Arlo landed face-first in a bush.
Leaves, twigs, and something suspiciously warm that might've been squirrel poop clung to his clothes as he groaned and rolled onto his back.
"Well," he muttered, coughing up a leaf, "at least I didn't choke this time."
The universe, always eager to humble him, dropped him out of the bush straight onto a low cliff. His stomach slammed against a rock before gravity claimed him again, and he tumbled down like a human pinball. By the time he hit the dirt, his arms and face were covered in scrapes, his shirt was torn, and blood dribbled down his forehead.
He lay flat on the ground, staring up at the treetops.
"Okay... technically not dead. Already a win."
When he finally staggered upright, his legs wobbled like a fawn's. Every step through the forest was an exaggerated groan, the kind meant to convince any nearby gods—specifically one lazy, wine-drinking deity—that he was suffering. Birds chirped cheerfully overhead, oblivious to his plight.
"Oh great," Arlo muttered. "Forest ambience DLC unlocked. What's next, goblins? Bears? A magical tax collector?"
A wolf howled in the distance.
"Fantastic," Arlo deadpanned. "Dinner bell's ringing. Guess who's on the menu."
But salvation appeared before him: through a break in the trees stood a gleaming church, its white spire piercing the sky. The sun glinted off the polished stone, bells chiming in the breeze as though the building itself was mocking him.
Arlo's eyes lit up. "Civilization! Actual people! Maybe food! ...Please let there be food."
He half-ran, half-tripped toward the doors, shoved them open, and stumbled inside.
"Help! I'm dying!"
The interior was breathtaking: shafts of sunlight spilled through stained glass, painting the polished floor in brilliant reds and blues. Ornate gold fixtures lined the altar. Everything looked expensive enough to feed a small village for a year.
But Arlo had no eye for artistry—only for the woman staring at him in horror.
She was beautiful. Almost unnaturally so. Long golden hair tied back neatly, a pristine robe of white silk trimmed with gold, and a jeweled necklace that sparkled like she'd robbed a royal treasury. She didn't look like a nun. She looked like a model who'd been hired to pretend to be one.
And right now, she looked like she was about to faint.
"Oh gods, blood!" she shrieked, clutching her chest like an actress in a tragic play. "So much blood!"
Arlo blinked. "...You're a priest here, right? Can you or someone here help me heal my wounds?"
"Yes, but—ugh, I can't stand the sight of it!"
"...Wait, what?"
She gagged, peeking between her fingers. "I'm a healer, not a butcher! Do you think I enjoy staring at open wounds? My clients usually show up with their injuries cleaned and wrapped, not dripping all over the carpet!"
"Well, excuse me for not scheduling my tragic accident in advance!" Arlo snapped.
The woman groaned, muttered something foul under her breath, then raised her trembling hands. Holy light shimmered around her fingers, flooding over him in a wave of warmth. The cuts and scrapes sealed instantly, blood vanishing as though it had never existed.
Arlo looked closely at his arms. Smooth. Clean. Not even a scar.
"Ohh yeah," he sighed, flexing dramatically. "That's the stuff."
The healer wiped her brow like she'd just performed open-heart surgery. "That'll be fifty silvers."
"...What."
"My services aren't free," she said with a matter-of-fact tone. "I'm Tessa—the most in-demand healer in this city. I don't patch up filthy strangers for fun."
Arlo pointed at her, scandalized. "Lady, I literally fell out of a cliff!"
"And?" she sniffed, adjusting her necklace. "Cliffs are dangerous. My miracle-working talents aren't."
"But, I don't even have a single coin!"
"Then cough it up in labor. You can scrub my floors, polish my windows, maybe fetch me wine. Celebrity healers don't maintain their lifestyle alone."
Arlo's jaw dropped. "Celebrity healer?! This is a church!"
"Yes," Tessa said smugly, hands on her hips. "And I live here, rent-free, thanks to the generous donations of my grateful clients. Honestly, it's like being a pop star—except I perform actual miracles instead of lip-syncing."
Arlo dragged his hands down his face. "I'm in hell. Actual hell."
"No," Tessa corrected, smiling like she'd won. "You're in my church. Now, about that bill—"
"Wait!" Arlo blurted. Inspiration struck. "How about a bet?"
Tessa arched a perfect golden eyebrow. "A bet?"
"Yeah," Arlo said, forcing confidence into his voice. "If I lose, I'll be your slave—scrub floors, fetch wine, whatever. But if I win... you have to do anything I ask."
Arlo thought to himself "Okay, skill, time to earn your keep. Big choice equals big outcome. Worst case, I scrub some floors. Best case, she owes me big. Come on, luck. Don't screw me now."
Tessa studied him, eyes narrowing as though she could smell the desperation radiating off him. Then her lips curled into a smirk.
"Fine," she said sweetly. "But I'll choose the game."
Arlo froze. "...What?"
"My bet, my rules," she said, clasping her hands behind her back like a queen. "Otherwise, you'll weasel out of it. And frankly, I'd like to watch you squirm."
"Squirm?" Arlo repeated.
"Yes." Tessa tapped her chin thoughtfully. "The question is... what humiliating contest should I crush you at?"
Arlo thought to himself "Oh crap. Oh crap. Abort mission! This is bad. This is really, really—"
"Rock-paper-scissors," Tessa declared, snapping her fingers like she'd just solved world hunger. "Best two out of three."
Arlo blinked. "...That's it?"
"What, you expected an arm wrestle?" She smirked. "Please. I don't touch peasants. Do you have any idea what these hands are worth? If I chip a nail, people starve."
Arlo stared at her. "...You're insane."
"No," Tessa said, adjusting her hair like she was posing for a painting. "I'm rich."
Arlo thought to himself "Rock-paper-scissors? That's it? Wait—this is perfect. This is literally a coin toss with extra steps. This is my jam. My element. My— ...or my funeral. One of the two."
Arlo smirked, ignoring the sweat beading on his forehead. "Fine. But don't cry when you lose."
"Oh, I won't cry," Tessa said sweetly. "I'll laugh. Loudly. Probably while drinking champagne."
Arlo clenched his fists. "Then let's go."
Tessa stepped closer, her golden hair catching the light like a halo. "Good. Because when you lose, I think I'll have you scrub the chamber pots. It'll build character."
Arlo swallowed hard. "Lady, you are terrifying."
"And you," Tessa said, raising her hand into position, "are broke. Now—let's play."
The stage was set: the proud, pampered healer versus the world's unluckiest idiot in a high-stakes match of rock-paper-scissors.
And somewhere in the void, a certain god was already laughing.
Fate was listening.
And it was sharpening its knives.