This dark corner of his mind—he knew it well. He had been here so many times in such a short period. Or had it been short? He wasn’t sure. How long had he been trapped in that dreamscape, that supposed heavenly realm?
What a stupid name for a place. Who came up with that, I wonder? Flickers of thought lit up in the dark, weak embers in the void. When he sunk through the portal, it felt as though he had been forced into a deep sleep again. Can’t believe someone like that even exists. She wouldn’t shut up. And then she tried to make me feel bad for her… and I fell for it. Like an idiot. A soft rumbling shook his subconscious. The darkness around him vibrated.
What now, damn it? His mind tensed. Is Nyve pulling me back? Is her god going to show me another horror? The rumbling grew clearer—rough, uneven. It rose and fell erratically, catching midway before starting again, as if something had blocked it.
Callahan wished hard—just let me go home. He was done with the antics, the adventure, the fairy realms and the dark prophecy of a dying god.
Another rumble. A hiccup in the rise.
Wait. That sound—he knew that sound. That awful, awful sound.
A light flickered far in the distance, cracking through the dark. The rumbling deepened. The light grew, flooding his senses. Scent hit next—alcohol, thick in the air. Bottles. Breath. Voices, laughter, familiar, and muffled, rising from below where he lay. The rumbling shook the walls of his mind, but it wasn’t fear clawing up his throat. It was irritation. His body ached as he blinked awake.
And then—Rowan.
Snoring.
A weak smile crossed Callahan’s lips. His voice barely broke through, hoarse but full of relief.
“Rowan… please, put a cork in it.”
The words came out haggard, scraping against his throat.
That burn—the one the mire left in his lungs—it was back. The pain that had been muted in Gwyndadoraoralaeolye had returned in full. Or… had he ever really been there? He wasn’t sure anymore. The more he thought about it, the more it felt like a dream.
Especially now, lying in his bed, the familiar sights of the bar loft surrounding him.
He was back at Kiki’s.
Not home. But the next best thing.
Rowan was still snoring, slumped in his chair—an uncomfortable pose, his head slunk back, one arm laying limp on the armrest. The sight was eerily familiar, like that dying god on his throne.
The room was a mess. Cups and bottles littered the space, ale spilled and dried in sticky pools. The air was thick with it. Rowan looked just as disheveled—his beard and hair unkempt, red whiskers dusted with crumbs. Callahan sat up, muscles straining, ribs tight. His first attempt to wake Rowan had failed, but that might have been a blessing in disguise. If Rowan woke up now, everyone in the bar would know Callahan was awake.
He wasn’t ready for that.
Callahan’s eyes swept over the room again, searching for any sign of how much time had passed. Clearly, it had been days. They were back in New Onoria.
His gaze landed on Rowan’s armor, dumped unceremoniously on the desk. Huge holes punctured through the steel—the aftermath of Callahan’s bind. Those Kraken limbs had torn through it completely.
His stomach twisted as he looked closer at Rowan. Anima burns marked his body where the armor and prayer wrappings had been ripped away. The sight made something sink in Callahan’s chest. It was his fault. He knew it wasn’t, not really—but the guilt came anyway, settling in like an unwelcome guest.
He might have sat with it longer, let it fester, but that struggle of a snoring session finally began to wind down. Rowan stirred. He was waking up.
He groaned.
Head lolling to the side as if his brain were still sloshing around in his skull. Whether it was the alcohol or the lingering toll of their fight with the wailers, Callahan couldn’t say. But eventually, he came to.
His bleary eyes landed on Callahan, unfocused at first—dazed, uncertain, like he wasn’t entirely sure what he was seeing.
“Cal?” His voice rasped, thick with sleep and liquor. He rubbed at his face, swiping away the exhaustion, clearing his vision—
Then it hit him. “You lazy bastard!” Rowan’s voice exploded through the loft, shaking the very walls. Joy, relief, and something dangerously close to panic colored every syllable.
“You’re finally awake—Godsdamn it, Cal, finally!”
He was out of his chair in an instant. The ground trembled beneath Callahan’s bed as Rowan stomped forward, voice rich with disbelief.
“Get in here, you little bastard! I can’t believe it—”
Before Callahan could react, Rowan had already closed the distance, ripping him right out of bed and into a crushing embrace.
“WAIT—” Too late.
Callahan disappeared under Rowan’s massive arms, completely swallowed by his brother’s overwhelming strength.
Callahan’s lungs, already battered from the mire, had enough trouble working on their own. Now, smothered under his brother’s crushing embrace, a morbid joke flickered through his mind.
After all that, this is how I’m going to die, isn’t it?
He shoved against Rowan’s bulk, squirming like a man drowning in a sea of red beard and muscle. “ROWAN, come on—I’m okay!”
Rowan let out a booming laugh, a sound thick with relief. “Oh, you better be! You drove me to drink, y’know!”
Finally freed, Callahan sucked in what breath he could, then shot Rowan a tired glare. His eyes rolled, unimpressed. “That’s the reason? Really?” His gaze flicked around the room, noting the mess—half-empty bottles, discarded armor, scattered crumbs. “Couldn’t even clean up after yourself, huh? Can’t believe Kiki hasn’t chewed you out.”
“Oh, she has,” Rowan admitted, grinning wide. “But she’s been real sweet on me lately. You should’ve seen her face when we dragged you through the door.”
He shuddered dramatically. “Reminded me of Ma, y’know? Like that time I told you to jump to me from the tree, and you fell and broke your arm? Yeah, that exact murderous glint was in her eye.”
For a moment, Rowan was lost in the memory, his expression soft with nostalgia. Then, just as quick, his excitement returned.
“Once the murder blew over, though? She’s been dotin’ on the two of us real good. And I told her I’d bring you down soon as you woke up, so get ready! You’re gonna be the star at Kiki’s bar tonight!”
Rowan’s head darted around the room, searching for something—anything—to throw over himself. A shirt, a robe, something. Wouldn’t do to stumble downstairs in just his pants.
Callahan groaned, already exhausted. “No, Rowan—no. I’m good. Maybe… maybe she can just come up to see me when the place dies down?”
Rowan blew a dismissive raspberry through his lips. “She told me she ain’t takin’ no for an answer this time, Cal. You’re comin’ down, sit with the boys! Have some fun! She said you don’t gotta drink if you don’t want to—hell, she even whipped up somethin’ without alcohol just for you! So get ready!”
He tossed some clothes at Callahan—the only clean ones in the room, it seemed. “You’re gonna look spiffy! Might be some girls in tonight too, gotta impress ‘em. We got stories to tell now!”
Callahan dressed himself, reluctantly. He knew he wasn’t getting out of it this time. Not that he’d never been down to the bar before, but he could hear it—prime time, packed to the brim, singing and shouting. He could even hear Kiki yelling at somebody, telling them to “put the Aurelan down.”
Every waking moment now, he seemed to be pushed into places he’d rather not be.
“Fine, but just an hour at most,” Callahan sighed, then added in a slightly more serious tone, “I gotta tell you something when the bar dies down.” He pulled the shirt over his head, and as his face popped through the collar, he saw Rowan already eager to head down the stairs into the bar’s kitchen. “We’ll have plenty of time to gab afterward, don’t you worry! It’s gonna be a fun night!” Rowan swept a hand toward the staircase, urging Callahan along.
“Just don’t drink yourself stupid, alright? It’s important.” Callahan stepped toward the door, eyeing his brother. Rowan met him with a nod, though the slight smirk on his lips made it clear—he was already mocking Callahan’s serious tone.
The smell from the kitchen was pleasant—far better than the stale musk Rowan had let build up in their room. Kiki was hard at work at the stove, her broad back turned to them, the heat of the fire casting a shimmer over her bronze-scaled skin. She was a massive woman, standing at least a foot taller than Rowan and even rounder in the belly. Her face, though covered in the same thick, lizard-like scales, had a softness to it—a warmth that bled through despite her imposing stature.
Her people, the Garruhm, were a rare sight in this part of the world—hardened warriors from the battle-scarred lands of Ryvakar. The largest known mire in history lay across their desert, barring passage across the channel to Vallara, where Onoria had been established.
Kiki was an oddity among her people—a stark contrast to her war-hungry brethren. She had no care for fighting, no love for war or old grudges. She’d only get violent if she really needed to, and in the bar business, that opportunity did arise from time to time.
“I hear two pairs of footsteps coming down those stairs,” her head jerked to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of the brothers behind her. Then, her eyes lit up. “Ooooh! He’s walkin’! Roarin’ Ruhmar!”
The ground shook beneath Callahan’s feet as the giant woman barreled toward him. Before he could react, she had him in her arms, sweeping him off the ground like he weighed nothing at all. “Oh, it’s so good to see you up and about!” she cooed, giving him a gentle squeeze—well, gentle for her. She spun him around the kitchen, Callahan once again at the mercy of a giant, a trend he wished would stop.
“Oh, I told your brother, “She continued, still whirling him about. “Told him I was gonna beat him to death if you didn’t wake up soon! How dare he put ya through that! And then what would your mother think? You boys—oh, you boys—if I was your mother, oh… oh.”
“I told you he’d be fine, Kiki,” Rowan chimed in, thoroughly enjoying the sight of Callahan being manhandled. “You worry too much! Cal’s scrappy!”
“Kiki, please… put me down,” Callahan managed to whisper, squeezed tight in her arms, his face burning with embarrassment.
Kiki smiled and set Callahan down, placing him back on his feet as gently as a feather. “Oh, look at you! Red in the face like an apple! Still too shy to get a hug from little ol’ me!”
Rowan stifled a laugh. “Ah, he likes it. Won’t admit it, though!”
“Still just a little out of sorts, Kiki,” Callahan cut in, speaking over his brother’s laughter. “Rowan already gave me a bit of a rough welcome back… but thank you.” He offered her a small smile—still shy about her abundant affection but never willing to admit it to her directly.
“Well, since you’re awake,” she turned toward the pantry, already grabbing handfuls of spices and ingredients, “and the bar is full…” She looked over her shoulder with a grin. “We’re gonna celebrate!”
It wasn’t just the drinks that kept the people of the Dregs crawling back to Kiki’s—she was an expert cook. Even with the poorest ingredients, she could whip up something that would set taste buds ablaze. She had a gift, a bind of her own, though it wasn’t made for war. With a flick of her tongue, she could bend the Accord anew, forcing even the most wretched meal to taste divine. A single grain of salt could season an entire dish, a rotten scrap of meat could taste like a fresh cut straight from the beast, still bleeding rare and ready for the fire.
Her bind had no real battle applications, its focus solely on food, on nourishing those who had little. It was a mercy, then, that she had been born on the Onorion side of the channel—where strength alone wasn’t the measure of a life’s worth.
"Alright, Cal!" Rowan’s hand rested on the door, the weight of his enthusiasm behind it. Just beyond, the tavern was alive with noise—raucous laughter, the heavy thud of tankards against wooden tables, the scrape of glass skidding along the bar counter. Beneath the din, the faint hum of music played, almost lost beneath the howling of voices. "Let’s go! Some Kraken Callers are out here—I told them stories, Cal. They didn’t believe me, though! You gotta tell them I’m no liar!"
These were the kinds of nights Callahan would do anything to avoid. But when he caught the look in Rowan’s eyes—pure excitement, the kind that was hard to say no to. And Kiki, all that work she put into making something special just for him. He’d feel worse refusing than he would being dragged into the thick of it.
With a heavy sigh, he braced himself. Tonight, for their sake, he would endure it.
The door swung open, and the bar was alive—packed shoulder to shoulder, every table filled, the counter lined with men waiting impatiently for their next drink. Before Callahan could even brace himself, Rowan shoved him forward, then clapped a heavy hand on his back.
“He’s awake, boys! Callahan lives!”
The roar of the tavern halted in an instant. Dozens of eyes snapped to him. The weight of their stares locked him in place. His breath hitched, his eyes stuck to the floor. I didn’t agree to this... stupid idiot, Rowan…
Then, just as quickly as the silence fell, the noise erupted again.
“GOOD MORNIN’ TO YA, CALLAHAN!”
A deafening chorus rang out, voices bellowing the phrase in unison—despite the fact that it had to be close to midnight. Callahan flinched, expecting the attention to linger, expecting them to watch him like a performer on stage. But just as soon as they’d welcomed him back to the world of the living, they were back to their drinks, their conversations, their laughter.
"See!" Rowan poked him in the back. "It’s not so bad being down here, right? It’s fun!"
Callahan didn’t dignify that with a response. He was already being dragged toward a table, resignation weighing on his shoulders.
Oh gods… maybe I should’ve stayed with Nyve.
There was a comfortable rounded booth, a large oaken table in the middle, the seats cushioned with leather. Rowan slid in first, dragging Callahan down beside him with an eager grin. Seated around the table were a handful of men, faces roughened by sea and salt, their voices thick with ale and easy laughter. Callahan didn’t recognize them, but he assumed they were crewmates of the Kraken Callers.
“Oy, Rowan, how’s it going? This yer brother?” One of them, a grizzled man with a lit pipe clenched between his teeth, leaned forward.
“In the flesh! Waking and breathing!” Rowan answered, his voice rich with excitement.
The man nodded. “Good to meet ya. Name’s Rick. First mate, just under Captain Galvos.” He exhaled a slow plume of smoke, eyeing Callahan with a flicker of interest. “Rowan’s been spinnin’ tall tales. Says you’re the reason he was able to bring back three wailers.”
His tone carried the weight of skepticism, and Callahan wasn’t sure if the man was testing him or simply calling Rowan a liar outright.
“They’re callin’ ya the Beast Binder,” another sailor chimed in, voice low with amusement. “Says you gave him the might of the Kraken!”
A third man, younger but just as weathered, elbowed the first. “Aye, you’re one of them ones that bind’em through yer eyes, ain’t ya? Those are rare.”
Callahan stiffened. He truly was the star of the table—whether he wanted to be or not.
He looked over at his brother, trying to piece it all together. He knew he had escaped thanks to Nyve, but three wailers? He hadn’t realized Rowan had managed that on the way out. How had he even gotten out of that wretched place?
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“Well… uh, yeah, I guess,” Callahan stammered, unsure how to explain it. “I, uh, read some things about it,” he continued, shifting in his seat under the weight of their curiosity. “I guess Rowan’s my focus? I can sort of turn him into things… just animals, really. Or have beast parts explode out of him.” The table lit up with intrigue, eyes gleaming in the dim light of the tavern.
“Well…” Rick took another slow puff of his pipe, a smirk curling through the smoke. “You really are somethin’ then, y’know.” He tapped the pipe against his knuckle, his grizzled face emerging from the swirling puffs. “Rowan was the only one to bag a wailer at all because of you. Those Onorion bolts they gave us? The ones meant to paralyze the bastards?” He let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “Damn blasted things didn’t even work.”
“Oh… yeah, I guess they didn’t.” Callahan felt an odd relief at hearing that. His missed shot on the first wailer stung a little less now—even if he’d hit, it wouldn’t have worked anyway.
The youngest sailor at the table leaned in, eyes alight with curiosity, practically shimmering like a child staring at a bag of sweets. “Can you show us?”
Callahan tensed. “Uh… I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” he muttered, shifting in his seat. His nerves were a tangled mess. “We were trying to keep it secret, mostly…”
“Oh, don’t worry about us!” The young sailor grinned. “You’re full crewmates now—we’d never tell. Or sell you out to those golden pricks.”
Smiles spread around the table. Even Rowan. Especially Rowan. He wanted this—he wanted Callahan to show off, He knew how great his little brother was, even if he didn’t know it himself, and now it was a prime chance, to show the world what he could do.
“Show us, show us!” The chant began, fists drumming against the table in rhythmic unison. Even Rick, the first mate, joined in on the childish ceremony, his grin hidden behind the curling smoke of his pipe.
Then, worst of all, Rowan raised his arm. “Come on, Cal,” he urged, flexing it like a fighter preparing for battle. “Show’em Cal, it’s amazing, let them see!”
“SHOW US! SHOW US!”
The pressure built. The walls of the tavern might as well have closed in on him. He couldn’t just ignore them and walk away…
His eyes shut for a moment, then snapped open, irises alight with an emerald glow. His vision locked onto Rowan’s arm, unwavering. He wasn’t about to bring the whole bar down like Rowan had in the amphitheater—just a small demonstration. A taste.
Rowan’s flesh began to ripple, as if something beneath it was pushing, stretching, bubbling up from the inside. His skin swelled, shifting like wax melting over fire. A faint crackle, almost like boiling fat, filled the air.
"Oy, doesn't it hurt, Rowan?" one of the sailors asked, half-disgusted, half-fascinated. "Looks like your flesh is melting off."
Rowan scoffed, flexing his fingers as his arm warped, tendons tightening into something more beast than man. "Oh, it's fine—tickles a bit. Never really hurts, though. Weirdest part is when he turns me fully into a beast. Harder to think!"
Another sailor, quick on the draw, grinned. "Oh, so not much different than usual for you, then!"
Laughter rippled across the table, though their eyes never left Rowan’s shifting arm.
At last, the transformation was complete. Rowan’s arm stretched out before them, now a long, sinuous tentacle, similar—but not quite the same—as the Kraken’s. The skin was sleek and taut, not slimy, but something eerily flexible, shifting with every motion. He twisted it, curled it, flexed his fingers—only now they weren’t fingers at all, but suckered appendages capable of grasping and constricting.
Rick’s eyes gleamed. He leaned forward, fascinated, as though he wanted to run straight to Galvos and confirm that Rowan's outlandish story was true.
Then, the floodgates burst open. The table erupted in questions, and soon others from around the bar were gathering, pressing in, their voices colliding in a chaotic chorus:
"Whoa, can you only do tentacles?"
"Ooooh, what about wings? Can you make him fly?"
"Oy, what about dragons, or harpies, or werewolves—do they count?"
"Can you do me next? I wanna be a gorilla!"
Callahan was smothered under their curiosity. He stammered, trying to piece together answers through the noise. "Uh… no, and um, yes? I don’t know—we never tried to fly… and uh, I’m not sure, I haven’t tried that, and no… it only works on Rowan…"
It was too much. Rowan saw it.
he had pushed this spectacle too far, and now Callahan was drowning under the weight of it. Rowan rose up in the booth, his voice booming over the din. "Alright, alright! No more questions! My brother needs a breather—back off!"
The crowd hesitated, then slowly dispersed—though the table still buzzed with barely-contained excitement, eyes locked onto Callahan like they were just waiting for their chance to ask more.
“You’re really something,” Rick muttered, sifting through his coat. A moment later, the unmistakable clink of coins rang out as he pulled free a large, heavy purse.
“Here. This is yours,” he said, slapping it down in front of Callahan. “We only give pay directly to our mates. Even if Rowan is your blood, we figure it’s more respectful to hand it over personally.”
Callahan hesitated, eyeing the bulging leather pouch in front of him. He swallowed. Too much had happened too quickly, and now this.
“Uh… thank you,” he managed, still winded from the attention earlier. “This is… a lot.”
He lifted the purse—the weight settled in his palm, thick and real. It was the good kind of heavy, rich with precious coins, the sound of clinking silver and gold confirming it. It was a big step forward.
Rick leaned back, arms crossed. “We’re gonna be landlocked for a while,” he admitted, voice darkening. “A lot of men died on Bimos because those damn bolts didn’t work as intended. Galvos is having a hell of a talk with the bastards who set up the job in the first place.”
Callahan’s grip on the purse tightened.
Then Rick cracked a grin, cutting through the weight of his own words. “But listen—you’re more than welcome back on the deck of the Kraken Caller.”
Callahan looked up.
Rick nodded, chuckling. “I know first-hand that Galvos was a little skeptical about you at first. But now that I know Rowan wasn’t just spinning tales… oh, well.” His grin widened. “Once the captain hears about this, he’s gonna be damn delighted.”
Rick pushed himself out from the booth, signaling to his crew with a tilt of his head. “I know you and your brother have been through hell. Plain to see you’re more of a solitary kind of guy, too. So I’ll let you have whatever quiet you can take—for now.”
He adjusted his coat, flashing a small, knowing grin. “We’ve got some work to do in the Dregs anyway.”
Then, a nod to both brothers. “It really has been a pleasure meetin’ ya, Callahan.”
Callahan swallowed, then forced the words out, a little too quickly. “Thank you!” His voice hitched, but he tried to make it sound confident.
Rick chuckled, seeming to notice but not making a big deal of it. He gave one last nod before squeezing through the crowd, his men doing their best to navigate the packed bar without knocking over any drinks.
Callahan slid down into the booth, inhaling and exhaling as deeply as his battered lungs would allow. The bar was still loud, packed, chaotic, but at least the attention had shifted elsewhere.
Across from him, Rowan looked like a man about to explode from joy. "We're Full-blown MONSTER HUNTERS now!" His voice boomed over the noise, but now nobody cared anymore, their show was over.
Callahan forced out a laugh, trying to match the excitement. "Yeah… we are! Hahaha…" Gods, if every job is like Bimos, I'd rather quit while we're ahead. There had to be better ways to make money.
Rowan saw right through him. The way Callahan gripped the table, the flicker of his eyes toward the stairs—he was dying to retreat. But Rowan wouldn't let him. This was good for him. Maybe not physically, but in the way that Callahan needed it most.
"Hey," Rowan grinned, leaning forward, "why don't you go get us some drinks? Remember? Kiki made something special just for you." He slapped a few coins down on the table—his own share of the pay.
"My treat, okay?" He nudged Callahan out of the booth.
And once again, Callahan found himself stepping into places he’d rather not be.
Callahan didn’t even bother arguing. Pushing back against Rowan was pointless. He could feel his brother’s eyes on his back, practically shoving him toward the bar.
For once, luck was on his side. Kiki was tending the counter herself, whatever she’d been cooking now left alone for the moment.
"Well, well, look at you! First time at the counter!" Kiki’s voice boomed with pride; her grin wide. "What can I get for you, big boy?"
Callahan hesitated. There was no escaping now.
"Come on, pull up a stool!" Kiki patted the counter, ever gentle with him.
"Thanks, Kiki," Callahan muttered, sliding onto the stool. "I, uh… don’t actually know what Rowan drinks… or what I should—"
Kiki cut him off with a wave. "Oh, Rowan drinks any old swill. His taste buds must’ve burned off long ago." She rolled her eyes fondly before leaning in. "But I know he says you don’t like alcohol, so I made something just for you. No need to worry about your order!"
She began mixing, stirring, shaking cups with expert ease. Callahan watched, entranced despite himself. She is damn good at this. A bartender, sure—but also a showman.
“Now don’t be shy because of the name, but I mixed it just for you! Have a lil sip of Callahan’s cure!”
Callahan’s face turned red at her words, Kiki why… I don’t want people using my name to order things… “ooh.. thank you so much, I don’t know what to say…” he hated this, but he wasn’t going to tell her to change the name. She chuckled as she poured the drink into a small glass, “Oh you’ll get over the embarrassment once you have a sip,” She gave him a knowing smirk “go on try it”
He took a good look at the liquid—creamy white with a fruity scent rising from the glass. A swirl of green rested on the surface, something gooey and unfamiliar, but it only added to the intrigue. He took a sip. The taste was soft and mellow, smooth on the tongue, but with a little ting—like something had playfully tapped the roof of his mouth as he savored it. His palate wasn’t refined enough to place the flavors exactly, but that didn’t matter. It was delicious.
“It’s so good!” The words left his lips before he could think twice, and Kiki’s face lit up with a smile.
“Well, of course it is! I’ve got a gift for this sort of thing, after all.”
Callahan reached for some money, sliding a few coins onto the counter, but Kiki didn’t take them. She simply pushed them back toward him.
“Not tonight. It’s on the house—at least for you, Callahan.”
“Oh, but this is Rowan’s money,” he admitted, glancing down at the coins.
Kiki’s hand snapped out, snatching them up with a grin. “Well, in that case, I will keep it. I’ll make sure to fill him up with the cheapest swill I’ve got.” She giggled in glee as she tucked the coins away, clearly pleased with herself.
Callahan savored the drink a little longer. Everything—the isle, the wailers, the bizarre fairy realm—it all felt like one extremely long day, stretched out beyond reason. Like he hadn’t had a single moment to shut off, to reset. From the moment they set foot on Bimos, he had been jumping from one bizarre trouble to the next, barely keeping pace.
But this… despite the noise, despite the crowded atmosphere, it was still normal. Any other day, he would’ve hated it. But slowly, he began to appreciate how nice it could be.
He sighed, a deep, relaxed breath into his cup. He wasn’t a drinker, but he sure had the demeanor of a sad one at the counter.
"Hey."
A voice called out from across the bar. A patron—one Callahan didn’t recognize—came closer, sliding onto the stool beside him.
"You’re Callahan, right?"
The man’s voice was thick, weighted with some drunken misery. Not slurred exactly, but like the words had trouble coming out.
"You probably don’t remember me. Never got to see your face. Only know you 'cause of that spectacle at the booth."
His hand slid something over the counter. A small object, hidden under his palm.
Callahan hesitated.
"Uh, yeah. I’m Callahan. Who are you?"
He looked the man over. Pointed ears. Scrawny, lithe build. Looked Aurelan. But Callahan had never known an Aurelan.
Then the man exhaled, shoulders slumping slightly.
"Yeah… hard to tell who’s who with those masks on."
A pause.
"I’m Ollie."
He lifted his hand, letting the silver catch Callahan’s eye.
Callahan blinked. Oh… that’s my pendant.
The boar pendant. The one his mother gave him. The one he didn’t even know he’d lost. His world had been upturned so much, it was a miracle that something so precious had found its way back to him—before he even had the chance to mourn losing it.
"How did you get this? I mean—thank you for returning it, I really appreciate it."
He took the pendant in his hand, fingers brushing over the silver. It was unmarked, untouched, the etching still crisp. The mire hadn’t left a single stain. The rope was new, though. Callahan slipped it back around his neck, letting it rest against his chest. He wouldn’t lose it again. Not this time.
"When I was dragging you out of that place, it caught my eye. Snapped off your neck, I think. Not sure."
Ollie motioned for a drink. He’d had enough already, but another slid over to him anyway.
Callahan's mind churned back to the cave, to the weight under his shoulders, the force that had lifted him from the muck. He had thought—at the time—that his soul was leaving his body.
"You dragged me out?" His voice came out small.
Ollie said nothing. Just took a sip of his drink.
"But… why? Why didn’t you run? Didn’t you hear all the wails? I mean—thank you. Thank you so much…"
Callahan stared at him, his pulse pounding in his throat.
Ollie was his hero.
But he didn’t look like one.
Misery clung to him, etched into his face like a scar that would never fade.
"It was nothing," Ollie muttered. "Didn’t want you boys to die down there."
He swirled the drink in his cup, eyes fixed on it like he was trying to will the world away. "Would’ve given your brother the pendant first, but… he was a bit out of sorts when you were unconscious."
The way he said it—out of sorts—it was clear he meant something more.
Ollie’s grip tightened on the cup. The whirlpool inside spun faster.
"Anyway, just wanted to say… thanks. The way Rowan tells it, the way you showed it—hell, you got us some kind of payday out of that disaster." He let out a hollow chuckle, shaking his head.
Then his voice cracked. Just for a second.
"And I guess… thank you. For hesitating. You know. You really didn’t want to leave me behind."
The words hung between them.
Callahan felt something tighten in his chest. He wasn’t good at this. He never knew the right thing to say. Joking felt wrong. Downplaying it felt worse. So he tried something in between.
"Oh, well—it was nothing. Really. Nothing compared to you dragging me out of that place."
He forced a smile, hoping it might ease some of the weight off Ollie’s shoulders. Probably won’t work, but worth a shot.
"Well, you know…" he scratched the back of his neck, trying not to sound too awkward, "we’re full crewmates now. So I guess we’ll be working together in the future."
Ollie didn’t say anything, just kept staring into his drink.
"The three of us—we made a good team last time, right?" Callahan gave a weak chuckle. "So… yeah. Hope to work with you again."
For a moment, Ollie didn’t react. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Aye… we'd make a good team."
Ollie forced a smile, but it was empty—his eyes told another story. Hollow, worn, dead with some unknown misery.
"That was my last mission with the Kraken Callers." He got up, stretching as if to shake off the weight in his voice. "But I'm glad you're filling in for me."
Callahan blinked. "Oh. Guess you made enough to go back home then?"
Most people working the dregs never stayed long. They made their money and left as soon as they could. It was rare to see anyone stick around.
Ollie hesitated. His hand tightened around his cup. Then, quietly—almost like he didn’t want to say it— "I'm going somewhere."
That was all.
"Gonna see my family again. It's been too long."
Before Callahan could ask anything else, Ollie turned and walked off—slipping into the crowd without another word. He was gone.
“Cal, where’s my drink!”
Rowan came bursting through the crowd, dropping into the seat Ollie had just vacated. He shifted slightly, then smirked. “Ooh, it’s warm,” he chuckled. “Took your sweet time, didn’t ya? Looks like you enjoyed Kiki’s special.”
Callahan barely registered his words. His mind was still trailing after Ollie, turning over that strange feeling Ollie had radiated off onto him. I’m going somewhere. Something about his tone, the way he said it, didn’t sit right, it gnawed at him in a way he couldn’t place.
“Cal? You there?”
Rowan waved a hand in front of his face, obnoxiously close. His arm had fully reverted, the bind long since broken now.
“Yeah, yeah,” Callahan muttered, blinking back to the present. “Like you said—just enjoying the drink.” Rowan let out a short laugh, patting him on the back. “Well, you did good tonight, Cal. Proud of you, brother.”
The bar remained lively for a while longer, the energy only dimming as the hours dragged on. Kiki had brought out a feast—porcine meats, roasted potatoes and carrots, a rich stew, even sweets. Chocolate, a rarity in this part of the city, was the crown jewel of the spread.
One by one, the dregs took their fill and trickled out into the night, leaving behind only bloated bellies and scattered mugs. Hour by hour, the bar emptied until, at last, only the three of them remained.
It had been a while since they’d shared a quiet moment like this. Rowan and Callahan helped Kiki clean up, as they always did when they weren’t off on a job. Once the place was tidied, they bid her goodnight and headed to their shared attic loft while Kiki locked up for the night.
At last, the noise had dulled to nothing. The bar was still. The city outside had settled. And now, with only his brother beside him, Callahan could finally talk about the thing that had been eating at him.
Rowan had already sprawled out on his bed, while Callahan sat upright on his own, the space between them split by a small bedside table.
“So, how did you manage?” Callahan asked, glancing at his brother. “I was told… well, that you brought the whole amphitheater down. How? There’s no way the bind didn’t break?”
Rowan cracked one eye open, looking entirely unbothered. “Eh, lasted longer than usual, I guess.” He stretched, completely unfazed by the oddity of his own statement.
Callahan frowned. His binds didn’t last long when he couldn’t keep his eyes on Rowan—so how had his brother done so much damage, escaped, and still managed to bag three wailers? The question nagged at him, but Rowan didn’t seem to care much about the specifics. He just liked breaking things.
“Who told ya the story anyway?” Rowan smirked, resting his hands behind his head. “I tell it best.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Callahan muttered, absently patting his bed, then the table beside him. “Huh.” A thought struck him like a jolt. The eye. Where did it go?
He remembered picking it up in Gwyndadoraoralaeolye—it had rolled into his foot. But was that even real? He wasn’t sure anymore.
“You know,” he continued, still searching the room, hoping to find it as he spoke, “I had this weird… dream, I guess. There was this little flying fairy girl. Annoyed me to no end.”
Rowan snorted. “Your dream woman.”
“Hardly… nightmare, honestly. You’d love her more than me.” Callahan’s hand brushed the floor beside his bed—nothing. Where could that silvery ball be? His brows furrowed. He had it, didn’t he?
“Yeah… she told me the place was called Gwyndadoraoralaeolye—some heavenly realm for her god, Lughren. Our god, apparently.” Callahan struggled with the name. Who in their right mind would name a place like that? He wondered if Nyve had even told him the truth, was that really the shortened version? There is no possible way it could be longer, he hoped.
“Quite the mouthful,” Rowan muttered, lazily flicking his nose as he fought off sleep. “Lughren’s our god, huh? Quiet one, ain’t he? Never had no prayers answered for us, have we?”
Callahan wasn’t paying full attention—he was still searching, his hands sweeping behind the dresser, under the cracked floorboards, along the windowsill. “Yeah… I told her as much. But eventually, I saw him.” He hesitated, his fingers pausing in their search. “He was horrid-looking, just sat there in this giant gray throne. His eyes were all black… spinning with lights.” His breath hitched. The memory clawed at his mind, but something—something unnatural—kept it from fully swallowing him. “He… he showed me the end… of everything, really.”
That got Rowan’s attention. The sleepiness drained from his face. “That ain’t your usual nightmare, is it?” His voice had lost its playful edge. He sat up a little straighter, watching his brother carefully. “Usually, it’s just that shadowy guy… you know.” He hesitated for a moment before finishing his thought.
“That night. With dad.”
It was a touchy subject. Rowan didn’t like bringing it up—he knew Callahan was haunted by nightmares of it.
“Yeah… no, you’re right. That’s the usual one…” Callahan muttered. He sat on the desk, pushing Rowan’s destroyed armor aside, the metal groaning under his hand. “Y’know the weirdest thing? At the end of all things—at least, the end of what Lughren showed me—that weird shadowy demon guy… he was there. Just like with dad.”
Callahan forced himself past the thought, pushing it aside before it could settle in his mind.
“Cal,” Rowan’s voice tensed, a hard-edge started creeping in, “Dad didn’t have no demon on him. All the things he did—those were his choices. I know you think you saw something, but…” His fingers clenched into a fist. “He was just a monster. All on his own.”
There was no room for doubt in Rowan’s voice, just a simmering anger Callahan knew wasn’t aimed at him. “I know, I know.” Callahan exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just… this was real, Rowan. I felt things in that dream—weird things. I saw horrible futures play out.”
Then, a thought flickered in his mind.
“You know how ma used to say her granddad had weird trinkets? And all those stories she’d tell—about fairies, strange gods?”
Callahan hesitated.
What am I even trying to convince Rowan of?
“…I don’t know. Maybe there’s something to it. Maybe we should try to contact Mom somehow.”
Rowan perked up at the idea of contacting their mother. It had been so long, and now they had the money—though it wouldn’t be cheap.
“You sure?” His voice was eager now, the anger from before melting away like it had never been there. “It’ll be a pretty penny.” He leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head, a wistful grin on his face. “Wonder how ol’ ma’s holding up. Brig too.”
Callahan nodded, his eyes still searching the room, sweeping from corner to corner. The eye—he still couldn’t find it.
“Yeah… it will be. But it could be worth it. Just to confirm some things, y’know?”
Rowan cracked a lazy smirk, breaking through any lingering tension.
“Gonna ask her about your fairy wife?”
Callahan let out a long, exasperated sigh. He could already feel Rowan’s shit-eating grin burning into him from across the room.
He was about to give up—maybe the eye was never with him to begin with. Maybe Gwyndadoraoralaeolye was just a dream.
But then, as he took a step away—There it was.
Rolling softly against his foot, just like at the heart of the lake.
“Oh… there you are.”
He bent down to pick it up, relieved—but before his fingers could even graze the metal—
A voice.
Mocking. Irritatingly familiar.
“Oh yes, my dear sweet Callahan—Here. I. Am.”