When Arion woke up, he had to differentiate what he had dreamed and what he had undergone yesterday. Much of the dream content appeared more realistic. Then his groggy brain bore fruit to an unwanted realization, which hit him like a tidal wave, and seeped deep into his bones.

He would not become a wizard. He would never triumphantly return home and show his parents, may they be damned, that he was much more than Elric’s shadow.

The tears came of their own accord. He had not cried in years, not even when his sister had left. ‘A testimony to my failure, I suppose.

No. If I give up, I lose, and only then.’

It took a while for him to calm down again. He wiped the salty but bitter tears on his bedsheet, which he felt much more gratitude for since he had slept without one for the first time, only for another realization to imbalance his already unsteady footing.

A murder mystery story. He was stuck in a story. No, that was wrong. There existed evidence of him being stranded in a book. Without some irrefutable proof, he would never fully accept the situation.

Gods damn it.

Arion knew nothing about the book, although that wasn’t true. He knew who would be the first victim. A baker named Della. Gaps, about the few paragraphs he had read, already riddled his memory. He had not been in the best condition when he had deciphered the first paragraph of his now fantastical prison.

How did the poor girl, woman, or female die in the story?

Ah yes, the guard would find her bloodless, sucked out by a maniac.

A maniac Arion would love to not make acquaintance with. What a terrific situation he had found himself in.

Leaving Greenville should be his top priority. After all, this was most likely just a work of fiction or something else he had not grasped, yet. ‘Shouldn’t a real life rank above a few scribbles on a paper page destined to be erased, regardless?’

Arion would leave a note for the soon-deceased baker when he departed from the city. A brief message would suffice, definitely. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to write down everything that had not yet left his memories.

When Arion hastily searched for a pen and paper, he examined his temporary hostel for the first time. The chamber, which had been his bedroom for the night, was built out of cold solid stone, and only a little straw on the floor upholstered it. The only source of light, a window, was high up and barred. A tiny flatbed recessed into the wall was where he had slept during the night, at least partially.

They had put him in a prison cell.

The thought didn’t evoke a strong reaction, as Arion just couldn’t bring himself to care. Compared to the emotional storm ravaging his soul, waking up in prison wasn’t even a raindrop. Fortunately, the cold iron door made of bars was only ajar.

With his blood pressure still low, the barefooted Arion walked down the aisle in search of writing utensils and something edible. All the prison cells were surprisingly empty and clean. Not at all like the horrifying stories he had heard of, where unwashed murderers and thugs crammed every cell and shared them, at least with double the number of rats.

The guards were either very good at their job or very bad.

Remembering Galen’s blessing, Arion bet on the first case.

When he finally arrived at a staircase, Arion heard people chatting. He quickly smoothed out the folds in the plain linen clothes that had replaced his original attire and were probably on loan before following the noise."

‘I wonder whose clothes these are.’

In what was probably a lounge, three strangers waited for him. A woman and a man were chatting at a wooden table while another man was frying eggs over a fire pit in a pan. As Arion had no familiarity with any of the guards present, he felt awkward intruding upon their private conversation.

“At last, the fair princess has awakened from her slumber.” The young man sitting at the table commented on Arion’s arrival. He had unruly black hair and that humorous spark of a troublemaker in his brown eyes.

“Don’t speak of such things lightly, you do know how the last royals ended.” The middle-aged woman sounded tired, used to the man’s antics.

“Well, someone is grumpy this morning.”

The woman appeared annoyed by the comment but not irritated enough for another remark about the man’s nonsense and simply rolled her eyes.

‘Dead royalty.

That indicates that I am still in Civia, which is good. I wonder how far away I am from Lybis.'

A discomforting silence had settled over the room after the about the civil war, which was promptly interrupted by Arion’s rumbling stomach. The last time Arion had eaten had been during the coming of age ceremony of senator Voland’s third daughter yesterday.

“A feast for the nonroyal.”

“A fried egg or two is enough for me, too.”

The food tasted much better for Arion than the extravagant dishes at the ceremony.

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Determined to ignore the juvenile guard, the older woman introduced herself and the two men while pointing at them.

“I’m Alwyn. The silent cook over there is Merek, our dungeon master. You can thank him and Galen for your bed. The wannabe jester is Edwyn. You can thank him for getting just moderately on your nerves.

‘Their interactions, antics, and looks are so lifelike.

Could these people truly be nothing more than a product of an author's imagination?

They all appear so real.

“And if I may ask, what is the name of our esteemed guest?” Arion noticed the heat rising to his face. He had forgotten to introduce himself while giving the upcoming meal his full attention.

“Arion, Arion Rymer.”

Merek placed the finished eggs, spiced with some pepper, on the table next to a glass of water.

“For you.”

Arion thanked him elaborately.

“So, how does an upscale citizen get to sleep on the streets?”

'They could have at least waited with the interrogation till I finished eating.’

Luckily, he had already settled on a story. The plan was to interweave a little truth with a bunch of untruths. The sole problem was Arion being unsure what exactly the truth was.

Nevertheless, he didn’t want to set up his deception for failure from the beginning. That was why Galen, not conducting the questioning, was a huge relief.

He did not dare to lie to someone blessed by a God whose aspects included truth. There was no way to tell from taking a glimpse at the man what his blessings entailed.

‘Everything is going splendidly, too splendidly.’ Arion’s newly acquired paranoia kicked into gear. Was the postponement of the interview intentional? Galen conducting the questioning would make much more sense if truth-telling fell into his domain. Unless it was the unlikely case that another of Urises’ Blessed worked in the town guard. Still, two primeval blessings in one guard. Unthinkable. Two of the same ancient god impossible. ‘Probably Galen really has no extraordinary way of detecting the truth.’

He did not know why, but if Lady Luck did something different from messing up his life for once, he wouldn’t complain. And so Arion skillfully weaved the story of a child from a wealthy merchant family who had to flee from home because his brother had been overly keen on the inheritance. Only to be robbed by a brazen bandit during the escape. Finally, on his last leg and without a coin, he had reached the nearest town and collapsed on the street.

Edwyn applauded the ending loudly and wiped imaginary teardrops out of his eyes until he cracked up, unable to hold up the facade any longer.

A brief smile scurried over Alwyn’s face as she tried to clear up the misunderstanding.

“Umm. How can I say this? You can tell us the truth. It doesn’t matter if you’re a street rat in borrowed robes or Arthur Lumly's direct descendant. The interrogation thing is only an excuse to do a good thing now and then. Crime rates are low, so we have a bit of free time and since the regional tax finances us, we try to give back a bit to the region. There is no ulterior motive to dig out your secrets, which you seem keen on hiding. The inspector only saw a poor child on the streets. So, we are going to take care of you a bit and maybe go through a few job offers with you. Afterward, you go and just do your thing again. Think of yourself as our weekly social project. The story was good, though. With a bit more practicing, you might have gotten me.”

Meanwhile, Edwyn finally finished laughing.

“The story was fabulous. You, boy, have real talent,” he stated dramatically.

Arion’s face turned so hot it felt close to melting. ‘Wait, that is actually pretty good. There are not many better outcomes for me here since I probably can not answer a single question credibly about how I have come to Greenville without lying. I should try to get more information on my location and then leave.

Why bother with all the craziness here?

Enjoy a few eggs, bring some provisions, and depart. Create some distance between rib-kickers and murderers. I carry neither the responsibility nor the power to fight off potential murderers in the future, like some vigilante.’

As Arion continued to talk with the three guards, he found Edwyn to be particularly talkative and helpful. He learned from him that Greenville was almost a small city as it harbored around six thousand residents and was much like Sinor, located in the west of Civia, albeit a bit more north. Still, Arion felt awful as a thought kept nagging at his consciousness during the conversation. ‘Should I tell them about the upcoming murder?’

But in the end, he decided against it. Too big was the fear of being deemed a raving lunatic and getting thrown back into the prison cell, this time with a locked door. ‘Although I know from my interaction with Galen that the book corresponds to reality to some degree, there is no guarantee that the murder will happen in the future. Maybe the girl is already dead or maybe she never existed in the first place. However, the first assumption seems unlikely. I would think the guard would be busier if a murder had recently taken place.’

“So, what are you planning to do now?” asked Alwyn, interrupting his thought process.

“Mostly traveling and working, I suppose. I want to see and experience more of the world. My plans may change depending on if I get a special blessing.”

Not the life he had dreamed of, but not infinitely far from it.

“May Viato guide your path.

If you need a little starting fund, we can try helping you find a job here in Greenville.”

‘ She made a good point. I definitely need some money for food, more resilient clothing, and equipment.’

The potential murder hung above Arion like the sword of Damocles, waiting to fall down at any moment, making him feel restless.

‘Hopefully, I can make it to the next town and earn some coin there. To leave remains my priority.’

“Thanks for the offer. I appreciate it. Sadly, I have to decline.

Do you know where I can acquire a map of the surrounding area?”

“We have a small Viato temple on the outskirts. They should have a map, I think.”

“Alternatively, you can search in the library,” Edwyn added.

Alwyn looked at him surprised and even Merek, who had just listened in on the conversation like a Gargoyle frozen by daylight, crooked his head a little.

“What?”

“Just seems out of character for you to suggest that. To be honest, I am shocked you are aware of the library.”

“Galen forced me to investigate some missing books a few months ago. Turned out to be some petty thief stealing and selling them. But that is beside the point.” He turned to Arion. “

You won’t need a map, anyway. There is only one proper road out of Greenville. Follow it. It is not that hard. In about two days on foot, you should reach the next village. The next place one could call a city is a little further, about nine days on horseback.”

After exchanging a few pleasantries, Arion found out what had happened to his old clothes.

“I am sorry to tell you, but only your shoes were somewhat salvageable.”

“Oh, and could we please get back the ones you are wearing right now?” Edwyn asked.

‘For a moment, Arion was tempted to call the man’s bluff, but decided against leaving such a shameful impression.’

“Thank you for everything. I am really grateful for all your help.

I will be on my way then.”

A large hand grabbed his shoulder.

“Wait.

Take this”

Merek’s voice sounded raspy. Stumped, it took Arion a few seconds to realize the man had given him a bag with a loaf of bread and a flask of water in it.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks and farewell.” These were Arion’s last words before he was out of the door and under the sun’s gaze again.

☫

“Why do you think the boy left so abruptly?” Alwyn asked the other guard.

“He wanted to leave as fast as possible, going so far to start the journey even without food. He was scared of something here.”

“So you noticed it too.”