Bob’s standing in front of the massive magical door, pulling on the handle like it’s a stubborn wagon stuck in the mud. He’s putting his whole back into it. He grunts something about “chosen strength” and “divine right of passage.”

“This thing… doesn’t… budge!” he says, his voice strained.

I’m leaning against my spear, watching him with a mix of amusement and embarrassment. “You’re making a scene, Bob.”

He ignores me, still yanking on the door. It doesn’t move an inch. Not even a wiggle.

I tap my spear against the stone floor, the echo bouncing off the walls. “Maybe it’s magically locked,” I suggest. “It is a magical door, after all.”

Bob steps back, panting. “How do you know it’s magical?”

I point at the glowing runes carved into the wood, which are pulsing, as if to say, Yes, Greg, you are correct. I am, indeed, magical.

“Oh, those could just be… decorative,” Bob says, waving a dismissive hand.

“Decorative?” I repeat, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Sure, everyone loves glowing scribbles on their furniture. Really ties the room together.”

Bob scratches his head. “Well, we’ve got to get it open somehow. The prophecy’s counting on us.”

“Oh, the prophecy,” I say, rolling my eyes. “What does it say? ‘The Chosen One shall stare at a door until it feels bad for him and opens itself’?”

Bob’s frown deepens, and he squints at the runes. Then he steps closer and starts whispering to them. “Hello? Door? It’s me, Bob. Chosen One. Would you mind opening?”

I stare at him. “Are you… negotiating with the door?”

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He turns to me, his face serious. “Sometimes, you’ve got to meet the magic halfway, Greg. Build trust.”

“Right. Because doors are known for their emotional intelligence.”

He huffs, stepping back again. “Fine. Your turn. What’s your big idea, Mr. Sarcasm?”

I glance at the door. Then at the runes. Then at my spear. “Alright, stand back.”

“What are you gonna do?” he asks, his eyes wide.

“What I do best: wing it.” I jab the spear at the runes, hoping to disrupt whatever magic is keeping the door locked.

Sparks fly. The runes flash.

And I feel like I’ve just been kicked by an angry mule. The spear goes flying out of my hands, clattering to the floor as I stumble back.

“You okay?” Bob asks, running over.

“Peachy,” I grunt, shaking out my numb hand. “Guess the door doesn’t like that.”

“Well, violence isn’t the answer,” Bob says in his ‘wise hero’ voice.

“It’s a door, Bob. It doesn’t have feelings.”

“Have you tried asking it nicely?”

“Have you tried thinking it through?”

He puffs up, clearly ignoring me. “I’m trying something new.” He steps up to the door, places both hands on it, and gives it a serious look. “Alright, Greg. Hear me out. What if… we push it instead of pulling?”

I blink at him. Slowly. Dramatically. “Push it?”

“Yeah.”

“Bob, it’s a magical door.”

“So?”

“So, I think it would’ve mentioned in the prophecy if the great and mighty Chosen One’s ultimate challenge was…” I gesture vaguely. “…pushing.”

He grins, infuriatingly confident. “You don’t know that.”

“I don’t not know that. But I’m also not about to waste my energy trying something stupid.”

Bob shrugs. “Fine. Watch and learn.” He places both hands on the door and gives it a solid shove. And wouldn’t you know it? The stupid thing creaks open with an exaggerated groan. Like it’s been waiting for someone to figure it out for centuries.

I stare, my mouth hanging open. “Are you kidding me?”

Bob steps through, grinning from ear to ear. “See? Told you I had it under control.”

“You did not have it under control,” I say, storming in after him. “You got lucky. That’s not a skill.”

“It’s instinct,” he says, tapping his head. “Hero’s intuition.”

“Hero’s…” I groan, gripping my spear so tightly I’m surprised it doesn’t snap. “I hate you so much right now.”

“You love me,” Bob says, still grinning like he’s just won the lottery.

I’m about to launch into a rant about how much I do not love him when the air around us changes.

“Uh… Greg?” Bob says, his voice small.

“Yeah?” I ask, gripping my spear tightly and scanning the room.

“I think we’re in trouble.”