Prompt:

Late one evening when your character is about to go to bed, they hear a knock at the door. As they open it, a little old lady with gray curly hair and a rather long hooked nose, stands outside. She introduces herself as Miss Avise Renshaw. Avise explains that she works for Fantasy's Got Talent. She produces a scroll which is a handwritten invitation to your character to invite them to compete. They must travel to where the challenges (auditions) will be held.

* * * * *

Meixong sat heavily on their cot, casting off their Dragonmage cloak and throwing it across a crate. As much as they wanted to throw themselves across the cot in the same manner, they would surely give themselves a concussion. The room was much too small for that.

Instead, they sighed, leaning forward and propping their head on their palm as today's decisions weighed greatly on their mind. Wrong calls result in casualties, and today was no different. They had long since stopped blaming themselves for these choices—either that or the constant guilt didn't affect them anymore. If all they knew was victory, they would have won years ago. Yet here they were, four years fighting and two years at the head of it all. As the Head of Information, all decisions relied on them making judgments and collecting enough pieces of a puzzle with thousands more missing. They knew their job wasn't easy, but it was days like these—days when letters sent off with empty condolences—where they couldn't help but feel...

Knock, knock, knock.

Meixong raised their head at the noise. Only an hour had passed since they'd been "off duty," emergencies being an exception. This knock, however, lacked urgency, nor did they recognize the rhythm.

Their eyes narrowed as it sounded again, three succinct knocks, confident and almost languid. Rin, their assistant, almost sounded the same, but he only knocked twice. General Louboux, who took charge while they slept, used her fist and almost always shouted. Perhaps it was a common soldier, but theirs were timid and barely audible.

By the third time, Meixong finally stood, an incantation forming at the back of their mind in case the other had ill intentions. Never had they faced such a bold assassin, but there was always a first. When they opened the door, however, it was nothing they expected.

Instead, a frail old lady stood outside their door. Grizzled, short grey hair stuck up at odd angles as beady eyes judged them. She grumbled something under her breath, her long, hooked nose turning up in disdain, but Meixong heard none of it. At the sight of the woman, only one thought rang clear through their mind:

"Why."

"So you do remember me," the woman, Avise Renshaw, sniffed. "You were so eager rappelling off a cliff with only a phone wire and dog leash; I don't see why you couldn't answer the door quicker."

"Maybe it's because that was an actual emergency, and not to mention—" Meixong pinched their nose, cutting themselves off. There were larger issues at hand. "How are you even here? You don't live in this world. How the hell does this even make sense?"

"I don't know, and I don't care." Avise shoved a scroll into Meixong's hand before they could object. "I'm only here to tell you you're invited to compete in Fantasy's Got Talent, a new and upcoming competition that gives everyone who enters an opportunity to show the world what they got."

Maybe they should have careened themself onto the cot after all. A concussion felt preferable to dealing with this nonsense. "I hate to burst the overlord controlling this gods-forsaken competition's bubble, but there's, you know, a war going on right now. Does it look like I have time for any of this?"

"If you can argue, you can plan your first act."

You know what? That's a great point. And with that, Meixong slammed the door in Avise's face.

* * * * *

Meixong's eyes flew open, dread seeping into their bones. After years of honing their instincts, even the smallest abnormality roused them from their deepest slumber. Sometimes these instincts were too good, for waking up once or twice a night wasn't uncommon. This time, however, they knew why they woke up.

Everything was silent. At all hours of the night, soldiers and officials still roamed the fortress, dragons called out to each other, and shouts sounded from below where the makeshift hospital lived. But they heard none of that now, their ears ringing in the quiet.

Making no sudden movements, they evaluated their surroundings. Back when they returned to the fortress to rejoin their troops, Meixong deliberately chose a cramped storage room, only large enough to fit a cot and a crate that doubled as storage and a table. In such a small space, there was nowhere an intruder could hide, and if anyone did reach them, their magic was well-suited for creating barriers. It only took one sweep of the room to confirm nothing was out of place.

Only mild rustling could be heard as Meixong threw off the covers, wincing as the cot creaked under their shifting weight. Thankfully, the stone floor beneath didn't do the same, their bare feet remaining soundless as they crossed the room and retrieved their sword leaning against the crate.

The only obstacle left was the heavy wood door. Something akin to anxiety trickled down their spine as they laid their hand on its handle. If the silence meant what they thought it meant...

They opened the door.

And promptly shut it.

This cannot be happening. Meixong opened the door again, this time wider to face what was outside it.

Dark wood floors crossed a long hallway with a worn sage green rug running down the middle. The walls were similarly paneled with wood but of a lighter shade. Arching supports held the ceiling above. Not much occupied the hall, and judging by the wear, it was simply a passage people often crossed.

But it wasn't the obvious change in scenery—from a stone fortress to a wooden building—that got Meixong. It was none other than Avise sitting in a padded chair outside their door, a small table with tea next to her. Avise only stared at Meixong with one cynical, raised brow.

There was only one conclusion to this outcome, and it was one Meixong, to say the least, was not pleased with.

"...Motherfucker!"