From The Immortal Gazette Studio ⚜️
Forgotten Tales, Twisted Truths & Legends told by Alice, Rumple, and their ever-growing cast of troublemakers.
The Trouble With Thorn: A Trickster God Among Storytellers
Every publishing house has that one person who makes everyone question whether they are working or simply surviving.
At the Immortal Gazette Studio, that person happens to be a trickster god.
Kaelthorn Veyric, better known as Thorn, has a talent for turning ordinary days into stories worth printing. He does not need a grand battlefield, a royal throne, or a divine ceremony to create chaos. Give him a quiet afternoon, a cup of tea, and a room full of people who think they have everything under control, and Thorn will happily prove them wrong.
Of course, he insists he is only helping.
Nobody believes him.
Thorn arrived at the Immortal Gazette like he belonged there, which was perhaps the most suspicious thing about him. There was no dramatic announcement, no warning from ancient scrolls, and no official explanation for why a centuries-old trickster god suddenly decided a publishing studio was the perfect place to spend his time.
He simply walked through the doors, looked around, and decided he liked the atmosphere.
The chaos was already impressive.
The stories were endless.
And the staff was delightfully unpredictable.
Naturally, Thorn stayed.
Kaelthorn Veyric was not the kind of immortal who sat quietly in a forgotten tower waiting for worshippers to arrive. He preferred conversations, clever schemes, and watching people reveal who they truly were when life became a little more complicated.
With midnight black hair streaked with silver, storm-gray eyes that always seemed to know more than they should, and a crooked grin that warned everyone he was already three steps ahead, Thorn carried the unmistakable presence of someone who had spent centuries learning exactly how much trouble he could cause before someone stopped him.
Nobody had succeeded yet.
His long coats, rings, chains, and mysterious enchanted trinkets only added to the rumors surrounding him. Some believed the coin he constantly flipped between his fingers held powerful magic. Others believed it was simply another way for him to distract people while he planned his next prank.
Knowing Thorn, both answers were probably correct.
His magic was subtle.
A flicker of shadow.
A spark of impossible lightning.
A door that suddenly opened somewhere it should not.
A missing object that appeared exactly where someone swore they already looked.
Thorn rarely needed overwhelming power. His greatest weapon had always been his ability to make people wonder what was real and what was part of his latest game.
And the Immortal Gazette Studio gave him an endless supply of people to entertain.
Especially Alice.
Alice was one of the few people who never treated Thorn like a mysterious and terrifying immortal. She never bowed. She never worried about impressing him. She never acted like his reputation mattered.
She simply looked at him like he was another strange puzzle waiting to be solved.
Thorn found that fascinating.
Most people tried to figure out how powerful he was.
Alice tried to figure out why he kept stealing the last biscuit from the tea tray.
Most people were careful around him.
Alice walked into the studio carrying tea, spilling half of it, and immediately blamed the cup.
That was when Thorn knew she was trouble.
The best kind.
One afternoon, Thorn was stretched across the studio couch, boots resting far too comfortably near the coffee table while he spun his enchanted coin between his fingers.
Rumple had already warned him that furniture was for sitting, not dramatic lounging.
Thorn had politely ignored him.
The latest Gazette drafts were scattered around the room. Alice had somehow managed to create three new story ideas, lose two cups of tea, and convince everyone that the missing pages were probably the fault of a mischievous ghost.
Thorn knew the ghost was innocent.
Mostly because he had been the ghost for five minutes earlier that morning.
Alice swept into the room with her usual whirlwind energy, her mismatched eyes bright with amusement.
"Thorn," she said, narrowing her eyes at him, "why do I feel like something strange happened today and somehow you are involved?"
Thorn placed a hand over his heart with exaggerated offense.
"Alice, I am wounded. You assume I am responsible simply because strange things happen around me."
She stared at him.
He stared back.
The silence lasted three seconds.
"Fine," Thorn admitted. "Sometimes strange things happen because of me."
Alice laughed, and Thorn found himself smiling before he could stop himself.
That was the problem with Alice.
She was chaos without needing magic.
She was unpredictable without trying.
And somehow, she was the one person who could make a trickster god forget he was supposed to be performing.
"You enjoy this," Alice said, dropping into the chair across from him.
"Enjoy what?"
"Being here."
Thorn lifted an eyebrow.
"Careful. That almost sounded like you think I like my coworkers."
"You do."
"I tolerate them."
"That is your version of liking people."
Thorn laughed softly.
She was right, which was irritating.
He had spent centuries watching kingdoms rise and fall, witnessing the ambitions of mortals and immortals alike. He had seen heroes become legends and villains become warnings.
Yet somehow, the most entertaining thing he had discovered was a small publishing studio full of impossible people who refused to let him be predictable.
Alice especially.
She challenged him.
She questioned him.
She saw through his tricks.
And instead of running away, she leaned closer.
That made her dangerous.
"Do you know what your problem is, Thorn?" Alice asked.
"I have many. You will need to be more specific."
"You think you are the only one who knows how to play games."
A slow smile appeared on his face.
"Is that a challenge?"
"Maybe."
Thorn leaned back, studying her.
A lesser person might have mistaken Alice's madness for carelessness. Thorn knew better. Beneath the chaos was a sharp mind, a clever heart, and a person who understood far more than she allowed people to see.
"You know," Thorn said, "for someone who claims to be unpredictable, you are remarkably good at predicting me."
Alice smiled.
"Maybe you are easier to understand than you think."
That sentence stayed with him longer than he expected.
Because Thorn had spent a lifetime making sure nobody truly knew him.
It was safer that way.
But the Immortal Gazette had a strange habit of collecting impossible people and turning them into family.
Rumple had his plans.
Pip had his curiosity.
Alice had her beautiful madness.
And Thorn?
Thorn had finally found a place where his chaos was not something people feared.
It was something they expected.
Something they welcomed.
Of course, he would never admit that he cared.
He was a trickster god, after all.
Admitting feelings was far more terrifying than facing an ancient monster.
So instead, Thorn simply flipped his enchanted coin, smiled his crooked smile, and prepared his next great scheme.
Because every story needed a little chaos.
And the Immortal Gazette had plenty of room for one more troublemaker.
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