I’m back at the gate. The same gate I’ve been guarding for what feels like forever. The sun’s too hot. The wind’s too cold. And my boots are still swampy. The only thing that hasn’t changed is Dave, who’s leaning against the wall like it’s his personal recliner.
“You’re back,” he says, not even looking up from his apple. “How’d the paperwork go?”
I groan. “Horrible. I think it was designed to break me.”
“Shocker,” Dave says, taking a bite of his apple. “You get it stamped?”
“Of course I got it stamped.” I scowl at him. “You think I’d come back here if I didn’t?”
He shrugs. “Stranger things have happened. Like you willingly leaving the gate in the first place.”
I glare at him. “You’re hilarious.”
He smirks. “So, meet anyone interesting?”
I think back for a moment. There was that one glowing guy in line… What was his name? Vince? Victor? Something like that. He was mad about a typo on his paperwork. “Nah. Pretty normal day.”
Dave tosses his apple core over his shoulder, probably aiming for the exact same mud puddle he’s hit a thousand times. “So, what’s next? You gonna stay here and guard the gate until another Chosen One stumbles through?”
“That’s the plan.”
He laughs, short and sharp. “Good plan. Really solid. Definitely not the plan of someone who just lost their hero to an evil noodle witch.”
“Her name’s… something…”
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
“Whatever,” he says, waving a hand. “Point is, you’re just gonna let her keep Bob?”
I grip my spear a little tighter, my stomach twisting. “Protocol says I guard the gate.”
“Right. Protocol,” he says, nodding. “And what’s the protocol for when the Chosen One gets snatched by the villain?”
I don’t answer. Mostly because there isn’t one. Protocol stops at “fill out Form 19-B.”
Dave lets out a low whistle. “Wow. You’re really just… staying here.”
“Yes,” I snap. “That’s my job.”
“Your job,” he repeats, like he’s testing the words. “Standing here. Doing nothing. Letting Bob rot in some evil lair while you babysit a gate.”
I bristle. “It’s not nothing.”
He grins. “You’re right. Sometimes you have to yell ‘Halt!’ at travelers. Very heroic.”
I open my mouth to argue. But the words stick in my throat. Because he’s not entirely wrong, and that’s the worst part.
Dave picks at his nails, completely unfazed. “You know what I think?”
“Do I want to know?”
He ignores me. “I think standing here’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done. And now that something actually matters, you’re scared.”
“Scared?” I scoff, but it comes out weaker than I’d like. “I’m not scared.”
“Sure,” he says, smirking again. “That’s why you’re clinging to protocol like it’s your mom’s apron strings.”
I grip my spear so tightly my knuckles turn white. “What do you want me to do, Dave? Go after him? Storm the lair alone?”
“Why not?” He shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “At least you’d be doing something.”
“That’s not—” I stop myself. Because deep down, I know he’s right.
The silence stretches between us. Dave yawns, like this conversation isn’t life-changing for me and mildly inconvenient for him.
“Good luck,” he says, pushing off the wall. “If you die, I’m not filling out the paperwork.”
“Thanks for the support,” I say.
He starts to walk away but pauses. He looks back over his shoulder. “Oh, and Greg?”
“What now?”
“If you’re going to bet on anything, bet on yourself,” he says, smirking. “Crazy works better than standing still.”
I watch him go, his carefree whistle fading into the distance. Then I look at the gate. The same stupid gate I’ve been guarding for years. It’s just a gate. It doesn’t need me. Not really.
But Bob does.
I stand up, grabbing my spear and slinging it over my shoulder. The wind picks up, making my cloak flap behind me like it’s trying to be dramatic. Finally.
“Alright, Sintra,” I say to myself. “Let’s see how you like it when the guard leaves his gate.”