Worlds Across

Chapter 1: Venture To Ragnillon

I’m sitting in the back seat of this car, because, let’s be real—if you’re the main character, the back seat is where you belong. It’s cinematic. Mysterious. Like, “Oh, why is the MC sitting back there all brooding and cool?” Answer: I don’t know, it just felt right. Plus, every movie I’ve ever seen about a road trip does this, so here I am. Gotta keep the cliché alive.

So anyway, we’ve got Tony over here next to me. He’s glued to his phone, probably playing some ridiculously addictive game. You know, the kind where you’re trying to match three jellies or something for no reason other than to procrastinate on real life. Honestly, I’m impressed at how little he contributes to conversations, but hey, someone’s gotta do it, right?

“Tony, how’s the game going?” I ask, more out of politeness than actual interest.

“Level 423,” he says without looking up, his thumb swiping aggressively across the screen. “One more, and I unlock the golden jellyfish.”

Golden jellyfish. This man is out here fighting for digital aquatic creatures while I’m fighting for plot relevance. I look him up and down. He’s not that fat. Just, you know, kind of squishy. He probably thinks he’s being described unfairly right now, but hey, the truth hurts. He looks like he’s one missed gym session away from becoming a full-time couch.

Next to Tony, we have Sage. Sage is... Sage. Honestly, I’m convinced she’s a saint, but not the kind that performs miracles or anything cool. Just the kind that’s really into saving turtles, recycling, and knitting sweaters for stray cats. Speaking of which, she’s got her ancient cat, Tata, curled up in her lap. And by ancient, I mean if there was a museum for cats, Tata would have a whole wing dedicated to him. I swear this cat’s been around since the dawn of time. I can already feel the internet falling in love with him. Classic fan favorite, right?

Thanks, Author. You couldn’t give the humans a chance to be adored?

“Oh, he’s adorable,” I say, mostly because I know the readers are already obsessing over Tata. Let’s give the people what they want. “How old is he again?”

“Seventeen,” Sage says, stroking Tata’s fur like he’s made of clouds. Seventeen years old in cat years is like... a thousand in human years, give or take. “He’s seen things.”

I bet. This cat’s probably lived through three world wars, two economic recessions, and at least one government conspiracy. Tata flicks his tail, giving me a look that says, I know you’ll never be as beloved as me. Accept it and move on.

Meanwhile, Draco is in the driver’s seat, doing his best impression of someone who thinks they’re not being noticed. He’s got a bag of chips in one hand, steering the car with the other, and crunching away like the human embodiment of a snack commercial. I can see him in the rearview mirror, trying to eat chips sneakily, as if no one can hear him. Spoiler alert: We all hear him.

“Hey, Draco,” I call out, because it’s time to break the tension. “You know we can hear you crunching, right?”

There’s a pause. He pretends he didn’t hear me, which is a bold move considering I’m in the back seat directly behind him. But I get it. He’s probably thinking about football (yes, football, not soccer, because God forbid anyone calls it soccer within a five-mile radius of Draco). He lives and breathes the sport, even when he’s doing literally anything else.

“It’s football, you know,” he says, mid-chip crunch, reading my thoughts or maybe just realizing his life’s purpose is to educate us on the correct terminology.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say. “We’ve heard the lecture, but I’m still going to call it soccer just to mess with you.”

He mutters something under his breath about “uncultured Americans,” but doesn’t push it. Not while he’s preoccupied with turning chips into dust.

In the passenger seat, Matt is doing what Matt does best: being tall and awkward. Seriously, the guy is like a giraffe shoved into a human body, all limbs and no coordination. He’s been trying to make small talk with Sage for the last twenty minutes, and bless his heart, it’s not going well.

“So, uh, you like, uh... cats?” Matt asks for what feels like the fifth time. He sounds like someone who just learned what animals are five minutes ago.

Sage gives him a polite smile, still stroking Tata. “Yeah, Matt. We’ve covered that. I like cats. And plants. And, you know, life in general.”

“Cool, cool,” Matt nods like that’s the most profound thing he’s ever heard. “Life is... good. Yeah.”

I have to hand it to him. If awkwardness were a competitive sport, Matt would be the Michael Jordan of it.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Who am I in this crazy lineup of characters? Why haven’t I described myself yet? Honestly, I’m a little offended you haven’t figured it out by now, but fine, I’ll do it. Let’s just say I’m the glue that holds this dysfunctional group together. The narrator. The only one aware that we’re all just chess pieces in this twisted game of literary fiction. That’s right, folks. I know we’re in a story. Someone’s gotta keep things interesting around here.

“So what’s our plan?” I ask, mostly because that’s the kind of thing main characters are supposed to say.

“Plan?” Tony looks up from his phone for the first time in half an hour, blinking like he forgot there’s a real world outside of his jellyfish saga. “We have a plan?”

“Of course we don’t have a plan,” I say. “We’re in a car, heading to who knows where, with no goal, no purpose, and a bag of half-eaten chips.”

“Hey, those are mine,” Draco chimes in defensively. His eyes stay on the road, but I can see the chip dust on his fingers, and I know for a fact that bag is not making it to our destination, wherever that may be.

“I don’t even know where we’re going,” I admit, looking out the window dramatically, like maybe the answer will just float down from the sky. Spoiler alert: It doesn’t.

Matt, forever optimistic, turns to face me, his knees practically brushing the dashboard because he’s too tall for any normal-sized vehicle. “We’re on a journey, right? All great stories have journeys.”

“That’s rich,” I say, rolling my eyes. “We’re not even the B-list characters in this story. We’re barely background noise. We don’t even have a plot yet.”

Sage, ever the voice of reason, shrugs. “Maybe the plot hasn’t started yet. Maybe it’s one of those slow-burn stories.”

“A slow-burn?” I scoff. “We’ll be lucky if we make it past chapter one without someone deleting us for a more exciting cast.”