Lena sat at a table by the window, warming her palms against a large ceramic mug. She watched the street, the hurrying passers-by, and the cars sat motionless in gridlock. None of them had the foggiest idea that the world had been a hair’s breadth away from deletion. No one saw Elena Nikolayevna, senior accountant, transforming into a thirty-metre Titan and snapping the spine of a goddess of vanity. To those around her, she was simply a woman in a beige trench coat waiting for a friend. And that was perfectly fine.
The bell above the door tinkled. Lena turned her head.
Irina walked into the café. She had changed. Not physically—the same blonde hair, the same sweet, slightly girlish face. But the slouch was gone, as was the guilty, ‘sorry-for-existing’ look that used to be her trademark. She walked with confidence, back straight, wearing a stylish puffer jacket and jeans. Seeing Lena, the girl smiled—wide and sincere.
"Hiya!" Irina approached the table and, instead of a reserved nod, gave her friend a proper hug.
"Hello, Dragon," Lena whispered in her ear, returning the embrace.
They sat down. A waitress approached.
"A caramel latte, please," Irina ordered. "And... that massive slice of chocolate cake there."
"What about the diet?" Lena smirked.
"Sod that," the student waved a hand. "After a week of living on mana and terror, I’ve earned the endorphins."
Once the coffee arrived, a small silence fell. Not awkward, like it used to be, but comfortable.
"How are you?" Lena asked. "How’s the... adjustment going?"
Irina stirred the froth in her cup.
"Strange. For the first couple of days, I kept expecting a goblin to pop out of the fridge, or a ticket inspector on the bus to demand to see my gear level. But it’s worn off now." She took a sip. "The funniest thing is... my parents didn't even notice I was gone for a week. Well, for us it was a week. But here..."
"Only four hours had passed," Lena finished for her. "I checked my phone logs. We entered the game around ten in the evening and drove out of the car park at two in the morning."
"Yeah," Irina nodded. "Mum just grumbled in the morning that I’d got in late and smelt like a bonfire. She asked if I’d taken up smoking. I told her we’d been burning an effigy."
They both laughed.
"And at uni?" Lena asked. "You said you were having trouble with your seminars."
Irina’s eyes flashed.
"Oh, that’s a story and a half. Yesterday I had an assessment with ‘The Beast’—our history professor, loves failing students. He started trying to rattle me, asking questions that weren't even on the syllabus, with this... you know, this sneer. Before, I’d have burst into tears and run out."
"And now?"
"And now, I looked at him and pictured him as a Soulless Overseer. Just without the club. And you know... he seemed so pathetic. I answered every question calmly, looking him straight in the eye. He actually had to wipe his glasses in surprise. Gave me a first."
"Proud of you," Lena raised her cup in a toast.
"And what about you?" Irina asked. "The husband? Work?"
Lena sighed, but there was no heaviness in it.
"The husband... stuck to the usual script. When I got back at three in the morning, covered in muck, in that ridiculous latex, with my make-up all smeared... he threw a right tantrum. Screaming about irresponsibility, about how I’m nearly forty and gallivanting around festivals like a teenager. Said I was embarrassing him in front of the neighbours." Lena paused, looking out the window. "And you know, Ira... I stood there, listening to him bellow, and I thought: ‘Mate, I just saved your digital arse from being completely erased. I survived a volcano. I’ve worn a symbiote.’ His shouting felt like the hum of a desk fan. I just waited for him to run out of steam and said: ‘Dinner’s in the fridge, I’m going for a shower,’ and walked out."
"And did he calm down?"
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"He was flabbergasted. He’s used to me making excuses or snapping back. But this... total calm. Titan-like. He’s been as good as gold ever since, though he does give me the occasional wary look."
"And at the office?"
"Sacked two idlers I hadn't had the nerve to touch for six months. And demanded a pay rise. The director signed the papers without a second thought. I think I’ve developed a bit of a steely gaze."
They laughed again.
"We’ve changed, Len," Irina said. "We left the magic and the levels behind, but... the backbone stayed."
"It stayed with us," Lena agreed. "And it’s the best loot we could have brought back."
At that moment, the street outside was flooded with the glare of powerful xenon headlights. A car pulled up to the café, brazenly ignoring the 'No Stopping' sign. It wasn't Vlad’s 'Twilight Cruiser' (that was currently sitting in Lena’s garage like a weekend trophy in need of a total overhaul). It was a gargantuan, latest-model black G-Wagon, as shiny as a grand piano. The vehicle looked imposing, expensive, and aggressive.
"Blimey," Irina whistled. "Someone’s doing alright for themselves."
The driver’s door opened. A man stepped out onto the tarmac—tall, about six-foot-three, with shoulders that barely fit through the frame. He wore a pricey black leather jacket and dark jeans. He had a thick, well-groomed beard, tanned skin, and sharp features. He looked like a dead ringer for a sheikh’s bodyguard or a very serious businessman you wouldn't want to cross.
"Cor," Lena appraised the man. "He looks like he means business."
The man walked around the car and opened the passenger door. Nelli flitted out, sporting a sparkling smile and new boots (sensible ones, this time). In her short jacket and bright scarf, she looked absolutely radiant. She said something to her companion; he gave a bashful smile into his beard, nodded, and quickly hopped back behind the wheel to floor it. The G-Wagon roared away and vanished into the traffic.
Nelli burst into the café like a whirlwind.
"Girls!" she ran to the table, beaming like a new penny. "Hello, my sisters-in-arms! Am I late? The traffic is absolute murder!"
She plopped onto a chair, tossing off her scarf.
"Nate!" Irina clapped her hands happily.
"Nelli," the girl corrected with a smile. "In reality, I’m Nelli. Or, a 'Retired Space Hunter,' if you prefer."
Lena looked at her with a knowing squint.
"Nelli, then. And who was that in the G-Wagon? Your new bodyguard? Or did you rob a cartel boss?"
Nelli giggled as she picked up the menu.
"Oh, stop it. You didn't recognise him?"
"Who? That bearded giant?" Irina asked, surprised.
"Yep. That was Rollo."
Silence fell over the café. Lena dropped her spoon. Irina sat frozen with her mouth open.
"Rollo?!" they asked in unison. "The... the hedgehog?!"
"The very same," Nelli nodded contentedly. "His real name is Roland. His father’s from the Caucasus and his mother’s Russian. Quite the explosive mix."
"But..." Lena tried to reconcile the image of the blue hedgehog in glasses with this rugged, formidable man. "He’s... he’s..."
"Huge? Yes. Handsome? Oh, definitely. Rich? As it turns out, that startup of his didn't exactly go bust; he was just crying poverty to hide his assets from his ex-wives."
"But why didn't he come in?" Irina asked.
Nelli rolled her eyes affectionately.
"Because he’s shy. You should see him. The 'rugged alpha' persona only lasts as long as he keeps his mouth shut. The moment I suggested he come in to meet you, he turned beet-red, started mumbling about 'girls' clubs' and being in the way, and mentioned he still can't look Lena in the eye after the whole 'calibration' incident."
Lena buried her face in her hand and laughed.
"Good lord... Good old Rollo."
"He said he’d wait for me around the corner and play on his handheld," Nelli continued. "He’s still the same gamer. Only now... now he’s my gamer." She looked at her friends, her expression softening. "We talked. Really talked. After we got out. He... he was actually very lonely. And so was I. Just two muppets who found each other in a sandpit full of worms."
"I’m happy for you both," Irina said sincerely. "Really. You... you suit each other."
"I should hope so," Nelli snorted. "Who else would put up with his jokes? Only me. And who’d put up with my temper? Only him."
The waitress came over to take their order.
"I’ll have the biggest burger you’ve got. Double patty. And a pint. A dark one."
Once the waitress had left, Nelli looked around at her friends.
"I missed you lot, you know. Honestly. Without the running around and the monsters... life feels a bit vanilla."
"Safe, though," Lena noted. "And no one’s trying to strip you."
"True enough," Nelli agreed. "Mind you, Roland says he’d have kept the pirate costume. For special occasions."
They laughed again. The evening passed perfectly. They talked about everything and nothing—life plans, jokes at the Administrator’s expense (Lena suggested sending him a hamper of decent food and a year’s supply of coffee by courier), and memories of Modesta. A senior accountant, a linguistics student, and a brassy streamer who was now a millionaire’s girlfriend. Entirely different, yet now inseparable.
When they left the café, the rain had stopped. The city was glowing with lights.
"Well then?" Lena buttoned her coat. "Home time?"
"Yeah," Irina nodded. "Lectures tomorrow."
"And I’m being expected," Nelli nodded toward the corner where the taillights of the black SUV were visible. "Roland promised to show me his retro console collection. And maybe something else."
They hugged. All three of them. A proper, tight hug, like family.
"We won't lose touch, will we?" Irina asked, a hint of her old fear in her voice.
"Not a chance," Lena patted her shoulder. "We’ve got the group chat. And the keys to Vlad’s car. If life gets boring, we can always head to that car park and look for trouble."
"Just no more bathhouses, please," Nelli requested.
"No bathhouses," Lena promised.
Nelli ran off to Roland’s car. He stepped out to meet her—massive and bearded—but opened the door with such tenderness, as if she were made of glass. He waved to Lena and Irina and quickly hopped back behind the wheel. Irina headed for the Tube, looking back for a final wave.
Lena stood on the pavement alone, breathing in the cold autumn air. In her coat pocket, her fingers found the fob. The little plush coffin.
She smiled. Life went on. And now she knew for certain: even if you’re an accountant in a grey office, there might always be a Titan sleeping inside. The trick is knowing when to wake it up.
Lena turned and marched toward her car, her heels clicking against the wet tarmac. Not in stiletto boots, but ordinary ones. Yet her stride remained the same—the stride of a winner.
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Volume 2? Something tells me the Administrator isn't quite finished with his bug-fixing just yet.
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