The sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the winding dirt road. Dain Taren walked at a steady pace, his robes plain and unremarkable. At his side hung a polished wooden sword, simple in design and easy to overlook. Most would dismiss it as a training tool or ornament, and Dain preferred it that way.
Ahead, nestled beneath a grove of oaks, stood a small roadside tea house. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, carrying the faint aroma of freshly brewed tea and baked bread. It was a tranquil place, a momentary refuge from the chaos that often plagued the roads.
Dain stepped onto the creaking porch and entered. Inside, an elderly woman moved behind the counter, pouring tea into earthen cups. At a corner table near the window sat a younger woman in scuffed leather armor. Her auburn hair was tousled, and a longsword rested against her chair. Though she appeared at ease, her sharp green eyes flicked to Dain the moment he walked in, quietly assessing him.
"You don't look like someone who belongs out here," she said flatly, her voice edged with caution.
Dain inclined his head respectfully. "The road belongs to no one."
She smirked faintly, leaning back in her chair. "Philosopher, huh? Or just someone looking for trouble?"
"Neither," Dain replied, setting his wooden sword against the wall and taking a seat at an empty table. "Just a traveler."
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Her gaze lingered on the wooden sword for a moment before she shrugged. "Strange thing to carry. Looks polished, but it won't do much in a fight."
"It serves its purpose," Dain said simply, pouring himself a cup of tea.
She tilted her head, studying him with faint amusement. "Purpose? Doesn't sound like much of a weapon to me."
"A weapon's strength comes from the one who wields it," Dain said, sipping his tea. "And strength isn't always about force."
The woman chuckled, shaking her head. "You talk like one of those wandering sages. Always trying to make sense of a world that doesn't care about chaos."
"Perhaps," Dain said, setting his cup down gently. "But even in chaos, there is balance. Without it, nothing would grow."
Her smirk faded slightly as she considered his words, but her sharp eyes remained wary. "Huh. You've been walking a long road, haven't you?"
"I have," Dain replied evenly.
She didn't press him further. Instead, she glanced out the window and froze, her eyes narrowing.
A dark column of smoke was rising in the distance, curling up toward the darkening sky.
"That's a village," she muttered, standing abruptly and grabbing her sword.
Dain turned his head, watching the smoke with a calm, steady gaze.
Without another word, the woman strode out of the tea house, her boots crunching against the gravel as she disappeared down the road.
Dain remained seated, his fingers resting lightly on the rim of his cup. The soft rustle of leaves and the distant crackling of flames filled the silence.
After a moment, he rose, picking up his wooden sword and slinging it over his shoulder. "Balance always tilts," he murmured to himself, stepping out onto the porch.
As he began walking toward the smoke, the quiet stillness of the tea house was replaced by the faint echoes of chaos ahead.