The walk back from the restaurant was uneventful. Colin told some lame jokes, Nectar laughed, and for a little while, he felt better about himself.

  The streets had emptied somewhat, leaving their pace slow and unhurried. As they reached the tavern, Nectar grabbed Colin’s sleeve, stopping him just short of the entrance.

  "Hey... I just wanted to say thank you for taking me out tonight. I had a fun time." She smiled up at him, her amber eyes glinting in the lantern light.

  Colin felt a knot form in his throat, but he managed to push words past it. "Anytime. I had fun too. Thanks for letting me treat you."

  He could feel the stupid smile plastered on his face, but before he could think too much about it, Nectar leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. She smelled like birch trees and a spring breeze.

  His hand instinctively rose to his cheek as she winked and slipped inside the tavern. Heat radiated off his face.

  He didn’t know how to feel. He had died and left behind Emma, his childhood friend and on-again, off-again girlfriend. It felt like years ago, but at most, it had only been a week.

  Emma... his first love. First kiss. First... well, everything. They had always been more than friends, but never quite right together.

  The thought made him sad. Emma was probably hurting terribly, mourning the loss of one of her closest friends—her boyfriend. Meanwhile, here he was, taking a stranger out on a date.

  Colin inhaled deeply. Something cleared in his mind, and his racing thoughts slowed. He couldn’t do anything for Emma now. They had always ended up apart. They weren’t meant to fit together.

  And she would never know that he was here, in an entirely different world, with different rules and different ways of life. It was a harsh reality, one he would have to accept eventually. For now, he would do what felt right.

  That resolution settled in his mind, firm and unshakable. He exhaled, shaking off the lingering weight of guilt. A small smile crept onto his face as he pushed open the tavern door—

  —and stepped straight into utter chaos.

  The first thing he saw was Kaelis getting punched in the face by a random Rex’lan. Kaelis took the hit, then dropped the guy with a strong right hook. For good measure, he punted the lizard-man’s chin on his way down.

  Movement to his left caught Colin’s eye. He barely sidestepped a body that went flying through the door—courtesy of Bram, who stood amidst a pile of unconscious men, looking quite pleased with himself.

  Across the room, Nectar and Lyra were perched by the bar, smirking at the mayhem.

  “HE’S WITH THEM!” someone bellowed from within the brawl.

  Before he knew it, Colin was in the thick of a fistfight.

  He wasn’t much of a brawler. He knew how to fight—had wrestled a bit in high school to appease his father—but he wasn’t a professional.

  The first attacker rushed him, aiming to tackle. Colin reacted instinctively, bringing a knee up. He caught the guy square in the nose, snapping his head back. From there, Colin let his instincts take over.

  A left jab. A hard right hook. The man crumpled before he even hit the floor.

  Another opponent lunged, swinging at his face. Colin ducked low, grabbed the man’s legs, and drove his weight forward. They crashed to the ground, Colin landing on top. He rained down three solid punches. Another one down.

  A heavy impact struck his back, knocking the breath from his lungs. Splinters rained over him as he flipped forward. Colin wheezed, pushing himself up, only to see a massive blue-skinned Frosk looming over him—the remains of a shattered chair in his hand.

  Oh. That explained the splinters.

  Colin barely had time to roll before the Frosk grabbed him. He struggled, but the man’s grip was iron. He felt himself being hoisted up—legs draped over broad shoulders, the ground flipping away beneath him.

  Well, crap. I’m about to be power-bombed in a tavern.

  Desperate, he threw frantic punches at the Frosk’s head, but they barely fazed the brute. Colin clenched his teeth and braced for impact—

  CRACK.

  Warm liquid splattered his torso. Suddenly, his feet were on the ground, his weight no longer suspended in the air. Instead, he found himself sitting on the Frosk’s chest.

  Colin blinked. The man beneath him looked dazed, his eyes rolling unfocused. Pieces of broken glass littered the floor around them.

  Across the tavern, Kaelis gave him a casual wave, a fresh bottle twirling in the air before he caught it and smacked it over the head of the man he was currently holding in a headlock.

  Colin guffawed and pushed himself up. He planted a boot under the Frosk’s chin, knocking him out cold before he could recover.

  The fight was over. The few conscious men were dragging their unconscious companions toward the exit. Near the bar, the tavern’s owner was chatting with the girls, a mop and bucket at her feet, looking entirely unbothered.

  Colin volunteered to clean up since he had missed most of the fight. Bram clapped him on the back in thanks, and Kaelis silently grabbed a rag, helping him wipe down tables as Colin flipped them upright.

  Fifteen minutes later, the tavern looked good as new. Colin handed the cleaning supplies back to the owner, who gave him an amused smile.

  “Thanks, sweetie. I appreciate it. You did good out there. Next time, though, try not to get caught by the biggest bloke in the fight, okay?” She patted his cheek, motherly despite the teasing.

  “I’ll do my best. Thanks for letting us stay here, even after the mess.”

  “Oh, for sure. Most places would’ve booted you.” She smirked. “Lucky for you, I happen to enjoy the occasional brawl. Doesn’t hurt that Bram’s an old friend of mine.”

  She twisted on her heels and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Colin turned to Bram, raising an eyebrow. The dwarf simply shrugged and climbed onto a barstool, ordering a drink.

  Colin sat beside him. Lark returned and slid two mugs of ale across the counter.

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  “Thanks, Lark,” Bram grunted.

  “So... how did that all happen?” Colin asked, blunt as ever. Curiosity burned in his chest.

  “That?” Bram scratched his beard, pretending to ponder. “I ‘spose it started when one o’ those fools smacked the waitress on the rump. Kae, despite his frosty exterior, is quite the gentleman, y’know.”

  “So Kae started it?” Colin grinned. That tracked.

  “I reckon he finished more than he started, son.” Bram chuckled. “The one who smacked the girl didn’t even get a chance to enjoy the handful he stole. On the ground with Kae standin’ o’er him wit’ a broken bottle. You saw enough to guess how it went from there.”

  Bram took a long swig from his cup. Colin barked out a laugh, shaking his head. He glanced up at Lark and tossed a few coins onto the counter.

  “Kae doesn’t pay for his food or drink the rest of the time we’re here.”

  Lark grinned, scooping up the coins. “That was the plan, sweetheart, but thanks for the tip anyway.”

  Colin flushed. Bram laughed. Lark poured another round.

  Kaelis strolled over and clapped Colin on the back. “I appreciate the sentiment, at least.”

  Colin just sighed and took a drink.

  ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  From outside the tavern, a hooded figure watched the group. A reptilian tail swayed slowly, cutting lazy arcs through the dirt.

  Sskarin pulled her cloak tighter, the fabric concealing most of her features save for the faint glint of slitted eyes beneath the hood. She turned, slipping into the darkness of the quiet street, her departure accompanied by a low hum—a traditional Rex’lan melody, laced with eerie bird-like whistles.

  She had a meeting to attend. And her “guests” were not known for their patience.

  The night stretched into dawn, drifting lazily between cold ale, warm chairs, and even warmer conversation. The five adventurers laughed, swapped stories, and poked fun at one another. As the hours grew later, the mood only grew lighter.

  By the time the first hints of morning crept in, reality settled on them. Sleep was a luxury on the road, and they had the rare opportunity to take full advantage of it. With sluggish movements and tired grins, the group bid their goodnights and made their way to their rooms.

  Colin lingered behind, helping Lark clean up the remnants of their night. He wasn’t sure if it was guilt from the earlier fight or just gratitude, but the least he could do was lend a hand.

  Just as he finished up, the tavern door creaked open.

  Sskarin stepped inside, moving with a slight sway to her posture. The coppery scent of blood brushed against Colin’s nose as she passed him. His stomach clenched.

  Before he could say anything, she was gone—her door clicking shut, the latch sliding into place.

  She seemed… fine? Or at least she didn’t ask for help. He exhaled through his nose, deciding he’d mention it to Bram in the morning—if he remembered.

  His head felt thick, thoughts muddled. He couldn't remember the last time he drank that much. College, maybe? Some random dorm party?

  The stairs felt longer than usual, and by the time he reached his room, he didn’t bother with formalities. He shoved the door open, barely making it to the bed before collapsing face-first into the pillow. No blanket. No lock. No second thoughts.

  His eyes had already slipped shut before the door moved.

  A quiet creak. A whisper of fabric.

  Then, a soft thunk as the lock slid into place.

  Lyra exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. "What an idiot," she murmured, a smirk tugging at her lips.

  She turned away, retreating to her own room. This time, she made sure to lock the door before collapsing into bed, ready to enjoy what little rest she could get.

  Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

  Colin’s pulse pounded in rhythm with his throbbing headache. He felt sicker than a dog, and he imagined he looked even worse.

  Forcing his eyes open, he blearily scanned the room. The tavern. Right. A long night of revelry and drunken fun.

  He exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and shut his eyes again.

  A gentle knock echoed through his swollen head.

  “You alright in there, big guy?” Lyra’s voice.

  Colin tried to speak, but all that came out was some miserable mix between a groan and a sigh. He could hear her stifling a laugh behind the door.

  Ker-chunk.

  The latch shot up by itself—magic, he assumed—before Lyra stepped in and walked over to him.

  “Lichtblut flie?, corpus heil, Geistum brenn, noctis veil.”

  The words hit Colin like a bag of bricks. And then—just like that—the pain was gone. The pressure behind his eyes faded. He opened them, blinking at the world without feeling like he was staring into the center of the sun.

  “What was that?”

  “Just an old Bardic healing verse. Did it work?” She looked at him eagerly, like a puppy fishing for praise.

  “Amazingly. I feel like I never drank at all. Thanks, Lyra. I don’t think I’d even be able to enjoy my day off without that.” He was sincere. Just moments ago, he’d felt like death itself.

  “No problem. You kept up with a Wudlin and a Dwarf. That’s pretty impressive, all things considered. I’d have been more shocked if you weren’t on death’s door today.”

  “Any idea what time it is?”

  “About midday. Everyone’s been up for the last hour or so, though, so you’re not far behind. Bram was the only one who woke up earlier. Might not have even gone to sleep, if I’m being honest.”

  “That sounds like him,” Colin admitted, rubbing his temple.

  There was something… something he had to tell Bram. His memories of last night were hazy, though, even with the hangover lifted. He remembered the brawl, the laughter, the jests. But something had happened before he got to his room—

  “Mornin’, sssleepyhead.”

  Sskarin. The blood.

  Colin startled as he looked up to see the Rex’lan standing in the doorway, not looking any worse for wear. Not that he was sure he’d be able to spot bruises beneath her scales.

  She caught the concern in his expression and shook her head, a silent indication that now wasn’t the time to bring it up.

  “You ready to spar?”

  Veyfeyst shoved the peasant to the ground, stepping on his back as he moved toward his squad.

  “They rode past here a day ago. Headed for Gravenport. No way we get past the guards in the city. We need to ride ahead and cut them off after they leave that blasted port.”

  The woman in charge nodded sharply. She had taken over this morning after Veyfeyst killed the previous leader in a violent display of dominance when he dared to question his orders.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll get everyone ready to go while you finish here.”

  Veyfeyst liked her. Efficient. No wasted words. She turned with precision and snapped at the other soldiers in the small cottage. They left in single file, boots heavy on the wooden floor.

  “P-please, sir. Don’t do this. We answered all of your questions. Please.”

  “Yes, you answered.” Veyfeyst crouched down, voice thick with mock sympathy. “But you didn’t give me the information I wanted to hear.” He sneered, standing back up. “You should’ve known to look out for any strange caravans. You worthless piece of dirt. Your ineptitude is the reason this needs to happen. It’s honestly all your fault.”

  His boot crashed down on the farmer’s knee.

  Crunch.

  The scream followed shortly after.

  Veyfeyst sighed, sounding almost bored, and drove another vicious kick into the man’s ribs.

  Another crunch. This time, no scream. Just the wet, rattling wheeze of breath through collapsed lungs.

  The rest of the family sat tied up in the corner, unharmed—so far. They had listened well enough. But this man… this man’s inability to answer impossible questions had irritated him.

  Veyfeyst turned toward the door, then glanced back with a smirk.

  “Make sure you tell Aluciden I say hello.”

  A flick of his fingers. A single incantation.

  “Igneur.”

  A spark. A flame. A fire.

  The men outside waited atop their horses, staring ahead with practiced indifference as the first screams of a dying family clawed at the night.

  Veyfeyst stepped outside once the flames had taken root, watching his handiwork. The acrid stench of burning wood and flesh filled the air.

  A body stumbled out of the inferno, wreathed in flame, before collapsing into a small trough beside the house.

  Veyfeyst sighed. “Let’s go.”

  And so the band of murderers set off once more—to find and end the Dusk Rose.