The morning sun over Orlando draped itself lazily across the cobblestone
streets.
An old man with hair as white as a winter frost strolled down the town's main
thoroughfare. He carried a woven reed basket on his back and leaned on a wooden
cane polished smooth by years of use.
"Doctor William!"
Martha, the baker's wife, leaned halfway out of her service window, waving a
hand dusted in white flour.
"I saved two of yesterday's rye loaves for you! Half price!"
William waved back with a faint smile, his pace never slackening. "Not today,
Martha. I still have plenty at ho."
"You're a stubborn old goat! Then try my new beetroot loaf? Fresh out of the
oven! On the house!"
William caught a glimpse of the bizarre, deep-purple mass sitting on the counter
and his footsteps quickened.
"Next ti! Definitely next ti!"
"You say that every ti! It's health food! It's good for the Od!" Martha's
voice faded into the distance, laced with a hint of indignation. "I used squid
ink, beetroot, and seaweed powder imported all the way from Freeport!"
William muttered a quiet prayer under his breath. If he ate that, he'd likely be
listening to the Sovereign's call in the Evernight before sunset.
As he passed the forge, the rhythmic clink-clink of hamrs echoed through the
air. The old blacksmith, a man built like a grizzly bear, paused his work and
wiped sweat from his bare chest.
"Old man William! How's my boy's hand?"
William didn't stop. "It's scabbed over. Keep it away from water. He'll be back
to causing trouble in two days."
"Glad to hear it! That little brat... tried to sew a pair of wings onto the
neighbor's cat and got his face clawed for the effort! I'll send over two pounds
of smoked venison later!"
William gave a dismissive wave, accepting the verbal gratitude.
Orlando was a small town. William had only lived here a few months, but he was
already a familiar face to every neighbor. The market aunts would sneak an extra
potato into his bag; the old farrs driving ox carts would offer him a lift
toward the hills. Near the Academy gates, young mothers huddled together,
debating how many new words their children had mastered the day before.
Every soul in town stopped to offer a greeting, and William offered a polite nod
to each. It was a comfortable, simple existence.
When he reached the gate of his small courtyard, he found a young succubus
waiting for him. She clutched a basket of eggs, looking remarkably fidgety. It
was Amy, an employee from the local branch of The Succubus's Dream.
Business at the local branch wasn't great. They had very few "Dream Scenarios,"
and most were outdated cast-offs from larger cities like Iron Fortress. Lacking
novelty, the staff were mostly idle and increasingly anxious about their quotas.
"Doctor William," Amy said, her cheeks flushing a faint pink as she offered the
basket. "The dicine you gave yesterday... I drank it. I actually slept
through the night. Not a single wake-up."
William smiled, pushing open the creaking courtyard gate. The girl was a
textbook case of anxiety, constantly worrying she'd be fired for failing to sell
enough dreams. It was a vicious cycle: she couldn't sleep, looked like a wraith
during the day with dark circles under her eyes, and then custors were too
unsettled to buy from her.
William had simply mixed her a batch of nerve-soothing herbs. Nothing
revolutionary.
"I'm glad. Co in and sit."
The courtyard was ticulously clean. A wooden rack propped against the wall
held bundles of drying herbs, and the air slled faintly of bitter dicine.
The house was even simpler: a bed, a table, a few chairs—the sum total of his
worldly goods.
William rummaged through a cabinet and handed a paper-wrapped bundle to Amy.
"Take so more. Steep it in hot water before bed. Three more days and you won't
need it anymore."
Amy took the herbs and cautiously pulled a few copper coins from her pocket.
"For the dicine..."
"Keep them," William waved her off. "We're neighbors. Charging for a bit of
insomnia is poor form. Besides, keep your wages for sothing decent to eat. I
hear a new grilled fish stall opened on the east side."
Amy tried to insist, but William had already turned back to his basket. She set
the coins on the table with a whispered thank you and hurried out.
Once she was gone, William muttered, "Silly succubus," before sweeping the
coppers into a drawer. Every bit of savings counted, after all.
He walked to the window, watching the street. A small boy was being chased by a
pack of older kids.
"I didn't an to tell everyone you pooled your lunch money to buy that racy
audio-manga!" the boy shrieked.
"Shut up, Jamie! You're dead!"
William sighed. Jamie was the town's most infamous gossip. Behind the children,
a patrol of Punishnt Legion skeletons marched in perfect formation. Seeing the
commotion, one of the Skeleton Berserker stopped the chase.
"Running in groups of five or more in public sectors is prohibited. Offenders
will be sentenced to one hour of street sweeping."
The children froze, stuck their tongues out at the skeleton, and imdiately
split into groups of two or three to continue their ga. The Berserker watched
them disperse. Four in that group, three in the other. Compliance achieved. The
soldier resud its march.
William couldn't help but let a smile touch his lips. This life was good.
Living as an ordinary man. Treating the sick, collecting a few coppers,
occasionally having a drink and reading a new novel from the Literature
Departnt. It was simple, but it was real.
William returned to his table and checked his supplies. Half a basket of
wormwood, a handful of mint, and so dried willow bark. Not enough.
Even though the local Evernight Cathedral provided the miraculous Erald's
Respite, it was an elite luxury. Ten silver coins for a diluted vial was a
fortune to a commoner. For a common cold or a minor headache, no one was going
to spend that kind of coin. That was why an old physician like him was actually
more popular in the Empire. He was busy, but he was respected.
William slung his basket over his shoulder and gripped his cane. He planned to
finish his daily prayer at the Cathedral before heading into the forest to
gather fresh materials.
As he left the yard, he looked back at his small hut. Since the Evernight Empire
unified the continent, he had stopped his wandering. He had taken Dragon
Aviation to Orlando to retire in peace.
The most surprising thing about this town was the Cathedral: the Father was an
Orc, and the Nun was an Elf. In his youth, such a thing would have been a sign
of the end tis.
At the Cathedral, the massive stone architecture stood solemn in the light. Out
front, the hulking Orc priest was regaling a group of children with myths and
legends, his voice booming like a drum. Beside him, a slender Elven nun tended
to the garden, her touch so light she barely disturbed the dew on the petals.
Inside, the hall was even quieter. William stood before the statue. It wasn't
the image of the Gods of Gusteko he was used to, but the Sovereign of Evernight
himself. To William, prayer was a habit—a show of reverence for life itself,
regardless of which "God" was on the pedestal. Here, he felt only peace.
Prayer finished, William exited the town and headed toward the eastern woods. On
the road, he encountered more skeletal soldiers. They walked with a casual
rhythm, occasionally nodding to passersby.
Years ago, William would have felt a cold dread at the sight of the undead. Now,
he only saw fellow citizens of the Empire, fulfilling their duties.
☆☆☆
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