Chapter 7: Of Ale, Axes, and Secrets
The wagon dropped them off just past sunset, the warm lights of a bustling town flickering ahead like stars scattered across stone. The scent of roasted meat, mead, and smoke filled the air.
Thory stretched as she stepped down from the cart. "Ah, smells like civilization—and bad decisions."
Fen kept his hood low, glancing around. "This place looks… loud."
"That's because it is," she said with a grin. "Come. First stop: beer."
They turned the corner and walked into The Laughing Hammer, a massive wooden tavern pulsing with laughter, shouting, and the rhythmic thump of Nordic musicians hammering drums and stringing fast-paced songs on lyres.
Everywhere, burly men and women slammed mugs of beer, arm-wrestled on thick tables, and told wild stories that ended in louder laughter.
Thory strolled in like she owned the place.
A server raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you a little young to be—"
SLAM.
Thory planted herself at the bar, grabbed a mug nearly as big as her head, and chugged it dry in seconds.
The tavern went silent for a beat. Then the whole place cheered.
Fen blinked. "What just happened?"
"She earned their respect," someone whispered behind him.
Thory wiped her mouth. "Now that the essentials are done—Fen, we need to upgrade your axe. No more scraps and bone-shards. You need a weapon that can hold real power. And I might know where to start."
Before Fen could respond, a chair crashed through the air behind them, narrowly missing his head.
A massive man roared from across the room, swinging wildly at another warrior.
A full bar fight erupted—and the musicians didn't stop playing. In fact, they played faster.
Thory cracked her knuckles, stepped forward, and laid out two men with one punch each, lightning crackling behind her eyes.
Fen ducked a swing, swung his knee into a drunk's gut, and swept a table leg out from another's feet. It felt like dancing through chaos.
By the time they stumbled out the tavern doors into the night air, both were bruised but laughing.
"That was... insane," Fen gasped.
"That," Thory said, "was tradition."
They walked down the quiet cobbled street, the sounds of laughter and lute fading behind them. Fen adjusted the axe strapped to his back.
"I didn't know you could drink like that."
"I didn't know you could fight like that," she countered. "Not bad, wolf-boy."
She slowed her steps, her tone shifting.
"Listen. If you're going to take on the Baldurians… you need more than strength. You need a weapon worthy of your blood. Something ancient. Maybe even something from your past."
"My past?"
She looked ahead, not meeting his eyes.
"Maybe... something from a sibling."
Fen froze. "Wait—what? I don't have a sibling."
Thory finally looked at him, serious.
Her voice was low. "Not one that's alive."