The warm glow of a desk lamp lit up the cluttered table, casting long shadows over empty beer cans and crumpled chip bags. They formed a chaotic battlefield around the worn grid map at its center. I leaned back in my chair, smug as hell, tapping the laminated character sheet in front of me.

“Paladin,” I declared. “Best class. Hands down.”

“Overpowered,” muttered Dave, hunched over his notebook, scribbling furiously as our forever DM.

“Exactly!” I said, jabbing a finger at him. “I’m the tank, the healer, and the damage dealer. Why would I pick anything else?”

Jess, across the table, rolled her eyes and slid her rogue’s miniature forward on the grid. “Because you have no imagination, Ben. ‘Ooh, look at me, I’m a holy knight! My sword glows!’” She mimed holding an imaginary sword aloft, her voice dripping with mockery.

“Say what you want,” I shot back, “but who has the record for most damage and healing done in one round this campaign?”

“Let him have it,” Ryan snorted, shoving a handful of pretzels into his mouth. “This is Ben we’re talking about. Of course he likes the class that talks its way outta fights and rolls big damage numbers.”

“Damn right,” I said, smirking as I picked up the d20. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a Beholder that needs smiting.”

The die clattered across the table, bouncing once, twice—then a familiar voice cut through the room like a brick through a window.

“A Paladin? Fuckin’ really?”

I blinked. Sitting at the table—right between Dave and Jess—was Ted. He had a character sheet in one hand and a set of dice in the other, somehow looking like he’d always been there, even though there was absolutely no way he’d been part of this memory.

“That’s what you went with, Ben?” Ted said, shaking his head like I’d just insulted his mother. “A goddamn Paladin? Come on. Could you pick a lamer class?”

“What the—” I stammered, staring at him while the others kept chatting, totally oblivious to the sudden Ted-shaped elephant in the room.

“I mean, really,” Ted continued, cracking open a beer that definitely hadn’t been on the table five seconds ago. “Name one cool Paladin from pop culture. Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

“Uh…” I started, but nothing came out.

“Exactly!” Ted slammed the beer down, snapping his fingers for emphasis. “You can’t. Nobody can. You know why? ‘Cause Paladins are boring as shit. Nobody wants to be the shiny do-gooder. People want edge. Antiheroes. Big-ass swords dripping shadow magic, bad attitudes, and tragic backstories. No one wants a hero that wants to be a hero. Shit just doesn’t sell!”

Jess giggled. “He’s got a point, Ben.”

I shot her a glare. “Wait. You can see him?”

“Uh, yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes like I was the crazy one.

Dave glanced up from his notes. “What’s wrong with Paladins? I think they’re pretty solid.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Ted said, wagging a finger at him. “You’re supposed to call them lame so this bit works better. Come on, Dave, help me out here!”

I turned to Ted, my patience officially shot. “Are you seriously here to ruin a memory?”

Ted shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. “What can I say? Nostalgia’s overrated. And messin’ with you is way more fun.”

Before I could argue, the dice on the table started to glow, their light spreading like spilled ink. The table dissolved. The grid map faded. My friends disappeared, and suddenly, I was standing in a familiar courtyard. Ted leaned against a railing, grinning like the world’s cockiest holiday elf.

“Oh well,” he said with a sigh, pointing at a large set of doors with the beer can. “I was hopin’ for more angst, but—sure—Paladin’ll do.”

----------------------------------------

I jolted awake with the undeniable certainty that I wasn't where I had just been. The memory of Elara's office lingered—my resolve to stay on Ark, to confront this Maris person, and then... darkness. I’d fallen over like an idiot.

Oh. Right.

I hadn’t been paying attention to the mana cost. So sure I’d solved my Seal, I’d pushed too hard and passed out again. Valor was going to take a lot of practice—and even more mana. The Hunters had mentioned trials that happened with a Seal, but that hadn't seemed to happen yet. Or maybe passing out was the trial. Great.

Sunlight spilled through the window, tracing warm lines across the wooden floorboards and catching the dust motes drifting lazily in the air. The light marked it as midmorning. At the foot of the bed, Red lay sprawled on his back, all four paws in the air like some kind of furry surrender flag. Truly a weird animal. I gave him a pat on the chest, and one eye cracked open halfway, fixing me with a look that clearly demanded belly rubs.

I obliged, scratching until his leg kicked in victory.

After using my wash-kit and getting dressed, I stepped into the hallway. The common room was empty save for Doreen, who perched in her ridiculously oversized high-backed chair. The moment she spotted me, her ears twitched, and she leaped onto a table, bringing herself to eye level with startling speed.

"What the fuck is happening?" she demanded, her tone sharp enough to cut. "Elara dragged you in here saying you passed out from mana exhaustion. From using a Seal! Seriously, don’t fuckin’ do that until it’s bound. You’re gonna mess up your mana pathways—or worse."

Well, that explained how I got here.

"Oh, yeah, that was my bad," I admitted with a yawn, trying to brush off the scolding. "Elara said someone’s coming to La-Roc to, uh... get rid of me. Maris Valerian?"

Doreen froze mid-gesture, her wide eyes locking onto me like I’d just announced the apocalypse. Her mouth opened, closed, tried again—twice—before managing a single, emphatic word:

"Fuck!"

"Elara's got a plan, though!" Cass’s voice rang out behind me. She stood in the hallway in the usual red satin Winter's pajamas, Erik trailing behind her like a silent shadow.

"Good," Doreen snapped, her whiskers twitching with barely contained agitation as she repositioned herself on the table’s edge. "What is it? And how long do we have? A couple of days?"

Cass shrugged with forced casualness. "No idea. All I got was that she’ll be here soon, and Elara went to Sylvarus to talk to Nana about it."

"I hope so," Doreen muttered, her tail flicking anxiously. "I don’t think there’s anyone on the island who can take her... maybe your mother?" She looked to Cass and Erik, her round ears tilting in what seemed almost like a plea.

"Mother won’t leave the farm if Maris is here," Erik said, his tone calm but firm. "That, I can guarantee. But if Maris decides to try her luck for our ginseng again..." He trailed off meaningfully.

"She’s been here before?" I asked, curiosity piqued despite the tension.

"Oh, yes." Erik’s lips curved into a faint smile. "She’s been trying to get her hands on our seeds for years. Mother’s slapped her down each time—in duels."

I nodded, processing this. "Okay, so she’s not invincible. That’s something. Now we just wait to see what Elara and Diana can come up with."

The others didn’t look convinced, but I could only shrug. I had no frame of reference for Maris or whatever power she wielded. "Alright, well, she’s not here now," I said with a deliberate grin, trying to break the heavy mood. "And Red’s starving! So we’re heading to Katie’s for something to eat. Anyone coming? My treat."

I didn’t have to twist their arms. Within minutes, we were out the door and heading toward the bakery, Red trotting happily at my side. The streets hummed with life, the oppressive heat of recent days finally giving way to cool morning air. Perfect weather for work—the sound of hammering, sawing, and cheerful chatter filled the air as people went about repairing their shops and buildings.

Katie was just opening when we arrived, her eyes lighting up at the sight of us. "It’s you!" she cried, running forward—only to veer at the last second and throw her arms around Red. "I haven’t seen you in so long! I wasn’t sure if you were okay."

Red, absolutely thrilled by the attention, began enthusiastically licking her face, nearly bowling her over in his excitement. Katie giggled, trying futilely to fend off his affection.

"Wait—you know him?" I asked, scratching Red’s ears to calm his enthusiasm.

Katie beamed through Red’s ongoing assault. "Of course! He used to visit when Carlos and I made cheese buns. But I haven’t made them since..." Her smile faltered, the weight of unspoken memory settling over us.

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I cleared my throat. "So... do you know his name? I just call him Red."

"No, but Red’s as good a name as any." She turned to the group, brightening. "Are you all here for breakfast? I’m honored!"

I started to sit, but Katie’s iron grip caught my arm, dragging me toward the kitchen. For someone so small, she was surprisingly strong. "Oh no you don’t. You’re on cheese buns for Red. I’m positive I don’t have to tell you how to make them."

I grinned. "No, I’ve got those down."

Her hug lasted a beat longer than usual. "Tell me about your hunt."

While we worked, I recounted the past few days—the Arbortrux, the Lumifrax, my Seal. At the mention of Valor, she gaped.

"You’ve been here a week and gotten that strong? That’s incredible."

"I don’t really feel like it. I can only keep it up for a minute before passing out." I laughed, working the dough. "I’m just good at solving puzzles, and magic seems like one big puzzle."

Katie’s smile warmed the room. "Well, as long as you don’t forget about me and visit."

"That reminds me—we’re supposed to have a date, right?"

She blushed beneath the flour dusting her face but managed a smirk. "There’s barely a drop to drink in the city. Maybe after the merchants show up?"

"Deal."

I hesitated, then: "Hey, I just learned all Gaians have runic markings... tattoos. But I’ve never seen yours—do you have them? Where are they?"

Katie’s face blazed red to her ears. "Wouldn’t you like to know!"

The next thing I knew, I was being unceremoniously shoved from the kitchen.

"The fuck you say?" Doreen eyed me from her table. "You better not have fucked up breakfast. I’ll toss you into the harbor."

"No, I just asked where her markings were..."

Cass roared with laughter, patting her chest. "Oh, I know where they are. You’re lucky she decided to open the door before putting you through it."

Whoops.

Katie eventually emerged from the kitchen, a tray balanced expertly on one hand, her cheeks still dusted with flour—and still very much avoiding my gaze. She set down plates of eggs, cheese buns, and thinly sliced meat that reminded me of salami. I was halfway to grabbing a bun when a sudden blur of red fur shot forward.

Red, the absolute menace, snatched half my plate before I could react.

“C’mon, man! That’s my breakfast,” I scolded, pushing his paws off the table. He had the audacity to stare at me with wide, innocent eyes, as if the concept of stealing food was entirely foreign to him.

Doreen snorted. “You gotta be quicker than that.” She reached for another bun, tearing into it with sharp teeth.

The door to the bakery swung open with precise timing, and Ferris entered. The scholar’s blue robes stood in stark contrast to the flour-dusted, bustling warmth of the room.

“Amituofo,” he greeted, offering a slight bow. “This humble scholar heard Ben had returned and wished to relay a message.”

I gestured toward an empty chair. “Come eat with us!”

“This humble scholar would be honored; however, the collective does not typically consume these sorts of foods.”

“They drink mush,” Doreen said, her whiskers twitching as she reached for yet another bun.

“Nectar,” Katie corrected as she passed by. “They make the honey we use all over the island.”

I turned to Ferris, curious. “Wait—the Sentarian are like... bees?”

Blank looks all around.

“Flying insects? Yellow and black? Fuzzy? Get angry if you try to take their honey?”

Ferris tilted his head. “You mean the Apidae? If only we were so lucky. Do you have these on Earth?”

I nodded and his tone shifted to reverent Mandarin: “To know the Enlightened Ones still persist is a great thing. This is more to my debt.”

Doreen groaned, tossing a piece of bread at him. “Same fuckin’ language, assholes.” She turned back to me. “So you got bugs on Earth like the Sentarian. Great. You gonna eat that?”

Before I could answer, Red helped himself to another bun.

I sighed. “I was going to.”

“Sorry if I offended you, Ferris,” I said, shifting back to the message he’d come to deliver. “You mentioned something important?”

Ferris nodded. “The collective thanks you for intervening in Rainhaven. The Arryava Pusa requests a meeting. Any Sentarian in La-Roc can guide you to her. This humble scholar returns to Sylvarus this afternoon.”

Cass choked on her food. Doreen groaned, throwing her hands up. “Oh, of course she fuckin’ does.”

The way Ferris said Pusa struck a chord—I recognized it as a term for a spiritual leader.

I frowned. “Is this Arryava a leader among the Sentarian?”

Ferris’s eyes gleamed. “She is more than that. But this humble scholar had a feeling you would understand.”

With that cryptic answer, he bowed and left us in sudden silence.

Doreen huffed, tearing into the last cheese bun. “They’re fuckin’ weird.”

“They’re spiritual,” Erik countered. “If Arryava wants to meet Ben, it must be important.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Doreen’s attention snapped to Katie emerging with a tray of cinnamon buns. “Katie Summers, I love you. But those had better be—”

She cut herself off mid-sentence, ears twitching sharply. Her expression shifted—warmth draining, replaced by razor-edge focus.

“What?” Erik asked, already scanning the room.

That’s when I heard it—a faint buzzing sound, barely perceptible at first, but with an odd rhythm to it. Like a pulse. Red’s hackles rose, his body stiffening as a low growl rumbled deep in his chest. The buzzing grew louder, joined by a distant, rhythmic thump, the kind of sound that didn’t belong.

We weren’t the only ones who noticed. Across the bakery, chairs scraped against the floor as people turned their heads, faces pinched with confusion. Conversations faltered, silverware clinked against plates, and an uneasy silence settled over the street. Then the noise resolved into something worse. Drums. And bagpipes.

The sound crawled up my spine, growing louder, layering into a discordant, menacing melody. Not just one instrument, but dozens—hundreds, maybe. A deafening war march rolling in with the tide. We rushed outside, drawn by the same morbid instinct as the rest of the townspeople. The streets had emptied as shopkeepers, laborers, and passersby all turned toward the harbor, squinting at the horizon.

Doreen shot up a lamppost in one fluid motion, balancing atop it with ease. Cass and I scrambled onto the bakery’s roof for a better view. At first, all I could make out were dots in the distance. Then the dots took shape—ships, slicing through the waves with unnatural speed. Dozens of them, trailing behind a behemoth of a vessel that dwarfed the rest. It was massive, dark metal gleaming beneath the sun, bristling with sharp angles and layered decks. And it wasn’t slowing down.

The air thrummed as the fleet tore across the sea, the leading ship a monstrous, looming shadow against the bright sky. Jagged structures jutted from its hull at chaotic angles, pulsing with eerie purple and orange lights—like some kind of nightmare cruise ship. My stomach dropped. The music swelled, shaking the air itself. Bagpipes and war drums. A battle march.

“She’s fuckin’ here!” Doreen’s voice rang through the street like an alarm bell. “Get Elara!” That snapped the Hunters into action. A flurry of movement erupted as people scattered, some sprinting for weapons, others raising the city’s alarms. A deep, resonant horn sounded from the Tower behind us, sending a shudder through the cobbled streets. I turned to Cass. She was frozen. Not moving, not blinking—just staring at the approaching ships, her face a mask of stone.

“Cass?”

She flinched at my voice, like I’d shaken her out of something.

“What?”

“You okay?”

Her expression said everything. Whatever was coming—it was bad.

The ships carved through the water without hesitation, heading straight for the harbor. Then I realized the horrifying truth. They weren’t slowing down to dock.

“Oh fuck,” I breathed. “We have to move. Cass, we need to get people off the streets. I’m getting Katie!”

We leaped from the roof, hitting the street in a full sprint. Katie stood just outside the bakery, transfixed by the sight.

“Katie!” I grabbed her wrist, yanking her back toward the Tower. “Run!”

Behind us, the impact came like an earthquake. A deafening, grinding roar filled the air as the behemoth ship plowed into the harbor, its sheer size tearing through the docks and smashing straight into the city streets. The force of it sent a shockwave through the ground, knocking people off their feet. Buildings groaned, wood and stone splintering under the force. Smoke and dust billowed outward. People screamed.

And then, out of the chaos, the first figures began to emerge. Dark shapes moved through the haze, gliding over the wreckage with impossible grace. The black-robed figures descended in eerie silence, slipping through the dust like shadows given form. Two landed ahead of us. The first was a woman in black robes adorned with gold and purple cord. Her dark hair floated unnaturally, defying gravity. She moved with deliberate, controlled steps—each one radiating authority.

She locked eyes with me. The air left my lungs. I didn’t need an introduction.

Maris. Without question.

Beside her stood another woman, dressed bizarrely in a maid’s uniform, but her sharp gaze was anything but servile. She assessed me like I was a problem to be removed.

“That one matches the description, Your Grace,” the maid said smoothly. “I’d bet my life that’s him.”

And then—Maris moved. No motion. No blur. She was simply beside me.

“You are Ben Crawford, correct?” Her voice was almost pleasant.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. I glanced at Katie, at her wide, terrified eyes. Then back to the woman who had just sailed a cruise ship into a city to find me.

“I am,” I forced out, scraping together what little defiance I had left.

Maris’s lips curled into something resembling satisfaction. “What luck.”

Her grip locked around my arm, ice-cold and unyielding. “To the tower with you. I want you off my world before lunch.”

Maris’s grip was unyielding, her fingers cold as iron around my arm. I fought against it, twisting instinctively, but it was like trying to pull free of a steel vice. My body wasn’t cooperating—fear coiled tight in my gut, locking down any chance of calling on Bravery. Even the pearls stored in my earring wouldn’t buy me more than a minute of Valor.

People in the street had stopped running. They watched from the sidelines, pressed against buildings or huddled near overturned carts, too afraid to interfere. The sheer presence of Maris—of the ship, the robed figures, the destruction—had settled over La-Roc like a storm cloud, suffocating and inescapable. Even the air felt heavier.

She turned toward the tower, already dragging me forward. “The longer you resist, the more unpleasant this will be.”

“I was just about to say the same thing.”

Elara’s voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding.

She stood at the base of the tower steps in the courtyard, the wind catching the edges of her coat. The uniform she wore was different—black and silver, lined with Hunter insignias, high-collared and reinforced at the shoulders. Not her formal uniform, but something meant for battle.

And she wasn’t alone.

Behind her, Vildar Hunters assembled in formation, each standing in a combat stance. The air around them rippled with burning auras of various colors. A line of defense between Maris and the entrance to the tower.

“If you release him now, your honor will remain intact… barely.” Elara’s tone turned sharp, each word deliberate.

Maris’s grip on me didn’t tighten, but I could feel the shift in her focus, the way her attention snapped toward Elara like a predator sizing up new prey. “Elara,” she said, voice smooth, almost bored. “I could have overlooked harboring a human, but you know the events that brought him here. You endanger this world for what?” She lifted my arm slightly, presenting me like I was Exhibit A. “He can’t even resist.”

She was trying to get a reaction—to embarrass me, to undermine me before anyone could argue otherwise.

Elara didn’t so much as blink. “This Acolyte belongs to the Hunters. He has achieved the Breaker accolade—a feat not accomplished in years. He has been taken as an Apprentice by Grand Mistress Diana Aldertree upon his admission to Sylvarus.” Her voice hardened. “You are in violation of treaties, not to mention the hole you just tore through my fucking city.”

Maris exhaled through her nose, unimpressed. “I am protecting this world. Which, I believe, is supposed to be your job.” Her eyes swept over the Hunters at Elara’s back. “You and your little Monster Hunters cannot stop me. You never could.”

Elara smiled. Not a kind smile. Not a reassuring one. A wicked smile.

“No, you’re right,” she said. “But he can.”

Before Maris could react, a shockwave slammed into her.

I barely had time to process it before I was thrown free, hitting the ground with enough force to rattle my bones. Maris launched backward, pinwheeling through the air before slamming through the courtyard’s stone wall. The impact sent dust and shattered brick cascading in all directions.

Standing where she’d been was a man in white linen pants, his black skin glowing with shifting golden runes. He bounced on the balls of his feet, rolling his shoulders like he’d just finished a long stretch. His grin was wide, almost feral.

“Wooo!” Chas bellowed, cracking his knuckles. “I’ve been waiting to do that for a long time.”