Actually, Roa cared more for the small pouch rather than the money inside it. Mir could be earned, one way or another, but a small bag that could carry items many times larger than what its size implied—its worth was far more than just the month’s living expenses.

“Boy, are you sure you wanna keep that?” Morrow cautioned. “Nothing good comes from getting tangled up with a noble’s belonging. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. —Though if you’re willing to sell it…”

“No thanks, I’m keeping it.” Roa replied, glancing at Morrow’s back leaving for the kitchen.

It was heartwarming to see the greedy shopkeeper back at work, Roa even turned around to wipe off a stray tear. He looked up to the burly man as a mentor, if not a father figure, as he and Morrow always did share a vague familial bond.

Back then, Roa used to visit Gold Eye Tavern regularly to sell off his loot or seek advice. And on more than a few occasions, the things he’d learned from Morrow proved invaluable, especially during his time within the Spirit Domain.

However, at some point during his stay at the academy, Morrow left the city of Lyria and ever since, his whereabouts were unknown. Roa returned to the tavern only to see it reduced to rubbles, and the taverner nowhere in sight. With what happened to his arm, and his not so pleasant life in the academy, not knowing what happened to Morrow left him spiraling deeper into depression.

Roa would have to find out about the reason for the taverner’s disappearance sometime before these events ever recur.

For now, he wore half a smile, tossed his burlap pouch upwards, caught it with the same hand, and played the sound of mir to set his good mood.

He turned his gaze to the two potato sacks nibbling on cheap bread laid out on the counter. “Fellow students!” He announced, “Eat your fill! Know this young master will foot your bill!” It was the same statement made by a certain young noble’s follower.

“Order up!” As if on cue, Morrow returned with two steaming bowls accompanied by the pungent waft of cheese and spices. Ariene, who was laying on the counter, perked her nose and immediately sprung to life. The other potato sack, initially wary—her eyes shone a curious glint at Ariene diving heartily into the meal, then she also began to eat.

“Hey Morrow…” Roa wiped his saliva. Even though he’d already eaten, it seemed Morrow pulled out all the stops for the two girls’ meals. Attempting to stave off gluttony’s call, Roa redirected his attention to a request he had put in a few days earlier. He said, “About the thing I asked…”

“It’s only been two days, lad. You think I’d find out that quickly?” Morrow replied.

“Bull! It’s been two days! I know how wide your connections are, don’t try to screw me over with the price!”

Morrow clicked his tongue, his only able eye raised with skepticism, “Normally, I would, but this time’s request is quite odd. No one has heard nor seen a fart from this guy. Are you sure he’s famous?”

“H-He should be well known,” Roa scratched his head, bewildered.

Morrow’s tavern was structured right in the middle of Lyria, and although customers don’t frequent it as much, business was still thriving. Information and requests still passed through here every day. Recently, a few of which appeared were Roa’s inquiries into friends from the past life.

There were those that Roa knew were unreachable in his current circumstances, and those he would eventually meet. One person he specifically tried to find, was someone he met and considered a close friend during his time inside the Spirit Domain.

A friend who had never stopped looking for a missing loved one even after the Spirit Domain’s encroachment, hoping for a glimpse of them, even until the last moments of his life. —The 10th, seat of Hadar, the one who would pioneer a new way in which marksmanship was perceived in a fight. Roa wondered if he went by a different name outside of the Spirit Domain.

“Lucas Hargan, are you sure he doesn’t ring a bell?” Roa asked once more.

Morrow shook his head, “Nope, I’m gonna need some more time but… it looks like someone you picked up already has an idea.” The burly man caught a glimpse of a surprised reaction from Roa’s second potato sack and asked, “What did you say your name was, little lass?”

The young lady beside Ariene flinched at Morrow’s question. “Yuria Illyas—many thanks for the meal,” she replied politely, afterwards meekly turning her head away to wipe her lips with a napkin.

Roa took a sip from a cup of coffee that Morrow bought. When he heard the young lady introduce herself, he almost spat the coffee out. Unintentionally he let out a curse, “Son of a—” as the lady’s name scratched a memory.

—Many a night by the campfire, Lucas Hargan with a bottle, yammering incessantly about the love of his life. Roa only had a vague recollection of her name, but heard enough of the woman’s features that he could probably draw an accurate portrait.

—“A fair beauty with a mesmerizing pair of lilac eyes. Long locks of captivating dark raven hair. Lovely jawline! A nose that flushed red whenever she was embarrassed. Oh, Roa! If I could only see her once more!”

Unconsciously, Roa had leaned in closer to Yuria, almost a hair’s breadth from her face while examining her features. The young lady was obviously flustered, with the tip of her nose sporting a bright cherry flush.

A dumb smile and eyes that sparkled with intrigue—features of Roa that Ariene recalled before she was suddenly embraced a few days back. Seeing his action, the woodland princess immediately stood from her seat.

She roared whilst Roa was deep in thought, “Keep your hands to yourself, beast!” Her fingers squeezed his cheeks and pushed him back. Then, she cautioned the young lady beside her, ”Beware, Yuria. This is a type of beast that lunges at any pretty girl he sees!”

“Ah, yes, I’ll take caution.” Yuria bowed her head slightly and chuckled. She asked, “May I have your name?”

“Ariene Diadora,” Ariene answered dutifully, then snapped her head back towards Roa.

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

Roa didn’t react at all to her accusing glare and kept his eyes on the blushing potato sack. He mumbled, “Illyas, hmm… Fair beauty, check. Purple eyes, check. Nose, check. Jawline… A smaller face than I’d pictured, but no wonder she seemed quite familiar.” And it was at this point that Ariene’s hold on his face tightened, causing immense pain that brought him back to his senses.

“Ah! No! Ariene, please!” At the risk of his jaw being completely dislocated, he quickly said, “—Yuria! D-do you know of someone named Lucas Hargan?”

The young lady straightened her back in surprise. She replied promptly with a subtle denial, but her eyes suddenly darted away from Roa’s and betrayed her answer.

‘Tsk. Lucas. You mentioned everything except for the fact that the girl was this young.’ There was most certainly a relationship between the two, Roa thought.

The 10th, seat of Hadar, Lucas Hargan, was at an age between Roa and the fifty-ish taverner, Morrow. The young lady in front of him wore a gray tie. She would have to be around the same age as him and Ariene.

While Roa believed everyone had circumstances, and he was obviously not one to pry, but—relative to his dear friend—this seemingly young lover was one topic he eagerly itched to bring up.

“Hahah, ease up, Yuria.” Roa raised both his palms. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. In your own time. Know that I mean that idio—Lucas no harm. And Ariene…? Would you pleaff leh me gho?”

He would have continued to poke questions about his friend, but the inner walls of his cheeks being made to push against his teeth hurt quite a lot; Ariene’s grip was stronger than what her slender fingers let on.

Ariene released him at his pleading and returned to her chair. Propping her chin up on the counter, she asked, “Hey? Roa, is it? What is this? What do you plan on getting from this?”

‘Straight to the point as always,’ Roa thought. With the cold tone of voice used in the inquiry, he would have been intimidated, if it wasn’t for that one string of cheese hanging on the woodland princess’ chin.

“My plan, hm?” Roa held back a smirk. He tossed his burlap pouch into the air and sat back down. Chink! The few mir inside sounded, and each time they did, the time it took before he threw it back up took longer.

He began to ponder, ‘What would anyone do if they knew about the future? About the coming end of days? Would you tell everybody? Would they believe you? Of course they wouldn’t. People would think of you as a madman. —Maybe… I wonder if I should start a cult?’

The thought of disseminating what he knew only passed by briefly. The word of a pauper held no weight in their society. If Roa wanted to be heard, then his voice needed to be overwhelmingly resounding. In that case, there was only one thing to do.

“I’m going to become a Bearer.” Roa said, wearing a smile.

A Sigil Bearer to be precise, as within the context of the Waylurne Continent, the word Sigil contained a particular meaning.

A mark of utmost brilliance; a Sigil symbolized status, strength, wisdom, knowledge—whether in magic or with the use of aura, those who were called ‘Bearers’ became revered figures across the entire continent, being guaranteed a seat amongst Waylurne’s Fifteen Stars.

Among voices loud enough to resound across the continent, there were none louder than theirs.

Wondering how she would react to what he said, Roa stared unblinking at Ariene. It was as he expected, she had her brow furrowed deep in pure disbelief.

“You brought me here to tell a bad joke?” she replied with crossed arms.

Anyone would say the same thing. Who was he to declare that he would become a Bearer? Never had they expected that a kid from the slums would dream so big. Morrow, Yuria, and even the few customers around the tavern were quieted by the words he let out.

“I’m serious.” But then again, who was Roa? The past-future 15th, Seat of Antares, one of Waylurne’s Fifteen Stars. He had already been a Bearer before! —Although, only he was aware of that fact.

Roa’s eyes were clear of any signs of a youth’s hubris. For a moment, everyone felt themselves pulled in by the confidence he exuded, but at the sight of the gray tie loosely wound around his neck, all tension was blown away, and the tavern started to slowly fill with laughter.

The taverner, Morrow heartily guffawed. It was a reaction Roa expected of him, and knew that the burly man’s laughter contained no malice.

Surprisingly, for someone who barely knew Roa, potato sack Yuria was giving him a sad look of encouragement, similar to the look you would show to a kid saying he wanted to grow up to become the king’s horse.

Only the woodland’s princess, Ariene, wore an unchanged, doubtful expression. She said, “—Lofty aspirations. You’re free to dream. But you should know, you don’t just become a Bearer.”

What Ariene said was the truth. So far, there hadn’t been a change in ownership of the Sigils for over two decades. Ownership of a Sigil only transferred in the case of inheritance or death. —However! Roa was privy of the knowledge that in the near future, the current state of affairs would experience an upheaval.

One after the other, Waylurne’s stars would fall from the sky; Sigils would disperse and fly back to the temples that housed them; and for one in particular—the temple for the Sigil of Antares—Roa would get his chance then.

Roa shrugged his shoulders, “Hm. Just maybe, one of them might retire soon, you know?”

Ariene lightly scoffed, and continued, “I don’t get it, why are you telling us this? What do your ambitions have to do with me?”

Roa took a deep breath before stating, “A party. I’m going to form an official one. One that would continue operating even after graduating from the academy. —I want you to be in it. Ariene Diadora, be my companion.”

Ariene was quiet, she wasn’t quite sure about what he said. But as she was mulling it over, “Lad,” Morrow rubbed his chin and whistled, impressed at Roa’s daringness. ”Are you asking the little lass to elope?” Morrow smirked. Roa’s intent seemed to had given the subtle notion that he wanted to steal the Seed of Fire away from Forest Riviera.

“!?” ‘What was this nonsense that the taverner was spouting? Completely incomprehensible!’ Ariene glared daggers at the two before turning around towards the door. She huffed with a slight blush, “I’m leaving, thanks for the food.”

Disregarding the comment—A Party? A group of people closely tied together by either common goals, beliefs or interests. Even if Ariene wanted to, she couldn’t. She was Forest Riviera’s cursed princess, the Seed of Fire. The elders wouldn't have it if she went off on her own. Her fate was inevitably tied down to the woodlands.

Roa didn’t stop her from walking away. Not only was he aware of Ariene’s circumstances, but also of what she hid within her heart. He breathed deeply once more before shouting words which would bring his party’s ideals closer to Ariene’s.

“Won’t it be great to be unrestrained by the fetters of any kingdom? Free to roam the world as we please? With comrades who live and breathe together? Doesn’t that sound enticing!?”

Roa’s voice echoed past the walls of the tavern and made it to Ariene who stopped just outside the entrance. Like tinder to a smothered flame, his words ignited a certain longing she had always buried deep inside.

In a voice only she could hear, she muttered before taking her leave, “Roa Fariche… I’ll think about it.”

Roa watched the doors of the tavern as they closed. He didn’t stop Ariene from leaving, nor did he chase after her. He only wore his usual dumb smile.

‘I’m only a thief after all…’ he thought back to the time when he had fallen to his lowest, and Ariene approached him beside a campfire with a proposition.

Roa knew he wasn’t eloquent, he didn’t know how to speak big words.

He was only a thief. So the words he had spoken to Ariene…

“How could your own words not convince you?” he muttered, leaning back on his chair and gazing up with reminiscence at the tavern’s wooden boards.

—End of Chapter 5