Derek Longwell woke up from a dream he couldn’t remember. Whatever it was, he mused, it must have been great, because he couldn’t stop smiling.

He was smiling a lot these days.

He jumped right to the bathroom, and after the requisite time spent scrubbing the sundries, he headed to the breakfast table. After staring into the fridge for a minute or so, and contemplating the carton of eggs and the last bit of bacon, he ended up taking a couple frozen waffles out the freezer instead. He told himself it was because he was watching his weight, but he knew it was really just laziness. He was in too good a mood to spend time cooking this particular morning.

As he wolfed down his meal he cut his eyes over to his computer. As tempting as it was to login for a few minutes before work, he couldn’t really justify it to himself. He was too busy, and there was too much to do. Besides, he’d be jumping online as soon as he got home anyway. Why rush it?

So he ate the last bite of his waffle, dropping it onto his shirt, and momentarily debated the merits of switching to a less syruped version. With a shrug, he grabbed his briefcase and set out.

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When he climbed into his car, he couldn’t help the chills that ran through him. The thing was a beast, an absolute monster. More horsepower than the Roman army, more Vs than a vegetable drink, it was more car than should be legal. And he used it for his five minute commute. He wasn’t even sure why he’d bought it, beyond the mere fact he could. I mean, why not? He was being paid plenty.

When he’d been fired from his last position, he’d been terrified. The business had been more ambitious than anyone had realized, and by the time they tried to save things it was already on fire. He’d expected to go crawling back to a previous employer, tail between his legs, when he’d seen some job postings go up and taken a chance.

And oh man, had it worked out.

He had more money than he could spend, a relatively secure position for the next year at minimum, and free reign to do what he wanted.

He pulled into the parking lot, waving his badge to lift aside the car-blocking arm at the entrance, and pulled into a spot with minimum grinding on the gears. He walked by the Narrative Solutions sign with a small salute to his sponsor, and headed for his work area at the back.

It was his own small Realm, and within it were miracles.

He tossed the briefcase down by the door, and slumped into his seat. Moments later, a glow began to fill the room, and he smiled.

The job had turned out to be more lucrative than he ever could have imagined, in so many ways.

“Good morning, Mordred.”