CHAPTER 102: CHAPTER 102: THE PILLOW THAT BROKE THE SCRYNET.

On the night of the broadcast, my dungeon felt like a fortress of quiet, nervous energy. The usual flood of tourists had gone, the portal to the arena sealed for the evening. My team gathered in the main lobby, waiting anxiously for the show to begin.

But there was one problem and possibly the most ridiculous problem we had ever faced.

FaeLina, who was hovering near the ceiling and completely invisible to their guest, was in the throes of a full-blown managerial meltdown. "How in the world are we supposed to watch our own show?!" she wailed, her voice climbing into a high-pitched register that only stressed-out fairies and very small dogs could appreciate. "The main portal is closed! We don’t even have a proper Scry-Screen! How are we supposed to monitor our precious brand exposure?!"

The team, hearing her frantic complaints, exchanged uneasy glances as the panic sank in. Horror dawned on all of them at once. They couldn’t watch their own show.

From his corner, Dungeon-Dive Dave set down his teacup, amused by the ripple of alarm spreading across the room. He saw Gilda’s frown deepen, Pip go pale, and even Kaelen’s polishing grow almost violent. Rising with an easy grin, Dave strolled toward them.

"Having a bit of trouble, are we?" he chuckled, his tone more playful than scolding. "Come on now, you can’t be the stars of the most anticipated television special of the year if you can’t even watch it, now can you?"

With an easy flourish, Dave reached into his bag and drew out a small, gleaming silver orb. Its surface shimmered with intricate runes, each one glowing faintly as though eager to show off. It looked absurdly expensive.

"This," he declared, holding it aloft with obvious pride, "is the Scry-Orb 5000—my personal, top-of-the-line, portable broadcast unit. A little gift from the Guild, for being their favorite influencer."

He tossed the orb into the center of the room. It hovered in the air for a moment, and then a beam of pure, white light shot out, projecting a massive, shimmering, three-dimensional image of the Royal ScryNet broadcast right in the middle of our lobby. It was like a magical hologram, currently showing a very dramatic commercial for dwarven battle-axes.

"Now," Dave said, taking a seat in a plush armchair and putting his feet up, "let’s see what kind of terrible, but wonderful masterpiece we’ve created."

The team gathered around the strange, floating screen, their faces a mix of awe and pure dread. Pip was already hiding under a table, peeking out with one eye. Gilda just stood with her arms crossed, her expression was a mask of grim resignation.

And Zazu, true to form, was already dozing in his armchair, lulled to sleep by the soothing sounds of axe-sharpening in the commercial.

FaeLina was in a blur of pure, anxious motion, zipping back and forth in front of the holographic image. ’This is it, Mochi,’ she fretted, her psychic voice a high-pitched buzz of pure stress. ’Our prime-time debut. The culmination of all my hard work. And it’s going to be ten minutes of a pillow. I think I’m going to be sick.’

The commercials finally ended. The screen went dark for a moment, and then the title card for the special appeared in big, friendly letters: ’Hearth & Lair: A Tour of Cores’. And with that the show began.

Dungeon-Dive Dave’s face appeared on the screen, but his voice was a pained, gravelly whisper that was like a pale imitation of his usual booming voice. "Here we are," he murmured, "in the heart of the most talked-about dungeon in the kingdom... The Comfy Corner. A place of peace... of tranquility... and of... many, many cushions."

The next twenty minutes were a masterclass in professional suffering. The holographic image showed a series of long, lingering, and completely silent shots of various inanimate objects. A teacup. A patch of moss. A sleeping Dust Bunny. Dave did his best to narrate the thrilling scene with a pained whisper.

"That’s my favorite teacup," Pip whispered from under the table, a note of strange pride in his voice. "Kaelen polished it for a whole hour yesterday."

"And here," Dave murmured dramatically, as the camera-orb did a slow, dramatic pan across a cushion pile, "we have... a truly magnificent example of textile arrangement. Note the strategic fluffiness... the exceptional softness. A true masterpiece of dungeon design."

Gilda just grunted, a sound that was half-scoff, half-laugh as Dave’s pained narration tried to make a cushion pile sound like a dramatic and thrilling discovery. "He’s trying so hard," she muttered. "You almost have to respect it."

Finally, it was time for the grand finale. The main event.

"And now, for our final segment," Dave whispered, his voice taking on an almost religious tone. "As per the Core’s personal request... ten uninterrupted minutes... of ’The Pillow’."

The screen cut to a single, unedited, and completely silent shot of the perfect, dream-essence pillow I had manifested on the pedestal. The ten-minute countdown timer appeared in the corner of the screen.

(A Tavern in the Capital City)

In a crowded tavern called "The Drunken Dragon," the atmosphere was loud and rowdy. A group of off-duty adventurers were gathered around the public Scry-Screen, their mugs of ale clanking together as they argued loudly about the upcoming Grand Finals.

"The Obsidian Forge will crush them!" one of them, a burly dwarf with a braided beard, roared over the din. "The Blood Pit’s demon-dog is all bark and no bite!"

"Silence!" another patron hissed from a nearby table. "The weird dungeon show is starting!"

A collective groan went through the tavern as the special began. But as Dungeon-Dive Dave’s pained, whispered narration filled the room, a strange thing began to happen. The arguments died down. The clanking of mugs softened. And when the final, ten-minute shot of the pillow appeared on the screen, a pillow so soft it seemed to glow faintly, its fabric shimmering like moonlight. A deep, profound quietness settled over the entire, rowdy tavern. The only sound was the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth.

"What is this nonsense?" the burly dwarf grumbled into his ale, though his voice was now a confused murmur instead of a roar. "It’s just a pillow. I came here to watch a proper dungeon show, with traps and monsters!"

"Shhh," his companion, a tired-looking human rogue, hissed, his eyes glued to the screen. "I’m trying to watch."

The dwarf grumbled again, but fell silent. One minute passed. Then two. The dwarf, who had been ready for a fight, now just felt... a bit sleepy. His eyelids felt heavy. He let out a huge yawn that was so powerful it made his beard wiggle.

The rogue beside him was already slumped over the table, his head resting on his arms, a soft snore escaping from his nose.

Throughout the tavern, and throughout the entire kingdom, a strange, magical wave of sleepiness was spreading. People who had gathered for an exciting prime-time special were now yawning, stretching, and quietly nodding off in their chairs, lulled into a state of blissful, unintended peace by a picture of a pillow.

(The King’s Private Solar - The Royal Castle)

While the kingdom was being lulled into a collective, magical slumber, the three most powerful figures in the tournament were in the middle of a very serious, high-level meeting.

King Caspian, Duke Valerius, and High Adjudicator Thistlewick were gathered in the King’s private solar, a warm, comfortable room with a crackling fire and a large map of the kingdom spread out on a heavy oak table.

They were discussing security arrangements for the upcoming Grand Finals between the Obsidian Forge and the Blood Pit.

"...and I insist that we double the Royal Guard presence," Thistlewick was grumbling, his finger stabbing at the map. "If Vorlag unleashes his demon-hounds in the middle of the arena, the standard containment runes will not be sufficient."

"Thistlewick is right," Duke Valerius said, his voice a low murmur of concern. "A final between those two will be a brutal affair. The crowd’s safety must be our top priority."

The King just sighed, a look of profound boredom on his face. "Yes, yes, runes and guards and safety, very important," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "But what about the entertainment? A simple brawl between a lava monster and a dog is so... predictable."

Just as Thistlewick was about to explode in a puff of dwarven fury, a nervous-looking Royal Aide knocked and entered the room, bowing low.

"Your Majesty," the aide stammered, "my apologies for the interruption, but... something is happening on the ScryNet. Something... unusual. We thought you should be aware."

The King’s eyes lit up with a familiar, chaotic glee. "Unusual, you say? Excellent! Put it on the screen!"

The aide nodded and activated a large, beautifully framed Scry-Screen on the wall.

The screen flickered to life, showing not a battle or a news report, but a single, unedited, and completely silent shot of a very, very comfortable-looking pillow.

The three powerful men just stared.

Duke Valerius was the first to react. He just shook his head, a fond, disbelieving smile on his face. "Of course," he murmured to himself. "It had to be our little rock."

Thistlewick’s face went from confused, to angry, and then to a shade of thunderous purple that was truly impressive. "He’s... he’s broadcasting a pillow," the dwarf whispered in disbelief. "This is an insult to the very concept of broadcasting!"

But The King was not angry. He was leaning forward, his eyes wide with a look of pure, analytical fascination as he watched the magical energy readings that only he could see.

"Thistlewick, you’re not seeing it!" he murmured, a note of genuine awe in his voice.

"It’s not just a picture of a pillow. He’s embedding his magic into the ScryNet signal itself! He’s broadcasting tranquility to the entire kingdom!"

He leaned back, a slow, impressed grin spreading across his face. "The broadcast isn’t just boring, my friend," he finally said, his voice full of a deep, appreciative respect. "It’s magically, powerfully, and aggressively boring."

(The Comfy Corner)

The ten-minute timer on the holographic screen finally hit zero. The image of the single, perfect pillow vanished, and the screen went dark.

A heavy, awkward silence fell over the lobby, thick with the smell of chamomile tea and shattered careers.

FaeLina just hovered in the air, her face a mask of pure, defeated horror. "Well," she said, her voice a tiny, hollow squeak that barely carried across the room. "That was... certainly a show."

Pip, who had been hiding under a table, let out a small, hopeless whimper. Gilda just grunted, a sound of pure, unfiltered disgust.

Dungeon-Dive Dave, ever the professional, tried to put a positive spin on the unmitigated disaster. "It was... avant-garde!" he declared, his voice full of a forced, brittle cheerfulness.

"The critics will... have a lot to say."

But just as he was speaking, a golden notification shimmered into existence on the now-dark holographic screen for the whole team to see. It was an official message from the Royal ScryNet Guild.

FaeLina’s eyes went wide. She read the first line, her voice a disbelieving whisper.

[Congratulations on the premiere of ’Hearth & Lair’!]

"...Congratulations?" she squeaked. She read the next line, her voice trembling with a new, wild hope.

[Viewership Rating: The highest in the history of the ScryNet.]

"Highest... viewership... in history?" she repeated, her voice climbing with every word.

[Audience Feedback: Overwhelmingly... ’rested’.]

"Rested?!" she shrieked, her aura exploding into a brilliant, triumphant pink. "Mochi, we did it! We’re a hit! We’re the most popular, most well-rested show in the kingdom!"

But then, she read the last line.

[A formal inquiry from the Royal Mages’ Guild will be arriving in the morning to discuss the ’unprecedented soporific properties’ of your broadcast.]

Her triumphant cheer died in her throat. Her brilliant pink aura instantly fizzled back to a dim, worried lavender. Her managerial brain pivoted from pure joy to a new and even more terrifying kind of panic.

"A formal inquiry?!" she squeaked, her voice now a whisper of pure terror. "From the Mages’ Guild?! Mochi, they’re going to audit our magic! They’re going to look at the books! The magical books! This is a disaster!"

’I told you,’ I projected calmly, my own core humming with a quiet, unshakeable satisfaction. ’It’s not a TV show, FaeLina. It’s a sleep aid.’

__________

Author’s Note:

And the most boring TV special in history is a massive, unprecedented success! Mochi didn’t just bore the kingdom; he put them to sleep with the sheer, overwhelming power of his coziness.

I love the idea that his magic is so powerful it can be broadcast through the ScryNet. He’s not just a dungeon; he’s a living, breathing nap-delivery system, and the entire kingdom just got a free sample.

The scene in the tavern is one of my favorites. A bunch of tough adventurers, ready for a fight, just getting lulled to sleep by a picture of a pillow.

But now he’s got the attention of the Royal Mages’ Guild. They’re not angry; they’re curious. And a group of powerful, academic wizards being curious about your unique, reality-bending magic is probably much, much worse than them being angry. Thanks for reading!