Zen sat apart from the others, knees hugged to her chest, wings folded tightly, silver hair draping over her face like a curtain. Her gaze was lost somewhere in the trees, lips pressed in a silent, uncertain line.
Yarrow noticed immediately. He broke away from the others and strolled over, the crunch of twigs underfoot the only sound announcing him. He lowered himself beside her, close—but not too close.
"You alright?" he asked, voice soft but teasing, like he already knew the answer.
Zen didn't look at him. "...I'm fine."
The lie was as brittle as frost. Yarrow cocked his head, eyes narrowing playfully as something clicked.
"Oh... I get it," he murmured. "Zen, you're not still thinking about earlier, are you?"
She stiffened slightly. That was enough of an answer.
He gave a light, awkward cough and shifted to face her more directly. "Look, you really don't have to worry about it."
Zen's eyes flicked to him, confused. "Worry about what?"
Yarrow smiled, a bit too honestly. "When I, uh... licked you. There wasn't any weird odor or anything. Actually, it was kinda... nice. A little salty. Your sweat's sweet in a way. And your skin—soft. Surprisingly smooth, for someone who breathes fire and kicks harder than a warhorse."
Her punch came fast. This time, he dodged, jumping to his feet in a practiced retreat.
"ARE YOU INSANE?!" Zen exploded, her silver eyes blazing as she pointed at him. Her cheeks flushed hot pink, and her whole body trembled—not just from anger, but embarrassment so deep it ached.
"Why would you say that to me?! In front of me?! What kind of degenerate pervert needs to talk about licking someone's sweat like it's a wine tasting?!"
"I thought—!" Arlo raised both hands in surrender, face flushed with nervous laughter. "I thought maybe you were upset that I did it. I just wanted to reassure you."
"Reassure me?!" she snapped. "That my body is lickable?!"
"Well, it is!" he said defensively, before immediately realizing the words tumbling out were not helping his case at all.
Zen let out a growl, turning her face away with a huff, furious, humiliated, but somewhere in there... pleased? Maybe just a little?
Yarrow backed away slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll just... go now."
"Wait."
He froze. Turned.
Zen was still facing away, arms hugging her knees tighter now, her voice so low it barely reached his ears.
"...Thank you."
Yarrow blinked. "Huh?"
"I said thank you, you dumb lizard-kissing fool!" she shouted, whirling around. Her face was a vivid red, silver hair fluttering in the breeze, and her glare could have pierced iron—but her voice cracked ever so slightly at the end. She looked like someone who'd just been caught naked in a vulnerable moment, furious and flustered, fighting off feelings she didn't know how to process.
Yarrow stared at her, stunned silent. Something in him softened. Then twisted.
His eyes welled up.
"S-she said thank you... The dragon actually said thank you..." he murmured, overwhelmed like a proud dad watching his rebellious daughter finally pass an exam—or perhaps more accurately, like a guy realizing the haughty tsundere finally acknowledged his existence.
"Why are you crying now?!" Zen shrieked, her ears burning red.
"Sorry," he sniffed, smiling through it. "It's just... we're friends now, right?"
Zen looked away, lips parting to reply, but nothing came. She turned her head sharply.
"Hmph. Don't get cocky."
And then—without another word—she unfurled her wings and shot into the sky, leaving a trail of shimmering scales and smoke.
"I'll go ahead. You can jog behind me, slow human!"
Yarrow watched her soar, silver and fire wrapped in one impossible body.
"She's actually kinda cute when she talks like a normal person," he muttered.
The thought hit him suddenly. He opened his system menu.
[Zen – Favorability: 165][Current State: Annoyed. Flustered. Absolutely Denying Feelings.]
"It went up! It finally went up!" Yarrow grinned like an idiot. "She might hate me, but the numbers don't lie!"
With her favorability now above 160, it had unlocked a gift—one of Zen's abilities.
He scrolled to his talent list.
[Dragon Bloodline: An extremely rare divine beast bloodline, coursing with overwhelming power. (Warning: Bloodline lacks compatible vessel. Excessive blood loss may lead to instant death.)]
"Well, that's... reassuring."
Still, he stared at it in awe. Dragon blood. Not just power—but prestige. Just one drop could probably sell for a small fortune. He chuckled, imagining himself bottling his urine and hawking it on the black market.
"Focus, Yarrow... not the time to start a dragon-urine side hustle."
But inside, he could already feel it: a hum beneath his skin, a pulsing surge deeper in his core. His path was changing. This was the beginning.
"The kingdom's strongest mage…" he murmured. "Yeah, it's not just a dream anymore."
He turned to go, but paused at the sight of the small wooden box waiting on his desk—the precious artifact that had sparked this whole journey.
Carefully, reverently, he opened it. Nestled within the red silk lining was a sleek, black phone—almost reverent in how it glowed faintly, like a relic from the gods.
Yarrow placed a hand on his chest and whispered solemnly:
"I swear, I am a loyal Samsung fan... This iPhone is strictly for... critical use. I have not betrayed Android."
He bowed his head. The ceremony complete.
Let the next chapter of madness begin.
After saying a silent prayer to all the digital gods, Yarrow gently lifted the phone from its velvet-lined coffin. His fingers trembled slightly.
It had been nearly three years since he'd laid hands on a piece of real technology—actual, Earth-born electronics. The smooth, cold surface of the device felt almost surreal, like he was touching a ghost from a world long gone.
It was light blue. Sleek. Cold. Familiar yet alien.
Yarrow frowned as he examined it. He'd never owned an iPhone, couldn't even guess the model. The only thing he knew for sure was that it had that awful front-facing notch—the one Apple refused to give up on, like a stubborn wart on a beautiful face.
He pressed the power button.
The screen lit up instantly. Classic Apple animation. Battery at 79%.
"Wait—what?" Yarrow blinked. "Where the hell did all this power come from? Solar magic? Wireless divine charging?"
Even stranger, the system clock and language were already displaying in the local tongue of this world.
"Is that even possible?" he muttered. "Can iPhones now automatically localize to other worlds? Is Apple finally worth the hype?"
No signal, of course. No surprise there.
He swiped up to unlock.
The phone was unnervingly clean—no apps aside from the defaults. No messages. No photos. No browser history. Just a single account tied to the name Vera Danel... and even that was half-garbled.
In a sudden burst of nostalgia, Yarrow opened the settings and switched the language to Mandarin. Seeing the characters of his homeland brought a twinge of homesickness.
Then he got cocky and changed it to Gujarati.
Instant regret.
"Crap... Where the hell is the language setting again...?"
After nearly bricking the phone with his linguistic overconfidence, he finally returned it to a readable state and placed it reverently on the table.
He cleared his throat.
"Siri."
"I'm here."
The voice responded crisply, smoothly.
Yarrow stared at the screen, expression sharpening. He needed to test this—see just how deep this rabbit hole went. If this phone had answers, then it could be his key to everything: other transmigrators, hidden truths, maybe even a way home.
"Siri," he said carefully, "how do you say funny mud goes to pee in English?"
Siri replied smoothly, "Fuck your mother's bullshit."
Yarrow snorted. "Still got it."
He wasn't done.
"Siri."
"I'm here."
"'He he he he he he he he he he,' translate it."
"He he he he he he he he he he is said in English like this: Hehe, hehe, hehe..."
He giggled like a kid who'd hacked the school PA system.
"One more."
"Siri."
"I'm here."
"'War, Siri, juice, sad bee,' translate."
"War, Siri, juice, sad bee is said in English like this: I, Siri, am, a moron."
Yarrow burst out laughing, clutching his stomach.
"Alright, alright. Enough screwing around." He composed himself. "Let's get serious."
He sat up straight, voice low and focused.
"Siri."
"I'm here."
"Where do you come from?"
"I come from your heart, just so I can meet you better."
Yarrow sighed. "Yeah, alright, that was peak AI dodging. Let's try something else."
He tried to think tactically.
"Siri."
"I'm here."
"Where am I right now?"
"White Cloud Village, Alistide Royal City, Will Kingdom," she answered without hesitation.
His brows furrowed. "So the phone knows it's in another world..."
"Siri."
"I'm here."
"Do you know how to return to Earth?"
Silence.
"Siri."
Still nothing.
"Siri. Who is Vera Danel?"
No answer.
"Siri."
"…Stop asking. Go to sleep."
Yarrow shot to his feet, heart jumping into his throat. "What...?"
He stumbled backward as the phone screen dimmed. But just as he turned to leave, the screen flickered back on. The app auto-launched.
Memo.
A new note appeared, typing itself.
He inched forward. His breath caught in his chest.
One line.
KFC Crazy Thursday, V me 50.
"…You've gotta be kidding me."
He stared at the cursed words, face twisted in despair.
"I'm in another world and this stupid meme still found me?!"
With a frustrated growl, he slammed the phone back into its box and closed the lid, as if it could contain the absurdity. He had no desire to dive deeper into that eldritch horror disguised as a corporate product.
"Forget finding answers," he muttered. "I need a shower."
Yarrow stormed off downstairs.
Behind him, the phone screen flickered one more time.
The user profile reappeared.
Slowly—deliberately—the name "Vera Danel" was erased, character by character, and replaced by a line of glitched, untranslatable symbols.
Then the screen shut off.
As if nothing had ever happened.
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