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Chapter Nineteen
SHAQ’RAI
It’s been one hell of a morning.
Don’t get me wrong—it’s beautiful. The kind of
morning where the mist clings to your skin, cool and sharp, the air thick with
damp earth and pine. If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend I’m back home.
Almost.
Except back home, I didn’t have Ember chirping
every ten seconds—<i>Oh, Daddy, look at this. Oh, Daddy, look at that. Oh,
Daddy, watch me spin like a drunken tornado.</i>
And I sure as hell didn’t have a parade of
half-critter, half-nightmare creatures trailing behind me, their voices a
broken record of <i>Is it time to eat? Is it time to eat?</i>
If the folks back home saw me now, they’d slap me
in a straitjacket and bunk me up with some tooth-collecting lunatic named
Larry.
I take another step—
And the whole damn forest forgets how to breathe.
The usual sounds—rustling leaves, the hum of
insects, the wind threading through branches—gone. Just silence, thick and
pressing, like the world hit pause.
The critters feel it too. They push past me,
moving fast, canteens in hand.
Wait.
One—where the hell did they get those?
Two—how?
Three—why?
The trees sway, slow and deliberate, their
branches curling inward like they’re beckoning. Like they know something I
don’t.
Then I see it.
A lake.
Big. Still. Watching.
The water is dark, smooth as glass, swallowing
the light instead of reflecting it. No ripples. No movement. Just waiting.
Finally. Water.
And gods, am I thirsty.
I’m talkin’ so dry my tongue’s two-steppin’ with
a saltine cracker in Death Valley. Drier than a preacher’s sermon in a dust
bowl. I was about ready to suck the sweat off a brass doorknob if it meant
getting a drop of moisture. But, much to my misfortune, I was fresh outta
doorknobs.
Hell, I was about to ask Mister Potato Head over
there if he had any jícama cousins I could sink my teeth into.
But the longer I look at the lake, the less I
like it.
It ain’t just deep—it’s endless. Like if I
reached in, my hand would keep going, pulled down into nothing. The reflection
of the trees and sky is too sharp, too perfect, like a doorway into someplace
else. A place I probably don’t wanna visit.
Mist clings to the surface, shifting slow, like
it’s whispering secrets only the water can hear. The air smells of damp earth,
night-blooming flowers, and something else—something old. Like rusted iron left
too long in the rain. Like the breath of something that’s been waiting in the
dark.
The ground is soft beneath me, thick with moss,
and the stones are smooth under my fingers, worn down by time. Roots twist down
into the water, gnarled and reaching, like they’re trying to pull something
up—or drag something under.
Water lilies float, their petals glowing faintly,
purple like trapped starlight. Every now and then, the water stirs, just a
ripple, like something beneath is shifting. Watching.
It’s beautiful.
But it ain’t safe.
It’s the kind of beauty that doesn’t just sit
there lookin’ pretty—it watches back.
I shove the feeling aside and kneel, cupping a
handful of water.
I take a sip.
Ping!<hr>
[Quest Complete]
Tutorial: Food and Water – Complete
[Reward]
500 Gold
3 New Recipes
3 Skill Points Available<hr>
Well, how about that? Not bad.
But something’s off.
I frown. No XP.
I pull up my character profile, eyes scanning the
interface. Sure enough—no XP bar.
Stolen novel; please report.
Weird.
I’ll deal with that later. Right now? I need a
bath.
I wade out of the water, wiping lake muck off my
face. The cold clings to my skin, sinking deep. Ember’s standing there,
wide-eyed, like I just wrestled a sea monster instead of taking a bath. Her
head tilts, ears twitching—curious.
“Ever take a bath, Ember?” I ask, flashing her a
grin.
She shakes her head, her hair wild, like she ran
straight through a storm.
“Well, you should try it. Nothin’ like scrubbin’
the dirt off. Makes you feel brand new.” I flick the water from my hands and
toss her a towel.
She blinks at it, shrugs. “I guess I’ll try.”
Her critters trail after her—four raccoons, two
squirrels, and something lumpy that looks like a potato with legs. They waddle
in a crooked little parade, chattering like they’re in on some private joke.
I pull my damp shirt over my head, fabric
sticking to my back—then it hits.
<i>System overload.</i>
Pop-ups flood my vision like fireworks.<hr>
<b>[</b>QUEST ACCEPTED!]
[BOND FORGED: EMBER]
[TIP: Did you know you can wash clothes in
lakes?]<hr>
“Aw, come on.” I swipe at the windows, but they
keep coming—<i>ding, ding, ding</i>—each one louder, more obnoxious, like the
system’s got a grudge.
I grit my teeth, rubbing my temples. “It’s like
getting hit with a PowerPoint from hell,” I mutter.
Ember’s too busy giggling to notice. Her critters
cannonball into the lake, water flying everywhere. One raccoon floats on its
back, munching on what I <i>hope</i> is a reed. The potato-thing flails its
stubby legs before sinking with a sad little <i>blub</i>. Ember scoops it up,
laughing harder.
Despite the chaos, I smile.
Even with the damn pop-ups flashing like neon
signs, there’s this… lightness. Like maybe this world isn’t all bad.
Even if it’s loud as hell.
I’m sitting there, messing with this damn
vambrace strapped to my arm, poking at the cold metal like sheer willpower
might make it fit better. It’s too tight, digging into my skin every time I
move—feels like it’s trying to become part of me.
“This thing’s gonna drive me crazy,” I mutter,
barely glancing at Ember and her crazy critter circus.
Out of the corner of my eye, there’s Mr. Potato
Head—yep, that’s what I’m calling him now—floating on Ember’s tail like he’s at
a pool party. Ember’s laughing so loud it’s almost like she’s in my head. She’s
tossing raccoons and squirrels into the lake like they’re freakin’ shot puts.
They twist and flip through the air, limbs flying in all directions, zero
coordination, but they’re loving it.
And there’s Potato Head, holding up little card
signs, giving each critter a perfect 10. The little guy’s got taste,
apparently.
I sigh, the vambrace digging deeper with every
breath. My fingers graze a small cog-shaped icon etched into the metal—hidden,
like it didn’t want me to find it. A screwdriver symbol blinks, and a
translucent menu pops up in front of me.
Huh. Looks like it <i>does</i> come with
instructions.
It’s filled with the usual RPG stuff—Audio
Settings, Interface Customization, all that junk—but then I see it: <b>Mute
System Alerts.</b> Sweet relief. I hover my finger over it for a second before
selecting it.
Bam. Silence.
No pop-ups. No dings. No Ember’s wild laughter or
raccoons splashing around. Just… peace.
I exhale slowly, letting the tension go. “Oh,
thank the gods. Finally…”
That’s when I notice it.
A tiny label in the corner of the menu: <b>Custom
API Integration.</b>
I blink. My mind kicks into overdrive. “What the
hell’s that about?”
I’m still messing with the vambrace when
curiosity starts nudging at me. You know the feeling—the one that whispers,
“Just click it, see what happens.” Without thinking, I tap the <b>Custom API</b>
tab.
The screen flickers, and sure enough, code floods
the display. It looks like something straight out of a tech geek’s dream. A
coding interface, just like the ones I used to work with back home. My fingers
twitch, and before I know it, I’m diving in—old engineering instincts kicking
in. Didn’t realize how much I missed this until now.
I get lost in it. Scrolling, adjusting, my
fingers flying over invisible keys, as if I’ve done it a thousand times. Then
something catches my eye—an audio module.
“Well, well,” I mutter, already pulling at the
threads. I dive deeper, rewriting the system. No more jarring dings and pings
assaulting my ears. I replace them with a calm AI voice—nothing fancy, just
something that won’t make me want to chuck this vambrace into the lake.
I even add a Text-to-Speech function so I don’t
have to keep reading these system alerts. The voice will just read ‘em out
loud.
I lean back, a little smug. “Let’s give this
thing some personality...” I tweak the voice, making it sound friendlier—maybe
even a little sassy. I’m so deep in it that I don’t notice the timer ticking
down on that mute option. It’s counting fast, but I’m too caught up in the
thrill of reprogramming this strange, magical world.
It’s like I’m back at my old job. Except this
code? Well, it’s magical.
Two minutes of silence feel like a breath of
fresh air, but it doesn’t last long. A loud prompt flashes in front of my eyes:<hr>
PLEASE ENTER A VOICE INPUT FOR CALIBRATION.<hr>
Before I can even process that, I hear a
shuffle—a little waddling sound, like something’s coming my way. I glance down,
and sure enough, there’s Mr. Potato Head, waddling toward me. His stubby roots
barely lift him off the ground, but he’s struttin'' like he owns the place.
He clears his throat, puffing out his chest. “Sir
Grant?”
I grin. “Hey, what’s up, Mr. Potato Head?”
“WHAt… how rude!” he snaps, puffing up like a
pompous puffball. “Sir Spudsworth, my name is Sir Spudsworth, damn you.”
I laugh and roll my eyes. “Right, sorry, Spuds.”
He clears his throat again, like he’s about to
give a royal speech. “Ahem. Sir Spudsworth.”
“Alright, alright. Sir Spudsworth,” I mutter,
still chuckling.
Straightening his little leafy head, Sir
Spudsworth looks like he’s about to deliver some grand address. “Your daughter,
Ember, these fine creatures, and I are in the process of striking an accord.
However, we require your parental acknowledgment.”
I glance at Ember, tossing raccoons into the air,
and wave him off without really listening. “Yeah, yeah, do your thing.”
Without missing a beat, the vambrace records Sir
Spudsworth’s voice, capturing his fancy tone like it’s something important.
A second later, the AI voice chimes in, sounding
as aristocratic as ever. “Good morrow, Master Calloway. I am SHAQ’RAI, your
Systems-Hub-And-Quest-Read-Aloud-Integration. Might I interest you in today’s
list of urgent notifications?”
I groan and rub my face with one hand. “I just
turned my game system into a noble-sounding Mrs. Potato Head.”
Ember bursts out laughing, and Sir Spudsworth
puffs up, looking downright flattered.
I shake my head, reluctantly accepting my fate.
The creatures are still busy with their “deal,” but at least now I’ve got a new
voice to listen to—whether I like it or not.