Eugene sat on the edge of his bed, the dim light from the mushroom tower's windows casting long shadows across the wooden floor. In his hands, the ornate copper lantern—Cozimia’s home. The red jewels embedded in its surface twinkled softly, reflecting his pensive expression. He could feel the warmth of it through his fingers, a subtle pulse that reminded him she was always there. Always waiting.
And she was excited.
"Well, sugar, I gotta say," Cozimia’s warm, honeyed voice filled the air from nowhere and everywhere at once, "the thought of havin' all these new friends around just tickles me somethin' fierce! The paladins have their own ‘establishment’ to hang out at, so I haven’t had too many visitors."
Eugene chuckled, rubbing his thumb along one of the intricate patterns etched into the metal. "I don’t know if I'd call them friends just yet," he said. "Acquaintances, maybe. Loud, violent acquaintances."
Cozimia’s voice filled the small room like a rich, comforting melody. “Oh, don't you be modest now. That feathered fella seems plenty friendly, and your grumpy wizard pal? Well, he’s got layers. Like an onion, or one of those cakes with way too much frosting.”
Eugene smirked. “Yeah, Krungus sure does have... something.” He sighed, leaning back against the wall. "I gotta admit, I'm still not used to all this. Magic, monsters, crazy wizard family drama. And then there's you."
Cozimia's voice softened. "Bless your heart, darlin'. I know it's a lot. But I ain't here to be a burden—I'm here to make things easier. Why, you could be sleepin' on clouds every night inside this little ole place instead of these creaky, fungus-smellin' floors."
Eugene groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah, about that… I feel kinda guilty whenever I don’t sleep inside the lantern.” He paused. “Like I’m... wasting it?”
A soft laugh echoed in the room. “Oh, sugar, you ain’t wastin’ nothin’. That’s what I am, Eugene. A sanctuary, a home, a warm place to lay your head after a long day of adventuring.” Her tone took on a teasing edge. “Besides, a bed’s a bed. No one’s judgin’ ya but me, and I think you’d look real cute curled up in those fancy sheets.”
Eugene felt his face flush. "Alright, alright, I get it." He stared at the lantern for a long moment before shaking his head. "You know what? You're right. This place could use a little... hospitality."
With a grin, he pushed himself off the bed and strode out of the room, heading toward the common area where Krungus and Qlaark were deep in an argument about rune stability.
Krungus was pacing in circles, grumbling under his breath. “It’s not about stability, bird. It’s about efficiency. A poorly inscribed rune is like a poorly cooked steak—useless, burned, and embarrassing.”
Qlaark, ever the optimist, was nodding along furiously. He was also grossly outclassed. “But if you layer the runes—”
“Enough layering talk! I swear to Ranvar, you're obsessed!”
Eugene cleared his throat. "Hey, uh, guys? How about we take this... inside the lantern?"
Krungus stopped mid-rant, arching a skeptical eyebrow. “You want me to crawl inside that tiny thing? I know magic’s weird, but I have limits, Eugene.”
Eugene sighed. “It’s bigger on the inside. And it’s got chairs. Comfy chairs.”
Qlaark’s eyes widened in curiosity. “Chairs, you say?”
Eugene nodded, holding the lantern up. "Yeah. And pillows. Lots and lots of pillows."
Krungus snorted. “Fine. But if this is another one of your Earth-people ‘relaxation’ schemes, I swear to the gods—”
Before Krungus could finish, Eugene tapped the side of the lantern, and the world around them shifted in a blink.
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The sensation of entering the lantern was always surreal. One moment they were standing inside the mushroom tower, and the next, they found themselves enveloped in a warm, golden glow. The plush interior of Cozimia’s domain stretched out before them—lush cushions and low tables spread across the floor in elegant, soft curves. The scent of something sweet and spiced lingered in the air, and the walls shimmered with soft, shifting lights that resembled distant galaxies.
Krungus adjusted his glasses, looking around with an expression that might have been mild approval. “Hmph. Not what I expected.”
Qlaark gasped, flapping his wings lightly. “This... is amazing!” He plopped himself onto a particularly large cushion with a contented sigh. “This must be what it feels like to be royalty.”
From above them, Cozimia herself hovered gracefully a few inches off the ground, her golden glow bathing them in warmth. “Welcome, gentlemen! Make yourselves at home.” She floated closer to Eugene. “See? Ain’t this better?”
Eugene grinned. “Yeah. Yeah, you were right.”
Krungus, standing stiffly with his arms crossed, eyed the lantern’s interior suspiciously. “So, what’s the catch? Do we owe you our souls now?”
Cozimia’s laugh tinkled like chimes. “Oh, honey, I ain’t that kind of host. Your souls are safe... for now.”
Eugene rolled his eyes. “Krungus, just sit down and enjoy it for once.”
Grumbling, Krungus lowered himself onto one of the cushions, muttering something about “too much softness” and “weak back support.”
Eugene plopped down onto one of the plush cushions, sighing as he stretched his legs. "So," he said, looking around, "what do you guys think? Cozy enough for you?"
Krungus glanced around, his lips twitching despite himself. "It's... acceptable."
Qlaark, already sprawled out on a pile of cushions, sighed contentedly. "I might never leave."
Cozimia floated gracefully above them, a satisfied smile on her face. “Well, sugar, let me tell you, places like this don’t come easy. Took me centuries to perfect the atmosphere, and let me tell you, it gets mighty dull without good company.”
Krungus, half-listening, adjusted his glasses and let his fingers idly trace the embroidery on a nearby pillow. "Centuries, huh?" He looked up at her. "Ever get tired of it?"
Cozimia’s golden glow flickered slightly, her expression softening. “Oh, sweetheart... you have no idea.” She hovered lower, settling into the space near them, and her warm voice took on a melancholic note. “You see, I remember a time when this place was full. Travelers, warriors, dreamers—folks from all across the planes used to come here. Some stayed longer than others, but eventually...” She sighed, staring off into the shifting golden lights along the walls. “Eventually, they all leave.”
Eugene watched her closely. "And what do you do when they're gone?"
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Cozimia smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, sugar, I do what I do best. I keep the lantern warm, keep the cushions fluffed, and wait for the next lost soul to stumble inside.” Her gaze flicked to Krungus, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between them. “Immortality ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, y'know. You don't get to stop, you don't get to rest. You just... keep.”
Krungus leaned back slightly, his fingers drumming on his staff. "You build things, you collect things, you keep things." His voice carried the weight of a thousand years. "And the longer you live, the harder it is to tell if you're making something worthwhile or just... stalling."
Cozimia gave a slow nod. “Exactly, darlin’.”
Qlaark, sitting up from his pile of cushions, his usual jittery energy dimmed, rubbed his beak in thought. “Sometimes... you don’t even know if what you’re doing is good or bad. You just... do it.” His voice wavered slightly. “And sometimes people get hurt.”
Eugene glanced at him, frowning. “Qlaark...”
The toucanfolk’s feathers ruffled. “I mean, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. The explosions, the—” He gestured vaguely. “I thought it was the right thing. But look what happened.” His voice grew quieter. “People died because of something I helped start.”
Cozimia floated closer to him, her voice a gentle murmur. “Oh, sugar. That’s the weight we all carry.”
Krungus studied Qlaark for a moment before speaking, his voice quieter than usual. “Sometimes... just being who you are, doing what you think is best... you cast shadows without meaning to.” He tapped his fingers lightly against the couch.
“The sun don’t worry ‘bout casting shadows,
It just burns, and it just shines.
And even when the world turns dark,
It'll rise again, just fine.”
Qlaark blinked, his beak twitching slightly as he processed Krungus’ words. “So... you’re saying I should just keep going?”
Krungus shrugged. “I’m saying, you don’t get to decide how your light falls. You just do your part. And if someone gets burned... you learn.”
Cozimia nodded in approval. “Wise words, wizard.”
Eugene rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Yeah, but... what if you don’t wanna be the sun?”
Krungus gave him a dry look. “Then you’re a cloud. And clouds don’t get much done.”
Eugene snorted. “Great, so my options are eternal burning or being useless. Fantastic.”
Qlaark chuckled softly, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Guess I’ll keep shining then. Even if it’s not perfect.”
Krungus sighed and leaned back into the pillows, his gaze fixed on the softly glowing ceiling of the lantern’s realm. “None of us are perfect. Even the ones who think they are.” His mind drifted to Sharrzaman, to the betrayal, to the centuries lost in the silent halls of Syzzyzzy. He shook off the thought. “But we’re here now, and there’s work to do.”
Cozimia beamed. “That’s the spirit, sugar. Now, who’s hungry?”
Eugene groaned. “There’s no food in here, Cozimia.”
She winked. “Not yet, honey. But give me some time, and I’ll have you dining like royalty.”
Krungus sighed, closing his eyes. “Great. More waiting.”
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Krungus sat at the head of the warped wooden table inside the mushroom tower’s common room, the flickering lamplight casting jagged shadows across his tired face. His round red glasses slid down his nose as he flipped through the worn ledger, his fingers tracing the scribbled entries with increasing irritation. Around him, his newly minted paladins shifted uneasily in their seats, waiting for their leader’s verdict.
“Alright,” Krungus muttered, tapping the page with a bony finger. “Let’s see how my brilliant band of enforcers has been performing.” He looked up over the rims of his glasses. “Brenna, report.”
Brenna, the once-bartender-turned-captain of the paladins, leaned forward, her arms resting on the table. “Training’s progressing,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “We’ve made some strides in combat readiness, recruitment’s steady... but, uh...” She shot a glance toward a particularly stocky paladin at the end of the table, “we’ve had... some issues with interpretation of the rules.”
Krungus sighed. “Interpretation.” He closed the ledger with a thud. “Wonderful. Do enlighten me.”
Brenna cleared her throat. “Griddle here—”
Krungus didn’t even look up. “Of course it’s Griddle.”
Griddle, the broad-shouldered, ever-earnest paladin, puffed out his chest and nodded proudly. He had probably thought his experience in his previous job would transfer to this one. “Sir, I’ve been upholding the law with unwavering dedication.”
Krungus gave him a long, deadpan stare. “Oh? Then why am I reading about you detaining a child for... fruit snatching?” He held up the ledger, reading from it aloud in a theatrical voice. “‘Caught red-handed pilfering apples. Pursued. Subdued. Justice served.’” Krungus looked up sharply. “Explain yourself, Griddle.”
Griddle sat up straighter, clearly not sensing the impending storm. “Sir, theft is theft! If we let them get away with apples today, tomorrow it’ll be gold, and next thing you know, they’ll be robbing banks and kidnapping nobles!”
Krungus’ nostrils flared. “You absolute turnip.”
Griddle blinked. “Sir?”
Krungus leaned forward, his knuckles whitening as they pressed against the table. “You are supposed to help the neediest people in the city. Not throw starving children into cells over a handful of stolen fruit.”
“But—”
Krungus cut him off with a sharp glare. “Do you honestly think locking up a half-starved child is going to solve the city’s crime problem?”
Griddle opened his mouth, then shut it again, clearly wrestling with the concept. “But... justice, sir.”
Krungus’ patience wore thin. “Justice, you lummox, isn’t about swinging a sword at anyone who steps out of line. It’s about fixing what’s broken.” He stood up, pacing now, his voice rising. “If someone is stealing food, maybe—just maybe—they need food. Feed them. Find them work. Use your bloody brain.”
From within Eugene’s pocket, the copper lantern emitted a soft glow, and Cozimia’s voice purred into Eugene’s ear, filled with dry amusement.
“Well now, ain’t this a sight?” she drawled. “The man who nearly turned an entire brothel into a magic sideshow is lecturin’ folks about not bein’ too harsh.”
Eugene smirked slightly. “You’re not wrong.”
Cozimia continued, her voice silkier. “Talk about castin’ shadows without knowin’ it. He’s punishin’ that poor fella for bein’ dumb the same way he’s scoldin’ him for punishin’ some kid.”
Eugene’s smirk grew. “Hypocrisy is a powerful tool, Cozimia.”
Krungus, completely unaware of the commentary from the lamp, jabbed a finger at Griddle. “Understand this, and understand it well: We are not tyrants. We protect. We serve. If I hear another story like this, I’ll... I’ll have you polishing chamber pots for the rest of your career.”
Griddle nodded rapidly, his face flushed with shame. “Understood, sir.”
Krungus let out a long, frustrated sigh and slumped back into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Cozimia’s voice drifted out again, louder this time, a playful lilt in her tone. “Well, sugar, at least you're tryin’. That counts for somethin’.”
Krungus’ eyes snapped toward the lantern with a scowl. “Oh, shut up, you floating piece of sentimental furniture.”
Eugene snorted, covering his mouth, while Qlaark squawked in surprise.
Cozimia’s glow dimmed slightly, her voice amused but with a touch of wounded pride. “Why, Krungus, that’s just rude.”
Krungus rubbed his temples. “I don’t have time for your syrupy wisdom, Jennie.”
Cozimia chuckled softly. “Oh, I ain’t wise, darlin’. Just observant.”
Eugene leaned in, whispering to the lantern, “You might want to ease up. He’s already wound tighter than a cursed spring trap.”
Krungus, still grumbling, snapped the ledger shut again. “Meeting adjourned. Brenna, make sure Griddle and the others understand what actual justice looks like. And someone bring me a drink that doesn’t taste like foot.”
The paladins began filing out, Brenna shooting Eugene a conspiratorial grin before following.
As they left, Eugene turned to Krungus with an innocent smile. “You know, Cozimia does have a point.”
Krungus groaned, waving him off. “Get out before I magically glue your lips shut.”
Eugene chuckled and followed Qlaark out of the room, leaving Krungus alone in the dim light.
For a long moment, the wizard simply sat there, staring at the lantern with a begrudging frown.
The lantern pulsed gently.
Krungus muttered under his breath. “Damn sentimental furniture.”