“Welcome to Wishful Wanderers, your local guild hall.” The clerk’s quiet, and muffled voice still carried through the room as there were no other sounds to drown it out. The clerk’s eyelids were too heavy to open. His head was buried in his arms as he leaned against his desk.

“What can I help you wi—” As the clerk pulled his head up, and forced his eyes open, he was shocked by the figure that stood in front of him. The man was tall—though the clerk knew anyone was tall to a dwarf like himself.

The man was clad in an alien armor unlike anything the clerk had ever seen before. It looked like the armor had weathered all of time, and every bit of damage it endured—rust, moss, cracks—was infused into it. The surface of the armor was a ruddy red, cracked, and rough, a texture reminiscent of slag or rust. Portions of it were green and bumpy, though still strong and rigid as if a metal moss had infected the armor. Cracks littered the armor; the most notable of which was a singular crack on the helmet that ran from the nape to the Adam's apple.

The only other thing visible on the man was a simple, leather satchel slung around his shoulder that rested at his waist.

“That’s some armor you got there,” the clerk said.

“Are you Simon?” the man asked. The voice sounded nothing like the clerk expected; it was deep, yet calming.

“That’s right.”

“I heard about your daughter.”

“People don’t know when to shut up,” Simon groaned. “I don’t care for scammers like you. And even if you could fix her, I don't have the coin to pay. Just piss off, and leave me alone.”

“I’m not asking for gold. Would you just let me take a look at her?” the man asked.

“Suppose a look wouldn’t hurt,” Simon said with a heavy sigh. “If that’s what it’ll take to get you to leave. Follow me.”

Simon grabbed a ring of keys from the counter and guided the man up the stairs to the second floor of the guild hall, where the rooms were. The floor itself was a series of hallways with doors along the side leading into the rental rooms. The two arrived at a set of double doors at the end of the hall.

Despite the keys being identical—aside from the numbers on them—Simon didn’t need to look when opening the door. “Don’t tell anyone about this alright. I keep telling people this room’s already been rented out. I’m sure they’d understand if I was using it for my daughter, but I don’t care for their pity.”

The man gestured to a bed in the corner of the room situated next to a window. “Is that her?”

Laying on the bed, still as a corpse, was a young girl, illuminated by the moonlight, with pale skin, and long black hair. Both the men slowly approached the bed.

“Hey there Cass,” Simon whispered softly.

“Would you mind leaving me in here with her?” the man asked.

“Do whatever you want,” Simon said half-heartedly, exiting the room, and shutting the door behind him. “Not like she can get any worse.”

Once they were alone, the man took a knee next to the bed. He gently placed one hand under the girl’s hand, and the other on top. “A life well lived and a life wasted, all possibilities, out of an infinity, that with time, converge into a singular reality, [Foresight].”

Thud!

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Simon rushed into the room. “Cass!” he shouted as he swung open the door. Glancing around the room Simon noticed that his daughter was fine, but the armored man had collapsed to the floor. Simon quickly rushed to the man’s side.

“Are you alright? What happened.” Simon asked.

“I needed to be sure, she wouldn’t—” The man’s labored breathing exploded into coughing. Stream of red seeped through the cracks in his helmet.

“Is there anything I can do?” Simon asked.

“My bag,” the man said weakly. “There’s a potion in there. Pink liquid, ornate glass, winged neck.”

Simon hurriedly popped open the satchel and rummaged around inside. “I can’t feel anything!” Simon said, panicked. He’d somehow plunged his arm, all the way up to his shoulder, in a satchel that was no deeper than a few inches. However, he felt nothing.

“You have to imagine it,” the man said. Another cough exploded from his suit, staining the bed sheets red, as blood spurted from his helmet.

Simon did as the man instructed imagining a potion exactly as he described. In the void, he felt his fingers brush across something. Simon ripped his arm out of the satchel; grasped tightly in his hand was a potion containing a pink liquid trapped inside an ornate glass with a winged neck.

“Take off your helmet,” Simon said.

“No. t’s not for me. It’s for her.”

“But what about—”

The man gripped the side of the bed, and painfully pulled himself to his feet. “I’ll live.”

“Are you sure?” Simon asked.

“Unfortunately,” the man said. “Now give it to her.”

Simon climbed onto the bed. He gently propped his daughter’s head up against the bed frame, and slowly poured the potion down her throat.

“Dad?” The voice was so quiet that if Simon hadn’t been holding his breath, the sound of his own breathing might have drowned it out. Simon’s hands shook like an earthquake as they slowly approached his daughter.

Cassandra’s eyes slowly opened for the first time in over a year. The first thing she saw was her dad weeping over her, embracing her as tightly as he could.

“That damned curse, it’s gone. It’s gone, It’s gone,” Simon repeated to himself over and over.

“What’s wrong?” Cassandra asked.

“Nothing,” Simon said. “Not anymore. Everything is okay now.”

“I’m a little sleepy,” Cassandra said.

“Well, it is late. How about you go back to bed for now,” Simon said.

“Okay Dad. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Simon turned to the armored man who was standing at the door to give Simon and Cassandra a moment of privacy.

“What’s your name?” Simon asked.

“Hero.” The man’s voice was melancholy. There wasn’t a hint of pride in his words.

Simon chuckled slightly. “Fitting name.”

“Some would say that,” Hero said. “One thing, the first girl she brings back home, you won’t be a fan of her, but give her a chance. She’s the best for your daughter.”

“I don’t even know what you’re saying anymore, but alright I’ll take you at your word,” Simon said. “If there’s anything I can do, please let me know. I’m indebted to you, eternally.”

Hero reached into his satchel and pulled out a small scrap of paper that had been torn at every single edge. “This is a [Returning Paper]. It’s got a simple infusion on it. Tear it and it returns to me. It’s useful for signaling from long distances. Take it.”

Simon grabbed the paper.

“There’s someone I’ve been looking for,” Hero said. “I have reason to believe he’ll be stopping by here soon. If you ever meet him, I want you to tear a corner of that paper to let me know.”

“Why are you looking for him? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I visited his village a while back,” Hero said. “It seems he’s run away from home. I’m just trying to reunite him with the rest of the villagers.”

“I guess bringing family back together is a hobby of yours. So, what’s the kid’s name?” Simon asked

“Ace. Ace Lustres.”