The sweat running down my face revealed just how rusty I was. My fingers throbbed, and the smell of my skin mixed with the bronze metal rose in hot waves—a pain almost pleasurable, familiar, reminding me of times past—times I had never forgotten.
When I finished, I noticed a strange silence. People were standing still, staring at me with wide eyes and stunned faces.
"Definitely not the reaction I was expecting."
I let go of the guitar, letting my injured finger drop, and, as if it were a silent signal, a man with a greenish pointed hat—and a beard worthy of a Norse legend wizard—stood up and began to applaud. Soon, others followed until the shouts and applause became deafening.
"What the fuck kind of music was that?" someone shouted.
I felt a hand land on my shoulder. Far too large to belong to an ordinary human. When I turned around, I confirmed who it was: the Giantess who had allowed us to perform that night. Even standing on the table, she could easily meet my gaze.
Her face twisted into a smile that looked more like a threat than any sign of affection. She paused, waiting for a response.
I went for the obvious:
"Well... this is music."
"Fuck off, shorty, I know what music is. But I've never seen that thing you did. Do you have more of that weird repertoire?"
"I do, but look at my hands. They're too hurt to play anything."
"That can be fixed... Bromeia, come here, please!"
From behind the counter appeared a young woman of average height. She seemed annoyed to have been called, but came over as if she had no choice.
"Ma'am?"
"Bromeia, do your auntie a favor and heal the dwarf's hand, please."
"Auntie, you know I don't have much mana for that yet. And he's not a dwarf, Auntie. He's a normal human, just like me."
"Bromeia, how would I know if he's human or a dwarf? To me, everyone's small. He's just the least small. Here's the deal: I'll give you a silver coin. This boy's gonna make me rich. Look at how happy those bastards in the bar are. And you know: the happier the bar..."
"...the more money rains down. I know, Auntie. Two silver coins. I won't be able to go to the dungeon tomorrow if I waste my power on him."
"How can you do this to your dear auntie? I only asked you to heal his hand, not save his life."
"On Mom's side... And I really don't know what your sister saw in my dad. Besides, Auntie, you know 'healing' doesn't exist. What we do is rewind the structure to an earlier state. It doesn't matter if it's a wounded hand or a severed head, the spell treats it the same."
"You're just like your mother. Talking all this nonsense... I don't care about that time business! Fine, I'll pay you the two coins, but you'll have to do it again later."
"Deal."
The girl didn't seem afraid of the Giantess, maybe because they were family.
"Sir Bard, I can heal you. Show me your hands, please."
She approached my fingers, swollen and torn. I had given it my all. I knew that poorly entwined copper would cause this kind of injury—but it was the price to pay if I wanted to secure a living for myself and for Helena.
Suddenly, an intense white light forced me to shut my eyes.
"Don't look directly at it, or you'll go blind."
The pain faded, leaving only an uncomfortable memory behind. My hands were back to how they had been, even before I entered the forest.
"Very well, shorty. I've healed your hands. Now continue the show."
The Giantess was excited, especially seeing the tavern customers happy, ordering food and drink as if the world were about to end. She served them with a smile that seemed to split her face in half.
My head started to pound with a strange, almost unfamiliar pain. Still, I knew I had to repay the kindness—maybe with another song from my youth. But just as I reached for the guitar strings, a scream cut through the hall.
A dwarf, completely out of his mind, was yelling:
"HOLY SHIT, FUCKKKKKKK! WE'RE SET! SHANER DASNED VASTER PRIMIR."
The Giantess, who had been smiling just seconds before, immediately scowled. The dwarf was starting to get on everyone's nerves.
"You shitty dwarf, what the fuck are you saying?"
The irony of this world wasn't just in the variety of races—dwarves, giants, elves, druids, and so many others—but also in the languages. Each people had their own way of speaking, and between gulps of drink, it was common for some to slip back into their native tongue, forgetting the region's common language. As far as I knew, speaking another language in public was considered rude and rarely came off as cultured or acceptable.
"You old grump! Just because you're a VIP customer doesn't mean you can scare off my patrons! TAKE THIS!" the Giantess yelled, delivering a slap.
The sound of the blow echoed like an explosion. A slap like that would have snapped the neck of a normal human, no doubt. But everyone knew dwarves were tough. Their thick bones and solid musculature made them the ideal front liners for any adventuring group. So the slap only served to snap the dwarf back to his senses.
"FUCK, MALACA! You're gonna kill me one of these days! STOP, STOP! LOOK AT THIS!" the dwarf yelled, panting.
He held up a piece of paper, waving it frantically and pointing at a part that was hard to read from a distance. Malaca paused mid-slap and snatched the paper from him, turning toward me with an expression that mixed curiosity and something else... greed, maybe?
"Are we being hunted because of that?" I murmured.
Helena, already sensing what I feared, answered before I could:
"Don't worry. It's impossible. No one who saw... is still alive."
Before I could say anything else, Malaca was already too close. Her face showed something hard to define—a mix of amazement, suspicion, and a sick ambition.
"Hey, you two... what are your names?"
"Fly and Helena, ma'am..."
"Pleasure, Malaca. Have you ever checked if you have any kind of power?"
"No, ma'am. We don't have the money for that."
For a second, I considered lying, keeping up the character I had entered with. But if I really wanted a fresh start, I needed to be honest. Helena hesitated but ended up just nodding, respecting my choice.
"Well... that explains a lot..." Malaca said thoughtfully. "How much would you want to work for me?"
The question caught Helena off guard, and an involuntary smile escaped her lips. As for me, it felt too strange to ignore. I decided to face the situation honestly.
"Miss Malaca, we're running from people who thought they owned us. We don't want to be tied down to anything. We're wanderers now. I'd appreciate it if you respected that."
"Auntie, for God's sake, what's happening here?" Bromeia interrupted, approaching. "You know how it sounds when you talk like that to strangers. It sounds like you're trying to buy slaves!"
She looked at us with clear compassion in her eyes, defending us without hesitation. Malaca sighed deeply, seeming to reflect.
"Okay, fine... I give up. Here's the deal: I'll pay for your discovery. Believe me when I say, at least you, kid, will thank me."
Discovery. A pretty name for one of the most profitable schemes in this world. People could awaken powers up until the age of forty, but no one knew when or how it would happen. Thus, the analysis service was born: you paid a small fortune to find out if you had any potential.
The chances of someone having any kind of power were already low. Having a significant power? Extremely rare. And since there was no accurate way to predict it, the service became a legitimate (and very expensive) way to exploit the dreams of many—to leave behind a monotonous life and become an adventurer.
"No, thank you. I don't want to owe anything to anyone. But I appreciate the offer."
"Kid, I think you're not getting it," Malaca said, firm but not aggressive. "I guarantee you need this. Let's do it this way: you do the analysis. If nothing shows up, you owe me nothing. But if something appears... we sign a partnership contract: fifty-fifty. How about it?"
The proposal wasn't absurd. If nothing happened, I'd walk away free. But if a power was identified... I would have a partnership contract with the city's guild. And it wasn't just any contract—it was close to the ones signed by the elites.
"Fly, I think it's worth giving a vote of confidence," said Helena, her gaze calm, as if she could see farther ahead than I could at that moment.
"Alright," I replied. "But I'd like the deal to include Helena too."
"Of course, kid. Follow me."
I climbed down from the table amid boos and grumbling from everyone in the hall.
"We'll be right back, folks!" Malaca announced with a broad smile. "A round of beer on me!"
Joy flooded the place again. People applauded, toasted, and laughed while Bromeia rushed toward the kitchen, huffing and clearly unhappy about the sudden task of refilling all the tables.
We made our way to a separate room, moving away from the music and chaos. This area of the establishment was smaller but still imposing. Ahead, there was a large double door closed shut, a few scattered tables, and above, a second floor with internal corridors. On both levels, covering entire walls, were murals filled with papers—some glued, others pinned—creating a chaotic tapestry of records and contracts.
"Kid, wake up. Come here," Malaca called, pointing to one of the internal windows on the first floor.
On the other side of the glass was a young woman very similar to Bromeia, the same tired air and sharp look.
"Pleasure, my name is Zomeia. How can I help you?" she said with a calm but wary voice.
"Granddaughter, do me a favor: analyze these two here. I'll pay for it," Malaca said.
Zomeia frowned.
"Auntie... Grandpa's not going to like this."
"If he has anything to say, he can come talk to me. In fact, I doubt he'll even open his mouth. Now just do this little favor for me."
Zomeia's face twisted with the same expression we had already seen in her sister. Still, she didn't hesitate. She obeyed. She disappeared behind the counter for a moment and returned with a black stone, its shine dull—like a moonless night.
"The stone's almost out of energy, Auntie. I think it's good for only two or three more tests. We'll have to order another one after."
"No problem. Use it on these two."
Zomeia nodded and looked at me and Helena.
"Who's going first?"
Helena looked at me as if to say, "the choice is yours." And if I was going to do something that could change our lives, I preferred to go first.
"I will."
"Perfect," said Zomeia, handing me the stone. "Place your hand on it and repeat the words written on this tablet."
She also handed me a small stone plaque with three simple words engraved:
Vini, vidi, vici.
As soon as I placed my hand on the stone and repeated the words, the world around me distorted. A shiver ran down my spine. The hall disappeared. Reality shattered into a thousand pieces of shadow and light.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else. A deep, empty space made of echoes and gloom. No sound but my own breathing. No walls, no ceiling, no floor—just an immensity that pulsed as if it were alive.
And then, a voice arose behind me.
"Well, well... I thought you'd slip through this life unnoticed."
I turned around.
"How are you, kid?"