《Hepfin's Cradle》 !!!READ FIRST!!! This is a hastily written story. I''m always a stream-of-consciousness type of writer, so expect plot holes and inconsistent changes throughout the story. Moreso in this one. Maybe I''ll polish them in the future, maybe I won''t. But this is something purely fun on the side while I''m focusing on "The Ruined Monks of Rothfield Monastery" and my other gay romance novel (which is not posted on RoyalRoad). Having said that, if you enjoy this story, then thanks! This is a hastily written story. I''m always a stream-of-consciousness type of writer, so expect plot holes and inconsistent changes throughout the story. Moreso in this one. Maybe I''ll polish them in the future, maybe I won''t. But this is something purely fun on the side while I''m focusing on "The Ruined Monks of Rothfield Monastery" and my other gay romance novel (which is not posted on RoyalRoad). Having said that, if you enjoy this story, then thanks! This is a hastily written story. I''m always a stream-of-consciousness type of writer, so expect plot holes and inconsistent changes throughout the story. Moreso in this one. Maybe I''ll polish them in the future, maybe I won''t. But this is something purely fun on the side while I''m focusing on "The Ruined Monks of Rothfield Monastery" and my other gay romance novel (which is not posted on RoyalRoad). Having said that, if you enjoy this story, then thanks! This is a hastily written story. I''m always a stream-of-consciousness type of writer, so expect plot holes and inconsistent changes throughout the story. Moreso in this one. Maybe I''ll polish them in the future, maybe I won''t. But this is something purely fun on the side while I''m focusing on "The Ruined Monks of Rothfield Monastery" and my other gay romance novel (which is not posted on RoyalRoad). Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Having said that, if you enjoy this story, then thanks! This is a hastily written story. I''m always a stream-of-consciousness type of writer, so expect plot holes and inconsistent changes throughout the story. Moreso in this one. Maybe I''ll polish them in the future, maybe I won''t. But this is something purely fun on the side while I''m focusing on "The Ruined Monks of Rothfield Monastery" and my other gay romance novel (which is not posted on RoyalRoad). Having said that, if you enjoy this story, then thanks! This is a hastily written story. I''m always a stream-of-consciousness type of writer, so expect plot holes and inconsistent changes throughout the story. Moreso in this one. Maybe I''ll polish them in the future, maybe I won''t. But this is something purely fun on the side while I''m focusing on "The Ruined Monks of Rothfield Monastery" and my other gay romance novel (which is not posted on RoyalRoad). Having said that, if you enjoy this story, then thanks! This is a hastily written story. I''m always a stream-of-consciousness type of writer, so expect plot holes and inconsistent changes throughout the story. Moreso in this one. Maybe I''ll polish them in the future, maybe I won''t. But this is something purely fun on the side while I''m focusing on "The Ruined Monks of Rothfield Monastery" and my other gay romance novel (which is not posted on RoyalRoad). Having said that, if you enjoy this story, then thanks! This is a hastily written story. I''m always a stream-of-consciousness type of writer, so expect plot holes and inconsistent changes throughout the story. Moreso in this one. Maybe I''ll polish them in the future, maybe I won''t. But this is something purely fun on the side while I''m focusing on "The Ruined Monks of Rothfield Monastery" and my other gay romance novel (which is not posted on RoyalRoad). Having said that, if you enjoy this story, then thanks! Prologue A boy swept an empty wooden counter with a rag that seemed to absorb nothing; no fleck of dust, no speck of grime. The fibers slid over the surface as if the counter was already clean, or perhaps had never been touched by the world¡¯s decay at all. He couldn''t remember when he¡¯d started or even why. His mind held only the fog of sleep and then waking to a dim room flickering with candlelight. Candles he couldn¡¯t recall lighting. Outside the small window, shadows crept as the last threads of sunlight vanished into dusk. He stepped into the brown boots waiting at his feet, a perfect fit despite being unfamiliar. He drifted outside, feet moving of their own accord, down a corridor lined with locked doors. A key clinked softly against his belt, yet none of the doors bore a lock that could fit it, none except the one he''d just left. The boy¡¯s name settled on his tongue like a strange phrase in an old dream. ¡°Quentin,¡± he murmured. The word sounded distant, hollow, as if belonging to someone else. Quentin abandoned the rag on the counter and cast his gaze across the room; a place built from the bones of trees long dead. Every surface was carved from the same grain of wood: the three small tables, each flanked by three round stools, and the cabinets behind the counter; one above his head and another below, brushing his waist. The only part of the room that seemed immune to the touch of timber was the fireplace, its stones jutting from the farthest wall like teeth in a mouth. Within its dark maw, logs waited for flame, but instead of the earthy browns of oak or birch, these were a deep, brooding red, as if once burned and left to smolder eternally. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. With slow, uncertain steps, Quentin edged toward the door. It swung open on silent hinges, releasing a bitter gust of wind that sank its icy teeth into his skin. He stepped onto a cobblestone street, broken and jagged, stretching in ruin before him. The inn loomed behind, its presence heavy and oppressive, the air around it hollow and devoid of life. Above the door, an empty wooden sign dangled from rusted chains, swaying faintly in the breeze like a pendulum marking out the seconds of a time long lost. Quentin stared at the sign, his breath fogging the air in front of him. He turned his head to search for any sign of life¡ªanother building, a flicker of light, a hint of warmth. But the inn stood alone, an island of wood and shadow adrift in a sea of crumbled stone. Better outside than lingering in a place that wasn¡¯t his. He took a step, then another. The wind roared, and before he could brace himself, it slammed into him with the force of a living thing. Quentin stumbled, the world tilting beneath his feet, and he crumpled onto the cobbles, gasping as the wind yanked him back, pulling him toward the inn like a hunter dragging its prey. He struggled upright, lungs burning, and looked up at the sign above the door. It swung wildly now, and as he watched, letters began etching themselves into the wood, line by line, as if carved by invisible hands. He mouthed the words when they were done, tasting their weight and finality on his tongue. ¡°Hepfin¡¯s Cradle.¡± Chapter 1 - The Cleric Quentin¡¯s world existed in the spaces between the light. He slept just before dawn, awakening when the sun dipped low, staining the sky in bruised purples and ashen grays. The inn around him¡ªhis solitary dominion¡ªseemed more vivid than the dreary, rain-soaked street beyond the window¡¯s glass. Each plank and beam stood solid and resolute, the colors rich and deep, while the world outside seemed to melt into a palette of muted despair. He would stand, forehead pressed to the cool pane, watching life pass by, preferring the distant clamor of horse hooves on cobblestone, the cries of merchants haggling for scraps, over the still, silent company of empty tables and chairs. He never hungered or thirsted, though he understood that others did. Conversations floated in through the window¡ªsnatches of talk about breakfast, lunch, and supper; the taste of cakes and pastries, the dream of feasts, and the warmth of spiced wine. On certain days, he saw families passing by. A mother¡¯s soft chiding, a father¡¯s grumbling retort, and a young boy pressing a steaming bun to his cheeks, grinning through the heat. As dusk bled into night, Quentin fortified himself. That was when hunger prowled the streets. Thin, ghostly figures shuffled through the dark¡ªskeletal men and frail children clutching their bellies. They leaned against the cracked stone walls or huddled beneath the weary glow of lanterns, stretching their hands toward the heavens, begging for something, anything, to fill the void inside them. Quentin felt a pang echo in his own chest, though no growl ever emerged from his stomach and his throat never ran dry. The inn was empty but not barren. He had explored every inch of its wooden shell, from the pantry and its useless shelves to the barrels lining the back wall, each stubbornly corkless, refusing to yield any liquid to the thirsty. Yet, when he pressed his ear to their sides, he could hear the faint gurgle of something moving within, a promise never fulfilled. He wished he could open the door, beckon the weary and the starving to warm themselves by his unlit fire, but the door would not budge. The logs in the hearth remained cold and dark. So he watched instead. Safe within these walls, or perhaps hidden. Sometimes villagers would pause, squinting through the window, eyes skimming over the inn as though it were no more than a trick of the light. Even when Quentin pressed himself close to the glass, their gazes slid past him, unseeing. He wondered what they saw¡ªif they saw anything at all. Quentin never tired of lighting the thick, waxy candles arranged across the tables and counter, even though darkness posed no challenge to his sight. There was a quiet solace in the act. His domain was small, but he knew it well: his snug room with its sturdy bed and old wooden chest; the bar that yearned for patrons; the wide, yawning dining area waiting for laughter and conversation to fill its hollow spaces. If there were people to fill it. He had just finished lighting the last candlestick when a voice whispered from the fireplace, a murmur threading through the silence. Quentin spun, heart lurching. He leaned into the hearth, peering up the black tunnel of the flue, but only shadow greeted him. Still, the voice persisted. ¡°Take me to him. Let me see his leg.¡± The voice was faint, tired. ¡°What were you thinking going beyond the gates?¡± A pause, and then a weary sigh. ¡°There. All better. Now, I must be off. I¡¯ve barely managed to hide from the red soldiers.¡± Quentin straightened, blinking at the still-empty room. Through the window, he glimpsed a thin line of light spilling from one of the cottages at the far end of the street. A figure emerged¡ªa woman, pulling her hood low over her face. Another shadow hovered in the doorway, handing her a small sack. She hesitated, fingers brushing the coarse fabric before she accepted it and slipped silently into the gloom. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. She moved like a ghost, clinging to the edges of buildings, avoiding the main road. Then, two figures materialized from the darkness. They all froze. ¡°See? I told you I saw someone!¡± One man¡¯s voice rang out, sharp and eager. He lunged forward, grabbing the woman by the arm. ¡°Curfew¡¯s over, miss,¡± the other man drawled. ¡°State your class, business, and profession.¡± ¡°And show us your face.¡± Slowly, she lifted her hood. A burst of light flared from beneath the fabric, blinding them. Quentin saw her spin and sprint back toward the house she had come from, but she did not dare seek refuge there. She veered off, darting toward the inn. One of the men cursed and lifted a hand, summoning a flickering flame that crackled into the air. He hurled it at her. She stumbled, her cloak catching fire at the hem. In a desperate flurry, she stomped into a puddle, dousing the flames, but not before a thread of smoke curled in the air between them. She was so close now¡ªjust a few steps from the inn¡¯s door. Quentin threw himself against the heavy wood. ¡°Open,¡± he breathed. The latch shifted under his hand, and the door creaked wide. Warm light spilled out, washing over the woman as she staggered onto the doorstep, breathless and wild-eyed. Quentin extended a hand. ¡°Here,¡± he said. She stared at him, brilliant blue eyes peeking out from beneath her singed hood. Then, she took his hand, and he pulled her inside, shutting the door with a swift motion. The curtains dropped down of their own accord, the candles dimming to a gentle glow. Quentin and the woman huddled in the quiet space behind the oak door, chests heaving in unison as they listened to the gruff voices and shuffling boots outside. ¡°She was right here!¡± the angrier man shouted, his voice muffled by the thick wood. ¡°She¡¯s not here now,¡± a calmer voice replied. ¡°She couldn¡¯t have gone far. Maybe the wind shifted the light.¡± A grumble, followed by a cough. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have thrown that fireball.¡± ¡°She was escaping.¡± ¡°And now you¡¯re spent. Great work. Recovering for a day, maybe two. We¡¯re short on potions as it is.¡± The reprimand continued, the voices fading as they shuffled away. Quentin let out a breath he hadn¡¯t realized he was holding. He turned to the woman, who was slumped against the wall, hood slipping back to reveal a glimpse of white robes beneath. A cleric. Of course. He studied her face. Hair the color of ripe corn framed delicate features, and though the flames had not touched her skin, she looked worn and weary, shadows pooling beneath her eyes. He knelt beside her. ¡°Sit by the bar,¡± he offered softly. ¡°I¡¯ll get you something to drink.¡± She nodded, murmuring a thank you. As she settled onto one of the round stools, Quentin moved to the bar. He touched his throat lightly, testing the resonance of his voice, surprised by how deep it sounded in the stillness. And then, impossibly, a cork appeared in one of the barrels, and amber liquid began to flow, foaming into the wooden mug he held. Quentin placed the mug gently in front of her. ¡°You are safe here.¡± The woman¡¯s gaze swept around the room before resting on Quentin. She gave him a faint, almost incredulous smile. ¡°You¡¯re rather young to be running an inn.¡± She hesitated. ¡°Do you have parents? Someone to look after you? It isn¡¯t safe to be alone.¡± Quentin shook his head. He glanced at the fireplace but made no move to light it. Even so, the room seemed to grow warmer. The woman undid her cloak slightly, revealing more of the white robes. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the mug. ¡°What brings a cleric to these dark alleyways?¡± he asked, his voice low, resonant. She lifted the mug to her lips, sipped slowly, then lowered it, cradling it in both hands. ¡°This cleric was called to heal an injured boy. He thought he could find food beyond the kingdom walls.¡± She sighed. ¡°He was lucky I found him before something else did.¡± Quentin nodded. He watched as she rubbed a scar on her wrist, a mark too faint for ordinary eyes. ¡°It sounds like you speak from experience.¡± ¡°I do,¡± she whispered. ¡°Too much of it.¡± The fire of her gaze dimmed slightly, shadows softening her face as the room fell into silence. Chapter 2 - Emralles Chamber Ophelia''s voice wavered, her eyes glassy as she blinked back tears. ¡°Two weeks ago, the red priest ordered our orphanage to save only the best students. They cut our provisions on purpose, to see which of the strongest would survive. It¡¯s barbaric!¡± She hid her face in her hands. ¡°I won¡¯t let them wither away like that. The nuns and I have started growing some crops in secret. It¡¯s not much, but it might last them another season or two if we¡¯re careful. We¡¯ve hidden them behind stone walls, buried them underground.¡± ¡°How many clerics are left?¡± Quentin asked softly, his rag tracing a slow circle around the spill on the wooden counter. ¡°Just two at the nunnery¡ªmyself and the head nun.¡± She let out a heavy breath. ¡°I used to pass by five clerics every day. Almost all of them threw their robes away in protest when the red priest twisted our healing arts for conquest, using our divine gifts to burn the earth in other lands.¡± Her gaze darkened. ¡°Those who opposed him were hunted down. Some broke their staves to sever their ties to the healing arts and to the goddess Yrnhaela. It¡¯s like losing a limb. They¡¯d rather lose their power than have it twisted by bloodshed.¡± ¡°What about the ones who were caught?¡± Quentin asked. Her shoulders drooped as if the weight of memory bore down on her. ¡°They were forced to comply. The Red Army threatened their families¡ªchildren, husbands, wives. Those of us left, we can barely cast a warding spell without being questioned. My husband¨C¡± Ophelia¡¯s voice caught in her throat, and she abruptly fell silent. A moment of silence settled between them. Then Ophelia raised the mug of ale to her lips, only to realize it was empty. Quentin, quick as ever, refilled it with a measured pour. She watched him with a soft smile, eyes lingering longer than politeness allowed. ¡°There aren¡¯t many inns left, you know,¡± she remarked, tracing a finger around the rim of her cup. ¡°Most have shut down, or moved to the higher districts with a special permit. They¡¯ve become cold, sterile places, strictly monitored, with no laughter or warmth. It¡¯s rare to find an inn like yours. It¡¯s charming, really¡­ a shame it¡¯s so empty.¡± She laughed, a sound both bitter and light. ¡°You must think me a drunkard, going on like this. I hope you get more patrons soon.¡± Quentin¡¯s fingers brushed against hers as he set another mug of ale before her. ¡°I doubt that,¡± he murmured, his tone low. ¡°Not with the way things are going. People hardly have the coin or spirit to linger in inns.¡± ¡°Perhaps that¡¯s why they banned them,¡± she mused. ¡°A place like this, it¡¯s too full of hope. Too full of comfort, when the land is meant to be under heel. Brikkenbale wasn¡¯t always so bleak, you know. It used to be full of life. People peddled their wares in marketplaces and bazaars. Laughter rang in the streets.¡± Her eyes met Quentin¡¯s again, piercing him with an odd intensity. ¡°How old are you, really? You barely look a man. You remind me of my younger brother, before he¡­¡± Her voice trailed off, a shadow of pain flickering across her face. ¡°Yet, you seem older somehow.¡± ¡°I am,¡± Quentin answered quietly, though in truth, he was unsure himself. How did he appear to her? Ophelia reached across the bar, clasping his hand in both of hers. ¡°Listen to me. Lock your doors. Tell people you have company. Leave a mess when they arrive so it looks like you¡¯ve been busy. And say Sister Ophelia checks in on you from time to time.¡± Quentin gazed into her blue eyes, touched by her concern. ¡°I will. Thank you¡­ Sister Ophelia.¡± If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. A shared smile lingered between them¡ªa fragile truce against the dark forces outside. Quentin sensed, in that moment, that Ophelia wouldn¡¯t lead danger to his door. She was careful, more so than she seemed, and if she had anything to say about it, he¡¯d remain beneath the Red Army¡¯s notice. Ophelia drained her mug in one long draught, setting it down with a satisfied sigh and, to Quentin¡¯s shock, a small belch. He laughed, genuinely, and she joined in, her grin both sheepish and delighted. ¡°Why don¡¯t you just change out of your robes when you go out?¡± he asked. Ophelia¡¯s hand drifted to her chest. ¡°We clerics channel our spells and blessings through the goddess Yrnhaela. Our robes, woven from the white leaves of the Tree of Life, are second only to the staves in focusing our power. It¡¯s the same for mages of other deities. To take them off would be to sever my connection, leave myself vulnerable¡­ I¡¯m lucky I still get to wear them.¡± Her gaze turned solemn. ¡°Good fortune upon you, young innkeeper. I¡¯ll be on my way.¡± Quentin watched as she rummaged through her pockets, extracting a few tarnished coins. He gently pushed them back. ¡°First two drinks are on the house.¡± ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be absurd¨C¡± ¡°I insist.¡± Quentin reached out, his fingers lightly brushing hers. ¡°And anytime you need a place to rest, come here. You¡¯re welcome, always. You won¡¯t be putting me in danger.¡± Ophelia hesitated, then slipped the coins back into her cloak. Before he could react, she leaned over the bar, embracing him. Quentin caught a faint whiff of lilies on her, mingled with the acrid scent of singed wool. ¡°Thank you,¡± she whispered fiercely. ¡°Thank you for opening your doors to me.¡± When she left, Quentin stood by the window, watching her figure disappear into the night. The inn¡¯s sign creaked in the wind, casting shifting shadows. Ophelia had lingered at it, tracing the letters with her fingertip. ¡°Hepfin,¡± she¡¯d murmured. ¡°Yrnhaela¡¯s brother. Lord of final breaths, who carries souls to rest.¡± Quentin extinguished the candles, her parting words echoing in his thoughts as he climbed the stairs to his room. There was a sense of change in the air, an energy stirring beneath the inn¡¯s very foundations. In the morning, curious gazes swept over the building¡¯s fa?ade. People whispered behind their hands, pointing to the strange scorch marks near the entrance. Quentin could feel their unease, yet something else thrummed alongside it¡ªa strange awareness of the inn, as though it were a living thing. As the day wore on, Quentin¡¯s eyes were drawn to a small boy leaving his cottage with his parents. He was thin, unsteady on his feet, but alive. The same lad Ophelia had healed the night before. Quentin smiled to himself, contentment warming him like the first light of dawn. Ophelia visited again that evening, bringing with her a round loaf of dense bread. ¡°I don¡¯t know how you¡¯re feeding yourself in this empty inn,¡± she teased. ¡°Here, you¡¯re thin enough as it is.¡± Quentin split the loaf, revealing bits of oats and barley. He grinned, dipping a piece into his ale. ¡°I have a feeling you think everyone¡¯s thin.¡± They shared a quiet meal in the glow of candlelight, her voice filling the space with stories of long-lost comrades, of the paladin and the sniper who bickered endlessly but had become inseparable. Quentin listened, drawn to the sound of her laughter and the glimpse of what had once been¡ªa world unbroken by the red priest¡¯s hand. Before she left, Ophelia reached into her cloak. ¡°I brought you something,¡± she said, producing a small sack. Inside were seeds¡ªtiny kernels of life waiting to be sown. ¡°I don¡¯t know how you¡¯d use them, but¡­ maybe you can find a way. For the children.¡± Quentin stared at the seeds, an idea forming in his mind. That night, a key on his belt began to glow. He followed its light through the dark corridors of the inn until it led him to a door he had never noticed before. Words etched themselves across its surface: Speak my name. ¡°Emralle, let me in. Bestow upon me your gifts.¡± The door swung open, revealing a chamber filled with warmth and light. Lanterns hung from the walls, casting shadows over a soil bed at the center, lush and ready for planting. Quentin knelt, sowing the seeds, and prayed. When Ophelia returned, he offered her loaves of fresh bread, their crusts warm and fragrant. She took them with trembling hands, tears shining in her eyes. ¡°You¡¯ve fed my orphanage for weeks,¡± she whispered. ¡°I can¡¯t thank you enough.¡± Quentin watched her go, the promise of something greater blooming in the silence she left behind. Chapter 3 - Mage Colors and Milk Ophelia always revealed her white robes inside the inn. Her dark cloak hung on one of the chairs. She didn¡¯t need to hide. Quentin thought she was brighter than the candles as she stepped across the wooden floorboards. Not that he was attracted to her. He simply liked her smoothness and grace, her compassion and toughness. Quentin kept looking at the silver ring on her finger, catching the light of the candles. She noticed him staring, and Ophelia smiled sadly at it, presenting her hand to the young innkeeper. ¡°We both started as clerics, my husband and I. Our respective parties met in a village terrorized by swamp creatures. The next time we met was when we stopped a dragonling from rampaging a city. He was funny and kind and strong. Not long after, we decided to settle down and leave the adventuring life behind. We wanted a large family, living on his estate on the hills. All of our party members would be their godfathers and godmothers.¡± She dropped her hand. ¡°But when the rebellion happened, he was forced to kill a Red General with his staff. We clerics only know of light spells that could dispel the darkness, but we thought that with enough light, our concentrated spells could blind and dispel the kind of corrupted magic the Red Army possessed, but at great cost to us. We were wrong. But he must have done something strange for a powerful general to fall. Miraculously, he survived casting such a high-level spell. I hurried to him, too late in realizing that he invoked the name of the war god." Ophelia stared at the candles. Quentin stared at her face. "After defeating such a powerful enemy and under the influence of the war god, my husband was promoted to a war monk, a class that wielded both staves and swords. The rules of promotions are strange, set by the rules of gods, dragons, and ancient kings. He was bound to the Red Army now, since one of those rules meant servitude upon promoting within a kingdom''s soil. And I? I would follow him in his servitude. The Red Army didn''t even blink an eye when one of their leaders died. They were amused that the war god listened to a cleric. They rewarded my husband instead of capturing him. So off he goes into the world, killing and healing. A lifetime of our sacred vows, replaced by carnage and strife. It must torture him so. He sends letters, still bringing me flowers and one day, bringing me a child of a prisoner of war.¡± The sweetness of the bread and mead was gone. Quentin tasted the bitter words in her mouth. ¡°I still remember his wooden staff transforming into ivory, its end sharp like a spear. Blood on one end, life on the other.¡± She looked at Quentin. "We clerics are known to stay behind when the rest of our stronger party members fight. We heal them from our position. My husband must find it strange to be in the middle or even in front of a battle. I must learn to do the same." Quentin spoke slowly. ¡°If the red priests forbid you to cast healing magic to all who need it, and there aren''t more clerics around, then how does the Red Army heal their own soldiers?" ¡°The elite soldiers and war generals are very strong, for starters, so they wouldn''t need much healing. But if it comes to that, the red priests, as their title suggests, can heal as well. But not as much and as quickly as a cleric. I do not know which god they pray to, but their healing feels wrong. Like they leech off the life from the weak to give to the strong. That''s why they also employ potion masters who work with green mages to produce healing tonics and magic replenishers." She looked out the window. "It is blasphemous to say, but sometimes I think our goddess of healing has left this world. The dawn does not shine as bright and not one of her constellations remains complete in the night sky.¡± She whispered, ¡°I used to pray to her every night." They finished the sweet custard bread in silence. Finally, she looked at the ceiling and yawned. ¡°Gorrimer Hill was supposed to be a sanctuary. And now we are underfunded because education is reserved for the elite. I still want to teach them all I know, but they are disheartened. They do not know if they will be alive tomorrow, and none of our teachings would guarantee their survival." Ophelia fumbled with her robes. "I met an old student of mine when I was on my rare visits to the higher tiers. Not just anyone can go through the gates, you see. You have to get this special pass. She wept when she saw me. I barely recognized her, myself. She wanted to be a gifted green mage content to stay in her enchanted gardens and greenhouses, having plants for company. She must have thought I found it shameful that she was forced to be a red mage instead. She has a natural affinity for exploding things when she gets emotional. The water fountain exploded when I chased after her as she buried her face in her hands and retreated to a bookshop.¡± ¡°How many colors of mages are there?¡± Quentin asked. Ophelia held a finger for each color she listed. "White mages, the promoted class of clerics. I chose not to promote in this land, together with the head nun. I mentioned green mages who are closer to the secrets of nature than most of us. Then there are blue and black mages. Blue mages mostly deal with support, say, when you need a boost in power or raw physical strength. They¡¯re rare but sorely needed. Blue magic is one of the most difficult types to learn since the god of wit and wisdom rarely picks a worthy mage. Then the black mages, though opposite to us, are essential to any party. I had a best friend who was a black mage, trapped in her own city. She tells me how they perverse the black arts. Red mages meanwhile¡­ seem to have all of our powers combined but on a smaller but deadlier scale. What they have is manipulation and control, though. I still cannot figure out how they managed to fend off centuries of civilization so quickly. Something about their spells cancels ours.¡± She waved a hand with a throwaway comment. "But any novice mage can learn the different types of magic, even the blue arts. But one must dedicate years to specialize in one particular art or risk sticking at base level for all different spell types." If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°I can''t imagine how you keep fighting.¡± ¡°We need to live. I am still hopeful. Schools are still running. Marketplaces and inns too. Whatever small joy this new word allows, foster that." Quentin stared at the floor. He is no mage, he can sense that within himself. He cannot help Ophelia with any color of magic. He said slowly, "I may be powerless, but at least I have this inn. I extend my invitation to your students if they need a palace to rest.¡± If the inn allows it, Quentin thought. Ophelia smiled, then rose quickly. She looked at the crumbs of bread on her robes. ¡°I was just thinking of a sweet treat for the younger kids, but I¡­ I forgot the name.¡± She looked confused. "What was it? I remember how to make it, but not its name.¡± She frowned. ¡°But I¡¯ve been eating it since I was a child! Small bread, soft and chewy. Mostly round, made of flour, milk, butter, sugar, and eggs. Sometimes with chocolate and dried raisins or prunes.¡± Quentin calmed her down. "How vexing." ___ There were whispers of war monks being ambushed by a dragon who was upset at the unbalance that the Red Army was making. Some of them fled and some of them were sent back to their respective kingdoms. This particular dragon¡¯s breath held a poison so vile that the war monks and paladins were still reeling. Of course, the red priests saved only those who were worthy. They buried the ones who were not. He heard news of green mages and potioneers selling their more common sickness bottles for a high price. Either they were forced by the Red Army, or they were corrupted themselves and joined the lifestyle of their new leaders. Ophelia did not come for many days until Quentin sensed her presence one night. He opened the door for her just as she was about to knock. Quentin let her in, noticing the dark circles under her eyes. ¡°No news of my husband,¡± she said sadly. There was a question in Quentin''s eyes that Ophelia readily answered. "Cleric and white mages can rapidly heal injuries and set bones, but cannot cure poison, especially from ancient dragons. Nor can we cure ungodly burns, ungodly chills, and devious buffs and debuffs. That¡¯s why there are many elements and divisions of branches of magic. One has an advantage over one and a disadvantage to another. One cannot handle all of them, save for those red priests and mages. They can heal sicknesses and prolong lives. That is against the natural order of things. The only god I can think of to manipulate the order is the namesake of this inn, the god of death and departure, Hepfin. But he doesn''t meddle in the world. He just waits for souls and gives them peace or, you know... feeds them to a dark abyss." Ophelia did not rest long. She did not even drink ale. She watched the candles and said her goodbyes. Hepfin, lord of death and departure. What a strange name indeed for an inn. If this inn was common, he''d wondered if people would frequent such a dark name. One of his keys glowed again when Ophelia had left; a brass key turning to copper. The glowing trail led him to one of the cupboards behind the counter. He turned the lock when it appeared and closed his eyes to the fragrant smell as he opened the wooden door. Inside were large sticks of butter, jugs of grey milk that brightened into cream when he touched them, just like the bread, and other jars containing sugar and salt. There were even cartons of eggs stacked on top of each other. He paused as he realized that these were the same ingredients that Ophelia mentioned. Quentin knelt and brought them to the counter, counting. They looked plenty now, but Quentin knew that for all the inn¡¯s mystery, he knew the magic was not foolproof and limitless. He must venture outside and gather more ingredients. Or wait for another surprise from the inn. He slept and only thought of Ophelia when he woke. The jars of white powder, fragrant butter, and cream were still there, fresh. Back at the cupboards, Quentin noticed bowls, made of porcelain and wood, tucked in one corner. So were wooden spoons of different sizes. He heard a clicking sound, exactly like the one that revealed the well indoors. Quentin saw wood rearranging and arranging themselves into a platform with long circular shapes and what looked like doorknobs on the side. A faucet, Quentin thought. The name of the contraption came to his mind easily. He only thought of Ophelia as he stared into the fireplace come sunset. He wished that this was one of the nights that she visited. He closed his eyes and felt his whole body vibrate. Suddenly, he heard footsteps echoing through the fireplace. He heard Ophelia''s voice humming a tune, walking. He was familiar enough with her steps. He looked out the window to see her strolling outside his window. Quentin leaped towards the door and swung it open. Ophelia jumped back and squeaked, clutching her dark cloak. ¡°Quentin!¡± She gasped. She looked around the inn. But this is close to the hospital, how did you¨C?¡± He held out a hand and pulled her inward. ¡°This wasn¡¯t here!¡± She said. Her eyes were wide, looking at him, looking around the inn. And when her eyes landed on the ingredients on the table, she gasped audibly, placing her hands to her open mouth. She crept towards the counter and carefully checked the ingredients. She pinched flour and sugar and salt, letting it fall like snow on her open palm. She touched the wooden bowl. Ophelia looked at Quentin and without another word, he tied an apron around her waist and followed the movements of her hands as she made the unnamed pastry in her mind. Chapter 4 - Cookies She sprinkled flour and salt in a large bowl. ¡°Grab that wooden spoon and mix the butter and sugar, Quentin.¡± He did so, mashing them together, feeling like he was grinding sand with the wooden spoon. As he mixed, Ophelia cracked one egg and an egg yolk. There was a small bottle of something that she grabbed from the counter. When she brought it to her nose she squealed in delight. ¡°Where did you get vanilla?¡± She added a tiny amount of amber-colored liquid to the bowl and told Quentin that a few drops would go a long way. She instructed him to pour the wet ingredients into the dry ones carefully. What resulted was a thick, soft, sweet-smelling, greasy dough. Ophelia plucked dried raisins from the satchels she carried and folded them carefully in that dough. ¡°Cover that with a dry cloth and let it rise for a few hours before putting them in the fireplace." ¡°My first recipe,¡± Quentin said. Ophelia smiled. ¡°You¡¯ll find patrons soon enough.¡± They wiped the flour coating the counter. Quentin thought it was nice to have someone work with him in the inn for a change. ¡°What a curious contraption your inn has,¡± Ophelia said, pointing to the faucet. Quentin turned a knob and showed Ophelia how water poured out of the tubes. Quentin washed the bowls and spoons as Ophelia dried them with a clean towel. ¡°I wonder where it draws water from.¡± Without missing a beat, Quentin pointed to the sink. ¡°There are hollow tubes connected to that and its source. The source can be in a moving river. I don¡¯t quite know how things work in this inn.¡± ¡°How smart,¡± Ophelia simply said before turning away. Once done, Ophelia and Quentin flopped onto the floor near the dough, resting their bones. Ophelia smiled contentedly and wiped a streak of flour from Quentin''s chin. ¡°Oh, I almost forgot.¡± She retrieved a mirror from her pockets and showed it to the young lad. "I was going to bring it to you later, down by the alley, but since you somehow transported your entire inn to this place...." she turned the mirror around so that Quentin met his features. "Thought that you wanted to arrange yourself when you have guests.¡± Quentin grabbed the mirror and stared at his reflection. The first thing he noticed was his eyes; black with silver specks on them. Ophelia commented once that it was like looking at a moon''s lake when she stared at them. He had fine dark hair and dark thick brows. He didn''t even notice that he tied his long hair at the back. His lips were a subtle shade of red. He looked older than the lad Ophelia healed but younger than Ophelia herself. She appeared in the mirror behind Quentin, smiling. She winked. Her features were a contrast to his. They pinched loose small clumps of the dough and lined them on a metal tray that Quentin found. He brought a candle with him to the fireplace. It would be the first time he would light these curious logs. When he brought the candle''s flame to the logs, Quentin thought he heard giggling. But when he turned around, Ophelia¡¯s lips were firm, her hands pressing down the remaining mixture. She brought them over. ¡°Now we bake and watch them brown,¡± she said. The smell was mouthwatering. Quentin and Ophelia both closed their eyes. It was like a scarf wrapping around their noses and necks. There was life in the inn. The fireplace crackled and Quentin saw how the dough bubbled and fell, flattening on the surface. Ophelia suddenly gasped as she turned her nose towards the fireplace. "I remember their names now. Cookies! How could I have forgotten? You can add almost anything to them. Chocolate. Raisins. Any sweet things. You can dip them in fresh cow¡¯s milk.¡± This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. When Ophelia took them out to cool, Quentin said, ¡°So this is what an inn is supposed to smell like.¡± Ophelia chuckled. ¡°Yes, mixes of sweet spice and salty meat. You watch for your patrons, take their orders, and offer something on your daily menu. If your guests have any special requests, they pay you extra." She smiled and waved at his dining area. "I remember playing table games and resting for the long road ahead. Inns and taverns are a traveler¡¯s delight in every town.¡± When the cookies were done, Quentin found it adorable. He pinched them and brought one small piece to his mouth, closing his eyes again. The taste exploded on his tongue. ¡°I could eat nothing but this all my life.¡± ¡°I thought the same before. You can stock them up for days.¡± Quentin opened his eyes. ¡°I can make another batch, Ophelia. Take them to your children. Yes, I am sure. Don¡¯t even fight me on this.¡± Before the cleric could properly react, Quenitn grabbed her sack and placed all the cookies in it. Ophelia hugged him and stroked his head. ¡°May the goddess smile upon you, Quentin.¡± The next night, there was a letter slipped under his door. Quentin grabbed it and smiled. Ophelia had sketched her students. They were happy holding their cookies. He pinned the drawing to his room on the empty bulletin board. There was a note on the back of it. No one notices your inn but me. One of my students asked me what I was looking at. When I pointed, they told me they saw the houses between your inn, but not the inn itself. You can see the nunnery from there. There¡¯s a spire atop a hill with the sigil of the goddess. Quentin craned his neck. The sigil was just at the edge of his windowpane. He stepped out into the night, quietly, dimming the candlelights as he did so. The night wind tickled his bare neck. There was a soft glow coming from one of the old open windows. He imagined Ophelia carrying a lantern up and down the steps of the old brick tower. The first thing Ophelia did, when she returned, was touch Quenitn''s wrist and place her ringed hand on his chest. ¡°Ah, a heartbeat. Just making sure you¡¯re not a ghost. Though, it wouldn¡¯t be the first time I''ve befriended a mysterious spirit.¡± ¡°Have you encountered an inn like mine?¡± Quentin asked. ¡°I¡¯ve seen mysterious unexplainable things, Quentin. We live in a world of gods and monsters after all. But truth be told, no, I hadn¡¯t ever rested at an inn like yours or met a person like you. You and your home are special, indeed.¡± ___ Quentin knew something was wrong. One moment, he was wiping the empty wooden bowls to occupy his time even though it was clean. Perhaps he just missed Ophelia. Perhaps he was practicing for when people arrived and dined in this inn. He had also just baked another batch of cookies, the sweetness filling the inn. Then all the candles dimmed and he heard Ophelia¡¯s quick breaths from the fireplace and her rapid steps outside. Quentin opened the curtains and saw that the hill where the nunnery stood was awash with unwelcome light. Two shadows, dark cloaks billowing, ran into the alley. The familiar face of Ophelia looked straight at him. He squinted, realizing that Ophelia was half-carrying, half-dragging the other figure. ¡°Her guest is welcome,¡± he said to the inn. Quentin rushed from the door, feeling the strain of the few steps he was allowed outside, and helped Ophelia take her companion inside. They smelled of fire and singed skin. The door shut behind them. The curtains closed. The candles dimmed even lower. The inn held its breath. Not long after came the harsh steps of the red soldiers. They stopped near the inn. ¡°How does she keep eluding us?¡± A familiar voice growled. ¡°She can¡¯t have gone far. Go to the main street. You four, split into the other streets. Corner her to the gate.¡± Quentin stood and brightened the place when he was sure they were gone. He looked down to see a boy, barely older than the one Ophelia healed the night that they met, slumped on his floor. His torso had scorchmarks and his leg was a striking pink; the color of raw cooked flesh. He grabbed two mugs of ale from the barrel and placed it on the floor. Ophelia was murmuring to the boy that they were safe now. She looked up at Quentin. ¡°This one is Lyke. He¡¯s one of the talented students at the nunnery. They were forced to play games and sports to see his strength. We thought it was another simple yet barbaric spin to our games today. We sometimes hold friendly matches, you see, to keep their spirits up. But I knew there was something wrong when a lower-ranking red priest from this district came up unannounced. They call themselves the Gul. I smuggled my staff and hid it near the bushes where I stood, watching the games unfold.¡± Chapter 5 - Lodging for Lyke Ophelia stroked the boy¡¯s hair. She reached for a long white wooden staff strapped to her back. A dormant white crystal fixed to the top of the staff, caged in sacred white briars. ¡°The Tears of Yrnhaela,¡± Ophelia said when she caught Quentin looking. She closed her eyes and positioned the crystal near the injury. The crystal activated, glowing brightly, like a star on your palm. Lyke¡¯s leg slowly stitched itself back together, the pink turning into a scar. But Ophelia was straining. With her experience and power, he knew that her healing was not supposed to look like this. He healed that first boy like it was nothing. Quentin knew she had depleted her magic reserves and was battling an already strong corruption of magic. The glowing stopped. Ophelia struggled to breathe. Quentin pressed ale on her hand, together with freshly baked soft cookies. Ophelia chuckled through her teeth. "Ale and cookies. Everything is better now." She finished a cookie in one big mouthful. She looked at it, flexed her fingers, shrugged, and took one more. She took big gulps of ale. She seemed to gain some of her strength back, at least enough to lean against the doorframe and talk. ¡°He won most of the games. Running. Throwing. They wanted to take him, but he needed to¡­¡± Ophelia stopped, her hands balling into fists. Quentin saw veins there. ¡°He needed to beat his best friend to a pulp. He didn¡¯t want to do it, of course. So the lower-ranking red priest, that Gul, summoned a fireball and was about to throw it at him. The other nuns and I screamed in outrage.¡± She wiped the sweat off her brow. ¡°He moved between his friend to block the fireball, and I was already running to get my staff and send holy light upon the Gul when he threw the fireball directly at me. Lyke was fast. He ran to catch the flame and a holy shield sent by Mother Cassandra wrapped around Lyke, but it was not strong enough to block the intensity of the cursed flame. He still took half of the damage. I healed him there and then as the other nuns formed a human barrier between the soldiers and the students. The rGul commanded them to burn us all down, but even the soldiers knew it was against the rules of their Red Army. He was mad drunk with power, this little red priest. I was not sorry for what I did.¡± Ophelia stared at Quentin, fiercely. ¡°I cast a bright luminous light that blinded him. The nuns saw and Cassandra told me to flee. She told me that she¡¯d explain that it was against their own rules to harm a spectator. I didn¡¯t know I could still manage such a high-level spell after being dormant for so long.¡± ¡°You always had hope in you,¡± Quentin told her, squeezing her shoulder. Lyke whimpered. He rolled around and Ophelia gasped when she saw his scorched back. There was fluid leaking out of it. Immediately, Ophelia grabbed her staff again and channeled her healing to the boy¡¯s back, but even after such a bright glow, the boy¡¯s back barely improved. Even with the cool wind that she summoned, Lyke¡¯s back was still hot. The ungodly burns remained, and that¡¯s just from one lower-ranking red priest. Quentin remembered that white magic cannot simply cure corrupted burns and chills. And that the red magic somehow cancels all of the other disciplines of magic. Ophelia whispered. ¡°This cannot be. I have to go to the potion master upstairs. Up a tier, I mean. She owes me.¡± She turned towards the door but hesitated. Quentin said, ¡°I¡¯ll take care of him. I¡¯ll set him in my room while you go fetch the potion.¡± She nodded, leaving her wooden staff, and hurried off. When she had gone, he bent down to carry the boy. Lyke was taller than Ophelia, even taller than Quentin, but the smaller innkeeper found that when he placed his arms under the lad¡¯s legs and neck, he weighed nothing more than a small child. He carried Lyke towards the passageway and was about to settle him into his room when his keys glowed again. He followed the trail further back inside the inn. He hadn''t been in this area before. Partly because it was gloomy and the mystery of this inn cautioned him to explore into its depths. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. He heard another machination, and stairs rolled down from above. He tested his weight on one step and deeming it secure, climbed up to the inn''s second floor. The passageway here was a mirror of the one underneath, but this time all the doors had knobs and keyholes. The brass key remained brass when he unlocked the door closest to the stairs. Once he stepped inside, candles near the bedside lighted themselves. Quentin laid Lyke gently on the fur mattress. ¡°This is more comfortable than the pelts we use,¡± Lyke murmured. His voice was deeper than Quentin¡¯s, and even in his wounded state, the lad looked strong. ¡°Where is Sister Ophelia?¡± he croaked. ¡°She is getting you medicine.¡± ¡°Where?¡± ¡°To a potion-maker at the higher tier.¡± He groaned. ¡°She¡¯s so strong.¡± Later, he added, ¡°Not many inns house an orphan like me.¡± ¡°Not many inns are like this one,¡± he whispered. Quentin scanned the room. There was a small window with a view of some steeples and tiled roofs. He saw lights from many distant lantern posts. ¡°They plan on bringing me there,¡± Lyke whispered. He was looking out the window as well. ¡°To their fancy schools. Sister Ophelia told me it was grander before the Red Army came.¡± He made a face. ¡°As if I want to mingle with spoiled and rotten offspring of the elite. They will always look down on us.¡± Quentin did not reply. He looked around the room and saw that it was cozy enough. The bedposts were made of the same kind of hardwood as the furniture downstairs. Blankets made out of wool and pillows stuffed with feathers were prepared in the bed. The only thing missing was food and refreshments. Quentin supposed that lodgers would get that themselves in the bar. He went down, fetching a tankard of ale this time, so that Lyke had something to drink if he kept waking up late in the night. He also grabbed another stale bread from Emralle¡¯s chamber, noticing that the crops were growing nicely. He placed the bread, tankard of ale, and a nice clean towel on a wooden tray, balancing them as he climbed. He thought that perhaps, in the future, when he had more guests, he could build his own machination to carry trays of food upstairs instead of running up and down. Quentin urged Lyke to eat. The lad din, forcing himself to take a bite out of the custard bread. He opened his eyes and smiled, crumbs sticking to his lips. He slept not long after and Quentin wiped the sticky crumbs off his lips. He dimmed the candles and shut the door softly. He opened the door when he sensed Ophelia was near. Her blonde hair was plastered on her forehead. Breathless, she collapsed on the bar and drank the ale that was ready for her. Her mission was successful: she showed Quentin the small purple vial with a metal latch. She didn¡¯t seem surprised when Quentin led her upstairs to the new part of the inn. She was getting used to the mystery, perhaps. Ophelia whispered to Lyke and helped him turn around so she could treat his cursed wounds. Quentin watched as she applied the viscous liquid onto the boy¡¯s corrupted burns, the smell of cool mint in the air. Lyke relaxed his shoulders. ¡°The potion has an added effect of drowsiness, so he¡¯ll be out far longer than usual.¡± Ophelia almost looked apologetic. ¡°He¡¯s welcome to stay for however long he likes, even after he has recovered. As are you.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to be like them. I do not want to go to war.¡± Lyke was mumbling as he drifted off to sleep. His brows knit together. Ophelia stroked his hair. ¡°I won¡¯t let them take any of you.¡± Lyke¡¯s face relaxed and he began to snore. Ophelia sighed, and the cleric and innkeeper closed the door behind them. Quentin warmed the cookies by the fire and placed them on soft napkins on the bar. Ophelia took one and brought it with her near the window. They could still hear the distant noise of red soldiers scouring the streets for her and Lyke. Out of the blue, Ophelia said, ¡°These cookies are helping restore my health and magic.¡± She holds it out to Quentin. ¡°I can sense it. There is no possible way I could''ve cast that high-level spell and still have the skill and speed to run up the streets, past the barrier in the gates separating the different districts and tiers, and come back all in one piece. I usually have to rest or pray to the goddess to be able to cast spells again, but one bite of this feels like I¡¯m regaining more of my magic.¡± She cracked her neck slowly. ¡°Though, I feel it is temporary and I still need to rest to fully recharge.¡± ¡°Of course you do,¡± Quentin said. He was already thinking of placing her next to Lyke¡¯s room upstairs. Chapter 6 - Pillars of Starlight Ophelia stared out the window. ¡°I have to get there and save the other children.¡± Quentin took the cookie that Ophelia held and placed it back on the tray. He held her cold hands and brought her close to the fireplace. ¡°I know how much this pains you, but you must rest now. You won¡¯t be of much help to them in this state.¡± Ophelia didn''t move. A few moments passed before she forced herself from the window, wincing, and allowed Quentin to guide her through the passageway and up the stairs. He thought that Ophelia glanced at the state of his room, suddenly feeling shy but trying to reassure himself that he was a tidy innkeeper: he made sure that his bed was made every dusk before he spilled out of his room. Quentin¡¯s keys jangled and glowed again. Only briefly this time, and he didn¡¯t need to see the trail of glowing light to know that Ophelia would be staying just next door to Lyke. She smiled at the room, calling it charming and quaint. He brought her a basin of fresh water, clean towels, and custard bread for the night. She smiled and thanked him before retiring. That night in his bed, Quentin could not sleep. He stood up, sweeping the floors and mopping the boot stains and scorch marks off the floor. ___ He sat with Ophelia at dusk, looking at the lantern posts glow brighter. They town crier brought news that the greedy Gul was harassing the nuns and wanted to confiscate the land. He planned to question all of Ophelia¡¯s powerless sisters, but Mother Cassandra made it clear that all the responsibility and blame should fall on her. Ophelia was digging her fingers on her thighs, squeezing. She frowned, thinking of a plan. She went out once it was dark enough and returned with a scroll. They had means of corresponding in secret, she told Quentin. ¡°The soldiers are taking the other students marked with good enough scores. Mother Cassandra is pleading an audience with the district¡¯s governing red priest, the one higher than the Gul. You''ll spot them by the fancy feathery head gears they wear, the pompous Shuuls.¡± She crumpled the parchment and fed it to the fire. ¡°The good news is that this higher-ranking Shuul does not care for the nunnery at all and says that there are better selections from other breeds, either from the children of prisoners of war or the kingdom¡¯s own stock.¡± Ophelia made an irritated noise. "Good news, indeed. Tonight, they will round up the students as retaliation. Just so the Gul can comfort his pride and teach us a lesson. I can''t let that happen.¡± She told Quentin of her plans. ¡°My inn will be waiting.¡± Quentin nodded after analyzing her plans. The candles glowed and the door opened slightly before locking again. The inn agreed. The stars were unusually bright that evening. It was such a contrast to the chaos happening in the nunnery. Red lanterns have begun to trail up Gorrimer Hill. All the windows and doors of the cottages nearby were locked. The children and the nuns protecting them at the nunnery must be terrified. Ophelia whispered a prayer to the goddess Yrnhaela. ¡°If you''re still listening in your throne up in the heavens, here my plea.¡± She breathed, and her eyes and staff glowed softly for a moment. She nodded at Quentin before she went out into the night, the wind howling, her white robes like starlight, flapping. She raised her staff high and spoke a language that Quentin fully understood. ¡°Let the light of the heavens fill the night!¡± Ophelia summoned great beams of light, like a great pillar of starlight in a distance not far from the inn. Some of the red lanterns stopped and he heard red soldiers bark orders. Ophelia blew a long breath, shoulders shaking, and gritted her teeth. She summoned yet other smaller beams of light that caused wreckage nearby. Quentin heard the sound of splinters, like trees falling to the ground. She must be destroying their stations, he thought. It would cut off their supplies. Ophelia fell to the ground, sweating and panting. Smoke was coming out of her crystal. The light from her staff flickered. Quentin pushed five cookies into her hand and she brought them one by one into her mouth. The theory was right. The crystal glowed bright again. Determined but cautious, the mighty cleric directed this last beam of light at a far greater distance. The soldiers froze and split their numbers further, chasing after the marble pillars like bugs to fire. Quentin grabbed Ophelia''s shoulders and pulled her inside as the soldiers ran through the streets. He pressed five more cookies onto her palm. ¡°No way a single cleric could have done this on her own! They¡¯re staging a rebellion!¡± ¡°There aren¡¯t enough clerics or white mages around you fool! And we know that was a high-level spell.¡± They kept swearing and yelling as they barreled down the street. Ophelia smiled as she dusted the crumbs off her robes. ¡°It¡¯s just like old times.¡± She winked at Quentin and sprinted towards Gorrimer Convent. ___ Quentin waited by the door, staring at the fireplace. He kept peeking outside. The red lanterns have left the hill¡¯s path, at least. Without meaning to, his eyes grew heavy as he stared into the embers. He fell into a vision. Bright, beautiful, twinkling gods sat on a table laughing and dining. They clinked their golden goblets and fed on plump grapes served on silver platters. They drank luminous wine. Others turned towards him and mocked him, waving their hands as if dismissing him. But they were stared down by two goddesses and some other, dimmer gods. These two women, faceless, wearing perfect robes of silk and leaves walked towards him and offered him their hands. He was pulled from the vision by loud banging on the door. Quentin jumped, thinking it was his door, but the inn would not let him out. Outside, red soldiers were harassing the cottages in this street. ¡°Let me reveal myself to them.¡± The inn did not budge, but the innkeeper placed his palm on the door and whispered, ¡°Please.¡± Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. The door swung open. Quentin ran outside and hid in the shadows. The red soldiers were screaming at the parents he saw days back, even threatening them with a small spark of flame. They wanted to know if they were sheltering Ophelia. Quentin bent low and threw a large rock at the man. One of the red soldiers crumpled to the ground. Quentin was about to retreat inside when he saw Ophelia¡¯s unmistakable white robes and a group of her students rushing to his inn. He wasn¡¯t sure if she had the strength to take on a red soldier directly, so he begged the inn to permit him a couple more steps outside. Quentin felt the bindings on him loosen and stepped out into the cold wind, throwing another rock at the soldier¡¯s companion. ¡°You, stop!¡± The red soldier summoned a fireball and charged at him. The family locked their doors. Quentin dove into an alleyway. Somehow, he knew to hide in the shadows. He did not speak and blended well in the darkness. Ophelia¡¯s little ghost friend, he thought. When the red soldier cast his odd flame to light the path, he saw that it was another dead end. He did not see nor feel Quentin as he snuck past. It turned out that he didn¡¯t need to run back. The howling wind carried his body halfway to the front door. Ophelia and the rest of her students were almost near. To his surprise, Lyke was there at the doorway. In his hand was a rock. ¡°Duck!¡± He yelled to Quentin. Quentin did, and the rock flew past him, and the red soldier behind him crumpled the ground. But the ball of flame he had summoned landed neatly on Quentin¡¯s leg, tripping him. He winced as he felt the flame eat his skin. ¡°Quentin!¡± Ophelia yelled. She grabbed him by the arms and pulled him inside. He saw there was another woman with Ophelia, but she nodded at her and ran back towards Gorrimer Hill. He stood and locked the door, panting. ¡°How many times have we stayed behind this door so breathless?¡± he said weakly to Ophelia. ¡°Your leg. Here, be still.¡± Ophelia¡¯s staff glowed. She shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m going to need another vial. I¡¯ll beg or steal if I have to. You stay put while I¨C¡± she gasped as Quentin¡¯s skin began to stitch itself back together. It looked like it had never been burned. ¡°You¡¯re getting powerful,¡± he commented, smiling. Ophelia did not return the smile. ¡°I am depleted.¡± She looked at the innkeeper. ¡°Either it was a very weak fireball from an inexperienced red soldier, or you simply have been blessed by your patron deity. You lucky boy.¡± Quentin did not have time to process that. In front of him were boys and girls of varying ages and conditions. Their eyes were wide and wary, looking at the inn, at each other, at their Sister Ophelia, at Lyke, and at Quentin. They all wore the same old tunic and simple pants or skirts. They clutched each other as more red soldiers caused a scene outside. Ophelia cleared her throat. ¡°This is the nice innkeeper I told you about. He¡¯s the one that baked cookies for all of you.¡± They huddled together, but Quentin could see some of them relax. Somehow, the noise from outside diminished. He snapped his fingers, remembering. ¡°Who wants cookies?¡± Ophelia helped him warm the cookies by the fireplace. He told the children to sit at the tables as he brought out fresh ale, basins of water, towels, and bowls. Lyke and the older teens helped the younger kids wipe their faces. They comforted them, telling them they were safe. Once the smell of cookies wafted, they all closed their eyes and welcomed the pleasant smell. Quentin thought that this inn wouldn''t be complete without other people. It came alive when he wanted to do something helpful for others and as others influenced him. He warmed some thick milk near the fireplace and added fresh water, so they all could dunk cookies in their bowls. It was less creamy, but they wouldn''t mind. Lyke was the tallest amongst them and Quentin saw who appeared to be his closest friend by his side. ¡°He¡¯s a natural leader,¡± Quenit observed. He and Ophelia were behind the bar, listening to the delightful sounds of children giggling and biting into soft bread. Ophelia whispered. ¡°Lyke is the child of a prisoner of war that my husband contained. Leaders of a rebellion.¡± She closed her eyes. ¡°We vowed to protect him. I even thought of raising him as our own. He''s a strong, soft boy. If only his parents could see him now.¡± ¡°Does he know?¡± Quentin asked. Ophelia looked down. She whispered, ¡°Not yet.¡± ___ Ophelia healed them one by one. The children looked at her like sunflowers following the morning sun. Ophelia told Quentin they had to distract and ambush some soldiers in the dark and knock them out as they escaped. The woman she was with helped. The inn filled with warm light and cool wind as Ophelia calmed their bruises. Fortunately, they didn¡¯t suffer any major injuries. Quentin offered them lodging upstairs. As Ophelia helped them settle in, Quentin wiped the mess off every table. He washed the bowls and mugs of ale. He swept and mopped the floors. He stoked the fireplace and snuffed out some candles. When he had finished, he turned to see the cleric looking serenely at him. ¡°Do you not get lonely?¡± ¡°I do not. But it feels nice to have a guest. Several of them.¡± He nodded at her. ¡°You should get some rest. You earned it.¡± They did not wait long to hear the news. Come the morning, the red soldiers have left the nunnery and decided to investigate the rouge light beams from last night. They did not assume that it was Ophelia for she was just an unpromoted cleric, and even if she was a holy white mage, she couldn¡¯t have wielded the power to summon several beams of light in quick succession. They did not suspect Cassandra either because she had an audience with both the Gul and Shuul that night. As for the children, the higher-ranking Shuul could not have cared less. The nunnery was left alone and the lesser Gul was reprimanded and moved to another district. Ophelia breathed out a sigh of relief. Lyke hummed a tune in the dining room and the other children followed him. Ophelia tried not to cry as they sang about freedom and hope. Quentin let the melody stay in the air. He remembered Ophelia''s adventures of merrymaking, of tankard-clinking and boot-stomping. He smiled. That would be a nice scene. Later, Ophelia hopped outside to gather more news. She returned with a letter from the upper tier, stating the Gorrimer Convent was officially ordered to be left undisturbed. All of them clapped. Quentin and Ophelia stood next to each other as the children chased each other, only protesting when they began to jump onto the tables. They retired inside their quarters for just one more night as the sisters of the convent cleaned last evening''s chaos. Ophelia woke them at dawn, her white robes glistening in the sun. She ushered them out, and Quentin felt light as each of their sweet little faces thanked him as they went through the door. One of them even called him Uncle Tintin. Ophelia hugged Quentin tightly. She patted his cheek. Lyke led the others back up the hill while she guided them from the rear. Before they traveled far, a man from this neighborhood greeted her. To both their surprise, he greeted Quentin as well. ¡°Good day, young man. You¡¯re a new face.¡± His eyes looked at the inn¡¯s sign. ¡°That¡¯s a rather curious name for an inn. I don¡¯t remember¡­¡± but then his eyes glazed over and he shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s nice to have inns around these parts, don¡¯t you agree? Maybe I can come by this evening.¡± Quentin blinked. It took him a moment before responding, ¡°Happy to have you.¡± The man smiled and walked off, whistling, gossiping to the other neighbors about the pillars of light. Ophelia traded stunned looks with Quentin before smiling widely. ¡°Looks like you¡¯ll have your hands full now. Good luck, Uncle Tintin. Innkeeper of Hepfin¡¯s Cradle.¡± That afternoon, before he retired to bed, Quentin felt a strong pull from Emralle¡¯s chamber. There, on the ornate soilbed, were plenty of parsnips, oats, barley, and rye. It was more than enough to make stews and pottages. Chapter 7 - Regulars Quentin was not used to serving the ordinary men of Brikkenbale. He was not used to having people inside the space he occupied for so long. But he learned quickly, with help from Ophelia and the cues he got from his guests. He soon learned that when they lifted their cups, that meant they needed their ales to be refilled. When they raised their bowls, Quentin brought their bowls to the brass pot bubbling constantly in the fireplace. He had harvested the crops that first night after meeting Old Tom, the man who first spotted Quentin and the inn. Ophelia taught him how to dice the parsnips. She was also kind enough to give him several blank scrolls to list down his recipes. If only he had potatoes and small bits of meat, he would¡¯ve added that to the stew as well. But for now, his guests would enjoy the parsnips, along with rye and oats. If not stew, then Quentin would request Ophelia or some random errand lad to take his rye and oats to the millers, and they would return with finely ground flour for baking bread. Lastly, he also offered them porridge; hulled oats with milk. His few customers did not find it odd that Hepfin¡¯s Cradle opened at dusk and closed at dawn. It meant late-night talks undisturbed by red soldiers patrolling the streets, barking out curfew. They did not wonder how the inn remained invisible to their enemies¡¯ eyes, or that their accursed steps did not find their way often in the alley where the inn stood, so long as it was open, anyway. Slowly, Quentin¡¯s guests spoke more freely, sometimes inviting a friend. They liked the food just as much they liked to talk about more sensitive subjects; taboo topics that would send them to prison if a red soldier would hear them. They cast off their worries and one or twice a night, Quentin smiled as a chuckle or snicker broke the stream of quiet chatter of the inn. He decided that he liked the sounds of bubbling water inside the pot, the flickering candle, and the movements of wood in his place. Sometimes, he would catch them looking in his direction. He thought that his odd-colored eyes would unsettle them, but curiously, it had the opposite effect: they smiled at him and affectionately tipped their mugs. Quentin smiled at Old Tom, liking the way he smiled; a youthful grin with missing teeth. Since he was the first to notice and be a guest of Hepfin¡¯s Cradle, Quentin doted on the old man, making sure that his drink was always filled and giving him cookies from time to time. ¡°You spoil your customers, lad,¡± Old Tom said. ¡°Just you, Tom,¡± he winked at the old man, wiping his table. Old Tom wrapped the soft chewy cookie in a napkin he always brought and tucked it in one of his pockets. The pastry didn¡¯t seem to affect villagers or people who had no magic. He told as much to Ophelia when she came back. When the cleric saw the guests gathering inside the inn, she smiled at them all and clapped her hands in front of Quentin in an excited way. He always had a cookie ready for her, and stopped her half the time from paying with coins. ¡°You need money to run an inn, Quentin. Even an inn such as this.¡± Her eyes looked up to indicate the building. ¡°You bring in more guests as it is,¡± Quentin said, pointing subtly to the people drinking and eating behind her. There was twice the number of people when she was there. She was like a soft lantern inside the inn, Ophelia, and the candles glowed a little warmer and brighter when she was around. Quentin suddenly snapped his fingers. He didn''t know why he hadn''t thought of it before. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Now that the inn receives the innocent, assuming, then send the word out. You should heal them here! They wouldn¡¯t risk getting caught by sending secret messages, and you wouldn¡¯t have to worry about depleting your magic that much. Not with these.¡± Quentin indicated the cookies were served on a ceramic platter at the bar. Ophelia agreed, and that was that. Whenever there was an injured person, she would knock on Quentin¡¯s door and heal them right there on one of the tables, under the soft glow of the candles. He would be ready with a bowl of hot stew or porridge and a cookie. ¡°I don¡¯t have anything to pay you,¡± they would say. ¡°Your recovery is payment enough.¡± Soon enough, Quentin¡¯s guests doubles from three to five villagers to six to nine. Nine people were already crowded enough and Quentin thought if the inn would allow for constructing a larger table somewhere. In the meantime, Quentin was memorizing their preferences; how to soften the parsnips for Old Tom, how young Gilbert, the youth that Ophelia healed, favored carrots and peas soup with bread. They may not summon beams of white heavenly light, cast wind, or heal, but the villagers of Brikkenbale still need fuel to work. Quentin was content and happy that he was part of this. Cooking, feeding them, wiping the counters and tables with his trusted rag, mopping, sweeping, washing the dishes, and making sure that the pleasant bubbling of stew never stopped. ___ Quentin¡¯s guests were lively tonight. There weren¡¯t many days that the villagers were happy, but there was definitely excitement charging his usually quiet inn. Quentin stood behind the bar and observed the rare relaxed smiles on the faces of his guests. There was talk of this night market festival that would last three nights. Quentin was curious that even despite the Red Army overthrowing the kingdom, they still allowed villagers to experience their old traditions and festivals. He thought darkly that this was a strategy than mercy. But he didn¡¯t want to sour the mood, so he served them all with bright smiles. The nights leading up to the night festival were full of good cheer. Old Tom waved at Quentin to come closer. He was ready to fill his drink when he saw the ale was still almost full. ¡°Thought you should know, sonny. There¡¯s a rather talented thief roaming around Brikkenbale during the night markets. Nobody knows who he is or what he looks like, but he strikes, still.¡± Tom scratched the scruff of hair under his chin. ¡°Red soldiers have been trying to draw him out since last year, and they treat those poor beggars in the street especially harshly.¡± He looked thoughtful. ¡°Though come to think of it, the night market thief never steals from us poor folk. It¡¯s the richer ones upstairs that need to worry about their wares and pearls.¡± The night before the festival, Quentin spotted new faces when he peeked out the windows of the inn. Cleaner, paler faces who wore brighter clothes and adornments. These were people who held their heads high and looked well-fed. The people from Brewmlithe, the upper tier of the kingdom. he noticed Gilbert pause as they stepped around him, and only moved when they strode past. He muttered under his breath. It was unlikely that the richer folks of Brewmlithe would hire red soldiers, seeing as how they¡¯re expensive and the ones responsible for erasing their knights and guards in the first place, but Old Tom mentioned that one never knew the mind of those with money. Ophelia came with her own piece of information. ¡°The night market festival was supposed to benefit the honest villagers living in the lowest tier of every kingdom. Now these red bastards are setting up their stalls in the town square. They plan on filling their stalls with discounted prices of their usual overpriced potions to the elites and not to the poor who need them.¡± She breathed out. ¡°They probably bullied the potioneers to make them more in haste, reducing the potency. Probably lessened the quality too by harassing green mages.¡± Ophelia gripped her staff hard. Chapter 8 - The Fair-Haired Boy Ophelia came by the inn, in the middle of the pleasant hubbub. She went straight for Quentin and Old Tom when she spotted them, sitting at their table. Quentin, of course, being the good innkeeper he was, placed a wash basin in front of her, then a mug of ale and her plate of cookies. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll get tired of these anytime soon.¡± Ophelia smiled. They chatted about Tom¡¯s wife and their growing family. At some point in their conversation, he dug his knuckles into his back, groaning. He waved off Quentin¡¯s worried look. ¡°¡®Tis a natural part of aging m¡¯boy. So you better enjoy your youth while it lasts. Get out more and thank every moment you can walk and clean with your body moaning at your o stop." Ophelia massaged the source of Tom¡¯s pain, eliciting a murmur of thanks. ¡°Goddess bless ya, Sister.¡± Ophelia smiled sadly. ¡°If only there was a way for healing magic to lessen your pain, but they don''t work if it comes from a natural process of life¡­¡± She looked thoughtful. ¡°Maybe a holroot ointment could help. Maybe I could find some for you tomorrow.¡± ¡°Holroot¡¯s coming at a very steep price,¡± Tom said. He looked at Quentin. ¡°When I was a lad like you, before this Red Army nonsense, holroots and other medicinal plants grew almost everywhere in the meadows past the walls of this kingdom. Some even made their way inside these walls when green mages started appearing.¡± He shrugged his shoulders. ¡°Well, anyway. Told the lad here of the thief running around during the night market.¡± ¡°Ah, them. Yes. He could teach me a thing or two about sneaking off,¡± Ophelia said. Tom looked thoughtful. ¡°When there was still justice, what sentence would you pass when trying a thief? I¡¯m curious since some white mages have landed themselves nicely as law people.¡± ¡°Depends, but I like to think this one deserves a second chance,¡± Ophelia said immediately. ¡°If they didn¡¯t kill anyone out of malice or sport, this thief could excel in other ways.¡± ___ There was a new face in the inn. Quentin had spotted enough richer folks by now that he recognized when people had money or came from money. The young lad observing the inn was handsome and clean-looking, with wide eyes framed by round spectacles. When he spotted Quentin by the bar, he stepped into the inn''s cozy warmth. Quentin smiled and waved him over, offering an empty seat. ¡°New to town?¡± Quentin spoke confidently for someone who was in the same position as this newcomer. The lad nodded and offered a strained but genuine smile. ¡°I came here for the night festival. Your red soldiers told me all the inns were full in the higher tiers from the other travelers, so I ventured here.¡± ¡°You a merchant? You don¡¯t look it. What you selling?¡± Quentin laid down a mug of ale, stew, and a big chunk of cookie in front of him. The lad stared at the pastry curiously. ¡°I¡­ uh¡­ no, not a merchant.¡± He flashed a sort of badge or plate hidden under his robes. ¡°I¡¯m a student at the university nearby.¡± He showed the glowing small vials dangling from his belt. Each vial was protected in small metal cages. ¡°I¡¯m an apprentice in an esteemed apothecary from the other kingdom.¡± Quentin nodded. He looked well-dressed, that¡¯s for sure. He was tall, about the same height and age as Gilbert. His robes looked ironed and steamed. His boots were made of fine leather. He was wearing a long mage¡¯s hat, trying to hide his long hair and ears, but Quentin saw the outlines of long half-fey ears underneath. His eyes were still wide, like a doe lost in a new forest. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. ¡°What¡¯s your name, fella?¡± Quentin was using Old Tom¡¯s personality. He thought it would make him more friendly, and help him blend in. ¡°Finn, short for¡­ well, short for something longer. Like seven syllables longer.¡± ¡°Welcome to Hepfin¡¯s Cradle, Finn. Here, ale and cookies are free for first-timers.¡± Finn smiled, gave a little bow, and dug into his stew. He paused, nodding, and continued with his meal. Quentin trained his eyes on the lad as he rotated around the inn, taking orders and cooking. He stoked the fireplace and added more chopped crops and water to the stew. It was a good thing he was watchful, for when Quentin was wiping away the mess of one table, a fair-haired youth entered the inn and scoured the premises. That, and he heard something else in the fireplace... Quentin stopped and squinted at the recent guest. He looked around, but all the others at the table were too busy clinking mugs, chattering, and laughing. They were too absorbed in their conversations. The fair-haired boy walked silently, avoiding the bright candles as he approached Finn at the bar. This boy was almost cat-like in his steps compared to the nervous teenager earlier. But for all his quiet movement, the fair-haired boy stumbled on Finn¡¯s stool and fell to the floor. Finn, surprised, helped the boy to his knees, but the boy held his hands up, muttering, ¡°No harm done.¡± He smiled easily and turned away quickly, Finn watching him leave. The boy was out the door when he bumped into Quentin. The boy stared at Quentin. He looked behind him, wondering how the innkeeper slipped past. ¡°Another new face,¡± Quentin said mildly. ¡°Ale for you?¡± The fair-haired boy recovered. He smiled politely. ¡°Oh, thanks!¡± His tone was light, cheerful. There was already a mug of ale ready in Quentin¡¯s hands so he did not need to go back inside. The boy looked at it, trying to mask uncertainty with amazement. Quentin saw him sniff at the liquid before putting it into his mouth. He finished it in a few gulps. ¡°Would love to have you back,¡± Quentin said, taking the mug from him, ¡°just so long you return to that poor student his wares lad. Best to behave in my inn.¡± The boy froze, acting confused. ¡°I didn¡¯t take anything, mister.¡± Quentin kept his smile so that his remaining guests inside wouldn¡¯t notice anything was wrong. He didn¡¯t want to reveal the thief''s identity. Still, Quentin hed the boy''s gaze. ¡°Smallest bottle he owned. Tiny enough to fit in the upper left pocket of your jerkin. I believe there¡¯s more in your other pockets, but those you did not loot inside, so I¡¯ll let you keep those treasures.¡± He jerked a thumb at Finn. ¡°Quick now, before he notices and calls for help. You don¡¯t even know what the vial does, I¡¯m guessing.¡± The boy stared at him. He blinked and flashed a crooked smile this time, unashamed that he was caught. ¡°I was going to sell it back at the real crooks at the night market tomorrow. I was going to ask them what it was.¡± He handed the vial into Quenitn¡¯s open palm. Quentin said, ¡°This young apprentice is trying to survive like the rest of you. He painstakingly brewed his wares for hours upon hours to sell just for this one night. I have a feel for the type of person that enters my inn. His prices would be fair.¡± The fair-haired boy looked guilty for a second. Then he shrugged. ¡°What about me? What have you felt when I stepped inside?¡± Quentin gave him a custard bread from Emralle¡¯s chamber. ¡°That you¡¯re talented. And that you¡¯re hungry.¡± Quentin headed back inside, bringing it to Finn. He searched his belt, wondering how the vial fell off when it was secured so well. He chastised himself. Quentin thought it fair to warn him about desperate, talented lock-picking thieves running around these nights. Finn gulped and paid for lodging. Quentin made sure there was a secure chest in his room. When all the customers had gone, Quentin extinguished the fireplace with the snap of his finger. Before the thief came, he had heard the fair-haired boy¡¯s voice in the fireplace, as clear as when he heard Ophelia¡¯s. Chapter 9 - Theo At the stroke of midnight, Quentin felt the great whirring inside him again. The inn wanted to move. He braced himself for the familiar howling of winds that coursed through him. He gritted his teeth. The floorboards and the stones of the fireplace rattled and shook, and in a blink, he knew even before opening the curtains that the inn had moved. Looking outside, he saw a clear view of a large street leading to the town square, close enough to see the lanterns, their warm lights pooling against the dark blue of the night. Finn showed no awareness that the inn had materialized in another place. He greeted the innkeeper cheerfully, delighting in the porridge waiting for him at the bar. What did strike him was the late sun about to set. The young apprentice blinked at the window. ¡°By the gods! I slept that long?! I have to go!¡± He waved a hasty farewell to Quentin and sprinted out the doors to set up his stall. ¡°Good luck, friend,¡± Quentin called after him. Ophelia came into the inn breathlessly not long after. She looked at the inn wildly. ¡°When?¡± ¡°Midnight.¡± Ophelia was with Lyke, the lad towering over almost everyone walking in the street. He was carrying boxes and satchels that clinked together. She showed them to Quentin: jars of jam and other preserves they made at Gorrimer Hill. She gave one to Quentin. ¡°Quick, bake some cookies and wrap them with your thickest cloth," Ophelia said. "I think it¡¯ll sell well on the market. You can lock up for a day.¡± She held out her hand. She was smiling wide, excited for Quentin to accompany her. ¡°I can¡¯t leave the inn, Ophelia. I¡¯m¡­ I think I¡¯m part of it.¡± Quentin motioned to the entirety of the inn. Ophelia dropped her hand. She looked thoughtful. ¡°I can sell your cookies for you, then. Not to the red guards, of course.¡± When Quentin had finished baking, he said, ¡°I¡¯ll gladly buy some cream, milk, sugar, eggs, and other crops from you or the other stalls there.¡± He handed her a pouch of coins. She weighed it on her hand, gave Quentin a sad smile, and whisked Lyke away into the source of merriment. When old Tom and young Gilbert poked briefly inside for warm stew and cookies, they, too, did not bat an eye that the inn was not in its usual place. They ate fast; no guests arrived after them after they left, The sounds from outside carried faintly throughout the inn. The sky turned orange, the lanterns brightened. Quentin brought the already clean mugs and bowl to the table nearest the window and wiped them anew. The streets were packed with excited shoppers holding baskets and brightly colored parchment. They held the arms of their partners or the hands of their children. The sun was falling pleasantly on the town square. He saw other people dining in and out of the other establishments, with wooden signs of foaming tankards and boars with huge tusks. He had a trickle of customers compared to the other inns. Quentin didn¡¯t mind at all. He knew that this was an inn for those who needed it. Besides, he had no food for all of Brikkenbale. When the sky was the color of bruised grapes and the lanterns glowed a bright, welcoming yellow, he saw more of the richer folks from Brewlithe glide through the thoroughfares leading to the town square. There was even a lady, hair as wide as a house, who had hired red soldiers to accompany her. Little candles encased in red glass were hung on wires on the streets, illuminating the path. The young innkeeper stayed there for quite some time, humming to himself. Quentin pressed his ears to the doorframe and listened to the incoherent babble of villagers, interspersed with bits of laughter. He walked back when he heard Ophelia¡¯s familiar steps. She rapped her knuckles on the door and stepped inside, her basket full of small empty jars and boxes. Her first night of selling her wares at the night festival was a success. She handed him the pouch of coins he gave her, considerably lighter, along with warm buns with butter and garlic spread on a glazed brown surface. They enjoyed each other¡¯s company in the silence, smiling as the pastry softened inside their mouths. ¡°I have something else,¡± she said as she brought out many-colored pouches of seeds. ¡°There are turnips there, and cabbage, and carrots. Oh! And here¡¯s what you made from your cookies. They didn¡¯t sell as well as the bakers¡¯ but you still made a profit.¡± Quentin checked the pouch. There were copper coins enough to make one whole silver. ¡°This much?¡± Ophelia shrugged. ¡°The night market is known to either overprice or go on sale. The richer folks I sold high, the common folk like us get free taste tests and discounts.¡± Quentin pocketed the money. He arranged his new ingredients inside the pantry as Ophelia finished her butter-garlic buns, the glass sliding pleasantly against the wood. Ophelia started to say something when Quentin heard a lad¡¯s voice from the fireplace. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Ophelia said when she saw Quentin¡¯s face. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. ¡°Danger,¡± he said. Ophelia brought her staff that evening. She stood and directed it at the door, the crystal charging for a blinding spell. The voice from last night sounded pained. It grunted and winced and spat. ¡°Someone needs our help. Outside!¡± Quentin cracked the door open, even though he wanted to bolt straight out and confront the chaos. Under the low candlelit alley not far from where he stood, Quentin saw red soldiers kicking what looked like a common street urchin. Three grown men attacking a defenseless kid. He had grabbed a rock¨Che was always picking up rocks to fight off red soldiers¨Cand threw it right at one of the soldier¡¯s backs. The soldier grunted and crumpled to the ground just as Ophelia brought her staff out and whispered an incantation that summoned a cold blast of wind magic that threw them off their feet, rolling them away from their victim. Quentin hurried to the boy and dragged him back inside. The doors shut and the candles dimmed themselves. Quentin and Ophelia placed a hand on the boy¡¯s mouth just in case he was still confused about what was happening and would shout for help. But the red soldiers didn¡¯t even bother to look for him: Quentin heard them return to the plaza. ¡°You told me that only white mages can summon wind magic,¡± Quentin said to Ophelia. The cleric was glowing softly, like a candle about to light up. Ophelia closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on her surroundings. He placed a hand on her shoulder. She was fighting against the rules of promotion set by the gods and ancient kings. She would not be bound to the red soldiers, but she was denying the progress destined for her. Quentin thought she would be a formidable white mage indeed. A moment later, she relaxed and blew out a breath. Nodding that she was all right, they turned their attention back to their new guest. Ophelia gently removed the hood covering half his face. Ophelia sucked in a breath. ¡°Those monsters.¡± ¡°I know him,¡± Quentin said. He parted the boy¡¯s long fair hair to reveal his blue and bloody face; one eye swollen, cheeks and lips cut. Ophelia recovered enough to raise her staff and hover it next to the fair-haired boy¡¯s injuries. As she began to heal, summoning cool wind around the boy, he said weakly, ¡°I¡¯m a thief, sister. Don¡¯t waste your magic on me.¡± ¡°Did you hurt anyone?¡± When the thief shook his head, Ophelia said, ¡°Didn¡¯t think so.¡± The crystal glowed as she continued to heal him. Quentin was ready with another cookie to recharge her magic. Once she was done, Ophelia checked him over and smiled at him warmly. ¡°Sit down by the bar, love." The thief lost all his cockiness from last night and did what he was told. He touched his face and lips. He touched his ribs and checked his arms for bruises. ¡°You¡¯re good,¡± he said to Ophelia. Quentin rekindled the fireplace to warm the stew. He slid a warm bowl towards the boy. ¡°I don¡¯t have any money to pay you¨Cwell¡± he winced, ¡°I did have money but it wasn¡¯t mine.¡± ¡°It¡¯s all right,¡± Quentin said. They turned away from him as he finished his meal. Ophelia smiled a little as she heard the rapid sound of a spoon dipping onto bowl and the soft slurping of stew. When he turned around, the boy asked Quentin softly, ¡°Can I have more?¡± Quentin served him a second round of stew. When he finished attacking that, Ophelia asked, ¡°What happened, lad?¡± ¡°Theo,¡± the thief said, wiping his lips. ¡°You can have my name. I stole from the red soldiers.¡± Ophelia closed her eyes. ¡°Theo, lad, that was a stupid thing to do.¡± ¡°I only steal from the crooks who stole from us,¡± he said defensively. ¡°I¡¯m usually careful. And just like you, I¡¯m really good at what I do. They don¡¯t notice me. Usually. It was just a bad night. They were drunk and I got careless.¡± ¡°Your bad night could have ended up killing you. You know what happens to prisoners.¡± ¡°We¡¯re starving either way,¡± Theo said darkly. Ophelia looked at him, and she looked outside the door. ¡°Come to Gorrimer Hill. There¡¯s¨C¡± ¡°No,¡± Theo said quickly. ¡°I know how you barely scrape by. Thank you, Sister Ophelia, truly, but I¡¯d rather take my chances out in the streets than be a drain on your resources.¡± Theo stood. Quentin did not remember Ophelia giving her name. Sensing this, Theo added, ¡°I know who you are and the good you¡¯re doing.¡± He turned to Quentin. ¡°And thanks for the grub, Mister¡­?¡± ¡°Quentin. Just call me Quentin.¡± ¡°Quentin. I¡¯ve got to go.¡± Theo showed them his spoils. ¡°This is what I stole. Medicines they got from the potioneers. That¡¯s also why I targeted the apothecary guy. I need it back home. There¡¯s some people there that need it more than I do.¡± He looked at her staff. ¡°It ain¡¯t the kind of sickness that heals with your white magic, not even from a powerful mage like you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not a¨C¡± ¡°I know. In my mind¡­ in a lot of our minds, you are, though. But it¡¯s good thinking that you don¡¯t promote here.¡± ¡°Theo, I know that¨C¡± A distant explosion cut Ophelia mid-sentence. It sounded nastier than the splintering noises she summoned some nights past when she destroyed the red soldiers'' supply storages. Quentin, Ophelia, and Theo looked at each other in alarm. The floorboards rattled mildly when another explosion came. Then another. Then another. Alarms and whistles blared. The red soldiers shouted from the streets. ¡°Stay in your cottages. The night market festival will continue tomorrow. We¡¯ve apprehended the thieves in their hideout. Everything is safe. Go back to your cottages.¡± Theo looked stricken. ¡°No,¡± he whispered and slumped against the bar, shoulders low. Chapter 10 - Kyrrho Ophelia was about to place her hand on his shoulder when Theo bolted for the door. He was quick, but Ophelia stood near enough at the entrance to block him. She grabbed his hood and yanked him back. Theo¡¯s eyes were wide. He struggled against her. ¡°My friends! Some of them are sick!¡± Quentin helped Ophelia hold Theo down. The boy kicked and screamed, yelling, ¡°Let me go, I have to get to them.¡± ¡°Nobody¡¯s going anywhere,¡± Quentin said firmly. He sapped his fingers and the door locked. Theo stared at it, defeated. He begged Ophelia with his eyes. She looked away. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I know how they move. The red soldiers would draw you out and then hunt all of you down. It¡¯s you who they want. You''re the thief that keeps eluding them.¡± ¡°If I don¡¯t come out now, they will kill them,¡± Theo said. ¡°If you go out now they will blow you all up,¡± Ophelia said. Theo was still struggling, but losing his strength. The boy may be quick, but he isn¡¯t that strong, Quentin observed. A single tear rolled from the corner of his eye. ¡°How did they manage to find our hideouts? They were enchanted.¡± When Quentin and Ophelia let go of his arms, he added weakly, ¡°There¡¯s this old woman who¡¯s been taking care of all of us since we were children. Big old woman named Laia. She found me on the streets stealing bread.¡± He looked at Ophelia. ¡°Even before the red soldiers came, plenty of us were already on the streets.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll find her.¡± Ophelia moved before Quentin could stop her. She was out the door, her white robes flapping in the wind. Quentin propped Theo back at the bar and tried to soothe him with a glass of milk and cookies. ¡°Have one,¡± he said to him. Theo, too numb or worried to care, brought the sweet cookie to his mouth and chewed. He stared at the cookie and finished it all in several crunchy bites. He reached for the warm milk and gulped emptied half of it. ¡°You¡¯re looking at me,¡± Theo said. ¡°I am,¡± Quentin replied. He was looking at whether there were any significant changes to the thief, but he had no magic reserves like Ophelia. Or if he had, it was dormant. He wondered what a thief class could do, other than the obvious pilfering. Theo looked warily at the innkeeper. ¡°How did you see me back then when I stole from that kid? Nobody else did, but you.¡± Before Quentin could respond, he said, ¡°Must be this inn. You¡¯ve got a special place here, boss. You look like a big pile of mystery yourself.¡± Quentin did not say anything. He went to arrange the chair Theo kicked, watching him from the corner of his eyes. Now that Theo wasn¡¯t pretending to be innocent or charming, the lad was watchful and distrustful. Of course, he was, Quentin thought. You have to be to survive, even he knew that. He remembered Ophelia mentioning before that people were wary of kindness after not experiencing it for so long. they were waiting for the fangs behind the smile. Theo yawned. It was approaching midnight. Quentin removed one of his common lodger¡¯s keys and slid it to Theo. ¡°Pick any room you like.¡± Theo stared at it and looked at Quentin without emotion. ¡°You won¡¯t be worried that I¡¯ll steal your stuff?¡± ¡°What¡¯s there to steal?¡± Quentin said. ¡°You said it yourself, you only steal from crooks or bandits or the richer folk. I¡¯m not any of those. And what can you get her that you won¡¯t get someplace else? Sugar, butter, milk, pillows...?¡± Besides, Quentin was confident that not even a talented thief like Theo could enter the enchanted locked doors of Emralle¡¯s chamber or even the pantry. He also had a strong feeling about the boy. He may be a thief, but he wasn¡¯t a criminal. Theo slid from his barstool, picked up the key, murmured thanks to Quentin, and walked through the passageway and up the stairs. Quentin heard him open a door and close it. He placed an empty basin under running water and a nice clean cloth to bring upstairs later. ___ Ophelia came back after midnight. A tall mug of cool ale was ready for her. ¡°I couldn¡¯t find Laia,¡± she said, setting the mug down. She looked frightened. ¡°But I saw some of his friends being carted away into Lower Brewlithe. Even the higher tiers were split between the middle class, the aristocrats, and the nobles, you see. They were¡­ they looked worse off than my students.¡± She placed her hand on her neck. ¡°They were in cages. I overheard the soldiers that they would transport them to the dungeons, but I didn¡¯t catch when. There were too many of them gathered around. I couldn¡¯t help them. They said that they¡¯re planning to draw out more tomorrow evening.¡± This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it ¡°The dungeons?¡± Quentin asked, patting her shoulder. She gulped her ale. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ I don¡¯t exactly know where it is. It could be in the lowest part of Brikkenbale or someplace else.¡± She stared at the fireplace, her hand massaging her temple. ¡°How¡¯d he evaded them for so long? I could learn a thing or two from him.¡± ¡°We carve our own streets,¡± Theo said. He appeared on the border of the passageway leading inwards. ¡°By the goddess, Theo!¡± Ophelia had jumped and was now pressing a hand to her chest. ¡°You¡¯re like a shadow!¡± ¡°I thought I was until this one saw me sneaking around his inn,¡± Theo said, nodding towards Quentin. Ophelia strode towards Theo, so close, that Theo was drawing back. Her arms went around him, hugging him. Theo was so taken aback, that he did nothing, only giving Quentin a bewildered look. Quentin shrugged. ¡°She does that.¡± She stroked his hair. ¡°I heard from one of the soldiers why they want to desperately want to capture you.¡± She looked at both Quentin and Theo. ¡°This boy is no common thief. He¡¯s been helping the poor villagers of Brikkenbale. He steals what he can from Brewlithe and gives them to Laia. You¡¯re carving your own streets, you say?¡± She looked at Theo fondly. ¡°So that''s what they meant when the red soldier said something about discreet operations of handing out food and other resources to those who need it.¡± She held Theo¡¯s face in her hands. ¡°Brikkenbale is managing to survive even with scant resources because of you¡­. but¡­¡± Theo looked down. ¡°We stole out of necessity.¡± He carefully pried himself off from Ophelia¡¯s hands and looked at both her and Quentin firmly. ¡°Show me where they took my friends.¡± Ophelia stood firm once more. ¡°Absolutely not.¡± ¡°If not you, then I¡¯ll just ask anyone. Might as well tell me now.¡± ¡°You won¡¯t get anywhere if I lock the doors,¡± Quentin said. Theo sounded frustrated. ¡°You¡¯re not helping me. You¡¯re not helping anyone by trapping me here. You should have left me on the streets. All that I care about is out there.¡± ¡°We have to come up with a plan.¡± Ophelia raised her hands and pointed gently to the table with three seats. They all sat down on it. ¡°Why are you helping me? You don¡¯t even know me.¡± ¡°Because we can,¡± Ophelia said simply. She and Quentin looked at each other. ¡°We didn¡¯t even know each other when Quentin helped me.¡± Theo shook his head. ¡°The more I stay here, the less they¡¯ll survive. They¡¯re going to hunt for them. My friends¡­ they don¡¯t know how to fight. They only hide. I¡¯m the only one that can throw a knife. I¡¯ve already hurt people, Sister Ophelia. I¡¯ve already drawn blood and nicked skin and stabbed ankles.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve hurt people, too,¡± Ophelia said softly. ¡°And I¡¯m certain that you did not do it out of malice.¡± Quentin tapped the bar. ¡°If you were evil or unworthy, then this inn would have rejected you. You wouldn¡¯t even be able to see it.¡± He looked around the inn. ¡°Well, I hope you¡¯re right. You do know what the promoted class of thieves are?¡± Ophelia murmured, ¡°You¡¯re not going to be an assassin or shadowslayer. Besides, there are other class promotions for thieves.¡± She added firmly, ¡°The class we are born as doesn¡¯t define who we are and our profession. I¡¯ve seen unpromoted old thieves settle nicely as farmers and lawyers. I''ve seen some pretty sadistic white mages.¡± She looked steadily at Theo. ¡°You know I¡¯m right. Not even the lord of thieves was cruel or evil.¡± ¡°Kyrrho,¡± Theo said, slinking back into his seat. ¡°So, what¡¯s the plan?¡± All through the night, the three bowed their heads low and murmured, coming up with ideas. None were strong enough to become full plans. They retired for the night, defeated. That night, Quentin had another dream about the gods who used to rule this realm. They were in a large pool covered by trees. He was with the green goddess and the bright goddess, made of earth and sunlight, respectively. They were playing something: passing an orb, he thought. Then there was a great cold wind blowing through the trees. The goddesses sensed danger, turning towards it. The bright one whistled and then there was a greater wind that came from the shadow of the trees. He was grabbed by a swift god, speeding him away from the goddesses. For a while, there was nothing. Then there were red and black skies. He saw the swift god battle with a magnificent flaming being. They were all there in this chaos, volcanic boulders thrown into the thunderous sky. The gods of this realm tried to hold this beast back but were losing. He was swept away, again by the swift god. He told Quentin to run, and he saw him fly through the darkness as the other divine beings chained and whacked at the flaming beast. The swift god carried its many flaming hearts and scattered them throughout the realm, tweaking the creature. Quentin woke, his keys glowing. The trail led to one of the enchanted doors in the inn¡¯s passageway. He grunted, combed his long hair back, put on his boots, and approached the glowing door. A doorknob and lock manifested, and the sigil of the god of thieves and merchants etched themselves in the wood before disappearing. Quentin knew what to do. He placed his palm on the surface of the door and whispered. ¡°Lord Kyrrho, master of shadows, let me pass.¡± He put the silver key on the door and turned, revealing a dark chamber with some vaults stacked on top of each other. Quentin pulled one open and saw nothing. It wasn¡¯t even that it looked empty. It looked like if he put his hands in them, they would be swallowed by an endless void. He shivered and closed the vault tightly. Then a lantern lit itself in the furthermost center of the room. Quentin saw a golden plate raised on an ornate marble column. On that golden plate was a levitating bright purple dagger. The hilt was the size of a young lad¡¯s hand. He locked the door behind him and went into Emralle¡¯s chamber, preferring the calmness here to the coldness of Kyrrho¡¯s. He planted the new crops in their beds. He noticed that the area where he planted the barley, rye, and parsnips looked less fertile. Quentin brought a pail of water from the well and watered them gently. Chapter 11 - Target Quentin heard a soft thump from above just before dawn. He saw Theo massaging his leg as he tried to climb out the window. ¡°The window shut itself when I was trying to climb out,¡± he groaned. Quentin tried hard not to laugh. Then, he sighed at the desperation and bravery the boy was displaying. He bit his lip. Ophelia wouldn¡¯t like what Quentin was about to do. He wanted to set the boy free. Something about the dream he had inspired him. Theo managed to survive this long without active magic if he had any at all. His quick-thinking and speed worked in his favor before. Maybe Theo could think of something that Ophelia and him hadn¡¯t. Quentin breathed through his nose. ¡°You¡¯re free to go as soon as you have breakfast.¡± He led Theo down to the dining area and offered him porridge with milk. The innkeeper watched him finish it slowly. He then snapped his fingers to unlatch the bolted door. Inside the pantry, he brought out an unused jar. ¡°Before you go¡­¡± Quentin held a finger as he cooked more oats and rye with water and milk. He transferred the porridge into an empty wooden jar and grabbed three cookies. He covered them with a clean towel and folded them over. He handed it to Theo along with small wooden bowls and spoons. ¡°If you do find your friends, give them this.¡± He then remembered that he still had some raisins from Ophelia, so he added that to the mix. Theo stared at it, wanting to say something, but nodded and left. Quentin slept once more and woke up at dusk. He prepared the stew and baked some cookies with the new ingredients Ophelia bought him, mixing them all together, delighting in the sweet scent of sugar, milk, and vanilla. He made the creamy porridge next, adding a drop of vanilla, cream, and raisins. When his guests arrived one by one, the sweet aroma was still lingering in the air, above the chatter of villagers. Finn came back, cheerful. Quentin nodded at him, amused. ¡°Someone¡¯s in a good mood.¡± ¡°I made so much!¡± he whispered. He flipped a silver coin at Quentin. ¡°What will that give me?¡± He caught the coin and set it on the back of his palm. Quentin had known some of the commerce during the weeks he started being a proper innkeeper. ¡°A lodging for three nights, three hearty meals each day, and a fine horse with a cart to take you where you went home. If you have another, you can hire a refined red guard to escort you.¡± ¡°That much?¡± Finn said. ¡°Wait, no, I¡¯m not hiring any of those brutes. I¡¯d rather hire a mercenary.¡± Old Tom overheard that. ¡°Not many mercenaries around these parts, I¡¯m afraid. They¡¯ve been outlawed by the red soldiers. Either they transition into the twisted versions of the classes the Red Army is forcing upon them or are kicked out of the kingdoms.¡± ¡°How did you manage to trade here, by the way?¡± ¡°The academy. They analyzed my potions and deemed that my ingredients were top-quality. They sent me to trade here with your green mages and potioneers. And they granted me a license to sell my potions. They paid for my carriage and protection.¡± Finn shivered as he recounted his story. ¡°There were some pretty mutated monsters out there, afraid of the red mage¡¯s flames.¡± Quentin wondered about the classes they kept mentioning. ¡°What is the difference between green mages, apothecaries, and potioneers?¡± ¡°They work in synergy with each other. Green mages can commune with nature and grow ingredients. Potion makers can use the most common ingredients and develop liquid potions. Apothecaries house those ingredients and have more to do with preserving them until the time potion makers get them from us. Our masters teach us their secrets. We combine them, preserve them, turn them into powders and syrups, and such. We can all brew potions, but not as the same quality as potion makers. And don¡¯t even get me started with alchemists. That¡¯s a whole other discipline. It¡¯s like the red mages and white mages. They both can heal, but not to the extent of the other. Like the flames held by red soldiers and red mages.¡± Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! Quentin nodded, letting it all sink in. Moving on from the topic, he clapped his hands. ¡°So, to celebrate¡­¡± he turned to the barrel and poured him a nice cool ale, frothy at the top. ___ Quentin sensed Theo return close to the inn just as he ushered the last guests out. He waited for the person to turn around a corner before whispering his name in the darkness and swinging the door wide open. Theo and two other younger children rustled out of the nearby bushes. Quentin closed the door behind them and immediately checked for injuries. The children Theo brought looked so similar to each other that Quentin had no doubt they were siblings. The little girl was fine. The older boy, who looked no older than ten, had a burned leg. ¡°The red soldiers targeted one of our hideouts. These two managed to escape because of Laia.¡± Theo set the siblings on the table. Quentin brought them warm food and drink, as well as two cookies per child. ¡°We usually go out at the night market festival to have fun, but some of us were born with unusual sicknesses that not even the most powerful of white mages can fix. These two stayed with my friends who couldn¡¯t walk or stand properly. They told me that some of the rowdier kids came home early and brought the usual stolen items like healing ointments and syrups to lessen fever. Then suddenly the red mages were at their secret entrance. Laia was there and she somehow sent them on a secret tunnel or passageway of some sort. I found them in an alley not far from here diving for stale bread in the trash.¡± Quentin closed his eyes. He grabbed three more cookies from the jar where he kept them. They munched on them and smiled. Theo walked near the window and peered out. ¡°She¡¯s still out there, probably in the tunnels. They wanted me, too.¡± He stared at Quentin. ¡°You were right. They were trying to draw me out.¡± Quentin gave Theo a wash basin filled with warm fresh water and clean towels. If only he had soap and a proper washroom¡­ He watched Theo scrub the dirt off their faces. They seemed to rely on him like an older brother. He washed the bruises on their knees and cleaned the dirt and dust sticking to their arms and legs. Quentin led them upstairs to their room when they yawned. He fluffed their goose-feathered pillows and flattened their wooly blankets. They smiled and fell instantly asleep. When he returned, Theo was eyeing his pantry. He had forgotten to close it. ¡°You¡¯re running out of ingredients,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s still plenty,¡± Quentin reassured him as he closed and locked his shelves. ¡°Not if you keep being this generous.¡± He looked at Quentin. ¡°I know this inn is special and all, but you still need money to buy ingredients.¡± ¡°I profit enough,¡± Quentin shrugged. There was something in Theo¡¯s eyes like he wanted to say something as he eyed the ingredients. But he shook his head. ¡°I think I know where some may be hiding. It¡¯s something Laia told me about the streets. Maybe they are in the tunnels. She said that in her time, they built secret underground passageways but that they only used it for emergencies like this one. Sewer monsters may jump out at you in the dark. You need someone who can fight.¡± He stared at Quentin. ¡°I told you before that I¡¯m the only one that can fight. I meant that in my group, I¡¯m the only one able. They say there¡¯s a fighter in other groups, but I¡¯m not sure how strong he is. I have to prepare.¡± Quentin looked at the fair-haired boy in front of him. He is infinitely tougher than Quentin would ever be, he thought. ¡°Theo, how old are you?¡± Theo said, ¡°Sixteen. I think.¡± Theo joined the children upstairs. Quentin cleaned their bowls and threw the now murky wash basin outside. It splashed on the pavement. The boy needed healing. He wondered how to contact Ophelia when suddenly the fireplace burst into life on its own. Something in him told Quentin to throw a cookie over the fireplace and to concentrate on Ophelia. The fireplace glowed its usual color, then briefly flashed white and yellow, the colors of Ophelia and the inn vibrated close to Gorrimer Hill again. Chapter 12 - Rimlar Cake Hepfin¡¯s Cradle was full the next evening. Or as full as the inn allowed. All the seats were taken. Quentin even saw some new faces coming and going. He ran around the inn, carrying bowls, spoons, jugs of ale, milk, and mugs. He tended to the fireplace. He made sure no one was thirsty. He took coins and passed clean towels and wash basins. He handed out cookies. From the corner of his eye, he saw Theo by the passage entrance, arms crossed, looking at the scene. The apothecary apprentice, Finn, was talking with a pretty maiden in the table nearest the fireplace. Her hands touched his arms more than once. He looked shy, but the maiden was patient enough. Theo approached Quentin at the bar. ¡°Give me a mug of ale and some hot water.¡± Quentin did so and he watched the lad sprinkle a powder of something dark green into the hot water. Then he added ale. ¡°Beer,¡± Theo said to him, letting Quentin smell it. ¡°It smells kind of like bread,¡± Quentin said. ¡°It emboldens the spirit temporarily. But too much could be a vice. I should know. I¡¯ve seen people replace this with food. But a mug of beer would do the trick for that fella righ there. Besides, I think this is my way of apologizing.¡± He looked at Quentin for permission. Quentin nodded. Theo brought the mug of beer to Finn¡¯s table. He knew that this was new to the thief. He was used to hiding and sneaking. Now he was choosing to be under the candlelights and the quick gazes of those seated. He brought it to Finn and the lass with a warm smile. Finn looked at it and whipped around for Quentin. ¡°Cheers, friend,¡± Theo returned to Quentin¡¯s side and wordlessly picked up a knife and started dicing the parsnips. He helped Quentin clean; stepping around the guests and placing the wooden bowls under running water. He had stared at the faucet and shrugged. He grabbed the ladle hanging at a hook on the wall and stirred the pot in the fireplace. He grabbed their coins and placed them at the counter for Quentin to count. Ophelia came to the fireplace, trying to get used to teleportation of the inn, and focused instead on its liveliness. She smiled at the sight of the guests. The villagers were showing off their purchases and wares. An exchange of shiny copper coins led Quentin to believe that there was a transaction of goods happening across one table. Quentin thanked him as they took turns feeding his guests. Theo watched the cookies bake. When all had gone, Ophelia helped Theo and Quentin wipe the surfaces of the tables and arrange the chairs. Finn did not stay inside the inn, preferring the company of the lass he was talking to. Quentin briefly thought if there was a room for couples here. He shrugged and led Ophelia to the children with Theo. The latter came back and placed several packets at the bar. He opened them. Quentin saw a myriad of colors that were either bright or dull. There were also light-brown grains that Theo showed in one pouch. ¡°Yes, I stole these. Not from the red soldiers. From¡­ someone else. I know it isn¡¯t ideal that I¡¯m doing this, but this is the way I know how to repay you. By stealing from those screwing all of us over. I¡¯m just a thief from the lowest alleys of Brikkenbale. This is the only way I know how to fight back.¡± Theo poured the light-brown grains onto the palm of his hand. ¡°Seeing as how people aren¡¯t drinking beer here, I guess you don¡¯t know what this is.¡± He shook them again in his hand. ¡°It¡¯s malt. You mix it with ale and a little bit of yeast to make beer.¡± he smiled slyly. ¡°I find this effective when drawing out information from someone.¡± Quentin eyed the barley and malt and considered it. He didn¡¯t want Hepfin¡¯s Cradle to be a palace of excess vice, but he supposed one to five beers was all right per night. As Theo returned upstairs, Quentin¡¯s kitchen keys glowed and led a trail to another side of the cupboards. He opened it to see a large brass cauldron. He laid it out on the floor, poured water on it, and set it on top of the fireplace after replacing the pot with the stew. He sprinkled a bit of yeast and dropped the malted grains when the water began to boil. Theo returned and smiled as he smelled the air. ¡°You know,¡± he said, walking towards Quentin near the fireplace. ¡°I also missed the taste of mead. Got a sweet tooth, you see. Most of my travels in the upper tier is to snatch up some muffins with currants and go with my favorite¡­ my favorite¡­¡± Quentin turned his attention from brewing the beer to look at Theo. The thief¡¯s lips were moving, looking stumped. His brows knit together. ¡°Has it been that long since I¡¯ve tasted it¡­? I can¡¯t remember the name.¡± Quentin knew where this was going. It was just like with Ophelia. ¡°Describe it for me.¡± Theo still looked as if he was trying to find the name on his tongue. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ like a soft fluffy circle, and you cut it with a knife. It has raspberries and¡­ lemon. I remember collecting them in the wild bushes when we were allowed to roam free outside the kingdom walls.¡± He tapped his chin, concentrating. ¡°It¡¯s made with buttercream, I think. It¡¯s slathered with this white, fluffy thing. It¡¯s an expensive cake, I tell ya. But the dandies upstairs have it every day with their fancy teas¡­¡± He looked at the ceiling, annoyed. ¡°What is it called?¡± Theo shook his head in disbelief. He made a sound of frustration. Stolen novel; please report. Ophelia came downstairs, already grabbing a cookie off the counter. She looked at the bubbling mixture. ¡°Huh. If we had honey, we could make mead.¡± To Theo, she said, ¡°Your friends are fine. They¡¯d like to see you.¡± Quentin waited for the brew to cool before he opened the top of an empty barrel and poured the beer, one tankard at a time. ___ They all slept in one room, Theo and his friends. When Quentin woke at around early sunset, there was a note on top of his counter. He picked the scrap of parchment and noticed how neat Theo¡¯s handwriting was before he read the message. It simply told him that he¡¯d be back later. Quentin checked the children upstairs and heard the giggles and squeals before he entered. He knocked and allowed them a few moments to prepare before he pushed the door open. The siblings were looking at him with wide eyes, trying to cover the mess they made on the bed. He tried not to laugh when some of the feathers from the pillows were still falling, one landing on the little girl¡¯s hair. They were undoubtedly pillow fighting and jumping on the bed. He nodded at them, checked to see that Theo fed them their porridge, and closed the door behind him, muttering, ¡°Carry on.¡± Theo came not long after, immediately walking up towards the counter behind the bar and producing the items he stole from his many pockets. His fingers were red and sticky and Quentin thought for a moment that he was injured or injured someone. But he realized that they were faded and smelled sweet. Quentin observed all the things that were laid out: they were the same ingredients he mentioned last night. ¡°I couldn¡¯t get it out of my head. I know what it¡¯s supposed to look like, but it bothers me why I couldn¡¯t remember the name. It¡¯s so stupid, but¡­ could I possibly make a mess here?¡± Theo indicated Quentin¡¯s counter. Quentin was already thinking of how Ophelia baked the cake. He took the scrolls of recipes from the tiny pull-out shelf on the pantry and was already consulting it when the town crier announced that the night market festival had been extended for another three nights. The richer folks outside were looking at each other and gripping each other¡¯s arms excitedly. Theo scoffed at them. ¡°You know there¡¯s a nice plaza and up in Brewlithe? And that they have their own night market festival once a month. They dress up with masks and silly long dresses and raise these little cards when they¡¯re interested in buying an artifact or treasure. I thought that it was unfair that the dandies upstairs could spend all their wealth here while we couldn¡¯t even go up to check the wealthier grounds. Then again, we have no money to spend on anything, anyway, thieves and beggars that we are. We¡¯re just eyesores to them.¡± Quentin did not say anything, save for, ¡°My counter is yours.¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t able to get sugar. And I didn¡¯t want to steal from the dairymaid.¡± ¡°I still have plenty.¡± Quentin ducked down and grabbed the remaining sticks of butter and the half-empty jar of sugar from the shelves. ¡°Hand me a sharp knife. Mine still has dried specks of blood sticking on it.¡± Theo said. He skinned the lemon and chopped it finely on the counter. It almost looked like coarse dust. As he did that, Quentin smeared butter and sprinkled a little flour on a large wooden bowl. Then, Theo helped him cream the butter, sugar, and lemon zest together until the mixture was light and fluffy, scraping the sides of the bowl when necessary. Quentin kept hovering his finger on the next procedure written on the brown paper. But this was a different kind of food, not sold in any of the bakeries in all the realm. Now that Quentin thought of it, even Ophelia¡¯s cookies were not made anywhere, so she said. Even though it was almost in every bakeshop before. They had to rely on Theo¡¯s memory and some imagination. ¡°I¡¯m not sure, but I think we¡¯re supposed to add eggs now, like how bakers make their bread.¡± Quentin nodded and remembered how Ophelia and him beat in the egg yolks, one at a time. Theo was precise enough to separate the whites when he cracked the eggshells, pouring them out into another bowl. Then Quentin brought out the small bottle of vanilla and dropped a few on the yolks. Theo closes his eyes at the sweet scent. Theo described the fluffy white sweet cloud that was slathered outside the thing they were baking. Quentin guessed what to do next. He pointed to the egg whites. ¡°Beat that with a spoon and see what happens.¡± Theo did, frustrated at Quentin when he told him to keep stirring even though his arms were getting tired. And then he marveled at the soft peaks that formed when he did so. ¡°I now see why this is expensive,¡± Theo said as he stopped to punch lightly his tired arm. ¡°Give me that. Mix the flour and salt. Then add the dry ingredients to the butter mixture until well combined.¡± Quentin whisked the egg whites until the blob of transparent liquid turned into this fluffy white cloud. ¡°That¡¯s it!¡± Theo said. ¡°That¡¯s what I remember!¡± Theo folded the whipped egg whites and worked it gently into the batter that was waiting on a metal bowl. He then added the berries, careful to not crush them. Then he placed the large metal bowl in the fireplace. As that baked, Theo and Quentin made the frosting next. Theo had asked one baker from the fair how. ¡°It¡¯s not like a trade secret,¡± he said. ¡°They creamed the butter with sugar, and then you squeeze the lemon on it. Quentin watched the pastry in the oven, ready to take it out at the first scent of burnt bread. Unlike the cookies, he had no way of checking if it was done, but he only waited moments longer from the time cookies were usually done baking. Quentin checked the cake and flopped it down gently on the counter to cool. He hadn¡¯t seen this pastry before, but it looked and smelled great. When it was done, they slathered the cake with the creamy liquid that Theo made. Quentin saw that Theo was having fun. ¡°I think¡­ I think this was it. And we have more ingredients left to make more!¡± Quentin chuckled and went to grab a small wooden plate and form for Theo. The thief took a small piece and put it in his mouth. He closed his eyes and smiled. For the first time since Quentin met him, Theo looked like a young lad. Like a young child. Theo opened his eyes. ¡°Rimlur cake! That¡¯s what it was. People used to grab berries from the river Rimlur and bake these into pies, then cake. This fed countless people.¡± Chapter 13 - Quiet as a Cat There was a knock on the door. The sky was already fading into dusk without them noticing. The door creaked open, and Old Tom stepped inside. He was the first to arrive, as always, his weathered face lighting up with a smile as he caught a whiff of the rimlar cake¡¯s aroma. ¡°Gods, that smell! You could turn your inn into a bakery, if you wanted,¡± he said, his voice warm. Theo sliced the cake and handed a piece to Old Tom. Quentin followed with a mug of ale. They watched in satisfaction as the old man chewed, the soft texture not bothering his teeth. ¡°Mmm, feels like being a child again.¡± The regulars trickled in as the sky darkened, cheering for the new addition to the menu. But Quentin told them no more than three beers per person. They pretended to grumble, but the moment he offered them slices of the creamy, sugary cake, all complaints ceased. Theo didn¡¯t wait for instructions; he pitched in, helping Quentin serve more guests. When everyone was settled, they baked another cake in the fireplace. Quentin handed Theo a pouch of coppers for more ingredients. ¡°Be sure to enjoy the festival. No rush,¡± Quentin said, meeting Theo¡¯s eyes. Theo smiled, looking almost shy. He left for the market, and it took him longer than usual to return. When he finally came back, the inn buzzed louder than before. He laid out butter, lemons, raspberries, and cream on the counter. ¡°Actually buying things with coppers feels strange,¡± Theo admitted. ¡°It¡¯s odd being seen.¡± He moved with quick efficiency, slicing and chopping. ¡°You could run an inn yourself,¡± Quentin remarked. ¡°Ah, no,¡± Theo said, shaking his head. ¡°I¡¯d get tired of it fast.¡± He glanced at the cake, took a bite, and sighed. As the cake baked in the stone hearth, its smell turned heads. Even Ophelia, who had just walked in, closed her eyes and breathed deeply. ¡°Rimlar cake¡­¡± She looked at Quentin with a sparkle in her eyes. ¡°I¡¯d forgotten about these. Do you think you could turn them into muffins? We could sell them at the night market tomorrow evening.¡± Quentin handed her a slice. She took a small bite and nodded slowly. ¡°Hm. This restores my magic reserves better than the cookies. Should I cast some more light beams?¡± She winked. ¡°It¡¯s doing something else to my body, though. I¡¯m not sure what.¡± The inn was filled with lively chatter, everyone in high spirits. But Quentin noticed Theo lingering in a corner, silent and still. ¡°Everything okay?¡± he asked as he approached. ¡°I feel restless. I thought I¡¯d be tired by now.¡± Quentin took the tray from his hands and told him to step outside for some air. Theo didn¡¯t return until late, when Ophelia helped Old Tom out the door. She stayed behind to clean. Theo slipped back in, holding three bright potions of red, green, and purple. They glowed faintly on the counter. ¡°I stole these from the red soldier¡¯s stall,¡± he said quietly, staring at his hands. ¡°I was keeping to the shadows when they rounded a corner. There was no way to hide, so I just pressed myself against the wall and held my breath. They walked right by me.¡± He sat down as Ophelia and Quentin exchanged looks. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Something drew me to one of their booths at the market. Even though there were lights everywhere, the shadows were¡­ darker, like pools of night. I wasn¡¯t scared. I stepped into one and could hear the whispers of the soldiers, even from a distance. I crept to the booth, moving from shadow to shadow. Nobody saw me. And when I was near the stall, the shadows¡­ merged. They pulsed, telling me when to take their wares. But once I did, the shadows faded, and the soldiers noticed. I ran like hell.¡± Quentin and Ophelia stared at the glowing potions. ¡°Maybe the cake has some kind of magic?¡± Ophelia mused. ¡°You might be a new source of power, Quentin.¡± ¡°What are they?¡± she asked, tapping the red potion. ¡°Ice curse remedy, a potent fertilizer¡­ and I don¡¯t know about the purple one. Purple usually means poison, or antidote.¡± ¡°This is valuable,¡± Ophelia whispered. ¡°They took it from a novice red mage caught practicing green magic. She was working with a potioneer in Brewlithe,¡± Theo said. ¡°I overheard them bragging about it.¡± ¡°Green magic¡­ Ana,¡± Ophelia murmured. ¡°Yes, this is her work. I can feel it.¡± Quentin turned the green potion and noticed a strange pattern on the bottom. ¡°Wait, what¡¯s that marking?¡± ¡°A tracker! Get it out of here!¡± Ophelia said, reaching for it. ¡°Wait,¡± Quentin interrupted, a sudden tug in his chest. ¡°You two, hide upstairs.¡± ¡°We¡¯re not going anywhere,¡± Ophelia said, pulling Theo behind the bar as Quentin opened Kyrrho¡¯s vault. The vault¡¯s cold aura brushed against him. He slid the tracked potion inside and shut it. Pain flared from his thumb, and he saw blood bead on his skin. A red circle formed on the vault¡¯s door, etching a sigil. ¡°Your blood is the only key.¡± Quentin turned, understanding. Outside, the soldiers¡¯ shouts grew louder. He nodded to Theo and Ophelia under the bar. ¡°It¡¯s deactivated. No one can open the vault but me. But don¡¯t steal everything you see, Theo. If you do, make sure it¡¯s worth locking up.¡± ¡°They¡¯ll track everything now,¡± Ophelia warned. ¡°You might be the last thief this kingdom has.¡± She looked at Quentin. ¡°Theo wants to test something.¡± Theo took another bite of cake. ¡°Can you snuff out the lights?¡± Quentin waved a hand, extinguishing the candles in a clockwise swoop. Theo whispered, ¡°I can still see. More than usual.¡± Quentin noticed he could too. Ophelia shook her head. ¡°I can only see your outlines, nothing more.¡± Theo had Quentin light a single candle for Ophelia. Then he moved from table to table, nimble as a cat. He landed on each surface without a sound. Ophelia gasped as he did a backflip onto a chair, then crept behind her, silently presenting her staff. ¡°That¡¯s how I stole from the guards.¡± He flopped back onto the stool, exhausted. ¡°It doesn¡¯t last long. Not like paladin potions.¡± They were discussing the cake¡¯s effects when drunken soldiers stumbled past the inn, muttering about prisoners on Kernuck Street. Quentin and Theo peeked out the window and spotted keys dangling from a guard¡¯s belt. ¡°This is my chance to free them,¡± Theo whispered. ¡°Wait¡ª¡± ¡°Don¡¯t stop me. Please.¡± Quentin wrapped a slice of rimlar cake and several cookies, stuffing them into Theo¡¯s pockets. Ophelia whispered good luck as Theo slipped out. They watched him vanish into the alley, blending into shadows. ¡°Can you see him?¡± Ophelia asked. Quentin nodded. He described Theo¡¯s movements as he slipped past lanterns and brick walls, hood low over his face. Theo tossed a rock, distracting the guard, then snatched the keys and disappeared into the darkness. ¡°He¡¯s gone. Headed for Kernuck Street.¡± The fire crackled, casting strange shapes on the walls. They watched Theo¡¯s shadow leap across buildings. Ophelia held her breath as Theo entered an abandoned mill. Minutes passed. Then Theo emerged, carrying four children and a lanky boy in his arms. Ophelia gasped. Quentin threw open the door. ¡°Upstairs,¡± she ordered, ushering them to the rooms. ¡°They scattered us in three tunnels underground. I just hope I¡¯m fast enough. Don¡¯t drag Ophelia into this,¡± Theo said quietly. ¡°They tracked us with potion markers. They were so small we didn¡¯t notice.¡± Ophelia checked the boy¡¯s temperature. ¡°He¡¯s feverish from a cursed fire. I need a cleansing potion.¡± Quentin immediately fetched the purple vial. He helped Theo wash the children while Ophelia tended to the boy. The children huddled close to her, comforted by her presence. Quentin knew she wanted to take them all in. Chapter 14 - Kyrrhos Dagger Theo was gone by morning and returned at sunset, his arms full of new loot: more crop seeds and potions from various stalls. "Not as good as the one I grabbed yesterday, but they''ll work in a pinch." He placed them on the counter, his words casual. Quentin said nothing, silently storing the items in the vault, where the enchanted dagger gleamed softly in its golden bowl. Later, Theo came back with a strange assortment¡ªblue eggs speckled with black, a jug of milk, thick sticks of butter, and a jar of sugar. Quentin helped him set it all down. ¡°These I actually bought,¡± Theo said, a grin tugging at his lips. ¡°With copper coins... stolen from the red soldiers¡¯ pouches. Still sneaky in the daylight, just not as smooth. Good thing they''re too distracted by the festivals to notice.¡± They baked in silence after that, the warmth of the oven softening the edges of their shared tension. The scent of rising dough filled the air, but the quiet between them felt heavy, unsettled. Finally, Quentin broke it. ¡°Theo, you could stay here. Work with me. You¡¯ve got skill, and I wouldn¡¯t try to change who you are. You¡¯d still be you, just¡­ with a place to call yours. No need to run, no need to steal.¡± Quentin¡¯s voice was measured, but the offer was genuine. ¡°A room, free of charge. You can even bring your friends if they need a place.¡± Theo''s grin faltered. He stared at the floor for a moment, as if weighing something heavier than the suggestion itself. ¡°That sounds... good,¡± he mumbled, barely above a whisper. Quentin clapped a hand on Theo¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Whenever you¡¯re ready.¡± But Theo''s gaze lingered on the walls, the darkened corners of the inn. ¡°Something about this place, Quentin. I can''t explain it, but... I don¡¯t think we can stay forever.¡± Quentin nodded, not pushing for more. As they worked, a faint vibration hummed through the room. It drew Quentin¡¯s attention to the vault. The dagger, once resting, now hovered in the air, humming with energy. Quentin reached for it carefully, feeling its strange pulse. He carried it to Theo, holding it out. ¡°This dagger... it¡¯s special,¡± Quentin said softly. Theo¡¯s eyes widened as he took it, feeling the weight in his hands. ¡°Is it enchanted?¡± ¡°Feels that way.¡± Theo twirled it between his fingers, moving with a natural grace. ¡°Almost like a wand,¡± he muttered, his fingers spinning the blade like it was an extension of him. For a moment, his eyes flashed¡ªpurple, then red¡ªbefore Quentin interrupted. ¡°Try it on the bread.¡± Theo raised a brow, then brought the blade down cleanly. The loaf split perfectly in two, not a crumb disturbed. ¡°No way,¡± Theo breathed, staring at the blade. ¡°Keep it,¡± Quentin said quietly. ¡°It¡¯s yours now.¡± Theo blinked, startled. ¡°You sure?¡± ¡°I think the dagger¡¯s chosen you,¡± Quentin replied, eyeing the soft gleam of the blade. Theo smiled, slipping the dagger into his belt. ¡°You¡¯re a strange innkeeper, Quentin.¡± The air around them seemed to shift, lighter somehow, as if the inn itself approved. Quentin sensed the magic within the walls stirring, responding to Theo¡¯s presence. Whatever was happening here, it was beyond coincidence. The inn was evolving, adapting, and Theo¡ªjust like the enchanted dagger¡ªwas now woven into its strange design. As they set aside the last of the baked goods to cool, the door creaked open. Ophelia stepped in, her gaze flicking between them, landing on the dagger in Theo¡¯s belt. ¡°What did I miss?¡± she asked, one brow raised. Theo smirked. ¡°Quentin gave me an enchanted dagger.¡±
For nights after that, Theo returned with a satchel full of trinkets¡ªvials of blue elixirs, silks, and herbs he¡¯d gathered from the outskirts of Hepfin. Quentin watched him quietly, wondering how much longer this game of thievery and magic could continue. Meanwhile, outside, the crops in Emrelle¡¯s Chamber thrived. The soil, enriched by the goddess''s touch, still needed tending, but under Quentin¡¯s care, the green shoots grew stronger. One night, Theo brought back something different: an ivory comb with teeth that shimmered like glass. He tossed it to Quentin without ceremony. ¡°For the vault.¡± Quentin turned it over, the faint scent of jasmine and saltwater clinging to it. ¡°Where did you get this?¡± ¡°Took it off a merchant who didn¡¯t even know what he had. Said it was cursed.¡± ¡°And you thought it was a good idea to bring it here?¡± Quentin¡¯s voice was half-serious. Theo shrugged. ¡°We already have a cursed dagger.¡± ¡°Enchanted,¡± Quentin corrected, glancing at the dagger now always resting on Theo¡¯s hip. The boy seemed attached to it, and it gleamed with a quiet hunger whenever he touched it. ¡°We¡¯re collecting quite the assortment,¡± Quentin murmured, placing the comb beside the other oddities. Theo grinned. ¡°Yeah, well, I figure we¡¯ll need it all soon enough.¡± Quentin frowned. ¡°Need it for what?¡± Theo¡¯s grin faltered slightly, but he said nothing, just slipping the dagger back into its sheath. ___ They found themselves sitting together at one table in the inn, near the fireplace; Quentin, Theo, and Ophelia, dipping fresh cheese bread from the market fair bakery into steaming bowls of stew. Quentin listened as Theo opened up to Ophelia, sharing tales of the games he and his friends used to play before the red soldiers descended on their lives. The warmth of the festival helped ease the boy''s usual wariness and the two of them exchanged sympathetic glances. Theo suddenly turned to Quentin, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face. ¡°What about you, boss? Got any stories to share?¡± Ophelia¡¯s eyes flicked toward him, curious. Quentin shrugged. ¡°No stories worth telling. I woke up here one day, bound to this inn,¡± he replied. ¡°But I like it well enough.¡± Theo smirked but said nothing, dipping his bread into the stew. Ophelia leaned forward, her eyes thoughtful. ¡°Why don¡¯t you join us, Quentin? There are no customers tonight. Everyone¡¯s off enjoying the entertainment at the plaza.¡± Quentin smiled, shaking his head. ¡°You two go on. Ophelia, your students are probably excited to see you. And Theo, your friends deserve a night of fun. Just stay out of sight, up on the rooftops.¡± The two exchanged uncertain glances as Quentin began packing a small bag of snacks; cookies and slices of Rumlar cake. ¡°Here, take these with you. Share them around.¡± Ophelia grinned, taking the bundle. ¡°I¡¯ll bring you back some butter, milk, maybe a few spices,¡± she said. Theo gave a wry smile. ¡°And I¡¯ll... well, you know, grab whatever I can.¡± A long while after they left, Quentin closed the windows and doors, retreating to the fire. He whispered softly, ¡°Show me.¡± The green flames flickered to life, revealing a vision of Ophelia and her students clapping for a troupe of jugglers and animal tamers in the square, while Theo sat nearby, sharing his snacks with the other urchins. Quentin sighed, watching the scene of temporary peace. ___ Later that evening, a town crier''s voice cut through the festive air, rattling Quentin¡¯s focus. He stood near the fireplace, wiping down the counters, but his attention drifted as the announcement echoed from outside. They had captured the leader of the thieves'' den and planned to execute her that very night¡ªburned in the town square as an example to all. Quentin felt Theo stiffen beside him, pale fingers gripping the hilt of his dagger. His eyes were wide, unfocused, like prey caught in a trap. ¡°We won¡¯t let anything happen to your leader,¡± Quentin said quietly, watching as Theo remained frozen in place. He knew the boy well enough by now. If he touched him, he would bolt. Quentin whispered to the inn, asking it to lock Theo inside. The inn responded swiftly, sealing the exits with quiet precision. Theo didn¡¯t notice, his mind elsewhere, lost in fear and anger. The innkeeper returned to his tasks, the sound of crackling fire, clinking cutlery, and splashing water filling the space. But soon, Ophelia¡¯s footsteps pounded from the alley, and she burst through the wooden door. The inn let her in, though it kept Theo from leaving. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. She rushed to Theo, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him back to awareness. ¡°We will not let this happen. Do you hear me?¡± Her voice was fierce, her eyes blazing. ¡°I will send beams of light to tear down every red soldier if that¡¯s what it takes.¡± Quentin, observing from the side, knew the cost of such magic. Her power was immense, but a spell like that would drain her life force. He pulled out a fresh tray of cookies, the sweet scent at odds with the dire conversation. ¡°You might need these then,¡± he said, hoping the light tone would dissuade her. Theo¡¯s voice was low, trembling. ¡°She was a mother to all of us. She gave us shelter, helped us hide from the soldiers, even built the tunnels we used to escape.¡± Ophelia bit her lip, her eyes softening. She understood; the weight of caring for those who couldn¡¯t fend for themselves. It was a burden she carried for her students too. Theo¡¯s grip tightened on Ophelia¡¯s arm, his face set with grim determination. ¡°You won¡¯t need to use your magic. It¡¯s time I fought back.¡± Ophelia¡¯s brow furrowed in concern. ¡°What are you going to do?¡± Theo glanced at the dagger, then at Quentin, his silent plea clear. He didn¡¯t want to be stopped. Quentin studied him, realizing that despite Theo¡¯s youth, the boy had already lived a lifetime survivng. Everyone born under the Red Army¡¯s rule was already fighting. This was no different. Finally, Quentin nodded. ¡°We¡¯ll do it together.¡± The three of them stood in silence for a moment, the weight of what they were about to attempt pressing down on them. But in that shared glance, a plan began to form¡ªone that would lead them into the heart of Brikkenbale to save Theo¡¯s leader from the Red Army¡¯s flames. ¡ª ¡°Wish me luck,¡± Theo whispered as he slipped into the night, his voice barely audible over the din of the festival. It was the final night of celebration, a grand spectacle that would soon be sullied by the Red Army¡¯s cruelty. The thought of it tightened Theo¡¯s grip on the dagger hidden in his cloak. Ophelia had stuffed her satchel with cookies¡ªher way of replenishing magic for the inevitable battle ahead. "I¡¯ll be ready if you need me," she had said, but for now, she was with her students. She needed to protect them first and return to the plaza to prevent the execution. If she were to be found out during that time, then so be it. She had made arrangements for the mother superior to care for the orphans in her stead. Theo would have to rely on his own skills. As Theo navigated the dark alleys toward the market fair, he saw the red soldiers hauling a cage, dragging it through the square with their commander at the helm. The sight made his stomach churn. Inside the cage were people¡ªhis people¡ªthose who had lived in the underground tunnels, hiding from the soldiers'' wrath. Tonight, they were to be incinerated as part of a grotesque display of power, a message to the citizens of Brikkenbale that resistance was futile. All this, Quentin saw on his scrying fireplace. Theo¡¯s heart pounded as he watched the soldiers position the cage at the center of the square. The alleys around him were blocked off by more red soldiers, forcing the gathered crowd to witness the grisly spectacle. Ophelia was there again, not far off, clenching her staff, her fingers twitching as if she was ready to unleash a blinding light on the soldiers. But Theo knew she couldn¡¯t risk exposing herself just yet. The air grew heavy as the red soldiers began their cruel show, raising torches and jeering. Theo¡¯s blood boiled, but before he could act, all the lights in the square were snuffed out in an instant. The crowd gasped as darkness enveloped the scene. In that shadowy veil, Theo moved like a ghost. And then something happened at the inn. Quentin felt like a bolt unlocked, and he saw the door swing open. he stepped out slowly, into the night, the cold wind on his face. he stepped a little beyond the inn¡¯s porch, out into the empty street. Then a couple steps farther, farther¡­ until he was at the plaza''s edge. But as he tried to step beyond the alley, he felt being whipped back and knew that this was the limit Hepfin¡¯s force had given him. Quentin watched from this distance, eyes sharp as Theo ate a whole Rimlar cake and invoked a name. Kyrrho, god of mischief, god of thieves, trickster god of shadows. And the god heard Theo, because his dagger glowed¨Cthe one from the vaults, and Theo¡¯s hair began to glow faintly white, a strange magic rippling through him. And Theo struck, the dagger slicing and cutting. One by one, the red soldiers fell silently in the dark, their throats slit with precision. Theo¡¯s movements were fluid, his dagger a gleaming whisper in the blackness. And then the people screamed and fled and there was chaos. Ophelia held her ground, trying to make sense of the situation, looking for any wounded innocent. She did not see Theo making quick work of the men guarding the cages. She only saw the youth running from the cages Theo unlocked. She only saw Theo directing all of them to her. ¡°Go to the cleric with the yellow hair! Follow her inside the inn, go!¡± She shared a look with Theo, and Theo nodded at her, urgently. She swallowed and told everyone to follow her as she lit the crystal of her staff and pointed the light to the dark alleyway towards Hepfin¡¯s cradle. The prisoners bumped into Quentin, who snapped his fingers to open the inn¡¯s door. He watched as all of them filed into the inn. Now that they were safe, he turned his attention back to the plaza. Ophelia was staring at the red soldiers lying lifeless on the ground, wondering in awe and pity how a boy like Theou could have had the skill to end all these well-trained soldiers. Quentin, meanwhile, saw Theo bend over the great enchanted lock in the giant cage keeping his mother figure. The lock that did not yield to his crafty fingers. Theo fumbled with it, anger bubbling inside him. He didn¡¯t yet have the skill to unlock such powerful magic. His frustration grew as the seconds ticked by, speaking to the leader, who was an old stout woman. ¡°Go, my boy. Take the others from their cages and save yourselves,¡± the old woman said, touching Theo¡¯s face, her fingers old against his young skin. Theo shook his head and used Kyrrho¡¯s dagger to pick the enchanted lock. ¡°You¡¯re coming with me, Laia.¡± But Kyrrho¡¯s influence was waning, the young thief¡¯s white hair turning back to black. A great ball of flame hit the concrete near them and it was such an explosion to cause the cage to topple over and Theo to be blown away. Ophelia screamed and readied her staff, but the red commander pointed one finger to the cage and summoned a spherical concentration of fire blast. ¡°I will end them all before you even summon one pillar of light, Sister,¡± the man said, smiling. Ophelia stopped summoning, and the crystal¡¯s glow faded. Quentin kept back, retreatign back to the shadows. He waited. The Red Army commander stepped forward as Theo recovered, a malicious grin on his face. Ophelia moved. She ran to step in front of Laia¡¯s cage, her staff at the ready to blast the commander away. But he was not interested in them anymore. The commander raised his hand, conjuring a flame that hovered in the air, casting light over the square. Theo crept back to the shadows, now that the commander¡¯s full attention was on him. ¡°Well done on slaying my men. Such talent does not go unnoticed,¡± the commander said, letting the light of his fire burn away the shadows where Theo was hiding. ¡°Come with us, young thief. And we would make sure you would not hunger or steal again.¡± No response. The commander¡¯s flame floated, unmoving, casting long shadows across the plaza. Theo seized the opportunity, throwing Kyrrho¡¯s dagger with deadly accuracy. It struck the commander¡¯s arm, and he screamed, hurling a ball of fire toward Theo in retaliation. Theo dodged, rolling to the side as the flames passed by harmlessly. Quentin watched intently, his eyes narrowing as he noticed something strange. The commander¡¯s flame sputtered, flickering weakly. The dagger Theo had thrown was glowing faintly; sapping the commander¡¯s magic, and weakening his reserves. It seemed to drain the very life from the flame. Realizing his magic was faltering, the commander, eyes wild with desperation, turned toward the cage, about to ignite the bars in a blaze of crimson fire. Theo¡¯s heart stopped. Laia and Ophelia would be burned alive. Ophelia needed more time to summon a devastating beam. "You must be quick," a voice whispered in his ear, a voice not his own. Quentin heard it too. Theo¡¯s eyes widened. He felt a surge of energy ripple through him, the remnants of the Rumlar cake still coursing through his body, boosting his stealth and strength in the darkness. Quentin, from the shadows, saw what was happening. He tossed a piece of the cake toward Theo, and Ophelia saw. She understood the dire situation, and whispered a wind spell under her breath, blowing away some of the flames that had begun to creep up the cage and knocking the cake onto Theo¡¯s waiting hand. He chewed the whole thing, swallowed, and was rejuvenated. His hair turned white once more. Theo moved swiftly, slicing through the commander¡¯s limbs with ruthless efficiency. The commander screamed and swore and cast his destructive flame, but they all sputtered out, leaving the commander increasingly vulnerable. The commander snarled, his red eyes locking onto Theo as they squared off. ¡°You¡¯re nothing but a stain on this kingdom!¡± the commander spat, his voice filled with venom. ¡°A stain that shall strike you down,¡± Theo said smugly. With a swift motion, Theo threw his dagger. It landed true, striking the commander¡¯s wrist. The man howled in pain as his flame flickered out completely, his magic cut off. Theo lunged forward, the dagger poised for the final strike. The dagger found its mark, sinking deep into the commander¡¯s neck. He crumpled to the ground, dead. Theo stood over the body, breathing heavily, the weight of what he¡¯d done settling on his shoulders. His leader and the other captives were safe, but the cost had been high. Ophelia gathered him in his arms, and once he had recovered, used the last bit of Kyrrho¡¯s influence to unlock the cage and set Laia free. ___ Back at Hepfin¡¯s Cradle, they all gathered in the warmth of the fire. Theo, Ophelia, and the rescued children huddled together, their bodies exhausted. Quentin moved through the room, feeding them warm food and washing away the grime of battle. Ophelia did her best to heal their wounds, her healing powers soothing their aching limbs. As they ate, Theo sat back, talking to Laia, and hugging his friends, all wearing torn and shabby dresses. Quentin directed them to the washroom and he alone cooked the stew for everyone who was tired, scared, and injured. Once every one of the underground tunnels and sewers was putting spoons on warm bowls, he carried Ophelia¡¯s stew from the counter and placed it across her table. She groaned, wincing, as she ate. After a few bites, she said, ¡°I asked them to go to the orphanage, but they said that they would go back to the underground tunnels and seal off all the entrances. They said they had a hideout somewhere and some powerful people from Brewlithe were actually planning to aid them. That was how some of the red soldiers caught them. But Laia said that everything was fine now.¡± They looked at her direction. She was telling Theo not to worry, and telling him how he got so strong, and that he must look after himself for a while. Later, Theo came to their table and said, ¡°Could I stay here, for a while? I meant what I said earlier. I want to do my part to end this madness.¡± He looked at Ophelia. ¡°So that no one should steal to survive.¡± Ophelia and Quentin stared at him. They nodded. ¡°Grab yourself some stew and go to bed.¡± The night wore on, and though the fire crackled warmly, the memory of the red commander¡¯s death lingered in the air. Their battle was far from over. Right now, thought, Quentin was preparing Theo¡¯s room. On the shelves, he laid out Theo¡¯s thieving trophies; a bright stone, bags of copper, and other baubles the other children had given him as a memento. Quentin looked at this new room and how it adjusted to suit the young thieve¡¯s taste. Inside, the room is modest yet inviting. The walls are paneled with dark, aged wood, lending the space a sense of quiet concealment. Flickering candle sconces cast soft, amber light that barely reached the corners, creating plenty of shadow for one who preferred to remain unseen. The bed, nestled against the far wall, was low to the ground with thick woolen blankets in deep burgundy and forest green, perfect for burrowing into after a long night of slipping through alleys. Beneath the window, which is covered with thick, velvet curtains, sat a sturdy wooden chest with hidden compartments, ideal for stashing stolen trinkets or secret supplies. A small desk rested against another wall, cluttered with maps, quills, and vials of ink; tools for planning the next heist or marking escape routes. The room smells faintly of leather and old parchment, with a hint of something spicy; perhaps incense or an herb to ward off unwanted intruders. A hidden alcove behind a sliding panel offers a discreet exit, leading directly into the shadows of the back alleys, allowing Theo to come and go unseen. He need not use the main entrance anymore. Quentin smiled and closed the door.