The caravan jolted to a halt, and the magical intercom buzzed to life, its tinny voice cutting through the din of settling passengers.

“We’ll be stopping here for inspection,” the caravan master announced. “This will take some time, so feel free to stretch your legs. But stay close—we’ll depart as soon as clearance is granted.”

The cabin erupted into murmurs as people began gathering their things. I felt the collective relief of cramped bodies eager to move. Trevor and Heinrich exchanged a knowing glance before heading for the exit without a word. Hexa’s voice chimed softly in my mind.

“Trevor is displaying elevated stress signals. Observe closely.”

Curious, I followed the two out into the bustling chaos of the border town. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and woodsmoke, mingled with the faint, acrid scent of sweat and desperation. The shanty-like structures clung to the edges of the guard post, their mismatched construction creating an uneven skyline of makeshift homes and stalls. People moved with purpose, but their faces were drawn, wary.

Trevor’s shoulders were unusually tense as he scanned the surroundings. I hesitated before stepping closer, keeping my tone light. “Why so on edge, Trevor?”

He jumped slightly and turned, glaring at me. “Brat, don’t sneak up on people like that. Ain’t polite.” His words were gruff, but there was no real anger behind them. He sighed, running a hand through his gray hair. “Look, kid, don’t go prying where you shouldn’t.”

I crossed my arms, refusing to back down. “You’re obviously worried about something.”

Trevor huffed, his lips pressing into a thin line before he finally gave in. “Fine. You see those guards?” He nodded toward the post’s walls, where soldiers stood at full attention, their eyes sharp and weapons ready. The air around them seemed charged, as if they were waiting for something to happen.

“They’re acting like the gods themselves are about to come stomping through here,” Trevor continued. “My bet is they haven’t been raided recently. That makes them a target, and us being here complicates things. More people gathered means a bigger ranking in the halls for any raiders groups looking to earn Favor.”

I glanced at the guards, their presence radiating barely-contained tension. It wasn’t just the soldiers. The entire settlement seemed to be holding its breath, the weight of the potential raid pressing down on everyone. The sprawling border town was nothing like the capital of Ash, and even less like Valda-Ashdock. The ramshackle buildings and bustling streets mirrored something closer to the chaotic energy of the Festival of Sin—a far cry from the structured order I’d once considered normal.

Trevor and Heinrich moved purposefully through the mud-slicked streets, weaving through the crowds. I trailed behind them, sidestepping merchants hawking wares and children darting between legs. The air buzzed with the sound of raised voices, clanging pots, and the occasional bark of a dog. Trevor glanced back, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.

“Didn’t think you’d keep up,” he muttered, but his tone was approving.

We came to a halt outside the largest building in the area, a saloon-like structure with a weathered sign swinging from rusted chains. The faint sound of music and laughter drifted out, muffled by the heavy doors. Inside, the air was warmer, thick with the smell of ale and sweat. The place was quieter than I expected, the usual raucous energy of such establishments dampened by the absence of off-duty guards. The few patrons scattered about seemed subdued, their conversations low.

As we took a seat near the corner, something caught my eye. Among the serving staff weaving between tables were several women with distinctly inhuman features—ears, tails, and other traits that marked them as beastfolk. Their appearances were striking, their movements fluid and captivating in a way that drew attention.

I felt my face flush as I looked away quickly, trying to focus on anything else. My thoughts betrayed me, unbidden memories of late nights on Earth surfacing—the kind I wasn’t proud of. I clenched my fists under the table, forcing myself to steady my breathing.

Trevor’s laugh broke through my awkward attempt at composure. “Relax, kid,” he said, smirking. “Ain’t the first time someone’s gotten caught staring. Beastfolk have that effect, especially on your type.”

“My type?” I snapped, my embarrassment flaring into irritation.

Trevor leaned back in his chair, grinning. “City boys. You’re not used to seeing anything beyond your walls. Guessing this is your first time outside the Ash Kingdom, huh?”

I didn’t dignify that with a response, opting instead to glare at the worn wood of the table. Heinrich chuckled quietly, his usual scowl softening into something almost amused. The conversation shifted as Trevor flagged down a passing waitress, ordering drinks and food. As we waited, Trevor’s gaze wandered toward the windows, his jovial demeanor dimming slightly.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Let’s hope we can avoid the worst,” he muttered. “This place doesn’t need a raid right now. Not with all these people around. Makes it harder for the guards, too. The Hall of Matchmakings isn’t kind to situations like this.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

Trevor shrugged, his expression grim. “Raids aren’t just about numbers. The gods don’t care if you’re outnumbered or outmatched—they care about balance. The more people here, the more complicated the raid gets. And if we’re unlucky, they might decide to even the odds by throwing something nasty our way.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling in my chest. The thought of another raid, especially one worse than the last, made my stomach churn. Trevor’s eyes met mine, his gaze steady.

“Stay sharp, kid,” he said. “The gods play by their own rules. And they don’t care if you’re ready for them.”

By the time night fell, the tension that had hung over the day like a fog was replaced with the ominous promise of rain. Heavy clouds rolled in from the east, their dark forms lit occasionally by flashes of distant lightning. The wind picked up, tugging at the loosely constructed buildings of the shanty town and sending the few stragglers scurrying for cover.

The storm wasn’t part of anyone’s plans, and it drove most of the inhabitants indoors. The air in the tavern grew warmer and heavier, the scent of damp clothes and woodsmoke mixing with the aromas of food and ale. Rain drummed against the roof, muffling the murmur of conversation inside.

At our table, Trevor and Heinrich had settled into their seats like they belonged there, ordering drinks with an ease that spoke of years of practice. A young beastfolk waitress with cat ears and a bushy, swishing tail took their orders, her appearance drawing more attention than the two men seemed to notice—or care about. Her large amber eyes gleamed in the low light, and her demeanor was sweet and playful, clearly part of her charm for the patrons.

I found myself avoiding her gaze, my cheeks burning as I tried to focus on anything else. My thoughts betrayed me, unbidden memories surfacing that only made my embarrassment worse. It didn’t help that Trevor smirked knowingly at me. the waitress returned with their drinks, setting the mugs down with a practiced flourish. I reached for a menu, trying to change the unspoken subject and make myself useful. Spotting the list of meals, I glanced at Trevor.

“I’ll just order something light,” I began, but Trevor cut me off.

“Not so fast,” he said, wagging a finger at me. “Kid like you doesn’t need ale dulling his brain or stunting his growth. Trust me—Heinrich here’s proof of that.”

Heinrich, already nursing his mug, grunted but didn’t argue.

Trevor turned back to the waitress. “Get him a stew. And make it hearty—he looks like he needs a proper meal.”

The waitress nodded, smiling warmly before disappearing back to the kitchen. I didn’t argue, though I felt a twinge of irritation at being treated like a child. When the food arrived, though, my annoyance faded. The stew was steaming and fragrant, served with a chunk of crusty bread. I dipped a spoon in, lifting a bit of the thin but rich broth to my lips. The flavors were simple but satisfying, the kind of meal that felt like it belonged in a proper fantasy world. The meat—whatever it was—was tender enough, and the bread soaked up the broth perfectly. I found myself enjoying it more than I expected, letting the warmth of the meal chase away the lingering unease from earlier in the day.

Meanwhile, Trevor and Heinrich settled into their drinks. The older man paced himself, sipping and chatting easily, while Heinrich downed his ale with more enthusiasm. As the evening wore on and the alcohol flowed, their guardedness began to slip away, replaced by a relaxed camaraderie that revealed more than I’d heard from them in the entire week prior.

“So, kid,” Trevor began, his voice carrying a slight slur. “Bet you’re wonderin’ what brings two fine gentlemen like us to a dump like this.”

I shrugged, not wanting to pry but curious nonetheless. “You said you’re heading to Pict. What for?”

Trevor leaned back, tipping his chair at a precarious angle. “Work. The kind you don’t talk about in polite company. Used to be part of a raiding group—Heinrich here and his old man included. We’d take contracts from towns, cities, even private groups. Go on the offensive, y’know? Hit raids before they hit us. Or sometimes... just for Favor.”

“Favor?” I echoed, glancing at Heinrich, who was now staring into his mug.

Trevor nodded, his expression darkening slightly. “Yeah. You’d be surprised how much cities’ll pay to bump their Favor with the gods. Higher Favor means better ambient mana density, more resources, better protection. It’s a numbers game, kid. And we were good at it—until we weren’t.”

He sighed, taking a longer sip of his drink before continuing. “Last job went south. Just bad luck all around. Lost half the group. Heinrich’s old man lost a leg. He’s holed up in a little village now, but we’re making our way to Pict to sign on with a company. They’ll set us up with portal-hunting parties, and give us real work again. The pay’s good, and if we play our cards right, we’ll make enough to get Heinrich’s dad a new start.”

I looked at Heinrich, whose jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the table. “Why not stay in the Ash Kingdom?” I asked hesitantly. “Wouldn’t it be easier—”

“Easier doesn’t cut it,” Heinrich interrupted, his voice low but firm. “We need money. Real money. And the Hall of Matchmakings is where we’ll find it.”

Hexa chimed in quietly, her voice laced with a hint of exasperation. “If you’d paid attention to your lectures, especially about the church, you’d know this already. Favor is a key metric for cities and individuals alike, influencing everything from mana distribution to social standing. Raiding—when offensive—is the main source of Favor.”

I frowned, absorbing the information. The idea of entire towns paying for raids to improve their mana density felt both fascinating and unsettling. It was a system that rewarded violence and survival.

As the night wore on, the conversation turned lighter, the two men sharing stories of their past adventures and close calls. Trevor’s laughter was infectious, and even Heinrich cracked a few wry smiles. For a moment, it was easy to forget the tension that hung over the border town, the storm outside drowning out the exterior world.