As Loran’del approached the door of the hall, he paused—standing there like someone who still had something left to say.

  He exhaled, then looked back. “Please… someone go out on patrol tonight. We can’t be sure the cult—or whatever faction those two monster belong—won’t retaliate.”

  He quickly turned his gaze away and walked out of the hall. He didn’t wait to see the villagers’ reaction, but it was clear that Loran’del cared more about Rolbart’s safety than his own pride.

  And yet, what he saw back there must have been too much for him—the place he had loved and protected turning against him, daggers hidden behind grateful smiles. And the one who saved his dignity was the very person he had kept bringing down.

  For a Drow, that was too much humiliation to bear. Drow were not known for their patience; they would rather unleash their wrath than endure disgrace. And yet Loran’del hadn’t insulted her, hadn’t lashed out. He had simply walked away, accepting his defeat in silence—and that, more than anything, showed Vierna just how much self-restraint he possessed.

  She remembered, too, how he had kept his head down even when standing against Korrn. If he had followed his instincts, he would have struck Korrn down where he stood. From the way Loran’del used his magic—his precision, his control—Vierna knew he wasn’t just capable of spellcraft; he was highly proficient in it. And yet he still held back, likely out of fear of the Reich’s retaliation against Rolbart if he acted rashly.

  The villagers were now uncertain about what to do. While the murmur and whispers filled the hall, Yvlaine stepped forward, her voice thundering yet calm at the same time.

  “I’ve already told my friends to keep watch over the forest. Everything is fine. If anything happens, they’ll send us a signal.”

  Relief washed over the villagers as they realized they still had protectors out there. Vierna glanced at Lina, who gave her a knowing nod. It was now clear that Ylvaine was part of the revolutionaries in Schattwald.

  Ylvaine walked toward Lina and Vierna. “So, you two are the new residents here?”

  “Uh… ah, yes…” Lina and Vierna replied politely. Although Ylvaine had defended them earlier, Vierna still wasn’t sure how to talk to her.

  Ylvaine smiled, then turned toward the villagers again. “We used to have a tradition in Rolbart—celebrating whenever someone new joined the village. What happened to that?”

  Aila stepped forward from among the crowd. It seemed she was one of the more respected members of the community. “There hasn’t been anyone new for a long while, and you know that, Ylvaine.”

  “Well, that’s about to change,” Ylvaine said with a grin. “My friends found some good beer and food, and we’ve been meaning to share it with Rolbart.”

  The villagers exchanged hesitant glances. It looked like it had been ages since their last celebration—either because there was nothing left to celebrate, or because Korrn’s oppression had smothered every ounce of joy they had left.

  “Come on, where’s that Rolbart spirit?” Ylvaine exclaimed. “Let’s just eat and drink—nothing fancy. Besides, you were the ones who said these girls are part of us now, right? It’s high time we show them some of Rolbart’s signature hospitality!”

  From the crowd, a young elf stood up. “I don’t know about you all, but I sure as hell won’t turn down free alcohol from our dear Ylvaine!”

  “That’s because you’re a drunk, Ainfric! Stop drinking and help your old man!” someone shouted back.

  The villagers laughed, Ainfric’s remark breaking the tension that had hung since the confrontation.

  “What the heck—let’s celebrate! Ylvaine, that booze better be good!” a villager shouted.

  “You damn goat, of course it’s good!” Ylvaine laughed as she conjured her storage rune, summoning several crates.

  The villagers began lighting more torches around the meeting hall, turning what had felt like a courtroom into something closer to a festival. Warm light washed over the old timber walls, chasing away the gloom that had lingered there since Korrn’s arrival. Someone muttered an incantation, and faint runes flared to life along the beams—brushing away dust and cobwebs as if the building itself had decided to wake up. The air, once heavy with tension, now smelled faintly of firewood and roasted grain.

  A group of beastkin and elves moved quickly, their coordination almost instinctive. The elves unpacked Ylvaine’s crates and began preparing meat over conjured flames, their magic shaping small arcs of heat that cooked evenly without smoke. The beastkin, on the other hand, took to the tables, slicing vegetables and fruits with swift precision, their hands steady despite the excitement around them. Someone conjured a steady stream of water from a rune and poured it into a dented pot; another used wind magic to clear the ash and debris that had collected near the hearth.

  In minutes, the hall that had seemed abandoned and cold turned into a living space again—bright, loud, and alive. The flickering torchlight caught the glint of smiles, the rhythmic clatter of knives and pots filling the gaps where arguments once echoed. For the first time since arriving in Rolbart, Vierna felt what this village might have been before fear took hold—a place where hardship didn’t erase joy, only delayed it.

  Lina leaned close and whispered, “Hey, Vierna—what should we do now?”

  “Try to mingle,” Vierna replied. “If you get the chance, talk to Ylvaine.”

  “Me? Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’am sure.” Vierna said, looking into her eyes with certainty. “I want to talk to Fenric about something, too. Besides, I’m beat—I don’t think I can lie anymore today.”

  Lina brushed Vierna’s cheek. “Thanks for your hard work.”

  Vierna squeezed Lina’s hand. “Thanks, Lin… I’m glad you’re here. I couldn’t do this without you.”

  Lina smiled.

  “Hey, you two—going to join us soon? This is your party, after all,” Ylvaine called.

  “In a minute, Frau,” Vierna waved.

  “Frau? Haha—no need for the formality. Come on, let’s enjoy ourselves. And where the hell is our music?” Ylvaine scanned the crowd. “Ainfric, you better play that violin right now or I’ll clobber your ass with it.”

  “Haha… you better not fall in love with me after I play this song,” Ainfric said as he conjured his violin.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Music filled the hall, sharp at first, then softening into a lively rhythm. Ainfric’s violin carried a rough charm; a few strings were out of tune, but no one cared. Someone clapped in time, another followed with a hand-drum, and soon laughter drowned out the day’s fear.

  The violet smoke was still coming out of her pocket, yet since no one asked about it, Vierna pretended to ignore it. Too many things were already jamming her brain, and since this one didn’t require her immediate attention, she pushed it out of her mind for a while.

  The torches burned brighter, their light dancing across worn faces and glinting off tankards that passed from hand to hand. The air grew thick with the smell of roasted meat and herbs, mingled with the sweetness of ale. Beastkin children darted between tables chasing each other’s tails, while the elders raised their cups and sang verses half-forgotten from better times. For the first time since she’d arrived in Rolbart, Vierna saw joy that wasn’t forced — a fragile, genuine joy rising from exhaustion and hunger, stubbornly alive.

  Lina didn’t approach Ylvaine right away—the woman had wandered off, speaking with other residents of Rolbart, mostly elves. She noticed the beastkin’s attitude again; there was some kind of wall between Ylvaine and her own kind, though she couldn’t quite tell what it was. Her observation of Ylvaine was cut short when a young-looking elf approached her and struck up a conversation. Soon, a few humans and beastkin joined in as well. It seemed everyone wanted to meet the girl who had taken lashes for a village she had never even visited before. Lina joined the conversation politely, laughing and answering questions while keeping one eye on Ylvaine, waiting for an opening to approach her.

  Vierna found herself in a similar situation. A few of the village youths gathered around, eager to talk. She did her best to answer their questions and match their enthusiasm, but she couldn’t hide her exhaustion. The villagers seemed to notice; when she began to trail off or grow quiet, they simply smiled, thanked her for what she’d done in the forest, and left her to rest. Vierna knew this wasn’t avoidance but kindness—a quiet understanding of her condition—and she welcomed it with gratitude.

  She wanted nothing more than to sleep, but there was still something she needed to discuss with Fenric.

  Finally, she found Fenric. He was sitting with several beastkin around him, talking and laughing as if nothing had happened. And yet, Vierna knew that Fenric was trying his best to hide his pain—after all, he had lied while under the influence of Hairon Root tea.

  “How did you actually fight the monster, Fenric?” a wide-eyed elf youth asked him with great enthusiasm.

  “Ahaha… well,” Fenric chuckled awkwardly.

  “Fenric was really brave back then—he used spells like an archmage!” Vierna said as she joined the group.

  “Really? But he’s so meek here! He can’t even talk to girls!”

  The group of youths laughed while Fenric smiled sheepishly and scratched his head.

  “No, Fenric was something else back then,” Vierna continued playfully. “Honestly, I could’ve fallen in love with him on the spot.”

  “Ohhh, Fenric! Looks like you’ve got yourself a girlfriend—and a cute one at that!” a young elf teased.

  “Ah, no! Vierna’s just a friend!” Fenric stammered.

  “Haha… I don’t mind being Fenric’s girlfriend, honestly,” Vierna grinned. After a long day of pretending, she could not contain her mischievous side anymore. And what was the harm in a little teasing?

  “Wait… really?” Fenric’s eyes widened at the prospect of finally having a girlfriend.

  “Bweee, just kidding, Fenfen! You’re like my younger brother, and that would be wrong,” Vierna said, sticking out her tongue.

  The group burst into laughter at Fenric’s innocence. They talked for a while longer—about how Fenric acted in public, how shy and dreamy he was. Hearing how kind and gentle everyone thought he was made Vierna want to cry. To think that she had been manipulating such a kind soul… she could only hope that Ylvaine would take her and Lina away soon, so she could stop lying to him.

  I hope one day you’ll know everything about me, Fenric. Then maybe we can truly be friends.

  “Fellas, can I talk privately with Fenric?” Vierna smiled.

  “Ohhhh… may the pretty lady tell us what it’s about?” a young beastkin teased, grinning at Vierna.

  “Well, I want to confess my love for him—and it’d be embarrassing with everyone around,” Vierna said with mock sincerity.

  “Oh no, you sly snake! You won’t get me blushing a second time,” Fenric said, shaking his head.

  “But I really want to confess, Fenric.” Vierna widened her eyes like a pleading puppy. “And why are you calling me a snake? That’s really hurtful.” She sniffled dramatically.

  “Wait—oh no, don’t cry, Vierna… I’m sorry, okay? You said you wanted to confess?”

  Vierna stuck out her tongue. “Not a chance, haha.”

  The group erupted into laughter again. Watching Fenric fall for the same trick twice made even Vierna laugh. Yet, beneath the teasing, the others could sense that she truly wanted a word with him alone—and soon after, they politely drifted away, leaving the two by themselves.

  Vierna said, sitting down beside him. “Enjoying the celebration?”

  “I am—if not for your constant teasing,” Fenric replied, laughing lightly.

  “Haha… I can’t help it, you know? Seeing someone so innocent stirs something in me.”

  “I’m not that innocent, you know.”

  “You are—and the fact you’re trying to deny it makes it even cuter.”

  They laughed together for a while, their voices mingling with the music and chatter around them. The warmth of Rolbart’s celebration wrapped them like a soft blanket, easing the tension of the day. Vierna glanced at Fenric; the glow of the lanterns caught his face just right—half joy, half something deeper. There was a quiet longing there, a sense of belonging and displacement all at once, as if part of him wanted to be here forever… and another part knew he couldn’t.

  “Hey… how are you?”

  “I feel like shit right now. Haha.”

  Fenric tried to laugh it off, but his body gave him away. His shoulders stayed tense, his eyes tightened, and sweat gathered on his forehead. He hadn’t shown any of that earlier when speaking with his friend. Vierna found herself wondering what kind of past could teach someone to pretend that well.

  “Hey, Fenric…” Vierna said softly. “Why did you help me?”

  He blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “When you lied for me—why did you do that?”

  Fenric’s smile faded. His shoulders stiffened slightly, and his fingers, which had been idly tracing circles in the dirt, stilled. His ears lowered a little, twitching once before settling flat against his head. The warmth in his posture drained away, replaced by a quiet, guarded stillness. His eyes—usually soft and gentle—narrowed faintly, focused somewhere past the firelight. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, steadier, almost careful.

  “Vierna, did you see how the beastkin interacted with me back there? What did you think of it?”

  “They seemed very welcoming toward you, I think.”

  “And that would change the moment they knew I’m a half-breed,” Fenric said darkly. “I appreciate that you’ve kept my secret—and what I did back then was basically me protecting myself. Now I also have your secret. If you ever try to expose mine, I’ll—”

  His words stopped when Vierna stood up and gently took his hand.

  “Fenric, you don’t have to pretend to be tough with me,” she said softly. “Deep down, you know I’d never expose your secret. You were just reckless and wanted to help me—and I know that, even if you’re not being honest about it right now.”

  “That’s not true, it was because I—”

  “Fenric,” she cut him off gently, her tone firm but kind, “You told the villagers you were a bad hunter, and yet you revealed your skills while helping me back then. That’s not something someone does out of self-interest.”

  He didn’t reply right away, trying to keep a tough face, yet after a moment his eyes softened. “You read me like a book, huh? How do you do that?”

  “Hehe… I lived in Einhartturm. We were basically trained liars there,” Vierna said with a small smile as she watched the crowd around her. “But I wonder, Fenric—Loran’del said that the tea would make you tell the truth, yet you clearly lied. Was his tea botched?”

  She asked it casually, masking her intent beneath curiosity.

  “Well, when you lie, it hurts like hell. And his tea wasn’t botched back then.”

  “But you didn’t show anything.”

  “I’m used to pain. My moth—”

  He stopped mid-sentence, his mouth tightening. His eyes fell to the floor, as if something there had suddenly become fascinating. Vierna didn’t press further; she looked away, giving him silence instead of questions.

  A moment passed before she managed to steer the conversation elsewhere. Bit by bit, Fenric spoke again. His smile returned, the tension in his shoulders easing as they slipped back into lighter talk.

  Then Vierna’s curiosity stirred again—but this time, it was about something else. Something she hoped wouldn’t cut too deep. Knowing more about beastkin might help her later when dealing with Yvlaine.

  “Hey, Fenric,” she said carefully. “You mentioned that if people found out you were a half-breed, their attitude toward you would change. I noticed how they look at Yvlaine too. Can you explain that to me?”