The barman polished a tankard with practiced ease, his eyes drifting toward the oddity in the corner.

With only a handful of scattered patrons, there wasn’t much else to do. A good barman never truly focused on his work—his hands handled the task automatically, leaving his attention free to observe, listen, and commit useful details to memory.

And tonight, the detail worth remembering was the Frost Orc reading a book.

Seventeen years behind the bar, and he was certain he had seen it all—adventurers nursing wounds over cheap ale, bandits making whispered deals in darkened booths, drunken wizards setting things, and occasionally themselves, on fire. But this? This was new.

Frost Orcs weren’t unheard of in the city, but they weren’t common either. The ferocious warriors of the Crystal Mountains tended to keep to the wilds, only venturing into civilization for trade or necessity. Even then, they were usually loud, demanding, and easy to spot—if not for their sheer size, then for the way conversations seemed to quiet when they entered a room.

This one though, sat silently in the corner, absorbed in his book.

The barman wasn’t so old-fashioned as to think orcs couldn’t read, but he’d never seen one this engrossed in the written word. He had expected at least some interest in the usual tavern fare—food, drink, a good brawl—but the orc’s tankard sat untouched, his pale blue eyes locked onto the page as if it contained the secrets of the gods themselves.

Curiosity got the better of him.

Setting the tankard down, he made his way across the room. As he approached, he took note of the orc’s distinctive features.

Smaller than most of his kind—though at nearly three meters, still plenty imposing—the orc had a thick mane of white hair, well-groomed despite his rugged appearance. His forearms bore intricate swirling tattoos, unlike any runes or symbols the barman recognized, and his crystal-blue tusks and claws gleamed even in the dim light.

Most importantly, he carried himself differently.

There was no tension in his posture, no restless energy, no wary glances as if expecting a fight. The orc radiated something far stranger in a place like this: patience.

The barman cleared his throat. “Ahem. Hope you’re enjoyin’ yer ale, sir.” He kept his tone friendly, neutral—the practiced voice of every barman in every adventurer’s tavern. “Can I get you anything else, or maybe yer waitin’ for someone?”

The orc lifted his gaze, his expression unreadable. The barman resisted the urge to flinch—tusks made even the friendliest smiles look like a death threat.

“I am awaiting the afternoon’s entertainment,” the orc rumbled, his deep voice carrying the weight of distant glaciers and frozen valleys.

He turned his attention toward the small stage at the far end of the tavern.

The barman followed his gaze, then chuckled. “Ah, you mean young Paeris.”

Stonebloom nodded.

“He’s been comin’ round fer about a month now," the barman continued. "Just shows up when he wants to—bit of a free spirit, that one." His chuckle turned warm, fond. “I just haven’t figured out how them girls always seem to know he’s comin’, but you won’t hear me complain. They may order them fruity drinks with the funny names, but their copper spends as good as any.”

Stonebloom took this in silently. The barman noticed the way his sharp eyes flicked toward the entrance, where more young women had begun to gather, seemingly drawn by an unseen force.

“They feel it in the air.” the orc murmured.

The barman raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

Stonebloom picked up his untouched tankard—not bothering with the handle—and downed the ale in one go. As he handed it back, he rumbled, “Another, if you would be so kind.”

The barman had just turned when the front door swung open.

A squeal of excitement cut through the air.

A tall, violet-skinned incubus strode onto the stage, a mischievous grin already tugging at his lips. His backswept horns, deep indigo with delicate gold filigree, gleamed under the tavern’s lantern light.

He winked at one of the young women in the crowd before settling onto the stool, his lute resting comfortably in his lap. The moment his fingers brushed the strings, the atmosphere shifted—a slow, honeyed pull settling over the audience.

Stonebloom sat back, watching.

He had to respect Paeris' approach. Most of his kind lurked in the shadows, luring victims into dark corners, draining lifeforce through whispered promises and lingering touches. Paeris?

Paeris never hid. He let his nature work for him, not against him. The excitement in the room would feed him for days, and his coin purse would be all the heavier for it.

By the third song, Paeris finally caught sight of the orc in the corner. His grin widened in recognition.

Stonebloom remained still, his expression unreadable, but he watched with amused intent.

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The music, the audience, the way Paeris played them like a finely tuned instrument. He wasn’t particularly fond of lutes and lyrical ballads—his own tastes ran more toward war drums and howling chants.

Yet even he had to admit, the incubus was talented.

After his performance had ended, Paeris basked in the lingering attention of his admirers before slowly making his way toward the corner table.

The squealing elf girl from earlier clung to his arm as they walked, an ale in his free hand, until her expression faltered when she saw where they were headed.

Sensing her hesitation, Paeris chuckled. "Don’t be nervous, Emily. This is my friend Bloom," he reassured her. "You know, he once saved my life when we were fighting an army of undead. You see, we had been hired to—"

Paeris stopped mid-sentence as he felt the girl tense again. Stonebloom had begun to stand, the chair audibly creaking in relief as he removed himself from it. Though not as massive as some orcs, he was still imposing—his broad, scarred chest, bare save for leather straps and ornamental beads, radiated sheer presence. His sapphire eyes gleamed beneath a thick, shelf-like brow.

He gave a polite bow to the young woman, his deep voice rumbling.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Emily, was it? You’ll have to forgive the manners of my friend here for not introducing you properly," he said. Then, leaning in slightly, he added in a conspiratorial whisper, "Too many blows to the head from that undead army, I fear."

Even in the hushed tone, the girl felt the rumble of his voice resonate in her chest.

Emily gave a nervous but genuine chuckle.

"It... it’s a pleasure... um, sir." she stammered before detangling herself from Paeris’ arm. "I... I should be going. I’ll see you tonight, Paeris." Without giving him a chance to respond, she hurried off, her heart pounding from the unexpected encounter.

Paeris smirked. Bloom had done that on purpose.

As Emily muttered an excuse and all but fled, Paeris turned back to the orc with an amused sigh. “You do that just to mess with me, don’t you?”

Stonebloom gestured for him to sit. Only once Paeris was settled did he speak.

“Crestia is testing her vessel tomorrow. You should be there.”

Paeris groaned. “Seriously?”

Bloom just stared.

Paeris sighed, swirling the last of his ale in his tankard. “Fine. But is that weird little goblin Cres has been running around with going to be there? I’m not really in the mood to die in a fiery explosion.”

Bloom chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that made the tankards on the table vibrate slightly. “Skrill will be there, yes.”

Paeris groaned and rubbed his temples. “Great. Fantastic. Maybe I should put my affairs in order before I go.” He shot Bloom a look. “If I die, you’re writing my ballad.”

“You wouldn’t like my version,” Bloom said, raising his refilled tankard to his lips. “Too much focus on the moral lesson.”

Paeris smirked. “Then I’ll just have to make sure I live long enough to write my own.” He tilted his head, giving Bloom a more scrutinizing look. “You’re really invested in this, aren’t you?”

The orc set his drink down with deliberate care. “Cresita is our friend.”

The words were simple, but the weight behind them was immense.

Paeris didn’t respond immediately. He stretched his arms, letting his chair creak as he leaned back, looking up at the rafters. “Yeah… she is.” His voice lacked its usual theatricality.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care about Crestia—he did. But caring and confronting were two very different things.

The thing was, he had always known Crestia was destined for something like this. She was brilliant, ambitious, stubborn as all Hells. But he had thought, for the longest time, that she would eventually stop chasing ghosts.

That she would wake up one day, realize she was enough as she was, and stop trying to prove herself to a world that had already made up its mind.

And yet, here they were.

Bloom watched him closely, reading the shift in his expression. “You say you don’t share her interests, but I think you understand her better than most.”

Paeris exhaled through his nose. “Oh, don’t get all philosophical on me. That’s your thing, not mine.”

Bloom smirked. “Then let me put it another way—would you rather she go through with this without you there?”

That landed.

Paeris made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and waved a hand. “Alright, alright. You’ve made your point, mountain man. I’ll be there.”

Bloom nodded, satisfied.

Paeris took another sip of his ale, staring into the foam as if it held all the answers he didn’t want to face. “But if I get blown up, I’m haunting both of you.”

Bloom grinned. “I expect no less.”

The next morning, the Dragon’s Keep loomed before them—a jagged scar in the mountainside, framed by the dawn light. The crisp air carried the faint scent of stone and something else… something old, something humming with power just beneath the surface.

Paeris shivered and tugged his cloak tighter around himself. “You feel that?”

Bloom nodded. “It’s different up close, isn’t it?”

Paeris exhaled. He had dismissed the idea of the Keep being cursed, but there was something about this place. An unseen weight pressing against his senses. A whisper of something ancient lingering in the air.

“…I don’t like it,” he muttered.

Bloom gave him a knowing look. “You should tell Cres that. She’ll be delighted to know you finally acknowledge something beyond your own ego.”

Paeris shot him a glare. “I do acknowledge things beyond my ego! Like… my good looks, my charm, my musical talents—”

Bloom rolled his eyes and kept walking.

Ahead, the entrance to the Keep opened like a great, yawning maw of black stone. And waiting just outside, adjusting the straps on her tool belt, was Crestia.

She looked up as they approached, her silver eyes narrowing slightly when she spotted Paeris. “Well, well. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Paeris placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Ouch, Cres. Is that any way to greet your oldest friend? You wound me.”

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “If you’re here to mock me, I have work to do.”

Paeris tsked. “I’ll have you know, I was personally invited.”

Her gaze flicked to Bloom, who simply inclined his head.

Crestia let out a short sigh but didn’t argue. “Fine. Just don’t touch anything.”

Paeris grinned. “No promises.”

From somewhere deeper in the cave, a small explosion rumbled, followed by a string of raspy goblin swearing.

Paeris blinked. “Was that—?”

“Skrill,” Crestia confirmed, already turning toward the source of the sound. “And before you say anything, yes, that’s normal.”

“…Right.”

As they followed her inside, Paeris glanced sideways at Bloom.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Bloom’s lips twitched. “A little.”