Reralt was enjoying his evening ritual again: being gloriously pantsless near a good fire.

  The Void lay coiled at his feet, half-sleeping, half-hoping for meat — meat that Reralt attempted to throw with varying success.

  The pieces that landed within two steps, she took.

  The ones that didn’t?

  She simply made a mental note to eat them later.

  Energy efficiency wasn’t a preference.

  It was a moral code.

  ***

  From the riverbank came a splashing sound, followed by the voice of someone who had seen too much, too often:

  “Reralt? What is this?”

  Narro stomped up the slope and flung a soaking-wet, half-mangled book down in front of the silver-haired carving of a man.

  Reralt blinked at it like it might explode.

  He picked it up between two fingers.

  “It’s soggy. Won’t burn properly.”

  “It’s not firewood,” Narro said. “It’s a book. Look at the cover.”

  Reralt squinted.

  “Well, well…” he grinned. “What a handsome devil. I should go shirtless more often.”

  “Reralt, focus,” Narro hissed.

  “I am. On the shirtless bit.”

  “How did this end up floating in the river?”

  Reralt raised a brow.

  “Well… it’s the Amazon, isn’t it?”

  Narro blinked.

  “You think this is the Amazon?”

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  “Clearly,” Reralt nodded. “That’s how they deliver things. Float ‘em down a river.

  Doesn’t matter what you ordered — it always looks like it spent half the journey wet and mildly trampled.”

  The Void sprang for a tender slice of meat, did a backflip, and landed with theatrical precision.

  She was clearly warming up to this particular brand of nonsense.

  “I thought Amazon was some kind of evil company,” Narro said, suspicious.

  “Exactly,” Reralt said. “You can tell it’s evil — they take wood from the jungle to make books about me.” He mimicked a balance scale with his hands. “One side: cut down trees. Other side: immortalize Reralt.”

  The scales hovered… then settled neutrally.

  “And they use the money to launch rich people into space,” Narro added.

  Reralt tipped his scales again.

  Then frowned.

  “Do they come back?”

  “Well… yes.”

  The scales dropped fully to evil.

  ***

  “All my ballads are in it,” Narro said, flipping through the soggy book.

  “Some of them I didn’t even write yet.” He paused. “Oh, this one’s good.”

  “Don’t read it!”

  Reralt snatched the book and hurled it into the fire.

  Narro lurched forward to save it, but not enough to burn his hands.

  “Why?” he snapped.

  “I don’t do alternate timelines,” Reralt declared, as if that were obvious.

  “No time travel. It’s terrible. Don’t change the timelines.”

  He sighed in a dramatic, whiny tone.

  “Messy paradoxes. Hard to write. Very unheroic.”

  “Indeed,” Narro nodded. “Stupid narrative paradoxes. A pain to resolve.”

  “What if it says I win a pie contest or something?” Reralt added.

  “Takes all the fun out if I know I win. No suspense.”

  They both nodded solemnly, watching the book curl and blacken in the flames.

  ***

  “But anyone else can order it,” said a voice from the fire — dry and annoyed.

  “Well, yes,” Reralt muttered. “If you like it delivered like it went through a minor stampede—”

  “—and then was three-pointer-thrown at your door,” Narro added, laughing.

  The Void blinked slowly.

  She did not speak — because that would be strange.

  But her general silence strongly implied:

  “Otherwise, just keep following us. Right here.”

  ***

  Available now on Amazon — if you dare risk timeline contamination and slightly damp packaging.

  Or stay here.

  Where it's safe.

  And pants are optional.

  Pants are always optional.

  Without my consent.

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