I looked at the half-devil. He gazed back at me gently, concern softening his sharp features as he leaned down to my level.

  I clutched the squirrel like a raft keeping me afloat.

  I didn’t want the attention — and now all five of the remaining figures were staring at me. Tears slipped down my cheeks, silent but real.

  I was never a truly shy girl. Mother had drilled manners into me, which meant speaking up whether I wanted to or not. But every little girl has moments of insecurity. Even Sandy had hers.

  A long moment passed before Grandpa Prosic spoke.

  “Benson, are you alright?”

  I stared at my shoes. Dirt had worked its way onto the leather. I hoped if I stayed quiet long enough, I might become invisible.

  But Prosic knew my weaknesses.

  “Let me ask you, lass… do you like stories?”

  My head lifted just a little.

  “’Cause you’re in for a treat, my dear. What are the chances you get stories from allies like these?”

  I wiped my eyes. “I like stories,” I murmured.

  The half-devil looked at me even softer, as if he might pick me up and carry me somewhere safe.

  “I’ll tell you this, girl,” Prosic said, pointing at the paladin. “Back in my heyday, I watched this bloke defeat a were-camel all by himself.”

  The paladin shot Prosic a sharp look… then nodded solemnly.

  “And my pal over here,” Prosic boomed, gesturing at the Postman, “he stole the king’s crown!”

  The man stared at Prosic in shock, like a secret had just been revealed. Then he looked around and muttered, “Uh… yeah. That happened.”

  His voice was low and raspy, as if he hadn’t spoken all day. He pulled up a chair and joined us by the brazier, taking the invitation without saying so.

  Prosic smiled as he saw my fear fading.

  “Go on, you lot,” he said. “Tell her one of your best stories!”

  A beat passed before the paladin spoke.

  “Hello. I am Tristan Margravan,” he said evenly. “Before I traveled with your grandfather, I was lost in a cave.” He paused, searching his memory. “I heard the roars of a cave troll. It took me a day or two to find the beast… but I did. And I made sure it never hurt another soul.”

  My eyes widened. “Was it ugly?”

  Tristan smirked. “Hideous.”

  I snapped my mouth shut, realizing I’d been staring.

  “How about you, Dragon?” Prosic said. “You’ve got to top that.”

  The dragonkin looked like he might ignore him… then reconsidered.

  “I am Xar’kul,” he said. His voice surprised me — rough, street-like, not scholarly at all. He paused, eyes unfocusing as memory took him. “My mother used to read to me in our library. She created fiery illusions to act out the stories. The shelves were so high it would take half a day to climb them.”

  He leaned closer. “Unless you can fly.”

  I imagined a library the size of a mountain, dragons fluttering like librarians among the shelves.

  Prosic slapped his knee approvingly and turned to the Thu’nul.

  The man straightened, clearly waiting for his moment. He inhaled deeply — dramatic seemed to be his natural state.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “I am Vyxis,” he announced, hand over his heart, voice rich and theatrical. “In my travels, I once found myself at an enclave fire pit, the cold creeping in, and dozens of women gathered around me for warmth—”

  “Wonderful story,” Prosic cut in, smiling but giving him a very pointed look.

  Vyxis only smiled wider and leaned back, unfazed.

  Prosic turned to the Postman. “How about you, lad? Something attuned to the lass here.”

  The man studied us all, then looked at me.

  “I’m Ed Brown,” he said quietly. “I woke up from a long sleep in a field. Thought I was done. But I got up… and finished off the ones who put me there.”

  The others blinked at him, unsure what he meant.

  Ed blinked back.

  “Well!” Prosic said loudly. “Let me tell you a tale of when the five of us first came to know one another.”

  He spoke for a long time. Tristan and Vyxis jumped in now and then, adding details of their shared adventures. Vyxis fetched me a Fairy Tale Biscuit from the banquet while I listened.

  Ed and Xar’kul listened too, silent and still.

  The tale was full of fate, monsters, and impossible odds. Somewhere during a story about traveling through the Monsoons… I fell asleep.

  I don’t know how long later I woke.

  The candles burned low. The music from the other rooms had stopped.

  Prosic was hunched forward, snoring softly, his head propped up by his cane. Tristan sat stiff in his chair, eyes closed but posture still soldier-straight. Xar’kul had fallen asleep near the buffet, a plate still in his claws, his maw slightly open.

  Ed lay against the door, asleep, feet braced against it like a barricade.

  But Vyxis was awake.

  He sat against the wall, golden eyes open, watching me like a sentinel. There was no mischief in his face now — only quiet vigilance.

  Like it was his job to make sure I was safe.

  I wanted to say something.

  But sleep pulled me back under.

  I had never worried much about dreams or nightmares. My father used to say they existed to remind us we must wake up. I always felt he meant more than sleep when he said that.

  But that night was the first time I remembered a dream in its entirety.

  Senad had said the Dream Squirrel would give good dreams. It did — just not in the way I expected.

  The dream eased into existence.

  I was walking through the woods just outside Melrose — the Schulyer Woods. Sunlight poured through the canopy, and the forest hummed with life. A melody seemed to rise from the trees themselves.

  A figure stood ahead.

  I couldn’t see him fully, but he wore a green tunic, a bow and quiver slung across his back. He turned his head, looking toward something off to the side. I followed his gaze and saw an elven woman walking calmly through the woods.

  She stopped.

  She looked at me.

  The dream shifted.

  I stood now inside Father Bruno Tilden’s main cathedral. The archer was there again. He turned, and so did Father Tilden. He was teaching a young girl.

  I tried to see her face.

  The dream changed again.

  A battle raged. Bandits clashed with familiar figures — Tristan, Vyxis, Xar’kul, Ed, Grandpa Prosic… and two others I couldn’t quite make out. They defended what looked like a small town.

  Prosic wasn’t old. He was young, riding a great caribou into battle, hammer and shield in hand.

  A large squirrel-like man struck enemies with furious blows.

  I tried to focus—

  The dream shifted.

  A long road stretched ahead, leading to a massive circus tent in the distance. I walked toward it for what felt like hours, though I knew it must have been moments.

  I felt no exhaustion. No fear.

  Only comfort.

  “Go, Benson,” a voice said.

  The dream faded again.

  “Benethasia.”

  The voice grew clearer.

  “Benethasia.”

  My mother’s voice.

  My eyes opened.

  Everything was blurry at first. Then shapes sharpened.

  My mother and father stood above me, smiling.

  “How was your sleepover?” my father asked, kneeling to ruffle my hair.

  I smiled.

  I stood and saw Grandpa Prosic watching us, smiling softly. Go on, he mouthed.

  I jumped into my father’s arms. My mother joined us, and we hugged tightly.

  Over their shoulders, I saw Prosic’s allies speaking with Father Tilden, now back in his robes. He looked… bothered. Not the same theatrical man from the night before.

  I looked around the room, searching.

  And found him.

  Jupiter.

  But my stomach dropped.

  His left hand was wrapped in thick bandages.

  He had lost it.

  Worry and confusion rushed through me — what happened? — but the feeling softened when he looked at me. The same look as before. Duty. Calm. A quiet acknowledgment.

  Like he had accepted it.

  And then. He smiled at me. A genuine smile.

  I felt blood rush to my face as my parents pulled back from the hug.

  “Let’s get you home,” my mother said gently.

  People were filing out, some forming a line to thank Father Tilden.

  And then I looked at my hand.

  The Mark of Tar’Tesh was gone.

  Relief flooded me — but curiosity followed fast.

  How? Did Jupiter help? Did they defeat Tar’Tesh? Will it come back?

  I looked toward Prosic. He stood with his companions. They all saw me and gave small waves. Vyxis nodded with a soft smile.

  “Benethasia,” my mother said, nudging me toward Father Tilden. “Go on.”

  They expected me to thank him.

  But that wasn’t what came out.

  I handed the Dream Squirrel to my father. He looked at me with quiet understanding.

  Then I looked up at Father Tilden.

  “Can you teach me?”

  My father started to protest, but the eccentric priest beat him to it.

  “Of course!” he exclaimed, kneeling surprisingly easily. “If you can get through this, who knows what you’re made of?”

  I smiled.

  I knew my parents would fight this. Especially my mother.

  But I couldn’t shake the dream.

  Father Tilden teaching a girl.

  It had felt too real. Was that.. Me?

  That was the moment — at ten years old — I decided.

  I wanted to be an adven

  turer.

  I wanted to be a hero like Jupiter.

  Like Ed. Tristan. Vyxis. Xar’kul.

  And no one — no one — was going to stop me.