The outpost loomed before them as the golden hour of twilight kissed its stone walls. The last light of day painted the sturdy structure with a warm, almost eerie glow, yet it was softened by the faint fog rolling from the woods.

  The air was thick with mist that clung to the iron beams jutting out from the stone, giving the tower a near spectral quality. Tall banners hung from the battlements, fluttering weakly in the fading breeze, their deep northern colors swaying gently in the light. The flag of the northern military — black, with a skull and two crossed swords — flapped with a somber authority.

  The outpost was a fortress not just of stone and steel, but of law and order. The common folk, from the distant villages to the sprawling settlements, saw it not just as a bastion of safety but as a reminder of the harsh choices they had to make. The military, when the world outside crumbled, became both a savior and a burden. Many chose to serve, finding no other path but to take up arms and fight for survival. A life as a bandit, an outlaw in the wilds, came with its own set of dangers — creatures of the night, bounty hunters hot on their trail, the constant gnawing fear of betrayal.

  Others clung to the law, trusting in the system that promised security, but often found themselves oppressed under the weight of bureaucracy and the hands of those who believed in the "greater good" more than the actual good. It was a world where the law was only as fair as the person enforcing it.

  In the villages, murmurs swirled about the military's hold on the land, its iron-fisted rule that kept peace through fear. The laws themselves seemed too cold, too impersonal for the everyday person, yet there was little choice. Lawless, chaotic lands bred desperation, and in desperation, people turned to whatever gave them a sense of safety — even if it meant bending their own morality to fit the uniform’s expectations.

  As Asdras and his companions neared the outpost, they spotted figures wandering in the distance. Some limped, others stared into the void, lost in their own minds. A few bore wounds.

  They didn't dare approach the outpost, for it was a place of rules and order, a place where the law held sway, and in their eyes, they were nothing more than shattered souls unworthy of such protection.

  No, their hope was something simpler — perhaps someone would see them, would ask, would care. But who, in these cursed lands, was a truly good person? The church rarely passed through these desolate roads. No, they were left to their own devices, with little more than a passing thought or a prayer.

  Raffin stepped forward, his boots quiet against the dirt. His gaze never wavered as he approached the silent figures. He stopped in front of an elderly man with one arm, his body frail and weathered. The old man’s eyes darted between Raffin and the rest of the group, but he didn't speak, merely waiting.

  Raffin lowered his voice, a subtle wisdom in his words. “A traveler’s journey is long, and the road is wide. But even in the darkest of times, a good heart will light the way for others.”

  He dropped a single gold coin into the man’s worn wooden bowl. His actions were brisk and unfussy, as if he had done it a thousand times before. Without waiting for thanks, he nodded curtly, turned on his heel, and made his way back to his wagon. "Helping is good," he called over his shoulder, "but too much help weakens both sides. The right amount, in the right time — that’s the balance. You’ll learn it soon enough. Let’s go."

  The air felt heavy as Asdras and his companions entered the outpost. The interior, bathed in the flickering light of torches, was both welcoming and eerie. Two roaring fireplaces cast their glow on the sturdy wooden beams, creating shadows that seemed to move of their own accord.

  Cracked tables filled the center. The scent of smoke lingered in the air, blending with the sharp, metallic tang of iron. It felt like a place meant to offer refuge, but something about the stillness of the surroundings — the sparse decorations, the lack of life — made it strange, desolate.

  As Asdras took in the surroundings, his gaze fell on a discussion taking place near the balcony. Three men stood there, trying to keep their voices low, but their conversation attracted the attention of everyone nearby.

  “I’m telling you, I saw that woman near the woods behind my house,” said a sturdy man wearing a wide-brimmed hat, his voice shaky. "She was out there, like a shadow, just waiting to come for me."

  The second man, thin and nervous, shook his head, his bottle of beer sloshing in his hand. “Bullshit. If you saw her, you'd be dead by now. Get a grip.”

  The third, an old man with a frail trail of hair and more warts than teeth, slammed his hand on the notice board in frustration. “Shit! She killed four last month! Four! And you're saying you saw her near your house, you damn mule? That’s a bounty worth more than all your useless talk, you idiot.”

  Javier, sitting nearby, muttered to himself. "Seems like my round belly brought me into a dangerous place. Every blessing’s a curse."

  Asdras turned, feeling Raffin’s hand settle briefly on his shoulder. He glanced up to find him adjusting a bag, checking its contents with precision. "I'll be giving my report," Raffin said tiredly. "You boys, get a bite or get some rest. We head for Bauros at dawn."

  "Jumper again," Javier grumbled, dragging his feet up to the next floor. "I’ll sleep. My belly needs a proper bed."

  Asdras and Brian exchanged a knowing look before heading for the balcony, despite the hearty meal they’d just consumed. The battle the previous night had drained them, and the promise of a good plate of food seemed to be the only remedy.

  "What about a beer?" Brian asked playfully.

  "Are you sure?" Asdras raised an eyebrow. "Last time we had beer from Narder, you ended up falling off Betty’s house and woke the whole village. You cussed more than ol’ Tom."

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  Brian tried to stand tall, puffing out his chest as if to assert confidence. “Come on, Asdras. We’re alone now. I heard from ol’ Tom that the outpost’s beer is better than the rat piss we have in the village.”

  Asdras paused, staring deeply into his friend’s eyes, the moment stretching out before him. “Have you ever drunk rat piss?”

  Brian stumbled over his words, but before he could answer, he bumped into a lone woman sitting at a table, reading. She cursed under her breath, causing the officer behind the balcony to shout, warning them to keep it down. The three men by the notice board, hearing the commotion, cursed in turn as the officer turned his attention to them.

  Asdras sighed inwardly. ‘What am I doing here?’

  The officer behind the balcony, a typical northerner with a thick beard, short hair, and a sturdy build, noticed the boys and spoke with a warning tone. “Keep your sword sheathed,” he muttered, his eyes sharp.

  Asdras nodded quickly, sheathing his sword. “Sorry,” he muttered, feeling like a fool for forgetting Joe’s lesson about the laws of the region. ‘Never draw weapons in the military’s presence unless you're authorized.’

  “Two ales and supper, sir,” Brian spoke up, trying to steer things back to the matter at hand.

  The officer tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the wood before responding, “That’ll be ten coins.”

  Asdras almost choked. "Ten coins? Ten white ones?"

  The officer shrugged nonchalantly. "It's a rough winter, and there's an Eruption on the horizon. Prices are up."

  Brian scratched his head. “We’re with Raffin, the Deliverer. Heard it's free when you tag along with a delivery man.”

  The officer leaned in, his eyes narrowing as he studied them. Slowly, he reached under the balcony, pulling out a hefty book with a faint crack of wood. Flipping through its pages, he stopped near the middle, pointing at something with a finger. “Here. You sure? Spinning tales with the military’s not a good idea.”

  Asdras and Brian nodded quickly. "We come from Bamor, with Raffin, the Deliverer, and the priest Joe’s order."

  The officer sighed deeply, then motioned for them to wait. As he fetched their ales. The soldiers here, like all in the north, worked lonely hours for little reward. They were driven by survival, by the whispers of “heading to Martimus” in the harshest of winters — dreams of better pay, a better life. But Deliverers, with their connections to the church and the military, cut through those dreams, leaving the workers with little to look forward to, as the tips never reached their pockets.

  When the officer finally returned, Asdras and Brian took their beers with silent thanks. The ale was thick, honey-colored, and left Brian’s face flushed while Asdras coughed at the strong taste of corn and honey. They ate their soup in silence, letting the passage of time dull the edge of their thoughts.

  Suddenly, Raffin appeared behind them, startling both with his quiet approach. “Enjoying that ale, are you? Well, aside from that, I won’t be going to the city tomorrow,” he said with a grin. "Some emergency in a village."

  Asdras looked at him, puzzled. “What about the academy enrollment?”

  “Take this,” Raffin said, handing Asdras a bag. “Deliver it to the bishop at the church. Don’t pry into the letter inside, or you’ll be in trouble.”

  Brian scratched his head, looking confused. "Where are we staying in the city?"

  Raffin handed each of them two gold coins and fifty silver coins. “Spend it wisely.”

  As Asdras and Brian watched Raffin leave, a quiet unease settled over Asdras. Something felt wrong. But why couldn’t he shake the feeling that something worse was coming?

  Before he could dwell on it, Brian spoke, breaking his train of thought. “Dude, I’m thinking about getting a nice leather jacket. You know, one with lots of pockets. It’s handy in the wild and doubles as a blanket.”

  Asdras smiled and held up two fingers. “Don't forget that book about monsters and stuff. It'll be useful."

  Brian nodded, a grin spreading across his face.

  Just then, the door slammed open, the cold air and snow swirling into the room. A man stumbled in, an officer by his clothes, holding a yellowed newspaper. His eyes darted wildly as he took in the room before stumbling to the balcony.

  He drank down an entire beer in one go and sighed deeply, drawing everyone's attention. "He's back!" The man whispered at first, then grew louder. "He’s really back!"

  People leaned in, straining to hear.

  “Who?” someone asked.

  “Take a look,” the man barked, slamming the newspaper on the table. “Take a damn look!”

  As Asdras craned his neck to see, the crowd gathered, whispers running through the room. The officer behind the balcony gulped, his voice shaking. “It reads, ‘The Return of the Fool: Caution Urged, Report Duck Flag Sightings to the Nearest Military Post.’”

  Asdras froze. Something clicked in his mind, but he couldn’t remember exactly what.

  Brian elbowed him. “Who’s this fool?”

  The officer, visibly trembling, spoke up. "He’s the guy who's ruined every scheme the Human Council’s cooked up. Someone who messes with them every time. He has a perfect track record."

  “But why ‘the fool’?” Asdras asked, still confused.

  The officer grimaced. “It’s because everything he does looks like foolishness to us. But in the end, it’s too late to stop him…”

  A woman, sobering up, spoke as she recollected the past. “Ten years ago, he planted seeds near Beauty Field. No one knew what he was doing. But a year later, the whole city was swallowed up. All the houses, all the walls — nothing could stand. And the soil? It was dead. Nothing grew there.”

  Asdras’ mind raced. “So, he’s really a threat?”

  “Indeed.”

  The outpost’s chief descended the staircase, his face tired, lined with the years of service. “It’s not his actions that make him dangerous,” he said. “He’s not some lunatic or bandit. He’s dangerous because he plays the fool, and underestimating him will make fools of all of us.”

  Asdras thought deeply. The pieces were beginning to fall into place, but something about the Fool still lingered in the back of his mind.

  The chief turned his attention to the room. “Alright, everyone. Time to sleep. The Jumper’s arranged for your group. Don't be tardy, or you'll miss your chance.”