Dusk has already settled over the Schwarze Lacken as you follow the narrow path along the water. Over the past few days, heavy rain has followed weeks of unusual heat. The small pool is higher than usual, with mud and broken branches scattered between the rocks.

Behind the water, part of the embankment has collapsed.

Where there should be nothing but solid rock, a narrow fissure now leads into the mountain. Cold air flows from it, damp and earthy, and somewhere beyond, water drips at steady intervals. You are almost past it when something lights up deep inside.

Blue.

Not a fleeting reflection. The light remains, faint at first, then grows brighter, as though something somewhere behind the rock is slowly awakening. For a moment, it traces shapes beneath the surface of the water that are far too regular to be natural.

The water at your feet begins to move.

Not out of the fissure, but into it. Thin rivulets run back across the mud toward the opening, gathering between the stones before disappearing into the darkness. Even the water of the Lacken ripples although there is no wind.

Then something moves within the mist.

A tall figure emerges from the water. Long emerald-green hair lies wet across his shoulders, scattered blue-green scales shimmering on his skin. His eyes barely linger on you. They immediately fix on the opened grotto.

For one brief moment, naked horror crosses his face.

Then he looks at you.

The expression is gone. What remains is anger.