Early in the morning, the streets of Sif'ur were already bustling with activity. Voren and Sara walked side by side on their way to get some food. Sara kept stealing glances at Voren, who had discarded his armor and shaved his beard. He wore a navy blue coat with shiny buttons, a fancy silk vest, and tight-fitting pants that ended just above his knees. His black boots were polished and had a silver buckle. He had a white shirt with lace trim, a white scarf around his neck, and a tall black hat on his head. He carried a cane and wore gloves. He looked like a very important person, and many ladies, both aristocrats and common, looked at him with a longing gaze.
"If you're going to keep stealing glances at me, then I'll go and change into my armor, Lady Knottingwell," Voren spoke with an embarrassed smile. Sara stared at him, dumbfounded, before looking away.
Within a few minutes, they had reached the café. Voren moved forward to open the door for Sara, and once inside, Sara had to keep a smile on, as she was treated like a princess due to her father's position as the high deacon. Here in Sif'ur, the high deacon was the ruler of the city, with the help of the aristocrats. The church held the most power, and those who did not believe in the All-Father were labeled heretics.
As they walked to an empty table, many eyes were on them. Some wondered who was the man walking side by side with their "princess". Some admired Sara's beauty, while some passionate gazes fell on Voren. "I should have kept my armor," Voren spoke in a low voice, his eyes filled with regret. Sara giggled at his shyness. "You look fine, my mentor. Can't you see that their gazes are all of admiration?" She responded, her voice equally low.
Voren shook his head and sighed. "I'm not good with social interactions." Reaching the table, Voren pulled out a chair for Sara, and after they were seated, he took a look at the menu, but his mind was on a completely different matter, trying to sense the presence of the foul. Minutes passed, but nothing. Eventually, the owner of the café came to take their orders with a kind smile on his face.
"Good morning, Lady Knottingwell, and you too, Mr...?" Voren smiled. "Robert Galloway." The owner smiled too. "Galloway, right. Can I take your orders?" The man standing before them had a kind smile, and for a moment, Sara doubted Voren's judgment, but then she remembered that in the bizarre world of Konquerors, not everything was as it seemed.
"Uhm, yes, Mr. Rice. I'll have a coffee, black," Sara answered. Mr. Rice wrote down her order, then turned to Voren. "Tea will be good." Voren answered, his gaze on the man's chest. Mr. Rice left to prepare their orders, and Sara turned to Voren. "So, Mr. Galloway, did you find anything?"
He remained quiet for a while, but Sara patiently waited. "Yes and no." He answered, looking a bit confused himself. "Everything about this place is wrong, even him. He is protected by someone, but I dare not look with eyes of the spirit, otherwise, that existence might look back at me. What we are dealing with is what they would label a CODEX STRONGHOLD in a certain organization, meaning this place is a stronghold of an unholy existence." Voren spoke in a low voice. Sara's expression turned somber for a minute, but she quickly replaced it with a soft smile since she could hear Mr. Rice approaching.
Here you go. If there is anything else, raise your hand, and I will come to you." Mr. Rice placed their orders down and left with his tray in hand. Sara stared at her coffee, fear having gripped her, and she looked at the coffee, daring not to drink it. Voren reassured her it was safe. Sitting in perfect silence, a familiar soft voice called out to her. "If it isn't the princess of Sif'ur, Sara Knottingwell."
A young man of the same age as Sara made his way to their table. He was escorted by two identical males, with the only difference being that one had a scar on his upper lip, while the other didn't. The twins had raven-black hair combed back neatly and beautiful brown eyes, dressed in expensive clothes, and a family crest was present on their coats. The young man who spoke was the most handsome of the group, with indigo-colored eyes and hair, his hair was long and tied in a ponytail, every step he took was filled with grace, and all of the ladies in the café could not get their eyes off of him. Voren heaved a sigh of relief, Sara kept a calm expression and patiently waited for his arrival.
The young man arrived at their table with a soft smile, his eyes were focused on Sara, and he did not even acknowledge Voren's presence. "Greetings Sara, how are you?" He spoke, his smile never leaving his face.
"Greetings to you too, Ian. I am perfectly fine, and how are you?" Sara responded calmly. Ian was a bit surprised, usually when he runs into Sara and tries to start a conversation, he is met with cold indifference, but now....
"I am good. Uhm, Sara, I have been meaning to ask you something." Ian, who appeared confident a while ago, suddenly seemed not so confident. Sara nodded, a sign for him to continue, stuttering, he began, "So, you know the moonlight festival is approaching, right?"
Sara nodded again. "Yes, what about it?" She answered with a soft smile. Ian's heart fluttered, looking at her. "I was wondering... uh... I don't know... be my... um... I mean, that is if you are willing to... please be my moon flower." Ian's words were spoken quickly and in a chaotic manner, but Sara understood what he wanted.
"Sure, why not?" Her answer caught him off guard, his eyes widened, but he quickly composed himself and nodded with a smile. "Thank you." With that, he turned around and headed for the entrance.
Voren stared at the boy's back and shook his head. "Did you really have to do him like that?" His gentle voice asked, feeling sorry for the boy. Sara nodded without smiling.
They stayed at the café for a while before leaving. After they left, the owner moved to clear their table, his eyes looked at where Voren was seated, and a frown appeared on his face. "We need to hurry, F'ARLIM." His words were a whisper. The owner returned to the counter, unaware of the small spider that had climbed into his apron.