The cabin creaked quietly under the weight of evening—half a sigh, half a groan. Inside, the party had collapsed into their respective chairs like exhausted furniture, every face bearing the wear and tear of a very specific kind of chaotic day.
Seren nursed a bandaged hand and a tankard that may or may not have been someone else's. Her expression said she didn't regret a single bar fight—just that she hadn't gotten a chance to suplex the last guy through a table.
Kale was staring at the wall with the vacant dread of someone who'd accidentally caught feelings,
Vix, on the other hand, sat on the opposite end of the room, rearranging knives that definitely didn't need rearranging. Her ears were pink. She glared at her blade like it had betrayed her.
Ash leaned against the wall, arms crossed, scanning the group like he was trying to figure out which part of the day had broken everyone first.
Then there was Lyra. Grinning, humming, sipping tea.
And sitting across from her, looking like the embodiment of silent suffering, was Poffin.
A tiara sparkled on his head.
A small, frilly dress clung to his floof.
Ash blinked once. Then again. "Should I ask?"
Poffin didn't break eye contact. "Don't."
"...Noted."
To everyone else, it came out as a few squeaky chirps and a fluff-wiggle.
Lyra giggled. "He's still wearing it! He likes it!"
Poffin's fur bristled. If rage could sparkle, it would look exactly like him right now.
Poffin's ears flattened. Ash leaned in slightly, whispering, "If you set fire to it in the middle of the night, I'll swear it was bandits."
"Bless you," Poffin whispered back.
Seren leaned her head back with a sigh. "So. Anyone else get punched today?"
"I did the punching," she added proudly.
Vix and Kale both made the mistake of glancing at each other. The clumsy half-fall into each other earlier still hung between them like an awkward ghost.
Vix cleared her throat. "Someone spilled soup on me."
"...I tripped over something," Kale added quickly.
Poffin snorted. "Soup. Sure."
Ash turned away to hide the brief smirk.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Morning came with a headache. They stood now in front of the guild board, attempting to look like a cohesive, functioning party.
Poffin sat perched on Ash's shoulder, wearing the emotional equivalent of a thousand-yard stare. He still had sparkles in his fur. Lyra insisted on "subtle" glitter.
"Today," Ash muttered, eyeing the commission list, "we lay low. No chaos. No dresses. No geese. Just a normal job."
"No promises," Poffin said in a language no one else could understand—which was for the best, because he was still cursing in three languages and a growl dialect.
And then… they appeared.
The rival party.
Radiant, smug, polished to the point of absurdity. Not a speck of mud on their boots, not a single disheveled strand of hair.
The leader—the one with the jawline and confidence of someone who'd never been hit with a stray onion cart—flashed them a charming smile.
"Well, well. Didn't expect to see you all up this early," he said with faux politeness.
"Didn't expect you to still be wearing that face," Lyra shot back cheerfully.
Vix smirked. Kale, standing beside her, blinked like he was still trying to decode what just happened.
"And what exactly do you call that?" he asked, gesturing at Poffin like he'd personally been insulted by his fluff.
Ash didn't respond. Poffin, on his shoulder, narrowed his eyes and slowly—methodically—hacked up a hairball onto the man's boot.
A long pause.
The rival tamer lowered his gaze. "You've got a very short leash on that thing, beast boy."
Ash flicked his eyes to the wet splotch now soaking into expensive leather. "He's leash-optional. Comes with mood swings and passive-aggressive fur shedding."
That earned a twitch in the man's jaw.
The man stepped closer, his shadow swallowing Ash's space, and grinned. "You want to play the game, you better be ready for the big leagues."
He snapped his fingers.
From behind him came the distant rumble of footsteps—not human.
The ground gave a little quiver.
A low growl echoed through the hallway.
Then something stepped into view. A hulking creature, easily the size of a wagon, with scales that shimmered like obsidian and horns that curled like ancient roots. Its eyes glowed faintly, and it let out a snort that sent a tremor through the floorboards.
Ash stared for a beat.
"…That's not regulation."
The tamer beamed. "Meet Maelgra. Half basilisk, half dire bear, one hundred percent illegal in three kingdoms. Technically considered a geological hazard in the fourth."
Even Kale leaned sideways to whisper, "Are we supposed to clap, or run?"
Ash kept his gaze cool. "Interesting. Bet it's a nightmare to walk."
Maelgra snarled. The floor cracked.
Poffin hissed right back, puffing up like an angry loofah with no self-preservation.
Ash casually pressed a finger to his head. "Not yet."
The rival tamer straightened. "Tomorrow. East side of the plains. One-on-one beast duel."
"...Unofficially sanctioned and legally non-binding," Ash added quickly.
The man smirked and turned on his heel. His team followed with synchronized superiority, leaving a trail of cologne and moral ambiguity.
Silence settled around the table again.
Poffin glanced up at Ash with his fluff still bristled. "Did you see the horns on that thing? You sure we're not bringing a cannon? Or divine intervention?"
Ash sighed. "We'll figure it out."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The inn had finally gone still, save for the faint creaks of settling wood and the occasional snores.
Poffin lied down on a pillow, wide awake. Sleep? Unlikely. Not when his mind kept replaying the horror show that was Maelgra the Whatever-the-Hell-That-Was. He could still feel the weight of its gaze, like someone had dropped a war crime into a beast's body and called it a pet.
He grumbled and rolled over. "Fuck it," he muttered. "If the apocalypse is tomorrow, I'm at least going to face it well-moisturized and marginally composed."
With a soft thump, he hopped off the bed, slipped past the snoring tamer, and padded out into the quiet streets.
Moonlight draped over the cobblestones as he wandered. Nothing in sight of the empty street just shadows, silence, and the occasional breeze blowing past his fur.
Poffin ended up perched on the edge of the fountain in the center of town. He glared at his reflection.
"This is ridiculous. I've exploded, been thrown, dressed like a princess, almost started a cult, and now I'm supposed to fight an eldritch gym boss made of nightmares?"
He flicked water at himself.
Then the air shifted.
The stars above pulsed brighter. The fountain water shimmered. And a light, soft and gold and entirely too serene for this hour, spilled into the square.
He didn't even turn to look. He knew that glow.
"Oh no," he muttered, ears flattening. "Not you. Not tonight. And here I thought you were all about Non-Interference"
Then, with a shimmer of light and the faint scent of divine lavender, the Goddess appeared at his side. She hovered in her usual radiant glory—serene, untouchable, and very much on his nerves.
She blinked innocently. "Well to answer that, yes, but this is... different.
The Goddess descended like a celestial Pinterest board. Gown flowing, hair glowing, smile radiant enough to shame the sun.
"Poffin," she greeted, voice like warm chimes.
"No. Nope. Turn it around. Go back to divine daycare or whatever."
She tilted her head. "I sensed your turmoil."
"Yeah, well, you also sensed the wrong time to show up!" He turned on her, pointing an accusatory paw. "Do you know what I saw today? That beast? I've sneezed things more emotionally stable than that thing!"
She blinked, patient. Too patient.
"You—you plopped me into this world with zero context and now there's a gym boss from the seventh circle of 'no thank you' waiting to floss its teeth with my ribcage!"
The Goddess floated a bit closer. "I only wished to offer guidance."
"No. No guidance. You don't get to show up glowing and perfect like an ethereal motivational poster when I'm three bad minutes from forming a religion around spite!"
Her serene expression didn't shift.
"Poffin," she greeted warmly, as if they hadn't just had a confrontation that nearly resulted in celestial hate mail.
He stared at her, deadpan. "Oh no. Nope. You don't get to say my name like we're on good terms. I have questions, woman. Existential, magical, potentially apocalyptic questions. And you—" he gestured with both paws, "—are the only person qualified to answer."
She blinked, ever-patient. "Go on."
"Right. So. If I—" he dramatically tapped his floof, "—am supposed to be this unstoppable being of untapped cosmic oomph, why, and I emphasize this strongly, why have I not melted a continent with a sneeze or opened a rift with a well-timed yawn?"
She opened her mouth.
He kept going. "And before you answer with some vague poetic garbage like 'the power was within you all along,' I want you to really think about what that says about your divine rollout strategy. I've been thrown, chewed on, dressed in glitter, and my most impressive feat so far is leading a trash army!"
A long pause.
The Goddess folded her hands, eyes gentle.
"I… may have forgotten to tell you."
Poffin froze. "…I'm sorry. What?"
She smiled sheepishly, radiating the divine equivalent of a guilty toddler. "It slipped my mind. You were so cute when you landed, I got distracted."
"You FORGOT?" he screeched, claws curling dramatically toward the heavens. "You cosmically forgot to tell me what my powers even are?!"
"I was going to return and explain, and here we are. I was... incomplete with the introductions so this time's an exception. Just tying up loose ends. Compensating."
"For what, exactly?"
"For... missed tutorials," she offered weakly.
"Missed tutorials. You left me with fur that explodes, no guidebook, and not even a beginner's spell list. You might as well've tossed me in here with a 'Good Luck' post-it and a smirk."
She shifted, suddenly fascinated by her own fingers. "You're adapting well."
"I detonated myself. That's not adapting, that's a live-action tragedy."
The Goddess sighed, waving her hand as a projection appeared—tiny Poffin zipping through the air mid-boom, fluff flaring behind him like an angry meteor. "You were supposed to shoot the fur. Not wear it like it's a death vest, I'm not going to keep reincarnating you if you keep dying like a moron."
"You think I knew that?!" he threw his arms in the air. "I've been treating my entire combat style like a failed cooking experiment."
She winced, half-grinning. "Still impressive, though. Very creative."
"Creative?! Bitch, that was suicidal!" he barked. "I kamikazed a fairy festival and survived by sheer force of indignation!"
"Exactly! Resilience! That's power!"
"Power would be not waking up with soot in places I can't even reach to clean!"
The square went silent again for a beat.
His pupils shrank.
"You're telling me I've been the projectile this whole time—when I was supposed to be the artillery?!"
"Exactly!"
He dropped backward with a groan that shook nearby flowerpots. "This is why we need manuals."
"You're figuring it out! Trial by fire is very in right now."
"I was the fire!"
She looked over at him with a soft smile. "Look... you're a wildcard. You're not supposed to follow a straight path. You're meant to make your own."
He crossed his paws over his chest, sulking hard enough to warp gravity. "You're lucky I'm adorable."
"I'm counting on it."
She vanished again in a flicker of celestial sparkle, leaving behind the faint scent of lilies and metaphysical confusion.
Poffin stared at the empty air where she'd been. Then looked at the moon. Then back at his reflection.
"…Non-Interference, my tail," he muttered.
Poffin remained still in the fountain. Contemplating how convenient of her to give out the tutorial the day before he faces the thing from whatever ninth layer of "no thank you" it belonged to. He brushed himself off and made his way back home, knowing that maybe he can now at least sleep after her divine "guidance" on how to utilize his powers.