In the heart of the town of Rowwe, in the kingdom of Isenhert, the tavern named Hare's Yearning was bustling once again with patrons and new customers alike. Amid the clamor, a young man was diligently taking orders, his long messy ginger-colored hair swaying slightly as he moved. Droopy eyes, a freckled face, and his signature round glasses marked him as none other than Roe.
"Are you new here, Missy?" he inquired, stopping beside a table where a young woman sat. She wore a brown shabby dress, her black hair tied into a neat ponytail. She seemed to be in her earliest twenties, glancing around nervously.
"Oh, I saw you when I was walking outside," she answered in a quiet voice. Her hands fidgeted with her sleeves before she glanced up again. "May I ask you something, good sir?"
But before the young man could reply, she blurted out loudly, "WHATCHURNAME?!"
The sudden burst made Roe take a step back. He adjusted the wooden tray he held, picking up an empty beer mug from the table beside her. "Well, as you can see, miss," he said with a small smirk, balancing the tray on his left hand. Reaching into the pocket of his apron, he pulled out a menu and offered it to her. "We only sell food and drinks, not my name."
He turned on his heel, heading back toward the counter. Over his shoulder, he added, "By the way, Missy, you're from the south, right?"
The girl could only gape at him, disbelief written all over her face. "How...?"
"If you're asking how I know, it's your accent," Roe replied, not breaking stride. "Strong vowels. It's a dead giveaway." Without waiting for a response, he added, "If you're not ordering, see ya. Got a lot of things to do." He disappeared through the door near the counter.
Inside the kitchen, Roe pushed the door open with his shoulder and stepped in. The warm aroma of roasting meat mixed with the sharp tang of fresh herbs. A tall, bald man with a rough beard looked up from the counter where he was butchering a chicken, a broad grin splitting his face.
"Let me guess," the man said, wiping his knife on his apron. "Another lass tryin' to sweet-talk ye? You've got that look on your face, Roe."
Roe set the tray down with a sigh, adjusting his round glasses. "She wasn't sweet-talking, Garret. More like shouting." He mimicked her exaggerated tone, "'WHATCHUR NAME?!' Caught me off guard."
Garret let out a booming laugh, the kind that made the knives on the counter tremble. "Aye, that's a good one. Ye must be some kind of heartbreaker out there, eh? The ladies can't help themselves."
"Not exactly," Roe replied dryly, pulling out a small notepad from his apron. "She wasn't after me, just my name. Anyway, here's the next order: one chicken with honey and garlic sauce, two roasted chicken legs, and a ginger ale." He slid the note across the counter. "Think you can handle it?"
Garret snorted, tossing the chicken carcass onto a cutting board. "Handle it? Boy, I've been cookin' longer than you've been sneakin' sips of ale behind the counter. Don't worry, I'll have it done faster than you can charm another customer."
Roe smirked faintly, leaning against the counter. "You know, maybe I should let you take my shift one night. See how you fare with all the charming customers you're so fond of."
Garret grinned, holding up a knife. "Oh, I'd clear the place out in an hour, and you'd be out of a job." He set to work on the chicken, the rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the board filling the kitchen.
Shaking his head, Roe picked up a fresh tray and turned toward the door. "Let me know when you're done, old man. And try not to scare the customers when you bring it out."
Garret chuckled as Roe stepped back into the tavern. "Scare 'em? Ha! That's your job, lad."
The girl was still at her table, the menu untouched in front of her. Roe sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Looks like she's staying," he muttered to himself.
Roe weaved between tables with his tray, balancing the delicate food and drink, but the quiet buzz in the tavern felt different now. The warmth of the fire didn't seem to reach him, and the clink of mugs didn't mask the shift in the air. He caught the glance of the southern girl—still hunched at her table, still watching the door. Her fingers drummed rhythmically against the table, but her gaze never left the entrance, and the unease was thick enough to suffocate.
Garret's voice rumbled from behind him, low and steady. "Something's off, lad. Her eyes are too sharp for a traveler."
Roe nodded slightly, keeping his tone neutral. "Maybe she's just cautious." But even as he spoke, the back of his neck prickled. It wasn't just her nerves—it was something else.
A few minutes later, the door creaked open. A cloaked man stepped inside, his presence almost… weightless. The usual noise died, a sudden hush falling over the tavern. The man's eyes flicked over the room, methodical and cold. His boots made no sound as he moved, his every step deliberate. A soft whisper of air swirled in his wake. Roe's stomach tightened, but he didn't flinch.
The southern girl's eyes flickered toward the cloaked figure, and then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded.
"Get ready," Roe muttered under his breath, his fingers slipping into his apron.
The cloaked man exchanged a look with her, then stepped back outside. There was no announcement, no grand reveal. But Roe knew.
Garret gripped his cleaver tighter, his voice barely above a growl. "That's the signal, ain't it?"
Before Roe could answer, the door crashed open. The heavy thud echoed through the tavern, causing several patrons to jump, mugs spilling. In marched a group—six men, each one rougher than the last. The first, a massive figure with a crooked grin, swung his axe onto his shoulder and scanned the room.
"Evenin'," he called, his voice smooth as silk and as cold as steel. "We're just collectin' what's ours. Don't be shy now—pay up."
Roe's eyes narrowed as the bandits moved swiftly, flipping tables, tossing coins, and pulling frightened patrons from their seats. The air thickened with tension, the oppressive weight of the situation sinking in. Garret shifted behind the counter, his posture stiffening.
"Looks like trouble," Roe said calmly, already starting to move.
The girl stood then, the shift from nervousness to composure instantaneous. Her posture straightened, and a cold smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She stepped forward into the chaos, her voice cutting through the noise. "No need to make this harder than it is, boys."
The burly man looked over at her, eyebrows raised. "Boss?"
"Take what we need and leave," she said, her voice steady, commanding.
Roe's hand slid into his pocket. The air crackled with an unfamiliar charge. He didn't break his calm. Instead, his fingers brushed against a small, familiar sigil etched in his sleeve—a momentary pulse, like the echo of a stone being thrown into a pond.
Without warning, he thrust his hand toward the ground.
The floor beneath the nearest bandit cracked, and with a loud rumble, the wood splintered as jagged stone pillars shot up from the floor, coiling around his legs. The bandit howled in shock, struggling against the stone, but it grew firm and unyielding, swallowing his body halfway up to his chest.
The tavern fell silent. The remaining bandits paused, staring at the spectacle.
The girl's eyes narrowed, frustration flickering behind them. "I didn't expect this."
"Basic earth magic," Roe said, his tone a casual contrast to the tension in the air. "Don't worry. It won't leave a mark—unless you fight it."
A bandit on the far side drew his sword. "We'll make sure you regret that, mage." His voice was gruff, his eyes wild with anger, and as he stepped forward, the tavern erupted into chaos once more.
Roe's hand moved again—this time, not toward the ground but the air. A sigil, glowing faintly, appeared in the space between him and his attackers. It spun with eerie precision, the glyph spiraling like a vortex. The air thickened as it expanded, and stone shrapnel tore free from the ground, shooting in every direction like a storm of jagged blades. One of the bandits screamed as a shard pierced his shoulder, blood spraying across the room.
Another bandit charged at him, sword raised high. Roe didn't move, his eyes unwavering. He raised his hand, palm open, and the air around the bandit rippled. The man's blade was caught mid-air, twisted violently, and before he could react, the stone beneath his feet erupted—spiking upward like a spear, catching him through the gut. His scream was cut short as he crumpled, blood pooling around him.
The southern girl watched with quiet intensity, her hand twitching, ready to signal her men. But Roe's calm focus unnerved her. His movements were fluid, his control over the magic so precise it seemed effortless. The bandits faltered, uncertainty creeping in.
"Lad's got magic in his bones," Garret muttered, watching the chaos unfold with dark amusement.
Roe didn't waste a moment. The last two bandits lunged at him, desperate to take him down before he could cast another spell. The first was met with a wave of his hand—a quick thrust, and the stone floor beneath him shattered, sending shards of rock shooting upward, piercing his legs. The man shrieked in pain, his sword falling uselessly to the ground.
The final bandit, a lanky figure with a crude dagger, dashed toward him. Roe's eyes flickered toward him, his calm demeanor unchanged. He thrust his hand forward. The bandit didn't have time to react.
Roe's magic pulsed again, and the stone beneath the bandit's feet cracked open. A sudden force—a surge of earth and energy—sent him crashing into the wall, his body slamming into the wood with a sickening crack. He slumped to the floor, the life drained from him in an instant.
The girl's eyes hardened as she took one last step forward, her hand raised. "You'll pay for that, mage," she hissed, her voice tinged with venom.
But before she could give the command, the tavern door burst open again.
A figure stepped through, tall and clad in silver armor, his cape fluttering with the wind that rushed in behind him. He wore a heavy, regal sword at his side and moved with the confidence of someone who had walked through countless battles. His eyes scanned the scene—Roe standing in the center of it all, his magic still crackling, the bandits on the floor, blood pooling around them.
The knight's eyes locked with the southern girl's.
"Enough," the knight said, his voice calm but commanding. "These men belong to the Kingdom of Isenhert. They've been marked for arrest."
The girl took a step back, her face paling. "You—what are you doing here?"
The knight's gaze flicked to Roe, his eyes lingering for a moment longer than expected. "I sensed the magic from outside. This tavern... has a hidden talent, I see." He turned toward the bandits, now entirely subdued, and his sword was drawn in an instant. "Your lives are forfeit. By order of Isenhert, you will be taken into custody."
The southern girl swallowed, looking between the knight and Roe. "You... you're with the king?"
The knight ignored her, stepping over the fallen bandits with practiced ease. "Who you are doesn't matter now. But know this," he added, turning back to Roe. "That kind of magic… we've been looking for it."
Roe, still breathing evenly, only nodded. "Seems like a lot of people are looking for something."
As the knight began his work—binding the bandits and preparing them for transport—Roe leaned against the counter, wiping his hands clean. His freckled face was unreadable, but in the back of his mind, a thought echoed. Another day. Another story. And more eyes watching.
The tavern's patrons slowly came to their senses, whispering among themselves. Garret let out a breath, glancing at Roe with a smirk.
"Aye, lad. That was something ."