Ren stood at the counter of the Flamehall, stomach growling louder than Blaze mid-fight.
He'd finally asked a local how to get there — turns out, Flamehall wasn't some ancient archive or spell fortress.
It was a damn restaurant.
One that smelled like meat, garlic, and the kind of spice that could legally be classified as a weapon.
REN (to himself):
"Great. Magic city, no currency, and I'm about to get kicked out of a soup bar."
He turned to leave—
tried to slide out cool, unnoticed.
That's when a hand landed on his shoulder.
Not rough. Not hard.
But heavy.
Like if this guy wanted to crush Ren's entire day — he could.
??? (calm, deep voice):
"So you're the Deliverer's new partner."
Ren turned slowly.
Saw red eyes, calm and unreadable.
Skin pale like he hadn't seen daylight since before time.
Hair sleek, long, black — too perfect to be fair.
He wore black and violet robes that didn't shimmer so much as threaten.
Jewelry shaped like fangs.
And he stood so tall that everyone else nearby had quietly started backing up.
The entire restaurant went silent.
Someone dropped a spoon.
Three people kneeled.
Ren blinked twice.
REN (whispers):
"Oh god, I bumped into a king.
In a restaurant.
With no money."
The man tilted his head, amused.
??? (with unsettling calm):
"Relax. I'm not going to drink your blood."
(beat)
"Unless you ask nicely."
REN:
"...You're joking, right?"
??? (smiling faintly):
"Am I?"
Someone bolted out of the kitchen carrying a steaming bowl of bright red soup —
slammed it onto the nearest table, trembling.
The man nodded, sat gracefully, and motioned for a second bowl.
??? (gesturing to the empty seat):
"Sit. You look underfed. Possibly emotionally bankrupt."
Ren hesitated.
Sat.
Mostly because his legs were on autopilot and the man's vibe said "refuse and die stylishly."
REN:
"You know the Deliverer?"
??? (sipping soup):
"I would say yes.
He would say no.
But we've shared strange nights and stranger packages."
REN (staring):
"I... what does that even mean?"
The man smiled wider. Not reassuring.
??? (offering his hand):
"I am King Veyrix Kuron, sovereign of Valek'Thar — the Red Continent."
A pause.
VEYRIX:
"Vampire territory.
Try not to panic.
You're not on the menu."
Ren shook his hand slowly.
REN:
"Ren. Just Ren.
Slightly confused.
Definitely on edge."
The soup arrived.
It hissed.
Ren wasn't sure if it was alive or just that spicy.
VEYRIX (calmly, sipping):
"So tell me, Partner of the Deliverer.
What exactly did you do to earn his attention?"
REN (looking at the soup, then at Veyrix):
"I got lost.
Fought a beast.
Looked stupid.
Almost stabbed a mailbox."
VEYRIX (nodding):
"Ah. A classic tale."
The crowd still stared.
A few whispered.
And Ren realized —
he wasn't just in the city.
He'd landed at the center of power, paranoia, and spicy-ass soup.
REN (quietly):
"I feel like this lunch is a lot more political than I thought."
VEYRIX (grinning):
"It always is. Welcome to Emberstone."