The gentle warmth of the fire caressed our faces as the catfish sizzled on the makeshift grill above the embers. Darek was busy pouring palm wine into wooden calabashes, his predatory smile softened by the firelight.
"It's not every day you can relax in the God of War's forest," he chuckled. "To you, friends."
We clinked our cups. The wine was both acrid and sweet, with a faint bitterness recalling deep woods and charred bark. The fish, for its part, melted in the mouth—juicy, rich, smoked to perfection.
The meal passed in an almost brotherly atmosphere. I found myself laughing at one of Reinhardt's jests. Selene, for her part, seemed genuinely at ease. Perhaps even too much so.
The weariness of travel and pent-up tensions eventually caught up with us. The wine helped, and one by one we retired to our makeshift beds. I closed my eyes, a final thought lingering on the name Arkven—the knight of my past…
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When I opened my eyes again, the world had turned upside down.
