In the Raging Eagle Inn, the fighters had gathered once again at what had become their unofficial spot.
"Tomorrow will be the final two opening matches!" Quincy declared, standing tall in the center with a tankard of beer hoisted high above her head. Her voice rang out clearly over the tavern noise, and around her, cups, mugs, and glasses were lifted in response.
"After that, the tournament begins in earnest! I hope everyone's ready!" she added with a grin, then tilted her tankard back and drank deep.
"Just one more day and we'll finally be able to have fun~," Mae said from her seat nearby, her smirk locked squarely on Xain.
Zee slapped her lightly on the arm. "Stop trying to scare him!"
"It's fine, Zee," Xain said with a nervous chuckle, waving a hand. "She's just joking around."
"Mmm. Just joking around," Mae echoed sweetly, though her smile had sharpened into something far more dangerous.
At another table, Dirk leaned forward, arms folded. "How do you feel about tomorrow?" he asked, eyes on Even.
"Ready," Even replied with a shrug. "How else am I supposed to feel?"
"Not the fight, dummy," Lia said, nudging him. She smiled, resting her cheek in her hand, but there was a note of seriousness in her playful voice. "I mean about being watched. Y'know… by the man who shall not be named."
Even sighed. "I don't care whether or not he's watching me. It's not gonna matter after all these years." His gaze drifted across the room—settling on Quincy, who was now chatting with the innkeeper by the bar. "But I do have something to do before the match."
At a another table, Lexy leaned on her elbow, looking between the two seated across from her.
"So," she began, raising an eyebrow as she looked between the necromancer and the other one—whose name kept slipping her mind no matter how many times she heard it, "how are you two feeling about tomorrow's match?"
Callum narrowed his eyes at her. "First of all, I feel deeply insulted by that look you just gave me."
He raised a finger.
"Second of all, nervous. Very nervous. I mean, we've got the final match of the opening rounds, and that's a lot of pressure!"
He raised a second finger, jabbing it toward himself and Vilak.
"And third of all…" He paused dramatically, raising a third finger. "…There is no third of all! That's how nervous I am—I third-of-all'd for no reason!"
Lexy gave him two slow nods. "Uh huh. Uh huh." She promptly turned her attention to Vilak, completely ignoring Callum's continued gesturing.
"What about you?" she asked. "How are you feeling?"
Vilak tapped a finger rhythmically against his thigh under the table, the motion soft and steady. "I don't know," he said after a moment. "I've never had this many eyes on me before."
He glanced up, his voice dropping slightly. "At least, not living ones."
A brief silence passed before he added, "…I guess uncertain would be the best way to describe it."
At another table, Calvinel leaned in slightly, hands clasped in front of him. "How are you feeling about tomorrow, Ms. Annabel?" he asked, his tone polite and casual. "You'll be going up against a Mathers. I doubt that'll be easy."
Annabel chuckled softly, a refined laugh muffled behind the back of her hand. "I know I may not look like it," she said, setting her hand delicately against her chest, "but I've seen my fair share of battles in this life. Experience is its own kind of strength, and mine will carry me through—even against a Mathers."
"Forgive me if this sounds blunt," Bryanard cut in from beside Calvinel, both knights having somehow ending up talking to the sorceress, "but I find that hard to believe. You look too… soft for that to be true."
Annabel smiled at him, slow and unbothered. "I am a sorceress, Sir Knight. Is it so hard to believe I've found a way to alter or perhaps hide any of the hardness I've gained from the battlefield?" she said, blinking at him lazily, her voice cool and graceful.
She took a slow sip of her frothy drink, then licked a bit of foam from the corner of her lips before continuing, "But please, do continue to underestimate me. That's exactly what I want."
At another table, Gurion sat hunched over, his head nearly touching the wood. "Are you sure you want us to help you?" Edluar asked, one eyebrow raised.
Gurion nodded quickly, ears folded flat. "Yes! I need all the help I can get!"
"I mean… we can, but I doubt it'll help much against her," Ulrich muttered, nodding toward Zeva across the room. She was seated at another table, casually chatting with Hittag and Roland—of all people.
"It'll still be something," Gurion pleaded, ears twitching. "You're both swordsmen. Please."
Edluar and Ulrich exchanged a silent glance. Ulrich scratched the back of his neck and sighed. "Feels strange helping the guy who beat me… but alright, I'll help."
"I'll help too," Edluar added, though his voice was less sure. "As much as I can. But don't expect anything amazing—I'm not that great."
Gurion looked up at them, his tail giving the faintest wag. "Thank you," he said sincerely.
Meanwhile, just outside the inn, a lone woman stood across the road, arms folded as she stared up at the absurd sign hanging over the entrance.
"This is the place they've all gathered in?" Amara muttered. She scoffed under her breath. "I could burn it all to the ground…"
Her voice trailed off as she turned away, cloak sweeping behind her. "But that would be suicide. Still… I know where you are now."
Her eyes narrowed, voice barely a whisper.
"I'll be back. And when I am… this chase of ours ends."