?Her eyes still snapped open, lying flat on her stomach, on a bed of ferns and moss.

  Then ?she stood up instantly. Her right wing, the one that had been neatly sliced open by a fanatic, felt sturdy. She twitched her tail. It felt... correct. Dull, speckless, and totally uninjured.

  ?The only thing that was broken was her brain, framed by the sun-dappled green of the forest, was that perfectly glowing, feather-bordered rectangle.

  ?WELCOME, SPECKLESS PEACOCK

  ?WELCOME?

  ?Su’s entire body stiffened into a single, massive, feathered middle finger.

  ?"Are. You. Shitting. Me." The sound that came out was a high-pitched, indignant squawk.

  ?She slapped a foot down, kicking a small rock across the moss. The environment is pristine.

  ?She checked her status.

  ?<< HOST STATUS >>

  NAME: LORD CRESTFALL (THE IMMORTAL SCAM)

  SPECIES: PEACOCK (CURSED)

  LEVEL: 1

  XP: 0/100

  TITLE: SPECKLESS PEACOCK

  OBJECTIVES:

  ?SURVIVE

  ?AVOID THE CHANCELLOR (Seriously, that guy's a menace.)

  ?Wait, the objectives changed? The system is learning sarcasm now?

  ?The monumental realization of the time loop hit her with the force of Lana's hammer. It wasn't a one-and-done curse. It was a cosmic subscription model. She didn't get to die and be free. She got to die and hit the reset button, all while retaining the trauma.

  ?I lived through months of hell, befriended a sociopathic goat, got shanked by a cultist, betrayed by a teenage angel of death, and crushed to a bloody pulp, only for the universe to say, 'Hard Reset, new high score?'

  ?The frustration was so intense, she thought her few remaining sanity feathers might fall out. This was the exact kind of lazy narrative she always hated reading—the inescapable loop.

  ?"No," she squawked, louder this time. "Absolutely not. I refuse to be a narrative victim."

  Then she looked around frantically. ?Eldermount was that way (she vaguely recalled the compass setting). That meant the past were also that way.

  ?Su turned her back on the city-ward direction, hiked up her non-existent pants, and started walking the other way—deeper into the unknown forest, toward the rising sun. Away from the past.

  ?She walked for an hour, the feeling of freedom, mixed with existential dread, lending her speed. The forest was huge, quiet, and blessedly free of anything remotely human.

  ?This is it. The new life. Just me and the grubs. Maybe I can find a secluded pond and learn to catch fish. Level up my "Anger Management" skill. I can be a hermit peacock. A very private, very grumpy hermit peacock.

  ?Just as she was mentally designing a small, minimalist leaf hut, she heard a sound.

  ?It wasn't a twig breaking or a bird calling. It was the sound of a human voice, raised in what sounded suspiciously like a truly epic, high-volume recitation of a grocery list.

  ?"...and don't forget the potatoes, alright? We’ll need at least three good sacks and the haggis! The little critters are scarce, but you can’t have a feast day without them. And where is the darn liquor? If I don’t find the liquor, I’ll surely perish right here among the moss and the little—"

  ?Su froze, tucking her head low into the ferns. No. No, no, no. I just started. I haven't even gotten to Level 2 yet. Do NOT do this to me, universe.

  ?A man stumbled into the clearing, tripping lightly over a root, but recovering with an unnecessary flourish. He was tall, maybe early twenties, dressed in a mix of worn leather and what looked like a faded, slightly embarrassing tartan kilt. He had a glorious mess of fiery red hair barely contained by a leather band, and was talking at full volume to absolutely no one.

  ?He stopped, frowned deeply at the handful of wild berries he was holding, and then sighed dramatically.

  ?"Ah, berries. They’re fine, Xander, they are. But they aren't the good stuff, are they? The tricky spirits of the forest are cruel masters, they are."

  ?He looked up, noticed the silent, speckled peacock staring at him from the ferns, and his face lit up like a lighthouse on a cloudy night.

  ?"Well, hello there, little feathered friend!" he boomed, taking a step toward her. "Don't you worry, I'm just Xander. Xander MacTavish. Though the tax collector calls me 'Failure to Locate,' and the little fairy folk call me 'The One Who Forgot Where He Put His Trousers.' What’s your name, then? Speckle? Is it Speckle?"

  ?Su didn't move. She wanted to burrow into the earth and become a dinosaur fossil.

  ?She let out a low, warning hiss that she hoped sounded like "go away."

  ?Xander merely beamed. "Yeah, a little bit shy, are you? That's fine! My brother Dougal was shy. He once spent three weeks hiding in a well because he accidentally offered the Baroness's cat a sausage. The Baroness was terrible at accepting an apology, so he just stayed put. He only came out when the well ran dry, which, ironically, was the same day his wife left him for a baker. Terrible tragedy, that. Though the baker was quite good with shortbread."

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  ?He paused, not for a response, but to gesture wildly with the berries, accidentally launching a few into the air.

  ?"Right, Speckle! You’ll be wanting to know why I’m rambling about Dougal's marital problems, right? Simple! I'm in a tight spot! A right proper pickle. See, I'm supposed to be delivering this..."

  ?He patted the small, heavily strapped satchel slung across his chest.

  ?"...to a little man called Finn. In a place called, and I'm not kidding you, 'The Dampest Bog in the South.' But I got turned around and then forgot to pack the good stuff. And now my stomach is making sounds that could summon a mountain giant. So, here's the deal, little friend! Since you look like a bird that knows its way around, you can be my guide! What do you say, huh? Guide and companion! We'll split the glory!"

  ?Su stared at him. Xander or whatever. Early twenties. Troublemaker. Endless nonsense.

  ?The universe had clearly decided that since she had successfully vetoed the external conflict of the first timeline, it would now assign her the most irritating internal conflict possible.

  ?She wanted to kill him. Not with a cultist's knife, or by psychic force, but with something hilariously like gluing his kilt to a tree or convincing him he was slowly turning into a turnip.

  ?Su took one last, desperate look at the direction she wanted to go—the quiet, hermit-peacock life. Then she looked at Xander's wildly gesticulating form. Then turned and stalked off in the exact opposite direction of The Dampest Bog in the South.

  ?"Right then, off we go!" Xander chirped, jogging easily to catch up. "Brilliant! I knew you had an adventurous spirit! Now, about the structural integrity of that kilt fabric... I had a theory about using badger fur for better water repellency, but the badger wasn't willing to negotiate, see..."

  ?Su wanted to scream. She settled for letting out a slow, full-bodied sigh that sounded like a tire deflating.

  Su walked for two hours, maintaining a determined pace, all while Xander MacTavish prattled on like a broken tea kettle with an opinion on everything.

  ?She tried ignoring him, tried feigning deafness, even tried staring fixedly at a distant tree, attempting to project a psychic wave of pure "Please Just Go Away."

  ?It only made him louder.

  ?"...and that's how I ended up being chased by three angry swans who were convinced I had stolen their baby's bonnet. I hadn't! I simply asked if swans held celebrations for babies. It was a philosophical question, little Speckle, not a confession of theft! But the water fowl in this region lack intellectual curiosity, you see. They're all muscle and hiss."

  ?Su stopped by a thick, winding river. Perfect.

  ?She turned, fixed Xander with a commanding stare, and gestured with her beak toward the raging river. The non-verbal message was clear: Go away. Across the river. Now.

  ?"Ah, crossing the river!" Xander nodded sagely. "A classic test of character! I knew a girl who failed a test of character once. She was told to guard a shiny blue button for a year. She did, bless her heart. But when they came back, she’d glued it to her forehead and was demanding tribute. Sad story. Moral: don't let shiny things define you. But you're a peacock, so that advice is a little bit late, huh?"

  ?He then took off his satchel and his kilt (thankfully, he had worn shorts underneath, preserving the dignity of the narrative). He started examining the riverbank.

  ?"See, Speckle, we could swim it. But that river looks awfully fond of drowning people. Or," he brightened, pointing to a massive, fallen log spanning the river to the other side, "we could walk the bridge!"

  ?Su had already seen the log. It was wet, mossy, and completely unstable. She had planned to walk around the river and leave him to his fate.

  ?Okay, plan B. If I can't ditch him, I can at least incapacitate him, non-lethally.

  ?She let out a series of short, sharp, panicked squawks, flapping her wings uselessly at the log, pointing a foot at the water, and then running in small, distressed circles. She was performing the universal bird language for: DANGER! DO NOT GO THERE! IT'S CURSED/HAUNTED/WILL END YOU!

  ?Xander, however, saw something different.

  ?"Ah, you're right!" he exclaimed, slapping his knee. "It's too easy! That's what you're saying, isn't it? A simple walk across a log is no challenge for a bird of your stature! You're wanting a show, huh? Fine!"

  ?He picked up a large, flat river stone. "We need to test the load-bearing capacity! Stand back, little Speckle, you don't want to get splashed!"

  ?He launched the stone, aiming for a point about halfway across the log.

  ?Su didn't stop him. She let him throw the rock.

  ?The rock landed precisely where he aimed. And then, she acted.

  ?She focused all her Level 1 power, the same psychological dominance she'd used to convince the Chancellor's thugs that she was a disappointed god, and projected it at the log.

  ?She targeted the very section of the log where his rock had landed, convincing the wood—and Xander's perception of it—that it was, in fact, structurally failing.

  ?A loud, wet CRACK echoed through the forest, followed by a groan of splintering wood. The middle of the log, precisely where the rock had landed, visibly sagged about a foot. It didn't break, but it certainly looked like it was about to.

  ?Xander stared, his mouth hanging open. The imaginary haggis he was about to eat dropped out of his mental hand.

  ?"The... the laws of nature," he whispered, his eyes wide. "That was just a little stone! That log should not have done that!"

  ?Su gave a sharp nod that clearly communicated: See? You almost died. This forest is sacred and hates you. Now, leave me to my solitary, dignified survival.

  ?Xander MacTavish, however, was not deterred by sacred forests or spiteful logs. He was, as promised, an endless well of nonsense.

  ?"Ah, that's brilliant!" he shouted, clapping his hands together. "It's the Wood Spirits, isn't it? They're testing us! They want us to earn the crossing! No simple stroll for Xander MacTavish! Right then, Speckle, you’ll have to wait! This is a job for a man with a truly mad amount of courage!"

  ?He wrapped his kilt back around his waist, looked Su dead in her cold, black eye, and announced: "I'll be back! Don't you move! I'm going to find a very, very long piece of rope, a very, very large magnet, and perhaps a very small boat, and I shall cross that cursed log! And then we’ll be off to The Dampest Bog, and you can tell me more about your opinions on the migratory habits of the common field mouse!"

  ?With that, he turned and marched off through the woods, away from the river, presumably to find the materials for his ill-conceived plan.

  ?Su stood there, a speckled statue of absolute defeat.

  ?This is going to be my personal hell, isn't it? The curse isn't the peacock body. The curse is that the universe keeps giving me characters I can't intimidate.

  ?Just as she was plotting her escape route, a new sound entered the scene. A low, rumbling baa-aah of extreme annoyance.

  ?A massive, shaggy goat, black and horned, shoved its way through the brush near the riverbank. It was Gruff, but this time, he was just a grumpy goat. He didn't look at Su but looked at the river, then at the mossy log, and then let out another impatient baa directed at the annoying lack of good things to chew on near the water's edge.

  ?He seemed to decide the grass on the other side of the river was superior. With a heavy sigh of goatish determination, he placed one hoof gingerly on the depressed section of the log. He didn't cross with any confidence; he crossed with the sheer stubborn focus of an animal who refused to be inconvenienced by a minor structural anomaly.

  ?He reached the other side, shook his head to dislodge a stray leaf, and immediately started grazing on a patch of ferns, completely ignoring the strange, spotted bird watching him.

  ?Su stared at the goat who was, by all accounts, completely unfamiliar with her. He just wanted better food and was the purest expression of single-minded purpose.

  ?Damn it. He's already more successful at moving forward than I am.

  ?She was alone again. ?The universe wasn't giving her a new path. It was forcing her to create one. And the first step had to be ditching the man with the badger-fur kilt theory.

  ?Su turned and sprinted the other way, using her full, Level 1 speed, praying to the non-existent powers of this world that Xander's search for a very large magnet was a long and fruitless one.

  ?Survival, yes. But survival does not require a soundtrack of nonsensical ramblings!