Sam clutched their crumpled fantasy world map and pushed through the tavern door, immediately diving sideways as a woman in a torn evening gown sprinted past, chasing what looked like a living shadow with too many teeth.
“Sorry!” the woman called over her shoulder, brandishing a silver letter opener. “Romance gone wrong!”
The shadow hissed something that might have been an apology and slithered under a table where three people in space suits were arguing about fuel efficiency.
Sam straightened their jacket and stared. The Obsidian Tavern’s interior defied every law of physics they’d ever learned. Walls carved from black volcanic glass stretched impossibly high, reflecting not the room itself but glimpses of other places—a star-filled void here, a sun-drenched meadow there, the gleaming spires of a city that had never been built on any real world.
And the doors. Sweet hell, the doors.
Dozens of them lined the walls at impossible angles, each one opening onto somewhere else entirely. As Sam watched, a cowboy in dusty leather pushed through one door while a space marine in power armor emerged from another. The marine nodded politely to the cowboy, who tipped his hat in return before heading to the bar.
“First time?”
Sam spun toward the voice. A figure approached from between the tables—ageless, with silver-streaked hair and eyes that seemed to hold starlight. They moved with the easy confidence of someone who belonged here completely, carrying a tray of drinks that sparkled with their own inner light.
“I’m the Tavernkeeper,” they said, setting the tray on a nearby table. “Welcome to the crossroads.”
“I’m Sam,” Sam managed. “I heard this place could help with… creative problems?”
“Ah.” The Tavernkeeper’s smile was warm and knowing. “World-building troubles. Let me guess—your map doesn’t make geographical sense, your magic system has plot holes, or your political structure would collapse in a week?”
Sam’s hand tightened on their map. “All three, actually.”
“Excellent. Nothing I enjoy more than a proper challenge. But first—” The Tavernkeeper gestured toward the bustling tavern. “Meet the regulars. You’ll find them helpful.”
At a corner table, a woman with paint-stained fingers was sketching frantically while muttering to herself. “If love-based magic creates infinite energy, why does anyone ever fight? There has to be a limit, Maya. Think.”
“That’s Maya,” the Tavernkeeper explained. “Romance writer. Brilliant at emotional resonance, but her magic systems could power the universe twice over.”
Near the bar, a thin man in a lab coat was building something from napkins and silverware. “The problem with faster-than-light travel,” he was saying to his contraption, “is that causality becomes more of a suggestion than a law.”
“Jin. Scientist turned science fiction writer. His worlds are scientifically flawless and dramatically inert.”
By the fireplace, a pale woman in black was reading from a leather journal to a small group of fascinated listeners. Even from across the room, her words sent chills down Sam’s spine.
“Elena. Horror writer. She can make you afraid of your own shadow, but her monsters are more terrifying to her than to anyone else.”
And slouched in a window seat, a bearded man was scowling at what looked like an economics textbook while occasionally glancing at a door marked with golden runes.
“Marcus. Fantasy world-builder. Creates kingdoms with the bureaucratic complexity of the real world and twice the tedium.”
“They all seem…” Sam searched for the right word. “Stuck.”
“Everyone gets stuck,” the Tavernkeeper said gently. “Stories are living things. Sometimes they grow in directions we never intended. Sometimes they refuse to grow at all. The trick is learning to listen.”
Sam spread their map on the nearest table. The Tavernkeeper leaned over it, tracing the hand-drawn coastlines and mountain ranges with one finger.
“Tell me about this place,” they said.
“It’s called Valdris. There’s this kingdom by the sea, and they’re supposed to be a naval power, but I put their capital city at the mouth of a river that…” Sam’s voice trailed off as the Tavernkeeper’s finger stopped at a particular spot.
“Flows uphill,” the Tavernkeeper finished. “Interesting choice. Most people would call that a mistake.”
“It is a mistake. The river should flow from the mountains to the sea, but I drew it backwards and now the whole trade system doesn’t work because ships can’t sail upstream against the current, except the current is going the wrong way, and—”
“What if it’s not wrong?” The Tavernkeeper’s eyes met Sam’s. “What if there’s a reason the river flows uphill? What force in your world could be strong enough to reverse the natural order?”
Sam stared at the map. “Magic. But I haven’t figured out the magic system yet because every time I try to create rules, I find exceptions, and—”
“The river is your magic system.” The Tavernkeeper’s smile was radiant. “Your world’s magic doesn’t follow rules—it creates them. The river flows uphill because the magic in your world is so fundamental it supersedes natural law. Ships don’t sail against the current; they sail with magic itself.”
The solution hit Sam like lightning. “The city isn’t fighting the river—it’s built around the magic that creates the river. They’re not a naval power because they have good harbors. They’re a naval power because they control the only port in the world where magic itself provides the current.”
“Exactly. Your ‘mistake’ just became the most interesting thing about your world.”
Sam felt a grin spreading across their face. For the first time in months, Valdris felt real, felt possible. They looked up to thank the Tavernkeeper, but found them staring blankly at the map, brow furrowed in confusion.
“I’m sorry,” the Tavernkeeper said slowly. “Who are you again?”
The question hung in the air like a challenge to reality itself. Around them, the tavern’s warmth seemed to flicker. Behind the Tavernkeeper, Sam noticed something that made their blood run cold.
One of the doors—a simple wooden door that had been glowing with soft golden light—suddenly went dark. Not closed. Dark. As if the world behind it had simply… stopped existing.
The Tavernkeeper followed Sam’s gaze and saw the dead door. For just a moment, something flickered across their ageless features.
Fear.
“Well,” the Tavernkeeper said, their voice carefully controlled. “That’s… unusual.”
But Sam caught the tremor in their hands as they picked up the tray of sparkling drinks. Whatever was happening, the Tavernkeeper knew more than they were saying.
And they were afraid.