The double-shot oat milk latte was approximately three seconds away from being mine when the universe decided to fold itself like a cheap napkins.
"Excuse me, I think you dropped your—" I started, lunging forward to catch a gleaming, gold-embossed card that had slipped from the pocket of the guy in front of me. He looked like he'd been synthesized in a lab dedicated to producing 'Prototypical Fantasy Protagonists.' Six-foot-four, jawline like a cliffside, and hair that smelled aggressively of sandalwood and destiny.
I, on the other hand, am Alex-Tùng. I am five-foot-five on a good day, currently wearing a sweater two sizes too large, and possessed of a grace that can only be described as 'fainting goat.'
As my fingers brushed the card, the floor of the Seattle Grind didn't just shake; it vanished. A neon-violet geometric circle erupted from the linoleum, screaming with the sound of a thousand tuned violins.
"Wait, I didn't order the special effects!" I yelped. My voice always goes three octaves higher when I'm terrified, which is often. "Is this a flash mob? I'm really bad at choreography, I have no core strength!"
The Sandalwood Hero turned, his eyes widening, but he was already being pulled upward by a pillar of light. Because I was mid-lunge and currently clutching his sleeve like a terrified barnacle, I was hoisted right along with him. The smell of roasted Arabica was replaced instantly by the scent of ozone, ancient parchment, and very expensive incense.
We hit a floor that was definitely not linoleum. It was polished obsidian, cold enough to bite through my jeans.
"Oh, great Heavens," a resonant, booming voice echoed through the hall. "The ritual is complete! The Savior of Vinh-Lâm has—" The voice faltered. "Wait. Why are there two of them?"
I scrambled to my feet, or tried to, but ended up doing a sort of panicked crab-crawl away from a line of heavily armed guards. I was in a massive domed hall draped in silks the color of bruised plums. At the far end sat a king whose crown looked heavy enough to cause permanent neck damage. Beside him stood a woman with hair like spun silver and eyes that glowed with a faint, pulsing blue light—the High Enchantress, if the hovering staff was any indication.
"Behold!" the Hero announced, striking a pose that belonged on a book cover. "I am Orion! You called, and I have answered!"
I stood up, dusting off my oversized sweater. My knees were shaking so hard they were practically playing a percussion solo. "Hi. Um. I'm Alex. I'm not a savior. I'm actually just a temp worker with a very low caffeine tolerance and I think I might be having a very vivid hallucination. Is there a bathroom? Or a portal back to 4th and Pike?"
The High Enchantress, whose name tag (if she had one) would likely read 'Lady Linh,' drifted down the dais. She ignored Orion entirely and poked me in the shoulder with a glowing finger.
"This one is... defective," she whispered, her voice like wind through chimes. "He has the residue of the summoning circle, but he lacks the Heroic Marrow. He is small. He is soft. He smells of... scorched beans and oat milk."
"Hey, I'm not defective!" I protested, my nervous chatter kicking into high gear. "I'm very efficient with spreadsheets, and I can bake a sourdough starter that doesn't die for at least a month, and—"
"Silence, Error," the King commanded, looking at me with profound disappointment. "Orion is the Blade. This... thing... is a clerical mistake of the cosmos. We cannot send him back; the Anchor is broken for a century."
"A century?" I squeaked. "I have a library book due on Tuesday!"
They decided, after much deliberation and several more insults to my stature, that they couldn't just execute a 'clerical error.' Instead, they dumped me. Not in a ditch, thankfully, but in the neutral city of Oakhaven—a sprawling, magical metropolis governed by guilds and coin. They gave me a deed to a 'condemned property' and a small bag of silver just to get me out of the palace.
Three hours later, I was standing in front of a narrow stone building squeezed between a weapon shop and a place that sold 'Used Dragon Scales.'
"Okay, Alex," I muttered, my teeth chattering as a Shadow-steed trotted past, its rider looking at me like I was an interesting snack. "You're in a different dimension. You have no way home. You have a building that looks like it's being held together by spite. But you have a deed!"
I pushed the door open. The interior was coated in dust, but it had character. Specifically, it had the character of a place that desperately wanted to be a coffee shop.
In the back, I found a pantry. It was a walk-in, made of dark, swirling wood that seemed to breathe. When I stepped inside and whispered, "I really wish I had some coffee beans," the shelves groaned. Suddenly, a burlap sack of sun-dried berries appeared. Not just any berries—they smelled like the most complex, floral espresso I'd ever encountered.
"Okay, magic pantry. Check," I said, feeling a spark of excitement. "What about a stove?"
In the corner sat a massive, cast-iron oven etched with glowing runes. It didn't use wood. As I approached, a small, flicking orange light danced behind the grate. A fire spirit.
"Hello, Mr. Fire Spirit," I said, bowing slightly because my mother raised me to be polite to elemental forces. "I need to boil water. Can you... do that? Please?"
The oven roared. A blast of heat hit me, but it didn't burn. It was controlled, perfect.
I spent the next hour cleaning. I found a bag of flour that seemed to refill itself and a jar of honey that tasted like liquid starlight. I was so busy humming a tune and rearranging the dusty chairs that I didn't notice the bell above the door chime.
A man was standing there. He was tall, dressed in shadows and leather, with a jagged scar running along his jawline and a pair of eyes that looked like they'd seen the end of the world. He moved with a silent, predatory grace that screamed 'I kill people for a living.'
"This is supposed to be the empty safehouse," the man growled, his hand dropping to a wicked-looking hilt at his hip. "Who are you, little rabbit? And why does it smell like heaven in here?"
I froze, holding a dusting rag like a shield. My brain went into panic-chatter mode. "I'm Alex! I'm the new owner! I was summoned by mistake but I'm making coffee now, and I'm very sorry if this was your safehouse, but I have a deed! Would you like a latte? It's on the house. Please don't stab me, I'm a hemophiliac. Well, I don't know if I am, but I definitely don't like bleeding!"
The man—who I would later learn was Kael, the most wanted Shadowblade in the Dark Kingdom—stared at me. His gaze shifted from my terrified face to the steaming cup of liquid I'd just nervously poured from the magical oven-kettle.
He took a step forward. I tripped over a loose floorboard, tumbled backward, and accidentally performed a perfect mid-air flip that landed me right back on my feet, cup still held level.
Kael blinked. "Was that a combat dodge or a seizure?"
"A bit of both?" I squeaked.
He took the cup, took a sip, and his entire body stiffened. His eyes widened. He looked at the coffee, then at me, then at the magical pantry humming in the background.
"You have no idea what you are, do you?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave.
"A disappointment to the King of Vinh-Lâm?" I suggested.
Kael set the cup down and leaned over the counter, his scent of cold steel and mountain air filling my lungs. "You just served me a brew infused with enough concentrated mana to level a city block. And you're using it to... froth milk?"
"It makes it extra creamy!" I said, my voice hitting that high-pitch again.
Outside, the heavy clatter of Shadow-steeds announced the arrival of the Royal Guard. Kael cursed, drawing a blade that seemed to swallow the light. "They're here for the ring. Stay down, rabbit."
But I was already moving. Without thinking, I grabbed a handful of 'sugar' from the pantry—except it wasn't sugar, it was crystallized kinetic energy. I threw it at the door, hoping to 'sweeten' the situation.
The door didn't just lock. It solidified into a shimmering wall of diamond-hard force.
Kael turned to me, his jaw dropping. "That's a Ninth-Circle binding spell. You just... you threw it like salt."
"I was nervous!" I yelled, waving my hands. "I'm very clumsy when I'm nervous!"
I didn't realize it yet, but my life as a data entry clerk was officially over. I was Alex-Tùng, the accidental master of the most dangerous bakery in the multiverse, and I'd just accidentally imprisoned one of the world's deadliest assassins in my shop.
And honestly? I still hadn't had my latte.