I swear, if Bob calls this an epic saga one more time, I’m going to throw him into the next muddy pond we pass. Which, knowing our luck so far, will probably happen in the next five minutes.

“This is it, Greg!” Bob says, arms wide like he’s about to hug the universe. His silly cape flaps in the breeze, and for a second, I think it’s going to smack him across the face. “This is the start of something legendary!”

I adjust the strap on my spear and roll my eyes. “Legendary? Bob, we’ve been walking for fifteen minutes. And you’ve tripped over your own feet twice.”

“That’s just the warm-up,” he says, unfazed. “Every hero’s journey starts small.”

“Small?” I gesture at my boots, already caked in mud. “This journey is starting filthy. There’s a difference.”

He shrugs, swinging his sword in what I think he assumes is a menacing arc. Except his “arc” is more of a flail, and the tip of the sword grazes my helmet with a metallic clink.

“Bob!” I bark, stepping back before he accidentally turns me into a human shish kebab. “Would you stop that?”

“Sorry,” he says, lowering the sword with an apologetic grin. “Just practicing my technique.”

“Practice further away from my head,” I say. “Preferably on the other side of the continent.”

We keep walking, and Bob’s chatter never lets up. He keeps calling this a quest, while I’m pretty sure it’s just a way to ruin my boots. He’s got the map, but apparently, maps are “optional guidelines,” and “heroes rely on instinct.”

“I’m telling you,” he says, pointing toward a dark forest that looks like it’s auditioning for a horror story. “This way feels right.”

“Feels right?” I stop walking and plant my spear in the ground. “No, Bob. This way”—I jab a finger at the actual marked road—“looks right. You know, the road? The thing people use to go places without getting eaten?”

He squints at the road, then back at the forest. “But the forest is so much more… heroic.”

“Heroic,” I repeat, deadpan. “Sure. Nothing screams ‘heroic’ like getting eaten by a bear.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Bob doesn’t answer. He’s too busy waving the map around like it’s a flag and he’s leading a charge into battle. I decide to let him wander in circles until he realizes I’m right. Spoiler alert: I’m always right.

***

We stumble into an abandoned village as the sun dips lower in the sky. It’s the kind of place that should feel spooky, but I’m too tired to care. The houses are crooked, their roofs sagging under the weight of years of neglect. A well sits in the center of the square, its bucket dangling like it’s given up.

“This is perfect!” Bob says, perking up like he’s just discovered a treasure chest. “We can set up camp here.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say, eyeing the shadowy corners of the crumbling buildings. “This place screams ‘trap.’ Or ‘haunted.’ Or both.”

“Nonsense,” Bob says, drawing his sword. “I’ll clear the area for danger.”

“Bob—”

But he’s already off, doing what can only be described as a very excited dance with his sword. He twirls. He lunges. He trips.

And then he disappears.

“Bob?” I call, my voice flat. I don’t even sound worried. This is just… expected at this point. “Where’d you go?”

There’s a wet, slurping sound, followed by Bob’s muffled voice. “Uh… I’m fine! Everything’s fine!”

I follow the sound and find him face-first in a muddy pond that I’m pretty sure wasn’t there a second ago. His cape is stuck to his back, and his sword is nowhere in sight. Bubbles rise to the surface as he groans.

I cross my arms and sigh. “You’re making it really hard for me not to say, ‘I told you so.’”

He lifts his head, his face streaked with mud. “A little help?”

I grab the back of his cape and yank him out, muttering under my breath about how I should’ve stayed at the castle. He’s dripping and pathetic, but still manages a sheepish grin.

“Well,” he says, spitting out a mouthful of muddy water, “at least we know it’s safe.”

“Safe?” I snap. “You almost drowned in a puddle!”

He shrugs, wringing out his cape. “It’s all part of the adventure.”

I stare at him, wondering—not for the first time—how someone like Bob was chosen to save the world. “Bob, if this is what the adventure looks like, we’re doomed.”

“Don’t be so negative,” he says, slapping a muddy hand on my shoulder. “We’ve got spirit. We’ve got courage. We’ve got—”

“A severe lack of common sense?” I finish.

He grins. “Exactly!”

I shake my head and start walking toward the least broken-down building, hoping it’ll have four walls and a roof that doesn’t leak. Bob trails behind me, still dripping mud and humming what I assume is supposed to be a heroic tune. It’s not even in key.

As the sun sets and the village grows darker, I can’t help but feel like this is the beginning of a very long, and very stupid, journey. But then I glance back at Bob, who’s holding the map upside down and squinting at it like it’s a riddle he needs to solve.

I sigh. “Come on, Bob. Let’s go figure out where we’re sleeping tonight.”

He brightens immediately. “See? Teamwork!”

If we survive this, it’ll be a miracle. But for now, I grab the map, shove it in my pocket, and lead the way. Because apparently, being the responsible one is my job now.