Chapter 1: The Dice Roll That Split the Party
The basement air tasted like dust and old dreams. A single bare bulb, haloed by a swarm of sleepy moths, cast a jaundiced light over the chaos. Rulebooks formed unstable towers on the stained carpet. Half-painted miniatures—a troll missing an arm, a knight whose silver was just gray primer—stood guard over pizza boxes from a game weeks ago. The whole place hummed with the low, forgotten energy of a machine left on in another room.
Mercury Black shifted on a couch that exhaled a cloud of stale popcorn with every move. He felt like an archaeologist who’d stumbled into a tomb he didn’t understand. The twenty-sided die in his palm was cool, heavy, unfamiliar.
“Your turn, Merc,” Ruby Rose said, her voice a bright spark in the gloom. She was practically vibrating, a cascade of red hair framing a face alight with genuine excitement. “Krath the Shadow is up. The ghoul’s right in front of you. It’s all gross and… ghoul-y.”
“Just roll to hit, man,” Neptune Vasilias drawled from across the fold-out table. He leaned back, chair creaking, his smirk visible even in the poor light. He’d been like this all night—a commentary track of sighs and pointed questions aimed at Jaune. “Unless you’re scared of a little undead.”
Jaune Arc, the Dungeon Master, sat behind a cardboard screen painted to look like dragon hide. His notes were a frantic spiderweb of ink. He was a tall guy who seemed to fold in on himself, except when he spoke about the game. Then, he unfolded, his voice painting mountains and summoning storms. Now, he just looked tired. “Ignore him. What does Krath do?”
Mercury focused. Krath was his character, a rogue with a shady past he was still figuring out. He liked the idea of being someone else, someone who knew how to move in the shadows. In here, he wasn’t a bored college student. He was capable. He was cool.
“I want to slide under the table—the real one in the tavern—come up behind it, and drive my dagger into its spine.” He mimed the action, feeling a little silly, but Ruby nodded vigorously.
“Sick! That’s advantage for clever positioning! Roll the d20, and if it’s under 14, roll it again!”
Mercury took a breath. The die felt like a tiny universe in his hand. He tossed it onto the cleared space of the table. It clattered, a sharp, plastic sound against the wood, spinning through a beam of light.
It stopped.
A twenty. The single, stark pip at the top of each face stared back at him. A perfect, natural twenty.
“YES!” Ruby erupted, shooting out of her seat. “A crit! Oh my gods, Jaune, he crit! You have to let him describe the kill! That’s the rule!”
A pure, unfiltered jolt of triumph shot through Mercury. He grinned, looking from Ruby’s beaming face to Blake, who offered a small, approving nod, to Jaune, who managed a weary but sincere smile.
The smile vanished.
Neptune’s palm came down on the tabletop like a thunderclap. The painted miniatures jumped. Ruby’s cheers cut off, strangled by the sudden violence of the sound.
“Of course he does,” Neptune snarled, not looking at Mercury, his eyes locked on Jaune. “The new guy rolls a nat twenty on his first real combat. How fucking convenient.”
The silence that followed was thick, swallowing the last echo of the slam. The forgotten hum in the walls seemed to grow louder.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jaune’s voice was low, dangerously calm.
“It means the encounter was rigged. You set up a pushover ghoul so your new pet player could feel like a big man. You’ve been doing it all night. My spell should have dissolved that specter. The rules clearly state—”
“I interpreted the rules,” Jaune interrupted, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of his screen. “The specter was in a hall of reflecting ice. Your lightning bolt had a chance to rebound. You rolled a seven. It rebounded.”
“Bullshit! You make up the modifiers as you go! You always have! Anything to screw me over because I actually read the handbook and call you on your crap!”
Jaune stood up. The chair screeched behind him. The single bulb swung slightly, making the shadows of the monster miniatures stretch and writhe across the ceiling. His face, usually open and animated, had darkened into something closed and hard. It wasn’t just anger; it was a deep, personal betrayal that transformed his features. The rage was there, barely contained, simmering in the tight line of his jaw and the furious gleam in his eyes. This was his world, his creation, and Neptune was pissing on the map.
Ruby’s excited energy had dissolved, replaced by a stiff, nervous stillness. She looked small. Blake’s cat ears—a headband she wore, a quirky habit—twitched slightly. She placed a hand on Ruby’s arm.
“Guys,” Mercury started, his own victory turning to ash in his mouth. “It was just a roll.”
“It’s not about the roll!” Neptune shouted, rising to meet Jaune’s glare. “It’s about him playing god with a shitty, biased script! This whole campaign is a railroad to make him feel smart!”
“Get out.”
Jaune didn’t yell it. The words were flat, final, and cold enough to frost the air.
“Gladly. This game’s a joke.” Neptune snatched his dice bag and his character sheet, a beautifully illustrated page he’d spent hours on. He didn’t look at anyone else as he stomped up the basement stairs. The door at the top slammed, a percussive period that shook dust from the ceiling beams.
The aftermath was a physical weight. Jaune sank back into his chair, deflating. He rubbed his face with both hands.
“Jaune…” Ruby whispered.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into his palms. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.”
Blake stood quietly, gathering her things with efficient grace. “It’s been building. It’s not your fault.”
“It kind of is,” Jaune said, dropping his hands. He looked shattered. “I shouldn’t have let it get that far. I just… I put so much into this. The world, the story…”
“We know,” Blake said softly. She looked at Ruby, a silent communication passing between them. “But I think we should call it. For tonight.”
Ruby nodded, regretful. “Yeah. The mood’s kinda… stabbed.”
Mercury just sat, the natural 20 die still sitting in the center of the table, a monument to a moment that never got to happen. He’d finally rolled the perfect thing, the magic number, and it had been the trigger for everything falling apart. The escape he’d been looking for had just exploded in a cloud of acrimony and flying pizza crumbs.
Jaune looked at him, aghast. “Mercury, God, I’m sorry. Your first crit. We should’ve… you should describe the kill. The rule is you describe the kill.”
Mercury looked at the die. He thought of Krath’s cool, silent strike, the ghoul crumbling into dust. The fantasy felt hollow now, poisoned.
“It’s okay,” he said, and his own voice sounded foreign. “Another time.”
He picked up the d20. It was just plastic. Upstairs, he heard the front door slam a second time, Neptune’s final exit. Then, a car engine growled to life outside, tires crunching gravel far too fast.
Ruby and Blake said their quiet goodbyes and slipped up the stairs, leaving Mercury alone with Jaune in the wreckage of the evening. The DM was just sitting there, staring at his dragon-hide screen, at the scattered notes of a story that had just violently derailed.
The basement felt different now. Not a sanctuary, but a bunker after a shelling. The hum wasn’t comforting; it was the sound of something broken, still trying to run.
Mercury pocketed the die. “You need help cleaning up?”
Jaune shook his head, not looking up. “Nah. Thanks for coming. Sorry it was… this.”
“Yeah,” Mercury said. He climbed the stairs, each step a little heavier than the last. At the top, he glanced back. Jaune was just a silhouette against the bare bulb, head in his hands, surrounded by the tiny, scattered bodies of imaginary monsters.
The night air hit Mercury like a slap, clean and cold and scented with wet earth. It washed the basement’s stale heat from his lungs. He stood on the cracked concrete of Jaune’s front steps, letting the door swing shut behind him, muffling the silent misery of the room below.
Ruby and Blake were still there, paused beside Blake’s old, boxy sedan. The dome light was on, illuminating their faces. Blake was speaking in a low, calm tone. Ruby was nodding, her arms crossed tight over her chest, the vibrant energy she’d had at the table completely banked. She just looked young.
Neptune’s car was already gone, just a ghost of exhaust hanging in the damp air.
Blake saw him first, her amber eyes flicking to the door. She gave him a slight, acknowledging nod. Ruby turned, forcing a small smile that didn’t reach her silver eyes.
“You escaping too?” Ruby asked. Her voice was softer now, frayed at the edges.
“Figured Jaune might want to be alone,” Mercury said, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. The twenty-sided die pressed against his knuckle through the fabric. “You guys okay?”
“We’re fine,” Blake said, her voice the definition of composure. “Just a bad night. They happen.” She opened the driver’s side door. “You need a ride somewhere, Mercury?”
He hadn’t thought about it. He’d just needed to move. He lived across town, a long, boring walk.
But he looked at Ruby, who was scuffing the toe of her boot against the pavement, looking more lost than he felt. The idea came out before he could weigh it, clumsy and direct.
“Nah, I’m good. But, uh… Ruby?” He took a half-step forward. The words felt foreign in his mouth. Socializing wasn’t usually this deliberate. “You wanna go get some ice cream or something? There’s that 24-hour place on Grand. Seems like a better way to end the night than… this.”
Ruby blinked. She looked at Blake, then back at Mercury. The forced smile softened into something genuine, surprised and a little grateful. The tension in her shoulders eased a fraction.
“Yeah,” she said, the word exhaled like a relief. “Yeah, that actually sounds really good. My treat. Consider it an apology for your first game going nuclear.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” she insisted, her energy sparking back, just a little. She turned to Blake. “You mind?”
“Not at all,” Blake said, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching her lips. She looked between them, a quiet assessment. “Have fun. Text me when you get home, Rubes.”
Ruby gave her a quick hug before sliding into the passenger seat to grab her frayed corduroy jacket. Blake got in the car, and with a quiet purr of the engine, she pulled away, leaving Mercury and Ruby standing under the jaundiced glow of the streetlight.
The silence wasn’t awkward. It was just quiet, a blanket after the shouting. Somewhere down the block, a dog barked.
“So,” Ruby said, zipping up her jacket. “Ice cream.”
“Ice cream,” Mercury confirmed.
They fell into step together, heading away from the dim house and its basement full of broken stories, the steady rhythm of their footsteps on the sidewalk a new, simpler kind of game.
They fell into step together, heading away from the dim house and its basement full of broken stories, the steady rhythm of their footsteps on the sidewalk a new, simpler kind of game. The neighborhood was quiet, just the crunch of their shoes on gravel and the distant, lonely sigh of a train. The confrontation still hung around them, a ghost neither acknowledged directly.
“So, Krath the Shadow,” Ruby said after a block, her voice tentative in the dark. “Pretty cool concept for a first character. Not just a generic fighter.”
Mercury shrugged, a little surprised she remembered the name. “Figured if I was gonna do this, I shouldn’t half-ass it. The backstory Jaune helped me with is… surprisingly detailed.”
“He’s good at that. The world-building. When he’s not being verbally eviscerated by a man-child.” She kicked a pebble, sending it skittering into the gutter. “Neptune’s always been like that. Competitive in a way that sucks the fun out of the room. It just usually wasn’t… nuclear.”
“Is that why you and Blake stick around? For the world-building?”
Ruby was silent for a moment, considering. The orange glow of a streetlight washed over her, highlighting the thoughtful downturn of her mouth. “Jaune’s my friend. He needs people who actually want to be in his story, not just win it. Blake… she sees everything. She sticks around because she’s loyal, and because she knows Jaune’s heart is in the right place, even if his rulings are sometimes questionable.” She glanced at him. “What about you? First game implodes. Probably not the recruitment pitch you were hoping for.”
“It was actually the most interesting thing that’s happened to me in months,” Mercury said, and the truth of it startled him. “The fight sucked, yeah. But before that… for a second, it wasn’t me in a dusty basement. I was somewhere else. I had a knife. And I knew how to use it.”
Ruby nodded, understanding flashing in her eyes. “That’s the hook. That feeling. Neptune never got that. To him, it’s just math and victory points.”
They turned onto Grand Avenue, where the fluorescent glow of ‘Scoops’ beckoned, a bubble of artificial brightness in the sleeping town. The bell on the door jingled with a sickly cheer. Inside, it was all linoleum and plastic booths, the air thick with the smell of freezer burn and synthetic waffle cones.
They slid into a corner booth, the vinyl seat sticking to Mercury’s jeans. A tired-looking kid took their order—a chocolate monstrosity for Ruby, a simple coffee shake for Mercury.
For a minute, they just sat in the hum of the refrigeration units. Then Ruby dug in, speaking around a mouthful of whipped cream. “He’s gonna text you, you know. Neptune.”
Mercury stirred his shake with a straw. “Yeah?”
“Oh, definitely. He’ll apologize, sort of. He’ll say Jaune provoked him. He’ll say the group is better off without a ‘tyrannical DM.’ He’ll ask if you want to join a new campaign he’s starting. One with ‘real rules.’” Her imitation of Neptune’s smooth, condescending tone was spot-on.
“Are you warning me off?”
“I’m giving you data,” she said, pointing her spoon at him. “You seem like a guy who appreciates data. His games are technically perfect, and completely soul-crushing. It’s all optimized builds and rules lawyering. No fun. No… story.”
The data did make sense. “And Jaune’s game?”
“Is a glorious, chaotic, heartfelt mess.” She smiled, but it was wistful. “Or it was. I don’t know if it survives tonight. That was… terminal.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” The words were out before he’d fully processed them. Ruby’s eyes snapped up to his. He pressed on. “You, me, Blake. Jaune. That’s still a party. A smaller one. Maybe a better one.”
Ruby leaned back, studying him. The analytical look was so different from her earlier exuberance. “You’d come back? After that?”
“I still have to describe my crit,” Mercury said, a faint smirk touching his lips. “The rule is you describe the kill.”
A genuine laugh burst out of Ruby, clear and loud enough to make the tired kid at the register look over. “You’re alright, Mercury Black.” She spun her dish, thinking. “Blake would be in. She was done with Neptune’s crap a year ago. Jaune… he’ll be bruised. His confidence is kinda glued together with hope and cheap soda most of the time.”
“So we don’t give him time to think it’s over. We text him. Tomorrow. Plan the next session.”
Ruby’s phone buzzed on the table. She flipped it over, and her expression shifted. “Speak of the devil. It’s Neptune.” She showed Mercury the screen.
> Neptune: Hey. Sorry you had to see that. Jaune’s lost it. His game’s a joke. I’m putting a real group together. You in? Got a spot for you and Blake.
Mercury watched her fingers fly over the screen, her thumbs a blur.
> Ruby: No thanks. We’re good.
The reply was almost instantaneous.
> Neptune: Your loss. The new guy’s not gonna last. He’s just Jaune’s latest pity project.
Ruby’s jaw tightened. She showed Mercury the message.
“Pity project, huh?” Mercury said, his voice flat. He took out his own phone. The die was still in his pocket. He pulled up Jaune’s contact, sent from the group chat earlier that week. He typed slowly, deliberately.
> Mercury: Hey. For what it’s worth, I’d still like to see what Krath does next. Let me know when we’re rolling again.
He put the phone down. Ruby was watching him, a new respect in her gaze. “That’s a solid move.”
“It’s data,” he said, echoing her.
Their eyes met across the sticky table. The ghost of the argument was still there, but it was fading, replaced by something else—a tentative, shared purpose. The silence that fell now was comfortable, charged with the unspoken plan taking shape.
“He’s wrong, you know,” Ruby said softly, scraping the last of her melting ice cream. “You’re not a pity project. You rolled a natural twenty. In our world, that means something.” She looked out the window at the empty street, then back at him, her expression serious. “So. Tell me. What was Krath the Shadow’s killing blow?”
Mercury leaned forward, the fluorescent light reflecting in his gray eyes. The scene crystallized in his mind, no longer hollow, but sharp and vivid.
“The ghoul was fixated on the cleric’s light,” he began, his voice low. “It didn’t hear the slide of leather on sawdust under the table. Krath came up behind it, not with a heroic shout, but in total silence. He didn’t aim for the ribs. He placed the point of his dagger right at the base of its skull, where the spine met the rot. One hard, precise push. It didn’t screech. It just froze, then crumpled, like a puppet with its strings cut. The cleric never even saw him leave.”
Ruby didn’t cheer this time. She just nodded, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across her face. “Yeah,” she said. “That’s the stuff.”
Outside, a car rolled slowly down Grand Avenue. It was a sleek, dark coupe. As it passed the window of Scoops, it slowed almost to a crawl. Neptune was behind the wheel, his face a pale oval in the darkness. He looked directly into the booth, saw the two of them leaning conspiratorially over the table, saw the phones next to their empty dishes.
His expression was unreadable from this distance. Then the car accelerated, taillights flaring red before vanishing around a corner.
Ruby’s smile didn’t fade. If anything, it hardened at the edges. “He saw.”
“Good,” Mercury said. He took a long pull on his shake. The taste was cheap and sweet. It tasted like a beginning.
It tasted like a beginning.
The walk back was quieter. The sugar rush had faded, replaced by a determined calm. Ruby lived in the opposite direction, so they parted ways at the corner with a quick, solid fist bump that felt more meaningful than a hug.
“See you at the next session, Shadow,” she said, her grin flickering in the streetlight before she turned and vanished into the night.
Mercury’s apartment was a third-floor box that smelled vaguely of microwave noodles and regret. He tossed his keys onto the counter and pulled out his phone. The screen was a beacon in the dark room. No new messages.
He thought about Jaune, alone in that basement with the wreckage. He thought about the shattered look on the DM’s face. Pity was too strong a word; it was more like recognition. He’d seen that look in the mirror some mornings.
He was about to plug his phone in to charge when the screen lit up. A notification. Then another. And another.
A new group chat had been created.
Jaune has added you to “The Last Watch.”
Jaune has added Ruby Rose.
Jaune has added Blake Belladonna.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
The silence from the phone felt heavier than the basement’s had. Mercury could picture Jaune, fingers hovering over the screen, that same desperate hope and fear warring on his face.
Then, the messages came in a slow, deliberate cascade.
Jaune: I don’t really know what to say.
Jaune: About tonight. I’m sorry.
Jaune: I’ve been sitting down here staring at my notes for an hour. It’s a mess.
Jaune: Then I got your text, Mercury.
The three dots pulsed.
Jaune: And I realized the story isn’t in the notes. It’s at the table. Or what’s left of it.
Jaune: Krath has a kill to describe. The specter in the ice halls is still waiting. The world… it’s still turning.
A pause. Mercury held his breath. The hum of his refrigerator was the only sound.
Jaune: If you’re all still willing to watch it turn with me… I’d like that.
Jaune: I accept.
The words hung in the digital space, simple and monumental.
The chat exploded.
Ruby Rose: YES!!! followed by a storm of dagger, dragon, and triumphant face emojis that took up the entire screen.
Blake Belladonna: It’s a better party already. I’m in.
Blake Belladonna: And for the record, my character has a lead on the frost jewel we needed. She was just waiting for a less… volatile… moment to share it.
A warmth, unfamiliar and solid, spread through Mercury’s chest. He typed, deleted, typed again. Kept it simple.
Mercury: We’ll be there.
Jaune: Next Friday. My place. I’ll… I’ll clean up the pizza boxes.
Ruby Rose: Can we order new pizza?
Blake Belladonna: I’ll bring the rulebooks. The real ones.
Jaune: Thanks, guys. Seriously.
Mercury set the phone down. He walked to the window, looking out at the grid of lit and dark windows across the street. Somewhere out there, Neptune was probably drafting a perfect, soulless character for his perfect, soulless game. Jaune was in his basement, starting to sweep up the pieces. Ruby was likely already sketching costume ideas, and Blake was marking a page in a rulebook with a quiet, satisfied nod.
He pulled the twenty-sided die from his pocket. In the faint city light bleeding through the window, the number twenty was just a darker pit in the pale plastic. It wasn’t magic. It was just a tool. The magic was in the silence before the roll, in the collective breath held around a battered table, in the fragile, stubborn decision to keep telling a story together even after the narrative had fractured.
He closed his fist around it. The cool edges pressed into his palm.
Next Friday. The Last Watch.
It didn’t just taste like a beginning. It was one.