Some time passed, and then even more. What began as one cup of “tea” soon became too many to count.

“I really like this tea—” Silas began, but a drunken burp interrupted his words. “It reminds me of...”

“Moonshine,” I interjected, my vision blurring as I struggled to focus.

“That’s it!” he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. “How do you make this tea?”

“Oh, it’s simple!” the old quassari began, launching into an explanation. I found it odd that we had been sitting here for hours, drinking this questionable brew, yet we still hadn’t learned his name.

“What’s your name?” I asked, taking another sip of the fermented tea and refilling my cup.

“Ah, now that you mention it, I haven’t properly introduced myself, have I? How rude of me! I’m Rundire, but my friends call me... Rundire!” He said his name twice, in the same tone and pronunciation. I couldn’t tell if there was supposed to be a difference, or if I was just too drunk to catch it—or maybe he was too drunk himself.

Glancing around the table, Silas sat to my left, who drank the most out of all of us. On my right, Finn had passed out hours ago and was now sleeping soundly, drooling on his sleeve. Across from me was Orion, surprisingly quiet, and old Rundire, who was still rambling on. He was currently explaining his tea-making process, and I was learning things I wished I hadn’t.

“After you mix pig’s blood with the herb of your choice and add plenty of sugar, you have to—”

“Stop!” I interrupted, pushing my tea cup away. “I don’t want to know the rest.”

“Suit yourself! Your loss!” Rundire replied, unfazed.

Silas and Orion continued to sip the concoction as if they hadn’t heard a word Rundire had said, or perhaps they just didn’t care.

When I stopped drinking, a moment of clarity returned. We’d been sitting here for hours, discussing nothing of importance when we should have been learning about this world and finding Lyra and Kaela. Instead, we’d chosen to drink ourselves into oblivion. What a joke.

“As much as we’ve enjoyed learning about tea in this world,” I said, my tone more serious, “I’d like to know more important things.”

“Certainly!” Rundire nodded, though his once-cheerful smile faded. “While we’re famous for our tea, there’s much beauty in the kingdom of Isilrun... if you could still call it that.” His voice trailed off, and he drowned his sorrow in more tea.

“Great, look what you’ve done!” Silas slurred, pointing an accusing finger at me. “You’ve ruined the fun, you party pooper!”

“While we’re here having fun, Lyra and Kaela are out there. Who knows where, and you’re worried about spoiling the mood?” I snapped, anger seeping into my voice.

“I’m sure they’re fine! They’re tough—they can take care of themselves. And you, you need to learn how to relax once in a while!”

“You’ve been doing enough of that for both of us,” I muttered, forcing myself to calm down. We were both drunk, and I didn’t want to escalate things further. Neither of us was in the right state of mind.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Isilrun was once a peaceful kingdom, ruled by a loving family,” Rundire began, his voice tinged with a wistful melancholy. “I remember the morning sun filtering through the canopy, signaling the start of a new day, and the fresh dew on the grass brushing against our bare feet. We’d go down to the Golden River for water, only to bicker with the goldlings on the other side. They’d curse us and throw rocks, forcing us to retreat. That was before greed tainted their minds. They were always drawn to gold, but their hearts were pure... Now, nothing in this world is pure anymore.”

He paused, lost in thought, until Orion spoke for the first time that night. “What tainted that purity?”

Rundire’s expression darkened, his purple eyes flashing with a deep-seated hatred. “You,” he said, his voice heavy with accusation. “Your kind. When I was just a child—a long time ago—your people came to our world, pretending to be friends. They called themselves the Dragonsworn Conclave, claiming they were hunted like animals in their own world and sought refuge here. The royal family was too kind for their own good and allowed them to settle at the foot of Whitecastle. Over the years, their numbers swelled, until they far outgrew the rest of the kingdom. And when they had enough power, they usurped the throne. With the help of the sky people, they conquered the rest of Isilrun.”

“These sky people you mentioned... do they have wings like mine?” I asked, already suspecting the answer.

Rundire’s gaze sharpened. “Now that you mention it, yes, they do! I’m sorry for doubting you, but I have to ask—are you one of them?”

“We may share the same feathers, but that’s where the resemblance ends,” I replied, memories of Elyria stirring a deep anger within me. The vision of the future the fey queen had shown me only fueled that fire. “But now, for the real reason, we’re here. Have you seen two women who look like us pass through these lands?”

“We see many humans pass through,” Rundire said thoughtfully. “Describe them to me.”

“One has long, curly black hair and skin darker than ours. Her eyes are green, and she wears golden-plated armor, wielding a large halberd. Her name is Kaela,” I explained.

“Hm, and the other?”

“Her name is Lyra,” I said, the words hanging in the air as Rundire’s eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“You’ll need to give me more than that, young one,” he replied.

“Well, um, she’s... really pretty,” I stammered, struggling to find the right words. It felt impossible to describe Lyra with mere language—it would never do her justice.

“Go on,” Rundire urged, his gaze fixed on me.

“It’s hard to put into words,” I began, searching for the right way to convey what I felt. “The first thing you notice is her hair. It’s red, but not just any red—under the sun, it flickers like embers in the night sky. It’s mesmerizing, like watching flames slowly dance and fade. I find it strange how something can seem so alive yet so serene at the same time.”

“Sounds like a remarkable head of hair,” Rundire mused, deep in thought.

“It is. And then there are her eyes... They’re blue, but they hold this incredible depth, like the ocean—vast, full of mystery. You could easily get lost in them if you’re not careful. Sometimes, I find myself caught in them, but then I see how empty and lonely they can be. I want to fill that emptiness, but I don’t know how.”

“Go on,” Rundire prompted gently.

“There’s a certain elegance to her, the way she moves. It’s like watching the wind ripple through the grass—every step is graceful, every sway of her hips captivating. You’d think she’s fragile, like she might break at the slightest touch. But that’s where you’d be wrong.”

“Oh?” Rundire leaned in, intrigued.

“She’s strong. Not just physically, but mentally, too. The things she’s been through would break most people, but she still stands tall. There’s a fire in her, just as fierce and red as her hair.”

“Sounds like someone’s smitten!” Silas drunkenly teased, nudging me with his elbow before finishing his tea and collapsing onto his back, snoring.

“If you’d seen her, you’d know exactly who I’m talking about.”

Rundire shook his head, rummaging through his thoughts. “As much as I’d like to help, no one like that comes to mind,” he admitted. Then, with a conspiratorial wink, he leaned over the table and whispered, “But between you and me, all of you people look the same to me, anyway.”

Just what I needed to hear. At this rate, we might never find them.

Rundire continued talking about this world until, one by one, we all drifted off—some from the alcohol, others from sheer exhaustion. But we can’t afford to waste any more time. Tomorrow morning, I’m heading to their stronghold, with or without the rest of the crew. It’s time to get some answers at last.