Halmun (3)

Peri dreamt of green.

Endless, overripe, shimmering green. The kind that only existed in oil paintings and AI-generated desktop backgrounds titled "Serenity Vibes". The sky above was too blue. The clouds too soft. Somewhere, invisible birds chirped in a harmony that only existed in high fantasy soundtracks.

A stream babbled in the distance. A tree—massive, gold-leafed, its roots tangled with light—stood watch in the middle of a wild, painterly glade.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen this place.

And unfortunately, he knew what that meant.

"Wake up, my dear apostle," came a familiar, vaguely amused voice—soaked in sunlight and self-importance. "We have updates."

"Oh, great," Peri mumbled, turning over in the grass like he was in a bed he paid for. "Here comes the exposition dump."

The God of Light materialized in a shimmer of golden petals, barefoot and radiant as ever, robes fluttering in a nonexistent breeze. They always looked like they were about to drop a new-age indie folk album.

"Still ungrateful, I see," the god said cheerfully. "But I suppose that's part of your mortal charm."

Peri pushed himself up, brushing dream-grass off his dream-pants. "You threw a mirror at me. From the sky."

"It was meant to be gentle!" the god said, utterly unrepentant. "Besides, you caught it, didn't you?"

"It hit me in the head."

"Skill issue."

Peri squinted. "Are you the literal God of Light or a Twitter account?"

The god waved off the question. "I come bearing good news. I've decided to replace the mirror."

"Oh, have you now."

"Yes. The mirror was... clunky. Fragile. Lacking aesthetic cohesion with your ensemble." They floated lazily in the air, reclining on nothing. "So I've blessed your glasses instead. They'll now show updated narrative snippets—chapter titles, key phrases, emotionally relevant foreshadowing... that sort of thing."

Peri raised an eyebrow. "So my prescription lenses are now also plot detectors?"

"Exactly."

"...That's kinda dope."

"You're welcome."

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "Cool, cool. Now, question. Where the hell is Jeremy?"

The god stilled midair, expression flickering like static. "Ah."

"Yeah, ah. We're on chapter six. Six. That's almost a third of a volume if you're pacing it well. And the romantic lead has yet to appear. I'm carrying this story on my mortal back."

"There are delays in fate," the god said smoothly, "but all threads will meet where they must."

"That sounds like divine procrastination."

"Divine timing," the god corrected. "Be patient. He is... close."

"That's what the bandit arc said. And the city arc. And the diner arc. Amalia's starting to look at me like I might actually be relevant, and I can't have that."

"You're adorable when you panic."

"This isn't about me, it's about narrative integrity!"

The god only smiled, golden eyes glowing with cryptic affection. "Just continue to do what you do best. Survive. Complain. Carry emotional burdens with snark and sword."

Peri frowned. "That sounds like a real job description."

"It is," the god whispered ominously.

Then the dream began to fade—the greens dissolving into painted brushstrokes, the light stretching thin.

"Wait, wait," Peri called. "One last thing. If my glasses are plot devices now, are there... any side effects?"

A pause. A beat of godly hesitation.

"Only if you look directly at someone in a moment of vulnerability."

"Why?"

"You might accidentally trigger a character development scene."

Then the world blinked out.

Peri shot awake in the inn bed, gasping.

The glasses on his nose glinted. Something faint shimmered across the lens—like gold cursive trying to write itself in his peripheral vision.

He swore softly.

Then, after a long pause, he groaned into his hands.

"Goddamn it," he muttered. "I'm becoming relevant."