The warm glow of a desk lamp carved battle-lines through the chaos—empty beer cans and crumpled chip bags scattered like casualties around the worn D&D grid map. I leaned back in my chair, smugness radiating from every pore as I tapped the laminated character sheet.

  "Paladin." The word dropped like a gauntlet. "Best class. Fight me."

  Dave didn't look up from his notebook, pencil scratching furiously. "Overpowered bullshit."

  "Exactly!" I jabbed a finger at him like I'd just won the lottery. "Tank, healer, damage dealer—why would I pick anything else? I'm a one-man apocalypse with a moral compass."

  Jess rolled her eyes hard enough to see her brain stem. She slid her rogue's miniature forward with theatrical precision. "Because you have the imagination of wet cardboard, Ben. ‘Ooh, look at me, I'm a shiny knight! My sword glows like a glow stick!'" She held an imaginary blade aloft, voice dripping pure venom.

  "Say what you want," I shot back, "but who holds the record for most damage and healing in one round this campaign?"

  Ryan snorted, shoving pretzels into his mouth like a human wood chipper. "Let him have it. This is Ben we're talking about. Of course he likes the class that talks its way out of fights and rolls stupidly big numbers."

  "Damn right." I snatched up the D20, feeling its familiar weight. "Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a Beholder that needs some divine justice."

  The die tumbled across the table, bouncing once, twice—

  "A Paladin? Fuckin' really?"

  The world hiccupped.

  Ted sat between Dave and Jess like he'd materialized from thin air. Character sheet in one hand, dice in the other, looking like he'd been part of this memory since the beginning. Except that was impossible. Completely, utterly impossible.

  "That's what you went with, Ben?" Ted shook his head like I'd personally offended his ancestors. "A goddamn Paladin? Come on. Could you pick a more boring path if you tried?"

  "What the—" I stammered, staring while my friends kept chatting like nothing had changed.

  "I mean, really," Ted continued, cracking open a beer that definitely hadn't existed five seconds ago. "Name one cool Paladin from pop culture. Go ahead. I'll wait." He leaned back, arms crossed, eyebrows raised in challenge.

  My mouth opened. Closed. Nothing came out.

  "Exactly!" Ted slammed the beer down, snapping his fingers for emphasis. "You can't. Nobody can. You know why? 'Cause Paladins are boring as shit. Nobody wants to be the shiny do-gooder. People want edge. Anti-heroes. Big-ass swords dripping shadow magic, bad attitudes, and tragic backstories that make teenage girls write fan fiction. No one wants a hero who wants to be a hero. Shit just doesn't sell!"

  Jess giggled. "He's got a point, Ben."

  I whipped around to stare at her. "Wait. You can see him?"

  "Uh, yeah," she said, rolling her eyes like I was the crazy one. "Are you having a stroke, you walnut?"

  Dave glanced up from his notes. "What's wrong with Paladins? I think they're pretty solid mechanically."

  "Oh, no, no, no," Ted said, wagging a finger like a disappointed teacher. "You're supposed to call them lame, so this bit works better. Come on, Dave, help me out here! Where's your dramatic timing?"

  I turned to Ted, patience officially murdered. "Are you seriously here to ruin a memory?"

  Ted shrugged, the picture of casual destruction. "What can I say? Nostalgia's overrated. And messin’ with you? Way more fun than cable."

  Before I could argue, the dice on the table erupted into light. Blazing, impossible light that spread like spilled star fire. The table dissolved. The grid map faded to nothing. My friends vanished like smoke, and suddenly I was standing in that familiar courtyard, Ted leaning against a railing with a grin that could power a small city.

  "Oh well," he sighed, pointing at the massive doors with his beer can. "I was hoping for more angst, but—sure—Paladin'll do. See ya next memory, kid."

  The world went black.

  I jolted awake with the bone-deep certainty that I was somewhere else.

  Elena's office lingered like smoke—my resolve to stay on Ark, to face this Maris person, and then... darkness. I'd face-planted like an idiot.

  Right. The mana cost.

  So sure I'd cracked my Seal, I'd pushed too hard and passed out. Again. Valor was going to take serious practice—and even more mana. The Hunters had mentioned trials that came with binding a Seal, but nothing had happened yet. Maybe passing out was the trial. Great. Nothing like unconsciousness as a rite of passage.

  Sunlight spilled through the window like liquid gold, tracing warm lines across wooden floorboards and catching dust motes in lazy pirouettes. The light screamed midmorning. At the foot of the bed, Red lay sprawled like a furry crime scene—all four paws in the air, tongue lolling out in what could only be described as aggressive relaxation.

  I gave him a pat on the chest. One eye cracked open, fixing me with a look that clearly demanded belly rubs or else.

  I obliged, scratching until his leg kicked in victory.

  After cleaning up and getting dressed, I stepped into the hallway. The common room stretched empty except for Doreen, perched in her ridiculously oversized throne-chair like a tiny, furry dictator. The moment she spotted me, her ears twitched, and she launched onto the table with startling speed.

  "What the fuck is happening?" she demanded, tone sharp enough to perform surgery. "Elena dragged you in here saying you passed out from mana exhaustion. From using a Seal! Seriously, don't fucking do that until it's bound. You're gonna scramble your mana pathways—or worse."

  Well, that explained the transportation service.

  "Yeah, that was my bad. People have been carrying me around a lot," I admitted with a yawn, trying to brush off the scolding. "Elena said someone's coming to La-Roc to, uh... evict me. Maris Valerian?"

  Doreen froze mid-gesture. Her wide eyes locked onto me like I'd just announced the heat death of the universe. Her mouth opened, closed, tried again—twice—before managing a single, emphatic word:

  "Fuck!"

  "Elena's got a plan, though!" Cass's voice rang out behind me. She stood in the hallway wearing the usual red satin Winter's pajamas, Erik trailing behind her like a silent shadow with anxiety issues.

  "Good," Doreen snapped, whiskers twitching with barely contained panic as she repositioned herself on the table's edge. "What is it? And how long do we have? A couple of days?"

  Cass shrugged with a forced casualness that fooled absolutely nobody. “No idea. All I got was She'll be here soon, and Elena went to Sylvarus to talk to Nana about it.”

  "I hope so," Doreen muttered, tail flicking like an agitated whip. "I don't think there's anyone on the island who can take her... maybe your mother?" She looked to Cass and Erik, ears tilting in what seemed almost like a prayer.

  "Mother won't leave the farm if Maris is here," Erik said, tone calm but granite-firm. "That, I can guarantee. But if Maris tries her luck for our ginseng again..." He trailed off with meaningful silence.

  "She's been here before?" I asked, curiosity cutting through the tension.

  "Oh, yes." Erik's lips curved into something resembling a smile. "She's been trying to get her hands on our seeds for years. Mother's slapped her down each time—in duels."

  I nodded, processing this nugget of hope. "Okay, so she's not invincible. That's something. Now we just wait to see what Elena and Diana can cook up."

  The others didn't look convinced, but I could only shrug. I had zero frame of reference for Maris or whatever cosmic-level power she wielded, but it was clearly substantial.

  "Alright, well, she's not here now," I said with a deliberate grin, trying to fracture the heavy mood. "And Red's starving! So we're hitting Katie's for breakfast. Anyone coming? My treat."

  I didn't have to twist arms. Within minutes, we were out the door and heading toward the bakery, Red trotting beside me like he owned the world. The streets hummed with life, the oppressive heat of recent days finally giving way to cool morning air that actually let people breathe. Perfect weather for work—hammering, sawing, and cheerful chatter filled the air as people repaired their shops and buildings.

  Katie was just opening when we arrived, her eyes lighting up like Christmas morning at the sight of us. "It's you!" she cried, running forward—only to veer at the last second and throw her arms around Red. "I haven't seen you in so long! I wasn't sure if you were okay."

  Red, absolutely thrilled by the attention, began enthusiastically licking her face, nearly bowling her over in his excitement. Katie giggled, trying futilely to fend off his slobbery assault.

  "Wait—you know him?" I asked, scratching Red's ears to dial down his enthusiasm.

  Katie beamed through Red's ongoing face-washing campaign. "Of course! He used to visit when Carlos and I made cheese buns. But I haven't made them since..." Her smile faltered, unspoken weight settling over us like fog.

  I cleared my throat. "So... do you know his name? I just call him Red."

  "No, but Red's perfect." She turned to the group, brightening. "Are you all here for breakfast? I'm honored!"

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  I started toward a chair, but Katie's iron grip caught my arm, dragging me toward the kitchen. For someone so small, she had shocking strength. "Oh, no you don't. You're on cheese buns for Red. I'm betting I don't have to tell you how to make them."

  I grinned. "No, I've got those down, but I don't think he should have chee—"

  Her hug lasted a beat longer than usual, cutting off my protest. "Shush. Tell me about your hunt."

  While we worked, I recounted the past few days—the Arbortrux, the Lumifrax, my Seal breakthrough. At the mention of Valor, she gaped like I'd announced I could fly.

  "You've been here a week and gotten that strong? That's incredible."

  "Doesn’t really feel like it since I can only keep it up for a minute before face-planting." I laughed, working the dough. "I'm just good at solving puzzles, and magic seems like one massive, cosmic puzzle."

  Katie's smile could have powered the entire bakery. "Well, as long as you don't forget about little old me when you're famous."

  "That reminds me—we're supposed to have a date, right?"

  She blushed beneath the flour dusting her face but managed a smirk. "There's barely a drop to drink in the city. Maybe after the merchants show up?"

  "Deal."

  I hesitated, then dove in: "Hey, I just learned all Gaians have sagas... tattoos. But I've never seen yours—do you have them? Where are they?"

  Katie's face blazed red to her ears. "Wouldn't you like to know!"

  The next thing I knew, I was being unceremoniously ejected from the kitchen.

  "The fuck you say?" Doreen eyed me from her table like I'd committed a war crime. "You better not have fucked up breakfast. I'll toss you into the harbor."

  "No, I just asked where her markings were..."

  Cass roared with laughter, patting her chest. "Oh, I know where they are. You're lucky she opened the door before putting you through it."

  Whoops.

  Katie eventually emerged from the kitchen, balancing a tray with expert precision, her cheeks still dusted with flour—and still very much avoiding my gaze. She set down plates of eggs, cheese buns, and thinly sliced meat that reminded me of high-end salami. I was halfway to grabbing a bun when a sudden blur of red fur shot forward.

  Red, the absolute menace, snatched half my plate before I could react.

  "C'mon, man! That's my breakfast," I scolded, pushing his paws off the table. He had the sheer audacity to stare at me with wide, innocent eyes, as if the concept of stealing food was entirely foreign to his noble character.

  Doreen snorted. "You’ve gotta be quicker than that." She reached for another bun, tearing into it with sharp teeth.

  The bakery door swung open with perfect timing, and Ferris entered. The scholar's blue robes stood in stark contrast to the flour-dusted, bustling warmth of the room.

  "Amituofo," he greeted, offering a slight bow. "This humble scholar heard Ben had returned and wished to relay a message."

  I gestured toward an empty chair. "Come eat with us!"

  "This humble scholar would be honored; however, the collective rarely consumes these sorts of foods."

  "They drink mush," Doreen said, whiskers twitching as she reached for yet another bun.

  "Nectar," Katie corrected, passing by with another tray. "They make the honey we use all over the island."

  I turned to Ferris, curiosity piqued. "Wait—the Sentarian are like... bees?"

  Blank looks all around.

  "Flying insects? Yellow and black? Fuzzy? Get angry if you try to take their honey?"

  Ferris tilted his head. "You mean the Apidae? If only we were so fortunate. Do you have these on Terra?"

  I nodded, and his language shifted to Eloquentia: "

  Doreen groaned, tossing bread at him. "Same fucking language, assholes." She turned back to me. "So you got bugs on Earth like the Sentarian. Great. You gonna eat that?"

  Before I could answer, Red helped himself to another bun.

  I sighed. "I was going to."

  "Sorry if I offended you, Ferris," I said, shifting back to business. "You mentioned something important?"

  Ferris nodded. "The collective thanks you for intervening in Rainhaven. The Arryava Pusa requests a meeting. Any Sentarian in La-Roc can guide you to her. This humble scholar returns to Sylvarus this afternoon."

  Cass choked on her food. Doreen groaned, throwing her hands up. "Oh, of course she fucking does."

  The way Ferris said Pusa struck a chord—I recognized it as a term for a spiritual leader.

  I frowned. "Is this Arryava a leader among the Sentarian?"

  Ferris's eyes gleamed. "She is more than that. But this humble scholar had a feeling you would understand."

  With that cryptic bombshell, he bowed and left us in sudden silence.

  Doreen huffed, tearing into the last cheese bun. "They're fucking weird."

  "They're spiritual," Erik countered. "If Arryava wants to meet Ben, it must be important."

  "Yeah, yeah." Doreen's attention snapped to Katie emerging with a tray of cinnamon buns. "Katie Summers, I love you. But those had better be—"

  She cut herself off mid-sentence, ears twitching like radar dishes. Her expression shifted—warmth draining, replaced by razor-edge focus.

  "What?" Erik asked, already scanning the room.

  That's when I heard it—a faint buzzing sound, barely perceptible but wrong. Like a pulse with malicious intent. Red's hackles rose, his body stiffening as a low growl rumbled deep in his chest. The buzzing grew louder, joined by a distant, rhythmic thump that definitely didn't belong.

  We weren't the only ones who noticed. Across the bakery, chairs scraped against floors as people turned their heads, faces pinched with confusion. Conversations died, silverware clinked against plates, and an uneasy silence settled over the street like a shroud.

  Then the noise resolved into something infinitely worse.

  Drums. And bagpipes.

  The sound crawled up my spine like ice water, growing louder, layering into a discordant, menacing melody. It was just one instrument, but dozens—hundreds, maybe. A deafening war march rolling in with the tide, promising nothing good.

  We rushed outside, drawn by the same morbid instinct as the rest of the townspeople. The streets had emptied as shopkeepers, laborers, and passersby all turned toward the harbor, squinting at the horizon with growing dread.

  Doreen shot up a lamppost in one fluid motion, balancing atop it with impossible ease. Cass and I scrambled onto the bakery's roof for a better view, my heart hammering against my ribs.

  At first, all I could make out were dots in the distance. Then the dots took shape—ships, slicing through the waves with unnatural speed. Dozens of them, trailing behind a behemoth vessel that dwarfed everything else on the water.

  It was massive. Dark metal gleaming beneath the sun, bristling with sharp angles and layered decks that looked like someone with serious anger issues had designed them. And it wasn't slowing down.

  The air thrummed as the fleet tore across the sea, the leading ship a monstrous, looming shadow against the bright sky. Jagged structures jutted from its hull at chaotic angles, pulsing with eerie purple and orange lights—like some kind of nightmare cruise ship designed by demons.

  My stomach dropped into my boots.

  The music swelled, shaking the air itself. Bagpipes and war drums. A battle march that promised nothing but pain.

  "She's fucking here!" Doreen's voice rang through the street like an air-raid siren. "Get Elena!"

  That snapped the Hunters into action. A flurry of movement erupted as people scattered—some sprinting for weapons, others raising the city's alarms. A deep, resonant horn sounded from the Citadel behind us, sending a shudder through the cobbled streets I felt in my bones.

  I turned to Cass. She was frozen. Not moving, not blinking—just staring at the approaching ships, her face a mask of stone-cold terror.

  "Cass?"

  She flinched at my voice like I'd slapped her.

  "What?"

  "You okay?"

  Her expression said everything. Whatever was coming—it was apocalyptically bad.

  The ships carved through the water without hesitation, heading straight for the harbor like guided missiles. Then I realized the horrifying truth.

  They weren't slowing down to dock.

  "Oh, fuck," I breathed. "We have to move. Cass, we need to get people off the streets. I'm getting Katie!"

  We leaped from the roof, hitting the street at a full sprint. Katie stood just outside the bakery, transfixed by the approaching disaster.

  "Katie!" I grabbed her wrist, yanking her back toward the Tower. "Run! Now!"

  Behind us, the impact came like the world ending.

  A deafening, grinding roar filled the air as the behemoth ship plowed into the harbor, its sheer size tearing through the docks like they were made of matchsticks. It smashed straight onto the city streets, bulldozing through buildings like they were sandcastles. The force sent a shockwave through the ground, knocking people off their feet. Buildings groaned, wood and stone splintering under the impossible force.

  Smoke and dust billowed outward in choking clouds. People screamed.

  And then, out of the chaos, the first figures emerged.

  Dark shapes moved through the haze, gliding over the wreckage with impossible grace. Black-robed figures descended in eerie silence, slipping through the dust like shadows given form and malicious intent.

  Two landed ahead of us.

  The first was a woman in black robes adorned with gold and purple cord that probably cost more than most people's houses. Her dark hair floated unnaturally, defying gravity like the laws of physics were merely suggestions. She moved with deliberate, controlled steps—each one radiating authority that made me shudder.

  She locked eyes with me, and the air left my lungs in a rush.

  I didn't need an introduction.

  Maris. Without question.

  Beside her stood another woman, dressed bizarrely in a maid's uniform, but her sharp gaze was anything but servile. She assessed me like I was a problem to be efficiently removed.

  "That one matches the description, Your Grace," the maid said smoothly. "I'd bet my life that's him."

  And then—Maris moved.

  No motion or warning.

  She was simply beside me, like she'd teleported through the fabric of reality itself.

  "You are Ben Crawford, correct?" Her voice was almost pleasant, which somehow made it infinitely more terrifying.

  I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. My eyes darted to Katie, to her wide, terrified eyes. Then back to the woman who had just sailed a cruise ship into a city to find me.

  "I am," I forced out, scraping together what little defiance I had left.

  Maris's lips curled into something resembling satisfaction. "What luck!"

  Her grip locked around my arm—ice-cold and unyielding as a steel vice. "To the tower with you. I want you off my world before lunch."

  Maris's grip was absolute—her fingers cold as iron around my arm, promising that resistance was futile and laughably stupid. I fought against it anyway, twisting instinctively, but it was like trying to pull free of a mountain. My body wasn't cooperating—fear coiled tight in my gut, locking down any chance of calling on Bravery. Even the pearls stored in my earring wouldn't buy me more than a minute of Valor against whatever she was.

  People in the street had stopped running. They watched from the sidelines, pressed against buildings or huddled near overturned carts, too afraid to interfere. The sheer presence of Maris—of the ship, the robed figures, the casual destruction—had settled over La-Roc like a suffocating storm cloud.

  She turned toward the tower, already dragging me forward like luggage. "The longer you resist, the more unpleasant this will be."

  "I was just about to say the same thing."

  Elena's voice cut through the air like a blade through silk.

  She stood at the base of the Citadel steps in the courtyard, wind catching the edges of her coat in a way that would make movie directors weep. The uniform she wore was different—black and silver, lined with Hunter insignias, high-collared and reinforced at the shoulders. Not her formal uniform, but something meant for war. That same feeling of Command filled the air around us.

  And she wasn't alone.

  Behind her, Vildar Hunters assembled in formation, each radiating burning auras of various colors that made the air shimmer with barely contained violence. A line of defense between Maris and the Citadel entrance that looked like it could stop an army.

  "If you release him now, your honor will remain intact... barely." Elena's tone could have frozen hellfire.

  Maris's grip on me didn't tighten, but I felt the shift in her focus, the way her attention snapped toward Elena like a predator sizing up new prey. "Elena," she said, voice smooth as poisoned honey. "I could have overlooked harboring a human, but you know the events that brought him here. You endanger this world for what?" She lifted my arm slightly, presenting me like evidence. "He can't even resist."

  She was fishing—trying to get a reaction, to embarrass me before anyone could argue otherwise.

  Elena didn't even blink. "This Acolyte belongs to the Hunters. He has achieved the Breaker accolade—a feat not accomplished in years. Grand Mistress Diana Aldertree has taken him as an Apprentice upon his admission to Sylvarus." Her voice hardened to steel. "You are violating fucking forty treaties, not to mention the hole you just tore through fucking city. Let’s see how the Oathbound feel about all this."

  Maris exhaled through her nose, supremely unimpressed. "I am protecting this world. Which I believe is supposed to be your job." Her eyes swept over the Hunters at Elena's back like she was counting sheep. "Bring the Oathbound. You and your little Monster Hunters cannot stop me. You never could."

  Elena smiled.

  Not a kind smile. Not a reassuring one. A smile that promised violence and delivered on its threats.

  "No, you're right," she said. "But he can."

  Before Maris could react, a shockwave slammed into her like a meteor made of pure force.

  I barely had time to process it before someone threw me free, and I hit the ground with enough impact to rattle my bones. Maris launched backward, pinwheeling through the air before slamming through the courtyard's stone wall. The impact sent dust and shattered brick cascading like deadly rain.

  Standing where she'd been was a man in white linen pants, his black skin glowing with shifting golden runes that moved like living tattoos. He bounced on the balls of his feet, rolling his shoulders like he'd just finished stretching before a workout.

  His grin was wide, almost feral, and absolutely terrifying.

  "Wooo!" Chas bellowed, cracking his knuckles with sounds like gunshots. "I've been waiting to do that for a long time."

  by Hippo_

  A gentlesnail always arrives late.

  What to expect:

  

  
• A silly story about a silly snail going through a system apocalypse.


  
• Snail once, snail forever. No human transformation.


  
• Monster Evolution.


  
• Kingdom building.


  
• Lettuce or whatever. I don’t know what snails do.