The mood in the tavern had lightened considerably after Amukelo shared his story. After another few rounds, Idin eventually put down his mug, waving off another round. "I'm done," he declared, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. "But damn, this food is incredible. I feel like I could eat ten more plates of this roasted meat." He stabbed another chunk with his fork, savoring every bite.
Meanwhile, Pao had gotten into an animated conversation with Bao, her voice filled with excitement. "You know, I've been thinking about learning an advanced elemental spell," Pao said, her hands gesturing wildly as she spoke. "Maybe something like a water vortex or even a chain lightning. Wouldn't that be amazing?" She practically sparkled with enthusiasm, her eyes wide and dreamy.
Bao chuckled, resting her cheek on her hand. "Pao, you're obsessed. I swear, every time we stop, you talk about new spells like they're sweets at a market."
Pao's face lit up even more. "But it's so exciting! There are endless possibilities. Just imagine—being able to create a barrier that would cover massive area or summon elemental familiars!"
Their exchange was warm and playful, filled with sisterly affection, but Bral wasn't paying much attention. He was leaning closer to Amukelo, half-drunk but still sharp enough to steer the conversation toward something deeper.
"Tell me more about your mother, Amukelo," Bral said, swirling the ale in his mug. "She sounds like an incredible woman. I want to know more about her… the person she was."
Amukelo's expression softened at the mention of his mother. The earlier heaviness in his voice was gone, replaced with a quiet fondness. He took a slow sip from his mug and then spoke, his eyes distant but warm.
"She was… strong. Not just in body, but in spirit. No matter how hard things got, she always found a way to smile. She had this way of making you believe everything would be alright, even when it clearly wasn't. I remember how she used to sing while cooking, even if we barely had enough food. Her voice was soft, but it filled the house like a warm light."
The table grew quiet, everyone listening now. Even Pao and Bao had stopped talking, drawn into Amukelo's story.
"She had this saying she'd repeat whenever things got tough," Amukelo continued, a distant smile tugging at his lips. "'A true warrior kneels before he stands.' She meant that it's okay to fall, to grieve, to feel pain—but after that, you rise stronger." He paused, a flicker of emotion passing over his face before he shook it off. "I didn't understand it fully when I was a kid. But now, I think I do."
Pao's voice broke the silence, soft and heartfelt. "Your mother was a wise woman. I wish I could've met her."
Bral nodded in agreement, raising his mug. "Yeah. Me too. But I guess one day we will… just not in this world." His words hung in the air, laced with a deep respect.
Amukelo's smile widened, this one more genuine, filled with warmth and gratitude. For once, he didn't feel awkward accepting the compliment.
Just as Idin opened his mouth to say something, a loud thud echoed through the tavern, followed by the stench of stale ale. A drunk man staggered up to their table, his steps uneven, his face flushed with too much drink. His mug sloshed over the rim as he swayed.
"Uhu… new people, huh..?" the drunk slurred, peering at them with bleary eyes.
The friendly atmosphere evaporated in an instant. Everyone at the table tensed. Bral's eyes narrowed, and Bao shifted subtly, one hand moving closer to her dagger. Even Pao, usually the most peaceful, grew stiff, her fingers tightening around her mug. Amukelo, however, simply stared at the man, confused by the sudden shift in energy.
Before anyone could speak, another man—leaner and clearly more sober—rushed forward, grabbing the drunk's arm. "Come on, Gloram," he muttered, exasperated. "They're travelers. Leave them be. Don't go ruining Llyn's reputation for new folks."
But the drunk, now identified as Gloram, shook him off. "Don't worry… don't worry," he slurred, waving his mug dismissively. "I just came to say he—" He burped loudly, swaying forward, "—llo."
He leaned heavily against the edge of the table, sending some of his ale sloshing over the rim and straight into Idin's plate. The frothy liquid soaked into the food, mixing with the carefully prepared sauce.
"Hey!" Idin barked, slamming his fist onto the table. "Don't spill that piss into my food!"
Gloram turned his bleary gaze to Idin, squinting as though struggling to focus. "Huh… any problem?" he slurred, raising his mug threateningly. But in doing so, more ale sloshed over the side, this time spilling onto Bral's lap.
Bral froze, his jaw tightening. The liquid seeped into his clothes, and for a brief moment, everyone could feel the tension ripple through him.
"Alright, that's enough," Bral growled, grabbing Gloram's shoulder and giving him a firm—but restrained—shove away from the table. "Get out of here, man. It's not the time for your games. We're trying to enjoy ourselves."
But Gloram stumbled, his mug slipping from his grip and splashing ale down his own front. His face twisted in sudden anger. He shoved Bral's hand away and stepped closer, swaying but aggressive.
"Hey!" he barked, his slurred voice rising. "Watch who you're pushing! You think you're tough? Huh? You'll regret that, outsider!"
The tension around the table crackled. Bao's hand was already on her dagger, and Idin had one foot braced, ready to stand if things escalated.
Amukelo, however, still seemed unsure of what was happening. He looked at Gloram, then at Bral, his brow furrowing. "Is this normal?" he asked quietly, leaning toward Bral.
Bral didn't take his eyes off Gloram as he muttered, "Drunks like him? Yeah. But it's about to get less friendly if he doesn't back off."
Gloram staggered forward again, his drink-soaked shirt clinging to his chest, but Bral had had enough. He stood up sharply, his chair scraping against the wooden floor with a loud screech. His fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight with anger. "Huh... didn't I already tell you?" Bral growled, his voice low but heavy with warning. "It's not a good time for you to be saying 'hello.'"
Bao, seeing the tension rise to a breaking point, reached out and tugged at the hem of Bral's shirt. "Come on, Bral, it's not worth it," she urged, her voice soft but firm, trying to de-escalate before it got ugly.
Bral glanced down at her, his face softening for a moment. "I know, Bao, but—"
Before he could finish, Gloram sneered and swayed forward again, pointing his mug at Bao. "Yeah, listen to your skinny bitch," he slurred, laughing under his breath. "You should be more careful who you mess with."
The moment the words left Gloram's mouth, Bral's face darkened with fury. His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring as he leaned in. "What did you just call her?" he asked, his voice dangerously low. "Apologize. Right now."
Gloram chuckled, wiping the back of his hand across his wet lips. "Do you have a problem with hearing? I said skinny—"
He didn't get the chance to finish. Bral's fist connected with the side of his face in a sharp right hook, the impact sending Gloram stumbling sideways. Though the punch wasn't perfectly placed, it was enough to make Gloram twist with the blow, blood spurting from his nose. The tavern fell into a stunned silence, all eyes on the unfolding scene.
Gloram staggered but caught himself on a nearby table, wiping at the blood with the back of his hand. He stared at it, wide-eyed, before looking back at Bral, rage bubbling beneath his drunken haze. "You son of a—" he snarled, preparing to lunge.
But before Gloram could throw himself at Bral, a towering figure stepped between them. The pub's bouncer—a massive man with arms thicker than most men's legs—appeared, glaring down at both of them. His voice was deep and final. "No fighting inside," he said, planting a heavy hand on Gloram's chest to hold him back. "If you want to settle this, take it outside. Cause trouble in here, and there'll be consequences."
Gloram huffed, wiping more blood from his face. "Fine! We'll go outside. Let's see if this coward's brave enough when we're out there!" He glared at Bral, his pride now fully bruised.
Bao, her face pale with worry, reached for Bral's arm again. "Bral, come on. Let's just walk away. It's not worth it."
But before Bral could respond, Gloram cut her off again, his words sharper this time. "Shut up, skinny bitch. Men are talking."
The insult hit Bao like a slap, her jaw tightening, but before she could respond, Bral's fists clenched again. He wanted to throw another punch, but this time, he forced himself to breathe. His voice trembled with restraint as he spoke. "Okay. That's enough. We're going outside."
The bouncer nodded, gesturing toward the door. "Good. Take it outside." He positioned himself between the two men, guiding them toward the exit without allowing them to come too close to one another.
As Bral and Gloram were ushered out, another man—Gloram's friend who had earlier tried to de-escalate—hurried to the table, looking apologetic. "I'm sorry for him," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "He drank way too much tonight. He's not usually this bad, but when he hits a certain point, it's like flipping a switch. Goes from zero to one hundred in a second."
He offered an awkward smile before following after Gloram, leaving the table tense and quiet.
Idin stood up next, grabbing his mug and glancing back at Amukelo and Pao. "I'd better make sure Bral doesn't do anything stupid," he muttered before heading toward the door. As he passed the apologetic friend, he leaned in and said quietly, "It's been a rough time for us. One of our new friends just shared some heavy stuff. This isn't a great moment for your guy to pick a fight."
The man winced. "I get it. I'll do what I can." He hurried after Gloram and Bral, trying to catch up before fists flew.
Bao followed closely behind Idin, her face tense with concern. She stopped at the table briefly, turning toward Amukelo and Pao. "You two stay here," she ordered, her voice firm but kind. "I don't want either of you getting caught up in this mess."
Amukelo had half-risen from his seat, his hand hovering near his belt as if unsure whether to follow or stay. "But—" he started to protest.
Bao cut him off with a sharp look. "No. Stay. Bral can handle himself, and the last thing we need is more people getting involved. Got it?"
Amukelo hesitated, clearly torn, but then nodded. "Okay. I understand."
Bao's features softened slightly. "Good. Keep an eye on Pao." Then she spun around and hurried after the others.
Now, the table felt eerily quiet. Amukelo sat awkwardly, glancing at Pao who was tensed herself. She sipped from her mug, her eyes following the commotion outside through the window.