The residential area of the village I passed through was surprisingly idyllic, in stark contrast to the view from the forest. The dilapidated yet sturdy exterior seemed intentionally cultivated to present itself as a less tempting target for raiders rather than being a result of neglect.

The rows of houses on either side of the street were built from reddish wood and seemed to have started off looking identically. Over time, though, the families had added various personal touches to their exteriors. Some had small vegetable gardens in the front yard; others featured personalised upgrades and embellishments. With patches of intentional wild growth and trees interspersed between them, the scene was almost picturesque.

All those wooden buildings made me acutely aware of potential fire hazards, so I was glad to see that the planners had left obvious fire breaks between the rows of houses.

Despite its charm, it was hard to miss the signs of recent hardship. Many of the homes had undergone recent repairs using cheaper materials that stood out against the older, sturdier construction. Prime commercial spaces stood empty, their windows dusty and displays vacant. Occasionally, an abandoned home with a sagging roof and broken windows would appear, further underscoring the village’s struggles.

Seeing the buildings struggle to stay up is sad, but seeing that same struggle reflected in the people is tragic.

Some villagers meandered through the streets, looking ragged and too skinny, even given their naturally slender frames. A heavy gloom hung over the entire scene. The background was filled with practical chatter, the sounds of work being done, and people going about their day. However, there was no laughter of children or amused, excited prattle to be heard. It seemed like nobody was having any fun within earshot.

Yet, in some of them, I glimpsed that proud bearing and natural grace I had expected of elven-blooded people, despite the obvious hardships they were enduring. These people are sturdy. Their life just sucks, at least for now.

I noted that nobody was stopping or challenging my presence in the village. Hardly anyone was giving me a second glance, really. Proving both mine and Anetta’s earlier worries unfounded. Though while I was being composed about the matter, Anetta made a production out of her relief.

“Ha! I knew it!!” Anetta gloated in my mind, interrupting my people-watching. “Mere peasant-guards standing in the way of the ‘Bird of Chaos’! Didn’t those mere men know they were dealing with a God?!”

“Despite his hair the colour nocturnal, he beguiled the beast, Its breath infernal,” she started chanting in a weird pseudo-ritualistic cadence.

“Anetta.” I reprimanded in a tired voice.

“Receive my deepest penitence, oh Bird of…” she threw herself into an apology.

“Anetta!” I hissed.

“Uh… Sorry, Ryder, not gonna happen again,” she said, though I didn’t need to be a mind reader to know that was a lie. Which was alright, even if her gushing outbursts make me a bit uncomfortable. If I was to shut her down hard, I may be taking away her coping mechanism. Even if she was indifferent towards her life on Earth, being suddenly dragged here with me must have lost her a lot. If I'm honest, I am impressed with how well she is keeping it all together.

Best I can do for now is keep her on task, and be there when she decides to have a ‘real talk’.

“I didn’t ‘beguile the beast with breath infernal,’ just bribed a single village layabout to look away,” I said. Though I couldn’t help but recognise that her metaphor wasn’t exactly terrible. But I decided to keep that insight for myself.

“Celebrating our successes is all well and good,” I continued, “but we need to keep our eyes on the road. Foreigners rarely get conscripted, but there’s a lot that could go very right or wrong for us depending on how we handle it. What information you gave me on the kingdom of…” I frowned, trying to remember the name of the kingdom the forest belonged to. “…Ekeria?”

“Ekeria, or the Ekerian Kingdom,” Anetta confirmed, “Like the ‘Ekerian beer’ the ‘beast at the gates’ told you about.”

“…Whatever information we have on Ekeria is too old or too broad-stroked, so we know little of what to expect. Passing through the doors is a good start, but that’s all it is, a start.”

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“You shouldn’t worry about conscription,” Anetta said with confidence. “You are a mage, if still an untrained one. By the way, we should really do something about the ‘untrained’ part soon.”

I fully intended to. As soon as I manage to slip inside the four walls and catch some quiet time. Hopefully, the inn ahead will do the job.

“Even untrained mages don’t get marching orders unless things escalate,” Anetta continued. “And I mean, reeeally escalate. I did a bit of browsing through the ‘library’, looking for something like that book of etiquette you got. It’s fascinating stuff. Did you know mages are not a profession, but a race?”

“What?” I asked, intrigued.

“Wizards, warlocks, witches, shamans, and tons of others represent the magical traditions you can follow. But the base ‘mage’ just represents your ability to ‘walk the path’. And before you ask, your body changes as you grow, dramatically so.”

That did sound fascinating. Though remembering the grotesque mouth and throat-eye of the Entity gave me some pause. Hopefully, those kinds of changes are elective.

I still had those ‘basic lessons’ little Velisza gave me clinking in my backpack. Combined with whatever Anetta can pull out of her ‘library,’ I should be able to make at least some progress. Hope is that when I’m done, I’ll be able to protect myself from basic magic critters that no doubt infested this forest, or at least a group of talented thugs.

A stray thought made me narrow my eyes, remembering something Anetta said while gloating. “Hey, did you call me a ‘Bird of Chaos’ earlier?”

Anetta stayed quiet, though I could almost feel her shuffling her feet and blushing in the back of my mind.

“Young lady?” I repeated, more sternly.

“Uh… Yeah, I mean… Your last name, ‘Corvo,’ it’s Italian for ‘Raven,’ right? The ‘Sisters of Dim Light’ tinkered with it for a while. I think the first title for you was ‘Raven Ryder,’ but that one was too on the nose and made you sound like a dwarf. Ravens are small, you see.”

I loved how she spoke about her girl’s club in the third person, as if she had nothing to do with them. From what I heard, she essentially invented them, or rather, reinvented them. Before Anetta, they were basically a sorority, albeit one oddly fixated on me or at least their idea of me, with the impulse control you can expect from college kids away from parental supervision.

After she took the reins, they changed, became more organised, and frankly, scarier. On one hand, ‘Sisters’ became known for being incredible students. They helped organise park clean-ups, blood drives, and even sent massive donations of toys and clothes to Willow Grove and other orphanages. Incidentally, when a large group of young women organised a blood drive, the participation the male portion of the student body was so enthusiastic that hospitals ended up with a surplus. The doctors couldn’t stop singing their praises.

On the other hand, they’d have their members among reporters when I was doing interviews, asking questions like: ‘What was my will?’ or sending me videos of naked dances around the bonfire. And those are just some of the tamer things they did. I won’t even talk about incidents Mara had to do damage control on.

“What about ‘Raven of Chaos’?” I suggested a title. The words barely left my mouth when I widened my eyes in disbelief. Why was I even having this conversation?

“Already taken,” Anetta shot back with authority, obviously having done the research. “I think it was some Scandinavian rock band that stole that one away.”

As fun, and mildly surreal, as I found talking to the girl living inside my head, I had to bring it to a close. Having arrived in front of a ‘Fallen Leaf’ inn indicated by a large plaque with an unimaginative depiction of a leaf, I gave it a look.

The building was enormous compared to the village, easily able to accommodate one or two hundred guests. Its structure was mainly of well-hewn stone with wooden details, setting it apart from the simpler neighbouring buildings.

Despite its solid construction, the building showed clear signs of neglect. The stone was stained and weather-worn, and the wooden accents were peeling and chipped. This wear affected the otherwise cosy atmosphere, giving the place a slightly run-down appearance.

Unlike most of the village, that just seemed to be struggling, the inn reeked of mismanagement, even from the outside.

Though, one thing I noticed and appreciated greatly was the sound of soft string music emanating from within. It was clearly designed to complement rather than compete with the raucous laughter and lively chatter that was coming from the inside.

I pushed past the creaking doors and ignored the ripple of blonde heads giving me a once-over, before dismissing the out-of-place, but ultimately uninteresting newcomer. Reaching the bar counter, I sat on a stool and addressed the man behind it.

Before I opened my mouth to ask about the rooms, the portly, balding barkeep spat: “No rooms”.

“None?” I asked, casting one eye around the dining room, that while bustling, seemed filled well under the capacity.

“None,” he nodded, wetting a rag and beginning to wipe the counter. “The mail-bird came yesterday. A detachment of ‘Radiant Vanguard’ gonna be comin’ tonight or tomorrow, so I gotta keep rooms open. So, no rooms.”

“Radiant Vanguard?” Anetta sounded thoughtful. “They sound like a religious order. I might find something about them in the ‘library’.”

I was trying to consider alternatives. Even if there was a room available, getting unnoticed by the villagers is one thing, but local religious order could be trouble…

"Uh," the barkeep grunted, interrupting my thoughts as he scratched his face with the greasy rag he’d been using on the counter.

"Ya’ know, if you really need a room, you can stay with Yalla, the entertainment, if you wanna." He gave me a lewd grin.

He pointed toward the small stage where a young, silver-haired woman was playing an instrument that looked like a modified cello.

"Her room’s charged by the hour, though."

I cocked an eyebrow. "You’re trying to sell me your musician as a bed warmer?"

"Oi, go plough yourself," he snapped, frowning. "If you don’t wanna, you don’t wanna. But don’t give me those Radiant Pontiff eyes."

He leaned in, the stench of old sweat and stale cooking oil rolling off him. His tone softened slightly, as if offering me a deal. "Look at her—pretty as they come." He nodded toward the girl. "I’m offering you first bite. Nobody ‘round here’s touched her yet."

I leaned back, turning toward the girl more to escape the man’s odor than out of interest.

Then I saw her—really saw her. Her eyes... I knew those eyes. Better than anyone should. They were the eyes of someone who had given up. The same eyes I’d seen in orphans rescued from the worst of abusive homes.

I stopped being able to hear the sleazy barkeep over the sound of blood rushing through my ears. I stood up, as if in a trance, ignoring the barkeep calling after me and cussing me out when I didn’t turn back.

My mind was a maelstrom of ideas, drenched in malice and dominated by themes of excessive violence. A surge of protective anger flared up inside me, overwhelming any rational thought. I needed to do something—anything—to get her out of there.

“Ugh…”

I groaned as the ruby-haired girl suddenly appeared and tackled me into an unexpectedly tight hug. The force of it jolted me out of my trance.

As I looked down, I was met with a stunning face framed by silvery eyes and a pearly smile, radiating warmth and affection.

“Wha…” I began asking.

“You finally arrived, cousin.” She said.