The heroes stay still on this floor, unsure as to where to go. Shammus continues glancing around. The last floor he was stuck on like this was Floor 40, but even that was short with these few. His eyes followed Pallad’s blade the same way they did an enemy’s.

  Pallad quits swinging after a few minutes having met eyes with Shammus for a split second. The sound of the sword hitting the ground snaps Shammus’s eyes back up to Pallad who’s now approaching him.

  He grips his sleeve out of something, whether it was the effort he was pushing towards not raising his own weapon against the large man, or nervousness towards the friendliness Pallad seems to be emanating.

  Pallad grabs something out of his inventory, but Shammus’s eyes snapping to it seems to elicit a small chuckle from Pallad, “No need to worry,” His voice was gentle, as though talking to a friend he hasn’t seen in ages. In his hands were two pieces of bread, one held out to Shammus.

  Shammus accepts it eventually, although he stared at it for what seemed like ages. He snatches it from Pallad as he turns away.

  “Ha! You don’t need to eat so fast man! It’s not like we have any shortage of food.” Pallad speaks up, leaning against a nearby tree. “You know, when Bariton decided single handedly to toss you in with us, I was a little suspicious.”

  Shammus looks up from the bread he was scarfing down to stare into Pallad’s eyes, “I mean, Bariton hasn’t led us wrong before, but neither has anyone else in our group.” Pallad stares back, his aggressive tone unfitting for the light smile dawned on his face. “Being friendly with some guy we don’t even know isn’t my cup of tea.”

  “And now, you’re looking all nervous, like a kicked dog.” Pallad looks away from Sornid’s towards the group. Clara is reading a journal they can’t tell from here. “And yet we’re just relaxing.” He gestures towards the group, especially Bariton who’s training with one of his hundreds of random weapons.

  “Relaxing?” Shammus follows Pallad’s arm, as his eyes look at the practiced calligraphy Bariton pulls off with the spear, “But can’t we get further in the tower before time causes the dungeon break?”

  “Yeah, I suppose that’s true.” Pallad slowly slides down the tree. “We all have the weight of the world on our backs. But we don’t let it get to us.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if we did, then it’d just be unnecessary stress. If we fail, we die anyways, why add in the fact that those who know us would die as well? We’re fighting for our own lives in here.” Pallad shrugs, as he tosses a stone at Bariton who deflects it with the spear blade right back at him. “We don’t need to be heroes to be heroic. We just need to save our own skin. I’m sure Sornid didn’t even want to be a hero.”

  Shammus keeps hearing about this Sornid person. He gave off a… certain feeling of pretension, but he still seemed alright. And now he’s missing and the rest of this party seem to understand what Clara’s trying to say regarding it.

  He’s been an adventurer for years, maybe decades as of this point. But it’s still hard to read other people when they aren’t against you. At least with a sword pressed to your throat, either metaphorical or literal you can’t bring yourself to lie.

  Or at least attempt to lie about your emotion outside of hiding it. Shammus looks at the food, and bites down on it as hard as can, feeling the small piece of starch rip. The noticeable sound, as quiet as a pin drop in a school cafeteria.

  But it was real. Shammus simply shrugs, “Why must you attempt to keep me comfort this night?”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Do I need a reason?” Pallad’s quick response without even looking Shammus’s way gave him a light chill. It reminded him of them. The swordmasters who had come and gone over his century of living, the people who had come and gone for his dreary days.

  Shammus sighs as he sits down facing the camp, “I’ll be keeping watch first tonight.”

  “That’s funny, Bariton was wondering who’d stay up late with him for first watch.” Pallad chuckles as he leans against the tree, a light creaking sound emitting. After a few seconds of silence, only filled with the sounds of the forest, he continues. “You should probably go tell him.”

  Shammus makes a small grunt of agreement as he pushes up to a standing position, “Thanks.” He mutters under his breath as he walks back towards the camp. Pallad’s laughter makes him lift up his hood almost by instinct to cover his face.

  Bariton was simply just playing his lyre, humming a show tune he’d heard once or twice in the theatre of Kisnure. Maybe from his fellow bards even. But he plays it brilliantly. The shine of the fire hits his face.

  And Shammus walks forward into the glow. Bariton was quick to react, but it was just from a light opening of his eyes. The shine of blue contrasted the rest of his face. His small grin that was certainly always there was more noticeable as he shifted alongside the log.

  Granting Shammus a place to sit. Certainly of no feeling other than comradery. Shammus takes it. “I’ll be joining you in the night watch tonight.”

  “Well, yeah, I guessed that.” Bariton states, almost as if it was obvious. The tune of the lyre was quiet enough to tune out when Shammus was with Pallad, yet now it’s too obvious. “Why else would the mysterious member of our pack come out like this?”

  Bariton gestures towards Shammus, and Shammus pulls the hood of his cloak over his face further, “Let alone with his cloak up like that.”

  The lyres tune changed. To a song that Shammus had last heard in decades. A classical piece, Claire de Lune.

  “It sounds different on a lyre.” Shammus quickly finds his tongue loose, the words spilling out unnaturally quick. “Not in a worse way I mean… It just sounds… different.”

  Bariton’s laugh doesn’t help, as he feels his face getting warm. Why’s he feel this way around nothing more than a comrade who’d throw him away at a moment’s notice?

  “You know…” Bariton looks back towards the fire, the fire reflecting in his eyes with a great contrast. A tinge of sadness maybe. “I learned this piece for a reason. I was struggling before I came to the tower. I thought maybe, just maybe…”

  “I’ll get to be successful, if instead of telling tales, I move more into the musical aspect. So I learned all sorts of classical songs. Including this piece even… And yet nobody really paid attention to me still.”

  Shammus found himself staring at Bariton while he continued playing, “But then, I found that it wasn’t the music that made a bard successful. It was the bard’s own experiences. In many groups, the origin of his tales was what people looked for.”

  Bariton continued on, as his gaze slowly shifted upwards into the sky, his green clover hat threatening to fall off. “The originality is what mattered. So I was lost in the crowd. Until the tower came by. I took this quest for a selfish reason… For fame. Why’d you?”

  Shammus felt himself freeze when the story ended, and was offered a question as well. “Uhh…” He found himself stumbling for reasons why. He tried to speak multiple times, “Because I was- No…” That didn’t sound right.

  Eventually his thoughts and speech intertwined. He had no right to think before speaking here, especially with such a broad question. “I owe some people.” That was the answer he landed on after minutes of stumbling over his words.

  “I owe the people that allowed me to get this far. The people I stepped on, crushed without mercy granting me the strength. Refusing to forgive me.” Shammus felt way too loose tongued, but despite his attempt to stop himself, he kept going, “And even those who did forgive me when I was most undeserving of it.”

  “I owe them the most.” Shammus finds himself looking at the stars as well. They’re more beautiful in the tower than they are outside. The sky looks far different. Polaris is missing, as well as many other constellations. With a completely new set of them to stare at.

  “That’s a good reason.” Bariton says, as the piece comes to a close, and his eyes shut once more.