Lester sat casually near the top of the stone stairwell of the universal temple, dressed in a blue tunic over white leggings. A book lay open on his lap with a loose page listing rumors that may be worth looking into. 

Thefts of chickens in Ruth Hamlet 

Haunted cave by the sea 

Lyla of Northport looking for her sister Trish

Tom of Fern Hollow owes me pumpkins 

Mushroom rings in forest outside Imp Woods 

Book seller never delivered goods to Glenview 

Listening to people’s troubles was sometimes half the battle. Citizens seemed to forget that holy knights liked to get paid like everyone else, but it was hard for him to tell them this when they offered up their services, modest belongings, or even their children. And since he couldn’t refuse, he had begun to trade one thing for another so one thing always led to the next. A job lasting a week turned into three. He could have used the money, especially when he had more than himself to take care of, but his guild only approved to pay for a portion of freelance work involving the cleanup of monsters and criminals. All else had to be an officially submitted assignment by a private payee.

Lester turned the page of his book, an Illustrated Guide of Plants, and opened to a page where he had stuffed pages of drawings that now obscured the description of a berry covered twig. The topmost page showed a dog trying to catch fish in a river, while one underneath was of a dark-skinned man selling music boxes. Lester had never known what to say to his friend’s teacher Alaban and so had decided to send some of his sketches along with money to help pay taxes. Even after receiving this book he had not had the courage to admit he was the benefactor.

The bell above him tolled loudly, signaling late afternoon. The visitors of the universal temple of worship began passing him on their way down the steps, stepping around him and his sword. Lester hoped that none of their prayers would call down world ending trouble as he was working for a quiet retirement.

“What a thing to leave hanging out,” a woman commented.

Lester looked up to the woman who had stepped on the scabbard of his sword which poked from behind his back.

“Natsuka,” he said in greeting. 

He closed the book, putting the drawing out of sight. 

“Don’t you think your job is taking too long?” Natsuka asked. 

“All the jobs about fighting bad guys have been further away lately.”

“Then why not let the new guys handle it?”

“Cause I like to help the little guys and most others would rather be fancy guards”

“Really. And what was so important about you leaving this time?”

“Bandits that were rumored to turn into wolves. We couldn’t ignore the possibility of real werewolves.”

“I take it that they were ordinary men,” Natsuka said.

“Yes,” Lester said unenthused. “They were just men that liked to howl and put on wolf pelts. What did you expect?”

“Maybe, a letter. I mean, you used to tell me where you were,” Natsuka said.

“You used to steal my reports.”

“You think I stopped.”

Lester didn’t reply right away. 

“Will you still be here?” he asked her. 

“Well, I’m not exactly religious so I don’t know why we meet here.”

“I mean…can I still come see you? I know I haven’t been fair. And I didn’t want to keep you waiting here alone.”

“Obviously you don’t know how I spend my days.”

“You know what I mean, Natsuka.” 

“Well…that depends on you. You got my letter,” Natsuka told him. “Granted, I may be with someone else by the time you get back. I have to work too.”

“I…I know that.”

Truth was, Natsuka was an assassin. She tended to sleep with people because she wanted to or because it helped in her work. She had never lied about what she did.

“But seriously. Have you spoken to anyone about how you want the funeral?” Natsuka asked.

“Not yet.”

“Lester. If you don’t tell them that you want to hold your friend’s funeral back home, how are they supposed to know.”

It has been a month after the War of Extinction, where the Red Heart Army and their undead soldiers finally fell. His teacher Sir Renaldo had informed him that his friend had been granted a tombstone in the royal graveyard and Dia and the rest had gone to stand around it, but for Lester, Keenin wasn’t in that place.

“It was a dumb idea.”

They had already held the funeral and it was his own fault for not going. 

“What about talking to the old guy Alaban? You send him money.”

“Not from me. He would hate that.”

“You assume. And what about knights from your training? You must have made some other friends.”

“I guess.”

But all they ever did was show their faint sympathy or remind him how cool his friend had been. As if they knew. 

“But not really.”

“Lester. I get it. You feel privileged and want to help others in place of your friend, but there comes a point where people must be responsible for themselves. And you owe it to yourself to think of the future. Are you fine dying without saying goodbye at your friend's grave or marrying a girl you love?”

“Love, huh.”

“Which reminds me,” Natsuka said. “Dia’s been as stubborn as you and stayed inside working on a passion project. Go check on her.” 

“Right.” 

He heard a crunch from where her boot pinned his sword. 

“And remember to visit me again.”

“Promise.”

After further silence, in which he didn’t look up, he heard her descending away from him. 

He looked up and called after her. 

“Natsuka, thank…ah.”

He smiled at the vulgar hand sign she raised to him as she walked away, but some realities didn’t come true. Nobody would attend the funeral of an unknown boy and a woman like Natsuka was hard to beat. Lester sighed. He picked up his sword to brush the dust from the scabbard and stood with his belongings.

“I’ll talk to Dia first.”

Lester continued through the streets of Meladona past cute brick houses, flowering gardens, and shaded shopfronts. He watched people hanging colorful cloth and setting out pots of flowers for the festive time to come.

Children ran ahead of him. Merchants sat on blankets under the sun calling out for attention. The refugees from the war had found their own place among the crowds and had become well-known for their love of strategy games.

As he got closer to the castle he came by the scaffolding and hammering of dwarven architects repairing water damage to the old structures. The building everyone knew as the castle had more of the appearance of a wealthy manor house and was used mainly as a government service building. The left wing was used as a hospital, the right wing as a trade school. City meetings took place on the smaller upper floor and very few rooms were lived in. 

A crowd had gathered outside the main gates again. This time it was rune casters from the purple lotus guild trying to recruit from the college since their numbers dropped after the war. Though a rune caster had great privilege and power, applications had dropped due to negative opinions on magic, less demand for their skills, and the need to devote your life to the group. Today they were trying to convince students that with training they could get an elemental spirit as though all you had to do was study. Lester decided to let it slide. 

As he approached one of the smaller entrances connecting to the scholarly right wing Lester noticed a man with a patterned vest and white ponytail lounging on the black shingled rooftop with a book. 

“Hey Clide,” Lester called up to the man. “Do you ever think that you’re trying too hard to fit in?”

Clide’s blue eyes looked down and the book clapped shut in his hands. 

“So you were still alive,” he commented.

“Ya, you know most people would take that as an insult,” Lestor told him.

“Most people don’t risk their lives on a regular basis,” Clide observed.

“If you’re worried you should tag along,” Lestor advised. “You should get out and stretch your wings. I must have been to more places than you by now dragon.”

“I am trying to keep a low profile, quite literally,” Clide let him know. “The last time the townspeople asked me to show my beautiful dragon self, someone’s grandmother died of a heart attack. I think they are trying to forget how godlike I am.”

“Well, you’re going to be an unmarried bachelor if you stay around here. Especially with that hairstyle.”

The dragon frowned.

“Dia,” Clide emphasized the name to show his annoyance. “Hasn’t come out of her house lately. She’s obsessed with solving some sort of problem. Maybe you can talk sense into her.”

“I heard,” Lester said. “And I’m sorry about the bachelor comment.”

A dragon must have had his reasons for staying with humans. Lester turned to leave for Dia’s residence.

“It’s not like I don’t think about it,” Clide said.

“What?” Lestor looked back.

“I mean leaving,” Clide said. “It isn’t that I don’t think about it, but considering I have time to spare in my long, long life, I hope to be the final constant in hers.

Lestor gave the dragon a small smile. 

“We’re lucky to know you. Try not to punish yourself here. I’ll make sure to talk some sense into Dia.” 

Lestor left Clide behind on the rooftop. Being a friend of Keenin’s had come to mean a lot more than stealing a meal. It had come with this whole world of magic and monsters that had never been open to him before. And Dia was an oddity all her own. As an Esmer, a girl who was brought back to life though the sacrifice of her younger sister, Dia had been stuck in her younger sisters’ body to live out a predetermined lifespan. To anyone unlucky enough to see Dia get killed they would have the unpleasant experience of seeing her body put itself back together until a day when she would simply die or maybe cease to exist.

These days Dia wasn’t in the habit of risking her life. She had taken up residence in an apartment above a tea shop, aptly named Delights, and started designing practical cloths for women, inspired by the trouble she had traveling in a dress. While she only took customers by appointment and worked from her house the tea shop now displayed a new piece each month and had several catalogues for people to browse. 

Lestor made his way up the wooden steps to the second-floor apartment and stood at her door listening. On the other side was the living room where she often worked and he could hear her mumbling ‘I’m going to kill him, I’m going to kill him’ and hear the violent shuffle of pages from the other side. 

“Uh, Dia,” Lester called, “Are you ok. Everyone I meet seems concerned.”

“I’m busy,” came her frustrated voice.

She sounded more irritated than usual and as much as Lester would love to leave her to it, he was not planning to be in town any longer than he had to. 

“You sound like you’re going to kill someone. Are you sure I can’t help before you do anything crazy?” he suggested. 

“If you won’t leave, come in and listen,” she instructed.

As usual the door was unlocked. Lestor opened it see Dia leaning against the couch with her arms crossed as she sourly inspected the papers and open books spread across the floor. Her blond hair was coming loose of its bun and she was wearing a trademark pair of overalls. It was sort of cute. Then she turned that unhappy look on him.  

“How long have you been here.”

“Since today.”

Not that he made regular visits. 

“Stand there and hold out your arms.”

He sighed, recognizing this pattern of events, and did as she asked. Dia picked up some scraps of fabric and came over to pin bits onto him. 

“You lost inspiration,” Lester said matter of fact.  

His eyes wandered to a dying plant in the corner.

“No. I just can’t get this one right.”

He noticed the scattered papers were sewing instructions and the mannequin where she pieced together her work was covered over with a white sheet. 

“Hmmm. What are you making?”

“A dress.”

“Really?” he said interested. 

Of course he had seen her in dresses, but never making one. The philosophy of her shop had been around the practicality of pants and beautiful shirts. 

“I have an idea,” Lestor said.

“What?”

“You should go on a date,” Lestor told her.

“Ow.” He flinched at the sharp stab of a needle. “Ow. Ok sorry. Maybe I should not have left that letter.”

A painful stab to his side told him what she felt of that.

“Listen,” Lester said, risking another needle. “I’m tired of seeing you mope around and obsess over silly matters.”

Like he was one to talk, but around her his wanderlust was surprisingly easy to hide under his heroic optimism. And she certainly was not brooding over the same thing. 

She brought her hands down.

“Ok, smart guy,” she said entertaining the idea. “Who would I go on a date with? You?”

“Of course not.”

“Really?” she pressured. “You seem like you want to imply something here?”

“No. I don’t have a teenage crush on you anymore,” Lestor informed her. “I’ve gotten over being jealous and honestly confused about our relationship as two people who happened to know the same guy. I just wish you wouldn’t be paranoid.”

“Well, then you know how I feel when you assume that this is about unresolved feelings because I’m also over it. I’m making a dress for the festival. I’m going to meet a certain blacksmith.”

“Then…I apologize,” Lester said. 

This was the first he had heard of her date. 

“Well, we haven’t exactly talked about it. You probably think that I ran after Keenin because he made me fall in love. And I have spent a lot of time thinking about that, but I think he just deserved more. I didn’t want a good person like him to suffer all by himself.”

“I see,” Lestor said. 

For a minute he thought of asking her if she would go to Keenin’s funeral. But why ruin her date.

“So do I get to preview this masterpiece dress.”

She removed the pinned-on pieces from his cloths. 

“No,” she said simply. “You can see me tomorrow.” 

“Of course,” Lester agreed. 

He said his farewell and left back the way he came, down to the bottom of the stairs, and down the ever-crowded streets. And he decided that he was simply going to sleep in tomorrow and perhaps write his friend a letter. A god awful letter about what people had done with the world while he was gone.