Eh? Eh???

I quickly grabbed my healer's guide and flipped through its pages, yet every mention of a person's pulse being dormant and nonexistent for as long as Siridan's had been kept echoing the same sentiment: That this idiot is dead.

But that couldn't be right.

Siridan may have still been breathing, but it sure felt like I couldn't do the same. I got on my feet to stave off the suffocating feeling and left the basement.

At the time, I was too distraught and overwhelmed to think naturally, and when the already traumatic situation became too much, I became determined to pretend it was over.

So I left him there without locking the door or thinking twice, where he would hopefully remain out of sight and out of mind. With hurried steps, I made my way back up and to the scene of the crime, where the mess awaited me.

On the bright side, the wax-like smear that was previously on the floor was not there anymore. It had turned into dust that I could sweep up without a fuss. The damage to the walls and furniture remained, but those were not the worst of my problems.

I initially wanted to recall some calming fact about a spell or some other magical illness that would cause someone to exhibit the same symptoms that Siridan did, and I figured that cleaning up the place as I pondered would've helped me occupy myself.

—I didn't expect Zakuli to return so soon. However, his sour, furious expression looked just the way I expected it to. His hand anxiously tugged on his beard as he stared at me, brows furrowed and eyes wide as an owl's.

"Well? Care to explain the state of the place, young miss?" His raspy voice came out in an impatient half-squeak – something I'd never heard before. "Not only do I come back to find it broken, but empty! Never in all my years did I imagine a thing like this!"

My shoulders shrunk with shame, and my mind raced with worry. "I'm sorry," I quickly blurted, keeping my eyes focused on the floor, "A fight broke out, a Sect showed up, and—"

"Look at me when I speak to you, girl!" Zakuli huffed, clicking his tongue. I anxiously raised my head and met his gaze. Thankfully, this was not as difficult as usual. After confronting Siridan that evening, it almost felt easy.

"Honestly," he continued, motioning widely with his arms at everything in the vicinity that got trashed earlier. "A glass or two, I can understand. —But this!? No, I want to know who is responsible for this and why you failed to stop them!"

I bowed my head politely. "It was Siridan, sir. He's always been unruly, but tonight, he caught the attention of a Sect, and a fight broke out between them." Despite my slight nervousness, my voice remained clear. "I swear, there wasn't anything I could do to stop him."

"No..?" He raised his eyebrow and leaned towards me to closely inspect my face, searching for traces of a lie. "Perhaps not," he finally yielded, though his tone remained quite severe, "but I expected better of you. You let the situation escalate when you were supposed to keep watch, didn't you?"

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As I hung my head again, waves of guilt surged through me. I couldn't escape the weight of the truth – even without witnessing it firsthand, the old innkeeper had accurately assessed the situation.

Silently, I berated myself for not only allowing things to escalate into violence but also for the nagging responsibility of driving them both into that fight. A wave of self-reproach flooded my mind; my interference had been nothing short of foolish.

Zakuli's scowl weakened ever so slightly beneath his beard, and though he remained visibly upset, he looked more weary than anything else. "Listen, girl. You can't just let a mess like that happen right under your nose. You gotta learn to stand up…"

I took the nearby broom with a solemn nod. I was getting scolded as if I were some foolish, inexperienced girl – and while I wasn't one, I did deserve it. That entire evening's mess was my fault, and I folded to the pressure instantly.

It was a truly shameful display. One I couldn't sweep away and ignore in the same manner as I did the Sect's remains. If I had to guess, two hours passed since everything happened, and I was already regretting every action I took.

"If I were you, I'd think long and hard about why things happen the way they did, mmm? Make sure nothing like that happens again – figure out how you could've done things differently. That's called experience, young lady. You just got some, so put your head to use and take advantage of it."

Zakuli sighed and limped toward the front of the bar. His exhausted-looking eyes scanned through the room with mild disappointment. "Siridan did this, yeah? Where'd he go? I want to talk some sense into him, too."

I pursed my lips. "I don't know, sir." I didn't want to lie, but I was scared of answering him truthfully. Though he was usually upfront and honest with me, his line of questioning rubbed me the wrong way.

His boot tapped impatiently on the floor. It was deliberately slow, yet he was clearly irked. "And the broken sword on the ground. How'd that happen?" Once again, one of his eyebrows rose. He looked at me expectantly.

But before I could answer, the inn's door burst open, yielding to a lazy kick, and I froze at the sight.

"YOU!" Zakuli roared at the top of his lungs, pointing an accusatory, shaking finger at the Sect I was cluelessly talking with. "OUT OF MY INN. NOW." His shouts subsided into an agitated, disturbed mutter. "If I have to point my sword at a bucket of wax like you again, I'll—"

...

His eyes spotted the broken remains of the blade on the floor.

"OUT!!!" he howled again, and though the sound of his screaming was one I usually dreaded, I felt relieved enough to pull a Siridan and collapse on the spot.

Before the Sect could utter a pre-programmed apology, Zakuli began chasing his duplicate with his fist shaking above his own head, and the construct quickly turned and fled to avoid an unnecessary confrontation with a man it likely deemed a non-suspect.

"Darn mages," the old innkeeper mumbled to himself, returning to the freshly imported mead he left by the entrance, "stirring trouble and making messes even where they won't go themselves! Outrageous. They turned the whole place upside down! Oh, I'd like to feed them steel…"

I wore a warm smile. "I'm glad you're back, sir. I'm sorry for the mess."

I wasn't even sure if he heard my apology. He waved his hand dismissively at me and continued tending to his work, but I, for one, wanted to hug him. At that moment, my gratitude for him and his grudge against Sects was immense.

"I'm going to get all these barrels all set up. I better not see any of this when I look out of the kitchen again, girl." He avoided looking in my direction, but it was plain that his vexation mainly came from the presence of his fake.

"Yes, sir," I replied, beaming with enough delight to make him seem visibly disturbed.

"And quit your smiling! I'm not happy with you, either!" He stomped through behind the bar, dragging the heavy barrels with him threateningly as if prepared to smash them into a Sect's head if one were to appear inside the kitchen.

Even as he turned away and kicked the kitchen door open, I couldn't help but grin from ear to ear. "Of course, sir."