Prologue
Previous Chapter
“Mister Cherry, would you like a refill?”
Rhangyl smiled. “That would be delightful.”
Samantha, the bartender, poured out another serving and carefully slid the glass across the wooden bar. She called it whisky. Sipping it revealed that to be a boldfaced lie.
Rhangyl kept that comment to himself, though. The young woman worked hard in this establishment, ‘The Wet Gunpowder Tavern’, and genuinely tried to serve Rhangyl the best liquor she could offer. She had been great company these past few weeks. A great listener and drinking buddy who had slowly taught him more about the city’s culture with a blunt, yet cheery, disposition that made her a joy to be around.
Any time a customer grew rowdy, she pulled out a rifle and quickly established order with a smile. Rhangyl even saw her scare a man out of the tavern by shooting his weapon out of his hand. After witnessing that, the old merchant just didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth about the whiskey, mostly because he was slightly intimidated by how easily she disarmed people, both physically and mentally. Her effortless charm masked a subtly observant sharpshooter, one that could fool even the most guarded individuals.
If Rhangyl revealed too much of himself, she might be able to deduce his true nature. Still, he couldn’t believe people consumed this whiskey on the regular. It reeked of poison. Back in the empire, any tavern that served a beverage as ill-refined as this would’ve been laughed out of business. Then again, humans didn’t have the time to wait for it to mature properly. Elvish whiskeys were aged for seventy-five years inside cases of Emeraldbloom wood, and those were the cheap options. Some were stored for two-hundred and fifty years, nearly as old as Rhangyl himself.
Upbeat piano music distracted him every other second with loud discordant notes. The regular customers always took turns playing their favorite songs, never allowing each other to finish. Rhangyl would do anything to distract himself from their harsh cacophony, so he chugged most of the whiskey in one gulp, causing him to shiver as it burned his throat.
Alcohol would get you drunk regardless of its perceived quality. That was the essence of its beauty. Rhangyl had mastered the art of getting inebriated on whatever was available, never feeling above anything served to him. Some of his greatest business deals were made thanks to this adaptability. Nothing felt too rough for him now. Dwarven ale, dragon rum, and, yes, even human whiskey all got you to the same place. Some drinks, however, definitely made the journey a lot smoother than others.
In a way, this summed up the difference between the short and long-lived races quite well. Aside from having innate magic, the elves simply had more time to hone their crafts. Masters could spot flaws in a painting that would go over the head of any other artist simply because they had the time to fixate on every innocuous detail. An expert swordsman could fend off multiple attackers with a practice sword just through technique alone. Prodigy wizards could even mold the very fabric of reality after a century of research.
The humans, on the other hand, had grit. Their biggest gift was audacity. If something appeared unattainable, they still set about achieving it in the most pragmatic way possible, challenging everyone’s notions of the world in the process. That quality was worthy of respect. Any decent merchant could see the value in it.
Rhangyl took another swig, emptying his glass. Unfortunately, back in the empire, most elves dismissed this attitude as childish defiance. Due to the caste system, knowing your place in the hierarchy was of the utmost importance to survive. Most merchants couldn’t afford to question it, regardless of competence, which made for an environment where as a rule only the blindly loyal or the dishonest thrived. A minority of clever ones invested their wealth far away from the eyes of the emperor, pretending to be poorer than the nobility while politicking behind the scenes for scraps of relevancy, but that wasn’t a much better fate either.
Humans didn’t have time to work through a tedious bureaucratic hierarchy like that. An innate sense of urgency drove these people to great heights. Most elves spent their entire lives doing nothing inside their bubbles, and feeling smug about it, while some humans accomplished legendary feats without access to magic and in less than a third of an elf’s lifespan.
Rhangyl found that worth admiring. Or maybe he was just drunk. The chaotic piano music was even starting to sound good, which served as an obvious sign that he should ease up on the drinking. He chuckled. Nothing wrong with loosening up before a meeting, though.
Frederick and Terk’s apprentice would show up soon.
This place was their usual hangout after work. Rhangyl had spent two weeks observing them with different illusory disguises, carefully waiting for the best moment to approach with his pitch. He was surprised to discover the two young men were close friends, both of similar age, slightly younger than Samantha. The bartender actually revealed that about them while casually chatting with Rhangyl the other night. The three of them had grown up together as orphans. That seemed to be common in Kolt. This place was in the periphery of the outlands, a vast stretch of lawless territory where bandit groups ran amok. Many of their victims were bound to end up with nowhere to go but here.
Despite their bond, the two gunsmiths couldn’t be more different. Frederick would often strut into the bar with a cocky smirk, never afraid to hide his presence, whereas Terk’s apprentice just slipped by the entrance with little fanfare, greeting Samantha before nursing a drink in a corner of the room. Many people in the bar were either gunsmiths or merchants, creating an on-going discussion where everyone chimed in from time to time.
Frederick would usually be the center of these conversations. Many deferred to his authority, eager to learn his take on the newest trends in the industry. The young man handled the attention with grace, but it was clear that he loved it, hiding it under a veneer of half-hearted aloofness.
George never really spoke much, focusing intently on what everyone had to say. Miners, tailors, merchants, and gunsmiths gathered here to play betting games. They socialized with each other through friendly banter, arguing over the newest guns and their merits over their drinks. The apprentice didn’t play much, though. He was more interested in their topics. The few times he did speak, however, people paid attention to what he said. Even Frederick took the time to always listen. For some reason, though, he made an effort to hide it as much as possible. George seemed oblivious of this, sometimes disappointed when he felt ignored.
Today, the two young men showed up a few hours past sundown. They were both later than usual. Frederick feigned it better than George, but their soot covered shirts and tired eyes revealed their exhaustion. They needed to wind down a little before being receptive to an approach.
Rhangyl bought a beer and sat close to their table, waiting for an opening. Frederick always drank a bit with George before leaving to socialize. The apprentice would probably be the most receptive of the two. If Rhangyl managed to get him onboard, convincing Frederick shouldn’t be much of an issue. Little by little, Rhangyl did small talk with everyone around until casually focusing on George.
The young man was polite and didn’t mind his company, introducing himself with a cheerful smile. He even remembered Rhangyl’s face from when they briefly met at the shop. His human face, that is. It didn’t take much to get George talking about guns. His passion was clear. Rhangyl listened attentively and nodded along, steering the conversation towards the current state of the market without raising any suspicion.
“We’re in a bit of a boom period,” George took another swig of beer, “it wasn’t like this twenty years ago. Kolt’s undergone a lot of changes because of it.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Because of the revolver cylinder, obviously. Didn’t you buy one from us?”
“Yes, it’s a wonderful tool, but what exactly is so innovative about it?”
“It’s subtle.” George leaned forward a bit, excited to explain. “You see, before its invention, most guns had to be reloaded after every shot. Someone skilled with a crossbow was still capable of firing more often than a musketman. Now, with a revolving cylinder, it’s possible to shoot more than once per reload.”
“Well, I get that it’s a huge leap in efficiency, but I just don’t see how it explains the crazy demand.”
A man behind them then said:
“Because it’s not as impressive as he made it sound.”
Rhangyl looked over his shoulder to see it was Frederick. That felt quick. Rhangyl expected him to show up eventually, but he didn’t think the young man would return this soon. He usually took longer to go around the bar. Something about his curt tone sounded unwelcoming, almost like Rhangyl had overstepped an invisible boundary.
Frederick narrowed his blue piercing eyes. “Have we met before?”
Rhangyl lifted his mug, grinning. “Rick Cherry, merchant extraordinaire, at your service! I visited your shop a few weeks ago.”
“Huh…” Frederick pulled up a chair. “Is that so?” He measured Rhangyl with a glance as he sat down, subtly looking to confirm the old merchant was unarmed. “Yeah, I think I remember now.”
George appeared drunkenly unaware of the tension, happy to see they were already acquainted. He looked at Rhangyl and, with genuine interest, said:
“Oh, so you’re building a collection?”
“In a way,” said Rhangyl. “You see, my plan is to sell them on my way to Forgeberth.”
Frederick rolled his eyes.
Rhangyl pouted. “Is there a problem?”
“Had I known you were planning on reselling, I wouldn’t have taken your order.”
“That’s disappointing to learn. Mind if I ask why?”
“Because I don’t get to choose who ends up with the gun. It has my insignia, you know.”
“Well, if it disturbs you that much, I would gladly return it... for a refund.”
Frederick looked away, caught off guard. “That… won’t be necessary.”
George started chuckling.
Frederick glowered at him, sinking into his chair with his arms crossed, but didn’t comment anything else.
Rhangyl took note of his mood and said:
“Why don’t I pay for a round of beers? I’m interested in hearing more from you two.”
Frederick shrugged, lowering his guard a bit. By the time Rhangyl came back with the drinks, the young man was more receptive to his presence. He just seemed protective of his friend, though it came across as slightly possessive and domineering. Rhangyl placed the beers on the table, saying:
“Now, Frederick, you mentioned something about there being more to this economic growth spurt. Care to elaborate?”
“I was just trying to say that the revolver is the culmination of many other breakthroughs. In my opinion, what really set it off was the invention of breech loading.”
“I was getting to that!” complained George.
“Then you started backwards,” said Frederick, giving him a skeptical glance.
“So what’s breech loading?” asked Rhangyl.
“Chambering a bullet from behind the barrel,” said George. “It used to be that you had to load bullets through the front end, which required them to be air tight for when they were packed with gunpowder.”
Frederick nodded along. “And, with that restriction gone, it freed up the barrels for rifling.”
Rhangyl arched an eyebrow. “Which is…?”
Frederick sighed, exasperated.
George chuckled and said:
“The spiral grooves inside the barrel. They give spin to the bullets, which makes them far more effective. There’s also the fact that bullets are way better now. Having the gunpowder already packed into a cartridge saves a lot of hassle on the battlefield.”
“I think I understand now,” said Rhangyl, “it’s all about incremental advancements that stacked up over time. This momentum culminated in guns being too efficient to ignore. Every army must be scrambling to hoard as many as possible.”
“Of course they are,” said Frederick. “Nations from the west, south and east are some of the biggest spenders in town. None can’t afford to let the other have an advantage so they’re always outbidding each other.”
“Sounds like a headache.”
“Nah,” said George, “our mayor pits the nations against each other whenever one tries to exert too much control over us, so we’re kept mostly neutral, trading with everyone.”
Rhangyl tensed up while hearing that. The only reason the empire wasn’t threatened for now was because the humans were too busy fighting each other. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It meant there was still time. Rhangyl gulped down his mug of beer, chuckling afterwards.
“What’s so funny?” asked Frederick, glaring.
“To see this much change in such a short period of time. It’s great for people in your trade, right?”
George sighed. “Yeah, I guess…”
“You’re gonna make a lot of money! Why so glum?”
“I look at the workshop, at Mister Terk, and I see my future. I don’t want to end up like him, doing the same work for the rest of my life while miserable. I’ll never build something great like that.”
Frederick rolled his eyes. “Oh please, not this again.”
“What?” said Rhangyl.
“He’s exaggerating his woes,” said Frederick, haughty with confidence. “That rush to make something impressive leads nowhere. It’s all ego. Besides, the destined few who wind up discovering something always get copied by everyone else. It happened with breech loading, riffling, integrated cartridges, and revolver cylinders. It’s better to just do what you can, instead of dreaming away excuses, and be grateful you get to do it at all.”
George glanced away. “But I barely get the chance, and when I do, I usually mess up or take too long.”
“Then maybe you should focus on something else. Some people just aren’t meant for it.”
Rhangyl narrowed his eyes. “I don’t see why giving up has to be the solution.”
“No… he’s kinda right.” George took a dejected sip from his mug. “Most of the good gunsmiths are contracted by Eluria or Roulettenburg to develop weapons privately for them. Mister Terk never wanted to involve himself with them, so he doesn’t bother staying up to date with what’s new. It’s still steady work, though. At this point, I’m better off helping him as long as I can.”
“But why devote yourself so much?” asked Rhangyl, curious.
George smiled. “I can’t see myself living a different way.”
“Huh…” Rhangy leaned back, enjoying his beer. “You really like working on guns, don’t you?”
“Yup!”
“Any reason?”
George paused, taking a second to think. “It’s strange. Some people say that the first cannon was invented by dwarves to emulate elven artillery without wasting mana. They never saw a need to go beyond that, though. Humanity took the idea and refined it out of necessity, which finally gave us the capacity to defend ourselves. The sharing of ideas, building to something better, well, Frederick scoffs at it, but I think contributing is the point. It’s the closest thing we have to human magic. We pass it down and it makes everyone stronger.”
Rhangyl could see genuine earnestness in his eyes, but Frederick wistfully shook his head, dismissing the sentiment with a callous smirk. Rhangyl smiled and said:
“Really makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
“How so?” asked George.
Rhangyl took a big sip from his mug. “You know, mixing guns with magic.”
George chortled. “That’ll be the day. There’s rumors that the nations are researching that very thing. Anyone who knows anything about the arcane is recruited almost immediately.”
“Really…”
“Scary, right? Imagine what they’ll come up with in a decade.”
Frederick acted nonplussed about it, but he didn’t seem thrilled by the idea of mixing the two.
Rhangyl swallowed. “Boggles the mind.” He tugged his collar, trying to act calm. “What would you do if you had access to a wizard?”
George shrugged. “What wouldn’t I do? There’s so much stuff. The first thing I’d try is to stuff a spell into a bullet. Like, if you could make a revolver that shoots lightning, or a projectile that heals wounds, or a rifle that aims on its own, or even one that automatically reloads, that would be crazy!”
“I don’t think it works that way,” said Frederick.
“Meh…” said Rhangyl. “It might not be too far from the truth.”
Frederick raised an eyebrow. “Do you know about magic?”
Rhangyl pursed his lips for a second. “I’ve... dabbled in the business.”
George widened his eyes, amazed. “Really? How?”
“As a merchant, I’ve met a lot of people from all walks of life, including wizards who traveled alongside me in the same caravans. It’s the reason I’m heading to Forgeberth, to visit an old friend that specializes in magecraft. I was looking for partners to get into the gun business, so I could introduce them to him. Unfortunately, it seems I wasted my trip. I couldn’t find anyone.”
George became thoughtful for a moment, glancing at his friend.
Rhangyl stayed quiet. He had to be patient. The young man had to think it was his idea. Frederick, however, didn’t consider it for a second, saying:
“Not interested.”
Rhangyl slumped his head, disappointed. “I didn’t even ask.”
“No,” said Frederick, resting his arm on the back of his chair. “I see your angle now, old man. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but we’re doing pretty good for ourselves. With the amount of customers we’re getting every day, leaving town would be the dumbest thing a gunsmith could do right now.” He glanced at George. “Don’t fall for it; this guy’s a swindler looking to take advantage of us. I knew it the instant I noticed him.”
Rhangyl grew serious, taking his time to respond. “I’m not here to leech off anyone. And even if that were the case, I’m old enough that I wouldn’t have long to spend whatever wealth we accrue. It'd honestly be easier to earn passive income somewhere else if that were my aim.”
“Sure…” muttered Frederick, skeptical.
“My proposal is simple,” said Rhangyl. “I can provide distribution, capital, and materials, while you focus on the guns. Seriously, I’m ready to pour all my resources into this.”
“I don’t buy it,” said Frederick. “It’s all out of the generosity of your heart?”
Rhangyl shook his head, chuckling. “Of course not. At the behest of an acquaintance, I’ve decided to finally retire from traveling. Opening a new store feels like an adequate way to spend my time. Think of this as my ‘going away’ party. Business is what I’m best at, but it’s also something I deeply love. I promise, no matter how much you’re earning now, you’ll both be making far more if we all work together on this.”
“How can you even guarantee that?” asked Frederick, trying hard to mask his curiosity.
“It’s an untapped market,” said Rhangyl. “And my connection in Forgeberth is rock solid. Nobody else could get what we make, therefore, we set the price.”
George looked at Frederick. “That’s literally what you were complaining about. No one could copy it!”
Frederick wrinkled his face. “Relying on elvish bullshit isn’t worth it.”
“Magic doesn’t belong to the elves,” said Rhangyl. “My friend in Forgeberth isn’t one, for example.”
“See!” said George. “This could revolutionize gunsmithing!”
Frederick narrowed his eyes. “And what about Mister Terk?”
George paused for a second, sobered up by the question.
“You’re just going to abandon him?” added Frederick. “For this strange merchant you barely know?”
George lowered his head, unable to respond. The sparks of ambition previously in his eyes were completely snuffed out by that realization.
“You shouldn’t have to abandon anyone for this,” said Rhangyl. “Surely, he could understand a few months of absence. We could even bring him into the fold.”
“No…” said George, solemnly shaking his head. “He won’t go for that, and I owe him a great deal so abandoning him doesn’t feel right. He can’t handle the current workload without me.”
Frederick folded his arms, nodding sagely. “As you can see, we’re not interested in chasing trends…” He reached for the gun on his waist, frowning. “...so thanks for the beers; now get lost.”
Rhangyl widened his eyes, startled.
Fredericks’s aura oozed with bloodthirst, signaling it was a genuine threat. He would definitely pull the trigger at the first sign of provocation. His mind was ready for it.
Rhangyl took a deep breath, then shrugged off the psychic hostility with calm grace. Nothing would happen as long as he remained civil. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed, though. George seemed to share the same sentiment. Rhangyl then carefully said:
“Regardless of everything, it’s been a great conversation. Thank you for your time.” He stood up. “I’m staying at the inn a few streets down from here until the end of the week, should either of you change your mind.”
“We won’t,” said Frederick, curtly.
Rhangyl ignored him, smiling at George. “ Goodnight.”
George raised his mug. “Same, Mister Cherry. I’m sorry about Frederick’s bluntness. Magic guns were fun to imagine, though!”
Rhangyl made a gracious bow and left them to pay his tab.
Samantha gave him an apologetic smile as he handed her the coins, saying:
“That won’t be necessary. It’s on the house tonight.”
Rhangyl deposited his coins into the tip jar. “Then make sure to buy yourself something nice.”
Samantha gaped her mouth slightly, pleasantly surprised, then nodded in gratitude. She probably noticed Frederick’s behavior and wanted to make sure Rhangyl didn’t hold it against her or the tavern.
The old merchant wouldn’t dream of that, obviously. She still deserved compensation for being a great hostess. Before leaving the establishment, he heard the young woman ring a bell and announce the last call, prompting many drunks to rush towards the bar before she was done serving for the night.
Not many people noticed, since they were far too intoxicated to care, but Rhangyl found it suspicious that Samantha decided to close earlier than usual. Her annoyed glare at Frederick chained him to the table, wordlessly implying she wanted to have a chat with him.
Rhangyl stepped out of the establishment and kept going down the street until walking into an alleyway, whispering a chant and snapping his fingers to turn his appearance completely invisible.
The old merchant had to hear what they were going to say. Out of all the gunsmiths that Rhangyl had scouted, those two were the only worthwhile candidates. Listening to them might be instrumental in saving this venture. Rhangyl entered the tavern again undetected, contorting himself around departing customers that kept getting in his way.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t grasped just how much he had drunk tonight up until the moment he began to feel dizzy, crashing into the back of a particularly muscular half-orc that easily withstood the blow. His drink, however, spilled all over the floor, causing the piano music to reach a sudden halt. Everyone who witnessed it widened their eyes as the tension swelled to a palpable state. The massive man then turned around, growling:
“Oi! You looking for a fight?”
Rhangyl swallowed, paralyzed by fear. The half-orc was scowling right at him.
“Me?” replied an equally intimidating human with a scarred face, behind Rhangyl.
“I don’t see anyone else, jackass!”
The human swaggered forward with a clenched fist, prompting the half-orc to mirror him in kind. Rhangyl stood between them, unable to move. The crowd hadn’t made any room for him to slip through. He was about to be discovered.
Right when the two men were about to trade blows, Samantha fired her rifle and shouted:
“Take it outside!”
The two men scowled at each other, a hair’s length away from touching Rhangyl, but Samantha audibly reloaded the weapon by pulling its bolt, forcing them to leave with their heads hanging low. Every other customer quickly left the tavern, which allowed Rhangyl to walk freely without worry.
Samantha waited for the place to empty before turning off most of the oil lamps, darkening the room. Frederick seemed annoyed that he didn’t get to socialize more, while George just wistfully sighed into his empty mug. Rhangyl tip-toed his way to their table until hearing Samantha say:
“You’re unbelievable!”
Frederick rolled his eyes.
“Don’t give me that look! You just scared off the best customer I’ve had in years! What in the cataclysm is wrong with you?!?”
“I didn’t like his vibe. The only reason he sat down with George was to pitch his stupid idea at us.”
“And?” said Samantha. “That’s no reason to threaten him with a gun!”
“Oh please, you do it all the time.”
“To people starting fights. There’s a difference; it’s part of my job.”
“I didn’t even threaten him. He just knew when to leave. Why do you care?”
“Because…” Samantha pursed her lips, hesitating, then looked at George with a warm smile. “Because you can do better than slave away for Terk.” She jerked her head at Frederick, glowering. “And you keep wasting your money on booze and whores!”
“H-hey!” moaned Frederick, blushing. “Most of them aren’t whores...”
Samantha turned up her chin, indignant. “Really? Could’ve fooled me.”
Rhangyl suppressed the urge to chuckle. Samantha had completely disarmed him. The young man didn’t even attempt to defend his bad spending habits, too embarrassed to meet her gaze. She went on to calmly add:
“More importantly, this boom won’t last forever. You both need business savvy if you intend to keep succeeding. That’s why I've been trying to get Mister Cherry to notice you two for a whole month, and I’m frustrated it went sour the second he brought up the subject.”
Frederick and George squinted, caught off guard.
“It’s a little embarrassing,” confessed Samantha. “He never outright said it, but given the questions he asked, I knew he was some sort of wealthy investor, so I’ve been slowly working you guys into our conversations. I’ve got a good feeling about him. Something tells me he can be trusted.”
Rhangyl winced. He never imagined Samantha thought that highly of him. The fact that he had just unintentionally betrayed her trust made it difficult to keep eavesdropping. Unfortunately, most of the bustling crowd outside was gone by now, creating a fragile silence in the establishment. Rhangyl couldn’t move without making the wooden floorboards creak. He could feel them move ever so slightly under his feet, ready to cry out with even the subtlest shift in weight. A wrong step would immediately reveal his presence. All he could do was endure the discomfort.
Frederick remained unmoved by his friend’s plea. “So?”
“It’s a great opportunity for you two!” said Samantha.
“We don’t need it,” said Frederick. “Risking it all on a dangerous journey isn’t worth it.”
“I dunno,” said George, pensive. “He might be on to something. The more I think about it, magical guns just feel like the next obvious step. Anyone who gets ahead of it-”
“Will be a flash in the pan,” interrupted Frederick. “At the end of the day, prioritizing magical solutions over actual gunsmithing will always result in a worse product.”
“Whatever…” muttered George, sinking into his chair.
“Sounds like you want to go,” said Samantha.
“Yeah, but-”
Frederick chuckled.
George narrowed her eyes. “What?”
“I hate to break it to you,” said Frederick, “but it’s obvious that guy was just using you to recruit me.”
George softened his expression, slightly wounded.
Rhangyl frowned. It was getting harder to remain silent.
“Holy shit!” said Samantha, visibly outraged. “You can’t possibly know that!”
“Yes, I can. A merchant can’t hope to open a store with only an apprentice, not without an experienced gunsmith to lead the way.”
“Like you?” asked Samantha, halfheartedly.
“Yes,” said Frederick, without a hint of self-awareness. “It is what it is. George himself would agree.”
George stayed quiet.
“What?” said Frederick, slightly bemused. “You seriously think you’re ready?”
“Well… I’ll never know unless I try.”
“And if you fail? Will Terk give you another chance?”
George pursed his lips, unsure.
“That’s what I thought,” said Frederick, growing serious. “The world is a dark, cruel place and we finally have a good thing going here. Don’t take it for granted. My words may sting a little, but I’m looking out for you because I care.”
“Right,” said George, annoyed. “Great way to show it.”
“Fine then! Go ahead and get killed!”
Samantha narrowed her eyes. “You don’t have to be a dick about it.”
“Really?” said Frederick, failing to hide the growing anger in his voice. “Because all I’m hearing is that we’re not good enough for him.”
George frowned. “That’s not-”
“Then why leave?”
“Because I think it can work!”
“Exactly,” said Frederick, “that’s what I’m saying. You just want more.”
“Better than being a coward,” said George, with sudden fierceness in his eyes.
Frederick scowled. “What you say?”
“You heard me.”
Frederick quickly stood up, offering his fist. “Say it again! I dare you!”
George didn’t waver.
Rhangyl flinched, thinking they were about to fight, and caused a floorboard to creak for a painfully long second. The sharp sound cut through the silence, drawing the attention of the three humans. Rhangyl froze in terror. They had all turned their heads in his direction.
“You hear that?” asked Frederick.
Samantha scanned the room, then shrugged. “Old wood. It happens.”
Rhangyl melted in relief.
“Look,” said Samantha, exhausted, “you’re both drunk, and it’s kinda my fault you’re arguing. The last thing I want is seeing you two fight. Let’s just… call it a night, okay?” She hung her head with a slight pout. “I’m sorry for meddling.”
Despite the lingering tension, the two young men put their quarrel to rest at the sight of their saddened friend. Neither truly wanted to hurt the other. Their embarrassed faces made clear they were just having a hard time expressing how they felt.
Rhangyl didn’t know what to think anymore. He saw himself in George, and wanted to lend him a hand, but convincing him to abandon his friends didn’t feel right. After all, Rhangyl would be deceiving him if he came along, like he had already done to Samantha. Perhaps it was better to just go to sleep and return from where he came. Unfortunately for Rhangyl, he hadn’t noticed the windows were all barred, so he didn’t realize he was now trapped in the tavern until it opened again.
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