Chapter 2: Rune-Etched Revolvers and Bad Coffee

Arthur stared at the dwarf—Kael Bronzebeard—who was now examining a bag of stale pretzels with the same intensity most people reserved for fine art. The golden interface text continued to hover in his peripheral vision, patient and persistent.

NEW QUEST: MEET YOUR MENTOR OBJECTIVE: Listen to what the dwarf has to say REWARD: Understanding of your new reality WARNING: Your survival may depend on this conversation

"You can see it, can't you?" Arthur asked, gesturing vaguely at the floating text. "The... interface thing?"

Kael looked up from the pretzels, one bushy eyebrow raised. "Interface? Lad, the only thing I'm seeing is a convenience store elf with a divine brand glowing like a neon sign and the look of someone who just got hit by a metaphysical freight train." He tossed the bag back onto its hook. "Though I'm guessing you're seeing a lot more than that right about now."

Arthur's hand instinctively moved to cover the glowing symbol. "How do you know what this is?"

"Because twenty minutes ago, I was tracking a Class-Seven shadow wraith through downtown Calathon, following a trail of corrupted magical energy that led straight to this charming establishment." Kael's voice carried the tired authority of someone who'd explained impossible things too many times. "Imagine my surprise when I arrive to find the wraith dissolved into component shadows and you standing here looking like you've been kissed by divinity itself."

The casual way he said it—shadow wraith, corrupted magical energy—made Arthur's head spin. "You're telling me that thing was real? That I actually died?"

"Oh, you died all right. I can still smell the residual death magic on you." Kael wrinkled his nose. "But someone—or rather, something—decided you were worth bringing back. Question is, why?"

As if summoned by the dwarf's words, new text appeared in Arthur's vision:

PATRON COMMUNICATION AVAILABLE THE KEEPER OF LOST THINGS WISHES TO PROVIDE CONTEXT ACCEPT? Y/N

Arthur hesitated, then mentally selected 'Y'. The golden text shifted, and suddenly he could feel a presence at the edge of his consciousness—vast, ancient, and unutterably weary.

You were chosen because you are forgotten, Arthur Tala'thel. Cast out by your own people, overlooked by the humans you tried to join. I am the god of forgotten things—forgotten people, forgotten places, forgotten causes. Who better to serve as my champion than one who understands what it means to be discarded?

The voice faded, leaving Arthur with the distinct impression of a sad smile and the weight of cosmic loneliness.

"Well?" Kael prompted. "Having a chat with your new boss?"

"Something like that." Arthur rubbed his temples, trying to process everything. "This is insane. Yesterday my biggest problem was restocking the beer cooler. Now I'm apparently some kind of divine champion?"

"First rule of the supernatural community, lad: yesterday doesn't matter. What matters is what you do with what you've become." Kael glanced toward the store's windows, his expression growing serious. "And what you've become is very interesting to some very dangerous people. That shadow wraith? It wasn't hunting randomly. It was sent."

A chill ran down Arthur's spine. "Sent by who?"

"That's what we need to figure out. But not here." Kael jerked his thumb toward the door. "This place reeks of residual magic now. Every supernatural entity within a five-mile radius is going to come sniffing around, and most of them won't be as chatty as I am."

Arthur looked around the Quick-Stop—at the fluorescent lights, the rows of processed food, the security camera that had probably captured nothing useful. It had been his prison for months, but it was also the only stability he'd had since leaving the elvish enclaves.

QUEST UPDATE: MEET YOUR MENTOR OBJECTIVE MODIFIED: Follow Kael to safety TIME LIMIT: Before something else finds you

"I can't just leave," Arthur said. "I have a shift to finish. My manager will—"

"Your manager will find a note saying you had a family emergency." Kael was already writing on a napkin with a stubby pencil. "Trust me, after tonight, your convenience store career is over whether you like it or not."

As if to punctuate his point, the lights flickered. Through the windows, Arthur could see shapes moving in the alley behind the store—too fluid to be human, too purposeful to be animals.

"Right," Arthur said, grabbing his jacket from behind the counter. "Lead the way."

---

Kael's office was nothing like Arthur had expected. The building itself was unremarkable—a narrow, three-story brick structure wedged between a Korean barbecue restaurant and a shop that claimed to sell "Authentic Mystical Crystals" but was probably just overpriced quartz. The sign by the door read "Bronzebeard & Associates - Private Investigations" in faded gold lettering.

"Associates?" Arthur asked as they climbed a narrow staircase that creaked ominously under their combined weight.

"Aspirational thinking," Kael grunted. "Had a partner once. Didn't end well."

The office itself occupied the entire second floor and looked like it had been decorated by someone who'd learned interior design from old detective movies. Mismatched filing cabinets lined the walls, covered with coffee rings and what looked like scorch marks. A massive oak desk dominated the center of the room, its surface buried under case files, empty takeout containers, and at least three different coffee mugs in various states of abandonment.

But it was the walls that caught Arthur's attention. They were covered with photographs, newspaper clippings, and what looked like police reports—all connected by red string in a pattern that would have made conspiracy theorists weep with joy. Most of the photos showed crime scenes, but not the kind Arthur recognized from TV shows. These had bite marks that were too large and too numerous. Burn patterns that formed geometric shapes. Blood spatter that defied physics.

"Welcome to the real Calathon," Kael said, following Arthur's gaze. "The one they don't put in the tourism brochures."

Arthur approached one of the photos—a warehouse interior where the concrete floor had been carved with symbols that seemed to writhe when he looked at them directly. "How long has this been going on?"

"How long has what been going on? Magic? Supernatural creatures? The secret war between ancient powers for control of humanity's future?" Kael moved to a coffee maker that looked like it had survived several small explosions. "Depends on your frame of reference. But in terms of things getting bad enough that even the mundane authorities started to notice? About fifteen years."

He poured coffee into two relatively clean mugs, handed one to Arthur, and settled into his desk chair with a groan that spoke of old injuries and older disappointments.

"That's when the city formed the Paranormal Investigations unit. Small team, good people, dedicated to keeping the supernatural from spilling over into normal folks' lives." Kael's expression darkened. "Lasted three years before politics and budget cuts shut us down. Officially, anyway."

Arthur sipped his coffee and immediately regretted it. It tasted like someone had mixed motor oil with despair. "What happened to the team?"

"Dead, mostly. Transferred to other departments if they were lucky. A few of us went private, kept doing the work anyway." Kael gestured around the cluttered office. "Hence this palace of professional excellence."

QUEST UPDATE: MEET YOUR MENTOR NEW INFORMATION UNLOCKED: Calathon's Hidden History BONUS OBJECTIVE: Learn about supernatural factions

The interface was apparently as interested in the conversation as Arthur was. He decided to push for more information.

"The shadow thing—the wraith—mentioned something about a 'Collective.' Does that mean anything to you?"

Kael's coffee mug froze halfway to his lips. "Where did you hear that term?"

"The wraith said the wounded man was an 'asset' that needed to be 'retrieved for the Collective.'" Arthur set down his coffee, suddenly very aware of how still the dwarf had become. "That's bad, isn't it?"

"That's very bad." Kael stood and moved to one of the filing cabinets, pulling out a thick folder marked with warning symbols that definitely weren't in any human language. "The Collective isn't just another supernatural faction. They're something worse—a group that believes magic and the supernatural are a contamination that needs to be cleansed from the world."

He spread photographs across his desk—surveillance shots of men and women in expensive suits, all of them sharing the same cold, calculating expression.

"They call themselves pragmatists. Humanity's immune system. But what they really are is fanatics who've decided that the only way to protect normal humans is to eliminate everything that makes the world interesting." Kael tapped one of the photos. "They've got resources, connections, and technology that can neutralize most supernatural abilities. Worse, they've got true believers—people who think they're saving the world by burning it down."

Arthur studied the photographs, noting how normal these people looked. They could have been bankers, lawyers, corporate executives. The kind of people who ordered their coffee with specific instructions and never looked convenience store clerks in the eye.

"So what does this have to do with me?"

"Everything." Kael leaned back in his chair. "The Keeper of Lost Things chose you for a reason, lad. Your god specializes in things that have been forgotten, discarded, or written off as worthless. That makes you the natural enemy of people who want to eliminate the supernatural entirely."

The weight of implication settled over Arthur like a lead blanket. "You're saying I'm going to be hunted."

"I'm saying you're already being hunted. The question is whether you're going to learn to fight back or spend what's left of your very short life hiding behind convenience store counters."

QUEST COMPLETED: MEET YOUR MENTOR REWARD: Understanding of your situation NEW QUEST AVAILABLE: PROVE YOUR WORTH

Arthur looked at the quest notification, then at Kael's expectant expression, then at the wall of evidence that proved the world was far more dangerous than he'd ever imagined.

"What do you want me to do?"

Kael's weathered face split into what might have been approval. "Smart question. There's been reports of missing people around the Green Line subway station. Homeless folks, mostly—the kind of disappearances that don't rate much police attention. But I've got a feeling it's connected to our shadow wraith problem."

He pulled out a map of the city's transit system, marked with red X's at various locations.

"I want you to help me investigate. Consider it a field test—see if your new divine abilities are more than just pretty light shows."

Arthur stared at the map, at the red X's that represented people who were gone, possibly dead, definitely forgotten by everyone except a disgraced ex-cop and his newly minted supernatural partner.

"And if I say no?"

"Then you can go back to stocking energy drinks and hoping the Collective doesn't find you before something else does." Kael's smile was sharp and utterly without warmth. "But something tells me your new boss won't be happy if his champion spends eternity hiding from the good fight."

As if summoned by the mention, Arthur felt that vast, patient presence touch his mind again.

The choice is yours, Arthur. But remember—I chose you not because you were strong, but because you cared enough to try when others would have walked away.

Arthur looked at his glowing hand, at the divine symbol that marked him as something more than just another forgotten exile. He thought about the wounded stranger who'd died in the Quick-Stop, about the shadow wraith's casual cruelty, about all the people who disappeared and were never mourned because they'd already been written off as worthless.

He thought about spending his life hiding, or spending it trying to help.

"When do we start?"

Kael's grin widened, and for the first time since Arthur had met him, it looked genuinely pleased.

"First thing tomorrow, lad. But tonight, you're staying here. That couch has seen worse than an elf with divine insomnia, and I've got wards on this building that should keep the nasties at bay." He gestured toward a lumpy sofa that looked like it had survived at least one small war. "Welcome to the supernatural community, Arthur Tala'thel. Try not to die on your first day."

As Arthur settled onto the couch—which was somehow even less comfortable than it looked—he watched the golden interface text fade from his vision. But he could still feel the warmth of divine purpose in his chest, stronger now than it had been in the convenience store.

For the first time in decades, he had something to do that mattered.

He just hoped he'd live long enough to figure out how to do it right.