(Dylan)

Eight hours later…

Dylan woke to a dull ache in his arm, Meekan’s slumbering form making it numb. She slept soundly on top of it, her hand clasped around his. She’d pulled up a chair beside him and dozed off facing him. With her brown fox eyes closed and her fluffy ears tucked neatly against her head, she almost looked human. Her hair, once styled for last night’s dinner, now hung loose in messy strands.

Someone had adjusted his chair while he slept, leaving him in a semi-reclined position. Curious if there was any lasting physical damage but not wanting to wake Meekan, he kept his arm still. Instead, he flexed his toes cautiously. A wave of relief washed over him as sensation spread through his stiff muscles. His ankles cracked softly as he rolled them, testing his mobility. ‘That’s a good sign,’ he thought.

All three had fallen asleep with the infirmary lights still on. Dylan lay back in his reclining chair, Meekan curled beside him, while Nathan sat slumped in a nearby seat, arms crossed, leaning against the wall.

Another ache pulsed through Dylan’s gut, a lingering reminder of the previous night’s ordeal. He prodded his belly, meeting a soft resistance that sent small ripples of discomfort through him. Aside from some lingering tenderness, everything seemed in order.

“You’re awake,” Meekan said, still perched on his arm, her fox eyes blinking up at him.

“I’m awake.” Dylan forced himself to break eye contact, a hint of warmth stirring in his chest. It was way too early to get lost in those brown eyes.

Meekan let go of his hand to sit up straight, stretching her arms high above her head. A loud yawn, followed by cute squeaks, accompanied the arching of her back as she roused herself awake.

Nathan stirred awake. “How are you feeling?” He rolled his stiff neck; a side effect from using his own shoulder as a pillow. Dylan noticed his eyes were blue again—a welcome change to seeing his other, darker colors.

“Surprisingly, I feel fine. Just a little tender inside.” Dylan kept poking at his stomach.

“Are you hungry?” Meekan asked, her ears twitching upright.

“Pretty sure I’m starving for real this time.” Right on cue, his stomach let out a loud gurgle.

Meekan padded over to the counter, returning with a square object wrapped in kraft paper. “Charles left you something to eat,” she said, handing it over.

Dylan pinched the bridge of his nose and hung his head. “Are there any other options?”

“No,” Nathan and Meekan said in unison.

Dylan rolled his eyes, halfway to a pout, before his stomach betrayed him with a loud growl. With a heavy sigh, he took the wrapped loaf from Meekan. He couldn’t fault Charles for the gesture—he was lucky to have anything to eat at all—but that didn’t make it any easier to choke down the flak.

Dylan tore off a small piece of the bluish-gray flak, grimacing as he bit down. The texture was rough, like stale cardboard, and the salty tang clung to his tongue, making him shudder. Unfortunately, it was the only food they knew was safe for him to eat.

He forced down another bite, shivering as the taste lingered. “So… at what rank do I get to survive on eating glyphs or whatever?”

Nathan furrowed his brow, concern etched across his face. “Dylan, you can’t even digest normal food.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “I can’t believe I even have to say this, but please don’t go around swallowing expensive magical items.” His voice firmed. “It’s wasteful—and, more importantly, a choking hazard.”

Meekan pressed her hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking as she tried to stifle a laugh.

Nathan crossed his arms, giving her a pointed look. “Dylan almost died because he tried to eat food his body couldn’t process.”

“I know, I know.” Meekan chuckled, trying to control herself. “I’m just picturing him running around, shoving gems and glyphs into his mouth while you chase after him.”

“That’s not funny,” Nathan said, fighting a smile.

“Wait—” Dylan swallowed hard. “Are you saying I have to keep eating?” He forced down another bite of flak, grimacing. “Forever?”

“Yes.” Nathan nodded, chuckling. “That’s how eating works.” He broke into laughter at the sheer absurdity of the conversation.

“But…” Dylan stared down at the flak, then looked up, tilting his head. “Why are you laughing?” Meekan and Nathan were in hysterics, tears streaming down their cheeks from uncontrollable laughter.

Dylan’s belly convulsed as the chuckles snuck up on him. “Why am I laughing?” He struggled to hold it back, failing miserably.

He’d almost died, barely surviving a catastrophic death loop that might’ve burned through his remaining resets—whatever that meant. And now? He was eating the saddest sandwich, talking about stuffing magic objects into his mouth, and questioning if he’d ever be able to stop eating. Perspective was funny like that.

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Dylan set the flak aside—eating and laughing didn’t mix. Meekan pointed at him, a snort escaping before she could stop it. Her eyes went wide with embarrassment as she clapped a hand over her mouth, still giggling uncontrollably. Doubled over, Nathan stomped his foot, wheezing between chortles.

“Don’t eat it!” Meekan howled, clutching her sides as laughter overtook her.

Le’pard, looking fresh and rested in a clean set of clothes, strolled into the doorway. He glanced at the three laughing loons and arched a brow. “What’s so funny?”

All three turned to look at him, then immediately dissolved into more laughter, too breathless to explain even if they wanted to.

Le’pard already knew the answer—he’d been there. A slow grin spread across his face as he watched them make fools of themselves, and before long, the chuckles caught up with him too.

When the laughter finally subsided, Le’pard grinned. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. Just wanted to check in on you.”

“Thanks,” Dylan said, managing a small smile.

Le’pard gave Nathan a nod before heading down the hall toward the dining room, still chuckling to himself.

With half of his uneaten flak lying in his lap, Dylan thought of his friend. “Where’s Charles?”

Nathan wiped the last traces of laughter from his eye. “He said something about getting arrested.”

“Arrested?” Dylan shot upright. “What do you mean? How? When?” He jumped to his feet, flak at the ready.

Meekan rested a hand on Dylan’s arm, gently steadying him. “We don’t know what happened.”

“Do we know where he is now?” Dylan tore off a sizeable chunk of flak, chewing it with grim determination.

Nathan stood and began gathering the empty vials scattered around the room. “He said to meet him at the constabulary once you were feeling better.”

“He’s in jail?” Dylan turned to Meekan, eyes wide. “We’ve got to get there before something bad happens.”

The vials clinked softly as Nathan packed them into a bag. “Charles should be fine—”

Dylan shook his head. “It’s not him I’m worried about. He’s like John Wick—only with magic.” The thought of an angry, forced-out-of-retirement Charles made him shudder.

“I’m fine now. Let’s get to the constabulary—or station, or whatever it’s called.” He shoved the last of the flak into his mouth, ignoring the horrid taste.

Nathan tossed a crumpled cloth into a laundry bin. “First, you’ve got to change your shirt.”

Dylan glanced down at the crusty stains and grimaced. “Ugh… gross.”

“Yes,” Nathan sighed. “And I wish you’d let me get you some new pants.” He eyed Dylan’s stained, bloodied mess of pants.

“Yeah…” Meekan gave his pants a quick glance and wrinkled her nose. “They’re really starting to smell.”

Dylan hung his head, eyes shut, as the blow landed. ‘Great—now I’m officially old and stinky,’ he thought. With a heavy sigh, he stepped into the hallway and froze, glancing left, then right, unsure which way to go.

“You’re lost, aren’t you?” Meekan said with a knowing smirk.

Dylan kept glancing back and forth. “Yep.” He could only hope the answer hit him before he became the old, stinky, helpless guy.

“I’ve got him,” Nathan said, straightening the seat. “He’s my responsibility.”

She reached up and gave Nathan a quick hug. “Right, but he’s my friend, too.” Then she stepped over to Dylan, and he realized they were the same height—if you didn’t count her ears.

She wrapped him in a tight hug, leaning in to whisper, “Everything will get better, I promise.” Then she pulled away, pinching her nose. “Maybe consider a shower…” Her apologetic smile softened the jab. “I’m sure Charles would appreciate it.”

Dylan hung his head, defeated. Yep. Stinky. Again.

“Mind cleaning up while we—?”

Meekan shooed them off with a playful flick of her hand. “Go on. I’ve got this. Even Runemist won’t know we were here.”

Nathan led them back to the dorms along a different route. Outside, the sun was warm and rising—it was still morning. They arrived without incident.

Dylan opted for a quick shower—no way was he letting the pretty fox-woman call him stinky a third time. To his relief, the showers were just like the ones on Earth, complete with bars of soap, which he used on both his hair and body.

His reflection in the mirror caught him off guard—a lightly bearded Dylan stared back. Shaving, unlike exercising, was one of the few habits he still kept. But it had been nearly a week since his last shave. After checking both profiles, he decided the beard was growing on him, and he’d keep it.

On their way to the Dartmouth Constabulary, Dylan noticed that most people walked to get around, reserving mounts and vehicles—magical or mundane—for hauling. It took them nearly an hour to reach their destination, right next to City Hall.

After a stretch of quiet, Dylan turned to Nathan. “The League of Adventurers runs the hospital, right?”

Nathan gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

“Do they handle the police, too?”

“No,” Nathan said, shaking his head. “The League handles municipal services—medical, fire, rescue, and issuing League cards. But they stay out of making or enforcing local laws.”

They turned down another street lined with imposing buildings, like the League of Adventurers’ Hall. “So, your cops are just unpowered locals?”

“Mundane,” Nathan corrected. “That’s what we call normal people without magic abilities.”

“Okay, but what happens if someone like Charles breaks the law?”

“If the locals need help, they can issue a request through the Contract System. Charles turned himself in before they had to issue one for him.”

“Will that… help him?”

“Usually, the courts let the League handle their own.”

“But Charles isn’t a licensed adventurer anymore—he’s retired. So… what happens to him now?”

“I don’t know.”

They climbed the steps into the Dartmouth Constabulary. They weren’t allowing Charles any visitors, but the judge had postponed his hearing until Nathan had arrived.

An attendant escorted Dylan and Nathan to their seats in the courtroom, which reminded Dylan of his time on jury duty. Polished wood furniture gleamed under soft lighting, filling the air with the scent of aged wood and polish. Wood railings and paneling lined the walls, while plush carpeting dampened echoes and white marble adorned the ceiling.

The biggest difference between Mother of Dragons and Earth courtrooms was the judge’s bench. Here, it sat level with them instead of looming overhead.

The attendant returned a minute later with an extra chair, placing it beside Dylan’s. Shortly after, Charles arrived, flanked by two uniformed draconi. They guided him to his seat and took their places nearby in the gallery.

Dylan noticed Charles wasn’t wearing handcuffs—or any other restraints, for that matter.

The rugged elf leaned over and said, “Glad to see you’re still alive.”

The entrance opened, and a petite gnome entered the room. Her shoulder-length, wavy silver hair was flipped to one side. She wore a bold ensemble in pink, black, and purple—straight trousers, a tucked-in low-cut shirt, a buttoned vest, and a sharp, lapelled jacket. The vibrant colors drew as much attention as her confident stride.

‘Another gnome?’ Dylan wondered.