Finn awaited her answer. How co he never asked for her na?! That was just criminal. Or at the very least... morally offensive. Possibly punishable by public flogging. Or a slap on the wrist from a slightly disappointed grandmother.
But then she finally said it—and Finn’s heart downshifted so hard it did a burnout.
"My na is... Elise."
Finn wanted to keel over and die right there. Just collapse on the floor like a Shakespearean idiot. He had completely fallen for an underpaid, average-looking, overworked elf receptionist.
While he had a literal goddess in his party—one with unreal curves, supernatural beauty, and divine-level ass physics—his heart decided this tired elf girl in a uniform did it for him.
What a guy.
Truly, the patron saint of average taste and even worse decisions.
But still... why was Elise being so nice to him now?
When they’d first t, she had the personality of a DMV worker during a power outage. Deadpan. Dismissive. Done with his entire existence. Now, she was being—dare he say it—sweet?
’How strange...’ Finn thought. But he didn’t ask. He didn’t want to ruin the mont. Or pry too much. Or realize it was all a prank and she secretly hated him. That would suck.
He felt... embarrassed? Nervous? Aroused? Honestly, who knew anymore.
In any case, Finn gave her a genuine thank you for everything she’d done. Again
Then out of nowhere—like a goddamn gremlin—Chestelle appeared at his side. "Thanks, lady!" she said cheerfully.
Finn nearly jumped five feet in the air like a startled alley cat. "STOP doing that!" he yelled, clutching his chest.
"Do what?" she asked with blank, chaotic innocence.
"Forget about it..." Finn groaned, shaking his head.
Elise giggled softly at the whole thing—but Finn didn’t even notice because he was too busy shaking Chestelle violently. She had, of course, tried to grope his ass again.
Business as usual.
After recovering from his mini heart attack, Finn gathered up the rest of the party—Majestria, Lickthorn, and Chestelle (who was already following him like a haunted doll).
He explained the mission: the trek to the Incubus Midwife. Lickthorn gave him a concerned look. Like a "you sure you don’t want to just die instead?" kind of look. Which was troubling, considering she was usually the freaky one.
Majestria, of course, complained.
Sothing about "bone resting," and then sothing even more cursed:
"Godick feet syndro."
Finn had no clue what the hell that even ant. In his humble, perverted opinion, it sounded like sothing illegal in twelve countries. But he nodded along anyway. Arguing would’ve only made her louder.
Now that Finn had a map, so direction, and fresh trauma burned into his mory from sli incidents and sexy elves...
He could confidently say he kinda knew his way around Moistvile.
(He absolutely didn’t.)
But he was good at puzzles and mazes!
...Probably.
But in any case, at least this ti... Finn felt a little more prepared. Not much. But more than nothing. Which, in this world, was basically a goddamn miracle.
At least he wasn’t blindly stumbling into so bizarre new nightmare with no clue what awaited him. He hated that.
He really, really hated that.
Hopefully...
Before long, they were ready to leave the guild and head back into the Whispering Forest.
Finn stood at the doorway and paused for a mont. He glanced back one last ti toward the receptionist—wait, yeah. Elise, right.
She was behind the counter again, like usual. But this ti, she looked up and gave him a small, soft smile. A little wave. Like a quiet "good luck" wrapped in kindness.
And... yeah. Finn needed that.
More than he’d admit.
He turned his head forward again and pushed open the guild doors.
Of course, Majestria imdiately hopped onto his back like the unholy parasite of divine laziness she was.
"Onward, mortal steed!" she declared dramatically.
Finn groaned. "You can walk, y’know."
"I’m conserving energy for future godlike feats."
"You just wanna mooch."
"Potato, potato."
As they made their way through the town, Finn couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling crawling up his spine.
That man—the one he saw last night. The way he disappeared the mont Finn looked away...
Just thinking about it made his stomach twist.
He kept glancing over his shoulder. Kept expecting to see a face in the window. A figure in the shadows. But nothing ever showed up.
Still, his nerves stayed raw all the way through Moistvile.
Eventually, the rotting town would soon fade behind them, and the tall, slim, bent trees of the Whispering Forest would soon stand tall before Finn once more.
Hopefully without all the unnecessary amount of fog.
Back into the woods. Back into the chaos.
And Finn could only hope this ti, he wouldn’t leave with another cursed diagnosis.
Or insane woman.
He definitely couldn’t handle another one.
***
Finn now stood before the forest once more—but this ti, with two new party mbers... and no box containing a talking, screaming severed head.
Progress?
It felt like he was playing Evil Souls, but instead of going solo and suffering, he finally gave in and summoned help because he couldn’t beat the boss alone.
And to his absolute shock—there was no fog.
Thank. God.
Finn let out a deep, relieved sigh and stepped forward into the Whispering Forest once again, the two girls following behind him like backup dancers in the world’s worst music video.
As they walked, the familiar whispers returned. But this ti? They didn’t get under Finn’s skin like they had before. Maybe he’d built up an immunity.
Like psychic rabies shots.
Chestelle, however, kept looking around with wide, twitchy eyes—clearly not vibing with the ambiance.
"Can you stop moaning in my ear? They’re not even saying anything interesting," she mumbled, visibly annoyed.
’Never mind. What the hell is wrong with this place?’ Finn thought, disturbed all over again.
Lickthorn tilted her head, confused. "Moaning?"
"What are you talking about?" she asked, clearly curious—and knowing her, probably interested in the moaning part specifically.
Finn assud that. Logically.
"The trees," Chestelle replied, dead serious. "They keep moaning in my ear. Like, directly into it."
She turned to Finn. "Do they moan in yours?"
"No," Finn said flatly. "Only insults. Relentless, personal, annoying insults that grow old."
He didn’t want to talk about it. He wasn’t in the mood. He never was.
Majestria, anwhile, was paying them all zero attention. Probably arguing telepathically with a god squirrel or sothing.
Lickthorn bit her lip, looking mildly distressed. Her choker pulsed softly with a weird glow. "That’s not fair. I’m not hearing anything at all."
’I’m not surprised,’ Finn thought. ’Even ghosts probably ghost her.’
Soon, they reached the fork in the road Elise had shown him on the map. A narrow dirt path off to the left—subtly hidden by low-hanging branches and thick ferns.
This was it.
Finn took a breath.
And so... the journey to the Incubus Midwife had officially begun.
Screw that na...
Reviews
All reviews (0)