The shuttle streaked through the amber-gold veil surrounding Buddies Headquarters, cutting into the shimmering plane like a knife slipping into silk. The veil parted around the vessel, sealing again behind it with a soft ripple—no alarms, no shockwaves. HQ recognized its Director.
It always did.
Jimmy stood in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, trying to look dignified while Bumble buzzed happily in circles around his ankles like a metal toddler with enthusiasm issues. The cosmic bureaucrat wore the same expression he'd worn for the past six millennia: a mix of exhaustion, irritation, and mild disappointment in the state of the multiverse.
Headquarters hovered in its pocket realm like a fortress-temple assembled from equations, logic, and folded space. Towers spiraled upward beyond physical geometry. Walkways looped through hidden dimensions. Administration wings floated in perfectly balanced orbit around the central atrium that glowed with pale gold—the heart of the Bureau.
Jimmy inhaled deeply as he stepped through the shimmering archway that served as the Director's Gate.
"Home again," he muttered. "Smells like paperwork."
A dozen staffers straightened instantly at the sight of him. Some saluted. Some panicked. One fainted. All standard reactions.
"Director Whiffle!" a young officer blurted. "We—it's—Bones—sir—we—!"
"NO shouting," Jimmy said, wagging a finger. "You'll wrinkle the timelines."
The officer clamped his mouth shut. Bumble rolled forward and patted him encouragingly with a sparking limb.
Jimmy waved a hand. "Resume whatever vital tasks you were bungling before I arrived. I need coffee and exactly eight minutes of denial before I read the catastrophe reports."
He made his way through the halls—past administrative divisions, star charts, dimensional monitors—until he reached a familiar doorway etched with runes of rank and authority.
DIRECTOR'S OFFICE
AUTHORIZED ACCESS ONLY
(Please knock. He hates surprises.)
Jimmy paused at the door.
"Alright," he whispered. "Let's get through the next crisis with minimal screaming."
He pushed it open.
Someone was already in his chair.
Legs crossed. Hat tilted forward. Arms folded.
Sedge Hat.
Jimmy froze mid-step.
The air in the office changed. The lights dimmed, not from power failure, but because reality itself hesitated. Bumble stopped spinning and let out a confused chirp.
Jimmy's voice, when it came, was not comedic, frantic, or overwhelmed.
It was cold.
"You killed Danny's families."
Sedge Hat didn't flinch.
Jimmy stepped forward, cosmic static rippling at his heels. Time wavered for a half-second before stabilizing—his control was that precise.
"Not once," Jimmy continued, "not twice—every single time he tried to build a home. Every time he found peace. Every time he found people who loved him."
The walls flickered. Papers stirred in a sudden wind that came from nowhere and everywhere.
"You murdered them all."
Sedge Hat slowly lifted his head.
His voice wasn't light, or mocking, or mischievous. It was aged stone cracking under weight.
"Jimmy," he said quietly, "you already know the reason."
"Oh, DO I?" Jimmy snapped. "Because from my vantage point it looks like you traumatized the boy repeatedly! For DECADES!"
Sedge Hat stood.
But he didn't stand like the sly trickster who had mocked warriors and danced between shadows. He stood with the posture of someone who had once carried far more than a hat and a smirk.
"Then hear it plainly," Sedge Hat said.
He removed his hat.
Underneath, his eyes glowed not with mischief, but ancient, violet grief.
"My name… is Eryndor Vaelric."
Jimmy stopped.
Like truly stopped—motion, breathing, aura, all freezing as though time itself held its breath.
"…No," Jimmy whispered. "You're dead. Your world is dead."
Eryndor's jaw trembled once. "Yes. Because Bones made it so."
Jimmy staggered back into his desk, bracing himself as memories from millennia flickered—reports, old wars, older warnings.
Eryndor began to speak.
He didn't shout, or plead. He simply told the truth.
"I was king of Vaelros. A world built on duty. Our charge: to guard the prison of Bones, sealed by the Golden Dragons long before either of us was born."
The office shifted. For a moment Jimmy smelled scorched earth—echoes of a world long gone.
"We did not choose this burden," Eryndor continued. "The Golden Dragons created Bones as a counter to themselves… then feared him. They trapped him. And then they left."
Jimmy closed his eyes. He knew this history. Knew the cowardice of older cosmic eras.
"I was summoned to a galactic council meeting," Eryndor said, voice tightening. "Gone only seven days. My son—the pride of my life—waited at the edge of the sealing platform."
Jimmy's cosmic aura dimmed. He knew where this was going.
"Bones spoke to him," Eryndor whispered, pain turning his words brittle. "Not with power. With lies. With promises. My boy broke one seal."
Green flame flickered across the room like a phantom.
"And Bones escaped."
Jimmy's hands shook.
"By the time I returned…"
Eryndor swallowed.
"…there was nothing left of Vaelros. Not my son. Not my queen. Not my kingdom. Not a single living being."
Jimmy gripped his desk so hard it cracked.
"You poor man," he whispered, voice breaking through fury into something more human, more ancient.
Eryndor's eyes sharpened—not with vengeance, but righteous devastation.
"Bones slaughtered everything I ever loved. And the Golden Dragons—the ones responsible for his existence—were nowhere."
He looked at Jimmy with haunted clarity.
"They abandoned their creation. They left US to die for their mistakes."
Jimmy sank into his chair.
Eryndor continued.
"So I hunted their remnants. Those who still carried the lineage. I found hatchlings. Strays. Carriers of creation who might grow into something capable of stopping the cycle."
He looked down, hands trembling just slightly.
"When I found Danny… he was kind. Gentle. Naïve. A boy who wanted peace."
He shut his eyes.
"And peace does not prepare one to confront destruction."
Jimmy's voice was barely audible. "So you killed his families."
"I forced him," Eryndor corrected, pain dripping like poison. "To FEEL destruction. To understand it. To know loss so deeply that he could wield both sides of the cycle."
He met Jimmy's gaze.
"Because creation without responsibility becomes negligence. And destruction without counterbalance becomes Bones."
Jimmy pressed his palms over his face.
"You broke him," he whispered.
Eryndor nodded. "I know."
"You made him think he was cursed."
"I know."
"You shattered every good thing he built."
"I know."
Jimmy slammed his fist into the desk, cosmic energy rattling the walls.
"But Danny isn't his ancestors, Eryndor! He isn't the Golden Dragons who abandoned the universe! He didn't create Bones!"
Eryndor's voice cracked.
"Neither did my son deserve his fate."
Silence.
Raw, heavy, searing.
Jimmy finally lowered his hands, eyes redder than they should have been for a cosmic entity.
"So what now?" he asked quietly. "You expect forgiveness?"
"No," Eryndor said. "I expect consequences. I always have."
He opened his hands, palms upward, ready for restraints, seals, or cosmic judgment.
Jimmy stared at him for a long, timeless moment.
Finally, he exhaled.
"We can't punish you yet," he muttered. "Not with Bones active. Not with Danny untrained. Not with the multiverse this unstable."
Eryndor bowed his head.
Jimmy leaned back in his chair, exhausted in ways even celestial beings could feel.
"But you WILL tell Danny the truth," he said. "Someday."
Eryndor hesitated.
"Yes," he said. "When he is strong enough not to break again… or when Bones forces the moment."
Jimmy rubbed his eyes. "I hate cosmic destiny. Every prophecy comes with paperwork."
Eryndor managed the faintest, sorrow-tinged smile.
Jimmy sighed and pulled out a form.
"Fine. Sit down. You're helping me draft a threat-assessment matrix."
Eryndor blinked. "You… want my help?"
"No," Jimmy snapped. "I NEED it. There's a difference."
Bumble beeped approvingly, hopping into Jimmy's lap.
Jimmy shoved a datapad into Eryndor's hands. "Start with the section labeled 'Galactic Omnicidal Skeleton Men.'"
Eryndor stared. "There's more than one?"
"Don't get me started," Jimmy groaned.
Outside the office window, reality rippled faintly—Danny's training beginning, Bones' shadow inching closer, the cycle of creation and destruction readying its next confrontation.
Inside, the King of Ash and the Eternal Bureaucrat began writing a report that might save existence itself.
Or doom it.
Time would decide.
And for once, Jimmy didn't try to stop it.