(Or: "How to Emotionally Malfunction in Five Easy Steps")
Fun fact: after your first sanctioned magical duel ends in a glitch-scream, emotional identity disintegration, and the abrupt nonexistence of your opponent, the System doesn't offer you a complimentary nap.
It offers you a ping.
[System Notice: Emotional Destabilization Detected. Suggestion: Process Feelings or Suppress Efficiently.]
Thanks, HAL.
I sat alone in the infirmary wing of the Echo Shrine, wrapped in three blankets and my own crumbling sense of self. My body had stopped glitching—mostly—but my brain felt like a room someone had tried to sweep under the rug.
Metaphorically. And probably also literally.
"You look like death," said Seraphina, entering like a winter breeze in full princess-angel mode.
"Thank you," I rasped. "I aim for consistency."
Inner Me:
Step One of emotional burnout: deflect with sarcasm.
Sarcium:
Step Two: continue pretending your identity crisis is a fashion statement.
Seraphina sat beside me on the cot.
She didn't say anything for a second.
Just reached out.
And pulled me into a hug.
Not a romantic one. Not a pity one. Just warm. Steady. Safe.
I didn't hug her back at first.
My arms felt heavy. My thoughts heavier.
But eventually, I melted.
Like the world cracked open and I curled into the only non-glitched part left.
"You scared us," she whispered.
"I scared me."
She pulled back slightly.
"You're still you."
"Am I?" I asked. "Because I think I fought a version of myself and he called me a typo. That's not even metaphorical. That's just bad file formatting."
"You're the original," she said.
"I'm the only one left. That's not the same."
Enter: Mirielle.
She appeared like a soft sigh of light, robes rustling, eyes solemn.
"Kael," she said, kneeling.
"Unless you're here to deliver divine therapy, I—"
"I came to pray."
I blinked.
"For me?"
"For all versions of you," she said simply.
She closed her eyes.
And began.
Words in the old tongue.
Soft. Gentle. Ancient.
I didn't understand half of it, but I felt something loosen in my chest.
Like a knot that forgot why it existed.
Inner Me:
Step Three: allow religious roommate to cast Bless on your soul.
Sarcium:
Step Four: let someone else carry the weight for a moment.
Of course, that moment ended swiftly and violently with the arrival of Belladonna.
CRACK!
"OW—WHAT THE HELL?!"
She slapped me.
In the face.
Infirmary cot and all.
"You absolute dolt!" she snapped, eyes blazing. "Do you have any idea what we thought when you glitched out mid-duel?! What I thought?!"
"I was busy dying dramatically!"
"And now you're whining tragically! Get up, you miserable spaghetti-code idiot!"
"Are you... mad or worried?"
"BOTH," she shrieked, then promptly shoved a vial into my hands.
"What's this?"
"Liquid stability," she muttered. "Also chamomile. And 3% brandy."
I drank it.
Then coughed.
Then cried.
Only a little.
"I saw myself die," I muttered. "Not metaphorically. Literally. He called me the fake. The typo."
Belladonna's voice softened.
"Then prove him wrong."
Spoon appeared next.
He wasn't in his referee outfit, thank the stars.
Instead, he floated in wearing his "Emotionally Supportive Mentor" form: oversized reading glasses, stress-ball texture, and a tiny cardigan with wooden buttons.
"Kael."
"Don't," I said.
"You fought a ghost of your own potential and won by refusing to become him."
"Don't."
"And now you're sulking in a blanket burrito, which I respect deeply."
I squinted.
"...You do?"
"Kid," he said, sitting on my bedside like some cursed bedtime spoon-fairy, "you've been glitching since birth. You've been breaking rules since your first sarcastic breath. And now? Now the System doesn't know what to do with you."
He leaned in.
"That means you win."
"It also means I nearly died."
"Winning and dying are sometimes parallel processes."
"That's not helpful!"
"But it's true."
And then.
The final boss of emotional support entered:
Fluffernox.
He leapt onto my chest.
Sat.
Purred like a celestial kettle.
And stared into my soul.
"You brought the cat," I said.
"The cat brought himself," said Spoon.
Fluffernox nuzzled my chin.
And suddenly, the tears came.
All of them.
No drama. No screams.
Just silent, messy collapse.
I cried until my throat ached and my magic glowed erratically and someone held my hand—I think it was Belladonna—and someone else whispered prayers—I think it was Mirielle—and Seraphina wiped my face with a handkerchief that smelled like wildflowers.
And through it all—
Fluffernox purred.
Inner Me:
Step Five: Break down completely.
Sarcium:
Final Step: Let them see you break. Let them stay anyway.
Eventually, I spoke.
Barely a whisper.
"...I don't know who I am anymore."
Spoon answered gently.
"You're Kael. You're the glitch who lived. You're the typo that rewrote the page. And you're not done yet."
I slept.
Deep. Glitchless.
And when I woke, my magic no longer sparked red error sigils around me.
Just one clean, soft ping.
[System Notice: Echo Stability — Partial. Emotional Core — Unlocked.]
New Trait Gained: "Reluctant Resilience"
You bend. You don't break. Usually. Unless slapped.
Next Time on Kaelverse:
The Mask Cult makes its next move. The System tries to contain Kael (spoiler: lol no). And the world begins spiraling toward a rebellion nobody asked for—least of all our favorite semi-functioning protagonist.
Coming up:
Chapter 68 – "The Mask Rebellion"
(Starring: one existentially unstable magic cult, one dumb prophecy, and Kael saying "no thanks" like it's going to stop anything.)
Because sometimes, the world wants you to be a savior.
And sometimes, you'd really rather be a nap enthusiast.