Finn picks up a stick and scorches its end slightly in the campfire before sketching on the ground. He draws a few magic stone-shaped objects, his backpack, and ends with a question mark. Then, he looks up, gauging their reactions.

  The black figure wavers, tilting its head, while the plushie remains motionless, its monotonous doll eyes fixed on him.

  "Fine, so I might've lost it somewhere near where the Manticore died. But where exactly is it? Can they let me go?" He scratches his head and murmurs.

  Lost in thought, Finn absentmindedly flips the meat roasting over the fire. The rich aroma starts to rise, and the black figure fixes its ‘gaze’ on the sizzling meat with keen interest.

  "By the way, where did they get this meat? It’s so tough I couldn't even pierce it with a skewer. Unless... it’s not ordinary meat?"

  A sudden realisation hits him. "Could it be... the Manticore?!"

  Once the meat is fully cooked, Finn gestures toward it, then at the black figure. Without hesitation, it scoops up the meat with its bare 'hand' and swallows it whole. Finn watches as the meat vanishes into the black smoke that forms its body.

  It seems pleased with the taste and continues eating. Just as it’s about to take the last piece, it pauses, then holds it out to Finn.

  Finn raises a brow. "Is it... offering me the last piece?"

  He gestures between himself and the meat. The black figure 'nods'.

  "Thank you, but I can't eat predator meat. You can have the last bite." He gently pushes the meat back towards it.

  The black figure processes his words. If the human is refusing it, then surely that means it’s fine for it to eat it, right? Without further hesitation, it shoves the meat into its 'mouth'.

  Finn watches with intrigue. "Does it understand the concept of sharing?"

  Now that he’s observed them more closely, he gets the sense that neither means him harm. They’re simply uneducated, native persons, no, creatures of the Labyrinth of Unknown. The plushie, he suspects, is merely a puppet controlled by the black figure. But why have no other adventurers in Mistwood ever mentioned them before?

  Finn starts drawing again. This time, a human head, then a lion’s body. He crosses it out, then sketches the black figure and the plushie, alongside a stick figure moving in a direction marked by an arrow—away from the crossed-out Manticore.

  "This stick figure is me." He points to it, then at himself.

  The black figure 'nods'. They’re finally understanding each other.

  They seem to be good-natured creatures, willing to take him to their home. Maybe he can persuade them to lead him back to his bag? Without his magic vault and stones, he won’t survive long in this predator-infested maze.

  He draws another stick figure, the black figure, and the plushie, this time with an arrow pointing back to the Manticore’s remains.

  Again, the black figure 'nods'.

  Finn beams. "Thank you, Black... uh, do you have a name?"

  The black figure tilts its head. If nodding means 'yes', does tilting mean 'I don’t know'?

  "You’re covered in black and have a smoke-like form... How about..." Finn pauses, thinking. Then, his eyes light up. "Inky!"

  He writes ‘Inky’ on the ground, pointing at the word, then at the black figure.

  The figure processes the word before giving a slow 'nod'.

  "That means yes, right? Inky it is!" Finn grins. "And you can call me Finn." He writes his own name on the ground and points to himself.

  Inky nods again.

  Now that introductions are settled, it’s time to find his belongings.

  Through drawings and gestures, Finn convinces Inky to help him locate his missing items. He peeks through the door’s gap, scanning the surroundings, before stepping out with Inky and the plushie in tow.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Looking around, nothing matches his memorised routes. "Could this be somewhere I haven’t memorised yet? If so... does that mean this is beyond floor three?"

  He had planned only to explore the first three floors. Any deeper, and navigation would become far more challenging, not to mention the increase in predator strength.

  Priority one: find a way up before someone else takes my bag. The notebook and locator are still inside!

  He points upwards, signalling Inky to find a way up. Inky, now familiar with Finn’s gestures, nods obediently.

  Floating ahead, Inky leads the way, the plushie drifting beside it. Finn follows closely behind.

  On their journey, they encounter predators. Most flee at the sight of Inky, tails between their legs. A few, likely higher-ranking ones, attempt to prowl. Those foolish enough to challenge Inky receive a swift, crushing blow. Those persistent enough to get back up are met with subsequent strikes until they no longer rise. Finn can’t help but recall the Manticore’s pulverised remains.

  "Inky is the king here. Most predators lack hierarchy and act on instinct. Some fear it, others foolishly test their strength. But most retreat once Inky punches sense into them."

  The more time he spends with Inky, the more he learns. He wonders—how much more will he uncover before this expedition ends?

  After hours of walking, they reach a staircase. Finn’s eyes widen at the number inscribed on the wall—'7'.

  "Floor seven?! But that’s beyond the mapped areas!"

  Did I sleep that long? But I wasn’t hungry or thirsty when I woke up... so it couldn’t have been that long. Could Inky know a shortcut? Or is it because it is fast?

  Instead of pondering, Finn chooses to ask them directly.

  Finn steps in front of Inky and mimics running on the spot, then points upward. Inky tilts its head.

  "How do I explain this?" He runs up a few steps, then pretends to pick something up, slinging it over his shoulder before running back down.

  Inky remains still, then suddenly mimics him.

  "Whoa!"

  Before Finn can react, he’s scooped up onto Inky’s smoky form, his face pressed downward as they rocket forward.

  His stomach lurches as the world blurs around him. He barely feels a thing—no friction, no weight—just a sensation akin to floating on a storm cloud. Predators roar from all sides, unable to keep up. Those foolish enough to block their path are flung aside by effortless swipes of Inky.

  Finn’s head spins from the speed. Blood rushes to his brain, making his vision swim. He is fortunate that he is barely eating anything at all today. If he had eaten more, he’d likely be vomiting by now.

  Just as darkness starts creeping into his vision, Inky slows, then sets him down gently.

  Finn stumbles, barely staying upright. Inky lets him lean against its form to recover.

  Checking the traces of fresh blood splatters, Finn recognises the area. "This is where the Manticore died."

  It doesn’t matter that no remnants are left. Even if Inky hadn’t taken its meat, predators would have sniffed out the blood and followed the scent, eager to devour every last bit of a fallen predator, or human flesh.

  To them, both predators and humans are the most exquisite prey, rich in sustenance and power. Eating them isn’t just about survival; it’s about evolution. The stronger the prey, the greater the chance of ascending to a higher rank.

  On the way here, Inky’s presence may have scared off some cowards, but others were drawn in, tempted to challenge him. Do they see Inky as their opportunity to evolve? Or is it Finn’s flesh that tempts them more?

  And his bag... it’s missing.

  A sinking feeling settles in. Someone must have taken it.

  His eyes sweep over the open space. His bag, magic stones, and vaults—gone.

  "Too bad someone took them before I got back," Finn sighs.

  Where should he even begin searching?

  Should he return to town first? But without Inky, the journey through these dangerous lands would be a gamble. Not that they pose a threat—yet. But Mistwood... it could be different.

  Taking Inky back isn’t an option. He might harm innocent people. Yet without him, returning safely is uncertain.

  Ideas and possibilities swirl in Finn’s mind, appearing and vanishing just as quickly. Before he can settle on a decision, Plushie floats up, intercepting his internal struggle.

  Just as frustration wells up, Plushie floats towards him. Its glassy eyes gleam, and then—

  It vomits up a backpack.

  Finn’s eyes widen. "That’s my bag!"

  He rips it open, rummaging through its contents. The locator and notebook are still there, most of his magic stones and vaults remain intact.

  Except one.

  Where is his transportation stone?

  His gaze sharpens as he scrutinises Plushie. "Where’s my transportation stone?"

  As expected, the creature simply stares at him in silence. In town, it might have looked like an innocent soft toy, but here—surrounded by bloodstains—its blank, unblinking gaze only adds to the eeriness.

  "I remember you took it from me." Finn extends his palm. "Hand it over."

  Plushie remains motionless for a moment, then spits out a stone.

  Dim.

  Useless.

  The transportation stone has lost its charge.

  "Did you absorb the mana inside?" Finn frowns. He’s never heard of a doll feeding off a magic stone’s energy before. But why this one, of all things? What about the money he spent on it!

  He sighs. "So be it… It’s not like I can do anything about it."

  Not with Inky watching.

  Resigning himself to fate, he pulls a locator from his bag and activates it. The needle spins, then steadies—pointing directly at Inky.