The air inside the dimly lit tavern was thick with the scent of spiced ale, oil-lamp smoke, and the acrid bite of pipe tobacco. Laughter clashed with the clink of glasses, but beneath it, hushed whispers slithered through the room like an unseen current.

  Against the far wall, a brass-rimmed clock loomed, its second hand ticking with mechanical precision. Twelve past noon. Yet in the muted glow, it felt closer to dusk.

  No one in the tavern seemed to find the situation odd.

  In a secluded corner, two men sat in silence. One exhaled sharply. The other barely moved—his expression eerily still, save for a slow blink.

  Ishar drummed his fingers against the scarred wooden table, his gaze flicking to the clock, then back to the man across from him. A frown ghosted his lips. "We barely made it out of that dungeon two days ago, and you already want to dive back in?"

  Kael's lips twitched—almost a smirk, but not quite. "You act surprised."

  "Surprised? No. Irritated? Absolutely."

  Kael let out a breath, something between a chuckle and a sigh. "It's not just talk."

  Something in his tone made Ishar's frown deepen. "Is it, Orders?"

  Kael gave a slow nod. "A new dungeon surfaced. Governor wants us on it—tomorrow."

  Ishar exhaled through his nose, slumping into his chair. He scratched his cheek. "Is any other team coming?"

  Kael shook his head.

  "What?!" Ishar scoffed. "Just us? Has he gone insane?"

  Kael's response was a small, awkward smile.

  Ishar glanced at the three empty chairs beside them. "Where are the others? Aren't they supposed to be here?"

  Kael's impassive face twitched. "They had... other things to do. I'll tell them later."

  Ishar studied him for a long moment before finally asking, "You sure about that?"

  Kael met his gaze evenly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

  Ishar tapped a knuckle against the table, thoughtful. "It's too soon. Two days ago, we barely crawled out of that mess together. And now, suddenly, we're heading right back in?"

  Kael's fingers flexed against the table’s edge, but his expression remained composed. "Nothing's changed. It's just how things lined up."

  Ishar let the silence stretch between them, the tavern's clamor fading into the background. He studied Kael, searching for something beneath the calm exterior.

  The man was always difficult to read, but this felt... off.

  "Right."

  Kael pushed back his chair. "See you tomorrow."

  Ishar watched him stand, his movements heavier than usual.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "...Yeah."

  ***

  Outside, the streets held a different weight. Unlike the rowdy warmth of the tavern, the townsfolk moved with a quiet urgency—eyes downcast, steps brisk, unspoken fears thick in the air.

  Then, cutting through the hush, a voice rang out.

  A small crowd had gathered near the central pillar—an unusual sight in these times.

  The massive stone column stretched high, disappearing into the cavern’s ceiling. Its surface was rough, worn by time, and covered in carvings—some ancient, some newly scratched prayers for protection.

  A man at the base of the pillar raised his voice. "Pray to the virtue of purity, and salvation will come!"

  Ishar barely spared him a glance.

  "For those who pray for virtue," the man continued, fervently, "corruption shall not reach you."

  His words faded into the background as Ishar walked on.

  As he reached his small wooden house, he spotted someone waiting in front of it—someone he hadn't expected to run into today.

  Vael

  Of all people.

  She stood rigid, arms crossed, her gaze flicking to the door before drifting elsewhere.

  Ishar sighed. "Lost?" He barely slowed his steps.

  She jolted, her eyes snapping back to him.

  Shifting her weight toward him, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and murmured, "No."

  She hesitated, as if searching for the right words. "I just…"

  She glanced at him briefly, then bit her lip.

  Her gaze flicked past him, scanning the street—like she was expecting someone. Or avoiding something.

  "You're acting weird."

  Ishar frowned.

  She scoffed, but it lacked her usual sharpness. "No, you're just imagining things."

  That was more like her.

  She inhaled like she was about to say something else—then shut her mouth again.

  Then, before he could press her—

  "Well, isn't this a rare sight?"

  Ishar turned.

  Rudrik strode toward them at an unhurried pace, his boots crunching softly against the dirt road. His crossbow, ever-present, swayed over his shoulder, but his movements weren’t as lazy as he made them seem.

  Vael stiffened.

  Rudrik’s smirk didn’t reach his eyes. "Didn’t expect to see you two having a friendly chat."

  Ishar scoffed. "Yeah, right."

  He looked at them both.

  "Anyway," he said, rolling his shoulder, "we're heading into the dungeon tomorrow."

  He expected pushback. A snide remark. A groan of complaint.

  Instead, they both just… accepted it.

  Vael exhaled sharply.

  For a fraction of a second, she hesitated.

  Her eyes met Ishar’s—not with irritation, not with indifference. Something else.

  Something that made his breath hitch.

  Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

  Her expression shifted. A flicker of something unreadable.

  “I’m going.”

  She turned on her heel, quick and precise.

  "Wait—" Ishar frowned, stepping forward. "What did you want to say?"

  "Forget it."

  She didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. Just a small shake of her head, and then she was gone.

  Silence.

  Rudrik let out a low hum. "What was that about?"

  Ishar exhaled through his nose. "No idea."

  Rudrik clicked his tongue. "Maybe it’s her day."

  Ishar huffed a dry chuckle. "Vael? Having a day? Unheard of."

  Rudrik smirked. "Well, if she ever wants to unravel that mystery, I’m sure she’ll find her way back."

  ***

  Kael took a fleeting glance at Ishar as he exited the tavern, his expression unreadable.

  The moment he stepped outside, the crisp evening air did little to clear the weight pressing against his thoughts. His footsteps were heavy, his mind elsewhere as he moved through the dimly lit streets, each step echoing with quiet resolve.

  Eventually, he stopped before a modest home, its wooden exterior worn by time. Raising a fist, he knocked.

  A pause.

  Then, the door creaked open.

  A woman stood before him, her white hair catching the flickering glow of a nearby lantern. Her sharp eyes locked onto him the moment he appeared, and for a brief second, something unspoken passed between them.

  She was the first to break the silence.

  "You invited him?" Her voice was measured, but beneath the calm was something deeper—something tense, knowing.

  Kael didn't answer right away. Instead, he gave a slow nod, his jaw tight.

  Her fingers curled around the fabric of her robe, knuckles whitening. She exhaled sharply, her teeth grinding. "Do we really have to do this?"

  Kael held her gaze, his own unreadable. The weight of his decision settled heavily between them, unspoken yet undeniable.

  A slow breath escaped him.

  "It's for the best."

  The words were quiet. Final.

  The woman's lips parted as if to protest, but no words came. She simply stared at him, her grip tightening as the silence between them deepened.