I sit on a log at the homeless camp.

I’ve just finished giving some haircuts, and I’m meditating on what to do next while Quintus and Tiberius distribute some bread. I feel like after forgetting to come to work on time, it’s best if I walk home with them. I don’t want to worry anyone.

Back at the bakery, Clodia was freaked out that something had happened to me. But she didn’t mention anything about her mother.

From where I’m sitting, close to where I usually give haircuts, I can see Arminius in the distance giving me the stink-eye. I raise my arm and wave at him.

Why be rude, right?

Plus, what’s the worse that can happen? He attacks me in front of everyone, and I put a [Lightbolt] through his skull?

Dammit.

I shake the morbid thought from my head.

One therapist told me not to engage in a spiral of negative thoughts. But sometimes, it just feels natural. After a date that went too well or one that didn’t go well at all, I often paced around alone in my apartment, restless. And then, I would conjure fears and anxieties about the most trivial things in the world.

I don’t know.

Another therapist told me not to refuse the negative thoughts and that they are a normal part of life. Like, sure, they must be. But to what extent?

“Hey, Joey!” Quintus sits beside me.

I can see from his awkward posture that he wants to cheer me up or simply chat to see if everything is ok. He tried the same at the bakery, goofily attempting to hide his motives.

And don’t misunderstand me; I appreciate it.

“Yo, what’s up,” I nod at him.

“I was just telling Tiberius that we should go out drinking again. Gregorius told me he wants to join. Same for Lucanus.”

I nodded.

“Sure,” I say. “I’m just a bit busy with my magic practice. There’s a problem I need to crack. Might be done by tomorrow, though. Tomorrow evening sounds good?”

“Yes,” Quintus nods, uncertain. “Joey, you know you don’t need to put your head down and learn magic like this, right? You could ask Clodia for more [Guards]. She wants to give you more protection. Why don’t you just accept?”

“I’m good, Quintus, really,” I shrug.

“I’ve seen many guys in the military go through hellish training by themselves because they were deadly afraid of war. But in reality, it’s much more important to work in concert with others in battle than to just train by yourself.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“That’s some insight,” I say, slightly surprised. “But it doesn’t change my plans, my man. I am practicing magic because I want to. It’s fun, and it gives me some great brain teasers.”

“Ok,” Quintus sighs. “I’ll trust you. Which Cantrip are you working on now?”

“The twenty-third,” I sigh. “It’s a bit harder than I had initially thought. But I just need to figure out the math to make it work.”

Before Quintus can say anything else, I get up to take a stroll.

“I need to clear my head,” I tell him, walking away.

I am slightly cheered up but still cannot shake the anxiety I’ve felt since Marcella’s visit. If it wasn’t for magic, I would probably feel even worse, honestly.

As my boots crush the green grass of the Pratus, I glance over at Stan, who's sitting by himself, eating some bread. Only his Godzilla-sized dog is by his side.

It’s infuriating. Looking at the man just enjoying something so simple makes me want to punch him in the mouth.

Dammit.

I shake my head, and hopefully, such a thought as well.

I immediately feel guilty about it. If Stan doesn’t want to be involved with whatever happens in this city, it’s his business. I’m not his Uncle Ben.

I walk away from the camp, going for the parts of the Pratus where you can find benches and just sit and stare at this beautiful place in the heart of Amorium. A green, pulsating heart full of trees and verdant nature.

But the more I look around, the more I ask myself, why am I like this?

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What happened to me when I was a kid? Why did I literally lose some of my cognitive functions out of the blue?

And there’s another question that I can see myself agonizing over for a very long time.

Are there any chances of getting cured?

Hope is a cruel thing, isn’t it? If you want to completely crush the heart of someone, always leave them with the tiniest tinge of hope that things might go well one day. People who live in hell might have gotten comfortable with that. Hope, though, makes you sleep on a bed of nails.

Sometimes, people fantasize about nature and how great it is. Every time I heard some college-educated person discuss it, they reminded me of that one tale from Giacomo Leopardi. The guy is arguably the second-best poet in the history of Italian literature if you don’t count the Latin ones.

He lived in the early 1800s and died pretty early because his health was as bad as his literary production was great. Which is somewhat ironic if you think about how Ancient Greece saw people with disabilities as the carriers of great… wisdom? I’m not sure wisdom is the right word. But Homer, following the mythologic tradition instead of the dry, historical one, was supposedly blind. And so was Callimacus–or maybe he had some other defect.

Anyway, the point is that ancient people were convinced that something else came alongside great suffering. Perhaps, a greater sensibility to the Human condition and to the world in general.

Nowadays, some would think that if you write poetry because you are in a wheelchair, it is because you are a sourpuss. I mean, no one would say it. Some, however, would think it.

Personally, I like the mythological interpretation. Pain breeds a deeper connection with your emotions and self-reflection. It is not necessarily good, but it can certainly be used as a great tool. Many people who suffered a lot just become idiots. But some, perhaps, ascend through it–essentially, thanks to the pain. Not in spite of it.

And one thing that Leopardi seemed thoroughly convinced of was that Mother Nature was a bitch. Sorry, Mom, that was for the sake of literary accuracy.

In a state of nature, most people are hopeless. Hope is Human. If you find yourself in front of a grizzly bear and you think, ‘Oh my goodness, how great is nature?’ instead of ‘This killer machine is about to slaughter me unless I have an assault rifle and empty a magazine in its head,’ you are extremely lucky. You were born thinking that it’s the Humans who screwed up the world.

Leopardi, in his own way, thought that Humanity was a precarious conviction, a frail bastion against the cruelty of Nature.

And…

I don’t remember where I was going with this.

Dammit.

I sigh, frustrated.

I feel like kicking something, but instead, I just sit on a bench, sulking.

If my mind was what it used to be, I could have…

“Joey.”

I turn and find Truffles, my thin and blonde friend, staring at me. He’s fiddling with his hands.

“Hi,” he says. “Are we doing the lessons here?”

I stare at the guy for a few seconds as he returns my stare, unblinking.

Doesn’t he realize I’m in a terrible mood?

Oh, shoot.

Right.

I rub my face and nod at him.

“Yeah, I wanted to do them here. Is that good with you?”

“Sure,” he says, sitting on the free spot on the bench. “I practiced.”

He offers me some sheets of paper with scribbles all over them that I take with a gentle sigh.

You know what?

I would love to be angry at the world, just to hate everything. But perhaps I can just say ‘screw you’ to my mood and just do stuff that is good.

That seems to be my best option now.

…

“You are making some impressive progress,” I tell Truffles after about an hour of people staring at me conjuring [Light] letters on the bench. A few Elves even stopped to really stare at us.

“It’s easier when you start with bigger words. I don’t think my father ever tried it.”

“Heh, it’s normal,” I nod. “It’s a very particular problem, you know? Several people suffer from it, but I don’t think many here have figured out how to approach the problem. You need a thorough understanding of phonetics to resolve it.”

Truffles nods, but then he freezes.

“All good, Trufflebag?” I frown at his frown.

“What class do you want to level?” He suddenly asks.

“Huh? Why?”

“It’s an important question to answer,” he replies plainly.

“Alright,” I nod, scratching my nose. “I don’t know. [Mage]? I can’t get the [Baker] class for some reason. [Mage] is cool. But I’m not opposed to anything. I haven’t really gotten many offers, to be honest. I’d also go for [Enchanter], maybe? [Witch], too,” I laugh at my own joke.

“[Witches] can cook magic,” Truffles nods wisely. “Good choice.”

“Err, shouldn’t [Witches] be women?” I ask, confused.

“No?” Truffles recoils, suddenly looking around. “I’ll ask my father again.”

A bit of silence stretches on before Truffles asks another question.

“You don’t get the [Baker] class. Is it because you don’t want to be a baker?”

“I mean, blondie, I’ve been one for almost half of my life. I find that hard to believe.”

“My dad says that sometimes, adventurers don’t get the class they think they want but the one they need.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure there’s some screwery going around. I might be too good at baking already, for example. Which I am. Maybe I set the bar too high when I came here without a level, and now, I need to do something outside my comfort zone to get the class. Isn’t that a more reasonable explanation?”

“And have you?” Truffles shoots back with a deep frown.

“Have I what?”

“Have you tried doing something like that?” He asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Something outside your comfort zone to level up?”

I’m stumped.

Have I?

“I guess not.”

“Why don’t you try?” Truffles asks, still staring straight into my eyes.

“Well, blondie, I’ve been working really hard at the bakery and with magic. I’ll think of something, I suppose.”

“Plus,” I add, raising a hand before the guy can interrupt me, “I kind of need to learn more magic for self-defense. I’m going to practice making a [Light Shield] later. I’ve got some nice ideas.”

“Right. To kill the [Soldiers]. Good. I was thinking about poison. My father should come back soon. I’m going to ask him where I can buy some.”

“What?! No, Truffles, no poison.”

“Why?” He asks, surprised.

“What do you mean why?! You want to kill [Soldiers]?! Isn’t that treason or something?!”

“They attacked us once. You, twice. We need to neutralize the threat.”

I stare open-mouthed at the scrawny boyband-looking dude.

“Yo, no poison. Are we clear?”

“Sure,” he shrugs. “But are you going to learn something to attack as well?”

“Well, I was thinking about that too. I have [Lightbolt], but I need to practice somewhere safe. Can’t risk injuring someone by mistake.”

“Why don’t you go outside the walls? You have [Guards]. They can come with you.”

I turn to look at the guy that not only wants to apparently kill [Soldiers] but whom I also keep underestimating.

“You know what? That’s a great idea.”