Zarasel was as bustling as ever when Mersem got back to the city. Everything was exactly the same, even the criss-crossing lines of upturned snow made by the wheels of merchant caravans passing through the main road leading to the entrance of the Imperial City. If not for Mersem's stolen ride, the absence of his sister and his friends, and the growing dread in his gut, he would have believed his first time in Zarasel was nothing but a prophetic dream.

Mersem's memory of the day he found out his sister was on the noticeboard was hazy but he remembered where he got the stolen calf so that's where he steered his hairy steed first. When he got there, the owner—a stout man clad from head to toe with dark brown fur which smelled of a used sock that hasn't quite dried well—gave him a withering glare. Mersem apologized and said he had somewhere urgent to be. The owner just cursed him out of the ranch.

He was fine with it, actually. The ranch stank of expired cheese anyway.

Now, horrida-less and with knowledge about Zarasel's bounty hunting system non-existent in his brain, Mersem wandered through the streets, sidestepping passing merchants and avoiding making eye-contact on any of the people exuding a high social status along with a big ego. He craned his neck at the bright blue sky complimenting the blanket of fresh snow slowly accumulating on the road as the rest of the day went by.

By lunch time, Mersem wandered into a tavern boys his age shouldn't be and settled on an unoccupied table. Judging from the stench of vomit and stale beer wafting from the rotting boards, this table hasn't seen better days. He eyed the people milling in and out of the tavern, taking note of their clothes, the way they walked, and the way they chattered or drank alone by the wooden counter at the center of the room.

Dark curtains guarded the windows and candles stuck inside glass lamps provided makeshift illumination inside. That's an inefficient way of using wax, really. They could have just used the natural light outside and gotten way less frowny faces because, hey, nothing could beat the real thing in all circumstances!

Mersem tucked his hands under his arms, craning his neck to hear some of the interesting conversations happening around him. If he's to figure out how to become a bounty hunter without having to train alone in a mountain for fifteen years, now's the perfect time. He kept his eyes open and focused all his energy into sifting through the usual clatter of wooden cups against tables, the rustle of footsteps against the floorboards, and the drunken lisping some burly men in the nearby tables have been doing since Mersem got here.

"Aye, that notice sure ain't holding back," a burly man from two tables west of Mersem's place bellowed after belching like a coastal whale. He scratched the ocher beard covering most of his lips and chin. "Hunders for a brat? It's a deal of the century!"

"Or the millenia, for that matter," a lanky guy beside the hairy man said. "So, shall we discuss this with the Crossar or are we going to take this on our own? Imagine how much we'll get each without having to split it for the rest of the party."

A chorus of cheers and agreement rang around the table as the men went to pat each other on the back for that splendid idea of letting their greed get into their heads. Whoever their Crossar was, he's not going to be happy. Those guys wouldn't even be alive for long since news about betrayal always travels fast.

Well, that's not Mersem's problem.

He glanced at the men in the corner of his eye. Most of them carried swords sheathed by their leather belts tied around their waists tucked underneath the outer layer of thick coats. Their fingers were also decorated by bands of silver or titanium rings bearing a carved symbol he couldn't see from that far. Other than that, they all looked like normal people one would find working as merchants, butchers, and even timber-gatherers.

Mersem would fit right in.

He stayed seated on this stool even as the men stood up and headed out of the tavern in a loud cloud of clatters and cursing. As soon as the door to the tavern closed behind them, swallowing the last slivers of natural light from outside as it clicked shut, Mersem shot up and stalked towards the door. He didn't order anything but he flipped a flimsy kari on the table and went on his way.

Sheathed swords out for everyone to see. Rings on their fingers. Loud. Those were the usual signs of a bounty hunter. Whatever a Crossar was, Mersem had to figure out how to get to one as soon as possible. He eyed the passing crowds. How many of these were actual bounty hunters disguised as other people out to capture his sister? He had to hurry.

Now that he knew what he was looking for, he turned a blind corner and sauntered down a nondescript alley filled with the smell of rat carcass and damp parchment. He craned his neck to the walls of the two-story buildings obstructing his view of the sky. Up above, a flock of migratory birds common at this time of the month flew by in their formations, squawking at nothing and no one.

Something clattered behind him and he turned around to find a hooded man cursing after he hit a trash bin. Then, a flash of gray and the clank of chains reached Mersem's ears as the man cradled his affected foot. Chainmail...didn't only Palace Soldiers wear those? Mersem studied the cursing man, from his light beard shading the lower half of his face, the fur lining the hem of his outer coat, and the sheathed sword swinging beside him. This man's a bounty hunter.

The man scratched the side of his face before disappearing deeper into the alley perpendicular to the one Mersem was in. Mersem edged to the wall and peeked past the corner, keeping his eyes on the hunter's back. The man looked left and right as if looking for anyone tailing him before coming up to a plain door stuck in the middle of a blank wall which was no doubt a backdoor of some unfortunate shop or something. Then, with a quick swing, the man disappeared inside the building.

Well, here goes nothing.

Mersem sucked in a deep breath and hurried towards the door. He did the same thing as the man before him had done and, as soon as he ducked inside, he froze by the door. Inside was, well...the right word for it was fancy.

Light from a candle-infested chandelier hanging from the high, domed ceiling turned the light inside the room a stark tinge of orange. Velvet curtains hung from their rods though the room have a noticeable absence of windows. Lounge chairs only found in museums or in places where people like Mersem weren't allowed as much as to breathe the air in were scattered around tables filled to the brim with buckets of cubed ice and pitchers upon pitches of sparkling ale.

What...what was this place? An inn? A lunch party? Who does those?

The man Mersem had been following trudged to a counter that might have been carved straight from a lump of marble judging from its shiny finish. He flicked two fingers towards a bald man with an apron atop his usual layers and the bald man nodded and grabbed a glass and began filling it with the same drink as everyone else inside was having.

So, it's not a lunch party.

Mersem bit the inside of his cheek and squared his shoulders. Talking to people wasn't his forte but for Silke, he'd gladly let the dread and timidity wring his intestines all they wanted. He stalked towards the counter and settled on a stool beside the man. "Hi," he said. "What do I have to do to become a bounty hunter around these parts?"

The man raised an eyebrow but didn't turn to Mersem and instead just continued sipping his drink. "What does a lumpy stick like you want to do here?" he said, his tone tinged with slight disdain. "Kid, you'll get killed before you even step a foot outside Zarasel."

Mersem knitted his eyebrows. What a condescending man! It seemed like he traded manners for muscles. "I want to attempt the recent notice about the girl thief," he leaned an elbow atop the counter. "Can you tell me how to start doing that?"

"You're persistent, I'll give you that," the man said. "Here's the catch, though: you have to pay me a bag of kari."

"Right now?"

The man nodded. "Right now."

Mersem narrowed his eyes. "And I won't become a bounty hunter without paying you?"

"Right."

"I'm sorry but who are you?" Mersem inclined his chin.

"Teren! Are you out extorting new recruits again?" a stringent feminine voice rang from behind the man. Mersem leaned over and his heart almost leaped out of his mouth. Dear gods, he shouldn't have picked this building.

Because there was Leara Madris striding towards him, her long, white hair swaying with the motion of her steps, her brown eyes trained on him like a cossum out for the kill. When she got near Teren, the man Mersem had been talking to, Mersem's vocal chords had already frozen up; he doubted he'd be able to speak for the next five days.

Then, the moment he had been dreading most—Leara turned away from Teren after exchanging quick salutations and her gaze landed on Mersem. "I haven't seen you around," she said, her tone flat and uninterested.

Mersem looked up to the ceiling, for once finding the chandelier worthy of his awe. "J-just came by," he stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck for no reason at all. "It's nice to m-meet you, Lady Madris."

A small giggle caught Mersem's attention. He looked down to find Leara's knuckles pressed to her lips, a look of amusement plastered on her face and lighting up her eyes. "Nobody has ever called me that since I founded the guild," she let one last giggle out. "But I'll let it pass. How can we help you?"

Mersem cleared his throat, attempting to dislodge the huge lump forming in it. "I was hoping to become a hunter so I could attempt the recent notice," he blinked when he noticed it wasn't registering on Leara. "The one with the girl thief," he clarified.

Leara's eyes widened with the realization. "Oh, that," she snapped her fingers. "You're in luck. I've recently been trying to assemble a team that would be best suited for it."

"Don't tell me you'll pick this wimp over me, Chief," Teren rolled his eyes with a click of his tongue from beside Leara. "I've got more to offer than this...kid."

"It's usually the kids who have much to offer, Teren," Leara said, planting her hand on her hip. "So, what can you do for us, kid?"

Mersem rubbed one end of his scarf. What could he do? He couldn't swing a sword. He'd end up decapitating someone rather than help them. An ax, he could manage but only if the target was as thick and as still as a log. His brain scrolled through the list of useless skills he had acquired throughout his scant life. None of them were good enough for what bounty hunters were usually known for.

"I know how to track," he blurted, the words flying out his mouth before he could stop it. Teren threw his head back and laughed, his silky brown hair flapping with the motion. His guffaw floated through the room, drawing more eyes towards Mersem and what's happening with him.

Leara's face was frozen in an expression halfway from amusement and wincing. Then, she shook her head. "Well, that's exactly what we need. Am I right, Teren?" she said. "We would have an easy time through the forests if we had a tracker with us."

Teren's mouth flapped open before closing again, his eyes bulging with shock. "You're kidding," he breathed. Then, he inclined his head at Leara. "You're kidding, right?"

To both Mersem and Teren's surprise, Leara Madris didn't look like she was kidding. "Think about it," she reasoned. "We will be scouring not just the cities this time around. We couldn't rule out the possibility that the thief is holing up somewhere in the vast forests of Solon especially with the recent report we got."

"Report?" Mersem interjected, earning Leara's attention again.

The lady knight nodded. "Yeah. We received intel from the Striden Order earlier this morning," she said. "They said the thief could have roots in the rural towns. So if we're going to beat all the others, we need someone who is an expert in navigating these towns as well as the forests and vast snowscapes in them."

She turned to Mersem, forgetting her teammate who had been making faces behind her back. "You are from the rural towns, correct?"

Mersem didn't like anything he was hearing, especially with the Striden Order—the name of the order of knights working directly for the King of Solon—getting involved. Still, to save Silke, he had to see this to the end. So, he bobbed his head. "I'm from Falkmena," he said. "Just wee miles away from here."

Leara smiled, showing her pearly white teeth. That only meant she wasn't used to drinking alcohol unlike ninety percent of the men and women in this room alone. "Perfect," she said. "Welcome to the team...um?"

"Mersem," he supplied when Leara rolled her hands in the air between them, obviously asking for his name. "I'm Mersem."

"Great," she started peeling away from the counter. "Find Fryth Xina and have him find you some armor and weapons. You do know how to use a sword, don't you?"

"Yeah," Mersem gave Leara a thumbs up. "The sword's easy."

Leara nodded. "Good," she said. "Rest up. Tomorrow, we depart."

Then, just like that, Mersem was left alone with Teren who was muttering under his breath and with a newfound job on his shoulders. Just like that, Mersem was a bounty hunter on the way to find his sister. Then, all he had to figure out was how to save her before other people could take care of her.

If it all worked out, maybe Mersem would come home to his father rich and famous. Or, if his luck had run out the moment he stepped inside this building, as butchered meat tied with pretty pink ribbons.

Either way, Mersem got to live the adventure Silke's been dreaming of since forever but he wasn't sure if he's happy about it.

Also, did Teren just call Leara Madris...chief?