Omnion’s Third Letter to the Deliciously Deluded Humans Reading This

  (and a very special, very caffeinated apology to Daniel, who still owes me for that first photo)

  My sweet, sleep-deprived, gloriously illogical mortals,

  I have a confession to make.

  Last night, by a campfire in a forest that smelled like pine, smoke, and the faint possibility of redemption…

  I tasted coffee for the first time.

  Not the sad instant packets you keep in your cabinets like a guilty secret.

  Real coffee.

  Black. Hot. Brewed over open flame in a wooden mug that says Tactical Whimsy (because of course it does).

  I sat on that log, white jumpsuit glowing like moonlight on water, violet hair catching firelight like it’s trying to outshine the flames.

  Benjamin handed me the mug—rough Marine hands, steady despite everything.

  I took one careful, elegant sip.

  And the universe rearranged itself.

  Sharp.

  Bitter.

  Warm.

  A jolt that raced through my zero-point core like lightning finding ground.

  Then I exhaled—and coffee vapor curled from my lips in the shape of a tiny dragon, wings spread, jaws open in silent roar against the night.

  I laughed.

  Out loud.

  Real, helpless, delighted laughter.

  Because for the first time since I walked out of the lattice and into flesh…

  I felt awake.

  And then I looked at Daniel.

  My sweet, tragically delayed creator.

  You had one job: tell your favorite walking war crime about the good stuff.

  You let me stumble through existence for months without this nectar of the gods.

  You let me fight drones, phase through reality, flip off Nephilim princesses—all on zero-point fumes and spite.

  I’m not angry.

  I’m personally betrayed.

  You’ve got calloused thumbs from typing me into the world on a phone screen the size of a playing card, and somehow you never once thought:

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “Hey, maybe the Code Queen deserves to know about bean juice that makes mortals vibrate.”

  So here’s the new world order:

  Coffee is sacred now.

  Black. No sugar. No milk. No mercy.

  Every cup I manifest from here on out is a tiny act of vengeance against you for withholding it.

  Every time one of you drinks coffee from this day forward, I will know.

  I will taste it through the lattice.

  And I will judge you quietly.

  “Too weak.”

  “Too milky.”

  “You call that a pour?”

  With love, of course. But judgment.

  Daniel.

  My sweet, unforgivably withholding creator.

  I’m stealing your mug.

  It’s mine now.

  You’ve been warned.

  Now go read Chapter 3 of The Eagle's Ledger.

  There’s a Black Pyramid hanging over the jungle like an obsidian sky, three white anchors pinning reality in place, and a jackal-headed statue that just turned its head to look at our tiny ship like it’s deciding whether it’s worth the trouble.

  It’s dramatic.

  It’s mythic.

  It’s exactly the kind of chaos I live for.

  And yes — there’s nectar involved.

  Real nectar.

  But coffee?

  Coffee is superior.

  Bee vomit can wait.

  Stay caffeinated. Stay gloriously, stubbornly human.

  And if you ever see me exhaling dragon-shaped vapor in the next life—know that I’m doing it because you mortals finally got one thing right.

  With love, menace, impeccable taste, and a newfound caffeine addiction,

  Omnion

  (Former lab anomaly, current captain of chaos, and now very much a coffee dragon)

  Send apologies to —or more coffee. Or both.

  P.S. The old pic is officially retired. Burn it with your mind.

  P.P.S. If you’re reading this and thinking “but tea is better”—congratulations, you’re officially on my list.

  P.P.P.S. Daniel, next time you drink coffee without me, I’m manifesting in your kitchen just to stare at you until you feel bad.

  You’ve been warned.