So this is a tavern, James thought, his eyes darting around. The air reeked of sweat, smoke, and ale, yet the people within were alive with laughter and song. They had little coin, but they were rich in spirit.
Clap!
The crowd erupted once again, stomping their boots and hollering as the man rose from his chair. With a crooked grin, he snatched up his hat, tipped it low, and bowed deeply before striding toward the door.
But his step was uneven—each movement a limp, his peg leg striking the floor with a hollow thunk as he staggered into the night.
Henry pushed back from the bar and followed.
"Come along, James," he murmured, voice low but steady.
Outside, the man tried to quicken his pace, though his uneven gait betrayed him.
"Come now, Robin," Henry called, tone carrying a half-hearted jest. "Leaving an old friend without a word?"
The man froze mid-step. His shoulders stiffened, though he did not turn.
"Friend?" His voice was sharp, almost venomous. "You backstabber. You left us when we needed you most."
He lurched forward again, peg leg scraping against the stones.
Henry's voice cut through the night, heavy with meaning.
"The time has came, Rob. You can't keep running forever—you know that."
Robin faltered. His breathing quickened, and for the first time he hesitated. Slowly—reluctantly—he began to turn.
"The… the last has woken?" His words cracked, as though dragged from a place he had buried long ago.
Silence thickened between them. Then, with a grunt, he faced Henry fully and limped closer, eyes burning.
"Tell me everything," he hissed.
As the man approached, James turned sharply to Henry.
"You haven't told me what's going on… how long will you keep dragging me along?" His eyes had reverted to the same eerie glow they held back in the mountain.
Henry flinched, startled by the change. He even let out a small yelp at the sound of James's voice before regaining his composure, his face tightening into a frown.
"What are you…" he began, confusion clouding his expression.
"Show me yours, and I'll show you mine," James said, his voice dropping into something cold and unsettling.
"Oh, so ye've gone and settled down after all," Robin muttered, his gaze fixed on James.
"Goodmorrow, si—" James started, almost dipping into a bow, but he stopped halfway. The habit of greeting nobility was ingrained in him, a reflex that broke through his icy demeanor. The coldness melted, leaving behind the boy he usually was.
"You're one unusual brat, ain't ye?" Robin said, casting a sidelong glance at Henry.
"Follow me," he added, turning away without waiting for an answer.
The two of them followed their limping guide, his dark wood foot striking the cobblestones in a steady, almost melodic rhythm.
Thud. Thud.
"Stay close—ye wouldn't want to get lost here," Robin said with a laugh that didn't sit quite right with James.
Above them, the sky shifted. Clouds rolled in, thickening until the heavens were bruised grey. A drizzle fell, hissing against stone. People scattered with sharp cries, vanishing into doorways. Some lingered only long enough to thrust out buckets, eager to catch the rain.
Is he… doing this? How is he doing it?
The question burned in James's mind, but he bit it back. It felt wrong—too personal to ask. And yet, he knew the answer better than most.
The thud of Robin's wooden foot grew louder, echoing unnaturally. A pale mist crept along the ground, curling upward, thickening into a crawling, suffocating fog. Shadows stretched where faces should have been.
James strained his eyes, but Henry and Robin were already fading—blurred outlines dissolving into smoke.
Thud.
The sound rang out once more. Then—silence.
No footsteps. Just rain. And the howl of the wind.
The quiet pressed in. James's chest tightened. He stumbled forward, blind.
"Henry… Henry!" His voice cracked, trembling in the void.
"Henry! Robin!"
No answer. The fog devoured his words.
Then—something seized him. A hand, cold and sudden. His heart plunged, hammering so violently it rattled his skull.
"Ahhh! AHHHHH!" He thrashed, panic splitting his throat.
"Calm down, boy—it's just us."
Robin's voice cut through.
The fog thinned. And James realized, shuddering, that he now stood inside a house of dark wood.
"There's no one who could've followed us through that," Robin muttered, dragging a living plant barrier across the door.
The vines twisted and locked into place. Then, one by one, he snapped shut five iron key-locks, the sound echoing sharply in the silence.
"Spill it, Zihard. What happened?" He sank into a chair, hand slipping into his inner pocket. A silver flask gleamed in the dim light. He raised it, drank deep, then tossed it across the room toward Henry—or rather, Zihard, as Robin alone knew him.
I thought they were friends, James mused, uneasy. But I suppose everyone has their secrets.
His gaze drifted over the chamber. One bed sat lonely at the center. A portrait of a young woman hung crooked near the door. Everything else was stripped bare, save for the heap of rags and broken wood piled in one corner like discarded bones.
"I had an encounter… with Raven," Henry said at last, the words dragging as the memory replayed like a wound reopening.
"What?" Robin lurched to his feet, the chair legs scraping. His brow furrowed, suspicion flashing like steel.
"Then how are ye still alive?"
"What a brilliant story ye 'bout to fashion now, Zihard." narrowed his eyes, a bitter laugh caught in his throat.
"Come now… let me finish." Henry's tone was grave. "It wasn't his true body. Just a projection."
He spoke on, recounting the whole encounter—yet carefully omitting the truths James alone carried: his gift, and the contract with Alexandre.
Robin listened attentively, trying not to miss a beat.He sank back into his chair, eyes narrowing."Well, what do you want from me then…" he muttered, one brow rising.
"You know full well what I want, Rob… the key. Give me the key—the time is now." Henry's voice rang with a sharp, urgent edge, cutting through the dim room.
Before Robin could respond, a heavy knock crashed against the door.
GUUU! GUUU! GUUU!
The sound rattled the hinges, shaking dust from the beams above.
"Little pigs… let me in," a voice thundered, low and mocking.
Both men froze.The air grew heavier, as though the whole room were holding its breath.
"Were you expecting someone?" Henry asked, turning to Robin."No," Robin said firmly, though his eyes betrayed unease.His steps were deliberate, slower than he intended, as he moved toward the door.
The handle gleamed faintly in the half-light, waiting.