Origami Narwhal
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The Puzzle Box - 2.17
🕑 Added 2025-05-27 14:00:14 +0000 UTCHe won't escape me, of that I am confident. This is my city, even after years away. He hasn't even made it halfway down the hall to the exi
He won't escape me, of that I am confident. This is my city, even after years away.
He hasn't even made it halfway down the hall to the exit by the time I've made my way out— but he is prepared for my arrival.
A Mage of my caliber would've seen the Ice, and a heartbeat later, conjured up a structure to manage it. They could've traced the original structure, maybe, breaking it down or shielding their all-too-frail regular body.
I am not a Mage. Ice clatters off my scales, cold creeps through my bones, but it's nothing I haven't dealt with before. The fresh, sharp air after Lightning trails through it, curling around me as Wind drills through another lance of Ice. No, I am a Delver, and this Mage is my prey.
“Stop!” I roar down the hall, violet Lightning fizzing at my fingertips. The wind howls in my ears, my heart thumps in my chest. “Don't make it worse, priest!”
A part of me whispers and wonders, a thought barely heard over the roaring storm. Why did the priest steal his own damn box? Why hide as a Mage, concealing a power earned and worked for? But then, why hurt the constables like that?
The wonder drowns as I grip the corner with my claws, swinging around it with a snarl and batting away a shard of Ice. My prey bolts through the front doors, Wind swirling over his legs. His purple robe flutters in the air, torn and tattered, and I catch a glimpse of a cat's tail as he leaves my sight. Quite a thing to hide, but those purple robes are perfect for the job.
The floor groans beneath me, shaking and bending with each heavy footstep. I blaze past confused churchgoers, weave through poorly placed furniture, and skid out the front door. My tail acts as a counterweight, letting me pivot on one boot mid-stride once I spot my prey again. He's bolting down the road with impressive speed, and Gods, Ice and Wind, really? Barriers and speed, the perfect combination for running away. If I was in an open field, this’d be over instantly, but here in the city I can’t just go tossing about branching bolts of Lightning and shattering the landscape. I’ll have to pin him somewhere, and keep him far, far away from crowds.
Pouring Wind into my legs once more, I finish my quarter spin and lunge down the street. My muscles ache at the wash of power, thrumming and stretching and pushing, launching me further with each step I take.
The distance shrinks, I can hear each heavy breath and the pounding of his heart. I can see people ahead of us. Obstacles, fragile humans I won't dare to touch for fear of breaking them. I need to stop him before he can weave through the crowd, or this will get very complicated. Perhaps he'll be more hesitant to attack uninvolved common folk, but I can't gamble on it and I can't risk harming them.
More Wind, more raw magic, a hint of Lightning. Range has never been my specialty, but I have plenty of solutions. Two plans form, two options for his reaction I can act on. I feel my feet shifting, stretching and scraping— so close I can smell him, that I can hear the rattle after each breath— Now!
Lightning, violet and violent, leaps from my outstretched claws, grounding itself in my prey's shoulder. The Wind follows while his arm spasms, a rush of air crashing into his shoulder and sending him spinning.
I leap, closing the distance in a blink—
Ice underfoot, lancing up from the ground in spikes, Wind buffeting me, pushing me back. I crash through it all, gritting my teeth at the creeping cold that fights every flex of my arms and legs. The layers of Wind seek to steal my balance, but with tail and claws alike to keep me steady, he stands no chance. “Wasted effort, priest. You're not getting away.”
He's skidding down the alley now, hand trailing across the wall. “They warned me you'd be violent. Would you spill blood over a petty theft?”
“Petty nor theft,” I snarl, “You could've killed someone back there for your damn box.”
His eyes flash, the light more fury than magic. “Hardly. Broken bones, yes, but murder? Absolutely not!”
And as Ice erupts, drying the air and forming a frozen sheet to block the alley, I doubt he'd hear my reply. Ice, as always, is infuriating. I should’ve caught this old man by now!
And it won't matter. I doubt he has enough magic to keep this up forever, and he's two turns, two tricks away from a dead end. These walls no doubt hide more mage trickery... trickery I could answer with my own, with my own Magecraft. But I am not fighting this man, I am hunting him. Ensuring his fear so I can corner him. So, up and over it is.
Rather than waste the Wind, I adjust my aim to the wall, bunch my legs a bit more on the next step, and leap. Twisting mid-flight, I hit the wall boots first, claws landing a moment later, then shove off again. It’s enough height to look over the shimmering Ice wall, which seems to be composed of layered spikes and sheets. Sturdy, no doubt incredibly dangerous, and almost certainly expensive to cast.
A third leap, forward rather than upward, is enough to clear it. My boots crash into the frozen ground, my knees bend to absorb the force, and I keep my eyes pinned on his. Tail lashing with anticipation, claws flexing, ready for the taste of flesh, I grin. I curl my lips back, pulling further than any human ever should. Theatrical, and the effect on his heartbeat blurs the line between obligation and the joy of a hunt.
“Wasted effort. See?”
His response is to bolt around the corner, Wind glowing ever brighter around his feet. He’s got impressive capacity, if he’s pulling tricks off of this sort.
Growling, I swing around the corner and drop into a dead sprint, crashing through pathetic spears of Ice and leaning away from anything heavier. Shots of cold bleed through my tensed muscles, breaks in the intoxicating rush of strength. They are flickers in the dark, easily extinguished.
A skid of blackest Ice forms, but my feet stretch and groan— bones cracking, shifting, and the claws that rip through my boots shatter the hazard with ease. Ah, it feels good to push myself like this!
The crowds are ahead, streaming along a main street. It's the riskiest turn in my plan, but a necessary one. He must think he's about to escape, so close to the edge of town, but I cannot allow him into the crowds. The train's whistle screams, the station is close; I see his options as well as he does.
A sphere of bitter air forms ahead, shimmering as the water freezes, and I curse. I've seen Mages pull this trick— a bubble of frostbite and razor-sharp ice, too expensive for my healing to barrel through. I lean, tail skittering, claws scraping the stone as I jerk to the side. My legs tense, force coiling like a weighted spring, then release in a snarling lunge to reclaim my momentum. A few stones crack underfoot, a thundering sound I barely note above the roar of my own blood.
My eyes flicker at the crowded road ahead; I see a hundred angles, ten paths, one solution. Lightning crackles at my clawtips, arcing eagerly, tracing the scales of my forearms. I see where he's going, I see Wind around my prey's boots, pushing him faster than ever.
...And there's a handful of shocked, fragile people in the path, gasping, far too slow, far too close for me to act like he expects. Far too close for him to act. He's been awfully focused on me, after all. The hesitation, that heartbeat of weakness, is all it takes. Wind and Lightning blur into sharp air and a crisp breeze, and with a roar, I pounce.
I punch through a sheet of Ice, my teeth grit when blades of Wind pound my scales. He is barely a march away, calling on structures of Wind and Ice to widen the gap. A fist finds his ribs, digging in with a crack, my tail slaps his boots and shatters the Wind protecting them.
Ice underfoot, shattered and scattered by my claws. A punch misses, my prey dodging as only a Mageblood can. Muffled alarm and shouting as the fight lengthens, as I break flickering magic that guards his body and batter every weakness he exposes. I see fear in his eyes, hear it in every thudding heartbeat. His Ice draws blood, but I don't even flinch. Any indication at my own rising concern, at how this man continues to evade me even as I herd him to my goal, must be hidden.
Run. Do it, prey.
One step back. Another, forced when I press through a lance, grasping it with both hands and splintering it. An eruption of Ice and Wind gives him space, and in powder-fine mist that follows, the sound of his heartbeat grows distant.
My vision broadens, my breathing steadies, and the presence of the distant crowd makes itself known. Regular folk, watching instead of running. Should I... say something, before I resume my chase? What does a Dame say to her people? The question stumps me.
“He attacked people,” I manage, coughing into my fist. My tail scrapes along the ground, scattering the snow that's formed around me. “Carry on.”
And then I'm sprinting after my prey, chasing him down the route I'd planned. The train's whistle pierces the air once more, shrilly beckoning— perhaps that's an exit he's considering. Not that it matters.
This alley has two branches in my memory, one leading back where we came, the other pointing toward the tracks... but never reaching them. It's a dead end park, the exit sealed by a building constructed after the tracks were laid. I'd know— it's the way station and rest stop for train engineers, a project I helped with before I left.
So, barrelling down the alley, Wind beneath my feet and Lightning between my claws, I revel in oblivious cornered prey. Alone and ripe for the taking.
Only, he isn’t.
The park opens up before me, and a cluster of purple-robed figures flee out an alley. To one side, Dongbaek, in a strange circle of silvery light and shapes that reach deep into my memory. His breaths are raspy, his heartbeat frantic, and he clutches a knife of pitch-black glass. Threads of golden light gather at the tip, and the World shudders.
A familiar sight, and an even more familiar sensation. I’d seen that knife in my mother’s hands many times... but not the night they died, no. So this is what they wished to protect from me in that box?
“I feared I would not make it,” he says between gasps. “They’ve done their work masterfully, and this tool will speed our work. You will understand like your parents, or—”
I don’t bother to listen to the rest. I lunge forward, his knife swings down.
The World screams, and my mind bleeds.
—outside of our calculations, Ada. The aperture may expand beyon—
My claws wrap around his free arm and squeeze. I can feel the bone break, I can hear the music of my prey’s scream in my ears—
—n’t stop it now, love. We must brave this together, or not at all—
I’m on my knees, bloodied claws buried in the dirt. Old memories slip away, just as painful as the day they’d been made.
The strange circle is gone, and I can hear Dongbaek fleeing into the city. Boots and heartbeat, both barely audible even to my senses. It’s just me, a newborn Delve, and memories I’d done my best to forget. I’d been weak, then.
Never again.
Snarling, I push myself up off the ground and stumble over to the Delve portal. With trembling claws, I begin the work of stabilizing it.
It’s better than dwelling on my failures, past and present.
***
The case ends there, in a way. We know the culprit, he admitted to the crime, and the Church— with Alain speaking for them— relieved Bitgarm Dongbaek of his authority and position as priest. And the constables did find Celine, in the end; as it turns out, she’d taken a detour onto a main road to avoid someone who was trying to follow her. Concerning, yes, but I’m glad she’s alright.
And the Guards have been told about the portal. I’ll have to go back and seal it tomorrow, when I’ve got my focus back.
But the search for Dongbaek remains. The most well-equipped elite of the Craumont guard are sent out to search, armored in steel and alchemic brass to ward off the spellwork. Gelson drones in my ear as I recline on a borrowed bench, elaborating on the chain of alarms that'll lead to calling me in. Because I'm the best chance at it, even after failing utterly.
Gods, though. Gods damn it all, Adamantine, Sun Regent, bear witness to my failure and its consequence. I lost to a man who sits behind a desk, a man who holds sermons and does little to push his body.
I inspect my lengthened fingers, the wicked claws curving out from brown-black scales. I can dig through soft stones and metals with these, rend flesh from bone with ease. There is no excuse for failure when I am better than him.
My tail thuds against the stairs behind me.
Beyond even my overconfidence, a flaw that has burned me twice just this month, I lost to knowledge. I won the hunt, I thought I cornered my prey... I was toying with him the entire time, even if the thought never consciously crossed my mind. I lost to my own pride, because how could a petty Mage like him mean anything to me?
And now that Mage is loose in the city, wielding tools made by my family to rip open Delves. It won't be easy, and it certainly won't be safe, given that very practice killed my parents, but now it risks everyone else.
What if the wards fall? What if they succeed? How were they opening Delves before? Why? The questions churn endlessly, and my tail sweeps across the stone steps above with a click click clack.
And nobody else has bothered me, which is nice. Perhaps because of the scales on my arms and legs, perhaps because my clothes are a bit torn but my skin remains unblemished. I can feel curious gazes, and I can hear the mutterings of passerby. Some are Church members, asking why she is here, passing their own judgements on me. It matters little, grating as the gossip is.
I had to toss my boots, giving them to a nearby leatherworker as scrap after my claws tore through. My feet barely fit in anything right now, scaled and changed as they are. I have better, more rugged boots built to handle this, but bringing my full gear would’ve given the game away early today. Not that secrecy bought us an advantage in the end, but the plan was sound.
It'd be worse to walk home barefoot, though, so I'm holding onto the magic and keeping my feet shifted. It's not often I'm like this, and maybe I'll wait until later to let go completely... tonight in the bath, probably. Gods, do I need a damned bath.
And then I’ll need to go out and Delve again. Fix the portal Dongbaek had ripped open in front of my eyes.
Oh. Gelson is waiting for me to answer a question. There's a softness in her gaze I haven't seen before, and I smile back at her while I scrape my mind for the question. Something about... capability?
“Ice and Wind,” I guess, watching her expression carefully, “He's got good range and can create traps. The clouds of ice crystals and some of his larger Ice constructs seem pretty lethal, but he never put them where a regular human would get caught. He can kill, but it’s definitely not his preferred option.”
Gelson hums, scribbling that down. “Go on.”
“Regular humans should be worried about frostbite from being too close, though. I can heal through it, and he used clouds to obscure his attacks,” I continue, taking my recent memories and turning them into something useful. “Winston might have a good shot at dealing with him. Or Lizzie, though I have no idea what she has other than Wind.”
“I see.”
And it keeps going like that. I pick something apart, imagining how it'd work on someone fragile, how to avoid it. A meditative way to contemplate my failure, and it keeps me from peeling my failures back like a scab on a wound.
Eventually, though, Gelson rises, putting away her work. “Thank you,” she says, plain as ever.
“No problem. I'm glad to have helped,” I grunt, inspecting my claws. “Maybe we'll have better luck when the Paladin arrives.”
“Mm,” Gelson agrees. “Ah... take care of yourself, Ivy. Maybe we'll work together again sometime.”
I look up and offer a faint smile, only to discover she's doing the same. “It's mutual, G— Ruby. Take care, yourself.”
A stiff nod, and Gelson is striding away. Warmth blooms in my chest, and I resolve to invite my new friend over for tea. With lots of sugar and honey, since she loves those so much.
...Just a few more things to do before I leave.
I stand up slowly, stretching my legs and rolling my shoulders. A little grunt of satisfaction works its way out of my mouth, followed by more when I bring my arms up to stretch them, too. My tail ripples as if to punctuate, stretching to its furthest extent and then dropping to the ground.
With that done, I turn to the shadowed alley, grunting as I stand up, and look for a glint of turquoise amid the darkness.
Clearing my throat, I look right into the fresh Mageblood's eyes. “You can come on out, Helena.”
“Ah—” The eyes jitter, and Helena yelps. “How did, um—”
I tap the side of my skull. “Magic makes them reflect a lot more light. You'll need to learn to pull back on that, if you want to hide.”
Helena emerges from the dark, eyes ringed with red, lips cracked and dry. She's wearing the same outfit as before, but far more rumpled. “I've never had to hide before,” she murmurs, tugging at something in my chest. It’s enough to make my tail shift and click against the cobbled street.
I snort. “You’re a would-be Mage in a Church that thinks they’re selfish. Aren’t you hiding every day?”
She sniffs. “I...”
“You shouldn't have to hide. When'd you become a Mageblood?” I cross my arms, descending the stairs. “The Delve Heart must've hurried you along.”
“Ten days ago, maybe,” she says softly, looking at the ground. Her voice crackles and scrapes, raw and pained. “I think. Um, I woke up and some of my teeth were... different. My eyes change color when I use magic. Ah, how did—”
“The tea, your reaction to the trapdoor hinges, and a few things besides,” I cut her off with a nod. “Enhanced senses. That alarm enchantment lasting for twenty five hours, when the far simpler reinforcement enchantments would only last a few hours.”
“Oh. The way you are now, is that, ah... how you really look, then?” She gestures at me, looking most pointedly at my feet.
I look down at myself as she gestures. I revel in my scales, my everything from clawed feet to my sharp teeth. I flex my claws, releasing the magic inside just enough for flesh to appear on my palms. All this power at my disposal, the strength to bend steel, the swiftness to outpace a horse, and none of it truly mattered today. “As much as any other time, I suppose. You don't end up looking like this by accident, if that's what you're wondering. Delve as deeply as I have, as often as I have, and you’ll start to blur the lines.”
“Oh,” she says again, eyes drifting to my tail.
We stand in silence. Part of me wants to ask how she feels now, if she understands my hatred of the Church. Hypocrites, the lot of them. But I don't. There's no satisfaction in rubbing salt in a crying woman's wounds. Betrayal stings.
Instead, I say, “So, what happens now?”
Her eyes water. She sniffs, one hand coming up to wipe her nose. Her shuffling stretches the silence from seconds to minutes. “I, I don't know.”
“Are you staying here?” I push a bit further. I don't know why I asked, and my mind screams in reminder— she used you, Ivy. Don't open that door again.
A new sound erupts from Helena. Something cold and bitter, cynical in a way I’d never felt from her before. “What else can I do? He lied to me, but these are still my people. They care, I care, and we do so much for those who struggle. Alain will protect me if I stay, but...”
I can feel the dirt under my fingers again. I see myself, throat raw, eyes wet, shivering in the cold and clinging to the warmth Adamantine had blessed me with. Swearing to do everything Olivia dreamed of.
An outsider in my own home.
“This isn't forgiveness,” I say, before reason catches up to my heart. My claws click against the cobbled stone as I approach her, and she seems so, so small. “But if you can't bear to stay here, you can... stay at the Manor.”
“Yes.”
“I can't say I trust you, but I can—” I blink, halting as that single wavering word sinks in. “Mm.”
“I know you don’t trust me like that. But I really, really want you to.” Helena looks down at the ground. Her fingers twitch, digging into her clothes. “I'll need to, ah. Get my things.”
“Would you like help?” I offer, eyeing the building warily. Easier than looking at her. “I can lift heavy things, if you want.”
“No,” she says, softer than ever. Her voice cracks. “I'm fine. I'll do it.”
“Are you alright?” I say, and the words surprise me as much as they do Helena.
Her head jerks up, eyes meeting mine only to tear away. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Slowly, gently, she shakes her head.
“Neither am I,” I whisper.
And that's it. No more words. I wait in the false silence of evening, listening as a distant train announces its arrival. She leaves and returns with two bags, then goes back for a third. I carry two, and she doesn't protest.
I think I hate the Church even more, now.
A/N:
And with that... the end of arc 2. Wow! It's been quite the ride. Arc 2 underwent several major rewrites, and I am so, so proud of the results. I hope you enjoyed it, too. Let me know what you think~
Next week is the Q&A session, based on questions from the appropriate thread on my discord. The characters' answers will be posted here, too. Ask any character any question, and it might just make it way into the post~
Comments
Arkennys
This chapter derails the story pretty hard, I'm sad. I found this today, and I was instantly hooked. It has a wonderful start that made me invested in Ivy and her home very fast. When I got to the end of the free chapters on royal road and saw that the rest of the arc is up here, I immediately joined Patreon. This work is more than good enough for me to want to support its continued creation, and I was super excited to see the payoff for the detective arc. I don't think there is a single chapter that doesn't have some variation of telling us that Ivy is powerful, competent, skilled at fights, and just generally strong and awesome. We are in her PoV, so in hindsight I guess the point is that it's all an unreliable narrator, and joke's on me for buying into that premise at face value. The final bit of introspection confirms it. Fair enough, I guess, but now I don't know that I like Ivy all that much. We have two arcs, she has one chance to properly show off in both, and she fails spectacularly both times. In the first arc, getting goaded into the Delve without any gear, then failing to notice or care about that the child she is escorting is taking on none of her warnings was bad enough. It's horrifically unprofessional and makes her look incompetent or negligent; perhaps both. However, I could write several paragraphs on why it makes sense *narratively*. Just to give some examples, as a by no means exhaustive list: it's a good tutorial Delve to introduce the concept to readers, it's a good setup for their relationship, it's a way to make a shallow and young Delve pose at least a little bit of a threat without having to de-power Ivy too much, and much more. Combined with the insight into her mental state and the circumstances, I had no trouble accepting that she let her useless lesbian brain overwhelm her experienced Delver brain. I don't need to spell out her mistakes here: she lists a good chunk of them at the end, and the smaller details she misses are not that important. Suffice it to say, after failing twice in a row in the introductory chapters of what I expect will be a longer story, she looks like a pathetic loser now. I no longer trust any of the statements regarding her abilities up to this point, and I legitimately question how she could become a two thousand march Delver like this. It feels borderline like a retroactive plot hole. I thought this would be the story of a strong and capable woman dealing with a large conspiracy that puts her considerable talents to the test; instead, now we will need a lot of page time that shows her progress from a useless idiot to someone worthwhile. I don't see the point of giving her a backstory that would nominally suggest competence, only for the plot to strip that from her straight away as a setup for what is an almost coming-of-age-esque growth arc. I have less than zero confidence in her ability to solve the problems of the city, given the implied level of organisation, knowledge, and resources of the cabal; not without spending time working on herself. There are far too few stories with a qualified adult as the protagonist; I figured this was one, but Ivy going two for two at being comically ineffective puts this back into almost feeling like a YA thing. How old is she supposed to be? I thought it's something like 25, but when the chips are down, she performs like a 16-year-old. To be explicitly clear: the point isn't how much mana she has, how hard she can punch, or anything like that. It's about her intelligence, mindset, expertise, experience, and such. All of this disappointment comes from this singular chapter, that unavoidably carves her flaws into stone. If this one chapter gave her even a partial win and thus avoided her well-deserved self-recrimination, the whole mood of the work and the character would change. Perspective and context are supremely important, and her far sub-par display at the climax of the arc shifts the entire story significantly. Helena is a compelling character, with a lot of narrative potential, and seeing her person and relationship with Ivy develop are both key points of interest. In my clearly deeply flawed assumption of Ivy starting off as a mature, established expert, who can remain comparatively static thanks to having already developed before we join the story, I thought Helena's role would be to serve as the character who grows and changes the most, with guidance and support from Ivy. This chapter also does Helena a massive disservice, however. Helena is not consciously malicious, but she is not a good person either. Her flaws are rather ordinary, not like she is Evil or anything like that, but even so, she's kind of a shitty child. Given her rather mundane shortcomings, calling for redemption is too much, but she needs something in that general direction. A key aspect for change like that, which I think too many stories miss, is an inherent, intrinsic realisation of one's issues and a desire for improvement. All of which should come at a cost, or at least not be compelled by third parties. Simply: if the Evil Overlord is defeated, his powers sealed, his armies scattered, and taken captive by the Good Guys, him deciding to change sides and join the party at that point is not impressive. Circumstances forcing someone to do better is not the same as a person sincerely deciding to be better. Even without giving her a PoV chapter, or a huge amount of page time, we can already understand much about Helena's background, why she is like this, and how she could be better. As I said, she doesn't even need a full redemption arc; her transgressions are largely harmless. She is in an ideal position for growth, to become a very likeable deuteragonist. However, she needs that first spark of clarity, to take ownership of her mistakes, and to gain that drive for improvement. She doesn't have it yet. Half an hour before the arc ends, she is still fully on her bullshit. The existence of the secret passage - with the further clues it reveals - is the keystone piece of evidence that ties the case together; the single most important clue. Despite seemingly making a commitment to helping solve the case, she still conceals this. Thanks to the detectives' work, it makes no practical difference, but her reaction when she stumbles out of the office proves she wasn't aware that they already have this information. Her claims of wanting to help and offering honesty were false, and she kept making the same mistake as before. If anything, pretending to assist while keeping the truly relevant facts to herself is even more insulting. Ivy claims not to trust her, but opening the Manor to her as a "temporary" residence is a huge softening, and a massive opportunity for Helena to gain further favour. We can understand why Ivy makes this decision - she sees Helena as a victim of the church she hates and therefore sympathises with her situation. The problem is, Helena not only does not earn this consideration in any way, but her behaviour during the arc should serve to reinforce her duplicity and unreliability more than anything else. Ivy should hold a more negative opinion of her now than at the end of arc one. By painting Helena as a deeply hurt victim who is in a bad situation, the story lets Ivy's relationship progress with her in a way that's wholly undeserved. She has made absolutely no decision to be better or change her behaviour; she was hurt by her own poor choices and is now getting actively rewarded for them. She isn't choosing Ivy over the church on principle or because she realised something; she is still every bit a user, who is just benefitting of Ivy's naive (or possibly horny) kindness when her situation in her chosen family becomes miserable. This structurally undercuts any further progress. Even if living together and interacting more lets Helena and Ivy get closer, and perhaps even allows Helena to actually grow as a person, the foundation is rotten. If fifty chapters from now she has become someone worthy of respect, we will always know that she was forced into it by circumstance, and didn't get there out of any true personal strength of character. This is why I think this direction does a disservice to her, narratively. It removes her own agency in her character arc, when she has the potential to be so much more. This is a shortcut in her development that cuts out what is perhaps the single most important aspect: true, independent, internal motivation to change.
