Naomi Davis CH8

Naomi stepped back into the kitchen after finishing her sweeping, setting the broom neatly by the door. Bjorn glanced up from the large pot he was stirring, his expression shifting into one of approval as he noticed her return.

"Ah, done already?" he rumbled, his voice carrying the warmth of a crackling fire. "Good lass. Quicker than I thought you'd be. Maybe you're cut out for this after all."

Naomi smiled faintly, wiping her hands on her apron. "It wasn’t too hard," she said softly. "The broom does most of the work."

Bjorn let out a deep chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Aye, but it takes someone with a good eye to know when the work’s finished proper." He turned back to his pot, giving it a slow, deliberate stir. "Now, what else can I throw at you, eh?"

Before Naomi could respond, Shmee darted into the room, his little claws skittering on the floor. "Nomis did good!" he chirped proudly. "Better sweeper than Shmee!"

Bjorn snorted, glancing down at the kobold. "That’s because last time I gave you a broom, you tried to fight a chair with it."

"Chair attacked first!" Shmee huffed, crossing his arms indignantly. "Chair was very rude."

Naomi stifled a laugh, shaking her head. "I think the chair was just minding its own business, Shmee."

The kobold gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as though mortally wounded. "Betrayed by Nomis!" he wailed, dropping onto his tail and looking up at her with wide, wounded eyes.

Bjorn rolled his eyes, grabbing a clean cloth and tossing it over Shmee's head. "Out of the way, you little drama queen," he said gruffly, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Naomi, take a breather. Maggie will be in soon to take over."

"Are you sure? I don’t mind the work—or helping," Naomi offered.

"Don’t be daft," Bjorn replied, his tone firm but not unkind. "You’ve been running since before dawn. Stick around until Maggie gets here, then off with ya."

Naomi nodded, leaning lightly against the counter as Shmee wrestled with the cloth on the floor, muttering about injustices and rude furniture. Despite the chaos, she felt a small sense of calm settle over her. The kitchen smelled of spices and freshly baked bread, and Bjorn’s steady presence was strangely reassuring.

"Go on, lass," Bjorn said after a moment, his voice softer. "You’re finding your place here. That’s all anyone can ask."

Naomi smiled, warmth flickering in her chest. She wasn’t sure where her journey would take her, but for now, the Hearthstone Haven felt like a good place to start.

As she made her way out to the main room, the door swung open, letting in a burst of cold air and the sound of heavy boots. Maggie strode in, her short-cropped auburn hair slightly tousled and her apron already tied around her waist. She had the confident air of someone who had done this a thousand times before, her hands dusted with flour and her warm brown eyes scanning the room with practiced efficiency.

"Right, let’s get this show on the road!" Maggie called out, clapping her hands together as she made her way toward the bar. Her gaze landed on Naomi, and a grin spread across her face. "Off for the day? Good. You’ve earned it."

Naomi straightened, feeling a faint flush rise to her cheeks. "He said—"

Maggie held up a hand, cutting her off with a chuckle. "No need to explain, lass. You’re the morning shift." She leaned against the bar, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Besides, he’s not wrong. Lunch rush around here’s like tryin’ to tame a pack of wolves. Better to keep you out of the fray for now."

Naomi smiled faintly, her nerves easing as Maggie’s warm presence settled into the space. The older woman had a way of putting people at ease, her sharp wit balanced by a genuine kindness that seemed to radiate from her.

"You’re doin’ good work, Naomi," Maggie said, her voice softening. "Don’t think we haven’t noticed. Keep at it, and you’ll find your place here soon enough."

"Thank you," Naomi said quietly, her chest tightening with a mix of gratitude and relief. She wasn’t sure where she belonged in this strange, new world, but for now, the Hearthstone Haven felt like a safe harbor.

Naomi sat back in her chair, a plate of steaming stew and a thick slice of buttered bread in front of her, the comforting aroma wafting up as she took a bite. Beside her, Shmee eagerly gnawed on a piece of bread she had passed him, his tail wagging happily as he hummed a little tune under his breath.

From her seat, she watched Maggie move through the bustling room with practiced ease. The older woman’s confident voice rang out over the chatter, directing staff and greeting customers with a sharp joke or a kind word. Even in the chaos of the lunch rush, Maggie seemed to thrive, her laughter cutting through the din like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

Naomi leaned back slightly, sipping from her mug and taking it all in. She couldn’t help but admire Maggie’s composure, the way she managed to handle the whirlwind around her without missing a step. For a moment, Naomi felt a flicker of hope. If Maggie could navigate this world with such ease and grace, then maybe—just maybe—she could find her place in it too.

Thank you for pointing that out. Let's adjust Bjorn’s dialogue and demeanor to better align with his established character:

Naomi stepped into the kitchen, balancing her empty bowl and mug in her hands. The familiar warmth and smells of the kitchen embraced her, and she set the dishes down near the sink. Bjorn stood near the counter, his massive hands deftly kneading dough that looked tiny under his grip.

He glanced up, his sharp blue eyes catching hers. "Finished already, lass?" His voice rumbled like distant thunder, steady but not harsh.

Naomi nodded, wiping her hands on her apron. "It was great. Thanks again for the meal."

Bjorn snorted softly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You’ll be spoilt in no time if you keep eatin’ my food. Careful now—don’t let Garrick convince you to start pourin’ his drinks for him too."

Naomi chuckled. "I think I’ll stick to sweeping for now."

Bjorn grunted in approval, turning his attention back to the dough. "Good lass.”

Naomi pushed open the kitchen door, stepping into the bustling main room of the Hearthstone Haven. The sounds of lively conversations and clinking mugs filled the air, a comfortable backdrop to the familiar routine of the inn.

As she made her way across the room, the front door swung open, ushering in a cool breeze and the familiar faces of The Black Blades. Kellen Ironwright, the leader, stepped through first, his presence commanding and reassuring. Behind him, Mira, Torak, Sylva, and Elias entered, each carrying the easy confidence of seasoned adventurers.

Spotting them, Naomi's face brightened with a smile, and she quickened her steps. She didn't know many people in this new world, but The Black Blades had quickly become familiar faces, their kindness a comfort in her unsettled life.

"Hey!" Naomi greeted, waving as she approached. The group looked up, and their faces lit with warm smiles.

"Naomi!" Kellen called out, his deep voice carrying a reassuring warmth. He stepped forward, his tall, broad-shouldered frame exuding both strength and approachability. A faint scar traced along his weathered jawline, hinting at years of hard-fought battles, yet the kindness in his dark brown eyes softened his presence. His well-maintained steel plate armor gleamed faintly in the firelight, a blue sash draped over one shoulder marking him as a leader. "How are you holding up?" he asked, his tone genuine.

"Good, actually," Naomi replied, her smile lingering. "Bjorn let me off for the rest of the day after the lunch rush, so I’m just enjoying the break."

"That’s great to hear," Mira said, her angular features catching the light as she gave Naomi a knowing smile. Her silver-streaked hair cascaded past her shoulders, the faint glow in her piercing blue eyes lending her an almost ethereal air. Clad in lightweight leather armor with silver accents, she wore a high-collared jacket embroidered with storm motifs, its subtle shimmer betraying her spellcasting prowess. A thin silver band encircled her forehead, catching the flicker of the inn’s hearthlight. "It sounds like you’re settling in well," she added, her voice warm with encouragement.

Torak chuckled deeply, setting down his gear with a faint clink. His short, stocky frame spoke of power and endurance, his broad chest and muscular arms bearing the weight of his sturdy dwarven-forged armor. Intricate runes etched into the steel faintly glowed with latent magic, hinting at their purpose in battle. His auburn hair was braided into tight plaits, and his beard, adorned with iron rings, framed a slightly crooked nose—a testament to past skirmishes. "If you’ve got Bjorn’s approval, you must be doing something right," he said, his wry smile softening the gruff edges of his tone.

"Thanks," Naomi said, feeling a blush creep into her cheeks. Their easy acceptance made her feel more at home in this unfamiliar world. "What about you all? Anything exciting happen out there today?"

"Just the usual," Sylva replied, her tone casual as she leaned back with an air of effortless confidence. Her lean, athletic build and sharp feline features hinted at her Therian heritage—a fact Naomi had learned from Shmee, who had eagerly shared stories about the shapeshifting werefolk. Sylva’s golden eyes gleamed with a predatory focus, her black-and-silver striped hair tied loosely into a braid that hung over her shoulder. She wore light leather armor reinforced with metal studs, its practicality complemented by a dark green cloak that blended seamlessly with her surroundings. Her clawed hands rested lightly on the table, and her tail swished lazily behind her. "A few goblin skirmishes on the way back. Nothing we couldn’t handle," she added with a faint smirk.

"Practically routine," Elias chimed in, his cheerful tone belying the day’s challenges. His lean frame and unassuming features gave him an approachable air, his soft brown eyes alight with optimism. His green tunic, reinforced with bits of leather for protection, was dusted with dirt from the road, but his demeanor remained unbothered. "Though I did have a close call with a goblin trap. Thanks to Sylva, I’m still in one piece."

Sylva smirked, her tail flicking. "Don’t mention it. But next time, you’re on your own."

The group laughed, their camaraderie palpable, and Naomi found herself smiling along with them. She stepped aside to let them move deeper into the inn, but Kellen paused, looking back at her. "Why don’t you sit with us for a while? We’re about to eat," he offered with a nod toward their usual table near the fireplace.

Naomi hesitated, then shook her head with a small smile. "I’ve already eaten, actually."

"Well, how about a drink while we eat?" Kellen suggested, his tone inviting.

"That sounds great," Naomi said, feeling a flicker of warmth as she followed them to the table.

Once everyone had settled in, Maggie appeared, her apron tied snugly around her waist, a playful glint in her eyes. She approached their table with a mock sigh, leaning slightly toward Naomi. "Oh, if only there was another server to help a lady out," she said, her tone dripping with teasing exaggeration as she winked.

Naomi laughed, the light-heartedness of the moment easing any lingering nerves. The Black Blades chuckled along, and the easy rhythm of the conversation resumed as Maggie began taking their orders.

Once they were all settled in, Maggie made her appearance to take their orders. Spotting Naomi sitting with the adventurers, she approached with a playful glint in her eyes. With a mock sigh, she leaned slightly toward Naomi and said, "Oh, if only there was another server to help a lady out," smiling and winking at her. Her tone was light and teasing, her laughter soft as she jotted down the group's requests.

Naomi rolled her eyes but smiled back. "I think I’ve done enough sweeping for one day," she replied, earning a chuckle from Maggie before the older woman returned to the bar.

As Maggie walked off, Kellen leaned back in his chair, resting one elbow on the table as he looked at Naomi. "So, what do you think of the town? Redmarch treating you well so far?"

Naomi hesitated for a moment, glancing at the adventurers around her. "I’ve only been into town once, with Shmee," she admitted. "He showed me around a bit, helped me get some things I needed since I didn’t really have anything."

Torak grunted in approval, leaning back in his chair. "Good lad, that kobold. Redmarch can be a lot for someone new. The market’s noisy, crowded, and full of merchants trying to outshout each other."

Sylva’s tail flicked lazily over the side of her chair. "Let me guess—Shmee kept trying to haggle for you? Probably told you he could get a better deal if you just let him do all the talking."

Naomi laughed softly, shaking her head. "He did try, but mostly he was just… excited. He seemed to know everyone, and everyone seemed to know him. It was a little overwhelming, to be honest."

Elias grinned, his cheerful demeanor lighting up the conversation. "It sounds like he made sure you were taken care of, though. Did you enjoy the trip?"

Naomi tilted her head, thinking. "It was... different. A lot busier than I expected, and the market felt like it stretched on forever. But it was nice. I got what I needed, and Shmee made sure I didn’t get lost or ripped off."

"That’s Redmarch for you," Kellen said with a faint smile. "Bustling, chaotic, but with plenty to offer if you know where to look. If you ever want to see more of it, let us know. We’ll show you around properly."

Naomi blinked, surprised by the offer. "Really? You’d do that?"

"Why not?" Torak said with a shrug, his tone gruff but friendly. “No sense in letting you miss out on what Redmarch has to offer."

Sylva smirked. "And someone’s got to make sure Shmee doesn’t convince you to buy ‘authentic adventurer’s gear’ that turns out to be old kitchen pots and pans."

The group laughed, and Naomi couldn’t help but join in. The warmth of their camaraderie wrapped around her like a comforting blanket, easing the tension that still lingered in the back of her mind. For a moment, the strangeness of her new world didn’t feel so daunting.

"Thanks," she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I’d like that."

Elias leaned forward, his grin fading just a bit as his tone grew more serious. "Of course! Though it will probably be a day or two before we can make it into town with you," he said. "Tomorrow, we’re heading into the Shifting Hallows."

Naomi furrowed her brow, leaning slightly toward him. "The Shifting Hallows? Is that the dungeon a bit north of here? I heard a few other teams talking about the place during the morning rush. What’s it like? A dungeon?"

Kellen exchanged a glance with Sylva, who flicked her tail absently as if weighing her words. "Aye, it’s a dungeon," Kellen said, his tone steady but tinged with caution. "Though it’s not like the ones you might hear about in tales of treasure and glory. The Hallows are… unpredictable."

"Unpredictable how?" Naomi asked, her curiosity piqued.

Torak let out a low grunt, crossing his arms. "The name says it all. The Shifting Hallows change every time someone enters. Walls move, traps reset, and paths that were clear one day are blocked the next. It’s more than just dangerous—it’s alive, in a way."

Sylva nodded, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "It’s not just the layout, either. The monsters inside aren’t your average bandits or goblins. They’re… different. Twisted, like the dungeon itself warps them."

Elias leaned back, trying to lighten the mood. "But it’s not all doom and gloom. The Hallows also have a reputation for being worth the risk. Artifacts, enchanted gear, rare materials—it’s one of the reasons teams keep going back."

Naomi’s eyes widened slightly. "That sounds… terrifying, honestly. But people still go in?"

"Because the rewards are worth it," Kellen said firmly. "And because some of us live for the challenge. The Concord makes sure teams know the risks before they take a contract involving the Hallows. Only experienced groups go in."

"And your team’s done this before?" Naomi asked, glancing between them.

"Plenty of times," Sylva said with a faint smirk. "It’s dangerous, sure, but we’ve learned how to navigate it. Stick together, keep our wits sharp, and we usually make it out without too many scratches."

"Usually?" Naomi echoed, her voice tinged with unease.

Torak chuckled, his deep voice like a rumble of distant thunder. "It’s all part of the job, lass. No risk, no reward."

Naomi leaned back slightly, processing the conversation. The idea of entering a dungeon like the Shifting Hallows sent a shiver down her spine, but the way the group spoke about it—calm, confident, almost nonchalant—was oddly reassuring. They were clearly seasoned adventurers, and while she couldn’t imagine facing such dangers herself, she couldn’t help but admire their courage.

"Well," she said finally, "I hope you all come back safe."

Kellen gave her a small, reassuring smile. "We always do."

Shmee ran up to the table, his small claws clicking against the wooden floor as he slid to a halt just beside Naomi. His golden eyes were wide with excitement, and his tail wagged furiously.

"Nomis! Nomis off works!" he exclaimed, nearly bouncing in place. "Wants to go to Redmarch?!"

Naomi blinked, caught off guard by his sudden appearance. "Why?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"For funs!" Shmee chirped, throwing his arms wide. "Gets foods, see stuffs, shops maybe… avoids raccoons…"

Torak let out a hearty chuckle, leaning back in his chair. "Smart kobold, avoiding raccoons. Vicious little beasts."

Sylva smirked, flicking her tail. "And here I thought you could handle anything, Shmee."

Shmee puffed up his chest, clearly pleased with the attention. "Shmee can! But raccoons… sneaky... mean. No wants fights with them today."

Naomi laughed, shaking her head at the kobold’s antics. "Alright, Shmee. Sure. Let’s go to Redmarch."

"Come, come!" Shmee said excitedly, already pulling at Naomi’s arm. "Shmee shows best places! Nomis loves it!"

Naomi smiled at the adventurers around the table, giving them a small wave. "Guess I’m off to Redmarch then. Good luck with your trip to the Shifting Hallows. Stay safe."

Kellen nodded, his expression warm. "You too, Naomi. Watch out for raccoons."

That earned another round of laughter, and Naomi felt a little lighter as she followed Shmee toward the door. The kobold chattered away, his enthusiasm infectious as they stepped out into the cool afternoon air.

As Naomi followed Shmee down the well-trodden path to Redmarch, she watched as he darted glances toward the treeline, muttering under his breath.

"Raccoons," Shmee hissed, his claws flexing nervously. "Sneaky, sly raccoons. Always plotting against Shmee."

Naomi laughed, shaking her head. "I don’t think they’re out to get you, Shmee."

"You don’t know raccoons like Shmee does," he said gravely. "Trust Shmee—bad news."

"Right," Naomi said, humoring him. "So, where are we going?"

"Back to Lavina’s shop!" Shmee declared, his mood instantly brightening. His tail wagged as he added, "Shmee has surprise for Nomis! Very big! Very good!"

"A surprise?" Naomi repeated, raising an eyebrow. "What kind of surprise?"

Shmee only grinned, his golden eyes gleaming with excitement. "You’ll see. Shmee not tell!"

They entered Redmarch’s bustling streets, the familiar sounds of the market reaching Naomi’s ears. Vendors called out their wares, and the scent of baked goods and roasting meats mixed with the earthy tang of leather and metal from various stalls. Naomi couldn’t help but smile at the lively atmosphere, though her attention was soon drawn to a familiar, unwelcome voice.

"Honestly, you’re a disgrace," Quillix Scaletail sneered, his voice dripping with condescension. "Even for a low kobold, I expected better."

Naomi’s stomach tightened as she spotted him. Quillix stood a short distance ahead, towering over another kobold who crouched on the ground, fumbling to gather a spilled basket of goods. His fine silks and gleaming jewelry stood in stark contrast to the smaller kobold’s threadbare attire. The sight of him brought back an immediate flood of irritation—her last encounter with Quillix had been anything but pleasant.

Shmee stopped in his tracks, his ears flattening as he growled low in his throat. "Quillix," he muttered darkly. "Stupid, shiny showoff."

Naomi glanced down at him, her own irritation mirrored in his posture. "What’s he doing now?"

"Same thing Quillix always does," Shmee muttered bitterly, his ears flattening against his head. "Being worst kobold ever. Thinks shiny things make him better than everyone."

Naomi frowned, her expression hardening as she watched Quillix berate the kobold in torn clothing. "We should say something. What he's doing isn't right."

Shmee hesitated, his golden eyes darting nervously between Naomi and Quillix. "W-We's can't... Quillix has high ups, important friends... dangerous friends." His voice wavered, equal parts fear and concern. "Shmee doesn’t want to get Nomis hurt..."

Naomi’s frown deepened, but she placed a reassuring hand on Shmee’s shoulder. "Oh, yes, we can. My parents taught me to stand up for people who need help." Her voice was firm, resolute. Without another thought, she stormed off toward Quillix, her steps purposeful.

"Hey!" Naomi called, her voice cutting through the din of the marketplace. "Knock it off! Leave that kobold alone, Jerkllix!"

Shmee let out a small, nervous squeak, his claws flexing against the dirt. For a moment, he seemed rooted to the spot, but then he took a deep breath, puffed out his chest, and charged after Naomi, his tail wagging anxiously. "Shmee comes too!" he declared, though his tone was more for himself than anyone else.

Quillix turned, his smug expression unchanged as he recognized them. His golden jewelry glinted in the midday sun, a sharp contrast to the disdain in his eyes. "Ah, the human from the other day," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "And that pathetic little scrap you associate with." His lips curled into a sneer. "Be quiet and let your betters speak."

Naomi folded her arms, her eyes narrowing. "I’m sorry, I don’t see my betters around here. Because anyone who would claim to be my better wouldn’t behave the way you do, lizard."

Quillix’s expression darkened, and he took a sharp step forward, his claws curling as if to lash out, but he stopped short, his gaze burning with indignation.

"Nomis!" Shmee yipped, stretching up on his toes to whisper frantically in her ear. "Lizard is very rude for kobold, very, very mean! Careful, Nomis!"

Quillix sneered, his posture rigid with offended pride. "You dare speak to me like that? How dare you. Human or not, I am a wealthy kobold with status far above yours." His tone was venomous as he leaned closer, his voice dripping with contempt. "Mind your business, you—" he paused, searching for the right insult, "scrap-gathering nobody."

Naomi threw her hands up dramatically, shaking them in the air. "Ohhhh noooo," she said, her voice dripping with exaggerated sarcasm. "A scrap-gatherer? How will I ever recover from such a devastating insult?" She placed a hand over her chest mockingly, then pointed at Quillix. "At least that’s more honest work than you, strutting around town all day putting others down."

Quillix’s face flushed with anger, and he squared his shoulders, puffing himself up as he gestured to his fine clothing. "Look at me, human," he hissed, his voice seething. "I have more wealth than you could ever imagine." He snapped his claws, gesturing to three kobolds standing nearby in chainmail and small plates fitted for their kind. "One snap, and my escorts take care of you... permanently." His glare bore down on her, sharp and unrelenting.

Before Naomi could respond, Shmee darted in front of her, puffing up his small chest with an air of defiance. "Not befores you deals with me," Shmee declared, his voice trembling slightly but resolute. "Shmee! Scrap Knight Shmee!"

For a moment, Quillix froze, blinking in surprise. Then his lips curled into a sneer, and his demeanor shifted to one of cruel amusement. "Scrap Knight?" he repeated, his tone mocking. "Scrap Knight!"

Quillix turned and smacked the cheek of one of his goons lightly, laughing as though it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. "Of course you’re a Scrap Knight! Look at you, Shmee—the dumbest kobold in the whole city. The mushroom fool!" His voice rose as he gestured grandly toward the crowd starting to gather. "I can’t believe you actually got that class! Scrap Knight! Should’ve been Gutter Knight!"

Quillix doubled over, laughing, and his goons followed suit, their laughter loud and grating. A few bystanders, eager to stay on Quillix’s good side, chuckled nervously, though their smiles didn’t quite reach their eyes.

Shmee seemed to shrink slightly under the weight of Quillix’s verbal assault. His tail drooped and his ears folded back, but even as the mockery wore on, Shmee remained steadfast, standing in front of Naomi like a shield. Despite his faltering confidence, he didn’t move, ready to defend her no matter the cost.

"Shut up, rat tail!" Naomi snapped, her voice sharp and cutting.

A collective gasp rippled through the gathered kobolds, their wide eyes darting between Naomi and Quillix. The insult hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, the market square seemed to fall silent.

Quillix’s golden eyes burned with rage as he hissed, stepping toward Naomi with a menacing glare. "You insolent human!" he spat, his voice low and venomous. "You dare?"

Naomi instinctively tried to push past Shmee, but the little kobold stood firm, refusing to let the two come any closer.

"No, you dare!" Naomi shot back, her voice rising with conviction. She took a step forward, glaring over Shmee’s shoulder. "Where I come from, people are treated as equals! Everyone is deserving of respect, no matter where they come from or how much money they have!" She pointed a finger at Quillix, her eyes blazing. "You act like you’re better than everyone else, but all I see is a coward who thinks wealth gives him power."

The tension in the air was palpable. The onlookers seemed to hold their breath, their gazes shifting nervously between Quillix and Naomi.

Naomi, however, didn’t register the danger of her situation. To her, this was no different than standing up to a bully in school. Quillix was just another jerk, and they were in a public place, surrounded by witnesses. What could he possibly do? She was still in a society with rules and laws—surely, even here, that meant she was safe.

But the reality of her new world was far different. Quillix’s position, wealth, and connections carried weight, and his rage at being publicly humiliated was evident in every tense muscle and narrowed eye. While Naomi saw only a petulant bully, the gathered kobolds saw someone with the means to make good on his threats, laws or not.

Shmee shifted slightly, his small frame still planted firmly in front of Naomi. "Carefuls, Nomis," he whispered, his voice trembling but insistent. "Lizard is very, very mean. Very powerful. Shmee protects."

Quillix’s nostrils flared, his sharp claws flexing at his sides. "You think you can lecture me about respect?" he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "You’re a fool, human. And fools in this world don’t last long."

"Is that a threat?" Naomi shot back, her voice rising. "What if I go to the cops? Er... the guards! What if I tell the guards, hmm? How would that look?"

"Nomis!" Shmee pleaded, his voice trembling with desperation. "Wes have to leaves! Fights overs! Quillix means! Please!"

Quillix smirked, his sharp teeth glinting as he slowly repeated the name. "Nomis, huh?" he said, tasting the word like it was something sour. His golden eyes flicked between her and Shmee, the malice in them unmistakable. "You should listen to Shmee the Scrap Knight. Yes, Shmee Sir Dumb. Watch your back, Nomis," he hissed, glaring at her one last time before turning to his guards. Snapping his fingers sharply, he ordered, "Let's go. We're done here with this pathetic lot."

Naomi clenched her fists, her glare burning into Quillix's back as he and his entourage slowly disappeared into the bustling crowd. Before she could say anything, Shmee tugged at her arm, pulling her closer and forcing her to lean down.

"Nomies!" he whispered urgently, his golden eyes wide with fear. "Quillixsis powerful kobold! Lots of shines! Lot of power! Shouldn't have insulted!"

Naomi crossed her arms defiantly, her gaze not wavering from where Quillix had vanished. "I don't like bullies, Shmee," she said firmly, her voice edged with anger. "I don't care how powerful or how much money they have. Its not right."

Shmee let out a small whimper, his tail dragging as he shuffled nervously beside her. "Still... very mean," he muttered, casting wary glances at the crowd as if expecting Quillix to reappear.

Once Quillix was gone, the crowd quickly dispersed, eager to return to their daily routines now that the spectacle had ended. Naomi barely had a moment to process what had happened before Shmee tugged urgently at her arm, pulling her along down the road. His golden eyes darted nervously around the bustling street, his claws tapping against the cobblestones as he muttered under his breath.

"Stupid Quillix," Shmee grumbled, his voice low but sharp. "Always tricksies... like raccoons. Shmee hates raccoons..."

Naomi tilted her head, catching the tension in his movements. "Shmee, are raccoons really the problem here?"

"Yes!" Shmee hissed, glancing over his shoulder to ensure no one was following them. "Raccoons always problem! Quillix worse. Sneaky, shiny-thief, mean! Nomis shouldn’t talk to him, very bad kobold! Dangerous kobold!"

Naomi opened her mouth to respond, but Shmee’s ears flicked forward as Lavina’s shop came into view down the road. Relief swept over his face, his posture loosening slightly as he tugged her with more urgency.

"Come, Nomis, quick! Safe place!" he said, his voice a hurried whisper as he led her toward the familiar wooden door with its faded sign swinging gently in the breeze.

Shmee didn’t wait for her to respond, practically shoving the door open as he burst inside, still holding tightly to Naomi’s arm. The small bell above the door jingled loudly at their entrance, drawing the attention of a few customers browsing the shelves. Shmee didn’t seem to care. His eyes darted around the shop, ensuring all was in order before finally letting out a quiet, shaky breath.

Lavina, standing behind the counter and organizing an array of small vials, looked up with an arched eyebrow. Her dark green eyes flicked between the tense kobold and the slightly flustered human trailing behind him.

"Shmee," Lavina said, her voice calm but curious as she took in the scene. "What in the world has you dragging Naomi in here like you’ve been chased by a pack of wolves?"

Shmee straightened, trying to look composed but failing miserably. "Quillix," he muttered darkly, glancing back at Naomi with a flick of his tail. "Stupid, shiny Quillix. Nomis talks to him... not good."

Lavina’s lips pressed into a thin line, her usual light demeanor giving way to a more serious expression as she leaned against the counter. Her dark green eyes softened with concern as they rested on Naomi. "Sounds like there’s a story here," she said, her tone quiet but expectant.

Lavina moved gracefully from behind her counter, her soft steps echoing lightly in the shop as she passed her two guests and made her way to the door. With a swift motion, she turned the lock, the faint click sounding final. She glanced over her shoulder at Naomi and Shmee, her expression calm but tinged with quiet resolve.

"How about some tea for you two?" she asked, her voice gentle but carrying a note of reassurance. "I think we could all use a moment to breathe."

Shmee straightened, his tail flicking nervously. "No, Shmee will stays here. Watchs front door. Keeps safe," he said firmly, moving to position himself near the shop window, his sharp eyes darting outside.

Lavina nodded at him, her expression softening. "Alright, Shmee. Let me know if you see anything." She gestured to Naomi, her tone warm. "Come, dear. Have a seat. Let’s talk."

Naomi hesitated for a moment but allowed Lavina to guide her toward the small table in the back. She sank into the chair, her fingers tightening into fists as she glared down at the polished wooden surface.

Lavina returned moments later, balancing two cups of steaming tea on a small tray. She set one in front of Naomi and took the seat across from her, watching the young woman with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"So, my dear," Lavina began, her voice soft but firm, "what happened exactly?"

Naomi stared into her tea, her fingers tracing the rim of the cup as she recounted everything that had happened with Quillix. Her voice was steady at first, but it faltered as she revisited the confrontation in her mind. Lavina listened quietly, her hands folded neatly on the table, her expression calm but deeply attentive.

When Naomi finished, Lavina leaned back in her chair, letting the weight of the story settle over them. She studied the young woman carefully, noting the tension in her posture and the way her eyes stayed fixed on the tea, untouched and cooling.

"My dear," Lavina said gently after a moment, "what caused you to confront him like that?"

Naomi hesitated, her hands tightening slightly around the cup. She didn’t look up as she spoke, her voice quiet but raw with emotion. "My sister was bullied at school. She was older than me... seventeen. It was two years ago." Her breath hitched, but she pressed on. "She couldn’t take it anymore—how people like that jerk treated her. She... she killed herself."

The words hung heavy in the air, and Naomi finally looked up, her eyes glistening but defiant. "I can’t just stand by and let someone like him tear people down. I can’t. It’s not right."

Lavina’s face softened, and she reached out, resting a hand lightly on Naomi’s. "I’m so sorry, Naomi," she said, her voice carrying a depth of understanding that felt like a balm. "You’ve been carrying that with you, haven’t you?"

Naomi nodded, her throat tight. "I guess I just… I couldn’t stop it from happening to her. But maybe I can stop it for someone else."

Lavina’s gaze lingered on Naomi, warm and steady, though tinged with concern. "You have a strong heart, my dear. But this is a very different place from the one you come from. People like Quillix... they have power here. Real power. You didn’t have kobolds where you’re from, correct? Honestly, it shows." Her voice softened further. "Most kobolds are not like our little Shmee over there. Shmee is... different. Quillix, on the other hand, is dangerous, and Shmee wasn’t wrong. It’s not always as simple as standing up to a bully. You have to be careful."

Naomi swallowed hard, her earlier defiance dimming slightly under Lavina’s words. "I know. I just… I didn’t think, and when Shmee said he was dangerous... well, I kind of brushed it off. I mean, he’s scared of raccoons."

Lavina allowed a small smile at that, but her expression quickly turned serious. "Yes, Shmee can be a little dramatic at times, but you have to remember—this isn’t your home, Naomi. You insulted Quillix in front of everyone. Word around here spreads like wildfire in a drought. He will retaliate, Naomi. I am certain of that."

Naomi sat back slightly, the weight of Lavina's words settling over her. She glanced toward the shop’s front room, where Shmee was standing watch, his small form dwarfed by the doorframe. "What do I do, then?" Naomi asked quietly. "I can’t just let people like him push others around."

"You’ll need to be smart about it," Lavina said, her voice firm but kind. "Sometimes standing up doesn’t mean standing out. You have to know when and how to fight, and when to step back. Quillix is the type who thrives on attention, and public embarrassment only fuels his ego—and his need for revenge."

Naomi’s jaw tightened, but she nodded. "I’ll be more careful."

Lavina leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "There are rumors, child, that Quillix is connected with all sorts of shady dealings—mostly among kobolds, but if the rumors are to be believed, he’s got his claws in many pots around here. Smuggling, human trafficking, thievery… all very dark business. Now, mind you, these are just rumors, but…" She paused, her gaze steady. "There are few kobolds with his kind of wealth or influence in all of Aldranis."

Naomi paled slightly, her fingers tightening around the warm cup in front of her. "I… I didn’t realize that," she stammered, her voice quieter now. "I honestly just assumed he was… I don’t know. I’ll be more careful from now on, Miss Lavina."

"Good," Lavina replied, her tone firm. "Now, when you leave here, go straight back to your inn. Do you understand? I’ll keep an ear to the wind and send a message once things have calmed down." Her voice softened again, a faint smile touching her lips. "But don’t lose that fire, Naomi. It’s what makes you who you are."

Naomi hesitated, then nodded, her resolve hardening. "I won’t. Thank you."

Lavina’s expression softened further, and a small smile played at her lips. “Now then, child, what brought you and Shmee in today?”

Naomi blinked, her brow furrowing. “I have no idea. He said he wanted to come into town and come over here.” She laughed softly, shaking her head. “So, here we are.”

Lavina chuckled lightly, standing from her chair. “Well then. Let’s go ask our knight what he’s about, shall we?”

She extended a hand, gesturing for Naomi to follow her back toward the shop’s main room where Shmee stood vigil by the door, his golden eyes scanning the street outside like a sentry. He muttered under his breath about “raccoons hiding in plain sights” and “stupid Quillix sneaky like rats.”

At the sound of their approach, Shmee turned quickly, puffing out his chest. “Shmee protects! All clears now!”

Lavina arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into an amused smile. “Very good, Sir Knight. Now, might I ask what brings you to my humble shop today? What’s this grand mission of yours?”

Shmee’s ears perked up, and he shifted nervously on his feet. “Shmee has surprises,” he announced proudly, though his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “For Nomis! Shmee’s been saving mushroom coins to gets somethings… specials.”

Naomi’s eyes widened slightly, glancing at Lavina, whose expression turned curious. “A surprise, you say?” Lavina said, her tone light. “Well, you’ve certainly piqued my interest.”

Shmee nodded vigorously, his tail wagging slightly as he darted toward the counter. “Shmee knows what he wants! Lavina has it!”

Lavina followed him with a knowing look, her hands resting on her hips. “I believe I know exactly what you’re after, Sir Shmee. Wait here a moment.” She disappeared into the back room, leaving Naomi and Shmee alone for a moment.

Naomi crouched slightly to look Shmee in the eye. “You didn’t have to do this, Shmee,” she said softly, her voice touched with both gratitude and curiosity. “What is it you’re getting for me?”

Shmee wrung his hands nervously, his golden eyes darting around. “Shmee is knight. Knight protects Nomis. Shmee promised, yes? Promise means somethings!”

Before Naomi could respond, Lavina reappeared, holding a small box. She placed it gently on the counter and opened it, revealing the necklace. The silver shield gleamed in the light, and the amber gemstone at its center seemed to flicker with a life of its own.

“This,” Lavina said softly, “is The Knight’s Bond. A piece fit for one sworn to protect—and the one they protect.”

Naomi stared at it, speechless, as Shmee fidgeted beside her. “Shmee saved for this,” he said quietly, his usual exuberance replaced with something earnest. “Keeps Nomis safe. Always.”

Tears pricked at Naomi’s eyes as she looked at the necklace, her heart swelling with emotion. “Shmee… thank you. This is… it’s incredible.”

Lavina smiled warmly, closing the box and handing it to Shmee. “Take care of her, Sir Knight,” she said gently.

Shmee nodded solemnly, his chest puffing out as he turned to Naomi, holding the box out to her with both hands. “For Nomis. Shmee’s lady.”

Naomi took the box with trembling hands, her voice soft. “Thank you, Shmee. I’ll treasure it.”

Lavina stepped back, watching the exchange with a quiet smile. “Well, my dear, it seems you’ve found yourself a most loyal companion.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Naomi looked down at the necklace, her fingers brushing over the intricate silver shield and the amber gemstone at its center. Her voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “What does it do?” she asked, glancing up at Lavina.

Lavina leaned against the counter, her expression thoughtful as she considered her words. “The Knight’s Bond is a rare and special piece,” she began, her tone steady. “The silver shield represents protection, and the amber gemstone is its heart. Together, they create a magical connection between the wearer and their sworn protector—your knight.”

Naomi blinked, her gaze shifting between Lavina and Shmee, who stood proudly at her side. “How does it work?”

Lavina gestured toward the necklace. “The magic within the pendant can absorb harm meant for you—a limited amount each day. A blade may miss its mark, a heavy blow might feel no worse than a tap, or even a dangerous spell could fizzle before it reaches you. It’s not foolproof, but it’s powerful.”

Naomi’s fingers tightened around the box as Lavina continued. “More importantly, it’s bound to you. No one can take it from you by force, and its magic will always recognize you as its owner. And should you ever be lost or separated, it will guide your protector—Sir Shmee here—back to you.”

Naomi’s eyes widened, and she looked down at Shmee, whose chest was puffed up with pride. “So, it’s like… a connection? Between me and Shmee?”

“Precisely,” Lavina said with a nod. “It’s a bond of trust, loyalty, and protection. Fitting, given your knight here was so determined to get it for you.”

Naomi swallowed hard, the weight of the gift settling over her. She glanced at Shmee, who was wagging his tail slightly, his golden eyes shining with pride and excitement. “Shmee… this is amazing. I don’t even know what to say.”

“Nomis needs to says ‘thank you,’” Shmee quipped, grinning wide. “And promise to wears it always. Shmee’s lady must be safe!”

Naomi laughed softly, her heart swelling with gratitude. “Thank you, Shmee. I promise.” She looked back at Lavina, her voice filled with emotion. “And thank you for keeping this here.”

Lavina smiled warmly, folding her hands in front of her. “It’s my pleasure, my dear. Take care of it—and each other.”

Lavina smiled warmly but firmly as she leaned on the counter, her eyes settling on Naomi and Shmee. "Is there anything else I can help you two with today?"

Naomi shook her head. "No, I think we’re good," she said, glancing at Shmee, who nodded in agreement.

"Well then!" Lavina clapped her hands lightly, straightening up. "It was lovely to see you two. Now, Naomi," she said, her tone turning serious, "remember what I said—straight back to the inn. No detours. Do you hear me, Shmee?"

The kobold’s ears perked up, and he stood a little straighter. "Yess, Lavinas. Shmee understands. Straight backs. No raccoons!"

Lavina’s lips twitched with amusement, though her eyes remained sharp. "Good. I mean it, Shmee. No detours. I’ll send a message to you in a day or two when I hear whatever it is I might hear. Understood?"

"Understood!" Shmee replied enthusiastically, giving a little salute.

Naomi nodded as well, the weight of Lavina’s earlier warnings still fresh in her mind. "We’ll go straight back. Thank you, Lavina—for everything."

"Take care, my dear," Lavina said, her expression softening as she gave Naomi a reassuring smile. "And remember—keep that fire of yours, but be cautious. It’s a delicate balance, but I know you can find it."

With that, Lavina escorted them to the door, unlocking it and holding it open as they stepped back out into the bustling street.

Naomi pushed open the door of the Hearthstone Haven, stepping into the warm, lively atmosphere of the inn. The familiar hum of laughter and chatter filled the air, and the faint smell of roasting meat wafted from the kitchen. Her eyes immediately caught sight of The Black Blades still sitting at their table near the fireplace, mugs raised as they laughed and drank. Kellen noticed her and gave a cheerful wave, which she returned with a smile before making her way to the bar.

As she approached, she spotted Garrick standing behind the counter, wiping down a glass with his usual gruff yet focused demeanor. He glanced up as she approached, his scarred face softening slightly.

“Evenin’, kid,” Garrick said, setting the glass down. “You need something?”

Naomi hesitated. “I was just going to grab some water, that’s all. Sorry to bother you.”

He waved her apology off with a grumble. “Sit down. I’ll get you a glass.”

Before she could protest, Shmee scrambled up onto the stool next to her, his small claws clinking against the wood. His golden eyes lit up as he grinned at Garrick. “Shmee wants drink too! Gets… hmm…” He tapped a claw to his chin, thinking hard. “Mossbrew! Best drink! Shmee deserves best drink!”

Naomi raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress a chuckle. “Mossbrew?”

Garrick rolled his eyes but smirked as he reached for a clean glass. “It’s a kobold brew. Thick as swamp water and smells worse. You sure about that, Shmee?”

“Yesss!” Shmee hissed, wagging his tail excitedly. “Shmee loves Mossbrew! Tastes like mushrooms and victory!”

Naomi couldn’t help but laugh outright at that, shaking her head as Garrick poured her a glass of water. “I’m not sure I even want to know what that means.”

Sliding the water across the bar to her, Garrick muttered, “Trust me, you don’t.”

As he worked on getting Shmee his Mossbrew, Garrick leaned slightly against the bar, his rough features thoughtful as he studied Naomi. “You alright?” he asked, his gravelly voice low. “Look like you’ve had a day.”

Naomi wrapped her hands around the glass, staring down at the water. “It’s been… eventful,” she admitted. “Ran into some trouble in town.”

Garrick’s expression hardened slightly. “What kind of trouble?”

Shmee's ears perked up at the mention of trouble, and he set his mug of Mossbrew down with a thunk. “Stupid Quellix,” he muttered, his tail flicking irritably behind him. “Thinks he’s big lizard, but he’s just stupid shiny rat with bad breath.”

Garrick’s frown deepened, his brow furrowing as he leaned forward. “Quellix? What about him?” His tone was sharper now, concern laced with a hint of irritation.

Naomi sighed, glancing at Shmee before meeting Garrick’s gaze. “He was picking on another kobold in the market. It was awful. I couldn’t just stand there and watch, so I… said something.”

Garrick straightened, setting the glass he’d been holding down with deliberate care. “You said something,” he repeated, his voice slow and measured. “To Quellix. In public.”

Naomi shifted uncomfortably under his steady gaze. “Yes, and I know Lavina already gave me the speech about being careful, but he was being such a jerk. Someone had to stand up to him.”

Garrick turned away from the bar, grabbed himself a glass and a bottle of amber liquid, and poured a shot. He threw it back with practiced ease, the sharp sound of the glass hitting the counter punctuating his silence. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, repeating the entire process before finally speaking.

Shmee took the pause as an opportunity to tug lightly on Naomi’s sleeve, his golden eyes wide with worry. “Nomis was very brave,” he said softly, then glanced at Garrick. “But Quellix… Quellix not just kobold. Has powerful friends. Very tricksy. Very mean. Shmee tried to warn Nomis, but…”

Garrick’s jaw tightened, and he let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his scruffy hair. His expression softened, but his tone remained firm. “Kid,” he said, his voice quieter now, “you’re not wrong for standing up to him, but this isn’t a schoolyard back home. People like Quellix don’t just let things slide. Especially not in a place like Redmarch, where reputation is everything.”

Garrick took another shot, the amber liquid disappearing quickly as he slammed the glass down again. He exhaled heavily, his rugged features etched with both irritation and concern. “I’ll have a word with him,” he said at last. “It’ll be fine. But in the meantime, no trips into town for either of you. You understand?”

Naomi frowned but nodded. “Understood.”

Shmee’s ears drooped slightly, but he nodded as well. “Shmee understands. No more town. For now…” His tail flicked nervously, and he glanced up at Garrick, his golden eyes wide with worry. “But Garrick… be careful with Quellix. He very mean, very bad.”

Garrick smirked faintly, though his eyes stayed serious. “Quellix knows better than to mess with this place. I doubt he realized you’re staying here, Naomi.” He leaned back slightly, his rough hand curling around the empty glass. “I’ll have words with him. Make sure he gets the message.”

Naomi frowned, concern flickering across her face. “You’re sure? I don’t want you to get dragged into this because of me.”

Garrick waved her off with a gruff chuckle. “Kid, this isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with someone like him. I’ve handled far worse in my day. Quellix won’t be a problem.”

Naomi nodded reluctantly, resting a hand on Shmee’s shoulder. “Alright. Thanks, Garrick.”

Shmee’s tail wagged slightly at Garrick’s reassurance, though he still muttered under his breath, “Shiny rat very tricksy… still dangerous…”

Naomi sipped her water, glancing at Garrick as he leaned against the bar, watching the room with his usual measured expression. She hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“So… what made you want to be a bartender?” she asked, her voice light with curiosity. “And Bjorn—what made him decide to be a cook? I mean, you’re both so… different from what I’d expect for those jobs.”

Garrick chuckled, the sound low and rough, as he grabbed a clean glass and began drying it. “Well, lassie, I wasn’t always a bartender,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. “And would you believe me if I told you that once upon a time, the big guy couldn’t cook for shit?”

Naomi’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really? But Bjorn’s cooking is amazing!”

Before Garrick could elaborate, the kitchen door swung open, and Bjorn emerged carrying a massive platter piled high with plates of steaming food. The smell of roasted meats, savory stews, and freshly baked bread wafted into the room, making Naomi’s mouth water.

“Don’t listen to his lies, lass,” Bjorn rumbled, his deep voice tinged with mock indignation. “I’ve always been a damn good cook.”

Garrick snorted, setting the glass down with a smirk. “Sure, if you call burning our meat to a rock or dropping the stew in our fire one night being a good cook.”

Bjorn shot him a glare as he set the platter down on a nearby table, his broad shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. “That was one time. And if I recall, you were the one who distracted me with that ridiculous plan of yours.”

“Ridiculous? It worked, didn’t it?” Garrick countered, grinning now.

Naomi watched the exchange, a smile tugging at her lips. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the bar. “So, what’s the story? How did you both end up here?”

Bjorn glanced at Garrick, raising an eyebrow. “You goin’ to tell her, or should I?”

Garrick sighed, grabbing a bottle and pouring himself a drink. “It’s a long story, lass. Let’s just say Bjorn and I had… different plans for our lives at one point. Plans that didn’t quite pan out.” He paused, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. A bitter smile slowly showing. “But damn, did things go well for a long while. When they didn’t… we built this place. A quiet spot for people like us—people who’ve seen too much and need a place to breathe.”

Bjorn nodded, his expression softening as he leaned against the table. “We both wanted something more than the life we had before. A place where we could work with our hands, meet good people, and maybe make a difference in a new way.”

Naomi tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “What kind of life did you have before?”

Garrick’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He set down the glass he’d been drying and leaned against the bar, his scarred features softening, though his tone carried a weight that made Naomi hesitate.

“Well, it’s no secret we used to be adventurers,” he said slowly. “Not just any adventurers, either. We were Platinum-ranked, right on the edge of becoming Named.”

Naomi’s eyes widened. “Platinum? Wait—what does that mean? I’ve heard the teams talk about ranks, but I don’t really know how it all works.”

Garrick leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. “The Adventurers Concord has a ranking system to keep things organized. It helps sort out the rookies from the veterans and lets guilds know who’s ready for the tough contracts. It starts with Iron—the beginners, mostly kids trying to make a name for themselves or folks who don’t have much experience yet.”

He tapped the counter absently, his tone becoming steadier as he spoke. “Next is Steel. That’s when you’ve proven yourself. You’ve survived a few jobs, learned a thing or two. Most adventurers stick around there—it’s respectable and doesn’t usually get you killed.”

Naomi nodded, listening intently.

“Then there’s Platinum,” Garrick continued. “The elite. You don’t get there without earning it, and once you do, you’ve got access to the most dangerous, most lucrative jobs out there. Dungeons, ancient ruins, monster hunts—you name it. You’re trusted to handle things others can’t.”

“And Named?” Naomi asked, leaning forward slightly.

Garrick hesitated, his expression darkening for a moment. “Named… well, that’s a whole other level. It’s not just about skill or power—it’s about what you’ve done. A Named adventurer’s feats are legendary. People tell stories about them long after they’re gone. You don’t choose to be Named; the world chooses it for you.”

Naomi blinked, taking it all in. “So… you and Bjorn were Platinum?”

“Aye,” Garrick said with a faint smirk, though a hint of self-deprecation tugged at the corners of his lips. “Hard to believe now, huh? The big guy there used to be a nightmare on the battlefield. A wall of steel and fury. And me?” He gestured vaguely toward himself, his tone laced with dry humor. “I was just the fool pretending to lead them around.”

His voice trailed off, and Naomi noticed his hand tightening slightly around the edge of the bar. Before she could press further, he straightened and forced a lighter tone back into his voice.

“Anyway, we retired from that life and built this place. Like Bjorn said—somewhere quiet, where folks like us could catch their breath.”

Naomi studied him for a moment, sensing there was more to the story than he was letting on. But something in his expression told her not to push—at least not yet. Instead, she nodded and offered a small smile.

“Well, I think you both did a great job. This place… it feels like home.”

Garrick’s eyes flicked to hers, and for a moment, the weight in his gaze lifted slightly. “That’s the point, lass,” he said softly. “That’s the point.”

Naomi had just finished her conversation with Garrick, still sitting at the bar with her glass of water. Shmee was by the hearth, happily chattering with a couple of adventurers. The room was alive with its usual hum of laughter, clinking mugs, and the comforting crackle of the fire.

Then the door opened with a sharp burst of wind, the sound cutting through the lively atmosphere. A man strode inside, his posture straight and his pace purposeful despite the mud splattered on his boots and the weariness etched into his face. He was dressed in travel gear marked with the emblem of the Adventurers’ Concord—a messenger, professional and precise.

The room fell silent, heads turning as he stepped to the center, removing his hood to reveal a sharp-eyed young man with short-cropped dark hair and a stern expression. His voice carried clearly across the room as he called out, “A moment of your attention, please. I bring word from the Adventurers’ Concord.”

The quiet deepened as the adventurers, both seasoned and green, focused on him. Even the Black Blades leaned forward slightly, their drinks momentarily forgotten.

“A team has gone missing,” the runner announced. “The Dawnseekers were last seen entering the Shifting Hallows three days ago. As of now, they have not returned, nor have they reported back. The Concord has issued a bounty for their safe retrieval—or confirmation of their fate.”

A ripple of unease swept through the room, the name of the dungeon enough to cast a shadow over even the boldest faces. The Shifting Hallows was a name that demanded respect and caution.

“The bounty stands at 1,000 gold for their safe return, to be divided as agreed upon by the retrieving team,” the runner continued, his tone steady but urgent. “Details can be obtained from the Concord office in Redmarch. Any interested parties should report there immediately.”

Garrick, who had been leaning against the bar, straightened. His expression shifted, the casual humor from moments ago replaced by a grim focus. Bjorn stepped out from the kitchen, a towel still in his massive hand, his sharp blue eyes narrowing as he took in the announcement.

“What’s the Dawnseekers’ status?” Garrick asked, his voice calm but commanding enough to pull the runner’s attention immediately.

“They’re Platinum-ranked,” the runner replied, his tone crisp and respectful. “Highly experienced, but yesterday, as another team prepared to enter, the dungeon shifted again. It’s believed they’re either lost or trapped inside.”

Murmurs broke out among the adventurers, the weight of the situation settling over the room. Platinum teams going missing wasn’t unheard of, but it wasn’t common either—especially in a dungeon as notorious as the Shifting Hallows.

Naomi’s heart pounded as she listened, her eyes darting between Garrick and Bjorn. The inn felt heavier now, the usual warmth replaced by a growing tension. She glanced toward the Black Blades, who had gone silent, their expressions grim as they exchanged glances.

“Bjorn,” Garrick said, his tone sharper now. The towering man set down the towel and stepped closer to the bar, his presence commanding immediate attention.

“Shifting Hallows?” Bjorn rumbled, crossing his arms. “And Platinum-ranked? That’s bad business.”

Garrick nodded, his expression dark. “Very.”

Naomi tightened her grip on her glass, feeling the weight of the moment settle on her chest.

Naomi tightened her grip on her glass, the weight of the moment settling heavily on her chest. She didn’t fully understand what was happening, but the tension in the room was undeniable. This wasn’t like the everyday hustle and bustle of the inn—this was something far more urgent, far more dangerous. Whatever was coming next, she could feel its gravity hanging over the room like a storm cloud.

As soon as the Black Blades rose from their seats, their faces set with grim determination, the room burst into motion. Adventurers grabbed weapons, tightened straps on armor, and exchanged clipped, hurried words. It was a flurry of movement, a stark contrast to the usual boisterous atmosphere. Teams began filing out the door in quick succession, their expressions ranging from steely resolve to grim unease.

Bjorn remained still, leaning heavily against the bar, his eyes following the chaos with a dark intensity. Naomi glanced at him, then at Garrick, who stood rigid beside her, his gaze locked on the door. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked as though he might join the rush, the weight of some unspoken burden etched into his features.

Then Bjorn’s massive hand settled on Garrick’s shoulder, the weight of it seeming to pull him back from whatever edge he was teetering on. “Let it go, Garrick,” Bjorn said quietly, his deep voice steady but laced with a knowing sadness. “Let it go.”

Garrick didn’t respond at first. His scarred face remained hard, his fists clenched at his sides. Naomi could see the internal battle waging behind his sharp eyes, the conflict between his instinct to act and whatever held him back. Slowly, he let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

Bjorn’s grip didn’t waver. “Not our fight anymore,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “They’ve got enough teams out there. We built this place to leave that life behind, remember?”

Garrick exhaled through his nose, his lips pressing into a thin line. Finally, he gave a small, reluctant nod. “Aye,” he muttered, the word heavy with resignation. He reached for a bottle and poured himself a drink, downing it in one smooth motion before setting the glass back on the counter with a sharp clink.

Naomi sat in silence, watching the exchange. She felt the tension between the two men, the unspoken history that lingered just beneath the surface. She didn’t fully understand it, but she could see how much Garrick struggled with Bjorn’s words.

As the last few teams left the inn, the room fell into a hushed stillness. Bjorn finally released Garrick’s shoulder and turned back toward the bar, his broad frame moving with a quiet purpose. Garrick remained where he was, his hands gripping the edge of the counter, his eyes fixed on the empty doorway as if he could still see the teams disappearing into the distance.

Naomi hesitated, then spoke softly. “They’ll find them, right? The Dawnseekers?”

Garrick didn’t look at her, but his voice, low and steady, carried the weight of experience. “If they’re still alive… the blades and the rest will bring them back.”

Bjorn’s voice cut in, calm but resolute. “Aye. They’ll do what they can. That’s all anyone can do in this line of work.”

The room felt heavy with the echoes of what had just unfolded, and Naomi couldn’t shake the unease curling in her stomach. For the first time, she glimpsed the deeper shadows of the adventuring life—and the weight of the past that Bjorn and Garrick carried with them.

As the door swung shut behind the last group of adventurers, a heavy silence settled over the Hearthstone Haven. Naomi sat at the bar, her water forgotten as she watched Garrick. He hadn’t moved since Bjorn’s hand left his shoulder, his scarred face unreadable, but the tension in his posture was impossible to miss. His fingers flexed and curled around his empty glass, as though fighting an invisible battle with himself.

The lively, bustling energy that had filled the inn only moments ago was gone, replaced by a stillness that felt almost suffocating. Even Shmee, who rarely stopped fidgeting, sat quietly next to Naomi, his golden eyes darting nervously between her and Garrick.

Naomi hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on her chest. She wanted to say something, anything, to break the silence, but the words caught in her throat.

Shmee was the first to speak, his voice unusually subdued. "Nomis… maybe we shoulds—"

"Stay put," Garrick said sharply, cutting him off. His gravelly voice carried a harsh edge that made Shmee’s tail droop. He didn’t look at either of them, his eyes fixed on the door as if waiting for it to swing open again. Slowly, he reached for the bottle of amber liquid behind the bar, pouring himself another drink with practiced precision.

Naomi flinched as he tossed the drink back in one swift motion, the empty glass hitting the counter with a dull thud. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the counter, his broad shoulders rising and falling in slow, measured breaths.

“Garrick,” Naomi ventured softly, her voice hesitant but filled with concern. “Are you okay?”

He let out a low, humorless chuckle, shaking his head as he set the glass down with more force than necessary. “Am I okay?” he echoed, his tone bitter. “Lassie, you don’t get to do what I’ve done and come out okay.”

His words hit her like a stone to the chest. Naomi swallowed hard, unsure what to say. Before she could muster a response, Garrick spoke again, his voice quieter this time, though no less heavy.

“You don’t stop caring,” he said, his gaze distant, as if he were looking through the bar and into something far away. “You don’t stop seeing their faces… hearing their screams… feeling the blood on your hands. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been out. It stays with you.”

The room felt smaller, as though his words had pulled the walls closer. Naomi’s fingers curled around the edge of the bar as she searched his face for something—anything—that might help her understand the weight he carried. But his expression was like stone, a mask forged through years of pain and loss.

Naomi wanted to ask more, to dig deeper into the stories he clearly wasn’t telling, but she could see the storm brewing behind his dark eyes. She knew better than to push. Instead, she reached for her glass of water, taking a small sip to steady herself.

Finally, Garrick sighed, running a hand through his scruffy hair. “This place, this life…” He gestured vaguely around the room. “It’s supposed to be quiet. A place to breathe, to forget. But then something like this happens, and it’s like it all comes rushing back.”

Naomi hesitated, then said softly, “You’ve done your part, Garrick. You’ve built something good here.”

He let out another humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Have I, though? Seems like all I’ve done is run. Run from the things I can’t change.”

Bjorn’s voice rumbled from the doorway behind the bar, startling Naomi. “You’ve done plenty, Garrick,” he said firmly, his icy blue eyes locking onto his friend. “You’ve given people a home. A place to feel safe. That’s more than most can say.”

Garrick turned to face him, his jaw tight, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he grabbed the bottle again, pouring himself another drink. He didn’t lift it right away, just stared at the amber liquid for a long moment before muttering, “Its my turn to say let it go, Bjorn. Just let it go.”

Bjorn’s broad shoulders sagged slightly, but he didn’t press further. He gave Naomi a small nod, his expression softening as he turned and walked back into the kitchen.

Naomi glanced at Shmee, who looked up at her with wide, uncertain eyes. She reached out, giving his small hand a reassuring squeeze. Shmee nodded, his tail twitching faintly.

As the minutes passed, the warmth of the Hearthstone Haven began to creep back in, but the shadows of the conversation lingered like a chill that refused to dissipate.

The night deepened, and the Hearthstone Haven grew quieter still. The earlier bustle of adventurers and patrons had dwindled to a faint murmur, the remaining voices softened as if out of respect for the gravity of the day. Garrick sat alone near the door, his chair angled slightly toward the entrance as though his presence alone could will the missing teams to walk through it. The bottle in his hand gleamed faintly in the firelight, its contents sloshing lightly as he lifted it for another swig.

His gaze was hard and distant, a soldier waiting for an enemy that wouldn’t come or an ally that might not return. The fire crackled gently, casting long shadows over his scarred face. He didn’t flinch or blink, his attention fixed on the door as though it might move of its own accord.

At the bar, Naomi finished her light meal, occasionally glancing toward Garrick. His stiff posture and the grim set of his jaw tugged at her thoughts, but she hesitated to approach. Something about his silence felt like a wall she shouldn’t cross. She turned her focus back to Bjorn, who was wiping down the bar with methodical care.

“Thank you for dinner, Bjorn,” Naomi said quietly, setting her empty plate and cup aside. “Can I help you with anything before I head up?”

Bjorn looked at her, his eyes softening with a faint smile. “Come on, lass,” he said, gesturing toward the kitchen. “We’ll finish up in here. Then it’s off to bed with you.”

Naomi nodded and followed him, stepping into the warm, familiar space of the kitchen. Together, they moved in companionable silence, scrubbing dishes, wiping counters, and putting away the last of the utensils. Bjorn hummed softly as he worked, a low, soothing tune that reminded Naomi of something distant and comforting. She found herself humming along before she realized it, the simple rhythm of the melody easing the tension in her shoulders.

As she stacked the last plate, Naomi leaned against the counter, stretching her back with a soft sigh. “It’s been a long day,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Bjorn turned to her, wiping his hands on a towel. “Aye,” he agreed, his deep voice low and steady. “Days like this make you appreciate the quiet ones, though.”

Naomi glanced toward the door leading back to the main room. “Is Garrick going to be okay?”

Bjorn’s blue eyes followed her gaze, and his expression grew thoughtful. “He’s got his demons, lass. Days like this… they stir up the past.” He stepped closer, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Let him be. He’ll face ‘em when he’s ready.”

Naomi nodded reluctantly, her worry lingering like a faint ache in her chest. “Goodnight, Bjorn,” she said softly.

“Goodnight, lass,” Bjorn replied, his voice warm and reassuring. “Get some rest.”

Naomi climbed the creaking stairs to her room, the faint glow of lanterns casting long, flickering shadows against the walls. Pushing open her door, she found Shmee curled up in his small bed in the corner. His little form was bundled tightly under the blanket, his tail twitching in his sleep. He muttered something unintelligible, his claws lightly gripping the edge of the fabric.

Naomi smiled faintly, her earlier tension easing at the sight. She crossed the room quietly, pulling back the covers on her own bed and sliding beneath them. The mattress creaked softly as she settled in, her body finally relaxing after the long day. The faint sound of Shmee’s soft snores filled the room, a comforting rhythm that lulled her closer to sleep.

As her eyes closed, flashes of the day flickered in her mind—Quillix’s sneering face, the runner’s urgent announcement, and Garrick’s haunted expression. She tried to push them away, focusing instead on the warmth of her blanket and the steady sound of Shmee’s breathing. Slowly, exhaustion overcame her, and she drifted into a restless sleep.

Downstairs, Garrick remained in his chair, his grip firm on the bottle as he stared unflinchingly at the door. The fire burned low in the hearth, casting faint orange light across the room. Every creak of the wood, every gust of wind rattling the windows, drew his attention. The quiet weight of the inn settled around him, but Garrick didn’t move. He sat like a sentinel, watching and waiting for something only he could see.

Naomi shivered as her bare feet touched the cool wooden floor. The thought of stepping outside without proper shoes made her grimace. She crouched by the small corner near her bed, reaching for her boots. Her fingers brushed against the worn leather, and she quickly slid them on, tightening the laces with practiced efficiency.

She paused, glancing toward Shmee’s small bed. The kobold let out a soft snuffle, his tail twitching slightly, but he didn’t stir. Naomi exhaled quietly, relieved she hadn’t disturbed him, before standing and grabbing her thin cloak from the chair. She draped it over her shoulders, tying the strings loosely at her neck.

The door creaked faintly as she opened it, and Naomi winced at the sound, hesitating for a moment before stepping into the hallway. The dim light from a single lantern near the stairwell cast long shadows, and the stillness of the inn seemed almost unnatural after the liveliness of earlier.

Naomi shivered as her bare feet touched the cool wooden floor. Grimacing at the thought of stepping outside without proper shoes, she crouched near her bed and grabbed her boots. Sliding them on, she laced them quickly, her movements quiet and deliberate.

She glanced toward Shmee’s bed. The kobold let out a soft snuffle, his tail twitching slightly, but he remained fast asleep. Naomi breathed a quiet sigh of relief, grabbed her thin cloak from the chair, and draped it over her shoulders. Tying the strings loosely at her neck, she crept to the door.

The hinges creaked softly as she opened it, and Naomi winced at the sound. The hallway was dim, lit faintly by a single lantern near the stairs. Shadows stretched long and thin along the walls, and the stillness of the inn felt heavier than usual.

Halfway down the stairs, a sudden yell shattered the quiet. “No!”

Naomi hesitated, her hand trembling as she reached out to steady herself against the banister. Her instincts screamed at her to go back upstairs, to wake Bjorn or anyone else. But something in the faint groan from the figure stirred her resolve. Slowly, cautiously, she took another step forward.

The dying embers cast flickering shadows across the room, making the shape on the floor seem larger and more ominous. Naomi’s breath came in shallow gasps as she forced herself to move closer, her boots whispering against the wooden planks.

“You’ve got this,” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. Each step felt heavier than the last, but she pushed forward, her determination outweighing the fear building in her chest. The closer she got, the clearer the figure became.

It wasn’t until she was just a few feet away that she finally saw his face. Her heart sank.

“Garrick…” she breathed.

He was sprawled on his side, his broad shoulders heaving with uneven breaths. His face was twisted in agony, a deep furrow etched between his brows. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his lips moved soundlessly, as if caught in a desperate plea. Naomi froze, watching as he twitched and muttered something unintelligible. His hand clenched and unclenched against the floor, like he was grasping for something—or someone.

Her mind raced. It wasn’t just a nightmare—it was like he was reliving something. Something awful. Naomi knelt down slowly, unsure if she should wake him or leave him be. “Garrick?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Another faint groan escaped him, and his body jerked suddenly, making Naomi flinch. His lips parted, the word “Run…” escaping in a broken whisper. It sent a chill down her spine.

Naomi crouched beside him, her pulse roaring in her ears. The dim light from the hearth threw shifting shadows across Garrick’s face, accentuating the deep lines of anguish etched into his features. His jaw was clenched tightly, a muscle twitching there as his lips moved without sound, his breath coming in uneven gasps. Sweat dampened his scruffy hair, and his hands clawed at the floor as if trying to grasp onto something just out of reach.

Her gaze darted to his fingers, flexing and tightening against the wood, his knuckles whitening with the effort. It was as though he was fighting something invisible—something inescapable. His body shuddered, his chest rising and falling in erratic bursts, and then the whisper came again, hoarse and broken: “Run…”

The word hit her like a cold wind, and her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t just a word—it was a plea. Desperate. Pained. Naomi’s stomach twisted as she realized he wasn’t simply dreaming; he was trapped in something far worse, something haunting and real to him.

She swallowed hard, her hand hovering uncertainly over his shoulder. She didn’t know if touching him would help or make things worse, but leaving him like this felt unbearable. Her fingers hesitated, trembling as she inched closer, her voice a hushed murmur. “Garrick? Can you hear me?”

There was no response. His face contorted further, his brows knitting together as he let out a low, guttural groan. Naomi flinched but didn’t move away, her gaze fixed on him as she tried to gather the courage to do something—anything—to help.

In the flickering glow of the dying fire, she could see more clearly the toll this was taking on him. His rugged face, usually so composed even in his gruffness, was now raw with torment. Lines she hadn’t noticed before seemed etched deeper into his skin, as if the weight of whatever haunted him was carving its mark anew.

She drew in a shaky breath, her own fear threatening to overtake her, and whispered again, softer this time, almost pleading. “Garrick…”

For a moment, it seemed as if her voice might break through the barrier trapping him, but his body tensed sharply, his hand slamming against the floor with a dull thud as he muttered something incoherent. Naomi’s heart raced as she stared at him, the overwhelming helplessness of the moment pressing down on her.

Naomi hesitated for a moment, then carefully slid her hands under Garrick’s head, his hair damp with sweat. His face twitched slightly, but he didn’t wake. Gently, she lifted his head just enough to slide a pillow underneath, doing her best not to disturb him. His breathing remained shallow and uneven, and Naomi felt a pang of worry as she draped a blanket over him, tucking it lightly around his broad shoulders.

She wrung out the cool cloth and dabbed it softly against his forehead, brushing it over his flushed face. His skin was warm to the touch, and she worked quietly, soothing him as best as she could. Each time his brow furrowed or he murmured something under his breath, she paused, letting the silence settle before continuing.

When she was done, Naomi leaned back on her heels, letting out a quiet sigh. She glanced toward the darkened staircase, knowing that even if she went back to bed, sleep wouldn’t come easily. Her mind was too restless, too full of thoughts of what she had just seen.

Instead, she grabbed one of the extra pillows and blankets she’d brought out and made herself a small spot on the floor a few feet away. Pulling the blanket around her shoulders, she sat cross-legged on the pillow, her gaze fixed on Garrick. The firelight cast long shadows across the room, flickering over his still frame as she kept watch.

Naomi didn’t know what had haunted him in his sleep, but it was clear whatever it was ran deep. Sitting there in the quiet, she resolved to stay, her presence a small comfort—even if he didn’t know she was there.

Naomi sat quietly for what felt like hours, her gaze fixed on Garrick as she occasionally reached out to dab the cool cloth across his face. His breathing had evened out slightly, though his brow still creased now and then, as if the nightmares lingered just beneath the surface. The crackle of the dying hearth and the faint ticking of the inn’s clock were the only sounds filling the stillness.

Then, faint but distinct, she heard heavy footsteps coming from upstairs. Naomi looked toward the stairwell, her body tensing instinctively. A dark shape emerged from the shadows, and as the figure descended, she quickly recognized the unmistakable bulk of Bjorn. Even in the low light, he was an imposing sight, his broad shoulders shadowing the staircase and his movements deliberate.

He didn’t say a word as he approached. His icy blue eyes swept over the scene—Garrick’s slumped form on the floor, the blanket draped over him, and Naomi perched on her blanket nearby. Bjorn exhaled through his nose, a soft, knowing sound, and made his way over.

With surprising care for a man his size, Bjorn found a spot on the wall next to Naomi. Without ceremony, he slid his massive frame down until he sat beside her, his back against the wooden wall. To Naomi, it almost seemed like he was still towering over her, even seated, his knees drawn up and his hands resting loosely on them.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment. The silence hung between them, not awkward but heavy with unspoken understanding. Bjorn’s gaze settled on Garrick, his expression unreadable. Naomi, her blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He looked tired, though whether it was from lack of sleep or something deeper, she couldn’t tell.

Finally, Naomi returned her attention to Garrick, absently running the cloth over his forehead once more. Beside her, Bjorn remained still, as if waiting—for what, she wasn’t sure.

Finally, Naomi returned her attention to Garrick, absently running the cloth over his forehead once more. Beside her, Bjorn remained still, as if waiting—for what, she wasn’t sure.

Then, at last, Bjorn spoke. His voice rumbled low, steady, yet somehow louder than the quiet room called for. Naomi wasn’t sure if the man could whisper—or if he’d ever bothered trying—but he spoke as though they were the only two souls in the inn.

“I used to do this too,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on Garrick’s slumped form. “I’d sit wherever he’d collapsed and watch him… just like you’re doing now.”

Naomi’s brow furrowed as she glanced up at the massive figure beside her. Bjorn’s expression was distant, shadowed by something she couldn’t name.

“It’s been some time since it’s been this bad,” Bjorn continued, his tone carrying a weight Naomi hadn’t heard from him before. “The nightmares are constant. That’s why we put wards on every room—ones for silence.”

Naomi blinked, turning back to Garrick as she absorbed his words. “I was wondering why I could never hear anything outside my room,” she muttered, her voice soft but thoughtful. She didn’t take her eyes off Garrick.

Bjorn let out a low sound, somewhere between a grunt and an acknowledgment. “That would be why. Most nights… he has nightmares.”

Naomi hesitated, then glanced back at Bjorn’s broad form, his presence a mountain of quiet strength beside her. “Do you?” she asked cautiously.

Bjorn’s blue eyes shifted toward her, sharp and yet calm all at once. He paused, as though considering his answer, before his shoulders rose and fell with a slow sigh. “Once in a while,” he admitted. “War, death, battle, and loss—they’re different for each person, lass. Everyone carries their demons in their own way.” His gaze wandered back to Garrick. “Maybe mine… mine was a passion for cooking.” His mouth twisted into a humorless smile. “Garrick’s? The drink.”

Naomi frowned, clutching the damp cloth in her hands. “But why…? Why is it worse for him?”

Bjorn’s face hardened, though not in anger—something closer to regret. “Because I don’t carry the guilt of the dead,” he said simply. “Garrick does.”

Her heart sank at those words, her voice almost a whisper. “What… what does that mean?”

Bjorn’s jaw shifted as if grinding through thoughts better left unspoken. Finally, he sighed again, long and heavy. “I was there, yes,” he said, his voice low, his tone careful. “But… it’s not my story to tell, lass.” His eyes softened ever so slightly, that distant weight still present. “It’s a hard story,” he finished quietly, the regret in his voice lingering in the air like smoke.

Naomi looked back at Garrick, her chest tight, the silence between them feeling heavier than before.

"But why is he killing himself like this?" Naomi murmured, her voice heavy with frustration and sadness as she stared at Garrick’s face, still pale in the dim light. “He’s a good man. You both are. Everyone has nightmares about what they’ve seen…”

Bjorn’s eyes shifted to her, his expression unreadable. After a long pause, he spoke, his tone slow and deliberate, like each word weighed something heavy. “The saga-speakers of my clan used to have a saying for that,” he rumbled. “Everyone has nightmares, but only those who are ashamed of what they have done.”

Naomi’s brow furrowed, her fingers tightening slightly around the damp cloth as she let those words sink in. She looked up at him, her voice softer now. “So… he’s ashamed of something? Something that happened when he was the leader of your team, then?”

Bjorn’s gaze dropped to the floor, and he didn’t answer immediately. The silence stretched between them, the only sound the faint crackling of the dying embers in the hearth. Finally, he let out a quiet sigh.

“All I’ll tell you, lass, is that he blames himself. If the others were alive, they wouldn’t blame him. But he can’t see that.” Bjorn paused, his voice quieter than Naomi had ever heard it. “When you look at him, what do you see, child?”

Naomi hesitated, her gaze flickering to Garrick’s worn, sweat-dampened face. “I see…” She faltered, fidgeting with the cloth in her hands. “Um… a good person who’s struggling.”

Bjorn grunted softly, shaking his head. “Aye, but be honest. It’s you and me here. What do you see?”

Naomi swallowed, reluctant to say it out loud, but Bjorn’s steady, expectant gaze didn’t let her off the hook. She glanced back at Garrick, her voice small. “I see… someone drowning themselves in alcohol. A drunk.”

Bjorn nodded, his expression soft with understanding but firm with truth. “Aye. And there’s the rub, lass. Now look at me.”

Naomi turned her head up, her eyes meeting his. In the dim light, Bjorn looked even larger—his massive frame looming, his features etched with an old, quiet wisdom.

“Can you believe,” Bjorn continued, his tone growing lighter, “that the first time we met, we fought? And Garrick here”—he jerked his chin toward the sleeping man—“beat the bloody hells out of me.”

Naomi’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

Bjorn’s deep chuckle rumbled like boulders grinding together, the sound a strange comfort in the stillness of the room. “Aye. Beat me like a pup.”

Her surprise brought a faint smile to her lips, but it quickly faded as she looked back at Garrick. “But why?”

Bjorn leaned back slightly against the wall, his smile faint but genuine. “Because I gave him no choice.”

Bjorn’s voice softened, the deep rumble of his words carrying an almost reverent weight. “But he was the man who saw the best in everyone. He could’ve killed me, and by clan rights—and even civilized law—he would’ve been within his rights.” He shook his head slowly, the regret heavy in his tone. “But he decided to spare me… and give me purpose.”

Naomi frowned slightly, watching the way Bjorn’s gaze turned distant, as if he were seeing something far away—something long past but still vivid in his mind.

“I had challenged my chieftain for leadership,” Bjorn continued, his voice low but steady. “Thought I knew better than him. Thought I was better than him. I was a fool.” He paused, his broad shoulders rising and falling in a slow, measured breath. “And I lost. By clan law, I was banished—left with nothing but my pride and a blade. I wandered the north, looking for a noble death to appease my ancestors. Battle after battle, fight after fight… no man or beast could best me.”

He tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into the faintest of smiles. “Until I found Garrick.”

Naomi’s eyes widened, the weight of his words settling in. “And he beat you?”

Bjorn let out a low, gravelly chuckle, but there was no bitterness in it—only admiration. “Aye. I challenged him, gave him no way out of it. I wanted the fight. No—demanded it. And I lost. By all rights, he should have killed me. But somehow…” His gaze shifted to Garrick, still motionless on the floor, his features softer in sleep than Naomi had ever seen. “Somehow, Garrick saw the truth of my character before I ever did.”

Bjorn leaned his head back against the wall, his tone quieter now, tinged with a distant fondness. “He offered me a place in his company. He said, ‘No man looking for death should carry that burden alone.’” Bjorn’s blue eyes met Naomi’s, calm and steady despite the weight of his story. “And so, I stayed. He gave me a purpose when I’d lost all my own.”

The room fell silent for a long moment, save for the faint crackling of the dying fire. Naomi stared at Garrick, then back at Bjorn, her heart heavy yet warmed by the bond these men clearly shared.

“He saw something in you,” she said softly.

“Aye,” Bjorn murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I owe him a debt no coin could ever pay.”

Bjorn nodded slowly, the faintest hint of a sad smile tugging at his lips. “Aye, lass, I know the feeling.”

Naomi jumped slightly as Garrick let out another tortured scream, his voice raw and filled with anguish. “RUN!” he bellowed into the void of his dreams, the sound echoing through the quiet common room.

Bjorn didn’t move, didn’t flinch. He only watched Garrick with a deep sadness, his large hands resting heavily on his knees, his blue eyes carrying years of unspoken grief.

“The point is, lass…” Bjorn muttered finally, his voice low and steady, though weighted with sorrow. “He blames himself for somethin’ no one could have foreseen. And this…” He gestured at Garrick, lying twisted and soaked in sweat. “This is the cost of guilt.”

Naomi swallowed, her gaze shifting back to Garrick’s tormented face. The weight of the moment pressed into her chest, making it harder to breathe.

Bjorn continued, his voice rough but even. “You saw him earlier, when the runner came callin’ about the missing team. He was itchin’ to don his gear again. To charge into that gods-forsaken dungeon himself and face whatever nightmare might be waitin’. Not that he could now… but he’d try.” Bjorn shook his head, his tone quieter now. “That’s who he is. Always was.”

He turned slightly to look at her, his piercing blue eyes softened by a quiet gratitude. “I appreciate you watchin’ over him like this, lass. Truly, I do. But it isn’t your job. You’ve been through enough already. You should be gettin’ your rest.”

Naomi looked down at the damp cloth in her hands, her thoughts swirling like smoke in the firelight. “I know…” she admitted softly. “But… you and Garrick own this place, right? You didn’t have to take me in. You didn’t have to give me food or a bed or… or something close to a home.”

Bjorn tilted his head slightly, listening as she found her words.

“It’s not even that I feel like I owe you two—well, I do,” she added quickly, almost flustered, “but it’s more than that. I feel like…” She hesitated, the thought hard to articulate. “Like I need to be here. Like…”

Bjorn’s steady gaze held hers, and he finished the thought for her. “Like somethin’ greater than yourself brought you to this place. And somethin’ else woke you in the night and brought you to Garrick’s side—to witness his sufferin’ and to try and ease it.”

Naomi’s eyes widened slightly, the truth of his words settling like a stone in her chest. “Something… like that. Yeah.”

Bjorn nodded slowly, as if he’d heard this sort of thing before, his expression calm but thoughtful. “The world’s got a way of pullin’ people where they’re needed, lass. Whether we realize it or not.” He leaned his head back against the wall with a quiet sigh. “But don’t go shouldering more weight than you can bear. Not on our account.”

Naomi looked back at Garrick, her voice soft. “I just… want to help.”

Bjorn’s lips twitched into the faintest smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “And that’s what makes you good, lass. But there’s only so much any of us can do.”

The room fell quiet again, the low crackle of the embers filling the space between their words. Naomi stayed where she was, dabbing Garrick’s forehead every so often, her resolve solidified in her chest.

And Bjorn, watching her in silence, knew better than to tell her otherwise.

Bjorn slowly stood, the sound of his knees popping like tree trunks snapping in the quiet room. The sheer size of him as he rose made Naomi feel even smaller in comparison. He grunted softly, stretching his broad shoulders before glancing down at her.

“Where are you going?” Naomi asked, keeping her voice low but curious.

Bjorn’s lips twitched into a faint smirk as he gestured to himself with a sweep of his large hand. “I can see Garrick’s in the best hands in the inn,” he said, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. “I see no reason for us both to suffer on this floor.”

He took a step back, his joints creaking faintly as if protesting his movements. “Besides,” he added, his expression softening, “you’re far younger than I am. I’m sure you’ll handle these wooden floors better than these old bones.”

Naomi couldn’t help but smile faintly at his words, though she still watched him with a hint of uncertainty. “You sure?”

Bjorn nodded, his blue eyes warm but tired. “Aye, lass. You’re doin’ more than enough. Just keep an eye on him a little longer.”

With that, he turned and made his way toward the stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the room. Naomi watched him go, his massive frame disappearing into the shadows as he climbed. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, then looked back at Garrick, his features calmer now beneath the damp cloth she held.

“Looks like it’s just us for now,” she murmured quietly, settling back against her pillow and keeping watch over him.

A few hours passed, and Naomi fought against the pull of sleep. Her head would nod forward, her chin nearly touching her chest, before she’d jerk awake, forcing her eyes open again. The cycle repeated itself over and over, her body heavy with exhaustion. Each time Garrick cried out in his sleep, she startled a little less. The shouts had become a rhythm of their own—painful, but expected.

Just as she was finally drifting off, her head dipping forward one last time, Garrick jolted upright with a sharp gasp, as if he’d been dragged to the surface after drowning. Naomi startled awake, her heart pounding, the jolt of adrenaline snapping her out of her haze.

Garrick’s breaths came hard and fast, his chest rising and falling as he gripped the blanket tightly. His eyes darted around the room, wild and unfocused at first as he took in his surroundings. The dying hearthlight flickered, and his gaze fell on the pillow and blanket near him. Slowly, he turned and noticed Naomi, curled against the wall, her own blanket wrapped tightly around her.

“Garrick…” Naomi muttered quietly, unsure of what to say.

Garrick turned fully toward her, his breathing finally slowing as he met her gaze. He glanced again at the pillow under his head and the blanket draped over him. He gestured toward it with a faint wave of his hand. “This… this was you?” His voice was rough, the usual gravel of it softened by something tired and raw.

Naomi nodded slowly, her throat tight as she watched him.

Garrick held her gaze for a moment longer, then let out a long breath, nodding to himself. “Thanks, kid,” he muttered, the words almost sheepish. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to shake off the last remnants of the nightmare. “Been a while since I’ve passed out on the floor like some lightweight.” He forced out a short, humorless laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Naomi didn’t smile back. She just watched him, her heart aching for the man in front of her. He looked smaller now, hunched and weary, though his frame was still imposing. The weight he carried was written in every line of his face.

“Garrick…” she began softly.

He held up a hand, not looking at her as he shook his head. “No. Not now, Naomi.” His tone wasn’t harsh, but it was final. His hand dropped back into his lap, his gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance. “I’m in your debt for watching over me. Poor Bjorn used to sit there just like that, same look in his eyes.” He let out a tired chuckle, though it sounded more like a sigh. “But I’ve got nothing to say about it, other than that.”

Naomi bit her lip, her blanket bunched in her hands as she stared at him. She wanted to say something—anything—but the wall he’d built was solid. So instead, she nodded faintly, sinking back against the wall, letting the silence hang between them.

Garrick rubbed his temples, his shoulders slumped, the fight visibly drained from him. For now, it seemed, words were too much for him to bear.

“You should really be in your own bed getting some sleep, kid,” Garrick muttered, his tone gruff but not unkind.

Naomi shot him a half-grin, trying to lighten the mood. “As should you… old man.”

That earned a genuine laugh from Garrick—a rough, bark of a sound, but real. “Ha! Aye, I really should be.” He leaned back against the wall, his smile slipping into something faint and self-deprecating. “Damn foolish of me to get like this… passed out on the floor… like some bloody fool.” He let out a long sigh, shaking his head. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this, Naomi.”

Naomi opened her mouth to speak, but Garrick held up a hand again, his gaze softer this time. “No, let me finish. I know we haven’t spoken as much as you and Bjorn have since you got here, and that’s on me.” He paused, running a hand through his scruffy hair before meeting her gaze. “But the moment I saw you, I could tell the kind of person you are. Steady. Stubborn, sure what kid aint. But honest. Someone with… heart. Not many people have that around here anymore..”

Naomi blinked, her grin fading into something quieter, more thoughtful. “Thank you,” she said softly, unsure what else to say.

Garrick exhaled again, rubbing at his jaw. “Don’t let that change, alright? This world can break even the best of us, but it’s people like you who keep the rest of us steady. Even if you don’t know it.”

Naomi couldn’t hide the faint flush that rose to her cheeks, but she nodded firmly. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Garrick muttered, sinking back against the wall. “Now get some sleep. I’ll be alright.”

“Only if you promise the same,” Naomi shot back quickly, her half-grin returning.

Garrick huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re a cheeky one, I’ll give you that, kid.” He glanced toward the dying embers of the hearth, his face softening. “But… aye. I’ll try.”

As Naomi stood and started to gather her things, a familiar voice, calm and matter-of-fact, resonated within her thoughts again:

New Level Obtained: Caretaker, Level 2.

New Skill Obtained: Soothing Presence.

New Skill Obtained: Steadfast Resolve.

Naomi paused, a slight laugh escaping her lips.

“What’s funny, kid?” Garrick asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I leveled again. Caretaker, Level 2,” she said, trying to stifle a small grin.

Garrick looked at her, intrigued. “Huh. Never heard of that class before. Do you understand the levels and how they work?”

Naomi hesitated. “I mean, sort of. Shmee explained it to me. I leveled the second night I was here, but I kind of ignored it—I didn’t want everyone thinking I was crazy. Then the next morning, after… well, after we bought Shmee’s armor with your money,” she added with a sheepish smile, “he woke up talking about being a Scrapknight. That’s when he explained everything.”

“Interesting,” Garrick mused, leaning forward slightly. “You should speak with Lavina in town at some point. See if she can get her hands on a source book.”

“A source book?” Naomi tilted her head in confusion.

“Aye. It’s a book that explains your class and the skills you might have. Otherwise, most people have to figure out what they can do through trial and error. Tell her I’ll cover the cost of the book.”

“Garrick, you’ve already done more than enough for me,” Naomi said, shaking her head firmly.

“Nonsense,” Garrick said with a dismissive wave. “It’s just a book. One you’ll need if you’re going to understand your class and skills.”

Naomi’s resolve softened, and she gave him a small smile. “Alright, I’ll talk to her. Thank you, Garrick. Really.”

He simply nodded, leaning back against the wall again, his eyes drifting toward the fire. “You’re welcome, kid. Now, get some sleep. And don’t argue this time.”

Naomi chuckled softly and headed for the stairs, her heart feeling a little lighter despite the long night.

Naomi woke to the familiar smell of sausages and freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. For a moment, she stayed in bed, the events of the night before lingering in her mind. Garrick’s tormented screams, Bjorn’s quiet words of wisdom—it was all still fresh, like a shadow clinging to the edges of her thoughts.

She turned her head toward Shmee’s bed, only to find it empty. “Figures,” she muttered softly, shaking her head with a faint smile. Shmee never stayed in one place for long, especially after an uneventful night on his part.

Sliding out from under the blanket she hadn’t even returned to her own bed with, Naomi pulled on her boots and tied her cloak. Her movements were slower than usual, the exhaustion from the long night weighing on her shoulders. Still, she felt a sense of determination rising as she made her way to the door. She couldn’t afford to dwell too much on what had happened; there was work to do, and life at the inn moved quickly.

Descending the stairs, the rich smell of food and the faint clatter of kitchenware drew her into the warm light of the common room. The comforting hum of activity contrasted sharply with the stillness of the night before, and Naomi found herself breathing a little easier.

Bjorn stood at the stove, his broad back turned to her as he worked over several sizzling pans. The morning light from the windows glinted off his bald head and thick beard. The air smelled of spiced sausages, honeyed oats, and something faintly nutty—maybe bread fresh from the oven.

“Morning, lass,” Bjorn rumbled, glancing over his shoulder as she entered. His deep voice was gruff but carried a hint of warmth. “Coffee’s hot. Hope you’ve got a bit more energy than you look like you do.”

Naomi gave him a small, tired smile and moved toward the counter, where a fresh pot of coffee waited. She poured herself a mug, letting the rich warmth wake her senses. “Rough night,” she said softly.

Bjorn turned back to the stove, his movements smooth and deliberate. “Aye. But you handled it well. Better than most would’ve.”

Naomi took a sip of her coffee, the warmth spreading through her chest. “Thanks. Is Garrick—”

“Still out,” Bjorn interrupted gently. “Let him be for now. He’ll drag himself in eventually, same as always.”

Naomi nodded, falling into the familiar rhythm of the morning as she grabbed a knife and set to work slicing apples from the small pile on the counter. The buzz of the inn was beginning to pick up as guests started filtering in.

Naomi stood at the large stone sink, scrubbing the last of the morning rush’s dishes in a basin of lukewarm, soapy water. She worked with practiced ease, rinsing and stacking plates efficiently. Beside her, Shmee stood on a sturdy wooden stool, his tail flicking behind him as he wiped down the freshly cleaned plates and carefully placed them into neat stacks.

“Shmee thinks this is last one,” he said triumphantly, holding up a plate and inspecting it for stray spots. “Yes! Perfect! Better than Bjorn ever do, Shmee thinks.”

Naomi laughed softly, shaking her head. “Don’t let him hear you say that. He’ll make you clean the pots next time.”

Shmee gave an exaggerated shudder, his ears folding back dramatically. “No, no, no! Shmee will stay quiet. Bjorn pots are… scary.” He leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, “Like dungeon monsters. Big, heavy, and never clean.”

Naomi rolled her eyes, rinsing off the last pan. “You’re so dramatic, Shmee.”

“Not dramatic. Honest!” Shmee replied, puffing out his chest and wagging his finger at her. “But Shmee do good work. Dishes spotless!”

Naomi couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. She placed the last pot on the drying rack and stepped back, wiping her hands on her apron. “Well, that’s that. Morning rush is officially done.”

Shmee nodded vigorously. “Yes! Shmee deserve reward. Big slice of bread… with honey. And maybe nap after.”

“You deserve it,” Naomi said with a grin, untying her apron and folding it neatly. She glanced around the now-clean kitchen, satisfied with their work. The chaos of the morning had faded, leaving the space quiet and calm.

Just as she was about to leave, Bjorn poked his head through the doorway. “You two done in here?”

Naomi turned to face him. “All finished.”

Bjorn stepped into the kitchen, his imposing frame filling the doorway. He crossed his arms, giving her a small, approving nod. “Good. You’ve done more than enough for today, lass. I can tell yer dead on your feet.”

“I’m fine,” Naomi said quickly, though she stifled a yawn as if on cue.

Bjorn smirked knowingly. “Aye, fine as a three-legged goat.” He gestured to Shmee, who was climbing down from his stool with a self-satisfied grin. “Take after Shmee here for once and take a nap. You’ve earned it.”

Shmee beamed, wagging his tail. “Yes! Shmee very wise. Nap best plan. Naomi should listen to Shmee.”

Naomi sighed, untying her apron and hanging it on the hook. “Alright, alright. I’ll take a break.”

Bjorn nodded, his expression softening. “Good. Go rest, lass. Maggie’ll be in soon, and we’ve got the afternoon covered.”

Shmee scampered toward the pantry, calling over his shoulder, “Shmee go get bread now! You not see Shmee for long time. Nap very important.”

Naomi chuckled as he disappeared. She felt a flicker of relief as she glanced around the spotless kitchen, satisfied with their work. “Thanks, Bjorn,” she said quietly before stepping out of the kitchen to finally get some rest.

As Naomi stepped out of the kitchen, she spotted Garrick sitting at the bar instead of his usual spot behind it. His elbows rested on the counter, one hand cradling a steaming mug of coffee while the other nudged a glass of water.

“I’m bloody working on it, ya giant,” he muttered, glaring at the water as if it had personally offended him. He looked up and caught sight of Naomi. “Oh, hey, kid.”

“Hey yourself,” she replied, walking toward him. “How are you?”

“Right as rain,” Garrick said, raising the coffee mug with a faint smirk. “Whiskey breakfast.” He gestured at the glass of water with a sour look. “Bjorn said if I don’t drink this, he’s going to sit on me and force it down my throat. I think he would, too.”

Naomi chuckled. “I’m sure it couldn’t hurt.”

“Aye,” Garrick grunted, shaking his head before taking a reluctant sip from the water. “Well, off with ya. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“Thanks, Garrick,” she said warmly, heading toward the stairs.

Up in her room, she found Shmee already curled up on his bed, happily munching on a chunk of bread. His tail wagged lazily as he greeted her with a contented yawn.

Naomi smiled faintly but didn’t have the energy to talk. The day’s work had drained her completely. She walked over to her bed, shrugged off her cloak, and collapsed onto the blankets, letting sleep claim her almost instantly.

When Naomi woke, Shmee’s bed was empty, his blankets a rumpled mess with a few stray crumbs from his earlier snack scattered across the mattress. “He’s going to clean that” She muttered as she slowly sat up, stretching out the stiffness in her back. The sunlight streaming through the window cast long shadows across the floor, and she guessed it was mid-afternoon—likely around two or three.

Naomi sighed, running a hand through her hair as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She had no idea where Shmee had gone, though she wasn’t surprised. He always seemed to have a knack for disappearing and reappearing like an excited shadow. After slipping on her boots and tying her cloak loosely around her shoulders, she glanced around the room, realizing she didn’t have anything to occupy her time.

For a moment, she sat there, thinking about what to do. She had no books, no belongings aside from the few clothes she had, and Shmee—her usual source of entertainment—wasn’t around to chatter about kobold business. The idea of sitting idly for the rest of the afternoon made her chest itch with restlessness.

“Alright, this isn’t working,” she muttered to herself, standing and heading for the door.

As Naomi made her way downstairs, the soft hum of the common room greeted her. The crowd had thinned significantly since the morning rush, leaving the space quieter, though a few adventuring teams lingered over late lunches or exchanged murmured conversations. Bjorn stood behind the bar, a hulking figure methodically polishing a mug. Maggie weaved between tables with practiced ease, clearing plates and stopping to chat briefly with patrons.

Naomi paused near the bottom of the stairs, unsure of what to do. She didn’t exactly feel comfortable lounging in the corner like some of the adventurers, and she wasn’t keen on the idea of going back upstairs to stare at the ceiling. Her gaze drifted to Maggie, who was balancing a stack of plates on her hip as she leaned in to speak with a group of adventurers.

Making up her mind, Naomi approached the older woman, her boots clicking softly against the wooden floor.

“Hey, Maggie,” Naomi said, her voice breaking the quiet between them.

Maggie turned, her face brightening with a warm smile. “Afternoon, lass. How was your nap?”

“Good, I guess,” Naomi replied with a faint smile. “But now… I feel like I don’t have anything to do. Is there something I can help with?”

Maggie raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly. “You’ve already worked the morning rush. Bjorn said you were off for the day.”

“I know, but…” Naomi shrugged, glancing around the room. “I don’t really have anything else to do, and I’m not great at sitting still. I’d rather be useful.”

Maggie studied her for a moment before chuckling softly. “Well, if you’re offering, I’m not going to turn down the help. Follow me, lass. Let’s put that restless energy to good use.”

Naomi nodded, a small wave of relief washing over her as she followed Maggie toward the kitchen. At least now she wouldn’t have to spend the rest of the afternoon staring at the walls or pacing the common room.

Naomi followed Maggie into the kitchen, where the faint warmth from the hearth hung in the air. The countertops were mostly clear, save for a few stray utensils and a serving tray waiting to be put away. Maggie set the tray down and gestured toward a shelf of clean mugs.

“Why don’t you start by stacking those mugs over by the bar?” Maggie suggested. “After that, we can start prepping for the evening.”

Naomi nodded, lifting a couple of mugs and carrying them over. The kitchen was quieter than usual, with only the occasional soft clink of dishes breaking the silence. It was a peaceful sort of lull, the kind Naomi hadn’t realized she’d missed.

As she returned for another stack, Maggie broke the quiet. “So, how are you settling in here?”

Naomi tilted her head, considering the question. “It’s… nice. Different from home, obviously, but people have been kind.”

“Even Garrick?” Maggie asked

Naomi laughed softly. “He’s gruff, but yeah. He’s been nice in his own way.”

Maggie chuckled, folding the dish towel she’d been holding. “That’s Garrick for you. Rough around the edges, but solid where it counts. He likes his drink, but then again with everything he's been though, who could blame him? But he’s a good man.”

Naomi hesitated for a moment before speaking. “You’ve known him a long time, haven’t you?”

“Years,” Maggie said, leaning lightly against the counter. “I was running a small place outside Redmarch when Garrick and Bjorn wandered in looking for work. That was before this place, before they decided to settle down.”

Naomi stacked the last of the mugs, turning back to Maggie. “He must trust you a lot to have you running things.”

Maggie shrugged, though her smile softened. “He and Bjorn gave me a chance when I needed one. It’s a rare thing, finding people like that. But they saw potential when others didn’t.”

Naomi nodded thoughtfully. “That sounds like them.”

“Enough about me,” Maggie said, waving a hand. “What about you? Anything you’re missing from home?”

Naomi paused, the question tugging at something deep within her. She smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “A lot, I guess. But there’s not much I can do about it now.”

Maggie studied her for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Well, you’re here now, and you’re part of this place. If you ever need anything, you come to me, alright?”

“Thanks, Maggie,” Naomi said, her voice quiet but sincere.

“Alright, enough chit-chat,” Maggie said, clapping her hands. “Let’s get the prep done before the evening rush sneaks up on us.”

Naomi smiled and joined her, grateful for the distraction.

Naomi was wiping down the tables in the common room, humming softly to herself as she worked. The warm glow of the setting sun filtered through the windows, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. She stacked a few chairs to the side and straightened up just as the sound of heavy boots echoed from the hallway.

Bjorn entered first, his towering frame filling the doorway, followed by Garrick, who was carrying a mug of something steaming. They both paused at the sight of Naomi working.

Bjorn raised an eyebrow, his arms crossing over his broad chest. “Lass, what part of ‘off for the day’ did you not understand?”

Garrick leaned casually against the bar, smirking. “Shouldn’t you be outside or something? Playing in the dirt?”

Naomi turned to face them, her expression caught between amusement and exasperation. “I was bored, and I’ve got nothing else to do. Besides, I’m thirteen, not eight.”

Bjorn’s lips twitched into a grin as he shrugged. “Aye, that’s a fair point, child.”

Garrick chuckled, taking another sip from his mug. “Well, at least you’re keeping busy.”

Naomi smirked, turning back to finish the last of the tables.

Once the dinner crowd began to flood the common room, Maggie caught sight of Naomi wiping down yet another table. Hands on her hips, she marched over with a look that brooked no argument.

"Alright, lass," Maggie said firmly, crossing her arms. "That’s enough. You’re off for the day, and I mean it."

"But I don’t mind," Naomi protested, clutching the cloth she’d been using. "I like helping."

Maggie arched an eyebrow and pointed toward an empty table near the corner. "Sit. Now. No arguments."

Naomi opened her mouth to protest again, but the look Maggie gave her made her snap it shut. Reluctantly, she walked over and plopped into the chair, setting the cloth on the table. Before she could try to slip away, Maggie was already at her side, jotting something down on her notepad.

"And while you’re at it, you’re giving me a dinner order," Maggie added. "No use sitting here on an empty stomach."

Naomi sighed in defeat, glancing at the menu scribbled on the chalkboard behind the bar. "Fine... stew and bread, I guess."

Maggie nodded, jotting it down before turning her attention to Shmee, who had happily scrambled onto the chair next to Naomi, his tail swishing behind him.

"And what about you, Shmee?" Maggie asked with a knowing smile.

"Big meal for Shmee!" he declared, thumping the table lightly. "Meat pies, cheese, bread, and—more Mossbrew! Best drink for kobold!"

Maggie chuckled, jotting it down. "Coming right up, you little glutton."

As Maggie walked off, Naomi leaned back in her chair, giving Shmee a sideways glance. "How do you eat so much and still move that fast?"

"Kobold secret," Shmee replied, tapping his snout with a claw. "Always hungry, always ready for more!"

Naomi rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. She settled into her chair, finally letting herself relax as the sounds of laughter, clinking mugs, and Bjorn’s booming voice filled the room.

Naomi remained at her table, quietly observing the Black Blades. The room felt heavy, the silence punctuated only by the muted clink of glasses and the occasional scrape of a chair. Despite the weight in the air, something subtle shifted. The exhaustion etched into their faces seemed to soften just a little, their shoulders losing some of their rigidity. It was small, barely noticeable, but Naomi caught it.

Kellen sat back in his chair, his hand dropping from his temple as he exhaled a long, slow breath. Mira reached for her glass, sipping slowly, her sharp features a touch less strained. Torak muttered something under his breath, and for the first time since they’d entered, Sylva smirked faintly, though it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

Naomi frowned slightly. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she felt… lighter. Like the oppressive atmosphere wasn’t as suffocating as it had been moments ago. She glanced at Garrick, who stood behind the bar, his usual gruff demeanor seemingly softer as he wiped down a glass. Bjorn moved through the room, his presence steady as ever, delivering food to tables without his typical sharp-edged comments.

Maybe it was just her imagination.

She shook her head, dismissing the thought, and took a sip of her water. The warm glow of the hearth flickered across the room, casting long shadows that felt less ominous than they had when the adventurers first arrived.

Maggie approached the Black Blades with a small plate of bread and cheese. “On the house,” she said simply, her voice soft. They nodded their thanks, and Kellen offered her a small, grateful smile.

Naomi leaned back in her chair, still watching quietly. She felt the tension in her own shoulders ease, though she couldn’t explain why. Maybe it was just the quiet, or the comforting familiarity of the inn’s walls. Whatever it was, she stayed seated, letting the moment settle over her like a blanket.

Naomi pushed her plate aside, the weight of the room pressing down on her. The subdued atmosphere, the exhaustion etched into the faces of the adventurers, and Garrick’s grim expression all settled in her chest like a heavy stone. She looked to Shmee, who was sitting beside her, nursing another mug of his favorite kobold beer.

“I’m heading up,” she said softly, her voice barely carrying over the murmurs in the room. “I think I’ve had enough for today.”

Shmee turned to her, his golden eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “Shmee stays. Shmee will ask around. Finds out what happened. Shmee wants to know.”

Naomi gave him a small, tired smile, patting his arm gently. “Alright, Shmee. Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

“Never too late for Shmee!” he said, puffing up his chest dramatically. “Shmee knows all, hears all. Shmee very sneaky.”

Naomi chuckled faintly at his antics, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, standing and heading toward the stairs.

As she climbed the steps, the sounds of the inn grew softer, the muted voices and clinking mugs fading into the background. Her feet felt heavy with exhaustion, but her mind was still turning, the image of the Black Blades etched firmly in her thoughts. She couldn’t help but wonder what had happened—and why it left even them, some of the most confident people she’d ever met, looking so broken.

When she finally reached her room, she slipped inside quietly, her body aching for rest. Pulling off her boots and cloak, she crawled under the blankets, letting out a soft sigh as the silence of the room enveloped her.

But sleep didn’t come easily. Her mind lingered on the somber faces below, and for the first time since arriving at the Hearthstone Haven, she felt a faint chill of unease she couldn’t quite shake.