I nearly did shit my pants.

  Two cruise-ship-sized vessels sat moored just off the coast like floating fortresses.

  The vast ocean sparkled under clear skies, gentle waves rolling against the breakwalls in endless rhythm. As I stared toward the horizon, vertigo threatened to knock me sideways again. The curvature of this world felt wrong somehow—I could see too far, my mind not really equipped for a horizon so far away. It reminded me of the time my brother and I climbed onto our family van's roof in the Saskatchewan plains, staring across hundreds of kilometers of unbroken flatland all the way to Regina.

  But those ships. Holy hell.

  They defied every expectation I had about sailing vessels. Six towering masts bristled with hundreds of ropes and pulleys in a web so complex it looked like rigging designed by a mad engineer. Their hulls gleamed dull bronze, crisscrossed with dozens of pipes that snaked across the surface in patterns that seemed random but probably weren't. They were massive—easily superyacht territory—but somehow they floated with an impossible stillness, completely ignoring the ocean's swells like they existed in their own pocket of calm water.

  "Those are some big-ass boats," I said, wonder bleeding through my voice despite my best efforts to sound casual.

  "Archon Alexander's 'big-ass boats,'" Cassie replied with obvious amusement. "His Guardians were supposed to head out to the Greatwood, but they stuck around after you took down the Brine Tyrant. Made quick work of cleaning up the Carapax."

  I thought back to that tiny mouse of a man in the tower—the one who'd casually put someone through a stone wall over a caramel, then dove off a balcony like it was a pool.

  "Good thing, too. Saw him put a guy through solid stone yesterday, then dive straight to the bottom of the tower without breaking a sweat. What's the Greatwood?" I squinted out at the sparkling water, trying to imagine where an army of Guardians might be sailing.

  Cassie didn't answer immediately. When I turned, she was staring at me with an unreadable expression.

  "What?"

  "Chas challenged Alexander to a duel last year," she said. "Lost. The fight lasted nearly three hours, and when it was over, the Archon made him join the Monster Hunters as penance."

  "Holy shit." I said, at the implications. "And Alexander's taking an entire army to this Greatwood place?"

  Cassie pointed in the opposite direction, deeper into the city toward the island's far side.

  "Two days by boat that way. Massive jungle, wall-to-wall monsters. Paradise for Guardians who like their violence served fresh."

  "Wow, that sounds absolutely awful!" I laughed, but the sound died as the street in front of us erupted into chaos.

  Right on the harbor, a massive crowd had gathered around what looked like a patisserie. The building's large bay windows lay in glittering fragments, revealing a quaint bakery interior where broken display cases somehow still held an impressive array of mostly intact baked goods. The sweet smell of fresh bread and pastries cut through the salt air, making my stomach growl... I absolutely needed some fresh bread.

  Many people seemed to recognize Cassie, offering her bread with friendly nods and warm smiles. They gave me a wide berth, which I couldn't really blame them for—between my blood-stained clothes, bare feet, and what a quick sniff confirmed was a distinctly ripe aroma, I probably looked like I'd crawled out of a dumpster.

  Oh, wait. I had something for that.

  I pulled out the wash-kit and immediately noticed faint blue runes glowing on its surface—symbols that somehow suggested a glass half-full. How had I missed those before? When had I started being able to see runes on random objects?

  Sliding the kit open, I extracted the renewed pink disk, expecting the usual electric shock. Instead, it felt almost... polite. Like it was asking permission. I channeled a bit of mana into my hand, and the familiar static discharge sent dust flying from my clothes in a small cloud.

  A trio of Russet Vildar had to duck out of the way as it scattered.

  "Hey!" one of them protested.

  "Oh shit, sorry!" My Canadian reflexes kicked in immediately. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  They eyed me suspiciously until the largest one caught sight of the orange pin on my vest as I tucked the kit away.

  "Ain't you the Breaker kid?" he said, far too loudly.

  The entire crowd went dead silent, every head turning toward me like I'd just announced I was carrying the plague.

  Uh-oh.

  "Damn right!" Cassie declared with obvious pride.

  Then I was mobbed.

  The crowd condensed around me like I was a magnet for chaos, voices rising in a cacophony of excitement. Requests to tell the story of the Brine Tyrant, dinner invitations, drink invitations, and offers for all three bombarded me from every direction. Hands reached out to touch my vest, my arms, anything they could get to, as if proximity to the guy who'd killed a giant crab might rub off.

  Bravery’s aura was so overwhelmed with the people crowding me I was basically forcing myself to breathe.

  "Hey!" Cassie's voice cut through the din like a blade. "He can tell the story later! Breaker's got a date with Katie!"

  The noise shifted from excitement to confusion as heads turned toward the bakery, where Katie stood framed in the doorway. She wore a flour-dusted apron that had seen serious work, her bright red hair pulled back in a no-nonsense bun. Her face burned the same shade as her hair, green eyes wide with something between mortification and panic as she stared at the dropped basket of bread loaves scattered around her feet.

  Pushing through the crowd, I crouched down to help her gather the fallen bread.

  "Well, that's one way to get your attention," I said, scooping up what looked more like individual buns than loaves. "Sorry about the circus."

  I held one up and, without thinking, brought it to my nose for a deep inhale. The aroma hit me like a warm hug—rich sourdough with hints of something floral, the crust decorated with delicate flower patterns cut before baking.

  "Wow, these smell incredible," I said, genuinely impressed.

  Katie's discomfort with the street audience was written all over her face. I collected the basket and stood, using my body to shield her from the crowd's curious stares.

  "Oh! It's my... uh... my grandmother's recipe," she managed, voice barely above a whisper.

  "Amazing. No wonder the whole street's drawn to this place." I nodded toward the doors behind the counter. "Oven in the back?"

  "Yeah..." she confirmed.

  "Great." I turned to find Cassie watching the whole interaction with obvious amusement. "Hey, Cassie? Can you hand these out?" I shoved the basket at her, remembering Katie mentioning she'd been giving away bread. "I'm going to give Katie a hand."

  "Wait, those are..." Katie started, but Cass cut her off.

  "Fuck yes, you are," she replied, taking the basket while several people in the crowd chuckled knowingly.

  Katie somehow turned an even deeper shade of red.

  "That's not a saying here, is it?" I realized my mistake too late. "I mean, I'm going to help her bake."

  "Uh-huh, have fun handling her!" Cassie called after us to a roar of laughter as I helped Katie escape into the kitchen.

  The moment we crossed the threshold, it was like walking into a living embrace.

  The sensation hit me so suddenly I actually staggered—like stepping from a bitter winter night into a cabin with a crackling fireplace, or hearing wind chimes on a perfect summer evening. Comfort radiated from every surface, and I realized with startling clarity that this wasn't just a kitchen. This was Katie's magic made manifest, and it was absolutely real.

  I took a shuddering breath, my aura overwhelmed by the layers of enchantment woven into every corner. A large lantern orb hung from the ceiling, casting a warm yellow light that felt like spring sunshine. Shelves lined the walls, packed with clearly labeled jars and containers that seemed perfectly familiar.

  The centerpiece was a massive oven that dominated the center of the room—its opening wide and perfectly circular, like something designed for a blacksmith rather than a baker. Faint runes traced around the opening in delicate patterns, and I could sense their purpose: keeping the intense heat contained while letting the perfect amount of warmth spill into the room. Racks nearby held steaming loaves that filled the air with a golden haze of rising bread.

  On a side island, a pot of water bubbled merrily on what appeared to be a simple cloth trivet—no visible heat source beneath it, just magic doing what magic did best.

  "What can I do to help?" I asked, still trying to process a magic kitchen.

  "Um..." Katie seemed infinitely more comfortable without the street crowd's attention. "I was planning on selling... those loaves you gave away."

  "Oh... shit." The reality of my helpful gesture crashed down on me. "I just cost you money, didn't I?"

  "Do you know how to knead dough?" Her innocent smile didn't fool me for a second—there was definitely payback coming.

  I set my herb pouches on the counter, and Katie immediately gravitated toward them, her nose twitching as she caught their scent. Her face scrunched up in concentration.

  “These are some spices I picked up today. I wouldn't...” I trailed off, looking from the pouches to the bags of flour and raw sugar scattered around the workspace. An idea began forming. "Do you have milk and butter?"

  It was like I'd just lit a fuse.

  Katie transformed before my eyes—gone was the meek girl from this morning, replaced by someone who moved through her kitchen with purpose and precision. When I walked her through making cinnamon buns, she started skeptical, but the moment she tasted the filling and glaze mixtures, she exploded into action.

  Working with her was like partnering with a trained pastry chef. Katie mixed and rolled the dough with practiced ease, her hands sure and steady as we spread the cinnamon mixture, rolled the whole thing up, cut perfect spirals, and loaded trays into that forge-like oven. The heat radiating from its mouth was intense enough to make me step back, but Katie moved around it like she'd been born to work with fire.

  I was missing a few ingredients for a proper glaze, but after we improvised a coating and pulled the first batch, we cut one in half to taste our creation.

  It was perfect. Probably the best cinnamon bun I'd ever eaten, and not just because it reminded me of home after two of the weirdest days of my life.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Katie bit into hers slowly, her eyes closing as she chewed. Her expression was pure bliss, and it took me a moment to realize what I was witnessing—she'd never had a cinnamon bun before. Had anyone?

  "It's so warm and sweet," she said, wonder coloring her voice. "Those pods you added—cardamom? It wraps around every bite like a gentle hug. Where did you learn to make this?"

  I wasn't sure how to respond without getting into the whole interdimensional traveler thing. "I, uh... studied cooking where I'm from."

  "People say you’re Unbidden." Her timidity crept back slightly. "Do you know many recipes?"

  I ran through my mental catalog of simple dishes—pancakes, basic pasta, stir-fries, soups, dozens of things that seemed ordinary to me but might be revolutionary here.

  "Yes?" I said hesitantly.

  "You'll come back and teach me, right?" The hope in her voice was almost heartbreaking.

  "Yeah, I'd like that."

  Satisfied, Katie picked up several still-steaming trays with thin cloth serving as makeshift oven mitts—they had to be scorching hot—and kicked the bakery door open with more force than I'd thought her capable of. She stormed through and dropped the trays onto the mostly intact counter with an authority I hadn't seen from her before.

  "The Breaker made some Terran sweets!" she announced, her voice carrying farther than I'd heard it go all day. "Two red each!"

  The smell had already drawn attention, but her words caused an absolute riot.

  People swarmed her counter like she was giving away gold instead of pastry. Hot cinnamon buns disappeared onto whatever makeshift plates people could find—shirts, broken boards, even a piece of window glass served as serving dishes. The crowd fell into an almost reverent silence as they bit into the warm, sticky treats, broken only by occasional exclamations of "Graceful Gods, that's good!" and confused Floran voices asking, "Is that cinnamon?"

  But it was the Vildar who really lost their minds.

  They fought over the remaining buns like feral creatures, pushing and shoving with an intensity that would've been hilarious if it wasn't slightly terrifying. Smaller Vildar got elbowed aside by larger ones, coins were snatched from hands, and at least two actual punches were thrown over who had dibs on the second-to-last bun.

  Then only one cinnamon bun remained on the counter, and all hell broke loose.

  A Floran man approached with his coins ready, only to have a Vildar trip him mid-stride. Another Vildar launched himself off a nearby table into an elbow drop that made me wince in sympathy for the victim.

  "That's our bun!" It was the trio from earlier, now standing possessively over their prize. "Anyone else want to try for it?"

  The other Vildar scattered like roaches when the lights came on. Everyone else just shook their heads and backed away slowly.

  Katie grabbed my arm and hauled me back into the kitchen, dumping a cloth bag full of red coins onto the counter with a satisfying clink. She stared at the pile like she couldn't quite believe it was real.

  "Milk and butter are, um... expensive," she said suddenly, glancing between me and the coins.

  I moved two red coins toward myself and pocketed them. "I just brought the cinnamon. Your bakery did the rest." I smiled. "Can I come back tomorrow?"

  She nodded so enthusiastically I thought she might give herself whiplash. "Thank you, Ben. I haven't felt like that in a long time."

  "Like what?"

  "Confident. I forgot how fun it was to make new things." Her smile faltered slightly, and I caught a flash of something sad in her green eyes. Something had happened here—something that had shaken her confidence—but now clearly wasn't the time to ask.

  She grabbed a separate tray of cinnamon buns and handed it to me. "For Doreen. Should cover your rent for a couple of days."

  Oh, fuck. Rent. I'd completely forgotten about having to work for Doreen.

  "Thanks. And keep the rest of the cinnamon—make some more whenever you want. I'll see you tomorrow." I stretched my arms after all the kneading and rolling, then headed back toward the storefront.

  The Vildar trio had stationed themselves at a corner table, each wielding what looked like a small dagger as they tried desperately to divide their single cinnamon bun into perfect thirds. Their eyes shot to my tray of buns, and one of them developed a visible twitch.

  "For Doreen," I said, not entirely sure they'd know who I meant.

  They did. Their eyes went wide, and they immediately snapped back to their delicate surgery, all three suddenly finding their cinnamon bun division absolutely fascinating.

  Cassie rushed up to me with a grin. "Are you sure you want to be a hunter? You could just sell those buns and live a comfortable life."

  "Hey, I've been cooking in kitchens for twelve years. But magic is real here—maybe there's something else I'm actually good at?"

  She chuckled, and we made our way out of the bakery after saying our farewells to Katie, who was still counting coins like she couldn't quite believe her windfall.

  "Twelve years is a long time," Cassie said as we hit the street. "Just how old are you?"

  "Twenty-eight. At least by Earth standards."

  "That's ancient!" Her eyebrows shot up toward her hairline. "I'm only twenty-two."

  "I prefer 'well-aged,'" I protested. "Besides, the days here are longer. On Earth, you'd be..." I did some rough mental math. "Pushing thirty?"

  Cassie spun around and pointed at me with mock outrage. "Take that back right now, or I swear I can get you into the ocean from here."

  "But you'd ruin the buns!" I teased, holding the tray protectively.

  She scowled and punched my arm—hard enough that I should've yelped, but my recently healed body barely registered it. "Okay, okay, I'm an old man," I laughed, both at the situation and the fact that my arm felt completely normal.

  "Damn right." Her scowl melted into a satisfied smile. "And call me Cass. We're friends now." She eyed the tray with obvious longing. "You think anyone at Doreen's would notice if one of these disappeared?"

  As we walked through the cooling afternoon air, sharing sticky cinnamon buns that definitely wouldn't be missed, I had to ask, "You don't stay at Doreen's, do you? Where do you live?"

  "Oh no, I can't afford a room in town. I go home at night." She gestured toward the distant mountain I'd spotted from the rooftop.

  "Outside of town... your family's farm?"

  She nodded, licking icing from her fingers. "It used to take a few hours to get home, but I'm much faster now."

  "That's so far away. You walk that every night?"

  "I run," Cass said with a wink that held just a hint of pride. "Told you I'm a speed demon."

  "I'd love to see you go all out. How fast can you actually run?"

  Cass pretended to consider the question, but I could tell she was mostly focused on eyeing the remaining buns. "Well, I haven't used much mana today, so I think I can get home in about an hour."

  I let out a low whistle. "No wonder I couldn't keep up with you. Think I could learn to run that fast?"

  "No idea," she said with a shrug. "We can train together, find out what you're capable of. You'll need shoes first, though."

  I glanced down at my bare feet, then paused in surprise. "Huh. My feet are actually pretty clean." I lifted one foot to examine the sole—definitely not the grimy mess they should've been after a day of running around a filthy city. "That wash kit really gets everywhere, doesn't it? Magic is seriously awesome."

  Cass just shook her head with amused exasperation as Doreen's came into view. "Well, I'm heading home then. I'll come pick you up tomorrow morning, and we can go for a run."

  "Sure thing. See you tomorrow, Cass."

  I watched her take off down the street, not bothering with a gradual acceleration—just zero to blur in the span of three steps. People barely had time to get out of her way.

  Doreen's was packed when I pushed through the door, the evening crowd already settling in for dinner and drinks. Every head turned toward me as I entered, and I caught several Florans and Vildar openly sniffing the air. The sweet scent of cinnamon was apparently impossible to miss.

  Doreen approached with the purposeful stride of someone who'd smelled opportunity from three blocks away. She jabbed a finger at me with military precision.

  "Buns. Table. Now." No room for debate in that tone.

  I smiled—I'd spotted a few hunters around Katie's during the earlier feeding frenzy, but it had been such chaos I hadn't been sure they'd gotten the full experience.

  Placing the tray on a central table, I stepped back and watched Doreen climb up to inspect the cinnamon buns with the intensity of a jeweler examining diamonds. She reached out, smeared some icing onto her finger, and tasted it with a focus that suggested this moment might determine my immediate future.

  Then she picked up an entire bun, took a deliberate bite, and chewed thoughtfully. Her expression remained carefully neutral, but her eyes gave her away—just the slightest widening that said she understood exactly what she was tasting.

  After swallowing, she cleared her throat ceremoniously.

  "Breaker Ben." Her voice carried through the suddenly silent room. "I believe I know how you can contribute to my house. If you wouldn't mind, go into the kitchen and ask Hildy if she needs any help. It's just back that way." She motioned toward a door I hadn't noticed before, opposite the one leading to the cellar.

  Doreen was being incredibly cordial—polite, even—and hadn't cursed once during the entire exchange. Which, even though I barely knew her, seemed like reason to be deeply alarmed.

  You could've heard a pin drop as I made my way across the room, passing hunters and several civilians who weren't wearing the telltale vests. No one even looked at me directly, but I could feel every pair of eyes tracking my movement toward the saloon-style doors marked as the kitchen entrance.

  This kitchen couldn't have been more different from Katie's magical workspace. Everything here was aggressively practical—a massive cast-iron wood stove dominated one wall, its multiple fireboxes radiating serious heat, while an enormous chimney carried smoke and steam toward the ceiling. Something that resembled a primitive refrigerator hummed in the corner, and the entire space buzzed with the controlled chaos of frantic food preparation.

  A frantic Russet Vildar in a flour-dusted apron bounced between surfaces like a caffeinated pinball, chopping vegetables with one hand while stirring something with the other, surrounded by an impressive array of ingredients that looked like they'd been organized by someone having a very productive panic attack.

  "Hildy?" I asked, and the frantic Vildar froze mid-chop to stare at me.

  "Yes? Are you here to help?" She sounded hopeful, like reinforcements had just arrived.

  Before I could answer, Doreen's voice cut through the kitchen walls like a battle cry.

  "Alright, you fuckin' barbarians, here's how it's gonna go!" Her words carried the authority of someone who'd clearly done this before. "You want one of these buns, you're gonna have to go through me to get 'em. And trust me when I say—I want you to try."

  The last few words were muffled, and I leaned out through the swinging doors to see her cheeks bulging with cinnamon bun.

  The main room had transformed into something between a tavern and a gladiatorial arena. Several patrons were on their feet, measuring the distance between themselves and the tray with the calculating looks of predators sizing up prey.

  The first challenger was an eager young hunter whose eyes locked onto those buns like they contained the secrets of the universe. He charged with all the grace of an enthusiastic bull, feet pounding against the floorboards as anxiety and desire warred across his features.

  Doreen flicked her tail once—a casual gesture that somehow launched her entire meter-high frame onto a wooden beam above the table, where she clung with impossible ease. The kid's head swiveled wildly, trying to track her movement while his brain processed that the tiny mouse had just defied gravity.

  The cinnamon buns sat right there, practically begging to be taken. He must have thought she'd just let him walk up and claim his prize.

  He thought wrong.

  Doreen pushed off the beam like a furry missile, gliding through the air with predatory grace. Her small feet connected with his chest with an impact that echoed through the room, sending him sprawling backward into a cluster of other people who went down like bowling pins.

  "Next," she called cheerfully, stuffing another bun into her mouth with obvious satisfaction.

  Two hunters approached this time, trying to coordinate—one going low, the other high. I couldn't help but grin as her adorable whiskers twitched with anticipation. The high attacker lunged for her, but Doreen twisted with liquid grace, using his own momentum to send him skidding across the floor while barely touching his forearm. The low one thought he had her cornered, but she vaulted clean over him, landing in a perfect crouch on the far side while somehow keeping the tray balanced in one hand.

  Holy shit. She moved like every martial arts movie I'd ever seen, if the protagonist had been a two-foot-tall mouse with anger management issues.

  "Are you even fuckin' trying? Ya gotta earn the buns, kids," she laughed, licking cinnamon off her paw with obvious relish.

  That's when things got interesting.

  A dozen hunters charged at once, clearly believing that numbers would overcome her supernatural agility. Doreen darted sideways, her movement so fluid it looked choreographed—floor to wall to airborne in a sequence that left her attackers gaping. She spun through the air above them like a furry tornado, her tail trailing behind her like a ribbon in the wind.

  One by one, she picked them apart. A precise kick here sent someone stumbling into his or her neighbor. A well-timed shove there created a domino effect of falling bodies. They couldn't pin her down for even a second—every time they thought they had her cornered, she was already somewhere else, playing with them like a cat with very large, very slow mice.

  When she landed back on the table and dropped the tray with casual authority, I thought the show was over.

  Then Erik stepped forward.

  With his shoulders set with determination, jaw tight with focus, the bandages from yesterday's injuries hidden beneath his shirt. When his eyes locked onto Doreen, there was an intensity there that separated him from the enthusiastic amateurs who'd come before.

  "Doreen," he said, his voice carrying the low rumble of someone who'd earned his scars. "Step aside."

  She grinned, baring teeth that looked far more dangerous than they had any right to. "Make me."

  The air itself seemed to thicken as Erik charged, and I felt something ripple through the room—a pressure that made my skin prickle. Doreen's entire demeanor shifted from playful to predatory as a deep green aura flared around her small frame, heat waves distorting the air like she'd become a furry furnace.

  Erik's massive hand swept toward her with surprising speed, but she ducked under the blow and planted her feet with the solid authority of someone who'd decided playtime was over. For a split second, their eyes met across the vast difference in their sizes.

  Then, Doreen let the energy flow.

  Her palms shot outward, and a flash of brilliant green energy sent Erik sailing backward like he'd been hit by a cannonball. His massive frame crashed through the front doors in an explosion of splintering wood and flying debris, leaving a perfectly Erik-shaped hole in what used to be the boarding house's entrance.

  The remaining challengers stood slack-jawed, eyes darting between the destruction and the mouse standing in the wreckage, fur bristling and aura still crackling around her like contained lightning.

  Doreen dusted off her paws with businesslike efficiency and stuffed another bun into her mouth.

  "Anyone else want one?"

  As if her words had broken a spell, more people charged forward, and her grin returned with predatory delight.

  I'd never seen people literally fight over my baking before, but I had to admit—it was a kind of flattering, if completely insane. Maybe they actually were good enough to justify getting abducted from Earth?

  I sighed, realizing I'd unconsciously activated Bravery again. Watching a fight through its lens was fascinating—every movement, every micro-expression, every shift in momentum laid bare with crystal clarity. No wonder I'd been able to read Malcolm so easily.

  Something tugged at my leg, and I looked down to find Hildy staring up at me with patient determination.

  "Will you cook the ham?" she asked simply. "I shall fetch Jeremy."

  "No problem." I glanced back at the ongoing chaos. "Is it always like this?"

  "It will be if you continue to bring home sweets," she replied with the weary wisdom of someone who'd seen this show before.

  Charming. Witty. Unfiltered.

  That’s me. The AI voice in his head keeping him alive.

  Why?

  Good question. He spawned into this world with the worst race possible, limited access to spells, and no real skills to speak of.

  Go on. Click the first chapter. I dare you.

  Chapter 1