Kyrie watched Alicia and Casey head back upstairs together, the bundle of leather armor tucked under Alicia’s arm while Casey still carried the bat. A soldier now stood watch at the top of the stairs, posted in the hallway after the rooms had been cleared. The presence was reassuring, at least somewhat. Safer than before.
Kyrie let out a quiet breath and turned back toward the main room, only to realize Captain Nikolaus was watching her. Her hands folded together in front of her unconsciously, her fingers interlacing as she shifted her weight slightly. Still, she met his gaze with quiet curiosity.
She hesitated. Then, gathering a bit of courage, she spoke softly. “I don’t mean to sound weird… but how do you speak the same language as us, but they don’t seem to?”
Nikolaus tilted his head slightly, as if considering how best to explain. “Esoran is a trade language,” he said. “Used mostly by merchants. Most people speak a little of it, but few, aside from professional traders and boglans, speak much of it. I have to deal with a lot of traders in my work for the city.”
Kyrie nodded softly, absorbing the information. Her fingers tapped lightly against her leg in a faint, unconscious rhythm as she processed what he’d said. “Boglans…” she repeated hesitantly. “Is that… like a goblin?”
Nikolaus smiled faintly. “You have goblins where you come from?”
Kyrie tilted her head, then shook it softly. “Just stories… like elves,” she admitted quietly, her gaze drifting downward for a moment.
Nikolaus studied her, something thoughtful behind his stormy gray eyes. “This land is not kind to those not of it,” he said after a moment. “Your friend is wise to pass you off as merchants… but your story will need some work.”
Kyrie glanced up again, her expression tightening slightly.
Nikolaus’s gaze flicked briefly toward the stairs before returning to her. “That thing upstairs was a Nightstalker,” he continued calmly. “It’s what happens when someone uses necromancy to corrupt a goblin corpse. They don’t like light, so it will be safer outside once the sun has returned.”
Kyrie felt a faint chill at the explanation, but she nodded appreciatively nonetheless. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
Nikolaus inclined his head slightly. “You all seem like good people,” he said. “Just… lost. I’ve seen it a few times before.” His tone was gentle, but something in his expression suggested a deeper concern; something heavier than simple sympathy.
Kyrie opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but the sound of the clock interrupted her. The soft gongs echoed through the tavern as it struck four. This time, the sound didn’t rattle their skulls or shake the room. It was quieter, almost subdued. Still… something felt wrong.
Kyrie frowned slightly as she listened. The gongs sounded… distant. Faintly delayed. Each strike seemed just slightly behind the rhythm, as though the beat stretched further apart with each toll. Not dramatically, just enough to feel… off.
Subtle. Uneasy. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. But as the final tone faded into silence, the quiet that followed felt heavier than before.