The earthy smells of the old barn beside the inn reminded Scypha of home. Dried straw, dust, sweat and bird droppings … each scent was connected with a memory of her childhood, and then there was also the high-pitched squeaking of rats hiding amongst the disorder.

As soon as she came in, stepping on the old and dry wooden floorboards, she found herself smiling, and she felt that she was among old friends. Memories surfaced—once, when she was six, she’d spent weeks playing with the rats in a neighbor's barn while her mother was too busy with sermons to care for her. They were cute, furry little things, much like cats, only far more misunderstood. People said they were spies of the beast god Chi’orat, bringers of plagues and death … but Scypha didn’t believe them. Those little black furballs were far too cuddly and adorable, and they had never done any harm to her. She had cried when the neighbor let loose his dogs on them. She lost many friends that day.

The rats in the innkeeper’s barn were similar, but far more timid. Perhaps it was because she had grown. They scurried across the aged, straw-covered floorboards and hid in various holes and piles of hay. As she approached their hiding spots, they squeaked with fear. Scypha decided against trying to pet them.

She looked around for the sealed barrel of apples that the innkeeper had mentioned the night before. He’d said he would need some of its contents for the morning meal.

She found it after a little while, standing in front of the far wall of the barn, where it was darker and drier due to a lack of openings or windows in the wooden walls. It really was still sealed, but there was a small hole at the bottom of the barrel, just large enough for a hungry rat’s little snout.

Suddenly, the floorboards under her feet began to tremble and shake, and she stumbled, losing her balance. She waved around with her hands to keep from falling. Regaining her balance as the minor earthquake stopped, she looked around. Around her, a small cloud of dust was silently rising into the air. Her knight in shining armor walked out of it.

His armor glinted in the golden morning light, clinking softly as he moved. He blinked rapidly several times, gave her a sleepy smile, and yawned, covering his mouth with a beautifully gauntleted hand, palms cupped in velvet.

“Good morning,” he and Scypha said at the same time. “I was just … I …”

The knight laughed. “You go first,” he said.

“I … um…” Scypha stammered. “Well, now I don’t know what to say!”

“Did I take your breath away, then?” he asked.

Scypha's heart jumped, and she quickly turned back around to face the barrel of apples without answering. After taking a moment to collect herself, she tightly grabbed the barrel’s stopper, trying to remove it … but it was stuck to the lid incredibly tight.

She heard the knight chuckle again. “You can do it,” he said, walking closer. “You’re far stronger than you know.”

“It … doesn’t feel like I am,” Scypha said, straining herself. “This thing is a force of nature.”

“Friction? Well, yes. It is.”

The knight approached, his armor clinking behind Scypha’s back. He reached the other side of the barrel and stood facing her. He smiled brightly as she tried again, futilely, to unstop it.

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“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Good,” she said. “Great, actually. Completely normal. Sane. I … know I have you to thank.”

“No urges? Hallucinations, or blackouts?”

“Not that I know of. Not yet. My mind feels clear. Not a cloud in sight, nor any … blackness. Or red.”

The knight slowly nodded as Scypha gave up on trying to unstop the barrel and lifted her gaze toward his blue eyes.

“No blackouts? Not even one? Are you sure?”

Scypha raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes ... of course, I’m sure. It’s been a lovely surprise. Why?”

The knight shrugged. “No reason. In that case, congratulations! You’re a sane individual. So, what are you doing here?”

Scypha tapped the lid atop the barrel. “Last night, Pyren—the innkeeper—mentioned that he wanted to prepare a fruit stew for breakfast. I thought I’d help him since he’s been so kind to me. I haven’t seen him yet today, though, so I might have misunderstood when he said ‘morning’. I might already have everything ready by the time he gets out of bed.”

“That’ll be a nice surprise … He must be used to making food for other people every morning. He’ll appreciate the switch-up.”

“Yeah. That is if I can get this barrel open…”

The knight stared at Scypha unblinkingly for a few moments, then stood up straight and walked over to her side of the barrel.

“Allow me,” he said.

She cringed, then poked him in the shoulder. “You’re astral projecting, you can’t interact with things.”

“Sure I can. Just … stand back.”

Scypha shot him a look, but took a step backward.

“A little further,” he mouthed, devilishly smiling, without actually making a sound.

Rolling her eyes, Scypha walked backward all the way to the other side of the barn, just to spite him.

He smirked and turned away from her, toward the barrel. The ground under Scypha’s feet began to shake wildly. Another earthquake. She staggered forward, barely managing to catch herself before she could fall on her face. Her vision flickered and grew cloudy, she heard wood splintering and cracking, and then … nothing. Everything went quiet. As though nothing had happened.

As she regained her bearings, the knight walked back over to her and bowed.

“There,” he said. “The barrel is open.”

Scypha looked. The barrel was decidedly not open—it was destroyed. It was ripped apart and in pieces scattered across the floor, a pile of debris beside a huge, spilled pile of apples. The lid was cut in two, lying a few feet away, where the floor seemed to be … gone. Just gone.

She stared at the knight in disbelief.

He shrugged, his cheeks growing slightly red. “Okay, so I’m not really used to being gentle. I tried, though.”

“Did you just use magic to pulverize this entire barn?” she asked.

The knight glanced up into the air sheepishly, raising his hands. “No?”

“Sir Knight! What are we going to tell the innkeeper?”

“I wasn’t planning on telling him anything. You, on the other hand, you might want to. Perhaps you could distract him, say something like: ‘Hey! I got you these apples!’ …With a little luck, he’ll forget all about this mess.”

“With a little luck?”

“A lot of luck, then. Anyway—you’ve got company.”

Scypha frowned and turned around to face the open exit of the barn, where the knight had begun pointing. A human-shaped shadow appeared after a moment, and after that, a limping, short old woman. Scypha wondered how the knight had noticed her before she’d even come into view. Probably something to do with magic.

The old woman trudged along toward the entrance to the barn, then stopped in front of it, holding the splintery door to stabilize herself. She glanced over at Scypha and scowled.

“Hey there, girl! I thought I’d heard some noise coming from over here. What are you doing?”

Scypha looked briefly toward the knight before answering. “I’m gathering apples for the morning stew, miss,” she said. “I’m sorry if I caused a racket, some of them, um … fell.”

“This is Pyren’s barn, you know? You’d best be on your best behavior!”

“I know, miss. I’m helping Pyren. Or … trying to.”

“Do you work for him? Do you know where he is?”

Scypha shook her head.

“Well, tell him he has new guests!” the old woman snapped. “Damned pukes are making their way through the village. Poor ones, too—not a single coin among them. They can’t stay with me! All these damned newcomers, all pukes, murderers, and screechers…”

“I’ll tell him,” Scypha said. She quickly picked up a couple of apples off the floor, then almost tripped over nothing as she made her way out of the barn.