It didn't take long for Rose and her misfit crew to stumble into trouble again. In fact, it took exactly three days, two pies, and one highly suspicious talking goat.
They'd set up temporary camp in a mossy glade on the edge of Emberfen, where the trees were slowly un-scorching and the birds were starting to remember how to sing again. Rose was roasting mushrooms over a modest fire. Mortain sat beside her, sketching new rune patterns in the dirt, while Nimbus floated lazily overhead, absorbing sunlight like a magical sponge.
Basil had declared himself "Minister of Snacks and Explosives" and was busy burying jars in the soil labeled "definitely not cursed jam."
Then came the bleating.
Followed by actual words:
"Oi! You with the hair! I've got a bone to pick!"
Rose turned around slowly. A goat—white, slightly singed, with one golden eye and a straw hat perched on its horn—was standing on a log and looking deeply offended.
"Are you talking to me?" she asked, pointing at herself.
"Of course I am! Do you see any other sentient witches with dramatic fire magic and a goblin who smells like cinnamon and guilt?"
Basil looked vaguely flattered.
Mortain raised an eyebrow. "Please tell me this is a hallucination."
The goat stomped once. "My name is Gregory. I used to be the Arch-Warden of the Eighth Circle. Now I'm stuck in this furry flesh prison because someone reversed the Mouthless King's binding spells without reading the subtext!"
Rose stood, brushing ash off her coat. "Okay. First of all, rude. Second, subtext is for cowards."
Nimbus whispered, "He's very fluffy for an Arch-Warden."
Gregory snorted. "Fluffy and vengeful. I demand a magical audit. And tea."
"You're lucky I like chaos," Rose muttered. She conjured a teacup, half out of curiosity and half out of pity. It floated toward the goat. He sipped with one dainty hoof raised.
"Mmm. Chamomile. Acceptable."
Mortain looked at Rose. "You do attract strange company."
She smirked. "Takes one to know one."
Gregory the Goat explained, between sips, that when the King fell, all the bindings he'd put on magical beings began unraveling. Some gently. Others... less so.
"Lots of entities are loose now," he said. "Not all of them were villains. But some—oh ho, some make the King look like a bedtime story."
Rose groaned. "We really can't get a week off, can we?"
"Nope," said Basil cheerfully, poking the fire with a licorice stick. "Evil never sleeps. But neither does tea."
Gregory nodded. "You lot broke the silence. Now you have to help clean up the noise."
Mortain looked thoughtful. "So we're... peacekeepers now?"
Rose smirked, summoning her staff. "More like troublemakers for the right cause."
Nimbus buzzed with excitement. "Shall I update our team motto?"
"Sure," Rose said. "Make it: 'We fix magical disasters—sometimes on purpose.'"
And so, with a talking goat in tow and a fresh mess waiting beyond the trees, the unlikely heroes packed up and headed out—once again, toward madness.