50. Too Close

“You want this to be about the people. The underdogs. I get that. But what you haven’t noticed is that’s exactly what we’ve given you.”

When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Alhannah faced off in the Trench’s brutal first round against four fierce S.L.A.G. pilots. Despite a malfunction and brutal aerial attacks, she used cunning and force to survive—barely—securing one of three victory slots. Back at the warehouse, tensions rose as Chuck's health declined, and Wendell struggled with his fading connection to the old wizard, the pressure of the Games, and a seal still lost to time.

---

Winning isn’t everything.
But when you end up losing, it usually feels like it.

I shifted in the chair again, and Dax jabbed me in the arm when no one was looking.

“Sit still,” he grumbled.

I frowned back at him, but didn’t say anything. I couldn’t help it. The guy made me nervous.

Philburt Bellows had called a press conference as soon as the Trench event had ended. The media practically mobbed Alhannah the moment she dropped from her S.L.A.G. Dozens of reporters and cameramen crammed into the boardroom like sardines, all trying to get a clear shot of the returning champion.

I wasn’t surprised when the woman in the red blazer shoved her way to the front.

Rishima Geebler.

Alhannah had warned me about her before the games even started. Dax had gone a step further—calling her a gnome-shaped parasite with a press pass and a poison tongue.

I don't think he likes her much.

Apparently, she’d covered the Trench since season one, and no matter how much fans loved the game, everyone knew Rishima loved tearing pilots apart even more. Her reputation was infamous: sensational stories, invasive questions, and enough drama to fuel five soap operas. And now she was staring daggers at Alhannah like she’d smelled blood in the water.

And of course, WHRN’s nosiest anchor with the loudest mouth—had taken over the meeting. She shoved her competitors aside without so much as an apology, grilling Alhannah with question after question.

But Alhannah? Cool as a block of glacial stone. Gave just enough answers to keep from getting booted, and nothing more.

When Rishima realized she wasn’t going to get the juicy meltdown she wanted for her show, she stormed out—only to turn her claws on Bellows instead.

Now the business mogul stood with his back to us, head low, the glow of the fireplace painting him in dancing oranges and reds. The silence made me uneasy, like something terrible was about to be announced. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat. Emotionless.

“This is precisely what I was trying to avoid.”

Alhannah stood like a statue, arms folded. She didn’t budge when Bellows turned and looked at her.

“You have no comment?” he asked.

“What do you want me to say?” she replied, cool as ever. “I wasn’t disqualified, which means I didn’t lose—so why are we here, Bellows?”

“You’re here because I think you need to be reminded of our agreement. I made sure you had the money required to enter the competition in exchange for your success. I told you that I was investing in people… which included more than just your ego, young lady.”

She snarled. “Now wait just a—”

“Hannah,” Dax cut in. His voice was low, cautioning. She glanced over to find him shaking his head slowly.

Bellows watched them both, eyes sharp, then continued. “This visit would not have been necessary if you had sated Rishima’s appetite for gossip, leaving me alone. Instead, she’s hounded my steps, verbally assaulted my managers, and overloaded my answering machine with ‘call me’ messages!”

“Oh, the pains of being popular,” Alhannah cried out mockingly, throwing a hand to her forehead like a dramatic stage actress.

“This isn’t funny!” Bellows snapped.

I watched her shift her weight. Her hand lowered, head dropping forward so her red hair curtained her face. The shadows cast from her brow swallowed her expression, but the red glow from the fire danced across the grease-smudged skin of her cheeks.

I didn’t need to see her eyes to know that she looked…dangerous.

Almost demonic.

“Oh, but it is, moneybags,” she said, her tone sharp. “You told me to win. According to the rules of the game, I did. You also told me to create drama. Did you watch the reactions of the crowd? Did you hear them chanting my name?”

She paused just long enough to cut off whatever rebuttal he was about to make. Her voice went even colder.

“You want this to be about the people. The underdogs. I get that. But what you haven’t noticed is that’s exactly what we’ve given you.”

And just like that, she was in his face. Inches away. I could see the fog of her breath against his glasses as she whispered, “So until you’re willing to provide full funding, we do this my way, not yours.” Then, with the grin of a predator, “And if you don’t like it, you can stuff those S.L.A.G.s in your fat purse. I don’t care. After today’s performance, I’m sure we could find another sponsor before the week is out.”

Bellows didn’t flinch. He pulled his glasses from his face and wiped them calmly with a handkerchief. “Is that all, Ms. Luckyfeller?”

“Not quite.”

He replaced the glasses and raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Dax wants a tobacco fund included in our budget.”

She didn’t move. That savage little grin stayed planted on her face like she was daring him to say no.

Bellows stepped back and cleared his throat. “I’ll… see what I can do.”

I nudged Dax, who was grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Have I mentioned lately,” I whispered, “that she scares the crap out of me?”

“But you can’t guarantee us winning,” I argued, folding my arms across my chest.

“I know that,” Alhannah countered, popping the cap off a bottle. She kicked her chair in closer to the table where we were all gathered—snacking and sketching out last-minute strategies. “But do you think Bellows is gonna keep funding someone who acts like they’ve already lost?”

“You think we’re already beaten?” choked Nibbles, coughing mid-sip. Tumbler patted her on the back as she wheezed.

“No, of course not—that’s not what I meant,” Alhannah said. “I mean we have to stay positive, that’s all. There’ll be surprises, setbacks, but the key is to adapt. We’ve got more than enough talent in this room to take down any pilot in the league.” She elbowed me with a smirk, “Even greenie here.”

They all chuckled, and yeah…okay, I grinned too.

“This is going to be a battle on many fronts,” Nat interrupted, fingers still flying over his keyboard. “We don’t just have to win in the Trench—we have to win the system, which is my wheelhouse…but there’s also the media. If the wrong rumors get traction, we’ll lose favor with the people. And the people are the whole point, remember? That was the deal. With Motherboard. With the G.R.R.”

Alhannah downed the whole bottle in one go, then let out a monstrous belch that echoed in the rafters. “What’s your point, Wheels?” she said, smacking her lips.

He looked up at her and frowned. “My point, Red, is that we need to start engaging with the media instead of hiding from it. There are already hundreds of reports saying you don’t care about the people. Here’s a direct quote I saved: ‘Alhannah Luckyfeller, once known as the Grand Champion of the Trench Wars, has apparently ascended above the mere peasant bodies of our beloved community. All one has to do to confirm such reports is to take notice of how many interviews exist. That’s right—they simply don’t. Luckyfeller aggressively shuns those seeking to bring her words to the people.’”

He stared at her until she squirmed.

“Okay, ouch,” Dax said. “Isn’t that a little harsh?”

“Always,” Nat said flatly. “Which is why I think she should try it. It’ll help.”

“You metal-butt…”

I reached out and pushed Alhannah back into her seat. “Stop it. He’s right, and you know it.”

She didn’t answer, too busy glaring at Nat.

“Honestly, Alhannah, you know the League better than any of us. So we have to trust you to lead us—and that means leading the narrative too.” I pushed my plate aside and turned to Freak and Socket. “I think we need a way to use this mess to our advantage.”

Freak adjusted his goggles, curious. “What do you have in mind, kid?”

I smiled. “We play small. Keep our heads low. Let them think we’re beat. Be the underdog. We take a few hits—even when we don’t have to.”

Dax leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “And then?”

“Then we pound them into the floor,” I said with a shrug. “Hit back when they least expect it. When they think we’re down for the count and not worth the trouble. We’ve got the best RAT crew in the league, right?” I looked around the table. “So let’s show the city what that looks like.”

Tumbler puffed his cigar, the smoke curling around his beard like fog over a battlefield. “I like how this kid thinks.”

Nat shut his laptop with a click. “How do you want to start?”

I looked at Alhannah. “While you and Cryo figure out how to hold onto the Trench, I think Alhannah needs to pay a visit to a certain anchorwoman…and give her some exclusive goodies.”

Alhannah let her forehead fall to the table with a dramatic THUD! “Mahan’s pink panties…”

I didn’t head straight to my bunk after the meeting.

I meant to, but my feet sort of veered off on their own. Past the pit, down the long corridor, and right up to the library door with that same sign dangling from the nail:
“Just Don’t.”

I opened it anyway.

Chuck sat hunched at his desk like always, backlit by the flickering fireplace, a wall of books flanking him like bodyguards. The smell of incense and pipe smoke was thick in the air. I stood there for a moment, watching him flip through a giant tome like he was trying to outrun time itself.

“You still up?” I asked.

He didn’t look up. “You’re not in your bunk either, son.”

Fair point.

I wandered in and sank into the big leather chair across from him. For a while, neither of us said anything. I stared at the chandelier, candles dancing like little ghosts above us, waiting for…something. I didn’t even know why I’d come. Just felt like I needed to.

“So you didn’t watch the games?” I asked quietly.

Chuck shook his head. “Busy.”

I forced a smile, even though my stomach knotted up with disappointment. “I understand. Don’t worry about it.”

Truth was, I did worry. Chuck looked worse than I’d ever seen him. Deloris told me he’d stopped eating—or more accurately, he just forgot to. She brought him food, snacks, water…anything to keep him functioning, but he rarely touched it. She’d come back hours later to find it still sitting on the end table, cold and untouched.

Even Lili was starting to worry.

His skin had gone pale. The dark circles under his eyes made him look like he hadn’t slept in days—maybe longer.

“Did she win?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. His fingers twitched constantly, like he was counting something I couldn’t see.

I blinked. “What? Oh—yeah, she won.”

“Good. Good,” he murmured, nodding to himself, his attention drifting like he’d already forgotten I was there. “Can’t remember,” he whispered, rubbing a knuckle against his temple like he could dig something loose, “Remember you… it’s important, I just know it is…”

And just like that, he wandered away from me—his attention drifting back to the piles on his desk.

Lili sat hunched over her own corner of the room, surrounded by stacks of books and loose-leaf family trees. She didn’t even look up when I came in.

I know what Chuck and Lily were doing was important. Searching for where the Demoni Vankil seal was hidden. Seemed impossible if you asked me, to find a single object among 1.5 billion people in a city.

But this was more.

The seal was hidden, by a unknown gnome, in an unknown place.

I sighed and turned to Chuck’s desk, unsure of what to say. The old man shuffled papers like a sleepwalker. He looked so focused, yet so detached. “Having any luck?” I asked finally.

He froze.

“Chuck?”

“What?” he said, startled. His eyes blinked hard, as if trying to reset himself. When he looked at me again, there was a flicker of recognition…a smile that almost looked like the Chuck I remembered.

“Oh. I’m sorry, son. Feeling a bit on the tired side tonight, I’m afraid.”

He looked so weak. Exhausted. Fading. “You need some food and rest, Chuck,” I said, trying to sound firm. “I’m getting worried about you.”

“Not now,” he grunted, frowning. “No time right now… but soon.” He nodded slowly—more to himself than to me. “Very soon indeed.”

I don't think he was hearing me. Chuck had always been this towering presence—grumpy, funny, brilliant, solid. Seeing him like this…fraying at the edges…scared me more than I wanted to admit.

Chuck’s gaze drifted toward the fireplace, his fingers trembling as they folded into one another.

“Wendell,” he said, barely above a whisper, “can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

His eyes never left the flames. “Have you…given any thought to the magic?”

I hesitated. “You mean, like—me learning it?”

A slow nod. “I know Trench Wars has taken center stage. And it’s important—I don’t doubt that anymore. But there’s still something else inside you, son. Something…bigger.”

His voice cracked. “The Ithari didn’t choose you for your reflexes or your swordsmanship. I believe she chose you for that light inside you…that goodness that's so rare in the world. It’s ancient, that light. More powerful than people realize. And I think you’ve only brushed the surface of what it means.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. We hadn't talked about magic since we got here. Nothing more than in passing, anyway. With all the focus on Trench Wars, I'd started to think me learning magic had been brushed aside until further notice.

“I should have started teaching you earlier,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. “That's on me. We should have started before the seal. Before all this noise and flashing lights. Right from the beginning, in the cottage, we should have built you a solid foundation to grow from." He rubbed on of his eyes with the palm of his hand. "But I was so focused on what I thought I knew, that I forgot what you still needed to discover.”

He leaned back, eyes glassy. “We might not have much time, Wendell. I feel it. But if I can do anything before I…before I burn out,” he looked at me, “I’d like to show you what’s possible. Just a little of it. Something to light your way, when the rest gets dark.” He hesitated. "Oh. No, don't worry, son. I'll be alright. It's not my time, I promise. You have a while yet to bear with my annoying presence."

"You've never been annoying," I said softly. "Not to me."

He smiled weakly. "That's kind of you." He slowly scratched his chin with trembling fingers. "I always did like me. Quite charming…in an off-kilter way."

I smirked.

"But I think we've come to a point where we need to make some changes, son. Some hard choices. Just in case I'm wrong about my time with you." He studied me for a moment, then gave me a wink. "I have been known to be wrong. Not often, mind you…but it does happen."

I couldn’t speak. My throat closed tight. What was he talking about? Was something happening to the only person I had complete confidence in? Was Chuck ill and no one was telling me? I looked at Lili, but as soon as our eyes met, she averted her gaze.

This kind of talk was scaring me, and even my t-shirt smiley was sweating.

I just nodded.

Chuck smiled, weakly, but genuinely. “Let's change that problem into an opportunity, shall we?"

"What do you have in mind?" I asked.

Boney hands patted the odd mounds of papers haphazardly stacked along the edge of his desk, then lifted the corner of a stack. He pulled out a small sandwich, a perfect triangle with the crusts cut off.

He smiled warmly.

"Deloris is a lovely girl." He bit the sandwich with a soft moan and chewed.

Which slowed.

He swallowed.

Then he carefully set the sandwich back down on the plate.

Chuck leaned forward and whispered, "Lovely girl, but not the best cook."

With that, he lifted the stack daintily and tucked the plate and sandwich out of view.

"When you too on the mantle, son, you didn't just inherit the Ithari, you inherited all that is connected to her. That includes relationships, rights, lands, real estate," he paused, "ooh,….and one of those little Ninja frosty machines, that make those old 7-11 slurpies you just can't get anymore." His eyebrows bobbed up and down. "I might negotiate with you to take that one off your hands."

"My gift," I chuckled.

"Point here, is that you have resources, Wendell. More than you realize, and I was placed as steward over them to. Make sure the next hero, that's you, would receive everything connected to the mantle." He scratched his forehead. "I haven't done that. My bad. So let's fix that, shall we?"

The more Chuck talked, the more alive he became. The rings under his eyes actually started to fade, and I got me wondering about what he'd told me. About using magic to keep him alive this long.

"I'd like that," I said.

Chuck nodded. "Show you the bank account, tour the estate, maybe crack see of those books in your private library."

"Wait. I have a library?"

"Huge one. Biggest on the planet."

"Woah."

"Then we'll get teaching you magic. Lili too."

I blinked. "Lili?"

She looked up from her books, her cheeks flushed.

Chuck smiled warmly at her. "Turns out she's got some talent." When she went back to her book, Chuck whispered, "No end of surprises with that one. I think you chose well, son."

"Chose…well? Wait. What?"

Chuck winked. "I get it. Playing hard to get. Smart boy. Make her work for it."

I was so lost.

"We’ll start small,” Chuck said.

"What?"

"Magic. Lessons. Small. Basics. We can start with light."

“Sounds great, Chuck."

He tapped the page open in front of him, his bright face immediately growing dark.

"So… have you found anything about the seal?” I asked cheerfully.

“It’s not anything I was expecting,” he said faintly. Then he looked up at me with the weariness of a man who’d fought a hundred battles in his mind and lost most of them. “I think this might be beyond me.”

I almost laughed.

Almost.

Chuck, beyond his depth? That felt like the punchline to a cosmic joke.

But he meant it. He was serious.

And suddenly, I felt it—that cold twist of realization.

If Chuck’s worried… maybe I should be too.

I leaned forward, trying to sound casual. “What’s got you stuck…if you don’t mind me asking?”

He let out a long sigh and sank into his seat. His tired legs stretched out under the desk, toes wiggling as he kicked off his sandals. He slung his beard back over his shoulder.

“It’s these blasted gnomes!” he muttered.

I blinked. “I thought you loved the gnomes.”

“Oh, I do, son. I do.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “They’ve just been shown to me in a new light, that’s all.”

“How so?”

“Ego, my boy. Pure, unadulterated, sickening ego.” He glared at me like I was personally responsible. “The kind that makes you want to put your own head through a wall.”

I chuckled. “I… really don’t follow.”

He yawned, stretching like a worn-out cat. “I was told to give the bag, with the seal in it, to the greatest tinkerer in Clockworks, right?”

“That’s what you told us, yeah.”

“So I go to Pävärious. Ask the mayor. Seemed easy enough.” He threw up his hands. “Turns out, every single gnome in history thinks they’re the greatest tinkerer who ever lived!”

“Seriously?”

He jabbed a finger at me, eyes wide. “Worse! The history books agree with them!”

“…How?”

“It’s all about definitions,” he growled. “One’s the greatest clockmaker. Another’s the greatest sewage system designer. Then there’s printing presses, water purification, engine design, microscopics, even one lady with an oversized wooden spoon—”

“Wait…what?”

“Brenda Omberdonkey,” he snapped, “famous nanny. Claimed she invented the child-adjuster. Big wooden spoon. Smacked manners into the rich.”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. “Sounds like the gnomes just really love giving awards.”

“They suffer from chronic self-esteem issues, that’s what!” he fumed. “It’s thrown our whole search off—we can’t narrow it down. I don’t know where to even start.”

He buried his face in his hands.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the letter—the same blank page I’d been carrying for days now. I held it out without saying anything.

Chuck’s eyes locked on it. “Has it changed?”

I shook my head. “Still says WIN in the middle.”

He sighed again. “Well, at least we know Trench Wars is important. Not just a distraction.” He smiled weakly. “So you’ve got some direction.” Then he chuckled bitterly. “Me? I need a miracle.”

“No,” I said, meeting his tired eyes. “You need help.”

“I need a professional.”

“A detective?”

He shook his head. “No. I need a genealogist.”

There was a long beat of silence.

Then, at the same time, we both said it:

“We need Höbin.”

---

---

Want to start at the beginning? Grab yourself a copy of book one in the Chronicles of Hero series!

---

---