"The greatest irony? We only realize the mistake when it's already too late."
Another gray morning dawned over Anselm. And Kael woke up, exhausted, to yet another day where hope felt like a distant luxury. Where hope was as rare as a genuine smile.
"Kael… Kael… KAAAEEL, WAKE UP!" Tharon called out, impatient and with a hint of desperation.
"Mmh…" Kael opened his eyes slowly, like someone who already knew the day had nothing good in store.
"It's morning. And the rats… they're eating your clothes."
"If I'd known they tasted good, I wouldn't have gone to sleep hungry," he muttered, tugging at his half-chewed cloak.
"Brilliant. The diet of the damned," Tharon snapped back, sarcastic.
Kael stood up— SQUELCH.
Silence. He looked down.
"Oh, of course. Perfect," he sighed, staring at the horse dung stuck to his boot.
Tharon answered with a metallic click.
"A beautiful day to start an epic journey. Especially like this."
Kael took a deep breath and gave his clothes a good shake, trying to get rid of the hay, his dignity, and maybe—just maybe—his bad luck.
"So then…" he asked, glancing around. "What's on the menu today?"
Tharon hissed, spinning her blade with disdain, as if consulting an invisible book.
"Let's see…" she said, with a tone that was half bureaucratic, half ironic. "Your stomach's growling, two silver coins in your pocket… and a highly questionable quest waiting for us."
The silence hung heavy in the air.
"Need anything else?" she added, mockingly.
Kael shook his head and rubbed his face. But Tharon wasn't done.
"Oh… almost forgot," she creaked, metallic and venomous. "Horse dung on your boot. For good luck on the road… or at least the smell."
"Perfect," he muttered, dragging his sole across the straw in the stable in a pathetic attempt to clean it. "We're off to a great start."
He took two steps. The dung remained. Three steps—and now it was just more spread out.
"Wonderful…" he sighed, defeated.
They stepped out onto the uneven cobblestone street, where the morning wind carried that indescribable scent of bread, dust, and broken promises.
Kael pulled up the collar of his cloak—more out of habit than need.
"So… what's the quest again?" he asked, glancing up at the half-clouded sky.
Tharon replied flatly, "Seven spitting herbs."
Kael stopped.
"Spitting… herbs?"
"That's right. Spitting herbs," Tharon confirmed, not a hint of humor in her voice.
"Of course…" he exhaled, staring at the horizon like a man seriously considering abandoning everything to become a wandering hermit. "Of course it had to be that."
Tharon replied, amused, "Cheer up, hero. Could be worse."
Kael looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "Could it?"
"It could," Tharon replied flatly. "We could be without the two silver coins."
Silence. The wind blew. Kael's stomach growled—loud enough to nearly drown out the wind.
They walked in silence, accompanied only by hunger. The weight of exhaustion was starting to settle on Kael's shoulders, but neither of them said a word.
After a few crooked streets, the market came into view. It wasn't far, and the noise was already spilling around the corners—shouts, voices, the clinking of coins. Colorful stalls, vendors yelling over each other, the scent of fresh bread mixing with the sharp aroma of spices—an organized chaos.
Kael pulled back his hood and scanned the market. It buzzed with life, like the city itself was breathing through every crowded corner.
One wooden stall, covered by a faded, patchwork red tarp, caught his eye. Behind the counter stood a burly orc in a flour-stained apron, grinning wide as he arranged baskets of bread.
Kael walked over, already bracing for disappointment.
"I'll take… some bread from tomorrow," he said, handing over the coins.
The orc's grin widened, as if he'd just remembered joy existed in the world.
"Of course, lad! You're in luck. Just came out of the oven a little while ago!" he said, clapping his flour-covered hands.
Kael frowned, eyeing the steaming loaves.
"Wait… if they're from tomorrow… how are they ready today?"
The orc crossed his arms, like a man about to deliver a lecture on the laws of the universe.
"Simple. Time caught up with 'em today. But they're still tomorrow's bread," he said, giving the counter two firm taps—like he'd just revealed an ancient secret.
Kael engoliu seco, apertando a espada, meio sem saber o que fazer.
— Vocês tão... brigando entre si?
Tharon scraped inside her sheath. "Don't even argue… that one lost the battle with reality a long time ago."
Kael took the bread and shook his head, the kind of gesture that says arguing with life is pointless.
"Come again anytime!" the orc shouted, waving cheerfully.
Kael waved back, defeated by the universe's alternative logic.
They kept walking—and, as expected, kept arguing.
"But think about it…" he said between bites. "If I eat it today… and tomorrow comes… where's tomorrow's bread? It's gone. Did I just break some law of the universe?"
Tharon clinked, clearly annoyed. "I'd say you're stealing from your own future. But honestly, it's just bread."
"No, but really…" he insisted, still chewing. "If I eat it today… and tomorrow arrives… there won't be any bread for tomorrow… because I already ate it. That's gotta break something cosmic, right?"
"If it does, you've been racking up fines for a while now," she replied dryly. "And debating bakery philosophy won't fill your stomach."
They reached the plaza, where the world looked like a stage in motion. People came and went—merchants shouting deals, a troupe of bards singing off-key near a fountain, children running with scraps of cloth pretending to be capes. The air smelled of ripe fruit, fresh bread… and, faintly in the background, that unavoidable scent of stable—life's way of reminding you not everything is sweet.
Kael looked down at the bread in his hands. "If I save it for dinner… does it become today's bread? Or does it still count as tomorrow's?"
Tharon let out a metallic huff—or at least made a sound that, in another life, might've passed for one.
"For the love of the gods, just eat."
But before Kael could take another bite, a harsh scraping sound echoed through the plaza. The sharp grind of wood dragging across cobblestone.
"…What the hell is that?" he asked, turning toward the noise.
A bard appeared, dragging an old barrel with great effort. Tucked under his arm was a mandolin so patched up it looked like it survived more out of stubbornness than strings.
People began to gather—already half-used to the sight. When a lunatic drags a barrel into the middle of the plaza, he's either about to play music… or sell snake oil. Sometimes both.
The bard climbed onto the barrel with the ease of someone who'd definitely fallen off it before. He knocked three times on the lid.
"Come one, come all, gather 'round!" he announced, with a voice teetering between enthusiasm and desperation for attention. "Heroes, wanderers, dwarves, and deceivers!"
He pulled out the mandolin, plucked a string— It groaned in protest, painfully out of tune— And he began:
This is the tale of a strange man.Some call him a sorcerer of shadows,Others, an alchemist of chaos,And some say he's just… a villainous dreamer.
The crowd was already smiling—some with arms crossed, others tossing coins into the hat on the ground.
Yesterday, he sold stars beneath the bridge.By morning, the customer complained the light had vanished.But he only laughed: "Light is only borrowed."
Kael chewed slowly, watching the scene unfold—unsure if it was genius… or pure madness.
He's the one who dropped the moon into the well.The villagers, desperate, tried to scoop it out with buckets.He drank while watching and said, "It's just a reflection."But no one believed him.
Tharon muttered under her breath, dry as ever, "Apparently, sanity isn't a requirement for being an artist."
He builds roads…But every road becomes a labyrinth.You walk, and walk…You turn, and turn…And when you finally notice—Not even your own shadow follows you anymore.
The crowd erupted—claps, whistles, and coins clinking into the hat like they were paying for madness set to music.
Kael chewed the last bite of bread. "…I… I kinda liked it, actually," he admitted.
Tharon twisted impatiently in her sheath. "Great. Now that we've fed both body and soul with stale bread and questionable philosophy… can we go hunt down those damned spitting herbs?"
Kael nodded, still chewing, the bard's existential crumbs lingering in his mouth. "Let's go," he mumbled through a mouthful.
They turned back, crossing the plaza and slipping into the side streets—the ones that smelled less like taxes and more like sewage. A necessary shortcut to avoid the east gate—and more importantly, the east guard.
"That guard hates you, doesn't he?" Tharon asked, swaying suspiciously in her sheath.
"Long story," Kael replied, eyes on the ground, kicking a pebble. "Involves a duck, a bet… and technically a fire."
"Technically?" Tharon arched.
"Technically, it was just smoke," he said, with conviction.
They were already nearing the west gate—crooked, neglected, and almost a reflection of Kael himself. Just a few more steps and they'd be out when—
Puff!
Out of absolutely nowhere, a shadow dropped into their path. No sound. No warning. No mercy.
Kael jumped back. Tharon snapped—out of sheer shock.
"WHAT THE—" Kael clutched his chest.
In front of them stood a hooded figure—dressed in black from head to toe, only his eyes visible. Arms folded into his sleeves, barefoot, posture calm… like someone who either meditates or kills without making a sound.
"Greetings," he said, voice calm and composed. "I… heard about the mission."
Silence.
"And…?" Kael blinked, trying to figure out if this was a mugging, a prank, or just a normal Tuesday.
"I would like to join you," the ninja replied, straight to the point—as if that were the most natural thing in the world.
Tharon nearly screeched from how tense she became. "Oh no…" she whispered. "This reeks of a trap…"
Kael, however, looked at the man, thought for a moment… and smiled. "Well… sure. The more, the merrier," he shrugged.
"SERIOUSLY, KAEL?!" Tharon shouted, nearly leaping from her sheath. "The guy drops out of nowhere—no sound, no scent, no shadow—and you're just like, 'sure'?!"
"Look… honestly… if he wanted to kill me, he would've done it already. So… whatever," Kael replied, genuinely unfazed.
The ninja simply nodded, satisfied.
"That's exactly what a not-nice ninja wants you to think!" Tharon snapped, fuming.
Without waiting for further discussion, the ninja calmly took his place beside them, walking as if he'd always been part of the group.
Kael walked on, unbothered. Tharon followed, grinding in her sheath, suspicious of everything—including her own shadow.
And just like that, they passed through the west gate, leaving the city of Anselm behind. At least… for now.
A few hours had passed since they left the city. The only sounds were their footsteps and the wind weaving through the trees.
They walked along narrow forest trails, growing ever more distant from civilization. By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in a weary orange, they decided to make camp in a clearing nestled deep within the woods.
The trees around them were twisted and ancient, their branches like fingers pointing silent judgments. They looked like they'd seen people die… and hadn't regretted it.
It didn't take long for them to gather some wood and light a fire. The scent of burning logs mixed with… tomorrow's bread—because yes, there was still some left.
"At least there's no dung on my boots today," Kael said, settling near the fire.
The ninja, ever silent, simply nodded when Kael asked if he'd take the night watch.
"Hmph," he replied, curtly, eyes never leaving the darkness beyond the clearing.
Tharon, of course, couldn't hold back.
"This is way too suspicious…" he rasped, clearly uneasy. "No one shows up out of nowhere offering help… without some kind of hidden agenda."
Kael, completely unbothered, shrugged.
"Relax, Tharon. Everything's under control."
And with that, ignoring his companion's metallic grumbling, Kael lay down and pulled his cloak up to his chin. Within minutes, he was snoring like the outside world didn't exist.
Kael woke with a start, Tharon's metallic voice screeching in his ear.
"I TOLD YOU HE WAS SUSPICIOUS!" the sword rattled, spinning in his sheath like he wanted to punch someone—despite having no arms.
"Huh… wha…?" Kael blinked, groggy, rubbing his face. "What happened?"
He looked around.
Silence.
Only the sound of wind, the fire long dead… and no shadows but his own.
"…Huh." He frowned, scanning the clearing. "Where's the ninja?"
Tharon scraped dryly.
"He left."
No footprints. No scent of bread. Nothing. As if he'd never existed… or as if the universe, once again, was just messing with them.
Kael blinked. "He… left?"
"AND TOOK ALL OUR TOMORROW'S BREAD!" Tharon exploded, outraged.
Silence. Only the sound of crickets.
Kael stood there for two full seconds, staring into the void… Then buried his face in his hands and groaned:
"…Oh no…"
No bread. No quest. And now… no dignity.
End of Chapter 3.