The Beginning

TWO YEARS AGO - August 22, 167 of the Heavenly Era

Leo lived in a world known by many names: the Great Afterlife was the most common in his formative years. Not everyone called it the same thing. The Great Afterlife, the Great Bazaar, the Nebulous Bazaar. Ultimately, it was a place of magical neutrality. Longer than the eye could see and filled with neighbourhoods, shops, and everything in between. The Great Bazaar was more than a bazaar, it was a thriving city. Hence why it was the "Great" Bazaar. Hence why some even went and called it the "Universal Trade Center" or the "White Abyss" or the "White Realm".

Leo preferred the Nebulous Realm. Here in this state-scaled bazaar, there were guilds. Here, there were secret dealings and no war. There was peace and conflict and trade all at once. A bazaar. His home city. 

Ding!

"Hi, how are you?"

"One coffee, no sugar, two cream."

"Coming your way, sir!"

A student. A mercenary. A father.

But originally, two years ago, he worked at a café. 

"Here you are!"

"Thanks, Leo, you're the best."

A green apron, slightly disheveled brown hair, mismatched eyes—one brown, one yellow-blue— and a strong focus. He alone ran this place. He filled cups, wiped down the counter, and greeted the regulars with his soft-spoken charm.

He was not aggressive. He was not shy. He was not overly charming either. He was a barista. 

Near the far corner of the café, a little girl with brown hair tied into pigtails sat at a small table, her legs swinging beneath her chair. Phoebe, three years old and bright-eyed, scribbled intently on a sketchbook paper with a pencil. Occasionally, she looked up, grinning when she caught her father's eye.

Leo shot her a quick smile before returning his attention to the customer in front of him. "Here you go. One dark roast, no cream, no sugar," he said, sliding the cup across the counter.

A nod. The customer tossed two bronze coins onto the counter before heading out.

The bell over the door jingled, signaling another arrival. So many customers, so many interested in drinking coffee. Business was good. Life was good.

Back then, he worked and lived happily at Clover Café, tucked on the corner of Morrow Street. To describe Morrow Street was easy: mellow and shadowy with bars, coffee, and a couple small-time apartments. A mildly curious neighbourhood that was strangely addicted to Greek-style metal lanterns and buzzing with flies. Although shady, it was not dangerous. However, an ordinary man would certainly not venture in unless they were intimately aware of where they were going.

The evening wore on and not a single customer appeared. In between, he and his daughter played Pat-a-cake and Tarzan-jungleman. Nursery rhyme games. The competition became quite heated. Leo did not hold back against his daughter.

"Heh, I win," Leo said with a smirk.

"Grrr...again!" Phoebe pointed a finger at him. "This time, I wanna start!"

"You won't beat the master," he said arrogantly. She did at some point though and so it became a game of trash-talking. 

By the time the clock struck eleven and the stars disappeared from the perpetual dark sky, Leo flipped the sign on the door to Closed. He let out a breath, stretching his arms over his head before turning toward Phoebe.

"Alright, kiddo," Leo said. "Time to head upstairs."

Phoebe hopped off her chair, clutching her sketchbook. "I drew a picture of us!" she said, running over to show him.

Leo knelt to look. Two stick figures—one taller, one smaller—stood in front of a square labeled Clover Café. 

"You write better than I did at your age," he said, ruffling her hair. "I'll hang it on the wall later. Let's go."

They climbed the stairs to the second floor. At the end of the hall was a ladder leading to a hatch and attic. A quiet, old space they had called home for years. Leo helped Phoebe climb up safely. He get her ready for bed, tucking her in and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Goodnight, Phoebe," he said, giving a cute little hand wave. 

"Goodnight, Daddy." She blinked and smiled, already drowsy. She was three years old and yet she could speak in complete sentences, read, and write. She was a smart little girl. Nothing like himself. 

Although with her maturity, she took long, long naps. 

Once she was asleep, Leo slipped quietly back down the ladder to the second floor. He was in a bit of a rush, or maybe a panic. Things were happy but not...stable. He stopped at the third door in the hall, knocking gently on the door.

"Come in," came the soft, raspy voice from within.

He opened the door to find an old woman sitting in a chair by the window, wrapped in a thick blanket. Her snow-white hair, always neat and pinned back, seemed thinner since yesterday. Her eyes were perpetually closed and her lined face betrayed the weariness of age.

Mrs. Cresswell—the owner of Clover Café and the closest thing he had to a mother. If it wasn't her, he might not be living this gentle, ordinary life. 

"Leo," she said, smiling faintly. "You've been working hard today."

He walked over and sat on the stool beside her. "It's nothing I can't handle," he said.

She chuckled weakly. "You always say that."

For a moment, they sat in silence, the only sound the faint creak of the building settling. Finally, she spoke again.

"Leonidas, I need to talk to you about something important."

"What is it?"

Mrs. Cresswell took a slow, measured breath. "I'm not going to be able to keep this place running much longer. The Second Heavenly War is over. Business is booming everywhere else and I'm sure you've seen it—people aren't coming here any longer. Everyone is moving deeper, going to the Recreare."

The Skia or the Dark Sector. That was where this café was located, within the cloak of shadows and crime. Their neighbourhood was fortunately not very involved with that sort of stuff. They were a small little bubble left alone from how inconsequential they were. 

Deep down south the Central Road was the Recreare or the "Recreation Sector". The Old Mage Tower, Maria Street, Shibuya Station, the Baishi Mall, and Arcadia Academy, all landmarks in their own right and all located within the Recreare. 

Morrow Street, it was…nothing. Not even a blip. Not even within the textbooks of Arcadia Academy, he wagered. 

"We still make enough to stay afloat."

"Last month, I had to take out a loan to pay for everything. We can't." A long, withering sigh left her. "And…I don't have the strength for it anymore."

Leo's heart sank. "Mrs. Cresswell, don't say that. This café is everything to you."

"It was," she said softly. "But I'm old, Leo. I can feel it in my bones. The time will come when I will have to let it go—whether I want to or not."

If she let the café go, what would happen to him and Phoebe? He couldn't lose this job. It was their livelihood.

As though reading his thoughts, Mrs. Cresswell reached out and placed a frail hand on his. "That's why I'm telling you this now. For Phoebe's sake, you need to start thinking about your future."

"I…but my future began because of you. Because you took a chance on me. I can't just give up on you too."

"You're a young man," Mrs. Cresswell said gently. "You and I both know what you can do. And there's a place where you can make something of it—Arcadia Academy. It's cheaper than the Great University of Magic, but it's still excellent. You could train, study, build a life for you and your daughter. A professional life. Not this…mercenary nonsense that you always mention. A place at the Great Grid maybe. That will be safe and secure. I hear you can get benefits as an Arc Warden."

An Arc Warden. Oh man, that would be the dream. Arc Wardens weren't as worshipped as Templar Knights or the Holy Dynasty Knights and that was the point. They were paid well and they were respected. 

But he had a feeling they were not going to be hiring a teenager from the Dark Sector anytime soon.

Leo pursed his lips. "You keep excluding yourself. I can't just leave you here."

Mrs. Cresswell sighed, her grip on his hand tightening slightly. "Leo, what about your daughter? She needs stability. She needs a father who can provide for her in the long run, not just scrape by day to day. You can't get caught up in taking care of other people when you have her to think about."

He pulled his hand away, his jaw tightening. "I am thinking about her. I can take care of her—and you. I can keep this café afloat, and I can go to Arcadia Academy. I'll make it work."

"Leonidas…" she began, but he shook his head.

"I mean it," he said. "I'm not leaving you behind, and I'm not giving up on Phoebe. I'll figure it out."

Mrs. Cresswell studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. At last, she smiled—a small, sad smile.

"You're as stubborn as they come," she said. 

"Maybe," he admitted, standing. "But I'm not giving up on the people I care about."

She inhaled faintly. "Fine. Do what you have to do, Leonidas."

He returned her smile, though his heart still ached at the thought of her leaving the café. "Get some rest, Mrs. Cresswell. I'll see you in the morning."

The world was not easy. The world was never easy. As Leo went back and climbed the ladder, he eyed the bed where his daughter slept. He smiled. So what if it wasn't easy? For Phoebe's sake—and Mrs. Cresswell's—he would find a way to make it work.

No matter what it took.