, brushing sand from his clothes. The spite that powered his Fluid was shifting now—less about frustration and more about determination. The need to master this, to prove he could do it.

Biggins stepped back, giving him room. "Try thinking of it as precision rather than restraint. You don't want less power—you want more accurate application of it."

Adom nodded, focusing. This time, he visualized exactly where he wanted to go—a spot about ten paces to Biggins's left. He pushed off much more gently.

His body responded, launching forward in a controlled arc. He still overshot by several feet, but nowhere near as badly as before.

"That's it!" Biggins called. "Again!"

For the next several minutes, Adom practiced simple movements—jumping, stopping, changing direction. Each attempt was better than the last as he learned to calibrate his new capabilities.

"It's like learning to walk all over again," he said after a particularly successful landing.

"In many ways, it is," Biggins agreed. "You've changed the fundamental rules of how your body works. Your mind needs time to adapt."

Adom flexed his fingers. "It's incredible. I feel like I could do anything."

"That feeling can be dangerous," Biggins warned. "But it's not entirely wrong, either." He gestured toward the open beach. "Want to see what you can really do? No holding back this time."

Adom's heart raced at the thought. "What should I try?"

"How about..." Biggins pointed to a distant outcropping of rocks nearly a quarter-mile down the beach. "Reaching those rocks. As fast as you can."

Adom grinned. "You're on."

He settled into a sprinter's stance. Took one deep breath, focused on his target, and pushed off.

The world became a blur of color and sound. Wind tore at his clothes, sand erupted behind him, and the beach disappeared under his feet faster than his mind could process. It was exhilarating. Terrifying. Perfect.

*****

"Haah... haah... haah..."

Adom lay flat on his back, chest heaving, staring up at the clear blue sky. His limbs felt like lead, but it was a satisfying kind of exhaustion. The golden glow of Fluid had faded to a faint shimmer on his skin.

Biggins stood over him, nodding approvingly. "Good. Very good for a first attempt."

"Thanks," Adom managed between breaths.

"You should come here often. Train more. Get a proper hang of it." Biggins tapped his cane against the sand. "When you've mastered the basics, I'll teach you a neat trick about Fluid that most humans don't know. One that Law used, too."

Adom's eyes widened. He sat up quickly—too quickly—and had to brace himself on the sand. "Really? You'd teach me that?"

His own enthusiasm made him pause. Here he was, eighty years old, acting like a child being promised sweets. He felt heat rise to his cheeks that had nothing to do with exertion.

Must be the hormones.

"Sure," he said, more composedly. He stood up, brushing sand from his clothes. "I'd appreciate that."

Biggins was watching him with that knowing look again. "You're still holding back, you know. Even at your fastest."

"I know," Adom admitted. "But it might take a while before I'm comfortable with... all of it."

The old dragon nodded, seeming satisfied with the answer. "Progress, not perfection."

Adom glanced toward the city, its distant spires visible over the dunes. "Do you think you could take me back to the city? I have a meeting with Cass that I can't miss."

"Cass?" Biggins raised an eyebrow.

"My business partner. We're looking at property today."

"Ah." Biggins gathered his things. "Well, let's not keep your partner waiting."