The flight above the forests took already a few hours at top speeds, so my patience was already thinning away. We saw nothing for miles, and eventually I grew tired; my mana and mental capacities all but dry. “Let’s stop for a bit,” I panted through my words while Gustaf immediately dived under me and caught my falling body.

I landed safely on his back, still reeling from the mana burn. My insides were being torn apart, both from lacking in available mana and the overdrive my body was doing in order to recover more mana from the environment. I shook in pain, the pain almost lulling me into unconsciousness, until a warm embrace cuddled my entire body.

Propping my eyes open, an orange flame bathed me in its gentle heat, oozing me into relaxation. I took even deeper breaths as I calmed. Flight was never okay to sustain for too long, and no one was an exception; in fact, it was a similar thing throughout the more… magical magics, so to speak. It was why I could consider the flying wagons as the mark of an incoming masterpiece. It just needed some more work.

Unaware of the passing time, it was midday when we finally arrived somewhere. In the middle of the woods lay a three-storey pub. High-quality, sparkly clean grayish, wooden walls flanked it, and the roof was gabled, elongating upwards in an immaculate reddish brown finish.

I yanked myself out of Gustaf’s regenerative aura miles above the air and landed clumsily. The entrance was a simple door. As I opened it, I was greeted with a… normal looking pub. A few feet away from the door was the bar, with neatly lined seats and a colorful bunch of customers. Some wore nasty looks, others were nasty in creative ways. At the bar serving drinks was a bulky waiter; he had a peculiar finesse in his movements. His clothing were ordinary black and white bartending clothes.

There were larger tables lined up around the pub, and the place was filled to the brim with customers. A lot of them were drinking, drunk or smoking. The smoke was getting in my eyes and I was getting irritated, but I kept my cool since I didn’t want any more unexpected outcomes.

They carried weapons; some obviously enchanted with magic. I grew mildly curious, but thought to set another time for such a study. What’s important was that I don’t make too much of a commotion, if possible.

I was still feeling the effects of the mana burn from before. Nobody would want to fight tired, and I certainly didn’t have any intentions of starting one. This was a bunch that was ready to explode, and quite frankly I didn’t want to clean up after them. I inhaled to loosen myself up before entering, feeling that my innate connection with Gustaf weakened while he bore his smaller form, hiding behind the trees.

I approached the bar, giving the waiter a silent nod. “Got something to eat?” I asked. He had a hulking body, almost like a large bull’s. His squared face had some thick, brown sideburns and a large jaw, while his brown hair was slicked back stylishly.

The waiter’s thick lips slightly smiled and gestured towards his left, where the unreadable menu was written. Whoever wrote this, his handwriting sucked. “The special ain’t so bad,” he commented, understanding of my inability to read hieroglyphics; his voice was a thick baritone, and the look in his eye confident and locked with mine. I smiled happily. “Great,” I playfully slammed my hand on the bar. “I’ll have that and a beer.”

My order solicited a grunt from the waiter. He tapped a few times in the sill of the window where orders are placed. “Shouldn’t take a while, son,” he said.

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If I were somebody else, I’d be perplexed. This waiter’s visage was something else, and I don’t think his body is from a bloodless past. “Where do you hail?” he asks.

“From here.”

He nodded. “I thought so... but you have brownish skin. Even I don’t have them,” he said, pointing at his hair. He must be from the south. “You could have come from elsewhere,” he clarified. A brown skin tone was rare amongst my people, but naturally occurring. Though it did come with a bit of scrutiny.

“Any chance I could be half?” I asked.

There was a dumbfounded look on his face before he laughed out loud, earning looks from a few of the customers. He didn’t seem to mind. “Why not?” he asked, confused but still holding a laugh. I myself was a bit confused with his reaction. Then, an idea seemed to push the waiter into inquiry. “Are you speaking of the old Ambrosian purity horseshit?”, he said with unbelievable class and grace.

Woah. Now that was more aligned with his bodily image; it combined really well with his panache. I wondered how he was able to curse with that kind of flow.

I nodded back, but with a question in mind. “The old?” Now that he’s mentioned it, doesn’t it seem a bit too sudden that our house, in the middle of nowhere, was suddenly surrounded by difficult looking structures?

Then the realization hit me. I shook my head.

It was an honest mistake.

I don’t really believe that there are strange things in this world. Especially with magic around.

However, people cling to foundations and laws for good reason. They’re more than just guideposts, they’re the basics for survival. As such, people tend to believe certain things as being permanent… eternal. It’s what’s necessary to survive.

Well, I’m one of the people who believe that it’s not so. I have reason to - a really good one.

Affirming my beliefs in my head, I rubbed my hair and nodded to myself, convinced that I wasn’t entirely at fault since my belief system basically automates my reaction to these sorts of things - and my reactions are never ‘what the fuck?’. So it stands to reason that I’m only somehow surprised - not tremendously.

Oh and, this has happened before.

The waiter shrugged as I internally concurred with my values; why so, I’m not sure.

“Order up!”

Unable to hold back a slight chuckle, the waiter went towards the window and grabbed a sizzling plate of steak. I munched down on my food, feeling every bite reinvigorate my fatigued body. “What’s this place called, then?” I asked as I chewed, not bothering to be mindful of my etiquette as I was starving. The place looked to be some sort of hangout - probably also an inn.

Not only that, since it was brimming with people, it wasn’t wrong to think the place was popular/

“It’s an adventurer’s pub.”

“Okay,” I said, not really okay with his answer and unsure how to react. “I’m not entirely sure about what an adventurer’s supposed to be - but I was asking for the actual name of the place.”

The waiter was confused.

“They call it the Pub to make it easy. No actual name. I personally think it doesn’t matter.” he said sternly. I didn’t know what was up with his sudden uptight attitude but I chalked it up to him not thinking this was a very tantalizing topic.

As I ate, he watched me with an even sterner gaze. “This part of the service?” I said teasingly.

“Son, why do I feel no magic from you?”

Here come the questions.