I pinched the bridge of my nose so hard I thought I’d leave an imprint. Bartholomew’s pronouncement, delivered with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man facing a firing squad, did little to assuage my growing panic. “Amended? Bart, our itinerary was ‘collect reward money, find a decent inn, maybe see a man about a horse, and level up.’ Now it’s ‘save the world with a knight who probably hasn’t bathed in weeks and a magic system I don’t understand.’ This is less an amendment and more a full-blown, top-to-bottom, existential crisis.”

  Bartholomew stared at me with the deadpan that only cats can manage, his golden eyes locked on mine. “Semantics, Mistress Paige. The point remains that our previous objectives have been superseded.” He paused, then added with a sigh that rustled his magnificent ruff, “And Ser Kalen, while perhaps not adhering to the rigorous standards of hygiene one might expect in civilized society, is demonstrably less pungent than some of the creatures we’ve encountered on previous misadventures.”I shot him a look that would have curdled milk. “You’re serious? You’re actually okay with this? Just like that? No ‘let’s think about this rationally,’ no ‘perhaps we should gather more information,’ no ‘have you considered the potential ramifications of charging headfirst into an ancient evil with a man whose armor looks like it lost a fight with a blacksmith’s anvil’?”Ser Kalen, bless his shining, oblivious heart, beamed down at me. “The Warden speaks wisely, fair maiden. Your companion understands the gravity of our situation. This is no time for hesitation. The Shadow Lord’s influence creeps like a blight. Every moment we delay, he strengthens his grip.”“Yeah, well, the Warden also understands that charging into a boss fight without leveling up is a good way to get permadeath,” I muttered, mostly to myself, but Bartholomew’s ears twitched.“Permadeath,” he mused, as if sampling the word on his tongue. “An intriguing concept. Does it imply a cessation of consciousness, or merely a rather inconvenient reset?”“It implies an end, hopefully not as a pile of dust, though never, ever having to deal with talking cats and knights who smell faintly of old leather and desperation again has a certain appeal,” I snapped. “Which, by the way, is looking increasingly unlikely if we follow Ser Kalen’s ‘charge now, ask questions later’ approach.”

  Ser Kalen’s brow furrowed, the creases in his polished helmet deepening. “But… you are the Warden. The texts spoke of your return, of your power.”

  “No. Absolutely not. That’s him,” I said, gesturing to Barty, “Last I checked, ‘effective negotiation’ and ‘proficient use of emojis’ aren’t exactly cutting it against a centuries-old evil overlord. Bartholomew here is the one with the ancient magic. I’m just the schmuck who got dragged along for the ride and is now expected to be some kind of chosen one because I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Bartholomew gave a delicate shudder. “The indignity of it. One moment, I was contemplating the philosophical implications of sunbeams on Ikea’s excuse for a rug, the next, I was embroiled in a cosmic struggle. And my fur is simply not designed for prolonged exposure to desolate valleys. It is highly susceptible to static cling.”I whirled on the cat, finger wagging.“And you! Don’t play innocent and dumb with me, you smush-faced liar. I scooped your shit for years while you planned this. You knew all along that you would whisk me off to RPG hell to do your bidding. I’m over your condescending bullshit. When I get home, I’m getting a dog.”“Dogs are the same as Wardens, too, just on the other team,” Bartholomew said smugly. “WHATEVER!” I screamed, spit flying.Ser Kalen looked genuinely bewildered. He shifted his weight, his armor clinking like a tiny, metallic avalanche. “But… the prophecy…”“Look, Ser Kalen,” I said, trying to inject a note of reason into my voice, though it came out sounding more like a strangled gasp. “Let’s break this down. You need help. Bartholomew has the magic stuff. I have a working knowledge of sarcasm and a surprisingly resilient nervous system. You want us to go with you now. My question is, why now? Can’t we, you know, go back to your ‘ancient place,’ maybe do some research, gather some supplies, level up? I’m assuming ‘leveling up’ is a thing here, right? Because I am currently at a distinct disadvantage, power-wise.”

  He blinked, his earnestness unwavering. “The Shadow Lord’s power grows with each passing moon. He consolidates his strength, corrupts the land, enslaves minds. To wait is to allow him to become insurmountable. The ancient texts say the Wardens are meant to be found when the veil is thinnest, and that the Shadow Lord’s ultimate plan hinges on crossing that veil entirely. This valley, this very spot, is one of the few places where the energies are sufficient for the Wardens to manifest their true power. Your presence here is no coincidence, Mistress Paige. It is destiny.”“Destiny is a fickle mistress, Ser Kalen,” Bartholomew interjected smoothly, his tail giving a single, disdainful flick. “And often, she has a rather poor sense of timing. I, for one, would have preferred a destiny that involved a comfortable chaise lounge and a saucer of cream. As for the ‘thinning veil,’ I assure you, my personal veil of patience is wearing perilously thin at this very moment.”

  I sighed, running a hand through my already disheveled hair. “Okay, okay, so the valley is Important. And Bartholomew’s magic is… important. And your quest is… important. But what if we need more than just ‘important’? What if we need, say, a decent sword, or some knowledge about the Shadow Lord’s legions? I’m just saying, a little preparation wouldn’t kill us. Actually, it might prevent us from being killed.”

  Ser Kalen looked pained. “The time for preparation has passed. The Shadow Lord’s forces are already on the move. His legions are stirring in the Dark Marches, and his influence is seeping into the very heart of the kingdoms. We must strike now, while there is still a chance to disrupt his plans. The ancient magic, the forgotten spells that the Wardens wield, these are our best, perhaps our only, weapons against his encroaching darkness. You, Mistress Paige, are the conduit. Bartholomew, the key. I am merely the watcher. A herald.”“A herald who smells faintly of damp dog,” I muttered.

  Bartholomew ignored me. “Ser Kalen, while I appreciate your fervent dedication, your tactical acumen appears to be… rudimentary. The concept of ‘hit bad thing with big sword’ seems to be the entirety of your strategic repertoire.”“The Shadow Lord thrives on subtlety, on deception,” Ser Kalen countered, his voice rising slightly. “My approach is direct. It is honest. It is— ”“It’s going to get us all killed,” I finished for him, my voice laced with a weariness that didn’t belong to a twenty-something. “Look, Ser Kalen, I get it. You’re the brave knight, I’m the magical prophesied person, Bartholomew’s the wise talking cat. It’s all very dramatic. But my brain, the one that’s apparently useless without emojis, is screaming ‘danger, Will Robinson!’ We can fight. We will fight. But we’re not going in blind. Not if I can help it.” I held up a hand, stopping Ser Kalen’s next impassioned plea. “Tell me this. If this valley is so important, and Bartholomew’s magic is amplified here, what exactly can he do here that he can’t do elsewhere?” I turned to Bartholomew. “And if you’re so over this whole ‘save the world’ gig, can you at least explain the mechanics of this ‘forgotten magic’ so I have some clue what I’m supposed to be doing besides standing around looking pretty and cracking wise?”

  Bartholomew, sensing a brief reprieve from immediate peril, seemed to perk up. He stretched, a languid, arching motion that rippled through his sleek gray fur. “Ah, the specifics. A much more palatable line of inquiry. Very well, Mistress Paige. Allow me to elucidate. The magic of the Wardens, you see, is not the flashy pyrotechnics favored by lesser sorcerers. It is, rather, the subtle manipulation of the fundamental energies that bind existence. Think of it as cosmic plumbing. We redirect, we reinforce, we mend the leaks where the darkness attempts to seep through.” He paused, glancing at Ser Kalen as if to gauge his comprehension, then continued. “Here, in this valley, the veil is indeed thin, acting as a nexus. It allows for a far more profound connection to these energies. It allows for… amplification. For a Warden of Bartholomew’s caliber, here, he can not only mend the veil but potentially weave new wards, reinforce existing ones, and perhaps even—if the stars align and his nap schedule permits—glean insights directly from the currents of magic itself. Insights that might, for instance, reveal the Shadow Lord’s weaknesses or the location of his decidedly unpleasant strongholds.”

  I nodded slowly, absorbing this. “So, he can basically supercharge his magic here. And you, Ser Kalen, you came here to find him so you could use that supercharged magic to fight the bad guys. But you didn’t think to, like, consult Bartholomew on the finer points of interdimensional warding before trying to drag him into a battlefield?”Ser Kalen looked suitably chastened. “My apologies, Warden Bartholomew. My focus has been consumed by the immediate threat. I believed your mere presence, coupled with the valley’s power, would be sufficient.”“A noble sentiment, if woefully misguided,” Bartholomew purred, a hint of grudging amusement in his tone. “Now, Mistress Paige, about your own ‘communications degree.’ While I doubt you possess the innate connection to the arcane that I do, your role as a bridge between worlds, having been plucked from your own, suggests a certain resonance. Your journey may have imbued you with unique sensitivities. We shall have to investigate that further. But first,” he turned his luminous gaze back to the knight, “Ser Kalen, perhaps you could enlighten us as to the specific movements of these thralls and legions you mentioned? Vague pronouncements of doom are all well and good for ballads, but I require actionable intelligence.”A flicker of hope ignited in Ser Kalen’s eyes. “Of course, Warden. I have maps, observations…”

  As Ser Kalen began to unfurl a surprisingly detailed parchment, I leaned back against a rock, a grim smile touching my lips. My quest for a decent reward had gone spectacularly sideways. I was in a fantasy world, dealing with a knight who was probably a walking biohazard, and a cat who lectured me on cosmic plumbing. But maybe, just maybe, Bartholomew had a point. Maybe this was a necessary detour. After all, if I was going to be stuck here saving the world, I might as well do it with a plan, not just a splinter of hope and a sarcastic retort. Rebellions might be built on hope, but I wasn’t, and if that plan involved a grumpy, talking cat figuring out how to unleash apocalyptic levels of magical kitty power, well, that was just Eldoria’s problem, not mine. Mine was just to survive it. And maybe, just maybe, convince Bartholomew to teach me a spell or two. You know, for the inevitable boss fight.

  The air, thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, felt cooler now, a welcome respite from the frantic energy of our arrival. Bartholomew, perched regally on a nearby stump, groomed a paw with meticulous disdain, his tail twitching occasionally as Ser Kalen’s voice droned on.“The Shadow Lord’s forces are insidious, Warden,” Ser Kalen explained, his finger tracing a jagged line across the map. “They move through the shadowed passes, avoiding the patrols of the King’s Guard. These thralls,” he tapped a crude symbol resembling a snarling beast, “are relentless. And the legions are comprised of beings twisted by the Shadow Lord’s touch. Their strength is unnatural.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I listened, a wry smile playing on my lips. My grand quest to find a quick exit from this godforsaken realm had taken a decidedly sharp turn. One minute I was navigating a murder tunnel full of bugs, and the next, I was a reluctant participant in a medieval fantasy epic. My wardrobe had devolved from stretchy pants to what felt suspiciously like a potato sack with leather straps, and my primary companions were a possibly immortal, overly verbose cat and a knight whose dedication to duty bordered on the suicidal.“So, let me get this straight,” I interjected, my voice cutting through Ser Kalen’s hushed pronouncements. “You’re telling me this Shadow Lord is basically Sauron’s less-organized cousin, and he’s got an army of zombies and some seriously angry monsters marching towards, well, somewhere. And you want a cat—a talking cat, mind you, which is already pushing the boundaries of plausibility—to stop him.”

  Bartholomew sighed, a sound like silk tearing. “Mistress Paige, while your… modern sensibilities are certainly… noteworthy, may I remind you that the ‘cat,’ as you so dismissively put it, is a Warden of considerable power. And this valley, as I have explained, offers unique amplification. It is not merely about brute force, but about understanding the very fabric of reality. A concept that may prove somewhat alien to those accustomed to… instant gratification and the digital ether.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Right, cosmic plumbing. Got it. But what exactly does your cosmic power entail? So far, I’ve seen you glow slightly and meekly claw at a few things. The corner of my sofa has seen more violence from you.”“My power is none of your concern at this juncture,” Bartholomew said, his luminous eyes fixed on me. “Your presence here, however, outside the natural flow of this world’s energies, could have created unforeseen ripples. Sensitivities. A different perspective. We shall explore this. But for now, Ser Kalen requires our full attention. The details, Ser Kalen. Do these thralls have any discernible patterns? Any weaknesses in their formations?”

  Ser Kalen, seemingly unfazed by my sarcasm or Bartholomew’s condescension, tapped a point on the map. “There is a particular pass, the Serpent’s Coil, where they seem to mass before advancing. It is heavily forested, offering ample cover for their approach. And the thralls are susceptible to light, Warden. Intense, pure light. They recoil from it.”

  Bartholomew’s ear twitched. “Light, you say? Interesting. And the legions?”

  “The legions,” Ser Kalen continued, his voice grave, “are more formidable. They possess a resilience that borders on unnatural. Their armor seems to absorb blows, and their numbers are constantly replenished by those captured and converted.” He shuddered slightly.

  I shivered, despite myself. Even with my cynicism, the reality of this situation was beginning to press in. This wasn’t just some elaborate LARP gone wrong. This was survival.“So, what’s the plan, then?” I asked, pushing myself off the rock. “We can’t just sit here and admire the scenery while the zombie apocalypse rolls in.”

  Bartholomew rose, stretching again, a silent ripple of power emanating from him. “The plan, Mistress Paige, is multi-faceted. Ser Kalen will continue to scout, to provide us with precise troop movements and any further intelligence on the Shadow Lord’s specific objectives. I, on the other hand,” he looked at me, a calculating glint in his eyes, “will begin to attune myself to the valley’s energies. I will investigate the potential for reinforcing the wards, and perhaps, just perhaps, uncover the nature of this Shadow Lord and his weaknesses. And you, Mistress Paige…” He paused, letting the anticipation hang in the air. I braced myself for another lecture on my lack of qualifications. “You,” Bartholomew continued, a low purr resonating in his chest, “will assist me. Your unique perspective, your adamant disruption of this world’s natural order, may offer insights that even I, in my long tenure as a Warden, have overlooked. Think of it as… cross-cultural adaptation. Or perhaps, advanced interdimensional relations.”

  I blinked. “You want me to help? The girl who spent yesterday trying to figure out how to start a fire with a damp twig and a lot of swearing?”

  “Precisely,” Bartholomew said, a distinctly smug flick of his tail. “Your resourcefulness, however unconventional, is undeniable. And your ability to question established norms,” he glanced pointedly at Ser Kalen, “is refreshing.”

  Ser Kalen, bless his earnest heart, looked bewildered. “But Mistress Paige is not a warrior. Nor a mage.”“True,” Bartholomew conceded. “But she possesses a keen intellect and a remarkable capacity for… observation. And sometimes, Ser Kalen, the most potent weapon is not a sword or a spell, but a fresh perspective. Now, go. Gather your maps. We will reconvene at sundown. And Mistress Paige…” Bartholomew’s gaze softened, if only slightly. “Try not to attract any more… unwanted attention. This valley is not as empty as it appears.”“Careful, Barty, that sounded suspiciously like praise.” I smiled slightly. I was confused as hell, but it was nice to hear that I was potentially good for something.

  As Ser Kalen scurried off, a renewed sense of purpose in his stride, I found myself staring at Bartholomew, a strange mix of apprehension and reluctant excitement churning within me. I had stumbled into a world of magic and monsters, and my chances of survival felt about as slim as my chances of getting a decent Wi-Fi signal. But as I watched Bartholomew, the ancient Warden disguised as a fluffy Persian cat, prepare to delve into the heart of Eldoria’s arcane secrets, a tiny ember of determination flickered within me.

  Maybe I wasn’t entirely useless. Maybe, just maybe, I could be more than just a damsel in distress. Maybe I could be the sassy, sarcastic sidekick who accidentally saved the world. And who knew? Perhaps Bartholomew was right. Perhaps my very existence here, my ‘disruption’ of the natural order, was the key. Or maybe I just really, really wanted to learn how to wield a magic cat’s cosmic plumbing skills. Either way, it was a far more interesting prospect than going back to whatever soul-crushing job awaited me in my own dimension.

  A faint shimmer caught my eye, a subtle distortion in the air near the edge of the clearing. It was like heat haze, but colder, more ethereal. Bartholomew had mentioned the valley was alive with energy. Was this a manifestation of it? Curiosity, the eternal bane of my existence, tugged at me.“What’s that?” I asked, pointing.

  Bartholomew followed my gaze, his whiskers twitching. “Ah. Some of the smaller ley lines appear to be… agitated. The influx of magic, coupled with Ser Kalen’s recent efforts to… impress me, have caused minor fluctuations.” He yawned, a surprisingly delicate display. “Nothing to concern yourself with, Mistress Paige. It is merely… ambient magic. Best left undisturbed.”

  But the shimmering pulsed again, and this time, I saw it. Fleeting, almost subliminal, shapes danced within the distortion. Not mere patterns of light, but fleeting glimpses of… something else. Something familiar, yet alien. Like half-remembered dreams.“Undisturbed?” I scoffed, already taking a step forward. “Bartholomew, I’ve spent half my life trying to figure out what people aren’t saying. If there’s something here, even if it’s just ‘ambient magic,’ I’m going to look.”

  Bartholomew let out a long-suffering sigh. “As you wish, Mistress Paige. But do not say I did not warn you. The currents of magic, when agitated, can be unpredictable.”

  Ignoring his pronouncement, I moved towards the treeline at the base of the hill. As I drew closer, the air grew colder, the shimmering more intense. The fragments of images within it coalesced, becoming clearer. They were memories. Snippets of my own life, overlaid with scenes I’d never witnessed, places I’d never been. The mundane reality of my old apartment, juxtaposed with towering, alien cities and swirling nebulae. It was disorienting, almost nauseating.

  The shimmer disappeared. I glanced around, bewildered at its sudden absence, when I heard a sizzling sound deeper in the treeline. I followed it and found the shimmer again, about fifty yards away. The images were different this time, both more and less familiar. They shifted too quickly to take in all the details, but one I did catch was a city of elves with a twisting white spire surrounded by snow-capped mountains. The shimmer vanished again as I approached, but I had half expected it to. It was leading me somewhere, that much was obvious, and I followed. Another fifty yards or so, and I came into a clearing in the trees. A ring of standing stones filled it, each over thirty feet tall. There were nine of them in all, carved with runes that glowed a faint, flickering pink. Purple mist clung to the forest floor, reflecting the light. The shimmer had reappeared in the center of the ring. I approached it, and the images cycled faster.

  Then, a new image flickered into existence, sharper than the rest. It was a face. A woman’s face. Her eyes were the color of storm clouds, her hair the shade of midnight. And her expression was one of immense sorrow and a desperate plea. She held a small, dark amulet, its surface etched with runes that seemed to thrum with malevolent energy.“Who is that?” I breathed, reaching out a hand towards the shimmering light. My fingers brushed against the distortion, and a jolt, not of electricity, but of pure, raw information, coursed through me. Images flashed through my mind at an alarming rate: battles fought under alien skies, ancient rituals performed in forgotten temples, the chilling laughter of an unseen entity.

  Suddenly, a voice, not spoken aloud but clear as a bell within my mind, echoed: “The Shadow Lord… his power is not solely of this realm. He draws strength from… elsewhere. The amulet… it is a conduit. He must be stopped…”

  The vision shattered. The shimmering winked out, and the runes fell dark, leaving behind only the ordinary, dappled light of the forest. I stumbled back, my heart pounding, my mind reeling. Bartholomew was beside me in an instant, his sleek fur brushing against my leg.“Mistress Paige!” he exclaimed, his voice laced with genuine alarm. “What did you see? Are you unharmed?”

  I shook my head, trying to clear the fog from my mind. “I… I saw a woman. And an amulet. She said the Shadow Lord… he’s not just from here. He’s drawing power from somewhere else. And that amulet is how he does it.”

  Bartholomew’s eyes widened, his usual hauteur replaced by a rare expression of shock.“From elsewhere… A conduit… This is significant. It changes everything.” He looked at me, his gaze intense. “You did not merely glimpse ambient magic, Mistress Paige. You have touched upon a truth that has remained hidden for centuries. It appears your detour might be more crucial than any of us initially surmised.”

  A grim determination settled over me. My quest for a quick exit had led me to the heart of a cosmic conflict. And apparently, I—a comms major with a penchant for sarcasm—was now privy to secrets about the Shadow Lord that even the esteemed Warden Bartholomew had missed. This world was a whole lot bigger and a whole lot more complicated than I’d bargained for.