As we ascended the spiral staircase, the musty scent of aged parchment and the faint hum of ancient magical energies grew stronger. The stones beneath our feet, worn smooth by countless feet, seemed to vibrate with the weight of centuries of knowledge.

  At the top, a large wooden door, adorned with intricate carvings of celestial bodies, stood ajar. Beyond it, a grand chamber sprawled, its vaulted ceiling lost in darkness. The air was thick with the whispers of forgotten histories and the soft glow of luminescent orbs, casting an ethereal light upon the array of arcane instruments and tomes that littered the space.

  My eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign of Nolan, when they landed upon a solitary figure hunched over a large oak table at the far end. He was engrossed in a sea of charts, maps, and diagrams, muttering to himself as he scribbled furious notes with a quill.

  As we drew closer, the man’s words grew clearer, his voice a low, nasal whine.

  “…settings menu… can’t find the rendering toggle… glitching like hell…” He rocked back and forth, his greasy brown hair slicked to his forehead in sweat.Bartholomew nudged me, his tail twitching skeptically.

  “I suppose that’s our Nolan,” he drawled.I rolled my eyes.

  “Yeah, real soft-spoken and charismatic.”

  Approaching the table, I cleared my throat to announce our presence. Nolan jumped, his eyes wide behind thick, black-rimmed glasses.

  “Jesus! You can’t sneak up on me like that!” He waved his hands frantically, sending quills and scraps of parchment flying. “I’m right in the middle of recalibrating my hypothetical trajectory!”

  “Recalibrating what, exactly?” I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral.Nolan’s gaze narrowed, suspicious.

  “What business do you have here? This isn’t a public gallery.”

  “Actually, we’re looking for your companion,” I said, gesturing to the cat. Nolan’s eyes widened further as he took in Bartholomew’s presence.

  “Well, I… uh… he hasn’t been by in a while,” Nolan stammered, fidgeting with his robes. “Probably out dealing with yet another ‘world-altering cataclysm’ or whatever.”

  I exchanged a knowing look with Bartholomew. This guy was definitely nuts, but he was our nut.

  “Look, Nolan, we know about your, uh, unique speech patterns and your theories about ‘the code’ and ‘rendering glitches’,” I said, trying to sound casual. “We’re historians, trying to learn more about Eldoria’s magical heritage. Bartholomew here is a scholar with expertise in ancient enchantments.”

  Nolan’s expression softened, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice.

  “Really? You understand the basics of computational paradigm shifts in magical systems?”I took a deep breath, trying to remember the tidbits of nerdery I’d picked up from past bad decisions.

  “Well, not in explicit terms, no. But we’re eager to learn.”

  Nolan launched into an impassioned explanation of his theories, barely pausing for breath. Bartholomew and I exchanged weary glances, fighting to keep our eyelids open as Nolan droned on about “sub-routines,” “Entity-Component Systems,” and “Quaternions in 4D space.”

  “…and that’s why I think the Celestial Sphere’s. [addElement] function is causing the misalignment in the Astral Plane,” Nolan concluded, wiping sweat from his brow. “We need to find a way to isolate and patch that specific bug so I can fucking go home!”I blinked, trying to process the whirlwind of techno-magical jargon.

  “Right, well, that sounds like a challenge worth tackling. Perhaps we could collaborate on your research?”Nolan’s face lit up, his eyes shining like a madman’s.

  “Really? You’d work with me? Together, we could unlock the secrets of Eldoria’s magical infrastructure!”

  “Uh, sure,” I said, nodding for Bartholomew’s benefit. “Let’s give it a shot. But first, have you seen a gray Persian cat? Other than this one.”Nolan’s brow furrowed, confusion creasing his features.

  “No, not recently. I mean, he comes and goes as he pleases, but he doesn’t come here often.”Bartholomew stepped forward, his tail lashing irritably.

  “In that case, I suppose we’re stuck here, babysitting this lunatic while we wait for my infernal feline companion to deign to return.”

  I shot Bartholomew a look, then turned back to Nolan, attempting to sound enthusiastic despite the sinking feeling in my gut.

  “Well, it’s settled then! We’ll team up, and when Bartholomew’s friend shows up, we’ll all celebrate with a round of drinks at the local tavern.”Nolan beamed, rubbing his hands together eagerly.

  “Excellent! I have just the place in mind – the Silver Stag Inn. They have a formidable selection of ales and spirits from across the kingdom. And the atmosphere is perfect for deep, philosophical discussions about the nature of reality and the underlying code of the universe!”

  The Silver Stag Inn was exactly the kind of dimly lit, sawdust-on-the-floor, questionable-stain-in-the-corner establishment I’d come to expect from Eldoria. Nolan, buzzing with the manic energy of a coder who’d just mainlined a pot of coffee, secured us a booth in a shadowy corner, commandeering a small chalkboard from a confused barmaid to use as a makeshift whiteboard.

  Bartholomew, perched on the scarred wooden table, wrinkled his nose. “One hopes the proprietors maintain a modicum of hygiene in the preparation of our libations. The olfactory evidence is… ambiguous.”

  “It’s fine, Bart. Builds character. And immune systems,” I said, sliding onto a rough-hewn bench. “So, Nolan. This ‘addElement’ function. You talk about it like it’s a piece of software. Where’d you pick up that kind of terminology?”

  Nolan paused mid-scribble, a complex equation involving what looked like a square root symbol and a tiny drawing of a dragon halting under his chalk. He looked at me, a flicker of something like caution in his wide, earnest eyes.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “It’s just… the most accurate paradigm for describing the metaphysical framework. The universe operates on logic. On code.”

  “Right, of course,” I said, nodding as if this was a perfectly normal thing for a man in a slightly singed wizard’s robe to say in a medieval tavern. “It’s just a very… specific paradigm. Not exactly standard curriculum at the local mage’s college.”

  Bartholomew, ever the blunt instrument, decided subtlety was for lesser mammals. He fixed Nolan with his unblinking, golden-eyed stare. “The vernacular you employ is singularly unique. It bears the distinct flavor of a realm far removed from our own. One might even say… another world.”

  Nolan’s chalk snapped in his fingers. He stared at the two pieces, then at us, his bravado momentarily deserting him. The mad scientist was gone, replaced by a guy who looked scared and very, very lost. He sank onto the bench opposite me.

  “You… you guys aren’t historians, are you?” he whispered.I exchanged a look with Bartholomew. Well, the cat’s out of the bag. Literally.

  “We’re researchers of a sort,” I said gently. “Just… a different field of study. We’re trying to understand how people end up here. People like us.”His eyes went impossibly wider.

  “Us?”

  “I’m from Maryland. Woke up in a forest outside a nameless village wearing nothing but my fuzzy slippers, a tank top, and Stitch pajama pants,” I said, the admission feeling both absurd and liberating. “And Bartholomew here… well, he came with me.”

  “A most undignified coupling,” Bartholomew sniffed. “I was engaged in a rather sublime nap within my astral demesne when I was rudely corporealized into this… this realm, tethered to her dissonant psyche.”Nolan stared, his mouth agape. Slowly, a tremulous smile spread across his face. It was the look of a castaway seeing a ship on the horizon.

  “Oregon,” he breathed. “Portland. I was debugging a new VR immersion rig. There was a power surge, a blinding light… and then I was lying in a pile of pine needles, smelling like a Christmas tree farm and listening to a kobold complain about its gout.”A laugh bubbled out of me, sharp and relieved.

  “Yeah. That tracks. The transition is never glamorous.”

  “So the ‘computational paradigm’… the ‘glitches’…” Bartholomew prompted, his tail giving a single, interested flick.

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense!” Nolan said, his passion returning, but now tinged with a desperate hope. “This place is a simulation like The Matrix or Sword Art Online. A hyper-advanced, immersive reality. The magic? It’s just the API—the application programming interface. You issue a command, a ‘spell,’ and it calls a function within the base code of the world. The misalignment in the Astral Plane I’m trying to fix is a rendering error. A bug in the graphics driver! I just need to find the source and patch it so I can log out. So I can go home.”

  The sheer, devastating loneliness in that last sentence hit me like a physical blow. He wasn’t just a nut; he was a homesick nerd trying to hack his way back to a world that had routers and pizza delivery.

  “We get it,” I said, and for the first time, I truly meant it. “But hacking the fabric of reality sounds like a two—uh, three-person job.” I gestured to include Bartholomew, who inclined his head regally. “We need to understand everything. You said you appeared alone?”

  “Yeah. No welcome kitten,” he said, managing a weak smile in Bartholomew’s direction.

  “And you acquired your feline companion later?” Bartholomew asked, his tone shifting into something more deliberately casual. “An odd familiar for one so entrenched in the arcane.”

  “Oh, Mr. Fluffkins? He’s not my familiar,” Nolan said, scrunching up his nose. “I’m, like, super allergic. I woke up one morning about a week after I got here, and he was just there. Sleeping on my chest. I try to keep my distance. He sheds everywhere, and if I pet him, my eyes get all puffy and I start sneezing like I’m casting a spell to summon a plague of pollen.”Bartholomew went very, very still.

  “Mr. Fluffkins,” he repeated, his voice flat.

  “Yeah. I didn’t name him. He had a little collar with a tag. It’s not my style.”

  “Indeed,” Bartholomew murmured. He looked at me, and in his feline face, I saw a dawning, grim understanding. “A most peculiar detail. A pre-named creature, appearing post-arrival, to which the ‘player’ is… allergic. An imposed mechanic with a designed inconvenience.”Nolan blinked.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I am saying, Mr. Nolan, that your theory, while astonishingly literal, may require a slight revision,” Bartholomew said, leaping gracefully from the table to the bench beside me. “You are not attempting to ‘log out’ of a simulation. You are trying to unshackle yourself from a narrative.”

  The tavern door swung open then, letting in a blast of cool evening air and the clatter of the busy street. A man stood silhouetted in the doorway, his travel-stained cloak and the hilt of a well-used sword plainly visible. His gaze swept the room, sharp and assessing, before landing on our corner booth. On me. He started toward us, his stride purposeful. Nolan shrank back, suddenly nervous.

  “Who’s that?”

  I didn’t answer immediately. I was too busy taking in the man’s weary but determined expression, the glint of a silver gryphon emblem hastily scraped from the leather of his sword belt, leaving only a ghost of its shape.

  “Trouble,” I sighed, feeling the familiar sinking sensation return to my gut. “Or a delivery. In this place, it’s usually both.”

  The knight reached our table. He ignored Nolan’s startled expression and Bartholomew’s suspicious glare, his eyes fixed on me.

  “We need to go,” he stated, his voice a low rumble.

  “If you’re here to repossess the cat, I should warn you, his verbal abuse is a lethal weapon.”A faint, tired smile touched his lips as he pulled up an empty chair and sat.

  “I see you found your mark.”

  “Of course I did. Ser Kaelen, this is Nolan the Odd of Portland. Nolan, Ser Kaelen. He’s a friend.” I introduced the pair. Nolan didn’t appear comforted by it in the least, and stared at the knight in the same way one stares at a car accident.

  “Our horses are outside. We need to leave.” Kaelen continued.Bartholomew let out a long-suffering sigh.

  “It is never just a quiet drink, is it? Very well, out with it. What fresh calamity requires our particular and doubtless unpaid expertise?”Sir Kaelen’s smile vanished.

  “I found my friends as well and was given a warning. The Shadow Lord’s influence grows. His agents are searching for something. Or someone.” His eyes flicked to Nolan, who was trying to make three hundred pounds look small. “They are asking questions about a man who speaks in riddles of ‘code’ and ‘glitches.’ They are hunting for a ‘key.’ And a talking cat.”

  The air went out of the room. Nolan looked like he was about to be sick. I just closed my eyes for a second. Well, shit.

  The crazy programmer from Oregon wasn’t a nut. He was the MacGuffin. And our nice, simple mission to find a cat had just crashed headfirst into the main plot.