There were many things Aiden expected from his new magical life.
Adventure?
Possibly.
Glory?
Maybe.
Stability?
That fantasy died long before he did.
What he did not anticipate was spending his third day in a fantasy world serving as a combination therapist, miracle vending machine, and cosmic liability officer.
He could feel it again.
That tug.
Desire.
Not sadness.Not boredom.A properly formed wish.Reality-ready. Prime cut yearning.
"Ah," the fae guide murmured beside him, voice serene and refined, swirling a glass of something that shimmered like dignified moonlight. "There it is. A deep one. Grief-saturated. Aged nicely in despair."
Aiden blinked.
"You can taste wishes?"
"Everything meaningful has flavor," the fae replied. "This one tastes of heartbreak, devotion, and chronic exhaustion. A tragic vintage. Quite moving."
Aiden followed the feeling's pull.
At the back of the dim club sat a woman clutching a locket with white-knuckled desperation. Her eyes were the color of nights without sleep.
The kind of hurt that warped gravity around itself.
Aiden exhaled.
"Alright. No pressure," he muttered. "Just walking up to catastrophic heartbreak to negotiate with existence. Totally average Tuesday."
He approached.
"Rough night?" he asked softly.
She laughed, the sort of sound that shattered halfway through.
"My daughter's dying," she whispered. "No cure. No miracle. They tell me to pray and wait. I'm done waiting. I'd give anything for her to live."
There it was.
The wish formed.
Solid.
Weighty.
Undeniable.
If Aiden walked away, it would dissolve.
If he accepted…
The universe would turn.
The fae leaned lazily beside him, unseen by all but Aiden, eyes bright with ancient, melancholy amusement.
"Remember, dear boy," he murmured. "A wish granted is a scale disturbed. Balance… follows."
Aiden remembered.
Wishes always work.Balance always arrives.Someone pays.Maybe the wisher.Maybe someone near.Maybe Aiden.Maybe nobody.Perhaps the universe simply smiles.
Very comforting.
He swallowed.
"What do you want most?" he asked.
Her eyes filled.
"I just want her to live. Please. Anything. I don't care what it takes."
Aiden cringed slightly.
"The universe does love that phrasing," he muttered.
But it was too late.
The wish anchored.
Warmth sparked in his chest.
Reality shifted.
Somewhere far away, a child's lungs filled like the world had decided she was allowed to stay. Color returned. Stillness loosened. Life resumed.
The wish worked.
Aiden breathed out.
The woman gasped.
She didn't know how.
She didn't know why.
But she knew.
Her legs gave out and she collapsed against him, sobbing relief into his chest.
He held her.
The fae watched quietly, dignified, almost fond.
For a heartbeat…
The world felt right.
Warm.
Human.
Good.
Then Aiden remembered.
"…How bad is the cosmic bill?" he murmured.
The fae considered, brow slightly raised.
"Oh, this one is merciful," he replied. "Suffering pre-paid. Emotional debt already collected. A backlog tragedy credit, if you will."
"So… no disaster?"
"None."
Aiden sagged in relief.
"Although," the fae added casually, "she will stub her toe every morning at sunrise for the next twelve years."
Aiden stared.
"…What?"
"Balance," the fae said simply. "But in a graciously comedic form."
"That's insane."
"That," the fae replied gently, "is kindness."
The woman finally released him, laughing and sobbing all at once.
"Thank you," she breathed before running into the night like she feared the miracle might evaporate.
Aiden collapsed onto a stool.
His heart felt lighter.His soul felt heavier.He wanted to cry and sleep and laugh.
"That," he whispered, "was worth it."
The fae raised his glass in a small, respectful toast.
"Welcome," he said softly, "to the art of wish granting."
Aiden exhaled.
For one glorious second, things were peaceful.
Then—
The door slammed open.
A man stumbled in, face pale, coat shredded, hair full of hay and existential panic.
"HELP!" he shouted. "MY FARM— IT— THEY— WON'T STOP— IT'S— THEY'RE EVERYWHERE—"
The club froze.
Aiden slowly turned.
Then slowly, very slowly…
turned to the fae.
The fae remained composed, expression politely intrigued.
"A situation," he observed. "Let us investigate."
Aiden dragged himself toward the door like someone willingly approaching a train wreck out of obligation.
They stepped outside.
First came silence.
Then came noise.
So much noise.
Thumping.Scratching.Squeaking.
Rabbits.
Not dozens.
Not hundreds.
A catastrophic fluff-based population event.
They swarmed fields in a soft tidal wave. Crops vanished beneath living fur. Fences trembled under bouncing enthusiasm. A barn strained under a quivering blanket of aggressively reproductive determination.
Aiden stared.
The farmer pointed helplessly at the horizon of terror.
"I JUST WISHED MY FAMILY WOULD HAVE ENOUGH FOOD FOR WINTER!" he cried. "JUST ENOUGH! AND THEN— THEY APPEARED— AND THEN THEY— THEY— THEY KEEP MAKING MORE—"
Aiden turned, horrified.
The fae looked…
…pleased.
Not laughing.
Not smug.
Just deeply, academically delighted.
"Fascinating," the fae murmured. "An excessively literal interpretation of agricultural abundance. The universe does have a sense of humor."
Aiden blinked.
Then blinked again.
Then froze as a rabbit hopped onto his foot.
Another hopped onto that rabbit.
Another immediately decided to contribute enthusiastically to population statistics.
Aiden did not move.
He feared acknowledgement would encourage them.
"…This isn't funny," Aiden whispered.
The fae's lips twitched.
"Oh, on the contrary," he said gently. "It is farcically brilliant. Behold: a wish of survival paired with cosmic comedy. Efficient and entertaining."
Aiden choked.
"Paired with—?"
The fae gave him a very patient look.
"My dear boy. Did you truly believe only one person wished while you were basking in emotional resonance? The moment you opened yourself to grant… you accepted two wishes at once."
Aiden paled.
"I— I granted both!?"
"Yes," the fae said warmly. "Congratulations. Your first multi-task."
A rabbit squeaked triumphantly.
Another rabbit was born.
Somewhere in the distance, a third barn collapsed under fluff-pressure.
Aiden buried his face in his hands.
"Okay," he muttered weakly. "We solve the rabbit crisis. Then I'm going to lie down. Forever."
The fae placed a graceful hand on his shoulder.
"Chin up," he said kindly.
"At least it isn't ducks."
Aiden didn't reply.
He didn't dare ask.
Tuesday had somehow gotten worse.
And significantly hoppier.