“Before the Tower, there was Chaos. Before the Gods, there were Titans” -Quote from the “Lost History of Eritia.”

"Finally," Simon thought, setting down the sacks of grain inside the inn they had walked for what felt like an agonizing hour to reach. The Siren's Song, marked by a sign depicting a siren singing to sailors, stood as a two-story building. While Hasen went to fetch his wife, he used the opportunity to look around the inn. The common area was filled with impeccably clean tables and chairs made of old wood. The warm sunlight streaming through the open windows accentuated the red tile flooring, which blended well with the tan-bricked walls. Glancing toward the back, he noticed that the bar had an opening behind it that revealed the large kitchen. In the opposite corner, a raised landing suggested the presence of a stage. It was clear that the inn was a well-maintained establishment, cared for with great attention by its owners.

Suddenly, a shout and the sound of footsteps caught his attention as a stout woman entered through the kitchen door, with a somewhat timid Hasen trailing behind her. Simon straightened up, meeting her gaze as she regarded him from head to toe, her frown conveying a mix of curiosity and skepticism. She wore a spotlessly clean apron, her short dark hair neatly wrapped in a blue cloth. With a tan complexion and a questioning expression, she addressed him. "My dear husband says he plucked you off the street and promised you work. Is that correct?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied respectfully. "I helped your husband, and he mentioned that you needed some extra hands.” Deciding to lay the politeness on thick, he continued, “I wanted to say, I would be honored to work for a place as well cared for as this inn.” It was clear to Simon who ran this place. He glanced at Hasen peeking from behind his wife waiting for her answer.

"Oh, well, he didn't mention you were so polite," she responded, ushering Simon into the kitchen. There was a large wooden table in the center of the kitchen where the sacks they'd carried in rested. A large stove was against another wall, something glowed faintly underneath. Several ingredients, jars, and kitchen supplies hung all around the walls. "You can call me Nima. I manage the inn while my oaf of a husband handles the cooking,” she said, nodding in the direction of the common room. “It's actually quite good when he's not regaling the customers with sailing stories."

“It’s nice to meet you, Nima. My name’s Simon.”

“My husband was right, your accent is strange.” she said, while handing him a bucket full of cleaning supplies.

“What will I be needing these for?" he inquired, already feeling a familiar sense of dread. They had stopped in front of a huge pile of dirty dishes lying against the far wall.

“It’s right there in front of you honey. Now hurry up, there’s a lot more that needs to be done.”

“Yes ma’am,” said Simon, his face a picture-perfect display of a forced customer service smile.

Even in death, it seemed I’d never escape the restaurant industry. It’d always come back.

The next hour was spent scrubbing, scraping, and wiping, arms deep in pots and dishes while on his knees. He was getting a sense of deja vu as he worked probably due to the years spent doing the same routine at his parent’s restaurant. It hadn't been a particularly successful establishment, relying heavily on the free labor he was forced to provide. Tommy had made it better for a time when he got hired but after a few months was subsequently fired. Working with your best friend tends to do that. Years later, he was still plagued with nightmares of an unending rush and an evergrowing pile of dishes.

Once his hands were thoroughly pruned and the dishes were practically shining, he got to work on the other chores he was assigned. Simon swept the floor, moved the pots, and wiped down tables. Feeling satisfied with his cleaning, he went to ask Hasen what else they needed help with. He found the chef cooking something in a large pot, its aroma hinting at its deliciousness.

"You've finished already? Haha, I knew you'd do good work. Here, try this," Hasen said, handing him a spoonful of the simmering dish.

Simon accepted the spoon and tasted the dish. The flavors and spices that hit his taste buds made him all but melt in enjoyment. It was the best dish he tried in months, and he’d eaten at a lot of different restaurants. Grinning with genuine appreciation, Simon exclaimed, "This is amazing! I didn’t realize you were such a talented cook."

Hasen clapped him on the shoulder with a jovial smile. "Thank you, boy. Now, here, help me cut these vegetables while I tell you the story behind this recipe." Taking a seat, he regaled Simon with tales of his time as a sailor, his excitement growing with each anecdote. Nima chimed in through the kitchen opening, correcting the exaggerated details and adding a touch of laughter to the stories. His favorite was the tale of how Hasen bested the chef of a merchant ship in a culinary battle, choosing to take the recipes rather than the gold.

“And what happened next?” asked Simon, eagerly. He’d always enjoyed hearing about others' life stories. He spent a lot of his travels just listening to others while they shared their lives with him. Hasen’s was the first story he heard in this new world, and it did not disappoint.

“Once I got my hands on that recipe, I ended the fighting by handing both sides plates of food. If anyone wanted to keep fighting, I’d knock upside the head with these,” he said proudly, raising his scarred fists.

Simon looked at Nima to confirm whether that detail had been exaggerated or not. To his amusement, she made a pinching motion implying it was only slightly true.

Some time later while he was mopping the front of the inn, a man entered the establishment. He had tan skin like the other natives but wore his hair short and kept a clean-shaven face. He wore a colorful orange cape that was knotted at the shoulder allowing both his arms to be free and a plain tan skirt that went to his knees. A wooden stringed instrument hung from his back. Greeting the couple, he ordered a beer and began tuning his instrument at the bar. The man seemed to prefer solitude, occasionally muttering to himself as he drank.

When the sun started to set, the inn began to fill with customers seeking drinks and bowls of stew. Before the inn got too busy, the door swung open, and a teenage girl rushed in, her wind-tousled hair in disarray. She had tan skin and long dark hair she brushed back with bandaged fingers. She wore a cloth dress that reached to her ankles, tied off at the waist with a colorful belt.

She apologized profusely for being late conversing with Nima at the bar. Nima started to lecture the girl and Simon realized that she was probably the daughter Hasen mentioned in passing would be coming later to help. He was just trying to get the plates ready but glanced up when he heard the conversation turn to whispers. When he looked up he saw that the girl was glancing at him with a cold gaze out of the corner of her eye. Turning, she tied an apron around her waist and began greeting the customers.

Confused by her demeanor, Simon approached Nima, questioning, "Did I do something wrong? I haven't even spoken to her yet."

Nima shrugged dismissively. "Don't mind Itzia. She always acts that way when we hire new help. Just go and assist Hasen with the dishes," she said, filling mugs for an order.

Glancing through the opening into the bustling common room, he observed Itzia wearing a bright smile as she took orders and engaged in conversations, a stark contrast to her treatment of him. After that, the night blurred into a familiar routine as he ran around the bustling inn, collecting finished meals, washing dishes, and cleaning up spilled beer. The air was filled with drunken conversations, the clatter of dice games, and the melodic strums of the musician’s lute. Hasen told him that the musician was in fact a bard and his name was Ohtli. He also added with distaste that he was often more drunk than sober during his performances. Simon believed it when he heard the slurred singing of the man while he stumbled over the songs he played. He never had a chance to hear more than a few snippets of song, too occupied with his tasks.

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While setting down some dirty dishes, he couldn't help but overhear murmurs of dissatisfaction from his employers regarding the inn's half-empty state. The whispers hinted at a time when the inn had been much busier, which piqued his curiosity. He had initially perceived the inn as thriving, but now he wondered what had caused its decline. I wonder if it has to do with the lack of help. Lost in his thoughts, he was startled when Itzia tapped him on the shoulder, motioning for him to follow her.

Bemused, Simon followed Itzia into the common room and settled at the bar as instructed. Confusion was written on his face as he wondered what he was meant to do here. Before he could wonder further, his eyes widened at the sight of Nima approaching with a mug of beer and a steaming bowl of stew. Placing them in front of him, she smiled fondly, the lines of age momentarily erased from her face. The enticing aroma of the food made his hunger growl louder.

"Take a break, you've earned it," Nima said, before turning to refill a customer's tankard.

As Simon savored the delicious stew and sipped on the refreshing beer, the weariness of the day seemed to fade away. Almost too much, feeling his tiredness replace with newfound vitality. The warm flavors of the dish filled his mouth, and he couldn't help but let out a satisfied hum. The aroma of the food mingled well with the tunes of the drunken bard, Ohtli, who continued to stumble his way through his performances. Despite the bard's lack of sobriety, there was something endearing about his music, and it added to the lively atmosphere of the inn.

Looking around while he ate, he took notice of the inn's diverse occupants. Several farmers, darker-toned than other citizens in the city, were seated, wearing loincloths and short capes knotted by the shoulder. A solitary dwarf occupied a corner, while a trio of elves engaged in a game of dice nearby. Two adventurers, their swords strapped to their backs, sat at a table, sharing tales of their recent exploits. The room was filled with something else he can't quite grasp. It was as if each individual had a color swirling around them. Thinking he might just be weary from the long day, Simon brushed it off and sat back to enjoy the music.

Ohtli was playing some lighthearted song about a farmer falling in love with a baker’s daughter, missing a chord now and then. A shout from someone in the crowd interrupted the bard's playing, a drunken cry for something more entertaining. Curious to see how he’d respond, Simon watched as the bard finished his song and eyed the customer.

"You want entertaining? Fine, how about this!" slurs Ohtli, the bard seeming to sober up at the challenge. Straightening up on the stool, he began to play with an intensity he’d previously lacked. They woke him up, he thought taking another sip of his beer.

When a glow started to emit from the bard, however, Simon nearly choked on his beer in surprise. Ohtli seemed to glow with a bright aura that thrummed to the rhythm of his lute. His playing turned from a stumbling mess to something driven by passion. He saw that the light configured more strongly around the lute which in turn drew everyone's eyes to it. Simon was captivated by the scene in front of him. One word floated in his head, something he’d never had a reason to use while on Earth. Magic.

In a land of magic and myth,

Where Titans of wrath and rule exist,

A tower of great height rises proud,

Built by rebels, their voices loud.

Oh, the tower of defiance and might,

A beacon shining through the darkest night,

A symbol of hope, a feat untold,

In its soaring heights, rebel spirits unfold.

Stone by stone, they toiled and wrought,

Their determination, a fire that never fought,

With every brick, their purpose clear,

To challenge the gods, dispel their fear.

But from the tower's height, a miracle unfurls,

New gods descend, their presence whirls,

They join the rebels in their noble quest,

Against the Titans, together they'll invest.

With thunderous steps, the new gods arrive,

Their power radiates, making Titans strive,

They lend their strength, their wisdom profound,

To protect the rebels, their sacred ground.

Oh, the new gods and rebels unite,

Facing the Titans with relentless might,

A battle of magic and swords,

Challenging the old order's reign.

Together they stand, a force reborn,

Defying the Titans, their power torn,

In the tower's shadow, a pact is sealed,

New gods and rebels, an unbreakable shield.

In the clash of Titans and heavenly hosts,

Battles erupt, from coast to coast,

Angels soar high, Saints hold the line,

Defending the tower, their purpose shines.

But as the clash unfolds, the land quakes,

Seas boil, mountains crash, the world shakes,

The Titans' fury, unleashed and wild,

Changing the landscape, both fierce and wild.

The Titans tremble, their rule to shatter,

Against the united force, their strength does scatter,

In the tower's presence, their defeat looms,

As rebellion reigns, dispelling old dooms.

With the Titans vanquished, their power ceased,

They're imprisoned deep, in a dungeon's beast,

A new era dawns, a world reborn,

Where freedom and justice are forever sworn.

In this land of magic and myth, we arise,

With the tower's triumph, hope never dies,

A symphony of victory, in harmonious chime,

Embracing a future where dreams truly climb.

When all went silent and the light began to fade, a cheer of approval rose, praising the bard who had sung. As the inn returned to normal, Simon couldn't stop staring at the one who had held the room with just his words, music, and... magic. He clenched the mug tight as his fingers felt the familiar urge to play begin to awaken. Why now, he wondered. He had thought that after years of disuse, the urge to play had died within him. When he had tossed aside his guitar because it became too painful to remember who he’d once played alongside, Simon thought it would be for good. But now, his hands tingled with the itch to play.

Even if I did pick it up again, how much skill have I lost?

While his spoon scraped against the bottom of the bowl, Simon's mind began to drift. The image of Ohtli's magical display earlier in the evening resurfaced, and with it, a sense of longing awakened within him. The pulsating light, the captivating music—it spoke to something deep within his soul. Simon pondered the possibility of learning magic in this new world, feeling the budding desire take root inside him.

A tap on his shoulder broke him out of his thoughts as Nima asked Simon to get back to work. As the night ended and the last of the guests left to go home, Nima found him bleary-eyed and yawning. Leading him to a small room she gave him a blanket and pillow. There was just enough room for a small chest and a hammock inside the cramped space.

"Lie down and get some rest. You've worked hard today," Nima said kindly, her eyes filled with slight concern.

Simon gratefully settled into the hammock, his body immediately sinking into it. Thoughts of the magic he had witnessed and the sounds of music he witnessed lingered in his mind. I have to come up with a plan before I sleep. I need to… His thoughts slowly shut down as he succumbed to sleep. In this new world, Simon fell asleep for the first time since he’d died.