Southern Region, Dratol.

  Wallace sat across a table cluttered with empty dishes and bottles, laughing heartily as he patted his overfull stomach. The tavern was dimly lit, heavy with the scents of rich food and cheap ale. Wooden chairs scraped and groaned around them, adding to the room’s low, weary noise.

  “Who would’ve thought you’d get shut down like that?” Igor choked out between drunken cackles, leaning back and rubbing his own stomach.

  Wallace’s bashful smile slipped into place. “It’s funny now, sure, but back then?” He shook his head with a bitter sigh. “Fourteen-year-old me nearly died working up the courage to ask her out. If I’d known she’d reject me that fast, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

  Igor burst into giggles again. Wallace ignored him, grabbing a half-empty bottle of rum and taking a long gulp.

  “I don’t blame the poor girl,” Igor teased. “Who’d want to go out with a chubby, ugly leech like you?”

  Wallace spat the rum across the table, slamming his palm on the chipped wood. “W-Who’s calling who ugly? Have you looked in a mirror lately? I bet my balls you’ve been rejected way more than me!”

  Igor only laughed harder.

  Wallace dropped the bottle back onto the table, leaning in. “Everything’s gone to shit these past few days—”

  “Are you still hung up on the Targarth incident?”

  “Of course.” Wallace nodded, suddenly more sober than drunk. “A Grand Dungeon just descended out of nowhere. That’s the kind of thing people tell stories about—not something you expect in your lifetime.”

  Igor let out a noncommittal chuckle.

  Wallace frowned. “Am I drunk, or do you just not give a damn?”

  Igor grabbed the bottle, took two deep gulps, and slammed it down. “Good rum,” he sighed, wiping his mouth. “Look—Awakened wanting fame, merchants and blacksmiths chasing coin, guilds, thieves… the whole world’s flocking to Targarth right now. Too much noise. I’d rather drink and enjoy myself than obsess over whatever’s coming.”

  He took another swig, thumping the bottle onto the table again.

  Wallace stared silently.

  I still can’t believe this idiot and that old hag were the two the kid was looking for.

  He reached for the bottle, but Igor wouldn’t release it.

  “Let go, Igor,” Wallace growled.

  “Never. She’s mine,” Igor hissed.

  “Yours my ass.” Wallace yanked it free.

  He took a drink, then asked casually, “By the way… what happened to Bricteva? Haven’t seen her in days.”

  “You’re missing her lamb stew, aren’t you?” Igor smirked. “She’s fine. Went out to gather ingredients. Should be back in two or three days.”

  Wallace nodded slowly. “With all the chaos near the border, she picked a hell of a time to go out. Hope she’s okay.”

  “Awww,” Igor teased. “Who knew you had a soft spot for her?”

  Wallace rolled his eyes. “I’m worried she’ll run into bandits, dumbass. A woman her age wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “You do know she’s an Awakened, right?”

  Wallace spat rum straight into Igor’s face. “Bricteva? Awakened? No fucking way!”

  “But she is,” Igor insisted, still chuckling.

  “We’re talking about the same person, right? Who exactly did you say is Awakened?” Wallace stared in disbelief.

  “Bricteva,” Igor repeated proudly. “B-R-I-C-T-E… uh… what comes after the ‘e’ again?”

  Wallace watched him scratch his head. He knew Igor got loose-tongued when drunk.

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  He’s got to be messing with me… right?

  Igor’s head thunked onto the table, still attempting to spell Bricteva’s name.

  Wait… if that old hag’s Awakened… what about this drunkard?

  A chill crawled up Wallace’s spine. The alcohol wasn’t strong enough to explain the sudden dread.

  No. No way. This bastard can’t be. Of all people, this idiot—

  Igor’s slurred voice cut in. “Why d’you think everyone calls you Balls of Steel? Who in their right mind would mess with Bricteva? She put two guys in a coma just last month.”

  Wallace’s jaw dropped. The bottle slipped from his hand.

  “You didn’t know?” Igor blinked at him, a brief spark of clarity in his fogged eyes. “Wow. Good luck, buddy. My Blessing’s the only reason she hasn’t killed me yet—and it’s not for lack of trying…”

  Somebody pinch me. Did this bastard just admit he’s Awakened too…?

  Wallace stared at the fallen bottle. It had to be spiked. There was no way Igor’s words were real.

  A world where Bricteva and Igor, of all people, were Awakened? Impossible.

  Igor’s drunken laughter jolted him. “Look at your face… You poor idiot. You actually believed me?” He laughed harder, tears streaming down his cheeks. “If that old hag were Awakened, I’d have been dead ages ago.”

  Wallace glared daggers at him. Fuck! He really got me.

  “Awakened sure have it easy,” Igor went on, managing to sit up. “Power. Fame. Money. They live the kind of life we can’t even imagine.” He sighed. “Cruel, isn’t it? Blessings only choosing a handful of people.”

  Wallace exhaled slowly. “That’s just how the world is. Doesn’t mean they’re any better than us.”

  He huffed, suddenly slamming his fists on the table. “Damn it—I just remembered something I was trying to forget.”

  “Oh? Let’s hear it. We’ve got nothing better to do,” Igor muttered. “Since we’re on the topic of Blessings, what about your boss?”

  “Huh? What about him?”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t know. You traveled together for months, and you said he saved your life, right?”

  Wallace nodded silently.

  “Then you must’ve seen him use his Blessing at least once. What is it?” Igor leaned in, lowering his voice. “C’mon, I won’t tell anyone.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. My eyes couldn’t even follow him when he fought,” Wallace grumbled, taking a heavy swig from the bottle.

  Igor clapped once and laughed. “Alright then. Apart from your boss, do you know any other Awakened?”

  Wallace shook his head vigorously. “Of course not. Why would I want to mingle with such dangerous—”

  He froze, brows knitting.

  “I know that look,” Igor giggled. “You remembered someone. C’mon, out with it.”

  “Well… I don’t think this one counts,” Wallace muttered, scratching his neck.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Igor insisted. “Tell me.”

  Wallace sighed. “A few years back, I worked security for a wandering merchant. Ever heard of the Wandering King?”

  Igor shook his head.

  “Figures,” Wallace muttered. “We mostly ploughed through the Wazar Region, buying anything that caught that sick bastard’s attention. But he had this hobby—”

  “What? Does he shit himself or bathe with his clothes on?” Igor asked impatiently.

  Wallace glared. “No, idiot. He picked up orphans on our trips. Most of them ended up working for him. But one kid was different.”

  “How?”

  “Stop interrupting me, damn it.”

  Igor just laughed, unbothered.

  Wallace sighed. “The kid wasn’t even a teenager, but he was already bald as a rock. Everyone teased him, but not bullying, exactly, but it stuck. They called him ‘Moon.’” Wallace chuckled. “Poor kid became timid. I think I was his only friend.”

  He leaned in. “You know what’s funny?”

  “What?”

  “He said he wasn’t bald, but the moon ate his hair.”

  “What?”

  “Exactly,” Wallace deadpanned. “That’s the same expression I had back then,” he said as he continued, “anyway, we started talking a lot. Then one day, I noticed he had three tattoos.”

  “Tattoos? On a kid?”

  “That’s not the weird part. One was on his head, a tattoo of black hair. The other two were on his shoulders: a sword and a dagger. Perfect depictions.” Wallace paused. “Which was strange because two of the Wandering King’s prized possessions had gone missing days before.”

  Igor’s expression shifted. “Wait… you’re kidding.”

  “Nope. The tattoos matched exactly.”

  “How?”

  “I asked him. He said he had a dream where the moon ate a sword and a dagger. When he woke up, the tattoos were just there.”

  Wallace reclined, drumming his fingers against the chipped table. “To keep us both alive, I told him never to talk about it again.”

  “That can’t be the end.”

  “Of course not.” Wallace scowled. “The Wandering King fired every guard he suspected of stealing the items. Then he sent assassins after us. I gained weight, grew a beard, changed settlements weekly. It was hell.”

  Igor clamped his lips shut to contain his laughter. “What about the kid?”

  “Never saw him again after I got dismissed.”

  “But how do you know he’s Awakened? Couldn’t it be some special artifact or something?”

  “I met an old buddy who wasn’t dismissed,” Wallace replied. “When I asked about the kid, he said that bastard sold him to some Awakened for a mountain of gold.”

  Wallace finished the bottle, exhaling roughly. “I don’t know if the kid was Awakened. But someone paid enough gold to buy a kingdom. He had to be special.”

  “True,” Igor nodded. “Did your buddy say where the Awakened came from?”

  “Scrubs like us don’t know info like that.” Wallace stood abruptly. “I’ll be back. Need to take a leak.”

  He staggered toward the door, nearly tripping twice before disappearing down the hall.

  Igor straightened the moment the door clicked shut.

  What an interesting Blessing… We could use someone like that, he mused, idly turning the empty bottle in his hand. If I recall correctly, the Wandering King retired in Vohmir. What was his name again…?

  A faint blue glow pulsed from his inner pocket. Igor retrieved a sound-transmission crystal and pressed its surface.

  A hoarse voice whispered through. “Sir, an S-class priority target has entered the country. He arrived from Targarth. Should we follow?”

  “No. That won’t be necessary.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  The crystal dimmed. Igor leaned back, lips curling.

  Ah. I remember now. Giles Prophete.

  A slow grin spread across his face.

  I should pay him a visit—no. That would take too long. I’ll send Henry instead.