Adrian's apartment building had always been a study in aggressive mediocrity. Built sometime in the late seventies with all the architectural ambition of a refrigerator box, it featured thin walls, thinner carpets, and the kind of fluorescent lighting that made everyone look like they were dying of consumption.
Today, however, as Adrian climbed the stairs to his third-floor unit, he noticed some changes.
For starters, the hallway lights weren't fluorescent anymore. They appeared to be floating orbs of soft, warm light that followed him as he walked, dimming and brightening in response to his mood. When he paused to stare at one, it bobbed encouragingly and made a tiny chiming sound.
"Okay," Adrian said to the light. "That's new."
The light chimed again, more enthusiastically.
Adrian's neighbor, Mrs. Patterson, opened her door as he passed. Mrs. Patterson was eighty-three years old, owned seventeen cats, and had never spoken to Adrian beyond the occasional disapproving grunt when his music was too loud. Today, she was practically glowing with excitement.
"Adrian!" she exclaimed, which was startling enough that Adrian jumped and nearly tripped over what appeared to be a small dragon sitting in the hallway.
He looked down. It was definitely a dragon. About the size of a house cat, with scales that shifted between blue and silver, tiny wings that were fluttering nervously, and eyes that held far more intelligence than anything that small had a right to possess.
"Mrs. Patterson," Adrian said slowly, "there's a dragon in the hallway."
"Oh, that's just Harold," she said dismissively. "He's been waiting for you for hours. Very polite, though. He helped me bring up my groceries."
Adrian stared at the dragon—Harold, apparently—who gave him what could only be described as a sheepish wave with one tiny claw.
"Harold is a dragon," Adrian stated.
"Well, yes, dear. Herald dragon, to be specific. He's got a delivery for you. I told him you weren't home yet, so he helped me reorganize my spice cabinet while he waited. Lovely creature, very good with alphabetization."
Harold puffed out his tiny chest proudly and squeaked something that might have been words in a language Adrian didn't recognize.
"Right," Adrian said faintly. "Of course. Herald dragon. In my hallway. Helping with spice organization."
"Oh, and Adrian," Mrs. Patterson continued, "I just want to say how proud we all are of you. The whole building's been talking about it all day."
"Talking about what?"
"Your heroic deed, of course! It's all over the magical news networks. Channel Seven did a whole segment about it during the afternoon broadcast. Very flattering photo of you, though they did mention your shirt was on inside-out."
Adrian looked down. His shirt was, indeed, still inside-out. Somehow, in all the chaos of magical registration and hero scheduling, he'd completely forgotten about his clothing situation.
"There are magical news networks?"
"Oh yes, dear. I get the Supernatural Cable Package. Excellent programming. There's this wonderful cooking show where they prepare meals for different mythological creatures. Last week they did a whole episode on proper troll cuisine."
Harold the herald dragon squeaked impatiently and held up a tiny scroll tied with a ribbon that seemed to be made of condensed rainbow.
"I should probably..." Adrian gestured vaguely at his door.
"Of course! Don't let me keep you. Though I do hope you'll sign my copy of today's Hero Gazette when you have a moment. Front page story, you know."
Mrs. Patterson retreated into her apartment, and Adrian could hear her excitedly talking to her cats: "That's right, Mr. Whiskers, we live next door to a real hero! Front page of the Hero Gazette!"
Adrian fumbled with his keys while Harold watched patiently. The lock, which usually required a specific combination of jiggling, cursing, and threatening, opened smoothly on the first try.
"That's also new," Adrian muttered.
His apartment, which he'd left in its usual state of controlled chaos, was now immaculate. Not just clean—immaculate. His dishes had been washed and put away, his laundry folded and organized, his books alphabetized, and his three dying houseplants were now vibrant and green and had somehow doubled in size.
More concerningly, his living room was full of stuff that definitely hadn't been there when he left for work.
A massive pile of mail sat on his coffee table, which had been replaced by what appeared to be a coffee table carved from a single piece of crystal. The mail was sorted into neat stacks, each labeled with floating letters that hung in the air above the piles: "CONGRATULATIONS," "OFFICIAL HERO BUSINESS," "MAGICAL SERVICES," "FAN MAIL," and "URGENT."
Harold fluttered up to perch on the arm of Adrian's couch—which was still his couch, but now seemed to be upholstered in fabric that shifted colors depending on the angle of view—and held out his tiny scroll expectantly.
"Right," Adrian said, taking the scroll. "Thank you, Harold."
Harold squeaked proudly, did a little loop in the air, and flew out the window, which Adrian was fairly certain had been closed when he left.
He unrolled the scroll:
"Dear Adrian the Magnificent,
Congratulations on your heroic registration! As a newly registered hero, you are now eligible for our complete suite of heroic services, including but not limited to:
Magical home improvements (completed while you were out!)
Heroic mail sorting and organization services
Emergency hero communication network
Complimentary heroic wardrobe consultation
Dragon transportation scheduling
Monster insurance (comprehensive coverage for encounters with creatures up to and including world-ending entities)
Please find enclosed your Heroic Welcome Package, delivered throughout your residence for your convenience.
Heroically yours,
The Department of Heroic Affairs
P.S. - Your refrigerator has been upgraded to include provisions appropriate for your new status. The ice cream selection is particularly impressive."
Adrian walked to his kitchen and opened his refrigerator, which was indeed no longer his refrigerator. The small, apartment-sized unit had been replaced by something that belonged in a high-end restaurant, humming quietly and emanating a soft, pleasant light.
Inside, his usual collection of leftover takeout and expired condiments had been replaced by... well, everything. Fresh fruits that seemed to glow with their own inner light, vegetables that looked like they'd been harvested moments ago, meats he couldn't identify, and an entire shelf dedicated to ice cream flavors he'd never heard of: "Phoenix Fire Swirl," "Dragon's Dream," "Heroic Vanilla Bean," and "Courage-Berry Crunch."
"I don't even like ice cream that much," Adrian said to his kitchen, which sparkled back at him approvingly.
He returned to the living room and began examining the mail. The "CONGRATULATIONS" pile contained dozens of cards from what appeared to be every magical organization in existence:
"Congratulations on your heroic deed! - The International Guild of Dragon Tamers"
"Welcome to the heroic life! - The Brotherhood of Brave Deeds"
"We salute your courage! - The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Magical Creatures"
"Well done! - The Union of Benevolent Necromancers"
The "FAN MAIL" pile was smaller but somehow more concerning. The letters were written on everything from parchment to what appeared to be pressed flower petals, and the return addresses included places like "The Fairy Kingdom," "Underwater Palace #7," and "That Big Tree Where All the Elves Live."
Adrian opened one at random:
"Dear Magnificent Adrian,
I saw your heroic deed on the crystal ball news and wanted to tell you how inspiring it was! I'm a young dragon (only 847 years old) and I've been too shy to talk to humans, but your brave action has given me the courage to try!
Would you like to be pen pals? I can offer excellent advice about treasure management and proper cave maintenance.
Your admiring fan,
Sparkletooth the Somewhat Fierce
P.S. - I included some of my favorite gems as a thank-you gift. They're in the small pouch that's probably glowing somewhere in your apartment."
Adrian looked around and spotted a small, glowing pouch on his bookshelf. Inside were three gems that looked like they belonged in a museum, along with a tiny note: "These are just my everyday gems. Wait until you see my special occasion collection! - S."
The "OFFICIAL HERO BUSINESS" pile was thicker and more intimidating. Most of it appeared to be bureaucratic forms:
"Heroic Tax Status Update (Form 77-B)"
"Registration for Heroic Liability Insurance"
"Application for Magical Weapon Permit"
"Hero Academy Dormitory Assignment and Roommate Matching Survey"
The roommate survey was particularly daunting:
"Please rate your compatibility with the following:
Reformed demons (Scale of 1-10)
Apprentice wizards (likely to accidentally summon things)
Dragon princes (may occasionally burst into flames when emotional)
Time travelers (schedule conflicts probable)
Prophecy subjects (destiny issues may cause roommate drama)"
Adrian stared at the survey. Every option sounded like a sitcom premise written by someone who had never actually watched television.
His phone, which had been quiet since its magical evolution, suddenly began playing what sounded like a fanfare composed entirely of chimes and tiny explosions. The screen lit up with a message:
"URGENT HEROIC NOTIFICATION: Dragon transportation to Hero Academy has been scheduled for Friday, 8:00 AM. Please be ready on your apartment building rooftop. Dragon name: Majestic Kevin. Favorite snacks: Pretzels (ironic, we know). Please have luggage ready for dormitory move-in."
"Majestic Kevin?" Adrian said aloud.
His phone chimed: "Kevin prefers his full title but will respond to 'Kevin' in casual conversation. He is very friendly and only slightly prone to motion sickness. Please pack dramamine for the trip."
Adrian sat down heavily on his color-changing couch and looked around his transformed apartment. In the span of eight hours, his life had gone from mundane customer service routine to... this. Whatever this was.
His reflection in the crystal coffee table showed a young man in an inside-out shirt, mismatched socks, and an expression of complete bewilderment. He looked exactly like someone who was definitely not hero material.
"Okay," he said to his apartment, which seemed to be listening. "Okay. I can handle this. It's just... a lot of changes at once. People handle big life changes all the time. I can adapt."
His refrigerator hummed encouragingly.
"I'll go to this Hero Academy thing, I'll figure out what's going on, and then I'll politely explain that there's been a mistake. I'll get this whole hero registration thing sorted out, and then everything can go back to normal."
One of his newly vibrant houseplants rustled its leaves in what sounded suspiciously like plant laughter.
"It's going to be fine," Adrian insisted. "How complicated can hero school possibly be?"
At that exact moment, his phone exploded with notifications:
"Reminder: Dragon Riding Safety Course - Mandatory for all new students"
"Welcome Package: Your enchanted sword has been delivered to your academy dormitory"
"Class Update: Advanced Reality Manipulation has been moved to the Interdimensional Classroom (bring your own gravity)"
"Meal Plan Activated: Dietary restrictions accommodated for human/non-human meal compatibility"
"Urgent: Please complete Heroic Emergency Contact Form (next of kin and/or anyone who should be notified in case of temporal displacement)"
Adrian stared at his phone screen as more notifications continued to flood in. Each one seemed designed specifically to answer his question about how complicated hero school could be.
"Very complicated," he whispered. "Apparently, very, very complicated."
His apartment's floating lights dimmed sympathetically, and somewhere in the distance, he could swear he heard the sound of destiny laughing.