In the corner of the room stood an old, scarred oak table—its surface worn smooth by years of use, legs slightly uneven as if it had been patched and repaired more than once.
On it waited breakfast, simple and hearty: thick slices of dark rye bread, still warm from the oven… if they even had an oven, arranged on a wooden trencher; a wedge of sharp, crumbly cheese wrapped in waxed cloth; a small clay pot of thick oatmeal porridge flecked with dried berries and drizzled with golden honey; boiled eggs, their shells cracked but intact, sitting in a shallow basket; a few links of smoked sausage, sliced and glistening faintly; and two wooden bowls of stew—chunks of root vegetables and tender meat swimming in a rich, herby broth. Steam curled lazily upward. Beside each place setting rested a sturdy wooden spoon and a clay mug filled with something hot and fragrant—herbal tea, maybe, or weak ale warmed by the fire.
"Please," Dierthen said, gesturing. "Join me."
"I wouldn't want to be a bother."
"Nonsense." She waved off the protest with a small smile. "Come on. Sit."
"Y-yeah. Thank you."
I pulled out the chair—creaking wood against plank floor—and sat. The seat felt solid, real in a way that grounded me. Dierthen eased into the opposite chair, moving carefully, still recovering from the healing spell.
"I thought my husband and I would share this," she said quietly as she broke a piece of bread. "But he had to leave early."
"Oh… why?"
"He's the submanager of Nwahi. There was a brawl at the school—students, mostly. He had to go sort it out before it turned uglier."
"Nwahi. The school," I said, filing the name away. Another piece of this world slotting into place.
We began eating in… 'companionable' quiet. I tore into the bread first—crusty outside, soft and slightly sour within—and paired it with a generous slice of cheese that melted on my tongue with a sharp, tangy bite. The porridge was thick and comforting, sweetened just enough by the honey to cut the earthiness of the oats. I spooned up some stew next: warm, savory, with carrots and potatoes that had softened to near-mash and meat that fell apart easily. Every bite tasted like it had been made with care, not rushed. The sausage had a smoky depth that lingered. I hadn't realized how starving I was until the first few mouthfuls hit.
Dierthen ate slowly, watching me with a faint, approving nod now and then. The fire crackled softly in the hearth behind us, sending occasional pops into the silence. For a few minutes, the world narrowed to just this: food, warmth, the scrape of wooden spoons on clay bowls.
Then voices rose outside—muffled at first, then growing into a steady murmur. Footsteps on cobblestone. A cart rumbling past.
I turned in my seat, glancing toward the window.
A crowd was gathering in the street—people in simple cloaks and tunics, some carrying baskets as if they'd paused mid-errand, others clustering tighter as if drawn by something inevitable. The air outside had shifted; the morning peace felt thinner, strained.
I looked back at Dierthen.
"There's an execution today," she exhaled, setting her spoon down. "Don't mind it."
"Execution?" The word came out sharper than I meant. "Holy…"
"By the shadow of Orenthis…" She shook her head slowly, eyes distant. "This is the second one this week."
"Who are they… executing?"
"The elves, of course." Her tone was matter-of-fact, almost weary. "It's always the elves, my dear boy."
"Elves… the—the long-eared people?"
Dierthen leaned in, voice dropping to a near-whisper. "If someone heard you call them *people*, you'd likely get in trouble, boy. Be careful."
"Then what are they?"
"There's… mixed views." She exhaled again, heavier this time, and clapped her hands lightly together as if to shake off the topic. "Let's not talk about them, shall we?"
"S-sure."
We returned to the meal in silence. The food was delicious—simple ingredients turned into something nourishing and deeply satisfying. I finished the last of my porridge, scraping the bowl clean, then polished off the sausage and a final hunk of bread. My stomach felt full for the first time since waking up here.
I set the spoon down. "Thank you. That was… really good."
Dierthen smiled faintly, gathering the empty bowls. "You're welcome. Eat as much as you need while you're here. You'll want your strength."
╔═══════════════════════╗
> Ace | LC: 0 | EXP: 20/100 | LVL 1
╠═══════════════════════╣
> HP ▰▰▰▰▰▰▱▱▱▱ 64/100
> MP ▰▰▱▱▱▱▱▱▱▱ 22/60
> STA ▰▰▰▰▱▱▱▱▱▱ 31/80
╠═══════════════════════╣
> [ BAG ] [ MAP ] [ SHOP ] [QUESTS]
╚═══════════════════════╝
Oh, yeah. Look at that. HP at 64/100 now. Phew. That actually felt good—full stomach, clearer head, no more wobbling like a newborn deer. My gut had been empty since I clocked out of work yesterday. God… I wished I'd stayed late at the office, missed Kara's car entirely. But it wouldn't have mattered. She'd probably decided she wanted me gone a long time ago. No amount of overtime would've changed that.
I pushed the chair back and stood. "Thank you for everything," I said. "For patching me up, feeding me. I'll make sure to return the favor."
Dierthen chuckled, the sound warm but tired. "I might be an old woman, but I'm still a healer at heart. Just don't forget about the carriage ride. Twenty silver."
"Twenty. Got it." I glanced toward the door. "I… guess I'll go."
"Mm."
"Umm." I hesitated. "How… how would I go about earning silver around here?"
"Try the Guildhouse." She nodded toward the window. "Take some quests. That's how most newcomers start."
"Right… where's that, exactly?"
"When you leave, turn right and go straight. Skip the first two streets—on the third, turn left. You'll see it. Big sign, can't miss it."
"Okay. Thank you." I managed a small nod. "I guess I'm off."
"Yep." She rose slowly, staff in hand, and walked me to the door. "If you run into trouble, you know where I live."
I opened the door. Cool morning air rushed in, carrying the scent of woodsmoke, fresh bread, and distant livestock.
The street was alive. People moved with purpose—some hurrying along their daily routines, others drifting left in a thickening crowd toward whatever grim spectacle awaited. Across the way, a row of market stalls had opened: wooden tables piled with apples, pears, root vegetables, loaves of bread, and bundles of herbs. A little further down on the left stood a blacksmith's shop, its wide double doors thrown open to the street.
The forge glowed inside like a captured sunset—orange and red against the dim interior. A burly man in a soot-streaked apron hammered at an anvil, sparks flying in bright arcs with each strike. Shields of various sizes hung on the wall behind him: round wooden ones reinforced with iron bands, taller kite shields painted with simple geometric patterns, a few heavier tower shields leaning against barrels. Swords and axes rested on racks nearby, but the shields seemed to be the main draw today—polished steel catching the light, ready for whatever threats this world threw at people.
"Oh, shit…" I muttered under my breath. "Phew. Okay."
I turned back to Dierthen and forced a smile.
"Thank you again. For everything."
She gave a respectful nod, then raised a hand in farewell before gently closing the door.
Well, alright. New city. New people. Hell, new world. I'd always been decent at adapting, even if I craved consistency like oxygen. Guildhouse. Quests. How hard could it be?
I glanced left again, toward the growing crowd. The execution. That's what she'd said. Public executions—like something out of a history book. Guillotine? Hanging? Shit, that was horrifying. Part of me wanted to run the other way, straight to the Guildhouse like a sensible person.
But curiosity, or stupidity, won out.
"I… guess I'll see what that is."
I started walking, falling into step behind the stragglers. The crowd thickened as I went, voices murmuring low, a mix of grim anticipation and resigned chatter. Cobblestones clicked under my thick leather shoes. The air grew heavier the closer we got.
After a block or two, I turned the corner. The pull of the crowd was stronger right now.
I kept going straight, letting the flow carry me toward whatever waited around the next corner.
And, oh boy, 'something' waited for me alright.
"What the…"