Chapter 1: Vox's Not-So-Heroic Beginnings

“Well, I suppose if you're going to insist on calling me Zariel, I’ll just have to ignore you,” Vox muttered, arms crossed over his chest, his breath forming small clouds in the frigid northern air. "I go by Vox. Zariel sounds like I should be some prissy angel with perfect hair and a shining sword. Not my vibe."

Blunderbuss, his ever-enthusiastic gunslinger friend, waved a stack of business cards in his face. "But ‘Zariel O'Conner, Paladin of Fate’ sounds so professional. Perfect for marketing!"

Vox scowled, brushing off the cards. "We’re not running a business. And stop with the cards, Blunder."

“Networking is key!” Blunderbuss winked. "You never know when someone’s gonna need a gunslinger, or maybe a paladin with identity issues."

“Good grief,” Vox muttered, turning to their third companion, Spellbook, who was currently lost in a deep conversation with a snowman. Yes, an actual snowman. “You wanna jump in here, Spell?”

The gnome wizard, who had been reincarnated more times than Vox cared to count, blinked and looked up. “Sorry, what? I was just telling Mr. Frost here about that time I took on a whole army of dwarves by myself. It was epic—until I tripped, turned into a giant snowball, and rolled down the mountain. You know, those dwarves didn’t even realize what was going on. Shapechanger took over the whole lot of them. Typical.”

Vox shook his head, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. "Yeah, I'm sure the snowman was really invested in that story."

“I swear, Vox, you just don’t get it.” Spellbook adjusted his pointy hat, the one adorned with tiny ninja throwing stars that he always insisted were for “aesthetic purposes.” “The ninja moves, the stealth, the honor—it’s all connected, man. You should really consider the way of the ninja. It could complement your paladin skills, you know? You’d be unstoppable.”

“I’m a paladin, not a ninja,” Vox shot back. “I don’t sneak around, I smite things.”

“Fair, but imagine sneaky smiting," Spellbook said, wiggling his fingers mysteriously. “Also, ninjas have great reflexes. Would’ve helped you with that whole 'Chosen One' thing, right?”

Vox groaned internally. Being the Chosen One wasn’t nearly as glamorous as the stories made it sound. There were no grand parades, no ethereal voices guiding his every step. Mostly it involved icy roads, too many layers of armor, and a never-ending stream of awkward responsibilities. Also, it didn’t help that his chosen deity apparently had a twisted sense of humor, sending him on missions that felt more like practical jokes.

Like that time they had to clear a cursed bakery. Yep, saving towns from killer pastries was apparently part of the divine plan.

Suddenly, Blunderbuss skidded to a stop beside them, snow spraying everywhere. “Hey, you two, check this out.” He pulled out yet another stack of business cards, these ones glinting with some new sort of holographic print.

Vox squinted. “What’s this? A new design?”

“Yep! I’m thinking of calling our group ‘Vox and Associates.’ Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Plus, if we get an office, these will be perfect for client meetings!”

“We don’t have clients,” Vox replied, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“We could,” Blunderbuss shot back with a grin.

Spellbook giggled. “Only if we survive long enough. Remember that time I reincarnated as a squirrel? Let me tell you, relearning magic with tiny paws was a challenge. But I’ll give it this: I was fast. Maybe ninjas learned their stealth from squirrels.”

“Do you ever think about, I don’t know, not getting yourself killed, Spellbook?” Vox asked, side-eyeing the wizard, who just shrugged.

“It’s all part of the process, Vox. Besides, I always come back.”

Vox sighed. They were a strange bunch, but they were his strange bunch. And, as much as he complained, he knew he wouldn’t have it any other way. Well, maybe with fewer business cards and ninja speeches.

The town of Frostkeep loomed in the distance, the air thick with snow and the ever-present smell of wood smoke. It wasn’t much, but it was home. Of course, the fact that it was also a hotbed for cursed relics, rogue adventurers, and the occasional shapeshifting menace made it the perfect place for their little band of oddballs.

“Well, guess we better head back,” Vox said, pulling his cloak tighter around him. “Something tells me we’re going to need to save the town. Again.”

Blunderbuss handed him a card with a wide grin. “Just in case anyone asks who to call.”

Vox rolled his eyes but slipped the card into his pouch anyway.