West planted one boot on the bench and spun, nearly knocking over two men who lurched back laughing as ale sloshed from their mugs.

  “Twelve times,” he declared, arms wide, weaving just enough to sell the lie. “So fast he couldn’t even see me.”

  The crowd leaned in as one.

  Then West’s grin sharpened. He slowed, lowering his voice, letting the silence stretch.

  “I went in.”

  He drove the rim of his empty mug forward, straight toward an invisible chest.

  “Felt the blade slide clean through his cold, black heart.”

  A roar went up. Someone slammed the table hard enough to rattle plates. West lifted the mug again, dragging it free in a slick, exaggerated pull.

  “And that,” he finished, bowing low as the room erupted, “was the end of the General.”

  Applause thundered against the low rafters.

  “Damnit! I missed it!” someone shouted from the far end. “Tell it again!”

  A dozen voices took it up, pounding mugs and stomping boots.

  West swayed, eyes bright, already reaching for another drink.

  “Again?” He grinned. “I’ll tell it again for another pint!”

  The cheer that followed was loud enough to drown the wind tapping against the shutters.

  At the back of the pub, away from the firelight, Omni stood with his shoulders against the stone wall. The warmth never quite reached him there. Captain Nadrin noticed the tight line of Omni’s mouth and crossed the room, stepping around a sprawled patron asleep beneath a table.

  “If there’s anything you need, Lord Omni,” Nadrin offered, stopping just short of the shadows, “you’re our guest.”

  Omni inclined his head, eyes never leaving West.

  “I am fine.”

  Nadrin followed his gaze. West had hoisted the Red Dragon upright beside him now, the blade resting against the table as greasy fingers clapped his back. Beer splashed against its dark steel.

  “Something troubles you,” Nadrin said quietly. “Your face gives you away.” He hesitated, then added, “Was it how we handled the bandits?”

  Omni didn’t answer at once. West had begun the story again, skipping details, inventing new ones. The crowd didn’t care.

  “He’s drunk,” Omni said at last.

  Nadrin’s mouth twitched. “He’s young.” He folded his arms, amused. “Let him enjoy surviving the day.”

  Omni’s gaze hardened.

  “He’s holding the Red Dragon,” he said. “And spilling beer on it.”

  That drew a low chuckle from Nadrin. “If I may ask you something, Lord Omni?”

  Omni nodded once.

  “We’ve heard the northern stories,” Nadrin said, lowering his voice as another cheer rolled through the tavern. “We know what that blade is. What I don’t understand is what it means now…now that it’s no longer in Evokian hands.”

  Omni finally looked at him.

  “In the north,” he said, “it’s believed the Red Dragon…and the other relics of Queen Rah-Kell are not symbols, but tools. Instruments meant to shape a kingdom yet to come.” His fingers tightened around his staff. “In the wrong hands, they shape only ruin.”

  Nadrin glanced back at West, who was laughing so hard he nearly dropped the sword.

  “That’s a heavy fate for a boy who can’t hold his ale.” He smiled. “Still, he spared those bandits. Mercy like that doesn’t come from monsters.”

  Omni watched West spin again, dangerously close to toppling.

  “He is good,” he said. “But he is still a child.”

  Then Omni turned, fixing Nadrin with a steady look.

  “Now, Captain, allow me to ask you a question. What do you gain by keeping us here?” Omni asked at last. “You are charged with recovering Evokian treasures in these lands. Surely they would pay handsomely for something like the Red Dragon.”

  Nadrin’s easy smile faded. The noise of the tavern rolled behind him: laughter, clattering mugs, but he turned fully to Omni, shoulders squaring.

  “I have no love for Evokia,” he said. “Only obligations.” His voice lowered, firm and unadorned. “I deal with them when I must, not for coin or favor, but to keep Dagavia standing. To keep our children sleeping safely in their beds.”

  Omni inclined his head.

  “The General was a very cruel man.”

  Nadrin’s jaw tightened. “Dresdi was a vicious butcher in a uniform.” He held Omni’s gaze without blinking. “You and yours ended him. For that alone, you have my respect and my allegiance.”

  Omni did not answer. His attention had drifted elsewhere, beyond the walls and the warmth, to where Tyrus waited alone.

  Tyrus stood outside the pub beneath a sky choked with low, heavy clouds. The sun had never truly broken through that day, and now the air carried the promise of rain. Clean and sharp, welcome after months of smoke and ash. He pulled his cloak tighter, favoring his wounded leg as the wind worried at it.

  The door creaked open behind him. A young woman stepped out, steam curling from the cup in her hands.

  “It’s getting cold,” she said gently, offering it to him. “You might be more comfortable inside.”

  Tyrus’s eyes dropped to the tea. His first thought was poison. His second was weakness, for even considering it.

  He accepted the cup out of courtesy, fingers careful not to spill a drop.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I’m fine here.”

  “But your friends are…”

  “They are not my friends.”

  He looked up then, and whatever she saw in his eyes made her stop. She took a step back, color rising in her cheeks.

  “My apologies,” she murmured, retreating toward the door.

  Tyrus waited until it closed behind her. The wind cut across his face, cold and unforgiving. He stared at the cup for a long moment before tossing its contents into the bushes. The steam vanished almost at once.

  Moments later, the door creaked open again.

  This time, it was Nadrin who stepped outside.

  “Tyrus, is it?” Nadrin said. “I hear you frightened my daughter.”

  Tyrus didn’t look up. His gaze stayed on the wet stones at his feet, rain darkening them inch by inch.

  Nadrin chuckled and stepped closer, boots scraping softly. “What is it, then Ura? Not accustomed to seeing women without chains?”

  That got Tyrus’s attention.

  His head snapped up.

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  Nadrin’s smile didn’t falter. He tilted his head, studying Tyrus the way a veteran hunter reads tracks. “I’ve spent forty years fighting against the southern tribes. I can spot a Ura from half a league away.”

  Tyrus rose in one smooth motion, the rain sliding off his shoulders. “You’ve never fought me, old man.”

  Nadrin didn’t reach for his blade, but his hand rested comfortably on the hilt, a habit worn deep by decades of war. “And what a fight it would be,” he said amusingly. “But you’re a guest under my roof.” He extended a hand. “Let’s leave it at that, and share a drink.”

  Tyrus didn’t move. He didn’t blink.

  The space between them tightened.

  Then Nadrin laughed softly and withdrew his hand. “There it is,” he said. “That fire. Typical of your people.” His eyes flicked briefly toward the tavern door. “If West has granted you a chance at redemption, I won’t pretend I know your sins.”

  Rain began to fall in earnest, pattering against wood and stone.

  “Tell me this, Tyrus,” Nadrin said. “Do you believe in the Kesh lord’s vision? In what he says of the Red Dragon?”

  “No.”

  “And the Evok?” Nadrin pressed.

  “A usurper,” Tyrus said without hesitation. “Northern nobility squatting on an ancient throne.”

  “Our ancient throne,” Nadrin corrected quietly.

  “Before the Evokian armies it was the southern tribes that tormented us” Nadrin turned to see the rain, taking a moment to remember the countless raids, the pillaging and destruction that had plagued Dagovia throughout his entire life.

  For a moment, neither spoke. Rain traced thin lines down Nadrin’s weathered face, gathering in his beard. Tyrus saw something there then: not a captain, not a father, but an old warrior who had survived too long. The same look his own father had worn.

  The sky darkened further, the drizzle thickening.

  “We should go inside,” Nadrin said at last, turning toward the tavern. “Come. I’ll reintroduce you to my daughter.”

  Tyrus hesitated, only a moment. Then followed.

  Inside, the tavern roared. West was midway through another retelling, arms wide, voice slurred, the crowd hanging on every embellished word. Another mug was thrust into his hand.

  A man broke from the throng and hurried toward Nadrin.

  “Captain,” the man said at Nadrin’s shoulder, voice low. “The Canaries have sent a messenger. He’s requesting an audience.”

  Nadrin’s expression hardened. “After the stunt they pulled two months ago?” His gaze flicked instinctively to the Red Dragon resting near West’s side. “So… They’ve heard.”

  He turned and raised his voice, cutting clean through the tavern’s roar. “West!”

  Every head snapped toward him. Especially the one perched unsteadily atop a table.

  West blinked, swayed, and squinted through the haze of drink. “West me,” he slurred, “or West Tyrus?”

  Laughter rippled through the room.

  Nadrin misread the question and hollered, “Bring Tyrus too. Let them see how many we stand with.”

  “Shit,” West muttered, climbing down from the table with far less grace than he’d ascended it. He was immediately swept along by the current of men gathering around Nadrin. As he passed, he latched onto the nearest solid shape that seemed familiar…Tyrus.

  “This,” West announced, finger raised as he listed sideways, “is still part of my plan.”

  Tyrus caught him by the arm before gravity finished the action. “Where is Omni?”

  West’s eyes unfocused as he scanned the crowd. “Shit…” he repeated, quieter this time.

  “West!” Nadrin called. “Move.”

  “Go,” Tyrus said, steering West forward. “I’ll find Omni.”

  West allowed himself to be pulled away, already shouting something incoherent about Canaries and destiny as Nadrin led the group out into the rain toward Dagavia’s gate.

  Tyrus turned back into the tavern.

  The noise pressed in on him. The laughter, spilled ale, and boots on wood, but Omni was nowhere to be found. Faces blurred together. The only one he recognized was the young woman from earlier, drying a mug behind the bar.

  “Excuse me,” Tyrus said, approaching with caution. “Have you seen Omni?”

  She frowned. “I don’t know an Omni.”

  “The older man,” Tyrus clarified. “He came with West and me. He wears a white turban,” he said, then added after a pause, “with a sapphire set at the center. You can’t miss it. Even in low light, it shines bright.”

  Nina tilted her head, thinking. “Ah,” she said slowly. “Yes. I saw someone like that pass through earlier. He said he was going to visit the temple. Needed some quiet.”

  Tyrus was unsure of where the temple was, “Can you take me there?” Tyrus asked, the words stiff but sincere.

  She studied him again. Longer this time. Whatever edge she’d seen earlier had dulled into something more human.

  “No,” she said flatly.

  Tyrus blinked. “What? Why?”

  “Because you were rude earlier.” She turned away and resumed wiping the counter.

  He stepped back, genuinely wrong-footed. “Wait—really?”

  “Yes. In fact, I think you should leave.”

  Tyrus stood there, unsure what rule he’d broken or how to answer for it. He said nothing and turned toward the door.

  “Hey…wait!” She laughed. “I’m joking. I wasn’t serious.”

  Tyrus stopped. Slowly turned back. He did not understand the joke.

  “I’ll take you to the temple,” she said, reaching for her coat. “Just give me a moment.” She slipped it on and stepped closer. “I’m Nina.” She offered her hand.

  “Tyrus,” he said, but did not take it. A warrior’s grip was a vow of equals, not a greeting for women.

  She lowered her hand without offense. “My father mentioned you were afraid of girls.”

  Tyrus could only look away.

  She smiled. “Come on. Let’s find your friend.”

  And with that, Nina led the way into the rain. Tyrus emerged from the shadows, catching Nina’s softened gaze as she had begun to lead him from the pub. The flickering torchlight highlighted the curve of her jaw, the sheen of rain on her hair, and her tentative step forward. Nina’s hand brushed the rain from her coat, eyes locking with his. He did not say anything, only letting the silence stretch between them, filled with thunder rolling in the distance. In that moment, the storm above mirrored the tension in the streets; imminent, dangerous, and electric.

  On the other side of town, Nadrin and his men faced the messenger from the Canary band. West stumbled slightly on the slick cobblestones, more from confusion than the beer in his blood, for the messenger was a child no older than seven, his small frame trembling under the torchlight.

  “I was only told to say… vengeance will come for our com…comrats. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, or maybe next week… unless you give us the Red… the Red Dragon,” the boy stammered, clutching a crude satchel to his chest.

  “Alright, alright,” Nadrin said, voice steady but eyes narrowing with the memory of past raids. “And what of last month’s… reckoning? Are we not allowed our vengeance?”

  The boy blinked, swallowed, and tried again, “I was only told to say that vengeance will come for our…”

  “Enough,” Nadrin cut in, lifting a hand. “Must they force me to negotiate with a child every time?” Nadrin began to rub his forehead with both of his palms. “You go back and tell your captains that we have ‘the Legendary West’ on our side. If they couldn’t stand against a fifty-year-old man like me, then surely they have no chance against a god-slayer like West.”

  West almost choked when he heard his name being used as a threat.

  “We have the Red Dragon on our side” Nadrin concluded

  The child nodded, small hands gripping the satchel as if it held his courage. “I… I can tell him that, yes, sir.”

  Nadrin’s face softened just enough to offer a brief smile. “Good. Want something to eat before you run back?”

  “Yes, sir,” the boy said, voice barely above a whisper.

  Nadrin gestured to his men, then turned to West, whose fingers were still wrapped around the hilt of the Red Dragon. Rain streaked down his face, soaking his hair and splashing against the legendary steel. “They will attack, despite the disadvantage,” Nadrin said, regret thick in his tone.

  West frowned, the drunken haze in his mind fading as he sensed the weight of the moment. “He’s just a kid…”

  Nadrin’s gaze dropped to the wet cobblestones. “The Canaries know we will not harm a child, so they use them as messengers. Orphans of the war… Dresdi’s bastards... He’ll grow to be a bandit, mark my words. One day he’ll meet my blade, just like his brothers before him.”

  West’s hand tightened on the Red Dragon. Even in his intoxication, he could feel the gravity of what Nadrin carried: responsibility, vengeance, and the fragile lives caught in the middle. The rain fell harder, soaking through leather and layered cloth, as torches flickered against the shadowed walls. Nadrin’s men moved silently, setting up makeshift defenses, their eyes scanning the darkness for any movement.

  “Captain, I don’t think letting the bandits know that Me and the Dragon are here is a wise move” West raised his concern to Nadrin.

  “May the Gods allow them the wisdom to understand what we have on our side now,” Nadrin began to make his way to assist with a large wooden beam being propped up. “Perhaps it will deter them”

  West swallowed hard, staring at the legendary blade in his hands. The Red Dragon was more than steel. It was history drenched in the blood of thousands. A terrifying myth of humanity, and a heavy burden of morals all in one. Its edge had struck down tyrants, and its presence now demanded strict vigilance.

  “And if they do not,” West murmured, almost to himself, the weight of the words pressing deep into his chest.

  Nadrin turned to meet West's eyes. “Then they will after”.

  West shifted the Red Dragon in his hands, feeling its weight settle over his shoulders like a mantle he wasn’t sure he was ready to bear. Around them, Nadrin’s men readied themselves, every shadow a potential enemy. The boy messenger had vanished into the night, leaving only the promise of vengeance lingering in the damp air.