Doge and Hin

In the forgotten land of Woofari, legends spoke of a time when the world was balanced by two forces: the Wit of the Doge and the Will of the Hin.

Most dismissed it as an old tale told to children before bed. But legends have a funny way of becoming real again—usually when the world is on the edge of absolute nonsense.

And that’s exactly where our story begins.

Hin was a quiet wanderer, a man of few words and many regrets. He walked the lands in solitude, carrying a rusted blade and a past he didn’t speak of. His face was half-covered by a faded scarf, and his eyes always seemed to be searching for something just out of reach.

Doge, on the other hand, was… well, a Shiba Inu. But not just any Shiba Inu. He was the Doge — immortalized in memes, bearer of legendary “much wow,” and, unbeknownst to many, guardian of the Scroll of Serotonin, a sacred artifact said to bring balance to emotion and logic across realms.

One problem: he’d misplaced it.

“Such mistake. Very careless. Wow,” Doge muttered to himself as he sniffed around a bush that absolutely did not contain a magical scroll.

Hin met Doge at the bottom of a crumbled tower in the desert town of Grumpstead, where laughter had been banned and smiles were taxed. Hin was passing through, as he always did, when he heard a ruckus in the market.

A talking dog wearing aviator goggles was being chased by local guards, accused of “propaganda and excessive cuteness.”

Hin didn’t usually get involved.

But something about the scene — maybe the absurdity, maybe the fact that Doge barked out “I am no ordinary woofer!” before slipping on a banana peel — made him intervene. He drew his blade, not to fight, but to create just enough chaos for Doge to escape.

Later, over a fire in the quiet outskirts, Doge offered him a cold sausage from his satchel and said, “You saved Doge. You hero now. Join epic quest?”

Hin squinted. “Why would I help a dog with bad grammar?”

“Because world ending. Scroll stolen. No serotonin. Much sadness. Also, you lonely.”

Hin raised an eyebrow. “You read minds now?”

“No. Just good dog.”

And so it began.

Their journey took them through the techno-forests of Circuit Pines, where trees pulsed with neon veins and squirrels uploaded your thoughts for snacks. They faced the Mood Swings of Mount Meh, a range of sentient hills that shifted emotional energy — one moment you’d feel inspired, the next completely useless.

Doge proved unexpectedly useful. While Hin wielded steel, Doge wielded vibes — disarming enemies with his oddly philosophical one-liners and inexplicable ability to summon ancient memes that turned into physical weapons.

“Much courage,” Doge would chant as an enemy approached, releasing a glowing GIF that turned into a wall of protective laughter.

Hin found himself doing something he hadn’t in years: smiling.

They finally reached the Cave of Feels, where the Scroll of Serotonin was said to be hidden — now guarded by the King of Cringe, a being born from every awkward high school memory and failed first date in existence.

“You seek balance,” the King sneered. “But balance is boring. Misery brings attention. Drama drives power.”

Hin stepped forward. “That’s not power. That’s addiction.”

Doge barked softly, then said, “Time to un-cringe, bro.”

A battle ensued — not of swords, but of emotion. The King of Cringe hurled haunting flashbacks: embarrassing dances, voice cracks, texts left on read.

Hin nearly faltered.

But Doge stepped in. “Hin… you must embrace cringe. Not fear it.”

Hin closed his eyes and nodded.

He remembered every moment he’d tried to be cool, every time he’d failed. And then he laughed — not bitterly, but with warmth.

The King of Cringe howled, shrinking, until he vanished in a puff of awkward silence.

At the center of the cave, the Scroll glowed softly.

“Wow,” Doge whispered.

They returned the Scroll to its pedestal in the ancient Temple of Balance, and slowly, the world began to heal. Laughter returned to Grumpstead. Emotions stopped swinging like unhinged wrecking balls. Even the squirrels in Circuit Pines learned to meditate.

Hin, once a drifter with no direction, had found purpose again.

As for Doge? He declined glory.

“I go now. To vibe in new place. World always need wow.”

Hin watched the little Shiba vanish over the horizon, tail wagging like a flag of joy.

Some say they still see Hin walking the land — a little less heavy, a little more hopeful.

And sometimes, beside him, they see a flash of orange fur, a tongue lolling out, and hear a soft voice say:

“Much brave. Very legend. So journey. Wow.”

The End.