I pulled off my mask, the material briefly clinging to my skin before I dropped it into a chest with a dull thunk. “Well… damn.” I exhaled, running a hand through my hair before turning back to the pile of artifacts threatening to spill from my overstuffed inventory. With practiced ease, I reached for another relic—a gilded idol with too many eyes—and dropped it into a separate chest. “They can’t find it here, can they?”

  Gatei’s eyes scanned the collection I had amassed with the detached curiosity of a collector appraising someone else’s hoard.

  Hey!

  He hummed, the sound deep in his throat, before finally shrugging. “Hmmm, probably can,” he said, entirely too casual for the potential divine wrath I was trying to avoid. Then, with an evil grin that practically dripped mischief, he added, “But our vaults are private.”

  A pause.

  Then a cackle. “Always funny when they fuss about!”

  Prince snorted, arms folded as he leaned lazily against the side of an ornate chest I had yet to fill. I emptied the third spatial bag, watching as a cascade of dusty totem, random scrolls, and questionably obtained artifacts clattered into the wooden depths.

  Gatei cocked his head at Prince, his expression the perfect picture of mock surprise. Prince glared at him, and said, “and you call yourself gods?” He snorted again. “Gods of mischief, maybe.”

  Another round of Gatei’s laugh filled the vault, a wheezing, full-bodied thing that made the very air seem livelier.

  He tore off a bite of a new mystery food—something that looked vaguely like jerky but shimmered strangely under the vault’s ethereal blue light. “We strive to be that ones, we do!” he declared between chews. Then, with a knowing smirk, he jabbed a finger in my direction. “But we’re not the ones calling ourselves gods. Only upstarts like her god do that.”

  I rolled my eyes, ignoring them both as I turned to yet another chest.

  I… borrowed a lot of things.

  More than I remembered, honestly. My memory wasn’t perfect and I just vaguely remembered what I needed, so I just grabbed everything not nailed down. My fingers skimmed over a smooth surface of a relic that felt both ancient and important, before I unceremoniously dropped it in with the rest of the loot.

  Prince, still watching Gatei with vague interest, arched an eyebrow. “God of Ice-Blood?” Gatei nodded, his grin widening. “He’s… a god. Not an upstart, no?”

  Gatei scoffed, conjuring another round of that bizarre food from what I could only assume was his personal pocket dimension. He held it up, appraising it briefly before taking a bite. The texture crunched in a way that set my nerves on edge.

  “His claim to divinity is weaker than mine,” Gatei said, his words coated in the same smug confidence that made me both wary and amused.

  I barely spared Gatei a glance before moving on to another chest, fingers working swiftly as I sorted through the mountain of liberated items.

  “By the way, do you want to join our battle?” I asked, tossing a dagger into the growing hoard. “Opportunities like this don’t come often.”

  Gatei let out a lazy hum, watching with mild amusement as I shoved the last of my spatial bags into the chests and turned to the more tedious task—emptying my inventory.

  “I don’t join common squabbles, Princess,” he said, stretching as if this entire conversation bored him.

  I stopped, fixing him with a sharp glare. “It’s not some petty squabble. It’s the start of a civil war. My mother, Irwen, versus me. I have to put up a fight for the God of War to even acknowledge it as a real war.”

  Gatei snorted, utterly unimpressed. “Another upstart,” he quipped, finishing the last bite of whatever strange, possibly cursed food he had been munching on.

  I shook my head, turning back to my hoard as the familiar sound of clinking metal filled the chamber. A pair of bracelets—with runes I didn’t understand—slid into place beside a broken chalice.

  “Don’t you want to fight demons?” I asked, my voice light, almost offhand.

  That got his attention.

  Gatei’s entire demeanor shifted in an instant. He perked up, eyes gleaming with sudden, almost childlike excitement. “Demons?!” His voice practically vibrated with enthusiasm. “You should have led with that!”

  Grinning like a man who had just found out it was his birthday, and all drinks were free, he kicked the bench beneath him.

  The wooden structure didn’t just collapse—it flipped midair, twisting as it reshaped itself into a throne-like chair before he landed back onto it, looking supremely pleased with himself.

  I shot a glance at Prince, half-expecting some kind of reaction, but he was thoroughly distracted—stretching his fingers, shifting his weight from foot to foot, even bouncing slightly like he was testing the limits of his body.

  “Well, I’m almost done,” I said, dropping one of the last relics into the chest with a dull clunk. My inventory was nearly empty now, just a few odds and ends rattling around in the void. I straightened, rolling my shoulders as I glanced at Gatei. “Wanna come with us? The teleports won’t be working soon.”

  I nodded toward Prince, who was still completely ignoring me, far too engrossed in whatever mundane object had captured his interest this time.

  Gatei grinned, looking positively delighted by his own existence. “No, thank you. I’ll show up randomly, as I should.” His smirk widened like a man who had just won an argument no one else was having.

  I sighed, stashing the last of my treasure inside one of the many chests. For a moment, I frowned, scanning the remaining bits in my inventory. I thought I had more gold. But most of it was just… junk. Not entirely useless, mind you—just not immediately valuable.

  Well, useless for now, at least.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Okay, what now?” I asked, dusting off my hands.

  “Now you go home.” Gatei kicked his chair, which promptly vanished as if reality itself had simply decided it was no longer necessary. He gestured lazily toward the hallway leading back to the surface. “You’re welcome here anytime. Don’t forget that. We are friends.”

  I nodded, making a mental note of that as I turned to Prince—who, I was not exaggerating, was intently poking a stone like it held the secrets of the universe.

  With an annoyed sigh, I shoved him forward. “Move.”

  He blinked at me like a drunk Irishman who had just been woken up to close the bar. “What?”

  I rolled my eyes. “We’re going. Do you want to stay in your body for this?”

  “Yes, Pret—uh, Princess,” he corrected himself, shaking off whatever daze he had been lost in as we started walking toward the gate. His posture was a little stiffer, still adjusting to existing outside the ring, but he was getting there.

  As we neared the exit, he sighed, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “But I still can’t fight, as we established. I can take on a more… advisory role.” A pause. Then, almost too quiet, “Before you… help me go free.”

  I didn’t answer right away.

  Because for all his arrogance, his smug grins, and his air of detached amusement—there was something about the way he said that. A quiet, almost reluctant hope beneath the layers of posturing.

  I just nodded. “Yeah. I promised.”

  “We go out, then,” Gatei declared, sounding far too delighted for someone about to demolish another entrance. He dusted his hands, finishing the last of his definitely moldy snack, and then—with no fanfare—reached into his trousers and pulled out the enormous war hammer.

  I blinked. What?

  Prince, to his credit, merely observed the scene in silence, then sighed. “I don’t question it anymore.”

  “Yeah…” I hesitated, half-wondering if I had finally hit my limit for what-the-hell moments. “And I thought I knew them. I was wrong. On test servers, they were a bit different.”

  Relando’s head tilted slightly, golden eyes narrowing. “Test… servers?”

  I waved him off, stepping over the freshly crumbled rubble as I channeled mana into his ring. “Ignore it.”

  Gatei, still lounging near the wreckage, grunted in amusement. I turned to him, offering a small smile. “Offer still stands.”

  He huffed, plopping onto the ground like an old man settling in for a nap, and—because of course—produced a piece of moldy bread from his trousers.

  “I’m fine,” he said, taking a bite like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  I just sighed. There was no winning against the Twir.

  “Goodbye,” I waved at Gatei, then at the still-unfazed guards.

  “We’re teleporting here?” Relando asked, surprise flickering across his face as he glanced at Gatei.

  Gatei, still snacking—now on a suspiciously aged wedge of cheese he had pulled from somewhere—shrugged. “Fine by me.”

  One of the guards, as if this were a completely normal farewell, lifted a hand and waved. “Goodbye.”

  I turned back to Prince and offered him my hand. He hesitated for only a second before accepting it. The next moment, the world twisted—magic surging, reality bending—until the familiar scent of parchment and old ink filled my lungs.

  We landed squarely in the center of my office, the warm afternoon sun spilling through the large window behind my desk. The golden light painted long, soft shadows across the well-worn wooden furniture, and the unmistakable, dreaded scent of paperwork hung in the air like an omen.

  “Lady!”

  Lola’s voice rang through the room, brimming with enthusiasm. Way too much enthusiasm for what she was about to say. “There is so much to do!” she continued, sounding far too excited about the looming mountain of bureaucracy.

  She was already behind her desk, a stack of documents in front of her like a carefully constructed fortress. But the moment she saw me, she rose instantly and bowed, eyes gleaming with the anticipation of a woman who lived for paperwork.

  I nodded, suppressing a groan.“Lola, nice to see you.” Then, with a smirk, I gestured toward the very unfortunate spirit standing beside me. “That’s why I brought someone to show me how to do proper paperwork—because I’m just a pretender!”

  I let out a deliberately too cheerful laugh as I dropped into my chair, throwing my feet up on the desk for emphasis.

  The effect was immediate.

  Relando, who had apparently thought nothing else could faze him after today, paled.

  Lola, meanwhile, blinked, as if only just now noticing the man standing awkwardly in the center of the room. Her gaze flickered over him, taking in the regal posture, the fine clothes, the fact that he looked one wrong move away from questioning his entire existence.

  “Oh,” she breathed, adjusting her glasses as she processed the Prince standing in her workspace.

  Relando, to his credit, recovered quickly. He studied Lola for a moment, then—with a smooth, practiced grace—took her hand and dipped into a half-bow, his expression settling into one of effortless charm.

  “My name is Prince Relando,” he said, voice warm and refined, “at your service, lady.”

  Lola blinked again, looking both flustered and analytical, as if trying to categorize exactly how she felt about this development.

  “Lady, the teleport will be done in an hour, and you are expected to receive the count.”

  Lola’s voice was steady, but there was a weight behind her words—the kind that implied I was about to be very annoyed.

  I sighed, dropping my feet from the desk and straightening in my chair. My gaze drifted toward the window, where the golden afternoon sun bathed the castle’s inner courtyard in warm light. The flags atop the guard towers swayed lazily in the breeze, the slow, steady rhythm oddly calming despite the impending headache I was about to have.

  “Said attaché?” I asked, my voice flat.

  Prince snorted, arms crossing as he leaned against the side of my desk. “Rotten man.”

  Lola’s brows knit together in mild confusion as she glanced between the two of us. “You know him, Prince Relando?”

  “It’s a bit complicated,” I exhaled, rubbing my temples, “but there won’t be any teleporting.”

  Lola’s expression tightened, her hands instinctively reaching for a nearby quill as if paperwork might solve the problem before it even started.

  “Which way is the summon?” I asked, already feeling the familiar, unwelcome tug of magic in the air.

  The prince stilled, eyes narrowing slightly as he tilted his head. A moment passed—then, without hesitation, he pointed toward the far end of the castle, beyond the heavy stone walls.

  “I feel it that way,” he murmured, his golden eyes flickering with something unreadable. “And it’s very close to finishing. The fabric is straining.”

  I pushed myself up from my chair, stretching slightly before flashing Lola a grin that was just a little too eager.

  “Let’s go. You need to see this, Lola.”

  She hesitated, glancing between me and the prince, her fingers tightening around the edge of her quill. “Should I prepare something?”

  I laughed. “No need.”

  Turning toward the door, I could already feel it—the thick, charged pull of mana saturating the air like the buildup before a lightning strike. The stone beneath my feet thrummed faintly with an energy that wasn’t quite here yet but was coming.

  “I expect this will be a very spectacular event,” I mused, my grin widening as I strode forward.

  With my entourage in tow, we made our way toward the outer wall, the cool corridors of the castle giving way to the open sky. As we climbed onto the high ramparts, the improvised town sprawled out beneath us in its usual organized chaos—markets still bustling, banners rippling in the breeze, and yet… there was something different.

  Something waiting.

  Prince Relando stood near the edge, his gaze clouded with thought. The golden afternoon light caught the edges of his dark cloak of his hide armor as it fluttered gently in the breeze, the weight of what was coming already settling on his shoulders.

  Lola, on the other hand, looked utterly perplexed.

  Her brows were furrowed, her eyes darting between me and the empty space beyond the walls as if expecting a tangible reason for the growing tension in the air.

  And because she was Lola, she had—of course—brought paperwork. A quill and several scrolls were tucked neatly under one arm, her fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to document whatever insanity was about to unfold.

  And me?

  I stood at the edge, heels planted firmly on the old stone, wind tugging at my coat. My pulse thrummed with anticipation.

  Below, the town remained blissfully unaware. But up here, atop the outer wall, we could see it—something beneath the surface of reality shifting, twisting.

  A ripple of energy surged through the castle’s foundation.

  Through the entire world.

  The magic torches lining the walls flickered, the light from the windows dimming for the briefest of moments—as if the world itself had taken a deep, anticipatory breath.

  Lola gasped, clutching her scrolls.

  Relando stiffened, his fingers twitching at his side, the instincts of someone who had seen too much kicking in.

  And I?

  I grinned wider.