Though Hans had been back in Gomi for several days, he found it difficult to adjust to being around crowds after so much time in isolation. Worse than the isolation itself, he had used that time to come to terms with the fact that he was dead and would never see his friends again. And then suddenly a tavern full of people wanted him to come out and celebrate his return.

  “We don’t have to go, you know,” Olza said as they prepared to depart from their home for the Sleeping Dragon, Galad’s inn and tavern.

  “I know, but Tandis and Terry put this together for me, and everyone else means well. It wouldn’t be fair to them to no-show.”

  “I understand, but it’s also okay if you need this process to move more slowly.”

  Hans wrapped an arm around Olza and squeezed her close. “Thank you. I’ll manage. I might pull a Hoseki goodbye sooner than later, but I still should do them the kindness of showing up.”

  “Deal.”

  Like the demand for Gomi inn rooms, Galad had underestimated the demand for a tavern. The very respectable bar and dining room originally built for the venture was far too small, so the space spilled outside onto a patio, which wasn’t anything more elaborate than tables and chairs in the street with a vague “fence” defining where the tavern ended and the public street began. Fortunately, the Sleeping Dragon wasn’t immediately adjacent to residences, but it was close enough to homes and apartments that nightly revelry could get out of hand and disturb sleeping citizens.

  That was yet another problem that needed solving, but for now, though, it wasn’t dire.

  Sneaking into and out of an open-air party, however, was more difficult than if everyone was packed neatly inside a building. When Hans and Olza rounded the corner, cheers went up immediately. Visiting adventurers and long-term residents of Gomi alike pounded tables, raised glasses, and shouted greetings as soon as the Guild Master was within view. Walking the last half a block or so to the tavern under those conditions was more attention than Hans and Olza would have preferred.

  They survived, though.

  Terry greeted them partway with two fresh beers. Dunfoo had provided the tavern with enchantments to keep the beer cold, apparently. That crisp chill made Gomi’s beer even more refreshing. Hans found himself returning to that comfort frequently as he exchanged hugs and handshakes with dozens of people he recognized and just as many he didn’t. If his mug was against his lips, that was a few seconds where he didn’t need to have something to say.

  “I tried to convince Galad to name a drink special after you,” Terry said when the initial welcome calmed, “but he wouldn’t go for it.”

  “Go on.”

  “It’s brilliant, really. The drink is called ‘the Hans.’ You order it once, but as soon as you finish the first mug, a second appears at your table immediately.”

  Hans and Olza laughed.

  Terry smiled. “We got hung up on the price. I think the most authentic version of that means only paying for the first but not the second. It’s a bonus drink, like you’re a bonus Hans. Galad didn’t agree.”

  “You know, that reminds me,” Hans began, “you all didn’t name anything after me? No statues? Not even a park bench?”

  “That’s not true,” Terry replied. “We had a Hans statue, but your face scared the children, so we took it down.”

  Hans nearly spit out a mouthful of beer. Coughing, he gasped, “Fuck you, Terry.”

  Terry clapped Hans on the back.

  Tandis appeared and hugged Hans and then Olza. “Glad you two made it out. I’m sorry the night started with Terry.”

  “It’s very kind of you all to do this for me,” Hans said. “Thank you.”

  “You did a good job of preparing us to keep all of this going. We were fully ready to do right by your memory by continuing the work, but I’m glad you get to be there for it instead.”

  “Me too. Me too.”

  Seizing a brief lull where attention was not on Hans, Olza leaned in. “You doing okay with all this?”

  Hans nodded. “Yeah, I think so. Being missed feels better than I thought it would. I think a lot of adventurers try to picture what their funerals will be like. Having a window into that… I don’t know. I didn’t think I mattered this much to anyone.”

  “I don’t think any of us really knows how much we matter, but I know that you’re always especially hard on yourself.” Olza stood from their table and kissed Hans on the forehead.

  A short moment later, Hans heard excitement in Olza’s voice. He looked up to see that she had been waylaid by Luther on her way to the bar, but she didn’t pause for much longer than a hug. Luther caught sight of Hans and raised a hand to wave. Behind him, Mazo, Shandi, and Thomas appeared, coming around the corner of the tavern.

  And Hans’ table was full of people again.

  Someone along the way had secured an order of drinks, so a barkeep arrived not long after they sat to deliver four pitchers of beer. Olza returned a few seconds after the barkeep did and had a miffed frown on her face. Her arms were full of beer steins as well.

  “I’ll drink them all,” Hans said, beckoning her to take her seat again. “I’ll drink your extra too, if you need such a hero.”

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Don’t you dare,” Olza threatened.

  “Bet you’re loving this attention,” Mazo said with a grin. She knew he wasn’t. “I’m sure you’re sick of talking about it, so let me say that I’m glad you’re back. I know I’m hard to deal with, and I know I’m lucky to have your friendship. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you that, and I’m sorry if I didn’t.”

  Hans raised a glass to Mazo. She mirrored the gesture.

  “Did we miss a toast?!” Luther asked, his eyes darting between Hans and Mazo. “To whatever they were talking about!” he shouted and took a gulp. The rest of the table followed his lead with a cheer and a drink.

  The next couple of hours were more of that kind of fellowship. Every once in a while, someone would say something heartfelt. They would cheer, drink, and then resume discussing recent gossip or swapping stories about places they had been.

  When Terry rejoined the group several beers into the night, Hans wondered if perhaps he should have slipped out earlier.

  “I’ll buy a round for the whole table if I can get at least one good Hans story,” he bellowed.

  “Terry, I-”

  Terry cut Hans off. “I’ve heard all of your stories. I want a story about you, not from you. Miss Mazo, Miss Shandi, do you take my trade?”

  “Yes!” They both shouted at once, laughing when they realized their enthusiasm.

  As if anticipating a follow-up question, Terry said, “I’d buy two rounds, sure.”

  “Which story were you thinking?” Mazo asked, leaning across the table to address Shandi.

  “Princess Hans.”

  “That’s a good one.”

  The rest of the table caught on and quieted to give Shandi the stage. Hans was already rubbing his eyes.

  “Hans is a bit of a friend collector,” Shandi began. “He can talk to anyone about anything. I didn’t get to travel with him as much as Mazo, obviously, but the few times I did, he’d always disappear. After a while, we’d find him on a bridge listening intently to a group of local kids explaining the best baits and lures for the local fish or something like that. This other time we found him sitting on a porch with this old hunter, listening to stories about the nuances of bear hunting.

  “This hunter… We’d never been to this town before. Not Hans, not any of us. And Hans is sitting there in a rocking chair watching folks pass by on the street like he’s lived there for years. The hunter was this adorable little man with so many wrinkles it was a wonder he could still see. When he realizes we were there to collect Hans, he insists we go up to his brother’s farm for dinner. Six total strangers, and he won’t take no for an answer.

  “After an hour in a wagon, we end up on this dairy farm. The hunter’s brother is even older, and he’s got two boys and a girl. They were his grandchildren, and he took care of them. They were pretty young, with the oldest being something like ten or eleven.

  “The old folks bring out the ale before we’re even off the wagon, and it keeps coming. I don’t think I ever saw the bottom of my mug, but somewhere along the way the kids say they want to play, and Hans gets dragged off, leaving the rest of us around the table swapping stories. Before we know it, a few hours have gone by, and Hans hasn’t come back. Weirder still, the kids went to bed.

  “So the grandfather wakes up the girl, and she explains that they were playing ‘princesses and dragons,’ but Hans fell asleep. He ‘looked really tired’ so they left him sleeping. Well, if you pictured Hans playing the dragon, you had it wrong. Hans was a princess. The dragon had captured him, and the children were trying to stage a rescue. He was ‘trapped’ in the loft of the barn, so we climbed up there and found our princess in a grass crown with a burlap sash and a necklace of chicken and goose feathers, big fluffy thing. He’s leaned back on some hay bales, snoring.”

  The tavern laughed.

  Hans smiled along with everyone else. “These assholes didn’t wake me up,” he said, half-shouting to be heard over the raucous group. “I woke up the next morning with pigeons hopping around me and the worst kink in my neck ever. When I get to the house, everyone else is having breakfast, including those damn kids. As soon as I come in the door, the girl yells, ‘Princess Rebecca! You’re alive?!’”

  The crowd reacted again.

  When they calmed, Shandi added, “We called him Princess Rebecca for months after that. Any time he asked for something or complained, someone would beg for her highness’s forgiveness.”

  “To Princess Rebecca!” Terry yelled, raising his mug.

  “To Princess Rebecca!” the tavern yelled in reply.

  As another round of drinks spread across the tavern and the outdoor patio, Hans gently squeezed Olza’s elbow. She knew the signal and followed the Guild Master as he slipped away. Even if Mazo intended to do another story, his endurance for the attention was spent.

  When they turned onto a quiet street, Hans saw that Olza’s cheeks were flush and that her eyes followed the rest of her movements with a slight delay. She steadied herself with a two-handed grip on his arm.

  “This is all life should be,” Olza said with surprising coherence.

  “Drunk?”

  She giggled. “No, not drunk. Safe, happy, full of laughter. Why do humans spend so much time and effort being awful to each other?”

  Hans listened but didn’t reply.

  “I know Gomi isn’t perfect,” Olza continued, “but everyone is so nice. We’re all so thankful to be able to sit down and share a drink. Something so simple. Food, drink, a bed. I used to think a good life was all about success. Earning some prestige in alchemy and making a lot of gold. Remember sleeping in that tiny shelter when we first found the Polzas? That’s all I need.”

  “I remember sitting in the corner so you could stretch out.”

  Olza backhanded Hans playfully. “You loved being chivalrous."

  “My knees didn’t.”

  “But you know what I mean, right? Why do we make all of this so complicated when all you have to do is be nice to each other?”

  “I don’t know,” Hans admitted.

  “I know it can’t be helped. I know we can’t let murderers walk away from this, and I know that orcs and adventurers and whatever don’t care about quiet little Gomi or about being nice to each other. I just wish… I wish life didn’t have to be so hard.”

  Hans pulled Olza close and kissed her on the top of the head. There wasn’t anything he could say in response to that. He wished that too, but like Olza, he knew wishes didn’t come true.

  Open Quests (Ordered from Old to New):

  Monitor for independently grown sections of dungeon.

  Complete the next volume (Bronze to Silver) for “The Next Generation: A Teaching Methodology for Training Adventurers.”

  Continue the momentum of establishing a Hoseki-grade library in Gomi.

  Learn to help your advanced students as much as you help beginners.

  Relocate the titan bones to the dungeon entrance.

  Plan for a possible encounter with Wargod.

  Host a field trip to New Gomi for Gomi’s children.