Eugene sat cross-legged on the plush carpet of his new bedroom in the mushroom tower, the copper fanous cradled in his hands. The room around him was unlike anything he had ever slept in before: fungi glowed softly along the curved walls, casting a gentle greenish hue over the smooth, organic textures. The air was cool and earthy, yet oddly comforting, like the scent of freshly turned soil after rain.
But none of that could distract him from the fanous.
The lantern was heavier than it looked, its intricate patterns of engraved copper cool against his palms. Tiny red gems were embedded in its surface, each one glowing faintly like embers that never died. When he tilted the fanous just slightly, the light from the jewels danced along the walls, creating a shifting mosaic of crimson and gold.
It felt ancient in a way that Eugene couldn’t put into words. The craftsmanship was too perfect, too timeless. The way the metal curves wove together, the symmetry of the engraved designs—it didn’t look handmade. It felt more like something found in the fabric of existence itself.
Yet, despite its age, there was something disturbingly welcoming about it. The soft warmth of the jewels’ light seemed to reach into Eugene’s chest, wrapping itself around his heart in a way that made him feel safe. Protected. Wanted.
And that was what scared him the most.
Eugene frowned, gripping the fanous tighter. “What’s your deal?” he muttered, his voice breaking the silence. He turned it over in his hands, studying every groove, every glimmering jewel. “Krungus says you’ve got something inside you. Something dangerous. But...you don’t feel dangerous. You feel...”
He trailed off, shivering despite the warmth of the room. It’s sealed inside, he reminded himself, echoing Krungus’s words. Sealed.
But what did that really mean? What kind of thing could be locked inside an object like this, and why had someone just given it to him? His mind raced with questions that offered no answers, only more dread. The welcome it exuded wasn’t friendly—it was too deliberate, like a predator coaxing prey to step closer.
“I should put you away,” Eugene said aloud, his voice firm with a resolve he didn’t quite feel. He reached for the pocket of his new Victorian-style trousers, still getting used to their snug, tailored fit.
But when he slid the fanous toward the opening, it slipped from his fingers. The heavy copper lantern hit the floor with a dull clink and rolled, bouncing slightly against the uneven carpet, before disappearing beneath the bedside table.
“Damn it,” Eugene muttered, getting onto his hands and knees. He stretched an arm under the table, feeling around blindly. His fingers brushed against the fanous, the smooth surface immediately recognizable.
The second he touched it, the room vanished.
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Eugene blinked, his surroundings transformed in an instant. Gone was the cozy bedroom of the mushroom tower. Instead, he was kneeling on a floor covered with cushions so soft and inviting they might as well have been clouds. The air smelled faintly of lavender and something else—warm, buttery, and almost sweet, like fresh-baked bread.
The room was bathed in a soft, golden light that didn’t seem to come from any single source. Low tables, intricately carved and polished to a mirror shine, sat scattered among the cushions. The walls were draped in fabrics of deep burgundy and emerald green, their patterns swirling with depictions of olive branches and lotus blossoms. Everything about the space radiated comfort, from the warmth of the air to the way the cushions seemed to beckon him to sit and rest.
But it wasn’t the room that held Eugene’s attention.
Hovering a few inches above the ground in the center of the room was a woman. Her form shimmered faintly, as if she were made of living gold. She was plump and radiant, her presence both regal and impossibly inviting. Her skin emitted a soft, golden glow, like the light of a hearth on a cold night, and her robes, shaped more like a muumuu, flowed around her like liquid silk. Lotus blossoms and olive branches were embroidered into the fabric in fine detail, the two intertwining as though they belonged together. She wore an apron on top of it.
Her face was kind, with round cheeks and warm eyes that crinkled at the corners. She wore slippers embroidered to match her robes, their toes curling slightly in a whimsical design. Her hair, a rich auburn, was tied loosely back with a simple ribbon, giving her an effortless grace. She also somehow looked like the pro-wrestler Goldust mixed with the Chris Farley school lunch lady.
Eugene blinked, his heart hammering as he stared at the golden woman floating before him. Her warm glow filled the room like sunlight filtered through honey, and her serene expression seemed almost hypnotic. She hovered effortlessly, her embroidered slippers barely brushing the air, her robes shifting as if caught in a soft breeze that wasn’t there.
“Welcome!” she said again, her voice sweet and gentle, yet with a hint of amusement. “And don’t you fear, traveler. I’m just a Jennie.”
Eugene’s thoughts were spinning too fast to process her words. “A...Jennie?”
She chuckled, the sound rich and melodic. “That’s right, darlin’. And you can call me Cozimia, though some know me by a fancier name.”
Eugene raised an eyebrow, his confusion outweighing his fear for a moment. “What’s the fancier name?”
She spread her arms grandly, as though presenting herself to an invisible audience. “Cozimia, the Sultaness of Sofas, at your service.” She gestured toward the room around her, her grin widening. “And as you can see, my title’s well earned.”
Eugene glanced at the room again, taking in the sprawling cushions and low tables. The soft, inviting surfaces seemed to expand the more he looked, stretching endlessly into cozy alcoves draped in rich fabrics. Everything about the space screamed comfort—overwhelmingly so.
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“Sultaness of Sofas,” Eugene repeated, his voice flat. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” she said with a wink. “I’ve spent a good many centuries perfectin’ the art of comfort. You ever hear of a Jennie with a title more invitin’? I think not.”
Despite himself, Eugene almost laughed, but the unease creeping through his chest kept it at bay. “Okay, Cozimia. Where am I, and why am I here?”
“You’re in the sitting room of The Hearth Behind the Stars,” Cozimia said, floating closer but maintaining a polite distance. “It’s my little slice of existence, tucked safe and sound inside my vessel.” She gave him a playful smile. “And you’re here ‘cause you got chosen. That’s all it takes, sugar.”
Eugene took a cautious step back, his hands balling into fists. “Krungus said there’s something dangerous inside the fanous.”
Cozimia tilted her head, her glow softening just slightly. “Did he now? Well, bless his heart.” Her tone was as warm as ever, but there was an edge beneath the surface—a flicker of something sharper, more knowing. “Dangerous is a mighty subjective word, don’tcha think? You don’t look too harmed to me.”
Eugene swallowed hard, glancing around the room again. The inviting atmosphere felt oppressive now, the cushions seeming to whisper for him to sit, to rest. “What do you want from me?”
“Want?” Cozimia placed a hand over her chest as if the very question wounded her. “Oh, darlin’, I don’t want nothin’—least not yet. This is just an introduction. A howdy-doo. You and I, we’re gonna get acquainted. Properly.”
Eugene’s pulse quickened. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” she said, her voice softening to something almost conspiratorial, “you’ve got potential, sugar. And I reckon you’re gonna need a little guidance in what’s ahead. So, here I am.” She leaned closer, her golden glow intensifying slightly. “Does that scare ya?”
“Yeah,” Eugene admitted, his voice trembling. “A little.”
Cozimia’s smile returned, warm and genuine. “Good. That means you’re payin’ attention. Now, how ‘bout we start with you takin’ a seat? Ain’t no sense havin’ a chat if you’re standin’ there like a scarecrow.”
Eugene hesitated, glancing at the nearest cushion. Despite every instinct screaming at him to resist, he felt the pull of the room, the comforting light, and Cozimia’s inviting tone. But deep down, a nagging voice warned him that sitting down might be the start of something he couldn’t undo.
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Krungus stood in the main hall of the mushroom tower, arranging an array of arcane tools on a workbench grown seamlessly from the organic walls. The faint bioluminescent glow of the tower reflected off his polished glasses, his expression focused as he worked. In his hands, he turned over a small, crystal vial, inspecting it closely before placing it alongside an assortment of other enchanted instruments.
The tower hummed faintly, its energy in sync with Krungus’s presence. Yet, even amidst his concentration, his thoughts were elsewhere—returning again and again to the copper fanous Eugene carried. The implications of such an object turning up in the City gnawed at him, and though he had managed to suppress his unease for the moment, it lingered at the edges of his mind like a splinter beneath the skin.
A shadow appeared in the doorway, interrupting his thoughts. One of his paladins, their armor faintly gleaming in the soft light, hesitated just beyond the threshold. Krungus didn’t turn, though he noted their presence immediately. “If you’re going to stand there loitering, say what you’ve come to say,” he said without looking up. His tone wasn’t sharp, but it carried the weight of expectation.
The paladin stepped forward, their posture straight but cautious. “Master Krungus,” they began, their voice steady but unsure, “I bring news from the city.”
Krungus set down the vial he was holding, straightening slightly. “News,” he echoed. “Well? Out with it.”
The paladin hesitated, glancing at the array of magical tools as if trying to gauge whether their interruption was truly warranted. “It’s...about a child,” they said after a pause. “A newborn, in the Northern Quarter.”
Krungus finally turned, fixing the paladin with a piercing gaze over the rim of his glasses. “Do you imagine I concern myself with every babe born in this city?”
“No, Master,” the paladin said quickly, shaking their head. “This is...different. The child wasn’t born alone.”
Krungus’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted, a subtle tension entering his frame. “Elaborate.”
The paladin took another step forward, clearly encouraged by the fact that Krungus hadn’t yet dismissed them. “When the child was born, something else...appeared. Something that calls itself a ‘Jennie.’”
The air in the room seemed to still. Krungus adjusted his glasses, his voice careful and measured. “A Jennie?”
“Yes, Master. That’s the name it gave itself. The creature appears to be small, like an infant, but...different. Some say it resembles the genies of legend, but it’s unlike any genie anyone has seen before. The wisest in the City believe it’s calling itself a Jennie because of its immaturity.”
Krungus stepped closer to the paladin, his expression inscrutable. “Immature or not, a creature naming itself as such cannot be ignored. What else do you know?”
The paladin straightened, sensing the importance of the news. “The mother is terrified, Master, but the Jennie hasn’t harmed anyone. In fact, it seems to have bonded with the baby. They...interact, almost as if they understand each other.”
Krungus folded his arms, his brow furrowing in thought. A being that resembled a genie but called itself something else? And one that emerged during a birth, of all things? The implications of such an event were staggering, yet the paladin’s account left him with more questions than answers.
“You’re certain this isn’t some form of enchantment or illusion?” Krungus asked.
“The City’s sages have examined it,” the paladin said, their tone careful. “It’s no illusion. Whatever it is, it’s real.”
Krungus fell silent, his mind racing. Genies were beings he knew well—powerful entities bound by ancient rules, cunning and dangerous. But Jennies? The name was new to him, and that alone set him on edge. Why would a being of such apparent power call itself something diminutive? Was it a trick? A mutation? Or something else entirely?
The paladin shifted nervously. “Master, I wasn’t sure if this news was important enough to disturb you. I thought perhaps—”
“Enough,” Krungus said, raising a hand to stop them. His tone wasn’t angry, but it was firm. “This is exactly the kind of information I expect to be brought to me without delay.”
The paladin looked relieved, though they still seemed wary of Krungus’s reaction. “I understand, Master. I’ll remember that in the future.”
Krungus nodded sharply. “Good. You’ve done well to bring this to me, but next time, hesitate less. You’re part of a force meant to keep this city safe, which means recognizing when the unusual demands swift action.”
“Yes, Master,” the paladin said, bowing deeply.
“Go,” Krungus said, waving a hand toward the door. “And ensure the child and its mother are protected until I arrive.”
The paladin left quickly, their armor clinking softly as they retreated down the hallway. Krungus turned back to his workbench, his fingers drumming against the edge of the smooth surface. A baby and a Jennie. The words repeated in his mind like an unsolved riddle.
After a moment, he exhaled sharply and straightened, his robes swirling as he turned toward the hallway leading to Eugene’s quarters.
“EUGENE!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the mushroom tower. “It’s time to go see a baby!”