Fire crackling, wind whistling, trees dancing. An Orangutan shaped figure hunched over a small campfire watches the great city of Ytic below, firelight dancing on his tired face, singed arms, and spokes of the carriage beside him. He came to this city with a dream of heroism. Who knew that hope would turn into the flames of hate and fear, that his mentor would turn enemy, that those flames would bring his only charge to ashes. Wood creaks, a carriage overburdened with the last of 'his majesties' secret library groans, about to embark on a journey to whoever needs its tales the most.

He knows his sleep tonight will no longer be troubled with dreams.

– Written by Jack G.

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Downton, —– months after Ahmed’s imprisonment.
The people here were far enough away not to have heard what happened in Ytic, you find when you arrive. News travels slowly when there’s nobody to spread it. So they cluster around your carriage, confused and surprised but most of all delighted to see you: a stranger, come from the capital, with books to share and stories to tell. You’ve thought, hard, on the long ride south, though — and you’ve realised that, despite all the books in your carriage, the most important story you have is the one that only you can tell. So that night, over a roaring, crackling campfire, the people of Downton sit quiet and listen as you spin out a tale. It’s a story of gods and dragons, heroes and villains, and ordinary people rising up against it all — only to realise that true salvation was impossible and, just to keep on living, starting the cycle anew.

It’s your story.

And they listen, enthralled.

Bee.

Lefton, —– months after Ahmed’s imprisonment.
You arrive in a town with a small, empty library, and no memory whatsoever of a book exchange. The librarian greets you with a confused frown when you ask how the books are finding their new home, gesturing to the empty, dusty shelves. “We’ve no new books here, my friend. Nobody uses this place. I’ve nothing to offer.”

Well, these books you’re carrying were always meant to be given away. And Lefton was always meant to receive a selection of Ytic’s books!

“Let me help you.”

So, over the next few weeks, you spread the beauty of stories throughout Lefton again, telling the citizens everything from fairy-tales to myths and even your very own tale, that of Ytic and the final defeat (and restoration) of the Antagonist. In the meantime, you work with the librarian, cleaning and tidying the shelves and picking out a few books from your collection to leave behind.

By opening day, a queue is forming outside.

Bee.

The North-East Cape, —– months after Ahmed’s imprisonment.
As you passed the place that was once the Barrier Mountains, over two months ago now, the weapons you carry weighed particularly heavy in their straps and bags. They still do, especially as the load in your carriage has begun to lighten. You’ve roamed all over the newly-remade isle of Modnik, and as you stand at its furthest edge, looking out over the cliffs and the crashing seas to the north, you wonder: what next? Not for the first time, you consider leaving it all behind, dropping your weapons and your stories and writing a new opening chapter somewhere new. Weighting an axe in your hand, you hold it out over the sea. It would be so easy just to… let go.

But you can’t. Your hand falls, axe still clenched tight in your fingers, to your side. This might not have been the story you wanted to tell, but it’s the one you’re living. The least you can do is hold onto that. Remember that. And, when the time comes, perhaps others will remember you.

Bee.