It was a beautiful day in Wheatlandia. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. The sky was so blue you could confuse it with the ocean, and, if you listened really, really closely–or not even all that closely, you really only needed ears–you could hear the screaming of the villagers as they ran to and fro in sheer, unadulterated panic.

Oh, right, right. Ahem. Yes: the village was on fire.

Like, a lot on fire.

Like, really, really on fire.

Like, we're-all-gonna-die level fire.

Adrian Ledba gaped. Well, no, that's not true. He wasn't gaping because he was busy running, and he was busy running because he was trying to put the fire out, which was, as you can imagine, dear reader, really damn hard with all the rat-men getting in the way. But what I mean is, if he had had the time to stand there gaping, that's what he would've done: gaped. Because this was a very gapable moment.

And of course what Adrian actually meant by all the rat-men "getting in the way" was that they were actively trying to kill him with their sharp, pokey sticks, and he was getting awfully tired of getting poked. Well, sort of poked. He wasn't quite holey yet, but it was only a matter of time before they stuck him good.

"Will ya get outta the way? The village is on fire!"

"I know, man. We were there. We lit it up, remember?" The rat-man sounded not at all concerned. If anything, he sounded annoyed. "Look, man. Can you just lie down and die already? Union says we gotta wrap this up quick before closing time, and I don't wanna get fined 'cause of you. This raid was supposed to take two hours, tops, but you've ruined it already. Seriously man, give it a rest."

"What? You outta your damn mind? No!" Adrian had been raised to be very polite to everyone, but this was a bit much. This rat-man and his friends had come to Starting Village and lit it on fire. That was just rude. And now he was demanding that Adrian lay down and die?

Hell, no!

"Aw, come on, man. You had to have known this was gonna happen. Your village is literally named 'Starting Village.' You couldn't have possibly thou–"

The rat-man's head violently caved in with bright, comically large splash of blood that defied the laws of physics–or would have, if Wheatlandia had had any laws of physics to speak of. No, Wheatlandia was a magical land where animals occasionally walked on air as if it were flat ground, on account of the godly whims of the most Mysterious and Holy Developers.

Besides, Adrian didn't even know what physics was, so why quibble?

Ahem. Anyway. Yes, the rat-man, our verbose villain of all of ten seconds (fifteen, tops), died ignobly in a splash of bright red blood and suspiciously pixelated gore.

Adrian gaped. Yes, for real this time, because he had the time, and because the unlikely (actually, it was very likely, but don't tell poor Adrian that) rat-man-killer was his sad, orphaned childhood friend, Fie, who was not very well-known for murdering rat-men, only ra–

Oh, no, wait, that made sense.

"Fie!" Adrian gasped, shocked. It wasn't just the rat-man-killing that was shocking, no. It was also Fie himself; the boy–well, man. No, teenager. Yes, Fie was, indeed, a teenager, with the sulky temper to match–was standing backlit by the burning village. His black hair glistened. His jaw, which had been the narrow jaw of a moody eighteen-year-old who couldn't even grow out a beard, was suddenly square and manly. His pecs–oh, Sweet Developer-sans, why, oh why?–were glistening with sweat in the firelight.

"Where in the [baa!] is your shirt?" Adrian gasped, appalled by his lack of modesty.

This was Starting Village! Nobody ran around without a [Farmer's Tunic]! No one! Adrian wore his [Farmer's Tunic] everywhere, even to bed!

How could Fie not have his [Farmer's Tunic]?!?

"My–what?" Fie looked confused. "I lost it somewhere. You okay?"

"No! The village is on fire!" This was obvious. The fire was doing a really good job of making Fie look ripped as [baa!].

If Adrian had been the sort of fellow to get jealous at the sudden manifestation of manliness, he would have been. Happily, our boy Adrian wasn't the jealous type.

He's not really any type, actually. Pretty lucky, that!

"I know!" Fie turned around, expression serious and smoldering like the flames! His dark eyes were like burning embers, filled with determination and courage! In his breast was the heart of a lio–

Oh, no, wait. My apologies, dear readers. My Harlequeen contract is for a different nov–

Hm.

Hmm.

Hmmm.

Ahem! Moving on.

Fie turned around, expression serious. "I know, but we need to get rid of these rat-men first. They'll pick us off while we're battling the flames." He glanced at Adrian over his shoulder. "You coming? I could use a friend."

"Are you out of your [baaing!] mind?" Adrian gaped again, but this time it was because he was aghast, not shocked. "You want to fight those monsters?"

Fie frowned a very manly frowned. It really emphasized his jawline. Like, a lot. Like, a lot a lot. So much that he looked like he was thirty, not eighteen, and his hotness would have lit the village on fire anywa–

Uh, I mean:

Ahem. Ahem. Now. Where were we?

Oh yes.

Starting Village was still alight, the red-and-orange tongues of flame licking at wood and flesh alike, without prejudice. Left unchecked, the village would be a ruin of ash and charred wood rather shortly. Fie frowned at Adrian's answer, but didn't push. "That's okay. You should run. I don't think that fire can be put out, not with the rat-men about. See if you can find Licea and Takashi and guide them to safety. Don't forget about Dane."

And with that, Fie was gone, charging at the nearest rat-man with a truly frightening warcry.

Well, [baa!].

Adrian thought about it for another two seconds, and then–the answer came to him in a flash of sudden inspiration: I have to find Obo!

Ah. Yes. Obo!