As everyone takes their seats at the table, the mood shifts dramatically. The wide grins Henrik and Hubbert shared moments ago vanish, replaced by somber expressions. I suddenly feel out of place, unsure if I belong in this conversation. At least Laura is here too, though she seems preoccupied brewing soup, oblivious to the tension filling the room.

“What’s the situation?” Henrik asks, his tone low and serious.

Hubbert takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before speaking. “The fortress has fallen. It was a grim sight. One can only imagine the horrors happening to the people there.”

“General Alfred,” Henrik mutters, pausing thoughtfully. “I met him once before. May the Goddess guide those poor souls… But I must admit, taking that fortress was no small feat.”

“His forces have drastically dwindled, at least,” Hubbert says, his voice heavy. “A small victory for us, as pitiful as it may sound.”

“The fortress is about a week’s march away,” Henrik muses, his tone thoughtful. “I fear he may target this place next.”

“I doubt it,” Hubbert replies, shaking his head. “If I were him, I wouldn’t make a move without refilling my ranks. I doubt he could even take Kundor—especially with you here.”

“I’m not the warrior I once was, lad,” Henrik says, shaking his head. “And no one but you knows I live here anyway. Better send an envoy to the capital, just in case.”

“If you say so, Captain,” Hubbert replies, nodding. “Me and the Blue Claw can stay in Kundor until the army arrives, if you think it’s necessary.”

“That would be best,” Henrik agrees, leaning back slightly. “Now then, what’s this commission you mentioned?”

“Right, I’ve got a list of items I need here,” Hubbert says, handing Henrik a parchment.

Henrik takes it, holding it at arm’s length as he squints to read. He murmurs the order under his breath, his finger tracing the lines as he goes. It’s painfully clear—the old man needs glasses.

“Name your price,” Hubbert adds, his tone businesslike.

“Three hundred copper,” Henrik states firmly, crossing his arms.

“Fifteen hundred,” Hubbert counters without hesitation. “I’m not going any lower—”

Henrik slams his fist on the table, the sound echoing through the room. “I’m a blacksmith, not a geriatric! I don’t need your charity!”

“But, Captain, you’re—”

“I have everything I need!” Henrik interrupts again, his voice sharp. “I won’t accept a fortune for a couple of pots and pans.” He continues.

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“I have a question,” I say, interrupting the tense exchange and silently praying it’s a good moment to speak.

“Speak, lad,” Henrik replies, his tone still defiant, though his eyes briefly flick toward me.

“This fortress,” I begin, pausing to carefully choose my next words. “I’ve heard rumors—just rumors, nothing more—that the Great Hero was supposed to help defend against the siege.”

Both Henrik and Hubbert’s eyes widen as they glance at each other. Silence hangs in the air for a moment, the weight of my words leaving them unsure of how to respond.

“That would be a dream come true,” Hubbert finally says, his tone wistful.

“But rumors about the summoning are just that—rumors,” Henrik adds, his voice firm. “These days, it feels like a new one crops up every month.”

“What do you two think of the hero?” I ask, probing further.

“He sure as hell is taking his time,” Hubbert says, his tone tinged with frustration.

“A source of false hope, nothing more,” Henrik adds curtly.

Their answers reveal a stark divide in perspective. Hubbert seems disappointed yet quietly hopeful, while Henrik’s cynicism reflects a deep skepticism. It’s clear my existence—or lack of action—is a point of contention. Those who have suffered at the hands of demons would likely hold an even harsher view of me.

“I was contacted by the clergy about an attempt at the summoning,” Henrik says, breaking the silence. “They claimed they needed a powerful mage, but I refused.”

“What?” Hubbert sneers, his tone sharp. “I understand wanting to live out your days in peace, but that’s just ridiculous. Why refuse something so important?”

“That’s not the point,” Henrik replies firmly. “What’s strange is that they only reached out to me once.”

“What do you mean?” Hubbert asks, blinking in confusion.

“It’s not the first time someone has come looking for me,” Henrik continues. “A challenger tracking me down for a duel, a noble wanting me as an advisor—whatever the reason, they usually don’t leave me alone until I threaten them. But this time, the clergy asked and actually respected my decision.”

“Respect? The clergy?” Hubbert says, raising an eyebrow. “Strange indeed.”

Henrik nods thoughtfully. “This tells me they found someone else to fill my role.”

I glance at Laura. She looks pale, her expression betraying a deep unease. It doesn’t take much to guess who the ‘someone else’ might be.

“When a summoning is attempted, the news spreads quickly,” Hubbert says, leaning forward. “But if it did happen and it’s being kept secret, it means the failure was... unique enough to warrant silence.”

“Or,” Henrik interjects, tapping his finger on the table thoughtfully, “it wasn’t a failure at all.”

“Whatever the outcome, they’re clearly hiding it. Do you think it’d be wise to investigate?” Hubbert asks, his tone tinged with curiosity.

“If you don’t mind being publicly hanged, then by all means, investigate,” Henrik replies with a dry chuckle. Hubbert joins in, their laughter cutting through the otherwise heavy conversation.

Henrik seems to be a far more important figure than he lets on—or even likes to admit. It must be exhausting, wanting to be left alone while the world insists on finding you. Hubbert, from what I can tell, appears to be a former subordinate of Henrik’s, and the Blue Claw must be some kind of mercenary group. Best not to probe into Henrik’s past; he clearly prefers to keep things quiet.

“I’d better go now,” Hubbert says, standing up and stretching. “I need to let the boys know we’ll be staying here a while longer.”

As he turns to leave, his gaze lands on Laura, as if noticing her for the first time. “I’m sorry, miss, for not introducing myself earlier. I’m Hubbert.”

“Laura,” she replies simply.

With that, he bids us goodbye and quickly departs. A moment of silence settles over the room, the weight of the conversation still lingering, until Laura breaks it.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask him to stay for lunch,” she says, her tone tinged with disappointment.