I am not the protagonist of this story, nor do I think I’m cut out to be. Fate just has a funny way of entangling me within its strings. HavenCrest may be run by prophecies and “chosen ones”, but opinions can always be swayed by someone deep underground.

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“Nice work again, Rowan!” remarked the barkeep with a big grin on his face. He tossed a heavy bag of coins at me that I deftly caught in my good hand. “What would HavenCrest do without you to clean up crime?”

“Probably nothing. I’m just a simple mercenary just trying to do her job. I don’t really care about all the inner workings of HavenCrest,” I said as I tucked the bag of coins into my pocket. “But I would like to punch whoever decided that amputees don’t get a vote, in the face. With my metal arm.”

I clenched my metal fist dramatically and the nerve connection in my left shoulder shifted a bit.

He let out a hearty laugh, “I’m not sure that would be the best idea. We down here in the slums need you to control cult activity. You can’t really do that if you’re in jail.”

Sunlight shone through a window behind the bar, illuminating the barkeep from behind. “Just pay those nobles no mind. They have no clue what they’re talking about. You could destroy anyone on this side of the Break in a duel.”

“But what about the other side? Do you think I could defeat the ‘Crimson Empress’ in a duel?” I asked sarcastically.

“Actually,” he started, as he reached for something under the bar, “Speaking of the Break, I have a job you might be interested in.”

He placed a small, dusty piece of parchment on the counter and slid it over to me. “I think this job is a perfect fit for you.”

I squinted at the neat swirly letters on the page. “You do know I can’t read Drakari, right? I don’t exactly study dead languages in my free time,” I reminded, brandishing the parchment at him.

“Oh, they’re a Drakari this time?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I demanded, at the now empty air.

I let out a long deep sigh. What in the world was I supposed to do with a job in a language no one spoke anymore?

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The sweet scent of freshly baked moon rolls wafted through the bustling market street, announcing the Tandem Moon Festival that was just around the corner. Blue and gray streamers hung along the sides of the buildings and joyous laughter echoed from adjacent streets.

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As I walked, the hilt of my longsword hit my thigh in a rhythmic motion. My right hand rested on the cool metal of the star-shaped hilt. A sliver of the blade peeked out of the sheath and under the sunlight shifted the color from silver to blue, one of the unique characteristics of the material, Astrolium, that my sword was made out of.

My one good eye scanned the stalls that lined either side of the street. I needed to find someone who had a way to translate Drakari. If I wanted to eat this month I needed to finish this job.

I spied plenty of Drakari mingling among the humans, elves, nocturni, and mothfolk that were native to HavenCrest. But since being cut off from the rest of the continent, everyone adapted to speaking common. I wouldn’t have that much luck talking to them.

My eye was drawn up to the large looming clouds in the distance that created the eternal storm known by locals as the Break. The shifting sands of the barren desert combined with some kind of magic-jacking spell dissuade anyone from crossing it.

I walked by a street hospital with a pile of linens outside that looked like a paint palette exploded on them. But with blood from the people of HavenCrest, it was inevitable that that would happen.

The people of HavenCrest have blood in an array of colors that look like the paint section in a home improvement store. And my sword had been painted many a color over the years. That was just the price that this job came with.

My veins flowed with blood the color of forget-me-nots, a flower that was too gentle for a person like me.

Something out of the corner of my eye looked like a promising lead. Sitting below a loudly colored sign that read: ‘For the Right Price, Anything is Possible!’ was a blue Drakari. But something was different about her. She had traditional Drakari markings covering her body.

The markings indicated that she was a twin, which was seen as good luck in Drakari culture. Not many people still practiced ancient traditions like that so this seemed promising.

The drakari’s dark blue hair was tied up in an updo and a chain of daisies hung between her gold-painted horns. In her right hand, she held a small pen and was doodling all over the table. The table was nearly covered in stars and constellations of all kinds that matched some of the markings on her legs.

“You wouldn’t happen to read Drakari, would you?”

She jumped slightly when I addressed her. A few daisy petals fell onto the counter as she moved. She tried to hide the pen in her lap but it just clattered to the ground.

“Ah sorry, I don’t get many customers. You’re the first one today,” She apologized as her prehensile tail grabbed the pen off the ground. “So you need a translator? I personally don’t know any Drakari, but I do have an informant who does.”

“Great, where can I find them?” I asked, throwing a small bag of coins onto the counter.

“So that’s the thing. She… disappeared a few months ago and we haven’t heard from her since,” she replied sheepishly.

The way she paused struck me as a little odd but I played along with it.

“Well, does she have a place of residence or places she likes to frequent? I could help find her in exchange for her services.”

The Drakari floundered around a bit. Starting a few sentences but ending none of them. A look of resignation crossed her face, before motioning me to follow her behind a curtain I hadn’t noticed before.

She let out a deep sigh before speaking, “I would be happy to help you, it's just that my informant, Sera, isn’t exactly the most law-abiding citizen. She recently got into some trouble with the police for tampering with their data…and also being a serial pickpocket, but that’s not as important.”

This job seemed like it might take a little longer than I originally anticipated.