Royal Woods after 9:00 PM was usually a sanctuary of quiet suburbia, occasionally interrupted by the sounds of a late-night rock solo or a localized explosion from Lisa's room. But tonight, 1216 Franklin Avenue was under a cloud of literal Gothic Dread.
["Danny, we have an 'Occult-Emergency' at the Loud residence,"] Sheila reported, her avatar wearing a black beret and a turtleneck. ["Lucy Loud attempted to perform a 'Summoning-Slam' to win the local library's poetry contest. She's accidentally tapped into the Fright Knight's frequency. The Knight has arrived, but he's not here to invade; he's currently critiquing the meter and rhyme-scheme of Lucy's latest stanza."]
"The Fright Knight is a poetry critic?" I muttered, standing up as the Crown of Fire let out a dark, rhythmic pulse. "Sheila, that's a Level 8 'Existential-Liability'. If the Knight finds the poetry lacking, he might decide to 'Edit' the neighborhood into a graveyard."
"I've got the 'Stanza-Scanner' ready!" Jenny said, skating into the lab. She had added a small black lace ribbon to her left pigtail—a 'Goth-Sync' gesture for Lucy. "Danny, my sensors say the Fright Knight's 'Judgment-Logic' is currently at 88%. We need to help Lucy 'Stick the Landing' before he reaches the final verse."
"Protocol, gear up!" I commanded. "This is a Literary-Stabilization mission. We're going to the Loud House."
We burst into the attic to find a scene of absolute, monochromatic tension. Lucy Loud was standing on a small wooden crate, holding a notebook. Looming over her was the Fright Knight, his armor gleaming with a cold, blue fire, his skeletal horse, Nightmare, currently munching on some of the sisters' discarded homework.
"YOUR METAPHORS ARE... ADEQUATE, SMALL MORTAL," the Knight boomed, his voice echoing with the sound of grinding stone. "BUT THE DARKNESS IN YOUR SECOND QUATRAIN LACKS THE 'ETERNAL-VOID' DEPTH I REQUIRE. REVISE, OR BE CAST INTO THE SHADOWS OF DETENTION!"
"He's LITERALLY so dramatic!" Lori whispered from the doorway, where she was huddled with the other sisters. "He's been here for an hour, and he hasn't even looked at my phone!"
"I am attempting to achieve 'Pure Gloom'!" Lucy said, her voice steady but pale. "But I need a 'Sovereign' inspiration!"
I stepped forward, the Crown of Fire illuminating the dusty attic. "Fright Knight. At ease."
The Knight spun around, his flaming sword, the Soul Shredder, igniting for a split second before he saw the Crown. He immediately dropped to one knee, the sound of his iron armor hitting the floorboards like a thunderclap.
"MY KING," the Knight rumbled. "I CRAVE YOUR PARDON. I WAS MERELY... ASSISTING THIS MORTAL WITH HER DARK-CADENCE."
"She's part of the Protocol, Knight," I said, my voice resonating with 'Sovereign' authority. "Her darkness is 'Standardized.' And her poetry is protected by 'Ghost-King Privilege'."
I looked at Lucy. "Finish the poem, Lucy. Use the 'Logic' of the Infinite Realms. Remember what I told you about the Anchor—it's not a chain; it's a foundation."
Lucy nodded, her eyes hidden behind her bangs. She cleared her throat and began to recite:
"The anchor sinks in sea of green,
Where logic meets the world unseen.
No King of Rage, but King of Care,
To insure the souls within the air.
The stakes are low, the logic steady,
The Protocol is always ready."
The room went silent. The Fright Knight bowed his head, his blue fire dimming to a soft, respectful glow. "A MASTERPIECE. THE 'INSURANCE' METAPHOR IS... UNEXPECTEDLY TERRIFYING."
"Mystery... published," I said, stepping forward.
I looked at the 'Low-Stakes' meter. 5%. The Knight was pacified, Lucy had her poem, and the "Possible Protocol" had successfully 'Standardized' the afterlife's most fearsome warrior into a literary consultant.
But the romance sub-plots were currently 'Poetic' in the attic light as well.
Jenny walked up to me, her eyes a soft, pulsing violet. She looked at the Fright Knight, then at me. "Danny? Lucy's poem mentioned a 'King of Care'. My 'Emotion-Logic' says that's the most accurate 'Producer' title yet. It makes my 'Core-Integrity' feel... lyrical."
"I just do what I can to keep the Knight from 'Editing' the furniture, Jenny," I whispered, taking her metal hand.
Jenny's cooling fans whirred in a happy, rhythmic pulse. She leaned her head against my shoulder, the cool metal a comforting anchor in the world of shadows.
Meanwhile, Lori was currently trying to convince the Fright Knight to 'Pose' for a selfie. "LITERALLY just one photo! It'll go viral in Jump City!"
The Knight looked at me, confused. I gave him a subtle nod.
"VERY WELL, MORTAL. BUT ONLY IF THE 'FILTER' IS... SPECTRAL."
I looked at the team: the Middleton heroes, the Amity ghosts, the Loud Sisters, and the now-literary Fright Knight. We were a family of many voices, but as the sun (or the moon) set over Royal Woods, I knew we had the best lines.
["Danny,"] Sheila's voice rang in my ear. ["I've updated the dossier. New Entry: 'Gothic-Literary Mitigation.' Also, the Fright Knight just asked if he can join the 'Possible' Book Club. I suggest we tell him we're currently reading 'The Calculus of Crossovers'. He might like the math."]
"Low-stakes, Sheila. Low-stakes."