It was a sprawling two-story structure, built from the same mixture of dark, load-bearing oak and cold, undressed fieldstone that defined Blackroot. Its sheer size was enough to accommodate a weary crowd of thirty or more.

Stepping inside, the air hit us a thick, stagnant mixture of stale ale, pipe smoke, and wet wool. The interior was a vast, dim cavern. The low ceiling was a dense forest of heavy, smoke-stained crossbeams, barely lit by the meager glow of caged iron lanterns and flickering tallow candles.

The lighting was minimal, cast by caged iron lanterns hanging deep in the shadows of the rafters and oily tallow candles set directly on the tables. It lent the space an atmosphere of watched silence. Here, locals and travelers sat shoulder-to-shoulder, drinking heavily but speaking in low, clipped tones

We followed Father to a cleared space. We took a seat near the window or rather, what passed for one. The wall was open on one side, so we could see the street, the wandering merchants, the laundry flapping from the roofs. I liked that; I could keep my eyes on everyone.if anything that was best for a town know for having m,issing people.

My eyes were immediately drawn to the bar, where a large, prominent wooden beam bore the tavern's true signature. It was a crude but powerful carving the Bleeding Black Hearth a stylized human heart, unnaturally veined and impaled by the hilt of a dagger.

"Welcome to the Black Hearth Tavern, how may I help you today?" she asked, approaching our table immediately after we sat down.

"Wow, that was fast," he said.

I had thought the same; I figured this would take forever, as the tavern wasn't exactly empty, but it wasn't full either—a perfect balance to handle any spike in numbers. We waited for our orders, and Father had already gotten himself some tea.

But I couldn't shake the thought: Who was that cloaked man? I knew what I saw—the same man that had directed Father. Something was fishy.

Morad, oblivious, was still sleeping soundly in his fish bowl on the table.

"You're still thinking about that person," she said quietly.

I simply nodded. "I saw him and it looks like the same man that help father with the wagon…

"Could be a hunter or a traveler."

You could be right maybe im really overthing things here any one could own multiple clocks

...and then it clicked. We totally forgot—better still, I had totally forgotten to tell Father of the voice I heard that came with the wind. "Father, I have something to tell you."

Bang!

"I'm so sorry!" The voice belonged to a man who clearly regretted his actions.

"Watch where you're going next time, twat!" the affected person snapped.

"Yeah! Want to get beaten up or something? What the hell, man, pouring it all over our outfit? You Poured it all over us!"

"I'm so, so sorry! Let me help wipe—"

"Enough! Just go!" a feminine voice spoke as well.

Father dropped his tea as he watched the accident unfold. Three people in wine-colored cloaks just exactly similar to the man that directed Father stumbled slightly. Are they together? Maybe Astraya was right; they're just travelers, and I was worried for nothing.

As they brushed past the man who had accidentally run into them, they chose a table a few seats away. They looked out of place especially one of them. From where I sat, I could finally see the face of the person in the middle. It was a woman, or at least I thought so.

Before I could ask my question, they had already settled down, and Astraya had turned to Father with hers.

"By the way, Father, do you know the Bearmount family?"

"Oh, they are one of the Royal Families. Oh, I see, that's probably where that royal's from, right?"

"Yes, and he made fun of the Fulas, saying they did his taxes and cleaned their horse sh*t in his family estate. Is that true? He didn't even know the Ashborns, tch."

"Well, darling, the Ashborns aren't a name a commoner would know, even amongst the royals. The Ashborns don't go around letting people know where they belong, as most relinquish their names in marriage. It's kind of complicated," Father explained but sighed when he had to talk about the Fulas.

"Well, Fulas are high status, but not royal… Well, I don't know about Fulas cleaning horse sh*t, but I do know we do taxes for royals occasionally."

"So he was right," Astraya sounded defeated and sad.

"I can't say my family is too high status to be cleaning a royal's horse stead," Father said, trying to comfort us. "He probably said that just to get under you two's skins, but I haven't seen the Fulas in years; a lot could have changed. But don't worry about all that family name and status stuff. Some people only show or say it due to the fact that they have no accomplishments of their own, so the family name is all they've got to offer."

But as Father spoke, something caught my attention.

Was that girl in the cloak really checking on us?

At first, I thought she was just scanning the tavern, but no — her gaze kept finding us. Every time I looked back, she turned her face away. My gut tightened. Could this be a problem?

"Father," I whispered, "one of those cloaked ones — the woman — keeps staring at us."

"Hm? Really?" His eyes followed my line of sight, as did Astraya's.

"Come to think of it," he said, "they do look like the same cloaks as the man who guided me with the wagon. If that's the case, don't worry, son — they're just travelers."

"Oh… alright." That at least eased my nerves a little, and just then our order arrived.

"Yay, finally!" Astraya exclaimed, already reaching for her food.

Father grinned. "Now, let's eat."

But as I looked from my bowl back to the girl — and from her back to my food — I saw it.

Her eyes glowed faint white, and her lips moved in a whisper I couldn't hear.

Was she… casting a spell?

Hhhwwhhh... hhwhhhhhh...

The air thickened — a tight, spiraling pressure. Then, with a sharp hiss, a compressed arrow of wind tore toward us.

The cloaked woman stood abruptly, her chair clattering backward.

Boom!

A blast rocked the tavern , filling it with smoke and splintered wood. Shouts and screams tangled through the haze.

"Father!" I yelled.

"I'm okay!" his voice answered through the smoke.

"Are you two okay?" Astraya called out. Then I saw it — another faint white glow, closer this time, flickering right before me.

"The moment I saw your face, Brother," Astraya said, her eyes narrowing. "I knew something was wrong." Did Astraya just react to a spell cast behind her? Her reaction speed was unbelievable.

Through the swirling haze, the female attacker pulled back her hood, revealing a shock of red hair and white glowing eyes blazing with Mana.

The other two cloaked figures stayed completely still—neither attacking nor moving—while the redhead stepped forward, ready to strike.

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