The tavern was bursting with life, the warm glow of golden lanterns chasing away shadows as laughter and conversation filled every corner. Patrons crowded around wooden tables, raising mugs high and sharing boisterous stories. The air was thick with the mouthwatering scent of seared spices, caramelized onions, and slow-cooked game. Beneath it all lingered the warm, yeasty aroma of crusty loaves pulled fresh from the oven, chased by a smoky undercurrent of charred wood and the sharp bite of spilled mead.
Jace and the others slid into their usual spot—a solid oak table nestled close to the hearth, where warmth from the fire rolled over their weary limbs like a blanket. The tavern buzzed around them, a swirling medley of clinking mugs, boisterous laughter, and the occasional off-key lute in the corner. Before long, their table was crowned with steaming platters of food—succulent cuts of spiced meat, buttery root vegetables, and thick-crusted bread still warm from the oven. Frothy mugs of ale followed, delivered by a nimble serving girl who weaved through the chaos with practiced grace and an easy smile.
As the group dug in, trading jokes and stories between bites, Sylas paused mid-sip, her gaze flicking to Jace’s mug. Still full. Still untouched.
She leaned in with a sly smirk, raising an eyebrow as she nodded at his untouched drink. “You trying to scare it into getting better, or just admiring the foam?”
Jace chuckled softly, giving the mug a lazy spin. “Not really feeling it tonight.”
Sylas blinked in mock disbelief. “No ale? Who even are you right now? Next thing you’ll say, you’re taking up knitting and joining a monastery.”
He gave her a tired half-grin. “Depends. Do monasteries serve better food?”
Sylas snorted. “Only if you like boiled oats and a vow of celibacy.”
Jace laughed and shook his head.
“Oi, Jace!” the tavern keeper called out, wiping his hands on a stained apron. “You gonna bless us with another gods-awful ballad tonight, or should I start reinforcing the windows?”
The table laughed. Even Torak’s mandibles clicked together in a quiet rhythm.
Jace raised his mug in salute but shook his head with a sheepish grin. “Think I’ll spare everyone’s ears this time.”
“A tragedy!” the barkeep shouted back, drawing mock groans from a few surrounding patrons.
Jace leaned forward, a glint in his eye. “Tell you what—let me trade you a story instead. If it’s terrible, you can boo me after.”
That earned a few exaggerated boos preemptively and one overly dramatic “Get off the stage!” from a drunk at the next table, but it was all in good fun. The tavern’s energy lifted as more people leaned in, curious and eager.
Jace chuckled, “I’m not even on the stage!”. He rested his elbows on the table, feeling a rare lightness settle into his chest. He scanned the faces around him—his party, a growing ring of curious listeners—and raised his voice just enough to carry.
"Alright," Jace began dramatically, leaning forward as if about to divulge some grand secret. The audience leaned in with him, eyes wide with anticipation. "Let me tell you the story of a young farm boy turned pirate, who chased across seas and battled beasts of unusual size—all for the sake of rescuing his true love from the clutches of a spoiled prince."
Eyes sparkled in the tavern light, captivated by the promise of romance and daring heroics. Nyra raised an amused brow, smirking, while Sylas leaned closer, clearly enthralled.
Jace lowered his voice conspiratorially. "It began simply enough, with three kidnappers—a swordmaster, a giant, and a genius who thought himself unbeatable in games of wit. But they hadn’t anticipated our hero’s determination, skill, or—"
Suddenly, a drunken patron stumbled hard into their table, sloshing ale across the wood—and directly onto Sylas.
Her tunic was instantly soaked, amber liquid clinging to the fabric and dripping from her belt. She shot to her feet in a heartbeat, eyes blazing with fury.
“You two-legged barrel!” she snarled, hands clenched into fists. “Did your brain drown in ale, or do you just swing through taverns like a wrecking ball on purpose?”
The man turned toward her with sluggish indignation, squinting as he tried to steady himself. “Maybe don’t sit where people are walkin’!” he slurred, puffing up like a toad. “You’re the one in the damn way.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sylas snapped, voice sugary with venom. “Next time I’ll ask the barstools for permission before I exist.”
Laughter rippled through the tavern as curious patrons turned to watch the spectacle. Cheers started rising—half of them backing Sylas, the others egging on the chaos. The air sparked with that particular tavern magic that only happened when ale met ego.
Then, with a grunt, the drunk swung at her—a wide, clumsy punch.
He never connected.
Sylas ducked smoothly beneath the swing and drove her fist straight into his jaw with practiced force. The blow cracked across the room like a whip, but instead of crumpling, the man barely rocked back.
He blinked. Then chuckled.
“Oof,” he grunted, grinning down at her. “You hit like a pissed-off pixie. Cute, but you’ll need more than that to hurt a Gold-rank.”
Sylas paused mid-stance. “Wait… did you just call me cute?”
The man’s grin widened. “Damn right.”
Her expression shifted. The tension in her shoulders melted away like frost in sunlight, replaced by a gleam of mischief. She tilted her head and stepped in close, her smirk practically purring.
“Well then,” she said, voice low and amused. “In that case—”
She grabbed him by the collar and kissed him full on the mouth.
The tavern exploded.
Cheers, whistles, stomping boots, and laughter thundered off the walls. Someone knocked over a mug in celebration. A barmaid shouted something about “not again.” Even the bard stopped plucking his lute.
Nyra pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “This happens way too often.”
“Correction,” Torak chimed calmly, “Sylas initiates 72.3% of all public altercations that result in—ah—physical bonding.”
“Feels low,” Jace muttered, rubbing his face.
When Sylas finally pulled back, she flashed a grin at the stunned (but clearly delighted) adventurer. Without a word, she took his hand and led him toward the stairs—his goofy smile growing wider with every step.
The tavern crowd whooped and banged their mugs on the tables, a raucous chorus of drunken encouragement chasing them up.
Jace watched them disappear, then looked at Nyra with a resigned expression. “Do we just… pretend that didn’t happen?”
“Nope,” she said, taking a long drink. “We tell her tomorrow she owes us a round for making us witness it.”
Jace shook his head with a chuckle, brushing the laughter from his face as he turned back to the crowd of expectant faces still gathered near their table. He offered them a half-apologetic, half-amused look.
“Alright, alright. Where was I before we were so passionately interrupted by Sylas's… unique diplomacy?”
“Farm boy turned pirate!” someone called from the back.
“Ah, yes,” Jace said with mock solemnity. “The tragic tale of a humble stable hand who stole a ship, insulted a noble, and accidentally married a mermaid. Happens more often than you’d think.”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
The room chuckled and settled, the crowd leaning in once more. With a small smirk and a warm breath, Jace slipped easily back into the rhythm of his tale, weaving humor, suspense, and absurd heroism into each twist and turn. The fire crackled beside him, casting flickering shadows across enraptured faces as he spun a story from a world they would never know—but now swore was real.
And when the final line fell from his lips—a whispered twist delivered with the weight of legend—the tavern held its breath for one long second.
Then, it erupted.
Cheers thundered through the room, tankards slammed against tables like war drums, and several patrons leapt to their feet, clapping wildly.
“By the gods, he’s wasted as an adventurer!” one man bellowed, raising his mug. “Give this man a stage!”
“Stick to storytelling, Jace!” another shouted, laughing. “Your bard skills need serious work!”
Jace grinned sheepishly and raised his mug in a half-hearted toast. “Fine, fine. No singing. Noted.”
But the crowd had other plans.
From the far end of the room, a drunken voice broke into a loud, off-key tune: “Sweeet Cabbage Rhyme!”
Jace’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh gods, no.”
But it was too late.
The tavern roared in delight, mugs raised high as more voices joined in—loud, slurred, and utterly chaotic.
“Sweet Cabbage Rhyme! Fresh from the vine! Good times never taste so fine!”
It wasn’t even close to the real lyrics, but the drunken harmony only fueled the chaos. Someone slammed a spoon against a pitcher like a drum. A pair of elves tried to harmonize—and failed. A burly human tried to waltz with a chair.
Even Nyra was singing, half-laughing as she leaned on the table, red-faced with amusement.
Patch, in a rare display of enthusiasm, added a low, gravelly hum that somehow matched the strange beat. Torak tilted his head like a curious hawk, mandibles twitching.
“I do not understand the relevance of fermented cabbage in ritual song,” he said, genuinely baffled.
“It’s not about understanding,” Jace muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s about surviving it.”
But even he couldn’t hide the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched the chaos unfold.
Taking advantage of the growing chaos below, Jace rose quietly from the table. The drunken chorus of “Sweet Cabbage Rhyme” was hitting a particularly horrific crescendo, and no one noticed him slip away—save for Nyra, who caught his eye with a knowing glance. He offered her a faint smile and a small nod before turning toward the stairs.
Each step creaked underfoot, carrying him farther from the laughter and ale-fueled singing below. The second floor was a different world—dim, quiet, and still. Flickering lanterns cast dancing shadows along the wooden walls, and the distant roar of the tavern had dulled into a warm, muffled hum.
Jace pushed open the door to his room and stepped inside, pulling it shut behind him. Silence greeted him like an old friend.
The moon spilled its pale light through the small window, casting soft silver across the simple furnishings—bed, washbasin, and a rough wooden chair. It wasn’t much, but it was his. And tonight, it was enough.
He stood still for a moment, letting the silence wash over him. Only now, away from the crowd, did he realize how heavy the day had been. His shoulders ached. His thoughts churned.
With a sigh, he unbuckled his armor piece by piece, placing each one carefully on the floor. It felt ritualistic—removing the weight of battle, of secrets, of the tension that had gripped him since that corrupted dungeon. He rolled up his sleeves, drew water into the basin, and splashed it onto his face. The chill bit into him, grounding him.
His fingers moved with quiet diligence as he cleaned and polished his armor. The repetitive motion calmed his nerves. Dirt, blood, and fragments of corrupted bark fell away beneath his cloth, as if scrubbing away the memory of what he’d faced.
Clean and dressed in simple clothes, he finally sat on the edge of the bed.
The egg waited for him, nestled in its bundle of cloth on the nightstand.
He picked it up with both hands, holding it as one might cradle something far more fragile than it looked.
“Alright,” he murmured, drawing in a slow breath. “Feeding time.”
He reached inward, into the still-tender core nestled deep in his being, and let the soul energy flow. Threads of light drifted from his fingertips into the egg, siphoning fragments away until his core dwindled, near-empty. Again.
The egg pulsed faintly in response, glowing like a heartbeat under skin-thin bone. Jace smiled faintly, tired but amused.
“You’re hungrier than I thought…” He whispered, brushing his thumb across its smooth, veined surface. “Better you have it than my Soul Core.”
[SYSTEM NOTICE: INFUSION COMPLETE]
-20 Soul Fragments absorbed. Core integrity reduced to 10/100.
Warning: Unknown interaction detected.
Warning: Unknown interaction completed.
E?r?r?o?r?
-- U?N?I?D?E?N?T?I?F?I?E?D? ?E?N?T?I?T?Y? ?S?Y?N?C? ?I?N?...
He froze, eyes narrowing as the flickering message corrupted and vanished mid-text. A ripple of unease crawled up his spine.
He let his gaze linger on the egg for a long moment, its pulsing rhythm syncing unnervingly with the thrum in his chest.
“But maybe that’s okay,” he murmured. “Because… I think I need you, too.”
It was the kind of truth he wouldn’t have said aloud to anyone else. But the egg didn’t judge. It just glowed faintly, pulsing in his hands with soft, eerie life.
Then, like breath against the back of his neck, a voice slipped through the silence, velvet-smooth and unmistakably familiar.
The voice slid through his mind like silk over glass—calm, melodic, almost affectionate.
“You always needed something, didn’t you, my little Paragon? A place. A purpose. A promise.” It lingered in the silence that followed, letting the words curl like smoke in the air.
“And now you give it all… to that thing.” The softness soured. Her tone dipped into something brittle and bitter, like sweetness curdling on the tongue.
“You starve the gift I gave you—drain your soul into a shell. Hoping it will love you back?”
The chill gave way to a strange, steady warmth, flat and monotone, like a dirge hummed in the dark.
“Feed your Core, Jace. That’s where you were meant to grow. Maybe then… the fractures wouldn’t bleed so easily.”
Another pause. Long. Measured. And then the melody returned—light and lyrical, almost playful again.
“But you’re still broken, aren’t you? And broken things… take such interesting shapes.”
Jace’s blood ran cold.
The egg didn’t react. The room was still.
Then, a sudden knock at the door, and the voice was gone. No longer felt in the recesses of his mind.
Jace flinched, pulse thundering in his ears. The glow of the egg… dimmed, as if hiding, cowering.
He quickly set the egg down into its makeshift nest and stood, heart thudding gently with surprise and confusion. Crossing the small room, he pulled the door open, eyebrows rising when he saw Nyra standing there. She looked hesitant, freshly bathed and dressed in simple, comfortable sleepwear—a loose-fitting shirt and soft trousers, her damp hair cascading loosely around her shoulders. Her feline ears twitched slightly, betraying her uncertainty.
“Oh, hey,” Jace stammered, momentarily awkward. He quickly recovered himself, managing a slight smile.
“Am I interrupting something?” Nyra asked, peering about the room as if trying to find someone hiding in the shadows.
“No, no,” he chuckled sheepishly, stepping aside to welcome her inside. “I was just…talking to myself. Well, sort of.”
Nyra raised one delicate eyebrow as she stepped cautiously into the room, glancing around curiously. The door closed softly behind her, gently cutting off the distant sounds from the tavern downstairs. “Sort of?”
Jace felt heat rising to his cheeks, suddenly feeling ridiculous. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, eyes dropping momentarily to the floor before meeting Nyra’s gaze again. “Uh, I was actually talking to my egg,” he admitted softly, embarrassment coloring his voice.
She paused, blinking slowly, obviously trying to determine if he was serious or if this was some odd joke. “Your egg?”
Wordlessly, he gestured toward the bedside table where the mysterious egg rested gently against a soft, folded cloth. Nyra stepped closer, eyes widening in fascination and wonder as she took it in. The egg seemed to pulse faintly, veins of pale, ghostly light tracing across its smooth, pearlescent surface in intricate, mesmerizing patterns.
Carefully, reverently, Nyra reached out and lifted it, her fingers brushing gently against its cool, smooth shell. She turned it slowly in her hands, captivated by the soft glow of magic that danced beneath its surface, casting a faint luminescence across her fascinated face.
"It's beautiful..." she murmured, almost breathlessly, her voice soft and filled with genuine awe. Her tail swayed gently behind her, expressing curiosity and wonder. Her amber eyes rose again to meet his, shining with intrigue and a dozen unspoken questions. "Where'd you find it?"
At her question, Jace’s easy demeanor faded, replaced with noticeable discomfort. He shifted his weight slightly, breaking eye contact as his gaze darted away. Nyra, intuitive as always, immediately caught his reaction—her eyes narrowing slightly as suspicion edged into her expression.
“You’re doing it again,” she said gently but pointedly, ears tilting back just slightly, as though hearing something unspoken. “You’re avoiding something. I can feel it.”
Jace exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as the tension he had managed to momentarily forget returned in full force. He opened his mouth, paused, and then closed it again, words failing him for the moment. The silence grew thick between them, filled with unspoken truths and withheld secrets, until finally he looked back at her, his eyes filled with both apology and apprehension.
“You’re right,” he finally said quietly, the words barely more than a whisper. “I’m avoiding something important.”
Nyra’s gaze softened, waiting patiently, her fingers still gently caressing the softly glowing egg as she gave him space to continue at his own pace.
He sighed, shoulders slumping. “There never seems to be a good time.”
“Then make this the time,” she said firmly, sitting down beside him. “You promised we’d talk about this eventually, and well, tonight is eventually.”
ace swallowed hard, his throat tight, breath shallow. His fingers curled into the fabric of his pants, knuckles white as he stared at the floor like it might crack open beneath him. The room had gone quiet—too quiet. Even the flicker of the lantern seemed to hold its breath.
“I haven’t just been lying about where I’m from,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s… more than that. So much more.”
He hesitated, eyes flickering toward Nyra before darting away again. Fear churned in his gut—real, raw, paralyzing. But he couldn't carry it anymore. Not alone.
“I’ve been lying about everything.”
A long pause.
“The past I gave you, that whole story about the southern town... it was just something safe. Something that made sense. Something that I hoped wouldn’t raise suspicion.”
A beat passed, then another—each one louder in the silence than the last. And then, with the weight of a thousand buried fears pressing against his ribs, Jace finally said it.
“I’m not from this kingdom. Not from some forgotten village…”
He paused again. The words landed like a thunderclap in a stormless sky. A truth so outlandish, so impossible, it changed the shape of the room. It changed everything.
Jace didn’t look up. Couldn’t.
“I’m… not even from this world.”
He just sat there—bare, trembling, heart laid open like a wound—waiting for her to run.
Waiting for everything to fall apart.
Author’s Note – Tavern Edition
(somewhere downstairs, while secrets unfold upstairs…)
Patch:
?? “Sweet… cabbage… rhy-hyme…”
thump thump
“Fermented joy, consumed in thyme…”
more thumping
Torak (nodding solemnly):
“Lyrical structure is crude. Yet… catchy.”
Clicks mandibles in perfect rhythm
“Refrain suggests cultural fixation on brined produce.”
Patch (gravelly and enthusiastic):
“Delicious. Nutrient-dense. Also explosive if improperly sealed.”
slams mug
“Encore?”
Torak:
“I am analyzing crowd response. Consensus: chaotic approval. Initiating second chorus.”
Patch & Torak (together, loud and proud):
?? “Sweet cabbage rhyme, we dine divine—
One bite and the void tastes fine!” ??
Upstairs, things may be getting serious… but down here? The cabbage revolution lives on.
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