Chapter 1
The problem was already on fire when Sir Dorian Lionsreach arrived.
This was important, because it meant—technically—that it was not his fault.
Dorian reined in his horse at the edge of the square, squinting thoughtfully at the smoke curling into the afternoon sky. The fire had spread with enthusiasm, licking up the side of a warehouse whose owner was currently screaming in a way that suggested both emotional distress and poor insurance coverage.
Dorian dismounted calmly.
"Alright," he said to no one in particular. "Let's not panic."
Someone immediately panicked louder.
Dorian winced. "Alright. Let's panic less."
He strode toward the blaze with the confidence of a man who had solved problems like this before—or at least survived them. A cluster of townsfolk scattered as he passed, shouting warnings that were either unhelpful ("It's hot!") or deeply insulting ("You did this, didn't you?").
Dorian raised his hands. "I would like to go on record that I did not do this."
The warehouse door burst open and a soot-covered apprentice stumbled out, coughing violently.
"There was a—" the apprentice wheezed, "—a reaction—"
"Yes," Dorian said sympathetically. "Those happen."
"—with the alchemical supplies—"
"Ah."
"And then—"
Dorian clapped his hands together. "Excellent. I've heard enough."
He drew his sword.
The crowd gasped.
"Oh, relax," Dorian said. "This is not an aggressive sword draw. This is a problem-solving sword draw."
He stepped closer to the fire, evaluating it with a knight's eye and a gambler's optimism. The flames crackled, bold and confident, clearly not intimidated by him in the slightest.
Dorian frowned. "That's rude."
He turned to a nearby guard. "Where's the water brigade?"
The guard stared at him. "Sir... the well collapsed."
Dorian blinked. "The entire well?"
"Yes, sir."
"...Impressive," Dorian said. "Unfortunate, but impressive."
He sheathed his sword slowly.
"Alright," he said, rolling his shoulders. "Plan B."
Someone in the crowd groaned. Audibly.
Dorian ignored them and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Everyone! Please evacuate the immediate area in an orderly fashion!"
The crowd did not do that.
Instead, they shouted, tripped over one another, and knocked over a cart of apples. The apples rolled downhill with malicious intent.
Dorian sighed. "I asked politely."
He scanned the square again, eyes narrowing.
There.
A stack of crates marked with faded runes and a very clear warning label that read:
DO NOT EXPOSE TO HEAT
Dorian grimaced.
"That seems... late-stage advice."
He jogged over, grabbed the top crate, and immediately dropped it as it burned his gloves.
"Still hot," he noted.
The apprentice coughed nearby. "Sir! You shouldn't—"
Dorian lifted the crate again and hurled it across the square.
It exploded.
The fire flared brighter.
The crowd screamed louder.
Dorian stared.
"...That was not the intended outcome."
A voice from behind him said flatly, "Sir Dorian."
Dorian turned.
A city official stood there, face pale, clipboard clutched like a weapon. "Are you attempting to fight the fire?"
"No," Dorian said quickly. "I am attempting to confuse it."
The official stared.
Dorian nodded. "So far, it's winning."
Another explosion went off inside the warehouse.
The roof sagged ominously.
Dorian sucked in a breath. "Right. New plan."
He sprinted toward the building.
Someone shouted, "Sir Dorian, wait!"
Dorian shouted back, "If this works, remember that you supported me!"
He leapt through the smoke, emerging moments later dragging a massive alchemical cylinder with runes glowing dangerously bright.
The apprentice screamed. "THAT'S UNSTABLE!"
Dorian grinned. "Perfect!"
He spun, hurled the cylinder toward the riverbank, and dove for cover.
The explosion that followed was spectacular.
The fire died instantly.
So did three nearby lampposts.
The river frothed violently.
A nearby bakery collapsed sideways.
Silence fell.
Dorian stood, brushing ash from his armor.
"...I would like to formally state," he said, "that the fire is no longer a problem."
The city official stared at the ruins.
"...The warehouse is gone."
"Yes," Dorian agreed. "But it's no longer on fire."
The official opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
Somewhere nearby, a chicken clucked.
Dorian froze.
Slowly, he turned.
The chicken stood in the middle of the square.
Unharmed.
Watching.
Dorian stared at it.
The chicken stared back.
"...We'll talk later," Dorian muttered.
The chicken blinked.
A guard approached cautiously. "Sir... what do we do now?"
Dorian straightened, clasped his hands behind his back, and smiled confidently.
"Now?" he said. "Now we write an apology."
The chicken clucked again.
Dorian did not look at it.
The silence after an explosion is always worse than the explosion itself.
Dorian stood in the center of the square, hands on his hips, surveying what was no longer a warehouse, no longer a bakery, and debatably no longer a street.
Smoke drifted lazily upward.
A lamppost smoldered.
The river continued to bubble in a way that suggested lingering resentment.
The city official dropped his clipboard.
It hit the ground with a quiet tap that somehow felt louder than everything that had come before.
"...Sir Dorian," he said slowly, "what you have done here today is—"
"Heroic," Dorian supplied helpfully.
"—a violation of no fewer than twelve municipal codes."
Dorian frowned. "That seems excessive."
"Three of them were written after the explosion," the official snapped.
Dorian brightened. "Innovation!"
A small crowd had gathered at a safe distance. Some stared in awe. Others stared with the hollow eyes of people calculating repair costs. One woman clutched a loaf of bread like it had personally betrayed her.
A guard cleared his throat. "Sir... should we... arrest you?"
Dorian considered this seriously.
"Well," he said, "technically I prevented further loss of life."
"Yes," the guard said cautiously.
"And technically," Dorian continued, "I am a knight in good standing."
"Yes, sir."
"And technically," Dorian finished, "this was an emergency."
The guard hesitated. "...Yes?"
Dorian nodded. "Then technically, arresting me would be paperwork."
The guard visibly recoiled. "Understood."
The city official pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is exactly why Guild Master Valebright said you were not allowed to act independently."
Dorian winced. "In my defense, the fire did not wait for supervision."
The official gestured wildly at the wreckage. "Neither did you!"
A cough sounded from behind them.
The apprentice—the soot-covered one—raised a trembling hand. "Sir Dorian?"
"Yes, apprentice?"
"...The containment cylinder you threw?"
Dorian tilted his head. "Yes?"
"That was meant to be moved slowly."
Dorian stared.
"...Ah."
The apprentice swallowed. "Also, it wasn't empty."
Dorian winced harder. "Ahhh."
A tense pause followed.
"Well," Dorian said at last, clapping his hands together, "good news is, nothing else exploded."
The chicken clucked.
Dorian froze again.
He turned slowly.
The chicken was now perched on the remains of the lamppost, feathers immaculate, eyes sharp and unblinking.
It stared at him.
Dorian stared back.
"...You didn't help," he muttered.
The chicken puffed up slightly.
A mage near the edge of the crowd whispered, "Is that... the same one?"
Another voice replied, "Don't ask."
The city official straightened abruptly. "Enough. This incident will be formally documented, assessed, and—"
He stopped as Dorian gently took the clipboard back from the ground.
"I'll save you the trouble," Dorian said cheerfully. He flipped the clipboard over and began writing.
The official sputtered. "You can't just—"
"—Apologize?" Dorian finished. "I absolutely can."
He scribbled quickly.
Then handed the clipboard back.
The official read aloud, incredulous.
The Silver Ember Guild regrets the unexpected absence of a warehouse.
The Guild acknowledges the inconvenience of lateral bakery displacement.
The Guild confirms the fire is no longer active and apologizes for the noise.
The official looked up. "...That's it?"
Dorian smiled. "Concise."
"You didn't even sign it."
Dorian shrugged. "We'll add that later. After legal review."
"Who's reviewing it?"
Dorian gestured vaguely toward the guild hall. "Someone braver than me."
A horn sounded in the distance.
Dorian straightened immediately. "Ah. That'll be the patrol returning."
The city official's eyes widened. "You called reinforcements?"
"No," Dorian said. "I called witnesses."
Moments later, a group of guards jogged into the square, took in the devastation, and immediately slowed to a halt.
"...Sir," one of them said carefully, "what happened?"
Dorian clasped his hands behind his back.
"There was a fire," he said.
"And?"
"It is no longer a fire."
The guards looked at one another.
One sighed. "I'm going to need more paper."
Dorian patted his shoulder sympathetically. "You always do."
As the crowd slowly dispersed—some shaking their heads, others already gossiping—the city official folded the apology notice with shaking hands.
"This will reach the Guild Master," he said.
Dorian nodded solemnly. "I assume it will."
"And he will not be pleased."
Dorian considered that.
Then smiled.
"He never is," Dorian said fondly.
The chicken hopped down from the lamppost and strutted past him.
Dorian watched it go.
"...We're still not done," he murmured.
The chicken did not disagree.