I’m standing at the gate, picking at a smudge on my armor, when Bob shows up again.

“Greg!” he calls, his voice way too cheerful for someone who recently got beat by an orc. His cape swishes behind him, now with a suspicious tear near the hem. I’d bet my logbook he tripped over it.

“Oh good,” I mutter. “The Chosen One’s back. My day was missing just the right amount of disaster.”

Bob doesn’t even hear me. He’s practically bouncing on his boots, his shiny sword clinking against his leg. It’s like watching an over-eager puppy with a very sharp stick.

“Greg,” he repeats, stopping way too close to me. “I need your help.”

I cross my arms. “If it’s about the logbook again, the answer is no. You’ve already signed it as ‘Destiny, last name Unknown,’ which, by the way, is not how last names work.”

He shakes his head. “No, no. This is bigger than the logbook. This is… the quest.”

“The quest?”

“The quest!” he says, as if saying it louder will make it sound less ridiculous. “I need to recruit a team. Heroes! Adventurers! Brave souls to join me in my noble journey.”

“And you’re asking me?” I raise an eyebrow. “A gate guard with questionable lunch luck and zero interest in noble journeys?”

Bob nods earnestly. “Exactly! You’re special, Greg.”

I blink. “Special?”

“Yes,” he says, leaning in like he’s about to share a secret. “You know about levers.”

Oh, for the love of— “It’s not exactly an ancient art, Bob. It’s basic physics.”

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“Exactly,” he says again, as if he’s just cracked the code to the universe. “That’s why I need you. You’re clever, resourceful, and practical.”

I open my mouth to argue. But then I notice he looks… defeated. His shoulders sag slightly under that silly cape, and there’s a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

That catches me off guard. Bob, the Chosen One, looking like he’s clueless? That’s new.

“What do you mean?” I ask, trying not to sound too curious.

He sighs, dragging a hand through his perfectly messy hero hair. “I mean this whole Chosen One thing. The prophecy, the destiny, the doom serpent. I don’t even know what a doom serpent is. Is it a snake? A dragon? A… snagon?”

I snort. “A snagon?”

He shrugs. “I’m just saying, nobody gave me a manual. All I have is this sword, this cape, and a whole lot of expectations.”

For a moment, I almost feel bad for him. Almost. Then I remember he’s the reason I had to fight an orc last week.

“So, what?” I ask. “You want me to hold your hand and walk you through your hero’s journey?”

“No,” he says, a little too quickly. “I just… I thought we could team up. You know, two unlikely allies facing impossible odds together.”

“Hard pass,” I say, turning back toward the gate. “Good luck with your snagon.”

“Wait!” he yells, grabbing my arm. “Look, just hear me out. I found this.”

He pulls something out of his bag and holds it up. It’s a small, glowing orb, pulsing with an eerie blue light.

“What is that?” I ask, immediately suspicious.

“I don’t know,” he admits, which is not reassuring. “But I think it’s important. It was in the dungeon, next to the lever you pulled. I figured it might be part of the prophecy.”

“And you… picked it up,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because nothing bad ever happens when you touch mysterious glowing objects.”

Before he can answer, the orb’s glow intensifies. It starts to hum, a low, evil sound that makes my skin crawl.

“Uh, Bob?” I say, stepping back. “What’s it doing?”

“I don’t know!” he yells, panicking. “It wasn’t doing this before!”

The orb suddenly lets out a blinding flash of light, and then… nothing. The humming stops, and the glow fades back to a soft pulse.

“Well,” I say, blinking spots out of my vision. “That was anticlimactic.”

And then we hear it.

A distant roar. Followed by another. And another. It’s coming from all directions, echoing through the air like some kind of monstrous symphony.

Bob’s face goes pale. “Is that… bad?”

“Oh, it’s definitely bad,” I say, grabbing my spear. “Congratulations, Bob. I think you just sent out a magical signal to every villain in the realm.”

As if on cue, the ground starts to shake. In the distance, I can see dark shapes emerging from the forest. Big shapes. Spiky shapes. Shapes that definitely don’t look friendly.