Kyrie got ready for bed, changing into her pajamas and putting a few of her things away in the trunk at the foot of the bed. The routine helped settle her nerves after the strange events of the evening. Outside, the rain had finally stopped, leaving the world quiet in its wake.
Moonlight filtered through the window. She glanced toward it, drawn by the pale glow. The full moon hung high above the forest, its light casting silver across the branches of the tall trees that encircled the tavern. The leaves shimmered faintly as they shifted in the gentle night breeze, shadows swaying slowly across the ground.
It was beautiful. And yet, something about it made her uneasy. She couldn’t explain why. Nothing seemed wrong; the trees stood still, the night was calm, and the tavern itself felt warm and secure. Still, the sight of the dense forest under the full moon made her chest tighten slightly, as though the darkness beyond the trees held something just out of sight. She pulled the curtains halfway closed and turned back toward the room.
The stone walls held the warmth of the day and the fire below. The bed was soft and inviting, and the faint scent of the unfamiliar flowers on the windowsill mixed with the dried herbs hanging near the door, creating a soothing, almost sleepy fragrance. Despite the lingering uneasiness, Kyrie settled beneath the blankets. Sleep came quickly.
She wasn’t sure how long she had been asleep when the sound woke her. A heavy door. Somewhere downstairs. Her eyes snapped open, her body instantly alert. For a moment, she lay still, listening. Voices. Commotion. More than one person. Her heart began to beat faster.
Carefully, Kyrie sat up and reached for the candle beside her bed. Her hands moved quietly as she lit it, shielding the small flame as it flickered to life. The soft glow pushed back the darkness just enough to navigate by.
She moved silently across the floor, stepping toward her door. Opening it just a crack, she peered into the hallway.
Casey already stood there. The large metal flashlight rested in one hand, its beam currently angled downward but ready. In the other, she held a small metal bat, her stance tense and prepared.
Amanda stood just behind her, holding a candle, her expression tight but composed.
The three women exchanged silent nods as they saw each other.
The sounds from below grew clearer now: multiple voices, movement, something heavy shifting or scraping. It didn’t sound staged or theatrical. It sounded… real.
Then came heavy footfalls on the stairs. They were coming up. The steps creaked under the weight, slow and deliberate. Casey raised the flashlight, adjusting her grip on the bat. Kyrie instinctively stepped back slightly, glancing around for anything she could use: a chair, a loose object, anything.
Her mind raced. Surely this was part of the experience. Actors, maybe. Something immersive. But… there hadn’t been anything in the paperwork about live interactions. And even if there were, that didn’t mean someone swinging a bat wouldn’t seriously hurt them.
Casey, however, looked ready to handle things her own way.
A man rounded the corner from the stairwell. He wore leather armor. Not costume leather; it looked worn, practical, scuffed with use. A sword rested in his hand, the metal catching faint candlelight. He froze when he saw them.
Then he shouted down the stairs, voice sharp and urgent, “Ils ont de la magie!”
Before Kyrie could even process the words, Casey snapped the flashlight upward. The powerful beam blasted directly into the man’s eyes. He flinched, raising an arm instinctively. Casey swung.
The metal bat connected with the flat of his raised sword in a loud clang that echoed down the hallway. The impact forced him backward, boots scraping against the wood as he staggered and retreated to the top of the stairs.
He shouted something else down the steps, the tone clearly irritated, if not outright angry, but he held his ground, sword still raised defensively. The tension stretched tight.
Then, from below, another voice spoke. This one was unfamiliar.
“Come down peacefully and no one will be harmed.”
The words were clear English, though accented in a way Kyrie couldn’t place. The voice was calm, measured; not shouting, not panicked. It carried the quiet confidence of someone used to being obeyed. Authority.
The man at the top of the stairs shifted slightly but did not advance. Casey didn’t lower the bat. Amanda held her candle steady, though Kyrie could see the tension in her shoulders. Kyrie’s heart hammered in her chest. Whatever this was… it no longer felt like part of a weekend game.
Hearing another door open behind them, she glanced down the hallway to see Alicia peeking cautiously out from her room, her candle held close to her chest. A moment later, Jennifer stepped into the hall, tying the sash of her robe, with Patrick emerging just behind her. He adjusted his glasses as he focused on the armored man at the far end of the hallway, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and wary curiosity.
All of them stood there in various states of sleepwear, exchanging uncertain glances in the dim candlelight. No one looked particularly ready for an armed confrontation. And there wasn’t much else they could do. If there were more armed men downstairs, retreating deeper into the tavern didn’t seem like much of an option.
Kyrie looked back to Casey and gave a small, helpless shrug.
Casey exhaled quietly, then lowered the bat slightly, though she definitely didn’t put it away. With her flashlight, she gestured sharply toward the stairs, indicating that the man should lead.
He hesitated only briefly before turning and descending.
One by one, the group followed.