"I'm pleased to meet you, Kaito Nakamura." The man inclines his head with a composed and measured nod, his words laced with quiet politeness. "It's heartening to see that you've found yourself in the company of such good people." His expression remains calm, though his gaze holds a weight, as if he carries unseen burdens while peering deeply into my eyes, as though searching for something only he can perceive.

His dark-brown coat shifts gently in the cold breeze, the fabric swaying open as the falling snow clings to his shoulders. Strands of his dark-blond hair, tied neatly but still loose enough to catch the wind, swirl lightly in the air, illuminated faintly by the flickering lantern light.

Beside him, Orin stands in silence, his watchful eyes fixed on the scene before him, the set of his jaw betraying his readiness should anything go amiss.

"My name is Solenn—my surname, Vartarj. I would ask that you refrain from using it," he continues, his voice calm yet resonant, carrying a depth that hints at trials endured. Though his tone is marked by elegance and precision, there's an almost unspoken dissonance between his refined speech and the weight he seems to bear.

Solenn? Never heard of him… How does he know me?

"I—I'm pleased to meet you as well, Sir Solenn. May I ask what it is you wish to discuss?" I do my best to keep my tone respectful, trying to match the refined cadence of his speech. But his polished manner of speaking feels far beyond anything I could emulate. He seems unshaken—by the cold, by the moment, by the world itself.

Solenn nods once, his gaze steady yet layered with something deeper, as though he's considering each word carefully before speaking. "I appreciate your courtesy, Kaito. I have a message to deliver—brief but important—for both you and Orin." His coat shifts faintly in the wind, its hem stirring against the snow-dusted ground. His dark-blond hair, tied loosely behind him, sways slightly with the breeze, though he stands as if wholly untouched by the elements.

"It pertains to a labyrinth I would like Orin's party to investigate." His voice remains calm, deliberate, each word laced with an air of certainty. "I regret that I cannot share details now, but I hope you'll agree to undertake this alongside Orin's group. The labyrinth is near the town of Sandory—ask around there, and you'll find the information you need." Pausing briefly, his gaze shifts slightly, as though weighing the best way to frame his next words. "It may be harsh," he continues, his voice calm but deliberate, "yet I assure you, it will not be without purpose."

"I understand. I don't see a reason not to go; however, the decision is Orin's to make—it's his choice," I say to Solenn, doing my best to deliver my words carefully and match his refined tone.

"I'll think about it," Orin responds, his gaze calm yet serious—a demeanor I've not seen from him before. "Being told this directly feels like a clear sign to take it on. I believe you're not sharing this information lightly. You wouldn't come to us without a reason."

"Yes, I see," Solenn replies, his tone as poised and deliberate as ever. "You are, of course, free to decide as you wish. However, I urge you to consider taking on this labyrinth. It may shift your perspective on the world—and the people within it." He glances at Orin, his dark blue eyes steady and unyielding.

"We'll see," Orin says, his voice carrying a note of resolve. "There's not much left for us in this village, and taking a look at the labyrinth might be a wise choice if you say so." His final words leave no doubt that he's seriously considering the task.

Solenn, seemingly drawing the conversation to a close, lifts his voice one last time, preparing to turn away. "That's all I wanted to say. Thank you both for your time. I'll see you again sometime, Kaito Nakamura." With those final words, he turns on his heel, fading from the dim light of the tavern's outer lanterns. His coat and figure slowly melt into the dark night.

Orin and I stand there for a moment, both of us a bit bewildered by what just transpired. But we both knew this was far from something to ignore. His voice, his words, and the tone of his speech were etched into our minds—things neither of us could easily forget.

"Kaito, I will think about it, you shouldn't leave it too much though, alright? Also, I'll tell you and the others when we will head out for the town of Sandory." Orin's tone and shoulders show his slow relief as he calms himself down. "For now, let's go back inside and save this conversation for tomorrow. Sounds good?"

"Yeah, sure, sounds good to me…" I reply, trying to maintain my composure, but deep down, I can't help but wonder who the hell that guy is.

As Orin and I step closer to the entrance door, a misty breath escapes my lips, swirling into the frigid air. Together, we leave behind the enigmatic conversation, the dim lanterns casting flickering light onto the snow-dusted street as we return to the warmth of the tavern.

Once inside, the heat envelops me instantly, contrasting sharply with the chill outside. Orin raises a casual hand, signaling a brief goodbye as he heads toward Althea, who sits at the same table as before, her face alight with amusement as she sips her ale. Her cheeks are flushed, probably from the number of drinks she's had.

I, on the other hand, make my way over to the usual table, where Sela, Ronan, and Farren—the three dorks—are huddled.

"Yooo! Kaito, you're back!" Ronan's voice booms across the room, catching me as I approach.

"Ronan! Yooo…" I respond with a grin, sliding into my seat and reclaiming the ale I left behind earlier.

Meanwhile, Sela and Farren are fully engrossed in a reckless gambling game. Both of them seem to have lost nearly everything—Sela is practically stripped to her undergarments, and Farren doesn't look much better. They're playing against two strangers who seem more interested in Sela's clothes than the coins on the table.

"One more!!!" Sela shouts, her frustration spilling over as she slams her hand on the table. Her voice is a mix of defiance and drunken boldness. "If you win, you get my panties, sounds good? Yeah? Then bet all you've got. Or are you too scared of losing to a woman, huh?" She punctuates her challenge by taking a hefty swig from her tankard.

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"Heh, sure…" one of the men replies with a sly, mischievous grin, clearly enjoying himself far too much.

I turn to Ronan, lowering my voice. "What happened to the other two?" referring to the men we had been playing with earlier.

"They left," Ronan shrugs. "Said they didn't want to strip Sela or Farren down any further. So, yeah, here we are. Sela and Farren found two new guys who seem… well… way too into this."

Yeah, Ronan, I don't think you'd ever… right?

"I see. Seems… kind of bad. You're not going to stop her?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Nah, let's just enjoy the scene, you know?" he replies with a smirk, his voice far too casual for the situation.

Yup. Knew it.

Before the next round begins, Althea strides over. Her sharp gaze immediately locks onto the pile of Sela's discarded clothes on the floor. Without a word, she grabs them, yanking the garments from the man who had "won" them. Then, with an almost dismissive motion, she throws them back at Sela's half-dressed figure.

"Idiot. Put these on," she commands firmly, her tone brooking no argument.

The two strangers freeze under her glare, their bravado evaporating. With nervous chuckles, they grab their belongings and scurry off to a table on the far side of the tavern, clearly too intimidated to stick around.

"Huh? Althea? I was going to win back my stuff! What you did was cheating—they won fair and square…" Sela protests, tilting her head in confusion.

"Don't even start," Althea snaps. "Go put those back on. Now."

"Hmm… fine…" Sela mutters, reluctantly getting dressed again.

Althea's piercing gaze shifts to Ronan, who flinches under her scrutiny. "And you, Ronan. Why the hell didn't you stop these two idiots, huh? Oh, wait, let me guess—you thought it'd be a nice little scene to enjoy, didn't you? For your own desires, hmm?"

Ronan scratches the back of his head, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Hehe, no… no, I would never! I just… didn't want to interrupt. Sela and Farren seemed to be having fun, you know?"

"Yeah, what he said…" Farren chimes in, though his words lack any real conviction. His attempt at seriousness falls flat, making it impossible to take him seriously. "I mean, I would've won either way, but eh…"

"Just shut up and go pick up your clothes, you poor idiot," Althea replies bluntly, though there's a glimmer of genuine concern in her eyes.

Then, turning back to Ronan, she adds, "And you, Ronan? I thought you had a brain. But nooo, you're just as dumb as these two."

I lean toward Ronan, whispering, "Uh… should I be here? Or should I run while I still can?"

"Probably run," Ronan mutters back, his voice low. "You didn't do anything, but this is Althea—the devil herself. Run while you can, Kaito."

Unfortunately for him, Althea's sharp ears catch every word. Her gaze snaps to him, and he instantly stiffens under her fiery stare.

"Hehe… uh… hey, I think Orin wanted to talk to me about something. I'll just… be right back!" I stammer, attempting to sneak away from the table.

"Oh, no, no, no, Kaito," Althea says, her voice laced with icy authority. "You stay right there. I thought at least you had more sense than these three. I know you weren't here when this all started, but when you got back, you saw the state Sela was in. Why didn't you step in? Hmm? Or are you just like Ronan, waiting for some disgusting pervy opportunity? Waiting until Sela lost the last match…?"

Her words cut through me like a knife, and her glare feels as if it's freezing me in place. This side of her is something I've never been faced with myself. Truly terrifying.

"Eh? Oh? Uh… sorry, ma'am," I manage to mumble, sinking back into my chair like a scolded child, my gaze fixed firmly on the floor.

"Anyways… Althea, maybe you should take one more drink? That would calm you down, right? Hehe… we could have a drinking contest. Yeah, that sounds like fun, doesn't it?" Ronan tries to joke his way out of the tense situation, but the attempt falls flat—miserably so. Althea's glare sharpens, her intensity practically making the air around him heavy.

"Shut up," she snaps, her tone cutting through the room like a blade. Her gaze shifts between Ronan and me before she exhales deeply, clearly working to rein in her frustration. "You… and you, Kaito, are going to keep an eye on Sela from now on. Understood?"

"Y-yeah, sure…" I nod awkwardly, feeling like a child being given a chore I don't dare refuse.

Althea lets out a long sigh, her focus shifting away as she shakes her head in quiet exasperation. Turning back toward Orin's table, she tosses a final glance at Sela, who is still fumbling with her clothes in her drunken state. "I'm going now. See you, Sela."

Sela looks up, clearly struggling to put her shirt on the right way. Her drunken coordination leaves much to be desired, but she manages a lopsided smile. "See you, Althea!" she replies cheerily, as if completely unfazed by the earlier scolding.

Farren, now fully dressed again, finishes adjusting his belt and suddenly raises his tankard high. His energy seems as boundless as ever. "Alright, folks! Let's go get something good to drink. I for sure could use another round—let's drink, people!" he shouts with his usual feisty enthusiasm.

Sela, still battling with the last buttons on her shirt, pauses just long enough to nod eagerly. "Yes! Come on, guys! More drinks!" she declares, as though the earlier fiasco never happened.

Ronan and I, still nursing our wounded pride from Althea's scolding, exchange quiet, defeated glances before mumbling in unison, "Sure…"

With that, we returned to where it all began. Farren and Sela, now with her clothing properly adjusted, threw their arms around each other, swaying side to side like carefree kids at play. Their empty tankards swung in their free hands, catching the light with every exaggerated motion as the two of them laughed without a care in the world.

Ronan and I followed closely behind, walking carefully as if on eggshells, neither of us wanting to accidentally draw Althea's ire again. Thankfully, she seemed preoccupied, deep in conversation with Orin as she sipped her drink, her sharp gaze no longer fixed on us.

"Hey! Give us four of the strongest you've got. You hear me? The strongest!" Farren declared with a dramatic slap of his palm on the bar, leaning forward like he was issuing a challenge to Leona.

"Yeah, what he said, Leona! The strongest you've got!" Sela chimed in, copying Farren's stance. Both of them stood there, trying to look tough and serious, but their antics were so over-the-top it was impossible not to see them for the jokesters they were.

"...The strongest? Uh, this is still the first night I've had ale…" I muttered quietly to Ronan, my voice tinged with apprehension.

"Sorry, man. Good luck…" Ronan replied with a pat on my back, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips as though I were walking into a losing battle.

...

"Four, coming right up," Leona said with a small smile, taking the tankards from Farren and Sela before turning to prepare the drinks.

By the time Ronan and I reached the bar, the ales were ready. Leona slid the frothy tankards across the counter with practiced ease. "Enjoy," she said warmly, her smile lingering as she moved on to her next task.

"Thank you!" Sela replied, her voice carrying a cheerful sweetness as she grabbed her drink.

"Alright, let's drink!" Farren exclaimed, enthusiastically handing tankards to Ronan and me, his excitement infectious.

"Yes! Cheers!" Ronan shouted, raising his tankard high.

"Cheers!" we all echoed, the four tankards clinking together with a satisfying clunk, foam spilling slightly over the edges.

Sela and I took cautious sips, our expressions quickly contorting into grimaces at the bitter strength of the ale. Still, we did our best to mask our reactions, forcing smiles and trying to stay composed. Beside us, Farren and Ronan drank without hesitation, their boisterous energy filling the tavern as the night carried on.

The four of us continued drinking, even I, as the night unfolded with laughter, playful banter, and carefree revelry. We swayed together, caught up in the joy of the moment, the tavern alive with our shared mirth. The knot in my chest seemed to loosen, untangling bit by bit, as I let myself laugh and drink with these idiots—no, not just with them, but as one of them.