The clang of hammers and the rasp of Merek's muttering were broken by a scream that cut through the forge like a blade.
The first scream cut through the clang of the forge like a knife.
Merek froze mid-stitch, the hammer in Joren's hand halted mid-arc. The ringing of metal on metal died, swallowed by a thick, awful silence that rolled in from the street outside. Then came another sound panicked shouting, the kind of chaos that makes even the sure-handed flinch.
Thal's head turned toward the open front of the smithy, golden eyes narrowing. Beyond the wavering heat of the forge, figures were already gathering in the lane. Guards in blue and bronze shoved through the crowd, calling for space, cordoning off the street just beyond the blacksmith's corner.
"What in the Saints' name…" Merek muttered, setting his tools aside. He craned his neck to see over the growing wall of bodies.
Voices carried easily through the street frantic, sharp, overlapping.
"Another one! another highborn, from House Horrent, they said!"
"Gods have mercy… I saw his ring, I know that crest!"
"Look at him what's left of him, anyway…"
"Not magic can't be. Kruul's did this. Has to be the Kruul's!"
A single word cut through the murmuring like a dark refrain.
"The Rupture."
Alinda had moved toward the doorway, her crimson eyes glinting in the light as she listened. Nyra followed close behind, though her hand hovered near the dagger at her hip by instinct rather than need.
Joren, from behind his bench, muttered, "The Rupture again? That's the third in two weeks."
"Fourth," Merek corrected grimly. "They found one yesterday, down near the salt quarter. Thought it was some street rat. Guess not."
The guards shouted for everyone to clear back but morbid curiosity kept the onlookers pressing forward. Between their shoulders, Thal could see flashes of crimson pooled across the cobbles, a color darker than any spilled paint or dye. The smell hit next copper, bile, and the faint, unmistakable tang of something wrong.
Someone screamed again a woman this time, shrill and broken.
Nyra caught sight of her first. She was on her knees near the guards, her fine gown torn, her hands slick red. Her face…
Nyra went still. The woman's face was streaked with what wasn't her own blood patches of skin clinging wetly to her cheeks, her brow, even her throat. She was trying to wipe them off, smearing them further, shrieking between gasps, "It's him it's him! My husband! Oh, Saints get it off me!"
A guard tried to hold her back but she thrashed in blind panic. Behind her, what was left of the man lay half-hidden by a fallen cloak. The outlines were wrong no shape, no coherence. Only the impression of bursting. Bones jutted like splintered wood from a mass of half-liquefied flesh. The organs that remained were scattered in slick trails several paces away, and what skin still clung to the ribs fluttered faintly in the breeze, like torn parchment.
Alinda's expression hardened, the teasing ease she'd carried minutes ago gone entirely. "That wasn't a blade," she murmured. "Or a fire. That was… pressure. Something inside forcing its way out."
Merek looked ready to be sick. "Saints below…"
Nyra's jaw clenched. "The Rupture." The word tasted bitter. "They said the same about the others, didn't they? The bodies bursting from within but this…" Her eyes swept over what she could see through the crowd. "This is worse."
Joren crossed himself out of old reflex. "You think it's a spell?"
"Spells don't scatter skin like leaves," Alinda said flatly.
Thal said nothing. He stepped closer to the open air, the red glow from the forge catching on his eyes until they looked molten. He studied the chaos the guards dragging the wife away, the priest trying to calm the crowd, the fear rippling through every voice.
It wasn't just death. It was pattern.
"They call it the Rupture," Merek whispered again, shaking his head. "Said the first were lowborn, then the merchants, now the nobles. House Horrent… there'll be hell to pay for this."
Joren snorted darkly. "There's already hell."
From outside came another shout, urgent and fearful: "Clear the way! The High Canon's men are coming!"
The mention of the Church sent a ripple through the crowd. Even the guards straightened, forming a tighter wall around the body.
Alinda's gaze flicked toward Thal, the air between them sharp with unspoken thought. "They'll call it Kruul work," she said under her breath. "They always do."
Thal didn't look at her, his stare still fixed on the blood-slicked stones beyond. "Maybe they're right," he said quietly though the tone in his voice made it clear he didn't believe that. "Or maybe they're too afraid to name what it really is."
Outside, the guards pushed the crowd farther back but the whisper had already spread fast, contagious, unstoppable.
The Rupture has struck again.
And deep beneath Lions Gate, something old and patient listened.
The street outside the forge was a storm of noise and terror, the kind that makes every sound sharper, every movement heavier.
The guards shouted for people to stay back, forming a trembling half-circle around the remains on the cobbles.
The woman's screams had become broken gasps, torn between sobbing and choking. Blood covered her hands, her dress, her face her husband's blood.
Nyra could only watch, frozen in the doorway beside Thal and Alinda. The warmth of the forge behind her did nothing to cut through the cold crawling under her skin.
"He… he smiled," the woman stammered, voice raw. "He he smiled before it happened. Then he " she shuddered, pointing at the pool spreading beneath the corpse. "He something came out of him!"
The words silenced the murmurs for a breath. Even the guards looked uneasy.
"Out of him?" one repeated, uncertain if he'd heard right.
The woman nodded frantically. "Yes! A man no, a monster came out of him! Wearing black, all in black, dripping blood. I saw his eyes " Her voice cracked into a high, piercing note. "Red. Blood red and his hair it was white pure white! And then then he sank into the blood!" She pointed again, her hand shaking violently. "He smiled at me as he went under!"
"Enough!" a guard barked, trying to drag her back but the damage was done. The whispers began again fearful, urgent, spreading through the crowd like smoke.
Thal stepped forward a pace, the light from the forge washing his face in amber and shadow. His eyes followed the woman's trembling finger to the rippling pool of blood. It shouldn't still be moving.
He didn't speak he just watched.
Listened.
Nyra swallowed hard. "White hair," she muttered under her breath, mostly to herself. "Red eyes…" Her words trailed as she turned to look at Alinda.
Alinda met her gaze, crimson eyes reflecting the forge light like shards of glass. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"That's…" Nyra hesitated, unable to form the thought fully. "That sounds like "
"Us," Alinda finished quietly.
The word hit like a spark in dry grass.
Merek's head snapped toward them, confusion written plain on his face. "What do you mean, 'us'?"
"Nothing," Alinda said quickly, too smoothly. She looked back toward the blood, her tone colder now, trying to regain her composure. "Whatever that woman saw, it wasn't one of ours."
But Nyra didn't answer. She was still staring into the street, brow furrowed in thought. "Could a berserker even do that?" she asked quietly. "I mean… we our kind we don't…" She trailed off, realizing how little she actually knew. The truth was, she'd never met another like herself. Not until Alinda.
Alinda glanced sideways at her, the confidence in her usual smirk replaced with something more uncertain. "Berserkers can do… strange things," she admitted. "Unheard of things but it's always to themselves. Our strength, our madness it turns inward. We burn, we break, we survive." Her gaze flicked back to the remains in the street. "This… this isn't that."
Thal's golden eyes turned slightly toward her. "You sound unsure."
Alinda's jaw tightened. "Because I am."
For a long moment, the three of them stood in the doorway, framed by the dim forge light. Behind them, the brothers whispered to one another in nervous tones, pretending to work to avoid looking at the blood. Outside, the guards covered what was left of the nobleman, muttering that the Church would want to see it.
"The Rupture," Merek murmured under his breath. "They'll blame the Kruul's again. They always do."
Alinda didn't answer him. Her gaze was fixed on the street, on the blood that still shimmered faintly in the cracks between the stones.
Something about it felt alive.
Nyra crossed her arms tightly, trying to keep her voice steady. "Whatever it was… it had our traits. White hair, red eyes…" She swallowed hard. "If it wasn't one of us, then what was it?"
For once, Alinda had no clever remark. She looked uneasy, her crimson eyes flicking between the body and Thal, her mind clearly running circles around what she'd just heard.
Outside, the woman's screams had faded into sobs, carried away by the guards.
But her words lingered, like a curse echoing through the narrow streets of Lions Gate
And as the crowd began to disperse, none of them not Thal, not Nyra, not Alinda could shake the feeling that somewhere in the blood-soaked alleys of the city, that same smile was still waiting.
The street outside the forge slowly emptied as the guards took the woman away, her cries fading into a low, broken wail that echoed off the stone. The blood was still there though dark, glistening, and refusing to soak into the cracks. It shimmered faintly in the sunlight, as if reluctant to dry.
Thal's gaze lingered on it longer than the others. The smell of iron, fear, and something unnatural hung heavy in the air. Alinda and Nyra stood beside him, both quiet. For once, neither seemed eager to speak. The laughter and lightness that had filled the forge before were gone now, swallowed by the cold weight of what they had just witnessed.
Merek cleared his throat softly behind them, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I… should get back to work." His usual bravado was gone. "Customers'll be avoiding this street for days and I've got that kilt to finish."
Joren nodded in agreement, though his eyes never left the bloodstained cobbles. "Aye. We've seen enough horror for one afternoon."
Thal turned his head slightly, giving the brothers a small nod of acknowledgment. "You've done good work," he said simply, his deep voice steady as ever. "Stay safe."
Merek forced a weak smile. "Safe, right. Because smiths and tailors always end up in the middle of citywide murders."
Joren grunted. "Don't joke about that."
Alinda gave them a polite wave, the faintest flicker of her old smirk returning, though her tone was softer than usual. "Keep your doors locked, boys and if anyone knocks wearing a black coat don't open it."
The brothers exchanged a worried glance, unsure if she was jesting.
Nyra tugged gently at Alinda's arm, nodding toward the street. "Come on. We should find the others. Valen said they'd be at Jason's inn."
Alinda exhaled, her crimson eyes flicking once more toward the distant smear of red on the stones. "Right. The inn." She turned to Thal, who still hadn't moved. "You coming, or do I have to drag you too?"
He didn't answer immediately, his golden eyes fixed on the spot where the woman had stood. When he finally turned toward them, his expression was unreadable calm but distant, as if something deeper was turning behind his gaze.
"Let's go," he said at last.
They left the forge behind, stepping out into the uneasy murmur of Lions Gate. The city, always so full of sound and color, felt quieter now, its people moving in nervous huddles and casting wary glances at every shadow.
The guards were still talking among themselves as the trio passed snippets of fearful speculation reaching their ears.
"Third noble in two weeks."
"Same as the others bones gone, skin shredded."
"The wife said he smiled."
"No magic traces, no residue, nothing."
"Maybe it was Kruul's work. Maybe the undercity's rising again."
Alinda's jaw tightened. "They'll blame the Kruul for everything before they admit something worse is crawling under their feet."
Nyra said nothing but her eyes were distant. The white hair, the red eyes, the blood she couldn't push the image out of her mind. It was as if some unseen thread had tied it all together, one that tugged at something buried deep inside her.
Thal walked a step ahead of them, silent, the hem of his new red kilt brushing against his boots. The sunlight caught on his golden eyes as he glanced toward the upper streets.
"Jason's inn is near the old well, isn't it?" Alinda asked, trying to fill the quiet.
Nyra nodded absently. "Down past the fountain square. You can smell the ale before you see it."
Alinda snorted. "Then it's definitely Valen's kind of place."
The faintest flicker of amusement touched Thal's lips but it didn't last. His gaze wandered toward the cathedral in the distance, where the great bells of the Church of the Three stood silent and unmoving.
"Something's changing," he said quietly.
Nyra glanced at him. "You mean the killings?"
He didn't answer directly. His voice was low, as if speaking more to himself than anyone else. "The air feels wrong. The balance… shifting."
Alinda frowned but didn't press. She had seen him like this before when his instincts picked up on things no one else could sense. It wasn't magic. It was something older, heavier.
They turned a corner, leaving the sound of the forge behind. Merek and Joren's hammers started again in the distance steady, rhythmic, trying to drown out fear with the comfort of work.
But as Thal, Nyra, and Alinda walked toward Jason's inn, the whispers of The Rupture followed them, crawling through the alleys of Lions Gate like a sickness that refused to die.
And none of them could shake the feeling that whatever had torn that man apart… was only just beginning.
The walk to Jason's inn was quiet too quiet. The city had gone still in the way a forest does before a storm, every sound seeming sharper, every shadow stretched just a little too long.
The three of them moved through Lions Gate's narrow streets, their footsteps echoing against stone still wet from the blood they'd left behind. Though the forge was long out of sight, the memory of that scream, that smell, clung to them.
Thal walked ahead, his pace steady but slow, as though he were listening to something beneath the earth. Alinda and Nyra followed a step behind. The usual hum of the city hawkers, laughter, drunkards stumbling out of taverns had dimmed into wary murmurs. People spoke in whispers, eyes flicking to the shadows, and none stayed out longer than they had to.
"…another one of the nobles…"
"…House Horrent, they say torn apart, nothing left but bones and skin…"
"…The Rupture did it again… may the Three deliver us…"
Alinda walked beside her, unusually quiet. The usual smirk she wore like armor had faded, replaced by a measured, contemplative calm. She adjusted the strap of her armor absently, her crimson gaze never settling for long. "They're all afraid," she muttered finally. "That kind of fear doesn't go away. It festers."
Thal walked ahead of them, his massive frame cutting a silent path through the sparse crowd. His new crimson kilt swayed with his strides, the white stitching catching faint glints of light as he moved. The people who dared look up at him quickly looked away again none wanted to linger near someone who seemed carved from shadow and stone.
At one point, a small boy carrying bread rounded the corner, nearly running into Thal. He froze in place, wide-eyed, before bolting off without a word. Nyra sighed softly. "Even the kids are skittish."
"They should be," Thal said, his voice deep but even. "Something here is hunting."
That simple sentence pressed down on them like a weight. The street noise dimmed around it, replaced by the distant toll of a bell somewhere deeper in the city three slow, hollow rings that seemed to echo far longer than they should.
Alinda finally broke the silence between them. "They all seem to know the name," she said softly. "The Rupture. Like it's a storm that passes through."
Nyra didn't answer right away. She was watching her own boots, jaw tight, the faintest furrow forming between her brows.
Thal's deep voice rumbled low. "You've heard of this before?"
That made her glance up, startled. "What?"
"This… 'Rupture,'" Alinda clarified, her crimson eyes flicking toward her. "You didn't look surprised when they said it. You looked like you already knew."
Nyra exhaled through her nose, her breath fogging slightly in the cooling air. "Eric told us," she said finally. "Before we left. Said there'd been killings in the city people dying in ways they couldn't explain. He didn't go into detail, just said it wasn't magic. I thought it was a rumor."
Alinda tilted her head, studying her. "And now?"
Nyra hesitated, the words catching in her throat. "Now I wish it still was."
Thal's golden eyes stayed on her as they walked, unreadable but sharp. "How many?"
"Eric said three nobles and a merchant," Nyra replied quietly. "But he thought there were more in the poorer districts ones the Church never recorded." Her tone hardened. "Typical."
Alinda hummed low in agreement, her crimson eyes glinting faintly. "So the highborns get names, and the rest get forgotten. Fitting, for Lions Gate."
They turned onto one of the broader streets that led toward the lower quarter. The setting sun spilled over the rooftops, painting everything in shades of bronze and blood. Yet even that warm light felt cold against the unease creeping through the air.
Thal's gaze drifted down the road, toward where the faint outline of the cathedral could be seen through the haze. "The Church won't ignore this one," he said. "A noble of House Horrent… they'll use it."
Nyra frowned. "Use it?"
He didn't look back as he answered. "Fear is the easiest coin to spend. The Church of the Three trades well in it."
Alinda gave a short, mirthless laugh. "He's right. They'll preach, rally, promise protection and tighten their leash around everyone's throats in the process."
The crowd thickened slightly as they moved closer to the heart of the district. Most faces were pale, anxious, whispering the same words over and over. The Rupture. Another one dead. A curse on the city.
Nyra rubbed her arm, glancing down a side street. "He said the bodies were found like this before," she murmured. "No marks. Just… gone from the inside out."
Alinda arched a brow. "And no one's seen it happen?"
"Not until today," Nyra said, voice tightening.
The words settled heavy between them. Even Alinda's usual sharp tongue faltered for once.
Thal stopped briefly in the middle of the street, turning his head slightly as if listening again to the murmur of the city, to the shifting air, to something beyond either. "If this keeps spreading," he said quietly, "we'll see more than blood."
Nyra looked up at him, uncertain.
They resumed walking. The path ahead sloped downward, leading toward the lower district where Jason's inn waited a crooked old building pressed between two taller ones, its sign swaying lazily in the breeze. The smell of roasted meat and cheap ale drifted from inside, a poor disguise for the tension that gripped the streets outside.
As they neared, Alinda forced a smirk, though it carried no real heat. "You know, after today, I might actually drink with Valen willingly."
Nyra managed a faint smile at that. "Then things really are bad."
Thal didn't answer, his gaze flicking briefly toward the distant cathedral once more. The bells had fallen silent again, their absence louder than their toll.
Lions Gate was holding its breath.
And with every step toward the inn, the weight of that silence pressed heavier on them like a warning that the city itself knew something they didn't.
When they finally reached Jason's Inn, the place stood out like a tired old survivor of better days. Its sign a carved Lions head creaked on rusted chains, one amber eye long since chipped away. The scent of ale and cooked meat rolled out through the cracked shutters but underneath it lingered that same thick unease threading through the city.
The inn's double doors were broader than most, built for wagons and heavy men, yet still too small for Thal's full height. He stopped at the threshold, the boards creaking under his boots, and leaned slightly to peer through one of the tall windows before attempting to squeeze through.
Inside, the inn was louder than the streets outside, the sound of voices and laughter clashing like waves against stone. To his mild surprise, the ceiling arched higher than he expected certainly higher than most of Lions Gate's taverns. It wasn't built for someone of his stature but it would do.
And then his gaze caught on the source of all that noise.
Near the back, a long table had been cleared except for a row of mugs, half-filled and foaming. Tar sat there massive, horned, and very much in his element locked in a drinking competition with a trio of locals who were already regretting their bravado. Sweat beaded on their brows as Tar tipped back another mug with ease, downing the ale like water.
The crowd around him erupted into cheers and groans in equal measure. Coins clinked, bets exchanged hands, and at the centre of it all sat Valen, grinning wide and counting gold with the gleam of a man who'd struck pure luck.
"Come on, my friend!" Valen shouted over the noise, slapping Tar's arm, which was roughly the size of a tree trunk. "Make me richer! Drink like the legend you are!"
Tar grunted in amusement and reached for the next mug, his tail flicking lazily behind him.
Beside him sat Neo, caught between laughter and disbelief, his shoulders shaking as he covered his face. "I can't believe you convinced him to do this," he said between laughs.
Valen grinned wider. "Believe it! I'm turning that beast into a coin press!"
Across from them, Luken leaned against a post, his staff propped beside him, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. The mage's expression was a mixture of amusement and quiet resignation, the kind one wore when used to Valen's antics. "You're going to get yourself banned again," he said mildly.
"Not if we win," Valen countered, raising his drink. "And we always win."
Thal exhaled slowly through his nose, the faintest flicker of humor touching his features. "Of course they'd find trouble," he muttered.
Behind him, Alinda leaned forward to peer through the same window, her crimson eyes lighting with amusement. "Well," she said, "it seems our boys know how to make themselves at home."
Nyra crossed her arms, shaking her head with a sigh that carried both relief and exasperation. "And here I was, thinking we'd find them doing something responsible."
Alinda grinned, brushing a lock of black hair from her face. "Valen is being responsible he's earning money."
Nyra shot her a look. "By exploiting a minotaur's liver?"
"Efficient use of resources," Alinda said smoothly, feigning innocence.
Inside, another roar of laughter shook the room as one of Tar's opponents fell backward off his chair, spilling ale across the floor. Tar huffed a short, rumbling laugh that vibrated through the wooden beams, and Valen was already pocketing another handful of coins.
Thal shook his head and crouched slightly, ducking beneath the doorframe as he stepped inside. The crowd's laughter softened, several heads turning toward him as his towering frame filled the doorway. Conversations quieted for just a heartbeat, tension flickering through the air before Valen noticed and raised his hand in mock salute.
"Ah! And the last of our merry company arrives!" Valen announced with a grin. "Just in time to watch me win!"
Thal's golden eyes swept over them all Tar, unbothered and still drinking Neo, flushed with laughter Luken, ever composed and Valen, smug as always. For the first time since the blood in the street, something in the giant's expression eased.
"Looks like you've already won," Thal said, his deep voice rumbling through the inn.
Valen grinned wider. "You know me, Thal. I never lose."
Alinda stepped in behind him, crimson eyes bright with mischief. "Give it time, Valen. The night's still young."
Nyra followed, the heavy air from outside trailing behind her like a ghost but even she couldn't quite keep from smiling at the sight before her. For the first time since the murder, the inn felt almost alive again.
Still, beneath the laughter and the clinking of mugs, that unease lingered subtle, steady, as if something cold watched from just beyond the candlelight.
Nyra lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching the chaos unfold around the table. The heat, the laughter, the smell of ale and roasted meat it all pushed back against the chill that had followed them from the street.
For the first time in what felt like hours, Neo was laughing. Not the polite kind of laugh he used when humoring Valen, nor the stiff one that never reached his eyes. This was real unguarded, raw, and unfamiliar. His face had lost that guarded stillness that usually clung to him. The sound startled her at first then, slowly, a faint smile crept across her lips.
She hadn't seen him like this in months maybe ever.
Thal seemed to notice too. He stood just behind her, half-crouched beneath the low rafters, golden eyes softening with quiet approval. The faintest curl of his mouth something close to contentment tugged at the corner of his lips before he folded his arms and leaned against a beam that creaked under his weight.
The inn's noise swallowed them as they stepped further inside. Laughter rippled through the crowd again when Tar raised his mug to his lips and downed another full pint in one go. Foam clung to his muzzle as he let out a satisfied grunt, while one of his opponents slumped forward across the table, defeated and mumbling.
Valen whooped, tossing a few more coins into the air and catching them theatrically. "Another victory for the undefeated!" he declared. "Gentlemen, I advise you to put your faith in the minotaur or start selling your boots, because tonight's luck is mine!"
Luken stood beside Neo, leaning against one of the wooden support beams. His calm face betrayed amusement, a subtle curve of his lips that might have been a smile or a sigh dressed as one. He noticed them first as they approached.
"Ah, the rest of the family's here," he said, nodding toward Nyra, Thal, and Alinda. "Come to witness Valen's descent into moral bankruptcy?"
Alinda smirked, sliding in beside him. "More like to watch it in its natural habitat."
Nyra chuckled softly, her eyes scanning the inn. She half expected to see Jason somewhere behind the counter, booming his usual greeting or scolding Valen for the noise but the counter stood empty mugs scattered, a half-finished drink still frothing near the tap. Her brow furrowed slightly.
"Where's Jason?" she asked, raising her voice a little over the din.
Luken glanced toward the cellar door behind the bar. "He went down to the basement a little while ago," he replied. "Said he was fetching another cask for Valen's 'investment opportunity.'" His tone carried the faintest edge of sarcasm.
Valen looked up just in time to hear it and grinned over his shoulder. "It's not gambling it's faith in Tar's endurance!"
Tar, mid-drink, gave a low rumble that might've been a laugh. The sound made the table tremble.
Nyra's smile faded slightly, her gaze shifting toward the shadowed door Luken had pointed at. "That was a while ago?"
Luken nodded, unconcerned but thoughtful. "Maybe ten minutes? He said the barrel was heavy, so he'd take his time. The cellar's cold this time of year, though he might've just stopped to breathe."
"Or drink," Valen offered with a grin. "Jason's got his own stash down there, remember?"
That earned a small laugh from Neo, who elbowed Tar lightly. "If he's smart, he's hiding from this madness."
The others laughed again, and the room seemed to swell with sound but Nyra's eyes lingered on that dark doorway at the back of the inn. The cellar door stood slightly ajar just enough for a sliver of the cool lanternlight below to glow faintly through the gap.
Something about it made her uneasy.
She shook it off, forcing herself to relax, and turned back toward the others. "Let's hope he hasn't drunk the profits," she said lightly, though the words felt hollow in her mouth.
The noise of the inn carried on around her laughter, clinking mugs, Valen's boasts but beneath it, she could almost swear she heard something else. A faint echo.
The cellar door slammed open, cutting off Nyra mid-sentence.
Jason emerged with a barrel on each shoulder, moving with the ease of a man who'd done it a thousand times before. The inn's chatter shifted instantly half the crowd cheering, the other half laughing as the tall barkeep strode into the light.
He was solidly built, his muscles pressed tight beneath a linen shirt rolled up at the sleeves. His deep black hair was pulled into a messy bun, a few locks falling loose against his tanned forehead. His eyes dark, almost bottomless took in the chaos with a calm that bordered on bemused exhaustion.
"Saints, you couldn't wait, could you?" he rumbled, his voice deep but easy, smooth like someone used to being listened to. He set both barrels down beside the counter with a solid thunk, the floorboards trembling beneath his boots. "I go down for five minutes, and you lot turn my inn into a gambling hall."
Valen grinned wide from the table, arms spread like a guilty saint. "Jason! My most trusted enabler! Just keeping the patrons entertained, that's all."
Jason's brow lifted. "Entertained? I see a half-conscious mercenary drooling on my floor and a minotaur who's probably outdrunk half the coast."
Tar raised a mug with a grunt that could've been a laugh or a challenge. Neo nearly doubled over laughing again.
Jason's gaze finally swept toward the newcomers Nyra, Alinda, and the mountain of a man beside them. His eyes lingered a fraction longer on Thal, not with fear but a flicker of surprise. The laughter in the room faltered slightly, a few patrons shifting uncertainly as Thal's shadow filled the corner of the inn.
Jason, however, didn't so much as blink. He tilted his head, looked the towering Nephilim up and down once, then gave a slow nod. "Now there's someone who looks like he's wrestled an ox and won."
Alinda smirked. "Two, actually."
"Three," Nyra corrected under her breath.
Jason let out a low whistle, lips twitching into a grin. "Well, any friend of theirs is welcome here just don't duck too hard or you'll bring down the beams."
That earned a small rumble from Thal's chest, not quite laughter but something close enough. The tension melted again, replaced by a ripple of amusement that spread through the room.
Jason moved behind the counter, wiping his hands on a cloth. "Now then, Valen, I'm onto your little racket. You're using my ale for your wagers, which means I get half the profits."
Valen froze, mouth open. "Half?!"
Jason arched a brow. "My ale, my floor, my broken furniture."
Valen threw his arms up. "Fine, fine half!" He turned to Tar, who was already reaching for another mug. "But if we win another round, I'm charging you for ale storage!"
Neo nearly choked laughing, Luken shaking his head beside him.
Alinda leaned her elbow on the counter, smirking at Thal. "See? You're already making an impression. Even the barkeep didn't flinch."
Thal didn't respond, though there was the faintest glint of amusement in his golden eyes.
That's when Valen's gaze caught on him fully. "Speaking of impressions," he said, waving a hand toward Thal's crimson kilt, "look at this! Our mountain's gone and got himself decorated! Honestly, I think it suits him. Why waste time making anything new?"
Nyra turned toward him immediately, brows arching. "Because Merek and Joren have already started, that's why."
Valen blinked. "Already?"
"They were practically arguing over the design," she said with a smirk. "If you tell them to stop now, they'll probably throw you in the forge."
Alinda chuckled. "And I'd pay to see that."
Valen sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "Fine, fine, I'll leave the artistry to the experts but still Thal, if you ever tire of the warrior look, you could start a fashion trend. 'Savage Chic,' we'll call it."
Tar grunted into his mug, which earned another round of laughter. Even Thal's mouth twitched, a quiet shake of his head betraying the faintest trace of humour.
Jason leaned his elbows on the counter, smiling faintly. "You lot bring more noise than a festival and I've seen those get bloody."
Nyra smiled softly at that, the tension of the streets outside finally beginning to fade. "It's good noise," she said. "We needed some."
And for the first time since the murder, it truly felt like Lions Gate could still laugh though just beneath the warmth of the inn's candlelight, the cold weight of that name, The Rupture, still lingered like a ghost in the back of all their minds.