Oswald had seen plenty of people lose their train of thought, their minds momentarily freezing as they stared blankly into the middle distance. It was a perfectly human thing—like an old Windows 95 machine crashing and showing the famous blue screen. Usually, a quick nudge of focus or a strong cup of tea would reboot the system.

But Marek? Marek wasn’t like most people. His mind didn’t freeze once in a while; it seemed to blue-screen daily. Sometimes hourly. Watching him was like observing a machine running far too many programs at once—half of them outdated, and the other half incompatible with everything else.

Oswald sat across the table, his sharp eyes studying Marek’s peculiar calm as the man finished his stew. There was something almost unnatural about it, this quiet acceptance in the face of what should have been overwhelming confusion.

“You have an unusual way about you,” Oswald said at last, his tone polite but deliberate. “Not bad, mind you. Just... different.”

Marek looked up, chewing slowly. “Different how?”

Oswald leaned forward slightly, folding his hands. “Your mind seems... busy. Very busy. As if it’s running more than it was built to handle.”

Marek snorted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Well, I’ve been hit on the head a lot lately. Maybe it shook some wires loose.”

Oswald’s lips twitched in a faint smile. “Perhaps. Or perhaps you’re carrying more than most would dare to.”

The words hung in the air, weighty but not intrusive. Oswald had a way of speaking that made even simple observations feel profound, like an ancient sage quietly narrating a parable no one quite understood.

After a moment, Oswald shifted his tone, speaking almost idly. “People often misunderstand randomness. A dice roll, for instance. It’s not truly random—it follows rules, patterns, forces we may not yet grasp. The same is true of destiny. It only seems unpredictable because we lack the tools to understand it.”

Marek raised an eyebrow. “So you’re saying you know where I’m headed?”

Oswald shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “No, Marek. I’m saying even you don’t know where you’re headed. But watching you... I’d like to find out.”

Marek put down his spoon, eyeing Oswald with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. “Why?”

Oswald’s gaze didn’t waver. “Because knowledge is found in the most unexpected places. And sometimes, the most unlikely paths.”

Marek considered this for a long moment, then nodded slowly, as if filing it away in some mental folder for later.

The two sat in companionable silence for a while, the crackle of the tavern fire filling the air. Oswald didn’t press further, and Marek didn’t ask more questions. It wasn’t trust—not yet—but it was enough for now.

Marek leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Alright, I need answers. How do people around here make money? Because I’ve got absolutely nothing.”

Oswald raised an eyebrow, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Plenty of ways. Farming, foraging, smithing, crafting tools, trading, even adventuring—if you’ve the courage for it.”

Marek perked up slightly. “I can wield metal. Used to be a welder. So, smithing maybe?”

Oswald nodded, intrigued. “A useful skill, to be sure.”

“But I could also pick mushrooms,” Marek added quickly. “Quiet, safe. Mushrooms don’t fight back.”

Oswald smiled faintly. “Most don’t, no. But not all mushrooms are your friends, Marek. A poor choice could make your day... memorable.”

Marek sighed. “Even mushrooms are trouble. Fantastic.”

Oswald chuckled softly. “Tomorrow, I’ll show you something. It might help you decide where to start.”

“What kind of something?” Marek asked, narrowing his eyes.

Oswald’s smile was cryptic. “Patience, my friend. All will be revealed.”