Whoosh!
A dramatic gust of wind, and suddenly—bam!—a man appeared on a long, crumbling staircase that looked like it was held together by duct tape and prayer.
He stood there rubbing his chin like a philosopher who'd just solved the mystery of soggy cereal, eyes locked on the ancient, crusty castle at the top of the stairs.
"Hello, old friend... we meet again."
If anyone had seen this scene from afar, they would've assumed the guy was just another unhinged tourist with a flair for soliloquies. But nope—he was actually talking to the castle.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know… you're laughing at me again. But hear me out!"
He said, waving his hands like a man pitching pyramid schemes to stone walls.
"This ain't like all those other times. The little Timmy I brought today? Ohhh, he's gonna smash your trial into pieces—just like her..."
The moment he said her, his tone dropped like a sad trombone at a funeral.
If Kaladin had been there, he'd have noticed the sudden shift—like the guy just stepped on an emotional Lego.
"Introducing to you, Mister Unforgiving Castle... little Timmy!"
And right on cue—POOF!
Kaladin spawned in the air a whole meter above the stone steps like a video game character suffering from lag.
WHAM!
He landed butt-first on the stairs, his already mangled spine folding like a paperclip in a blender.
"SON OF A—!!!"
Kaladin let out a screech so raw it could season a skillet.
The katana still pierced through his gut like a cursed kebab stick. Blood was leaking. His legs? Useless. His heart? Crushed.
His friends were dead. He had just shook a spit-soaked hand from a walking lunatic, and now here he was—planted on a staircase that looked like it hadn't passed safety inspections in six centuries.
The view? Low-key breathtaking. No cap.
Kaladin sucked in a shaky breath, lungs wheezing like a dying accordion in winter. The air was crisp, cold, and so clean it probably exfoliated your soul just by breathing it in.
Evening had painted the sky in soft purples and burning oranges, like God spilled a fancy cocktail up there.
The stairs he was on had no railings, no guardrails, no nothing—just a polite invitation to plummet into the void. At the far end, the stairs simply stopped existing, like someone hit backspace on the universe.
Yep. This whole setup was definitely floating. Like some haunted sky bridge from a fever dream. Kaladin could see enormous trees waaaay down below, thick and tall—tall enough to be confused for skyscrapers wearing mossy wigs. Yet none of them even reached halfway to where he was.
"Wheeze~ I am... I am... dying..."
Kaladin gasped, his voice a dying mosquito trapped in a harmonica.
A few minutes ago, he'd been dying with a sense of peace, like a man gently checking out of life's hotel. Surrounded by his friends, with some light impalement courtesy of a katana. But now?
Now he felt like Death changed its mind and decided to slow-roast him over emotional coals first.
He looked down at the wound—holy hell, it was like a red waterfall. Blood had formed a small lake under his butt, lazily sloshing down the stone steps like it was late for a meeting.
"J-Just kill me already..."
He whimpered, too scared to even look at the sword still jammed in his torso like he was some cursed meat kebab.
"Oh, oh!"
Enter the psycho—hopping down the stairs like a kid who just learned what sugar is. He stopped by Kaladin and crouched, grinning like a game show host on drugs.
"You can't complete this mission if you're dying, little Timmy!"
"Complete... what mission..." Kaladin croaked, half-gone and fully confused.
A mission? Now? In this state? He was two steps away from being a very dramatic puddle.
"Oh, I can't have my champion bleeding out like a popped juice box now, can I?"
The psycho man shook his head like a disappointed schoolteacher who just caught a kid eating glue again. He looked genuinely offended by the very idea of Kaladin dying inconveniently.
"J-Just kill me already..."
Kaladin groaned, voice dry and crunchy like overcooked toast.
"Nuh-uh!" The psycho wagged his finger like an auntie shutting down drama at a family BBQ. "You made a promise to help me find my lost treasure!"
Kaladin blinked. Once. Twice. Then slowly turned to give the man the look you give someone who just claimed your kidneys in a poker game you never played.
"You lying lunatic. I never promised that."
The man clutched his chest like Kaladin just kicked a puppy made of feelings.
"What? Don't you remember? You said you wanted to meet your family again."
"Yeah, and that's all I agreed to. That one thing. Singular. Uno."
The psycho waved it off like Kaladin just pointed out a typo on an ancient scroll.
"Pfft. Details. By saying 'yes,' you technically agreed to the full package. You know, terms and conditions. Don't blame me, blame the fine print."
Kaladin was convinced—this guy wasn't just insane, he was the CEO of Scamazon Prime.
'Scammer!!'
"Anyway," the psycho continued, now circling Kaladin like a used-car salesman on commission, "you are dying, little Timmy. Like... really fast. Like melting-ice-cream-in-the-sun fast."
Kaladin could barely argue. His thoughts were dissolving faster than a sugar cube in hot tea.
"But!" The psycho suddenly brightened up like a game show host revealing a surprise round. "Because I'm such a gracious, handsome, and universally beloved friend—"
He winked. Kaladin felt like vomiting.
"—I'll heal you. Yes sir! Patch you right up! You just have to promise to help me find my lost treasure, then you'll get to live happily ever after with your very-much-alive mommy, daddy, and cute little sister. All back on Earth. Just like the good ol' pre-delinquent days!"
He wiggled his eyebrows so hard it looked like they were trying to escape his face.
"So... what do you say?"
Kaladin had two choices:
Die painfully, curled up like a depressed shrimp.
Trust the sketchiest man in the multiverse and maybe get some painkillers out of the deal.
His vision was swimming. Or maybe he was crying? Or maybe his eyes were just leaking in protest of this whole fever-dream situation.
So he did what any desperate idiot would do.
He nodded. Slowly.
"Yes..."
Once again.
Because when you're in hell, even the devil offering you a band-aid seems like a good deal.
...
A few moments later—
A man stepped out of the swirling black portal, moving with the lazy grace of someone who knew he owned the room—or in this case, the universe.
He was devilishly handsome. No, literally—devilishly handsome.
Blonde hair so perfect it looked hand-painted by the gods, a chiseled face that could make angels question their career choices, and golden eyes that shimmered with a promise of both pleasure and peril.
His suit? Immaculate. A custom-made, black, three-piece ensemble that looked tailored specifically for committing sins in style.
And in his hand?
A rusty, battered pitchfork.
The contrast was so ridiculous, it was like seeing a billionaire show up to a gala in duct-taped flip-flops.
His sharp golden eyes lazily scanned the steps.
Only three bodies remained.
The moment he noticed?
A slow, knowing smirk tugged at his lips.
"Oh, you've really done it this time, haven't you?"
His voice was smooth—dangerously smooth. The kind of voice that could convince you to sign a contract before realizing you were the product being sold.
It wasn't anger in his tone. No, it was something worse.
Amusement.
Like a parent catching their child red-handed with a cookie, crumbs everywhere, still swearing they "didn't do it."
"You stole from me again." His golden gaze glinted, sharp as a dagger in the dark. "Tsk, tsk… You just can't help yourself, can you?"
A dramatic sigh. A shake of the head.
A theatrical display of disappointment—except for the smile that never left his lips.
"Fine, fine… If you want to play the game, let's play it."
Then, as if casually signing a death warrant, he whispered—
"I will have the boy. I will retrieve what's mine."
His laughter was quiet. Too quiet. The kind that sent shivers down spines and made demons double-check their insurance policies.
And then—
SNAP.
The swirling abyss of a portal convulsed—twisted—then vanished.
Like it had never existed.
Like he had never even been there.
But oh, he had.
And someone was about to regret it.