The main room of the tavern had changed. Tables and chairs had been pushed aside, clearing the center of the room. The fire still burned in the hearth, but the cozy atmosphere from earlier had been replaced with something far more tense.

Two wounded men lay on blankets or mats near the center of the room, one clutching his arm while another had a bandage wrapped hastily around his side. A faint metallic scent hung in the air, blood.

Six men in worn leather armor stood around the room, alert and watchful.

One stood near the bottom of the stairs as the group descended. Another lingered near the bar, keeping a close eye on David and Phillip, who both looked distinctly unhappy about the situation.

Phillip still clutched the strange book.

David sat near the fireplace, his posture stiff, his expression annoyed. The poker he had been using earlier was nowhere to be seen.

One man stood apart from the others. His armor was in noticeably better condition; well-maintained leather reinforced with chainmail. A dark cloak hung from his shoulders, and on it, stitched into the fabric near his shoulder, was an emblem resembling a raven.

He watched them descend with calm, assessing eyes.

Kyrie suddenly felt very aware that she was standing barefoot in pajamas.

The man looked over the group carefully, counting them silently. “Is this everyone?” he asked.

Amanda glanced around, then toward the stairs again. “Oh… Erica didn’t come down.”

David snorted from beside the fireplace, clearly irritated. “My wife sleeps with a mask, earplugs, and pills,” he said dryly. “She could sleep through a tornado. You’ll have to go get her if you want her down here.”

Casey shifted slightly beside Kyrie. “I’m good leaving sleeping dragons lie, if it’s all the same to everyone else.”

A few of the others gave quiet murmurs of agreement.

The man’s gaze moved between them, his expression remaining neutral.

And that was when Kyrie noticed it. His ears. They were pointed, unmistakably so, protruding slightly through strands of long dark hair. She blinked. Her mind stalled for just a moment as she stared at him, the realization settling heavily in her thoughts. Elf. The word echoed silently in her head.

The man tilted his head slightly, watching her. He had clearly spoken to her, and she hadn’t responded. Heat crept into Kyrie’s face as she realized he was waiting. Waiting for her.

“You,” he said calmly, gesturing toward her. “Fetch her.”

Kyrie hesitated only briefly before nodding. Reluctantly, she turned and headed back toward the stairs. The soldier standing nearby stepped aside to allow her passage, then followed her up, stopping at the top of the stairs as she moved down the hallway.

His presence lingered behind her like a silent reminder.

Kyrie walked toward Erica and David’s room, her candlelight flickering softly along the stone walls. The tavern felt very different now. Not like a themed retreat. Not like a game. And definitely not like something controlled.

She reached the door and paused, lifting her hand to knock, wondering how exactly she was supposed to explain this.