Night had fallen unusually early today—a predictable outcome in the heart of autumn.
From here on, the weather would only grow gloomier. This region was infamous for its dismal climate.
Clients were becoming fewer as the season shifted, and as midnight drew near, my only duty was to sit behind this front desk, flip through the guest registry, or pretend to read a book. If it were up to me, I would never have chosen this job—receptionist. Truly the dullest occupation anyone could pick.
On nights like this, all I wanted was to curl up in my warm bed.
Even the ticking of the clock behind me was enough to give me a headache.
While I was quietly complaining to myself, the front door swung open.
A gust of cold air swept in, carrying the scent of upcoming rain.
Two figures stepped inside.
A young man and a young woman—late teens, maybe early twenties.
But what caught my attention wasn't their age.
It was the contrast in their appearance.
You could tell at a glance that their clothes were expensive: fine fabric, meticulous embroidery… the kind worn only by nobles.
But tonight, all that elegance was buried under dried mud, torn hems, and damp, disheveled hair.
In short, they looked miserable.
The young man was taller, shoulders straight even at this late hour.
His sharp blue eyes carried a natural nobility I rarely saw among our usual guests—perhaps this was what they called aristocratic dignity.
He wore a sword at his waist. Not just ornamentation—its design was too distinct for that. A real noble's weapon.
The girl beside him reached about his shoulder in height. Her black hair, wet and hurriedly brushed back, framed calm green eyes that scanned every corner of the lobby before settling on me.
Despite her exhaustion, she didn't look frail. Her expression was firm, as if nights like this were nothing new to her.
For a moment I considered asking if something had happened to them, but swallowed the question.
In my years working here, I'd learned one thing:
A tavern should never ask its guests about their stories.
Especially guests who look like they're carrying an entire novel's worth.
So I simply offered a polite smile and opened the registry.
"Good evening, dear guests.
Would you prefer a double room, or two separate ones?"
The two approached the desk. The young man placed a small pouch of gold coins in front of me and spoke in a low, quiet tone:
"Two separate rooms.
Preferably next to each other.
We're only staying for one night."
I nodded with a practiced smile.
"Of course, young sir. For guests of your standing, the rate is one gold coin per person for a single room, including dinner and breakfast."
He hesitated for a second, then handed me two coins.
Typical nobles—wealthy, well-bred, yet oblivious to how easily someone could swindle them if they weren't cautious.
Or so I assumed.
Still smiling, I pulled out two keys, placed them on the counter, and opened the ledger.
"These are your keys. The room numbers are engraved on them—first floor.
Would you like your dinner delivered to your rooms? Since you've already paid for the full service."
"Even at this hour?" the young man asked, uncertain.
I chuckled gently.
"As long as a guest is under our roof, the service never stops."
The young woman gave him a small nod, then stepped forward.
"That will be fine.
We'll rely on you for that, sir."
They signed their names, and I offered them a polite bow—the standard greeting for our establishment.
They returned the gesture with a nod before heading toward the staircase.
The hallway was freshly painted in deep emerald, clean and well-lit. No cobwebs, no dust. Even the stair railings were crafted from polished beechwood, showing the staff's attention to detail.
At their room doors, the young man paused and turned to the girl with a serious expression.
"If anything happens, call for me immediately. You can't rely on Ethan's guard outside, remember."
A faint, almost amused smile touched her lips.
"There's no need to worry that much.
No one's going to attack recklessly tonight.
And of course I won't depend on someone she assigned to watch us…
But I'll be careful."
Her tone sharpened at the mention of that woman—whoever she was.
The young man's expression softened, though the tension in his eyes remained.
In the end, he sighed and rested a hand on her head.
"Then… good night. Sleep right after you bathe."
She grimaced, swatting his hand away.
"Honestly, brother… you still treat me like a child.
But whatever. Good night."
They each entered their rooms.
The room wasn't as spacious as the chambers they were likely used to in a noble estate, but it wasn't cramped either—comfortable, surprisingly so.
Nobles preferred furniture made of mahogany, beech, and silk, with unnecessary ornaments and gold trim.
Middle-class inns like ours favored practicality: pine wood coated with a thin mahogany veneer for durability and aesthetics without the cost.
For someone like the young man, perhaps rooms like this were more comforting than a grand, empty chamber.
He set his bag on the desk beside the bed, placed his sword carefully next to it, and pulled out a clean change of clothes—a white cotton shirt and black trousers.
After a warm bath and a simple but hearty dinner delivered within half an hour, he sat at the desk and opened his personal notebook.
There, on the previous page, was a note he had written—a reminder of a conversation with the matriarch of his household.
Its sight brought the memories of that day flooding back into his mind.