We all know Lady Luck. That fickle, unpredictable force that decides whether you hit the jackpot or trip over your own shoelaces.
But what you, dear reader, don't know… is that she's a tsundere.
One moment, she's showering you with blessings, aces in your hand, green lights all the way, a perfectly timed gust of wind. The next, she's crossing her arms, turning away with a huff, and muttering, "It's not like I wanted you to win or anything!"
I should know. I've been her favorite punching bag for years.
Take this morning, for example.
A cool breeze whispered through the quiet village of Valeford, rustling the leaves of ancient oaks and carrying the scent of fresh bread from the baker's stall. It was, by all appearances, a beautiful day. Birds chirped overhead. The sun shone warmly. The cobblestone streets bustled with life as merchants set up shop and children darted past, laughing.
And then there was me. Asher Ardent. The walking catastrophe.
I took a single step outside my house, and fate decided to remind me of my place.
Splat.
"Again?" Old Man Wilfred muttered, shaking his head from his fruit stand. "Boy, I swear, you're cursed."
"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled, wiping the mess off with a rag I had, unfortunately, learned to keep on hand.
The villagers of Valeford, my humble little home, had long since stopped being surprised by my streak of disasters. Some waved sympathetically as they passed, others murmured prayers, and a few mothers pulled their children away as if my misfortune was contagious (which, for the record, is not scientifically proven).
With a sigh, I shook my head and trudged forward, stepping carefully…
CLANK.
A horseshoe, from absolutely nowhere, bonked me on the forehead. I winced, rubbing the soon-to-be bruise.
"HOW?!" I demanded, looking around for any logical explanation.
The only horse in the vicinity was Aunt Maria's sleepy mare, and her horseshoes were firmly attached. Meaning, once again, the universe had gone out of its way to mess with me.
I moved on, bracing for the next ridiculous event. Because it was never just one.
By the time I reached the market, disaster had already found me twice.
First, my coin purse fell through a loose gap in the wooden planks near the well, plopping straight into the abyss with a finality that made me question my life choices. And then, while helping the baker's apprentice carry a tray of freshly enchanted pastries, one of them exploded in my hands. The magic-infused sugar turned volatile the moment I touched it, sending a shower of glittering sparks into the air like a festival gone horribly wrong.
A second later, the entire tray caught fire.
The baker shrieked. I shrieked. The apprentice abandoned ship.
I barely managed to toss the flaming pastries into a nearby barrel of water before they could burn the whole shop down.
Everyone stared at me.
I sighed, rubbing my temples as the baker clutched his chest like he was about to have a heart attack. "I'm sorry?"
But the damage was done. Again.
After five minutes of heartfelt apologies, I finally went on my way, strolling through the village at a leisurely pace. A humble settlement on the kingdom's outskirts, it was a place where magic flowed as naturally as breath. Enchanted lanterns floated above their posts, casting a soft golden glow even in broad daylight. Self-stirring cauldrons bubbled in alchemist shops, their contents shimmering with color. The clock tower wasn't powered by gears and cogs but by an ancient spell that ensured it chimed at precisely the right moment every hour. Yet, for all its wonders, this was still just a village, a quiet, peaceful place where magic simply made life easier. Farmers used minor enchantments to strengthen their crops, blacksmiths inscribed runes to keep their forges burning without constant tending, and the local tailor owned a pair of scissors that cut fabric on their own, an innocent marvel that had terrified me as a child
Magic was convenient. Helpful.
Unless you were me.
Despite being a mage with average capabilities, I was utterly useless in any real magic setting because of my curse. No matter how hard I trained, my spells always misfired in the most humiliating ways.
I once tried a simple levitation spell to lift a book. The book caught fire instead.
Tried healing a small cut on my hand? Ended up summoning bees instead.
Tried to conjure a harmless light orb in the dark? Blinded myself for three hours.
To the villagers, I was a walking disaster. Some called me cursed. A few brave souls tried offering me magical charms for protection. None worked.
Even Master Rendal, my old magic tutor, had to admit defeat.
"Asher," he had sighed one day after my failed attempt at summoning a simple gust of wind, "have you… perhaps considered a career in farming?"
A career that involved sharp tools and unpredictable animals? Not a chance.
I ducked into the blacksmith's shop, leaving my dark past behind me, and greeted Garrick, my father's assistant, with a smile.
"Morning, Asher." The burly blacksmith, forearms dusted with soot, apron streaked with the evidence of a long day's work, grinned as he wiped sweat from his brow. Even with his arms crossed, he looked like he could bend steel with his bare hands. "Here for your mother's commission?"
I nodded, already wary. My mother, an enchantress renowned for her protective charms, had placed an order for a set of engraved runestones.
Garrick handed me a pouch. "Careful, they're fragil…"
The moment the pouch touched my fingers, the entire thing ripped open. The stones tumbled to the floor, one bouncing into the furnace, another shattering on impact, and a third, somehow, launching itself directly at my forehead.
Thunk.
I swayed on my feet, seeing stars.
Garrick stared at me. I stared at the broken pieces.
"...You can fix these, right?"
His eye twitched.
By the time I left the shop, without the runestones and with a deep sense of shame, word had already spread.
"I heard he broke Garrick's enchanted stones."
"That boy's a walking disaster."
"I once saw him trip over nothing. I swear by god, nothing."
"Poor lad. It's not his fault. Some people are just born unlucky."
That last one almost made me feel better. Almost.
I trudged home, careful to avoid puddles, open windows, and anything remotely fragile. I had learned the hard way that I could trip over air, get rained on while the sun was shining, and somehow attract every bee in a two-mile radius just by existing.
Was it a curse? Probably.
Did I have any idea how to fix it? Not a clue.
But hey, at least today wasn't as bad as the time I accidentally set off every single firework at the midsummer festival at once.
Or the time I got struck by lightning three times in a row.
Or the time I…
A loud crash interrupted my thoughts.
I turned my head slowly, already dreading what I would find.
A wagon had overturned in the middle of the street, scattering crates of glowing, enchanted apples across the road. The merchant in charge of it was staring directly at me.
"...I didn't even do anything!" I protested.
The villagers weren't convinced.
Ignoring the mess, the whispers, and the burning gaze of half the village, I turned on my heel and made for the outskirts.
The dirt road twisted and turned as I left Valeford behind, the soft hum of village life fading with every step. I moved on instinct, feet carrying me up the familiar path leading out of town.
The road curved past a small stream, its crystal-clear waters reflecting the late afternoon sun. The air smelled of damp earth and wildflowers, the scent cutting through the lingering frustration in my chest. A few fireflies had already begun to drift lazily above the water, their tiny golden lights blinking like stars brought down to the surface.
I followed the winding path until it opened into a vast hillside clearing.
This place… this was mine.
The hill was steep but not impossible to climb, its grass a rich green that rippled with the wind. Wildflowers speckled the ground in patches of soft blues and yellows, dancing gently in the breeze. From the very top, the entire village could be seen, a patchwork of red-roofed houses, smoking chimneys, and meandering cobbled streets, framed by the rolling hills beyond.
But the real beauty came when you looked the other way.
On the far side of the hill, the world stretched endlessly. A golden sea of tall grass swayed with the wind, their tips catching the fading sunlight in waves of amber. Further beyond, the distant peaks of the Gilded Range rose against the horizon, their snow-capped peaks almost ethereal in the dying light. And above it all, the sky, vast, endless, painted in hues of orange, pink, and violet.
I let out a long breath.
No matter how bad my luck got, no matter how frustrating my days were, this place… this was where I could breathe.
I trudged up the hill, feeling each step in my legs as the incline grew steeper. The old oak tree at the top had stood for god-knows-how-long, its roots curled into the earth like fingers grasping at time itself.
And beneath it, as expected, was him.
Lance Ferris.
He leaned lazily against the trunk, arms folded behind his head, golden hair catching the last light of day. His tunic was untucked, his boots scuffed, and his expression? Smug as ever, like he had the whole world figured out.
One of the very few people in this world who didn't look at me like I was cursed.
My one and only friend.