The trio’s descent into Row stirs the village like a gust through dry leaves. Ablee leads the way, striding boldly into the central square, her grin sharp as she scans the villagers huddled in cautious clusters. Broken beams and sagging rooftops, the scars of Karich's iron rule, frame the scene. Ablee plants her hands on her hips, her voice ringing out.

“Karich is gone!” she declares, the words carrying over the murmur of the crowd. “The keep’s wide open, waiting for you to take it!”

A beat of stunned silence follows, the villagers exchanging wide-eyed glances. Before the embers of her statement can catch, Zeph steps forward, her shadow cutting across Ablee.

“We cleared the keep.” she corrects sharply, Applause gleaming faintly at her side. Her eyes narrow as she levels them at Ablee. “Don’t go claiming credit for what I did.”

Ablee rolls her eyes, turning to face Zeph. “You're here with me; your help was implied.”

The two lock eyes, and sparks fly between them. Ablee’s smirk widens, defiant, while Zeph’s jaw tightens, her stance stiff with irritation. Around them, the villagers whisper, shifting uneasily as they watch the spectacle.

Rhody steps forward, her voice pitched awkwardly between mediation and desperation. “Maybe we could...focus on the villagers, what this means for them—”

“Stay out of this, Rhody!” they snap in unison, their combined irritation cutting her short.

The villagers, cautiously emboldened by the strange display, begin murmuring louder. A few straighten their shoulders, gripping old tools and makeshift weapons. The keep, once a symbol of fear, suddenly seems… reachable.

Ablee's energy is infectious as she spins to face the gathering villagers. “You’ve all been waiting for this,” she says, her voice booming like a slege-hammer against stone. She sweeps an arm toward the distant silhouette of The Long Fang Mountains Keep, its dark spires jutting against the early dawn. “Karich’s reign is over! No more patrols shaking you down for scraps. No more curfews!”

The crowd shifts, their faces a blend of hope and hesitation. Ablee leans into their uncertainty, her grin sharp, her voice rising with fiery conviction. “That fortress is yours! It’s time you took it back and showed the world that Row won’t be stepped on anymore!”

Zeph steps forward, her presence adding to the swell of emotion. Her tone is low and commanding. “The keep’s defenses have been dealt with. The warband is in disarray. But that window won’t stay open forever.” She levels her gaze at the villagers, her eyes set and unwavering. “You’ve got a chance to reclaim what’s yours. Don’t waste it!”

Ablee flashes her a sideways glance, lips quirking in a half-smirk. The contrast between Zeph’s icy precision and her own blazing passion is palpable yet oddly complementary. “See?” Ablee adds, spinning back to the crowd. “Even the witch agrees. You’ve got this!”

The villagers exchange uncertain looks, but Ablee’s fervor and Zeph’s confidence strike a chord. Slowly, heads begin to nod. A blacksmith steps forward, hammer in hand. Behind him, a farmer hefts a battered scythe. The murmurs swell into determined chatter. What once felt impossible now seems inevitable.

The trio continues down the street as the village sets into action.

----------------------------------------

The heavy wooden doors of Row's garrison break open. Inside the dimly lit hall, a small group of the remaining watchmen discuss the previous night's events. At the trio's intrusion, they rise to their feet, spears aloft, with fear in their eyes. Their shoulders stiffen as they recognize the chilling presence of the gunslinger. Zeph doesn’t need to speak; the gleam of Applause at her hip does all the talking.

One guard, braver or stupider than the rest, steps forward, a halberd clutched tightly in his trembling hands. “H-halt!” he barks, though his voice wavers. “You’re not—”

Applause clears its holster with a smooth, almost lazy motion. Its barrel points at the man’s chest, and the room freezes. “This is so played out,” Zeph says, her voice touched with annoyance. “Can we just hurry things along? I'm starving.”

He stumbles back, nearly tripping over his feet. His halberd clatters to the ground. Behind him, the other soldiers exchange uncertain looks, their confidence evaporating in the face of Zeph’s calm menace.

Ablee takes a step forward, her grin wicked, “Alright now, I KNOW you fellas have some good grub around here; bring it out!"

Rhody peeks around the garrison's entrance out, clutching her deck's pouch.

“Now,” Zeph says, her tone brooking no argument, “where’s the cook?”

The kitchen door swings open with a dramatic creak, revealing a whirlwind of motion. Pots clang against counters, and steam billows from an oversized cauldron. Standing before them is a stout, mustachioed man with a chef’s hat leaning precariously to one side. He’s wielding a ladle like a sword.

“Ahm right here!” he bellows, glowering at the girls. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of Zeph and Applause, but his bravado holds. “And this is not a tavern! Whatever you’re here for, the answer is NO!” He swings the ladle, disgorging an errant droplet of bisque that Zeph sidesteps with a tsk.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Zeph takes a deliberate step forward, her boots clicking against the floor. Her sharp, calculating gaze is enough to make the chef's assistants freeze mid-step. “We’re here for the best you’ve got,” she says, snatching the ladle from his hand. Running her tongue along its scoop, her face scrunches. “And gods help you if it's no better than this.”

“The best?” The cook scoffs, his hand flying to his chest as though personally affronted. “Impossible! The best is for officers only!”

A sous chef with long, mint-green hair approaches the man, "Sorry to interrupt Chef, but I believe that's Karich's daughter; she must be back from boarding school."

Ablee erupts, "Don't you DARE CALL ME THAT! AND BOARDING SCHOOL?!" she storms forward, fists balling at her sides.

Rhody rushes behind her, grabbing ahold of the straps of Ablee's overalls. “Hey now, we don't need to start another fight!"

The cook sputters and raises his hands in defeat. “Fine, fine! Steaks and ale for the lord's guests!” he cries, his tone dripping with melodrama.

Zeph smirks and throws out an arm to block Ablee's advance. Turning to the livid girl, she mouths, "Don't you ruin this for me."

----------------------------------------

The table groans beneath the weight of their feast, thick slabs of meat seared to perfection and frothy mugs of ale.

The scent of charred herbs and sizzling fat hangs heavy in the air. Without any warning, Ablee lunges at the nearest plate, tearing into her steak with a ferocity that would make a wild animal blush.

“Is… is she even chewing?” Rhody whispers, her wide eyes darting between Ablee’s rapid-fire bites and the pile of bones already forming beside her plate.

Ablee pauses, her mouth full, and flashes Rhody a grease-slick grin. “Chewing’s overrated,” she says through a muffled mouthful and washes it down with a long gulp of ale.

It’s Ablee's first taste of alcohol, and it shows. By her second mug, her cheeks are flushed, and her actions somehow grow wilder. A cloth napkin folded into a jaunty hat rests atop her head. “Arr tis me, Captain Steakbeard, Terror of Row!” Ablee announces, a 20 oz rib-eye hanging from her teeth.

Rhody looks up to Zeph, muttering under her breath, “Are you sure we need her?”

----------------------------------------

The chaos crescendos when there’s one steak left, sitting tantalizingly in the center of the table. Zeph leans forward to grab it with her fork, but Ablee’s hand slams down first, her fingers curling around it.

“It’s mine!” Ablee declares, her drunken slur undermining the menace in her voice.

Zeph levels Applause at the girl and says, “Hands off.”

Ablee glares and then slaps her hand down through the steak, painting her palm and fingers with glistening, seared goodness.

"Whatever," she says and begins gnawing on one of her knuckles, drawing out a flood of red juices that dribble down her chin.

Zeph recoils, disgust flashing across her face. “Fine. Take it. Just… stop doing that.”

Ablee beams victorious and tears into her prize.

Zeph sighs, leaning back and sipping her ale. She observes her "captive," half-amused, half-regretful, as subdued soldiers glance at her in awe and trepidation. The assassin smirks, toasting them with her mug. “Chew on that.”

The Tower dominates the horizon outside the garrison window, rising from the earth like the spine of an ancient behemoth, its base lost in the hazy distance. Its immense form stretches into the heavens, a monolith of white stone speckled with patches of green and blue. The sunlight catches along its marbled side, shimmering like a mirage.

Jagged protrusions jut from its surface, forming irregular ledges and overhangs. Weaving an ever-changing course around them are faint trails of ley energy, the currents upon which Tower Liners sail.

Ablee stands at the window, her face illuminated by the golden glow of the sun. Her eyes are fixed on the Tower, wide and unblinking, her grin a mixture of determination and exhilaration. “That,” she says, her voice low and reverent, “is all I've waited for.”

Rhody glances up from her mug, puzzled. “You mean the giant forbidden death pillar?”

“Not just a pillar.” Ablee snaps, whirling around, her face set with unmatched intensity. “It’s a challenge. A reckoning. You think anyone who climbs that thing is the same when they reach the top?” She points a finger at it, her voice rising with fervor. “Every crack, every ledge, every windblown inch of it screams, ‘You can’t.”

Zeph watches her from her seat, chin resting on her palm. “You're right, you can't. Oakley's the only one to ever top The Tower, and she's dead.”

"She proved it can be done, and I'm going to be next." Ablee raises her mug, swirling the last dregs of her ale. “You know,” she says casually, “Karich commissioned a Liner; my original plan was to steal it.”

Rhody freezes mid-sip, her eyes wide. “Steal a… You can't just steal a Liner!”

Ablee waves a hand. “Of course, the old bastard's already taken off in it, so I guess we’ll just have to borrow another one.”

Rhody chokes. “Borrow? You mean steal another one?” Her voice rises in pitch with each word. “Are you insane? That’s not just illegal—it’s insanely illegal! We’ll report to the King of Wands Temple and requisition a room on board one the proper way.”

Zeph snorts, tipping her hat back as she walks to the window ledge. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Rhody turns on her, aghast. “What do you mean, not happening? It’s the only way we can up there to finish your mark—”

“I’m not going back to the Temple empty-handed,” Zeph cuts in sharply. “They could drop the marks, thinking it's not worth chasing Ablee's Dad up the death-pillar. That would be a permanent stain on my record.” Her tone drops lower, cold as steel. “We’ll handle this Liner situation ourselves, finish the mission, and then report back. No detours.”

Rhody bristles. “Climbing The Tower without the church’s permission is punishable by death! You'd be better off consuming Ambrosia.”

Zeph raises an eyebrow, smirking. “They don’t need to know how we did it, only that we succeeded. Now, do I need to take you captive too?”

Rhody sputters, her resolve cracking under Zeph’s intensity. “I…uh...” she mutters.

Ablee shoots the girl an amused smile, “That's the spirit, Rhody! Hope you enjoy bending the rules," then returns her attention to The Tower and hashing out plans with Zeph.

----------------------------------------

Rhody sits on the edge of the room, her tarot deck fanned absently in her hands, though she isn’t reading the cards. Her eyes flick between Zeph, lounging confidently with her boots kicked up on the table, and Ablee, still half-drunk and laughing as she tries to balance a fork on her nose. The warmth of the feast, the lighthearted chaos—they should be comforting. But Rhody feels a knot tightening in her chest.