The village isn't much to look at—reminds me of the slums back in Alstidon, though the architecture here leans into practicality over aesthetics. Buildings of rock, mud, and sand form uneven rows, their edges worn smooth by time and the harsh winds of the rocklands.
The people match the surroundings: ragged clothes, weary eyes, and a diverse mix of races. Humans walk beside dwarves, nekomen, and inumen. Despite their differences, the shared struggle is evident in their thin frames and tired faces.
"Hasha, hasha!" Dezirae calls, her voice ringing out across the square. Heads turn as she waves us forward, her tail flicking with excitement.
"These two heroes saved me from bandits in the rocklands!" she announces, recounting the story with dramatic gestures.
As the crowd starts to murmur, I lean toward Tsuki. "What do you think?" I ask, keeping my voice low.
Tsuki glances around, his sharp eyes scanning the villagers. "I think we should have kept going toward the kingdom gates," he replies bluntly.
Typical.
Dezirae finishes her tale with a flourish. "So please, welcome them as one of our own!"
The crowd erupts in cheers and laughter, pressing in close. Hands clap my shoulders, and someone—a dwarf, I think—nudges the back of my boot. The warmth of their welcome seeps into me, easing the tension I hadn't realized I was holding.
For the first time in a while, I let myself relax.
-----
Hours later, the sun sets, bathing the village in hues of orange and gold. The celebration has moved to the village inn, a modest structure made of stone and timber. The air inside is thick with the smell of roasted meat, the tang of spilled ale, and the sound of laughter.
I glance at my timer. Still ticking. Having more than a week left feels almost like cheating—like I've been handed something precious I don't deserve.
Drinks are passed around freely, and I find myself swept up in the revelry. I share stories of my time in Alstidon, weaving tales of the orphanage, the time bandits in the town square, and my meeting with Prince Ramidion.
"They couldn't believe I could use wind magic like that," I boast, leaning back as the villagers laugh and cheer.
Beside me, Tsuki sits with his usual stoic expression, his drink untouched. Always the sentinel.
"C'mon, Tsuki!" I nudge him with my elbow, sloshing some of my drink onto the table. "Have a toast with me!"
He hesitates, then takes the mug from my hand with the faintest sigh. Whether it's loyalty to me or just a desire to shut me up, I'm not sure. He lifts it to his lips and takes a long swig, unflinching.
"Cheers, Lord Solice," he says, his tone dry but steady.
"That's the spirit!" I laugh, clapping him on the shoulder.
I stand and reach for Dezirae's hands. "Dance?"
Her eyes light up, and her tail swishes excitedly. "Of course!"
The dwarves on stage strike up a lively tune with instruments I don't recognize—pipes and strings twisted into strange shapes—but the rhythm is infectious. Dezirae moves with an effortless grace, her small frame weaving through the crowd.
"Tsuki!" I call, waving him over.
To my surprise, he stands, taking another swig from his mug before joining us. His "dance" is little more than a stiff bobbing up and down, but the sight is enough to send the entire inn into fits of laughter.
-----
The night wears on, and I finally retreat to a corner of the inn with Tsuki and Dezirae. The warmth of the fire and the buzz of alcohol make everything feel softer, lighter.
Dezirae slides into the seat across from us, her golden eyes gleaming in the firelight. "Another round?" she asks, her voice bright.
"Of course!" I reply without hesitation.
She takes our mugs and moves to the counter, her tail swaying behind her.
I lean toward Tsuki. "Ah, isn't this great? I love being heroes, Tsuki. I love it."
Tsuki raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching slightly. A smile? No, couldn't be. Still, the moment feels… human.
Dezirae returns, setting two mugs before us, her hands steady despite the weight. "Here you go!"
"Chug?" I challenge Tsuki, grinning.
"Lord Solice," he says, his tone bordering on exasperation, "I've lived a very long time. With age comes wisdom—and tolerance."
I glare at him playfully. "We'll see about that."
We lift our mugs in unison, slamming them down on the table before tipping them to our lips. The liquid burns on the way down, but the warmth it leaves behind is worth it.
I could get used to this.
And then, the world fades to black.