The problem with saving the universe is that nobody tells you about the paperwork that follows.
Elara Vance stood behind the counter of the Meow & Bow, staring at a stack of documents that was taller than Ignis in his chihuahua form. The paper wasn't magical parchment. It wasn't a glowing hologram. It was standard, beige, soul-crushing A4 paper.
"Zoning violation," Elara read aloud, her eye twitching. "Section 4, Paragraph 2: 'Operating a Class-5 Wizard Tower in a Residential Zone'."
She looked out the window. The Space Needle—which was still a hybrid Wizard Tower with a 5G antenna—was currently glowing neon purple because a wizard was having a rave on the observation deck.
"It's not my tower," Elara muttered to the Health Inspector.
The Health Inspector, an Orc named Gorg (who wore a very tight polo shirt), scribbled on his clipboard. "It is within your splash zone, Ms. Vance. Also, I detected a dragon in the kitchen. Do you have a permit for a 'Biological Flamethrower'?"
