Arlene stood, her fiery gaze lingered onto Wattyson. The offer hung on, requesting him to join. The sunlight dimly shined on her. She wasn’t sure if he would accept her offer. Her expression wavered a bit, holding onto that sliver of hope he didn’t see her as na?ve and would join. For what felt like an eternity, he finally answered.

  “Yeah. sure”

  Arlene’s expression became bnk, blinking in surprise. “Just like that?” she gasped in surprise. Her shoulder rexed after. Her voice betrayed her rexed posture, “A-Are you certain?”

  Wattyson didn’t reply. He leaned down to pick up his emptied teacup and headed to the kitchen, clicking his staff softly against the wooden floor. “I am” he finally answered. “I haven’t been to the outside world in a while. Could use this opportunity to brush up.”

  Arlene was bewildered at his casual response, letting out a deep sigh as she let her body colpse back down on the lumpy cushion, leaning her back against it. “Is this that eccentric behaviour you warned me off, mentor?” muttered to herself half worried, half ughing.

  She gnced at him, he was just… refilling his teacup. For a quick breath, she surrendered herself to “Well… I guess it’s fine. He accepted my request.”

  She gnced outside the window, unsure of what time it was. The forest canopy blocked almost all the sunlight. “Wattyson” she murmured, hearing his staff’s clicking approached. “Should we set out now?”

  “Huh? No. It’s te now.” Arlene looked to him, following his hand pointing to a clock. It was evening hour. She made a mental note, there was actually hints of civilization in this secluded cottage. He continued in a schorly voice,

  “I don’t recommend trekking through the red autumn forest at this hour.” He sat down on a lounge chair, resting his leg on the ottoman. He took a short moment to rest before offering to Arlene, “Sleep here for the night. You can take the bed. I’ll just sleep here.”

  Arlene gazed at him. She raised her two hands, waving them signalling rejection. “No no,” her voice was calm and polite. “I wouldn’t impose”

  “I insist” Wattyson raised his hand to halt Arlene. “You travelled long distances to get here didn’t you? Take the bed”

  Arlene relented. It would be rude of her to reject again, “Alright…” the room was quiet now, only hearing the occasional sip of tea and cracking fire from the hearth. Arlene’s gaze shifted from her teacup to Wattyson just sitting there, reading one of his many dusty scrolls. Her body remained straightened, fidgeted slightly every few moments.

  “Wattyson” she finally spoke out, “A-are you a schor?”

  “No?” his eyes never left the scroll. “What makes you say that?”

  Her mind bewildered at his answer. There were scrolls, tomes, books all dusty lying about in the room. He had a staff ced with crystal and eagle designs. He wore a white robe filled with gold accessories! He was reading scrolls while a guest was present!

  A short moment passed and she expined, “It’s just… you gave off the impression of one. I mean… everything about you like the robe, the staff, this room… it just screamed schor to me.” Her hand raced to pick up one of the scroll. “Like... everything here is written so meticulously” her mind still grappling with how was he not a schor and yet everything else was?

  Wattyson put the scroll down, resting his hand on his torso. “Just a hobby” he stated nonchantly.

  “Just a hobby? What about the robe?”

  “I like wearing robes. It’s cool”

  “And… this entire room?”

  “Like I said, just a hobby of mine.”

  Arlene stared in disbelief. She was warned of his eccentricity but not to this extent. She leaned back, her hand gently caressing her face’s temple. She whispered to herself, “Good heaven…”

  Wattyson’s gaze remained fixed on her, letting her breathe before asking question, “So you’re the only one going on this uhh ‘quest’ of yours?” he raised his hands, air-quoting on quest.

  Arlene’s straightened her posture back up. “Excuse me?” she asked trying to make sense, “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” he took a short breath before continuing. “You said you’re the chosen one correct? Surely you departed on your quest to defeat the Dark Lord with your party members. Are they not joining your post-quest?”

  The hearth’s fire flickered, glowing half of his face. Arlene studied his expression, he was seriously asking. She thought for a moment, deciding to be genuine with her new ally. “Yes… I did have three other party members. They left afterward, fulfilling their own ambitions.”

  Her eyes filled with nostalgia. It had been two years since the Dark Citadel’s destruction. She gnced outward to the evening sky, or what left from the blocked canopy. “It’s just me now.”

  She bore a lonely expression, one that made Wattyson curious enough to ask further. His attention was now fully on Arlene.

  Arlene looked back to him. She understood his expression, wanting to know. She let on a faint smile and began, her voice softened with memory, “After our celebration, they all wanted to fulfil their dream.” She gazed down to her lifted hand, only one finger was up. “Lara, our elf healer, went back to her realm and resumed her royal duties.” Now two fingers were up. “Eilifr, our mage, departed for the Free City of Meridian to study more of our world,” she giggled faintly, “Was always our little obsessive schor that one.”

  She paused for it to sink in, before continuing. Her expression was melted slowly, pink hue forming in her cheek. “Lastly, our swordsman, Harve…” A voice as soft as a breeze. “Harve always put himself in danger, even though I was supposed to be the chosen one. He was more heroic than I am. He always ughed it off when he got injured.”

  She lifted her head up to meet the ceiling. “As for now… I don’t know where he went. I assumed he went back to his homend, the Duchy of Valem. I… haven’t kept in contact with him,” she paused before adding, “Or anyone for that matter. It got harder when I’m travelling all the time, you know?”

  Arlene suddenly got interrupted in her reminiscing by a soft warm feeling on her head. Her eyes shifted to the right, finding Wattyson standing beside her, giving her a pat on the head. How did she not hear him? He always made those clicking noise from the staff. Her eyes studied him and noticed he stood without his staff. “Uhhh… thank you?”

  Wattyson didn’t reply and simply walked off into the kitchen. He strode so effortlessly it was like he was floating.

  Arlene’s gaze lingered on him, confused. There he was in the kitchen, the light on his back slowly faded out. He was… starting to cook and his hand raised, opening his palm to a white cup belled ‘Paprika’, hovering and attracting to his hand. Wait… he could use magic without chanting or anything?