I barrel down an alley looking for an escape.
I scream.
And nearly punch it in the face.
It’s a small... person? Creature? Cartoon? He looks like an anime character, about three feet tall, spiky dark hair with a bold white streak, and massive purple eyes.
He flips a miniature clipboard into existence with a dramatic twirl, adjusts his tiny round glasses, and sighs.
My mouth drops open.
“Oh my god, they’re going to kill me!”
He blinks, then snorts. “Please. Don’t be so dramatic.”
Then he grabs my hand, surprisingly strong for someone built like a couture garden gnome.
“Time to bounce, Miss Big Red,” he grins.
Before I can protest, the tiny muppet yanks me towards the treeline of what looks like a futuristic version of Central Park.
Flix keeps pace effortlessly, floating rather than running, his little boots not even kicking up dirt.
“Assigned agent?” I gasp, dodging a glowing vine.
“The one and only,” he snarks. “I’ve already read your file, you’re a handful. You stirred up chaos five seconds after arrival. Honestly, I never get the easy ones.”
I blink at him.
Then I smirk. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He levels me with a look as we push deeper into the forest. Every step I take echoes with panic I’m not ready to admit aloud. My breath comes in ragged pulls, and the deeper we go, the stranger everything gets.
I want to scream, but I’m too busy ducking under a vine that nearly wraps itself around my head. This whole place is straight out of a fever dream and I am ready to wake up.
“How is this legal?” I mutter, side-stepping what I think is a carnivorous flower.
Flix shrugs. “Different world, different rules. You’re here now. The ink’s dry. And if we don’t lose those guards fast, this ends before we even get started.”
I follow, heart thudding. The terrain grows trickier. All it takes is one misplaced step and…
My heel catches on a root and I go down, hard onto the forest floor. Pain blossoms across my knees, my palms, the side of my thigh. The ground is damp and oddly warm beneath me, but all I can focus on is the sting.
“Shit,” I hiss, dragging myself upright. Blood beads across my legs and arms where the skin’s been scraped raw.
“Red!” Flix rushes to my side, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”
Flix lowers his voice, gentler now. “Okay, okay, no time to bleed in the open. Come on, we’ve gotta get you hidden.”
He helps me up, surprisingly strong for someone who weighs as much as a designer handbag, and guides me to a narrow crevice between two massive tree roots, partially shielded by hanging vines.
Flix shifts beside me, brushing a leaf off my shoulder that’s stained red.
I raise an eyebrow. “What, you’ve got a first aid kit hidden in that glitter satchel of yours?”
“Three. Transformation. Wishes,” he says, over enunciating each word.
I glance down at myself and wince. “Should I be expecting more of this kind of physical trauma? Because, I mean, I’m Pilates-strong, not war-crimes strong.”
He raises his hand, and light pulses from his palm. It spills over me like water.
The pain dulls. The scrapes fade. The bruises vanish in reverse like someone hit undo.
My muscles shift. Everything tightens and strengthens, honed like I was sculpted by the divine.
When I stand, I don’t just feel healed.
I roll my shoulders, flex my arms, stretch my legs with ease.
“Holy shit,” I whisper.
Flix agrees with a whistle. “Okay, Miss Steelcore. That’s one wish down. Two left.”
“What should I do next?” I ask.
He blinks.
“Wow,” he says after a beat. “Pierce told me you weren’t the type to ask for help.”
Flix rummages through his satchel like a squirrel that just lost its favorite nut. Finally, he pulls out what looks like a cross between a leather-bound book and an iPad. He taps the cover, and it springs to life with shimmering illustrations that hover above the pages.
“Alright, Red,” he says, flicking through options. “Let’s look at your power options. We have Phoenix Knight, a classic.”
A glowing figure made of molten gold and embers spins above the page.
“Storm Witch is an interesting one. You can control the weather and you get killer hair volume on humid days.”
Another page flips and mini hurricanes swirl in his palm.
“Shadowblade Assassin has stealth, speed, but questionable fashion choices.”
I roll my eyes.
He ignores me, flipping until something slips out of the back pocket and lands at my feet. A single, dog-eared page.
I bend to pick it up.
The parchment is old with soft worn edges. On the page, a breathtaking swirl of luminous butterflies forms the silhouette of a woman mid-strike.
Spirit Valkyrie is written in sharp, looping script at the top.
“What’s this?” I ask, my voice low.
Flix freezes, then snatches at it.
“That? Oh, no, no, no. That’s nothing. Some bored mage probably stuck it in as a joke. It’s faulty. Doesn’t even work. You’re better off picking something that won’t get you killed in the first five seconds.”
I keep it out of his reach. “So it’s dangerous?”
“It’s a myth,” he insists. “There’s no record of anyone actually activating it. It’s probably cursed with bad hair days or…”
“I want it,” I interrupt.
His brows knit. “You’re serious?”
“Red, no—”
“Yes.” I shove the page toward him. “Make it happen, sparkle boy.”
Before he can argue further, a sound slices through the air,boots crunching on underbrush, the faint metallic clink of weapons.
Flix’s ears twitch. “Shit. We’ve got company.”
Elven guards. A lot of them.
Flix’s ears twitch. “We’ve got incoming,” he whispers.
My blood goes cold.
My entire life has been a war for control, over my career, my image, my feelings. I’ve spent years perfecting the art of never letting anyone see me flinch.
Now? I have lost all semblance of it.
I’m out of time.
I turn to Flix, heart hammering.
“Now,” I say, chest rising and falling. “Give me the Spirit Valkyrie.”
Flix’s eyes widen. “Red… are you sure?”
“No,” I snap, “but I am sure I don’t want to be decapitated by one of these Elven guards. So let’s go!”
He raises his hands, muttering something fast and rhythmic.
I brace myself.
And…
Nothing.
“What the hell?!” I yell.
“Magic delay?” Flix offers weakly.
I don’t wait for clarification.
The nearest guard lunges, but I’m faster. Faster than I’ve ever been. My new wish-enhanced body responds like a dream. I duck under branches, vault over rocks, and fly across the terrain like I’ve lived here my whole life.
In the middle of all the chaos… I feel it.
Freedom.
Real freedom. Wild. Feral. Untethered. I’m half-laughing, half-screaming as I leap across a mossy log and land like a gymnast on the other side.
Flix zooms beside me. We burst through the edge of the trees, leaves slapping against my face.
I stop short.
There, waiting for us, is a ragingriver.
The water crashes over jagged black rocks with enough force to break bones.
“Ugh,” I groan. “Of course.”
I spin around, just in time to see the first of the guards emerge from the tree line.
I’m cornered.
The pressure builds in my chest like a scream bottled too long.
So I let it out.
I can feel the building of an immense power and just as it’s about to release, I fling my arms out from my body and…
Nothing happens. No earth-shattering wave of magic to send the pointy-eared welcome committee flying.
I look to Flix, panic flooding my chest. “What the hell?!”
He throws up his hands. “Told you! Faulty transformation! You wanted Spirit Valkyrie, now we’re gonna die Spirit Valkyrie!”
“That’s not helpful!” I snap, backing toward the riverbank as the guards fan out.
“Yeah, well, my gut says otherwise!” My voice comes out half-hysterical, half-furious, because I can feel something humming deep inside me, like a coiled spring just waiting for the right trigger.
Unfortunately, my gut doesn’t have a Plan B for “about to be skewered by six angry sword-happy elves.”
The guards close in, their boots crunching over gravel. One shouts in their language and I’m pretty sure the translation is somewhere between “surrender” and “hope your will is updated.”
Flix swallows hard. “So… if you’ve got any bright ideas, now’s the time.”
I glance at the river. Then the guards. Then back to the river.
“Oh, I’ve got one,” I mutter. “It’s called ‘don’t die.’”
Before Flix can grab me, I turn and hurl myself into the river.
The shock is instant, ice-cold water swallowing me whole, slamming into me with the force of a freight train. I kick hard, but the current grabs me like I’m nothing, spinning me, dragging me under. My head breaks the surface for half a second before another surge shoves me under again.
Even with my wish-enhanced body, I can’t keep above water. My limbs are strong, but they’re heavy, clumsy against the relentless pull. I’m tumbling over jagged black rocks, lungs screaming, the roar of the river in my ears louder than my own thoughts.
The world narrows to pressure and cold and the burning ache in my chest.
This is it, I think dimly. This is how Red MacLeoir dies — wet, freezing, and looking like hell.
I didn’t even have the chance to call out for a lifeline before the water filled my lungs. Just my luck.
But, before I can fully succumb to the darkness clouding my vision, my arm is seized in a vise-like grip.
I’m yanked upward, hard. Air crashes into my lungs as my head breaks the surface, and I blink through stinging water to see… him.
