Yes, phone!
"WHAT THE HELL?!"
My phone sat innocently on the bed. The same phone I had been holding in the forest. The same one that showed me gods and stars and phantom warriors like some RPG trailer from hell.
I stared at it like it might explode.
Then I grabbed it and hurled it across the room.
It hit the wall with a crack, bounced off, and fell behind the couch.
Good. Dead. Gone.
I walked over, still shaking, heart pounding like a broken engine.
It was whole.
Not just whole. Not a single scratch.
The screen lit up.
Hello, Divine.
"Nope. Nope nope nope nope nope."
I smashed it again. With a chair this time.
Same result. Repaired in seconds.
I microwaved it.
Ding. It was fine.
I threw it into the toilet. It buzzed. I flushed it. It reappeared on my kitchen counter, bone-dry and smug.
I curled up on the floor, clutching my knees like a rejected protagonist.
"This isn't happening. This is some elaborate prank. Hidden cameras. That guy from the prank shows is going to pop out any second now. Right?"
Nothing.
My phone beeped again.
I didn't look.
Instead, I made breakfast like a man in deep denial. The kind of denial that turns burnt toast into a coping mechanism.
"Okay," I told the pan as the eggs sizzled. "We're not panicking. We're cooking. Normal people cook. People who haven't just gotten dropkicked into a magical death forest."
I flipped the egg. It landed half on the pan, half on the burner. Sizzling betrayal.
"Alright. That's fine. That's symbolic. My life's a little off-center right now."
The toast popped up. Blackened. Charcoal chic.
I poured myself a mug of instant coffee and took a sip. Bitter. Like my mood. Perfect.
I stood there in my tiny kitchen, staring at my Very Sad Breakfast™, and muttered, "Maybe I dreamed the whole thing. Maybe that starlight god-spirit crap was just sleep deprivation. Or a hallucination. Or both. Definitely too much caffeine. Or mold. Maybe there's mold in this condo."
My phone vibrated on the counter.
I glared at it like it owed me money.
"You shut up."
It vibrated again. A single, cheerful buzz. Taunting.
I picked up the plate and sat at the table, eating like someone trying to win an Oscar for "Best Pretending Everything's Fine."
The silence was loud. The kind of loud that lets existential dread creep in like a slow fog.
Every now and then I'd glance at the phone, expecting it to burst into flames or start chanting in Latin.
That forest. The floating status window.
Too vivid. Too real.
My fork hovered mid-air.
How the hell was I supposed to explain this to anyone?
"Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad. So, I think I've been conscripted into an interdimensional god war. Yeah. No, not a game. Like… actually. But it's cool, I got kicked back to my couch before things got stabby. Oh, and my phone is possibly alive now. Yeah. Anyway, how's the dog?"
I sighed and shoved another bite of egg in my mouth.
Then I did what every emotionally unstable person does when life falls apart: I cleaned.
Dishes? Washed.
Counter? Wiped.
Floor? Swept, twice.
Boxes? Gone.
I even rearranged the condiments in my fridge by alphabetical order because I needed to believe I still had control over something.
After the cleaning frenzy, I hit the shower. Hot water. Soap. Shampoo that smelled like overpriced citrus. I scrubbed myself like I could exfoliate the trauma off.
"Just a dream," I muttered, rinsing. "A very vivid, terrifying, possibly prophetic dream."
I got out, dried off, changed into clean clothes—sweats and a hoodie, because mentally I was still curled up in the fetal position—and even sprayed deodorant like I was about to meet the Pope.
"Look at me," I told my reflection. "Functioning adult. Definitely not losing his mind."
I grabbed my backpack, shoved in some essentials—wallet, keys, emergency chocolate bar—and glanced at my phone still sitting on the kitchen counter.
I left it there.
Screw it. I wasn't touching that cursed rectangle until it apologized.
I slung the bag over my shoulder, took one deep breath, and opened the door.
Freedom.
But just as I stepped out—
Buzz.
I froze.
My hand instinctively went to my pocket.
Why was it in my pocket?
I left it on the counter.
Slowly, like I was defusing a bomb, I pulled it out.
The screen was on. A notification blinked at me.
[Tip]: Do not let others know a Divine is a human. They will know. And they will kill. And they will devour. Your home. Your planet. You.
"...Cool. Coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool."
I stood there in the hallway, gripping the phone with fingers that had gone clammy.
"Yup," I croaked. "Totally fine. This is totally fine."