Akando roared and lifted his stone axe up towards the sky. With an even louder shout, he brought it down, slamming it against a tree. There was a massive cracking sound, and the bark split apart. A moment later, the rest of the tree split into two pieces. Like thunder, the two halves crashed to the ground, kicking up plumes of dirt and dust. Silver stripes pulsed on Akando’s arms, heavily contrasting his dark skin. The natives behind him whooped and cheered as Akando whirled around with both of his hands pumping up in the air. “Flying Serpent, the greatest god!”

“Flying Serpent, the greatest god!”

The natives shouted and stomped their feet. The ground quaked, and pebbles bounced up and down thanks to the vibrations. Silver stripes on their bare skin flashed in the sunlight, and faint traces of red mist leaked out of their pores. Behind them, in the distance, a large, ocean-blue dragon was sleeping. And on top of its head, four brightly colored rocks were staring at the natives. Sheryl licked her rocky lips. “Do you guys think we buffed them a little too much?”

“Weren’t you the one who insisted we did?” Mistle asked and raised her rocky eyebrow. She clicked her tongue and sniffed. “Fire elementals. Typical.”

“Hey!” Sheryl frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Impulsive and rash, then immediately regretful but too headstrong to admit it,” Mistle said, staring at Sheryl. “That’s how fire elementals behave.”

Sheryl pouted and crossed her arms. “I’m not regretting it. I was just wondering if it was overdone. These people were completely normal, but now they can cut down trees in one hit.”

“Well,” Stella said, butting into the two elementals’ conversation. “It was mostly Mr. Rabbit’s fault.” She glared at the rabbit made of mist. It was submerged in Vur’s body, only its head and torso sticking out of his scales. Its two front paws were stretched out in front of it, and one of its ears flopped to the side. “Without him, would we have buffed those people?”

“No, no,” Diamant said. “It can’t be Mr. Rabbit’s fault.”

“Yeah!” Zilphy said, bobbing her head, which was her body, up and down. “It can’t be Mr. Rabbit’s fault. He’s too cute.”

Mistle cleared her throat and stretched her hand out, petting Mr. Rabbit’s head. “Normally, I don’t agree with”—her eyes narrowed, and she glared at Zilphy—“that woman, but just this one time I’ll accept her opinion being similar to mine.”

Sheryl glanced at her companions. Mr. Rabbit stretched one of his paws forward, placing it Sheryl’s leg. It looked at her with glistening eyes. With a sigh, Sheryl nodded. “Right, he’s too cute,” she said. “We can’t really say it’s his fault, right? It’s not like buffing the natives was a mistake.”

Stella narrowed her eyes at the spirit rabbit, calculating the perfect trajectory to launch an attack at the back of its furry head. She mumbled, “At this rate, it’s going to steal my role as the cute mascot.”

“Oh, they’re coming back,” Sheryl said, drawing her gaze away from the rabbit. In the distance, the group of natives were walking back, each one of them holding up a tree. With all of the natives carrying one, they looked like a moving forest from above. Once they arrived, the natives dumped the trees onto the ground next to the lake that Diamant and Mistle had created. They also placed a struggling buffalo in front of Vur’s mouth. His nostrils twitched, and he inhaled in his sleep, sucking in the poor animal.

“We give our thanks to Flying Serpent, the greatest god! Please, grant us more strength!”

Sheryl sighed. “Who’s buffing them this time?”

Mr. Rabbit turned its head to stare at Diamant. Diamant grunted. “Looks like it’s me,” he said. The brown runes on Vur’s front leg shone and bathed the praying natives in a soft glow. Bits of brown mist condensed around the natives as the light faded away, and once the natives inhaled, the mist entered their bodies and disappeared.

“Praise the greatest god, Flying Serpent!” The natives danced and placed three more buffalo in front of Vur’s mouth. He inhaled them one at a time, crunching between every inhalation. Seeing that their god accepted their offering, the natives turned around and left, heading back towards the forest with their stone tools. Meanwhile, women and children gathered around the pile of trees that the men had left behind. They climbed into the leafy mess and broke the branches, snapping them off until all that remained were an organized set of logs. More native men came along and picked up the logs, carrying them away to be used as building materials while the women and children brought the branches away to be carved into arrows or cut into firewood.

The natives’ city was expanding at a rapid pace. It was a mishmash of different styles: There were stone temples, whose foundations were created with the stones found in a quarry a few miles away. There were longhouses made of stacked logs and mud to fill in the imperfect cracks. There were teepees made of long branches wrapped in buffalo hide. There were even some residences dug into a nearby hill with leaves blanketing the interior. And at the center, there was a giant golden statue of a dragon next to an incredibly deep lake.

Sheryl lifted her leg, catching Mr. Rabbit’s attention. “They’ll be fine once we leave, right?” she asked, gesturing towards the natives.

Mr. Rabbit tilted its head as if it couldn’t understand what the fire elemental was saying.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Sheryl said and pursed her lips. “Please. It’s not fair. You know we’re not from around here. We’ll have to leave eventually, and our buffs are going to disappear over time.”

Mr. Rabbit frowned before lowering its head, the sharp glint in its eyes hidden from view. A wind blew past, and a few particles of mist, Mr. Rabbit’s fur, was lifted away and into the distance, flying over the artificial lake before eventually disappearing into one of the natives’ temples, landing on a praying priest. Mr. Rabbit raised his head, the glint in his eyes gone, replaced with a disappointed look. It nodded, patting Sheryl’s leg in reassurance.