William, like many other adults, sat in a bar, drinking away his sorrows with a large glass of beer.
He was in his mid-twenties. By that age, most people had already settled down—married, had children, found a stable job to put food on the table. And then there was William: single, aimless, and with nothing to his name.
He was a man still searching for ambition, still unsure of what truly sparked his passion. He'd tried many jobs—merchant, waiter, even a monk at a monastery—but none of them lasted long.
"I think being a monk for a month was too much," he muttered, downing his seventh beer in one gulp.
That had been a particularly miserable experience. Waking up at dawn, cut off from the world, devoting himself to the Holy Spirit while neglecting his own well-being—it had drained him. He could never trade his freedom for spirituality. He left without ever looking back.
"Too much work for beliefs I don't even hold," he added with a scoff.
He always had a fallback job: blacksmithing. It wasn't something he cared deeply for anymore, even though it was the one thing he excelled at. He'd been declared one of the best in the craft—but it wasn't a title he wore with pride.
"It's in my bloodline. I can't escape it, dammit."
His family, the Jaegers, were renowned blacksmiths—generation after generation mastering the craft from hilt to blade.
As a child, he loved it. He'd once dreamed of passing the skill on to his own children, continuing the family legacy. But now? That spark was gone. He served only a handful of customers, and depending on his mood, he might not even bother with them.
"Especially since—" He cut himself off. "Never mind. That's something to reminisce about another time."
He turned his attention to the noise behind him.
"It's pretty lively today."
Today was a special day in the town of Aoba: the celebration of Master Swordsman Gellal's birthday. The legendary hero who, with his sword Dyrnwyn, vanquished the demons that once plagued the land. With a single flaming strike, he had reduced the great demon—strong as a thousand men—to ash, ushering in an age of supposed peace.
"Well, I wouldn't call it peace," William muttered.
And he was right. Corruption, senseless killings, and theft still plagued the country. Who's to say the legend was even true?
Most saw it as a fairy tale—its details shifting with each retelling. Those who believed in it were often ridiculed. Yet, every year, the entire town would unite to celebrate it anyway—more as an excuse to leave work early than anything else.
As a child, William had believed in the tale. He would play with the other kids, pretending to be the hero who defeated the demons.
He felt a connection to the story. Maybe it was because he shared the same birthday as Gellal—the seventh day of the Frozen Air. The day of the historic battle. Back then, he made a solemn vow to himself: one day, he would remake the legendary sword Dyrnwyn, which had perished alongside its wielder.
The memory brought a bitter smile to his face.
"Once you grow up, dreams begin to fade. You forget them. Doubt creeps in—did they ever even exist? I was such a naive kid."
He was pulled from his thoughts by the soft thud of another glass hitting the counter.
"Well, what's this?" he asked.
"You looked rather sad, so I poured you another one," a young woman replied.
She stood behind the bar, her long silver hair braided into two neat strands. An apron was tied over her clothes—likely the uniform for the bar's waitresses.
William raised an eyebrow, suspicious she was trying to bait him into buying another drink. She quickly shook her head, noticing the look.
"Don't worry. It's on me. Though the boss will probably scold me for it later."
With her reassurance, William downed the beer in one shot. The young woman blinked in surprise at his impressive drinking skills but said nothing.
After a pause, she added nervously, "It's been a while, hasn't it?"
Does she know me? William wondered. Then again, I am a Jaeger.
"Do I... know you?" he asked, adjusting his glasses to get a better look at her.
The young woman looked almost offended. "My... I can't believe you don't remember," she said with a wry smile.
"Well, I met a lot of people back when I worked as a merchant. It's hard to remember anyone at this point in my life."
"Is that so..." she murmured. After a brief pause, she raised her index finger. "Try to think back to the times you visited this town. Surely, you remember a little girl who used to hang around with you?"
William searched his memory. Aside from the church folk and a few bar patrons, did he really interact with a young girl? He hesitated. A grown man seen spending time with a child—people would've stared.
"Wait a second…" Something clicked. He did remember a girl. If his memory served him right, her name was—
"Lucy?"
Her eyes lit up with joy. She had been hoping he would remember.
"Yes, that's right," she said, beaming.
"What? But you're grown up. Last time I checked, Lucy was just a little girl."
"You do know puberty is a thing, right? I'm sixteen now."
"It's been, what, four years? Time flies. Even so..."
William was astonished. To think that in just a few years, that little girl had grown into such a young woman.
A beautiful young woman, in fact. It seemed like with each generation, girls matured faster—or at least, that's what William told himself. Lucy had developed what people might call an hourglass figure. Her dimples stood out on her pale cheeks whenever she smiled, and her crystal-blue eyes could capture the attention of anyone who met her gaze. With features like these, she easily became the center of attention.
William smiled gently. "It's good to see you."
"Wow, that might be the most unenthusiastic greeting I've ever gotten—from anyone, honestly."
"Give me a break. It's been a rough day."
He wasn't lying. He had no money left this month so he'd been forced to hand over a finely crafted sword to a greedy, obnoxious noble.
"He kept ordering me around like I didn't know what I was doing. That scum," he muttered bitterly.
The memory alone was enough to sour his mood.
"I see... So, when did you get into town? I heard you quit being a merchant. Did you move back here, or are you just visiting?"
"It's been two weeks since I moved back," William replied. "Only just now managed to come into town. Had more to unpack than I thought."
"I see. Well, it's good to have you back."
"Thanks. I wanted to see what this place still had to offer me."
For some reason, Aoba always stirred something in him—some hint of inspiration, a spark of direction. Years ago, it was a kind man from this town who'd inspired him to become a merchant. It hadn't worked out in the long run, but many of his life's ideas had started here. Except for the monastery—that was entirely on him.
"Geez, you never change."
Lucy chuckled. She knew him well enough to understand that this kind of situation was just part of his routine. He always found something to do in the end.
"But you sure did. Look at you, all grown up, kid."
The young lady pouted. "Would you please stop calling me a kid? I'm a young lady now."
William laughed. "Well then, does the fine lady have any suitors? You're at the age where marriage isn't that far off, you know."
Lucy leaned on the bar counter, gazing at the lively crowd. People danced in pairs—arms linked, drinks in hand, laughter in the air.
"Maybe," she said, her voice light. "But I'm keeping my options open. If a certain someone were to come up and ask for my hand, I don't think I'd mind."
"I'll be sure to tell him if I see someone like that."
The words stung more than Lucy let on, but she chuckled and brushed it off with a sigh. Resting her chin in her hands, she tilted her head and said, "I wish things could stay like this just a little while longer... Oh! That reminds me."
She stood up straight, hands behind her back, and smiled brightly. "Happy birthday, William."
He blinked, caught off guard. No one ever remembered his birthday. Of all people, he hadn't expected Lucy to—especially after so many years apart.
"Thanks for remembering," he said sincerely.
"Of course I would! How about coming by tomorrow during the day? I'll bake you a cake in the kitchen. We can properly celebrate then."
"Sure. That sounds nice."
She beamed at his reply. But something in her expression—just for a brief moment—seemed off to William.
Suddenly, a memory flashed in his mind: a little girl crying alone in the Lost Forest, eyes full of fear and helplessness. He'd seen that same expression flicker across Lucy's face just now.
"Hey... do you remember—"
"Lucy! We need you over here!" called the manager, clearly drunk.
"I'm coming!" she replied quickly. Then, turning back to William, she asked, "Sorry, what were you saying?"
He shook his head. "Never mind. It's nothing. This isn't the time or place anyway."
Knowing it was his cue to leave, William stood up and placed money on the counter for the drink she'd said was on the house.
"Wait, I told you it was on—"
"—As if I'd let a sweet girl get scolded by her manager over a drink."
Lucy's pale face turned a shade of red. "You dummy. Come back tomorrow. Besides the cake, I might have a job for you."
"Alright then. I'll see you tomorrow, Lucy."
As he walked away, Lucy watched his back and pouted, her face still flushed. Under her breath, she murmured, "I'm not a girl anymore. When will you notice?"
To this day, the answer to that question remains unknown.