Stretched out on the stiff chair in Aunt Libel's office, I let out a heavy sigh. My arms dangle limply at my sides, and my head flops back. I'm just… done. Kaput. Completely dead. Not literally, but it might as well be. My life is a mess. No, the mess. Monumental, bottomless, catastrophic. And the worst part? I can't even blame fate, some sworn enemy, or a cursed prophecy. Nope, this is all on me. I dug this hole myself and fell right into it. Nice one, Zayn. A real masterpiece. Standing ovation, maybe?
I sit up slightly to glance around. Where's Aunt Libel, anyway? "Uh… Aunt Libel?" I mumble, a bit too dramatic, hoping she's nearby to catch my silent distress. And right on cue, as if she'd been waiting for the perfect moment, the door creaks open. There she is, grinning ear to ear, looking like she knows something I don't. And guess what? She laughs. Yes, laughs. Since I got here, that's all she's done—staring at me like I'm the funniest joke of the year.
I gape at her as she bursts into genuine, almost contagious laughter. But I'm not laughing. I cross my arms and shoot her a glare. "Oh, Zayn, my boy, you're a one-man show," she says finally, between chuckles. I narrow my eyes. "Seriously? You could at least try not to mock me." She waves off my comment, still giggling. "Oh, come on, don't make that face. You'll get through this. I promise."
I'm not convinced. I slump back into the chair, defeated, arms crossed over my chest. Aunt Libel, done laughing, sits across from me, her face a mix of amusement and indulgence. "Alright," she starts, her tone light but pointed, "let's agree on one thing: you've thoroughly, irrevocably, and undeniably screwed up. All by yourself. Well done." I roll my eyes, already over it. "Thanks, Aunt Libel, for that brilliant and totally unnecessary analysis. Because, obviously, I needed that to feel better." She shrugs, feigning innocence. "Just doing my job. Sometimes you need to hear it plain to let it sink in."
I let out a loud sigh, sinking deeper into the chair. The situation's slipping through my fingers, and Aunt Libel doesn't seem in a rush to bail me out. This isn't just a bad day—it's one of those days where everything goes wrong, and the universe seems hell-bent on burying me deeper. But of course, she just finds it all "entertaining." "Seriously," I say after a moment, "what do you expect me to do? A monster stampede isn't something you handle with a smile and an inspiring speech. And the fact that the king is a dragon… a dragon, Aunt Libel… that complicates things just a tad, don't you think?"
Her smile doesn't waver, like I'm a kid whining about a trivial problem. Which, frankly, makes this even more unbearable. "While we're at it, why not send a squad to deal with it? No, better yet, ten squads! The guild's supposed to be good at this stuff, right?" She chuckles, shaking her head like my idea's some cute, naive joke. "That'd be so much easier," she admits, "but it's not about manpower." I frown, confused. "So what's the problem? No funds? No resources?"
She leans forward slightly, and I already know I'm not going to like her answer. "The problem, Zayn, is your bet." I blink. "Your bet," she repeats, emphasizing each word. "Remember, you said—and I quote—'I bet I can handle a monster stampede blindfolded.' Apparently, Magister Drazel took you at your word." I stare, mouth slightly open, my mind teetering between disbelief and despair. "I just said okay…" "Oh, yes," she nods eagerly. "The terms are clear. You have to handle this crisis entirely alone. No backup. No help. Nothing." "This is a joke…" "I assure you, it's not," she says, her grin widening. "In fact, it's almost admirable. Not many would dare something so foolish."
I collapse back into the chair, throwing my hands up like I'm begging for divine intervention. "So what do you want me to do? Go get eaten by a dragon and a horde of monsters?" "Of course not," she says, straightening up. I let out another long, resigned sigh. Aunt Libel flashes a smile. I squint, wary. That kind of smile from her never means anything good. Then she drops one word, heavy with promise, enough to make my heart leap: "But…" I bolt upright. "But?" I echo, with the eagerness of a condemned man offered a last-minute reprieve.
My voice betrays my rising hope, but before I can launch into a grateful rant, Aunt Libel raises a hand, commanding silence. I shut my mouth reluctantly, crossing my arms. She takes her time, like every word needs careful weighing, which only fuels my frustration. "Let me finish, Zayn." "Fine, I'm listening," I grumble, slumping back again. "Good. Listen carefully, because this is important," she starts, her voice calm. "A magister, especially someone as prominent as you, can't afford to travel alone. You understand what that means, right?"
I raise an eyebrow, trying to follow her logic. "Uh… that I'm scared of monsters?" I offer innocently. She gives me an exasperated look but presses on like I didn't say anything. "It means you need an escort. Or, at the very least, an assistant. Someone to accompany you, support you, and make sure everything goes smoothly." I blink, and slowly, a grin spreads across my face. Finally, a solution in this sea of problems! I sit up, pointing a triumphant finger at her. "So it's settled! You're coming with me, obviously. Makes sense, right? You're my assistant, after all."
But instead of nodding, she shakes her head slowly. "No." Her refusal is blunt, final, and brutally disarming. I freeze, words catching in my throat. "What do you mean, no?" I manage, indignation rising like a tide. But Aunt Libel, unfazed, just raises a finger to silence me again. She takes a deep breath before dropping the bomb: "This is the perfect opportunity for you, Zayn." I narrow my eyes, suspicious. "Opportunity for what? To die a heroic idiot?" She rolls her eyes, a gesture she's practically mastered. "The opportunity to find your own assistant."
It hits like a sledgehammer. I stare, wide-eyed. "My own… assistant? But why? You're right here! Why would I need another one?" "Because," she says with infuriating calm, "technically, I'm your late father's assistant. Not yours." Her words douse me like cold water. I'm speechless, unable to muster a coherent reply. "It's time you took on your responsibilities," she continues, her tone blending amusement and seriousness. "And that includes finding someone to support you."
I shake my head, still in disbelief. "But… you're already here! It makes no sense! Why look for another assistant when you're perfectly capable of helping me?" "Because," she says, pausing for dramatic effect, her eyes glinting with mischief, "either you take the time to find an assistant, or… you go alone." I swallow hard, the weight of her threat sinking in. My eyes dart from the towering, menacing stack of documents to Aunt Libel, whose smug smile makes me want to bolt. "Damn it," I mutter, defeated.
She bursts out laughing. I slump into the chair, crossing my arms with a sulky pout. I glare at the stack of papers with an intensity that, in a perfect world, would make them vanish by sheer willpower. But no. They sit there, looming, almost mocking. Aunt Libel watches me with that faintly amused smile, like this is all just a fun little game. I sigh. But wait a second… she mentioned an escort or an assistant, right? My brain latches onto the idea like a lifeline. If I pick an escort, that counts, doesn't it? A well-armed escort, ready to back me up… perfect.
But before I can flesh out this brilliant plan, Aunt Libel raises a finger, her smile turning unsettlingly wide. "Don't even think about it." I blink, thrown off. "What? I didn't do anything!" "No, but you were thinking about it," she shoots back. I sink deeper into the chair, crossing my arms with a petulant scowl. "Maybe I was… but it's a good idea, right? An escort makes way more sense than an assistant! They could handle the monsters while I… supervise." "Oh, really?" She arches an eyebrow. I wince. My gaze drifts back to the stack of documents. They sit there, unmoving, taunting me. "Damn it…"