Jaskari stared at Hilla’s outstretched hand, the icy grip around his chest now an absolute certainty. Ukko was trapped. His friends were erased. The choice was stark, terrifying. He ignored her hand, pushing past her, the dilapidated planks of the Korpikyla guildhall groaning under his haste. He had to talk to them. Not as their silent guardian, but as Jaskari Kempe, the C-rank provisioner who had lied. He felt the familiar warmth of Ukko’s approval fade, replaced by a hollow ache, a warning that his divine connection was already tenuous. The deadline was a physical presence, a countdown clock ticking in the marrow of his bones.
He found Päivi first, huddled in her room, a half-empty bottle of turnip wine beside her, a tear-streaked spellbook clutched in her hand. Her room smelled faintly of burnt feathers and ozone. “Go away,” she mumbled, not looking up. “I’m busy mourning my self-respect.”
Jaskari sat on the floor, cross-legged, the way he did when they were waiting out a blizzard. “Päivi,” he said, his voice raw. “I’m sorry.”
She snorted, a wet, theatrical sound. “Sorry? For making us into your puppets? For every ‘miracle’ that was just you tidying up our mess?” She finally looked at him, her eyes red-rimmed and furious. “Do you know how many times I died, Jaskari? How many times I felt that… that emptiness, only for you to yank me back? Like some kind of perverse joke?”
“I’m sorry for the lies,” Jaskari corrected, his voice quiet but firm. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But I’m not sorry I saved you.” He leaned forward. “You remember the Glimmering Depths. The feeling of being erased. The chill that follows. It wasn’t just a feeling for me. It was a promise. If I don’t make you into heroes, you won’t just die. You’ll un-exist. Every memory, every laugh, every drunken rant, every stupid, magnificent spell you’ve ever cast, gone. As if you never were.”
Päivi stared, her mouth slightly agape, the turnip wine forgotten. The drama queen in her recognized a true tragedy when she heard one. “Un-exist?” she repeated, a tremor in her voice that wasn’t just wine-induced. “Like… like the time I accidentally turned the Guildmaster’s favorite cat into a concept?”
“Exactly like that,” Jaskari confirmed, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “Except it’ll be all of you.”
Next, he tracked down Roope, who was attempting to pick the lock on a forgotten supply closet. The tumblers clicked, the door swung open, revealing only a stack of broken brooms. Roope sighed, defeated. “Even when I try to fail, I succeed,” he muttered, seeing Jaskari. “What do you want? Come to tell me my entire life is a lie, too?”
“It’s not a lie, Roope,” Jaskari said, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re still the best lock-picker who consistently fails. You’re still the rogue with a heart of gold. I just… helped you survive long enough to prove it. And if I don’t keep helping you, if we don’t become heroes, then none of us will have existed at all.” He explained the life-debt, the patron god, the looming deadline. Roope listened, his nimble fingers uncharacteristically still.
“So, if we don’t make it big, I don’t just die, I cease to be the guy who tripped over his own feet trying to disarm a pressure plate and nearly lost a leg?” Roope parted his slack lips. “That’s… that’s a lot of pressure, Jaskari. Even for someone who’s constantly under pressure from falling rocks and exploding chickens.” He chewed on his lip. “So, we do this. For you. For us. So we actually *were*.”
Ilkka was the hardest. Jaskari found him in the training yard, repeatedly slamming a blunt practice sword against a wooden dummy, a furious, desperate rhythm in his movements. Each blow seemed to drain him. “I’m a fraud,” Ilkka stated, not stopping, his voice thick with self-loathing. “My power, my victory… it was all your trickery. I’m not Ilkka the Immovable. I’m Ilkka the Easily Manipulated.”
“No,” Jaskari said, stepping into the path of Ilkka’s next swing. Ilkka stopped, the blunt wooden sword hovering an inch from Jaskari’s shoulder. “The magic I gave you for the duel, it was just a nudge. A spark. You chose to make it a roaring fire, Ilkka. You faced Säde. You stood tall. That was you. Your will. Your courage. That’s what made you Immovable. Just like your gentleness, your loyalty, those are your strengths. But if we don’t do this, if we don’t become heroes… that day will be erased. You, me, all of us. No memories. No proof we ever lived.” He laid out the terrifying truth of the life-debt, the impending erasure. Ilkka’s shoulders slumped, his defiant posture crumbling.
“You mean… not even my name?” he whispered, his eyes filled with a desolation deeper than any fear. “No one will remember my name?”
Meanwhile, Antero Koski, perched precariously on a wobbly stool in the Adventurers’ Guild archives, was spinning a dense knot of bureaucratic obfuscation. He presented a flurry of forged documents, obscure procedural precedents, and conveniently ‘misplaced’ requisitions to a flustered temple registrar. “A full-scale cleansing ritual in the Kajo Depths? My dear, you must understand, such an undertaking requires no less than three weeks’ notice, a signed charter from the Grand Temple of the Sun, and a minimum of seven celestial portents before noon on a Tuesday.” He peered over his spectacles, a mischievous glint in his ancient eyes. “And I’m quite certain today is a Thursday.” The registrar, overwhelmed, stammered a promise to ‘expedite the paperwork,’ buying Jaskari a precious few hours.
Back at the guildhall, Hilla watched as Päivi emerged from her room, her eyes still red, but a new, steelier resolve hardening her jaw. Roope, for once, wasn’t fiddling with anything, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Ilkka, though still looking haunted, stood straighter. They gathered in the main hall, a silent, fragile truce hanging in the air. Jaskari looked at them, his heart aching, but also swelling with a fierce, possessive love. He had pushed them. He had lied. But he had also saved them, and now, he needed them to save themselves.
“So, one last mission?” Päivi asked, her voice surprisingly steady. “To save Jaskari, and to make sure we actually existed?”
“And to make sure Ukko doesn’t get turned into a concept,” Roope added, a grim joke.
Ilkka nodded, his hand finding the hilt of his practice sword. “For our names,” he rumbled. “So they are remembered.”
[Jolt 1: The Team Reunites]
They moved with a speed and coordination that would have been impossible a week ago, a sharp urgency propelling them. Hilla, surprisingly, took charge, her tactical mind cutting through the gloom. “The Kajo descent,” she barked, pointing at a smudged map. “Säde won’t be at the entrance. She’ll be at the lowest level, the heart of the prison. We go in hard, we go in fast. No detours. No messing around.”
The descent into the Kajo chasm was a blur of hurried footsteps and the distant, chilling echo of chanting. They burst into the deepest chamber, a vast, echoing cavern pulsating with oppressive, holy radiance. In the center, a massive, crystalline sarcophagus hummed, radiating pure white light. Paladin Säde stood before it, her hands raised, surrounded by a dozen of her zealous followers, their voices intertwining in a powerful sealing ritual. A shimmering barrier already flickered around the sarcophagus. They were too late.
“For the glory of the Unblinking Sun!” Säde’s voice boomed, amplified by the ritual, her eyes blazing with fanaticism. She saw them, a flicker of surprise, then cold disdain. “The blasphemers. You will not desecrate this holy work.”
[Jolt 2: Impossible Odds]
“Blasphemers, assemble!” Päivi shrieked, her staff already crackling with unstable energy. She hurled a spell, a volatile concoction of arcane force and pure spite. It detonated not against Säde, but against the crystalline ceiling, sending a shower of razor-sharp shards raining down on the surrounding crusaders, forcing them to break formation. Ilkka roared, charging forward, his practice sword held high, his confidence now an unwavering shield. Roope, instead of disarming a trap, kicked over a pedestal holding a sacred censer, which tumbled down a chasm, emitting a deafening, discordant clang that momentarily stunned the remaining temple guards. Hilla, a whirlwind of furious steel, engaged Säde directly, her berserker rage a crimson blur against Säde's holy light.
Jaskari watched, a pang of fierce pride and terror in his chest. They were magnificent. Chaotic. Brilliant. The system’s warning, however, was deafening.
[Life-Debt Deadline: 00:00:00]
He felt it, a sudden, agonizing severing. The warm tea of Ukko’s presence became a vacant, frigid emptiness. His link, his power, the very core of his being, flickered and died. At that exact instant, Säde, momentarily disengaging from Hilla, her eyes flashing with renewed fury, thrust her holy spear. It plunged deep into Ilkka’s chest, the radiant point piercing his improvised armor, then his heart. Ilkka stumbled, his roar choked off, disbelief slackening his features as the light of his defensive magic extinguished, leaving him utterly, fatally, vulnerable.