"...He is not a musician; he can't be, for he has never composed a single note. If I had to bet, I'd say he's just a petty bard, incapable of doing anything but echoing other people's stories. Jonathan Furkets is the worst musician I have ever met; in fact, calling him a musician is already an insult to the art. His career is built on stolen melodies, songs that others immortalized before him. I admit he has a magnificent voice and enviable skill with various instruments, but I've seen backing vocalists with similar talent and not a tenth of the ego this man carries. His career—if we can even call it that—is a complete failure, doomed to be forgotten like so many before him. May his example never be forgotten, nor repeated." — E.D., Denver Post
A sepulchral silence reigned in the room until it was brutally interrupted by loud knocks on the door.
"Jonathan! Are you in there? We need to get ready for the nine o'clock show. Please open this door! This is the last place that accepted you. Jonathan!"
The air reeked of alcohol and vomit. Jonathan Furkets, who preferred to be called Fly, lay motionless on his couch, his mind fixed on the devastating review he had read that morning.
"I knew it wouldn't be easy, but these bastards are like vultures, circling my still-warm body, waiting to tear it apart piece by piece. Goddamn sons of bitches," he muttered, his voice choked with alcohol and antidepressants that clouded his mind.
Despite the searing pain in his throat and the crushing weight of humiliation, he stood up slowly, staggering, and walked to the door.
The metallic click of the lock echoed through the room.
"My God, Jonathan! What the hell is this? Look at yourself! Do you think you can sing like this? What the hell happened here, did you bring in another random slut?"
"Linda, relax... I'm fine. We can go. I'll give them exactly what they deserve."
"Of course you will. Come with me, you need a bath. There's no way you're getting on stage like this."
"Linda, it's a bar... a damn bar! I don't need to be fine, I just need to show up. That's all, damn it, just a bar!"
"It's just a rough patch, it's not the end. Do you remember what you promised me? You said you'd make me your rich and famous agent just by representing you. Today I'm rich, you are too, we lost a lot along the way but... we made it! What more do you want?"
"What do I want...? I want to not have to sing in shitty bars!"
Jonathan slowly undressed, staggering and mumbling incomprehensible words as he stepped into the bathtub. The warm water falling over his face hid the bitter tears streaming down.
"Damn it, I just wanted recognition... Today I'm nobody. I'm on the verge of extinction, Linda! No one wants music anymore, only empty beats. Maybe that damn E.D. is right; I'll be forgotten the moment I die. I don't have a single song worth remembering. What do I do, my God, what do I do?!"
"I don't know. You reached wealth and gave me everything you promised. I'm happy like this, but I understand it's not enough for you and I understand we've been through a lot but I... Let's cancel the show today. What do you think? Take a vacation, you deserve to rest. Donald really wants to meet yo—"
"SHUT UP! Don't minimize my dreams! You don't know anything! You're just another leech waiting for me to give up, just like that worm E.D.! You're fired!"
Jonathan completely lost control, hurling insults with the fury of someone who no longer recognized any limits. Linda's expression slowly collapsed, her eyes welled up with tears, and she left the room in silence. The emptiness that followed weighed on Jonathan like never before. The echo of his rage slowly faded until only suffocating silence remained.
Then, he cried. Cried like he never had before, unable to realize the bathtub was slowly filling, until he felt his face submerge. Without the strength or will to fight against the water that slowly enveloped him, Jonathan only wished for all the pain to finally end.
After what felt like minutes, Jonathan slowly opened his eyes, disoriented. He immediately recognized the place: it was his old home. The room was full of people, all gathered around the piano, listening attentively to the soft melody that filled the air. The scene felt familiar, but hazy, like a long-forgotten dream.
"Hello, Jonathan."
Turning around, he saw a woman whose skin was as dark as night, with curly hair falling gently over her shoulders. Her eyes watched him intently, searching for a reaction.
"Where am I...? What's going on here?"
"You're dead, Jonathan."
"But... why am I here?"
"My mission is to show each soul their most precious moment, to remind them of when they were truly happy, and thus ease the passage. Sometimes it's easy to find, other times not so much."
Jonathan frowned, confused and irritated.
"But I'm at home. My happiest moment was when I played at the Michigan Stadium. That day was incredible!"
"No, Jonathan. It wasn't. Your happiest day happened right here. You just forgot."
"You're saying the day before my wife died was the happiest of my life? You must be insane! Why don't you go kill yourself and leave me the hell alone."
"Jonathan, I can't die because I'm not a passenger; I'm the ferryman. For years, you repeated in your subconscious that this was your happiest day, that here, you had everything."
"And then I lost everything!"
"Yes, that loss cost you everything."
Jonathan backed away, walking through the people in the room as if they were ghosts, until he reached the kitchen. His focus was obsessive, drawn to a specific drawer beside the fridge.
"Jonathan, you won't be able to take what you want."
"You don't know what I want! Damn it, why can't I open this damn drawer?!"
"Jonathan, you're dead. This is only a memory."
Fueled by rage, he turned to strike the woman, but before he could raise his fist, a figure entered the kitchen. Jonathan froze the moment he saw her.
"Livina...? Is it really you?"
"She can't hear you, Jonathan. She's only a memory."
Livina opened the fridge, smiling, and pulled out a bottle of champagne. Soon, another man appeared—tall, smiling—it was himself, younger, full of hope.
"My love, may I ask what the champagne is for?"
"With all our friends here, it's hard to explain. I promise I'll tell you once everyone's gone. You're going to love it!"
Jonathan felt his heart tighten at the memory.
"She was pregnant..."
"I know, Jonathan. I was there."
"She told me right after the last guest left. How could I forget...?"
"It wasn't your fault."
"If I had walked her to the school..."
"It wasn't your fault."
"If I had been with her in that moment..."
"It wasn't your fault, Jonathan."
Jonathan collapsed to his knees, overwhelmed by pain and guilt. The woman knelt beside him—gentle, yet firm.
"I've seen the future where none of this ever happened. It was beautiful, Jonathan. I'm sorry. People can be cruel, and even I can't stop human cruelty. But you were cruel too."
A new memory surfaced in his mind:
"So you're saying I'm going to be a father again? Is it a boy?"
This time, he found himself transported to his doorstep, standing beside his wife. The party had just ended.
"Yes, my love. A boy!"
"My God, I can't believe it!"
"Shhh! You'll wake our daughter…"
"Mom? Dad? Is the party over? What's going on?"
Jonathan watched his daughter walk into the kitchen, sleepy and curious. A deep ache filled him as he saw her so young, so innocent.
"Linda Furkets... My sweet girl."
"You promised her you'd be great, that you'd keep her by your side. She believed in you. To her, you made it—and that was enough. But it wasn't enough for you, was it, Jonathan?"
Tears streamed down his face as a painful understanding washed over his soul.
"I was harsh with her. Wasn't I?"
"Yes. But she will forgive you, don't worry."
"So this is it. I accept everything and go, leaving things unresolved, unfinished."
"Yes. You're not the first, and you won't be the last. That's how you live—like tomorrow is a guarantee."
She could feel Jonathan finally lowering his guard. His voice heavy. She knew the moment had come.
"I'm ready. Please, free me from this pain."
"Despite everything, you are a good man. I'll take you to a special place. I hope it's better this time."
Jonathan felt the woman's cool, gentle touch on the back of his neck, and then everything slowly faded to black.
Kingdom of Kalimbro
Amid a crumbling neighborhood, where houses collapse under the weight of time and neglect, one church stands out. Its lawn is meticulously trimmed, its walls freshly painted—stark against the surrounding decay. Inside, luxury reigns: furniture adorned with gold and ivory gleams under the soft light of stained glass.
At the heart of this sanctuary, two figures speak in hushed tones.
"How many boys died today?" The deep, indifferent voice echoes off the stone walls.
"Three children, sir. They didn't survive the winter."
"Did they manage to bring in any money before they died?"
"Very little, sir. They were just boys… didn't have many ways to make money."
The man sighs, impatient.
"Trash. Not even useful for that. At least they didn't cost us much. There are more kids on the streets, aren't there?"
"Yes, but… they're starting to get suspicious. Some would rather sleep out in the cold than come here."
The bishop smiled—a smile devoid of any hint of kindness.
"Don't worry. I've arranged a meeting with Noble Gustaf. He agrees with our methods and plans to pass a law forcing these children into the orphanage. With that, we'll have full control over the Red Street labor force… even the beggars."
The subordinate bows his head, reverent.
"You're a visionary, Bishop Brur."
The bishop leans back in his chair, satisfied.
"On another note, did you find the couple that escaped last month?"
"The last reports say they left the coastal city. It looks like they were heading toward Strugar."
"The central city?" The bishop let out a cruel laugh. "They won't last long. They'll starve, or worse… be eaten by some creature in that cursed forest. Either way, our problem solves itself."
He sighs theatrically, licking his lips.
"Shame I didn't have time to enjoy that girl… I'll have to talk to that noble bastard."
Outside, beneath a starless sky with the sun beginning to rise on the horizon, two young people ran desperately through the forest.
"Fly, where are we going?" Helena asked, her breath ragged from the effort.
"Just run! We need to reach open ground!"
Behind them, a colossal cheetah was in pursuit, moving with impossible agility for a creature of its size. Nearly three meters long, its body was covered in old scars, and its eyes gleamed with the promise of death. Sharp claws tore through tree bark as it gained on them, closing the distance with terrifying speed.
A sharp buzz cut through the air. A spear flew past the feline, which dodged with supernatural reflexes before it even touched the ground. Fly and Helena dove to the ground just in time, only to see three figures rush past them, focused solely on the beast.
Under the dense shadows of the trees, silence became almost tangible. Yellow eyes gleamed in the darkness as the predator prepared to strike.
The lancer was the first to move. With razor-sharp reflexes, he raised his weapon and delivered a swift blow, deflecting the cheetah's initial attack. The force of the impact threw him to the ground, but it stopped the beast from reaching his companions.
Behind him, the healer began to chant softly. A warm light enveloped the lancer, sealing shallow wounds and revitalizing his body. His gaze remained steady, never breaking focus, ensuring the group kept the upper hand.
High in a nearby tree, the archer remained still, an arrow already nocked. Each shot would have to count.
The cheetah charged again, and at the perfect moment, the archer released the string. The arrow whistled through the air and struck the beast's front right leg. A fierce snarl echoed through the forest as the animal stumbled, limping slightly.
The lancer didn't waste the opening. With a battle cry, he charged the beast, his spear plunging into its flank. The cheetah's roar of pain shook the branches overhead.
But the fight wasn't over yet.
Enraged, the creature turned to retaliate, fangs bared and muscles tensed. The archer fired two more arrows and a dagger in rapid succession, targeting vital points and keeping the predator under constant pressure.
The healer, with another incantation, raised a protective barrier around the lancer, reducing the impact of the beast's slashing claws as it tried to strike back.
The end came in a brutal instant.
With a final push, the lancer drove his weapon into the cheetah's heart. The creature tried to pull away, fighting against the inevitable, but its strength faded rapidly.
With a muffled growl, the beast collapsed. Silence returned to the forest.
The adventurers' heavy breathing was the only sound left.
They stood in silence for a few moments, catching their breath. The metallic scent of fresh blood still clung to the air, mingling with the damp earth. Despite their fatigue, the fading tension gave way to a sense of relief.
Fly was the first to speak.
"The deal's done. Now will you escort us to Strugar? We just need to get there."
The archer, who had been cleaning the blade of a short dagger, looked up at the boy.
"Fly… what's going on?" Helena asked, hesitant.
It was Ana, the archer, who answered.
"Well, you did your part, kid. And I've got nothing against that—as long as you understand that once we get there, you're on your own. I'm not here to play nanny."
The lancer, Tony, stayed silent as he withdrew his weapon from the cheetah's lifeless body. He shot a quick glance at Ana, signaling his agreement. But before the matter could be settled, the healer, Sibila, stepped between Ana and Fly, her eyes filled with visible unease.
"This doesn't make sense, Ana. If we leave them in the city, they'll starve. There's nothing there for them!"
Ana rolled her eyes, exasperated.
"Sibila, I don't care. I made a deal, and it's been honored. For the love of the gods, do you see that cheetah? That carcass alone is worth our yearly pay."
"The least I can do is keep my word. What happens after that isn't my problem."
"Enough, both of you," Tony cut in, his voice firm. "I've stored the carcass in the dimensional ring. Let's move out before something—or someone—shows up."
Ana sighed and shrugged.
"Fine, Tony. Kids, follow us and stay close. Our deal was to get you to the city, not protect you. Be useful. Here."
She tossed something toward Helena, who caught it midair, though a bit clumsily. A crossbow.
Ana never understood the obsession non-skilled people had with throwing themselves into dangerous situations. But when she looked into the boy's eyes—sharp, steady—she realized he had a plan. What plan exactly, she didn't know. And to be honest, she didn't care.
"Fly… I don't know how to use this. What do I do?" Helena asked, eyeing the weapon uncertainly.
"That's a crossbow. It's already loaded, so you just aim and pull the trigger," he explained.
"Got it… but what about you? What are you going to do with that?" she said, pointing to the heavy club Ana had given him.
Fly smirked.
"I'm not doing anything with this thing. It's too heavy. But I can defend myself another way."
He pulled a small leather pouch from his belt and drew out a simple sling. He twirled it between his fingers, satisfied.
"If it was good enough to drop Goliath, it'll do something."
Ana raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"Interesting… but you're not killing a cheetah with that."
"Not with a club that weighs as much as I do either," he shot back with a half-grin. "But with this, at least I won't get in your way."
The archer let out a short laugh.
"Do what you want. As long as you don't get in the way, you can toss wands into your enemies' eyes for all I care."
The group resumed their journey through the forest, moving swiftly before anything else could appear. Fly studied the three adventurers closely. They weren't weak, but they weren't elite either. Probably novices—hadn't cleared the first level of the Dungeon yet. That would explain why they were on a mission like this. Young adventurers often took on practical, lower-risk tasks like escorts or tracking down escaped creatures. The pay was decent, but the competition was high.
That's why Tony hadn't hesitated to store the cheetah as quickly as possible. The last thing they needed was to draw attention from other adventurers.
When they finally found a safe place to camp, Tony took charge of the watch schedule.
"Since you two are the youngest, you'll take first watch. Stay alert and shout if anything shows up."
Fly and Helena sat near the campfire while the three adventurers settled in to rest. The firelight cast dancing shadows on the surrounding trees.
"Fly… why are we running?" Helena broke the silence. "We could've stayed in the city, survived on the streets until we found work…"
Fly stared at the flames for a moment before answering.
"Helena, I've met a lot of greedy people in my life. Believe me… we'd never be safe there."
He glanced around, ensuring no one was listening, then pulled something from his pocket and showed it to her.
Helena's eyes widened.
"My God… how did you get this?"
"Shhh…" He motioned for her to lower her voice. "With this, we can survive for at least six months. And after that, I promise I'll give you a peaceful life."
The night was cold and silent. Neither of them closed their eyes, even as sleep crept in.
When the watch changed, it was deep into the night. Helena had already drifted off, but Fly remained awake, even when the adventurers urged him to rest.
It was Sibila who approached him, her voice gentle and careful.
— Hello, boy. No need to be afraid. My name is Sibila. Everything all right?
Even exhausted, Fly kept his composure. He pretended everything was fine, shielding Helena, who slept peacefully by his side.
— I'm not afraid. How can I help you, Lady Healer?
The quiet of the night was broken only by the crackling of the fire and the distant sounds of the forest. Sibila gave a soft smile, watching Fly with quiet interest.
— Haha! No need to call me "lady," just Sibila is fine. — She stretched slightly, resting her chin on her knees. — I hate being alone, and talking helps the watch go by faster. But for that, you've gotta talk to me. What made you risk your life heading to a city full of adventurers? I'm curious.
Fly kept his face expressionless, but his mind was racing.
— We're going to meet someone we know — he answered without hesitation. — He became an adventurer many moons ago. I think he'll help us however he can.
A lie. He didn't know anyone and didn't trust anyone besides Helena. That world was cruel. People were selfish, always after something in return, always hiding a dagger behind a smile. If he wanted to survive, he'd have to play the same game.
As Sibila spoke of some of her past adventures, Fly felt his eyelids grow heavy. Her voice began to drift, as if muffled by some invisible tunnel. Something was wrong.
His eyes closed.
Darkness swallowed him, and within it, images emerged.
A dark room. A door slightly ajar. An eye watching. Two men talking.
— That girl… what's her name? Helena, right? — The first man's voice was deep, full of malicious interest. — She's the right age now. I want to buy her from you for ten gold notes.
— Baron, my friend… — The second voice belonged to the bishop. He laughed mockingly. — You want her for fun, but… she's still a virgin.
— Well, well… — The baron chuckled. — You haven't trained her yet, Bishop?
A low moan followed. The bishop pressed at his own pants, a lascivious grin spreading across his greasy face.
— Ahhh, my dear baron… I'm just waiting for her to ripen a bit more. It seems she has feelings for a certain boy. Maybe I'll make him watch… HAHAHAHAHA!
— Delicious! — The baron licked his lips, his eyes gleaming with twisted pleasure. — We can both have fun while he watches. I want to see his face when he sees the girl taken right in front of him! HAHAHAHA!
— But of course. Perhaps next week. I have religious commitments now. Prayer and blessing sessions… I must tend to my flock, after all. HAHAHAHA!
— I'll be looking forward to it… I'll leave the payment in advance.
— FLYYYYY!
Helena's voice tore through the nightmare like a blade.
— WAKE UP, FLY! FLY! FLYYYYY!
He gasped, his head pounding as his eyes opened. The world spun. His hands were numb.
— Helena… what happened?
She knelt in front of him, pale and panicked.
— They're gone… they took everything. We're alone. What now?
The realization hit instantly. Fly raised a hand to his head, feeling a strange lingering numbness.
The damn healer.
She must have used some kind of sleep spell. He'd read about it before… one of the few offensive spells healers had.
— Calm down, Hel. Keep your voice low. We can't be seen. — He looked around, heart racing. — Do you still have the crossbow?
Helena shook her head, hugging her arms.
— It's gone… they took everything.
Fly's hand dove into his bag, instinctively searching for what he already knew was no longer there.
The money.
— They heard us talking… that's why they robbed us.
But he didn't panic. He had already considered the possibility.
Discreetly, he shifted his foot, feeling something pressed against his sole. It was still there.
Three gold coins.
Not much, but it was enough.
— They took almost everything, but we still have a chance. — He turned to Helena. — I know the way. From what I asked earlier, we just need to find the river and follow it. We'll take the long way. It'll be more dangerous, but it's the safest route for us.
Helena nodded, though worry still lingered in her expression.
— And what do I do?
— I need you to find some stones for me. But stay close. Any will do, as long as they're about the size of your palm.
The sun was already high by the time they finished.
Fifteen stones.
Fly inspected them, testing the weight of a few in his hands. Not ideal, but they would do.
— This'll work. Now, let's stay quiet and try to hear the river.
— I can already hear it.
Fly stopped dead.
— What?
The river was at least three kilometers away. Helena couldn't possibly be hearing it...
Unless...
— Which way is it coming from? — he asked, hiding his suspicion.
Helena looked around for a moment, furrowing her brow, then pointed east.
— I think it's that way.
Fly took a deep breath, the bitter truth confirming what he already feared.
They tricked us from the start.
The path they had taken wasn't toward Strugar. Most likely, those adventurers never intended to lead them to the city.
The theft had just been a bonus. The real plan was to let the forest take care of them.
Which meant they had to get out—now.
Fly looked at Helena.
— They probably lied to us from the beginning. Took us in the opposite direction of the city. I bet they planned it the moment they accepted the job.
— So… they never meant to help us? — Helena's voice was quiet, almost a whisper.
— No. But they also didn't want to kill us.
He folded his arms, thinking.
— Which means someone in the group convinced the others to just abandon us. I'm betting it was the women. Tony, the lancer, didn't seem to care much—he probably just went along with it.
Maybe there was still a trace of conscience in them. Or maybe they just didn't want to deal with more blood on their hands.
It didn't matter.
They needed to find the real path. And fast.
Fly looked toward the horizon, then back at Helena.
— Let's go.
With no other choice, the two of them started walking—this time trusting only each other.
The dense forest around them seemed to close in, every shadow hiding a potential threat. Time moved strangely there, the minutes dragging on like hours. Fly stayed alert, certain they were in a dangerous part of the woods.
— We're probably deep in a high-risk zone. Let's move slow and stay quiet — he whispered.
They had barely covered two kilometers when they heard the first distinct sound.
Voices. Speaking in an unfamiliar language.
But Fly had a guess.
— Hel… you heard that, right?
— Yes. There are three of them. And they're heading this way.
Fly narrowed his eyes. How did she know that with such certainty? He could barely make out more than a few indistinct murmurs—indecipherable sounds blending together—but she spoke as if she'd counted them up close.
— All right. Stay here. I'm going to climb that tree to get a better view.
He scaled the tree quickly, his movements practiced. From the top, he had a clear sight of their pursuers.
— Of course it would be goblins… — he muttered to himself.
Short creatures with greenish skin and sharp teeth, they carried crude spears and chipped daggers. Their clothes were nothing more than filthy rags, and their expressions lacked any semblance of thought. Nothing more than patrolling fodder protecting… something.
Fly recognized them from stories about the first floor of the Dungeon. They had some long, official name, but to him, they were just goblins.
— At least they look weak… and poorly armed.
If they were as dumb as the stories claimed, they wouldn't even realize what hit them.
He pulled a stone from his pouch and loaded his sling. Slowly, he began to spin it, increasing the speed. The sharp snap of leather cutting the air was familiar. And then, suddenly, memories flooded in.
— Dad! Come play with me?
The man, sitting in a chair, was holding a guitar and scribbling notes in a worn notebook.
— Sweetheart, "daddy" is writing a song to release… We need to eat, you understand that, right?
— Mommy would play with me.
The man sighed and closed the notebook.
— That was a low blow.
— What's a low blow?
He laughed, defeated.
— Okay… what do you want to do?
The little girl smiled, holding up an object clutched in her small hands.
— A friend at school gave me this today to shoot birds… but I don't want to hurt anything.
The father took the sling from her and examined it.
— Very good, honey. This isn't for killing birds. Hold on… I think I have some cans around here. Let's play.
— YAY!
Released.
The stone whistled through the air and struck the goblin's forehead with a brutal crack. The creature had no time to scream—its head burst open like an overripe melon, splattering bone and blood across the forest floor.
The other two goblins froze, glancing around in confused terror.
— Okay… and here I thought I'd just knock one out…
Fly spun the sling again and fired. The second goblin collapsed, its skull caved in from the blow.
The third turned to flee, panicking. Another stone caught it in the temple, dropping it like a sack of meat.
Fly climbed down from the tree and gently tapped Helena's shoulder. She was lying low among the leaves, hidden.
— Took care of them. I'm going to check what they were carrying—be right back.
— Okay… but hurry.
Fly crawled toward the bodies. As expected, there was nothing useful: rusty weapons, filthy cloaks, and no hint as to what they were guarding.
He sighed and returned to Helena.
— Nothing useful. Let's keep going.
Hours passed as they moved through the forest, following what Fly believed was the correct direction.
Then—at last—they heard it: the sound of running water.
— Okay. Now we're almost safe.
Helena let out a long, tired breath of relief.
— Fly, I'm thirsty. Can we drink this water?
He looked at the river—crystal-clear and inviting—but he knew it wasn't guaranteed to be safe.
— Without decanting, it's not safe. We have to hold out a little longer. If it becomes absolutely necessary, I'll find a way.
The rush to flee the city had made Fly commit a basic mistake: not thinking about essential supplies.
A mistake he swore never to make again.
As the sun began to disappear on the horizon, the first lights of the city appeared ahead.
Strugar.
The relief nearly made his knees buckle, but Fly ignored the pain. His feet were covered in burst blisters, some already forming new layers of exposed flesh, but none of that mattered.
They quickened their pace.
But when they were just a few kilometers from the city, Helena stopped abruptly.
— Fly… I think there's a battle happening.
He frowned.
— What do you mean?
— I'm hearing… two groups.
— Can you tell who they are?
Helena closed her eyes for a moment, as if filtering the sounds.
— Adventurers.
Fly paused for a moment.
That made sense.
He knew there were groups of adventurers who preferred to take prey that had already been hunted. Instead of risking themselves by facing monsters directly, they ambushed other adventurers and stole their spoils.
Morally unacceptable? Yes.
Common in this unscrupulous world? Absolutely.
Fly took a deep breath.
— Let's get closer.
Helena hesitated.
— But… Fly, what if we get caught in it?
He gave a half-smile.
— I don't plan on fighting. I want to see if we can get something out of this.
If those adventurers were distracted by a battle, maybe there was an opportunity.
An opportunity to gain something.
Or at least, to survive a little longer.
And so, silent as shadows, the two began to approach.
Helena and Fly moved in cautiously, until they were less than two hundred meters from the fight.
— It's the healer's group—the one that robbed us. — Helena whispered.
Fly narrowed his eyes, analyzing the scene.
— Looks like the healer is already dead.
Sibila was pinned to a tree, an arrow piercing her forehead from side to side, the tip buried in the rough bark. Ana, the archer, was nowhere to be seen, which likely meant she was dead too.
The remaining fight was between a spearman and a soldier, both exhausted but determined to bring the other down.
The soldier held his heavy shield, fending off the spearman's precise thrusts. Each blow tried to break through the defense, but the shield held firm. The soldier, however, could no longer advance—only retreat slowly, his strength being drained by fatigue.
The spearman circled around him, searching for an opening. Every movement was calculated, every breath measured.
Then came the opening.
The soldier hesitated for a moment as he tried to reposition his shield, and in that instant, the spearman lunged with a brutal, precise strike.
The spear pierced through the visor of the soldier's helmet with a metallic snap and a wet crunch. The body fell with a dull thud, marking the end of the clash.
But the spearman wasn't satisfied. He dropped to his knees, panting, his eyes burning with rage and frustration.
With a furious growl, he yanked the spear from the enemy's skull… only to drive it in again, cracking the bone with a grotesque crunch.
His eyes turned toward where Sibila lay, skewered to the tree. There was something in his expression… pain? Regret? Fly couldn't tell.
— Fly, what do we do?! — Helena asked, alarmed.
Fly already had an answer.
— We need money. We need to get into the city. He has everything… and he's giving us the opportunity.
He looked at her seriously.
— Be ready to run if I mess this up.
Helena swallowed hard but nodded.
Fly picked up a well-polished stone and gripped his sling tightly. The fight was practically over. All that remained was to crown the victor…
The spearman was standing again, staring at the healer's corpse. Or maybe he was turning toward them… Fly didn't know, and didn't care.
He spun the sling, feeling the tension build.
Then, he released the stone with full force.
The projectile flew across the space in the blink of an eye, hitting the spearman square in the forehead. The man staggered, dazed, and fell backward.
Fly didn't hesitate. He ran toward the enemy.
The spearman was still moving, but his mind seemed disconnected from his body. Fly knelt beside him and picked up a stone from the ground.
And then, he began to strike.
Once.
Twice.
Three.
Four times.
— Die, you son of a bitch! Die! — he shouted, smashing the man's face.
A memory struck him like lightning.
The door to his house was ajar, and outside stood two police officers.
— Mr. Jonathan... I'm sorry to inform you, but your wife is dead.
— What? What are you talking about?!
— There was an incident at the school… two boys came in armed and… unfortunately, she was one of the victims.
The silence was unbearable.
— Dad…? Who's there? Where's Mom?
— Dad… dad…
— FLY... FLY!
Helena's voice yanked him from the memory.
— Fly, he's already dead! What are you doing?!
He blinked, feeling the warmth of blood on his hands, on his face. The spearman's head was unrecognizable.
A knot formed in his stomach. He turned to the side and vomited, tasting only bitter bile as it rose in his throat.
Helena knelt beside him, worried.
— Fly… are you okay?
He took a few deep breaths, trying to pull himself together.
— I'm… I'm fine. We need to clean these guys out and get out of here.
They worked quickly.
They took bags, weapons, and every bit of money they could find. Every gold coin, every item that could be useful.
— I found a canteen.
They both drank the water greedily, then used the river to wash the blood off their bodies. They changed clothes, discarding the dirty ones.
Fly looked at Helena and tossed her a light leather tunic that had belonged to the healer.
— Put this on. You need to look like an adventurer.
Helena nodded and dressed quickly. Meanwhile, Fly grabbed the fallen archer's bow.
— Okay, we need to get our story straight before entering the city. — He looked at Helena. — If anyone asks, we're adventurers. Just passing through. Got it?
— No problem. — She gave a faint smile. — But… what are we going to do after that?
Fly took a deep breath.
— We'll rent a room and rest for a few days. After that… I'll figure out the next step.
He gave one last glance at the battlefield. Bodies scattered, blood on the earth.
None of that mattered now.
They had survived.
And that was all that mattered.
Getting into the city was easier than Fly had expected. The gate guard only gave them a brief inspection, confirming their supposed professions. He asked no questions. After all, it wasn't the job of a simple gatekeeper to interrogate adventurers.
The things that happened outside the city had always happened, long before he was born, and would continue long after he died. His job was to keep order within the walls—nothing more.
The suspicious glance lingered in the air for a moment, but the guard soon shrugged and let them through.
— Well… I have this map I took from the adventurers. — Fly murmured to Helena, pulling the piece of parchment from his pocket. — We can stay at the Guild Tavern. It's the most expensive, but also the one that'll help me the most.
— Help us how? — Helena raised an eyebrow.
Fly just gave a small smirk.
The Guild Tavern was in the heart of the city, nestled among cobbled streets and sturdy stone-and-wood buildings. When they arrived, it was already night, and the place seemed empty. Only a woman stood behind the counter, cleaning a mug with a bored expression.
When they saw the wooden sign out front, they read:
"GUILD RHINOS"
Before they could say anything, the woman noticed them.
— Bar's closed.
Fly kept his composure.
— Sorry, I didn't see the sign. We're not here to drink—we'd like to rent a room.
The woman looked them up and down, frowning.
— A room… You know this place isn't cheap, right? You don't exactly look like part of the elite.
Fly smiled slightly.
— We can pay. We just need a room. We're passing through.
The woman grunted and stepped out from behind the counter. That's when Fly realized she was gigantic.
Over 2.4 meters tall, her presence was imposing. Her sharp gaze and the way her muscles shifted under simple clothes made it clear she wasn't just a tavern keeper—she had likely once been a warrior.
— A barrel of gold per week, and the room's yours.
Helena's eyes widened.
— That's outrag—
— We accept. — Fly interrupted quickly. — I'd like to pay a month in advance.
The woman narrowed her eyes.
— Hmmm… hunting outside the city was good, huh? I wonder how many you killed.
Her eyes showed no interest—only disgust.
Fly met her gaze.
— Like I said, we're not from around here. Just passing through. If you could show us the room, I'd appreciate it.
The woman stared at him for a few more seconds, then shrugged and tossed him the key.
— Third room on the left. Breakfast's at 7, lunch at noon. Dinner's on your own.
Before they could head upstairs, her deep voice called after them one last time.
— Welcome to the Rhinos Guild.
Once inside the room, Helena crossed her arms, clearly irritated.
— Why did you accept that absurd price? This place costs at least five times more than anywhere else!
Fly sat on the bed and pulled off his boots, feeling the sting of the burst blisters on his feet.
— We need to be here, Helena. This is where everyone comes to take quests and make contacts. This is where I can make money.
Helena sighed and sat beside him.
— I still don't get it… What do you really want to do here?
For a moment, Fly stared at the ceiling.
Then, the words came out before he could stop them.
— I'm going to...
Helena blinked.
— Going to what?
— Love, you know music never put food on our table…
Jonathan looked at his wife, holding her hands.
— But it can now. I signed up for an event. It's going to be televised. If I pass, they start paying me to participate. In the end… I might finally make it.
She sighed, looking at him with a mix of love and concern.
— Babe… I trust you. But our daughter can't grow up seeing her father singing in bars. You understand that, right?
— I promise, love.
She smiled, but raised an eyebrow as she saw him holding the guitar.
— You're gonna sing our song?
He smiled.
— Yeah.
— Jesus… you promised that one was just for me.
The memory made him take a deep breath. When he came back to the present, Helena was still watching him, waiting for an answer.
He gave a faint smile.
— I'm going to sing.
Later that night, Fly went downstairs and approached the counter, where the giant woman was still standing.
— What do you want, kid?
— Well… I'm a traveler. A wanderer. I like to tell my stories through music.
— A bard? — She scowled.
— No, ma'am. Just a traveler with many tales. I don't charge anything to sing. And I believe it might bring more customers to your guild.
She looked him over, skeptical.
— I don't see an instrument on you. You use magic?
Her tone grew dangerously serious.
— If you use magic, I'll beat your ass myself and toss you out.
Fly chuckled softly, raising his hands.
— No magic. My instrument's in pieces, back in the room. If you'd like, I can give you a performance tonight.
She growled, but relented.
— Free? If you suck, I throw you out.
— Deal.
Fly rushed back to the room and found Helena stringing the bronze wires into the carved piece of wood he'd made himself.
She sighed.
— Fly… those strings cost a fortune. You owe me an explanation for this weeks ago and I still haven't gotten one. I hope you know what you're doing.
He took the instrument, feeling the cool wood in his hands.
— Trust me. I already got the green light. Now I just need to prove myself.
Helena didn't answer right away. She just looked at him, then at the instrument.
— I hope it's amazing, Fly.
The smell of beer and roasted meat filled the air, mixing with sweat and the tension of a day of battle. The massive tavern keeper raised a mug and shouted with a thunderous voice, making the whole hall vibrate.
— You bastards! Tonight we've got a bard with us! Can you believe that?!
The chatter stopped. All eyes turned toward her.
— And guess what? The son of a bitch wants to give buffs for free! So thank me for getting this shit! Maybe tomorrow you lot will finally conquer the fifth floor of the damn dungeon!
Laughter, shouts, and a few claps filled the space. Excitement grew among the sweaty, drunk adventurers.
The woman spun on her heel and shot a look at Fly, who was carefully reading every expression in the crowd. Everyone stared back at him—like predators eyeing unfamiliar prey.
— Ma'am, I said I'm not a bard.
The giant woman snorted and laughed at the same time.
— Who gives a shit. No one here knows what the hell a bard even is. That crap's from the damn metropolis! Hahahaha!
She pointed a massive finger at him.
— Do your thing, just don't fuck it up.
Fly took a deep breath.
He stepped up onto an empty table.
— Helena, hand me the instrument.
Helena, holding something covered in a linen cloth, carefully pulled the fabric away and handed it to Fly.
Silence filled the room as the polished wood caught the faint candlelight.
Then, someone broke the tension.
— WHAT THE HELL KIND OF WEAPON IS THAT?!
A few adventurers were already on their feet, hands on their swords, ready to strike.
Fly raised a hand calmly.
— Gentlemen, it's not a weapon.
He held the object firmly.
— It's a guitar.
The silence returned—this time, thick with curiosity.
— I'm going to sing a song from my hometown.
He inhaled deeply.
— Something important to me. I hope you enjoy it.
But before his fingers touched the strings, a memory pulled him far away from that place.
The room was bathed in the soft light of a bedside lamp.
The guitar rested against the wall, and she was lying on the bed, her hair spilling over the pillow.
Fly sat beside her, holding her hands.
— It was beautiful, love.
She smiled.
— But… I thought you were going to sing our song.
Fly sighed, shaking his head with a sad smile.
— I'm never going to sing our song.
She blinked.
— Why not?
— Because it's just for us.
She laughed softly.
— You always say that.
— And it'll always be true. Besides, the one I played is trending. My voice fits it. So it's fine.
She squeezed his hands.
— Will you sing our song for me now? Just for me? I want to feel like you'll always be by my side.
Fly smiled.
Picked up the guitar and began to play.
— Of course.
Guess I am singing in a bar, after all.
The tears came before the words, but the melody flowed like never before.
He sang.
And for a moment, the entire world disappeared.
⚠️ WARNING: For the full experience of this scene, please follow the instructions.
(Please listen to the first track of the playlist "The Bard" on Spotify. If you can't find my playlist, please listen to Stand By Me by Ben E. King.)
Do not continue reading until the song is over. 🎵