As I bit into that stale, hard bread and took a sip of sour milk, my mind kept racing. I needed to get out of there—out of that suffocating slum, away from those suspicious glances that followed me at every turn. The strong smell of garbage and smoke seemed to stick to my skin, and the narrow streets only reminded me of how vulnerable I was. I couldn't stay there any longer.
When the waitress returned to collect the empty mugs, I took the opportunity to approach the counter, trying to appear as discreet as possible — although the bloodstained cape gave away my situation. In a low voice, almost a whisper, I asked:
"Do you know if there are any villages or towns nearby? Somewhere quieter, where I can spend the night without attracting so much attention?"
She gave me a look that mixed pity and suspicion. After a sigh, she replied:
"There's a town about three kilometers south. Small, dirty, but at least it's quiet. There are some abandoned houses where you might be able to sleep. Just don't walk around at night, it's not safe."
I thanked her with a nod, feeling relief mixed with a little anxiety. I decided I needed more information. I went to the main inn, that smoky place where travelers usually exchange news.
"Tell me" I asked the innkeeper, adjusting my cloak so as not to show the stains. "which towns and cities are within a day's journey from here? And, by any chance, do you have any simple village clothes? Something so I don't look like a marked outsider"
He frowned, thought for a moment, and replied:
"There are several villages nearby, two towns as well. Simple clothes? Unfortunately not, we're a bit low on stock. But there's a guy known as 'Uncle Toy'. They say he's a farmer, and he can take someone to the village for a silver coin"
I felt relieved. It wasn't perfect, but it was something.
After paying two copper coins in gratitude, I went to the agreed location, a dimly lit corner near the market. There he was—a silent giant, almost two meters tall, with the word "bandit" tattooed on his forehead, like a frightening warning.
He introduced himself in a deep, calm voice, saying that he was indeed a peasant from a neighboring village and was on his way to deliver supplies. He agreed to take me there for a silver coin.
I looked at him, trying not to show the apprehension that gripped my chest. (So, I'm going to trust this strange giant), I thought. But he was all I had, and for now, the mask of the gullible simpleton was the best strategy.
I wrapped my cloak around my body, trying to hide the blood and dirt, and prepared to leave.
Perhaps in that forgotten village, hidden among hills and fields, I would find the silence I needed—or at least a little breathing room to continue.
***
I met this "Uncle Toy" at noon, when he was hanging onto a beer barrel on a rickety wagon that creaked with every bump in the road. The sun was strong and sweat was dripping down my forehead, but he seemed calm, even a little too relaxed for a guy of his size. Uncle Toy was a giant, easily six feet tall, with broad shoulders that almost took up the entire width of the wagon. For a moment, I thought: (There's definitely going to be enough beer here to last the whole year — did he buy enough to supply the whole village?
He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, a mixture of suspicion and curiosity, as he balanced himself against the barrel, as if it were his temporary throne. Without much ceremony, he climbed down from the wagon with surprising agility for someone of his size. His skin was marked with scars and his face bore the weariness of someone who had seen a lot, but there was a curious gleam in his eyes.
I stood there, trying to figure out if I could trust this huge, silent man, but he soon spoke in a deep, calm voice:
"Want to go to the village? I can take you. It'll cost you a silver coin"
I nodded, not wanting to seem too desperate, but inside I already felt that this was my best chance. There wasn't much to discuss.
The trip promised to be long, but his company — or rather, his silence — might give me the space I needed to think.
I went to the village with the excuse of "laying low," hoping that all the commotion surrounding the war would cool down over time. Villages have a comforting quality in that regard—there is always some mundane tasks that needs someone willing to do it. Fixing a fence, carrying sacks of grain, helping out at the local market. Honest, simple work... and anonymous. The kind of anonymity I needed right now.
Then, when the dust finally settled, I planned to head to the neighboring town, register as an adventurer, and start from scratch—killing easy monsters, walking through the first floors of dungeons, collecting a few coins here and there. Enough to eat well, sleep under a decent roof, and maybe buy a house after a while.
A simple life. Stable.
I found myself smiling, but it was an ironic smile. Cynical. Almost bitter. What absurd idea was this that had just come to me?
Fall in love, get married, and live happily ever after?
"Happily ever after" is too beautiful a concept to fit into this world, especially for someone like me. Happiness — if it really exists — is fleeting. A moment saturated with emotion that disappears before we even know it was there.
Like art. Like an explosion.
Art is an explosion, Deidara once said. Well... may the ashes of that romantic idea rest in peace, along with him.
Uncle Toy didn't attack me on the way, to my surprise. On the contrary, he followed the route in silence, his gaze lost on the road and his body motionless, firm as a statue molded by a thousand winters. Maybe appearances really are deceiving... or maybe I'm just too small a fish to be worth the effort. Who knows?
In any case, still breathing and with all my organs in place, I decided to risk another interaction. As the ox cart creaked slowly along the dirt road, I approached the barrel where he rested as if he were part of it and asked, trying to sound humble and harmless:
"Uncle Toy, do you know where I can earn some extra money here in your village? I need a place to sleep and fill my belly for a few months. I can work like anyone else. I can do a lot of things!" I kept up the simple-minded mask, the same one I used to convince him that it was worth bringing me here.
He turned his face slowly, as if he had been pondering the weight of my question for minutes. His small, deep-set eyes assessed me unhurriedly, as if measuring me from head to toe — and the verdict was not very encouraging.
"Fragile" he muttered, almost as if talking to himself. "Are you literate?"
That took me by surprise. I hesitated for a moment, then straightened up and replied firmly:
"Yes!"
He nodded once, slowly. The ox pulled the cart at its lazy pace, and the sound of the wooden wheels was the only noise besides the occasional chirping of birds.
Maybe there was an opportunity after all. And if not... well, I could always carry bags or chop wood.
But something in the way he asked me — "Are you literate?" — seemed to indicate that maybe, just maybe, he had another kind of job in mind.