“My name is Polydora,” the bald woman said as she returned the brooch to Niles. “But most people just call me Polly.”

Niles extended his hand with a grin. “Nice to finally make your acquaintance!” Then, without skipping a beat, he added, “So, what happens now?”

Polly adjusted the hood she had begun to pull over her smooth head. “I’ll try to establish contact with Vulcan. Even though he’s imprisoned, there might be a way. When the sun reaches its peak, let’s regroup here to decide how, or if, we’ll proceed. You can hold onto the brooch in the meantime.”

“Sounds good!” Niles said, nodding.

Polly’s gaze shifted to the bird perched on Niles’s shoulder. “I have to ask—what’s the deal with that bird?”

Niles’s grin widened. “Squeaky? He’s my familiar. Wanna say hello?”

She leaned closer, cautiously reaching out her hand. Squeaky puffed up his feathers, clearly ready for some attention. Polly gently scratched the top of his head. “Hi, Squeaky. I’m Polly,” she said warmly.

Squeaky, being a bird and not a conversationalist in human tongues, responded with a cheerful chirp.

Polly straightened, pulling her hood fully into place. “Well then, I’m off,” she said, and without further ceremony, she left the adventurer’s guild, heading toward the city.

Once she was gone, Niles turned his attention to Squeaky. “Hey, buddy,” he began, “when we head outside, I need you to fly up high and keep watch. I want to make sure no one’s following us.”

Squeaky tilted his head, listening intently.

“If someone’s tailing me,” Niles continued, “I want you to land on my left shoulder. If both me and Winston are being followed, land on my head. If no one’s following us, land on my right shoulder. Think you can handle that?”

Squeaky spread his wings in what looked like a proud salute, chirping enthusiastically to accept the mission.

Winston, observing the entire exchange, said nothing. Instead, he waited patiently for Niles to decide their next move.

“All right, Winston,” Niles said at last, brushing his hands together as if sealing the plan. “Let’s go meet your parents. Lead the way!”

As Niles and Winston stepped out of the adventurer’s guild, Squeaky took to the skies, circling high above them, ever watchful. Winston inhaled deeply, the weight of unspoken concerns heavy on his chest. “Sir Niles,” he began hesitantly, “why the Monster Island? That place is crawling with monsters. Sure, it’s said to be rich in resources and treasures, but it’s unbelievably dangerous. No human has ever managed to establish a settlement there.” His voice wavered slightly, betraying his unease. “Perhaps we should consider somewhere else?”

They strolled through the city at an unhurried pace. Niles turned to meet Winston’s worried gaze and replied with a slight grin, “Everything is impossible until someone does it.” His expression held a spark of excitement, a hint of something hidden, but the glint in his eyes only deepened Winston’s apprehension.

“Please,” Winston murmured, almost like a plea for reassurance.

Niles’s smile widened as he glanced upward at Squeaky, gliding effortlessly through the clouds. “I have a plan,” he said confidently. “I’ll explain more once we’re out on the open sea.” He locked eyes with Winston and asked, “Can you trust me on this?”

Winston studied him for a moment, his intuition screaming that there was more to Niles’s words than he let on. “No,” he admitted bluntly, then sighed heavily. “But can you at least promise me we’ll survive?”

Niles raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Of course not! We might not even survive the walk to your parents. For all we know, we could slip on a fruit peel and meet our end right here.”

Winston frowned, unamused by the flippant reply. “I guess,” he muttered, though his doubt remained.

“But I’m sure we’ll manage,” Niles added, a touch more sincerity in his tone. “Somehow.” He punctuated the statement with a playful chuckle before deftly steering the conversation elsewhere. “So, what was it like growing up here?”

Winston hesitated, but the change in topic seemed to ease his tension. He began recounting stories of his childhood, weaving vivid tales about the city’s nooks and crannies as they passed them. Niles listened attentively, asking thoughtful follow-up questions that encouraged Winston to open up further.

For Winston, a former court assistant who had always been more accustomed to following orders than sharing his own experiences, the exchange was novel and oddly liberating. To an outsider, Niles’s approach might have looked like a clever tactic to shift focus, the kind of thing his old planet-bound friends might call a “dirty sales trick.” But Niles wasn’t manipulating the conversation—he was genuinely interested. And as Winston spoke, the city around them became more than just a backdrop; it transformed into a living map of his memories.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

“We’re here,” Winston announced, his voice tinged with nerves. They stood before a modest, round house nestled in a quieter district far from the city’s bustling center. Its thatched roof sagged slightly, giving it a rustic charm. “I haven’t seen them in a while,” he added, his tone adopting a formal stiffness.

Niles stayed silent, sensing Winston needed a moment to compose himself. As Winston raised his hand to knock on the wooden door, it suddenly burst open, and a gruff voice boomed, “Out with you!”

An old man appeared in the doorway, his face lined with years of toil. He continued shouting, “You’re just a sheep! Sleep outside like the rest of your kind!”

Winston straightened, his formal demeanor crumbling. “Father!” he bellowed. “That’s no way to speak to your wife!”

His father shot him a bewildered look. “She’s been eating my bed!”

“What?” Winston’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Is Mother that hungry?”

Before Winston could unravel the situation, his father emerged from the house, dragging a rope-bound sheep behind him. He tied the animal to a post outside and turned to face his son. “Winston, my boy,” the old man said, shaking his head in mock disappointment, “I know you don’t visit often, but to think you can’t tell your own mother apart from a sheep—what kind of son have I raised?”

Winston blinked, speechless as absurdity piled on absurdity. His mother appeared next, stepping out with an air of authority. She was a well-fed woman with curly brown hair and a kitchen-worn dress. Her sharp eyes fixed on Winston. “Winston,” she said, her tone half-scolding, “do you really think I’m a sheep? And that I eat beds?!”

Before he could stammer out a reply, she continued, “I thought we raised you better than this! But no, the castle has clearly turned you into a fool!”

His father chimed in, draping a reassuring arm around his wife. “Aye, my love. The high life’s changed him.”

Winston opened his mouth to defend himself, but the words jumbled in his throat. Finally, he muttered, “Mom… Dad…”

The two burst into laughter and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Welcome home, son,” his father said warmly.

His mother, always speaking the language of food, added, “I’ll make us lunch. There’s fresh bread cooling on the counter.”

Winston smiled softly. “It’s good to be home.” Turning toward Niles, he introduced his companion. “By the way, this is Sir Niles, one of Xandria’s summoned champions.”

Niles stepped forward, beaming. “Hello, everyone. It’s a pleasure to meet you. And I mean that sincerely because compliments don’t come sheep,” he quipped with a sly grin.

An awkward silence followed. Winston’s parents exchanged blank stares while Winston glanced at Niles, visibly concerned.

Undeterred, Niles doubled down. “I hope you didn’t find that joke too baaaaad!” he added, mimicking a sheep’s bleat.

Winston’s father raised an eyebrow and turned to his son. “Is he the banished one that the people are rumouring about?”

“Oy” Niles exclaimed, feigning indignation.

“Yes,” Winston admitted with a resigned nod.

The old man crossed his arms, nodding thoughtfully. “I see why.”

“OY!” Niles protested, this time louder and with exaggerated injury.

With a chuckle, Winston’s father jerked his head toward the house. “Well, come inside. Both of you.”

Winston strode in confidently, while Niles trudged after him, shoulders slumped in mock defeat.

The house’s single room was cozy, if humble. The dirt floor was softened with rushes, and simple straw-stuffed mattresses lined the walls. In the center of the room, an iron kettle hung over an open fire, filling the air with the comforting aroma of home cooking. Winston’s mother busied herself with the meal, stirring the contents of the kettle with practiced ease.

“So, what’s new?” Winston’s father asked directly, wasting no time as they all sat down around a worn wooden table. The chairs creaked under them, their well-used surfaces polished smooth by years of life.

“I’ve joined Niles’s party,” Winston began, his voice steady but measured. He hesitated, lowering his tone as though the weight of his next words might crack the air. “We’re going on a long journey… and I don’t think I’ll be able to come back.”

His mother, busy stirring an iron pot over the open fire, slowed her movements. The rhythm of her spoon faltered as her attention shifted entirely to her son’s words.

His father, with his thick arms crossed over his chest, raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And why is that?” he asked, his voice gruff but steady.

Winston drew in a breath. “I’ve been banished… by King Xerxes’s decree.”

The spoon slipped from his mother’s hand, dropping into the pot with a soft splash and disappearing beneath the stew. She froze, staring at the bubbling surface as if willing time to rewind.

Winston, seeking a distraction from the silence, pulled a leather pouch from inside his robe and set it down on the table with a soft thud. “Here. Take this—it’s all the money I’ve earned.”

His father didn’t even glance at it. “Don’t need it,” he said, his tone brusque and unyielding.

“But—” Winston began, only for his father to cut him off with a look that was sharp and final.

“We don’t want it,” his father repeated.

Winston pressed on, desperation creeping into his voice as he gestured around the modest room. “With this, you could buy new furniture, better cooking utensils, more food—maybe even more cattle!” His arms waved wildly as if painting a vision of prosperity with each gesture.

His father exhaled deeply, closing his eyes as though drawing on an inner well of patience. “Why should we buy things we don’t need?” he said calmly. Opening his eyes, he fixed his son with a steady gaze. “As long as we have health in our minds and wealth in our hearts, that’s enough for us.”

Winston faltered, trying to wrap his head around the sentiment. “I… I’m sorry, Father. I don’t quite understand. Please, tell me—how can I ever repay you and Mother for everything you’ve done for me?”

A small, serene smile spread across his father’s weathered face. “You can repay us by living your life without regret.”

That was all it took for Winston’s mother to break. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she crossed the room in a few quick steps, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “My boy, my dear boy,” she murmured, her voice trembling with emotion. “We love you so much. As long as you’re safe and happy, that’s all we could ever ask for.”

Winston hugged her back, tears slipping silently down his own cheeks.

As the moment softened, his father cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “And just how did you manage to get yourself banished?”

Winston sniffled, his eyes shifting toward Niles.

Niles stiffened, his stomach knotting. “Oh no…” he muttered under his breath, the realization dawning on him like a storm cloud overhead. He knew, without a doubt, that Winston’s exile was entirely his fault.