51. Smile For The Camera

“I’ll give you the finger—sorry! I mean, I’ll point at you, and then we’ll start, ok?”

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: With her spot in the Trench Wars secured, Alhannah faced both victory and scrutiny, enduring a brutal post-match media ambush from Rishima Geebler. Meanwhile, Wendell wrestled with the growing distance between him and Chuck, only to discover just how deeply the old wizard cares—and how much his health is fading. Behind the grease and glory, darker truths stir, and the final match looms closer than ever…

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Be careful what you say to the media.
They never forgive, they never forget…
…and they always play favorites.

I was sitting up in the catwalk above the hangar floor, legs dangling off the edge, when I overheard Chuck’s voice rising again. He sounded desperate.

“But I need him!” he shouted.

I peeked through the steel grating and spotted him trotting after Dax like a frazzled grandpa chasing a runaway goat.

Dax didn’t stop walking. “I know, Chuck, but I fight in less than a week. If I don’t fight, Steel and Stone forfeits their spots in the competition. Ya have ta at least finish the first tier, you know that.”

Chuck tried to argue, “But…”

“Nope,” Dax snapped, spinning around and walking backward as he held up a hand. “Don’t even try to answer, it’s not worth the risk. What happens if I port to go grab Höbin and it messes up the charm? Can you guarantee that I’ll stay in this form so I can come back and get in the arena?”

Chuck blinked, lips pursed, and gazed up at the ceiling like the answers were tucked into the rafters.

Dax just scowled and pointed a sharp finger at him. “That’s what I thought.”

“But after the fight,” Chuck started again, clearly grasping, “we’ll have two weeks to figure out a solution…”

“Exactly,” Dax said, finally slowing. “That’s all I’m saying. Besides,” he added, pausing to look Chuck up and down, “ya look like crap.”

That got a reaction. Chuck’s snowy eyebrows jumped high and his hair puffed like he’d stuck his finger in a socket. “Well that’s a might rude, young man!”

I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh.

Dax softened a little. “You’ve been pouring over those books too long, old man. You’ve stopped eating. You’ve got everyone worried—especially the kid.”

My chest tightened a bit.

“He talks about you all the time,” Dax added, lowering his voice so I had to lean in to catch it. “He’s fond of you, Chuck. Don’t go crackin’ under pressure when he’s watching.”

Chuck’s lip trembled just a little, but then he stomped his foot with a huff. “Oh poo!”

That stomp made me grin.

A moment later, Alhannah strode into the hangar like a storm about to hit. She had on a tight blue jumper and her red makeup made her hair look like it had been painted on by a crazy artist. Every TNT gnome within sight, including Nibbles, whistled.

“Oh shut up!” she snapped, clearly irritated.

“Just ‘cause ya clean up decent doesn’t mean ya have to bite our heads off,” Nibbles chuckled.

“Sorry,” Alhannah mumbled. “Just… this blasted interview. Not looking forward to it.”

The sound of Nat’s wheelchair echoed down the ramp like the arrival of sarcasm on wheels.

“Just think of it as a part to a cleverly laid plan,” he said, wheeling up beside her with that impish smirk of his.

Alhannah crossed her arms. “Oh? What plan is that?”

He leaned in dramatically and whispered loud enough for all of us to hear, “To make Clockworks believe you’re actually a somewhat likable person.”

She smacked him in the shoulder.

“I know! I know!” Nat laughed. “It’s a near impossible feat… but we must try!”

She muttered something about popping his tire.

Then Morty’s voice crackled over the intercom, “Alhannah, Ms. Geebler is here for your interview.”

I heard Nat inhale sharply and mutter with glee, “Let the great deception begin…”

Alhannah kicked his wheelchair so hard it spun halfway around.

I couldn’t help but laugh from my perch, even as I rubbed my sweaty palms on my pants.

Rishima Geebler. Ugh.

This was going to be painful.

I wasn’t supposed to be listening.

In fact, Alhannah specifically told me to “stay the fluff outta the kitchen, or I’ll kick your kidneys through your ears.” But let’s be honest—if you knew Rishima Geebler was going to be interviewing one of your teammates, live, and it was going to be a train wreck…you’d watch too.

So there I was, squatting in the hallway just outside the kitchen, back against the wall, eavesdropping. Dax, Tumbler, and Socket all crammed around me like nosy squirrels at a nut sale. Even Nat had wheeled himself down, a hand over his mouth like he was about to witness a murder.

Rishima Geebler.

I’d been warned about her.

Extensively. Repeatedly. Even threateningly, by Dax.

She was a blonde, long-haired gnome with massive ears—seriously, I don’t know how her neck supported them. And she didn’t waste the real estate—gold rings, studs, glittering chains—you name it, dangled from her lobes.

According to Alhannah, her ears worked like gossip radar.

According to Dax, her smile could cut a male in half—and her interviews usually did.

She was the kind of person that made a bloodhound look lazy, and she had a talent for getting the most private confessions on live holocast. Rumor had it, the only reason she hadn’t been fired from WHRN years ago was because she was dating the station owner.

Every time I asked about her, I got one of two answers: “She’s terrifying,” or “Avoid her at all costs.”

Which is exactly why I stayed just outside the room, within full earshot.

From what I could see through the sliver between the kitchen doors, Rishima and her crew had set up shop right in front of the refrigerator. Cameras were already rolling by the time Alhannah walked in. Rishima stood up, grinning like she’d just caught a trout in her teeth, and extended her hand.

“Alhannah Luckyfeller, this is such an honor,” she chirped, shaking Alhannah’s hand like it was a winning lottery ticket. “I hoped beyond hope to get this interview! I’m so glad you decided to come to your senses.”

“Come to my senses?” Alhannah said, not even bothering to hide her distrust.

“Well yes!” Rishima beamed, pulling out a little mirror to adjust her lipstick. “It must be hard, to be the most revered Trench star for two years in a row and then come back to find Darcy Dunnit, your biggest rival, the new favorite of Clockworks City?” She clicked the mirror shut and grinned like she’d just bitten into a plum full of vinegar.

Alhannah gave her a smile.

Well… more like a warning.

Rishima waved her hand and said, “So here’s what we’ll do. I like to keep everything fresh and real, so this interview will be live, if that’s ok with you?”

Alhannah opened her mouth to object.

“Great!” Rishima cut her off. “I knew you wouldn’t mind and the cameras are already rolling anyway.” Then she added with a snicker, “I’ll give you the finger—sorry! I mean, I’ll point at you, and then we’ll start, ok?”

Alhannah just folded her arms.

Rishima turned and gave a quick nod to her camera operator. The small light blinked green. The countdown came silently—5, 4, 3, 2, 1—then Rishima launched.

“Hello Clockworks! This is your favorite darling, Rishima Geebler, here with another WHRN exclusive interview!”

She was practically glowing.

“If you’ve been watching the Trench Wars,” she giggled, “what am I saying? Of course you have! Then you also know that one of our all-time favorite pilots has returned in a daring attempt to secure a place among the best of the best in this season of the games.”

Cue the fake hair toss and cutesy smile.

“You’re right, Clockworks—I’m talking about the one and only Alhannah Luckyfeller—but you know her as Banshee!”

The camera panned out, showing Alhannah scowling like she was about to throw a chair.

“Ms. Luckyfeller, let me start off by saying how honored I am that you could join us today.”

Alhannah didn’t move. The silence dragged on just long enough to be awkward. Rishima fidgeted and cleared her throat.

“Yes, well, I think the question the viewers want to ask most is, what made you decide to leave the games? I mean, at the height of your amazing Trench career… that was a crazy move, don’t you think?”

Alhannah slowly unfolded her arms and leaned forward, voice like sandpaper dipped in silk. “I was bored.”

That hit like a punch to the gut.

“Bored?” Rishima squeaked. “Surely you’re joking!? Trench Wars is the most dangerous sport in the city… how could a pilot possibly become bored with a never changing environment, rotating opponents and the possibility of serious injury??”

From the hallway, Dax muttered, “This is gonna be good.”

Alhannah’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Because I’ve walked outside these walls. The walls that shield you from the real horrors of life. The real monsters that need fighting. I have tracked down and slain giants who still hunt us for food. From dawn until dusk and through the howling sounds of the night, I’ve walked distant lands with only my weapons and plated armor to preserve my life from those who sought to take it from me.”

She leaned in closer.

“I’ve also taken life and bathed my hands in the blood of my enemies,…which is a far cry from sitting comfortably for two seasons in a metal shell, surrounded by air conditioning and safety harnesses.”

That shut everyone up.

Even Rishima.

“So yes,” Alhannah finished. “I was bored. Next question.”

Rishima blinked.

Twice.

Loudly.

“What…uh, what made you decide to pursue this career in the first place then?”

“As a Trench pilot or as an adventurer and bodyguard?”

“Uh…both?”

Alhannah shrugged. “I always wanted to follow in my mother’s footsteps. She was a great warrior. Dad was a great adventurer—always off hunting for answers. I wanted both. And Trench Wars? That was just something new. A safe challenge.”

Rishima cocked her head. “You call full-out S.L.A.G. combat safe?!”

“Compared to a vallen horde who wants to rip my arms off with their bare teeth? Yup.”

Tumbler snorted.

Rishima fumbled for her papers, visibly shaken. “Safe or not, you seemed to have some difficulty in the Trench against Armored Ensemble.”

“I overestimated my opponent. Won’t happen again.”

“Looked more like you underestimated the changes in the game,” Rishima pressed.

From the hallway, I heard Nat mutter, “She’s going in for the kill.”

“During those last moments of the fight you seemed very surprised at the weapons being utilized by your opponents. You looked concerned. Even… panicked.”

Alhannah growled. “That’s an exaggeration and you know it.”

They kept at it like that, back and forth, until Rishima finally pushed too far.

“So what’s your short-term goal?”

“To get through this stupid interview,” Alhannah replied without missing a beat.

“So you believe sharing your story with millions of caring, faithful fans is stupid.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

Sliding from her seat, Alhannah openly growled, “No, you twisted my words—which is typical from a media jockey.”

Tapping her bottom lip with her finger, Rishima pretended to ponder the comments being made. Then she asked, “So with your negative outlook on Trench Wars, its pilots and its adoring fans, what’s been your biggest professional disappointment?”

“Gnome pilots!” shouted a voice off camera.

That’s when it happened.

Chuck stumbled into the kitchen.

Every camera turned.

His nose was blistering red, cheeks flushed, and he was dragging his beard along the ground with a gigantic clay jug sitting on the end of his facial hair. The wizard didn’t even look over at them. With his sluggish movements he stumbled forward and bumped into the table and chairs. He stopped briefly and tipped his hat when he noticed Rishima, “Oh, pardon my rudeness. Didn’t see you there. Excuse….” he paused, swayed—nearly falling backwards, then moved on.

“UnGRATEful little guttersnipe,” Chuck slurred, crashing into the fridge with his face. Yanking the refrigerator open, he rifled through the condiments, tossing plastic containers out onto the table and floor haphazardly. “All they want to do is play with S.L.A.G.s!”

Glasses clinked together and food fell from the fridge door as he battled to free his face. “I wiped his butt for crying out…and all I ask is to run an errand? Is that so HARD?” Without warning, he yanked his head out of the fridge and looked straight at Alhannah, “But NOOOooooo….,” then paused. Hands tightly gripping the frame and door of the refrigerator, the wizard stood there, slightly swaying in the cold of the open door.

He looked between the two female gnomes, then burped. “There’s no ice,” he said sadly.

“Check the freezer,” Alhannah whispered, then pointed, “smaller door above you.”

Chuck held up his index finger and again, almost fell over. “Gotcha.”

“Chuck!” Morty hissed, peeking into the kitchen from the doorway. He dashed across the floor, red as a beet. “So sorry!” He grabbed the wizard, spun him around and shoved him out of the room.

By the time Rishima recovered, the interview was in shambles.

She turned back to the camera, smile plastered on like wet wallpaper.

“And there you have it, ladies and gentlegnomes—Ms. Alhannah Luckyfeller is back from the world beyond our walls…to challenge the status quo.” She flashed her teeth and tossed her hair. “Stay tuned for recaps of this week’s games and be sure to watch her teammate, Turnpike, attempt to make it through the Tier I fights himself. This is Rishima Geebler, reporting live from Clockworks City.”

The light on the camera blinked red. Off.

And in the silence that followed, Dax leaned in and whispered:

“Think they’ll invite us back for another interview?”

I just couldn’t sleep.

I’d rolled over at least twenty times in the last hour, flipping my pillow, pulling the blanket up, kicking it off again. My thoughts weren’t racing exactly… they were more like stubborn hikers refusing to stop at the trailhead.

Chuck hadn’t looked well.

Not lately. Not at all. Then seeing him drifting in, completely drunk and disorientated like that? The fight in the arena had taken its toll on all of us—but Chuck was running on fumes. Something about that made my chest hurt in a way I didn’t have a name for.

So I got up.

One advantage of staying in a refurbished industrial building, is the cement floors and metal stairs don't creak.

The warehouse was dark, lit only by the low buzz of safety lights that hung like sleeping fireflies from the ceiling.

No sign of anyone.

Alhannah had stormed off to her room immediately after the interview, unwilling to talk to anyone. Freak had been working so hard, he'd probably collapsed somewhere with a wrench still in his hand. The rest of the TNT had scattered the moment Chuck stumbled into the live interview. Dax volunteered to 'fix' the situation by drinking every alcoholic beverage in the kitchen, then proceeded to pass out on the couch. Normally he'd snore loud enough to rattle one of the tool lockers…all you could hear now was the low rumble of his breathing behind the kitchen doors.

The rest of us just called it a night.

…the damage had already been done, right?

I crept down the hallway toward Chucks room.

His normal “Just Don’t,” note had been scratched out, replaced with "I'm Sorry."

Poor guy.

Chuck was the last strand of normality for me. Or maybe I should call it stability. He usually knew more than anyone else in the room, and he'd always expressed a measure of confidence in me. That helped me hold on to those few strands of sanity left that I brought with me from Earth. If anything happened to Chuck, I'm not sure how I could cope.

Wow. That sounded flat out selfish.

"Because it was selfish," said Doubt.

Ungh. Not you.

Even the smily on my shirt rolled its eyes.

"What do you mean, not you?"

I thought I'd finally developed enough confidence in myself.

"Sooooo because I didn't chime in, criticizing and critiquing your every move, you thought you'd overcome or outgrown the self-reflective, self-deprecating personality of your inner self?"

Well…yeah.

"You seriously underestimate how messing up you actually are.”

Gee, thanks.

“Nope. Still here. You've just been distracted with all the training and robot mumbo-jumbo."

Then why haven't you said anything?

"You've been corrected so much by everyone else around you, what did you need me for? I took a vacation."

Vacation?

"Wendell, hanging with you is stressful. You're making progress, though. I can honestly say you don't need my input as much as you used to."

Uhh, thanks?

"You're welcome. Sorry to interrupt. You were saying?"

I'm worried about Chuck.

"I would be too."

But you're me.

"Oh. Right. I AM worried about Chuck, then."

*sigh* Maybe he fell asleep in his chair. That wouldn’t be new. I could tuck a blanket over him, check if he’d eaten anything. Or maybe… maybe he’d talk to me again. Like he used to. That would be nice.

The knob was warm under my hand. I pushed the door open slowly.

The fire was still going, low and rhythmic like a living heartbeat. Books were scattered across the desk, pages fanned open like wings. A steaming mug sat untouched beside a flickering candle. Chuck’s cloak was thrown over the back of his favorite chair.

But the chair was empty.

I frowned. “Chuck?” I whispered.

There was a sound. Muffled.

Voices.

I turned.

The tall cabinet in the far corner—something Chuck had brought in weeks ago—was cracked open.

I’d never seen it open before.

The gap shimmered, light oozing through like mist under a door. The voice came again. Chuck’s voice. Then… another voice.

A woman’s.

I moved without thinking.

"See what I mean? Stressful."

Shut up.

"That's what I do."

I pressed my fingers against the edge of the cabinet door and nudged it wider.

No books. No coats. No shelves.

Just… stars?

A corridor of soft, swirling light reached beyond the cabinet like a dream. I blinked, heart hammering in my ears.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

…and stepped through.

The world shifted around me. One moment I was in the wizard’s cluttered storage room—the next, I was in a place too large for thought.

It was a library—but not like any I'd ever seen. Great columns rose into the air like trees made of polished obsidian and moonlight. Bookshelves floated freely, staircases wound through midair, and radiant threads of magic looped from one corridor to another like spider silk spun between stars.

It looked… woven. Woven of silence and knowledge and light.

My breath caught.

I’d never felt so small, and that's saying a lot.

There had to be…what….millions of books, maybe? All shapes, sizes, and along the aisles from time to time, there was a small white podium, always cradling a book, waiting to be read.

When I looked up, I almost fell back, onto my butt.

There wasn't a roof overhead.

But I need to explain this, because it was its own kind of weird.

When I'd look in the distance, you could see walls. Light and dark obsidian, rising over the floating shelves, pillars, holding up what looked to be a domed roof. Yet when I'd follow the ceiling, slowing looking up above where I stood, that ceiling faded. Some mägo's paintbrush, blending it away to reveal the universe in all its splendor.

Billions upon billions of stars shone overhead.

I'd never seen such a clear sky. Not in all the camping I'd done with my family. The starts were so bright, many of them reflected in the floor at my feet, or on the end gollum's of the aisles.

Remember that 'small' statement a moment ago?

Yeah. Times ten.

"We must be sure," came a woman's voice.

Close.

What is it, the kid in us, when we hear something and want to find out what it is, starts crouching and sneaking along? Is it just me?

Each step I took was done soft-footed, shoulders hunched. All I needed was a black mask over my eyes, a white and black striped shirt, and a big gunny sack over my shoulder. I would have been the perfect cartoon thief.

The walls whispered as I passed.

Literally.

Some of the books muttered to themselves. One shelf hummed a lullaby in a language I didn’t understand, but felt familiar. Others quietly chanted phrases over and over again. Another sounded like weeping, while one book on the end, which my shoulder brushed against…growled.

Everything smelled like parchment and rain and electricity.

Then I heard him.

“…I just worry he won’t survive it. He’s a child. Kind, yes, brave even—but what we’re asking of him… it isn’t fair.”

Chuck.

“I know,” said the other voice. It was soft, melodic, with a resonance like chimes in the wind. “But the Ithari chose him. It called to him. You were there.”

Chuck sighed. “And I’ve never regretted anything more than dragging him into this.”

That wasn't right. Chuck wasn't anywhere around me when the Ithari had chosen me. Only Delnar, the High Elder of the Iskari Council had been present. Then, again…that was the thing with Chuck…his skill in magic allowed him to see the past, present and possible futures, all at the same time. He'd told me time and again he'd seen me coming…and…

There was a pause. Then the woman spoke again.

“You love him.”

“He’s hope,” Chuck said, his voice cracking.

"If Mahan had been defeated…" the woman said softer.

“My child would still be here."

"I'm sorry, Charles, I shouldn’t have brought it up."

There was another pause. "In all my years, I’ve never seen anything like him. Not just the power. Oh, he has talent. He has no idea how gifted he is, but you can see it when he speaks honestly. Intelligences move. It’s… Wendell’s heart. The way he sees others honestly. Even after all he’s experienced, he keeps choosing to care. To believe in others.”

The woman was quiet for a moment. “We have a visitor.”

My stomach dropped.

"Someone’s in trouuuuble," whispered Doubt.

Shut up.

Hesitantly, I stepped around the end of the isle.

Chuck wiped his eyes with a handkerchief.

Standing beside him was a woman.

Well…okay, she was a woman, but not like an alive woman. Not actually standing, standing, either.

You know, it was awkward. She hovered inches above the stone floor, the folds of her robe curling and drifting like ink in water. It looked black at first glance, but layered with shifting hues of midnight blue and storm-cloud silver.

Her presence hit me before I could see her face: comfort wrapped in majesty. The sort of comfort you don’t question. You just lean into it…instinct guiding a child toward warmth.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

When she turned, the air moved with her. It wasn't the wind, or pressure, it was attention. The very room noticed her.

She looked at me.

Eyes like polished moonstone—pale, endless, reflecting back everything I didn’t know about myself. There was something behind that gaze, something impossibly old, and yet it saw me.

Not the Gnolaum. Not the wannabe hero.

Just…me.

Wendell.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Unlike warnings, the Ithari pulsed softly against my chest. The sensation was…strange.

It wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t wary, either. A rhythm and heartbeat not my own, steady and welcoming. My breath caught, and the air around the woman shimmered, as if the library itself were holding its breath.

Then she smiled.

I think that was the most beautiful smile I'd ever seen in my life.

Though I’d never seen her before…I knew her.

Not in memory.

Not in logic.

In soul.

Chuck looked between me and the woman. His tired face broke into a slow, happy grin.

“Hello, son,” he said gently. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet…”

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…aaaaaand, THAT’S A RAP for Season 4.

I know. Cliffhanger.

Remember who you’re talking to. There’s SO much more to come, and we need the break to get it all lined up [grin].

As Chronicles of a Hero takes this short ‘interlude’, we’ve got something special being prepared — TWO StoryBundle releases!

That’s RIGHT…not one, but TWO!

The first one is already live right here… with a discount offer for our patrons. Get $2.99 off the bundle by using the coupon: LOF79G5YKAL

If you’ve enjoyed Wendell’s journey, this is your chance to help fuel more stories and dive deeper into the world. Founding Guardians will receive all this for free (look for the post).

SEASON 5 KICKS OFF, JULY 4th!

We’ll be back soon, and believe me...Season 5 changes everything.
Until then, stay curious, stay kind—and keep your smiley face forward.
—Jaime (and Höbin too)

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