Chapter 13 The Walk Back and the Spoon Talks

Chapter 13 The Walk Back and the Spoon Talks

The walk out of the Deepwood took two days. It should have taken one, but nobody had the energy to push harder.

Tobin complained about his feet for the first six hours. Then he switched to complaining about the bugs. Then the lack of good food. Then the fact that Fizzlewick wouldn't stop talking.

"I'm not stopping," Fizzlewick said cheerfully. "I'm providing valuable information! Did you know that the Deepwood has approximately 847 species of insects? Also, the average walking speed of a tired human is about three miles per hour. At our current pace, we'll reach Oakhaven in approximately—"

"Fizz," Elara said. "Please."

He quieted. For about five minutes.

Bulkan carried most of the supplies without being asked. He also carried Tobin's pack for a while, though Tobin denied needing help. The giant just grunted and kept walking.

Marnie walked at the back, one hand on her apron pocket. The spoon was in there, still glowing faintly. She checked it every few hours. Each time, she nodded to herself and kept moving.

Caspian walked beside Elara, his mind still spinning. Level 8. He could feel the difference. His Aether reserves were bigger. His connection to the conduit was stronger. He could shift between forms almost instantly now.

But the visions haunted him. The Creator's face. The burning cities. The message that had hung in his mind since the ruins: Twenty years from now, I will return.

"How much time do we have?" he asked quietly.

Elara glanced at him. "You mean really? Not the prophecy?"

"I mean based on what we saw. The rifts are getting worse. The monsters are getting stronger. It feels like it's speeding up."

She was quiet for a moment. "Months, maybe. A year at most. The guild masters think so too. That's why they're recruiting so aggressively. That's why the Royal Circle exists."

"Great." Caspian sighed. "So we have months to prepare for a god."

"We have months to get stronger. To find allies. To figure out what that spoon can do." She nodded toward Marnie. "And we have you. The guy with the magic stick who levels up faster than anyone."

"That's not normal?"

"Normal people gain a level every few years. Maybe faster if they fight a lot. You've gained eight levels in weeks." She shook her head. "You're not normal, Caspian."

He didn't know how to respond to that.

They camped that night in a clearing they'd used on the way in. Familiar. Almost comfortable. Marnie cooked with her glowing spoon, and the food was incredible. Better than before.

Tobin devoured his portion in seconds. "Marnie, I don't know what that sphere did to your spoon, but please keep doing it."

Marnie smiled. Then she did something she'd never done before.

She spoke.

"The spoon shows me things."

Everyone froze. Her voice was soft, rusty from disuse, but clear.

Fizzlewick's jaw dropped. "You can talk! All this time, you could talk and you just didn't?"

Marnie looked at him calmly. "Didn't have anything to say."

Tobin leaned forward. "What kind of things does it show you?"

Marnie touched the spoon. It pulsed gently. "The core has memories. From the invasion. From before. I see the Creator. I see his face. I see..." She paused, searching for words. "I see his weakness."

Caspian's heart jumped. "Weakness? What weakness?"

"Pride." Marnie looked at him. "He made this world. He thinks he controls everything. But he didn't make you. You came from outside. You're the variable he can't predict."

The camp was silent. Even the forest seemed to listen.

Caspian thought about his System. About the \[Player Chosen\] tag. About everything that made him different.

"He doesn't know I'm here," he said slowly. "He thinks this world is still his closed system. His game."

Marnie nodded. "The spoon shows me. You are the glitch. The error in his code."

Tobin grinned. "So we're fighting a god with a glitchy stick, a magic spoon, and a guy who won't shut up about facts? I like our odds."

Fizzlewick looked offended. "My facts are valuable! For example, did you know that approximately 73% of all successful underdog victories in recorded history involved an element of surprise? We have that!"

Bulkan grunted. It sounded like approval.

They finished eating in thoughtful silence. The fire crackled. The forest murmured.

That night, Caspian dreamed of code. Lines of it, stretching into infinity. And at the center, a figure typing furiously, trying to fix errors that kept multiplying. The figure turned. It was the Creator. He looked tired. Angry. Desperate.

"You shouldn't be here," the dream-Creator said. "This is my world. My creation. You're a bug I didn't write."

Caspian faced him. "Then maybe your code needs an update."

He woke to morning light and the smell of Marnie's cooking.

The second day passed faster. They reached the edge of the Deepwood by afternoon. The trees thinned. The sky opened. And there, waiting at the forest's edge, was a familiar figure.

Boris.

The old drunk stood leaning against a tree, looking surprisingly sober. When he saw them, his face broke into a massive grin.

"There you are! Took you long enough! I was starting to think I'd have to come rescue you, and we all know how that would have ended." He waddled forward, pulling each of them into a crushing hug. Even Bulkan. Especially Bulkan.

Elara hugged him back tightly. "Father. What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for my guild to come home. What else?" He looked them over. "You're alive. Mostly in one piece. That's more than I expected." His eyes landed on Marnie's apron pocket, where a faint glow pulsed. "And you found something."

Marnie nodded. She pulled out the spoon. The light within was steady, calm.

Boris stared at it. Then he laughed. "Of course. Of course it's a spoon. The most powerful artifact in the Deepwood, and my guild stores it in a kitchen utensil." He shook his head, still laughing. "I love this guild."

They walked into Oakhaven as the sun set. The town was busy, festival decorations still hanging, people still celebrating. Some recognized them, waved. Others just smiled.

At the Hearth's Refuge, everything was the same. Dusty. Creaky. Home.

Boris pulled out ale for everyone who wanted it. Marnie went to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Fizzlewick immediately started cataloging their adventure in his tome. Tobin collapsed on a chair and didn't move. Bulkan leaned against a wall and closed his eyes.

Elara sat beside Caspian at the bar. "So. What now?"

Caspian pulled up his System. Level 8. Several forms available. A thread connecting him to the spoon in the kitchen. A world preparing for war.

"Now we train. We get stronger. We figure out how to use what we found." He looked at her. "And we wait. Because the Creator's coming, whether we're ready or not."

Elara nodded slowly. "Together?"

"Together."

She smiled. It was small, but real.

From the kitchen, Marnie's spoon hummed softly, as if in agreement.