The two princes—one crownless, one golden-haired—wandered through the bustling lower streets of the town, where life smelled of roasted chestnuts, wet stone, and the clatter of coin.
Shop after shop, inn after inn, stall after stall—they asked.
"We're looking for work."
Sometimes they were turned away with a laugh. Other times, they were met with suspicion—two fine-looking young men asking for jobs while dressed like travelers but speaking like nobles.
But neither gave up.
As the sun tilted west and the marketplace dulled to an amber hush, a woman standing outside a modest corner restaurant called out, "You there! The two who've been asking around—can you carry trays and clean tables?"
They looked at each other. Then Octavio stepped forward.
"Yes, we can. Please give us a chance."
She raised a brow. "We've got a late crowd. You'll start now. No pay if you slack off. Understand?"
"Understood."
And that's how the two princes found themselves inside "The Laughing Bowl", an old family-run eatery buzzing with stories, stew, and chaos.
Fabale looked around, clearly amused by the situation.
He leaned toward Octavio and whispered, "You sure about this? I still have money—enough to last us at least a week."
Octavio shook his head. "No. We need to save that. With a long path ahead, we'll need every coin. That's our emergency fund, Fabale. Let's earn what we can. We'll work today, eat tonight, and journey tomorrow."
Fabale stared at him, the corner of his mouth twitching into a proud smile.
"You're not the same prince who left the palace, Octavio."
Octavio smiled back, adjusting the apron the woman tossed at him.
"Good. That prince wouldn't have lasted a day."
They spent the evening rushing between tables, dodging spilled soup, bumping into chairs, and learning how exhausting it was to smile politely at loud customers. But something in the sweat and effort made them laugh—really laugh—for the first time in days.
At one point, Fabale accidentally dropped a tray of mugs, and the cook shouted, "You! Blondie! Less hair flipping, more balance!"
Octavio nearly dropped his own tray from laughing so hard.
By the time night deepened and the doors finally closed, the woman handed them each a small bag of coins and a bowl of hot rice with spicy lentils.
"You worked well," she said, with a grunt that may have meant approval. "Come back if you want more work tomorrow."
The two princes stepped into the cool night, their hands full, their bellies warm.
They walked back slowly.
"First job done," said Fabale.
"Feels oddly satisfying," replied Octavio.
**"You'll make a fine commoner someday, Crown Prince."
"And you'll make a terrible one, Your Highness of Rala."
They laughed together beneath the starlit sky.
It wasn't much.
But it was theirs.
The soft creak of floorboards echoed in the stillness of the night as the two princes returned to their shared inn room. Their limbs were heavy with exhaustion, but their hearts held something new—satisfaction.
Octavio stared at the few copper coins he had earned.
Rough. Dull. Scratched.
Yet to him, they gleamed brighter than the Obelion vaults ever had.
"My first earnings…" he whispered to himself, smiling.
He slipped the coins under his arm, clutching them close like a child hugging a precious treasure, and drifted off to sleep.
Outside, the world was silent. The stars blinked lazily above. And somewhere beyond the cracked inn shutters, a figure moved.
Fabale quietly stepped outside, his cloak catching the breeze.
From the shadows, a man emerged, kneeling slightly. His armor barely made a sound, but his presence was sharp.
"Greetings, Your Highness," said the figure.
"Rayel," Fabale acknowledged with a small nod.
"What's happening in the palace?"
Rayel straightened. "No action has been taken by King Augustus. No warrant issued, no troops dispatched. But…" he hesitated, "it is strange. He hasn't sent anyone to bring back the crown prince either."
Fabale fell silent, eyes lifting toward the moonlit sky. Something about that silence was heavy—thoughtful.
Rayel, braving the quiet, added, "Forgive me, Your Highness, but… why go this far? I saw him tonight… mopping floors in a restaurant. It—" his voice broke slightly, "it felt wrong. You shouldn't have to see that. None of us should."
Fabale chuckled under his breath, eyes still on the moon.
"You're overstepping, Rayel," he said, then softened, "but in a cute way. So I'll let it go."
Rayel looked down, unsure if he'd been scolded or praised.
Then his voice dropped. "Your Highness… are you truly planning to go into that forest?"
The question hung in the night air like a falling star.
"The Forest of No Return?"
Fabale gave no clear answer—only a cryptic smile.
"Who knows," he said quietly. "As long as Octavio wants it. This isn't about kingdoms or duty anymore. Don't think too much, Rayel. Just do as you were instructed."
Rayel lowered his head.
"Yes, Your Highness."
With that, he vanished into the darkness, silent as a memory.
Fabale stood alone now, his golden hair kissed by moonlight, the weight of his decisions pulling gently at his shoulders.
He looked up at the moon—calm, full, watching.
"This time…" he whispered to the sky, "I'll help. No matter what it costs."
And then he turned, quietly reentering the inn where his friend—his responsibility—lay asleep, unaware of the secrets the night had whispered.