The cathedral was about what one would expect of a cathedral. Pointy towers, buttresses, multi-story balconies, stained-glass windows. The sound of monks chanted echoed from within.

Inside, extravagant paintings of myths and legend all across the ceiling, some artworks wrapped with gaudy golden picture frames, some statues of the heroes of old.

While I hadn't been to the city in decades, I hadn't been inside this old church in nearly a century. Yet somehow, with all that time behind us, it didn't much change.

"Ah, yes, yes," said the old priest, "if you would kindly move that stack of books there over to the new shelves?"

Dutifully, I grabbed the entire stack--some two dozen books--and lifted.

"Oh! And please organize them, yes?"

"By title?" I asked.

"By date," he said back.

I didn't argue. I hauled the stack over to the shelf--a real fresh one with a recently dried coat of varnish. The oaky-chemical smell was still strong, but it wasn't bad by any means.

I slid a few books into the slots, not caring about ordering them yet. In the corner of my eye, I saw Vil doing the same on the other side of the library vault. The shelves here stretched up to the ceiling and would almost completely cover the wall if it weren't for the sun-lit windows. The gold pillars of light refracted and split in cut-up patterns, the glow spraying across the floor and stretching--through the dust--up the sides of anyone walking past.

Footsteps echoed across the marble floors.

Vil sneezed.

It was peaceful here, yes. Nothing like the way it used to be.

Long ago, this entire city was ruled by its own religion--whatever it was--and militantly so. The cathedral also happened to be a mustering hall for the city guard, the army, a meeting place for generals and officers, and used for just about any damn occasion, including handing out quests to drifting adventurers.

I happened to be one, myself. And it was here that I learned I was the Chosen One. Looking back, I never really knew what it meant, other than I was, you know, special and better than everyone else.

The shelf was half full, and I started to organize, cracking open these dusty tomes to check the date--if there was one--and I moved them to their spots. I thought it was maybe stupid to organize them just by date, but the entire stack had historical relevance, so it worked out.

I cracked open a book with a faded tan cover. It had no title. No date.

Inside, images of dragons and kings and queens and magic-wielding mages, all written in a language I had never seen. There were some handwritten transcriptions of poetry:

Lamb to the lion.

Lion to the lamb.

Lamb to the Lion to the Phoenix to the Flame.

I remembered hearing this before, but I couldn't remember where. Probably something the old farts in the temple would recite. I snapped the book shut and stowed it at the end.

Another book was an almanac of old harvests. Boring.

A few more about the state of the world across the centuries, and looking at the maps, I reminisced. I had lived a long life compared to any lesser man, and many of these old empires rose and fell even within my lifetime. Hell, I even remember fighting for some of these kingdoms in great wars back when I was an adventurer. I made good coin, good gear, and had good experiences back then. I was doing good for people, at least I thought I was.

"Priest," said Vil. "I don't think this book belongs here." He waved up a tome. The priest shuffled over, and they whispered to one another.

A group of people stepped into the library, cutting their conversation short. The priest hurried over with a wide smile. I had been glancing over every now and then, but for the most part, I kept to my work. Yet now, something caught my eye about these adventurers.

They were the usual group of four. The knight, the healer, the archer, the mage. An even mix of guys and girls, all young adults, all bright-eyed and filled with adventure. But something shone across the knight's left hand. A pale holy light, a glimmer of it, a blink of a shine.

I knew that shine.

It was the Mark of the Chosen! The enchanted ring, given out to only the Chosen One, me! It was my ring! Did he take it from my body when I was polymorphed into a trash can? Maybe Marianna pawned it off for pocket change. I had to know.

I stomped over, my heavy, metallic feet clanking across the floor. Their little happy conversation cut short as my presence demanded their attention.

"Oh, uh, hello," said the knight. His voice was boyish but proud. "It's rare to see a knight in such thick armor as yours," he said. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Have you a quest for us?"

"Where did you get that ring?" I asked.

Vil looked over with concern.

The knight blushed a bit, then showed it to me. It was a thick piece of silver, gold, jade, and diamond, all sitting tight on his middle knuckle. Without a doubt, this was my ring. "Well, you see," he said, his expression confident and daring, "I'm the Chosen One."

Vil had stopped working. He watched us.

The priest raised his hands to soothe me. I was apparently sending off danger vibes. "Now, now, please," he said. "Let there be no trouble and no confusion. Only those Chosen may bear a ring such as this."

I crossed my arms. "There's more than one Chosen?" I asked.

"Oh, of course!" The priest chuckled. The knight chuckled. His friends smiled. "Come, come," the priest said. "Allow me to show you."

I glared as he started off. He gestured for me to follow. I sighed and stepped over. Obviously, they lied to that poor kid. There was only one Chosen One, and I was it centuries ago. That's why they called it the Chosen One and not the Chosen Several.

The priest led me out of the library, up a swirling staircase, and onto the second floor. The library could be seen below over the railing, and we walked across--the adventurers watched in silence--and he led me around the corner to stop at a small room.

It was built like a gift shop. There was another priest standing behind a merchant's counter, a wireframe display of scrolls and jewelry on a spinning display, a glass case containing old relics, another one containing potions.

The priest led me to the counter. "Here we are!"

I looked down through the glass. Sure enough, rings. Dozens of rings all neatly set in rows and columns like a tray of holiday chocolates. All shone as brilliantly as the last, all perfect replicas as the one beside it. Were these copies of the original? Of my original? Sure, I hadn't touched the Main Quest in several decades, but it's not like I was doing anything important. Did they just give up on me and start churning out fake Chosen Ones since I never returned? How long did this go on?

Was it always fake?

I rested my hands on the glass as I stared.

The priest had been talking. "...and if you buy one now, we'll throw in a subscription to the Holy Spell network, which would give you one free spell per month! It's a fantastic deal."

I didn't reply. I couldn't.

"Don't tell me, Redrim." It was Vil. I felt his presence beside me. He whispered, "You're not actually going to fall for this scam, will you?"

I didn't reply. Vil stared. The priest kept trying to sell me the ring. Its price? 10,000 gold.

Vil tugged me by the wrist. "Come on. Let's finish this job. You don't need to spend money right now."

I didn't argue. I needed someone to pull me away from myself.

We returned back to our spots in the library. The priest had gone elsewhere with the adventurers, giving them some spiel about a new quest, and I didn't care to listen. I just slid books onto shelves. My mind was both empty and racing.

There was a world of information and memories I needed to parse, but it was all so long ago. Was I... scammed? Impossible. It was the church that sold out! The prophecy had obviously failed, and now they were scrounging for income, even if it meant scamming young adventurers. Right?

A voice hit me from behind. A feminine, sexy voice. "Oh, that's a nice suit of armor, there."

I turned, half expecting another adventurer, but this was a woman. Very much a woman. She was about Vil's height, with flowing blond hair that caught the scattered sunlight, her tits half popping out of her... military uniform? It was a pristine white uniform with black edges, almost like an officer's, but I didn't recognize which nation it belonged to. It wrapped tight against her thin waist, struggled to hold up her decently-sized breasts, and the back fell long to her knees, almost like a short cape. She wore tight black shorts, like booty shorts, but I could only drink in a sliver of the skin on her thighs before her black thigh boots took over.

She stood with her hands planted on her hips, feet wide apart, in a stance that told anyone nearby that she was here to beat the shit outta somebody, but her expression was something else. Her smile was inviting, her eyes sexy and daring.

She was the worst kind of woman.

Sexy, confident, uncontrollable. She was hot, and she knew it.

"Thank you," I said.

I found myself in the twilight of wanting to steal her away and wanting to get far from her.

"You must be the help here. Maybe you can help me with something." She winked.

I felt my body get hot. "What do you need?"

She stepped beside me--pressing her body against me--and whipped out a paper map, an older map, and she pointed her slender finger around on it. "I can't read any of this," she said, almost with a purr. "Can you tell me about this place?" She pointed at Lambston.

I knew everything there was to know about Lambston, so of course, I told her. I told her all about the best places to eat, the sights to see, the markets, the castle, and even a bit about the culture. Lambston was, after all, the city-state that my own harem-estate was located in. Until Marianna fucked everything up, that bitch.

"Wow," she said. "That was really helpful." She looked up into my eyes with that half-lidded seductive look.

Was she trying to fuck me? I cursed my lack of penis at this moment. Still, it looked like I had a good chance, so maybe I could hook her in for later. "What is your name?" I asked.

She winked, turned away--her hair flowed--and she walked away.

When the echo of her stiletto heels faded, I blinked. I was just standing there with a crumpled old map in my hand. She wasn't my type. I preferred the obedient girls. I had learned my lesson about the wild, confident, strong ones.

I looked back at the map. It wasn't a new map. It was old. About twenty years old.

We worked for nearly an hour. Honestly, I wouldn't count it as work, per se. Mostly just putting books on shelves, but I didn't complain. Well, I did complain, but not as much as I would have if I had to shovel shit instead.

Once we were finished, the priest paid us our wages: A measly 200 gold each.

"Priest," Vil said. "The advertisement claimed to pay more than this. Was that a mistake?"

The priest took on a faux-bashful look, and he scratched the back of his neck. "Ah, well... you see."

At this point, I would've headbutted him until his face crumpled, but my mind was still elsewhere.

The priest continued. "We... have another request for you both. A sort of--hmm--special request, yes."

"Out with it," Vil said.

"We have open bounties for heretics, which we normally send to the adventurer's guilds, but this one was a special request from a foreign noble." The priest shakily drew out a sheet of parchment from his robe, and he unfolded it. "They requested the work be done by foreigners, and since you both are obviously not from here..."

Vil took a sharp, deep breath. "So the government wants to do the noble a favor without getting any hands dirty." He scoffed. "Politics."

"Of the sort, yes," said the priest. "I suppose I don't need to explain that you both are... selected for this work."

I noticed a man leaning against the wall on the other end of the room. It was a fuckin' musketeer, digging at us with his stare.

"It'll cost you," Vil said.

"Five thousand gold," said the priest.

The words shook me out of my catharsis. That was a lot of money for common people. And... for me, too, I supposed. Since that's what I was now. Juts a common person.

Vil held out his palm. The priest gave him the parchment.

The priest raised a hand, used two fingers to trace a semi-circle in front of us, and said, "May the heavens bless your journey," and he shuffled away.

"This is sketchy," I said.

"Yes," he said back. "It sounds like a lot of politics for a man named... Johnny Jigsup."

"What did he do?" I asked. "Does it say?"

"A conman," Vil said. He squinted his eyes in thought. "It doesn't make any sense. It sounds like a petty crime. Not something a church would get involved in."

"You said so yourself," I said. "It's just politics. Sketchy politics."

"We'll see," he said.

We stepped out of the cathedral and into the afternoon light of day.

I smirked. "Look at us. We could take this entire city on. I'm a heavily armored trash can warrior, and you're my swordmage sidekick. There's literally no way this could go tits-up."