Qube, the increasingly worried Prophecy Approved Companion to the Chosen One, led him into the woods to get the snot kicked out of him.

The wood surrounding the village had guarded her all her life. It had guarded everyone, as far as she knew. People in the village would talk about their family that lived in the next village over, and sometimes the elders would talk about how great the Fair Days had been in the castle town in their youth but Qube had no memory of anyone actually ever coming or going. Except Mr Clockwork, of course. But then again, Mr Clockwork wasn’t exactly a normal living creature.

If Alderman was correct, this was because the woods wouldn’t allow anyone to leave unless they were strong enough to survive outside. Just how bad was the outside world? She glanced at the Champion. Was that why the Prophecy had changed him so much? Was it the only way he would be able to survive? In which case, how was she supposed to get by? She hadn’t changed … had she? She looked down at herself, suddenly hopeful. Nope. Same body as before. Curses.

“So what are we killing?” the Chosen One asked, stopping to pluck random herbs.

“We’re not killing anything,” Qube said, “just training with - don’t eat that!”

The Chosen One stopped, a cluster of deadly nightshade halfway to his mouth.

“But how else will I know what it does?” he asked.

“You could just ask me!” Qube said, snatching it out of his hands and throwing them onto the ground. “Look, you’ve gotten it on you. Hold still. [Minor Cleanse].” A silver light wrapped around the Chosen One’s hands, removing the nightshade toxins before the Hero tried doing something stupid like licking himself. The Chosen One watched the spell with interest.

“Nice. You’re a Healer, yeah?”

“Of course. Someone had to stop you from poisoning yourself all the time.” Some tiny part of Qube’s brain was protesting the illogical nature of her childhood friend not knowing that she could heal, but she ignored it. ‘Prophecy magic,’ she thought to herself.

“What spells can you do?”

Qube blushed bright red. Such a personal question! How could he be so rude?!

“Ask me if you want to identify any plants in the area,” she said, firmly turning the subject back onto less private matters. “I can help you learn some of their attributes, as well as how to make basic potions and salves.” It also meant he wouldn’t go shoving poison into his face, thus dooming their entire world.

“Neat, you got a herbalist class?”

“I’ll provide you with some of the potion bottles, but you’ll need to stock up on more before you leave,” she said, a tinge of desperation to her tone. “A potion in a pinch is worth its weight in gold, as they say!” She gave a slightly hollow laugh. The Chosen One was still looking at her, then back to his hands.

“How much are potion bottles? You mean I don’t get them for free when I make the potions? Bah! They’d better be cheap! I gotta get them from … Eggma was it?”

“Mr Igma is always happy to sell anything a starting adventurer needs!” Qube was starting to panic. She sounded so stiff! She didn’t sound cool and collected at all! She needed to sound wise, like a sage guardian! But also fun, like a childhood friend. Quick! Say something endearing but intelligent!

“Healing means I can fix your health if you get injured in combat,” she blurted out. No! Fix it! “I can’t replenish your mana though, so make sure to use it wisely.” How was that cool and smart?! Make a joke!

“If you faint I can’t revive you in combat. So try not to let your health hit zero, hero. Teehee!”

Qube wanted to die. She wanted to crawl into a hollowed out tree log, curl up into a ball and become a mushroom. This was the worst. That was possibly the dumbest thing she had ever said in her life, to the most important person in the entire world-

The Chosen One burst out laughing.

“That was the dumbest line ever!” he said, still laughing. “And your face! You look so horrified! Ahahaha! Oh man,” he said, pulling himself together, “that is amazing. It’s like you hate your own script.”

Qube hadn’t actually written a script for this part. This… this was her improv skills on display. She vowed then and there to write cue cards for any situation, no matter how unlikely.

“Anyway we’re at the training circle!” she almost shouted. “Here you will face off against two teams with very different combat styles! Who would you like to fight first?”

“I have to fight two on one?” he said, dubiously.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be supporting you the entire time, teehee!”

Qube tried to stare at her own mouth in horror. Why did she keep teehee-ing?! Was she going insane? The Chosen One started laughing again.

“So, this is the Hero of Our People?” a voice sneered. Qube and the Chosen One turned in surprise. “It seems the Golden Prophecy favours brawn over brain. How… disappointing.” A wizard was standing in the middle of the training circle, a muscular fighter standing next to him. Qube blinked at them for a moment, before sudden recollection rushed into her mind. Of course! It was Warwick and Quinton! How had she managed to forget them? And why was she so surprised that Warwick had a name? Pain twinged in her temples and she shook her head to clear it.

“Warwick, Quinton. I see you are our first pair to spar with,” Qube said with an insincere smile. “Come on Champion, let’s show them what we got!” Urgh! She sounded so simpering! Even Quinton looked a little weirded out by how she was talking. Unfortunately he recovered quickly. He smirked at Qube as Warwick started to speak.

“How about we make this fight interesting? If you beat us, we’ll give you our -”

“Yup. Accept,” the Chosen One said.

“I - uh - so we’ll take - “

“Yes.”

“-the girl-”

“Yes.”

“Oh… okay.” Warwick looked at Quinton, who was looking very concerned. Quinton gave him an uncertain smile. “Then let’s… begin?”

Qube was pretty sure that The Chosen One had just bet her against who knows what. If he didn’t die saving the world, she was going to kill him.

---

The Chosen One stepped into the training circle, grabbing a wooden sword and shield out of a bucket next to the fence. “Training circle” was a fancy term for what was, essentially, a meadow in the woods that they’d flattened the grass in and built a small fence around. There were a few archery targets, some covered buckets with various weapons in them, a couple of hurdles and vaulting horses. In the corner was an interesting looking boulder for people to practice climbing on. There were also some training dummies, made out of hemp, hay and old clothes, and a less flammable mage training dummy, next to the two dummies they were about to fight.

“First one out of the circle or to yield loses,” Warwick called, rolling up his robe sleeves. Qube sniffed at his elaborate sleeves in disdain, smoothing her shorter, much more practical, sleeves. What was the point in having poofy sleeves when you threw fireballs or had to close wounds? They would only trail through it and make a mess.

She was so busy thinking about sleeves that she almost got hit by a fireball. At the very last second the Chosen One jumped in front of her, his wooden shield catching the main blast. The front of it was instantly charred.

“[Anger!]” he spat, before instantly throwing the shield directly at Warwick, who dodged out of the way then fell. His voice once again had that underwater quality just for that word, and Qube saw Warwick and Quinton both look confused before she snapped back into focus.

“[Lesser Shield!]” she cried, a silvery light bursting from her and wrapping itself around the Chosen One. She knew from experience that he would be protected from Quinton’s wooden sword and the worst of Warwick’s fireballs for about 60 seconds - a lifetime in combat. She quickly stepped back, positioning herself behind The Chosen One, using his body as a shield as she shadowed his movement.

Stay in the back. Cast protective spells. Heal. Keep the fighters up. This was her role.

In the time it took Warwick to stand, the Chosen One had crashed into Quinton. Quinton was on the defensive, taken aback by the sudden ferocity of his attacker. The Chosen One fought like a rabid animal, uncaring of any counter attacks or damage he might take.

“[Haste]!” Qube cast, and the Chosen’s attacks grew faster and more frenzied. He took a glancing blow from Quinton’s blunt blade, backed up, then immediately shoulder charged him, knocking him out of the circle. Caught at a bad angle, Quinton only managed to land one or two hits on the back of the Chosen’s unprotected neck with the hilt of his sword, before he was thrown clear.

“[Fireball]!” Warwick yelled, having finally righted himself and pulled his sleeves back again. The fireball blasted the Chosen’s back, staggering him. But the magical shield held. He turned and glared at the Wizard. “[Fireball]! [Fireball]!” Warwick blasted him two more times, before he had to rest. The Chosen One blocked the fireballs with his wooden sword. It was badly burnt after the first one, then completely disintegrated after the second.

“Interesting,” the Chosen One said, eyeing Warwick. “Can you only do three at a time?”

“I can… do more… in a second…” Warwick gasped, gathering his energy.

“And what about you? How many attacks can you do at a time?” the Chosen One casually looked over at Qube.

“I’m a Healer, not a Wizard! I don’t do offensive magics,” she snapped. “Look out!” The sixty seconds was up. Warwick grinned.

“[Lesser Shield]!” she yelled at the same time as Warwick cast fireball three times in a row. The first fireball hit The Chosen One square in his unprotected chest, sending him to his knees. Then the shield was up, the other two blasts failing to hit him. He moved to stand up when Warwick suddenly turned his hands towards Qube.

“Surrender now, Chosen One!” Warwick gloated from a safe distance. “You have no weapon, and cannot attack me. If you rush me, I’ll blast your Healer. She’ll have to drop your shield to protect herself, and then my next two blasts will hit you. And I don’t think your health could survive another two full hits. So save yourself the damage, and just give up.”

“I won’t drop his shield,” Qube said, standing tall and straightening her shoulders. “Even if you blast me all three times. I would never leave him unprotected, just to save myself.” She glared at Warwick, who gaped at her.

“But you’re a Mage, same as me! It’s the Fighter’s job to take hits for us!”

“And it’s our job to protect them,” she sneered. “So go ahead. Blast me with your firey balls, I can take them.”

There was a sniggering sound from the ground. Warwick and Qube stopped trying to stare each other down to see the Saviour of All Peoples covering his face, trying not to laugh.

“We need to get you some better lines," he said. “And hey, Wizard guy?” Warwick looked at him. “Think fast.” He sprung forward from his kneeling position, an entire broom suddenly in his hands, him holding the bristle end and bringing the wooden handle around like a bat, smacking Warwick directly in the face and sending him tumbling out of the training circle. Quinton stepped out of the way as Warwick hit the fence, and passed out. The Chosen One looked at Qube.

“I think that means we win,” he said, and grinned.