The market was still bustling, even as darkness settled fully over the city. Lanterns and torches illuminated rows of wooden stalls, each vendor loudly calling out offers to passing adventurers. The air was thick with the scent of fresh bread, spiced meats, and aromatic herbs.
Lucas moved quietly through the crowd, clutching a small satchel filled with materials harvested from the Nightscale Hounds. His eyes scanned carefully, looking for a buyer.
Eventually, he approached a stall run by an older man with a scar running from his cheek to his chin, examining goods with a practiced eye.
"What've you got there, boy?" the man asked, noticing Lucas lingering.
Lucas opened his satchel, revealing neatly organized scales, claws, and teeth.
"Nightscale Hounds," he said quietly.
The merchant picked up one of the scales, turning it thoughtfully in the torchlight. "Good condition, but common enough. I'll give you fifty coppers for the lot."
Lucas hesitated, but after a brief pause, nodded. "Fine."
The merchant handed over the coins, quickly counting them out. Lucas pocketed them carefully, then reached into a smaller pouch, taking out several small, dark Soul Cores.
The man's eyes widened slightly, clearly interested. "And those?"
"Soul Cores," Lucas replied cautiously. "Same beasts."
The merchant inspected them closely. "Basic cores. Good condition. I'll offer ten silvers each."
Lucas agreed without negotiation, feeling relief at having actual currency for once.
After the trade, he stepped away, the satisfying weight of coins heavy in his pocket. It wasn't much, but it was enough for now.
Enough for food, rest, and perhaps even a brief moment of comfort.
Lucas moved away from the market stalls, turning toward the welcoming glow of a nearby inn.
The sign above the wooden door swung gently in the evening breeze, creaking softly. Painted in faded letters was the simple name: The Crow's Nest.
Lucas pushed the door open, immediately met by the warmth and the comforting scent of roasting meat and fresh bread. The interior was modest but welcoming, with worn wooden tables scattered around a large fireplace burning brightly at the far end of the room.
A middle-aged woman with bright eyes and a friendly smile looked up from cleaning a mug at the counter. "Welcome, traveler. Looking for food or a room?"
"Both," Lucas replied quietly, stepping toward her. "Just for tonight."
She glanced at him over briefly, noting the weariness in his eyes and the fresh cuts and scratches on his armor. "It's five silvers for the room, dinner included."
Lucas reached into his pocket, counting out the coins. She took them with a nod, handing him a small iron key in return.
"Room's upstairs, second door on the right," she said warmly. "Dinner's being served whenever you're ready."
He thanked her quietly and moved up the narrow stairs, finding his room quickly. It was small, clean, and sparsely furnished—a simple bed, a washbasin, and a sturdy chest.
He removed his armor, placing it carefully in the corner of the room, stretching slightly as the weight left his body. For a brief moment, he sat on the edge of the bed, letting himself breathe deeply, savoring the small comfort of safety and shelter.
His stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him how long it had been since he'd had a proper meal.
Lucas sighed softly, rose to his feet, and stepped out into the hallway again, heading downstairs to the warm, inviting scent of dinner.
Lucas stepped quietly into the dining area, the room now fuller than before. The low hum of conversation filled the space, mixing gently with the soft crackle of the fireplace.
His eyes scanned the tables, looking for an empty seat away from others. He wasn't eager to talk or explain himself, preferring solitude after the exhausting day he'd had.
Then, his attention settled briefly on a figure seated in the far corner of the room, isolated and withdrawn. The stranger wore a deep, hooded cloak, obscuring their features. A bowl of steaming soup sat half-eaten in front of them, their movements careful and deliberate.
Lucas hesitated momentarily, feeling an odd tension in the air around that table. It felt somehow out of place—like a small pocket of silence in a room full of noise.
Not wanting to risk unnecessary attention, Lucas turned away quickly and found a seat on the opposite side of the room, choosing an empty table near the fireplace.
The warm glow from the flames relaxed him slightly, and he let his shoulders slump, finally allowing himself to feel the full weight of his exhaustion.
Still, even as he leaned back, the presence of the cloaked figure lingered uneasily at the edge of his mind.
He glanced briefly again toward the stranger, wondering who might choose solitude in such a crowded place.
Then, the innkeeper approached with a welcoming smile, placing a hot meal in front of him, and Lucas momentarily pushed the stranger from his mind.
For now, he simply wanted to eat in peace.
Lucas inhaled deeply as the meal was placed before him, savoring the enticing aroma that rose gently from the bowl. A thick stew, rich with chunks of meat, potatoes, and vegetables, accompanied by fresh bread, still warm from the oven.
He didn't waste any time.
Taking a spoonful, he tasted the stew, his eyes closing briefly in relief. The warmth spread through him immediately, chasing away a chill he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying.
For a moment, nothing else mattered—the worries, the uncertainty, the fatigue. All faded beneath the simple comfort of a hot meal.
Lucas tore off a piece of bread, dipping it into the stew, savoring every bite as if he hadn't eaten properly in weeks. Because, in truth, he hadn't.
The taste, the warmth, the sheer pleasure of a good meal overwhelmed him, making everything else temporarily insignificant. For once, he wasn't worried about survival, monsters, or soul cores. He wasn't thinking about ranks, classes, or hidden threats.
He was simply…content.
Lucas allowed himself a rare moment to relax, the warmth of the inn, the chatter of patrons, and the glow of the fire offering an unfamiliar yet soothing sense of normalcy.
Yet even in that brief moment of comfort, his eyes drifted subconsciously back toward the figure in the corner.
Something still felt strange.
He quickly returned his gaze to the meal, telling himself firmly it wasn't his business. But his mind refused to let go of that subtle, nagging feeling.
He forced himself to ignore it, focusing instead on the stew and bread, savoring every bite, every mouthful, determined to hold onto this moment of simple joy for as long as possible.
Lucas set down his spoon, the bowl nearly empty.
He leaned back in his chair, letting out a quiet breath of contentment, the kind that came from a full stomach and a rare moment of calm. His eyes wandered instinctivamente por la sala… y volvieron a la figura encapuchada en la esquina.
The stranger hadn't moved much—still hunched slightly over their plate, hood drawn low, posture casual but guarded.
Something about them nagged at him.
Then, a soft motion—a hand brushing aside the hood for a moment, just enough to tuck away a loose strand of hair.
Lucas froze.
His eyes widened slightly.
Beneath the hood, he caught a glimpse of a delicate jawline, silver-blonde hair, and bright, calculating eyes. Eyes he'd seen before, not long ago… when she passed through the city square surrounded by guards, walking confidently toward the castle gates.
Lyss.
The girl from House Elysian.
Lucas tensed in his seat, his fingers unconsciously tightening around the edge of the table. His heart gave a quiet, uneasy thump.
'Why is she here… alone?'
He looked away quickly, but not fast enough.
He felt her eyes meet his.
A quiet moment passed.
Then she stood.
Lucas didn't move.
He kept his head low, trying to act casual, but every instinct screamed at him that she'd seen through the act. That she'd recognized the recognition in his eyes.
Her footsteps were soft but deliberate as she approached.
Lucas heard the footsteps stop just beside him.
He didn't look up.
Not until he felt fingers close around his wrist—gentle, but firm.
"Come with me," a voice said, low and urgent.
He met her gaze.
Now up close, there was no doubt.
Lyss.
Her hood was still drawn, but her features were clearer in the flickering firelight. Despite her efforts to stay hidden, her poise gave her away—straight-backed, calm-eyed, far too composed to be anyone ordinary.
Lucas opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head quickly.
"Not here."
Without waiting for a reply, she tugged his arm and moved toward the back of the inn, weaving smoothly through the tables. A few patrons looked up, but no one said anything. She moved with the practiced silence of someone used to avoiding attention.
Lucas followed, more out of instinct than agreement, confusion and caution swirling inside him.
She pushed open a narrow side door, leading them into a dim hallway lit by a single oil lamp. The muffled sounds of the tavern faded behind them.
She didn't stop.
Not until they reached a small storage room near the end of the corridor.
She opened it, stepped inside, and turned back to face him.
Only then did she lower her hood fully, silver-blonde hair spilling around her shoulders, eyes sharp and focused.
"You saw me earlier," she said simply. "Didn't you?"
Lucas met her gaze, saying nothing at first.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
"...Yeah."
Her expression remained unreadable, but her grip on the door tightened slightly.
"This changes things."