Charlie at her new home…

  I was sitting alone in my new apartment, sinking into the overwhelming softness of an obscenely expensive sofa. It felt alien, being surrounded by glass tables, softly glowing ambient lights embedded into the walls, and the kind of art pieces that were probably worth more than my entire past life.

  But apparently, that was the new normal.

  “I guess…” I murmured softly, shaking my head as I shoved another handful of popcorn into my mouth. The buttery warmth clung delightfully to my fingers, leaving a sheen of grease behind.

  The battle Lucy desperately craved wasn’t coming, not if I could help it.

  On the enormous holo-TV, which I was pretty sure cost more than my entire old flat, Lola had just wrapped up her detailed briefing to the player crew. Her expression had been firm, authoritative, and focused, a perfect mask of calm professionalism, and now her holo-image vanished with a small burst of a shimmer.

  Rolling my shoulders, I winced slightly. Who knew that lounging around doing absolutely nothing could make muscles ache? The popcorn bowl rested precariously on my lap, the golden kernels occasionally escaping onto the pristine cushions.

  A gentle knock echoed from the hallway. “Lady?” Lola’s familiar voice drifted in, warm but cautious. Without waiting for a proper reply, she stepped carefully into the room. “Have you seen the meeting?” She asked politely, her heels clicking softly across the floor as she approached.

  “Yep. You need me to create a quest?” I watched, mildly amused, as she carefully sat next to me. Her posture was impeccable as always, legs neatly crossed, back straight, a perfect contrast to my very unladylike slouch.

  Realizing this, I jolted upright, hurriedly crossing my legs in a desperate attempt at sophistication. “We can’t fight,” I added, my voice betraying a hint of anxiety beneath the casual tone. Yeah, I needed them in the Altandai, not to lose my Armada to a pointless fight.

  “That’s why we sent Luminaria,” Lola assured gently, her fingers tapping swiftly over the smooth surface of her tablet. She flicked the contents onto the holo-screen effortlessly. “These are my notes. We need to create a quest from this.”

  The screen was instantly filled with lines of neatly organized text, diagrams, and meticulously detailed instructions. Of course, Lola’s in-Rimelion handwriting was flawless, structured yet elegant. I smiled inwardly, shaking my head softly. Lola was amazing, even down to her in-game penmanship.

  “Sure, but I can’t take that with me.” I shifted uncomfortably, switching the position of my legs as I sank deeper into the plush cushions. “I mean… too bad you can’t create it yourself.” Lola’s eyebrows furrowed into an adorable knot of frustration, prompting me to quickly add: “Not that I want to push work onto you.”

  She sighed deeply, momentarily looking as though she might actually swear.

  Comon Lola! Do it!

  Her usually serene features tightened, eyes narrowing in suppressed annoyance, but she drew in a measured breath, visibly pushing down her irritation. Awwwh. It was honestly too cute.

  “Cute,” I giggled softly, unable to help myself. Lola shot me a confused glance, her eyes in genuine puzzlement, completely unaware of what had amused me. Before she could question me, I hurriedly changed the subject.

  “I need to have a word with Lucy tomorrow. I’m no Goddess!” My voice dropped to a growl as I remembered Cloudy’s warning. “I promised Cloudy not to exploit, and what does he create? Loophole Knight. I’m half-afraid of what’s waiting for me back in Rimelion.”

  Lola tilted her head, an reassuring smile gracing her lips as she rested a comforting hand lightly on my knee. Her palm was warm through the fabric. “It can’t be that bad, right?” she murmured softly.

  I blinked a few times, clearing the haze of lazy popcorn-coma from my eyes and forcing myself upright. No more pretending the couch was a memory foam coffin. “Okay,” I muttered, squinting at the holo-screen. “We’re not creating ‘Storm the Enemy’ Quest.” My voice came out fiercer than intended. “Outright nope. Denied. Stupid.”

  The neon interface floated like a smug little ghost in front of me, words and bullet points scrolling at an obnoxiously patient pace. I leaned closer, swiping through the notes. “But the one for Luminaria, Frozna, Scamantha…” My voice trailed off. My brow furrowed. “…What?”

  I bolted upright and stomped over to the screen like that would make the words magically change.

  “You want me to create a Quest for Tramar to—” I jabbed my finger so hard at the bullet point the interface flickered. “Not burn anything? And… Lola.” I tilted my head slowly, the way a cat does before mauling someone. “A restraint order for Fuzuki?”

  With a speed that would impress assassins, Lola’s dainty fingers swiped across her tablet, making the offending notes vanish. “That—” Her voice cracked as a pink flush crept up her neck. “That… was… uh…” Her wide eyes darted around like the couch cushions or potted plant might rescue her from this line of questioning.

  I crossed my arms, looming like a very unimpressed, very short queen.

  She sighed, the corners of her lips tugging downward in guilt. “Fuzuki is… Fuzuki,” she mumbled, finally looking at me with that small, exasperated Lola-frown. “Flirting with everyone.”

  “Restraint order though?” I choked out a laugh. “Oh, come on. That’s amazing.”

  With a last giggle, I let the tension out of my shoulders and plopped onto the bed, face-first. The mattress swallowed me in that annoyingly perfect way, all plush softness and faint lavender scent from whatever fabric softener Lola bathed this thing in. “I’ll be right back,” I mumbled into the covers. “If it really works that way.”

  I dragged myself up just enough to flop my head onto the pillow and focus. That now-familiar tug in my core flickered, the subtle vertigo of crossing worlds taking me…

  And then—

  I opened my eyes in Rimelion.

  The familiar earthy scent of the barn hit me first… the faint lingering musk of too many bodies in too small a space. I sat up quickly, my hand instinctively brushing over my side.

  The coin pouch and the key were still tucked safely beside me on the slab of a bed. Unfound; good.

  What wasn’t good?

  A flashing, pulsing screen right in front of my face, bold letters screaming at me like an angry DM ready to ruin my day.

  The screen glitched, flickering like a broken sign before snapping back to life.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The glowing words floated in my vision like smug little fireflies, pulsing in gold-white light. They even had this faint chime when they appeared like Cloudy thought heavenly choir noises would make existential dread feel rewarding.

  “Be careful what you wish for.” Yeah, no pressure. Totally casual.

  I exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of my nose. From the old timeline, I knew the only way to get a Mythical, or anything higher, was to either steal one. Difficult unless you enjoyed dying creatively. Or build one, which was even harder unless you liked endless grinding, endless bureaucracy, and divine-level stress.

  So… apparently I was building one now. “Great,” I muttered under my breath. “I’m a bedtime story with paperwork. Well, we all have our Lola Angels for that.”

  With a wave of my hand, I shoved the pop-up away, like flicking an annoying mosquito.

  I opened the Quest menu. Or tried to.

  “Son of a—!” I stopped myself halfway through swearing by that damn bird’s name, because if I woke the whole barn, I’d have more problems than just divine promotion.

  The room was dark. Dozens of slaves slept nearby, their breathing forming an uneven chorus.

  The air was thick with the smells of unwashed bodies, or even washed, but still… Sewers. A few shafts of moonlight crept through cracks in the wooden walls, giving the whole place this eerie, half-forgotten glow.

  I sat there, glaring at the error screen as if I could out-stubborn the system itself.

  Eventually, I opened the menu through another screen with link to a Quest screen, not thanks to Cloudy’s cooperation, but because I’d brute-forced my way through like a Pearl.

  And surprise, surprise, Cloudy fought back the whole way. Pop-ups vanished. Options grayed out. Words rearranged themselves when I tried to edit them. It was like arm-wrestling a smug god who didn’t sleep.

  I wanted to scream. Or maybe throw the whole interface out the window.

  But I was too tired for divine bickering, too drained to argue with a celestial coder. So I left most of the quest as he “suggested.” Ignoring the passive-aggressive system notes and all.

  At least I learned one thing: he indirectly confirmed our fears why the fleet was there. Count Itzel’s orders.

  “Damn,” I whispered, my voice barely audible in the stillness. Somewhere in the barn, a sleeper stirred, mumbling nonsense in their dreams before rolling over. I stared at the ceiling beams, feeling that familiar knot of unease coil tighter in my gut.

  On a small boat nearing the Imperial Navy…

  The boat rocked gently underfoot, but Luminaria kept her stance impeccable, one gloved hand resting lightly on the railing as though the swaying was an aesthetic choice rather than a physical inconvenience. The salt?bitten wind tugged at her braid and kissed her cheek with its chill, carrying the tang of brine and the faint promise of coming war.

  She still couldn’t fully reconcile how she’d ended up here, on this cramped vessel with two of her guild’s greener members and him.

  Her Llama.

  She allowed herself a glance, just one, the kind that could be passed off as tactical observation if anyone questioned it. He stood like he always did: unshakable. A figure carved from iron, shield at his side, gaze fixed on the silhouettes of the massive ships strung across the horizon.

  “Are we clear on the orders?” Llama asked, his voice a low rumble that somehow carried over the water’s restless hiss.

  “Yes, sir!” the two paddlers answered in unison. They couldn’t salute, not with both hands locked in the rhythm of their oars, but the deference in their voices was enough.

  Luminaria watched Llama a moment longer. They’d been different since the wall. Since Rimelion stopped being just a game and became, well, something else. Not only romantically different but also attitude shifted. The shift in him was visible: straighter backs, steadier eyes.

  Maybe a bit too steady.

  And then the system intruded:

  Llama finished reading first, his brow furrowing in thought. “Taking the city,” he echoed. “I wondered why the Queen gathered so many combatants. To save her, a small strike force of elites would be preferable. But to capture a city…” His gaze stretched outward.

  Luminaria allowed herself the smallest curve of her lips, subtle, poised. He was in his element, and so, if she was honest, was she.

  Negotiating with the Imperial Navy. Passing through their blockade. An entire war effort balanced delicately atop her words, her will, her performance.

  How could she not smile at that?

  Her real smile bloomed, genuine, as she stepped into the wind, letting it pull her robes and braid behind her in a deliberate, perfect sweep. She turned her face slightly toward the invisible audience of record. “Count orchestrated it? So be it. We won’t fail,” she declared, voice carrying with a confidence that was as much for the moment as for the cameras.

  Of course she was recording. There was already talk of a second movie, and this scene, her at the prow, the blockade ahead, the quest ping still fresh, was the kind of moment worth immortalizing.

  Riker hadn’t prepared for it. But she had. She always did.

  BANG.

  The world split with a single, thunderous crack; one of the Imperial ships had fired on them.