The silence pressed in—thick, stifling. Figures stood frozen, statues in the dim room. Damp air coiled around Aaron’s skin; he shivered. Alright. Test of dominance or just a staring contest? He waited. Yep—staring contest.

  Outnumbered. Worse—he couldn’t read their faces. One visor, smooth and matte beige—blank. The others? Hidden in shadows. No tells. He tensed. Is this what Reha feels before a fight? That sharp, expectant calm?

  The smaller one wore mottled green, almost camouflage armor—like an insectile bodybuilder. Two halberds. One sleek, long-bladed with a hooked hammerhead. The other brutal, beak-bladed, balanced by a delicate blade-catcher. Strength and finesse, woven together.

  Then him. Massive. Bark and branches layered into living armor. Less man, more forest spirit. Yet, somehow, Aaron felt safe. A pillar in the storm.

  Aaron squared his shoulders. Alright. Let’s see what Bug and Bark want with me. “I greet you, warriors.” Silence. Again. Aaron cleared his throat, shifting. Please, no more social screw-ups.

  “We greet the aspirant,” they replied in unison. Voices elegant. Cultured. Smooth yet solid—like hardwood. Or chitin. Silence returned. Sweat pricked his neck. What now? Shakespeare? Outwit them? How does one outsmart two magical, armored warriors in an empty room?

  Do I just leave? He glanced behind him. No luck. No lock. But the other gate? A golden lock gleamed on bland wood. Let’s try asking nicely.

  “May I have the key so I can continue this trial?” Aaron asked, mimicking the locals’ formality.

  “Yes,” said Bark. Aaron’s eyes narrowed. A trial of politeness? If it’s that easy—

  He stepped forward. Before his foot touched the ground, Bug said, “No, he jests. The faces of young aspirants are always amusing.” His tone was perfectly serious.

  Aaron froze. Great. Who’s the joker? Classic truth-and-lie routine?

  No wings or lion heads. At least I won’t get strangled. "Let me guess—one of you tells the truth, and the other only lies?"

  “Yes,” said Bug.

  “No,” said Bark. Aaron sighed. Oh, fantastic. I hate these riddles.

  The two guardians turned to each other. Bark’s deep laughter echoed in the hemispherical room.

  He cleared his throat. “Does one of you only speak truths and the other only falsehoods?” They paused. Aaron narrowed his eyes. What’s the trick?

  Then, in unison:

  “No,” said Bug.

  “Yes,” intoned Bark.

  Their voices carried a note of amusement. Are they messing with me? Or did they actually botch the answer? A smile crept across Aaron’s face. Alright, you two want to play games? I’m in.

  He straightened, clasped his hands behind his back, and projected his voice like a stage actor: “The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.”

  They stared. The moment stretched. Sweat gathered at Aaron’s brow. Did I just insult their families again?

  Bark’s armor trembled. Halberds clanged together. Magic?

  Bug turned to his companion—and started shaking too. Are they…?

  Aaron grinned. Both warriors burst into laughter. Aaron blinked. Then he chuckled. The two lost it. Laughter thundered through the hall. Tears welled in Aaron’s eyes. What is happening? Did I break the trial? Are they supposed to giggle like schoolgirls?

  Minutes passed before the laughter faded. The room seemed warmer. So… I did something right?

  Bug straightened, still grinning. “Edict take me. I told you this would be funny.”

  Bark gasped, wiping his eyes. “But not this funny. I do not know which poet he keeps quoting, but his verse holds wisdom.” Aaron’s eyes narrowed. They knew about the buffet. But they aren’t angry—amused.

  “I would have the name of the poet your verse is bound from,” Bark said, friendly now. Aaron hesitated. Reveal the truth? Risk exposure? But if they know Shakespeare, that tells me a lot about where—or when—I am.

  “William Shakespeare,” Aaron said into the waiting silence. Bark tapped his chin. Bug tilted his head. Aaron waited. Feels oddly normal. Like home.

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  A tear welled. Not here. Not now. He drew a steady breath. The air felt clear.

  Bug asked, “Anything?” Bark’s voice turned pensive. “The bookworm was oddly generous. I only caught a partial reference. A play named Hamlet. Shakespeare—apparently Anglo. Early diaspora, at least.”

  Aaron’s jaw dropped. Either this guy has an eidetic memory—or he just used a search engine. But how?

  He frowned. Magic, obviously. But that’s not an answer. It’s like saying “quantum physics” when someone asks how atoms work. I need more information. And what the hell is the Early Diaspora?

  If Hamlet existed here, the future seems likely. Or a parallel universe’s future? Too convoluted. Let’s stick with the future for now. The realization hit like a sledgehammer. His shoulders slumped.

  ‘When am I?’ In stories, that line always got a laugh. Right now? It felt heavy. Homesick.

  “Excuse my question,” Bug said gently, voice almost fatherly. “Did we say something to upset you? Was that man special to you?” What do I say?

  Aaron eyed the halberds. No awkward champion reveals, please. “If you need more answers, our dear Analyst here will assist,” Bug offered, nodding at Bark. Bark nodded too—curious, not hostile.

  They seem sincere. But what kind of trial is this? The Hamlet reference… makes no sense. Unless this is one elaborate joke. A joke with a double-digit body count.

  Aaron took a breath. This world keeps surprising me. One of these surprises will be lethal. “How did you learn all that?”

  Bark shrugged, casual. “Search spell. Got lucky. The bookworm took an interest and gave me the Hamlet reference. Want me to cast a deep system search?”

  Aaron stared. A search engine mage? Back home, some people were wizards with Google—but this?

  A tingle crept up Aaron’s spine. The bookworm took an interest. As in the god the others mentioned? I thought they were all Lovecraftian horrors—Tentacle Weaver, Watcher, whatever. Is it bad if a god notices you?

  “Does… does he take an interest often?” Bark didn’t move. Silence reigned.

  Bug shrugged, looking oddly like an insect human hybrid. That’s got to be someone’s kink. Good thing I don’t have Google anymore.

  “I think he was curious. Decided to run the deep search himself. Might take a while. If he gets pulled in, could be tenth-cycles.” He waved Aaron over. Aaron hesitated. This is way beyond what I never signed up for.

  Bug sat cross-legged, halberd resting beside him. From an unseen pocket, he drew a pouch. “Let’s see if the suit stole my food again. It keeps doing that.”

  He sniffed, annoyed. “Ah, we’re in luck. Take some jerky.” Aaron froze mid-step. The suit.

  His gaze swept over it. His pulse spiked. Did he just say it steals food? Do I count as food?

  “Oh, don’t worry. It’s well-behaved. Food theft’s its only quirk. You must have seen worse.” I haven’t.

  The worst a suit had ever done was choke him. But this one—it looked organic. Living power armor? Seriously? My trial is eating jerky with the guards? Well—guard. The other one was completely spaced out, clearly running a mental Google search.

  Bug followed Aaron’s glance and grinned. “Yeah. He gets too excited with searches sometimes. Yet, at least he’s not a Seer.”

  He shook his head. Aaron pressed his palms against his face. Exhaled sharply. Then—laughter. Small at first, bubbling up. Then all at once—shoulders shaking, breath hitching, ragged bursts.

  The stress. The absurdity. Jerky with Mr. Google’s buddy in a magical trial?

  Tears stung his eyes. I am losing it. And he didn’t care.

  The laughter twisted—deep, shuddering sobs. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. None of this makes sense. How do I keep going?

  A shadow loomed. Aaron looked up. The man stood above him, caught between a frown and parted lips. “Anax, Xandros Hellionis Erythros. Are you well?”

  Aaron froze. Xandros. Something surfaced.

  Blood.

  A man dying.

  Another.

  The dogs. How many have I killed?

  Murders. Fucking sick.

  Air rushed into his lungs. Sharp. Ragged. “I’m Aaron Bleckwell,” he whispered. The dam broke.

  “All of you can go fuck yourselves and your barbaric bullshit.” The words poured out.

  “I woke up yesterday. Got chased by a rainbow-colored tentacle monster. Killed a bunch of assholes. Got stuck in your twisted challenges. Ever heard of LARP? Tried it sometime. With blunt weapons. I don’t even know where—or when—I am! Do you get what it’s like? Being a normal guy tossed into the fucking Hunger Games?” The words echoed.

  Silence. And for the first time—peace.

  The weight lifted. Let the consequences come. I’m not a manipulator. Not a spy. They’d figure me out anyway. Or think I’m a body-snatcher. Which, for all I know, I am.

  Aaron breathed. Thoughts sank like stones. Silence stretched. Time to face this mess. But at least I’m clean.

  His eyes opened. Three people stood before him. Bug, helmetless—brown eyes, brown hair. An everyman’s face. But uncertain now. Sorry, mate. But I’ve got bigger problems.

  Beside him—familiar eyes. Compassionate. Sad.

  And then— Aaron stumbled back. “You. You!”

  He pointed, hand trembling.

  The third man—green robes shifting like leaves in the wind—nodded.

  Solemn.

  Unmoving.

  Emblematic of everything.

  +++ Shout-Out Time +++

  As always, this chapter was edited using the mighty Infomancy Analyst Spell called ChatGPT.

  Upload schedule: Mon/Tue/Wed/Thu/Fri 4:47 PM EST / 10:47 PM CET → Each chapter is 1500 +/- 500 words long.

  What do you think of Aaron's decisions? Would you have done the same?

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