I hadn’t seen or heard from Sid since the day he left. It felt like a lifetime ago, though it had only been months. I didn’t know if he was dead or alive, or if I’d ever see him again. And the worst part was, I didn’t even know who to ask to find out. The System didn’t track things like that. There wasn’t a handy menu that told you where people were or what they were doing.

Sid had been my first real connection in this world. My first friend. He taught me how to survive, how to fight, and how to navigate the chaos of this place when I barely knew what I was doing. As much as I’d grown since then, as much as I’d come to care for my new group, there was a hole where Sid used to be.

I didn’t talk about it. It felt selfish to bring it up when I had Garvin, Drea, and Malric by my side. They were more than companions—they were a family of sorts. But there were times, usually late at night when everyone else was asleep, that I found myself staring into the fire, wondering where Sid was. Was he out there somewhere, still fighting and laughing the way he always did? Or was he gone, just another casualty in a world that didn’t mourn its dead?

I hated not knowing.

Sid wasn’t the kind of person who would leave without saying goodbye. If he could have sent word, I was sure he would have. But the silence stretched on, and with each passing week, it felt more and more like a goodbye I’d never gotten.

The others didn’t ask about him, though I could tell they knew I was carrying something. Drea would give me these sideways glances sometimes, like she was trying to figure out if she should say something. Malric didn’t ask questions—he never did—but his quiet presence felt steady and grounding, like he understood without needing to talk about it.

Garvin, of course, tried to distract me in his own way, with his endless stories and bad jokes. I appreciated it, even if it didn’t fill the gap.

Still, no matter how much I missed Sid, I couldn’t let it stop me. I had a group now, people who trusted me, relied on me. And as much as I wanted answers, as much as I wanted to see Sid again, I couldn’t afford to let myself get lost in the past. But that didn’t stop me from hoping.

The road to the city was smooth, the air crisp with the sharp chill of approaching winter. The group was in good spirits, buoyed by the anticipation of reaching a place none of us had visited before. The city of Valdrenn was one of the larger hubs in this region, known for its sprawling markets, towering walls, and thriving culture. But what really had Garvin buzzing with excitement was the grand party being thrown citywide to celebrate the city’s founder—a festival of food, music, and revelry that had travelers pouring in from all over.

“Do you think they’ll have an actual feast?” Garvin asked, his eyes practically sparkling as we walked. “Like roasted boar and those fancy little cakes with the icing swirls?”

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t eat yourself into a coma,” Drea muttered, her tone dry but her lips twitching with amusement.

“Coma or not,” Garvin replied with a grin, “I’ll be the happiest guy in the city by sundown.”

The closer we got to Valdrenn, the more the energy of the festival became palpable. Merchants passed us on the road, their wagons packed with wares, and travelers in brightly colored cloaks hurried past, chattering excitedly about the events ahead. Even Malric, usually the picture of stoic silence, seemed to walk with a little more purpose, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon.

“This is a high-level zone,” Drea reminded us, her axe slung casually over her shoulder. “Don’t let the party distract you. We’re closer to the capital now, and that means bigger threats.”

“We’re just here for a good time,” Garvin replied. “Relax. The System wouldn’t let us walk into something we can’t handle.”

Drea gave him a pointed look but didn’t argue. I got the sense she’d had this conversation with him before.

Valdrenn was a sight to behold. The city rose from the rolling hills like a fortress, its walls gleaming in the late afternoon sun. Towers jutted into the sky, their flags fluttering in the breeze, and the gates stood wide open to welcome the influx of visitors. The streets were alive with color and noise—vendors shouting to sell their wares, musicians playing lively tunes on every corner, and children weaving through the crowds with sparklers in hand.

I’d never seen anything like it. The towns we’d passed through before felt small and practical compared to Valdrenn’s sprawling grandeur. The city felt alive in a way that was almost overwhelming, its energy infectious.

“We’re staying here for the whole festival,” Garvin declared as we walked through the gates. “Non-negotiable.”

Drea smirked. “We’ll see if you still feel that way after your first hangover.”

After settling into an inn on the edge of the city square—smaller and humbler than The Spear but comfortable—we decided to join the festivities. The sun had just begun to set, and the city was glowing with lantern light, the air filled with the scents of roasted meat, spiced cider, and freshly baked bread. Music spilled from taverns and open courtyards, blending together into a chaotic but joyful symphony.

For the first time in a long time, we weren’t thinking about quests or monsters or leveling up. It was just... us.

We wandered through the square, stopping at stalls to try unfamiliar foods and watching performers juggle flaming torches. Garvin was in his element, chatting up every vendor and sampling anything they offered. Drea stayed close to him, rolling her eyes at his antics but keeping a protective watch. Malric hung back, his sharp gaze flicking between the crowd and us, his hand never straying far from his bow.

At one point, Garvin insisted on buying a round of drinks at a tavern that was spilling over with patrons. The mugs were huge, the beer frothy, and by the second round, even Drea was laughing at Garvin’s ridiculous stories.

“You’re making half of that up,” she said, shaking her head but smiling nonetheless.

“Only half?” Garvin replied, winking. “I must be getting rusty.”

Later, as the night wore on, we found ourselves in a quieter corner of the city, sitting on the edge of a fountain in a small, lantern-lit square. The noise of the festival still reached us, but it was distant now, muted enough that we could hear the trickle of water and the rustle of leaves in the crisp night air.

Drea and Malric sat off to the side, talking in low voices. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but there was an ease to their interaction that hadn’t been there before. Malric leaned in slightly, his usual reserve softening in her presence, and Drea, for once, looked relaxed, the edge of her usual sharpness dulled.

“They’ve been spending more time together,” Garvin said quietly, nudging me with his elbow. “What do you think? Friends or something more?”

I glanced at them, then back at Garvin. “I think it’s none of our business.”

He smirked. “Fair enough. Still, it’s nice, isn’t it? Seeing everyone like this. No monsters, no System breathing down our necks. Just... us.”

I nodded. It was nice. For all the challenges we’d faced, for all the questions I still had about my place in this world, moments like this reminded me why I kept going. We weren’t just a party of adventurers. We were a group of people who had come to trust and rely on each other in ways I hadn’t thought possible.

Whatever the future held—whether it was the capital, the System, or even the Darkness—I knew we’d face it together. And for now, that was enough.

The Halberd was a marvel of contrast—equal parts grand hall and hardened fortress. The heavy wooden doors were reinforced with iron bands, and the thick stone walls seemed like they could withstand a siege. Yet, tonight, it felt warm and inviting, the stoic architecture transformed into a place of revelry. Lanterns hung from beams high above, their light flickering across polished tables and the glinting steel of weapons displayed proudly on the walls. The crest of the guild—a crossed halberd and shield—was carved into the massive hearth, where a roaring fire crackled and bathed the room in golden light.

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Mercenaries crowded every table, their boisterous laughter and the clinking of tankards filling the air. The smell of roasted meat, warm bread, and spiced ale mingled with the faint tang of oil and leather—a reminder that this was still a place where adventurers came to prepare for battle, even in celebration.

“This,” Garvin declared as we walked in, gesturing grandly at the scene, “is what a guild hall is supposed to look like. None of that ‘rustic charm’ nonsense like The Sword. This is class.”

“It’s certainly louder,” Drea muttered, glancing at a rowdy group by the hearth.

“That’s the sound of camaraderie!” Garvin shot back with a grin. “Come on, let’s find a table before all the good ones are taken.”

We claimed a spot near the back, a large table tucked in the shadow of a mounted halberd that looked like it had seen more than its share of battles. A server came by almost immediately—a young woman with a sharp gaze and quick hands—and Garvin wasted no time ordering a round of drinks and a platter of food.

As the server walked off, Garvin pulled a well-worn deck of cards from his pack and began shuffling. “Alright, who’s in?” he asked, glancing around the table.

Drea raised an eyebrow. “You sure you want to embarrass yourself in front of Sigvard? He hasn’t seen how bad you are at cards yet.”

“I’ve improved,” Garvin said, feigning offense. “I’ve got strategies now.”

“That’s what worries me,” Drea replied, smirking as she reached for her drink.

Malric said nothing, but he nodded and gestured for Garvin to deal him in. I shrugged and joined as well, curious to see how this would play out.

The first few rounds were easygoing, a mix of casual play and lighthearted banter. The game, a local variation of poker called Blades, was straightforward enough once I got the hang of it, though it quickly became clear that Garvin’s “strategies” were more about bluffing than actual skill.

“Alright,” Garvin said, leaning forward as he placed his bet. “Picture this: I’m on the edge of a cliff, an army of goblins closing in, and I’ve got nothing but a dagger and my wit.”

Drea groaned, rolling her eyes. “Not this story again.”

“Wait, I haven’t heard this one,” I said, intrigued despite myself.

“Because it’s not worth hearing,” Drea muttered, tossing a coin into the pot.

Garvin ignored her, grinning as he continued. “So, there I am, surrounded. Goblins everywhere, snarling, waving their nasty little clubs. I’m out of options. Or so they think. I pick up a rock—small one, about the size of my fist—and chuck it as hard as I can. Hits the leader right between the eyes. He stumbles back, trips over his own feet, and takes half his army with him right over the edge.”

“You threw a rock,” Drea said flatly.

“An expertly aimed rock,” Garvin corrected, tapping his temple. “Precision matters, Drea. Precision.”

“Luck matters,” Malric said, his voice dry as he raised the stakes.

“You’re all just jealous,” Garvin said, feigning indignation. “That rock saved my life. And if you’d been there, you’d be telling the same story.”

“Sure, Garvin,” I said, grinning. “You’re a hero.”

“Damn right I am,” he replied, raising his tankard in mock toast before turning back to his cards.

The game went on, growing more competitive with each round. Garvin, true to form, relied entirely on bluffing, though his tells were painfully obvious—a smirk when he was confident, a twitch of his fingers when he was trying to fake it. Drea, on the other hand, played with laser focus, her bets calculated and precise.

Malric was harder to read, his expression calm and neutral no matter what cards he held. He rarely raised the stakes, but when he did, it was because he had a winning hand.

And me? I was somewhere in the middle. My dexterity helped when it came to reacting quickly or spotting patterns, but strategy wasn’t my strong suit. I managed to hold my own, though Garvin took every opportunity to needle me whenever I lost a round.

“Don’t feel bad, Sigvard,” he said after I folded early on a hand. “It takes years of practice to master this game. And, you know, natural talent. Which I have in spades.”

“You’ve got something in spades,” Drea muttered, earning a chuckle from Malric.

The pot grew steadily larger as the game progressed, coins clinking together in the center of the table. Finally, in a rare show of daring, Malric went all in, his calm expression unchanging as he pushed his stack forward.

“You’re bluffing,” Garvin said, narrowing his eyes.

Malric raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

Garvin hesitated, glancing at his cards, then at Malric. “You are. You’re bluffing.”

“Call it, then,” Malric said simply.

Garvin grimaced, his confidence faltering. Finally, he folded, slumping back in his chair.

Malric revealed his hand—a full house.

“Damn it,” Garvin muttered as Drea laughed.

“You’ll get him next time,” I said, smirking as Malric scooped up the pot.

Garvin pointed a finger at me. “You’re supposed to be on my side, Sigvard.”

“Not when you’re this bad at cards,” I replied, earning another round of laughter from the group.

By the time we called it a night, the Halberd was quieter, though the warm glow of the hearth and the hum of conversation still filled the room. We left with lighter coin purses but lighter hearts, the camaraderie of the evening carrying us back to the inn.

As we walked through the quiet streets, Garvin threw an arm around my shoulder. “Admit it, Sigvard. You’re having fun.”

I smiled, glancing at the others. Drea and Malric walked ahead, talking quietly, their bond growing stronger with every passing day.

“Yeah,” I said. “I am.”

The cobblestone streets of Valdrenn were quieter now, the lively noise of the festival fading as the hour grew late. Our group meandered through the winding paths, laughter still bubbling from the drinks we’d shared at the Halberd. Garvin was the most affected, stumbling slightly with a lopsided grin on his face.

“Need to piss,” he announced loudly, his voice echoing a little too much for comfort in the stillness.

I sighed, rolling my eyes. “Alright, come on.”

I led him into a back alley, the dim lantern light casting long shadows against the stone walls. Garvin leaned heavily on one of them, already fumbling with his belt as I turned away, giving him some privacy.

The sound of him relieving himself filled the silence, a gross but necessary part of the night’s indulgence. I tried not to think about it, focusing instead on the faint hum of the city around us.

Then the sound stopped.

At first, I didn’t think much of it, but Garvin didn’t move. I glanced over my shoulder, half-expecting to see him passed out or fumbling drunkenly with his belt.

“You okay?” I called out.

No response.

“Garvin?”

I turned fully now, my heart sinking with a mixture of concern and annoyance. Garvin was still leaned against the wall, but his posture was rigid, and his eyes were fixed on something in front of him.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, walking closer.

He didn’t answer, just lifted a hand and pointed at the wall. I followed his gaze and saw it: a weathered piece of parchment pinned to the stone.

It was a wanted poster.

The face on it was faded, but the features were sharp enough to make out—someone young, with an intense expression and eyes that seemed almost alive despite the worn ink. The text below was written in bold, blocky letters:

WANTED: OUTLANDER

FOR UNKNOWN PURPOSES – APPROACH WITH CAUTION

SEEN LAST IN THE VALDRENN REGION

A chill ran through me, and for a moment, the warmth of the evening seemed to drain away.

“Do you think it’s for you?” Garvin asked quietly, his drunken slur gone as he stared at the poster.

I shook my head, tearing my eyes away from the page to look at him. “No. It’s too old. We just got here today.”

Garvin didn’t look convinced, but he nodded slowly. “Still... it’s strange, isn’t it? How many of you are there?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But this doesn’t mean anything right now. Let’s take it to the others.”

Garvin pulled the poster off the wall, folding it clumsily before tucking it into his pocket. We made our way back to the group, the lightness of our earlier mood now replaced by something heavier, quieter.

Back at the inn, we gathered around a small table in the corner of the common room. The wanted poster lay in the center, its weathered edges curling slightly as we all leaned in to study it.

“What do you think?” Drea asked, her voice low.

“I think it’s old,” I said. “The ink’s faded, and look at the paper—it’s brittle. Whoever this was, they’re probably long gone.”

“Or dead,” Malric added bluntly, earning a glare from Drea.

Garvin tapped the poster with a finger. “It says they were seen in this region. Even if it’s old, it might be worth checking out. If nothing else, we might learn something about other Outlanders.”

“That’s a dangerous gamble,” Drea said. “Whoever put this up wanted them for a reason, and it wasn’t a friendly one.”

“We don’t have to do anything reckless,” Garvin said. “We can look around, ask a few questions, see if anyone knows anything. If it gets too dangerous, we walk away.”

The group fell silent, each of us weighing the risks.

Finally, I nodded. “We’ll check it out. But we keep it quiet. No one outside the group hears a word about this.”

The others nodded in agreement, and with that, we headed to bed. The beds in the inn were soft, the feather-stuffed mattresses a far cry from the hard ground of the road. But as I lay there, staring at the ceiling, the weight of the poster lingered in my mind.

Was this a coincidence, or was it the start of something bigger? Something worse?

I didn’t have the answers, but I knew one thing for certain: tomorrow, we’d be heading into the unknown again.