The morning mist hung low over the lake, curling in thin ribbons across the still water. It was the kind of quiet that made time feel irrelevant — a peace so absolute it could only belong to someone who had no reason to rush.
On the rickety wooden dock, Kael sat with his legs dangling over the edge, fishing rod balanced loosely in his hand. The man looked barely invested in the act of fishing, line slack, eyes half-lidded, the picture of laziness. A small kettle sat beside him, steam curling from its spout — tea, because catching fish on an empty stomach was apparently too much effort.
The bobber didn't move. It hadn't moved in an hour.
Kael didn't mind.
He leaned back, glancing up at the blue sky through the shifting veil of clouds, and muttered,
"Perfect. No work, no noise, no problems."
A soft breeze carried the faint scent of pine from the surrounding forest. Somewhere behind him, in the tiny wooden shack he called home, an old pan sat on the table, still crusted from last night's half-hearted dinner. Kael hadn't bothered cleaning it yet. He probably wouldn't until he ran out of clean ones.
The only interruption came when a pair of ducks landed near the reeds. They quacked at him. Kael quacked back. The ducks left.
He smirked to himself. Flawless negotiation skills.
Eventually, the sun climbed higher, and Kael decided this was enough productivity for one morning. He reeled in his empty hook — the bait long since stolen — and trudged lazily back to his shack. Inside, he tossed the rod against the wall, poured the last of his tea into a chipped cup, and slumped into the chair.
That's when he heard the faint creak of footsteps on the dock outside.
Guild again? He sighed. They always sent someone when he went too long without picking up a quest — the life of a registered adventurer, even a D-rank, wasn't supposed to be all fishing and tea.
Sure enough, the knock came. Three taps. Polite, but insistent.
"Kael," came a muffled voice. "You're late on your quota again. Guildmaster says at least one job before the week ends, or you're paying the fine."
Kael sipped his tea without moving from the chair. "Tell the Guildmaster I'm deeply moved by his concern… but tragically, I'm busy."
The footsteps shuffled awkwardly. "Busy? Doing what?"
Kael glanced at the empty fishing rod. "Diplomatic relations. With ducks."
There was a pause. "…I'll put you down for the wolf culling job in the north woods. Report in by sundown tomorrow."
Kael didn't answer. The footsteps retreated, leaving him in peace once more.
He let out a long sigh. So much for a quiet week. Direfang wolves weren't difficult, but they were a hassle. And hassle meant walking. And walking meant effort.
Still, there was a spark in his eyes — faint, fleeting, but there — the kind of look you'd expect from a man who'd been through far more than fishing trips and lazy mornings. He drained the cup, pushed back his chair, and reached for the short sword resting by the door.
"Fine," he muttered, grabbing his coat. "Let's get this over with."
The lake behind him shimmered in the midday sun as Kael set off down the dirt path toward the guild.