A mild breeze passed through the quiet forested ridge just outside Hardalen, where pine trees swayed with soft rustles and clouds rolled gently above. Amidst the serenity of Norway's summer wilds, chaos was—once again—brewing in the most absurd of forms.
Bengt Allamann trudged along the mossy path with an annoyed expression, his posture far too upright for someone whose day had begun with yet another failed quest.
Trailing behind him, a slightly out-of-breath Elias Skoggåsen clutched a thermos in one hand and a folded map in the other.
"You know," Elias huffed, "it looked like a fox to me."
Bengt stopped walking, turned slowly, adjusted his scarf like a dramatic noble, and responded with measured clarity—
"Indeed it may have looked a fox,
but rules are rules—this game has locks."
Elias snorted instantly.
"Dude—what?"
Bengt sighed with tragic flair.
"The curse, my dear Elias, is quite refined,
for every word must now be rhymed.
I failed my quest, the terms were set,
and now I rhyme without regret."
Elias burst into laughter, nearly spilling his coffee.
"Okay okay okay—this is both the funniest and most unfortunate consequence yet."
Bengt turned, resuming his march with his head held high.
"You laugh, and yet I live this pain,
a noble mind, now rhymed and chained."
"Pfft! You sound like a posh theatre kid."
"Uncultured youth, you jest and mock,
while I must speak as if by clock.
For every phrase and every cry,
a rhyme must follow, else I… sigh."
Elias chuckled again, but there was a twinge of guilt in his voice.
"Still… sucks that the last item didn't count. You really tried."
Bengt turned briefly, this time with softened eyes.
"Intent was pure, my aim was just,
but quests, dear friend, are void of trust.
They test, they twist, and when you fail—
the price is strange… or sheer travail."
They paused at a clearing with a wooden signpost. Elias unfolded the paper again.
"Alright. This time the quest says you have to gather three objects tied to 'emotional echoes.' Whatever that means."
Bengt blinked.
"Emotions trapped in solid things?
Like songs in shells or wedding rings?"
Elias gave a slow, impressed nod.
"Hey, that's actually not a bad interpretation."
"A poet still, despite this curse.
Though every rhyme just makes it worse."
Elias finally stopped laughing, his smile more genuine now.
"Don't worry, man. We'll figure it out.
You keep rhyming—I'll do the logic."
The two pressed onward through the trees, one with a map, the other with poetic misery.
Their strange journey continued—with one cursed by words, and the other still haunted by a dream of reconciliation.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
Bjørnevika Hero Academy – Classroom 1-A
August 1st, 08:46
The atmosphere in Room 1-A was already alive with chatter and energy, as several students—both familiar and new—filled in their desks and tested the waters of camaraderie.
At the back near the windows, Arvid Nilsen was enthusiastically showing off his digital interface to Jens Solvang, who nodded with equal parts interest and suspicion.
"So you can literally buy a mech arm from this 'Digital Market' of yours?" Jens asked.
"If the system gives it to me? Absolutely," Arvid replied, tapping the invisible UI that only he could see. "Last night, I got a tactical lamp that emits ultraviolet light. No idea why, but hey—maybe vampires."
Liv Einarsen sat sideways in her seat nearby, a few black prehensile tentacles gently wrapping around her arm like ribbons. She stared at the classroom entrance, not paying much attention to the discussion.
Across the room, Magnus Kristoffersen, relaxed but internally calculating, was casually sketching a new treasure design in his notebook. Halvor Knutsen, meanwhile, stood silently near the window, eyes scanning the sky with quiet reverence.
Nadia Fekete, with an ever-so-slight scowl, was having a hushed debate with Thea Wergeland over whether or not S.Q.D.C. students should be allowed to train on campus.
"If they're so dangerous, why are they even in the same school?" Nadia muttered.
"Because danger's just a matter of control," Thea responded calmly.
Egil Huseby and Solveig Dyreland were seated closer to the front, already flipping through the introductory manuals given out that morning.
The class doors slid open with a soft swish, and a presence stomped in with the thudding authority of an ancient legend.
A tall, large-bellied teenager with a proud beard, an armored backpack shaped like a forge kit, and a cape trailing behind him announced his entrance.
"Lo! For the Son of Thunder has ARRIVED."
Heads turned. Several blinks followed.
Thor—yes, that was his name—walked to his desk in the corner and slammed down a literal steel hammer, which dented the desk slightly.
"Forgive the minor destruction. She is… temperamental."
"Please tell me he doesn't talk like that all the time," muttered Nadia.
"I'm gonna like him," grinned Arvid.
Following him was a shorter, wiry teen with sunken eyes, a sharp nose, and an air of mild annoyance. He clutched a thermos and sipped milk through a metal straw.
"Reik, transfer student from Northern Germany," he announced tersely. "I manipulate bone. No, I don't like it. Yes, I drink milk."
He sat in the back corner without further comment.
"I love this class already," whispered Magnus with a grin.
Then came a boy with neatly combed dark hair, carrying a neck pillow, and looking far too awake for someone so obsessed with sleep hygiene.
"Joakim Langfjord," he said calmly. "If I don't get my full 9 hours, I don't shoot straight. Literally."
He showed his right arm, which shifted into a sleek bow mechanism with notched arrows forming from quirk energy.
"I will not spar after 10 PM. Non-negotiable."
Immediately behind him was another Joakim—this one shorter, sharper-eyed, and exuding a slightly eerie stillness.
"Joakim Konstabel. Age: 17. And… forever 17."
"What does that even mean?" asked Liv.
"Quirk: Age Stop," he responded. "If I die a hero, maybe I'll be reborn a legend."
Everyone gave him a generous two-seat radius of space.
A sudden dice clink echoed in the air.
"A natural 17. That means my seat will be next to someone who talks too much."
The voice belonged to Hjördis Gardner, a confident Swedish girl with lavender eyes and a satchel that appeared way too fantasy-themed for a hero school.
"Quirk: Dice Roller," she said as she sat beside Jens. "My dice decides everything. If I fail, blame fate."
"Do you… see the dice?" he asked.
"Yes. And she's judging you."
Sliding into the class last was a nimble-looking girl with steel-sharp posture and a sneer meant for children.
"Annbjørg Klytios Sørensen. No, I don't like kids. Yes, I know I'm in a hero school."
She flipped her red scarf dramatically.
"Quirk: Deep Elemental Connection. Fire, Water, Earth, Wind, Light, and Darkness. I can feel them all."
"So basically a walking RPG?" Arvid whispered to Solveig.
"And I hate RPGs," she added, overhearing. "Too many children playing them."
She glared at him for good measure.
Bjørnevika Hero Academy – Classroom 1-A
August 1st, 09:12
The final wave of students filed into the classroom just as the clock ticked past nine. Eyes turned once again as the noise settled into a curious hush.
Magdalena Gunnarsen entered with a jerky gait and a wary look, her fingers twitching like they were ready to summon something at the first sign of betrayal.
"Hi. I'm Magdalena. If I suddenly crawl under my desk, that means I think someone's watching me. Don't worry, it's probably just me."
A couple of awkward chuckles followed. She sighed in relief.
"I do comedy when I panic. Also, my quirk is Gold Manipulation. Gold's heavy and pretty. Like anxiety."
As she sat down next to Magnus Kristoffersen, she gave him a side glance.
"Treasure Forge, right? I read the files."
"Yeah. And… thanks?" Magnus said cautiously.
"Nice quirk," she muttered. "Marry me. I mean—uh—nevermind."
Next came Tiril Nordby, a lean, bookish girl with sharp eyes and a headband marked with small celestial patterns.
"Tiril. I can draw anything into the air, and it becomes real for five minutes. As long as it's no bigger than a dog."
She held up a finger, then quickly scribbled a shape in the air—out appeared a floating coffee mug. It evaporated five seconds later.
"I call it Sketch Cast. It's cooler than it sounds."
Then strolled in Leander Stuve, with an aloof demeanor and a guitar strapped to his back.
"Leander. My quirk lets me store actions I do and play them back later. Think of it like… an action loop. I punched the air this morning. Can punch someone now with that same force, even if I'm tired."
"Like a move replay?" asked Joakim Langfjord.
"Exactly," he nodded.
Fourth was Asta Kvamme, tall and tomboyish, who had a scar over one eyebrow and the rough attitude of someone raised in a martial arts dojo.
"I don't like small talk. Quirk: 'Steel Skin.' It activates under emotional stress. You won't see it unless you make me mad. Don't try."
She then sat beside Reik, who barely acknowledged her. Perfect seating symmetry.
And finally, the quietest student so far: Yuki Nakamura, a transfer student from Japan who bowed politely before entering.
"My quirk is 'Snow Veil.' I create layers of cold mist that can harden like walls or stay foggy to obscure vision. I prefer to stay out of sight."
The class took her gentle presence in respectfully.
Just as conversations were beginning to take shape across clusters of desks, the door slid open again—this time revealing someone tall, glowing with charisma and energy.
A man in his early 30s, tanned and dressed like he just stepped out of a hip outdoor gear commercial, walked in with a megawatt smile.
"Maximus Lightford! Your new homeroom teacher!" he declared, placing a thermos on the desk with dramatic flair. "You can call me Max, Lightford-sensei, or just 'Sir Coolness.' I'll accept any of those."
"What's your quirk?" someone in the back asked.
Lightford raised his hand—and black, paint-like liquid dripped from his fingertips, swirling into a ball before hardening like glossy obsidian. The light in the room dimmed slightly.
"Quirk's called Shadowpaint. It absorbs light into a dense fluid form, then lets me manipulate the light particles inside. I can harden it like concrete or use it to dim or bend light."
He spun the orb into the air and caught it like a yo-yo.
"Now! First—yes, we'll cover a bunch of boring orientation stuff this morning. But don't worry! After lunch, we're doing a joint exercise with the S.Q.D.C. class."
That got the room's attention.
"You'll be working with them in a simulation exercise. So I want your brains warm and your legs limber. This afternoon is not for the faint of heart."
The class buzzed with excitement, confusion, and a few visible nerves.
Meanwhile...
Room S.Q.D.C. – South Training Field
While Class 1-A bathed in orientation energy, the students of S.Q.D.C. were still deep in control drills.
Harald Storstein, their quiet, imposing teacher, watched silently from the training deck as each student ran through their personal exercises.
Alrik Vagle navigated through an obstacle course using sound and were tasked at hitting some targets far away with his laser vision without missing the targets.
Oda Mørk moved carefully through rune symbols etched in chalk, communicating only through gestures—her presence still captivated Laurick every time she moved.
Laurick, meanwhile, stood in silence inside a stress-replication zone: an isolation pod that simulated stressful scenarios through voice playback and visual hallucinations. His goal wasn't to fight… just to stay calm.
He clenched his fists as audio hallucinations echoed around him:
"Monster…"
"Skandevik…"
"He's dangerous…"
"Stay away…"
But his pulse stayed steady. Barely.
Harald noted it silently in his datapad.
"Improving," he murmured. "But not there yet."
As the day moved forward, two very different classes prepared for a test that would bring them together—ready or not.
Somewhere in the Mountain Passes between Dausa and Ålfjord
The steady crunch of boots against gravel broke the otherwise peaceful quiet of the sloped valley path. The sun was already tipping westward, casting long shadows over the distant fjords as two familiar figures made their way up a narrow trail surrounded by pine trees, rock outcrops, and patches of lingering summer snow.
Elias Skoggåsen led the way, map folded under one arm and a suspicious bottle of berry soda in hand. Behind him, Bengt Allamann followed—looking particularly exhausted, both from the climb and from the incessant compulsion to rhyme with every sentence he spoke.
"This path is long, this climb is steep,
I'd rather take a break and sleep…"
Elias groaned and turned around with a half-smile.
"I swear, if you keep rhyming like that, I'll start talking in haiku just to match the vibe."
Bengt gave him a side glance, his expression annoyed but helpless.
"I cannot stop, you know the curse,
My mouth's a poem—an endless verse."
Elias chuckled, though it was tempered by a layer of guilt. They'd come close—so close—to completing the last quest, but the bizarre criteria the magic system imposed had tripped them up at the final step. The "Quest Curse" struck once again.
This time, the consequence was absurdly poetic.
Bengt Allamann, the once-proud solo wanderer, was now cursed to speak like a bard at all times.
"It's okay," Elias said, wiping some sweat from his brow. "At least your voice sounds classy now."
Bengt paused and lifted his nose.
"A gentleman, cursed though I be,
I'll still outshine you verbally."
"Okay, that one actually hurt a little."
They stopped at a clearing and laid out a quick campfire meal. As Elias unpacked some rations, he glanced toward Bengt, who sat cross-legged and began studying their next weekly quest, which shimmered on the holographic-like parchment that appeared via his quirk.
Quest Objective:
Retrieve a lost artifact buried in the ruins of a forgotten lodge.
Time Remaining: 5 Days, 12 Hours.
Consequence for Failure: Emotional Reversal.
Temporary Granted Ability:"Limb Growth – External Projection"
Elias raised a brow. "Wait—Emotional Reversal? That sounds… bad."
Bengt sighed deeply and read aloud.
"Your love turns hate, your joy becomes pain,
if you fail this task—you go insane."
Elias didn't laugh this time. He sat up straighter and looked at his friend seriously.
"We have to complete this one."
Bengt nodded. Though his curse made his life difficult, this one felt truly dangerous. Losing control of his emotional state? It could lead to disaster.
"And the ability?" Elias asked.
Bengt stretched out his hand—and from the surface of the nearby rock, a fully-formed human arm burst out.
Elias jumped back with a yelp.
"DUDE?!"
"Relax—it's the new gift.
I now grow limbs. From walls. Or cliffs."
He demonstrated again, placing his hand on a tree. This time, a wooden hand—mirroring his own—sprouted from the bark and waved at them.
Elias blinked.
"That's… horrifying. And also kind of amazing."
"A power strange, but oddly right,
We'll need it soon, before next night."
As the wind howled between the trees, the duo packed up and began their descent toward the ancient lodge ruins referenced in the quest. They were still two days' travel from it—if nothing strange happened along the way.
Elias stared into the golden-orange sunset ahead, clutching the map and walking stick tighter.
"Let's not mess this one up, Bengt."
"This time we win I say with pride,
Or madness waits on the other side." Bengt said.