69. SECOND CHANCES

“I was doin’ my civic duty—givin’ those guys jobs! How was I supposed to know they’d stab me in the back!?”

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: As Alhannah’s mysterious illness worsened, old loyalties resurfaced and new truths emerged—culminating in Shamas’s shocking revelation that Trinity hadn’t been behind Wendell’s abduction after all..

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Chapter 69

If it’s not over until the fat lady sings…maybe someone should gag her and lock her in a closet.
…or distract her with a box of doughnuts.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

I shot up in bed…then promptly fell out of it.

The thud was bad enough, but the clang that followed when my skull met the bed frame? That was special.

“Ow!” I groaned, rubbing my head. “What!?”

The door burst open, and Dax’s grinning, bobble-headed face popped into view. “Get up, kiddo…it’s a day o’ miracles!”

Even after living with him for months, it was still surreal. The oversized head, the too-big teeth, the slightly bent ears—even in gnome from—it was like someone tried sculpting an elf out of too much clay and forgot to stop. Every time I saw him, I wondered if the glamours we used were going to wear off mid-day and give some poor gnome a heart attack.

“What’s so—” I started, but Dax waved me off.

“Get up, get dressed, quick!”

Three minutes later, halfway into my sweats, I stumbled out into the hall—then froze.

“Alhannah!” I blurted, grinning before I even hit the floor.

She was walking…walking…slowly and shakily, one hand on the wall, the other clutching Höbin’s shoulder for balance.

“You’re up!”

She nodded weakly. The robe hung loosely around her, and a wrap covered her head where her hair used to be. The dark circles under her eyes were brutal, but her cheeks had filled out again. She didn’t look like death anymore, which, honestly, made my heart happy.

“Feeling a lot better, thanks,” she whispered.

Höbin beamed like a proud father. “Pulse is strong, appetite’s coming back—and aside from being furious that I shaved her head while she was out, she’s on a fast track to recovery.”

“WENDELL!” Dax’s voice exploded from down the hall.

I sighed and scrambled past them. “Excuse me,” I muttered, and jogged toward the kitchen.

Deloris and Morty were already there, eating breakfast with Lili. The three of them were half-focused on their food, half on the television mounted on the wall. Chuck stood at the sink washing dishes, humming something off-key, while Dax was practically bouncing in front of the big screen.

“Check this out!” he yelled, turning up the volume.

The WHRN logo flashed across the screen, cutting to a live press conference outside the new Trench Wars arena. Cameras flashed, reporters shouted questions, and Burton Trench stood at a podium, clean-shaven and smug as ever.

A banner read:

CHAMPION OR CHUMP — HAS TRENCH WARS BEEN COMPROMISED?

The reporter’s voice boomed over the noise:

“Just hours ago, evidence surfaced pointing to a plot against rising star Wendell Dipmier of the Steel and Stone team. Investigators confirmed that the decapitation of the Gnolaum during the semifinals would not have occurred had the S.L.A.G. not been tampered with.”

The camera cut to Burton Trench. He looked nothing like the grimy gnome I’d met in the under-city…more like a polished corporate puppet.

“The Brothers Trench and W.E.T. INC. had no knowledge of this break-in,” he said smoothly, “and we remain committed to maintaining the integrity of this sport. Those responsible will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

I blinked at the screen, every word slamming into me like a punch.

I wasn’t wrong. Someone had tampered with my machine.

My brain flashed back to Alpha’s mocking gesture…the way it had traced a finger across its throat right before taking my head off.

The feed cut to grainy black-and-white security footage from the Steel and Stone pit. A ceiling vent popped open, and two small figures in black rappelled down a rope into the room. The video jumped forward to show Gnolaum’s cockpit wide open, hands working feverishly over the controls.

“As you can see,” the reporter continued, “Steel and Stone’s area…supposedly secure…was infiltrated during the lockdown before the match. Experts have confirmed that both the hardware and software were sabotaged. Early analysis reveals the program used against Gnolaum had two parts…”

“Shamas was right, kid!” Dax threw himself onto the couch, laughing. “You were set up!”

The screen flashed again, revealing two mugshots of rough, grimy gnomes. Bushy black unibrows topped their gaunt, emotionless expressions.

“The suspects have been identified as the twins Clint and Fabio Eggert—known collectively as The Moles.”

I just stood there, staring at their faces.

So it was true.

Someone really had wanted me to lose.

I stumbled to the couch and collapsed onto it, staring blankly at the screen. My mind was spinning so fast it barely felt attached.

Sabotage?

Framed?

This was starting to sound less like my life and more like a bad detective novel.

And then—my eyes popped wide open.

The feed switched to a live shot of Centurions hauling Darcy Dunnit out of his apartment in handcuffs.

Dax leaned forward with a deep growl. “Wow. Didn’t see that one comin’.”

The reporter’s voice carried over the chaos.

“Hired by Tramhill Manufacturing—the DOA Team’s sponsor—ex-convicts Clint and Fabio Eggert were assigned to assist reigning champion Darcy Dunnit. Tramhill has issued an official statement denying any knowledge of the men’s criminal backgrounds. However, the pilot of Alpha Flight had this to say in his defense…”

The camera caught Darcy struggling against the Centurions dragging him out.

“Just ‘cause you spent a round in the can don’t mean you shouldn’t get a second chance!” he shouted. “I was doin’ my civic duty—givin’ those guys jobs! How was I supposed to know they’d stab me in the back!?”

The broadcast cut back to the WHRN studio. Behind the anchorgnome, Darcy’s photo was displayed side by side with mine…both of us in our pilot uniforms, looking smug and battle-worn.

“While many fans doubt the champion’s sincerity,” the anchor said smoothly, “neither the Centurions nor W.E.T. INC. has been able to prove Darcy Dunnit’s direct involvement.”

The camera then panned to Rishima Geebler. Perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect fake sincerity.

“But the question everyone’s asking,” she said, lowering her voice dramatically, “is where does this leave Gnolaum and Wendell Dipmier? Though foul play was confirmed, both the victim and the accused have been eliminated from the finals. Trench authorities say the standings remain unchanged…but millions of fans have taken to the streets in protest, calling the ruling unfair and I have to agree.” She gave the camera a fiery look. “It’s unjust!”

Her face brightened an instant later. “We’ll be right back!”

And just like that, toothpaste and a toothbrush started dancing across the screen, singing in harmony.

I stared. “So the church isn’t behind this after all?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Dax said, stretching and yawning like the whole world hadn’t just turned upside down.

“I’m not surprised at all,” came a quiet, raspy voice from the doorway.

I turned, and my heart lifted.

Alhannah stood there, leaning on her father for support.

Lili lit up. “You’re walking!”

Deloris nearly tripped over her own chair. “Oh, my dear…can I get you something to eat?”

Alhannah smiled weakly, licking her lips. “Would steak and eggs be too much to ask?”

Höbin grunted.

She rolled her eyes. “…Or maybe just juice.”

“Better,” he smirked.

“Whoa, Chuck!” Morty suddenly yelled.

I spun just in time to see water flooding over the edge of the sink, pouring across the counter and splashing onto the floor. The mägo stood there frozen, eyes wide, completely still while the faucet ran full blast. The stream was already pooling around Alhannah’s feet, and Höbin had to hold her steady.

“What are you doing!?” Morty barked, turning off the tap. He glared at the old wizard. “Hey—Chuck? You okay?”

Deloris hurried over, worry etched across her face. “Is he alright?”

“Just leave him be,” Höbin said quickly, guiding Alhannah to a seat. “And whatever you do, don’t touch him.”

Morty hesitated, hand half-raised. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s in one of his trances,” Höbin explained. “Been that way since I was a boy. And trust me—you don’t want to be near him when he snaps out of it.”

Morty frowned. “Why is—”

“SNOCKHOCKEY!” Chuck roared, flinging his arms wide.

His right arm caught Morty square in the face. The poor gnome flipped backward over the table with a crash and a curse.

Höbin bit his lip, fighting a laugh. “That’s why.”

Chuck gasped for breath, blinking as if someone had just dumped a bucket of cold water over him.

Well, technically that wasn’t far off.

“What the—?” He looked down, saw the puddle, and lifted one dripping sandal. Water trailed from his beard and sleeves.

“It’s water,” Höbin said dryly, pointing. “From the sink. You left it running.”

Chuck sighed in relief. “Oh, thank goodness. For a second there, I thought I’d wet myself.”

I snorted before I could stop myself.

Leave it to Chuck to nearly flood the kitchen and somehow make that his biggest concern.

By mid-afternoon, every screen in Clockworks was flashing chaos. WHRN, GNX, HISTORY Channel, even the local kid’s network…each one spinning its own flavor of drama.

Every headline centered on me.

The Gnolaum.

Nat showed up around two, Nibbles glued to his side like always, laptop tucked under his arm and eyes wide with excitement.

“The emails haven’t stopped,” he said breathlessly. “Even fans of other teams are writing in!” He spun the laptop around so we could see. The inbox was a blur of messages…thousands of them…pouring in faster than I could even read the subject lines. Nat grinned widely. “They’re demanding you get a fair shot at the finals! Rumor is, if W.E.T. INC. doesn’t reverse the decision, mobs are going to march on the new arena.”

Alhannah sat across from me, sipping something Chuck had brewed that smelled like a floral death sentence. “Has anyone suggested a rematch?” She asked, grimacing at the taste. “That would satisfy everyone, wouldn’t it?”

Nat shook his head. “Fans have begged for it. When the Brothers Trench said no, the protests started. Factories have gone on strike…our people down in the warehouses aren’t producing or shipping anything. Even the media cornered Bellows about it.”

I perked up at that. “And what did he say?”

Nat scrolled through his feed. “He said he wouldn’t interfere with the workers because he felt their claim was just.”

I smirked. Of course, he did.

Nat kept reading. “W.E.T. INC.’s official statement says that making any changes would ‘compromise the integrity of the games.’ They’ve punished those responsible, but won’t alter the standings.”

Dax sighed, stretching his legs onto the table. “Well, that’s that then.”

“We can’t let this go,” Alhannah pushed.

“It’s alright, ‘Hannah,” Dax mumbled.

“No, it’s not,” she shot back. Her eyes flicked toward me. “And I think it’s only a matter of time before they realize that down at W.E.T. INC.” She tilted her head. “Wendell? You okay?”

I looked up at her…into those clear, determined eyes ringed with exhaustion. The corners of my mouth twitched, but no smile came. “Sure,” I lied, voice flat. Then, forcing a bit more life into it, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

I wasn’t.

I tucked the folded envelope back into my pocket.

The words from it still stung.

These events had crushed everything I’d been working toward. I’d failed the muddles, and I kept wondering if Simon and the others were safe…if the furnace raids had started again. Every instinct told me to grab Otger, sneak back into the under-city, and make sure they were okay. But too many eyes were on me now.

One wrong move, and I’d put everyone in danger.

With the sabotage, I’d lost all the winnings I’d scraped together. All that fighting, all that blood and effort—wiped out by greed, politics, and someone else’s hunger for control.

My stomach twisted. “Just not feeling at the top of my game,” I muttered.

But inside, the words from the letter echoed—sharp and clear:

You must lead them into the light. Lead them, my son, back into the loving embrace of the world they were once a part of.

I rubbed my face, feeling the ache behind my eyes.

How the crud was I supposed to lead a race of plotting scoundrels into the light? A bitter laugh almost escaped me, but I swallowed it.

I didn’t even know what ‘the light’ meant.

Still… the last words of the letter echoed in my mind:

Let go of your anger and frustration and trust in the path before you. Let go of your fears, my son. You will make mistakes. You will fall. You will even fail. But you must learn to let it all go. Instead, trust your heart and in your relationship with the gem.

I’d started to notice it more lately…the way the gem responded when danger was close, or when my body healed faster than it should.

I’m learning, I told myself. Maybe not fast, but I’m learning.

A sudden warmth pulsed at the base of my skull, sliding down my spine in a wave of calm.

I shivered—but…it felt good.

Centering.

Like the gem itself was telling me to breathe.

The world outside was falling apart, but somewhere inside me, the pieces were falling into place.

“The officials might not change the results,” I said suddenly, realizing I’d spoken out loud, “but… what if we helped this revolt along?”

Four heads turned to stare at me. I held up my hands, half laughing. “I don’t mean we lead a rebellion or anything, but what if we channel all that energy…this anger…and focus it at W.E.T.? Force them to make a creative decision?”

Dax rubbed his chin. “Huh. Not half bad, kid. What do you think, ‘Hannah?”

She still looked at me strangely. “I think… coordinating with Bellows—and maybe Motherboard—might be wise.”

Dax grinned. “And what about Shamas? He’s the one who dug all this up…maybe he could leak some info for us.”

Alhannah shook her head. “RH’s connections are too delicate. I won’t risk his informants.”

Nibbles clapped her hands, eyes glittering. “Guess that means we’re back in business, huh?”

Alhannah sighed, raising her cup. “Let’s hope.”

I leaned back in my chair, feeling the gem hum faintly in my chest.

Maybe, just maybe, we weren’t out of chances yet.

“I don’t think that was the smartest move, young lady.”

Höbin’s tone had that sharp edge—but she just stretched her arms over her head like she hadn’t heard him. He looked to me for…something.

All I could do was shrug.

“Those potions are amazing, Dad,” she said, bending at the waist to touch her ankle. “I almost feel like my old self again.”

He squinted at her, obviously unimpressed. “Don’t change the subject! How do you think it’s going to look when the public finally learns who Wendell really is…and the history books say he led a mob against the normals?”

She rolled her shoulders back, dismissing him with a wave. “He’s not leading anyone against the normals, Dad. Come on.” She glanced at me and gave me one of her winks. “He’s redirecting a little outrage…aiming it at the corporations instead of gnomes. There’s a difference.”

“Not after the media gets done with him,” Höbin snapped. Then he turned to me. “Did you consider that, young man?”

What was I supposed to say? We all knew this would be a risk. There were factions and gnomes out there, wanting us to lose…trying to KILL me. I didn’t exactly feel guilty in turning the anger onto someone else. Especially if they were more deserving.

But Alhannah just smiled, sly and confident—the kind of smile that made you groan because you knew you were already losing the argument. “Relax. We’ve got it covered.” She slipped her trousers on under her robe and tightened the belt.

“Wendell! Alhannah!!” Deloris called from down the hall. “He’s on!”

Höbin blinked. “Who’s on?”

Alhannah’s grin only widened as she threw open the bedroom door, grabbed my arm and strode out.

Höbin followed us into the common room, where Deloris, Morty, Chuck, Dax, and the TNT crew were crowded around the TV.

Ungh. My face filled the screen…larger than life…and I hated it.

My nose was already big enough, but as a gnome, it looked like half my face. I was standing on the loading docks of an old warehouse with Dax just behind his shoulder.

Höbin froze in the hallway.

I looked back to see him go pale. He flinched as the sound of the crowd roared through the speakers…thousands of gnomes crammed into the street, waving signs, shouting, fists pumping in the air.

“Höbin,” I whispered. “You alright?”

The old historian shook his head and sighed heavily. “This wasn’t wise…”

“Ladies and gentlegnomes,” I said through the speakers, raising my hands and giving the crowd a warm smile, “I’m here to speak to the good workers of Clockworks. To those who have loyally and faithfully supported me and the Steel and Stone team. I’m asking you NOT to hurt the beautiful new Trench Wars stadium.”

A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd—some gasps, a few confused looks.

“I know you want to see me finish the games,” I said, and that alone brought a cheer. I waited for it to die down, my voice steady and clear. “But how fair or just would it be to take a victory away from Armored Ensemble?”

The crowd went quieter now…listening.

“From a pilot who followed the rules just as I did?” I leaned into the words, my expression hardening. “What kind of gnomes would we be if we demanded justice…while stealing it from someone else?”

Morty laughed from the couch. “Hey… he’s actually good at this.”

Alhannah perched on the armrest beside him, grinning. “You’re not kidding.”

On the screen, the camera zoomed in close enough that I could see the reflection of the cameraman in my eyes.

“It would make us no better,” I said firmly, “than the ones who robbed me of my chance to fight for the workers of this city.” Then, looking straight into the camera, I added, “So I’m asking all of you…to change your focus. If you want to see me fight in the finals, make your voices heard. Contact W.E.T. INC. directly…and talk to your spiritual leaders.”

“WHAT!?” Alhannah, Chuck, and Morty all shouted in unison.

Morty nearly jumped off the couch. “What in TGII were you thinking!?”

Deloris, however, sat there with her arms crossed, calm as a pond. “I think,” she said with a smirk, “we just witnessed a masterful example of using leverage.”

On screen, I smiled..steady and sure. The gem in my chest had been pulsing beneath my shirt like a heartbeat. That same warmth and clarity tingling down the back of my skull and spine.

“If we all work together,” I said, “I believe we can encourage the right decision…one that satisfies both teams and preserves the integrity of the games.”

“Well, I’ll be,” Höbin whispered, staying out of view. “This may have been a wise move after all, young man.”

I turned and casually leaned against the doorframe to hide the historian from the TNT crew. “Think so?” I whispered back.

I felt a firm squeeze on my shoulder. “You just placed all the focus on those likely responsible and released yourself of public and legal accountability.” He chuckled softly. “Clever, Wendell. Very clever.”

The camera panned out as the crowd erupted, a sea of fists and cheers echoing through the streets.

And for the first time since this madness began…it felt like the people were finally on our side.

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