When the sun was about to set, Frost, dressed in civilian clothes, made his way to the Gilded Griffin, the tavern suggested as the meeting place by the civil servant he had encountered earlier. He wore a casual flaxen shirt paired with sturdy leather trousers and long, weathered boots. His belt held a waist bag on one side and a sword on the other—a weapon he never parted with, even in times of leisure.
As he moved slowly from his modest flat to the Gilded Griffin, he passed through the bustling marketplace and the less crowded town square. The setting sun cast a reddish hue over the town, signalling the end of the day and the promise of rest. The warm, fading light bathed the streets, giving everything a golden glow. The tavern's exterior was lively, with men and women enjoying food, drink, song, and dance. The sounds of laughter, clinking mugs, and cheerful tunes spilled into the street, inviting passersby to join the revelry.
Inside, the tavern was even more bustling than Frost had imagined. Every table was occupied by a diverse crowd: mercenaries, construction workers, lycans, merchants, craftsmen and their apprentices, and scholars. Each group added to the vibrant tapestry of the tavern's atmosphere. Frost weaved through the throng of humans and youkais, searching for the girl he was supposed to meet. Half a day had passed from their meeting and he regretted not committing her appearance to memory. Now, he was unsure who to look for, hoping she would find him first.
Resigned, he took a seat on a barstool, lost in thought as he tried to recall the girl's features which he admired. His reverie was interrupted by a voice.
"What can I get you, lad?" the barman asked.
Frost, wearing a polite smile, waved his hand dismissively. "Nothing yet. I'm waiting for a girl."
The barman was none other than the renowned Bardok Stormcask, owner of the magnificent tavern and a well-known brewmaster in the Theocracy. Bardok was a massive man, well-built with a powerfully round belly. He wore a white linen shirt beneath a brown leather apron and was cleaning a wooden mug with a cloth on his leather-gloved hands. His thick, long beard and impressive moustache framed his face, giving him an air of authority and strength.
He stomped his feet in his dark leather boots, scratching his leg thoughtfully. His keen eyes scrutinised Frost, who sat at the bar with his head down, looking somewhat dejected. Bardok murmured something under his breath, his voice a low rumble beneath the din of the tavern. He gave his beard a thoughtful stroke, considering the young man before him.
As Frost waited, the tavern's atmosphere enveloped him. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting legendary brews and historical events of the theocracy. Shelves lined with bottles and barrels showcased Bardok's finest creations. The warm, amber glow from lanterns and the fireplace added to the inviting ambiance. Despite the noise, there was a sense of camaraderie and comfort that made the Gilded Griffin a beloved spot for many.
The bar counter, polished to a shine, was made from rich mahogany, and the stools were sturdy and well-crafted. Bardok continued to clean the mugs, his experienced hands moving with practised ease. His presence was reassuring, a testament to the tavern's long-standing tradition of hospitality and excellence in brewing.
Frost, amidst the lively chaos, found himself momentarily at ease, even as he awaited the unknown future of his evening. The tavern, with its rich history and vibrant patrons, was a place where stories began and memories were made—a fitting backdrop for whatever lay ahead.
"Well, aren't you waiting for Ruka by any chance?" Bardok asked, his voice a rich baritone that seemed to rumble through the tavern. Frost barely reacted to the name, lost in the myriad thoughts that clouded his mind.
From the back, an older woman appeared, dressed similarly to Bardok in a crisp white linen shirt and a well-worn brown leather apron. Her hair was tied back in a neat bun, streaks of silver highlighting her years of wisdom. She walked up to her husband, her eyes quickly zeroing in on Frost. "Oh, that's him. That's him," she exclaimed, her voice filled with a blend of excitement and relief before she hurried back to the kitchen.
Frost's curiosity was piqued, pulling him from his reverie. "So, the civil servant who invited me here—is she Ruka?"
Bardok nodded, his massive frame casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the light around them. "Bet she is. My niece. You better treat her well. She's been looking forward to this meeting the whole evening."
"Is that so? Did she say something about me?" Frost asked, his concern evident as he furrowed his brow.
"What beer do you want, kid?" Bardok's tone shifted, becoming more businesslike as he pulled out two freshly cleaned kegs and stood next to the barrels, his movements surprisingly nimble for a man of his size.
"White lager," Frost ordered, pointing his index finger at a random barrel, still processing the information.
Bardok filled one keg with the requested beer, and with the second keg, he took a couple of steps to fill it with another beverage. Placing both kegs in front of Frost, he revealed their contents with a flourish.
"What's in the second one?" Frost asked, confusion etched on his face. He had expected two identical drinks.
"A juice. Light cider. Her favourite. She isn't a fan of beer, what a shame." Bardok shook his head, his expression turning momentarily gloomy as he stroked his magnificent long beard, the gesture one of habit and contemplation.
Frost's attention was immediately captured as Ruka emerged from the kitchen. She wore a simple yet elegant dress, the apron still tied around her waist, which Bardok's wife quickly and efficiently removed. Ruka's smile was radiant as she approached Frost, her long, shiny black hair cascading down her back, each step causing it to sway like a silken waterfall. Without her glasses, her brown eyes gleamed like polished amber, her long eyelashes framing them perfectly, adding an air of sophistication and allure.
"Did you wait long for me?" she asked, her voice soft and melodic, a smile lighting up her face.
"I should ask you that," Frost responded, a smile spreading across his own face in response. Seeing her so happy stirred something deep within his heart—a primal urge to protect this joy from any harm and ensure it never dimmed.
"Is that it?" Frost thought, touching his chest with an open hand, feeling a strange tightness.
The bustling noise of the tavern seemed to fade as they stood there, caught in the moment. The warm, inviting glow of the Gilded Griffin enveloped them, the scent of fresh ale and roasting meat mingling with the sweet aroma of the cider. The laughter and chatter of the patrons created a lively backdrop, but for Frost, the world had narrowed to the sight of Ruka's glowing smile.
"Something wrong?" Ruka asked, her eyes searching his face with concern.
"No. No. I already ordered us a drink…" he replied, trying to sound casual.
"There's a table free, let's go there." She moved gracefully through the crowd, leaving Frost behind. Bardok watched the interaction with a discerning eye, his expression softening. "Take good care of her, lad," he murmured, almost to himself, before turning to attend to another customer. Frost quickly left some coins for the barman and grabbed the kegs.
As he manoeuvred through the bustling tavern, some shady figures watched him intently, their eyes following his every step, trying to gauge who he was and what his business might be. With a firm posture, he joined Ruka at the table, setting the kegs down and passing the cider to her.
"Oh! My favourite! How did you know?" she asked, genuinely surprised, taking a gulp of the light cider.
"Well, your uncle advised me," Frost said, settling into his seat.
"I know," she replied, almost laying on the table as she traced circles with her finger on the keg. There was a hint of weariness in her posture.
"Is there something you want to do?" Frost asked, sensing her mood shift.
Frost sighed and answered honestly, "I wanted to ask you about the hearing. I know it's not the time for it, but I need to know."
Ruka sighed too, her expression shifting to one of resignation. She had expected this. "I can't act surprised. I knew you would ask that… then go ahead, ask."
Frost watched her carefully, admiring her natural beauty and noting her reactions. The topic clearly brought sadness to her face. "I'm sorry. I promise from now on, I'll only bring a smile to your face."
Hearing this, Ruka blushed and laughed. When she stopped, she looked deeply into Frost's eyes. "Tell me everything about the hearing."
Sighing, she began to recount the details. "The priestess's name was Rias. She was hidden in the basement and found... well, by you. She told us she hid there at Maria's request. Without mentioning the gore or the horrific screams, it still gives me chills, and I really don't want to talk about it…"
"You don't have to. Don't force yourself," Frost said gently, his concern for her evident.
"She mentioned a name she heard when they were in the basement. Ash Blackfrost, the leader of this band."
"It's confirmed that Ash is their leader?" Frost asked, leaning in, his interest piqued.
"Not really, but from what she said, it appears he is. Aside from that, there isn't much that you'd find valuable," Ruka replied, her voice tinged with frustration.
Frost held his chin, deep in thought, as the tavern's lively atmosphere buzzed around him. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the wooden walls, and the scent of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filled the air. He took a gulp of his beer, the cool, bitter liquid grounding him. "Then he told the truth," he finally said.
"Who told?" Ruka asked, her eyes locking onto Frost's with a mixture of curiosity and concern. The amber glow from the hearth accentuated the worry etched on her delicate features.
"Doyle."
"A guard?" She seemed unaware of the conflict between them. "He was really friendly to me. When I was overwhelmed by the descriptions, he supported me. I'm very grateful to him."
Frost's fist clenched so tightly it seemed his blood and flesh might burst through his fingers at any moment. His knuckles whitened, and the tension in his muscles was palpable. Grinding his teeth, he thought, "This snake touched her and spoke sweetly to my…my…my?" A confusing wave of emotion crashed over him. Am I really in love with her? The thought echoed in his mind as his eyes drifted to his hand, now bright red from the blood forced to the surface by his clenching. Ruka's soft, white hand gently stroked his, her touch calming the storm within him. Her fingers were cool and smooth, contrasting sharply with his rough, tanned skin.
"You hate each other, right?" she asked, her concern for him evident in her voice. Seeing his anger rise when she mentioned Doyle had initially startled her, but now she began to understand their strained relationship.
"Stay away from him!" Frost's voice was firm, a protective edge to it. Ruka respected his command, sensing that Frost's intention was to protect her rather than control her. She nodded, and Frost continued, "There's a dark aura around him. I can feel it. This rascal hurried you up on purpose to keep me from hearing."
Shocked by his revelation, she asked, "You were supposed to be there with us?"
Frost nodded and took another gulp of his beer. The golden liquid swirled in the keg, catching the light from the nearby lantern. Ruka gazed into her cider, watching her reflection ripple in the amber liquid, lost in thought.
"But no more about him or the hearing. I promised you I'd bring a smile to your face," Frost said, his tone softening. His smile was warm and reassuring.
Ruka smiled, and both of them laughed, the tension easing away. The sound of their laughter mingled with the merry chatter and clinking of mugs around them. Time passed, and Frost ordered beef stew for them. The rich, savoury aroma of the stew filled their senses, the tender meat and vegetables a comforting meal. They enjoyed the hearty food, the rich flavours blending perfectly with their drinks.
The sun had long set, and the night deepened. Outside, the sky was a canvas of twinkling stars, and a cool breeze rustled the leaves. Inside, the tavern grew even more crowded, the darker it became outside, the livelier the atmosphere. The air was thick with the scents of ale and roasted meat, and the sounds of laughter and conversation echoed off the wooden beams.
As midnight approached, Frost snapped back to reality. Ruka was still sober, though her eyes had lost their earlier sparkle, now appearing slightly misted, like morning dew. "Look at the time," he said, glancing at the front door, which was letting in the creeping darkness.
"You have a duty tomorrow morning, don't you?" Ruka's voice was conscious but tinged with fatigue.
"You too," Frost replied, standing up. "I'll pay, and we can call it a day."
"Wait… we have to get the dishes to the kitchen." Ruka insisted.
Frost knew the staff would eventually collect the dishes, but he couldn't argue with her, especially in her current state. He stacked both bowls and kegs, creating an unstable tower, and followed Ruka to the kitchen. The kitchen was a bustling place, filled with the clatter of pots and the aroma of simmering stews. Afterward, she went missing for a while, and Frost returned to the bar to settle the bill.
Stepping outside, Frost was struck by a cold wind, the moisture in the air clinging to his skin. The street was quiet, the hustle and bustle of the day replaced by a serene stillness. The moonlight cast long shadows on the cobblestones, creating an almost ethereal glow. He stretched his arms and legs, trying to shake off the chill. Ruka joined him, a bag slung over her arm that he was sure she hadn't had earlier.
"I will walk you home," he said, his voice resolute.
The streets were quieter now, the hustle and bustle of the day replaced by a serene stillness. The moonlight cast long shadows on the cobblestones, and the occasional flicker of a lantern illuminated their path. Ruka leaned slightly against Frost, her presence a comforting warmth in the cool night air. They walked in companionable silence, the bond between them growing stronger with each step.
Unmotivated, Ruka stared at the ground, making flowing movements with her feet like a child resisting a suggestion from their mother. Then, as if pulled by some unseen force, she lifted her gaze to the nearly full moon, its silvery light bathing her features in a soft, ethereal glow. "I wish this day would never end," she murmured, her voice a wistful sigh that seemed to float on the night air.
Frost felt a blush heat his cheeks but skillfully masked it by mimicking a yawn. The cool night air seemed to carry their breaths in visible puffs, mingling with the faint scent of blooming flowers carried on the breeze.
"Do you know the secret grove?" she asked hesitantly, her fingers lightly brushing against his as if seeking reassurance.
"You mean the grove behind the storage, near the Dragon Cult Temple?"
"You've been there?" Ruka's eyes widened with surprise and curiosity.
"I've only heard about it," he admitted, his voice low.
Without warning, Ruka firmly grasped his index finger and began to lead him. "Then it will be your first time!"
As they set off, the transformation of the marketplace around them was striking. By day, it was a bustling hub filled with merchants hawking their wares, children chasing each other, and townsfolk engaging in animated conversations. Now, under the moon's gentle light, it had become a ghostly landscape, the shadows of stalls and awnings stretching long and thin like spectres of a forgotten world. The cobblestone streets, which normally echoed with the sounds of daily life, were eerily silent, their footsteps the only noise breaking the stillness.
Their path took them through narrow alleys that wound between darkened buildings, the tall, imposing structures casting deep shadows. The moonlight created a stark contrast, illuminating their way with patches of silvery light. Frost noted the intricate carvings on the stone walls, details he had never noticed in the daylight. Each step they took felt deliberate and purposeful, the silence around them amplifying their every movement.
As they approached the storage area, a chill seemed to settle in the air. The old, weathered buildings loomed over them, their wooden beams creaking softly in the night breeze. The Dragon Cult Temple, an imposing structure with its towering spires and intricate dragon motifs, stood nearby, its presence both awe-inspiring and slightly foreboding.
They finally reached the entrance to the secret grove, a hidden gate partially concealed by overgrown ivy and wildflowers. The gate itself, wrought iron and rusted with age, creaked open with a reluctant groan as Ruka pushed it. Stepping through, they were greeted by the sight of a hidden paradise.
The grove was a remnant of a once-thriving green sector, about the size of a large room. It was filled with blooming roses and tulips, bushes, and two fragile small trees. The grass, left uncut, reached their knees, each blade glistening with dew. The air was thick with the fragrance of flowers, the scents mingling to create a heady, intoxicating aroma. Fireflies danced among the plants, their tiny lights flickering like stars brought down to earth.
Ruka let her hand brush against the grass, feeling its cold, wet texture. Frost followed her to a solitary bench facing west, aligned perfectly with the horizon. The bench, old and weathered, seemed to have witnessed countless moments of quiet reflection and whispered confessions.
They sat in silence, soaking in the ethereal beauty of the moon and clouds before them. The tranquillity of the moment enveloped them, allowing their minds to drift into dreams and possibilities. As the silence grew, a tangible tension built between them, unspoken yet deeply felt.
Frost took the first step, tentatively holding Ruka's hand. When he moved to pull away, she tightened her grip, her touch conveying both her shyness and her desire to stay connected. Both of them blushed, their faces glowing in the moonlight as they avoided direct eye contact. Their hearts pounded loudly, beating in perfect synchrony, the rhythm of their shared emotions.
Summoning his courage, Frost turned to Ruka and gently guided her face towards his, their eyes meeting in a moment of unspoken understanding. He swallowed hard, the nerves making his mouth dry despite the saliva pooling in his efforts to speak. The night seemed to hold its breath, waiting.
"Ruka…will you…"