Chapter 10: "Till Kingdom Burn Us Apart"
It hasn't even been a full day.
We were married three hours ago.
Now the kingdom is on fire.
Like, entirely on fire.
The palace is gone. The ducks have declared martial law. The goblins are looting the wedding registry. Kevin is leading a flock of doves on a tactical retreat. The princess is trying to save a flaming spoon collection.
> "This is not what I envisioned for our honeymoon," I mutter as I dodge a falling chandelier.
> "The chandelier wasn't even lit before," Arcanos adds. "How did it catch fire?"
> "I may have insulted the royal baker's sourdough starter," Grubnuk admits.
> "You did what?!"
> "It had a face! And it growled at me!"
We sprint through the outer walls, dodging spicy shrapnel from the trebuchet-mounted soup bombs now being launched by the Reheated Resistance.
Eventually, when there are no more explosions within earshot, no flaming baguettes hurling through the air, we finally slow to a walk.
Smoke rises behind us. A once-proud kingdom now looks like a barbecue accident that got way too personal.
> "So... where do we go now?" I ask.
> "Somewhere without cake-based politics," Arcanos mutters.
> "Or spoons with emotions," I add.
> "I brought trail mix!" Grubnuk announces, holding up a bag of mostly croutons and mystery meat.
We walk. Mile after mile. No destination. No plan. Just three idiots (and a princess trailing behind on a flaming unicycle) walking through ash and chaos.
And yet, somehow, this feels normal now.
> "So," Arcanos says, looking at the horizon, "want to place bets on how long before the next kingdom declares you a prophecy again?"
> "I give it two days," Grubnuk says.
> "Six hours if there's a confused oracle nearby," I sigh.
A few more minutes pass in silence. Then I glance sideways at Arcanos.
> "Wait... hold on. I never questioned this before, Arc, but weren't you a sword?"
> "Still am," Arcanos replies casually. "But I can shift between my blade form and a functional spiritual body."
> "...You can just do that?"
> "Yup. Always could. But watching you panic while holding me was too much fun to stop."
> "You absolute jerk."
> "Correction: Multiform, magical jerk."
Grubnuk chimes in, chewing loudly. "Wait, does that mean you could shapeshift into, like, a picnic table?"
> "Technically, yes. But with dignity."
We keep walking. No plan. No map. Married, hunted, and accompanied by a sentient sword-ghost who moonlights as sarcasm incarnate.
Just another Tuesday.
---
End of Chapter 10 (a honeymoon for the history books... that no one will survive to write).