Welcome to your journey to save the kingdom.

There are books falling on citizens and no one knows why, but we all may be buried under books soon. It’s up to you to make it stop.

You basically have no skills, but some wizard picked you for this? Weird choice but okay. I’m your narrator, by the way.

Let me give you more backstory here. I know you just woke up. Get some coffee. Or tea, or whatever. Just wake up. Stop yawning.

It’s the kingdom of Shelfla. You live here as a peasant. Books are falling on everyone, and we’re pretty sure it’s this witch on the mountain’s fault. I don’t know, the wizard told you that. I don’t trust men with long beards, but apparently you do.

**Note: The above text is from the official Clear Your Sh*t Twitter account and belongs to them.**

When first I received my summons from the wizard, written in a neat, swooping hand and furnished with what I assumed was gold (though, in retrospect, it may have just been a mustard stain) I was excited. Who wouldn’t be at the prospect of starring in one’s own adventure?

Of course, standing here now, I realize I maybe should’ve asked one or two important questions along the way. First, I assumed I would be meeting a wise old wizard, decked out in a robe and with a staff of his own, in an elegant castle. If I were lucky, maybe even a feast would be in order. Surely a summons deserved a feast, yes?

Instead, the building in front of me is best described as a house. Made of wood. Built in a tree.

It’s a treehouse, guys. Rope ladder and everything.

I’m definitely in the right place. I checked the address three times. I even asked a local, hoping I was wrong. Nope. The summons is definitely for here.

I climb the rope ladder, and the sign on the door simply says GO AWAY. Sage advice. Maybe a wizard really lives here after all. I knock anyway.

What sort of hero would I be if I listened to sage advice the first time I was told? Pfft.

“Didn’t you see the sign?!” a voice from inside shouts.

“Uhh … what sign?” I hastily yank the paper off the door, crumple it up, and toss it over the railing.

Some more grumbling ensues. A bit of heavy stomping. The door flies open, and out steps … a wizard? If we’re using the term loosely. Not exactly what I expected. Not to mention, that beard? Barely even qualifies.

It’s definitely a goatee. Talk about being cheated.

“Are you …” I double-check my summons. “The Wizard Khowix?”

“Maybe. Who’s asking?”

“Name’s Phyrre.”

The wizard hums in the back of his throat, not particularly impressed.

“… I received a letter?”

“Bully for you.”

“A summons letter?”

“Oh. Ooooh.” The wizard reaches into his cloak, whips out a scroll, and snaps it open with a flourish. “Phyrre, you say? Oh, yes, here you are. Newly minted hero.”

“Hero, huh? Are you sure?”

“Yup. Says so right here.” He raps the parchment with a knuckle before rolling it up and tucking it back into his robe.

“Not a villain?”

“Nope.”

“Can you just … double-check?”

“Wizards do not make mistakes.”

“Mm. Your robe’s inside out.”

“Is it?! Oh, why thank—not funny.” The wizard sniffs and adjusts his hat as a scowl settles on his face.

“Are you sure I can’t be a villain?”

“Hero. Take it or leave it.”

I sigh. “Fine. Hero it is.” There is still hope that I can be an anti-hero. That’s almost as good as being a villain, right?

“Good. Call me Khow, then. We just have some forms to fill out to make it official.”

“Forms?”

“Oh, sure. Just the standard hero paperwork. Now … where did I put that?” Khow shuffles around the treehouse, uprooting stacks of books here, disturbing dust bunnies there.

Seriously … there are A LOT of dust bunnies. I’m pretty sure that one growled at me.

“Wait, no one said anything about f—”

“Ah, here they are!” There’s a loud whumpf and the boards of the treehouse groan as he drops a stack of papers at my feet.

“First things first.” Khow waves his hand and a plume appears in it. As far as magic goes, it’s a bit of a disappointment. Not even a special feather. Just a normal owl’s feather dipped in ink. It could at least sparkle or something. “So … name?”

“Phyrre.”

Khow pauses, raising his eyebrows. “That’s what you’re going to go with? You sure?”

” … Yes? Something wrong with my name?”

“No, no, if you go for that sort of thing.”

“Says a guy named Khow,” I mumble under my breath, low enough so he can’t hear.

“Okay, next, you’ll need a fatal flaw.”

“I’d prefer none of my flaws to be fatal, thanks.”

Khow rolls his eyes. “Obviously. Still, you need one. Something that gets you into trouble. Something that starts the main conflict of your hero’s journey.”

“Uhhh … isn’t that what you’re here for?”

“Technically, but I can’t be your fatal flaw. Much too busy. You’ll have to find something else.”

“Well, I suppose I’ve been told I buy too many books. Does that count?”

“Mm-hmm. And do you ever read any of these books you buy?”

I shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny. Oh, what does he know, anyway? He’s wearing a pointy hat and wearing a cape. It’s 70 degrees outside. Who is he to judge?

“Of course. Eventually. Sometimes.”

One or two out of every ten still counts, right?

“I see. And what exactly are these books about?”

“Oh, you know. Assassins, murderers, talking swords, backstabbing, scheming, plotting, and dragons. The usual.”

Khow stares at me with his mouth slightly open, quill hovering over the page without quite being able to turn thought into text.

“What?”

“No-nothing. No, that’s fine, of course.” He hastily jots something down. I crane my neck to see what he’s writing.

Buys book instead of going to therapy.

“Hey! You can’t say that … can you?”

“I just did. Besides, I’m the wizard here, aren’t I?”

“I suppose,” I grumble. “Are we sure you aren’t the evil wizard, though?”

“Quite.” Khow clears his throat. “What would you say is your greatest strength?”

“I read a lot of ebooks. Like … a lot. If I had a soul, I would’ve basically sold it to the God of Digital Books at this point. Does that count?”

“Oookay, then. How about we just call you an ebook acolyte?”

I shrug. “You’re in charge here.”

“Indeed.” The quill zips around the page a few more times before finally coming to a rest. “There’s just one more matter to attend to. Every hero needs a weapon.”

“A weapon!” Finally, we’re getting somewhere interesting. Stars dance in my eyes as I picture all the cool things I could use to maim other peop—er, I mean villains. “Like a scythe?! Or chakrams?”

Khow lets out a high-pitched guffaw. “What kind of budget do you think we have here?” He motions to a table in the back of the room. At first glance, it looks like it’s full of a bunch of junk, but on second glance, there are a few things that might be useful. Maybe. If one squints really hard.

I pick up what I think is a sword, but it feels awful light … and wooden. “Is this … a stick?”

“Yes, but it’s painted like a sword. Trick all your foes into submitting!”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” I throw the branch back on the table and move on. There’s what looks like a real sword, but obviously it also must be fake. I’m afraid to find out what that might really be (something more outrageous than a stick, I’d wager), so I move on down the table. Until …

“Are those … teeth?”

“Of course!”

“Like real teeth?”

“Duh.”

“Where did you get teeth from?”

Khow clears his throat. “Probably best you don’t know.”

I stand there for a moment as my brain overheats, trying to process what I’m hearing.

“So are you going with the tee—”

“Hell no!” I glower at him, resisting the urge to leave right now. What sort of person even considers this?

The sort who lives in a treehouse and summons unqualified, unskilled strangers to perform undetermined quests, apparently … it seemed like a good idea at first. You know, before I thought about it.

I pick up the next item, a nondescript gray feather about the size of my forearm. “What does this do?”

“That? Oh! That’s a good one.” Khow seems far too excited about this weapon, and I’m immediately suspicious.

“Oh, yeah? What’s so good about it?”

“It has all sorts of secret powers.”

“Did you make it yourself?”

“In fact, I did!”

I immediately dump the feather back on the table, earning myself a rather nasty glare in the meantime. Totally worth it. Beats whatever nasty side effect using that likely malfunctioning bit of magic would produce.

“And these?” I gesture to what looks like a stack of rocks.

“They’re … rocks. The leader’s Carl.”

“I’ll take them!”

” … Really?”

I shrug. “I enjoy throwing things at people. Turns out, I’m really good at it.” I gather the whole lot of rocks in my hand. “Do any of the others have names?”

“No. Just Carl.”

“Well, I’m going to call them Carl and the Grave Stones, then. Get it? Because they’ll put people in their grave.” I crack up so hard that I snort.

Khow shakes his head. “Get out.”

“What?”

“Get. Out.”

“Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad.”

“Listen, I’ve done everything I can. The rest is up to you. I’ll let you know when I have information on your first quest. Until then, you can just … leave.”

“But—”

“Off with you.” Khow shoos me away with a gesture of his hands. “I know where to find you if you’re needed.”

“Thanks … I guess.”

I leave the treehouse with a vague air of confusion, a pocketful of random rocks, and the sinking sense that I’ve made a horrible mistake. There’s nothing more for me to do, I suppose, except to wait for news of my first quest to venture forth into the world of being a hero.

In case you weren’t listening …

Let me introduce myself. *clears throat* My name is Phyrre.

According to the wizard, my fatal flaw is buying books instead of going to therapy.

My biggest strength is that I’m an ebook acolyte. Whatever that menas.

Joining me on my hero’s quest as my weapon (and likely best friend … hey, questing and traveling is lonely business) is Carl, along with his companions, the Grave Stones.

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