Julian woke up on a lumpy inn mattress that smelled vaguely of old potatoes and regret. The morning sun poured through the cracked shutters, casting stripes of light across the wooden floor. Somewhere downstairs, someone was shouting about cabbage prices.
He stared at the ceiling for a moment.
"I'm still here."
**\[Correct. Aldrion has not ejected you. Unclear if that's good news.]**
Julian rolled out of bed with a groan. Every muscle in his back complained.
"Why do fantasy worlds never have proper mattresses?"
**\[Because back pain is an excellent motivator for early quests.]**
He pulled on the least damp of his clothes, adjusted the spoon strapped to his belt like a makeshift wand, and headed downstairs. The inn's main hall was mostly empty, save for a tired-looking woman wiping down tables and a pot of questionable stew bubbling behind the counter.
"Morning," Julian said.
She grunted.
"Can I get breakfast?"
She pointed to the pot.
Julian looked at it. The stew stared back.
**\[Warning: nutritional content low, microbial content high. But it's edible. Probably.]**
He took a bowl anyway and sat by the window, spooning globs of mystery-meat into his mouth. It tasted like salt and sadness.
"I need a real meal soon. Or I'm going to cry."
**\[You need money for that. Or prestige. Or, preferably, a miracle.]**
After finishing—or giving up—on the stew, Julian stepped outside. Elmsmere in the morning felt less magical and more... mundane. Chickens pecked at the dirt, a merchant argued with a blacksmith, and a kid ran by holding what looked like a magically animated bucket.
"Where do I even start?"
**\[You're a registered adventurer. Begin at the guild. Accept quests. Gain currency. Avoid death.]**
Julian walked toward the stone building with the faded blue banner again. A few people milled around the job board, most of them young and either nervous or trying too hard to look cool.
One guy was holding a greatsword twice his size and flexing with every breath.
Julian just looked at his spoon and sighed.
Inside, the crimson-haired receptionist didn't look up.
"Morning," Julian offered.
"You're back. Didn't expect that."
"Disappointed?"
She finally glanced at him. "Mildly surprised. Most spoon-wielding newbies don't survive the first night."
"I'm not most newbies."
**\[Statistically, he is exactly that.]**
Julian leaned on the counter. "Any quests today?"
She pointed toward the board.
Julian walked over, scanning the parchment slips. Today's offerings were slightly less suicidal:
* "Lost delivery satchel near South Gate."
* "Strange noises in Farmer Gorbin's barn."
* "Apprentice alchemist needs mushroom samples."
"I vote mushrooms," Julian said.
**\[Agreed. 54% chance of mild hallucination, 0% chance of being eaten. Acceptable odds.]**
He grabbed the mushroom slip and returned to the counter.
"I'll take this one."
The receptionist scribbled something on a form. "You're looking for blue-cap mushrooms. Near the river trail. And don't bring back poisonous ones. We already lost a guy."
"Sounds like a great time."
As Julian walked out, spoon at his side and optimism slightly restored, he tried to act like an actual adventurer.
He passed a guy polishing his bow and nodded confidently.
The guy nodded back.
Julian immediately tripped over a chicken.
**\[Confidence level: reset.]**
He dusted himself off, pretending nothing happened, and headed toward the forest path.
For the first time, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he could make it in this world. With the spoon, the sass-bot in his head, and the sheer stubborn will not to die in a barn, he was beginning to fit in.
Or at least blend in awkwardly enough that people stopped staring.
Baby steps.