Edrin Vale had always believed that life should come with clear warnings. Not vague ones like "be careful" or "try your best," but very specific instructions such as: Do not attempt to climb this fence. You will fail. Spectacularly.
Unfortunately, life had never consulted him on this.
"This is a terrible idea," Edrin muttered, gripping the wooden fence with all the confidence of a man who had already accepted defeat.
"You said that the last two times," called a farmer from the road.
"And I was right both times," Edrin replied.
He pulled himself up, one shaky step at a time. For a brief, glorious moment, it seemed like he might succeed. His foot found a stable plank, his hands held firm, and hope—fragile, fleeting hope—sparked within him.
Then the plank cracked.
Edrin slipped, flailed dramatically, and landed flat on his back with a sound that suggested both physical and emotional damage.
"…I regret everything," he said to the sky.
The farmer shook his head and walked off, muttering something about "natural selection."
Edrin sat up slowly, brushing dirt from his clothes. "I was close," he insisted to no one in particular. "That counts as progress."
It did not.
As he stood, wincing slightly, he noticed something strange.
The town square—normally quiet at this hour—was glowing.
Not metaphorically.
Actually glowing.
"Oh no," Edrin said immediately.
At the center of the square stood the Stone of Ages, an ancient relic that had spent generations doing absolutely nothing. It was widely respected for this.
Today, however, it had chosen violence.
Light pulsed from its surface, soft at first, then brighter, like a heartbeat growing stronger. Villagers began to gather, whispering anxiously.
"What's happening?" someone asked.
"The prophecy," another replied.
Edrin took a cautious step backward.
"No," he said firmly. "Not my problem."
The stone pulsed again.
Edrin took another step back.
"I refuse," he added.
The light intensified.
"Absolutely not."
Then, without warning, the glow shifted.
It pointed.
Directly at him.
Edrin froze.
The crowd followed the light.
And just like that, every eye in Brindlewick turned toward the most unqualified hero in history.
"…This feels targeted," Edrin said weakly.
The stone pulsed, as if in confirmation.
Edrin looked around, hoping—desperately—that it might shift to literally anyone else. A farmer. A baker. The fence.
It did not.
Elder Bram stepped forward, his expression a mixture of awe and long-awaited satisfaction.
"At last," he declared, "the chosen one has revealed himself."
Edrin raised a trembling hand.
"I would like to formally decline," he said.
The stone glowed brighter.
Bram nodded solemnly. "Your refusal has been noted."
"And?"
"And rejected."
Edrin stared at him.
Then at the stone.
Then at the crowd.
"…I knew I shouldn't have gotten out of bed today."
Somewhere in the distance, the broken fence leaned slightly, as if in agreement.
And just like that, Edrin Vale's very unfortunate adventure began.