Seasons of Change

The portal spat them out onto cold stone.

The Borscht Brigade—still weary from their victory over the demon-shadow in the Feywild—stumbled into the snow-covered streets of Northwind. It was quiet. Unnaturally so. The cold bit at their fingers and ears, and snow fell gently from a gray sky that gave no indication of what time it was.

Dray, gold scales now dull with frost, pulled his cloak tighter. “It’s winter.”

“But it was autumn,” Izutsumi said, scanning the surroundings. “We’ve only been gone… days, maybe?”

The northern gate stood behind them, unchanged but distant. The city ahead looked familiar, but not entirely right. As they moved through the narrow alleys and quiet plazas, they passed by shuttered windows and frost-dusted market stalls. The silence was broken only by the crunch of their boots on ice and the wind rattling hanging signs.

They stopped briefly in the market, where a lone vendor—looking confused, cold, but functional—sold them hot rolls filled with spiced cheese. He didn’t seem to notice the dissonance in the air or the wrongness the Brigade felt. He didn’t remember anything about a magical freeze or goblin raids. Just weather, the coming spring, and his cart’s low profit margin.

“We’ve been gone longer than we thought,” Aggar said quietly, scanning the rooftops.

Suddenly, a group of goblins burst from an alleyway. Crude weapons, sharp laughter.

The fight was short. Aggar’s arrows sang. Dray’s blade spilled blood in the snow. Izutsumi and Sharkie unleashed primal magic, while Rufus danced from shadow to shadow, twin knives flashing. The goblins were cut down before they could even run.

Then, just as suddenly, the air shifted.

The snow melted as the Brigade pressed deeper into Northwind. One moment they were surrounded by frost and biting wind—then, with a few more steps down a familiar cobblestone lane, they were in early spring. Buds bloomed on the trees. The chill gave way to damp earth and the buzz of waking insects.

“Is anyone else seeing this?” Sharkie asked.

“Yes,” said Izutsumi. “But no one else seems to.”

The people walking by looked cheerful, absorbed in their routines. No panic, no memory of a magical freeze or goblin invasion. When the Brigade questioned locals, they got polite confusion in return. "Lovely day, isn't it?" one elderly woman said, carrying tulips. "Winter was mild this year."

Each step deeper into Northwind was a step forward in time. A week? A month? A heartbeat? The line blurred. The Brigade crossed from spring into summer as they entered the city square. The transformation was seamless. One moment muddy streets and gentle rain, the next blazing sun and vibrant greenery. Market stalls were being raised. Children played with paper kites. A troupe of dancers practiced on the green.

The centerpiece of the square was a large white gazebo, surrounded by ribbons, streamers, and baskets of pastries. People decorated the posts with garlands of summer flowers, unaware of the wrongness crawling beneath the surface.

Izutsumi broke off from the group to browse a nearby magic shop. Her fingers trailed along shelves of sparkling vials and crystalline charms as she tried to center herself.

The rest of the group lingered near the gazebo. Sharkie nibbled on a cinnamon fritter. Aggar watched the crowd with narrowed eyes.

That’s when the earth shook.

A groan rose from the gazebo—low and resonant, like a beast waking from a nightmare. The structure shuddered. Wood twisted. Paint peeled. And then, with a sickening crunch, the entire gazebo rippled and came alive.

“What the—” Dray barely got the word out before a massive pseudopod lashed out, swiping two decorators from their ladders and swallowing them whole.

The entire gazebo was a mimic.

Tentacles of warped wood and glistening flesh tore through the cobblestone, erupting from beneath the ground. One slammed into a fruit stall, sending apples flying like shrapnel. Another crashed through a bakery stand, splattering cream and tarts across the street.

Panic erupted. People screamed and scattered, running in every direction. A few brave city guards sprinted toward the creature, swords drawn, but were immediately knocked aside—some grabbed by tentacles, others melted by acidic spittle.

“Move!” shouted Aggar, loosing arrows toward the mimic’s glistening eye. The bolts struck, sinking into a surface that rippled like flesh and wood fused together.

Dray charged, his greatsword glowing with arcane energy. He hacked at a tentacle, severing it in a burst of black ichor, but another wrapped around his waist and dragged him into the mimic’s mouth.

Inside, the gold dragonborn stood on a tongue-like platform, dodging rows of jagged teeth. Steam hissed from vents in the mimic’s throat, and acid dripped from the ceiling.

Outside, Izutsumi emerged from the magic shop, eyes wide. She raised her staff and unleashed a shatter spell, striking the mimic with concussive force. The mimic screeched, and a burst of energy exploded from its wound—cupcakes rained from the sky, frosting splattering across bystanders and bricks alike.

“What the hell?” yelled Rufus, hurling a vial of alchemist’s fire. The glass shattered against the mimic’s hide, fire blooming along its warped back. Another wound burst—this time into a cloud of rainbow confetti.

Sharkie shifted into her wild shape—a dire wolf—and darted between writhing limbs, snapping at exposed muscle. Rufus climbed a tentacle, stabbing downward with both knives, carving a path toward Dray.

Inside the mimic, Dray punched his way free through a molar and clambered out onto the battlefield, sword raised.

With one last, coordinated assault—Izutsumi’s moonbeam, Sharkie’s bite, Dray’s sword, and Rufus’s second dose of alchemist fire—the mimic let out a final gurgle and exploded into cupcakes and confetti. A rain of frosting fell upon the stunned survivors.

The city square was a wreck. But the creature was dead.

Then, everything shimmered.

The group blinked—and they were standing on the grounds of Northwind Adventurers Academy once more.

It was autumn again.

Nothing had changed. The bubble still hung in the air, frozen in place. The stone fountain still hovered mid-splash. The students and staff were still locked in their magical stasis.

But this time, the Brigade knew what to do.

They raced back to the Zelladium Arcana. Inside, the strange illusions still flickered. But they took no chances. Working carefully, they traced the levers, the conduits, the sigils. Izutsumi double-checked each rune. Sharkie and Rufus worked in sync to manage the arcane flow.

With a final pulse of light, the Zelladium Crystal dimmed. A wave of magic radiated outward—a soft pulse that rolled over the entire academy like wind through tall grass.

The time stop ended.

Students collapsed. Professors gasped for breath. The very air seemed to shudder as time reasserted itself.

They did it.

Among the returning students were Letitia, Flora, and Evangeline. The three young wizards had been caught in their own simulation and looked dazed, but alive.

They had no time to celebrate.

Hiram Maynard stepped into the courtyard, eyes sharp and accusing. He barked orders—demanding answers, authority, obedience.

But the Brigade had had enough.

When they refused to defer to him, his fury boiled over. Without warning, Hiram attacked Norval.

The spell struck true. Norval fell.

Screams erupted. Evangeline and Flora retaliated, spells flying like lightning. Letitia wept and cast silently, her magic more potent than ever.

The Brigade joined the fray. Dray took the front, shielding the others. Sharkie healed the fallen. Rufus moved in close, striking between words of Hiram’s incantations. Izutsumi unleashed a storm of stars.

Together, they struck Hiram down.

His body crumpled. His ambition died with him.

The aftermath was chaos. Students lay weak and dizzy, struck by time stop sickness—a magical dissonance that left them nauseated, weak, and disoriented. The campus infirmary was overwhelmed.

Master Longhurst of the Druid College found the Brigade amid the chaos. His normally serene face was grim.

“You’ve done more than we could have asked,” he said. “But this isn’t over. Many students were taken during the attack. We don’t know where.”

He handed Sharkie a wand carved with glyphs that glowed faintly.

“This will help you track them. You’re the only ones strong enough... and awake enough... to go.”

The Brigade exchanged looks. They were tired but not broken. And they had work to do.