The night was deep and hushed, the kind of silence that pressed against the walls like a held breath. The faint amber glow from the shuttered window spilled across the rough wooden floorboards, and the muted creak of the inn settling in its sleep was the only sound.
Kairo's eyes snapped open, unbidden. It was not the usual slow drift from dream to waking; it was sudden, like being pulled up through cold water. His vision adjusted to the dimness, the shadows stretching across the room in long, crooked shapes. And there, at the door, stood Luke.
Kairo blinked once, twice. His voice was low, hoarse from sleep."...Luke? You came back late."
Luke didn't answer immediately. He closed the door behind him with a muted click, his broad frame moving with a heaviness that spoke of fatigue more than stealth. His boots made almost no sound against the floor as he crossed the room, a faint draft curling in from the briefly opened door, carrying the scent of the cool night air and faint traces of smoke from the village chimneys.
Without ceremony, Luke sat on the far edge of Kairo's bed, the boards groaning faintly under his weight. His shoulders slumped as if someone had hooked invisible weights onto them. He lay down without even loosening his tunic, turning onto his side, one hand under his head.
"...Yea," Luke muttered, his voice thick with sleep and edged with the rough rasp of disuse. "It's just some… annoying girls kept talking to me. That's all."
The words rolled out sluggishly, like they had been carried through mud before reaching Kairo's ears.
Kairo hesitated, his gaze lingering for a heartbeat too long."Oh… uh. Goodnight, Luke."
He swallowed the instinct to press further. I don't wanna ask him any further… not tonight. There was something in Luke's tone—not exactly irritation, not exactly weariness, but a blend of both—that warned him away from curiosity.
The quiet reclaimed the room soon after, and the slow cadence of breathing filled the space until sleep took Kairo again.
The morning came with the burnished gold of sunrise filtering through the shutters, the faint chorus of distant roosters, and the chatter of merchants beginning their day somewhere down the main street. Dust motes drifted lazily in the beams of light cutting through the dimness.
Luke stirred first—or rather, thought he did. His eyes opened to find the other side of the bed empty, the blankets folded back neatly.Maybe I woke up late?
He reached toward the cabinet, his fingers closing around the familiar cool metal of his pocket watch. With a flick of his thumb, it clicked open.
A cold, short growl escaped his throat. "Hm… no. At least sleeping late doesn't affect my wake-up time."
He snapped it shut, the sound crisp in the stillness. Standing, he stretched—his spine cracking audibly in the morning quiet—rolling his shoulders until the tension loosened slightly. I should go too, he thought, a mental note brushed with mild resignation.
The floor was cool under his bare feet as he padded toward the bathroom. The muffled creak of the hinges accompanied him before the sound of running water took over, steam soon curling in faint wisps from the gap in the door.
Downstairs, the inn's common room carried the soft murmur of early patrons and the savory scent of baking bread mingling with the bitter trace of freshly brewed coffee. Kairo sat at a table near the window, his back to the wall, posture relaxed but alert in that subtle way seasoned travelers carried themselves.
Opposite him sat Liora, her posture as poised as her gaze was sharp, one elbow resting lightly on the table's edge, fingers curling and uncurling around the handle of a half-finished mug.
Their conversation had been winding in the casual rhythm of shared quiet moments.
"So Vivy's still in her room?" Kairo asked, taking a measured sip from his cup.
"Mm," Liora replied, her tone balanced between disinterest and mild amusement. "Apparently she's dressing up. Been at it a while."
Kairo arched an eyebrow. "For breakfast?"
Liora's lips curved slightly, not quite a smile, but the shadow of one. "Some people prepare like they're going to war every time they step outside their room."
Kairo smirked faintly. Or maybe every day is a battlefield for someone like Vivy.
The conversation drifted into lighter things—passing thoughts on the weather, the faintly overdone bread from the tray nearby—until a flicker of movement caught Liora's peripheral vision.
Her eyes cut sharply to the stairwell.
Two figures emerged from the top of the staircase—Vivy, in a well-fitted tunic that caught the morning light like a fine silk thread, and Luke beside her, his stride steady, his expression unreadable but undeniably awake.
Kairo noticed Liora's gaze shift. He followed it and saw them descending side by side.
The air seemed to shift just slightly—like the tension before an arrow is loosed.
Liora stood from her chair, moving with feline precision until she stepped into their path. Her lips curled upward in a sly, almost predatory smile, her tone pitched high and edged with teasing.
"You know…" she said, drawing the words out with deliberate slowness, "…this isn't looking good for you, Luke."
Luke froze mid-step, the faintest flicker of surprise crossing his face—a twitch in the brow, the stilling of his breath. Vivy's head turned sharply toward Liora, and in the space of a heartbeat, her hand shot out, fingers tangling in Liora's hair.
Her voice was a whipcrack. "If you spill even one more bullshit—"
Luke moved instantly, one hand raised, voice cutting between them like a wedge. "Ahem. Seems like when it comes to this kind of humor, you're good at it. But let's not cross the line."
He straightened slightly, his tone firm but not sharp. "And shouldn't you be doing that when we're eating breakfast?"
Vivy's grip loosened, but her gaze lingered on Liora like a blade's edge that hadn't quite been sheathed.
Liora, in contrast, smoothed her hair with deliberate calm, her lips curving again in that sly shape. "You're right, Luke." She said while giving Luke a thump up with a smile on her face before she continue. "You really match my humor, eh?"
Luke's internal sigh was almost visible in the faint slump of his shoulders. Since when?
Kairo had watched the entire exchange from his seat, one hand creeping up to press against his temple. These two…
It was equal parts exasperating and—if he was honest with himself—amusing. A reluctant smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he waved for them to join. His voice came out more strained than he intended.
"Could we… maybe sit down before this turns into a sideshow?"
The warmth inside the inn was immediate—a slow, amber glow from the hearth spilling across the timbered walls, the air heavy with the scent of spiced broth and oak smoke. Shadows trembled along the beams overhead as the fire's light swayed, lending the place a hush that was more intimate than silent. The faint crackle of burning logs was punctuated by the low murmur of two older men seated near the far wall, their conversation fading as the newcomers entered.
The table Kairo chose stood near the center of the room, its surface worn to a muted sheen by decades of elbows, mugs, and careless knife-scoring. Chairs groaned under their weight as they settled—Kairo first, leaning back slightly, gaze sweeping the room without appearing to, Liora lowering herself with careful poise, folding her hands in her lap for a heartbeat before letting them rest lightly on the table's edge, Vivy pulling her seat close, her movements compact and economical, as though minimizing the space she occupied. Luke took the last seat, the scrape of chair legs over the floorboards briefly louder than the hearth.
Kairo's voice cut the air, quiet yet edged with a casual directness. "So… we're at Easthaven." He glanced at Luke, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. "That means it didn't go as planned… right?"
Luke shifted in his chair, the faintest slump in his posture betraying something between weariness and resignation. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with a soft, almost pitiable cadence, the syllables drawn out in an almost self-deprecating way."Yes," he said, the corners of his mouth pulling into a rueful half-smile. "It's too bad."
Then, like a curtain snapping open, his voice brightened—rich, clear, and ringing with practiced cheer. He leaned back, twisting slightly toward the counter. "Marth, a menu, please!"
From the back, a door swung on squeaky hinges, and out stepped a middle-aged woman carrying herself with brisk assurance. Her silver-streaked chestnut hair was pulled into a loose knot, stray wisps curling against her temples. Her eyes—keen, assessing—sat beneath a brow furrowed not in irritation but in habitual focus. She walked toward them with the grounded confidence of someone accustomed to ruling her domain.
Halfway to the table, her gait slowed. Her eyes locked on Luke. The lines of her face softened as though a shadow had lifted, and a subtle shift in her breathing betrayed a sudden rush of recognition. Surprise and something more complicated—confusion, fondness—bloomed across her features. When she spoke, her voice was a little hoarse, the sound catching slightly at the end."It's… really you, Luke."
Luke chuckled, the sound low and genuine, a warmth that curled at the edges. His grin broadened until it was unguarded, almost boyish. "Of course, ma'am. It's me—your best friend Luke."
She smiled—small at first, then widening as if against her own will.
From across the table, Kairo's inner thought cut through the scene with dry precision: Oh. She's the innkeeper from last night. A beat later, So they really are close… it seems.
Liora's eyes flicked between them, the faintest lift to her brow. Best friend? That's a bold claim… though she doesn't seem entirely against it.
Vivy merely tilted her head slightly, her lips twitching in a near-smile. Luke and best friends… that's new. Wonder how many towns he says that in.
Luke's voice carried on with a practiced flourish, the words buoyant and confident. "Let me introduce you—this is Marth Siwena, the daughter of Marth Martha, the owner of this fine inn."
Siwena's expression changed in a heartbeat. Without breaking stride, she reached out and caught Luke's ear between two fingers, tugging with the unceremonious familiarity of someone long past worrying about manners. Her tone sharpened, though a spark of amusement burned behind it."Oh, shut up, Luke. When we first met, I was twelve. What do you mean, 'best friend'? And then you vanish for—what—ten years?"
Luke leaned sideways, trying to ease the pull on his ear, laughing under his breath but with a nervous edge. "Wait, wait—y'know I had my reasons! I was… caught in unfortunate situations."
Siwena snorted, releasing his ear only to fold her arms, one brow arching high. "Unfortunate situations, my ass. You were probably too busy with your precious trading and traveling."
Luke spread his hands, palms up in mock surrender, scooting his chair back an inch. "Maybe… partially…"
She gave him a final, pointed look, then let the matter drop with a short hum. "Mm. Here's the menu." She set the worn leather-bound boards on the table with a faint thump. "And it's just me right now—staff aren't here this early. If you want to eat, you'll have to wait. Understand?"
All four of them—almost in unison—answered, "Yes, we understand."
The heavy wooden table bore the weight of their anticipation as Luke took the worn menu into his calloused hands, the edges softened by years of handling. His sharp eyes flickered over the hand-scripted names, savoring each description as if tasting the dishes before the first bite.
His gaze paused on the Hunter's Plate — a rustic assortment of cold cuts: smoked hare, its rich gamey aroma mingling with the sharp tang of aged forest cheese, and the earthy brightness of pickled root vegetables—each bite promising a dance of smoky savor, creamy bite, and crisp acidity. He imagined the delicate balance, the smoke curling gently on his palate, lingering with the faint bitterness of wild roots.
Next, his eyes drifted to the Baked Apple Bowl, an enticing bowl of spiced apples bathed in cinnamon's warm embrace, brown sugar caramelized to a golden crust, and the subtle heat of nutmeg teasing the senses. The warmth of the dish would coax sleepy appetites awake, its sweetness both comforting and rich, like a hearthside tale told in flavor.
Finally, Luke's gaze settled on the drinks section, where he chose a Darkwood Brew — a bold, almost bitter coffee roasted from the elusive Darkwood beans, known to grow only in the shadowy groves beyond the eastern ranges. The brew was said to hold whispers of charcoal and wild herbs, a bitter complexity softened by a hint of vanilla smoke, warming the soul like a lingering ember in a cold night.
With a decisive nod, Luke tapped the menu. "I'll have one Hunter's Plate, one Baked Apple Bowl, and a large cup of Darkwood Brew."
He passed the menu smoothly across the table to Liora, who accepted it with a quiet, practiced motion. Meanwhile, Siwena, the innkeeper's daughter, deftly began to jot down Luke's order, her pencil scratching quickly against the parchment.
Vivy reached for the menu with delicate fingers, her expression a mixture of contemplation and habit. Her eyes scanned briefly before settling on the Molasses Scones — dense, rich pastries darkened by sticky molasses and dotted with plump, sun-kissed raisins. She could almost taste the molasses' smoky sweetness, mingling with the faint tartness of the fruit, a perfect companion for a morning steep.
For her drink, she chose a Smoky Hearth Tea — a deep black tea with a whisper of smoked oak, its earthy aroma curling gently upward like the smoke from a distant forge. It promised quiet comfort, a steady warmth to soothe and sharpen the senses.
"I'll have one Molasses Scone and a medium cup of Smoky Hearth Tea," Vivy said softly, her voice a calm contrast to the bustling inn.
She passed the menu with a subtle smile to Liora, who eagerly took the chance to act quickly.
Liora's fingers flicked over the pages as if racing time itself. Her eyes gleamed with hunger and purpose as she selected two Fenland Fishcakes — pan-seared patties crafted from freshly caught river fish, their tender flesh bound by herbs, served with chive butter and a squeeze of lemon thyme. The cakes promised a delicate balance of richness and zest, a savory delight that carried the scent of misty riverbanks.
She also ordered a Herbal Omelet — fluffy eggs folded with fragrant chervil and parsley, softened by the tang of creamy goat cheese melting within. The omelet whispered of sunny mornings and fresh garden herbs.
For sweetness, she chose a Plum and Fig Tartlet, its flaky crust enveloping a warm compote of spiced plum and fig — a symphony of tartness and warmth, a delicate counterpoint to the savory dishes.
Liora's beverage of choice was a large cup of Morning Cider, a lightly spiced apple concoction served warm, its gentle spices and crisp fruitiness promising to brighten the senses with each sip.
"I'll have two Fenland Fishcakes, one Herbal Omelet, one Plum & Fig Tartlet, and a large cup of Morning Cider," she said briskly, eyes shining with a blend of hunger and anticipation.
Finally, Kairo, steady and deliberate, examined the menu with careful consideration. His choice landed on the familiar Fenland Fishcakes, their hearty and comforting nature an anchor to a restless soul.
He complemented it with a Root Mash Bowl — creamed parsnip and carrot, whipped to a buttery smoothness and finished with a drizzle of browned butter that glistened like molten gold. The dish seemed to speak of quiet earthiness and humble strength, a warm embrace in plate form.
To drink, Kairo opted for a large cup of Frothed Nut Milk, sweetened almond milk lightly whipped into a frothy warmth, silky and soothing — a gentle comfort to start the day.
"I'll have one Fenland Fishcake, one Root Mash Bowl, and a large cup of Frothed Nut Milk," he said with measured calm, voice low but resolute.
Siwena's eyes flickered between them all as she finished noting the orders, her lips curving into a quick smile before she rose swiftly. "I'll be right back in a little while, dear guests," she said with a quick, bright tone, before turning on her heels and hurrying toward the kitchen, the soft clatter of her steps fading beneath the gentle hum of the waking inn.
The four sat back, the weight of hunger and expectation settling like a warm cloak. Their eyes exchanged glances — Luke's a hint of weary satisfaction, Vivy's a calm focus, Liora's a spark of excitement, and Kairo's a quiet steadiness. Outside, the village of Easthaven stirred further to life, the distant caw of birds and soft murmur of villagers weaving through the thin morning air.