Eugene sat stiffly on one of the impossibly plush cushions in the sitting room, a space within The Hearth Behind the Stars. The overwhelming hospitality of the space made him uneasy, as if it were deliberately trying to lull him into a false sense of security.
“So, I’ve been chosen?” Eugene asked, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Chosen for what?”
“To be my warlock,” Cozimia said, her tone warm and reassuring. ”Actually no, scratch that. How about ‘to have me as a muse!’ That sounds much more inviting!”. She hovered gracefully a few feet off the ground, her golden skin radiating a gentle light. “It’s no small thing, sugar. A partnership like this doesn’t just happen by chance.”
“A warlock,” Eugene repeated, frowning. “Like...from games I play?”
Cozimia chuckled, her laugh rich and musical. “No, I don't think it's quite like that. You and I, bound by a pact. You’d carry a piece of my power and wield it in the world. Together, we’d accomplish great things.”
Eugene leaned back, the cushions beneath him shifting to cradle his weight. “But why me? What makes me so special?”
“Because,” Cozimia said, her tone growing softer, “you’re unbound by the Weave.”
Eugene tilted his head, her words only deepening his confusion. “The Weave? What does that mean?”
She folded her hands gracefully, as if preparing to teach a lesson. “The Weave is the magical fabric of this world, sugar. It ties every spell, every creature, every piece of magic together like threads in a grand tapestry. But it’s a closed system, and everything magical on this world is connected to it.”
“And you’re not?” Eugene asked.
Her glowing smile widened. “Not even a little bit. I’m what you’d call a Jennie, darlin’. My magic doesn’t come from the Weave—it’s older, freer, and far more versatile.”
Eugene furrowed his brow. “Okay, but what exactly is a Jennie? Krungus says genies are dangerous, but you’re calling yourself something different.”
“And rightly so,” she said, her tone firm yet patient. “Genies are elemental spirits—fire, water, air, earth. They’re powerful, sure, but they’re tied to the forces that created them, bound by their elemental nature. Me? I’m somethin’ else entirely.”
Eugene leaned forward, curious despite himself. “What are you tied to, then?”
Cozimia’s glow brightened faintly as she gestured around the room. “Ideas, sugar. Jennies are tied to concepts. Forces of thought, culture, and purpose. Where a genie might bring a firestorm, a Jennie brings peace, war, music, or...in my case, hospitality.”
“Hospitality?” Eugene asked, raising an eyebrow.
“That’s right,” Cozimia said with a wink. “I’m the Jennie of Hospitality. The Sultaness of Sofas, the Herald of the Hearth Behind the Stars. When the world needed a force to remind folks of the power of welcoming others, of creating spaces where people feel cared for, it called on me.”
Eugene blinked. “You’re telling me you’re a magical hostess?”
She grinned, amused by his incredulity. “More than that, sugar. Hospitality is what brings people together, builds bridges where walls used to stand. It’s about more than good food and comfy chairs—it’s about trust, kindness, and forging connections.”
Eugene crossed his arms. “And you want me to be your warlock? Why? I’m not exactly a shining beacon of hospitality.”
Her expression softened, her glow dimming slightly as she floated closer. “You’ve got potential, darlin’. You’re not from this world, which means you’re not bound by its rules. You can see things from a perspective no one else here can. And let’s not forget, you picked up that fanous for a reason. It wouldn’t have let you in if you weren’t special.”
Eugene hesitated, her words tugging at something deep within him. “And what do you get out of this?”
Cozimia spread her arms, her golden light flickering like the glow of a hearth fire. “A chance to stretch my legs, for one thing. I’ve been cooped up in that fanous for longer than I care to admit. But more than that? I want to help you, sugar. As I live and breathe, there’s a war comin’, I just know it.”
He frowned, still grappling with the enormity of her offer, and of impending war. “And if I say no?”
“Then we part ways,” she said simply, her voice tinged with sadness. “No strings, no tricks. I’ll go back to my fanous, and you’ll go back to your life. But I think you’d be missin’ out on somethin’ extraordinary.”
Eugene looked down at the cushions beneath him, his mind racing. “This is...a lot.”
“I know, sugar,” Cozimia said softly. “Take your time. Think it over. But know this—hospitality ain’t just a fancy word. It’s a force of change, of unity. And you’ve got the makings of someone who can use it to make a real difference.”
Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
Eugene glanced up at her, meeting her kind, glowing eyes. “I’ll think about it.”
Cozimia smiled, her expression warm and genuine. “That’s all I ask, darlin’. And no matter what you decide, just remember: there’s always a place for you at my hearth.”
Before Eugene could respond, the golden light of the sitting room began to fade, the plush cushions and low tables dissolving into shadows. Moments later, he found himself back in his room in the mushroom tower, the fanous resting cool and heavy in his hands.
----------------------------------------
Krungus stalked across Eugene’s cramped room in the mushroom tower, his robes flaring with each abrupt pivot. The walls of the mushroom tower flickered like dying fireflies, carving out sinister shapes on his face as his staff thumped against the floor in a steady, annoyed staccato.
“That lantern,” he muttered under his breath, glaring at the copper fanous dumped unceremoniously on the floor. The rubies set along its surface pulsed like a living heart—unsettling, cryptic, and about as friendly as an alligator at a daycare. “It better not have swallowed him. One Jennie fiasco was enough for a lifetime.”
Before he could continue his grousing, a loud gasp interrupted him, and Eugene tumbled onto the floor like the universe had just spat him out. The fanous quieted to a dull glow near his outstretched hand while he blinked furiously, struggling to catch his breath.
“Ah, back from the abyss, I see,” Krungus said, smoothing his tone into a veneer of calm that barely covered his rabid curiosity. He inched closer, red-lensed glasses gleaming ominously as he bent down, staff balanced across his knees. “Well? Don’t just lie there gasping like a dying fish. Spit it out. What happened?”
Eugene grunted, pushing up onto his elbows. “Just… give me a second,” he managed, voice quivering. “That was… intense.”
Krungus’s gaze slipped pointedly to the fanous, then back to Eugene. “Spare me the drama. Explain. Now.”
Eugene struggled upright, raking a hand through his hair. “I was inside the lantern,” he said, gesturing at the fanous like it was some carnivorous beast that tried to eat him whole. “There’s a… a place in there… or it is a place, I don’t know. She called it The Hearth Behind the Stars.”
“She?” Krungus’s eyes narrowed behind his tinted lenses. “You spoke with someone?”
“Yeah,” Eugene answered shakily, his breathing settling to a more stable panic. “Cozimia. She said she’s a Jennie.”
Krungus’s jaw tensed, though he tried to maintain a half-baked facade of skepticism. “A Jennie. Lovely. Because we absolutely needed a second cosmic wild card in our lives.”
“She’s not a monster,” Eugene protested, crossing his arms like a sulking teenager. “She said she’s not a genie.”
“Oh, well in that case,” Krungus shot back, adjusting his glasses in a slow, deliberate gesture. “I’m sure she’s just a cuddly kitten with a fancy name. Did she bother explaining what a Jennie actually is, or did she just whisk you off for tea?”
Eugene exhaled heavily. “She said Jennies are tied to concepts, not elements. She called herself the Jennie of Hospitality.”
Krungus let out a derisive snort. “Hospitality. Of course. Nothing says ‘trust me’ quite like claiming you’re the embodiment of a warm welcome. Next she’ll be offering homemade cookies with a dash of poison, just to keep things interesting.”
Eugene’s frown deepened. “You think she’s lying?”
“I think she’s whatever she needs to be to keep you docile,” Krungus said flatly. “These creatures—whatever they are—don’t go around knitting scarves for the needy. They exist to pull strings, boy. Remember that.”
Eugene stared at the lantern uneasily. “She didn’t seem… evil. She wants me to be her warlock.”
Krungus froze, a flicker of real shock breaking through the cranky-wizard routine. “Her warlock? Now there’s a harmless hobby for you.”
Eugene swallowed. “Yeah. She says she’ll grant me magic that isn’t bound to the Weave.”
“The Weave,” Krungus grumbled, instantly souring. He resumed his pacing, staff tapping like a judge’s gavel. “She’s right about one thing—you’re not tethered to it. I knew that the moment you got here.”
Eugene shot him an incredulous look. “You knew? And you didn’t tell me?”
“Excuse me for not handing out pamphlets,” Krungus snapped, waving his staff as if it might ward off stupidity. “It never mattered until now. You weren’t exactly blowing up towers trying to learn arcane secrets. But with Cozimia butting in, we’ve hit a new level of potential disaster.”
Eugene braced himself before speaking again. “She also mentioned a war coming.”
That got Krungus’s full attention. He paused, the lines on his face carving deeper. “A war, is it? Did she happen to mention who’s fighting, or was it more of a ‘doom is upon us, have a nice day’ type of prophecy?”
Eugene shrugged helplessly. “She just said I should be ready.”
Krungus’s expression slid from concern to grim cynicism faster than a guillotine blade. “A Jennie of ‘Hospitality’ predicting conflict. Because nothing says ‘welcome’ like pending carnage. Either she’s trying to recruit cannon fodder, or she’s telling the truth. Pick your poison.”
“She doesn’t seem deceptive,” Eugene insisted, sounding frustrated. “She—”
Krungus cut him off with a humorless chuckle. “That’s the idea, you know. In your shoes, I’d be suspicious if she didn’t seem friendly. Now, you’ve got choices to make, and if you choose poorly, I’ll be the one cleaning up the rubble.”
Eugene opened his mouth to retort, but Krungus’s eyes suddenly widened. He cursed, slapping a palm to his forehead hard enough to make Eugene flinch.
“What now?” Eugene ventured, half-dreading the answer.
Krungus groaned as though physically pained. “Oh, just a minor detail… I was supposed to drag you along to see some squalling infant. Because apparently, it has its own Jennie playmate.”
Eugene’s jaw dropped. “Another one?”
“Yes, another one,” Krungus snapped, stomping toward the door. “Now get off your backside and follow me. I’d rather not keep a mystical baby demon waiting.”
Eugene scrambled upright, snatching the lantern. “You think it’s connected to Cozimia?”
“Why don’t we ask it over tea and blood sacrifices?” Krungus quipped, rolling his eyes. “We’ll find out soon enough. And you’re going to help me—unless you enjoy the idea of me turning your spleen into an eel.”
Eugene balked. “Is that an actual threat?”
Krungus threw him a look that could wither a cactus. “Shut up and move, boy, before I demonstrate.”
Without further protest, Eugene followed, clutching the lantern and bracing himself for whatever nightmare awaited them. Because really, after a day spent inside a glowing tin can with a cosmic hostess who prophesied war and wanted to be his best friend, a magical newborn was just the cherry on top of this hellish sundae.