Momodi called me to the Quicksand again—but not for a job. No errands. No fire. Just a smile, a pat on the arm, and a message: I’ve been invited to the banquet.
The banquet.
The kind where nobles clink glasses and pretend their words weigh more than steel. The kind where adventurers like me are usually outside the gates, scraping dust off our boots.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I step inside. Into polished halls and shining chandeliers. Into rooms where the Sultana herself sits on a throne I couldn’t have imagined when I was a child chasing lizards through sand.
Momodi said I earned this. Not by name. Not by coin. By action.
So I stitched my best robe, tightened the belt, and even polished my staff. I look like I belong… almost.
But underneath it all, I’m still that firebrand from a forgotten village. I’m still chasing ghosts, not titles. And I’m not here to bow. I’m here to watch. To listen. To remember exactly how these walls make me feel—so I never forget where I came from.
Let them see me. Let them wonder how I got in.
I’ll give them something to remember.
