"Ahhhhhhhh—" I shot up and banged my head against the broken headboard that groaned painfully as I snapped it back into place. Beads of cold sweat trickled down my forehead and I spun left and right, my eyes wildly darting around. I blinked, clutching my wrinkled sheets. I was in my room, on my grubby bed that creaked every time I shifted. Just that stupid dream, I sighed. I might as well get up while I'm at it.

I grudgingly pushed myself off my bed, swinging my legs over the side of the mattress into my shoes. I could hear the pat, pat, pat of the rain gently tapping against the roof, and I looked out the window. The sun had started to peek over the dark rain clouds, and the light that shone through the window wasn't even remotely blinding.

I slid my arms down the sleeves of my wrinkled uniform, a bit tight on me but still wearable. My pants fit snugly, though, as I slipped them on. Oversized a few years ago, now, they were just right.

I took a deep breath, smoothing my brown mop of ruffled hair. Today was a new day—no more slip-ups.

I flexed my fingers, letting the light bronze reveal peach undertones under the sun's streaming rays as I carefully turned the doorknob. The door swung open, and I stepped into the dim hallway, patches of light shining through the window above the staircase.

The hallway was quiet, and only the occasional snore broke the silence—it looked like everyone but me was a sound sleeper. It was my eighty-eighth, no, eighty-ninth day on the job. Dave had told me to "have some fun with it" when he first assigned the job to me, but I didn't know what fun there was to be had until recently.

I took a cautious step and winced as the floor groaned painfully loud, a strained cre-e-e-ek that made my ears scream for mercy. The wooden boards felt like ice to my feet in my paper-thin shoes, but I was used to it. Everyone was.

Slowly approaching the door next to mine, I pushed it open and slipped in. Benjamin was snoring softly, mumbling about unicorns or something. His normally tidy dark hair was a tangled mess, unruly strands meshed together like a thick forest. Perhaps I won't yank the covers right off him today, I chuckled to myself.

By the time everyone was up, and lively banter filled the kitchen downstairs, I had gotten my usual pillow in the face, the "just five more minutes," but surprisingly no major resistance.

I plucked a lone feather out of my hair and examined it. It wasn't a feather really, but rather a flimsy stick with hairs attached to it. I vaguely remember Dave telling us that we would have to sell some of our belongings, which would explain the "new" pillows we had gotten a few weeks ago.

The pillows from the spare rooms hadn't been exchanged, however; as Dave said, they were for any guests. Rarely was there anyone who stayed though. Dave had tried to convert the restaurant into something of a tavern/bed and breakfast after the success of the nearby Traveler's Inn, but alas, people have yet to come.

I let go of the feather and watched it slowly drift down, landing gracefully on the dusty floorboards. I sighed, it was time for work.

I stepped gingerly down the stairs, passing by the small living room where the fireplace cast red and orange shadows on the walls. I had time and time again spent nights there when I couldn't sleep, just staring at the entrancing flames that danced gracefully on a wooden stage.

Next to the fireplace stood a dusty bookshelf, filled to the brim with all sorts of literature. Most of it was just manuals for operating the generator, though. But on the cluttered bottom shelf, hidden behind a stack of operating manuals was The Complete History of Aterra.

I devoured it, spending my nights flipping through the yellowed pages and exploring stories that it had hidden from me for so long. It wrote in detail the beginnings of the country to the recent advancements in hydro power to the recent addition of spark power to the capital. I had finished the novel—it seemed more like one than a history book—ages ago, but I enjoyed rereading it once in a while.

The fireplace had almost gotten ridden a few weeks ago along with some of our belongings, but Dave considered it a nice touch to the restaurant and kept it, along with the bookshelf— I had tucked away The Complete History of Aterra under my bed next to my savings in case the bookshelf and its contents were sold. No one ever saw the living room except the staff, since everyone was flocking towards the Traveler's Inn.

I pushed open the backdoor to the kitchen and nearly got hit by Arthur, who was dashing around with a stack of dirty plates.

Most of the crew didn't bat an eye at my appearance; they were too focused on their dicing, frying, and preparation of food to acknowledge me. Besides, I had time to converse with each of them in the morning.

"Hey, Wallace!" I glanced over to my right and saw Benjamin wearing his faded striped apron that seemed to get smaller and smaller as the years passed. He was channeling air into a steaming pot of soup to cool it down. "You never cease to surprise me in the mornings."

I chortled at his remark.

He pulled me aside and looked around before whispering, "No one heard me this morning, right?"

"Nope, you're good," I smirked.

I stepped outside the kitchen and waved to Alice, who was cleaning up the tables with a swift motion of her hand. The water droplets swished around the table, snatching dust and the occasional crumb. I followed the water as it expertly snaked through the air and splashed into a damp rag.

She turned, catching my eye. "No more outbursts, alright?" She had quite a strong accent I never could put my finger on.

I nodded. That was my plan at least. I scanned the restaurant; Alice had already set the utensils. Less work for me, I guess.

I plopped down at my desk eagerly waiting for customers. But no one, not even any of the regulars, came. At half past ten, Dave poked his head out from the kitchen and frowned.

"No customers yet?" He cursed under his breath and went back into the kitchen. By eleven, we usually had a few regulars and one or two new customers, but today, there wasn't a single person in sight.

I bounced my foot impatiently. Was it because of yesterday? The lively banter of the kitchen had turned into worried whispers and shuffling as the staff took turns poking their heads out of the kitchen to stare at the nonexistent customers.

I had to do something. Anything. I stood up, but just as I did, the front door swung open and an odd-looking man, drenched in water, stumbled in. On top of his unruly hair was a small, dark red hat and he wore a long black cape that wrapped around his body and revealed only his feet. The pin that held the cape together depicted a flickering blue flame—some sort of animation enchantment.

He sneezed, wiped his nose, and spoke up. "Is there a Wallace here?" His tired eyes scanned the restaurant, briefly passing over me.

Wallace? That was me... but why was this stranger looking for me? Maybe it's just a customer, I thought.

"Uh, that would be me." I started, uncertain and the stranger squinted, looking over me from head to toe.

He reached inside his cape and fished a piece of paper out, glancing at me and the paper back and forth.

"It can't be..." He stepped towards me, grabbing my shoulders with a shaky grip. I could barely make out the next five words that came out of his mouth. "You have to leave now."

What? He had to be in the comedian business or something of that sort. I mean, what kind of person just comes in and asks someone to leave? Feeling pretty comical myself, I decided to play along. "Alright, I got leave. Why?"

"Your father, he's in danger."

I stared at the stranger. He was probably just another customer who had something to complain about. "My father? Dave's in the kitchen if you need to talk to him."

The stranger shook his head and leaned forward. "No, your real father. He's the flame keeper. Was. But, you wouldn't have known."

"My what now?" I held onto the desk to steady myself. My real father? I searched through my foggy memories for a glimpse of him, but it was in vain. I had known Dave as my father for my entire life and trusted him, but could he have been hiding something? He always spoke of my childhood enthusiastically but never touched upon my infant year.

And what was a flame keeper? Someone who kept a flame, a voice in my mind remarked. I snorted. No, they were the one in charge of the blue flame after the capital had changed from hydro. But what did he have to do with me?

The stranger sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I probably shouldn't have started like this..." He muttered.

"David, or whatever his name was, isn't your father. Your father..." He trailed off and looked at me expectantly like he assumed that I would just trust a stranger who just randomly barged in.

"How do you know, huh?" My response was almost as comical as his attempt to convince me.

There was an uncomfortable shift in his eyes before he cleared his throat. "I... It's a long story. I can't tell you right now."

I shook my head and laughed. "You expect me to believe you? If you aren't here to eat, I advise you to get out."

"Of course you don't..." He glanced around nervously as if he was worried someone was eavesdropping. "But you have to trust me."

"No," I replied plainly. Trusting him would be like controlling my temper. Impossible.

The stranger let out a frustrated sigh. "Well, if you change your mind, I'm staying at the Traveler's Inn—"

The kitchen door swung open, interrupting him.

"Who are you?" It was Dave, wearing a long apron littered with patches which seemed to complement the countless freckles dotting his face, and tufts of feathers still stuck in his hair. He sniffed the air, and I smelled the distinct scent of magical residue as well. Acidic, and a bit harsh on the nose. It wasn't the weak, fading residue the staff and I had left over the past years. Something stronger.

The stranger's eyes widened, and he staggered back a few steps. He gave me a good look in the eye, not a frustrated look but a regretful one, and with that, bounded out of the restaurant, his cape flapping behind him.

"The Caps." The word came out more like a snarl rather than something coherent. "What the hell are they doing here?"

I thought back to the stranger, the peculiar look he had, and what he had divulged. He was from the capital? The stranger didn't seem exactly like a Cap, but magic residue never lied. And there was that flame on his pin. A blue flame.

"He, uh..." I paused, battling if the truth should come out. No, I had already burdened Dave enough. Too much since yesterday. "He was just looking for a place to eat. I suppose he didn't fancy being here."

Dave didn't seem to believe me, or he didn't show it, muttering under his breath. "Those stupid Caps and their blasted flame. Damned wildfires."

"What wildfires?" I asked.

Dave just shook his head and plodded back to the kitchen without a word.

I whipped my head back to the kitchen, wondering if anyone had overheard the conversation, but the others seemed to be engaged in their own tasks, leaving me to my thoughts.