Chapter 12: "Soft Moments and Slightly Magic Flowers"
For once, the world wasn't on fire.
We'd walked all day. No squirrel attacks. No runaway pastries. No sword-duck uprisings. Just... wind. Trees. And, eventually, a valley of flowers.
Not just any flowers either. These shimmered slightly. Like they were humming. Like the air had decided to take a deep breath and let it out all around us.
> "Are they dangerous?" I asked, because of course I did.
> "Only if you're allergic to beauty," Arcanos replied, dramatically sniffing one and instantly sneezing five times in a row.
> "They smell like warm bread," Grubnuk murmured, face-deep in a patch of purple ones.
Petunia had taken off her shoes and was skipping through the field like we weren't fugitives. Like the world hadn't exploded behind us.
> "This is the best non-honeymoon ever!" she called.
We camped under a crooked tree. The sun dipped into a pool of orange and purple. Someone—probably Kevin—made a tiny honk from the bushes like a blessing.
The fire crackled.
Arcanos passed around warm tea from a magical kettle that shouldn't exist. Grubnuk roasted something he claimed was edible. (It wasn't.) Petunia tried to toast marshmallows with a candle.
We talked. Laughed. Told stories that may or may not have been true.
> "I once ruled a mushroom kingdom for eight minutes," Grubnuk said.
> "I used to be a sword," Arcanos deadpanned. "Now I have opinions and debt."
> "I still think forks are psychic," Petunia whispered, like a forbidden truth.
Eventually, the fire faded. The others drifted to sleep.
I stayed up a little longer. Watching the stars blink into the sky like curious eyes. Thinking about everything.
I died. Then I lived. Then I got married. Then everything exploded.
Now I'm sitting next to a tree that smells like cinnamon, beside people who shouldn't fit together but somehow... do.
> "What even is my life?" I mutter.
No one answers. But the breeze does. It feels like a yes.
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End of Chapter 12 (Sometimes the world lets you breathe. Even if just for a moment.)