I could begin the day convinced that I’ve found the right way to tackle a certain problem, only to discover later that my determination had led me off course. Today is one of those days where every step feels well-thought-out, yet somehow every outcome feels unintended.

I strode down the street with the gait of someone who knows exactly where they’re headed, or at least wants to look like they do. My foot veered right, my mind clinging to the idea that redemption was just around the corner.

At the end of my misguided quest stood a row of decrepit buildings, like they’d been abandoned so long that even the ghosts packed up and left. A few shattered windows leaned against the frames, their jagged edges like crooked teeth. Paint flaked off in curls, revealing layers of weather-beaten wood beneath. It was the perfect backdrop for disappointment. This was it. The Chosen One bar should have been right there in the corner where I had left it. Except it wasn’t.

Have you ever had that sinking feeling that you’ve been played? That was me, standing in the middle of a vacant alley, scratching my head like the town idiot.

No bar. No lamps pinned to the walls. No sign. No inviting archway door. And definitely no old bartender waiting to pour me a stiff drink and tell me the world’s secrets.

The only sign of life was the cat I met last night, lying on top of a dented rubbish bin, staring at me with that look that said it knew something I sure as hell didn’t.

Figures. Of course, the one witness to my humiliation was a cat.

“Back?” I muttered, not to the cat but to myself. Talking to myself was obviously the next logical step in this ridiculous situation.

“Meow,” came the cat’s reply, tilting its head as if it was genuinely trying to answer.

“Seen which way that bar went?” I pointed at the spot where it should have been. The cat just stared at me, unblinking, unimpressed, and entirely unhelpful. “Right, I’ll take that as a no,” I sighed.

I started pacing the alley, back and forth like a man losing his mind, hoping that somehow, someway, the bar would just pop up if I stared hard enough at the walls. I even knocked on a few doors, thinking maybe someone would take pity on me and point me in the right direction. But nope. Just splinters digging into my knuckles and a rising sense of embarrassment that was slowly taking over.

And that cat? Oh, it decided we were friends now, trailing after me like we’d been through thick and thin together. Its tail swished lazily, keeping time with my increasingly frantic movements.

“Shoo!” I waved it off, but it didn’t budge, just mewed again in that persistent way cats do. “You’re not trying to tell me you’re Nibbles’ kid, are you?” I asked, mostly to distract myself from the fact that I was officially losing it.

Nibbles was Alice’s favorite cat, a fat, orange tabby with a knack for sneaking into town and mingling with the local strays. I wouldn’t put it past him to have a kid or two running around.

“Meow.”

“Fine, come along,” I muttered, throwing my hands up in defeat. “Jitters. That’s what I’ll call you.” The cat blinked at me as if to say it had heard worse. It padded after me with a confidence I didn’t have, its tiny paws silent against the ground.

“I’ll feed you later,” I added, though I had no clue what “later” was supposed to look like when I couldn’t even find the damn bar.

Jitters and I spent the next hour tearing through that place like a couple of fools on a scavenger hunt. We went over every dark corner, every shadow-filled crack, and even shoved a few barrels around, just in case there was some hidden entrance to the bar behind them. It wasn’t just a search. It was starting to feel a little obsessive.

By the time we were done, I was drenched in sweat, my hands were filthy, and my patience was long gone. Despite all my efforts, there wasn’t a single trace of The Chosen One. Not a broken sign, not a forgotten bottle cork. Nothing.

The sun climbed higher, dragging morning into late morning, and my resolve hit rock bottom. Frustrated, I leaned against the nearest wall and let out a long sigh.

“That makes two you’ve missed,” I mumbled, finishing the statement with a tired thump of my fist against the brick. It stung, but not enough to distract me from the harsh truth that perhaps revenge wasn’t my thing. Either that, or I was losing my mind, an equally appealing option at this point.

I needed a break. I needed air. Hell, I needed something that made sense.

So I wandered off, letting my feet take me wherever they pleased. Eventually, I ended up in a less crappy part of town, where the streets were cleaner and the air smelled less like shame.

A small café caught my eye, the sort of place I’d passed a dozen times but never actually stopped at. It had a few little outdoor tables under the generous shade of a large oak, and it looked like the perfect spot to sit and quietly fume at the world.

Inside, I ordered a cup of coffee for myself and a tuna sandwich for Jitters. Even if I was falling apart, at least one of us should eat well. Jitters seemed pleased enough, curling up at my feet like we’d been best buds for years. I sank into one of the café’s outdoor round tables, trying to ignore the grumble of irritation in the back of my mind.

The sounds of the town played around me. Kids laughing somewhere in the distance, the clatter of horseshoes on cobblestones, the occasional creak of a cartwheel. It was all oddly soothing, like background noise that made you feel like the world was still spinning, even when yours felt off-kilter.

I sipped my coffee, letting the bitter warmth settle in my chest. My fingers absentmindedly picked at the edges of the situation in my head, like a scab I couldn’t stop messing with.

No matter how hard I tried to focus on the moment, my thoughts kept drifting back to that alley.
Did I imagine the whole thing? The Chosen One, the old bartender, that bizarre, almost mythical energy the place had. Was it just some drunken fever dream cooked up after too many late-night shots? The more I tried to piece it together, the fuzzier it all became.

And now that uncertainty’s been wearing me down, gnawing at my ability to think clearly. Even now, I can feel it tugging at the edges of my mind, like a puzzle I’m not meant to solve.

The hours slipped by as I wandered aimlessly through town. I must’ve looped the market square half a dozen times, weaving through the crowd, grabbing a snack here and there, hoping the weird feeling in my gut would finally go away. But it stayed. Low and heavy. Just out of reach.

I was just about ready to give up and head back to the estate when a commotion broke out. At first, it started as an indistinct murmur but soon grew into something more. A current of energy swept through the street as people began to run toward the main road, their voices rising in excitement.

“What the hell is going on now?” I thought, instinctively making my way toward the ruckus. As I pushed through the crowd, I saw three young men sprinting past me, their faces a mix of exhilaration and something else. Nervous energy, perhaps.

They were regulars at the Drunken Stag, the sort of guys who came in, had their drinks, and slipped out without much fuss. I didn’t know their names off the top of my head, but who really remembers names in a tavern anyway? Faces, sure, but names? That was a different story.

So, I did what I always do in these situations. I called them what I usually call people whose names slip through the cracks of my memory. “Hey, dude! What’s going on?”

One of them stopped. “Master Alex! Is that you?”

“Yeah, do you know what’s happening?”

“I heard there’s a rich merchant giving out free barrels of ale!” he replied, then gave me a quick farewell before running off to catch up with his mates.

I shook my head, laughing at the thought. The day rainbows turn to gold is the day a merchant gives out free drinks. Still, I figured it might be worth checking out. Stranger things had already happened.

A little way ahead, I spotted them.

A full convoy of around three dozen soldiers moved down the main street in perfect formation. They rode tall on powerful horses, every movement smooth and disciplined. Their armor caught the sunlight and gleamed so brightly it was hard to look straight at them. Each soldier carried a sword. A few had extra weapons strapped on too, like they brought whatever they felt like. Whether that was for style or just to be more prepared, I still don’t know. Maybe both.

Yep, it was impressive, but what really drew my attention were the three carriages they were escorting. Two of them were rather trivial. However, the front carriage was something else. It was more luxurious than anything I had ever seen. Its edges were frilled with gold, velvet curtains framed the windows, and the wheels looked as if they had never touched a muddy road in their entire lives. Painted on the sides of the carriage was the crest of House Lysander, a silver lion with a crown hovering above it, roaring against a field of blue. The royal banner fluttered in the breeze, and, as if on cue, goosebumps prickled my skin.

Don’t tell me she’s here already?

I shifted my position to get a better view. Leading the way was a woman who, from the window of the coach, waved her hand at the crowd as if she were a queen of the castle, generously granting her subjects an audience. A blessing in itself.

Catherine, Duke Lysander’s daughter.

A lady who detested every visit to Stormbourne Estate but showed up here in all her sumptuousness, making it a spectacle. I noted how she smiled and waved, briefly questioning whether she thought herself convincing at faking it.

Really, bitch? Just show these people that ugly side of yours.

But something didn’t add up. Why the large convoy? Why the show of force? Catherine had visited before, but never like this. Was there something more going on? Did she feel the need to arrive with a small army at her back?

Crap! I needed to get back to the estate too. Let me worry about these questions later.

I hung back, following the convoy at a distance, careful to stay out of sight while keeping my eyes on the procession making its way to the estate. It wasn’t just me. A sea of wide-eyed kids and curious townsfolk had also decided to follow the convoy, all eager to catch a glimpse of Duke Lysander’s eldest daughter, who was also the King’s eldest niece.

As the convoy reached the edge of town, people began peeling away from what had turned into an unplanned parade. They drifted back to their daily routines one by one until the street was quiet again. Before long, it was just me and one faithful companion.

“Still sticking with me?” I glanced down at Jitters.

“Meow.” His tail flicked, and he shot me a look that, if I didn’t know better, almost seemed amused. I swear the cat could understand more than he let on.

“Very well then, let’s go.” I nodded. “I’ll take you to meet your family and catch up with your old man.”

By the time we reached the estate’s gate, the convoy had already passed through. From where I stood, I could just make out a few of Catherine’s escort at the back of the line as they wound their way toward the main mansion.

The guards at the gate stood straighter when they saw me coming, their faces as serious as if they were expecting an army to march through. They were decent blokes, really, but you’d think they were guarding a treasure vault with how tight they were about their posts. Not that I was planning any trouble today, but who knows what might happen?

“Master Alex,” one of them called, a little too eager. “Is that your cat?” He pointed at Jitters. “We’ve been told no more strays allowed on the estate.”

I looked over at Jitters, who was busy trying to act all dignified.

“Yep, that’s Nibbles’ kid. He’s with me, so he gets a pass,” I said, and Jitters meowed like he was making his case.

The guard glanced at the others, probably waiting to see if anyone would stop him from letting a cat in.

I mean, really, is this what it’s come to? Debating whether a cat should be allowed through?

“Understood, Master Alex. He’s good to go,” he nodded.

“Great,” I muttered, speeding up a little. Jitters walked along like he had somewhere important to be. And honestly, who’s to say he didn’t? He could have urgent cat business to attend to. “Right, Jitters?”

“Meow.”

I instinctively peered down at him as I walked. Did he just respond to me? Like, actually respond to what I was thinking?

Nah, I shook my head, chuckling. I’m probably just reading too much into it.

But, hey, who knows? Cats are weird like that. Maybe he was just messing with me. Or perhaps he really was trying to have a conversation. The thought made me laugh even harder.