The tavern was warm, dimly lit, and humming with the usual mix of cheerful voices and clinking tankards. Bral, as usual, was already in high spirits, his prosthetic arm tapping lightly against his belt as he scoped out a table large enough for all of them.
Amukelo walked slower behind the others, dragging one step behind, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. His armor was dented, scraped, and stained in dried black blood that no one had yet dared to clean. He looked like someone fresh off the frontlines of a war—and in truth, that's exactly what he was.
As they sat, Amukelo dropped into his seat with a sigh. "Do we really need to celebrate now?" he asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I'm exhausted… and on top of that, I look like a mess."
Bral, already halfway through sliding onto his own chair, grinned. "I look like a mess," he mocked in a high-pitched tone, waving his hand dramatically. "A few months ago, you would've run toward that appearance like it was a blessing."
Amukelo's face flattened. "I didn't run toward anything."
Bral chuckled, ignoring the reply. "Come on, don't be all grumpy. We just hit Silver Rank Seven. Pao survived death. You saved the day. Bao didn't kill anyone out of frustration. If that's not worth celebrating, what is?"
Amukelo leaned back, closed his eyes, and sighed. "Whatever. Just don't force me to drink."
Bral made a mock salute. "No promises."
They settled into their seats as a server brought over a round of drinks and plates filled with hot food—braised meat, seasoned potatoes, and thick slices of buttered bread.
Bral took a bite of his meal and spoke with a full mouth, "So. Now that we've finally achieved what we set out to do… what's next? What's our plan?"
Pao leaned forward, eyes sparkling already. "Explore, obviously. That was the plan all along, wasn't it?"
"Yeah, yeah, but where?" Bral emphasized, pointing his fork across the table. "It's a whole damn continent out there. We've been focused on getting stronger, building this guild, training, and surviving Llyn. Now it's time to put that to use."
Idin, who had already pulled out a small notebook and was flipping through something scribbled in it, nodded. "We came from the northern regions to the south. We could go west, explore the inner regions of Elandria."
Then Pao's grin widened, almost mischievous. "Or… to Ghorzaan."
Bao's face immediately dropped. She groaned and dropped her fork. "Sister, haven't you had enough thrills lately? I heard Ghorzaan's insane. Like, travel-at-your-own-peril insane. Orcs, beasts, deserts... and that's just the weather."
Pao shrugged. "Yeah, yeah. I'm just curious. I want to see what it's like. The culture, the cities, the people—and most of all... the grimoires." She clasped her hands together with excitement.
Bao stared at her. "Of course."
Then her expression softened, turning a little serious. "But no, really. If we are going to go somewhere like Ghorzaan, we need to be smarter about it. We only just hit Silver Rank Seven. A place like that? We'd need to be Gold Rank One minimum."
Bral nodded thoughtfully. "She's got a point. We've done a lot, but even the dumbest bounty hunter knows Ghorzaan's reputation."
He turned to Amukelo, "What do you think, wild man?"
Amukelo didn't respond.
He was leaned slightly back in his chair, eyes half-focused on the ceiling beams of the tavern. His face was tired, not just from exhaustion, but because his thoughts were elsewhere. He wasn't watching the tavern or listening to the conversation. He was watching that bloodstained battlefield in his mind again.
The vision had burned itself into his memory.
He could still see it clearly: the scattered swords, all identical to his. Some in corpses' hands. Some through their chests. And that man... That dying man, gripping his tunic, saying through blood, "Those who live by the sword will die by the sword." The voice echoed in his head even now.
He stared at the ceiling as if it might give him answers.
Then Bral leaned over the table and snapped his fingers. "Amu-ke-looo!" he said with exaggerated pronunciation. "Hey, are we boring you? We're trying to decide the next big arc of our journey here."
Amukelo jolted slightly, nearly falling backward off the chair before catching himself on the edge of the table. "Ah—what?"
Bral exhaled and gave him a half-laugh. "Travel. Around Elandria. What do you think?"
Amukelo looked at him slowly, blinking the fog of memory out of his eyes. "Ughh… I don't know," he said honestly. "Llyn's the first town I've ever seen. So whatever you decide, I'm fine with it. Everywhere else is going to be new to me anyway."
Bral clapped his hands together—or tried to. The prosthetic still wasn't fully natural for him. It made a soft click instead. He coughed, pretended it didn't happen, and said, "Well then, it's decided. We'll travel west first. Take our time, keep building, find interesting quests, then when we're ready, we head to Ghorzaan."
Bral leaned back in his chair with a grin and asked, "So? Now that we know what we want to do, when do we actually plan to leave Llyn?"
Idin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, "I would say... two or three weeks. Maybe even longer."
Bral raised an eyebrow. "That long? Why?"
Idin shrugged and pointed at Amukelo and Pao. "Amukelo needs to recover properly. Pao too. Both of them should buy new gear—yours is shredded to pieces," he said, nodding at Amukelo's battered armor. "And you," Idin added, pointing at Bral, "you need more time adapting to your prosthetic. It's great, but you're still getting used to it."
Bral looked down at the sleek, crystal-tipped prosthetic arm and flexed it slowly. The motion wasn't as awkward as it had been a few days ago, but it still wasn't natural yet. He gave a reluctant nod. "Fair enough. So… two weeks to a month it is."
"Sounds good to me," Pao said brightly, propping her head up with one hand. Her face still looked a little pale from the ordeal, but her spirit remained undimmed.
They continued chatting, tossing around ideas—what gear they would need, which routes they would take, what stories they might find along the way—but Amukelo wasn't really there with them. His gaze drifted toward the flickering lantern on the far wall, lost in its hypnotic dance of shadow and flame.
In his mind, the conversations became a faint background noise as he processed everything from the past year.
His departure from the village.
The endless days of surviving alone in the wilderness.
Meeting Bral, Idin, Bao, and Pao.
Fighting beside them. Laughing with them. Struggling, hurting, surviving—and somewhere along the way, finding the first flickers of home again.
He felt a strange tightness in his chest, something bittersweet. The thought of leaving Llyn, the first real home he'd known since his mother's death, gnawed at him.
Suddenly, Bral's voice broke through his thoughts. "Ahh... but I still can't get over how you managed to defeat that thing," he said, jabbing a thumb toward Amukelo.
Pao turned to him eagerly, her smile lighting up her still-tired features. "Yup! It's all thanks to Amu, right?"
Amukelo blinked and snapped back to the present, a little startled. He straightened in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Ughh… right. It was hell, but we made it through."
Bral frowned at him, tilting his head. "What's going on with you? You seem… distant. Again." He leaned forward over the table. "Hey, aren't you happy? We finally got to Silver Rank Seven. That's a huge deal. You're not still worried about that monster, are you?"
Amukelo shook his head, a small, tired smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "No... It's not that I'm unhappy." His voice lowered slightly, almost shy. "In fact, it's the opposite."
Amukelo stared down at his hands for a moment before continuing. "I've just been thinking about this past year. Everything that's happened… Leaving the village, living like a wild animal, surviving every day just for the sake of surviving..." He paused, his gaze distant again. "And then meeting you all. Training, fighting, laughing, struggling..."
He swallowed hard. "Ever since I lost my mother, it's only here, in Llyn, that I actually felt happy again. Thanks to you. All of you." He gave a small, almost embarrassed laugh. "It's weird. But this place… it feels nostalgic. Like... the best thing that could have ever happened to me."
A soft silence fell over the table. None of them interrupted him, none tried to cut the moment with a joke.
Bral was the first to speak. His voice was uncharacteristically gentle. "Hey. Don't think like we're dying or something, alright? You're not losing us."
Amukelo looked up at him slowly.
Bral gave him a crooked smile. "In fact, we're about to experience even more together. This? This was just the beginning. Imagine what's out there waiting for us."
Amukelo gave a weak chuckle, but he still looked torn.
Then Idin, finishing off his plate and wiping his hands on a cloth, said casually, "You got attached to Llyn. It's normal."
Amukelo turned to him.
Idin continued, voice calm and steady, "You're scared that by changing places, everything will change. That somehow, if we leave Llyn, we'll leave behind what we built."
He leaned forward, his eyes kind and sure. "But trust me, if anything, it'll only get stronger. We're not tied to a place. We're tied to each other." Then he gave a half-smirk and added, "And besides, don't be so sad. It ruins my ribs when I have to watch you get all emotional."