The Art of Avoiding Chores: Alex's Guide

Alex Drakonis, the man who was supposed to be chained and held in some dark, dirty room, and held on top of a rather large runic circle, was instead lounging in a luxurious inn, sipping tea as though his life was some endless vacation.

His view? The bustling cityscape, complete with airships called Cloud Weavers floating about, transporting people and goods in a manner that seemed far too casual for giant, gravity-defying vessels. One would think a man fighting a cult would be more... concerned.

That's right—he was supposed to be battling a cult. Or at least, that's what Alex had convinced himself, right up until the moment he realized it wasn't a cult at all. Nope, he had (Not) mistakenly picked a fight with a rather well-respected church. Oops. Could happen to anyone, right?

This particular church was dedicated to the god of night, a mysterious deity whose followers kept their god's true name under wraps like it was the punchline to some godly joke.

They would only refer to their deity as "The God of Night," as if saying the actual name would get them a stern talking to. But Alex, being the stubborn dragon he was, had snooped it out of them like a kid sneaking an extra cookie. And he soon understood why.

"Tenebris. The god of night and false realities," Alex muttered to himself, taking a casual sip from his elaborate teacup. "The god of false realities," he repeated with a raised brow. "I mean, come on, that name just screams 'bad guy.' Who worships a god whose specialty is making up stuff?"

But many of the citizens prayed to the god of night when they were headed out at night, it was to keep them protected at night.

And let's just say that it was doing a good job, but it was due to some other factors, like a low crime rate and other minor details like natural disaster predictions.

He was halfway through his third sip, thinking about the logistics of fighting a god that could probably convince him he was a chicken at any given moment, when he felt a familiar, hair-raising presence nearby (If he had hair, other than on his head). The tea, which had been pleasantly soothing a moment ago, suddenly tasted like a terrible idea.

"Alex…" came a voice that somehow managed to be both menacing and warm at the same time. Only one person in his life had that unique gift.

"Uh, yes, Dad?" Alex replied, nearly choking on his tea, like if that was even possible, as he tried to jump to attention without looking like a guilty child who had just been caught raiding the cookie jar.

Gereon Drakonis, his father—legendary, powerful, and the very embodiment of "disappointed dad energy"—stood before him, looking suspiciously calm.

"It's the real you this time, right? Not another one of those… what do you call them again?" Gereon asked, narrowing his eyes.

Alex straightened up, trying to look as real -like as possible. "Yes, Dad, it's really me!" He forced a smile that might as well have come with its own caption reading: Please don't ground me into the dust.

Just like how Judge was scared of his mother, Alex was scared of his father. Both father and son alike, except the father was yet to see the baby.

Gereon didn't seem convinced. In fact, he looked like he was one second away from giving Alex a very stern lecture on life choices. "You have any idea how close I came to teleporting to one of your other stuffs? Again?" Gereon's voice held the kind of frustration that only years of putting up with Alex could cultivate.

Alex gulped, realizing just how lucky he was to be sitting here sipping tea instead of being on the receiving end of his father's wrath. "Sorry about that. I've been, uh, busy. Very busy. With… cults. And fighting. And… tea."

Gereon sighed, his disappointment noticeable. "Why are you sitting here, sipping tea like some noble on holiday, when you've got a newborn at home you haven't even met yet?"

Alex froze, mid-sip, and quickly lowered his cup, his face turning a shade paler than usual. Of all the things his father could bring up, this was not what he wanted to deal with. "Uh, well, you see, about that… I was, um, planning to—"

"Planning to what?" Gereon cut him off, his piercing eyes locking onto Alex with the precision of a seasoned warrior about to strike. "Planning to sit here, drink more tea, and hope I don't show up? Or were you planning to actually go see your child at some point before their first birthday?"

"Of course, I was planning to go see her... err... him?!" Alex said defensively, though it didn't help that his nervous chuckle followed almost immediately. "It's just that, well, you know how it is with these things. Babies don't really, uh… do much in the first few weeks."

Gereon raised an eyebrow. "Babies don't do much? They breathe, they grow, and they make you a father, Alex. That's more than enough. And you don't know the gender? I have failed you as a father, your sister is the only one who can fix you."

Alex winced. There was no talking his way out of this one, not with his father giving him that look. The "you've messed up, but I'm going to let you figure it out while I stand here and judge you" look.

"Okay, okay, I get it," Alex muttered, finally accepting his defeat, the last person he wanted to see was his sister. "I'll go see the baby. I just needed to take care of a few things first, that's all."

Gereon crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed. "Like fighting a church of all things?"

Alex flinched. "That was… a misunderstanding. They, uh, don't take criticism very well."

His facepalmed, "Thank gods I am in a good mood"

"Thank who?"

"What?"

"No... I, uh... I will go see the baby." Alex knew that his father was a hundred percent atheist, if he ever wanted to worship a god, he would worship himself, he was almost captivated by his father's high self esteem. Almost.