The tavern roared. The rafters shook with the weight of chanting voices, rough palms pounding tables, mugs clashing in a chorus of reckless joy.
"Chug! Chug! Chug!"
Selene, Lyra, and Leon stood at the heart of the storm. Three figures framed by flickering firelight and the haze of drink, their faces flushed, their eyes glassy but defiant.
Lyra slapped a hand on Leon's back, nearly sending him face-first into his tankard. "Didn't peg you for a lightweight, Hero."
Leon tried to answer, but the words came out a jumbled mess of syllables and hiccups. His face was bright crimson, sweat beading on his brow as he wobbled dangerously on his stool.
The adventurers around them howled with laughter.
Selene tossed back another drink with a grin sharp as a dagger. "And he falls!" she crowed, raising her mug in triumph.
"Not yet!" Lyra shot back, slamming down another empty cup. "You're next, firewitch."
A chorus of oohs rippled through the crowd. Coins changed hands, bets whispered like secrets.
Sylva watched from the sidelines, silent as ever. Her gaze lingered on Leon as he slumped forward, only to straighten stubbornly and knock back the remains of his drink with a grimace. She sighed and caught his shoulder before he could topple over.
The barkeep appeared with two massive barrels, setting them before Lyra and Selene with a thud that made the floorboards groan.
"Well then," Selene purred, swaying on her feet. "Ready to lose, rogue?"
Lyra grinned, hair sticking to her flushed face. "You'll be kissing the floor before I'm done, sparkplug."
The crowd surged closer, shouts rising, fists pounding tables.
"Do it! Barrels! Barrels!"
Velis, perched on a rafter beam like a silver-eyed cat, cackled softly. "Idiots."
Mugs were raised. Cheers deafened. The barrels tipped.
Both women drank. Deep, desperate gulps. Ale ran down chins, soaked tunics. Their faces twisted, their throats working.
The tavern held its collective breath.
Selene's eyes rolled. Lyra's hand trembled. Both reached the end.
And then —
With twin thuds, they dropped their mugs and collapsed against the table, heads slamming down in perfect unison.
A beat of silence.
Then an eruption of cheers. The adventurers screamed themselves hoarse, some banging on the walls, others pounding their chests.
"A draw!" someone howled.
Sylva rolled her eyes and tightened her grip on Leon as he attempted to join them in unconsciousness.
The night carried on, wild and unrelenting, a brief, stupid, beautiful moment of life before the storm returned.
* * * * *
The morning light seared through the half-shuttered window, a blade of gold slicing across the dim room and right through Leon's skull. He groaned, a dry, scratchy sound that felt like gravel scraping against stone. His body was leaden, his tongue thick, and the taste of stale drink clung to his throat like an old sin.
He squinted against the light, trying to piece together how he'd ended up here. The last thing he remembered was... barrels. Cheers. Lyra shouting for more. A blur of raised mugs and Selene daring him to keep up. After that, it was all mist.
"When did I—?" he croaked, the question meant for no one in particular.
"I carried you," came a quiet voice.
Leon's head snapped toward the sound—or tried to. Even that small movement sent a fresh pulse of pain through his temples. There, in the corner of the room, was Sylva. She sat on a worn chair, arms folded over her chest, her pale brown gaze steady as the dawn.
"You've been there all night?" Leon managed, brow furrowing.
She gave a small nod. "Someone had to keep you from choking on your own tongue."
Leon snorted, then regretted it. He flopped back against the pillow, a hand covering his face.
"First time drinking," he muttered. "Didn't expect to be force-fed enough ale to drown a mountain lion. Remind me to never drink with Lyra or Selene again. Those women could drink a cathedral dry."
"You held your own… for a while," Sylva admitted, a tiny lift at the corner of her mouth. Not a smile, but close enough to make Leon blink.
He turned his head, watching her in the gentle morning haze. Despite the bandages still peeking from under her clothes, despite the shadows under her eyes, she looked… better. Calmer. He wondered if it was just the lighting.
"You didn't have to stay," Leon said quietly. "Could've left me to my sorry fate."
Sylva shrugged, gaze flicking away. "Didn't feel like sleeping."
Leon sighed, his head sinking deeper into the pillow. "I appreciate it. Really. But you need to take care of yourself too, Sylva. You're no good to anyone dead on your feet."
For a moment, the room fell into a companionable silence. The sounds of the city stirring beyond the window, muffled tavern chatter downstairs, the faint clatter of dishes. Then Sylva spoke, voice softer than usual.
"I'll… consider it."
Leon smiled faintly, eyes closing as he let the warmth of the moment settle into his aching bones.
"Good," he murmured. "Because if you're healthy, I'm happy."
He didn't see the way Sylva's expression flickered at those words. Didn't see the way her fingers tightened, then relaxed. She said nothing more, and neither did he.
The morning stretched out, quiet and slow, as two battered souls shared the silence.
* * * * *
The streets of Cindralis still smelled faintly of ash and old blood, though the sun did its best to bake the scent into the cobblestones. Sylva stepped out of the tavern's shadowed doorway, the half-faded scent of smoke clinging to her skin, and spotted two familiar figures loitering by a vendor's cart.
Velis perched casually atop an empty crate, swinging her legs, silver eyes half-lidded and unreadable. Beside her, Kieran leaned against the wall like a man who had nowhere better to be, idly flipping a coin between his fingers. The two of them together felt… unnatural. Velis rarely strayed far from Lyra, and Kieran had a talent for slipping away when no one was looking.
Sylva approached without a word.
Velis's head tilted first, registering her approach before a sly grin curved the girl's lips. "Well, look who survived the storm."
Kieran smirked. "About time. Thought you'd leave us out here to starve."
Sylva's brown gaze lingered on the pair. "Where are the others?"
"Lyra and Selene are dead to the world," Velis reported cheerfully. "Buried under hangovers they'll swear weren't their fault. Iris went off with Darius and Gaius to buy a wagon. Something about making the trip easier. Though, honestly, it's just an excuse to escape us."
Kieran shrugged, tossing the coin into the air, catching it. "And we're on supply duty. Have been waiting here for you."
"Darius doesn't trust us with coin," Velis added, plastering on a wide-eyed, pitiful expression. "Said something about us not being 'responsible individuals.'" She placed a hand over her chest, as if wounded. "Me. Not responsible."
Kieran clutched his heart. "Cruel, isn't it? The injustice of it all."
Sylva stared at them, unimpressed.
Sometimes she wondered how this odd pairing even worked. Kieran — a grown man with the impulse control of a child. And Velis… well, Velis was something else entirely. Despite only knowing each other for a couple of weeks, they acted like mischief incarnate when thrown together.
"You mean the gambling stunt you pulled last night?" Sylva said, her voice a cool blade sliding between their words.
Velis and Kieran froze.
Velis blinked. "I… don't know what you mean."
Kieran scratched the back of his neck. "Gambling? Us? Couldn't be."
Sylva's gaze sharpened, voice soft. "I saw it. Every round. Every coin. Every calculated move you made."
They paled in unison.
"I wonder," Sylva continued, an almost bored tone to her words, "if Darius knows. Or Lyra."
Velis's expression crumpled into exaggerated horror. "You wouldn't."
Kieran swallowed. "Come on, we're teammates now. Family. Blood's thicker than—"
"I don't care," Sylva cut in.
A heavy silence lingered, the city's noise distant behind it.
Velis let out a slow, defeated breath, raising her hands in surrender. "Alright. We'll behave. No schemes. No wagers. No midnight escapades."
Kieran held up two fingers. "Scout's honor."
Sylva turned, motioning with her head. "Come on. Let's get the supplies and go before you both manage to set something on fire."
The two fell into step beside her, still grumbling under their breaths. But beneath the surface, Sylva felt something like… warmth. A strange, fractured thing.
The sun was high now, and the city stretched ahead — the beginning of a road none of them could name.