Sweet Fantasy

Chapter 2

"No, Joy," Dad's voice was firm, an unyielding cliff against the sea of my enthusiasm. His refusal hung in the air, heavy and immovable.

But I pressed on, fueled by a fire of conviction. "We've been narrators for too long," I said, my voice a steady stream flowing toward an inevitable conclusion. "It's time we lived the stories, not just told them." I confessed my secret rehearsals, my dream of becoming a bard—an idol to friends and foes alike.

Dad's hand rose, a silent command to halt my tide of words. "Our gift of True Invisibility," he explained, "is a sacred trust. Mortals would covet our essence for power, for weapons, spells, even for dominion over our beings." He spoke of our family's legacy, of eons spent as invisible guides, never the central saga. "We are the unseen hands, not the figures that stand in the light."

I countered, my determination a beacon in the fog of his disapproval. "I can be careful," I insisted.

But his "no" was a door closing, the sound echoing finality. I felt a sadness well up, a spring whose waters couldn't be stemmed.

Rising, he laid down the ultimatum like a king bestowing a quest. "Find a hero, Joy, or..."

His words trailed off, but the threat hung complete in the silence. I nodded, a puppet whose strings had been pulled taut, and turned to leave. The house, a grand floating mansion nestled in the clouds, felt like a gilded cage as I stepped out, the sky around me vast and open, yet somehow more confining than ever.

***

With a flick of my wrist, the curtains of invisibility veiled me from the eyes of the world, and a bathtub manifested, its waters as clear as crystal. Moments later, I emerged, transformed. My attire sparkled, the fabric flowing around me like the luminescent trail of a shooting star, fit for an idol stepping onto the stage.

Yet, my heart was a dulled instrument, the vibrant chords of excitement muffled by the somber weight of my father's distrust. I was determined, though, my steps a silent promise to myself as I moved with purpose. I had to weave tales so compelling, they would crown me MascotChan, a title that held the keys to power, fame, and fortune beyond any Lashia's wildest dreams.

Eyes closed, I envisioned stadiums filled to the brim, billions of eyes fixed on me, their adoration fueling my ascent to stardom. This was my dream, my quest—to be worshipped not just as a narrator of tales, but as a heroine of my own legendary saga.

***

A sharp clap resounded as I struck my own cheek, the sting reigniting the embers of excitement within me. Reinvigorated, I hopped forward, each leap a light-hearted dance upon the airy stage of the clouds.

Summoning the magic of True Insight, I cast it upon the clouds underfoot, turning them into a window to the mortal realm. They became like glass beneath my feet, each step a gaze into the world below.

My eyes, once a sunny yellow, now blazed with an ethereal blue fire, a beacon of my resolve. I looked through the souls of mortals with a discerning eye, seeking the one who would be the protagonist of my story.

Below, figures of might and valor flashed by—warriors and mages, all grand in their own right, yet none fit the narrative I yearned to tell. Their spirits were either too stern, too severe, or bore the chill of ruthlessness.

I walked the sky's tapestry for nearly an hour, my search as thorough as it was earnest. Each soul a book, each heart a story, but not one sang the tune of the adventure I sought—one filled with joy, laughter, and the carefree spirit of a true, fun-filled escapade.

***

As I floated above, the vast tapestry of life beneath me, my gaze snagged on a figure I knew by reputation alone—a legendary hero, Antrodos, clad in armor that seemed to drink in the sunlight, heavy and grand. He moved with the deliberate grace of a seasoned warrior, a stark contrast to the airy dance of my own steps. "He's not half bad," I murmured to myself, "but legends don't make for light-hearted tales."

Yet, as I watched, my curiosity piqued. This hero of many battles was now weaving a different kind of story, one of flirtation and charm. "Good day, my lovely," Antrodos's voice boomed from below, his tone smooth as polished steel. "Has anyone told you that your eyes shine brighter than the jewels in my treasure trove?"

The women giggled, twirling their hair, clearly taken with his bravado. "Oh, Sir Antrodos, you're such a charmer," one cooed, batting her eyelashes.

I rubbed my eyes, questioning the scene. "Am I seeing things?" I whispered. This wasn't the Antrodos I had heard of, the stoic knight, bound by honor to his wife, Laussinna, and their three children. "What game is this?"

Leaning closer, my True Insight sharpening, I dissected his every move. The impostor's laughter was a note off, his gait a shadow's breadth different. The man beneath the armor was an enigma, a story yet untold.

I scratched my head, intrigued by the riddle he presented. "An impostor as my protagonist?" I mused. "Now there's a twist." His goals, his purpose—this mystery could be the very heart of the fun-filled adventure I sought.

Eyes narrowed, I kept my gaze trained on this peculiar new character. His tale was mine to uncover.

***

There he was, the imposter, pausing at an alley where the unfortunate gathered like forgotten leaves in the corner of a garden. "Please, let him be kind," I whispered to myself, a hopeful scriptwriter penning wishes into the margins of reality.

From his bag, he pulled a loaf of bread, long and crusty, breaking it with hands that seemed too gentle for a warrior's. "Eat, friends," he said, his voice a melody of warmth in the cool alley air. "No one should go hungry while I have food to share."

My heart swelled, a balloon on the verge of soaring. "That's it, you've got the role," I silently declared, ready to crown him the star of my tale.

But in a whirl of cosmic timing, my sister Yuji appeared beside me, her own ears tall and alert. "Step back, Joy," she said firmly, her gaze fixed on the scene below. "This one's been in my sights for some time."

Conflict flickered within me, like a candle in the wind. I yearned to protest, to claim the imposter for my story, but the bond of sisterhood held a power of its own. "I... understand," I conceded, my ears drooping like the sails of a ship in still water.

I stepped back, casting one last glance at the imposter, my heart heavy with what could have been. Slowly, I turned away, each step a silent vow to find a hero of my own.

***

Cloaked in shadows like a moon veiled by night's embrace, I descended to Tarvernia, the weight of melancholy pressing on my shoulders. The Snow Fairy's tavern, a beacon of warmth in the cool dusk, welcomed me—a Lashia in the land of mortals.

Under the cover of my hooded cloak, designed to shield me from prying eyes, I indulged in the simple pleasures of roasted chicken, its flavor a burst of comfort, and root beer, sweet and earthy like the soil after rain.

"Ah, this is life," I murmured to myself, the hum of camaraderie around me a soothing balm. The bards strummed their lutes and sang, their melodies weaving a tapestry of fellowship that I longed to be part of beyond the tavern's walls.

I mused, the thought a whisper in my heart, "Why can't this joy, this shared laughter, follow the adventurers on their quests?" The seriousness with which they embarked on their journeys seemed to banish the very essence of fun I cherished.

***

The root beer's heady sweetness left me feeling a touch light-headed, the room spinning ever so slightly like leaves caught in a gentle whirlwind. "Maybe I overdid it," I slurred to myself, a small smile playing on my lips.

But then, a mug on a nearby table performed a little jig, all on its own. My eyes popped wide open. "Am I seeing things?" I blinked hard, expecting the vision to dissipate like mist in the morning sun. Yet, the mug remained stubbornly still.

Just as I was about to dismiss it as a trick of the drink, the mug hopped again. This time, it sprouted appendages—a pair of tiny legs, arms, a smirking mouth, and cartoonish eyes. "What the fuck?" I blurted out, disbelief painting my words a vibrant shade of shock.

I rubbed my eyes, once, twice, willing the world to make sense again. "This root beer must've been brewed by a wizard," I muttered, watching the animated mug sneak across the room with the stealth of a cat.

Curiosity now piqued beyond the effects of any ale, I decided to investigate. "Let's see if I'm drunk or if the world's gone mad," I whispered, slipping from my seat to trail the cheeky little vessel.