Jon stood alone in the middle of BeMare, watching Elifero and the dog disappear farther down the road toward AeMare.
For a few seconds, he remained there.
Then he turned toward the marketplace.
"Alright," he muttered, rubbing his hands together. "Guess I should get started too."
His eyes moved from stall to stall.
There were dozens of them.
Food. Tools. Clothes. Household goods. People moving between them in every direction.
Jon scratched his cheek.
Where do I even start?
Then his gaze landed on a familiar poultry stall.
He paused.
The same shopkeeper from earlier stood behind it, busy serving customers.
Jon's lips slowly curled into a grin.
Perfect.
He approached.
But not normally.
Jon lowered his shoulders, bent slightly forward and slipped between the customers gathered around the stall. With so many people blocking the seller's view, he managed to reach the front without immediately being noticed.
He stared down at the poultry meat with the deepest concentration he could possibly fake.
Then, lowering his voice slightly, he spoke.
"Hey, old man. This looks really good. How much?"
The seller barely looked at him.
"One silver and three copper coins," he answered politely.
Jon stared at the meat.
Then at the man.
Then back at the meat.
"That's really expensive for just meat."
The seller's expression remained unchanged.
"You sure you don't want to reduce the price a little?"
"No."
"Not even a little?"
"No."
"What about—"
"Meat isn't easy to come by, young man," the seller explained, still distracted with his work. "Especially with hunters having to travel farther outside the village. If you want quality, you pay for quality."
"Come on. Surely you could make an exception."
The man's hand stopped.
His eyes narrowed.
That voice.
Something about it—
He slowly raised his head.
Jon immediately became very interested in the meat again.
The seller stared at him.
His eyebrows lowered.
"Wait a minute..."
Jon's eyes shifted away.
"I've heard that voice before."
Jon slowly began backing away.
The man's eyes widened.
"Oh, hell nah!"
He reached across the stall and grabbed Jon by the front of his shirt.
"YOU!"
Several customers turned.
Jon gave him an innocent smile.
"Good morning."
"What are you doing at my stall, you little sh—"
The man stopped himself.
His eye twitched.
"...you little troublemaker."
Jon couldn't help it.
A laugh escaped him.
"Hey, at least you didn't call me a little shit this time."
"Don't tempt me."
"I'm not!"
The seller released Jon's shirt and shoved him lightly away from the stall.
"Go bother somebody else."
"Wait, wait!"
Jon raised both hands.
"I'm not here to cause trouble."
The man stared at him.
Jon smiled awkwardly.
"Okay, maybe what happened earlier looked disrespectful."
"Looked?"
"But I wasn't trying to disrespect you."
The seller folded his arms.
Jon continued.
"My friend was stressed out. Really stressed. I was just trying to make him laugh."
The man's expression softened—
barely.
Jon noticed.
"So..."
He leaned against the stall.
"I just wanted to ask you something. That's all."
The seller stared at him for several seconds.
Then he sighed.
"Fine."
Jon's face brightened.
"But—"
Jon's smile disappeared.
The seller pointed toward the meat.
"You buy something first."
Jon blinked.
"What?"
"I'm running a business, kid. You want to stand around asking questions, then buy something."
Jon slowly reached into his pocket.
The seller watched.
Jon searched one pocket.
Nothing.
He searched the other.
Still nothing.
Then—
Clink.
A single copper coin slipped from his fingers and landed on the ground.
Both of them stared at it.
Jon crouched, picked it up and held it between two fingers.
He smiled.
"So..."
The seller already looked unimpressed.
"What can I get for one copper?"
One of the man's eyebrows rose.
"One copper?"
Jon nodded enthusiastically.
The seller leaned forward.
"Do I look like I sell scraps and pocket change?"
Jon's smile weakened.
"That's a little harsh."
"If you've only got one copper, go find another stall. Maybe someone out there has something cheap enough for you."
The man burst out laughing.
Jon frowned.
"Come on."
"No."
"One question."
"No."
"It'll be quick."
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"Just one."
The seller groaned.
Jon leaned closer.
"One tiny question."
"Will you leave afterward?"
Jon immediately straightened.
"Absolutely."
The man sighed.
"What do you want to know, kid?"
Jon's face lit up.
"Have you ever heard of a place called Oatile Village?"
The man's laughter faded.
Jon continued.
"And if you have, do you know where it is?"
The seller scratched the side of his neck.
Silence.
Jon waited.
The man looked upward.
Jon leaned slightly forward.
"...Well?"
Nothing.
The man's eyes narrowed in concentration.
Jon leaned farther.
"Well?"
Still nothing.
The seller rubbed his hair.
"Mhm..."
Jon's hopes slowly sank.
Finally, the man shook his head.
"No. Don't think I've ever heard of a place by that name."
Jon's shoulders dropped.
He had expected that answer.
Elifero had already spent yesterday asking people around the village, and no one seemed to recognize Oatile.
Still...
Hearing it again was disappointing.
"Oh."
Jon pushed himself away from the stall.
"Well... thanks anyway."
"Shoo, kid."
Jon took one step.
"Seriously?"
"Didn't you promise to leave?"
"...Fair."
Jon turned away.
The marketplace stretched before him.
Only now did he truly look at it.
Dozens of stalls.
Dozens of shopkeepers.
And beyond those stalls were houses, side streets and even more people.
Jon's expression slowly fell.
He put his hands on his waist.
"...This is going to take forever."
He could approach every seller individually.
Ask the same question.
Receive the same confused expression.
Move on.
Repeat.
By the time he finished this part of BeMare alone, the sun would probably already be disappearing behind the mountains.
Jon sighed.
"This isn't going to work."
His eyes drifted toward the road Elifero and the dog had taken.
For a moment, he wondered how they were doing.
Then he smiled softly.
"Heh."
Jon scratched the back of his head.
"Guess I'm the one who needs help now."
He turned away.
If one person couldn't cover BeMare quickly enough...
then he needed more people.
Fortunately, Jon knew exactly where to find some.
It didn't take him long.
Jon headed toward one of the places he knew particularly well.
Perhaps a little too well.
A large tree stood near the usual gambling spot, its branches stretching above the surrounding buildings. From there, the village bell could be seen in the distance.
Jon slowed as he approached it.
Something about the place made yesterday return to him.
He remembered standing there.
The dice.
The coins.
His frustration after losing again.
And then—
a strange boy staring at him from a distance.
Jon smiled.
"That really was yesterday, huh?"
It somehow felt longer.
His gaze wandered farther down the street.
Near Shank's Tavern, he spotted them.
Four boys.
Familiar faces.
They had formed a small circle around a crate. Scratches and markings covered its surface from countless games. A die bounced across the top while copper coins changed hands almost as quickly as it stopped moving.
Jon's smile widened.
There they were.
He approached casually.
"Hey, guys."
Silence.
The die rolled.
One boy collected his winnings.
Nobody looked at Jon.
Jon stopped.
"...Guys?"
Nothing.
He frowned.
"Come on. I'm talking to you."
"Get lost."
The response came instantly.
Jon flinched.
"Oh."
Still, none of them looked at him.
A small, awkward laugh escaped his mouth.
"Hehe..."
Nothing.
Jon rubbed the back of his neck.
"Seriously? You guys aren't going to talk to me?"
The game continued.
"I thought we were friends."
One boy snorted.
Jon reconsidered.
"Okay, maybe not friends."
No response.
"Gambling friends?"
Still nothing.
"Gambling acquaintances?"
One of them finally looked at him.
"Stop acting oblivious."
Jon blinked.
The boy's expression was completely serious.
"You know what you did."
Jon pointed toward himself.
"Me?"
The boy stared.
Jon smiled.
"...I actually don't."
All four stopped playing.
One slowly placed the die down.
"You really don't remember?"
Jon shook his head.
The boy exhaled through his nose.
"There's one important rule when we gamble."
Jon's expression slowly changed.
Ah.
"You don't leave in the middle of a game while people still have money to bet."
Jon looked away.
"Oh."
"And if you decide to leave anyway," the boy continued, "you pay everyone still playing a coin before you go."
Another boy folded his arms.
"You didn't."
Jon scratched his cheek.
"About that..."
"By the time we looked for you, you'd disappeared into that passageway with some random kid."
One of the others laughed.
"And now that he ditched you, you've come crawling back to us."
The four burst into laughter.
Jon stared at them.
Then shook his head.
"Nah."
Their laughter slowly faded.
"He didn't leave."
Jon crouched beside the crate.
"I'm actually helping him with something."
That caught their attention.
"Helping him?"
Jon nodded.
For once, the joking expression disappeared from his face.
"He doesn't remember how he got here."
The boys became quieter.
"He knows his name," Jon continued, "and he remembers where he's from. Or at least he thinks he does."
Jon rested his arms on his knees.
"The problem is that nobody seems to know where his village is."
One of the boys frowned.
"What's it called?"
"Oatile."
No reaction.
Jon had expected that.
"I've been asking around, but BeMare's too big for me to cover alone."
He looked at the four of them.
"So I need help."
Silence followed.
One boy looked toward the others.
Another scratched his nose.
The boy nearest the crate picked up the die, rolling it between his fingers.
Finally, one spoke.
"We're not helping you."
Jon blinked.
The boy continued.
"We'll help the kid."
Another nodded.
"Poor guy's lost."
A third shrugged.
"Better we help him get home than have him wandering around until he ends up like us."
Jon raised an eyebrow.
"...What's wrong with you guys?"
All four stared at him.
Jon immediately raised his hands.
"Never mind."
The boy with grey hair stood.
He walked toward Jon and rested a hand firmly on his shoulder.
"We ain't doing this for you."
"Yeah, yeah. I heard you."
"And..."
His grip tightened.
Jon looked at him.
"I still expect yesterday's payment."
Jon's smile froze.
"Hehe..."
"Don't 'hehe' me."
Jon laughed nervously.
"I'll get it to you."
"When?"
"Eventually."
"Jon."
"Let's focus on helping the lost child!"
The grey-haired boy narrowed his eyes.
Jon quickly walked away.
"Come on! We're wasting daylight!"
Five boys entered the marketplace.
This time, they didn't stay together.
They spread out.
One took the eastern stalls.
Another moved toward the houses.
Two searched along opposite sides of the marketplace.
Jon took the central stretch.
The same question travelled throughout BeMare.
Oatile Village.
Have you heard of it?
Do you know where it is?
Have you met anyone from there?
Again and again—
"No."
"Never heard of it."
"Oatile? Can't say I have."
"Sorry."
"No."
Jon kept moving.
One stall.
Then another.
A house.
Another shop.
Another person.
Nothing.
Whenever one of the boys crossed paths with him, Jon only needed to see their expression to know the answer.
Nothing.
As time passed, his optimism began to fade.
He stopped beside the road, wiping sweat from his forehead.
Maybe Elifero remembered the name wrong.
It was possible.
Memory loss could do strange things.
Perhaps Oatile wasn't even called Oatile.
Maybe it was a town rather than a village.
Maybe it was somewhere so distant that nobody in Eman had ever travelled near it.
Or—
Jon stopped himself.
"No."
There was no point making assumptions.
Elifero remembered that name.
Until they had a reason to doubt it, Jon would search for it.
He looked toward the sky.
They still had time.
But not much.
Jon exhaled.
Come on.
Someone has to know something.
Then—
"HEY!"
Jon's head snapped toward the voice.
One of the boys stood farther down the marketplace, waving both arms.
"GUYS!"
The others noticed too.
"RIGHT HERE!"
Jon's heart jumped.
He ran.
The others rushed toward the same stall from different directions.
Within moments, all five boys had gathered around it.
Jon pushed between two of them.
"What happened?"
The boy who had called them pointed excitedly toward the stall owner.
"This guy."
Jon looked up.
Behind the stall stood a surprisingly young man.
Various masks hung around him.
Some were carved from wood. Others appeared to have been shaped from unfamiliar materials. Human faces, animals, smiling expressions, distorted expressions—rows of hollow eyes stared outward from the display.
The young seller looked increasingly uncomfortable as five boys surrounded his stall.
Jon barely noticed the masks.
His attention was entirely on the man.
The boy beside him grinned.
"He knows the place."
Jon froze.
For hours, he had heard the same answers.
Never heard of it.
Don't know.
Sorry.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Now, for the first time—
someone knew.
Jon stepped closer to the stall.
The joking expression that had followed him through most of the day disappeared.
"Oatile Village?"
The young seller looked at him.
Then nodded.
"Yeah."
Jon's eyes widened.
"I know it."