To Not Be Continued

"I'll be going," Brendan called out as the door closed behind him.

No one was inside, and no one would ever be; but saying that he'd be going removed the finality of goodbye, no matter how false such sentiments may be.

He'd never be back.

Running down the empty roads, he passed by one building after another. There are a couple of words to describe this community. It's tranquil, empty, and desolate.

Brendan slowed to a stop as he neared the final building at the edge of town. Looking back, he scanned the terrain. There was no destruction, everything was as it was. There were no markers of death, simply signs of life. There, in front of him, was a town for people, only there were no people.

I'll be back, he wanted to say. But how cruel is it to lie to those already gone?

He stood there, silent.

No, he decided, that's not what he wanted to say. Why did you leave me? is what he wanted to ask.

This was a town with a sole survivor, but now it is a town devoid of life.

Turning around, he walked on.

***

The sun was beginning to set as Brendan neared the closest village—or that's how it was marked on the map. Rather than a village, what lay ahead was a city. Great walls shielded the buildings from probing eyes, and the road leading up to the city was made from stone.

As he walked up to the gate, his eyes followed the towering wall framed by the darkening sky. Brendan wondered how he should ask for entry when he noticed a smaller door off to the side.

He knocked.

A slit slid open and a pair of brown eyes stared him down.

A gruff voice: "Who're you?"

Brendan put on his best smile. "Just a traveler, sir."

A grunt in acknowledgment. "Camp out tonight. None's allowed in this time of day."

"H-hold on, where should I camp?"

"... Anywhere."

The slit slams shut.

***

Up at dawn, Brendan knocked on the door once again.

The slit opened and the same brown eyes watched him wearily for a wordless moment.

He sighed. "Alright, kid, you got a permit?"

"A permit?"

"That's what I said, no? You need one to enter. You got one?"

"Ah, no."

"Well, then—"

"But can I get one? How do I get one?"

"... You got a trade?"

"A trade?"

"Yeah, a trade—blacksmith, merchant, whatever. A trade, you got one? Hah, youngsters these days don't know anything about society… Well?"

A hesitating reply: "I can fight."

"Oh? Don't see much or your kind around here. What'd you use?"

"Ah, umm, anything on hand, I suppose."

The eyes squint. "You don't got a license?"

Brendan gave a slight smile. "I'm sorry, I don't—what is it?"

"No, fighter's license," came a mumbling voice.

"Is there no way? I'm running out of food, and…"

"... Alright, kid, I'll let you in, but you promise me one thing."

"Yes, what is it?"

"It's recruiting season. The guilds and the city hall're recruiting. You go straight to one, enroll, get a license, alright?"

"I'll do that! Thank you, sir!"

A grunt. "Get in, before I change my mind."

***

Bang!

The door flew open and crashed against the wall. A party of four, two male and two female, entered the tavern. Swords were displayed on their hips, and their equipment was in no way faulting. The apparent leader, a woman with fair hair, stalked up to the bartender.

Her hand slammed the counter. "I need your best fighter."

The bartender put on a cordial smile and when he spoke his tone was not at all perturbed. "That depends on how much you're able to pay."

"Right, mercenaries." Even without her rolling eyes, the distaste in her voice was self-evident.

The bartender chuckled, "You'll find less willing hires with that attitude, miss."

A string of golden coins appeared on the counter. "I'll make up for it—" she stood back and addressed the observing crowd "—twenty-five pieces of gold up front. Another thirty after the job's done."

The curious stares turn to greed. The attention is no longer on the intruding strangers but on the string of coins on the counter.

She turns back to the bartender. "We want someone trustworthy, capable, and—" a glance at the riled audience "—with manners presentable before a king."

The attention evaporated as soon as it appeared. A king wasn't something anyone here would want to go near. There's a reason why this tavern is located at the intersection of four countries, and there's a reason why the details of a request are given and received quietly.

"Then—" the bartender motioned toward the corner of the room. "—I believe he would be your best choice."

The group members followed the hand to see a cloaked figure sitting alone. When he met the group's gaze, he stood and walked toward them. A hush followed as the seated mercenaries averted their eyes and those standing hurried out of the way. He picked up the gold coins and weighed them in his hand. Seemingly satisfied, he slipped them into his cloak.

"I'll be your hire." An empty smile, cold violet eyes. "Let's go."

***

The quartet trailed behind the mercenary. Hushed whispers and proddings were exchanged. Finally, out of pressure, one of the men advanced before the group.

"Hey," he began, "don't you think you should introduce yourself?"

The mercenary halted and he flinched back.

"W-what?"

"Shouldn't you introduce yourselves first?"

"We're the clients, so why should we? Aren't we entitled to our privacy…?"

"And I, to mine. If you don't wish to speak your name, then don't ask others for theirs."

Their leader stepped up saying, "Tell us who you are, or else—"

"Or else?" In an instant, he stood before them. "Will you cancel the mission? Ask for a refund? It's not that I mind, but no one else will be willing to take on your task, and you'd have to take the request to somewhere other than Mercenary Hall. As you all seem to be in a rush, I wouldn't think such a setback is beneficial to you—" he glanced down at their equipment"—dear knights of Estheria."

"Y-you… How—?" She gripped the amulet hanging from her sword. "How do you know the meaning of this symbol? Who are you?"

The mercenary took a step back. "Isn't there something you should say before asking?"

Silence.

The leader took a deep breath to regain her calm. After a glance at her companions, she spoke. "My friends call me Juli. The one next to me is Alexia, and the other two are Finn and John respectively."

The mercenary nodded. "Then, as agreed, my name—"

A couple feet away, a two-legged thing trudged along the road. Menacing teeth arched up from the lower jaw, brilliant blue scales cleverly reflected the sunlight, and the spindles along its spine trembled with every step. Leaving behind a bloody trail was an inverted carcass, its head and spilled innards trailing along with the company of flies.

At first it seemed to ignore them.

Then it bounded for them on all fours.

Stunned, the group watched as the creature charged at Juli, who stared at it with wide eyes. Glimmering teeth clicked together as the mercenary snatched Juli by the collar. After its failed attack, the creature swiftly jumped back and steadily observed them as it inched closer.

The mercenary looked the group over, incredulous. "You act as if you've never seen a monster before."

Juli shook herself from the shock and steadied her trembling legs. "There's always a first for everything."

"A first? And yet you're knights?" The mercenary scoffed, "How far did the standards fall?"

"Does that matter?" retorted Finn. "You should be fighting, too! We hired you, didn't we?"

"My name's not 'you,'" the mercenary replied as he drew a sword from its sheath. "It's Brendan."