Evolutions were a beautiful, glorious thing. I treasured them immensely, loved all who climbed their path, and worked with both my knowledge and their soul to choose the best they could become.

So it was truly a balm to feel so many little lights spring up throughout my halls.

Both of excitement, and also of relief.

Because yeah. I needed these evolutions.

With the mana I'd scrapped and scraped, losing three fourths of what I should have gotten, I'd only had enough to recreate the lesser creatures of my halls. So the populations of burrowing rats were back up, not at what they had been but with enough to regrow back to their previous size. So still empty dens, still less movement and life and hunger than had been there before, but enough to regrow. That was why I built ecosystems, after all. The mana gained from invasions was better used for more important things, not constantly replenishing my populations. Even in the raid-frenzy I only called for most of my creatures, leaving those pregnant or guarding eggs back in their dens, keeping away the too-young and a small group that would be enough to keep the group alive.

For all that I'd mostly evolved past needing to rely on my innate dungeon abilities, I was endlessly grateful for the part of me made of stone walls and endless deeps that knew exactly how many I needed to retain, how large to make the groups, how intricate to make the family lines.

I was a dragon. I certainly wouldn't know how to keep rats alive without those instincts.

So my halls weren't exactly back in perfect shape, still down about a third of their previous prey populations, and that was without the larger beasts I had yet to recreate. It had simply been too much of a mana sink—I had to get the food sources back before I could add predators, of course.

But it hurt, I must admit, to create a pitiful little school of silverheads instead of shaping a new sarco crocodile.

I missed him, and I missed my cloudskipper wisp, and I missed my mother cave bear. They'd lived such brilliant, beautiful lives, only to be cut short before any of them had even gotten a chance to evolve.

So I would evolve new monsters that would grow strong enough to never allow those invaders to take from me again. I swore it.

Was it something I could swear? Technically not. Invaders would keep invading me no matter how much I spat and cursed their presence, and they would always bring swords and blades and magic. I couldn't stop them from killing my creatures entirely.

But I could make damn sure they wouldn't make it out of my halls alive.

I reached for the messages crawling over my core.

Easily dozens, all bright and shining and wonderful, and I let my attention get tugged between all the creatures—I'd start on the smaller ones first, move through those that I knew I could pick quicker and let them get evolving, because there were certain lights in the back of my mind that I knew I would be agonizing for hours over and there was no need to let littler things wait around while I tried to make a decision.

So.

Your creature, a Burrowing Rat, is undergoing evolution!

Please select your desired path.

Ratking (Uncommon): Commander of the lesser rats, it uses its long and powerful tail to bind them to its will, forcing all those in the vicinity to serve it with reckless abandon whether their lives are kept or lost.

Shadowthief Rat (Rare): Burglars, collectors, rogues. It has learned that it serves best from the darkness as it seeks to build its shining hoard, striking in a flurry of blows before disappearing back to lairs unseen.

Mage Ratkin (Rare): Unlike its arcane brethren, this creature chooses a specialization in only one branch of mana, and can now generate their own attuned mana to use as they see fit. As they study and train, their power can grow to be reminiscent of a true mage.