Ezra woke up that morning with a pounding headache and a deep desire to sleep in. Despite that, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He sniffed the air, then twisted up his face.

“I need to get a shower,” he said.

“I don’t smell anything, but I’m sure you’re right.”

Ezra’s gaze turned to the left. Filamenta was on one of the bedposts, watching him closely. He turned his attention away, reached out, slipped his boots on, then stood up. Filamenta raced over to him, jumped, and took her normal position on his shoulder.

“So, what’s the plan?” she said.

So, they were going to pretend that last night didn’t happen? Ezra could get behind that.

“I’ve filled the requirements according to what Prise said, so it’s time to formalize my rank up to E,” Ezra said. “I’d like to deal with more serious issues than rats.”

“Wait, you don’t know about the guild?”

The guild? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ezra, there’s a festival on. The guild isn’t open, you’ll have to wait till tomorrow.”

Wait, but how could he have not known? There’s no way he missed the preparations… right?

Ezra stepped toward the door. The downstairs was quiet—a welcome surprise, given the events of last night. He exited the entrance and went onto the main street. A rumbling wagon passed by him. Wood and stone were being moved from a cart to the ground. A woman threw a stream of cloth at another woman across the street, and they hung it from window to window.

Ezra took a step back. What on earth was happening?

To Ezra’s side, an idle man was watching the preparations with a bored look.

“Hey, you,” Ezra said. He walked over to the man. “What’s going on today?”

The man raised an eyebrow. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

Ezra reached out and squeezed the man’s shoulder.

“Answer the question,” Ezra said.

The man paled.

“Wait a second, you’re the one-eyed merc—um… right, the festival,” he said. “They’re throwing a festival to celebrate the flight of the Metamora tonight. It’s kind of the town’s national bird.”

Ezra watched a cart roll by and frowned. “All this fuss over a bird?”

“You don’t have to tell me,” the man said. “I don’t understand it all. Nobody’s even seen the bird in years, so why do we care?”

Ezra loosened his hold on the man’s shoulder. “Appreciate the information.”

The man rubbed his arm and winced.

“Yeah, whatever, dude. See you around,” he said.

He walked off.

“I can’t believe I didn’t learn about this till now,” Ezra said. “That’s so absurd.”

Filamenta snorted. “They were talking about it in the guild hall. You just weren’t paying any attention.”

Ezra walked toward the guild.

“I try not to engage my mind with the unimportant,” he said. “Keep my attention fresh, you know?”

“I don’t know. You’re silly, Ezra.”

Not the strongest insult she’d ever given. Ezra was almost disappointed. He continued walking. Everyone was busy doing something related to the festival. Barked orders filled the air from stern-faced men and women. Young children darted from place to place, hanging up streamers. Stalls were being set up all over.

The windows were dimmed and he couldn’t hear anyone speaking from the inside. No one was going in or out, either. A sinking feeling rushed down his chest. He stepped forward and tugged on the door. Locked. He growled and ripped his hands away from the handle.

“Ezra?”

Ezra swiveled to see Prise staring at him with a confused expression. She was holding two or three wooden boxes that went up to her neck.

“What are you doing here?” she said. “You know the guild is closed, right?”

Ezra was quiet for a moment. “Yes.”

Filamenta burst out laughing and shook on his shoulder.

“You’re the worst liar I’ve ever seen, Ezra!” she said.

Prise tilted her head for a few moments, then shrugged.

“Well, alright then. I suppose I’d best get going.” She started to walk off, then stopped and turned around. “On second thought—why don’t you come with me?”

Ezra stiffened and his eyes slowly turned to her. “What?”

She smiled. “Well, I’d like to get to know you outside of the role of mercenary and guild girl. You strike me as an interesting person, what with your odd weapon and all the rumors surrounding you.”

Ezra’s lips opened to give a firm denial, and then Filamenta bit into his neck.

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He winced and glared at her. She glared back at him.

“Be kind to her. It’s the least you can do after last night,” she said. “She might be hiding it, but I’m certain she’s still hurting.”

Ezra looked at Filamenta, then back at Prise. After a few moments, his shoulders slumped. Filamenta was already enough of a pain. He didn’t want to deal with any more of her comments.

Besides, it was probably to his advantage to get to know Prise a bit better, given her connections.

“Sure,” he said. “Why not.”

Prise furrowed her eyebrows and looked at Filamenta.

“You have a… a—“

“An irritating prick? Yes. Yes, I—ow!”

Filamenta stepped back from his neck. If she had a human face, there was no doubt she’d be smirking at him.

“Go with your lady friend, and don’t make an embarrassment of yourself,” she said.

“Whatever you say, Filamenta.”

Prise blinked. “Wait, you’re talking to it?”

“Talk is a strong word,” Ezra said.

Prise leaned in toward Filamenta.

“Wow,” Prise said. “Is it a familiar, or just a particularly intelligent spider? And how can you understand it?”

“She’s the bane of my existence is what she is. Can we get a move on?”

Prise started, then leaned back and nodded. “Right, of course.”

The two set off. Filamenta settled down and didn’t speak, while Prise led the way and looked back at Ezra occasionally.

“I’m just helping some of the other guild girls get ready for the celebration tonight,” Prise said. “In case you were wondering what I was doing.”

“I wasn’t, but thanks anyway.”

Prise chuckled uneasily and turned her head forward. “How familiar are you with the Metamora tradition?”

“Not interested.”

“To first understand the tradition, you have to understand the legend behind the bird itself.”

Ezra suppressed a groan. He could see the smirk playing across her lips—she knew full well what she was doing.

“They say that the world used to be still and silent and dead,” Prise said. “A barren wasteland without movement or sound. That all changed during the first rain. When it rained, the dust moved, and the Metamora bird sprang out of the ground.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Prise giggled.

“Of course, it’s an absurd story,” she said. “But you’re not really meant to take it literally. The point is that the Metamora bird is seen as a symbol of change, and our city was born of pilgrims who sought change at all costs—even at the potential cost of their lives. When they first settled here, every year a Metamora bird would fly overhead at this time. Eventually, the small town started to celebrate the flight of this bird.”

“So we’ll get to see it tonight?” Ezra said.

Filamenta’s smile died away and she frowned.

“It hasn’t been seen in twenty years now. Some say that it died of natural causes. It was a very old bird, after all,” she said.

“And what do you believe?”

She paused in her steps and looked up at the sky. “I believe that if the Metamora bird adores change, then it would hate this town because nothing changes here anymore.”

Her eyes were glazed as she said this. After a few moments, she shook her head.

“Well, let’s move to a cheerier topic,” she said. “No need to dwell on such dark matters.”

Ezra figured that it was about time to excuse himself. Right when he was about to open his mouth, an old man bumped into him.

“A thousand apologies—“ The old man dropped his cane. “Oh my, the Nameless Mercenary!”

Ezra blinked.

“Hi,” he said.

“Brilliant social skills there,” Filamenta said.

The old man bowed his head. “Thank you for taking care of that rat infestation. You’ll be pleased to know that my house has been doing well since you last left it.”

“Great.”

Oh, this was Borna Peron, his first job.

“It looks like you did good work,” Prise said.

“Indeed,” Borna said. “Might I ask who you are, young lady? Are you this man’s sweetheart?”

Prise turned red, smiled, and looked down. “No, sir, I’m afraid not. I’m a guild girl. Prise.”

Borna chuckled. “Prise? What a lovely name. You remind me of my granddaughter.”

Ezra was rapidly becoming very disinterested in this topic of conversation. In fact, he was becoming disinterested in talking to these two, period.

Ezra tapped his foot. “It’s about time I—“

“Lord Nameless,” the old man said. “It would be my honor if you could dine with us this evening.”

Prise’s eyes widened. “That’s quite kind of you, sir.”

Ezra was still for a moment, then took a step back.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he said. “I’ve got things I need to do.”

“Like what?” Prise said. “The guild’s down. Do you have other commitments?”

“Well, no, but—“

“My boy, you’ve been very kind to this old man,” Borna said. “Please, allow me to share some of my gratitude.”

Ezra breathed in quickly. His heart started pounding. He took another step back.

“I must leave, farewell,” Ezra said.

Ezra ran into the nearest alleyway, leaped up the wall (almost slipping in the process), and pulled himself onto the roof with a tug.

Prise looked up and blinked.

“Huh. That’s some pretty incredible Dexterity.”

----------------------------------------

Ezra dashed over the roofs until he was at the city walls. Once there, he hopped down, passed through the gates, and stepped into the fields beyond. He continued walking for about an hour. Filamenta didn’t say anything. Eventually, he found a tree on a hill and sat under it. He drew his knees to his chest and watched the twilight sky.

“You could’ve gone to dinner with the guy,” Filamenta said.

“I could’ve.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Ezra rested his chin on top of his knees. “You’re entitled to your secrets, Filamenta. But so am I.”

Ezra said that, but the truth was that he didn’t know himself. It wasn’t a cool, calculated decision, or that he didn’t have the time, or that he had better things to do—though all of that was probably true.

His legs had started moving before he was even cognizant of what was happening, that was all.

The space overhead was a startling, vibrant purple. A cool breeze brushed against Ezra’s head. In the distance, he could almost hear the celebration. What exactly were they celebrating now? There wasn’t a Metamora bird anymore, so Ezra assumed they were just celebrating for the sake of celebration. Eventually, the sun set and Ezra made his way back. By the time he was in town, the party had started to die down. Groups of drunken imbeciles roamed around, on the verge of falling over. A few town guards noticed him and then gave him a nod, but that was about it.

Ezra arrived at his alleyway. He stepped next to the door and then opened it as carefully as he could. He peeked in, then shut the door behind him. The building was cast in darkness, illuminated only by a half-dead torch on the wall. He walked up to his room, entered it, and then collapsed on his bed.

He recalled Filamenta to his hand. Might as well get some training in.

[Ranged Needle Mastery leveled up!]

[Ranged Needle Mastery leveled up!]

[Telekinesis leveled up!]

[Telekinesis leveled up!]

[Precision Prick leveled up!]

[Precision Prick leveled up!]

[Mana Perception leveled up!]

The next morning, Ezra began what was starting to become a normal routine. He slipped his boots on, walked past the front desk, and went to the burger stall.

Ezra passed the stall man two copper coins. The man gave Ezra one of his burgers with blue lettuce.

“Enjoy,” the man said.

Ezra devoured it on his way to the guild. Once he was at the front door, he entered. Like usual, a dozen eyes shot over to him, but after a moment, they turned away to their own business. Prise was among those eyes, and she stared at him a bit longer than the others.

Ezra stepped over to the bounty board and started searching for a quest labeled as E-rank. He wanted one he could start on immediately once Prise finished the rank-up procedures. Behind him, Ezra heard the sound of a coin flipping through the air. Ezra groaned and looked up to the sky.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around.

It was Dumrivil.

“Nameless mercenary,” he said. “I have a proposition.”

“Oh?” Ezra resisted the urge to throw Dumrivil into the ground. “What’s that?”

“A duel.”