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Chapter 1: The Letter Nobody Asked For
From the log of Garrick Ironhart: "Everything was perfect… until they sent the damn letter."
The couch groaned beneath the weight of two utterly unbothered younglings lounging in the sun-drenched clearing. Stretched across the worn, lumpy cushions like royalty of the woods were Nico Finnikin Faelwyn, the foxkin fire-hazard in red armor and crumbs, and Garrick Ironhart, the soot-stained half-dwarf mechanic with a permanent oil streak on his cheek.
In front of them? A conjured mirror-screen playing "MythFlix", the world's most inconsistent but addictive streaming service. On it flashed the opening of "Dragon Bachelor: Volcano Isle"—a trashy romance reality show that Garrick pretended to hate.
Beside the couch, sat a makeshift wooden crate overflowing with food: crispy root chips, fire-flavored jerky, fried mushrooms with sweet glaze, and a dish Nico had found from a wandering merchant—some mix of spiced red and green vegetables so foreign it might've been illegal.
Nico plunged his face into the bowl.
"Dude, this slaps," he said, voice muffled. "Ten outta ten. Tastes like spicy regret."
"Yeah, well," Garrick said, cracking open his third fizzbrew soda, "you said that last time. And then you threw up behind my anvil."
"True. But worth it."
The two basked in the lazy joy of wilderness exile. No alarms. No social contracts. No bosses breathing down their necks. Just fresh air, their streaming queue, and a silence only broken by the sound of birds... and Garrick snorting from laughter at a particularly awkward dragon kiss.
"Imagine going back to that world," Nico muttered. "With rent, meetings, and—ugh—bath schedules."
Garrick didn't even answer. He just groaned and reached for the slushie. Life was good.
That's when the sky buzzed.
A magical humming echoed above them as a courier drone shaped like a metallic pigeon spiraled into view. It had a beeping red light and a scroll clutched in its talons.
The boys looked up.
"No," Nico said flatly. "I opted out of society mail. I checked the box. I remember."
The bird dropped the scroll directly onto Nico's face. It bonked his forehead with precision. The scroll glowed faintly with an official blue rune.
He blinked. "...Ow."
Garrick frowned. "Is that a government seal?"
Nico peeled the parchment off his face and unraveled it.
> "Dear Nico Finnikin Faelwyn,
You have been wrongfully exiled into the wilderness.
After review, your status has been reinstated.
You may now return to regular society.
A full-time job is available for you.
Please report within three business days.
Congratulations."
Nico's ears twitched violently. His tail stiffened like a frozen rope.
He looked up, wide-eyed. "They want me to WHAT?!"
Garrick paused mid-slurp. "...You're kidding."
Nico turned the letter around. "Look at this! Look at it! They're calling it a 'promotion to civil reintegration'! I call it a nightmare."
"Oh no…" Garrick whispered, reaching slowly for his own drone-delivered scroll lying suspiciously nearby on the armrest.
He opened it with trembling fingers.
> "Dear Garrick Ironhart,
You have been wrongfully exiled into the wilderness.
Your citizen status is now fully reinstated.
A full-time job is available for you.
Your workshop license will be reactivated.
Congratulations."
Garrick gasped. His soda slipped from his hand and hit the dirt with a soft thud.
"This... this cannot be happening," he murmured. "A job? Now? In the middle of Season Four?!"
"We were free, Garrick!" Nico stood up, flailing his arms. "We had peace! I had a slushie plan! You had your rust pile! We were untouchable!"
Garrick looked haunted. "I'm not ready to re-enter society, Nico. I don't even have pants with zippers."
The MythFlix screen flickered as the internet rune tried buffering.
Nico pointed dramatically at the scroll. "What if this is a prank? Like one of those hidden-camera shows! Where's the punchline, huh?!"
Suddenly, a second scroll popped into existence and hit Nico in the forehead again.
He dropped to his knees. "Okay, that's not a prank."
They both stared into the void of adulthood, job descriptions, and workplace hygiene policies.
Then Nico stood up.
"Okay. You know what? No. We're not doing this. You know what we're doing?"
"What?"
"We're sabotaging it."
Garrick blinked. "Sabotaging...?"
"We apply," Nico grinned, "badly. We become the worst candidates they've ever seen. We interview like gremlins. They'll beg us to stay exiled!"
Garrick considered it. "...That might actually work."
"Of course it'll work." Nico smirked, wagging his tail. "I'm a foxkin. I know how to weasel out of responsibility. Trust the plan."
Garrick stood, adjusting his goggles with new purpose. "Then we better start not preparing."
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Chapter 2: "Showers, Swords, and Sudden Anxiety"
The world was cruel.
Especially at 4:56 A.M.
A blaring alarm rune pulsed like a dying banshee, echoing off the wooden walls of the cabin with ear-piercing precision.
Nico and Garrick groaned in unison from the couch, their bodies sunken deep into the cushions like corpses refusing resurrection. Empty wrappers, slushie bottles, and a once-proud tower of jerky sticks lay scattered around them like the aftermath of a snack war.
Nico's fox ears twitched in dismay.
"Who... the hell set an alarm," he croaked, eyes half-closed.
Garrick's goggles were still on, despite the sleep crusting in his eyes. "I didn't. I don't believe in alarms. I believe in entropy."
The door creaked open. Entering without knocking was Oliver, clad in his signature green hoodie and white half-mask, a gleaming iron broadsword casually slung over his shoulder. Next to him walked Fern, his tall, graceful Druid companion with flowing green hair, matching green robes, and an aura that made plants lean toward her just to be near.
Oliver brushed back his shaggy brown hair beneath the hood and greeted them like it wasn't still pitch black outside.
"Oh, hey. You two are up." He tilted his head. "It's 4:56. Heard the regular nations want you back. Thought I'd stop in. Fern and I fixed the showers, by the way."
Fern nodded silently, arms folded.
Garrick blinked once. Nico made a small dying noise.
Then—
"IN THE SHOWERS. NOW."
A sharp command pierced the air like a thrown dagger.
Seren stood in the hallway like a divine executioner in her pristine yellow maid uniform, eyes narrowed like judgment incarnate. One gloved hand pointed with authority toward the hallway.
Nico yelped, ears flattening. "Okay, okay! We're going!"
"We're going!" Garrick groaned, dragging his legs toward the bathroom like a man headed for the gallows.
Water.
Nico twitched again. He hated water. Foxes and fire did not mix with baths, especially cold ones. He gave Garrick a betrayed look as he stepped into the misty steam of the newly fixed bathroom.
Garrick looked longingly at the snack pile he had prepared just days ago for their all-nighter movie marathon.
"It didn't have to end like this," he whispered.
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Meanwhile…
In the dim room across the hall, Aurelia Dawnmere stirred.
Goldie the semi-spiritual catkin was curled at her feet like a soft, humming heater. Aurelia rubbed her eyes, hair a halo of unkempt golden tangles, her purple pajamas wrinkled from her constant tossing.
She lifted her sleeping mask with one finger.
"Ugh… What's going on?" she groaned, flicking on her room's light crystal.
Still groggy, she padded barefoot into the hallway just in time to see Nico disappear into the bathroom and Garrick sulking like a towel-clad prisoner.
Oliver stood casually in the corner, Fern stoic beside him.
Aurelia narrowed her sleepy eyes.
"What happened?" she asked, voice flat.
Oliver shrugged and replied, "Job application."
The words hit her like a thunder spell.
"Jobs?"
Her mind went blank.
Her hands trembled slightly.
Aurelia remembered her mother forcing her into a car wash job—scrubbing wheels, dragging hoses, getting sprayed in the face by accident. She remembered being laid off the next day, because her "work performance wasn't fast enough." That was her first day.
She remembered sending out 400 job applications during the job crisis. Not a single one replied. Or worse, they replied once—and then ghosted her forever.
The embarrassment of showing up late, rushing, forgetting deodorant… She shivered at the memory.
"Nope," she whispered. "I'll do anything else. I'll fight a kraken. I'll clean moss with a hairbrush. But I am not going back into the labor force."
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6:58 A.M.
As the first rays of morning light touched the treetops, the portal gate hummed in the clearing. The silver disc pulsed with energy, leading to the nearest hub of "civilized society"—a bustling city where elevators and interview offices waited like predators.
Nico stepped out of the bathroom, slicked-back hair barely hiding his dread. He wore a borrowed button-up and pants. It felt wrong. Restrictive. "Like someone turned my soul into a resume," he muttered.
Garrick followed, dressed semi-formally in a blacksmith-tailored jacket, bronze-buckled boots, and the cleanest goggles he owned. He looked down at his slushie-stained hands, now scrubbed clean.
"Man… we really did it. We got clean."
Nico nodded solemnly. "The system wins again."
Standing before the portal, the two glanced at one another.
"We're doing the sabotage plan, right?" Garrick asked.
"Oh, absolutely," Nico replied.
"Terrible answers, bizarre body language, and if they ask about strengths—?"
"I tell them I breathe fire when I'm nervous," Nico grinned.
"And I admit I talk to hammers."
They both smirked, took a deep breath, and stepped toward the glowing portal.
Aurelia, watching from the porch in her slippers, shook her head and muttered, "Fools."
Oliver cracked a grin beneath his mask. Fern, as always, said nothing.
The portal lit up—and the adventure toward modern employment began.
To be continued in Chapter 3: "The Worst Interviews Ever"
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