“A single ray of sun is enough to dispel the dark.” -A Tenalan saying

Simon heard the crowd gathering outside the kitchen and wondered if he still had time to back out. Wiping his sweaty hands on his jacket, he inspected his appearance once again in the bronze mirror. His green eyes reflected his nervousness as he attempted to fix his messy blonde hair. In just nine days, he had transformed. With a few pounds shed, a sun-kissed tan, and blonde stubble, he looked drastically different from his usual self. Tonight, he had chosen to wear his jacket over his new clothes, trying to emulate the Ohtli's caped appearance. Despite his efforts, the nerves in his stomach refused to dissipate making him feel as if a great pressure was stored within him. That same feeling had grown ever since his first day in Eritia but now it was hard to ignore.

It’s just butterflies, I just have to start playing and they’ll go away. That is if I had a guitar…

The door swung open, and Nima distracted him from his growing nerves as she assessed him, saying, "Dear Gods, are you sure about this? You look more nervous than a Warden on a boat."

"I'm sure. I want to help," Simon replied.

"You hear that, love? Who knew our little worker was actually a Bard!" Hasen chimed in as he prepared that night's meals.

Simon glanced at Hasen, took a deep breath, and observed the crowd through the kitchen's openings into the common room. He hadn't entirely lied when they questioned his ability to perform as a Bard. He had spent a lot of time playing for garage crowds, telling jokes to tours, and organizing events in hostels, gaining some experience. The lie that had won them over was his claim to have a wealth of stories from his small village, tales that no one in the city had ever heard before. He had spent the last couple of hours preparing for his performance, yet he still didn't feel fully prepared. I wish I had my guitar with me, he thought.

"Hey, Hasen! Where's the music? I'm going to doze off into my drink at this rate," shouted someone from the common area. Other shouts of approval rippled throughout the half-filled inn. The chef turned to Simon, skepticism etched on his face.

"How do you reckon you'll keep them entertained without an instrument?" Hasen asked.

"All I came here with were my stories and the clothes on my back. I can manage," Simon replied, trying to sound confident as he walked into the public area.

The inn was half-filled with tired farmers looking to unwind after a day of labor, a group of adventurers easily distinguishable by their weapons lounging in the back, and a solitary dwarf drinking alone at the bar. The room buzzed with conversation—some loud and drunken, others low and whispered. Itzia, wearing a worried expression, glanced at Simon as she took an order. As he walked toward the stage, he caught a few glances from the patrons, his heart pounding in his chest.

Simon experienced a sense of déjà vu as he scanned the crowd, reminiscing about old shows he had performed in a garage. He felt naked without his guitar, fumbling with what to do with his hands. Sticking them in his jacket pocket he felt the curious eyes of the crowd weigh on him. Say something, he thought. Simon had a bad habit of speaking before he could think whenever nerves or awkwardness got to him. Sometimes it helped to get a conversation going or break an awkward silence, but most often it backfired. This was one of those times.

"What did one wall say to the other?" he blurted out, inwardly cringing at the dad joke that slipped past his lips.

"What?" replied a drunken adventurer, clearly confused.

"I'll meet you at the corner."

The silence that followed was tangible. Not a single soul in the room laughed or even smiled. Internally, he face-palmed at the train wreck of an introduction.

“No one, anyone? Okay, that’s cool,” he said, clearly scrambling. “Ohtli is no longer with us, so I’ll be taking over as the Bard tonight. My name is…”

“Ohtli’s dead?” shouted someone in the crowd.

“That bastard still owes me a drink.”

“Me too!”

“Um excuse me! Ohtli isn’t dead.” he tried explaining, “He went to another inn, but that’s beside the point. My name is Simon and I’ll be telling you stories tonight.”

“I knew he wasn’t dead!”

“You didn’t know that, quit lying and roll the dice.”

Simon stood there unsure of how to start. To say this was going well would be an understatement. Most of the crowd had all but ignored him after they found out Ohtli was in fact not dead. A few guests still looked at him waiting for him to begin but it was clear he had lost their attention. Just go for it, they’ll start listening eventually. Taking a breath, he readied one of the stories he’d prepared for tonight.

“Long, long ago there was a legend about a sword in a stone. It was told whoever could pull it out would become the one true king of the land. Many people tried and failed until one boy--”

“How did a sword get stuck in stone?” asked a farmer in the back.

“I could have pulled it out. Hey bard, where’s this stone?” said a muscular adventurer as he flexed his arm to his companions.

“It doesn’t matter how the sword got there it’s just part of the story…” said Simon, who went on to answer the multitude of questions tossed at him. He had lost his momentum, the crowd was clearly growing agitated without music or entertainment. That’s when they started heckling him and it all went downhill from there.

"Why don't you do a dance? It'll be more entertaining than this."

"Get off the stage already."

"By the Gods, I wish Ohtli was here?"

"Come on, let's finish our drinks and go."

He was losing them. Some customers had already begun settling their tabs and gathering their belongings to leave. Itzia was politely asking customers if they wanted another round or to order food but they declined. Glancing over at the bar, he saw Nima exchanging worried glances with Hasen, who kept his head down.

There had to be something he could do. His story wasn’t enough to get the crowd’s attention. He didn't have an instrument, and he didn't know any of the local songs or stories. If only he could play like Ohtli, filling the room with music...

That's it!

Hopping down from the stage, he rushed to the bar and asked Nima to stall for him. He ignored her questions and hurried past her into the back. Rummaging through his belongings in the hammock, he found his phone. The familiar weight settled in his hands as he scrolled through it, searching for just the right song. Filled with newfound energy, he rushed back to the stage just as most of the crowd was making their way to the exit. If his stories weren't enough to capture their attention, he had to rely on something that transcended words.

"Wait!" Simon shouted as he hit play. The decision of what song to choose had been easy. If there was one song he believed could turn this whole night around it was this one. A song that Simon considered one of the greatest rock songs ever, All Along the Watchtower.

The crowd turned toward him, agitation etched on several faces. Before they could shout at him, a sound they had never heard before emanated from his phone. Jimi Hendrix’s intro seemed to lull the crowd into a trance as his hypnotic music captured everyone who heard it. Simon felt shivers run through him as a smile broke his face as he watched the crowd. Some had started to move to the beat, others sat enraptured by the foreign instruments but most of all no one had taken another step towards the door. When the song ended everyone looked up at him in anticipation.

Thank you, Jimi Hendrix.

"What... What was that?" someone in the crowd asked apprehensively.

"That was one of the best songs from my homeland, played by the legendary guitarist Jimi Hendrix. Allow me to introduce myself again," Simon said, confidence filling him as he stood over the enraptured crowd. "My name is Simon Everlong, and I'm a Bard. Who wants to hear another song?"

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Cheers erupted from the crowd in answer as Simon hit play on the next song.

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As the night fell, casting its darkness over the land, the lights of the floating city dispelled the gloom. Among countless lights, one such light in the Western district shone brighter than the rest. A sign outside the building marked its name as "The Siren's Wish," and that night, it was fuller than it had been in months. Heads bobbed, bodies moved to the beats, and an air of energy filled the inn. Itzia weaved through the crowd, delivering food and refilling drinks, her pockets bulging with tips. Nima and Hasen worked swiftly to meet the flood of business, while Simon stood on stage directing his performance with a satisfied smile.

With each passing song and the growing crowd, the pressure had become harder to ignore as it seemed to pulse inside him. It reminded him of the feeling after too much laughter or the ache of smiling too long. It was uncomfortable, yet not unwelcome.

As the final lyrics of "Stairway to Heaven" resonated through the now-packed inn, the crowd erupted in cheers and shouts for more, directed at Simon. Raising his hands to acknowledge the crowd, he stole a glance at the lonely figure seated at the bar. It was the same dwarf he had noticed earlier, drinking alone. Despite the crowd and music he had remained glued to his beer all night. Watching the black-haired dwarf had given him an idea.

"Tonight, I shared with you music from my homeland. Have you enjoyed it?” he said, speaking loud and confidently.

“Yes!” said the enthralled crowd.

"But there was one more thing I wished to share with everyone, a story. In my homeland, there was a story that stood the test of time. It is an epic tale of an unwilling hero embarking on a quest with thirteen dwarves to reclaim a stolen treasure, guarded by a formidable dragon."

Among the myriad stories Simon had considered telling, it seemed fitting to share the one that had accompanied him on his own journey. As he began to speak, the inn fell into a reverent silence, contrasted with how they had talked over him earlier. His gaze lingered on one particular figure—the lonely dwarf who had turned to listen, curiosity shining in his eyes, momentarily forgetting about his drink. I got him, he thought with satisfaction.

He began the story as all good ones do, starting in a hole in the ground. His voice wasn't flawless; he stumbled and stuttered, pausing to collect his thoughts or rushing ahead when it wasn't necessary. Simon recounted tales of Trolls and cookpots, Goblins and treacherous caves, and a game of riddles surrounding a stolen ring. The influx of people in the inn had begun to make him sweat, his throat became parched, and nervous energy filled him as he performed for a hundred expectant eyes. Yet, above all, he felt a sense of belonging.

Simon thought that he hadn’t been good enough to captivate the crowd without his phone. Without an instrument, all he could do was rely on artists from his home to do the heavy lifting. He had thought that without his guitar he couldn’t possibly entertain this crowd, but as he told this story he realized how wrong he was. There was something only he could do. That was to share what he loved with anyone willing to listen.

As he approached the part of the story where the dwarves confront the dragon, the pressure that had built within him started to pulse. Stumbling his sentence, Simon clutched the stool with his left hand steadying himself. The feeling was coursing throughout his body and mind now. A sensation that felt… right! He realized the pressure inside him wasn’t a bad sensation, all it wanted was to be let out.

“The great red dragon would rear its head and great flames of fire would erupt trying to burn the dwarves.”

As he narrated the scene that he had read countless times before, the imagery sprang to life in his mind's eye. Aligning the words he spoke with his imagination he raised his right arm instinctually. His body seemed to move of its own accord, as he channeled that sensation into the palm of his hand. Mixing the pressure into his words and imagination he pushed that feeling outside himself so others could see.

Fire surged outward, and tongues of flame shot forth from his hand, cascading over the astonished crowd. Gasps filled the air as the image Simon had described materialized before their eyes, illuminating their faces in a breathtaking display. The words of the story died on his lips as he stood in awe, witnessing the fire dissipate among the astonished onlookers.

Gasps rippled through the crowd as they witnessed the stage bathed in the red and orange glow of the imagined flames. Simon's chest rose and fell as he stared at the spectacle he had created, the tongues of fire gradually fading from the air. Though the pressure within him had lessened, it had barely dented the whole of it. The astonished crowd looked at him waiting for him to continue. Hesitantly at first, he continued the story but as he regained his rhythm the performance he gave wasn’t words alone. Remembering how he created that first image he captured that same feeling of rightness to create more depictions of his imagination.

Simon felt the hours pass tick by as illusions materialized, crafted from the vivid scenes he described, captivating everyone who saw them. Not a soul dared interrupt, speak amongst friends, or leave. Some of the guests even forgot to eat the food they ordered letting it grow cold before them. Hasen stirred a forgotten pot, Nima clutched a glass, and Itzia stood still, a wooden platter clutched against her chest. They, too, were caught in the spell of his storytelling. He recounted the defeat of the dragon, the triumph of the dwarves, the clash of five armies, and the eventual return home.

By the end, fatigue had started to wear him down, his voice had grown raw, and he struggled to keep his eyes open. Despite that, he persisted until the last thread of pressure had drained from within himself. Exhausted and breathless, Simon concluded the tale, the final line escaping his lips as if it were a whisper. The room fell into a profound silence, and as the seconds passed he felt doubt creep into his mind. The anticipation of the crowd's response hung heavily in the air.

Then, it came.

A gentle clap.

Followed by another.

And another, building into a crescendo of applause that resonated throughout the inn. Simon felt tears begin to well in his eyes as he took in the cheers and applause, finding it almost surreal that they were meant for him. Resisting the tears, he tried pushing down that feeling as he stood and bowed to the crowd. One guest however caught his attention as they cheered louder than any other—the dwarf who had been drinking alone drowning his sorrows in his mug cheered with unbridled enthusiasm. Tears streamed down his black beard, a grateful smile gracing his face as he looked up at him.

That one smile was all it took.

The void within himself, the one that opened ever since his best friend died. The one in which he threw all his pain, rage, and regret into while he wandered aimlessly throughout the world. The same one that had slowly started to close because of the kind words from his Gramps. The same one that had grown deeper since he died on that plane. Internally, he grappled with himself as he fought the void from opening up as the cheers and applause from the crowd touched something deep inside himself. Why was he still fighting it?

It’s just like Gramps said, I don’t have to run away anymore. Not from what happened, not from my own regrets, and not from myself. I made a promise, to find him. I can’t do that if I remain the same.

On that stage, exposed for all to see, Simon did one of the hardest things he had ever done. He let go of that burden. All of the fear, pain, regret, loss, and grief he’d been harboring for two years was released. Tears streamed down his face as he stood before the cheering crowd. As the emotions wracked him in sobs that threatened to bring him to his knees. Something odd happened, all those emotions he’d bottled away for so long left the hole inside himself empty. But slowly, that void started to close as a stream of joy, accomplishment, and a sense of belonging replaced it.

Coins tinkled onto the stage, thrown by the crowd as a token of appreciation. Collecting himself, Simon wiped his tears and hit play on one final song. The lyrics and notes to "Shine A Light" resonated through the air, marking the end of his performance. Stepping down from the stage, he was greeted by the inn's family.

"In all my travels at sea, I have never witnessed a performance like that. Thank you, my boy," Hasen said, embracing Simon in a bear hug.

Nima joined in, squeezing him tightly. "And that Artefact! I can't believe you have one from your home. With that, you could play in any palace you wanted!"

"Why would I want to leave when I have such a great gig here?" Simon replied, his voice still hoarse from the tears and performance. Pulling away, he smiled and added, "That is, if you want to keep me on as a Bard."

Hasen's large hand clapped him on the back. "We'd be happy to. We haven't seen this kind of business since we first opened."

Curiously, Simon turned to Itzia, who had remained strangely quiet throughout. "And what about you? Did you enjoy my performance?"

"It...it was incredible," she stammered, averting her gaze, her voice barely audible. "I have to go help that customer," she said hurriedly, disappearing into the crowd for a moment.

"That was odd.”

"Don't mind her. She didn't think you would be staying. She had difficulties getting along with our previous workers after her brother left," Nima explained, watching the exchange. "Be right back, dear. I need to settle some expensive tabs." With a satisfied expression on her face, she made her way back behind the bar.

The music abruptly ceased as Simon's phone battery died. As the customers stumbled out of the inn, one group after another, Simon received claps on the shoulder, promises to return tomorrow, and answered a few questions about the story. The last person to leave was the dwarf with the intricately braided black beard. Standing before Simon, he extended his hand for a handshake. As Simon thanked him for staying, he felt the cool touch of metal in his palm as the handshake concluded. Looking down, he discovered a gold coin resting in his hand—an amount equivalent to a month's wages.

"I can't possibly accept this," Simon exclaimed, stunned by the gift.

"Hahaha, it would be a stain on my mountain if I didn't offer a gift in exchange for something even more valuable," the dwarf laughed heartily, stroking his beard. "What is your name?"

"Simon Everland, you are? Also, you mean to tell me, that story is more valuable than a month's wages?" Simon questioned.

"I’m Ornen Stonemane from the Rolling Stone clan," said Ornen, his grip firm as he introduced himself. "It's odd, you don’t know the value of your own story. Everyone knows the legend of how most knowledge was lost during the Titanomachy. Cities sank, libraries burned, seas boiled, and the land quaked during that period. My people lost most of our history, and to hear a new story calls for celebration."

As Ornen spoke of the Titanomachy, Simon's mind flickered with recognition. The war between the Greek Gods and the Titans—could this be another clue? A sense of curiosity ignited within him, urging him to delve deeper into this topic.

"Thank you for sharing that," Simon said sincerely. "I hope we can become friends. Feel free to come again, I have plenty more stories.”

As Ornen prepared to leave, Simon waved goodbye, watching as the dwarf exited and shut the door behind him. Leaning against the door, he took a moment to absorb his surroundings—the spilled drinks, the lingering sweaty odor, the scattered dirty plates across the tables, and the family engaging in cheerful conversation in the kitchen. Life had been breathed back into the inn. In this fantasy world called Eritia, in a city floating on a lake, inside this inn, Simon felt that he had found his sense of purpose and belonging. He had found his place. He was a Bard.