Zaphara leaned back in her chair, letting out a quiet sigh as she observed the bustling tavern. “Well, I guess that’s it then,” she murmured almost tonelessly, while the others remained in silent contemplation at the table. “Ivory is gone, and I have nothing left to do here.”

  With that, she abruptly stood up, casting a cool glance at the table. Without another word, she strode toward the bar, where Arnold was busy keeping the evening business running smoothly.

  Aaron frowned. “Hold on, we can still make use of the evening, can’t we? Have a drink with us, talk… something?”

  “Yeah!” Lunara chimed in, her golden fox-like eyes gleaming. “It wouldn’t hurt to get to know each other better, would it? After all, we’re heading out together tomorrow.”

  Zaphara cast them a fleeting glance over her shoulder. “Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t need a grand bonding session.” Her voice was distant and dismissive.

  Lunara rolled her eyes while Aaron snorted. “Fine then,” he muttered, visibly annoyed. “Just go…”

  Zaphara barely raised an eyebrow before turning back to the counter, leaving them standing there. Lunara planted her hands on her hips, her ears twitching in irritation. “Honestly—she’s so exhausting. And manipulative, too, especially toward Ivory.”

  Talon lifted his head slightly, studying Lunara. “Give her time. None of us are here by choice. Just because the four of us get along doesn’t mean she feels the same. You heard her yourself—she’s spent years alone. None of us know what she’s been through.”

  Lunara pouted slightly, childishly annoyed. “Yeah, I know…” She let her shoulders slump and glanced at Aaron, who only furrowed his brows. “Alright, fine, Talon. I get it. But… does she always have to be so cold?”

  “Maybe that’s just how she copes,” Talon replied with a shrug. “We’ll figure it out—or we won’t.”

  Meanwhile, Zaphara had reached the counter. Arnold, the tavern keeper, straightened up and wiped his hands on a cloth. “Can I help you, young lady?”

  She took a deep breath. “I… would like a room for the night.”

  Arnold gave her a broad, good-natured smile. “Of course! You know what? If you’re one of Ivory’s companions, it’s on the house.”

  Zaphara blinked in surprise. “Free?”

  Arnold nodded proudly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Ivory is well-regarded here—and anyone close to her is too. Didn’t you all just form the new group Half Light? Consider it my way of supporting you.”

  Zaphara accepted the key, her gaze lingering on Arnold’s open smile. “Ah…” she murmured, pursing her lips. “I see. The moment Ivory’s involved, everyone suddenly becomes generous.”

  Arnold chuckled, pressing the key into her hand. “It’s not just Ivory. But I won’t deny she plays a part in it. Enjoy your stay! First room upstairs on the left, number three.”

  Zaphara barely suppressed an eye-roll, yet she didn’t entirely brush off the small gesture of kindness. “Fine. Thanks.”

  Her mind whirred. Why does everything suddenly become possible just because of Ivory? Why is everyone so eager to help the moment her name comes up? A flicker of something she couldn’t quite place—annoyance, maybe even jealousy—lingered at the edge of her thoughts. But she couldn’t exactly refuse the offer, either.

  “I’ll take the room,” she said coolly, turning away from Arnold. She knew this was bothering her more than she wanted to admit. But for tonight, it would suffice.

  “Have a good Night” Arnold wished her, but she merely nodded and strode back toward the table with the key in hand.

  Aaron raised a questioning eyebrow, and Lunara folded her arms. Talon, having retreated slightly, still watched the exchange with mild interest.

  “I’m going to bed,” Zaphara announced, barely sparing them a glance. “Do whatever you want.”

  Aaron snorted. “Yeah, well, good night to you too,” he commented sarcastically.

  Lunara half-turned away, muttering under her breath as Zaphara brushed past them and made her way up the stairs toward the rooms. The moment she disappeared, Lunara rolled her eyes. “She couldn’t be worse.”

  Talon nudged her lightly with his elbow. “Just let her be. She has her reasons.”

  Zaphara entered the sleeping quarters of the Silver Ember and let the key clink softly in her hand. The room wasn’t large, but five beds stood in a row, almost side by side. Without hesitation, she silently dragged hers as far to the wall as possible. She wanted distance—whatever little space she could claim.

  Once finished, she sat down on the edge of the bed, running a tired hand through her hair. Then, she stared at her hands, noticing the faint tremble in her fingers—whether from frustration or something deeper, she wasn’t sure.

  Finally, she reached into a small pouch and pulled out a slender, cobalt-blue cloth. She carefully unfolded it on the bed before her. Taking a deep breath, she folded her hands and lowered her head. She would pray.

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  Zaphara had once chosen Crystella, the Goddess of Winter.

  "Crystella…," she whispered. Her breath turned visible in the cool air, as if her words carried form. "Why is all this happening? Why… why do I have to deal with these people? Can’t you just tell me what I should do next?"

  She closed her eyes, hoping for a sign—a gust of wind, a voice in her mind, something.

  But nothing happened. No shimmer, no whisper hinting at the goddess’s presence.

  Zaphara’s heart clenched, and a bitter expression crossed her face. "So, you're still punishing me…," she murmured. "Fine. I didn’t expect anything else."

  Slowly, she rolled up the cloth and tucked it back into her pouch. She lay down, her head resting against the rough pillow, and pulled the blanket up to her chin.

  Despite her exhaustion, sleep did not come. Past mistakes and the uncertainty of tomorrow kept her awake.

  Meanwhile, downstairs…

  The Silver Ember was still alive with raucous laughter and loud conversation. Aaron, Seraphion, Lunara, and Talon had found themselves caught up in a small competition.

  The idea had formed quickly—who could handle the most Dragonfire Ale? Arnold, chuckling, had set another tankard in front of them, joking that dwarven pride and angelic resilience wouldn’t be satisfied with just a few sips.

  "Come on, Seraphion, don’t let them steal the show!" Lunara cheered, clapping her hands, while Talon watched with a furrowed brow.

  Aaron grinned, slamming his tankard against Seraphion’s, nearly spilling the drink. "Don’t worry, the angel’s gonna pass out before I do!"

  The tavern erupted in chants. Some roared, "Aaron! Aaron!" while others called Seraphion’s name. Mug after mug, the two emptied their drinks, until Seraphion’s speech slurred and his eyes glazed over.

  In the end, he could no longer take another sip—his body slumped off the stool as Aaron raised his arms triumphantly.

  "Hah!" Aaron laughed, clearly intoxicated. "Told ya… dwarven way… or no way…"

  Lunara giggled, while Talon groaned in frustration. "Great. Now they’re both out of commission," he muttered as Aaron, barely moments later, stumbled against a pillar, his face blissfully dazed.

  With a sigh, Lunara slung Aaron’s arm over her shoulder while Talon attempted to support Seraphion.

  "Arnold? Which room was it again?"

  The innkeeper wiped down the counter with his cloth and smiled. "Room three, same as your friend earlier."

  "Friend," Talon muttered under his breath, casting a glance at Lunara. She merely shrugged, offering no further comment.

  Together, the duo maneuvered the two half-conscious men up the stairs. It was a struggle, but with some effort, they managed to drag them into the shared room. As Lunara carefully pushed open the door, she immediately noticed Zaphara inside—lying alone in the darkest corner of the room, her bed pushed as far against the wall as possible, as if she wanted nothing to do with the others.

  Lunara observed her for a moment, taking in the way the ice witch's silhouette seemed almost small, almost lost in the large bed. A flicker of guilt passed through her as she recalled her sharp words from earlier. "Great… now I feel bad," she muttered.

  Talon and Lunara wrestled Aaron and Seraphion into their beds. Aaron mumbled something unintelligible, and Seraphion let out a faint, throaty groan before both finally succumbed to a deep, alcohol-heavy sleep.

  Once finished, Lunara hesitated for a moment before cautiously making her way to Zaphara’s side. "Hey." Her voice was quiet.

  Zaphara turned slightly to look at her, her expression tired and irritated.

  "It was actually pretty fun down there," Lunara continued. "Aaron beat Seraphion in the drinking contest, and the whole place went wild. You might’ve liked it."

  Zaphara was silent for a long moment before she finally sat up, meeting Lunara’s gaze. Her face was partially cast in shadow. "I… don’t really need that kind of thing." Her tone wasn’t as sharp as usual—just exhausted.

  Lunara nodded, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "You know… maybe one day, you’ll feel like joining in. Life’s dark enough already—sometimes you just have to let yourself enjoy things. I didn’t mean to be so harsh earlier. Sorry."

  Zaphara studied her briefly before giving a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Maybe… another time," she said quietly, the usual steel in her voice momentarily dulled. Then, without another word, she turned away, pulling the blanket up over her shoulder.

  Lunara let out a soft sigh, though this time it carried a note of relief. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. She glanced at Talon, who simply shrugged, then settled into her own bed.

  And so the night in the Silver Ember came to an end, sealed by an unspoken understanding—perhaps there was a way for them all to grow closer, even if only in slow, tentative steps.

  Zaphara was the first to wake, long before the others. A pale beam of light seeped through the small window, illuminating dust particles that drifted lazily in the air. She moved with careful precision, slipping from the bed and padding toward the door, making sure not to wake anyone. The morning air was crisp as she stepped outside the room, her breath barely visible in the lingering autumn chill that still held Kean in its grasp.

  The stairs creaked under her careful steps as she descended to the main hall. Arnold, the innkeeper, greeted her warmly, but she only gave a curt nod in response. Without a word, she grabbed a few bread rolls from the counter and picked up a newspaper that had been left open—likely the latest edition from one of the nearby cities.

  Back in the room, she settled on her bed, pulling the blanket over her knees as she unfolded the paper. The headline sprawled in bold letters across the front page:

  "ANOMALY SHAKES THE CONTINENT – DEVASTATING EFFECTS FOR HUMANS AND KINGDOMS ALIKE"

  Zaphara skimmed through the article, her eyes narrowing as she took in the details. It spoke of mysterious forces that had either claimed lives or displaced countless people across the continent—some teleported into the wilderness, others appearing at the fringes of civilization without explanation.

  "The kingdoms have each declared that no inter-kingdom threat is responsible. Every ruler assures their people that the cause remains unknown but that all measures will be taken to prevent further incidents. His Majesty Leoric Fendril, known as ‘The Witch Slayer’ and King of Valoria, personally vowed this morning that he would see to the safety of his people. We will continue to report as new information arises."

  With a quiet scoff, Zaphara tossed the paper onto the bed. "Same empty promises as always," she muttered. "Kings, queens—they all say the same thing: ‘We will do everything to protect you.’ And in the end, they just sit behind closed doors, hoping the storm passes over them."

  Instead of reading further, she closed her eyes and let her head rest against the rough wooden frame of the bed. The constant exhaustion tugged at her like an ever-present weight, one she could never quite shake. But at least it was better than the restless night before.

  Her gaze drifted over to the other four beds. Aaron snored lightly, Lunara had curled deep into her blanket, Seraphion lay half-draped over the mattress, and Talon, at least, looked somewhat at peace—though even in sleep, his brows furrowed now and then.

  A fleeting, almost imperceptible pang of sympathy passed through her. But she quickly suppressed it. There was no room for sentimentality, especially not this early in the morning.

  "It’s about time they woke up," she murmured to herself. Ivory will be here soon.

  And we shouldn’t keep her waiting.