> "You just need to be you."

The breeze continues to blow despite his raging thought. Eddie let out a long sigh, the mist of his breath flutters in the cold evening air as he did so. He walked down the uneven cobblestones of the harbour road. The faint murmur of waves lapping against the pier faded behind him, leaving just the smooth cadence of his feet on the sidewalk. Above, the moon stood high, throwing a weak reflection on Weshaven's damp roads.

Catherine is already nowhere to be gound, in her usual manner. One minute she was at his side, her words pierced something within him he hadn't felt in years, giving him the existential crisis of a lifetime; the next, she was gone, as if nothing had just happened.

Eddie walked, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets, his breath formed a mist everything he sighed. Catherine's words remained in his memory, playing over and over like a broken record.

What happened to you?

Eddie still didn't want to acknowledge how deeply the question had pierced him. He remembered her face, how uncharacteristically serious it looked. How seriously dejected it looked, and how within all of that, how concerned it looked.

As he moved through the streets, the distant noises of the port gave way to the faint echoes of excited conversation and laughing. Eddie stopped as he rounded a corner.

On the town square of Mariner’s Ranch stood a little, old carriage with brightly fading paint on its sides that depicted legendary heroes and mythological animals. A banner with the words "Vandruff’s Travelling Tales" in gold calligraphy was draped over its front; the wording faintly reflected the light from a nearby street lamps.

Eddie stood still. He had grown up loving evenings like these, when storytellers from different lands would bring their tales to this little hamlet called Weshaven. Knights would fight monsters and tricksters outwitted monarchs.

He remembered back when he was a kid, pushing his way to the front row, with all eyes fixed on the little stage. Back then he still believed in knights defeating the dragons, Back then he still believed in happy endings. Back then, the world beyond the stage was irrelevant for a few mere seconds as he watched these tales unfold.

However, it was years ago, when he was someone different, someone who could lose himself in heroic and adventurous stories without thinking twice.

You just need to be you.

The words continues to repeat in his minds, their simplicity belying the weight they contained. Now, what does that even mean? Who was "him" ? The Eddie she recalled? Before everything went wrong, was he the Eddie he was?

“Thank you! Dear audience!” Announced the Puppet Master, “The next tale, is The Dragon of Groville!”

Eddie was startled out of his reverie by the children's quiet laughter. To the joy of the audience, one of the puppets—a cunning fox, apparently—had taken the knight's sword and was bouncing about the stage. Despite his advanced age, the puppet master's motions were vibrant as he laughed with them.

Eddie remembered how he was used to be one of those children, laughing and having the time of his life.

He remembered what he told Catherine a while before, how he wasn’t that kid anymore. How he had grown, how he had lost his passion.

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Well, let’s see whether that little Eddie was still there somewhere. Eddie thought to himself.

Before he could second-guess himself, Eddie walked up to the booth.

The ticket booth near the carriage had the words "Admission: 2 Coppers" written on it. He dug into his pocket, his fingers brushing against a few coins.

It was ridiculous, a somewhat inebriated, unkempt man purchasing a ticket to a puppet show. But the thought of sitting in the warm glow of the lanterns, surrounded by stories, felt like a tether to a simpler time, back when he was still a kid, back when that kid was still alive.

The vendor handed him a small red ticket in exchange for the coins. Eddie muttered a quick thanks before slipping into the small gathering.

The children’s laughter drowned him out as he settled at the back, their chatter a vibrant wall of sound. His dark coat and weathered boots made him stand out against the cheerful patchwork of colourful scarves and jackets the children wore.

Over the little stage, which was embellished with painted stars, trees, and a bright moon, the lanterns created a lovely, flickering light. A wiry old guy with a sparkle in his eye, the puppeteer emerged and opened the play with a theatrical flourish.

“Now! Onto the next tale! Gather thee close, good folk,” the puppeteer intoned, his voice deep and inviting, “And hearken thee to a tale of old—a tale of valour, cunning, and the strength of noble hearts. ‘Tis the story of Groville, a village fair, and the fearsome foe known as the Nightingale Dragon!”

Eddie leaned back. As the stage came alive with colourful puppets, he couldn’t help but feel the nostalgia seeping in.

The puppeteer brought out the Groville puppet, a cheerful little village bustling with tiny puppet villagers: “Behold, a day most fair and bounteous!”

The puppeteer introduced the puppet of The Alchemist next, a regal figure robed in Red. “Stand ye strong, good folk!” the old man declared in a commanding voice, the puppet raising its glowing staff. “Together shall we face this darkness, and ne’er shall we let it consume our light!”

Eddie’s smile faded as the story unfolded. The Alchemist couldn’t fight the Nightingale Dragon alone; she needed the help of others—a cunning Witch and a valiant Bard. The puppets joined forces, their combined strengths weaving a glowing barrier around the village.

The battle was fierce, the air heavy with the Dragon's fiery wrath and the trio’s resolve. Intently, Eddie watched, the children’s eager sounds receding.

“Thou shalt harm no more, vile beast!” The Alchemist cried. “By this bond of light, shadow, and song, I banish thee to the deep forest, where none may find thee!”

The Dragon puppet was drawn into the shadowy forest, its flames extinguished. The village erupted in cheers as the puppeteer guided the tiny villagers into a jubilant dance.

“And so, my friends,” the puppeteer said, his voice solemn now, “remember this tale well. True strength is not in power or might, but in courage, wisdom, and the bonds we share. Let thy hearts be brave, thy spirits steadfast, and thy light unyielding.”

As the puppets took a bow and the curtain closed, the children’s enthusiastic clapping and laughter filled the air. Eddie sat unmoving, the storyteller’s words echoing in his head. True strength is in the bonds we share.

The children cheered, their applause echoing in the night as the old puppet master took a bow, his smile as warm as the lantern light. Eddie clapped too, though his hands moved slowly, the sound almost drowned out by the surrounding kids.

Back then, he’d believed in happy endings.

The children leaned forward, their wide eyes reflecting the warm glow of the lanterns. Eddie stayed where he was, his head bowed slightly.

Courage, Wisdom, and Bonds.

The words twisting in his chest. Catherine’s voice echoed in his mind, her words overlapping with the puppet master’s. What happened to you? You just need to be you.

But who was he now? A stranger sitting among children, trying to grasp at a piece of his past that no longer fit. He could laugh at the absurdity of it all if it didn’t hurt so much.

As the crowd began to disperse, Eddie lingered in his seat, watching the children scamper off with their parents, their laughter filling the air.

Eddie stood and brushed the dust from his coat. The streets felt quieter now, the cold breeze of the night settling in again.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, The breeze continues to blow despite his raging thought. Eddie let out a long sigh, the mist of his breath flutters in the cold evening air as he did so. He walked down the uneven cobblestones of the harbour road. His footsteps echoing as he made his way back to the apothecary.