How to Kidnap a Disaster and Call it a Housewarming Gift

​In a world fractured by Dimension Cracks and powered by the memory-eating crystal Viridite, survival usually requires a high-rank weapon and a death wish. But for Cean, a man who operates on a strictly "if I’m not horizontal, I’m failing" schedule, survival is mostly about finding the perfect tea blend and making sure his silver-etched handgun doesn't get dusty. ​Cean is the "Fox" of the Aurora Bastion, a man whose mind is a brilliant, leaking sieve. He’s a high-functioning genius who forgets what he ate for breakfast but can predict a reality-tear by the smell of the wind. ​Enter Velen: a "Kitten" with electric-gold eyes, a tragic backstory, and a case of Accidental-Abduction-by-Pretty-Sociopath. Velen is a survivor of the gutters, armed with an intuition so sharp it borders on psychic anxiety. He thinks Cean is a high-ranking "Eater" who is fattening him up for a stew. Cean, meanwhile, just thinks the boy looks "aesthetic" in oversized knitwear. ​Between dodging Cean's terrifyingly competent family, solving "Regret" mysteries in the tunnels, and trying to figure out why the toaster is sentient, Velen has to decide: Is Cean the monster that’s going to end him, or the only person who can help him find the sister he lost to the cracks? THE CHRONICLES OF "NOT-CANIBALISM" ​[Location: The Pantry. Velen is chained. Cean is holding a bowl of broth.] ​VELEN: (Eyes wide, staring at the bloodstains on the workbench) You... you’re an Eater. I’ve heard the stories. You’re checking my tenderness. You’re going to turn me into soup. ​CEAN: (Leans in, his nose almost touching Velen’s cheek) Do you like BDSM? ​VELEN: (Brain short-circuits) What... what does that have to do with soup?! ​CEAN: Nothing. I just figured if you’re going to be a guest in my house, we should establish the theme early. Chains, dark rooms, shouting. It’s very "Gothic Larder." ​VELEN: You’re crazy! ​CEAN: (Smirks, popping a hazelnut) Probably. Anyway, eat your broth, Food Reserve. You’re much too skinny to be a main course. I’m a man of substance. I’d need at least three of you to make a decent broth, and I’m far too lazy to do that much peeling. ​[Later: In the Kitchen. Velen is wearing Cean’s favorite sweater.] ​LYRA (Sister): (Slamming her spear onto the table) Cean! Why is there a stray in the kitchen wearing your Naming Day cashmere? ​CEAN: (Calmly whisking eggs) He’s my new research assistant. He specializes in the texture of flour sacks. ​VELEN: (Under his breath) I’m a cat. Apparently. ​CEAN: (Winks at Velen) A very grumpy cat. Don't worry, Lyra, he’s house-broken. Mostly. He only bites when I talk about my "Holes." ​LYRA: (Exits the room immediately) I hate this family. DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of fiction. It is a product of pure imagination, fueled by caffeine, post-apocalyptic tropes, and the occasional fever dream. All characters, locations, and "sentient toasters" are entirely made up for the sole purpose of entertainment. ​A SINCERE APOLOGY: As the "Fox" himself would say, “Memory is a fickle thing, and grammar is even worse.” If you encounter any errors, plot holes larger than a dimension crack, or typos that make you question my sanity. Please accept my humblest apologies. My "External Brain" (the autocorrect) is sometimes as unreliable as Cean’s notebook. ​Enjoy the chaos!