As we made our way back through the swamp, I couldn't help noticing how differently Horrace behaved compared to our arrival. Gone was the cautious, lurking presence. Now he hummed softly against my neck, occasionally pointing out interesting features with a tentacle—a particularly luminous patch of moss, a rare night-blooming swamp flower that opened as we passed. He seemed almost... happy.
"How long do you think he's been alone out here?" I asked Milo quietly.
"Based on the collars? Months, probably. Time moves differently for interdimensional beings though." Milo hopped over a gap in the walkway, then offered me his hand to help me across. "What must have felt like an eternity to him might be just weeks in our timeline."
The thought made my heart ache. I reached up automatically to stroke Horrace's fur-like covering, earning a pleased musical trill. "Poor thing. No wonder he's so eager for connection."
"You're good for him," Milo observed with unusual seriousness. "Your prophetic energy is probably stabilizing his molecular structure. See how his form isn't shifting as much now?"
He was right. When we'd first spotted Horrace, his body had been in constant flux, colors and shapes refusing to settle into anything fixed. Now, while still undeniably alien, his form had stabilized into something more coherent—still bizarre and reality-defying, but no longer constantly fluctuating.
"The prophecy knew," I realized. "It knew he needed help before he could go home."
Horrace made a sound of agreement, several of his eyes blinking in sequence. One tentacle reached up to touch my cheek in a gesture that felt unmistakably like gratitude.
"I think you're right," Milo nodded. "Manticores are adaptable, but even they can't survive indefinitely outside their native dimension without some kind of anchor. You're providing that for him."
As we reached the edge of the Swampy Quarter, emerging from the perpetual twilight into normal afternoon sunlight, Horrace tensed slightly. His form shivered against my shoulders, and several tentacles wrapped more securely around me.
"It's okay," I reassured him, reaching up to stroke his side. "We're going to find Emma. You'll be home soon."
But through our connection, I sensed his uncertainty, his fear of being torn away again, of losing another anchor in a world that made no sense to his interdimensional perception. And beneath that, a growing attachment to me specifically—to my energy, my touch, my voice.
"He's imprinted on you pretty strongly," Milo observed, watching as Horrace nestled closer against my neck, twotentacles now wrapped around my arm where the prophetic markings glowed. "This might be complicated."
I sighed, unconsciously stroking one of Horrace's tentacles in a comforting gesture. "When is anything about this prophecy simple?"
Horrace made a soft musical sound that somehow managed to express perfect agreement. Against my will, I found myself smiling. For all his otherworldly strangeness, there was something undeniably endearing about this lost creature who had spent months alone in an alien world, collecting cat collars in a desperate attempt to find his way home.
"Don't worry," I told him quietly. "We'll figure this out. Together."
All twelve of his eyes blinked at me in perfect unison, and through our connection, I felt a surge of something that could only be described as trust. Whatever happened next, whatever the prophecy had in store for us, Horrace had decided I was his safe harbor in this strange, frightening world.
And honestly, in a life suddenly filled with cultists, prophecies, and reality distortions, having a loyal manticore horror with jazz hands didn't seem like the worst development.
We made our way back through the swamp, Horrace humming show tunes softly in what might have been my ear (it was hard to tell with manticore anatomy). The creature seemed much happier now, its form more stable, though still shifting in ways that made my eyes water if I looked too directly at it.
"So," Milo broke the comfortable silence as we reached the edge of the Swampy Quarter, "what's it like having both Rook and Zane interested in you?"
I nearly stumbled off the walkway. "What?"
"Oh, come on," he grinned. "Rook looks at you like you're the moon, and Zane has that whole 'I'm too cool to care but actually I really care' vibe going on. It's super obvious."
"It is not," I felt my cheeks heating up. "They're just doing their jobs."
"Sure, sure," Milo nodded, his expression far too knowing. "That's why Rook growls whenever Zane stands too close to you, and why Zane keeps finding excuses to touch your arm."
"They do not…” I started, then stopped, because now that he mentioned it, there had been a lot of arm-touching and growling lately.
"It's okay," Milo assured me. "If I had time for relationships, I'd probably have a crush on you too. You're pretty awesome."
"Thanks, Milo," I said, genuinely touched. "You're pretty awesome yourself."
He beamed at the compliment, then his expression turned more serious. "Can I tell you something?"
"Of course."
"I know how it feels," he said quietly. "Being afraid of your own power. Feeling like even the people who are supposed to protect you are actually afraid of you."
