The walk back to Stonebridge was uneventful—at least in the sense that nothing attempted to kill them, eat them, or both. The dense woodland stretched around them, the towering trees forming a natural canopy that filtered the late afternoon light into shifting patches of gold and shadow. The air carried the crisp scent of damp earth and pine resin, with the occasional sharp tang of distant woodsmoke drifting in from unseen chimneys. The ground, softened by recent rain, gave slightly beneath their boots, muffling their steps as they followed the winding trail.

Misty roved ahead, her sleek ginger form vanishing effortlessly between roots and undergrowth, only to reappear moments later from a completely different direction. At times, she launched herself onto their shoulders from a low-hanging branch, gripping just tightly enough to make them stumble before leaping away again with a flick of her tail. She was in a playful mood, and neither Del nor Elara had the heart to scold her. Del caught the faintest curve of amusement at Elara’s lips as she wrestled the mischievous feline off her shoulder, tickling her under the chin before letting her bound away. Playful moments like these might be rare in the coming days—it was best to let Misty enjoy them while she could.

As they walked, Del and Elara spoke about their meeting with Vita. They now had a name for the man Del had found slaughtered in the woods—Lucas. Somehow, knowing his identity made his death feel all the more real, stripping away the distance of anonymity and replacing it with something tangible and tragic. The knowledge settled uncomfortably in Del’s chest, a fresh reminder of how fragile life was in this world he still struggled to navigate.

"And what about the history with the elves?" Del asked, glancing sideways at Elara. "Do you know any more about that?"

Elara’s gaze remained on the path ahead, her expression thoughtful. "I know it was long ago," she replied. "My grandparents spoke of stories dating back to their childhood and beyond. But the tales they told had a different perspective. To them, the humans were the aggressors when they first began encountering elven folk. Conflict followed—then truces, then trade. And eventually, as things are now, elves and humans coexist without issue."

She gestured ahead, where the village rooftops had begun to emerge through gaps in the trees. "At least, I thought they did. Stonebridge still seems to have a problem. And I can’t think why."

Del exhaled, rolling his shoulders as the weight of their conversation pressed against his thoughts. "All we can do is keep our heads down and see what comes to light. This might be about more than just old grudges."

As they stepped back into Stonebridge, the village appeared much as they had left it. Children played noisily in the streets, their laughter carrying through the cooling evening air as they darted between wooden carts and low stone walls in an endless game of tag. Older youths were at work, sweeping doorsteps, stacking crates, or tending to livestock—the minor but essential tasks upon which any settlement survived.

Some of the adults cast wary glances in their direction, but most barely acknowledged them, more interested in their daily work or casual gossip.

"I want to see Merl," Del said.

Elara nodded, and they adjusted their course towards the village smithy. The rhythmic clang of hammer on metal rang through the cooling air as they neared the workshop. The scent of hot iron and burning coal thickened, mingling with the ever-present aroma of damp earth and woodsmoke. Del rapped his knuckles against the wooden doorframe, and Merl, glancing up from his work, motioned them inside.

The smithy was well-kept, with tools neatly arranged along one wall and finished pieces displayed on another. Most were practical—hoes, shovels, door handles, even an ornately crafted iron gate. But a few items stood out. Among the cooking knives and farming tools, a single sword and several curved daggers gleamed under the dim lantern light, their edges catching the glow of the nearby forge. The walls and floor were made of brick, their surfaces darkened by years of soot and heat. At the back of the workshop, the furnace burned hot, its coals glowing an angry red as Merl pumped the bellows with one hand, shifting the metal deeper into the fire.

"The kids told me you headed out the south gate," he remarked, jerking his head towards a group of children still loitering outside.

Del hazarded a guess that they were the same ones he and Elara had seen upon arriving in Stonebridge. "Yeah," he confirmed. "We went to see Vita, as you suggested. She’s a good woman."

"That she is," Merl agreed with a nod. He adjusted the metal he was working on, then glanced back at them. "Could she help you with that trinket you showed me?"

Del’s tone turned solemn. "Yeah. You were right to send us her way. It belonged to Lucas, her apprentice."

Merl set down his hammer and glanced at the heating metal before pulling a cloth from his belt to wipe the sweat from his face. He sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"I thought it might be," he muttered. "That symbol on it is the one they use in their trade. It wasn’t hers, so unless it belonged to a complete stranger, it had to be Lucas’."

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He exhaled heavily, pulled the glowing metal from the forge, and gave it a couple of disheartened taps before plunging it into a trough of water. Steam hissed as the heat met the cool liquid, and the bar darkened instantly. With little care, he tossed it onto a pile of discarded scrap.

"Let me wash up," he said grimly. "Then we can grab a beer at Jake’s place. I need one."

Without waiting for a response, he stepped outside to the large rain barrel beside the smithy. He stripped off his leather apron and sweat-dampened shirt before dunking his head fully into the water. Emerging with a spray, he shook his head like a dog, sending droplets scattering into the dirt. He grabbed a cloth hanging from a nearby nail and scrubbed his face, hands, and chest before rinsing off once more.

Disappearing through a side door, he returned minutes later dressed in fresh clothes, his expression set.

"Right," he declared. "Let’s go drink one for Lucas."

Without another word, he marched towards the centre of town, his boots striking the packed earth with purpose.

The Cock and Ball was quiet, but as Del, Elara, and Merl stepped inside, heads turned, the weight of curiosity thick in the air. Behind the bar, Jake glanced up, a silent question already forming in his eyes.

Jake’s brows drew together as he set down the mug he had been polishing. "Bit early to close the forge, Merl. Are you all right?" His tone carried concern as he glanced between Merl and the two travellers at his side, offering Del and Elara a brief nod before shifting his full attention to his friend.

Merl exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face as though trying to wipe away the weight of the day. "Bring me a pitcher of your strongest, Jake, and serve up to the others here as well."

The request was met with a moment’s hesitation—Jake’s concern deepening—but he nodded and moved quickly, recognising that something serious was afoot. He filled a large jug with the rich, dark ale the inn was known for and poured the first generous tankard, pressing it into Merl’s waiting hand.

Merl lifted the drink, his voice carrying across the room before anyone had the chance to question him. "I learned today that one of ours met his end up in the high woods at the hands of some bandit group."

The idle conversation in the inn died almost instantly. The murmur of voices, the occasional clink of mugs—everything stilled. The quiet that followed was thick, waiting.

"Lucas, Vita’s apprentice," Merl continued, his voice heavy, "was slain while out and about. Just doing his work, same as always. A group of thugs ended his life before it had really begun."

A sombre ripple passed through the gathered patrons. Heads turned, hands gripped tankards a little tighter. Some faces were blank with quiet disbelief; others darkened with the anger that came from losing one of their own.

Merl gestured to Del and Elara. "These two travellers came across the scene. They couldn’t save poor Lucas, but they took down the ones responsible and brought word back to Vita."

Another hush settled over the room. The weight of that news pressed against every chest, sinking in.

Merl raised his mug higher. "To Lucas’s memory," he declared. "Drink, and spread word."

A chorus of voices joined him, though muted by grief. "To Lucas."

Mugs lifted, heads bowed slightly in respect before the first swallows of ale were taken. The taste was smooth, slightly bitter with a hint of malt, its warmth spreading through Del’s chest as he drank.

As the initial wave of reaction passed, murmured conversations resumed, lower in tone, tinged with sadness. Groups at nearby tables leaned in, speaking in hushed voices—some exchanging theories, others simply reflecting on what they’d just learned.

Merl exhaled heavily, then gestured for Del and Elara to follow as he made his way towards a table near the far end of the room. They settled into the chairs, the wooden seats worn smooth from years of use. Jake joined them, placing the full jug of ale on the table with a dull thud before pouring for each of them.

For a time, no one spoke. The only sounds were the distant hum of conversation and the occasional crackle from the hearth, the firelight throwing flickering shadows across the stone walls.

Merl stared at his drink, fingers idly tracing the rim of his tankard before he finally muttered, "The lad deserved better than what he got."

No one disagreed.

Jake was the first to break the silence, shifting his gaze towards Del. "What are your plans now?" he asked. "You’re welcome to stay, but things are a little tense around here just now."

His attention flicked briefly to Elara before he added, "And not just because of the old elf history thing."

"Though that doesn’t help," Merl put in, taking another long swallow of ale.

Del sighed, setting his own drink down. "We’ve both noticed the tension. But what’s with that prejudice, anyway? From what I understand, all that stuff happened centuries ago."

Merl sighed and exchanged a look with Jake, something unspoken passing between them before the innkeeper gave a slow nod.

"A few months back," Jake said, leaning forward slightly, "people started to disappear. No word, no signs of struggle—just gone. Rumours started cropping up, and one of them brought back talk of the old elven slaver raids."

Merl let out a huff, shaking his head slightly. "Stonebridge sits right along some of the old routes those raids took. I don’t know who started the elf talk, but with the history of this place, it caught on fast."

Elara frowned, her fingers tightening slightly around her mug. "And no one thought to question whether those stories were just old ghosts?"

Jake spread his hands. "Of course we questioned it, but fear doesn’t listen to reason, does it?" He took a sip of his ale before continuing. "Thing is, the disappearances don’t make much sense. A couple of the missing folk were working very close to Stonebridge. If it was bandits, we should’ve seen something. Heard something."

"Breeda vanished from her very bed," Merl added darkly, his voice lowering. "That wouldn’t be bandits."

Elara’s frown deepened. "How many have gone missing?"

Jake hesitated for a moment before answering. "Three—maybe four over the past couple of months. Paolo’s been keeping track. He’s the one organising search efforts, but…" He shook his head. "No one's found a trace."

"Five," Merl muttered, staring down into his drink. "If you count poor Lucas."

A heavy silence followed, the implications hanging over them like a storm cloud.

Del leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. "We were planning on seeing Paolo anyway," he said at last. "Vita suggested we speak with him."

He took another measured sip of ale, considering the weight of everything they’d learned. "We’ll look him up tomorrow," he continued. "And if he hasn’t heard by then, we’ll let him know about Lucas."

Merl nodded solemnly, but his expression remained grim.