“Excuse me,” I said, my voice a squeak. I cleared my throat, aiming for my usual brand of unimpressed waitress-voice. “Level sixteen? What is this, a premium expansion pack I didn’t pay for? I’m still trying to process the whole ‘my cat is basically Gandalf with a hairball problem’ thing.”
Bartholomew blinked, a slow, deliberate motion that conveyed more aristocratic disdain than a duchess finding a fly in her sherry. The ancient power in his eyes receded slightly, replaced by his more familiar look of weary judgment. He hopped gracefully from the ledge he’d been perched on, his fluffy gray tail held aloft like a royal standard.
“Do not concern yourself with the crude mechanics of your… interface,” he sniffed, padding away from me back toward the orrery. “It is merely the universe’s clumsy attempt to translate cosmic imperatives into a format your simplistic, screen-addled mind can comprehend.”
“Hey! My mind is complex and full of… well, song lyrics and anxiety, mostly. But it’s not simplistic.” I followed him, my boots padding softly on the polished floor. We emerged back into a vast, circular cavern, the air cold and smelling of damp stone and metal. In the center of the cavern stood the source of the strange light and my newest existential crisis: the orrery.
“So, you’re a Warden,” I stated, trying to sound like I was catching on. “You ward things. Great. What, exactly, are you warding? And why did you pick my Silver Spring apartment as your secret magical hideout? The rent’s decent, but the amenities are hardly fit for an ageless cosmic entity.”
He stopped beside the orrery, the light from its miniature sun glinting in his green eyes.
“I did not pick your residence, Paige. I was… diminished. Bound to a form that would be overlooked. A creature of quiet dignity and minimal physical exertion.”
“A cat.”
“A superior life form, yes,” he said with a flick of his ear. “My charge, the reason for my existence, is to observe and guard the barriers between realms. This,” he gestured with his head towards the glowing model, “is a rudimentary map. Not of stars and planets, but of planes. Realities stacked like pages in a book.”
He pointed a claw at the emerald sphere. “We are here. The Prime Material. Solid, dependable, full of tiresome mortals with their fleeting lives and dreadful cooking.” He then indicated the other, brighter spheres. “The bright stars are Elemental Planes. Dimmer ones are the Fae Wilds. Places of raw creation, pure chaos, and beings that would make this world’s Shadow Lord look like a common bully.”
My eyes were drawn to something else. Orbiting the entire system, far out in the cold darkness of the cavern, was another sphere that I hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t a gem. It was a lump of obsidian, a sphere of absolute void that seemed to drink the light around it, giving nothing back. It moved on a sickly, decaying orbit, sometimes swinging dangerously close to the emerald world. A faint, corrupting shadow bled from it, trailing behind it like celestial smog.
“And what’s that emo-looking one out there?” I asked, my voice hushed.Bartholomew’s fur seemed to bristle.
“That is the reason for my watch. It is a shade, a cancerous reflection. The Realm of Shadow. It is not a true plane of existence, but an echo that has gained its own malevolent consciousness. It feeds on life, on light, on hope. It is a parasite on the cosmic tapestry, and its master, the ‘Shadow Lord,’ is merely the will of that empty, hungry place given form.”
I stared at the black sphere, a cold dread seeping into my bones that had nothing to do with the cavern’s chill. I could almost feel its wrongness, its anti-existence. All my life, the biggest threats had been midterms, bad dates, and the ever-present specter of student loan debt. Now, I was staring at the literal embodiment of capital-E Evil.
“Okay,” I breathed. “So, the new quest… it wants me to go there? To the interdimensional home of all things spooky and depressing?”
“Precisely,” Bartholomew said, his tone grim. “Though your choice of words is rather crude. The Shadow Lord has found a way to weaken the barriers. This world, Eldoria, is his primary target. He leeches its magic, drains its vitality, preparing it for consumption. To stop him, the source of his power must be confronted. One must walk into the heart of the shadow to extinguish the flame that casts it.”
It all clicked into place with a sickening thud. That must be why Eldoria seemed so bleak and, well, flat. That emptiness was the palpable sense of a world slowly dying. It wasn’t just a fantasy trope; it was a cosmic invasion.
“But why me?” I demanded, turning on him. “You’re the big-shot Warden! This is your job description. I’m a communications major who can barely communicate my way out of a parking ticket. My most valuable skill is reciting the entire draft beer list from memory while balancing three plates of turkey legs.”
For the first time, a genuine weariness clouded his ancient eyes. He looked down at his paws, small and gray against the dusty floor.
“As I said, I was diminished. The binding that forced me into this form also severed my connection to the greater part of my power. I am a library with its doors locked. I hold the knowledge, the history, the strategy… but I no longer possess the strength to turn the key. I can guide, I can advise, I can offer scathing critiques of your every decision, but I cannot act.” He looked up at me, his gaze piercing. “You, however… you are an anomaly. A soul from another reality, untethered to the fates of this world. The system that has grafted itself onto your perception sees you, molds you, grants you power in a way no native of this realm can comprehend. You, Paige Hawking, are the universe’s last, desperate, and frankly, deeply unqualified, loophole.”I let out a harsh laugh.
“Unqualified is my middle name.” I ran a hand through my hair, the weight of it all pressing down. A cosmic parasite. A locked-away guardian. A level-gated quest. And me, the loophole.
“One of many, it would seem.” Bartholomew rolled his eyes and began licking a paw.
“Alright,” I said, blowing out a long breath. “So. The Realm of Shadow is a no-go until I hit level sixteen. Which means I need to…what’s the term? Grind.”
Bartholomew winced as if the word physically pained him.
“While the vernacular is…odious, the sentiment is correct. You require experience. You must face challenges, overcome obstacles, and accumulate the requisite metaphysical strength that your interface crudely interprets as ‘levels’.”
“Right. Challenges and obstacles,” I muttered, my gaze sweeping the dark, empty cavern. My eyes fell on the mine entrance we’d just exited, the one filled with those creepy, chittering beetles. A slow, deeply unenthusiastic smile spread across my face. “Well, I guess I know a place with a high concentration of hostile, low-level mobs perfect for farming some XP.”Bartholomew followed my gaze and let out a long-suffering sigh, a sound that was pure, undiluted cat.
“Very well. If we must engage in such pedestrian endeavors. But I insist we find you a better weapon. The pointy stick you carry is an offense to the very concept of battle. I would also compel you to remember that you have other quests to complete as well.”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“A few mobs on the way out then. Lead the way, fluff-ball,” I said, clapping my hands together with false enthusiasm. “Let’s get this training montage started.”
The enthusiasm, false or not, died on my lips as we turned back into the maw of the mine. The darkness seemed to swallow the light from the entrance only a few feet in, and the air grew thick with the smell of damp earth and something vaguely fungal. It was the kind of smell you find in a basement that’s been seriously considering becoming a swamp.
“So, what’s the plan, coach? Are you going to blast Eye of the Tiger and cheer me on,” I asked, brandishing my pointy stick like a fencer warming up, “Or do I just poke them in silence?”Bartholomew, padding silently beside me, didn’t even grace me with a glance.
“Your objective is not merely to poke, but to vanquish. To send these wretched creatures back to the elemental chaos from whence they spawned.”
“Right. Vanquish. With a stick.”
Our first customers didn’t take long to appear. A trio of beetles, each the size of a dinner plate, scurried out from a crack in the rock wall. Their carapaces shone in the colorless gloom, and their many legs made a sound like a thousand tiny needles scratching against stone. I’d have screamed a week ago, hell, I did scream ten minutes ago. Now, I just felt a profound sense of exhaustion.
“Alright, boys, let’s do this,” I muttered, and charged.
The next ten minutes were a masterclass in undignified combat. My technique, if you could call it that, consisted of a lot of shrieking, wild swinging, and frantic backpedaling. The beetles were fast, and their mandibles clicked with alarming ferocity. I managed to flip one onto its back with a lucky jab, where it flailed its legs uselessly. The other two, I essentially cornered and bludgeoned with the non-pointy end of my stick until they stopped moving. A small, satisfying chime echoed in my head after the last one cracked, and a transparent little box popped into my vision:
[You killed a Gloom-Beetle!] [x3][+15 XP] [x3][You have collected Gloom-Beetle Chitin] [x3]
Bartholomew sniffed from a safe perch on a nearby rock.
“A truly lamentable display. You possess all the grace of a sack of potatoes falling down a flight of stairs.”
“Hey, I got the XP, didn’t I?” I shot back, breathing heavily and trying to wipe beetle guts off my arm. The goo was thick and smelled like rotten eggs. “It’s not about style points, it’s about efficiency.”
“If you consider hyperventilating and coating yourself in viscera to be ‘efficient,’ then by all means, continue your rampage.”
We continued like that for what felt like an hour. I ‘vanquished’ more beetles, a few spiders that were uncomfortably large and hairy, and one creature that looked like a slug wearing a rock as a hat. Each kill delivered a tiny trickle of XP, the invisible blue bar in my mind’s eye filling at a glacial pace. It was tedious, smelly, and deeply unsatisfying work. The training montage in my head was less Rocky and more a blooper reel from a nature documentary.
Finally, a sliver of daylight appeared ahead. The exit. Freedom from the endless damp and the chittering of overgrown bugs. But as we drew closer, a new smell cut through the earthy funk: smoke. Acrid, greasy smoke, like someone had tried to barbecue a pile of old tires.
I slowed my pace, holding the now-splintered pointy stick in a two-handed grip. Bartholomew’s ears swiveled forward, his fluffy body tensing. A low growl, like the sound of grinding stones, rumbled in his chest.
“Company,” he murmured, his voice stripped of its usual pomposity.
We crept to the edge of the mine’s opening, peering out from the shadows. Just outside, nestled in a small clearing, was a sputtering campfire. Two figures were hunched over it, turning a spit that held… well, I didn’t want to know what it held. They were short, wiry creatures, with mottled gray skin that looked tough and leathery. Their ears were long and pointed, their noses flat as though they had met a door at speed, and their teeth were a collection of jagged, yellowed points. They wore crude scraps of leather and boiled hide, and their guttural chuckles were as unpleasant as the smoke from their fire.
“Goblins?” I whispered, a jolt of real fear running through me. This wasn’t a plate-sized beetle. This was a classic, level-one fantasy monster. They had actual weapons—crude, cleaver-like things resting against a nearby rock.
“Indeed,” Bartholomew hissed. “Vile, brutish things. They infest the foothills like a pox. This, Paige, is a proper challenge.”
“This is a proper ‘let’s find another exit’ situation,” I argued, already starting to back away.
“And squander such a valuable learning opportunity? This world does not reward cowardice.”
Before I could protest further, one of the goblins looked up, its beady black eyes fixing directly on our position. It let out a sharp, barking cry and snatched up its cleaver, pointing a long, dirty-nailed finger straight at me. The other one scrambled to its feet, grabbing its own weapon. So much for the element of surprise.
“Well, crap,” I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. “They’ve aggroed.”
Bartholomew didn’t need a translation. He flattened himself to the ground as the first goblin charged, a high-pitched shriek tearing from its throat. I barely had time to brace myself. It swung its rusty cleaver in a wide, clumsy arc. I ducked, the wind of the passage stirring my hair, and jabbed upward with my pointy stick.
The tip connected with the goblin’s leather-clad stomach. It barely broke the skin, but the impact was enough to make it grunt and stumble. It also seemed to make it furious. It swiped again, and I hopped back, tripping over a loose stone and landing hard on my backside.
The world seemed to slow down. The goblin loomed over me, its foul breath washing over my face, raising its cleaver for a final, decisive blow. This was it. This was how I died. ‘Waitress from Medieval Times gets axed by a goblin in another dimension.’ It wasn’t even a cool death.
Suddenly, a blur of gray fur shot out from the shadows. Bartholomew let out a yowl that was nothing like a housecat’s. It was a terrifying, spectral shriek that echoed off the cavern walls, a sound ripped from the throat of a creature far older and more dangerous than he appeared. The goblin flinched, its head snapping toward the noise for a split second.
It was all the opening I needed.
I kicked out and scrambled to my hands and knees, I surged forward, ramming my shoulder into the back of the goblin’s knees. It howled in surprise and toppled forward, off-balance. At the same time, the second goblin, who’d been circling around, decided to join the fray. I was caught between them.
Panic and adrenaline are a potent cocktail. I didn’t think. I reacted. I grabbed a handful of dirt and gravel from the ground and flung it into the second goblin’s face. It screeched, clawing at its eyes.
Pocket sand, dick.I kicked out wildly at the first one, who was trying to get up, connecting with its head with a sickening crunch. It went limp.
One down.
The second goblin was still blinded, swinging its cleaver wildly. I got to my feet, my whole body trembling. My pointy stick was gone, probably lost when I fell. My eyes darted around, looking for a weapon, anything. My gaze landed on the campfire.
With a yell that was half-battle cry, half-terror, I grabbed a burning log from the edge of the fire. The goblin finally cleared its eyes just in time to see me swinging a piece of flaming wood at its head. It tried to bring its cleaver up to block, but it was too slow. The log connected with a shower of sparks, a hollow thump, and a horrifying sizzling sound. The goblin shrieked, a piercing, inhuman sound, and collapsed, twitching.
Silence.
The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and my own ragged, desperate gasps for air. My hands were shaking so badly I dropped the smoldering log. I was covered in dirt, my knuckles were scraped raw, and I was pretty sure I had goblin… something… on my cheek.
Then I heard it. A clear, beautiful chime, louder than any of the others. A brilliant, golden light washed over me, warm and soothing, knitting together my aches and bruises. A much larger window appeared in my vision.
[LEVEL UP!][You have reached Level 2] [All attributes increased!] [New Skill Available: Minor Heal]
[Minor Heal][Allows the user to heal themselves a small amount. Best for bumps and bruises.]
I stared at the words, a hysterical giggle bubbling up in my throat. I’d done it. I’d actually survived.
As I watched, the body of the first goblin I’d taken down began to shimmer. It didn’t vanish entirely, but it seemed to fade away, leaving behind a single object on the ground where its hip had been. It was a short sword, its blade pitted with rust and its hilt wrapped in dirty leather strips.
It was the ugliest, most pathetic-looking sword I had ever seen. A tetanus shot in weapon form.
And it was the most beautiful thing in the world.
I stumbled over and picked it up. It was heavy, real. The balance was terrible, but it was a solid, somewhat sharp piece of metal. An actual weapon.
Bartholomew padded over to me, looking remarkably composed.
“A lamentable display of flailing,” he repeated, but I thought I detected a new note in his voice. Something that might have been grudging respect. “But effective. You utilized your environment. A promising, if brutish, development.”
I found my splintered pointy stick and held it up for a moment before tossing it into the fire. I watched the pathetic thing catch and burn.
“Upgrade,” I said, giving the rusty sword a test swing. It whistled clumsily through the air. “See, fluff-ball? Told you it was a training montage.”Bartholomew gave a delicate, almost condescending sniff.
“A ‘training montage’ typically implies a discernible progression of skill. What I witnessed was more akin to a startled goat falling down a quarry. But do continue to clutch your scrap of oxidized iron. It complements the general state of your dishevelment.”
“Just let me have my moment, ‘kay?”He was right though, the sword, which I’d mentally christened ‘Rusty,’ was a monstrosity. The grip was unwrapped iron that was already trying to raise blisters on my palm, and swinging it felt like trying to throw a cinder block on a stick. Still, it was better than my pointy twig. It was a C-minus in a world of F-minuses.
Finally, we stepped out of the mine. The fading, evening sun of Eldoria hit my face, and for the first time, it didn’t feel entirely hostile. It felt earned.