I had traveled north for the past few days, sometimes hidden behind the clouds, sometimes on foot. Now, I lay injured in the back of a wagon with a human family, heading for a town called Buckleberry.

It all happened yesterday. I had been flying north, high up in the sky to avoid being seen and to scout the unfamiliar territory beyond Emberfield. One moment I was soaring, and the next, I was plummeting. My wings suddenly retracted, and I was on a collision course with the ground. The landing was brutal. If I had been an ordinary human, the price would have been far greater than broken bones; it would have cost me my life. The shadows that once healed me at remarkable speeds were now sluggish.

Fortunately, the family in the wagon found me on the road where I had fallen. Without them, I might still be there, calling out in vain.

Most of my injuries have healed, except for my right leg, which remains bruised and forces me to limp. My wings still won’t emerge, and the shadows have ceased their healing. It seems time will be my only healer now.

The family that saved me was much like the people I knew in Emberfield. They were farmers, traveling from their village, the name of which I’ve forgotten, to town to sell their crops, meat, and crafts like straw hats and dolls. The husband sat at the front of the carriage, the wife behind him, knitting, and their young daughter played with dolls beside her. I lay at the far end, my head wedged between two hams.

The carriage ride lasted another day, during which I managed to take a few short naps. Soon, we arrived at the town of Buckleberry. I had imagined a quaint town surrounded by lush greenery, with the scent of berries filling the air. I was sorely mistaken. Instead of greenery, there was dirt, and instead of the sweet scent of berries, the stench of horse shit filled my nostrils.

"We’ve made it to good ol’ Buckleberry! Where the beer flows like water and the lasses wear skirts so tight! Ah, it feels grand to be back!" the husband exclaimed loudly, beaming as he climbed off the carriage.

"You swine! Don’t think I’ll let you outta my sight!" the wife retorted, following closely behind and swatting him with one of her leather slippers.

"There they go, bickerin’ again. Hope yer foot’s better, mister," the daughter said as she ran after her bickering parents.

Everything happened so quickly that I didn’t even get a chance to say thank you.

Now that I was alone again, I was confronted with all the problems I hadn't needed to consider just a few days prior. I had no money, no destination, hunger gnawing at my stomach, nowhere to rest my head, and the stark realization of how truly alone I was.

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"Off to a tavern to beg for food, I suppose..." I sighed, my limp leading me in search of the nearest tavern.

The streets were narrow and bustling with activity. Beggars sat hunched against the walls of buildings, their weary eyes ignored by the passersby. They reached out to me, but I had nothing to give, so I continued on like everyone else.

My boots were soaked and caked with mud. It struck me as ironic that even a small village like Emberfield had cobblestone pathways, while this supposed town was nothing but a sea of mud.

After some time, I stumbled upon two taverns facing each other. One, on the right, bore the name "The Soggy Boot," while its counterpart on the left was dubbed "The Burping Dwarf." Crowds gathered in front of both establishments, watching me intently as if my choice would alter the course of their lives. After a moment's contemplation, fate seemed to intervene; a drunkard in front of The Soggy Boot vomited right at the entrance. Witnessing this spectacle, I made my decision without further hesitation and turned towards The Burping Dwarf. Strangely, my choice evoked a thunderous cheer from the crowd.

"I knew ye'd make a good choice, lad! Here's a few coins for a pint!" a burly, bearded man slapped me on the back and pressed some copper coins into my palm.

"Th-thank you!" I stammered in surprise as I stepped through the tavern's doorway.

The tavern was exactly as I had imagined. The low ceiling and creaky wooden floor added to the ambiance. The place was packed; not a single seat was available at the round tables scattered throughout the room. The bar was just as crowded, with some patrons so drunk they had fallen asleep where they sat—one even face-down in a plate of mashed potatoes. While some people dozed off, others danced merrily on tables and the bar itself. The atmosphere was lively and raucous.

Near the bar, a staircase led to an upper floor. At the foot of the stairs, a dwarf sat asleep with a loaded crossbow in his lap, his finger resting precariously on the trigger. Behind the bar stood another dwarf. His bushy eyebrows almost completely covered his eyes, and his long, messy ginger beard nearly touched his chest. He took sips of ale, each one followed by a loud burp—living up to the tavern's name, "The Burping Dwarf."

"Excuse me, are there any seats available?" I asked, trying to make myself heard over the din as I wove my way through the crowd.

"Eh?" The dwarf behind the bar looked in my direction, though it was hard to tell with his eyes obscured by his eyebrows.

"Are there any seats available?" I repeated, louder this time.

"You'll have to speak up, lad! This pub's a fine place, after all!" he bellowed back.

"Are there any seats available?" I shouted.

"Alright, lad, no need to shout, I hear ya. There's a spot by the window at the far end. But mind ya, there's an odd fella sittin' there! He's my best customer, he is! Made me a small fortune over the years, he has!"

"Thank you!" I called out once more and headed toward the far end of the tavern. Along the way, I caught various glances—some were joyous cheers, while others were stern and scrutinizing. At one point, someone grabbed my arm. I turned to see a girl with a face caked in makeup, each color brighter than the last.

"You're a right handsome lad, ain't ya!" she said, pressing my arm between her breasts. "How 'bout we have ourselves a good time?"

"Not today, thank you," I replied politely, gently pushing her away and continuing on my path.

At the far end of the tavern was a window with a round wooden table in front of it. Sitting alone at the table was a man in a colorful suit, topped with a hat adorned with a half-burnt white feather.

It can't be... Silas?