As the first rays of dawn painted the cobbled streets of Reaon in a golden hue, Alaric Benom trudged along, half-awake, his eyes still heavy with sleep.
His destination—The Gilded Chalice Tavern. He could almost hear the bar calling for his steady hand.
However, the morning's tranquility shattered when Alaric stumbled upon an ongoing exchange between two upperclassmen, their elegant attire shining in the morning sun.
"Have you heard?" One exclaimed, eyes wide with disbelief.
"About the explosion in the Aserian Ocean about a day ago? Aye, I have…" The other replied solemnly.
Alaric's steps faltered as he realized what they had said. With his curiosity piqued, he leaned against a nearby pillar, feigning nonchalance as he listened intently.
"It obliterated the entire Aserian Island," the first speaker continued, shaking his head, "Nothing was left, I tell you. Just gone!”
"Wasn't it the same island boats and people disappeared near?”
“The very same one! Do you think those two are connected?”
“I don't know myself, but I've heard rumors…" The second person murmured, casting a wary glance around as if fearing eavesdroppers. Whispers say it was an arcane experiment gone awry. Others claim it was a vengeful witch's wrath unleashed."
As the conversation between the men shifted to speculation, Alaric straightened himself and continued his journey, as he already knew the answer himself. Flashes of his previous foreboding tavern encounter with the enigmatic man rang in his head. “That witch… What the hell have you gotten into? Gods above, keep him safe. He's most likely walking around with a giant target on his back now—same as me…”
As Alaric pushed open the heavy wooden door of the Gilded Chalice Tavern, he met the gaze of a familiar man perched behind the counter. It was Finnegan Benom arranging the morning's inventory.
"Ah, morning lad! Bright and early I see!" Finnegan called out, a warm smile formed on his round face as he greeted with a hearty wave.
Alaric managed a half-hearted nod in response, his brow furrowed and his steps slower than usual. Finnegan's keen eyes didn't miss the telltale signs of a troubled mind.
"Somethin' weighing on ya, Alaric?" Finnegan inquired, setting down a bottle of aged whiskey with a soft clink.
Alaric hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether to share his concerns. "It's nothing boss, I just didn't get enough sleep is all...”
Finnegan's expression softened. “It's about the explosion, right?”
Alaric couldn't help the shock crossing his face, confirming Finnegan's suspicions.
Waddling from behind the counter, his short and chubby figure being revealed, Finnegan went to comfort his employee. “Word's been getting around. Troublesome indeed, lad—But you gotta remember. A bartender's duty ain't just to pour drinks, but to also offer a sanctuary, a haven for those seekin' respite from the chaos outside. As long as people have faith and strength, hope and prosperity will come."
Taking a moment to consider his words, Alaric nodded, appreciating Finnegan's optimistic wisdom. "You're right, boss. I'll keep that in mind."
With a reassuring pat on Alaric's shoulder, Finnegan returned to his tasks as Alaric went to dress in his proper work attire.
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Together, they prepared baked goods, cleaned every mug, dusted each surface, and opened shop in time for the day.
Hours later, the Gilded Chalice Tavern would experience its most crowded hours yet. The air hummed with conversations, laughter, and the boisterous cheer intermingling along the clinking of tankards. The melody of lutes played by wandering minstrels on the corner stage were the cherry on top.
With the biggest smile on his face, Alaric looked and commented upon the sea of drunken bliss. “Jeez boss, how'd you predict this too?”
Finnegan pulled out a small comb from his left pocket. Starting to comb his short black hair forward, he confidently responded. “Har! Experience my boy! That’s all there is to it! Also, you can drop ol’ ‘boss’, just call me Finnegan—or better yet, pops!”
Shocked, Alaric questioned Finnegan. “Pops?”
“Yeah, why not? You already took my last name–”
“You mean you forced your last name on me.” Alaric sarcastically mused.
“Right right, but what else was I supposed to do when finding that starving boy all alone one night, hm~?”
Opening his mouth for a rebuttal, Alaric could do nothing but look away flushed in response. Alaric himself remembered that very same night Finnegan referred to.
It was a stormy night about four years ago, at the height of the Hiyan Plague. It had already been four months since Alaric, only known as No. 35 or 'Jester' back then, escaped the Soul Divination Council thanks to the plague.
At first resorting to basic and harmless countryside theft to survive, something that was child’s play to him as a trained assassin, he quickly realized it wouldn’t sustain him for much longer.
The Hiyan Plague had already killed thousands, leaving numerous villages a contaminated ghost town and forcing established kingdoms to close their borders. The latter is what affected a young Alaric the most, since his primary target were merchant carriages travelling between kingdoms.
On a hill looking at the Kingdom of Reaon, a hooded Alaric pondered on his next move. As a trained assassin, he could survive for extended periods of time without food or water, but he was nearing his end. The rumbling in his stomach howled almost as loud as the thundering sky above him. His skin shriveled due to his severe thirst.
Now making his move, his waterlogged footsteps were tinged with hesitation. Until this point, he avoided such populated places like Reaon in fear of coming across a Council Member, but…
“I have no choice…” Alaric weakly said through gritted teeth. The towering stone brick walls ahead were a clear obstacle between him and survival.
Approaching the front entrance, Alaric doubted his decision for a moment. However, he pushed forward. He didn't want to risk wasting energy looking for an opening other than the entrance.
A guard, adorned with a beige tunic and silver armor, the Reaon knight uniform, stood at the front gate.
Sheltered from the raging storm by the overarching stone, he stood resolute alone, a precaution from the plague.
With his head in the clouds, the guard soon spotted a small, hooded figure through the shimmering silver curtain that drenched the landscape. Trying to see what exactly he was looking at, he squinted through the heavy rain. “What the hell? Is that—a traveler? There's no way… No one has come to Reaon not long after the plague hit… But if it is…”
Suddenly, once the figure had gotten closer, it vanished in an instant. The guard was bewildered, so many questions rushed through his mind to explain what he had witnessed right in front of him. Was it a hallucination from being alone for so long? Was it a symptom of the Hiyan disease? Or perhaps, it was the ghost of someone who died from the plague…
The guard continued to ponder on the mysterious figure, until the gate behind him creaked open. Opened from his side, the guard was mortified—an outsider had just gotten inside without him noticing at all. A possible carrier of the Hiyan disease, that once spread, could spell doom for all of Reaon.
Now darting through the vacant streets of Reaon, Alaric searched for any shops that could satiate both his hunger and thirst. Each rapid step created small splashes, adding to the cacophony of rain hitting various surfaces.
Unfortunately, the search proved fruitless, as every store and pop-up shop he came across was entirely empty. Some were due to the foresight of the shop owners relocating their stock until the plague went by. Others showed obvious signs of forced entry and vandalism.
Until one store that is. At the end of a block, the inside had packaged bread displayed via a side window. Alaric pressed against the window, his mouth salivating at the thought of his pain from hunger ailing him no longer.
Taking a two-pronged dagger from beneath his drenched cloak, he readied to break the window, until…
“Someone!! Help!!!”
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Next: (Chapter 19) A Diamond In The Rough