I woke up to silence.

  Which, in Graybarrow, is always the most ominous sound.

  No screaming. No explosions. No alchemical smoke billowing through the windows. Just birdsong, a breeze, and the unsettling sense that somewhere, something had gone right.

  Naturally, I didn’t trust it.

  I showered. I was halfway through brushing my teeth, wearing nothing but a towel and my favorite starry-patterned boxer shorts, when the floor lit up beneath me.

  Red glyphs. A low hum.

  “Nope. Absolutely not—”

  Magic exploded around me in a searing burst of light, and once again, I was yanked through space and dignity.

  ***

  I landed face-first in dirt. Mint foam still in my mouth.

  I pushed up, spitting toothpaste, and blinked into blinding sunlight.

  Kira was already fighting. What else was new? A massive insectoid beast with blade-arms and far too many eyes hissed and slammed into her shield.

  She glanced over at me.

  Pause.

  Eyebrows raised.

  “...Are you brushing your teeth?”

  “Was, yes,” I growled, wiping my face. “Some of us have hygiene.”

  Kira grinned. “You look great, by the way. Very intimidating.”

  I glared at her. “Summoning someone mid-bathroom is a war crime.”

  “Didn’t exactly have time to send an invite!”

  The monster shrieked and lunged.

  I rolled my neck and stood up, boxer shorts fluttering in the wind like some deeply unfortunate battle banner.

  “Fine,” I muttered. “Let’s get this over with. The toothpaste is starting to foam down my chest.”

  The insectoid beast lunged at me.

  I didn’t even flinch. I ducked, pivoted, and kicked it hard enough in the thorax to send it skidding across the field.

  Kira’s blade sparked against its chitin a second later. “Nice move.”

  “Anger is a hell of a motivator,” I said, reaching up to flick mint foam off my lip.

  The creature screeched and charged again, but this time I met it head-on, grabbing one blade-limb mid-swing and slamming it into the dirt with a snarl. Kira took the opportunity to leap in and drive her sword deep into the creature’s back.

  It shrieked. Twitched. Then dropped.

  Dust settled.

  Kira looked at me, panting. "You know, shirtless rage really works for you—you're kind of a menace like this."

  I squinted at her. "Are you flirting with me while I'm covered in mint foam and bug guts?"

  She smirked. "Well, I’m not not flirting. You’ve got this whole 'grumpy summoned war god in boxers' aesthetic going. It's weirdly working. Are those stars?"

  I looked down. "Constellations, actually. There’s a whole story arc across the back."

  Kira gave an approving nod. "I respect the commitment."

  I sighed and scrubbed a hand down my face. “Can we get back to the part where you dragged me across the cosmos again without warning?”

  She shrugged. “In my defense, you handled it beautifully. Like a minty meteor of vengeance."

  I groaned. "Just tell me this was important."

  "Border raid. Insectoid swarm. Couple towns over. They’re not great with magic, and I was fresh out of backup."

  I folded my arms, toothpaste still clinging to my jaw. “You know there’s a difference between an emergency and an inconvenient Tuesday, right?”

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  Kira tilted her head, genuinely curious. “Would this qualify as a Monday?”

  “Next time, I swear I’m showing up holding a loofah just to make it awkward for both of us.”

  She snorted, then added, “You think this is excessive? I’m the only hero this entire planet has. Lomel isn’t exactly overflowing with backup. Just me… and now, apparently, you.”

  I blinked at her. “Not interested.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “I keep meaning it.”

  Kira gave a short, tired laugh. “There’s an ancient evil trying to chew through the realms like a metaphysical termite. I don’t have the luxury of waiting around for volunteers.”

  I crossed my arms tighter. “Still not interested.”

  “You fight like someone who’s done this before.”

  “I also brush my teeth regularly. Doesn’t mean I want to be summoned mid-gargle to do it for someone else.”

  Kira opened her mouth like she was about to argue, but then paused, just watching me for a second. Not evaluating. Just... curious.

  “I’m not trying to guilt you,” she said. “I just—when you showed up, everything stopped dying. That’s rare.”

  I didn’t respond.

  She glanced down at her sword, then back at me. “Look, I don’t expect you to care about Lomel. Or the people here. Or me. But I’ll keep summoning you until I can’t. Because I don’t have another choice.”

  I clenched my jaw and looked away.

  “I’m not asking for loyalty,” she added softly. “Just that, if you’re going to keep being yanked into this, you at least know why.”

  I exhaled. “Fine. You told me. Great. Now send me back.”

  “I also have a town full of people who depend on me,” I added. “Just because it’s not burning doesn’t mean it’s not important.”

  Kira’s expression softened. “Then they’re very lucky.”

  She turned, stabbing her sword into the dirt to rest. “Unfortunately, the people of Prel aren’t. All they’ve got is me, standing between them and something that doesn’t stop.”

  I stayed quiet, the chill finally creeping under my skin now that the adrenaline had worn off. I didn’t want this. Any of it. Wars. Realm-eating evils. Ancient threats clawing at the edges of reality. I’d done that dance. More than once. Left scars across skies and names in whispered stories.

  But she was trying. Really trying. Fighting with everything she had and barely holding on. And somehow still finding time to flirt with the grumpy guy in starry boxers.

  I hated that part of me—the old part—recognized the weight on her shoulders.

  I closed my eyes and muttered, “Just send me back already.”

  Kira didn’t say anything at first, but I could feel her eyes on me.

  The glyphs lit up beneath my feet.

  As the red glow began to rise, I looked at her one last time. “Keep trying. But don’t think this means I’ve signed up for anything.”

  She gave a faint, crooked smile. “Of course not.”

  And then the light swallowed me whole.

  ***

  I landed with a soft thump onto the bathmat.

  Still in my towel. Still wet. And now incredibly annoyed.

  I blinked at my own bathroom mirror, steam curling off the glass like none of the last ten minutes had happened. Except they had. My teeth still tasted like mint and monster.

  I braced both hands on the sink and exhaled slowly.

  This wasn’t supposed to be my life anymore. No more armies. No more world-saving. No more ancient evils gnawing at the corners of creation. Just peace. Graybarrow. Town meetings and gnome brawls and overly enthusiastic mushroom people.

  I scrubbed a hand over my face.

  I looked up.

  A wide-eyed mushroom kid stared at me from the other side of the bathroom window, nose nearly pressed to the glass. Mycari always looked a little childlike—round features, bright eyes, and voices that sounded permanently excited—but they weren’t really kids. Just strange, spongy folk with unpredictable energy and a disturbing tendency to appear when least expected. This one had somehow climbed onto a suspiciously large mushroom that had sprouted against the siding.

  I jumped.

  “Mayor Nojin,” it chirped, voice muffled by the pane. “Don't forget your meeting with the Council of Spores! They’re mad about the mushroom thefts again!”

  I stared.

  The Mycari grinned. “Don’t worry! I think only one of them wants to duel you this time.”

  ***

  The Council of Spores met in the old greenhouse behind town hall. At some point, it had been repurposed into a sort of fungal civic chamber—part courtroom, part terrarium, part mushroom rave.

  I arrived, dressed this time, and still drying my hair with a towel when I stepped inside. The air was thick with spores, humidity, and the faint scent of truffle oil.

  Six Mycari elders stood in a semicircle, each sprouting a wildly different cap: ruffled crimson, golden fan, spotted indigo, and one that looked suspiciously like a shag carpet. They bowed in eerie unison.

  "Mayor Nojin," said the tallest, her voice polite and trembly with spores. "Once again, your surface-dwellers have been seen harvesting sacred bloomcaps on the southern ridge."

  "Technically," I said, "it was one guy. And he was trying to make soup."

  Murmurs of horror rippled through the chamber.

  "Sacrilege," hissed the carpet-capped one.

  "He boiled them," said another. "With salt."

  The chamber erupted in scandalized squeaks.

  I held up my hands. "He will be reprimanded. And I’ll make him write an apology letter. In sporeprint."

  Several elders gasped.

  "That's barbaric," whispered one.

  "Exactly," I said. "Have you ever tried writing in sporeprint? It's like calligraphy with a sneeze. He’ll suffer. Gently."

  That mollified them. Barely.

  "We request reparations," said the crimson-capped one. "And a guarantee of enforcement."

  "And snacks!" said the smallest elder.

  "You always request snacks," I muttered.

  "And yet it is tradition," she countered brightly.

  I sighed. "Fine. I'll bring an offering. Dried mangoes and mushroom-friendly compost."

  They conferred in a chorus of squelchy whispers.

  "Acceptable," said the tallest at last.

  "Also," added the carpet-capped elder, "the duel is still pending."

  I paused. "From the last incident?"

  She nodded. "Councilmember Trith still demands satisfaction."

  Behind her, a Mycari the size of a fire hydrant pumped two stubby fists into the air.

  "Can we at least use foam swords this time?" I asked.

  "That is negotiable," said the crimson one. "So long as honor is upheld."

  I rubbed my temples. "It's not even noon."

  The Council bowed again.

  "Blessings upon your surface fungus," they chorused.

  "And yours," I muttered.

  I sighed again and turned toward the door. Time to track down Ebbin—the guy who boiled sacred mushrooms—and teach him the fine art of groveling in sporeprint.

  I stepped outside into the early light, the scent of mushroom spores still clinging to my sleeves.

  As I made my way through Graybarrow’s winding streets, the memory of Kira's voice lingered more than I wanted it to. That quiet desperation. The way she looked at me.

  For some reason, that woman had a way of making not caring feel a little bit like cowardice.

  I muttered under my breath and shoved the thought aside.

  Hopefully, Ebbin hadn’t found another patch of sacred bloomcaps to boil.

  As delicious as they were.