It was a quiet morning in Featherbrook. The kind of morning that smelled like wet stone, fresh bread, and just a hint of sewage — which meant things were fine. A bit chilly, yes, but nothing overly dangerous for a city guard like Gavin, who wore yers of both leather and metal armour. His trusty sword was sheathed but ready for any sign of early trouble.

  He stood at attention near the fountain in the pza, watching vilgers go about their daily errands. Nothing suspicious caught his brown eyes—no bandits, no pickpockets, no swindlers. Not even a drunken bard! And it was already past breakfast, no less.

  This had everything to be a calm and peaceful day.

  Then the Chosen One sprinted into the square.

  Gavin straightened up instinctively. The Chosen One — that is, the supposed Hero of Light, Saviour of the Realm, and Syer of Beasts — wore only pants, mining boots, and an oversized backpack spilling forks and cheese wheels behind them like a bizarre breadcrumb trail.

  That was enough to make Gavin squint under his helmet and mutter a soft prayer. "Oh, gods preserve us.”

  Without a word, the Hero began climbing the bakery wall. Hands scrabbling at windowsills. Boots scraping against loose mortar. Determined. Furious. Absolutely deranged.

  Has it really been a week since he first met the Chosen One? It was hard to tell, as it felt like a chaotic storm had swept through the town ever since the Hero's arrival. Yet, their first encounter was something he would never forget.

  Gavin had apprehended the man after seeing him punch a few chickens in the street. It was clear from his shabby attire that he didn’t own them, and his face was unfamiliar. And who goes around town punching chickens nonstop anyway??? Only ter, after the man was released upon paying a fine, did Gavin learn that he had been recognised by the town’s High Priest as the Chosen One of the Gods—the Reborn Phoenix. The one destined to save the Realm from Total Annihition, according to the ancient scriptures, that is…

  A small crowd gathered to witness what this madman was doing.

  A child tugged on Gavin’s tunic. "Sir, what’s the Hero doing?"

  Gavin coughed into his fist, buying time. He’d learned — the hard way — that blunt honesty upset people. Really, how could such a high figure like the Reborn Phoenix act so crazy? Perhaps their mortal minds weren’t as bright as the hero's to understand his reasons to act as he does.

  Make something up. Sound confident. Do not show weakness. That's the Featherbrook Garrison way.

  He puffed up his chest to try and feel more confident himself. "Clearly... clearly a sacred rooftop pilgrimage, d."

  The child gasped in awe. It made Gavin’s heart twitch. As an adult, he knew he shouldn’t demean a child’s dreams or speak ill of their heroes. But was it really okay for this kind of Hero to be looked up to?

  An old woman with a basket of apples chimed in, "Aye, I’ve heard of that! My grandmother once spoke of the Sky Walkers — those who touch the heavens!"

  Another vilger crossed themselves reverently. "It’s a blessing. Climbing the bakery first means good harvests are to come!"

  With so many people gathered around, another guard arrived to see what the commotion was about. The woman in armour approached, her steps faltering as her gaze nded on the figure nearly at the top of the bakery.

  “Should we… do something about it?”

  Gavin fought against a sigh.

  “According to the captain, unless the Hero does something violent against the residents, we are not to interfere.”

  The so-called Hero reached the roof, stood proudly atop it... and immediately began jumping up and down like a lunatic, unconcerned about the danger of slipping and falling from such a height.

  The bakery’s cy tiles creaked ominously. A few cracked and skittered off into the street.

  Gavin swallowed.

  "Very good omens," he said weakly, trying to convince himself of whatever delusion the surrounding vilgers were under. "The Earth must feel his devotion."

  The crowd slowly began to cheer the Chosen One’s actions.

  Someone threw a flower.

  Gavin, meanwhile, silently calcuted the paperwork this would involve. Damaged property. Possible injuries. Unauthorised rooftop rituals.

  Maybe even... indecent exposure, depending on the angle.

  The Hero suddenly pulled out a flute, blew a single shrill note, and then dove off the roof like a drunken eagle.

  Gasps and shrieks. Gavin lunged forward to try and save the man from what could be a deadly accident if his head nded first. He wasn’t fast enough, and when the Chosen One hit the ground, Gavin could feel his soul leave his body as he pictured being bmed for the death of the Chosen One.

  But then the guy simply bounced up from the cobblestone ground, dusted himself off, and ran straight into the nearest well as if nothing had happened. The Drunken Board Tavern was his next victim.

  There was a long, stunned silence on the pza.

  A chicken waddled into the square, innocent and unaware. As if he had a sixth sense, the Hero dropped from his climbing attempts to turn and chase the animal down a street. Perhaps the Reincarnation of the Phoenix had a grudge against chickens? Or was that a lingering instinct of a predator seizing up a weaker prey?

  Gavin didn’t think he’d ever know for sure if there was a reason for all this madness. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to discover such a thing.

  He sighed heavily, rising from his kneeling position on the floor. "Another blessed day in Featherbrook," he muttered, utterly dead inside, before turning to the gathered citizens. “The show is over. Please, disperse now.”

  Only once everything had returned to some sembnce of order and calm did Gavin march off to file sixteen separate incident reports for his superior to deal with.