The first sign something’s wrong is the screaming.

I don’t mean the kind of screaming you hear when the King makes his monthly parade. I mean the kind that says, Hey, maybe you should start running before something eats your face off.

I grip my spear tighter and scan the horizon. The dark shapes from earlier are closer now. So close I can see their details. Goblins and orcs. Lots of them. Like, “We’re here to destroy your castle and your hopes and dreams.”

“Uh, Dave?” I call out, my voice cracking slightly. “We might have a situation.”

Dave walks up beside me, munching on an apple like this is just another Tuesday. “Yup. That’s a lot of goblins.”

“And orcs!” I add, gesturing wildly. “Don’t forget the orcs!”

Dave shrugs, unbothered. “Eh. Goblins, orcs, whatever. Same difference.”

“Same difference?” I repeat, my voice climbing higher. “One of them’s small and stabby. The other’s big and smashy. Both are going to kill us. How is that the same?”

Dave takes another bite of his apple. “Relax. We’ve got walls.”

As if on cue, the goblins launch a volley of flaming arrows that arc beautifully through the air... And they land directly on the hay bales stacked against the gate. The hay bales instantly go up in flames like someone dumped a barrel of oil on them.

I turn to Dave. “So, about those walls…”

“Fine,” he says, tossing the apple core behind him. “Maybe a little less effective than I thought.”

I’m about to launch into a full-blown panic spiral when I hear a familiar voice.

“Greg!”

Oh, no. No, no, no. Not now.

I spin around to see Bob waving his sword in the air like a lunatic. His cape is flapping wildly behind him, which would look cooler if it wasn’t trailing mud.

“Greg!” he yells again. “I need your help!”

“Bob, we’re kind of busy here!” I shout back, gesturing toward the army of goblins and orcs currently setting the castle on fire.

“I know!” he says, skidding to a stop in front of me. He’s breathing heavily, his eyes wide with panic. “But it’s part of the prophecy!”

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“Prophecy?” I hiss, trying to keep my voice down. “The prophecy can wait! We’re under attack!”

“That’s what I mean!” he says, grabbing my arm. “The prophecy says, ‘The Chosen One shall face the Horde of Shadows.’ This is the Horde of Shadows!”

I blink at him. “The Horde of Shadows?”

Bob nods frantically. “I think so! Unless there’s another horde out there I’m supposed to fight.”

Dave leans in. “Does the prophecy mention anything about flaming arrows? Or, I don’t know, dying horribly?”

Bob frowns. “Not specifically…”

“Great,” I say, shoving Bob behind me. “Then let’s focus on not dying horribly. Dave, grab a weapon. Bob, try not to trip over your cape.”

The goblins are at the gate now, their green faces twisted into evil grins. One of them climbs onto a rock and yells something in Goblinese. Which I can only assume translates to, Let’s kill the idiots guarding this gate!

“Any bright ideas?” Dave asks, picking up a spear from the rack.

“Yeah,” I reply, gripping my spear. “Don’t die.”

The goblins charge.

The next few minutes are a blur of chaos. Goblins everywhere, screeching and stabbing. Orcs smashing through anything that looks breakable. I’m pretty sure I hear the King screaming something about his pineapple hat, but I don’t have time to care.

“Greg!” Bob shouts, flailing his sword wildly. “I think I’m doing it!”

I glance over just in time to see Bob accidentally knock out a goblin with the flat side of his sword. The goblin goes down like a sack of potatoes, and Bob looks way too proud of himself.

“Good job, Bob!” I yell sarcastically. “You’re a real hero!”

Another goblin lunges at me, and I jab it with my spear. It squeals and runs off, but not before spitting on my boots. Great. As if they didn’t smell bad enough already.

“Greg!” Bob shouts again. “There’s more coming!”

“Of course there are!” I shout back. “It’s an army, Bob!”

The ground shakes. I turn to see an orc the size of a small house walking toward us.

“Oh, come on!” I groan. “This is ridiculous!”

The orc roars and swings its massive club at me. I duck just in time, the club smashing into the gate behind me.

“Greg!” Bob screams. “Do something!”

“Like what?” I yell back. “Ask it nicely to leave?”

Bob looks at me. Then at the orc. Then back at me. “What about the lever?”

“What lever?”

“The one in the dungeon!” he says, his eyes lighting up. “There’s always a lever!”

“This is not a dungeon, Bob!” I shout, dodging another swing from the orc. “This is real life!”

But then I see it. A lever, sticking out of the wall near the entrance. It’s probably part of some old mechanism for raising the gate. But right now, it’s the only thing that might save us.

“Cover me!” I yell, sprinting toward the lever.

Bob flails his sword at the orc, somehow managing to distract it long enough for me to reach the lever. I grab it and pull with all my strength.

But nothing happens.

“Greg?” Bob calls, his voice tinged with panic.

“Working on it!” I shout, yanking the lever again.

This time, it moves. There’s a loud, satisfying clunk, followed by the sound of gears grinding. The gate slams down, crushing the orc.

The goblins, seeing their giant friend defeated, screech in panic and start to scatter. Within seconds, the courtyard is clear.

I collapse against the wall, breathing heavily.

Bob walks over with a big, stupid grin on his face. “We did it!”

“You’re welcome,” I say, too tired to argue.

Dave strolls up, looking entirely too relaxed. “So, same time tomorrow?”

I glare at him. “Don’t even joke about that.”

Bob claps me on the shoulder. “You’re a hero, Greg.”

“No,” I say, shoving him off. “I’m a gate guard who just saved you. Again.”

Bob just grins. “Same thing.”

I shake my head and walk back to my post, already dreading whatever nonsense tomorrow will bring.