The morning sun shone too brightly for Poffin's mood.
Which, to be fair, wasn't hard to believe—he hadn't had a good mood since his tragic reincarnation as a basketball-sized fuzzball. But today? Today was special. Today was personal.
Because now… he had a name.
And that name was Poffin.
"Stop saying it like it's a slur," the rogue muttered as they strolled down the cobblestone street.
The furball sat on the tamer's shoulder, arms crossed, ears flattened, radiating contempt like a sulking cat left out in the rain. "Poffin," he mimicked under his breath, "might as well call me Snifflewiggles the Third, see if I don't commit war crimes out of spite."
The tamer glanced sideways at him. "I can hear you, you know."
Poffin gave him a dead-eyed glare.
"You didn't object to the mage hugging you like a plushie pillow."
"I was in survival mode," he hissed. "Boobs are safety-certified in all worlds."
The tamer fought back a smirk. "You're still pouting."
"I'm not pouting," Poffin snapped. "I'm brooding. There's a difference. Mine has edge."
The rest of the party walked ahead, blissfully unaware that the adorably fluff-wrapped creature was very much a sentient rage nugget nursing a deep vendetta against vowels.
"Hey, Poffin, you okay back there?" the hero called out cheerily.
Poffin's eye twitched.
The priestess turned and waved. "You looked grumpy, so I brought you a snack!"
She held out a tiny biscuit.
Poffin looked at it like it was cursed. "I don't know whether to eat that or throw it through a stained glass window."
But his stomach made the decision for him.
"…Fine," he muttered, grabbing it with both paws and nibbling it like a disgruntled hamster.
The rogue leaned over to the hero. "You think it's weird he only seems to behave around the tamer and the mage?"
"You mean Lady Pillow Fort?" the hero replied dryly.
The mage, unfazed, was humming to herself and making flower crowns from roadside weeds.
"He's a wild creature," the priestess said. "He probably just needs time to adapt."
Poffin, meanwhile, was busy making murder faces at pigeons.
The group finally reached the quest board in the town square, where a crowd had gathered. Adventurers jostled for postings. Town criers shouted about new commissions.
"Alright," the hero clapped his hands. "Let's find something low-tier. Easy money. Low risk. Maybe we—"
"—hunt down the escaped goat king terrorizing the farms?"
The rogue pointed to the top-right of the board.
"No."
"Escort a noble?"
"No nobles."
"Investigate a haunted cave with zero casualties reported but multiple disappearing adventurers?"
"…Tempting, but no."
The mage finally plucked one off. "What about this? 'Retrieve stolen laundry from mischievous forest spirits.'"
The entire group turned toward her.
"…Seriously?" the rogue said.
"It pays surprisingly well!" she huffed.
"I'm not chasing someone's socks through a haunted forest," the hero muttered.
Poffin glanced at the flyer.
"Honestly sounds better than following you people around."
The tamer snorted. "Careful. You're starting to sound like part of the team."
"I'd rather eat my own tail."
The tamer glanced at him. "You do know I can make that happen, right?"
Poffin looked mildly alarmed.
The hero finally pulled down a mid-tier bounty. "Here. 'Suspicious creature sightings near the outer fields. May be magical. Approach with caution.' Perfect for field testing our… new companion."
"Hey! Don't treat me like I'm a summon spell, you plate-wearing jar of bland."
"What was that?" the hero asked.
The tamer smiled. "He said, 'Sounds fun.'"
"Did not!"
The mage picked Poffin up and squished him into a hug again. "Yay! Our first adventure with Poffin!"
His face flattened against her chest. His soul left his body.
"…I take it back," he murmured dreamily. "I am so Poffin."
As they strolled down the road to their next "glorious" adventure, Poffin—flopped belly-down in the crook of the mage's arm like an unwilling stuffed animal—lifted his head with a long, exhausted sigh.
"So," he muttered, just loud enough for the tamer beside them to hear, "what're their names?"
The tamer, still calmly walking with his hands in his pockets, gave him a look. "Oh? Getting curious about your new friends?"
"Friends?" Poffin coughed like the word physically offended him. "I'm gathering intel."
"Intel?"
"Yeah. In case I want to add these morons to my future Hit List of Idiots. Gotta be organized about vengeance."
The tamer raised a brow, smirking. "Right. Well, let's see."
He pointed casually ahead.
"The one leading us right now is Kale, the 'Hero'—sword-swinging, justice-screaming, righteousness-exploding blockhead. Probably thinks you're a divine mascot sent by destiny."
"Great. Loincloth Paladin is named after a vegetable. What's next?"
"The rogue is Vix. She's fast, sneaky, dangerous with a dagger, and twice as snarky. She once stole a guy's belt and pants mid-duel, just to prove a point."
Poffin gave a slow, impressed nod. "Alright, I hate her slightly less."
"That one humming and weaving flower crowns like she's on a fairytale picnic is Lyra, our mage."
Poffin didn't respond.
He just… sank deeper into her arms, face smushed in blissful silence.
"...Got it," the tamer said. "You like her."
"Don't twist my words," Poffin mumbled into fabric.
"And lastly, our priestess—Seren. Quiet, sweet, probably the only reason Kale hasn't gotten cursed five times over. She has healing magic and emotional intelligence."
"Sounds dangerous."
"She is," the tamer nodded solemnly. "Once turned a bandit's mind into a soup of regret and mommy issues."
"…I'm both terrified and kind of into that."
"Of course you are."
Poffin stared at them all in turn, storing names like a squirrel hoarding grudges.
"So what about you, shut-in?"
The tamer gave a faint chuckle. "Ash."
"Figures. Of course the brooding quiet guy's named after something burnt out and depressing."
"You asked."
Poffin blinked. "Wait. Ash?"
"Yeah?"
"…Like, Ash? That's your name?"
Ash raised a brow. "What's the problem?"
"Oh nothing, just wondering when you're going to throw a magical orb at my face."
"If I could, I would've already stuffed you back in the ball every time you opened your mouth."
"Yeah, yeah. Not when I inevitably take over this stupid fantasy world."
Ash tilted his head. "You're awfully confident for something that fits in a satchel."
"I'm a sleeper agent of chaos," Poffin muttered proudly. "Key word: sleeper."
From up ahead, Kale turned and waved cheerfully. "Hey Poffin! You doing alright, buddy?"
Poffin's ears twitched. His eye twitched. His soul twitched.
Ash leaned over and whispered, "He said, 'I'm thrilled to be part of this journey, radiant hero of light.'"
"I did not!"
But the party had already resumed marching, and Poffin had to content himself with brooding… and plotting.
He would remember these names.
Every last one of them.
Just as soon as he finished basking in this dangerously soft cleavage pillow and finished his mental ranking of "Who's the bigger moron among them"
After a mildly bumpy stroll—and several minutes of Poffin internally plotting his eventual betrayal in great detail—they reached the job site.
The "outer fields" were exactly as thrilling as they sounded: a wide expanse of tall grass, whispering in the breeze, the occasional crooked tree standing around like awkward party guests, and an eerie silence that definitely wasn't normal.
The parchment crinkled in the hero's hand as he read aloud, "Suspicious creature sightings near the outer fields. May be magical. Approach with caution."
The rogue blinked. "That's… vague."
"Suspicious how?" the priestess asked. "Dangerous? Lost pet? Cursed cabbage?"
"I dunno," the hero muttered, scanning the area. "But something's off. Too quiet."
"Could be a trap," Ash said, instinctively gripping his staff.
Poffin, nestled under Ash's arm like the world's most disgruntled purse dog, sniffed the air. It smelled like—
No, wait, never mind. That was just whatever ancient perfume Lyra doused herself in this morning.
Still, something was definitely watching them.
His ears twitched.
"Great," he muttered. "You dragged me all the way out here to get ambushed by a magically suspicious, caution-required... thing."
Ash lowered his voice. "You sensing anything?"
"I'm sensing I shouldn't have left the tavern. Or the womb."
The party spread out slowly, stepping through the overgrown grass with weapons at the ready. Even Lyra set Poffin down and began casting a detection spell, though her eyes lingered longingly on the fluffball like she was tempted to pick him back up.
Poffin crept beside Ash on all fours, hackles slightly raised.
Then, a rustle.
To the left.
Another one. Closer.
"Movement!" the rogue hissed.
"Hold," the hero said, sword half-drawn. "Could be a false alarm."
"Or could be a twelve-eyed magical death ferret," Ash muttered.
Poffin's fur bristled. "You know what? I suddenly am interested. I'm starting to feel violent."
And just like that, something leapt from the bushes.
Not large.
Not threatening.
Just...
Glowing.
It hovered in mid-air, wings like leaves and a soft chime every time it moved.
The party stared in confused awe.
The creature blinked slowly... then screamed in an ear-grating high pitched voice, enough to make any ears a mile away bleed.
A banshee-tier screech filled the air, and half a dozen glowing pairs of eyes lit up behind it in the brush.
"Well," Poffin muttered. "There's the 'suspicious' part."
"Now bear witness, morons!" Poffin roared internally as he launched himself off a tree, hurled through the sky like a bullet out of a cannon. "See how a true killer—with killer looks—does it!"
A sonic boom cracked the air as he hit mach speed, fur peeling back like an anime transformation sequence no one asked for. For a single, glorious second, he was a god among gremlins, a blur of vengeance, style, and aerodynamic fluff.
One of the banshees didn't even get to finish its hiss before it was reduced to sparkles and regret.
A second spiraled out of control, wings shredded by a blur of high-velocity doom.
But then came the third—
Poffin, glorious as he was, had one flaw.
Trajectory.
More specifically: he had one.
He was traveling in a perfect, magnificent straight line. And the remaining banshees, being intelligent (or at least flinchy), had wisely scattered.
"—ah, crap," he muttered.
He whizzed clean through the formation like a furry bullet of justice… and then past them… and then over a tree… and then straight into a bush with a fwump and an indignant squeak.
Ash watched this unfold with an expression best described as resigned sigh in human form.
"…He's not turning, is he?"
The rogue scratched his head. "Think he forgot to install rudders."
The mage, to no one's surprise, gasped. "He's so brave!"
Poffin's voice—muffled by leaves—snapped from the brush:
"I meant to do that!
A winged shriek drew their attention back to the air, where the banshees were now closing in again, regrouping mid-hover like angry ballerinas.
Ash sighed and cracked his knuckles. "Alright, plan B. Someone grab the fuzzball out of the shrubbery before he declares war on a squirrel."
The shrieks of the winged creatures echoed like a death metal choir on fast-forward, closing in from all sides. Wings beat the air into a frenzy, spells crackled in their palms, and their eyes glowed with malevolent glee.
"Brace yourselves!" the hero barked, planting his feet and raising his shield.
The rogue slid beside him, twin daggers drawn and spinning in hand. "This is either really brave... or really stupid."
"Oh it's definitely stupid," muttered the priestess, who was already prepping a protective chant.
But the mage? Oh, she was grinning.
She stepped forward, just past the others, and raised her staff. "Back up. This is gonna be big."
"Define big—" the rogue started.
FWOOOOM.
A flaming orb the size of a wagon wheel erupted above her head, roaring with barely-contained energy. The very air rippled with heat. Then, with a single word—
"Combustio."
The fireball screamed through the air, then detonated mid-flock.
A shockwave burst outward, sending half the banshees into flaming spirals, their wings cooked to a crisp. Screeches turned into squeals, feathers burst like popcorn kernels, and one unlucky fairy exploded so hard she turned into magical glitter.
Poffin, from his spot tucked under Ash's arm, blinked. His little nose twitched.
"…Why does it suddenly smell like kebab?"
Ash coughed into his sleeve, waving away the smoke.
The rogue peered through the haze, slightly singed but wide-eyed. "Okay… I'll admit. That was kind of hot."
Just when the party thought they'd seen the last of the banshees, the air crackled again. The surviving fairies, charred but not beaten, regrouped in the air, their eyes burning with vengeance.