Chapter 17: "The Fern, the Feelings, and Lyria's Emotional Band-Aid"
War had broken out. Not the kind with swords and honor. The kind with potted plants screaming revolution.
And in the chaos, I was hit.
By a fern.
Not just any fern. A judgmental one. With angry fronds and an aura of unresolved trauma.
> "DOWN WITH FOOT TRAFFIC!" it shrieked as it smacked me square in the face.
I went down. Dramatically. Emotionally.
> "Oh my gods," Petunia gasped. "He's been wounded."
> "It wasn't even sharp," Arcanos said, stepping over me.
> "The pain is internal," I whispered from the floor.
> "Sir Clucksworth demands retribution," Wilfred added, raising the tiny chicken lance.
Kevin honked sadly. Grubnuk brought me a breadstick and tried to tuck me in.
But what I really needed was Lyria.
She arrived like glitter-based karma. Floating slightly off the ground. Reading a book titled "How to Emotionally Repair Idiots."
> "Really?" she asked, looking down at me. "A fern?"
> "It said my vibes were trash," I sniffled.
She sighed. Waved a hand. A soft pink light wrapped around me like a warm blanket of passive-aggressive healing.
> "There. You are healed. From your overwhelming need for validation."
> "...That burns more than the fern."
> "Good. Then it's working."
She flicked my forehead. Magic pulsed. My feelings hurt less. Sort of.
> "Next time," Lyria said, "Try getting emotionally wrecked by something cooler. Like a dragon. Or taxes."
> "Taxes are emotional damage," Arcanos chimed in.
The battlefield calmed. The plants unionized peacefully. The prince issued a royal apology while being pelted with daisies.
And I? I stood. Not because I was brave. But because the fern was watching. Judging. Again.
---
Just as the group began to recover, a distant sound echoed across the garden.
Chittering. Louder. Closer.
> "Oh no," I muttered. "Not again."
Out of the forest poured an army of squirrels.
Battle armor. Tiny siege weapons. A war cry that sounded suspiciously like battle kazoo solos.
> "THEY'VE COME FOR VENGEANCE!" Arcanos shouted.
> "WHAT DID YOU DO TO THEM?!" Lyria screamed over the chaos.
> "I may have stolen a sacred acorn two chapters ago," I admitted.
Sir Clucksworth honked in horror. The palace was overrun within minutes. Velvet burned. The tea fountains shattered. Birds screamed into handkerchiefs.
Prince Dandelion tried to negotiate. Then offered them monogrammed nuts. Then ran.
> "TO MORTAX!" he shrieked, tripping over a fox-shaped pillow.
We all followed.
Kevin dive-bombed squirrels like a feathery fighter jet. Grubnuk pushed the royal carriage despite not being asked. The protest trees cheered as the squirrels claimed victory.
And thus, we fled.
Back toward Mortax. The dragon. The bureaucrat. Our only hope.
End of Chapter 17 (Emotional wounds take time. But squirrel invasions take everyone.)