Lester gazed up at the ceiling beams, watching dust float in the lightened space. He had woken to a familiar pain in his stomach. Back then, there had never been enough food. These days, it was rare for him to go hungry; a necessity of his job to keep his energy for the next fight. It was a world that Keenin would never see. 

And it was in this place that Lester started to feel ever alone. It didn’t matter that a roof rose over his head, that money lay in reach, or that the food was great. He had wanted to make sure Keenin had someone there for him. His wanting to be a knight was because he had seen himself falling behind; His friend could command fire, was wanted by important people, and would surely be loved. And Lester, who had failed to raise his closest friend from the poverty of their small village…had been nothing. And, he had been able to do less than nothing to stop Keenin from leaving. 

Back then, when Renaldo rode his horse back to the village with no Keenin, Lester couldn’t help feeling betrayed. What good was a knight that didn’t help people? Why couldn’t his friend trust him? 

‘We’ll catch up to him,’ Renaldo had said. 

And they almost had. 

Almost. 

He had never had the chance to ask ‘how was your great adventure’, ‘any cute girls’, ‘any wild boars steal your food too’, or ‘how about we tackle the next one together’.  

How was he to tell his friend that he was doing mostly alright?

“Keenin. They don’t give anyone a festival. I hope you know that,” Lester spoke.

He could hear the shrill voices of children outside.

“Do you want to see Dia’s dress?” Lester asked his dead friend.

A shopkeeper hollered of fresh tarts. 

“Me neither,” Lester replied. 

A knock sounded at his door. 

He silently tried to figure out who it was. Then he heard the heavy footsteps moving up the stairs to his room on the second floor. He reached down to grasp the sword placed on the floorboards beside his bed. 

“Who is it?” Lester called out.

“Who else,” his teacher’s voice sounded.

“Uhhh,” Lester lamented to the ceiling, and dropped the useless sword. 

He stayed immobile as long as possible, but the idea of old guy Renaldo breaking down the door led him to swing his legs out of bed and walk mostly naked to the door to lift the blocking bar, his only cover being the bed sheet held by one hand around his waist. 

He opened the door to face the man who had started his knightly education.  His teacher Renaldo moved forward to set a bouquet of purple morning glory on the small table Lester dined on. 

“Trying to brighten it up?” Lester inquired as he leaned back against the wall. 

Renaldo moved to the window. 

“Leave that alone. I’m awake and you should have waited if you wanted me dressed.”

Renaldo turned. 

“I thought you would want to pay respect to the new statue.”

Lester knew that he referred to the one dedicated to those who fought in the undead war. 

“I still can’t believe they built it.”

“You know. You are allowed to take time off. Visit family.”

“What do you think I’m doing now?” Lester noted.

Renaldo wandered to a chest where drawings were scattered and picked up one of a cat napping on a table.

“You are making your teacher worry that you're running out of money,” Renaldo said. “Which is why I think you should try this.”

His teacher held out a piece of paper:

Wanted: A Swordsmanship Teacher

Location: 11 Cherry Road, Behoden

Accommodation available.

Please submit a letter detailing prior experience. 

“It's not the usual field work, but I thought you could appreciate it,” Renaldo said.

“This is…thoughtful.”

“You can thank my daughter. And Lester, remember that we’re here for you.”

“Of course,” Lester said. 

Maybe he really was doing something wrong. First Natsuka and now his teacher were telling him to consider his direction. 

His teacher left quietly and Lester considered the morning glories placed on his table. After a sigh he moved to his chest and lifted the lid despite the drawings fluttering floorward. An auburn laced tunic sat atop the pile, but he pulled a long sleeve moss shirt from the stack to pair with worn leather pants. He picked up the flowers and wool coat on his way down the stairs, pushing the front door open to the sunny and sweet morning air. 

“Hey,” he called to one of the roaming guards. 

The man turned. 

“Where is the statue?” Lester asked.