"Exactly,” Potabeau said with an exaggerated wink. “Madness, excitement, chaos—this is what the living thrive on, my friend. Come on, show us that you can embrace something other than your textbooks for once.”

  Azrath, who had grown so accustomed to the stillness of death, was torn. The idea of throwing himself into the whirlwind of living—*celebration*, dancing, laughter—was so foreign to him that it felt like a kind of heresy. Yet, something about Lilac and Potabeau’s playful insistence was oddly... compelling.

  He stared at the two, the energy of the tavern buzzing around him, the sheer liveliness of it all suffocating in its intensity. He felt out of place—like a dark figure in a world of light.

  But then, with an almost imperceptible sigh, he placed his mug on the table and stood up.

  “You know what?” he said, his voice a little rough. “I’ll take your bet. But I warn you, this will be the most miserable event of your lives.”

  Lilac laughed, her eyes twinkling. “We’ll see about that, Azrath. We’ll see about that.”

  As Azrath followed Potabeau, Lilac, and Autumn into the chaos of the tavern, the first real twinges of uncertainty crept into his heart. He wasn’t sure what would come of the night. Twas time to embrace the strange, chaotic energy of the living—just for a little while..

  Azrath was immediately beginning to regret his decision. As he sat at the round table in the corner of the tavern, the noisy, hot energy around him was grating. Lilac and Autumn sat across from him, their mischievous smiles only adding to his growing unease. Potabeau, of course, was grinning from ear to ear, utterly entertained by the situation. In the dim light, the rogue looked like he was about to burst into fits of laughter at any moment, and that, naturally, made Azrath want to bury his head in his cloak and forget this whole charade.

  "Alright," Potabeau said, clapping his hands together. "Here we are! The grand experiment: will our dear Azrath, the dark and brooding necromancer, be able to survive the chaos of the living without cracking a smile?”

  Azrath sighed, barely restraining the urge to flick a dark, withering curse at Potabeau. “This is a waste of time, Potabeau. I’ve agreed to this absurd bet, but do not expect me to enjoy it.”

  Lilac leaned forward, her eyes twinkling. "Oh, you *will* enjoy it, Azrath. We made sure of that."

  Autumn, who had been watching the back and forth with amusement, added with a sly grin, "The bet was simple, really. You can’t leave this table until you laugh at least once. No magic, no dark spells to make us regret it. Just you, your uncomfortable self, and the living chaos around you."

  Azrath crossed his arms, glaring at the two women. "And what happens if I win? What if you two can’t make me laugh?"

  Lilac chuckled. "Then you'll get to keep your dignity, which is a rather useful tool for a necromancer, wouldn't you say?" She flashed him a playful grin, clearly enjoying the discomfort she was causing.

  Potabeau leaned back in his chair, tipping his mug of ale back in one swift motion. "And if you lose—well, let’s just say your punishment will involve nothing more than just a few laughs more.” Potabeau grinned at the irony. “Trust me, Azrath, you don’t want to lose this bet."

  Azrath looked around the tavern, sighing inwardly. The raucous noise, the clinking mugs, the smell of roasted meat—nothing about this scene was remotely appealing. Yet, he had made the decision to engage in this strange social experiment. He had *accepted* the challenge.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “I’ll win,” Azrath muttered under his breath. “I’ll never laugh.”

  Potabeau was practically vibrating with excitement. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure, Azrath. The trick isn’t to *try* not to laugh. The trick is to just let go. *Let go* of all that dark, moody nonsense you always carry around.”

  Lilac, ever the instigator, grinned. “It’s going to be so much fun watching you squirm. I’m looking forward to it.”

  Azrath could feel the growing pressure to hold his ground. Every joke, every bit of laughter around him, was an assault on his carefully constructed mask of seriousness. Potabeau was no help, either—he was already staring at Azrath like a hawk, waiting for the first twitch of a smile.

  “Alright,” Autumn said, her voice low and smooth. “Let’s start with something simple. Azrath, tell me something about yourself. Something that doesn’t involve death, necromancy, or… whatever it is you usually talk about.”

  Azrath blinked, clearly thrown off. “I *don’t* talk about death all the time. I—”

  Lilac cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Oh please, you practically have death hanging around like a bad smell. You’re like a walking crypt. So, let’s try something different. Tell us a story.”

  Azrath scowled. “I don’t tell stories. I study.”

  “You see, that’s the problem!” Autumn burst in, grinning broadly. “You can’t study everything. There’s got to be room for a little absurdity in your life. Don’t you ever, I don’t know, go on adventures and get into ridiculous situations?”

  Azrath’s eyes narrowed. He had been on adventures, with Potabeau of course, but they were rarely the type that would be considered “fun.” They were filled with danger, treachery, and often, untimely deaths. There was nothing amusing about nearly being killed by a rogue lich or barely surviving a run-in with a group of ravenous undead.

  Lilac smirked at his hesitation. “You see? Nothing funny happens to the great Azrath the Necromancer. How tragic.”

  “I *could* tell you about the time I raised an entire army of the dead,” Azrath said stiffly, wishing to make no light of the Symphony of Vephor, " But I doubt you’d find the tactical brilliance of it amusing.”

  Autumn raised an eyebrow. “Army of the dead? Seriously? That sounds like a nightmare, not a comedy routine.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Azrath said darkly, leaning back in his chair, “I have my methods. My necromantic talents aren’t limited to raising a few zombies. I could raise an army of the dead if I so desired.” He paused for dramatic effect. “But that would probably ruin the mood.”

  Lilac snorted, unable to hold back. “Oh, that’s rich. *An army of the dead,* really? Do you go around scaring children with your tales, too?”

  Potabeau chuckled at the exchange. “Azrath, you really do have a way with words. You almost got me to laugh there, but I’m easily falling into laughter.”

  Azrath was about to give another dry response when Lilac suddenly leaned in, her voice lowering to a mock-serious whisper. “You know, Azrath,” she said, her eyes gleaming with mischief, “I think I know how to make you laugh.”

  Azrath raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “Yes,” Lilac said with a sly grin. “You have to laugh at Potabeau.”

  Potabeau froze, his eyes widening. “Wait, what? That’s not part of the—”

  “Oh, but it is,” Lilac interrupted smoothly. “You see, you’re so *serious* and *stoic* and *mournful*, Azrath. But if you laughed at Potabeau, really at him, I think that would be the funniest thing ever. Everybody would laugh.”

  Autumn, not one to miss a chance to chime in, grinned wickedly. “Yes, I imagine seeing Potabeau flustered would be a sight to behold.”

  Azrath narrowed his eyes at the two women. “He’s what? A jester of sorts?”

  Lilac’s grin only widened. “Oh, you’re far too clever for those comic routines. But I think it might just work. All you have to do is look at Potabeau’s true lifestyle choices. Really consider him—his ridiculous grin, his over-the-top antics, his complete lack of seriousness. That, my friend, is where the true humor lies.”

  Potabeau scowled, clearly uncomfortable at being the butt of the joke. “I *don’t* like this.” He was thinking to himself, “No one is allowed to make fun of me, not even in *this* kind of game.”

  But Azrath was already staring at his companion. Potabeau, for all his charm and wit, was also a strange creature indeed. He recalled the rogue would (for fun) pull ridiculous faces, his tongue sticking out, his eyes crossed in the most exaggerated way possible. The sight was so absurd that, despite Azrath’s best efforts to remain stoic, a small chuckle escaped him.

  “Ha! There it is!” Potabeau crowed, slapping the table. “Azrath *laughed*! I knew it!”

  Azrath flushed, realizing too late that he had just lost the bet. “I did not laugh,” he protested, even though it was obvious he had. “It was… a mere *reaction.*”

  Lilac leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Doesn’t matter, Azrath. You laughed. You’re now officially part of the chaos.”

  Azrath groaned inwardly, but even he couldn’t deny that the situation, ridiculous as it was, had cracked his hardened exterior. Potabeau was practically dancing in his seat, a look of smug triumph plastered across his face.

  “I’ve *won*,” Potabeau said, a grin as deep as the barrel from which he'd drunk. “Now, Azrath, as per the terms of the bet, we all demand that you—”

  Azrath held up a hand. “No more,” he muttered, already resigned to his fate. “You win. I’ll go along with whatever foolishness you wish. But mark my words, Potabeau—I will make you a bet next time.”

  Potabeau’s grin faltered, but then he burst into laughter. “Well, that’s the spirit! See? You’re getting the hang of it.”

  As the laughter of the tavern swirled around them, Azrath couldn’t help but wonder if he’d just made a very dangerous mistake in letting Potabeau and the ladies win this bet. But for the first time in a long while, he felt an odd warmth bubbling up in his chest—one that wasn’t linked to dark magic or necromantic rituals.

  It was the warmth of something alive.