Soren shot Fenric a sidelong glance, skepticism laced in his voice. "Any chance that was what Voralis was trying to warn us about?"

  Fenric let out a scoffing laugh. "What, those guys? Pft, no way." He waved a hand dismissively as if brushing the thought from the air. "C’mon, Soren, think about it. You really believe Faros went out of his way to drop by the orphanage just to give Voralis a heads-up about some ragtag band of amateurs? That guy doesn’t lift a finger unless there’s something in it for him."

  Soren exhaled through his nose, his doubt lingering. "I suppose you’re right. Still, you have to admit the timing is suspicious."

  "Sure," Fenric conceded with a shrug, "but I doubt Faros is losing sleep over some petty troublemakers shaking down local merchants. The Guild’s not exactly in the business of charity, and Faros? Even less so."

  Soren tilted his head, absorbing the reasoning before nodding. "Fair enough."

  They continued through the winding streets, the steady rhythm of their boots echoing against the stone pathways. The city’s ever-present murmur surrounded them—distant voices, the clatter of cart wheels, the occasional call of a vendor hawking their wares. The Outrider’s Den was close now, its familiar silhouette rising above the neighboring buildings. As it came into full view, Viktor let out a low whistle.

  "There she is," he said, his voice touched with admiration. "As beautiful as ever."

  Fenric smirked. "Haven’t aged a day."

  Arelos rolled his eyes. "It’s a building, Fenric. Not a long-lost lover."

  Viktor nudged him with a grin. "Oh, come on, Arelos. Let us have this moment. We’ve been walking forever."

  Fenric chuckled, throwing an arm around Arelos’s shoulders. "Yeah, why must you ruin everything?"

  Arelos shook his head, fighting back a smile. "You two are ridiculous. Let’s just get inside."

  By the time they stepped through the doors, the afternoon had settled into that lazy lull where the tavern was neither bustling nor empty. A few patrons loitered at their tables, speaking in hushed voices or nursing half-empty mugs. Their eyes landed on Bryna, chatting animatedly with a guest. The moment she spotted them, her face split into a grin, though she crossed her arms as if unimpressed.

  "Well, well, well," she said, her voice teasingly stern. "Look what the wind dragged in. You boys sure got some nerve showing up here like you own the place."

  Fenric snorted good-naturedly. "That how you greet your guests these days, Bryna? This place sure has gone downhill, and here I had fond memories."

  Bryna laughed and swatted him lightly on the arm. "You’re still a little shit, huh? Some things never change."

  She turned her gaze over the group, eyes twinkling with something between amusement and nostalgia. "My, my. Every time I see you lot, you’ve grown taller and cockier. And you, Viktor—" she clapped a hand on his shoulder "—I bet you’re already out there breaking poor girls’ hearts."

  Viktor flashed his signature grin. "It's good to see you, Bryna."

  Bryna rolled her eyes but chuckled. Then her gaze landed on Arelos, who had been quietly observing the exchange. "And you. You’ve got a handsome face under all that hair, you know. You ever think of getting it trimmed?"

  Arelos smirked. "I’ll consider it. Where’s Soros?"

  "Lazing about in the kitchen, most likely," Bryna said with a shake of her head. "Place isn’t exactly packed right now, and he knows if he steps out here, I’ll put him to work."

  Viktor chuckled. "Smart man. Can’t be told to do chores if you’re nowhere to be found."

  Bryna pointed at him. "See? He gets it."

  She leaned against the counter, tilting her head. "So? What’s the occasion? Or did you just come to bother me?"

  Viktor put on his most innocent expression. "What if we did?"

  Bryna scoffed. "Then I’d tell you to beat it. We don’t need any loiterers taking up space."

  Fenric raised an eyebrow, glancing around the mostly empty room. "Yeah, real crowded in here."

  Bryna gave him a pointed look, then waved them off. "Fine, fine. What’ll it be?"

  "Four of your finest ciders," Viktor said, "and put Soros to work by whipping up something tasty for his favorite customers."

  Bryna smirked. "I’ll let him know you boys are here. Ciders coming up."

  They made their way to their usual table, the one by the window that let in just enough light to be cozy but not enough to be blinding. As they sat down, Fenric leaned back with a satisfied sigh, stretching his arms behind his head.

  "Feels good to be back."

  Soren nodded, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. It does."

  They sat down at their usual table, the wood worn smooth from years of use, the air filled with the comforting hum of conversation. The tavern had the same familiar warmth, the scent of roasting meat mingling with cider and the faint trace of burning wood.

  Soren leaned back in his chair, tilting it onto two legs as he glanced around. "You ever notice how this place is always changing? Feels like they add a new trinket to the walls every week."

  Fenric smirked. "You mean like that ridiculous wooden fish above the bar? I swear it wasn’t there last time."

  "Oh, that thing?" Viktor chuckled. "Bryna said it was a gift from some traveler. Supposedly, it brings good fortune."

  "More like bad taste," Fenric scoffed. "Who gifts a tavern a fish?"

  "Maybe someone who drinks too much cider," Soren mused. "Could've been some old sailor’s parting gift."

  "Or maybe Bryna just has a soft spot for weird junk," Arelos added, running a finger idly along the edge of the table.

  Before they could speculate further, Bryna arrived, balancing four large mugs of cider in her hands. She set them down with practiced ease. "These are from a new batch," she explained, wiping her hands on her apron. "We’re trying out a new supplier. People seem to like it so far—let me know what you think."

  They murmured their thanks as she turned to leave but then paused, throwing a glance over her shoulder. "Oh, and I told Soros you're here. He'll be out in a bit with your food."

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Soren wasted no time lifting his mug and taking a hearty sip. He let out a satisfied sigh. "Ahh, that’s good stuff. What do you guys think?"

  Fenric took a swig, then smacked his lips. "Smooth, not too sweet. I could drink this all night."

  "I've seen you drink all night," Viktor pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

  "Exactly my point." Fenric grinned.

  Arelos took another careful sip before asking, "Any idea where it's sourced from? She mentioned they switched suppliers."

  Soren shrugged. "Let's ask."

  "Maybe we should grab a few bottles for Mira and Jax," Viktor suggested, setting his mug down.

  Fenric made a face. "Good cider like this is wasted on that twat."

  Viktor smirked but let it slide, taking another deep gulp instead.

  Conversation flowed easily, jumping from local gossip to their last visit and, inevitably, to whether Soren had a chance of finally winning his ongoing bet against Viktor. Eventually, Bryna reappeared with Soros trailing behind her, each carrying two plates of steaming food. The rich scent of roasted meat and herbs filled the air as they set the plates down with a satisfying clunk.

  Soros grinned broadly as he set the plates down. "Boys, good to see you! Been ages. Thought you'd forgotten about us."

  "Never," Soren assured him, already eyeing the meal.

  "This," Soros declared, gesturing grandly at the dishes, "is an old family recipe—roasted beef with grilled vegetables and a secret herby sauce that I’ll take to my grave."

  "Damn, Soros, this looks incredible," Viktor said, already reaching for his utensils.

  Soren inhaled deeply, closing his eyes in appreciation. "The smell alone could bring a man back from the dead."

  Soros grinned. "I won’t keep you from it, then. Enjoy. I’ll check in after you’ve had your fill."

  Before they could disappear entirely, Viktor raised his mug. "By the way, the cider’s fantastic. Where are you getting it from?"

  Bryna smiled. "Apples come from a farm a few hours south of Lycona. Two brothers run the brewing—took over from their father."

  Viktor nodded approvingly. "They know what they’re doing."

  "I'm glad you like it. The reception has been surprisingly good so far."

  Soren took another sip, smacking his lips contendently. "Honestly, it might be the best cider I've tried so far."

  "High praise" Bryna chuckled. "Anyways, I'll let you boys enjoy your meals. I'll be back later for the plates."

  Viktor took a bite of his food, chewing appreciatively. "Mmf—he wasn’t kidding about this sauce."

  "Swallow before you talk, you animal," Arelos said dryly.

  Viktor held up a finger in mock protest, still chewing. He made a show of dramatically swallowing before grinning. "Happy now?"

  "Marginally."

  Fenric, already halfway through his plate, pointed a fork at them without looking up. "There better be more where this came from."

  "It’s pepper, garlic, and—" Soren started, but Fenric waved him off.

  "Nope. Don’t ruin it. I like not knowing."

  Arelos snorted. "That seems to be a running theme with you."

  "Just shut up and enjoy your food—the incredibly delicious food."

  By the time their plates were empty, a pleasant warmth had settled over them—a mix of full bellies and the easy comfort of old friends. Viktor stretched back in his chair, arms lifting high above his head. "Man, this place still feels like home somehow."

  Soren nodded, swirling the last sip of cider in his mug. "Yeah. We should come back more often."

  "Before Fenric eats the entire menu," Arelos added, barely suppressing a grin.

  Fenric rolled his eyes. "As long as they keep serving food this good, I make no promises."

  Bryna appeared then, balancing four fresh mugs of cider. She set them down with an easy smile. "Refill on the house, boys. How was the food? Actually, no, save that for Soros—he'll want to hear it."

  They laughed, gladly exchanging their empty mugs for full ones. "Tell him it was almost good enough to get Fenric to chew before swallowing," Viktor joked.

  "Lies," Fenric said, affronted. "I chew exactly the right amount necessary to not choke."

  Arelos sighed. "A high bar to set for yourself, truly."

  The conversation flowed as they enjoyed their drinks, reminiscing about old times, their laughter filling the air like the familiar scent of warm bread and spice.

  Soren glanced around, noticing the lack of patrons. "Not many people here today. How come business is so slow?"

  "There have been a lot of highway robberies lately, " Arelos began. "It's halted traffic between the capital and Lycona. Places like the Outrider's rely on travelers passing through."

  Soren frowned. "But it’s not even an inn."

  "No, but it has a reputation," Arelos explained. "Even travelers staying elsewhere make it a point to visit."

  "Still, wouldn’t this be hitting other taverns, too?" Soren pressed.

  Arelos nodded. "It has. Every inn and roadside stop has been feeling it the past couple months. The crown will have to send troops to secure the roads sooner or later—this can’t keep up."

  Soren swirled his cider thoughtfully. "So why haven’t they?"

  Arelos sighed. "These things take time. Organizing a large enough force to clear out multiple bandit groups isn’t as simple as sending a few knights. The reports are inconsistent, and the attacks are spread out, which complicates planning."

  Soren arched an eyebrow. "That’s the reason for the delay?"

  Arelos hesitated. "It’s one reason. But if you ask me, there’s more to it. These reports have been coming in for weeks, and even I think it’s odd there hasn’t been a stronger response yet."

  "What do you think they’re waiting for?" Viktor asked.

  Arelos shrugged, but his gaze was sharp. "Could be politics. Could be something worse."

  Before anyone could respond, Soros returned to the table, rubbing his hands together. "Alright, tell me the truth—how was it?"

  "Honestly, you've outdone yourself once more," Viktor stated.

  "Best meal I’ve had in ages!" Soren exclaimed.

  Fenric smirked. "You're certainly getting better."

  He folded his arms, peering at Fenric. "Getting better you say? Well, I’ll take that as a reluctant compliment."

  Soren grinned. "You should. Last time, Fenric nearly cried."

  "I did not," Fenric said instantly. Then, under his breath, "It was just very spicy."

  Soros chuckled, shaking his head. "Ah, you boys. Same as ever." He turned to Soren, smile lingering. "You boys still good at that strange orphanage of yours?"

  Soren hesitated, just for a moment. "Yeah. The place has been real good to us."

  Fenric nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it's not bad."

  Soros studied him for a moment, then leaned in. "Hey. If you ever need anything, you know I’m around."

  Fenric looked like he wanted to brush it off, but something in Soros’ tone made him pause. He nodded. "Appreciate that."

  Soros looked satisfied. "Good. Now, make sure you lot don’t stay strangers. It’s nice having you boys around."

  Soren smiled. "We’ll try. We do miss these little get-togethers."

  "Miss 'em more if we got another round of that sauce," Viktor added, lifting his mug in a toast.

  "Don’t push your luck," Soros said, laughing as they all clinked their drinks together.

  The conversation among the group had drifted into a lull, the murmur of other patrons filling the space between them. Sensing the moment for what it was, Viktor and Fenric exchanged a glance before rising from their seats, moving to mingle with familiar faces scattered throughout the tavern. They wove their way from table to table, greeting regulars with warm handshakes and easy grins, slipping into brief exchanges that carried the comfort of old acquaintances.

  “Viktor! Fenric!” A voice called out, cutting through the din. A stout man with a greying beard waved them over. “Come! What tales have you brought us this time? Surely you've been up to something worth sharing.”

  Viktor chuckled as he pulled up a chair. “Ah, nothing too grand, my friend. The usual business, really. And you? How fares the shop?”

  “Slow, as it always is when the merchants leave,” the man replied with a sigh. “I wish I could pack my bags and follow the caravan to the capital.”

  Fenric let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Then why don’t you? You’ve been talking about it for years.”

  “Years,” the man echoed, his voice laced with hesitation. “And yet, here I still sit.”

  “Why don’t you?” Viktor asked. “There might be more prosperity waiting for you.”

  “And if isn't?” The man frowned, tracing the rim of his mug. “If I leave and fail, I’ll have nothing. At least here, I know what to expect. It may not be much, but it’s mine.”

  Fenric clapped him on the back. “Life is an adventure!”

  The man let out a soft chuckle, though his uncertainty remained. “True, but it’s difficult to abandon the familiar comfort for the unknown risk.”

  “Comfort can be the shackle that binds us,” Viktor said. “Sometimes, a leap into uncertainty brings the most fulfillment.”

  The man exhaled, shaking his head with a wry smile. “Perhaps. But not all of us are as brave as you.”

  Meanwhile, at their usual table, Arelos and Soren remained seated, watching the room rather than engaging with it. The candlelight flickered between them, casting long shadows against their mugs.

  “Do you think we’ll still come here once we’ve graduated?” Soren asked, his voice quiet, contemplative.

  Arelos leaned back in his chair, considering the question. “I don’t see why not. I definitely plan on visiting when I can.”

  Soren nodded but didn’t quite look convinced. “Yeah, but, I mean... like together. The way we do now.”

  Arelos studied him for a moment before answering. “I honestly don’t know. Our schedules, our responsibilities—they’re bound to be different.”

  Soren hesitated, looking down at his hands. “Things are going to change, aren’t they?”

  Arelos smirked, nudging him lightly with his elbow. “Well, even if we don’t come as often, I’m sure we can still make it happen. If we want to, that is.”

  Soren met his gaze, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I hope so.”

  Then, suddenly, the door slammed open and everyone’s attention shifted to the entrance. A man stood there, out of breath, his clothes dusty, as if he had ridden hard to reach the tavern.

  For a moment, he simply stood there, catching his breath, before finally managing to force out the words that would change everything.

  “The king is dead!”