The throne room still buzzed with stunned silence after the System screens faded. Brad flexed his fingers again, watching faint violet sparks trail between them like he was holding a live wire. Chad rolled his neck, the new warrior strength making every movement feel like he could bench-press a horse.
The old mage—still looking like he'd seen a ghost—bowed deeply. "The System has chosen wisely. Bro-mancer and Bro-llionaire… titles unheard of in our annals, yet the power is undeniable."
Brad shot Chad a grin. "Bro-llionaire? Bro, that's peak."
Chad smirked. "And you're a wizard who probably can't even spell 'mana.' Let's see who blows up the first thing."
Before either could escalate the trash talk, the queen rose from her throne. She was tall, regal, silver-streaked dark hair pinned in an elaborate crown of braids, her armor etched with faded golden runes. Exhaustion lined her face, but her voice carried quiet authority.
"Enough," she said softly. "You have been summoned in our darkest hour. The corrupted heroes have razed half the kingdom. Eldrathar Keep is but a husk of what it once was. You will need rest, clothing, and proper equipment before the true trials begin."
She turned to a side door flanked by two armored guards. "Liora, Seraphine, attend to our guests."
Two women stepped forward from the shadows near the dais—clearly the queen's personal maids, but nothing like the tired servants Brad had pictured. Both were stunning in that high-fantasy way that made his brain short-circuit for a second.
Liora was the taller one: long platinum hair cascading in loose waves, pointed elven ears peeking through, emerald eyes sharp and assessing. She wore a fitted silver-and-blue gown that hugged her figure, practical yet elegant, with a short cape pinned at the shoulders. A small dagger glinted at her belt—definitely not just decorative.
Seraphine was shorter, curvier, with warm chestnut curls pinned half-up, human features softened by a gentle smile that didn't quite reach her hazel eyes. Her dress was deep crimson trimmed in gold, sleeves flowing but slits revealing toned arms. She carried a small wooden tray already prepared with folded fabrics.
Both women bowed in perfect unison, then straightened and approached without hesitation.
Liora's gaze flicked over Brad first—lingering on the sparks still dancing at his fingertips—then to Chad. "My lord Bro-mancer," she said, voice smooth and melodic with a faint elven lilt, "if you will follow me, I shall escort you to your chambers and provide suitable attire."
Seraphine stepped toward Chad, offering a small, polite smile. "And my lord Bro-llionaire, please come with me. The queen has ordered garments befitting your new station."
Brad raised an eyebrow, already enjoying this way too much. "Chambers? Garments? Bro, we're getting the VIP treatment."
Chad chuckled under his breath. "Separate rooms, though. Guess they don't trust us not to start a party."
The queen inclined her head. "Privacy will aid your adjustment. The System's gifts are… unconventional. You will need time to attune. We will reconvene at dawn for your first briefing."
Liora gestured gracefully toward a side corridor. Brad gave Chad a mock salute. "Catch you on the flip side, bro. Don't break anything expensive."
Chad returned the salute with a fist bump that—thankfully—didn't trigger another flash this time. "Don't set yourself on fire, sparkles."
The two maids led them in opposite directions down dimly lit halls lined with cracked marble and faded tapestries depicting long-ago battles. Torches sputtered in brackets; the air smelled of old stone, incense, and faint smoke from whatever explosion had scarred the keep.
Brad followed Liora, stealing glances at her as they walked. She moved with grace, hips swaying just enough to be distracting.
"So," he ventured, "you always dress like that to escort half-naked mages?"
Liora didn't break stride. "The queen's maids serve in all capacities—guide, attendant, protector. Your attire was… lacking. We have prepared something more suitable."
She pushed open a heavy oak door into a spacious chamber. A four-poster bed dominated one wall, draped in dark velvet. A roaring fireplace cast warm light over a table laden with folded clothes, leather boots, a hooded cloak, and—Brad's eyes lit up—a slender staff of polished ebony topped with a faintly glowing amethyst crystal.
Liora closed the door behind them, the click loud in the quiet room.
Brad whistled. "Damn. This is upgrade city."
She stepped closer, unfolding a deep indigo robe embroidered with silver runes along the sleeves. Underneath lay fitted black trousers, a lightweight tunic, and supple boots. "These are attuned to mana flow. As a mage, your power will grow with them."
Brad took the robe, feeling a faint tingle as his fingers brushed the fabric. "Fits like it was made for me. Magic tailoring?"
"Enchanted," she corrected, then hesitated. Her emerald eyes met his. "You are… not what we expected from the prophecy. Yet the System chose you. That alone makes you worthy."
Brad smirked, dropping the boxers without a shred of shame and stepping into the trousers. Liora didn't flinch—professional to the core—but a faint flush colored her cheeks.
"Worthy, huh?" he said, pulling on the tunic. It hugged his athletic frame perfectly. "Keep talking like that and I might start believing the hype."
She handed him the staff. The moment he gripped it, violet energy arced up the wood and into his hand. A new screen flickered in his vision:
[Mage – Level 1]
[Skill Unlocked: Spark Fling (10 mana)]
[Mana Pool: 150/150]
Brad twirled the staff experimentally. A small bolt of lightning snapped from the tip and scorched a harmless mark on the far wall.
"Sweet," he breathed. "I'm officially dangerous."
Liora watched, expression unreadable. "You will need to be. The corrupted ones were once the strongest among us. Now they wield power twisted by the Demon King's essence."
Brad leaned on the staff, meeting her gaze. "Then, good thing you've got me. Bigger, stronger, and ready to zap some traitors."
A small, genuine smile tugged at her lips—the first crack in her composure. "We shall see, my lord."
Across the keep, Chad was having a very different experience.
Seraphine led him into a chamber that looked more like an armory than a bedroom: weapon racks, a heavy oak wardrobe, and a suit of dark plate armor laid out on a stand. A broadsword rested beside it, blade gleaming with faint runes.
She closed the door softly. "Your class is warrior, my lord."
Chad eyed the armor. "Looks heavy. I'm more of a 'spreadsheet and squats' guy, but let's see what we've got."
Seraphine helped him into the padded underlayer, then the plate pieces—chest, greaves, vambraces. It was surprisingly light, almost weightless once buckled.
[Warrior – Level 1]
[Skill Unlocked: Strike (Empowered melee attack)]
[HP: 300/300]
Chad hefted the broadsword. It felt perfect in his grip. He gave a practice swing—clean, powerful, like he'd been training with it for years.
Seraphine stepped back, appraising him. "You carry it well."
Chad sheathed the sword at his hip. "You sticking around to see how this plays out?"
Her hazel eyes flickered with something like hope. "If the queen wills it… yes."
He grinned. "Good. 'Cause me and Brad? We're about to turn this kingdom around—one ass-kicking at a time."
Dawn was still hours away, but in two separate chambers, two frat bros were already gearing up to rewrite the prophecy—whether the world was ready or not.