A week had passed, and William hadn't seen any sign of Lucy.
At first, he stopped by the bar out of simple curiosity. Then, it became a daily routine—less about drinking, more about making sure she was alright.
"Hello again, Mister Blacksmith!"
As always, he was greeted by the bubbly waitress with bunny ears. She'd been covering Lucy's shifts for the past few days. William kept hoping she'd offer something different—some unexpected good news. But he already knew what was coming.
"She's still not here, is she?"
The waitress shook her head. "Her situation's taking longer than she thought… but don't worry. My Lucy will come back... eventually."
William gave a faint, dry smile. "You make it sound like even you aren't sure she will."
She mirrored his expression. "Oh, I know she will… I'm just not sure when. And when she does, she'll have to face my wrath. Leaving me hanging like this? That's not like her at all…"
William could tell the situation was weighing on her. Behind the forced cheer and rehearsed lines, her thoughts were elsewhere—probably with Lucy.
"She'll be back. Safe and sound," he said gently.
Marla blinked, then nodded. "Yes… of course. Now—your usual? The special of the day, right?"
"Please."
He took his seat at the bar and nursed a few drinks. The longer he sat there, the more uneasy he felt.
He wasn't just worried about Lucy anymore—he was starting to worry about himself. Five days straight of drinking… and not once had the alcohol affected him. Not a buzz. Not even a headache.
"About that other thing…"
"Hm?" He turned, distracted. "Oh… right. I'll swing by later for that."
***
"It's already been a week… I wonder if she'll actually come back."
The blacksmith walked down the dusty road, heading home after another quiet visit to the bar.
He couldn't get Lucy's face out of his mind—the last expression she wore when she left. It was the same look she'd had when she was younger, back when everything started falling apart. He, of all people, knew that face never led to anything good.
His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.
"Mongrels. You'd best leave now, or you'll be violating guild law."
"Hm?"
William slowed his pace.
There, in the busiest part of town, stood Paul for the fifth time that week. The blacksmith had seen him every day lately—more than he ever had in the past. Maybe it was because Paul had claimed a prime location for his stand and hadn't moved since.
But today, he wasn't alone.
Three men stood in front of the merchant's stall, voices rising with tension. William recognized them—they were part of the merchant's guild. Curious, he kept his distance but leaned in just enough to catch the conversation.
"You're the one breaking guild law, Paul."
"Yeah! Who do you think you are? You've left the other merchants on this street with nothing!"
"Hmph, hmph!"
Paul scoffed, arms crossed. "The rule says that when conducting guild business, I'm allowed to operate in a spot of my choosing. Until that work is finished, no one can interfere. Even you can understand that much, Richy."
Richy growled. "Don't play dumb. You're abusing the rule to make a profit for your shady dealings!"
Paul's nostrils flared. "Hey! My business isn't shady."
Another man jabbed a finger toward the stand. "Your shift was over days ago. You were supposed to pack up and return to your shop."
"That's the thing, Dicky—my shift isn't over. I haven't left this stand for a second. And I'm still handling guild matters, thank you very much."
"Hmph, hmph!"
"That's right, Chatty!" Richy chimed in. "You can't stay here forever, Paul. It's been a whole week. Who's even running your shop?"
Paul shrugged, completely unfazed. "My wife is. And honestly? She's doing a better job than I ever did."
"This is ridiculous! You can't keep exploiting the rules like this!"
"Oh, come on, Richy," Paul said with a smirk. "You're just mad that I'm raking in money while you're stuck whining about loopholes. Now, kindly move along—you're interfering with my guild duties."
Richy clicked his tongue and turned away. The others followed, before the man paused for a parting threat.
"This isn't over, Paul. We'll find a way to shut you down."
Paul didn't flinch. "I'd love to see you try."
As the confrontation ended, Paul casually went back to tending his stand like nothing had happened.
Meanwhile, William stood a short distance away, half-hidden in the corner of a building. He was at a loss for words. He'd known Paul could be crafty, but he hadn't realized how far he'd pushed things with his fellow merchants. This wasn't just clever maneuvering—it was creating real tension.
He considered approaching, but after that heated exchange, he doubted Paul would be in the mood to talk. Instead, William turned away and continued down the road.
For now, he'd let it be.
***
William walked down an overgrown path toward a familiar oak tree. Vines and wild plants crowded the way, but he pushed through, carving a narrow trail with each step. When he reached the tree, he placed a hand on its bark and whispered, "Anoixe sousami."
A faint light glimmered along the bark, and a hidden door revealed itself. The glow traced the doorframe before it creaked open, unveiling a dark stairway descending into the earth.
The steps led into a private study—quiet, untouched. A single desk and chair sat in the center of the room. The air was thick with dust and memory. William stood there, overwhelmed by the familiar scent of old parchment and wood. It was exactly how he remembered it.
"The room is just how I left it years ago," he murmured, running his fingers along the edge of the desk.
This place had once been his refuge. No one could interrupt him here. No sound escaped the study's walls, yet he could hear the forest beyond them—leaves rustling, birds calling, wind whispering.
"Even so… it doesn't feel the same without you, Grandpa."
His thoughts drifted back to the first time he'd come here. The house had looked like it was being swallowed by the forest—barely maintained, vines creeping along the walls. He remembered the fear he'd felt, not knowing what to expect. He had never met his grandfather before then, and judging by his family's history, that didn't fill him with much hope.
When he stepped onto the porch, he'd seen the old man rocking slowly in a chair to the left. It had taken a while for him to notice William standing there. He had always been a quiet child. But when their eyes finally met, his grandfather gave him a wide, welcoming smile.
"Welcome home, kid."
William smiled softly at the memory. "You were a great man, Grandpa. I just wish everyone else could've seen that."
He sank into his grandfather's chair. The study had felt enormous when he was a boy—now, it felt cramped, cluttered with towers of books and loose pages scattered across the floor and desk.
"Grandpa Noel was looking for something in all of this," he said aloud, scanning the clutter. "I wonder what it was…"
As he sifted through the mess, one book stood out—a red leather-bound volume titled The Tears of the Three Princesses…
Before he could open it, voices interrupted him from outside.
"This is really bad, Hassun! Ezhno went out last night and never came back!"
"Calm down, Kele. You're jumping to conclusions."
William froze.
He recognized the names—and the accent. The Drakon tribe. The only other people who lived in the Lost Forest. It was rare to hear their voices, let alone catch a conversation. William carefully stayed silent, knowing they couldn't see him inside.
"You think I don't know my own brother? He's never late! I even went to the elders—they brushed me off like it meant nothing!"
"What was he sent to do?"
"He was patrolling with a group in some undisclosed area. But I knew better… they sent him to check that place."
A sharp gasp.
"The Serpent's Path…? The one that opened near the mountain border? That's bad. Too many people have disappeared there—it's no accident. We should tell the elders—"
"I already did! And they didn't even blink! My brother worked with them for years, and they acted like a pet rabbit died. It was them. I know it was. They sent him to die."
"Don't say that out loud! Someone might hear you—do you want to get us both killed?"
"I don't care! He's dead!"
"We… we don't know that."
Silence. William could hear the strain in the young man's voice. Grief, barely contained.
He felt a pang of guilt. This was the second time he'd stumbled into a private conversation. It didn't feel right to be hearing this.
"I don't get it," Hassun said. "Why not send the expedition team? Why the patrol team instead?"
"I don't know, and I don't care. I'm going to find out."
"Don't be stupid. You went to the elders—they're watching you now. Hell, they're probably watching me, too."
"There has to be someone… what if we talk to her? No one hates the elders more than she does."
"It's a possibility. She might help. But for now, we lay low. No attention. Then we move."
A pause.
"…Hey, what's that smell?"
William tensed.
"Ugh. It's the cursed one."
"It's getting strong."
"He must be close… but I don't see him anywhere."
Instinct took over. William ducked beneath the desk, holding his breath.
"Let's get out of here. I don't want to see that horrendous freak of nature. I've got enough to deal with already."
"Right. Let's finish our rounds and get back to the tribe."
Their footsteps faded into the distance.
William let out a long sigh and crawled out from under the desk. He gave a nervous laugh—equal parts relief and embarrassment.
"Some hiding spot…" he muttered.
He had long since given up hoping for respect from the Drakon tribe, but their words still stung.
"Horrendous freak of nature…"
He sat back in the chair and stared at the red book still resting on the desk.
Whatever his grandfather had been searching for, it had to be in here. Now that he was the owner of the house, it felt more important than ever to understand what Noel had left behind.
***
The blacksmith was making his way back home, his mind still lingering on the documents he had read. Most of them pertained to the house, the land, and a few obscure notes that hinted at something more—but for now, he had sorted through the most important ones. It felt like enough for the day.
He was relieved not to have run into any members of the Drakon tribe on his way back. He didn't have the energy to deal with their hostility—not tonight.
"There you are!"
The shout caught him off guard.
Waiting at the front porch was someone he hadn't expected to see—yet somehow wasn't surprised to. A young man with striking golden-blond hair stood there, practically buzzing with energy. As soon as he spotted the blacksmith, he bounded down the steps to meet him.
"Oh, it's you again." said William.
The boy stopped just short in front of him, eyes alight with determination. "So, it's you! You're the one I've been looking for this whole time… You're the one who's going to make me a hero!"