(Dylan)

  Dylan leaned back in the chair Athrax “found,” which sat askew because of the nails sticking out of the feet from where he had ripped it out to move it to the top deck for Dylan. The husky man relaxed, enjoying the sensation of being full. You couldn’t overeat flak—it was magical and provided as much or as little as you needed to hit your ideal daily caloric intake. Feeling content was foreign to him now, and he reveled in it.

  The ship’s foghorn let out a deep, rumbling blast, like a groaning goose kaiju, which startled Dylan from his post-meal stupor.

  “Jesus fuck!” he cried out, slipping off the chair and onto the deck. He scrambled to his feet as his senses returned. His adrenaline-fueled hypervigilance calmed as he realized the ship was just signaling its approach for Nightshade to notice. The other initiates appeared to have also paused mid-training at the unexpected sound

  None of the crew seemed to have noticed his shenanigans, and if they did, they were great at hiding it. Honestly, the lamprian crew were the most professional individuals he’d ever met, already stacking the passenger luggage and supplies next to the crane in preparation to get unloaded. He was sure that was First Mate Echo’s doing.

  Dylan felt like he had more energy than he knew what to do with. He glanced down at his pants, wondering if his other pair looked any better. Taking a cautious whiff from under his arm, he immediately regretted it, wrinkling his nose and jerking his head back.

  “I need a shower…” he said.

  The small speck on the horizon continued to grow as they approached. Dylan figured he’d have enough time to get a load of laundry and a shower if he was quick enough. He just hadn’t had the energy for the past couple of days to keep up with it.

  He took off toward the stairs that led below deck. One deckhand followed him, his shadow, First Mate Echo called it. He assigned one of the crew as a personal assistant to make sure the captain had everything they needed.

  The shirt came off first, followed by his pants as he hopped on one leg, nearly tripping in the cramped hallway. He tossed the bundle to the lamprian following him, the dirty garments landing in a tidy pile.

  “You mind washing these for me real quick?” Dylan asked as he continued to strip in the hallway. “I’m going to shower.”

  “On it, sir!” the deckhand said, gathering up Dylan’s strewn clothes behind him.

  Twenty minutes later…

  Dylan finished his shower, feeling squeaky clean, energized, and really fucking excited to see his friends again. He slipped a towel around his waist, careful to tuck the corner in tightly, and made his way to his cabin. Yanking the door open, revealed the deck crew, in their efficiency, had already moved his stuff top deck.

  “Damn it,” he said, spinning around to ask his shadow. “How long until the deathwash machine is done?

  “Quarter turn of the clock, captain.”

  Dylan shrugged—it’s not like they hadn’t all seen him shirtless before. He glanced down at himself, noticing his shrinking stomach. ‘Barely a beer belly at this point,’ he thought. ‘It’s not an eight-pack.’ He tapped his tummy. ‘But it’ll do.’

  He took to the top deck in a towel, catching a lecherous grin from W’itney, who arched their eyebrows at him while nodding toward Eury. Hay’len, the sensible one, slapped their older sibling’s shoulder. Eury and Wedge stood at the railing alongside Tome & Key, the team led by Runemist, the okamijin mender.

  None of them batted an eye at him parading around with his captain’s hat and towel. They’d grown accustomed to his shenanigans and oddities by now, especially since he was the reason they had completed their quest to find a skill book.

  While skill books were an alternate and unconventional way to obtain even more power, they were also restricted. Dylan had learned these “books” were actually the souls of adventurers, transformed into magical items that granted an ability they had unlocked.

  He knew little more about them, like whether they were reusable or what exactly happened when you used a skill book. But judging by everyone’s reactions whenever the term was mentioned, he figured it wasn’t very pleasant.

  Dylan approached the railing beside his “team” of fellow initiates and Wedge. A cool gust of wind reminded him he needed to put on more clothes before someone below caught an unfortunate glimpse up his towel.

  “Shouldn’t you be wearing pants?” Eury asked, eyeing his current attire.

  “Laundry…” Dylan shrugged.

  “Again? You do remember the last time you were doing laundry when we were about to leave, right?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

  “No worries, mate. He’s all out of grenades,” Quinten said with a laid-back smile. Then he paused and leaned in toward Dylan. “You are out of grenades, right…?” The easygoing elf could only keep a straight face for a moment before tapping Dylan’s midsection with the back of his hand.

  The open field in front of Nightshade’s guildhall, where the adventure had started, spread out below them as they slowly descended. Dylan’s clothes had arrived just in time for him to slip into the Captain’s Suite to get dressed.

  The first mate still hadn’t moved into the luxurious space, despite being ordered to. But Dylan understood. Echo von Gym’othee had a romantic relationship with the former captain, Echo von D’lores, and living there would’ve been a constant reminder of her. Realizing how cruel that might be, Dylan rescinded the order; the room could just remain vacant for now. Besides, the Everafter needed extensive time in drydock before she’d be ready for her next voyage.

  Dylan secured his hat, opened the door, and watched the crew toss over the rope ladders for them to descend. Tome & Key, all equipped with movement or transport abilities, departed in their usual superhero manner—quick, flashy, and dramatic.

  Runemist dispersed into a cloud of shadow and slipped through the slats in the railing. P’reslen floated off his feet and flew down gracefully. Dylan was still jealous of the confident draconi’s ability to fly like a goddamned superhero.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Athrax lifted a mismatched boot, placed it on the railing, and simply stepped off the ship. Dylan knew this maneuver. The old soldier had a leaping ability that negated most fall damage, allowing him to land in a badass three-point pose.

  Dylan counted to one before hearing the echo of a small impact below—they were just about two stories above the ground. A storm cloud gathered high above them as Ostello prepared to teleport via lightning strike. Lightning struck the determined elf, and he disappeared, reappearing on the ground below, somehow unscathed. Magic was cool like that.

  Quinten summoned a door. It shimmered in front of him, and he opened it with the flourish of a butler for Eury. She’d stated multiple times that she didn’t want to be treated differently because she was a princess. With a shake of her head, she took to the rope ladder instead.

  W’itney gave Quinten a wink and strutted through the door as if it had been meant for them all along, their chin held high in mock regal fashion.

  “About time someone opened a door for me,” they quipped, tossing an exaggerated glance back at Eury.

  Quinten, ever the laid-back elf, simply shrugged and followed them, bowing slightly as if to humor their performance. Both emerged through the second summoned door on the ground below the ship. Hay’len shook their head at their twin’s never-ending antics, sighed, and made their way to the rope ladder.

  Wedge, being responsible for all the initiates, waited for Dylan beside the ladder. He took one look at the ladder and thought of a better, cooler idea.

  Dylan grinned. “I’ve got an idea.”

  The big guy’s stony brows lifted as he crossed his arms. “Does it involve using the rope ladder?”

  “Nope.”

  Dylan was wearing his orange cloak, which let him glide rather than fall. His plan involved floating down like a real adventurer, just like Tome & Key had departed. He’d slain a kaiju, trekked through harsh jungle terrain while literally starving, and opened a hidden dimensionally locked chest to retrieve the skill book. And it’d only cost him two resets—a bargain.

  He flashed Wedge a grin. “Why use a rope ladder when you’ve got a cloak of gliding?”

  He wasn’t sure if that’s what the enchantment was called, but it was exactly what it did. Before he could lose his nerve—or Wedge could talk him out of it—he climbed the railing and leapt off.

  Dylan fell, his cloak activated, and he took off gliding.

  The enchantment turned vertical descent into horizontal thrust. There were just two slight issues with his plan—first, he didn’t know how to steer the “glider,” and second, the side of the ship he’d leapt from was facing the guildhall.

  Dylan twisted his shoulders and leaned, but neither had any effect on his trajectory as he picked up speed. The wind whipped against his face, and the world below became a blur. At least he got what he wanted—everyone stopped what they were doing to gawk at the husky man flying overhead, cursing loudly.

  “Fuuuck!” he cried out, crossing his arms over his face just before slamming into the stone wall. The impact knocked him out, and he bounced off, plummeting the last eight feet into the hedges below with a rustling swish.

  Dylan awoke to a warm tingling sensation coursing through his body—the familiar touch of Runemist’s mending magic. He blinked against the bright sunlight and saw her standing over him, surrounded by his friends, who had rushed over to check on him.

  “Jesus, that thing’s impossible to steer,” Dylan said. Runemist frowned as she offered a clawed hand to help him out of the bushes.

  “You can’t steer with that enchantment,” came a voice Dylan recognized instantly—it sounded just like Charles. He got to his feet, brushing leaves and sticks off himself before looking up. He must have hit his head harder than he thought.

  He smiled seeing his friends: Runemist, Nathan, Eury, the twins, Meekan, and… Charles.

  “Think you missed something,” Dylan said, shaking his head. “My hearing’s off, and I’m seeing things. How long until you can heal me again?”

  Runemist turned to Nathan. “I’m going to debrief the guildmaster now. He’s all yours.”

  “Thank you for looking after him,” Nathan said. He turned back to Dylan over. “You’re nearly topped off as far as I can tell.”

  “Then why am I seeing and hearing things?” he asked.

  “Hang on, let me bring up Triage. Might be a concussion. What kind of things?”

  “It looks like Charles is standing next to you.”

  Nathan stopped fussing and gave Dylan a flat look, raising an eyebrow. “That’s because Charles is standing next to me.”

  “Wait, he’s really here?” Dylan’s eyes widened. His disbelief giving way to excitement. He glanced at Nathan, then back to Charles, as if needing confirmation a second time. When it finally sank in, a grin split his face.

  “He is,” Charles answered for himself.

  “Charles!” Dylan ran over and wrapped him in a tight hug. Both Eury and Meekan raised their eyebrows as he rushed past them to embrace the rugged elf. Charles sighed and stood stiffly, arms at his sides, enduring the husky man’s enthusiasm.

  He released the reluctant elf, who straightened his shirt with a faint frown, and took a step back. “Didn’t you say you’d be gone for a few months?”

  “Haven’t left yet,” Charles said calmly, plucking a stray leaf off his shirt. “There are still a few things I need to take care of first.”

  “Holy crap, am I lucky… You got any more clothes?” Dylan absentmindedly brushed at one of the many red stains of his shirt.

  “What’s wrong with the ones you’ve got?” Nathan asked first.

  “I… uh, lost them?”

  Nathan blinked, tilting his head. “How?”

  Dylan opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t know where to start. Instead, he said, “It’s a long story—we’ll get to that later. But first…” He gave them another grin and lunged at Nathan, wrapping him in a bear hug.

  Nathan, caught off guard by Dylan’s embrace, slowly hugged him back. “Glad to see you’re alright,” he said, his hands shifting to pat Dylan’s sides. He stepped back, frowning as he gave Dylan a once-over. “You’ve lost a considerable amount of weight.”

  “Yeah, starvation and flak are quite the weight loss regimen.”

  “What do you mean starvation? You—”

  Dylan held up a hand to stop him. “I told you, long story.” Then he turned to Meekan, his cheeks flushing with heat. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Hey, Meekan,” he said, wearing a silly grin. He was supposed to be her friend, her best friend, or so she’d told him.

  Dylan leaned in and then hesitated, starting and stopping half a dozen times. Meekan grew impatient, rolled her eyes and stepped forward to collect her hug herself. Dylan found it easy to hug his friends but became an awkward mess around those he had a thing for.

  She leaned her head into his as she held him warmly. Dylan melted in her arms and took a deep breath, catching another fruity scent that paired well with her natural citrus notes. But as the hug lingered, he shifted uncomfortably and took a step back before things got even more awkward.

  ‘Perfume?’ he wondered. Whatever it was, it was nice.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Eury’s gaze before she glanced away. Too fast to be sure, but it almost seemed like she envied Meekan, which made little sense to him. They were both exceptionally beautiful women, both princesses, and both had a kindness in their hearts. Dylan had seen Eury’s bravery and determination firsthand—what could she possibly be jealous of? She was an amazing woman in her own right.

  W’itney had also been staring at him, their lips pursed with an expression that Dylan thought might be disappointment.

  “And…?” W’itney asked, planting a hand firmly on their hip and raising a brow at him. “Where’s my hug?”

  Dylan shrugged, shaking his head with a small laugh, and gave W’itney a quick hug. They were friends, after all.

  W’itney whispered quickly, “You’ve got your eye on the wrong princess…” Before Dylan could respond, they slapped his arm and sauntered back toward the unloading zone, presumably to give Wedge a hand—or at least some moral support, since W’itney didn’t really do hard work.

  “What happened to you out there?” Nathan asked, glancing sideways at Dylan as they made their way back to the unloading zone.

  “Ever heard of an arcbeetle?” Dylan asked, bending over to grab one end of a trunk.

  Nathan took hold of the other end, and they lifted together. “Yes, why?”

  “Now, this is a story all about how our ship got shot-turned upside down…” Dylan grinned as he spoke, his tone deliberately exaggerated to match the absurdity of his tale.