The room felt different after the Baron left.
The faint sound of his steps faded into the corridor. After that, there was only the low murmur of distant voices and the occasional shift of wood.
Kaavi remained where he stood for a moment longer, then he turned.
"Set the supplies down," he said, his voice even, carrying no urgency but expecting movement all the same.
Kaavi's gaze shifted briefly toward the window again, then back.
"We leave at first light," he said.
A slight pause followed before he added
"Let's eat."
The lower hall was quieter than before when they reached it, evening had already begun to settle across Whitehold as a slow dimming of everything that had once been sharp.
The light that remained filtered in through the narrow windows in long, softened bands, catching against the worn edges of the wooden tables before fading into shadow.
The iron lamp had been lit early, its flame steady but low, casting a quiet amber glow that gathered more around the table than it reached the corners of the room.
They were not the first; the Hallow swords were already there.
Joren sat at its centre. To his right was Tannic, eating with the same deliberate rhythm he brought to everything else. Liran leaning back slightly with one arm resting along the edge of the table, Corren positioned where he could see both the entrance and the room without turning, and Veyl seated quietly, his attention shifting between them without drawing notice.
They had already begun eating.
A thick loaf of bread rested near the centre, its crust dark and uneven where the heat had caught it hardest. When broken, it still held a trace of warmth inside, the scent of grain rising faintly with the steam. A pot of stew sat beside it, heavy and worn, its contents thickened into something that moved slowly when disturbed…root vegetables softened into the broth, meat cut small enough to stretch further than it should have.
Simple food.
Kaavi took his place without drawing attention to it. Gavril lowered himself onto the bench with care that he tried to hide and failed, his hand briefly bracing against the table before letting go. Viktor followed, settling more quietly than before, his hands hovering for a moment before reaching for the bread.
For a while, no one spoke.
The room filled instead with the quiet rhythm of eating… the tear of bread, the low scrape of wood against clay, the shifting of weight as bodies adjusted against benches that had never been built to sit evenly.
Outside, the wind moved along the stone, brushing past the walls in a sound that almost disappeared before it could be heard.
Joren broke the silence.
"You're early," he said.
"So are you." Said Kaavi.
A faint shift passed through Joren's expression.
"I was really hungry, didn't feel like waiting," he replied.
Gavril smiled, reaching immediately for the bread.
"Good," he said. "Less people means more food."
Liran gave him a sideways glance.
"You're recovering, not starving."
"Feels the same," Gavril muttered, already tearing into the loaf.
The meal settled into its rhythm quickly.
Bread passed from hand to hand.
The stew was ladled out in measured portions, each person taking what they needed. The warmth of it spread slowly, rich, comforting, and steady enough to ground the body after a long day.
For a while, no one spoke.
The quiet was not awkward.
It was familiar.
Joren broke it.
"I heard you are leaving?"
Kaavi answered only after finishing what he had taken.
"Yes, in the morning."
Joren nodded once.
That had been expected.
He turned the bread in his hands, not eating it yet.
Then...
"I'll be leaving as well."
That changed the room.
Tannic's hand paused briefly over the table before continuing. Liran's gaze lifted, sharpening slightly. Corren stopped eating altogether, his attention settling fully now. Veyl looked up, the quiet focus in his expression shifting into something more alert.
Gavril leaned back slightly, studying him with a faint crease in his brow.
"…Leaving," he repeated.
Joren exhaled softly.
"Yes"
He shifted slightly in his seat, the movement controlled but not effortless.
"I've done what I can here."
A pause.
"I won't keep doing it just because I always have."
That landed differently.
Corren was the first of the others to speak, his voice low.
"…And after?" he asked.
Joren glanced at him briefly, then back to the bread in his hands.
"I'll follow something else."
Liran leaned forward slightly now, interest replacing the usual distance in his posture.
"That sounds like a decision made halfway," he said. "What exactly is 'something else'?"
Joren shook his head.
Then, without building toward it....
"I want to open a bakery."
The reaction this time was immediate.
Tannic's hand stopped completely, the piece of bread still between his fingers. Liran blinked once, the usual sharpness in his expression giving way to something closer to disbelief. Corren leaned back slightly, reassessing in silence. Even Veyl's brows drew together, confusion slipping through the calm he usually held.
Gavril stared at him.
"…A bakery?"
Joren took a bite of the bread, chewing without hurry.
When he swallowed, he nodded once.
"A bakery. Or something close to it. A small place to eat."
Liran leaned back slowly, exhaling through his nose.
"…That's not what I expected to hear tonight."
Tannic gave a faint grunt in agreement, though he said nothing else.
"That's new" Corren said.
"It isn't," Joren said. "You just never asked."
That drew a few exchanged looks between them.
Even among those who had been there long enough to think they knew everything worth knowing about each other.
Veyl leaned forward slightly.
"…Since when?"
"When I was first taken in," Joren continued, "I used to spend time in the kitchen after training with the baron."
That earned a reaction from more than one of them.
Subtle but real.
Kaavi let out a quiet breath.
"…Baron doesn't strike me as someone who enjoys cooking"
Gavril let out a short huff.
"He seems like the type who'd burn water if given the chance."
A slight tilt of his head.
"And enjoy it."
A faint ripple of amusement passed through the table.... not loud, not sustained, but enough to shift the air.
Joren nodded once.
"He's not good at it."
A pause.
"Not even slightly."
Tannic let out a low breath that might have been a laugh if it had gone any further.
"He'd overcook everything," Joren went on, his tone steady, unchanged. "Or forget to season it at all. Sometimes both."
His fingers rested briefly against the table.
"But he kept at it."
"He'd let me help," Joren said. "Small things at first. Cutting vegetables. Cleaning things up after he was done ruining them."
A faint shift in his expression.... subtle, but present.
"I didn't mind it."
He leaned back slightly.
"After training, that was the part of the day I didn't rush through."
No one spoke for a moment.
Gavril glanced down at the bread in his own hand, turning it slightly as if seeing it differently now.
"…Didn't expect that," he muttered.
"I started following him there without being told."
That lingered.
Corren's voice came again, quieter this time.
"…And you liked it."
Joren's answer was simple.
"Yes."
He looked down at the bread again.
Not avoiding them.
Just… there.
"It was the only part of the day that didn't feel like I was losing something."
No one spoke after that.
Not because they couldn't.
Because nothing needed to replace it.
Liran leaned back, arms folding loosely.
"…A bakery," he repeated, as if testing the weight of it.
Then, after a moment....
"…You'll probably burn less than he did."
That earned the faintest shift from Joren.
Not quite a smile but close enough.
Gavril broke the last piece of bread in his hand, glancing down at it before letting out a quiet breath.
"I'll come back just to complain about the food you make." he said, not looking up,
Joren answered without looking at him.
"Then I'll make sure it's worth complaining about."
That earned a small shift along the table.
It settled into something quieter.... carried in the way they looked at him now, not differently.
Viktor watched all of it unfold.
The way surprise didn't turn into judgment.
The way something simple could change how a man was seen... without changing who he was.
Across from him, Kaavi remained silent.
But his gaze had not moved.
And that, somehow, carried more weight than anything said.
The meal stretched on.
Slowly.
Naturally.
And for a while... nothing more was required.
By the time the food was finished, the room had grown quieter, the light dimmer, the warmth of the meal settling into something slower, heavier.
They stood gradually.
One by one.
Gavril pushed himself up with a muted exhale, his hand bracing briefly against the table.
"…Still hurts," he muttered.
They left without ceremony.
No farewells, none were needed.
The corridor was quieter now.
The sounds of the hall fading behind them.
Back in their room, nothing had changed.
Kaavi checking the supplies briefly before stepping away.
Viktor lay down slowly, his gaze drifting upward.
The ceiling held faint marks… old, uneven, forgotten.
He followed them without thinking.
Gavril settled with less care, adjusting once before going still.
Outside, the wind moved softly along the stone.
Somewhere distant, a door closed.
Whitehold settled for the night.