The inn was alive with the scent of roasted meats, ale, and the unmistakable energy of a crowd well into their cups. Laughter and song wove through the air, punctuated by the occasional thud of a fist meeting a table or the clatter of a chair tipping over. It was the kind of place where stories were told and regrets, were drowned—where men drank like they had no past and woke up like they had no future.
Drakar settled onto a stool at the bar, his massive frame forcing the drunk beside him to scoot over. The bartender slid a tankard his way, the froth sloshing over the rim. He took a long swig, letting the bitterness settle on his tongue.
That was when he saw her.
At a corner table, a lone figure lounged in her chair, arms crossed, a smirk playing at her lips. Her robes, a deep blue with faint silver embroidery, marked her as a mage—not one of those stiff-robed, book-bound types, but something else. The kind of spellcaster who belonged more in a tavern than a tower. The kind who carried herself like she already knew the ending to the story and was just waiting for everyone else to catch up.
Her dark, mischievous eyes locked onto the man in front of her—a patron who was about five seconds from making a mistake.
Drakar’s grip on his tankard tightened.
The man was leaning in too close, speaking in that drunken slur that reeked of false confidence. The mage looked unimpressed, her fingers drumming against the table as she let him dig his own grave.
Drakar started to rise. He wasn’t sure why—force of habit, maybe. Or because something in him still wouldn’t allow him to sit back and watch someone else go through what he once did.
Then, before he could take a step, the mage’s lips moved in a whisper.
The drunken man’s footing wobbled. His eyes widened in confusion as the ground seemed to slip from under him—except the ground hadn’t moved. He had. His boots skidded, the ale in his hand sloshing over his vest as he flailed, arms flapping like a fish tossed onto a dock.
Then—WHAM.
Flat on his back. Tankard rolling across the floor. A stunned silence rippled through the tavern before raucous laughter broke out.
The mage, looking pleased with herself, leaned over the table, resting her chin on her palm. “Oops.”
Drakar snorted.
For the first time in a long time, a real, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips.