Chapter Nineteen

  SHAQ’RAI

  It’s been one hell of a morning.

  Don’t get me wrong—it’s beautiful. The kind of

  morning where the mist clings to your skin, cool and sharp, the air thick with

  damp earth and pine. If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend I’m back home.

  Almost.

  Except back home, I didn’t have Ember chirping

  every ten seconds—Oh, Daddy, look at this. Oh, Daddy, look at that. Oh,

  Daddy, watch me spin like a drunken tornado.

  And I sure as hell didn’t have a parade of

  half-critter, half-nightmare creatures trailing behind me, their voices a

  broken record of

  If the folks back home saw me now, they’d slap me

  in a straitjacket and bunk me up with some tooth-collecting lunatic named

  Larry.

  I take another step—

  And the whole damn forest forgets how to breathe.

  The usual sounds—rustling leaves, the hum of

  insects, the wind threading through branches—gone. Just silence, thick and

  pressing, like the world hit pause.

  The critters feel it too. They push past me,

  moving fast, canteens in hand.

  Wait.

  One—where the hell did they get those?

  Two—how?

  Three—why?

  The trees sway, slow and deliberate, their

  branches curling inward like they’re beckoning. Like they know something I

  don’t.

  Then I see it.

  A lake.

  Big. Still. Watching.

  The water is dark, smooth as glass, swallowing

  the light instead of reflecting it. No ripples. No movement. Just waiting.

  Finally. Water.

  And gods, am I thirsty.

  I’m talkin’ so dry my tongue’s two-steppin’ with

  a saltine cracker in Death Valley. Drier than a preacher’s sermon in a dust

  bowl. I was about ready to suck the sweat off a brass doorknob if it meant

  getting a drop of moisture. But, much to my misfortune, I was fresh outta

  doorknobs.

  Hell, I was about to ask Mister Potato Head over

  there if he had any jícama cousins I could sink my teeth into.

  But the longer I look at the lake, the less I

  like it.

  It ain’t just deep—it’s endless. Like if I

  reached in, my hand would keep going, pulled down into nothing. The reflection

  of the trees and sky is too sharp, too perfect, like a doorway into someplace

  else. A place I probably don’t wanna visit.

  Mist clings to the surface, shifting slow, like

  it’s whispering secrets only the water can hear. The air smells of damp earth,

  night-blooming flowers, and something else—something old. Like rusted iron left

  too long in the rain. Like the breath of something that’s been waiting in the

  dark.

  The ground is soft beneath me, thick with moss,

  and the stones are smooth under my fingers, worn down by time. Roots twist down

  into the water, gnarled and reaching, like they’re trying to pull something

  up—or drag something under.

  Water lilies float, their petals glowing faintly,

  purple like trapped starlight. Every now and then, the water stirs, just a

  ripple, like something beneath is shifting. Watching.

  It’s beautiful.

  But it ain’t safe.

  It’s the kind of beauty that doesn’t just sit

  there lookin’ pretty—it watches back.

  I shove the feeling aside and kneel, cupping a

  handful of water.

  I take a sip.

  Ping!

  [Quest Complete]

  Tutorial: Food and Water – Complete

  [Reward]

  500 Gold

  3 New Recipes

  3 Skill Points Available

  Well, how about that? Not bad.

  But something’s off.

  I frown. No XP.

  I pull up my character profile, eyes scanning the

  interface. Sure enough—no XP bar.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Weird.

  I’ll deal with that later. Right now? I need a

  bath.

  I wade out of the water, wiping lake muck off my

  face. The cold clings to my skin, sinking deep. Ember’s standing there,

  wide-eyed, like I just wrestled a sea monster instead of taking a bath. Her

  head tilts, ears twitching—curious.

  “Ever take a bath, Ember?” I ask, flashing her a

  grin.

  She shakes her head, her hair wild, like she ran

  straight through a storm.

  “Well, you should try it. Nothin’ like scrubbin’

  the dirt off. Makes you feel brand new.” I flick the water from my hands and

  toss her a towel.

  She blinks at it, shrugs. “I guess I’ll try.”

  Her critters trail after her—four raccoons, two

  squirrels, and something lumpy that looks like a potato with legs. They waddle

  in a crooked little parade, chattering like they’re in on some private joke.

  I pull my damp shirt over my head, fabric

  sticking to my back—then it hits.

  Pop-ups flood my vision like fireworks.

  [

  [BOND FORGED: EMBER]

  [TIP: Did you know you can wash clothes in

  lakes?]

  “Aw, come on.” I swipe at the windows, but they

  keep coming——each one louder, more obnoxious, like the

  system’s got a grudge.

  I grit my teeth, rubbing my temples. “It’s like

  getting hit with a PowerPoint from hell,” I mutter.

  Ember’s too busy giggling to notice. Her critters

  cannonball into the lake, water flying everywhere. One raccoon floats on its

  back, munching on what I is a reed. The potato-thing flails its

  stubby legs before sinking with a sad little . Ember scoops it up,

  laughing harder.

  Despite the chaos, I smile.

  Even with the damn pop-ups flashing like neon

  signs, there’s this… lightness. Like maybe this world isn’t all bad.

  Even if it’s loud as hell.

  I’m sitting there, messing with this damn

  vambrace strapped to my arm, poking at the cold metal like sheer willpower

  might make it fit better. It’s too tight, digging into my skin every time I

  move—feels like it’s trying to become part of me.

  “This thing’s gonna drive me crazy,” I mutter,

  barely glancing at Ember and her crazy critter circus.

  Out of the corner of my eye, there’s Mr. Potato

  Head—yep, that’s what I’m calling him now—floating on Ember’s tail like he’s at

  a pool party. Ember’s laughing so loud it’s almost like she’s in my head. She’s

  tossing raccoons and squirrels into the lake like they’re freakin’ shot puts.

  They twist and flip through the air, limbs flying in all directions, zero

  coordination, but they’re loving it.

  And there’s Potato Head, holding up little card

  signs, giving each critter a perfect 10. The little guy’s got taste,

  apparently.

  I sigh, the vambrace digging deeper with every

  breath. My fingers graze a small cog-shaped icon etched into the metal—hidden,

  like it didn’t want me to find it. A screwdriver symbol blinks, and a

  translucent menu pops up in front of me.

  Huh. Looks like it come with

  instructions.

  It’s filled with the usual RPG stuff—Audio

  Settings, Interface Customization, all that junk—but then I see it: Mute

  System Alerts. Sweet relief. I hover my finger over it for a second before

  selecting it.

  Bam. Silence.

  No pop-ups. No dings. No Ember’s wild laughter or

  raccoons splashing around. Just… peace.

  I exhale slowly, letting the tension go. “Oh,

  thank the gods. Finally…”

  That’s when I notice it.

  A tiny label in the corner of the menu: Custom

  API Integration.

  I blink. My mind kicks into overdrive. “What the

  hell’s that about?”

  I’m still messing with the vambrace when

  curiosity starts nudging at me. You know the feeling—the one that whispers,

  “Just click it, see what happens.” Without thinking, I tap the Custom API

  tab.

  The screen flickers, and sure enough, code floods

  the display. It looks like something straight out of a tech geek’s dream. A

  coding interface, just like the ones I used to work with back home. My fingers

  twitch, and before I know it, I’m diving in—old engineering instincts kicking

  in. Didn’t realize how much I missed this until now.

  I get lost in it. Scrolling, adjusting, my

  fingers flying over invisible keys, as if I’ve done it a thousand times. Then

  something catches my eye—an audio module.

  “Well, well,” I mutter, already pulling at the

  threads. I dive deeper, rewriting the system. No more jarring dings and pings

  assaulting my ears. I replace them with a calm AI voice—nothing fancy, just

  something that won’t make me want to chuck this vambrace into the lake.

  I even add a Text-to-Speech function so I don’t

  have to keep reading these system alerts. The voice will just read ‘em out

  loud.

  I lean back, a little smug. “Let’s give this

  thing some personality...” I tweak the voice, making it sound friendlier—maybe

  even a little sassy. I’m so deep in it that I don’t notice the timer ticking

  down on that mute option. It’s counting fast, but I’m too caught up in the

  thrill of reprogramming this strange, magical world.

  It’s like I’m back at my old job. Except this

  code? Well, it’s magical.

  Two minutes of silence feel like a breath of

  fresh air, but it doesn’t last long. A loud prompt flashes in front of my eyes:

  PLEASE ENTER A VOICE INPUT FOR CALIBRATION.

  Before I can even process that, I hear a

  shuffle—a little waddling sound, like something’s coming my way. I glance down,

  and sure enough, there’s Mr. Potato Head, waddling toward me. His stubby roots

  barely lift him off the ground, but he’s struttin' like he owns the place.

  He clears his throat, puffing out his chest. “Sir

  Grant?”

  I grin. “Hey, what’s up, Mr. Potato Head?”

  “WHAt… how rude!” he snaps, puffing up like a

  pompous puffball. “Sir Spudsworth, my name is Sir Spudsworth, damn you.”

  I laugh and roll my eyes. “Right, sorry, Spuds.”

  He clears his throat again, like he’s about to

  give a royal speech. “Ahem. Sir Spudsworth.”

  “Alright, alright. Sir Spudsworth,” I mutter,

  still chuckling.

  Straightening his little leafy head, Sir

  Spudsworth looks like he’s about to deliver some grand address. “Your daughter,

  Ember, these fine creatures, and I are in the process of striking an accord.

  However, we require your parental acknowledgment.”

  I glance at Ember, tossing raccoons into the air,

  and wave him off without really listening. “Yeah, yeah, do your thing.”

  Without missing a beat, the vambrace records Sir

  Spudsworth’s voice, capturing his fancy tone like it’s something important.

  A second later, the AI voice chimes in, sounding

  as aristocratic as ever. “Good morrow, Master Calloway. I am SHAQ’RAI, your

  Systems-Hub-And-Quest-Read-Aloud-Integration. Might I interest you in today’s

  list of urgent notifications?”

  I groan and rub my face with one hand. “I just

  turned my game system into a noble-sounding Mrs. Potato Head.”

  Ember bursts out laughing, and Sir Spudsworth

  puffs up, looking downright flattered.

  I shake my head, reluctantly accepting my fate.

  The creatures are still busy with their “deal,” but at least now I’ve got a new

  voice to listen to—whether I like it or not.