The red glow faded, and I landed—on my feet this time—into something shocking.

  Silence.

  No smoke. No shrieking monsters. No collapsing buildings or lightning storms. Just grass, sky, and a gentle breeze that smelled vaguely of cinnamon.

  I blinked.

  Kira stood a few paces away, not fighting anything, not bleeding, and—most concerning of all—smiling.

  “What is this?” I asked slowly. "Where’s the fire? The chaos? The part where something tries to eat me?"

  She shrugged innocently. “What? I can’t summon you for a friendly reason?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “No. That’s not how this works. You don’t drag me across space unless something is actively exploding. What’s going on?”

  Kira looked off into the distance like the clouds suddenly had fascinating secrets. “Can’t I just… hang out with my handsome grumpy summon sometimes?”

  “No,” I said flatly. “Try again.”

  She shuffled her boots, then clapped her hands together like someone very proud of themselves. “Okay, okay. I might have something for you.”

  “…What kind of something?”

  Kira beamed and reached into a satchel slung over her shoulder. "A gift. You’ll love it."

  I took a cautious step back. "You’ve never given me anything that didn’t come with a claw or a countdown."

  “This is different,” she said, crouching to the ground.

  Something in the grass chirped.

  I leaned forward just as she pulled back the folds of a blanket—revealing a small creature no bigger than a melon, covered in fluffy black fur with a horned nose, six stubby legs, and unnervingly bright golden eyes.

  It blinked up at me.

  Then it yawned. And in that yawn, I saw far too many teeth.

  “…What is that?”

  Kira grinned. “A baby drakehound. Extremely rare. Incredibly smart. Shockingly violent when threatened. Also, apparently smells like cinnamon.”

  I stared. “Why do you have it?”

  “Rescued it. Its den got destroyed by some monsters I was fighting, along with its parents. Poor thing has no one to take care of him. Problem is, I’m always running around saving people and fighting beasts. Not really stable guardian material.”

  “What does that have to do with me?” I asked. A chill ran down my spine as alarm bells rang in my head to run for my life.

  “Come on,” she said. “You’ve got a peaceful town. A whole forest. Weird mushroom neighbors. It’ll be safe there. Plus, look at that face.”

  The baby drakehound let out a happy burbling growl and blinked up at me with big, innocent eyes.

  “No."

  Kira tilted her head. “But—”

  “No,” I said firmly. “Absolutely not. I’m not taking care of a cinnamon-scented monster dog. I don’t know what this thing is, let alone what it eats or whether it explodes when it sneezes.”

  “It doesn’t explode,” Kira said.

  “That you know of,” I shot back. “You dragged me away from home again, and I was just about to get out of dueling a very serious mushroom with a foam sword. You think I want to juggle town politics and babysitting?”

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Kira gave me a long, level look. Then she knelt beside the little creature and gently stroked its fur. “He doesn’t have anyone else, Nojin. He’s small, scared, and doesn’t belong anywhere. And I thought maybe... Graybarrow sounds like a great place and—”

  I clenched my jaw. “No.”

  She scooted the bundle closer.

  “No.”

  The drakehound made a soft little sound—somewhere between a purr and a hiccup—and blinked up at me with enormous, glowing eyes.

  Dammit, that thing is cute.

  “Nope.”

  Kira folded her arms. “So you’re saying you’re heartless.”

  “I’m saying I have boundaries.”

  “It sounds like you're changing your mind, though?”

  “I'm not.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “I—Ugh!”

  I scooped up the drakehound with a theatrical groan. “This doesn’t mean anything. It’s temporary. And you owe me.”

  The drakehound snuggled into my chest.

  The summoning glyphs lit up beneath me.

  “What in the world is happening with my life?!”

  I vanished in a blaze of red light.

  ***

  I reappeared in Graybarrow with the baby beast still in my arms.

  The sound of cheers came from up ahead—Mycari voices, unmistakably excited. The duel.

  “I’ll check in on it,” I muttered, looking down at the stupidly adorable beast.

  The drakehound gave a soft warble and tucked its nose against my chest.

  “Don’t get comfortable,” I warned. “You’re not staying. I don’t do pets. Or guardians. Or whatever it is you are.”

  It blinked up at me and let out the tiniest little snort.

  I grunted. “...Need to call you something, though.”

  I stared out toward the woods as we walked. “How about... Roku?”

  The drakehound chuffed like it approved.

  “Great. Now I’m naming you.”

  I sighed. “This is a terrible idea.”

  It had been barely a week since everything turned upside down. Since the first summon. Since I found out I could be yanked out of Graybarrow mid-step, mid-bite, mid-anything, and dropped into some otherworldly chaos. Dragons. Wyverns. Summoners with far too much hair and far too few boundaries.

  And now?

  Now I’d apparently brought a monster dog home. Just what I needed—another unpredictable variable in a life already full of mushroom politics, gnome feuds, and magical sanitation mishaps.

  I looked at Roku again. He sneezed right in my face.

  “Yeah,” I muttered. “I'm going to regret this.”

  ***

  Graybarrow did not react with what one might call grace.

  “Is that a hellbeast?” asked Mrs. Tangler from her windowsill, clutching a broom like she might try to exorcise us both.

  “It’s adorable!” shouted one of the Mycari kids as Roku flopped on his back and wiggled in the dirt.

  “Does it breathe fire?” someone called.

  Someone gasped, “Is it dangerous?”

  “Probably,” I muttered, “but at least it’s cute.”

  As I made my way down the street, the crowd parted around us, Roku trotting proudly at my side like he’d lived here his whole life. A few gnomes peeked out from behind barrels, clutching half-fermented fruit and muttering about containment protocols, emergency foam, and whether the mysterious sneezy creature’s sonic emissions could be distilled into liquor.

  Roku barked once—bright and sharp. A flowerpot shattered three houses down.

  I froze.

  “Okay,” I muttered. “We’re gonna work on that.”

  By the time I reached the town square, there was already a circle forming around the dueling patch where Barley stood—out of breath, grinning, and holding a foam sword like it was a sacred relic.

  The duel between Barley and Trith was... intense.

  At least, by foam sword standards.

  Trith stood atop a mossy crate like it was the last bastion of honor in a collapsing kingdom, his oversized foam sword held aloft with dramatic, quivering tension. Barley, red-faced and panting, circled him with exaggerated footwork and what might generously be described as 'combat twirls.'

  "Face me, fiendish spore!" Barley shouted, clearly getting a bit too into it.

  "Your stance is weak, child of humans!" Trith boomed back, wobbling slightly as the crate shifted under his weight.

  Their foam swords clashed with a mighty fwump. Somewhere, a Mycari played an ominous chord on a flute that was definitely just a hollowed turnip—accompanied by a loose gathering of onlookers, mostly gnomes, taking one of their many daily drinking breaks.

  Then Barley poked Trith in the cap.

  Trith gasped.

  Staggered.

  And with a dramatic wail, toppled backward into a patch of soft moss.

  Barley raised both fists to the sky. "Victory is mine!"

  I looked at Roku. Roku barked once.

  Trith twitched dramatically, then lay still.

  I sighed. “Good enough.”

  The crowd erupted in delighted, if confused, applause.

  I exhaled and turned to go.

  Behind me, Roku sneezed. Another flowerpot burst.

  “Well, that's not good.”

  As we turned the corner toward town hall, I glanced down at Roku. He was wagging his tail—long, whip-thin, and tufted at the end like a curling plume of smoke—and sniffing the air with open curiosity.

  "You shatter one more flowerpot and I'm taking you back," I muttered.

  Naturally, he barked again.

  Behind us, a sign fell off a bakery with a melodramatic clang.

  I stopped walking. Slowly turned.

  Roku sat down innocently and blinked up at me.

  “Okay,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “You're doing that on purpose, aren't you?”

  He wagged his tail once—just enough to ruffle a nearby flowerbed—and gave me what could only be described as a knowing look.

  “I see how this is going,” I muttered. “You’re trouble wrapped in fluff.”