Chapter One
The office was a solemn contrast to the man sitting behind the desk. The walls were lined with dark wood panels, adorned with ancient religious texts, and the stained glass windows cast fractured light across the stone floor. Behind the desk sat a man who looked completely at ease in this sacred space but seemed almost out of place. Yeshua bin Yusuf wore well-worn leather sandals and a simple linen robe that brushed the floor, though his demeanor was anything but humble. His skin was a warm olive tone, his dark hair curling at the edges where it met his ears, and a pair of sunglasses rested atop his head like a casual afterthought. His eyes, sharp and kind, peered at Bones with a curious warmth, an easy smile teasing at his lips. “So, tell me,” Yeshua asked, his Arabic accent soft but clear, “Why are you looking to settle down?”
Reverend Turner Benjamin Shrader—though no one called him that anymore—sat across from Yeshua, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. At 6'1", Bones cut an unusual figure. His lanky frame bordered on skeletal, his skin pale enough to catch the light streaming through the stained glass. His red hair, tied into a long, scraggly ponytail, contrasted sharply with the clerical collar peeking from beneath his worn shirt. One blue eye, one green, both mismatched but alert, glanced around the room, their sharpness giving away his deep focus. He adjusted the simple, functional glasses on his nose and tugged at his sleeves. "I’ve been on the road a while," he said, his voice low and dry, "ready for something a little quieter." me know if this works, and we'll proceed with the next part!
Yeshua leaned forward slightly, the smile still lingering as he watched Shrader with an intensity that felt both inviting and unsettling. "I understand," he said, his voice measured and calm. He rested his hands on the desk, fingers interlaced as though preparing to deliver something more profound. "But let me ask you, Reverend Shrader. Are you still willing to serve Christ in any capacity? Even if that capacity calls you to relocate... indefinitely?" The question, though softly spoken, carried a weight that made Shrader pause. Yeshua’s tone hadn’t shifted, but the undercurrent of something deeper rippled through the air between them, as though this question had far greater implications than a simple change of scenery.
Shrader furrowed his brow, the question rolling over in his mind. He had served the Church in ways most people couldn’t even imagine—traveling from town to town, dealing with things that would make the average priest crumble. But something about the way Yeshua framed the question made him hesitate. He glanced at the crucifix on the far wall, the worn wood somehow comforting in its familiarity. After a long moment, he nodded. “Yes,” he said, his voice steady, though uncertainty tugged at the edges of his words. “If that’s what I’m called to do, then yes. I’m willing.”
Yeshua’s face lit up instantly, a broad, genuine smile spreading across his features. He clapped his hands together with a warmth that felt more like a proud father than a church official. “Excellent!” he exclaimed, his voice booming with a sudden enthusiasm that filled the room. “That’s the spirit! I knew you were the right man for this.” He leaned back in his chair, nodding to himself with satisfaction, as though Shrader had just passed some unspoken test. The shift in mood was almost contagious, the heaviness of the moment dissipating under Yeshua’s delighted reaction.
Yeshua leaned forward again, his hands disappearing into the cluttered drawer of the ancient wooden desk. Papers shuffled as he rummaged through its contents, humming softly to himself as if looking for something specific. After a moment, he produced two items: a small, unassuming pocket Bible with a worn leather cover, and a set of car keys that jingled faintly in his hand. “These are for you,” Yeshua said with a grin, setting them gently on the desk in front of Shrader. Then, almost as an afterthought, he pulled out a modest stack of papers and slid them across the desk. “Standard onboarding paperwork. Sign here, here, and… here,” he said, still smiling warmly, as though they were simply going through the motions of any other job orientation.
Shrader eyed the Bible and the car keys, his mismatched eyes flicking from the simple leather book to the paperwork in front of him. There was something strange about how ordinary this all seemed, yet nothing about Yeshua, or this meeting, felt ordinary. He picked up the pen, its weight oddly heavy in his hand, and began signing where instructed, his mind still turning over the question Yeshua had asked. The paperwork felt formal—contractual, even—but nothing jumped out at him as strange. As he scrawled his name across the last line, he glanced up at Yeshua. “So, what exactly is the assignment?”
Yeshua waved a hand dismissively at the paperwork, as if the details could wait. “We’ll figure that out in the morning,” he said with an easy smile. “For now, there’s just one final question.” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze playful but sincere. “What do you prefer to be called? What do your friends call you?” His tone was casual, but Shrader could feel the subtle weight behind the question, as though names held more power than just familiarity in Yeshua’s world.
Shrader hesitated for just a second before letting out a small, wry chuckle. “Bones,” he replied, leaning back slightly in his chair. “My friends call me Bones.” He paused, raising an eyebrow as if daring Yeshua to ask why, but there was a hint of a grin on his face. “I think the reason’s self-explanatory.” His voice carried that dry humor he’d developed over the years—a defense mechanism as much as a quirk, but in this moment, it felt fitting.
Yeshua clapped his hands together in that distinctly enthusiastic way, his whole body seeming to join in the motion, the sound echoing through the quiet office. “Rev Bones it is!” he exclaimed with a wide, approving grin, as though the name had been settled in some grand, cosmic sense. He sat back with a satisfied nod, clearly delighted by the new title, his energy as warm and infectious as ever. “I like it. It suits you.”
Yeshua stood, extending a hand across the desk with a firm but welcoming gesture. Bones rose from his seat and accepted the handshake, feeling the warmth of Yeshua's grip—strong, steady, and somehow comforting. There was a moment of unspoken understanding as their hands clasped, a subtle acknowledgment of what was to come, though the details remained shrouded in mystery. With a final nod, Bones turned, tucking the Bible into his coat pocket and gripping the car keys as he headed toward the door. The cool air of the church’s stone corridor greeted him as he stepped outside, his boots echoing lightly as he made his way toward the parking lot where his old RV sat waiting, unchanged and familiar amidst the strange energy lingering from the conversation.
Bones’ RV wasn’t just any old camper. On the outside, it looked like a beat-up relic from decades past, its faded paint and rusted edges blending into the backdrop of countless parking lots he had called home. But on the inside, it was something else entirely. Bones had outfitted the vehicle with layers of enchantments—some practical, some experimental, all of them undeniably magical. The space was far larger than it should’ve been, its interior resembling a cozy home with a small library, kitchenette, and study. This was the work of a man who had spent years mastering the arcane arts in between exorcisms and monster hunts. Bones wasn’t flashy, but he was skilled. A student of every magical school he could get his hands on, his knowledge ran deep—ancient texts, forgotten rituals, the kind of lore that most mages barely scratched the surface of. This RV was more than his home; it was the product of a lifetime spent delving into magic’s deepest secrets.
Bones pushed open the door of the RV, greeted by the familiar blend of scents that defined his space: the slightly musty smell of old leather-bound books, the lingering aroma of dried herbs, and the faintest trace of burnt sage from a cleansing ritual long forgotten. His boots thudded lightly against the wood-paneled floor as he crossed the threshold, his eyes flicking over the organized chaos of his home—a cluttered bookshelf sagging under the weight of ancient tomes, half-burned candles, and an assortment of relics from cases past. He sighed, the weight of the day settling in his shoulders, and tossed his keys onto the countertop, the metallic sound oddly satisfying in the quiet. No magic here, just the simple, mundane routine that kept him grounded.
He made his way over to the couch, his fingers absently brushing the soft, worn fabric of the armrest as he passed. It had seen better days, but so had he. The cushions had molded perfectly to his shape after years of use, making it the only spot where he felt truly at ease. Bones sank down into the seat with a groan, running a hand through his long, scraggly red hair before pulling it back into a loose ponytail. His mismatched eyes—one green, one blue—scanned the room lazily, catching on the small, everyday messes: an empty coffee mug from this morning, a dog-eared book splayed open on the coffee table. He reached for the TV remote, turning it over in his hand, the weight of it almost comforting. “Normal,” he muttered to himself as he clicked the TV on, the familiar buzz of static settling into the low hum of a show he wasn’t even paying attention to.
The flickering glow of the TV filled the room, casting soft shadows that danced along the cluttered shelves and across the scattered relics that told the story of his life. Bones leaned back, letting the familiar noise wash over him. It wasn’t the content that mattered—some mindless reality show with actors more wooden than his old staff—it was the routine of it. The noise was a buffer, something to drown out the echoes of the day and the memories that always tried to creep in when things got too quiet. He sighed, shifting his legs out in front of him, his boots scraping lightly against the floor as he nudged a half-empty bag of Cheetos out of the way. The faintest smile tugged at his lips as he reached for his game controller on the table. “Maybe just a round or two,” he muttered, knowing full well it would be more than that.
Bones booted up the game, the familiar title screen flickering to life, but even as the soft, digital music filled the room, his stomach grumbled—a reminder that he'd skipped lunch again. He set the controller down with a grunt and pushed himself up from the couch, his joints creaking slightly in protest. “Alright, alright,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone, as he crossed the room toward the small kitchenette. Opening the fridge, he scanned its contents with a practiced indifference—leftovers, some questionable takeout containers, and a few cans of cheap beer. His eyes settled on some pasta he’d made two nights ago, and he pulled it out, setting the container on the counter with a soft thud. As he prepped the microwave, his gaze drifted over to the corner where his bong sat, glass gleaming faintly in the low light. A small grin crept across his face. “Might as well, while I wait,” he mused, reaching for it.
Bones carefully packed the bowl, his hands moving with the ease of long-practiced routine. The dried herb crumbled between his fingers as he filled the glass piece, his mismatched eyes focused on the task as though it required more attention than it did. The microwave hummed softly in the background, spinning his dinner lazily on its plate, but Bones’ attention had already shifted. He brought the bong to his lips, the cool glass familiar against his skin, and flicked the lighter with a practiced thumb. The flame flared, and with a deep inhale, the herb crackled to life. The smoke curled upward, thick and fragrant, as he drew it in. For a moment, everything stilled—his mind quieting in a way only this ritual could provide. He leaned back, eyes half-lidded, and exhaled a slow plume of smoke into the air, watching it twist and dissipate as the microwave beeped, signaling dinner was ready.
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With the smoke still swirling lazily in the air, Bones pushed himself up from the counter and made his way over to the microwave. The warmth of the pasta dish radiated through the plastic container as he pulled it out, the simple smell of tomato sauce and garlic filling the small space. He glanced back at his bong, still sitting on the counter, and with a casual shrug, grabbed it in his free hand. Balancing the plate in one hand and the bong in the other, he padded back over to the couch, his boots barely making a sound on the well-worn floor. He set the plate down on the coffee table beside the controller and settled back into the soft cushions, carefully placing the bong within easy reach. “Dinner and a smoke,” he muttered with a hint of amusement, sinking deeper into his familiar evening routine.
Bones took a bite of the reheated pasta, savoring the simplicity of it as the steam curled up from the plate. He picked up the controller, about to dive into the game, when a thought tugged at him. “Almost forgot,” he muttered, setting the controller down for a moment. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his well-worn phone, its cracked screen flickering to life. He swiped through the notifications and tapped open the assistant. “Hey Google, set an alarm for 7 AM.” The familiar chime responded, “Alarm set for 7:00 AM tomorrow.” Bones nodded to himself, relieved he wouldn’t oversleep on his first day of whatever new assignment Yeshua had in mind. Satisfied, he tossed the phone onto the coffee table, grabbed his controller, and settled in for a few hours of mindless gaming, letting the soft glow of the TV and the hum of the world outside fade away.
The alarm blared, pulling Bones from the deep fog of sleep. Without thinking, he groaned, “Hey Google, turn alarm off,” his voice thick and groggy. The chime obediently silenced, leaving the RV in its usual morning quiet. Bones blinked blearily at the ceiling for a moment, then slowly dragged himself upright, his body protesting with every movement. “Shouldn’t have stayed up so late,” he muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He shuffled out of the room, his feet heavy against the worn floor as he made his way toward the kitchenette. Coffee. That was all his brain could focus on. The familiar sound of the coffee grinder kicking to life filled the small space as he leaned against the counter, still half-asleep, waiting for that first hit of caffeine to pull him out of his morning haze.
While the coffee machine sputtered and brewed behind him, Bones shuffled toward the small bathroom. He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, the steady stream of hot water slowly coaxing him awake. The steam rose around him, swirling in the cramped space as he stood under the spray, eyes closed, letting the warmth work out the stiffness in his muscles. He ran a hand through his hair, his mind still groggy but starting to piece together the fact that today was the start of something new—though he wasn’t sure what. After a few minutes, he shut off the water and grabbed a towel, wiping the steam from the mirror as he glanced at his reflection, bleary-eyed but slowly returning to life.
Once dressed, Bones padded back into the kitchen, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeting him. He grabbed a mug from the cabinet and poured himself a generous cup, the dark liquid steaming as he brought it to his lips. The first sip hit him like a jolt, the warmth spreading through his chest. He sighed, feeling a bit more human as he leaned against the counter, his mind clearing with each sip.
Bones set his coffee mug down on the counter, still rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes as he glanced around the kitchen. Something seemed... off, but his groggy mind didn’t immediately register what it was. He reached for the microwave, intent on heating up some leftover toast from yesterday, but froze mid-motion. The microwave wasn’t there. Nor was the stove. In their place stood a bulky, old-fashioned woodstove—the kind you’d see in a historical reenactment or some medieval period drama. Its iron doors were slightly ajar, revealing logs stacked neatly inside, as if it had always been there. Bones blinked at it, his mind not quite catching up with reality. He frowned but, for reasons even he couldn’t explain, chose to ignore it, chalking it up to his brain playing tricks on him this early in the morning. “I really need to cut back on the late-night gaming,” he muttered, grabbing his coffee again and taking another long sip.
Bones wandered back to the living area, coffee in hand, feeling the warmth settle into his bones. His morning routine was almost automatic by now—wake up, coffee, and a hit from his vape to shake off the lingering grogginess. He reached into his pocket for the familiar pen-shaped device, but when his fingers closed around something unfamiliar, he paused. Pulling it out, his eyes widened slightly. Instead of the sleek, modern vape pen, a long-stemmed pipe rested in his hand, the kind of thing an old-timey scholar or wizard might have smoked. The wood was polished and smooth, engraved with faint runes he didn’t recognize. He stared at it for a moment, turning it over in his hand as if expecting it to change back. “What the hell...?” he muttered, the words half-lost in the steam rising from his coffee mug. But just like the stove, his tired mind pushed the strangeness aside, rationalizing it with a shake of his head. “I need more sleep,” he sighed, setting the pipe down next to his mug.
Bones shook his head, still staring at the pipe as if it might morph back into his vape at any second. But it didn’t. With a resigned grunt, he picked up his coffee and tried to brush it off. The day hadn’t even really started yet, and already things were feeling off-kilter. But weird wasn’t exactly new to him. Hell, he dealt with the supernatural for a living—strange was his normal. He drained the last of his coffee and set the mug aside, ignoring the pipe for now. Grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair, he pulled it on and glanced toward the door. The sun had just started to filter through the RV windows, the soft golden light casting long shadows across the floor. “Just another day,” he muttered to himself, though he wasn’t quite sure he believed it.
Still peeved that his vape—the one thing that helped him focus, both in magic and in sanity—was nowhere to be found, Bones sighed heavily. He eyed the wooden pipe on the table again, its polished surface catching the morning light, almost mocking him with its old-world charm. He rubbed the back of his neck, debating whether to search for his vape one last time. But after a moment, he gave in with a resigned grunt. “Guess this’ll have to do,” he muttered, reaching for the pipe. He rummaged through the small drawer next to his couch, pulling out a bag of green. His fingers worked mechanically as he packed the bowl, the familiar earthy smell rising up around him, calming his nerves a bit. He eyed the pipe again, feeling the weight of it in his hand. “You’ll have to fill in for today,” he said under his breath, bringing it to his lips.
With the pipe in hand, Bones exhaled a slow plume of smoke, feeling some of the tension in his chest ease. Still, something was nagging at him, and he figured checking the weather might help him plan his day—whatever this new assignment had in store. “Hey Google, what’s the weather today?” he asked casually, taking another pull from the pipe. The assistant’s familiar chime sounded from his bedroom, but the response was muffled, too far away to hear clearly. Bones squinted, leaning toward the sound, but it was no use. “Great,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. Reluctantly, he pushed himself off the couch and made his way to the back of the RV, determined to find his phone and check the forecast himself. His footsteps were heavy, the floor creaking slightly under his boots as he shuffled toward the bedroom, still not entirely awake.
Bones stepped into the dimly lit bedroom, his hand automatically reaching for the light switch on the wall. He flicked it, expecting the usual overhead light to blink on. Instead, a soft flicker of orange caught his eye. He froze for a second, his eyes trailing up to see a candle perched on a small sconce by the window, its flame dancing merrily in the early morning gloom. He blinked, then flicked the switch off and on again, as if that would somehow correct the absurdity. The candle flared brighter for a moment, as if mocking him. “Oh, come on…” he groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The day hadn’t even properly started, and already it was one weird thing after another. But right now, he just wanted his phone. He sighed, stepping fully into the room, ignoring the flickering flame as he began searching for the phone that had somehow wandered off.
Bones scanned the room, eyes flicking over the rumpled bed, the cluttered nightstand, and the heap of clothes by the dresser. His phone was nowhere to be seen. After another minute of searching, his patience wore thin. “Hey Google, where are you?” he called out, expecting the usual chime from the phone. Instead, a calm voice answered, “I’m right here,” startling him. His eyes snapped to the nightstand, where a white raven perched, calmly preening its feathers as if this was completely normal. The bird tilted its head and stared back at him, its beady eyes reflecting the soft glow of the candle. Bones blinked, frozen in place, not quite sure what to make of what he was seeing.
Bones stared at the bird, his mind struggling to catch up with what he was seeing. Slowly, almost cautiously, he cleared his throat and muttered, “Hey Google...” His eyes stayed fixed on the raven, half-expecting nothing to happen. But the bird tilted its head, its beady eyes locking onto his. “Yes?” it responded in that same familiar tone, but coming from the beak of a bird. Bones blinked, his confusion deepening. “What’s today’s date?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief as he watched the raven closely. The bird didn’t hesitate. “Today is September 12th,” it replied calmly, as though speaking from a script. Bones stared in stunned silence, the absurdity of it hitting him like a cold splash of water.
Bones stood there for a moment longer, still staring at the bird, trying to make sense of it. His mind spun through possible explanations—rogue enchantments, glitches in his wards, something slipping through a crack in his magic. But whatever the reason, now wasn’t the time to unravel it. “I’ll troubleshoot this later,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head as if to dismiss the whole bizarre interaction. With a sigh, he turned away from the bird, grabbing a pair of dark slacks and a plain shirt from the pile of clothes by the bed. As he got dressed, his movements were automatic, driven more by routine than thought. Whatever strangeness had settled in overnight, he’d deal with it after coffee and after today’s business. He slipped on his boots and tossed his jacket over his shoulder, mentally pushing the bird—and everything else—out of his mind for now.
As Bones finished lacing up his boots, his eyes landed on the small pocket Bible—the "employee handbook"—Yeshua had given him the day before. He snorted to himself, remembering the almost too-casual way it had been handed over. “Might as well bring it,” he muttered, reaching for the Bible and tucking it into his backpack, the gesture more out of sarcasm than practicality. If Yeshua wanted to play church official, he’d play along for now. With a sigh, he tossed in a few other essentials—an old sandwich wrapped in foil for lunch, his bag of green, and the long-stemmed pipe. Still no sign of his vape, and the absence annoyed him more than he wanted to admit, but there was no time to keep searching. He zipped the bag shut and slung it over his shoulder, ready to face whatever strange assignment awaited him today.
Bones swung the door of the RV open, stepping outside with his bag slung over one shoulder. The cool morning air hit him immediately, a stark contrast to the warmth inside. As his boots crunched on the gravel beneath him, he glanced up—and froze. Where the familiar modern church and parking lot should have been, an older, more rustic church now stood in its place. The stonework was rough-hewn, weathered by centuries, with thick wooden doors that looked like they’d been there since the dawn of time. Monks in brown robes milled about the grounds, some carrying baskets, others talking in hushed voices as they tended to the early morning chores. Their shaved heads and simple attire felt like something out of a history book. Bones blinked, the scene so out of place that for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he was still dreaming. He stepped down from the RV, rubbing his eyes, trying to shake the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong.
As Bones stepped down onto the cobblestone path, he glanced down instinctively—and immediately froze again. The worn jeans and faded jacket he had thrown on were gone, replaced with something else entirely. His clothes had transformed into period-appropriate garments: heavy woolen trousers tucked into leather boots, a simple linen shirt, and over it, a dark, thick, one-shouldered cape clasped with an old brass buckle. His hands moved automatically to touch the fabric, the rough texture unfamiliar under his fingertips. Even his boots were different—sturdy, weather-beaten, with folded tops fastened by buckles. He took a step back, utterly bewildered, as the weight of the wide-brimmed hat on his head made him reach up in disbelief. “What the hell…?” he muttered under his breath, spinning in place as if somehow this would explain his sudden transformation.
Still trying to make sense of everything, Bones lifted a hand to run it through his hair—a nervous habit whenever things didn’t add up. But instead of feeling the familiar mess of his long, scraggly red hair, his fingers bumped into the brim of the wide-brimmed hat now sitting snugly on his head. He froze, his hand pausing mid-air as his eyes narrowed in confusion. Slowly, he pulled the hat off and stared at it, turning it over in his hands. The worn leather and brass buckle glinted in the morning light, as if it had been crafted specifically for him. He frowned, running his thumb along the brim. “Seriously… what is going on?” he muttered, feeling more disoriented by the minute. He tossed the hat back onto his head with a sigh, knowing deep down that whatever was happening was far beyond any simple explanation.
With the hat back on his head and a growing sense of unease, Bones turned to glance back at his RV—or what used to be his RV. Instead of the familiar, boxy vehicle, a small wooden carriage now sat where it had been parked. Its wheels creaked softly as if it had been there for years, the wood worn and rustic, blending perfectly with the older surroundings. Bones leaned his head back, still inside the doorway of the carriage, and sighed deeply. “Hey Google, what year is it?” he called out, half-expecting no response at all. But after a beat, the assistant’s voice chimed from somewhere inside. “The current year is 1538.” Bones blinked, the words hitting him like a cold wave. He stayed there for a long moment, letting the impossibility of it all sink in before muttering, “Of course it is.”