ONCE UPON ANOTHER WORLD, in a dark underground room, five featureless silhouettes sat around a round stone table. Only half a dozen torches provided light to the chamber, doing a better job highlighting the shadows than anything else. On the floor, a magical circle glowed dimly. None of the five people was really there, of course. It wouldn’t do for any of them to be caught meeting like this. These shadows were mere projections.

Only one person was physically present, a tall and thin man, lanky even, and clad in a hooded cloak falling to an inch of the floor. A smooth mask covered his face, stark white except for a red-lipped open mouth painted on.

“I hope, Voice, that you can deliver on your claim.” One of the shadows spoke to the cloaked man. Their speech sounded altered, as if they stood behind a veil of water. Yet, haughtiness and disdain still filtered through the distortion.

“Of course.” The one called Voice bowed his head, a gloved hand settling over his heart. His voice was a soothing baritone, free of any artifice, one that disarmed defiance and invited trust, like that of a caring teacher or a friendly older relative. Although, it had little effect on his interlocutors. “I swear this on my name, my soul and all the gods. Just provide me with the opportunity, miladies or sirs. When I am done, your little… problem will sing a very different tune indeed.”

“Heretic!” barked another shadow. “There is only one Goddess! Goddess Caelista!” To the other, they added, “I don’t trust him.”

“This is not about trust, fool,” interjected a third participant. “It is merely business. And your saintess is who’s been making a dent in ours, with the nonsense she’s been preaching. Worse, people are starting to listen! This needs to end now. Before the damage becomes irreversible.”

“This is a waste of my time,” clipped a fourth member of the shadowy council. The alternation of their voice wasn’t quite enough to camouflage the dryness of old age. “This way or another, we need this meddlesome little idiot dealt with. If you want to sell the cow and drink its milk still, do as you wish, but keep me out of these pointless prattles. Get results.” Their projection flickered and vanished, leaving an empty seat.

“Tempestuous as always.” The last silent shadow joined in. Their laughter echoed throughout the room. “By happenstance, I do agree with Sapphire. Further debates are somewhat superfluous. Aren’t we all in agreement this has to be done? And swiftly? Voice here has given us enough guaranties—for myself, at least.” Humour permeated in their tone, especially when stating the cloaked man’s name. “Diamond? Your thoughts?”

“I concur, Emerald,” impatiently said Diamond, the first conspirator to have spoken. “Let us get this over with. Sapphire abstained. Their vote therefore goes to the majority. Now, all in favour, say ‘Aye’, all against, ‘Nay’. I say, aye.”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“……” Silence stretched as one among them remained mute, the one who’d called Voice a heretic.

“Opal?” Diamond pressed.

“…Aye,” came somewhat reluctantly.

“Excellent!” Voice clapped his hands and bowed obsequiously. “Milords or ladies, I do thank you for your conditional trust. You will not regret its placement.”

Diamond huffed. “We better not. Everyone, farewell,” they bid their goodbyes and vanished. Two others followed suit. Only one shadow remained with the masked man, the one who’d complained about the saintess. The other members would call them Ruby.

“Don’t let me down on this, Voice,” Ruby warned the masked man.

“Have I ever?” Voice’s reply came smoothly as he bowed once again with a flourish. “Leave the Lady Saintess to me, Milord. I guarantee all your trouble will soon disappear.”

Ruby’s shadow figure did not reply, only fading away in a would-be ominous fashion. Finally, the last projection gone, the magical circle powered down with a whine.

Left alone in the torch-lit chamber, the Voice of Tarjun smiled behind his mouth-painted mask.

♦ ♦ ♦

Wald’s phone smacked flat on his bare, glistening chest. It was not as glamorous a picture as may seem. For one, he looked rather average for a guy in his late twenties, one whose whole exercise regimen consisted of walking fifteen minutes to work and back, five days a week. Plus, the summer day was mercilessly hot, and his AC had broken down… again. Hence the glistening. He was no YA vampire.

In the wake of his hentai-fueled orgasm came the usual brief window of mental clarity and shame. What am I doing with my life? He wondered idly, staring at the ceiling. After wiping himself, a blind throw landed the bundled wet tissue in the corner bin.

Twenty-nine, soon-to-be thirty, a small rented apartment, a dead-end job that paid just enough to live a frugal life, not even a shadow of a significant other, distant friends he met two or three times a year, parents he called once a full-moon and who lived halfway across the country…

When Wald envisioned his elderly days, he pictured himself alone, maybe with a cat or two, probably mildly sad and regretful, at least when he wasn’t drowning himself in entertainment. That was if his overindulgence in unhealthy microwaveable meals did not get to his heart first.

He knew he should have been shaking himself up, get in better shape, get a better job while he was still young, find someone to love, optionally start a family… maybe get the cats anyway. Of course, things like that were expected of him—of anyone, really. His mother certainly nagged him enough about getting a girlfriend. At least, she did whenever not passive-aggressively scolding him for not visiting often enough.

However, instead of doing any of that, he laid in bed, wanking.

It was past noon, and he’d done nothing productive with his day—nothing but read amateur web novels and masturbate to foreign pornographic cartoons featuring an ugly bastard transforming into an unrealistically endowed anthropomorphic pig monster and brainwashing medieval royalty with his warty cock, and who also happened to share a disturbingly similar name to Wald’s own.

Well, Wald was his surname. He hated his first name. Never used it if he could avoid doing so. Willy Wald, what kind of stupid combination was that? His father was German, and in his native tongue, Wald meant Wood. As for Willy...

In other words, he was named… Dick Wood.

And his mother wondered why he didn’t visit.

Wald’s chuckle marked the bounce-back of his hormonal balance, post-orgasmic melancholy and social performative anxiety fading back into diffuse contentment. “Awww…” Wald yawned and stretched, cracking his back and snuggling deeper into his pillow. He still had about sixteen minutes before he truly, really, genuinely needed to hurry the fuck up to the shower if he didn’t want to arrive late for his afternoon shift.

“NAAAAAAAAANTS INGONYAAAAAAMA BAGITHI BABAAA!!!”

“Gaaah!!” Startled out of his mind—and sofabed—Wald flailed and fell to the floor. “…forfu’sake… I’m coming!” he shouted after a muttered curse directed at his programmable doorbell. He didn’t regret buying the damn gadget, but he kept forgetting to adjust the volume. Fumbling to pull his pyjama pants up and fighting against his long hair’s obstinacy to get into his eyes, Wald scanned the living room for his often-misplaced robe. He found it bundled atop the dining table, between a box of cereal and a Pringles packet. Classic.

Once roughly presentable, he made his way to the front door.

Fifteen seconds later, he was attempting to shut it in the face of a surprisingly insistent middle-aged man. “No, thank you, sir. Really. But I’m not interested.”

“Don’t be foolish! The Eye of Satan is on you, young man! Can you not feel his gaze?!”

“Good day, sir!” Wald finally overpowered the missionary-salesman-doomsday-peddler and closed the door. Leaning against it, he blew out a breath. “What a weirdo­–”

A chill ran down his back, abruptly straightening Wald’s stance. What… Something seemed to move in the corner of his vision. He spun, but all he spotted was a houseplant in dire need of watering. Inexplicably tensed, he crept out of the small entrance hall to peek into his living/bed/dining room. Nothing. The only notable elements in his tiny kitchen were the three-day-old dishes piled in the sink. In the broom closet, dust sat quietly atop the vacuum cleaner. The bathroom yielded no ambushed serial killer either, only a dirty laundry basket begging to be emptied.

And yet, Wald could not shake the impression he was being watched.

“…yeah.” He shook his head. “Okaaay. I’m losing it, that’s fine. That’s fine. Happens to everyone. But, maybe, less hentai and more showering is in order? Yes? Yes…” He still went back to pull the security chain across the front door.

Just in case.

Dropping his robe and pyjamas to the floor, he stepped into the shower. The knob creaked, and after waiting it out a bit, lukewarm water rained over his head, and Wald hopped back onto his previous train of thought with a renewed optimistic lens.

So… his life was not straight out of a Hollywood romance.

So what?

He had a roof over his head—technically, the roof was three flats above—and food in his belly. He was healthy. He had a job, maybe not a glamorous one, but stable employment nonetheless, and it made him enough money to put a bit aside as long as he spent nothing besides what was strictly necessary… and a few silly indulgences. Like a doorbell he could program to the Lion King’s opening.

Which suited him just fine. He was not one for partying, and for travelling even less. His idea of a fun evening was to snuggle on his couch/bed with a big glass of chilled soda—75% ice cubes regardless of the season—and watch anime. For that, he needed only the cheapest internet subscription available, a computer, and some dubiously legal streaming habits. And, if someday he longed for nature and a change in scenery, the city had some very nice parks.

The idea of spending half his hard-saved money and hours, if not days, on the road to go on a so-called vacation and then relax just felt absurd. Why not chill out right here? Maybe don’t kill your soul in the office and forsake that trip to Florida this year? Do you really need that second flat-screen TV, mate? It’s not like anyone will even notice your new pair of shoes.

People confused Wald.

Not in the sense that he didn’t understand why others did what they did. He did understand, intellectually speaking. He just thought most everyone else’ reasoning was deeply flawed—How arrogant of me—and that their sense of value was incredibly wonky. Or maybe he was the weird one.

Or maybe not.

Perhaps he chose to believe in his own weirdness to make himself feel less boring than he was. After all, everyone wanted to consider themselves unique.

It doesn’t really matter in the end. Everyone’s fucking weird. That’s the real moral here. And to loosely paraphrase a great villain: since everyone’s weird… no one is. Everyone’s weird. Therefore everyone’s boring.

A little sophistry to make himself feel smart.

Work Hard, Play Hard?

Wald was preferred to work as little as possible and live calmly.

I really should visit Mom more often, though.

As his mind wandered into increasingly chaotic thoughts, Wald shampooed his long brown hair, rinsed them, switched to conditioner, and repeat, all the while gradually lowering the temperature until the water was just slightly too cold. The hairs on his body soon all stood on end, and the slight shivers helped wake him up.

Lastly, when it came to his barren love life his mother was so vocally worried about, Wald felt ambivalent at best.

He wouldn’t deny he felt a little lonely at times, and he was curious what the fuss was all about—again, from an intellectual standpoint. But he was also pretty content with his lackadaisical routine, and having to take another person into consideration would throw a wrench in that. He’d watched his parents tearing each other’s hair out for years—figuratively—and frankly, the advantages of a relationship didn’t sound like they’d outweigh the burdens.

To that, Wald’s paternal grandmother used to say he’d change his tune once he found the right person. She was probably right, of course. Grandma Hilde usually was. But between working at a glorified fast-food and staying cooped-up inside most days, Wald’s opportunities to test his gran’s wisdom were limited.

Rest in peace, grandma. Miss you, Wald thought with nostalgia and shut the shower off. He towelled himself, dried and tied his hair in a loose ponytail—reminding himself to cut them for the hundredth time these past five months—and took a peek at his phone. Twenty minutes left before his shift started. Plenty of time. He could even use his five-minute surplus to check out that new webtoon he’d read good things about.

Twelve minutes later, Wald was out his front door, cursing his congenital idiocy and running at full throttle. In the street outside, the blazing summer heat ruined the results of his shower in a heartbeat. He was sweating bullets by the time he approached his workplace—but he was on time!

He only had one final street to cross, and the cool, blissfully air-conditioned inside air of Burt’s Big Burgers would be his!

Prudent still, Wald checked on both sides before stepping onto the crosswalk.

*HOOOOOOONK!!*

“Jeeeesus Christ!” Wald stared dumbfounded at the back of the truck that had nearly run him over. The vehicle had come out of nowhere, turning into the street at full speed and tires screeching. He’d barely managed to jump out of the way in time. A second later, and he’d been pavement paste. The driver didn’t even bother to stop, neither to apologise nor yell at Wald. “Which bad isekai protagonist is that motherfucker after?! –Gah! Time! Time!”

Wald made it in with only seconds to spare. He changed into his uniform shirt in record time and skidded to his workstation in the restaurant kitchen like a baseball player completing a home run. The dramatic entrance earned him an amused smirk from a passing blond waitress. He absent-mindedly smiled back reflexively, while trying and failing to identify the woman.

She must be new, he concluded. Wald wasn’t good at noticing or remembering people. But it wasn’t so bad that he’d forget his co-workers, even if most were temporary hires. Besides, he doubted he’d fail to recall anyone so beautiful working at BBB. Tall and slender, with impeccable make-up and poise, the blonde even managed to make the unflattering striped uniform shirt look good. Somehow.

“Hey, pervert, do you think women exist for your visual pleasure? Or are you just too retarded to behave better than an unevolved ape?” The venomous remark didn’t come from the mysterious blonde, who’d just left the kitchen, but another waitress coming out of the staff rooms.

“Tiphany,” Wald greeted with an insincere smile. “How are you today?” Not yet fired? I’m impressed. He didn’t say that last bit out loud. It’d be unlikely Burt would fire his niece anytime soon, anyway.

The redhead snorted disdainfully, “Ugh, men!” and stomped out of the kitchen. Wald rolled his eyes and let himself get immersed in the monotony of his job, thoughts wandering idly and the hubbub around fading into the background.

The mad truck, the unsettling sensation from earlier, and the weird proselytiser had all already completely vanished from his distracted mind.

MrSmee

Shady people plotting shady plots, and introduction to our MC. How does any of this relate to the prologue, I wonder.