A quiet breakfast started in the morning. Then, he set up shop, like he always did.

As Jack waited for customers, he couldn't shake off the feeling of unease. The market, typically lively and filled with the chatter of vendors and customers, now held an air of suspense: villagers whispered among themselves, casting sidelong glances at Jack's stand.

“WHERE IS IT?!” Shouted a familiar voice.

Cain approached. The first thing he noticed about him was there wasn’t any injury to his face. Not a scratch.

“I didn't-” Jack started, when suddenly the hero’s hand shot forward, grabbing Jack by the shirt. The hero was smaller than Jack, yet he lifted him with ease. Before he could respond, Jack was flipped over his stand and thrown to the ground, landing several feet away.

“Do you think I don't know when you're lying?” the hero asked, “You lowlifes are ungrateful for what we do!”

Jack tried to get up, but he felt a boot on his back that slammed him back down. Jack winced in pain. He heard Othid’s voice.

“Stay down.”

Jack felt the boots digging into his back.

“Let him get up.” The other hero ordered. Jack felt the boot lift off his back. “Get up,” the hero demanded. Jack slowly rose up with his hands raised. “I was going to return the gold, but it was taken from me.”

The hero stood face to face with Jack and scoffed, “do you know who I am?”

Jack shook his head.

“I am Cain the Conqueror, level 109.” Cain snarled, “and you are nothing.”

Before Jack could respond, Cain punched him across the face, breaking his nose. Jack stumbled, as Cain prepared for a second punch, Jack crossed his arms, somewhat blocking the next punch. But Other slammed into his knee, causing Jack to lose balance. Then Cain pulled out his sword, and pointed it at Jack's face.

Never in Jack's life had he felt genuine fear. He now noticed a crowd of people gathering around him, they all kept their distance.

“Last chance” Cain growled, “Where’s the Malanin Viarma?

“I don't know.” Jack coughed, through a mouth full of blood.

Cain roared and slammed the flat end of his sword into Jack's face, causing him to lose consciousness.

The impact sent him flying into one of the other stands in the market, fruits vegetables and bread flew everywhere. Frightened townspeople retreated further while maintaining their view of the conflict.

Cain glanced around at the crowd, and managed to relax his tone. “Do not fear, I have saved you from this criminal!” he forced a smile and put his hands on his hips triumphantly, as if he was waiting for some sort of applause. The townspeople were hesitant, responding with weak applause. Cain grunted in dissatisfaction, and sheathed his sword. He muttered.

When Jack woke up, he was sitting in a pool of dried blood, which cracked off as he peeled his clothes off. Some time had passed. It was noon, as the sun was in the middle of the sky.

He surveyed the square. Cain and Othid were nowhere to be found. Jack slowly got up. Still dazed. His nose hurt and he was pretty sure his leg was broken. Jack hid the pain, and walked back to his stand, which had been flipped over and ransacked. Most of the stuff inside was gone, Spare change, knickknacks and other things. He folded his stand, which was still intact, and put it into the empty carriage that he used as his storage container. An old mirror inside the carriage revealed his injuries, his body was covered in bruises, his leg swollen, and his nose was crooked.

He leaned in and twisted his nose back into place. Painful, yes. But it was the fastest and most efficient option. He had learned the trick when he was only a child. When he got injured he would put a patch on it and move on, he couldn't afford health potions or regeneration potions. Jack sat down on an empty barrel, contemplating his situation. He wanted to return home. But the day was not over yet. And he couldn't imagine Sheila’s face seeing him like this. He definitely would not want Helen to see him like this. He made up his mind

Jack, nursing his injuries, limped into the Smokewood Tavern, its heavy wooden door groaning in protest as he entered. The torches lining the walls flickered, casting dancing shadows across the dim interior. The atmosphere in the tavern, filled with the raucous laughter of patrons, briefly hushed as Jack's presence garnered curious glances and whispered discussions.

Ignoring the attention, Jack made his way to a secluded corner, the uneven floorboards creaking beneath his weight. Halson, the tavern's proprietor, approached, a rag thrown carelessly over one shoulder.

"Jack! What in the seven hells happened to you?" Halson exclaimed, genuine concern etched across his face.

"Just a little scuffle in the square, Halson. I'll be alright," Jack replied in a low, gravelly voice.

Halson grunted in acknowledgment, his eyes narrowing. "Did you catch the thief?"

Jack shook his head. “It's complicated.”

“Marina was crying last night about getting elbowed in the face about something.”

He paused.

“Beer?”

“Beer.” agreed Jack.

“I know my customers well.” Halson chuckled.

“How's the belly?”

Hal grimaced. “Getting better. Gonna see a doctor soon.”

As Halson brought a drink for Jack, he continued, “sometimes they come here, for quests and whatnot.”

Jack acknowledged. Usually quests were really just chores that you could pay Aldarians to do for you, but Aldarians liked calling them quests because they felt that it was important.

Halson nodded back. “You look terrible, you better wash up.” he continued, “Also i won't make you pay for the drink.”

Jack nodded. He was too tired to argue, he finished his drink and got up. “Thanks”

“Don't mention it.” Halson said.

Jack exited the tavern, and began to walk the path on the way home. He could help but think that Halson was right. Aldarians were usually rude and unapologetic. But then again, if someone had taken his money he would be mad too. Jack had bad experiences with Aldarians , but not that many times. And Aldarians protected the land, so maybe they were venting their anger.

When Jack reached his home, he noticed something odd, the front door was slightly open. He could have sworn he had closed it when he left. Jack slowly opened the door. “Hello?” he asked cautiously.

No response.

He entered his home. And as he made his way to the living room, he saw something that he could never forget.

His wife Sheila, and his daughter Helen laid dead on the ground.

Shock seized him, and his trembling hands reached for the lifeless bodies. "No, no, please," he whispered, his voice breaking.

Despite knowing the futility, Jack called for help. Neighbors rushed in, their faces contorted in sorrow as they confirmed what Jack already knew – Sheila and Helen were gone.

The funeral was a blur, the pain too raw to fully grasp. Jack cried himself to sleep night after night, the weight of grief bearing down on him like an unrelenting storm.

Weeks passed, and the farm that once thrived under Jack's care now withered from neglect. The fields lay dry, devoid of life, mirroring the desolation within Jack's heart. All the elven wine he had saved for a celebration with Sheila was now gone, consumed in an attempt to drown his sorrow. The food stores had dwindled, and the once-prosperous farmstead now echoed with emptiness.

Sitting on his worn-out couch, Jack stared into the abyss of his depression. Contemplating whether to face the world outside or succumb to the numbing solitude within, he made a choice. With a heavy heart, he decided to leave his house for the first time in weeks.

The tavern, a place that once echoed with laughter and shared stories, now served as a refuge for Jack. As Jack stumbled inside of the Tavern he was greeted by Halson from the bar area.

Jack sat down. He didn't make eye contact with Halson.

“I'm so sorry Jack,” Halson said in a small voice. “It's alright if you don't want to talk about it.”

Jack didn't respond.

Halson sighed. “Drink’s on the house.” Halson continued, “Beer?”

“Hard Liquor.” Jack muttered.

“What kind?” Halson asked.

“Any kind.” Jack said flatly.

Halson said nothing as he poured a full glass of ale.

No one else was in the bar except him and Hal, which only made things more awkward.

Jack felt like crying, but not a tear came. He felt mad more than anything. Raids were something that always happened to someone else. It never dawned on him that he would eventually become that someone else.

Jack was six glasses in when he began to feel anger envelop him. Not only at whoever killed his family, but also at himself. If he had been there, he would have been able to protect them. If not, at least to be able to die with them.

Jack downed a seventh drink.

The Aldarians

They were supposed to protect his family, but they didn't. Maybe it was because he had not been respectful enough. Or maybe they just didn't care.

He heard a stern voice. “Yo, bartender!”

Jack surveyed the room. two people were approaching the station. Jack could barely make out their appearance until they were only a few feet away from him. They were Aldarians . Decorated with various trophies.

The one that spoke had a bandolier filled with various potions and elixirs. The second one had a standard issue sword on his back. The one with the potions sat down at the bar next to Jack, While the other sat at one of the round tables.

“Hello Nicholas.” Halson replied, not making eye contact.

“Hey bartender, why don't you get us some drinks, huh?” yelled the guy with the sword.

Halson finally looked up. “No Curt, I won't”. He continued, “I won't be giving either of you drinks until you pay from last time.” Halson looked adamant.

Nick turned around to look at Curt, then faced Halson. He chuckled.

“Is this a joke or something? Pretty funny bud.”

When Halston didn't respond, Nick leaned in close. “I already paid,” Curt said, annoyed, “I protect this damn village from stupid slimes and gremlins every day.”

Halson said nothing.

Nick leaned in further.

“No one will miss you.” he snarled.

A look of fear spread across Halsons face.

“So give me my fucking drink.”

Jack was horrified by what he just heard. His best friend was being threatened. No, maybe he was too drunk...

Then it all made sense.

The Aldarians let it happen, or maybe, they even did it themselves

Cain.

Sudden rage welled up inside of him. Maybe the sensation was from the alcohol he had consumed. It felt like there was a caged monster in the back of his mind, screaming, clawing, waiting to be set free.

He felt the glass handle crack in his hand. He couldn't control his emotions anymore.

Time felt like it slowed down.

He lifted the glass mug above his head, and with all of his strength, and his rage, he brought the mug down on Curts head.

The mug shattered into a thousand pieces, Konnor recoiled and fell off his seat, potions fell out of his pockets.

Jack turned to face Nick, gripping a shard of glass in his hand.

“What the… F-fuck?!”

Nick got up, cursing and bleeding profusely and glared at Jack.

“The hell?”

Jack didn't wait, he charged at Nick, slamming into him, knocking him down again. Curt grabbed Jack, and slammed him into the wall. Jack swung at Curt, which he dodged, and suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder. Curt had slashed him. Jack clutched his arm, and attempted to dodge the next attack. Curt slashed at Jack again but hit him with the flat of his blade. Jack, dazed, attempts to attack Curt again, but Nick punches him in the face. Jack crumpled.

Curt stood over him, his face filled with hate. “You think you can fight me?” he seethed, “be my damn guest!” Nick slammed his foot into Jack's body, rolling him over. Jack coughed blood. He felt a sharp pain on his back, probably from broken glass.

Nick smiled at him evilly, “weak” he snarled.

Jack was too tired to get up. He looked around. Jack turned back to Nick, who had his boot raised, about to stomp on Jack's face.

Jack closed his eyes, and waited for the boot to come down.

He felt a very light pressure on his face.

Slowly, Jack opened his eyes. Nick had his foot on Jack's face. Nick roared and raised his foot, and brought it down on his face again.

And again.

Jack didn't feel any pain, what was going on?

Renewed with strength, Jack sprang up and shoved Nick across the room.

Nick slammed into the wall and yelped in pain.

Curt turned back to Jack, and swung his sword, attempting to decapitate Jack.

Instinctively, Jack put his hand in front of him to stop the sword from hitting his face, even though it probably wouldn't stop the sword.

But it did.

Jack gripped the blade of the sword like it was made of wood, Curt struggling, trying to stab Jack. Only now did Jack see the faint red glow in his hand, with faint numerals next to it.

Strength III.

Curt also saw the numerals and fear spread across his face.

With one squeeze, Jack shattered the sword in two. Taking the opportunity, he shot his arm forward and grabbed Curt’s neck.

“Wait!” Curt croaked.

Jack ignored Curt’s pleas and slammed him onto a nearby table. Still gripping his fist into Curt’s face. He felt bone crunch under his fist, blood coating his fist.

Again

And again

Jack stopped when Curt had stopped moving. He roared in anger, and brought his fist down one more time, the sheer force splitting the wooden table in half, sending splintered wood and blood everywhere.

Jack backed up and surveyed the room. A pool of blood engulfed most of the floor, and chunks of wood were everywhere.

Nick!

Jack followed a trail of blood to outside of the tavern, where he caught a glimpse of Nick limping into the forest. He needed a weapon to kill him, his interest falling on a shovel leaning against the building. He grabbed the shovel and followed Nick into the forest.

Nick must have heard Jack, because he increased his pace, until he got to the cliff's edge.

Nick turned around to face Jack, his face a mixture of anger, pain, and fear. “You!” he screamed with a mouthful of blood, “you fucking-” He pulled out a knife, “I’ll kill you!”

He charged at Jack, and thrust his knife forward. Jack raised his shovel.

Jack smashed his shovel into Nick with all of his strength, killing him instantly.

He dropped like a stone.

Jack spat on Nick's dead body, and started to walk away, then he realized he had to get rid of it.

Jack grabbed Nick by the feet and began dragging him to the waterfall, then with his remaining strength, threw his body into the river.

But what about Curt?

There was nothing Jack could do about Curt. If he went back to recover the body, he would be arrested or killed. His only option was to leave, no time to grab anything. The ferry was only a couple of miles away.

If he could make it there, he could start a new life. Jack rubbed his hair, he was thinking clearly now, despite killing two people. On top of that, his anger subsided.

With no time left, he headed home.

He sat down on his armchair for what seemed like a long time, then he got up, angrily, an threw the chair at the wall. It splintered into pieces.

Exasperated, he curled up into a ball and yanked at his hair. Panic. Regret.

"Why did I do that?" He whispered to himself. But the knew the answer, because he had deserved it.

What would be the alternative? Let some strangers threaten his best friend? Ask them nicely to leave? No, those people would only respond to violence.

Jack buried his face in his hands. Jack knew why he had really done it, and it ashamed him. He had formulated the plan to attack the two adventurers from the idea of his friend being in danger, but he had acted on those thoughts based on his own pain.

Strangely, as he laid there, he felt relieved. Like he had scratched an itch.

His mind was unraveling. He had just killed two Aldarians. That realization alone broke him.

Aldarians were divine, they were unstoppable and fierce, but he had killed them. With just his bare hands and a shovel he had found.

As long as he could remember, he and other anivors had been told these three things:

1. Trust Aldarians, they are most certainly wiser than you.

2. Respect Aldarians, they are your saviors, and they protect everyone without demanding anything from you.

3. Do not question an Aldarian, Their strength, bravery, and righteousness are unmatched.

It is blasphemy to challenge the authority, wisdom, or choices of an Aldarian. Although opinions about Aldarians or Aldarian policies are protected by your right to free speech as a citizen of Rorin. Challenging an Aldarian directly, whether it be verbal or physical, will be seen as a threat to the safety of all Anivors.

These things had been drilled into his head since day one. He knew, of course, that with every batch, there would be a few bad apples. But as he recalled behavior of the Aldarians he'd met in his life, an alarming number of them came across as exactly what he had been told they weren't.

He shouted and punched a hole in his wall. He went to the bathroom and threw up again.

He looked at the mirror. He saw a killer.

He took deep breaths. He had to face the facts: He had just committed the worst possible crime known to man, and if he didn't leave, the fallout could be catastrophic.

Upon realizing this, Jack became automatic, almost. He began to sort his affairs out.

He tore his house apart, taking everything that could be traced back to him. He took the small things and shoved them into a satchel.

Jack knew there was only one way to erase all of this… With fire.

He took a jug of vegetable oil and dumped it all over his house, then he took his flint and steel and began trying to create a spark.

He cursed, throwing the flint over the fence. He ran inside to retrieve a certain book.

That certain book was called, Book of Flames.

He opened up the book, and flipped to the first page. On the front cover was a picture of a little girl doing tricks with fire. He took his eyes off it.

He followed the instructions. He spread his arms out.

Big fire. He thought.

By the time the locals saw the smoke, and had arrived, the house had been burnt to the ground.