“I don’t have money,” she admitted plainly. She met the bartender’s steeled gaze, who presumably just realized he had poured a drink for free. “But I do need information,” she continued. “Maybe… we can trade?”

  The bartender gave her a long, appraising look. “Ain’t often folks come in lookin’ to barter for words. You a merc? Some kind of scribe?”

  “Neither,” she said. “Just someone who’s been out of touch for a while. Thought the best place to catch up would be here.”

  The man grunted, setting down a glass. “Hmph. Could always use an extra hand scrubbin’ dishes, but you don’t seem the type. You any good at fixin’ things? Door hinges, leaky barrels, that sort?”

  Veronica almost laughed. If only he knew how laughably unsuited she was for menial labor. “Not particularly.”

  “Figures,” he said, crossing his arms. “Tell you what—there’s a fella in here been tryin’ to get someone to hear him out all month, but nobody’s got the patience. You humor him, listen to whatever nonsense he’s goin’ on about, and I’ll give you the drink for free and a share of information. Fair? Talk and lend him an ear so he stops babbling. I just don't want him bothering the others with his rambling. Bad for business. And before you ask, no, I ain't kicking him out. He visits nearly every day and almost always buys a few drinks. I can't ban a regular like that.”

  Veronica considered it. A conversation was a small price to pay for information, and depending on what this man was ranting about, she might even learn something useful. And despite being penniless, she had ordered a drink by accident; she was simply caught up in the moment.

  “Deal,” she said, finally.

  The bartender jerked his head toward a dimly lit corner. “See the old man with the ratty coat? That’s your mark. Good luck.”

  Veronica slid off the stool, her wooden mug in hand, and made her way toward the dimly lit corner. The old man sat hunched over a table, his coat hanging off his thin frame like a sack. His gnarled hands clutched a half-empty mug, and his eyes darted around the room as if expecting trouble. When he noticed Veronica approaching, he straightened slightly, his expression shifting from wary to curious.

  “Mind if I join you?” Veronica asked, her tone polite but firm.

  The old man squinted at her, his gaze sharp despite his disheveled appearance. “I’m too old for you, lass. Find someone else.”

  A vein almost popped out of Veronica’s head upon hearing that. She immediately wanted to crush the table, but soon realized she didn’t have the mana to.

  However, it probably seemed odd for her—a total stranger—to ask for a seat across from him. Especially since there were over a dozen free spots inside the pub that she could have chosen.

  For now, she just let the comment go, feigning innocence. “Huh?”

  The man’s eyes lowered. “You’re not from around here,” he stated, his voice raspy but surprisingly clear.

  “No,” Veronica admitted, taking the seat across from him. “But I’m told you’ve got something to say. Thought I’d listen.”

  The old man let out a dry chuckle, leaning back in his chair. “Listen, eh? That’s a rare thing these days. Most folks just want to shut me up.” He took a long swig from his mug, then set it down with a thud. “Garrick send you here to speak some sense into me?”

  “No,” Veronica said. “He just said you had a story, and I’m willing to hear you out.”

  The old man’s expression softened. He simply stared at Veronica, as if he was assessing whether she was worth the time to explain his tale. Finally, after a few moments, he relaxed.

  “Name’s Thom. Old Thom, if you’re feeling polite. And you’re right—I’ve got a story. But hearing ain’t the same as believing, girl.”

  “Try me.”

  The old man studied her for one more moment before letting out a slow breath.

  “You ever hear of the ruins here?”

  Veronica shook her head.

  His knuckles whitened around his drink. “West of the mill, where the pines get thick. Little past the hills and near the old quarry. Stones ain’t natural, their edges too sharp, like something cut ‘em apart. Found a slab with markings… twisted things.”

  He tapped his fingers on the table, doing his best to recount the details.

  “Not much reason to go out there if you ignore the stones. Just a heap of broken rocks, dirt, and abandoned tools. But about a month ago, I found something I ain’t never seen before. Ruins.” His voice dropped lower. “Shattered stone, worn carvings, like it was once part of a structure. Somethin’ old. Real old.”

  Veronica listened carefully but didn’t interrupt.

  “This was a month back. Went to the alderman next mornin’.” Thom’s lip curled. “He called me a drunk. Guards found nothin’, ‘course they didn’t. Cultists ain’t fools. But the stones…” He fumbled in his coat, slapping a jagged shard on the table. It was obsidian, but there were subtle streaks on it.

  Behind the bar, Garrick rolled his eyes, scrubbing a tankard with unnecessary force. Veronica leaned forward.

  “And I saw people there. Dressed in black cloaks, hoods up. At first, I thought they were just travelers, but they weren’t just passing through. They were standing in a circle, chanting something—some language I didn’t recognize. It was a ritual. I know it.”

  “You get a good look at them?”

  “Didn’t dare get close. But I know what I saw. I told folk here in town, but no one believed me. They sent a couple of guards to check it out.” Thom’s fingers curled against the table. “And they did find the ruins. Couldn’t deny that. But they came back saying they found nothin’ else. Said it was just some old, collapsed building from the past, nothing suspicious about it.”

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  Veronica raised an eyebrow. “But you don’t believe them.”

  “Damn right, I don’t,” Thom said, voice hardening. “Those ruins didn’t just appear overnight, and people don’t just gather in the middle of nowhere for no reason. They were doing something. And just ‘cause the guards didn’t see it, don’t mean it wasn’t real. Could be they only gather there when they know no one’s looking. Could be they’re hiding something under those ruins.”

  He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “But mark my words, girl. Whatever they were doing that night, it ain’t over yet. I fear this whole town is in danger.”

  The bar door banged open. Thom flinched, shoving the obsidian shard into his pocket as a trio of off-duty guards sauntered in. One smirked at him. “Still peddling ghost stories, old man?”

  Old Thom looked up at them with lazy eyes. “All tales have some bit of truth’ta them.”

  The guards laughed and moved toward the bar, their armor clinking as they settled onto stools. Thom grunted, lifting his mug again, but Veronica could see the tension in his posture. His fingers drummed once against the table before he muttered, “Watch yourself out there, girl. Some things don’t like being seen.”

  Veronica gave a slight nod, then stood. With a parting “Thank you for telling me… Old Thom,” she left the old man. She made her way back to the counter once the guards got their drinks. Garrick was wiping down a glass with slow, deliberate strokes. He didn’t look up right away, but she could tell he was watching her from the corner of his eye.

  “You actually sat through one of Thom’s ramblings?” he asked, shaking his head.

  Veronica leaned against the counter. “He’s got a sharp memory for a drunk.”

  “That he does,” Garrick admitted, setting the glass down. “But that doesn’t mean he ain’t full of it.”

  “Maybe. But the ruins are real, right? They might be worth checking out.” She kept her voice definitive, watching for his reaction.

  Garrick sighed, rubbing his temple. “Yeah, they are. Place has been there for ages. No one pays it much mind ‘cause it’s just old wreckage from some bygone era. Some historians came sniffin’ around a few years back, but they didn’t find anything worth keeping.”

  “And the people Thom saw?”

  The barkeep’s mouth twisted. “Now that, I can’t say. He’s been going on about it for weeks, but if you ask the guards, they’ll tell you he’s just seeing shadows.” He glanced toward the old man, who was hunched over his drink again. “Still, if you’re the type to poke around where you shouldn’t, I’d be careful. Plenty of folks get lost in the woods, and not all of ‘em come back. Things get dangerous at night. Wild animals, maybe even some monsters. They keep to their territory, but that ain’t some law they follow.”

  Veronica let that warning settle before responding. “If there’s nothing out there but rocks, I won’t be out long.”

  Garrick studied her, then sighed. “Figured you’d say that.” He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “If you’re really set on it, there’s a path past the mill that’ll take you most of the way. You’ll know you’re close when you see the quarry. And if you do find something… don’t expect anyone around here to believe you.”

  “I’m not looking for believers,” Veronica said. “Just answers.”

  Garrick shook his head with a knowing smirk. “You sound like a troublemaker.”

  Veronica smirked back. “Depends on who you ask.”

  She leaned a little closer to Garrick, lowering her voice just enough. “Anything else going on around here? Tensions, maybe?”

  Garrick’s eyes narrowed. “Well... there’s talk of trouble brewing on the eastern borders,” he said slowly. “Rising tensions, some say. Armies gathering, skirmishes breaking out in the hills near the river. Could be leading to something worse. We won’t feel much of its effects all the way out here, but who knows.”

  Veronica raised an eyebrow, pressing just a little more. “Ah, yes... war with...” She left the sentence unfinished, purposefully prompting Garrick to fill in the blank.

  “The entire country of Mosslavar,” he confirmed gruffly. “War’s been brewing between a few of the smaller countries. No official declarations, yet, but I’d wager it’s just a matter of time before that changes.”

  “Interesting,” Veronica murmured, mulling over the news. She hadn’t heard of a country named Mosslavar before. it was most likely some smaller or rural country. She was, after all, very far from the capital. Maybe minor wars like this occurred while she was still studying in the past.

  [Mosslavar is a small country far east. In two years, 3874, the country falls due to lack of resources once all tradeways are blocked by its surrounding neighbors.]

  Thanks, Veronica thought.

  She was about to ask him about anything else unusual, but Garrick continued, almost as if he were reading her mind. “And if you’re asking about more than just the rumors of war, well... you’re not the only one. There’s been an uptick of people coming through lately, some folks you wouldn’t normally see around here.”

  Veronica’s gaze sharpened. “Who are they?”

  “Mostly from House Ronswick,” Garrick said, lowering his voice even further. “You’ve heard of ‘em, right? They’re friends of Baron Welterman, the lord here. People say they’ve been looking for something. Don’t know what, but it’s been pretty secretive. They’ve been staying low, asking strange questions around town, and a couple of ‘em have even been spotted out at night, sneaking around. Real odd for a bunch of nobles, you know?”

  Veronica felt a thread of connection tighten between the stories she’d heard. She leaned forward again, voice filled with curiosity. “Do you think it’s related to Thom’s story? About the cultists he saw out by the ruins?”

  Garrick shrugged, his face unreadable for a moment. “I don’t know, lass. Could be. But I doubt it. Thom’s been saying that stuff for a while now. Claims he saw those folk out there a month ago. But the Ronswicks didn’t start coming around until about a week, week and a half ago. If they’re looking for something, I reckon it’s more than just some old ruin or lost documents, but I couldn’t say what exactly. They’re mighty secretive, those folks.”

  Veronica tapped her fingers on the counter, the pieces clicking together in her mind. It didn’t add up that the two events were directly related, but the timing was too close to ignore. Something was happening in the shadows of this town. She was still far too weak to travel on her own; she’d have to stay in town until she regained more of her power.

  Thoughtfully, she nodded her head. “It’s probably just coincidence, but I’ll look into it. Might not be cultists, but it doesn’t hurt to keep my eyes open.”

  Garrick gave her a skeptical glance. “Ain’t many who’d bother. This town’s seen its share of strange folk, but these noble types—they’re a different breed. Even if you are a mage, I still wouldn’t bother. More trouble than it’s worth, in my opinion.”

  “It’s fine,” Veronica said with a small smile, pushing off from the counter. “Thanks for the info.”

  Garrick just nodded, rubbing his chin. “Be careful out there.”

  Veronica returned the nod. She finished the last of her drink in one swallow, the warmth spreading through her chest before she set the mug down. She stood and left the pub without looking back. Her cheeks were flushed, and a light heat lingered in her body.

  Unfortunately, aside from reconditioning herself to the taste of the drink, she realized she would need to focus on building up her tolerance again. If one mug could make her feel this tipsy, she would have to be much more careful in the future. She wasn’t sure what kind of effect more alcohol would have on her in her current state—and that was something she definitely needed to avoid while trying to regain her strength.

  The information Garrick had shared whirled around in her mind, like pieces of a puzzle she was still trying to solve. Cultists, ancient ruins, wars brewing in the east, and noble families with their own secrets—everything felt both overwhelming and… disorienting. None of it was something she recognized from her future, or anything that seemed like a piece of the world she had left behind.

  Though, she hadn't even known of Baron Welterman or Alemeister. Her mind worked to organize the details. She really had been isolated from much of the world while studying magic. She knew nearly nothing. Even the fall of a small country, something that should've been significant, hadn't reached her ears. At least, she could try to learn now.

  Her next destination should be the Herald’s Hall. She’d been in the pub long enough that surely the place was open by now.

  As she walked, however; one final thought struck her, freezing her mid-step. Something that the pub owner had said at the end of their conversation came to her mind.

  “Even if you are a mage, I still wouldn’t bother. More trouble than it’s worth, in my opinion.”

  Had she told him that she was a mage?

  1/20/2026, 8:00EST - This chapter has gone under a significant edit haul. Essentially, the original content from this chapter was swapped with some content of another chapter due to suggestion of better continuity. In case some comments you read might be confusing, unusual, or don't make any sense given the chapter content--it may be because of the edits I made.