"Ha! You don't know anything about being pretentious, you damn drunkard!" Interrupted the also drunk and lively Harry. "I believe, there isn't a more pretentious person than someone who calls himself a hero." Said Harry, earning a glare from his friend Ars in the process.

This small talk had been going since early in the morning. Arguing non-stop about different things; from whether the planet is plane, till what is pretentious or what isn't, with live side-commentaries from other drunks.

I'm sure I can’t talk for that long of a while. These guys must have endless stamina, that or something related, at least.

Of course, I am no one to criticize what they are doing because I was the one that suggested talking about most of these topics in the first place. Listening attentively to their arguments is the least that I could do for them.

Also, discussions like this happen very often in this place, and indeed, I am the cause of these every time.

I can't help it. I have lots of questions, and people willing to answer them are scarce in my life.

These drunkards and the rare, few travelers that I meet in the tavern are the only people bored enough, or with really so many problems that are willing to talk and waste their time with an eight years old kid while getting lost in beer. Bad stuff, by the way. I don't know how they can guzzle so many mugs of it. I have been coming here for about three years now, there have been plenty of opportunities to taste it.

"Hey, Naaran!" Harry called at me. I faced him, trying to not seem puzzled because I haven't been following the conversation since a while ago. "You believe me, right?" He asked hopefully.

Not really, I don't believe much of what they tell me anymore. Like some drunkard once said: experience is a harsh mistress.

"I’m not sure," I replied with a shrug.

"Don't believe that snake! I know a lot more! Hiccup." Shrieked Ars.

Worry not, Ars, I don't believe in either of you.

"Shut up! I know because I was once a teacher!" Remarked Harry. "I have known a lot of pretentious individuals. Ha, these conceited people didn't stop talking about themselves. All of them pretended that they were something that they weren't. Accusing these people of their shittiness is useless, they only lie and lie and end up believing their own lies, and they do it only for the money! No wait, they do it to increase their self-confidence... I think? Yes." By the end of his tirade, Harry wasn't so sure of himself anymore.

But seriously Harry, I think that you are the only one that just thinks of making money all day. Can’t blame him, though, for almost every adult I know is kinda similar. Doesn't' helps that most adults I know are drunkards.

Like always at this point, the conversation has devolved so much that these drunks just start spouting pure nonsense.

"Are you crazy dude?" Ars asked intensely, his gaze somewhat unhinged. "I don't even know if we are still talking about the same thing?" He shook his head. "I know this because I learned it in the academy. Any nobody can't go to an academy, you know? What. Do. You. Even. Know!"

My experience lets me know that this is the end of the conversation, so I take the edges of the high chair I'm sitting on, and jump back closer to the bar a few times. I don't want to get caught in what comes next.

"Again with your 'I went to the academy' rubbish!" Cried Harry while standing up.

"Haaa! You are just jealous of my maaany achievements, stupid fool!" Ars laughed.

Harry put down the drama and launched himself at Ars. Tackling him in a bear hug, both of them fell and started rolling on the floor while cursing and shouting at each other.

The other drunkards in the group started cheering for their favorite.

"Stand up Ars!", "He is almost yours, Harry!", "Kiss him!", "C'mon! I bet good money on you! Don't let me down if you know what is good for you!", "Rent a room", and "Fight! Fight! Fight!" are a few examples of what was being shouted.

I reckon that some of them come only to see the almost daily fights in here. I find it funny that this always happens in the morning, unlike in the stories I have read. As this happens almost every day, I suspect that they have everything choreographed! Maybe even someone controls the bets. If not, I feel like I should do it.

While watching the fact, I idly wonder who will win this time. The score so far is 20 victories for Harry, 17 for Ars, and 32 draws. They are very even.

This feels like it will be a good day. A nice talk and a tavern brawl to begin the day, it looks promising so far!

Seeing them like that, I think that it's interesting. They fight a lot more often than me and the kids of the neighborhood and for even pettier thin-

A scream draws my attention back to the fight.

"Don't bite me, you damned cannibal! Fight like a man!" Harry shouted while kicking Ars between the legs.

Ars stopped biting him in the shoulder to start pulling Harry's hair with all his strength; all while getting his hand into a lower position to protect his manly weakness.

Lovely pair, cursing while screaming in pain and kicking each other with the intent of inflicting maximum pain. Truly good friends.

Both of them are skinny. Ars has white skin and black hair. What I think is called a rectangular face and light brown eyes. Harry instead has tanned skin, black hair, and dark brown eyes. Harry is missing the upper part of his left ear. He has never said why it's missing, but Ars joked that an angry ex-girlfriend tore it with a bite. I wonder if bites are a common occurrence among adult relationships?

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They are very good friends, best friends even, I guess. Harry is easily angered and Ars is conceited like hell. They share everything, nice moments, bad moments, food, pain, and brushes, like right now, and even women, according to the stories that they have told me.

A wide man stepped between them to stop the fight. It seems that this one is a draw.

I am ever in wonder, drunkards and travelers in this tavern never use weapons while fighting, even if it's a more serious problem. Classical fistfights are the only type of fight here, doesn't matter what you are or what your powers are, if you fight, you use your fists. I have never heard of a spoken rule like that here, but they sure do follow it. I wonder if it is what I have heard is called a 'man's pride' or maybe 'who is longer', I am not clear on what either of these means, though.

I throw a glance at my surroundings. The tavern is small. It's always clean, the owner has never been seen standing idle. There are ten circular tables and 8 chairs at each of them. Here only comes the same drunks of always, and me, plus the occasional traveler guest. Right now, there are 9 men, all in the same group; Harry and Ars among them, they have occupied two tables. I am sitting closer to the bar in one of the eight high chairs put along the bar.

A curious thing, some would say, to see a kid of fewer than ten years in a tavern talking with morning drunks every day. I don't agree with that, this is normal to me. I'm actually more curious about why these guys drink in the morning instead of in the night, or at least past noon. I asked the owner and he said that some questions are better to remain unanswered. Meh.

Still, this is a fun place, and one of the very few sites in the entirety of this small town where I can get a breath and find some peace in the day. Here is very welcoming to everyone, even to me. The owner always invites me to a drink of milk every day. I find it very difficult to say no to a free meal so I have perfect punctuality and am always here for a few hours every morning since I had five.

My attention is directed again to the lively and bruised duo. It seems that they have made peace because they are toasting and laughing again, their problems now a thing of the past.

I yawn and jump off of the chair, unfortunately getting the scrutiny of everybody with my actions. "Guys, I'm leaving, have a busy day ahead of me"

"Busy day?" Asked Harry. "Aren't you going to go steal some coins, little devil?"

How did he know!?

Everyone started laughing out loud after glancing at me, which must have answered the question without a need for words.

I snorted and clenched my fists, turning around to walk to the door. My apparent indignation becomes the trigger for more laughter. No need to stay here any longer and keep feeding their laughs. A half-smile escaped me as I opened the door.

Exiting the tavern I am greeted by the loud noise of a busy town, children's laughs and cries, and sounds of conversations everywhere. The town is not that small but it has a high population density, over 7,000 people according to Claire, the librarian.

The town is named Erandel, an unremarkable settlement except for its closeness to the Great Wild. However, everyone here just calls it 'The town'. The closest settlement to this one is very far, crossing a pass in the mountains. We are a little isolated. Surrounded by mountains north, east, and west; and the Great Wild to the south but here has always been peaceful.

Beautiful buildings marry the landscape, some with two or three floors of height, almost all made of stone. Some painted white, blue, or red in their majority.

I started walking towards my destination, skillfully avoiding bumping into the people who fill the streets and make it difficult to advance. Despite my great mastery at evading fools in the street, I end up colliding with a very round man.

I couldn't help but grab at his robe to avoid falling back.

"Oh, I'm sorry mister." I quickly apologized along giving him a slight nod before trying to walk away.

"Wait!" The man shouted, grabbing my shoulder and turning me back. "Sorry, you say? I won't fall for it kid, let me make sure that you didn't take anything that is not your business." Said the man while keeping a steely hold on my shoulder with one hand, and searching his pockets with the other.

"I knew it!" He offered me his open palm after half a minute, waiting for something.

I consider licking his hand to see his reaction but reconsider and put a pair of silver coins in his waiting hand with a defeated sigh.

"Hmpf, I swear pickpocketers are becoming more daring as of late." He glares at me and I feel a pressure bear into me, fixing me to the spot while I find it hard to breathe. "In that brief moment, you managed to open my pocket, take the coins and close the pocket again." He mumbled and shook his head as he walked away.

Suddenly I could breathe normally again. I lowered my head a little and stared at the ground.

When the fat man was finally out of sight my lips broke into a malicious grin.

I rushed to a nearby alley, where there is no one around, and took out an item from the hidden pocket on the right side of my shorts— the pocket is well hidden between the folds of fabric; the fact that my clothes are a little too big for me also helps—.

It's evident that the man had never encountered someone as skilled as I am in the ancient art of relieving people from their possessions. I took a look at my new prize. A curious artifact greeted me, but I know what it is. You wrap it around your wrist, and it tells you the exact time of the day.

A clock. A very expensive artifact that was invented by some foreign genius some years ago. So expensive a luxury that only wealthy mages or outrageously rich merchants can afford it.

For a second my expression fell a little. Something like this would bring me a lot of trouble. But then, my countenance shifted abruptly to one of pure glee at my heavenly luck.

Like I would care about trouble, ha! This thing will be sold before anyone realizes anything, and if not, then I can always hide it and deny everything. I know nothing, sir.

The clock is a dull gray in color, almost dark gray. Not fancy nor remarkable, it is as wide as a fist and with a strap to adjust the size. But I wonder how to open it.

"Open?" I asked the device and was met with silence. Snorting, I examined the device more closely. There are no obvious buttons on it.

Leaning the device against my ear; I hear something.

Tick-tack, tick-tack, tick-tack... Extremely faint noises coming from the device. The clock has a type of round form with straps at each side to tie at the wrist, it has a circular metal surface surrounded by a bigger metallic ring.

I put my fingers over this ring and tried to spin it. My eyes went wide in surprise when the circular surface lifted itself while still attached to one extreme, and let me gawk at its contents.

A white background, small numbers around the edge, and other numbers and letters in different locations; and a black stick moving in the same direction constantly is what I saw in its interior.

One of the sticks was faster, larger, and slimmer than the other two, the second one moved after a short while and the last and wider hadn't moved all this while. I don’t remember the name of the sticks but I know that they tell the seconds, minutes, and hours respectively. After all, even though different, there is also a clock in the library, which until now I thought was the only one in the whole town.

Pushing the circular cover down, the metallic ring-spun back and closed with a faint clank.

The clock is very light, I wonder how tough it is. Shrugging, I lifted the edge of my shirt. Beneath, was a strip of cloth around my back and belly, very tightly pressed. I use it to hide small items. The clock will be difficult to sell even for a small price, I always had to be careful of not getting scammed or just simply robbed in broad daylight.

Emptying my belly of air the cloth loosens enough as to put the clock in there, coldly pressed against my skin. The only way to know for sure that you haven't been robbed blind is with something like this.

I wonder how much time will pass until that fat guy realizes that something is missing. Well, it doesn't matter.

I went back to the main street by a different route and resumed my way.