Tonight is Lothariton’s fortnightly town hall meeting, where all those who labor to earn their keep gather to discuss their thoughts of the past two weeks. Ever since the Demon King’s defeat, these meetings became uneventful, their pace slowing down to a monthly basis instead of fortnightly or even weekly as they had been in the distant past — for there was nothing to ever report, you see.

Standing upon a dais at the back of the good-sized hall is the mayor of Lothariton, Hansel Schmitt; a paunchy, avuncular man with the remains of a meat skewer in his hand. He is standing beside Guillemagne as they converse, while those attending the meeting file in through the front door of the town hall.

“Dost thou truly believe that the outsiders will be able to assist us?” Schmitt asks.

“Whether or not I believe in their capability for assistance, it would be my everlasting shame if my inaction denied us any chance of survival,” Guillemagne replies. “I must do all that I can, ye see…”

Hansel crosses his arms. “That may be so, Guillemagne, but nothing about thine actions necessitates going at it alone.”

“It would be too great of a request to ask ye to assist me in this ordeal. I simply ask for ye to trust me.”

“Thou must already know we all trust thee, Guillemagne. ‘tis not our trust that needs doubting. I simply wish to ease thy burden in any way that we can.”

“My apologies. Perhaps those were the wrong words to use. I do not doubt thy trust in me — I merely want to ensure its continued existence.”

“What, thou art planning a betrayal?”

“Nay!” Guillemagne flushes bright red. “Not now, nor ever! I should hope to expire the moment I do such a terrible thing!”

Hansel chuckles. “I should hope so, too. Else, we would have to bring out some little-known law to execute thee with, and that would be a great pity. Our town hero that we have nurtured from childhood, fallen into such depravity… it boggles the mind simply to think about.”

“Sir Schmitt…”

Hansel pats the flustered Guillemagne on the shoulder, still in a jocular mood. “I jest, my boy, I do jest. If anyone must decide the way in which thou died, it would not be me.”

“‘twasn’t funny.”

“Suppose not. In any case, the time for jesting has passed.” Hansel looks upon the assembled crowd before the dais. “We’ve more important matters to attend to.”

“Shall I begin, or…?”

“No need.” Schmitt turns towards the audience. With a loud clap, he redirects their scattered glances towards him. “Hail, lords, gentlemen and ladies of Lothariton! Our meeting shall commence henceforth! Those with any news, form a line to my left in an orderly fashion. All others, remain silent!”

Guillemagne slips away into the crowd, carrying Schmitt’s skewer remnants. A small line of people takes his place. What follows is a blur.

“Yesterday, I went outside to collect herbs,” says a woman at the front of the queue. She is the apothecary Costamary, holding tightly to her apron with balled fists. “But, it seems that one of the patches where I usually get my supplies from has, err… disappeared.”

“Care to explain?” Schmitt asks.

“It is simply not there! It is as if… it has been replaced with total nothingness. As if it had been forgotten entirely, neglected by the Goddess herself—”

“Oh, I was just about to say something similar,” one of the others in line says. “I was on the way to my grandmother’s house the other day; she lives in the Capital, see, and—”

“Wait your turn,” the mayor reprimands.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“What was I saying…” Costamary clears her throat, sending an annoyed glance towards her interruptor. “If these disappearances continue, we may run out of arable land for crops entirely.”

Schmitt nods. “I must admit, I am rather concerned. After all, if the land itself is disappearing, there may come a day when there is nothing left to even stand on…”

“That day shall not come, as long as I still draw breath,” proclaims a man in the crowd. He steps onto the dais and takes his place on Hansel’s other side, facing both the queue and the crowd.

Hansel nods at the returning knight. “Ah, Guillemagne. Many thanks for thine help.”

It is, indeed, Guillemagne, empty-handed after having disposed of Hansel’s skewers.

“Unbelievable,” someone in the queue whispers. “Sir Guillemagne, in the flesh?”

“What more dost thou have to say, my fellow countrymen?” Guillemagne asks the queue.

“Oh! I have things to say!” a chipper voice pipes up. It’s the person who interrupted Costamary the apothecary — a young man with powder coating his hands and apron, the apprentice stonemason Kyano Sardion. In the pocket of his apron are several tools; a chisel, hammer, and a pick. In one of his hands is a small mallet, and he gestures with it as he talks. “See, I’ve noticed quite a few people going missing over these past few weeks… months…”

“Go on, Sardion.”

Kyano twirls his mallet. “The thought came to me last night; what if these people are disappearing with the world?”

“It sounds like a plausible explanation, but as reasonable as it is, I cannot believe it without proof.”

“Anyone in the crowd can give thee proof, master Schmitt!” Kyano points his mallet at the gathered villagers. “Who here has visited their relatives within the past month?”

Murmurs spread among the crowd. “I tried… nowhere to be found… what a disappointment… after that long journey… greeted with emptiness…”

“Emptiness, again! Hark, Master Schmitt, hark! The world is crumbling, and as it crumbles away it will steal more and more of our people from us!”

Schmitt nods. “That may be so. I shall concede thy point. Next?”

This time it is Mimir the blacksmith’s turn. She, too, is wearing an apron, but it is covered in soot and ash instead of the whitestone powder of Kyano’s garment. “Mimir Raudsepp of the Blacksmiths’ Guild. I worry about the availability of metal, considering the disappearances might affect the quarries we have been obtaining materials from — not only weapons or armor, but also cooking equipment and other household goods could be impossible to make. And the forests we have been logging, what about those?”

Schmitt ponders Mimir’s questions. “That I must wonder as well. Resource management is more difficult than ever, which is no small feat. We will have to find new ways of acquiring old types of materials…”

“My, my, how forward-thinking,” the whisperer in the queue murmurs.

“Next!”

The whisperer reveals herself at last, curtseying to the crowd when it is her turn to speak. “Good evening, my fellows. I do apologize for intruding upon thy most beautiful town. I am but a humble traveling merchant by the name of Amagrisse du Lac — I won’t presuppose that any of you have heard of me. But I have heard of you — one of you, yes.”

“Yes, yes, every man, woman, and child on the continent has heard of our Guillemagne,” says Hansel. He squints at du Lac’s robes — they are lined with furs, decorated with intricately carved teeth and bones. “Thy clothes are northern in fashion, if I am not mistaken; what possessed thee to venture here?”

“Thou may not have the knowledge of such fanciful rumors, as I do, but there are plenty of intriguing tales surrounding this town, master Schmitt. They were so interesting I decided to shift my course to approach this place a little faster — and I am very glad to have done so, for if I had tarried a moment longer there would be no more me left to travel.”

Hansel raises an eyebrow. “Thou meanest…?”

“I would have disappeared, my good man. I would have disappeared were it not for the glorious ‘Guillemagne of Golden Locks,’ were it not for my curiosity… Now that I have seen him in person, I may pass away with happiness in my heart.”

“Please, Madam du Lac, do not speak of such a thing,” says Guillemagne, a note of concern in his voice. “I am glad thou cast thine lot with us, but I beg of thee to refrain from such high praise. I am but a humble protector of my fellow men, and no better than those who I defend.”

“That may be so, but I shall forever treasure thee as my savior…”

“Enough, enough,” Schmitt interrupts, “this has gone on for far too long! One more discussion, now, and that will be all for tonight.”

The last person in the queue bows toward the audience. She adjusts her round spectacles, and the lenses glimmer as they catch some of the candlelight in the hall. “Greetings, everyone!”

“Atenai!” Schmitt says warmly. “What news dost thou bring? Make it good or none at all!”

“I apologize, then. I have been analyzing the Merchants’ Guild reports, Master Schmitt, and I have found some troubling information. As you all know, Lothariton’s economy is sustained through the trade of artisan goods. The land here is unsuitable for large-scale farming on the level that a population of our size would require, so our supplies are obtained from traders from across the rest of the continent, correct?”

“Yes, our land is beautiful, but it produces little other than clay and weeds. What else?”

“The reports show that trade has been slowing to a halt, which thee must already know, Master Schmitt. However, through the soil produced through earth magic is perfect to grow some of the plants we have traded for, provided we have enough of them remaining…”

“Such as?”

“From the plants in the last procurement, I believe ‘tomatoes’ and ‘potatoes’ are most fit for the kind of soil that our earth magic can produce, but I would recommend not growing them too close to each other, as they are far too similar and may compete with each other, as siblings often do… it will take a while to rejuvenate as much soil as needed for everyone to be provided for, but I believe we can do it if we all cooperate!”

“Wonderful news, Atenai!” Hansel pats her on the back, causing her to cough sharply. “See, leave it to the scholars to save us all. Elemental magic really can do anything!”

The crowd erupts into cheers, especially Guillemagne.

Under the applause, Atenai whispers into Hansel’s ear. “One more thing, Master Schmitt…”

“What is it?” he whispers back.

“If little Kyano’s theory is correct, the disappearance phenomenon must be investigated at once…”

Hansel pushes Atenai away with a laugh. “Yes, all in due time! Let tonight be a night for celebration. Thou hast saved us all, Atenai — no more worrying!”