Dean was halfway through his sword routine in the drawing room when a knock came at the door. At first, he had tried to ignore it. After all, anyone calling at this time of night was either a sleazy salesman or far worse.

  But by the time he got into his second form, the knock came again, this time much harder and heavier than before. Dean lowered his sword, glancing at the clock over the mantle. It was nearly 9 pm, at least an hour since the sun had gone down.

  Suspicion flared in his core, and he found himself gripping the hilt of his sword tighter as he drew nearer to the door. Was it the Watch? Had Vawn found out where he lived and sent the academy guard to bring him in? Technically, they could hold him in the dungeon on charges of assault, but whether or not those charges would stick..

  His mind was racing a mile a minute as he made his way across the hall. Instinctively, he activated his mana sense, but he felt nothing to indicate he was in danger. Slowly, he reached for the door handle.

  “Dean, we know you’re in there!” came a familiar voice from outside. “Now let us in, it’s bloody brisk out here.”

  “Finn?” Dean threw open the door only to find Finn, Shae, and Ten crammed onto his small porch, looking like fish out of water. For one, they were dressed far too nicely lower city. Finn was wearing a pressed blue tunic with knee-high dress boots, and Shae’s dress was so vibrant he could practically see it in the dark. She adjusted the heavy fur

  “What’s going on?” he asked as they stared at him. Shae threw up her hands.

  “For the Gods' sake, Finn, I told you to ask him beforehand. Now we just look stupid!”

  “Did not need much help with that,” muttered Ten, eyeing the dress. Shae cast him an irritated look. The monk was dressed in his usual robes, though his short hair had been neatly combed to the side.

  “Well, uh, I’d invite you in, but I’m not sure my older sister would approve of unexpected company.”

  The three exchanged a look.

  “Right,” said Finn, looking somewhat sheepish. He cleared his throat. “Well, here’s the thing. Your sister, uh… look, I was going to tell you but-“

  “Your sister knows.”

  The voice came from behind him, and Dean almost jumped as he turned. Sylvie stood at the bottom of the stairs, her wet hair in a braid over her shoulder. She was wearing her night clothes, but despite it all, she moved with the confidence that only an overbearing sister could. Dean gave her an incredulous look, glancing between her and his party.

  “Okay,” he said, an edge to his voice. “Somebody is going to have to explain.”

  Moments later, they were all sitting at the small kitchen table, crammed together as his sister served a round of fresh-squeezed fruit juice and biscuits. Finn seemed more than willing to help himself, cramming his mouth full of biscuits and jam while he tried to avoid Dean’s glare.

  Dean sat back in his chair, arms folded across his chest as he waited for some kind of explanation as to what the hell was going on.

  “Very good fruit milk,” said Ten, breaking the silence and brandishing his empty glass.

  “It’s not called milk if it’s fruit, genius. It’s called juice.” Snapped Shae. After a moment, she raised her glass. “It is quite good though.”

  Sylvie beamed at them.

  “Enough,” said Dean, his voice laced with barely concealed annoyance. “You can suck up to my sister later. Right now, I want to know why you came all the way to Lower City dressed like you’re about to attend a charity gala.”

  “Right,” said Shae, giving Finn a withering glare as he continued to avoid Dean’s gaze. “Well, we meant to tell you. We, and by that I mean half the trainees from the training hall, were planning something big tonight. It’s a bit of a tradition, really. Passing the written exam may not seem like that big of a deal, but it’s the halfway point to becoming an Adventurer. From here on out, shit gets real. We have only a few weeks left until our physical, and that time is going to be spent training, studying, and preparing. Believe me when I say there won’t be any time for extracurriculars.”

  Dean blinked. He knew all of this already. But before he could ask, Finn swallowed his last bite of biscuit and held out a finger.

  “What my esteemed warrior colleague means is that tonight is the last night we have to enjoy ourselves. From here on out, there will be nothing but the relentless grind of preparation. So,” he clapped his hands together. “In keeping with the tradition of many generations of trainees before us, we’re going to do what young people do best.”

  “Overeat and waste time?” asked Sylvie sweetly.

  Finn grinned, propping his elbow on the table and leaning in.

  “We’re going to party,” he said. “And I know just the spot.”

  Dean rubbed a hand over his eyes.

  “And you came all the way into Lower City just to tell me this?”

  “Tell you?” Finn waved a hand. “No, my dear man, we’re here to collect you. Though you’re going to have to shower first, you smell like sweat.”

  “Because I was training.”

  Dean pushed back from his chair, rising in one fluid motion.

  “Look, I’m grateful you came all this way, but I just don’t have the time right now. I’ve only mastered two out of three of the basic sword forms, and if I want to reach a basic proficiency in swordsmanship before the dungeon, then I’m going to need all the time I have.”

  But nobody else at the table was moving. They were all staring at him as if they’d been expecting his words.

  “What!?” he asked, finally exasperated.

  “Well,” said Shae. “Not to be blunt, Dean, you know we love you. But you’re a bit of a fucking bore.”

  There was a pause. Then Sylvie burst out laughing. Dean turned his glare on her.

  “Not you too.”

  His sister wiped her eyes, her smile genuine as she straightened.

  “I’m sorry but… It’s just I never thought I’d hear that word used to describe you. A few weeks ago, you were the complete opposite. You were out late every night, and half the time, I was worried sick when you finally stumbled in drunk. And now… now you’re so serious about training that your friends ask me to stage an intervention.”

  Dean’s jaw dropped.

  “Is that what this is?”

  “Told you it was bad plan,” muttered Ten, gazing regretfully into his empty juice glass.

  Finn hastily waved a hand.

  “Listen, I admire you, Dean. I mean, you stroll into the training hall on your very first day, no sponsorship, no formal mentor or famous parentage, and yet you’re a bloody force of nature. Slaying an evolved beast, killing a nest boss solo, and putting Matteo of all people on his ass. Yeah, I would hazard to say you were a bit…” he seemed lost for words for a moment.

  “Infamous,” finished Shae, folding her arms. “And it’s no wonder. All you do day in and day out is train.”

  “So,” continued Finn, his wolfish smile only half apologetic. “We figured if we asked you that you’d just make excuses. So we’re not asking.”

  For a moment, Dean stared around at them. At his sister, who was cheerfully refilling juice glasses, at Shae at his party, who now sat in his cramped dining room in rickety chairs that looked like they’d been through a war. And he realized perhaps for the first time since returning here, that he had real friends. Not the kind that used him because he was fun and up for anything, or the type to run when things got tough.

  No, his friends were sitting in his ramshackle house after having come all the way from the upper city just to placate him to go out and have a bit of fun. Dean swallowed past the lump in his throat.

  Now's not the time to be emotional, you fool.

  “And you’re alright with this?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at his sister. Sylvie folded her hands in front of her and gave him a long, considering look. It was so like the look his mother used to give them that Dean almost smiled.

  “Not a huge fan of the whole drinking part,” she grumbled, tossing her braid over a shoulder. “But they are right about one thing. You’ve been working hard, Dean. Exceptionally hard. In just a few weeks, you’ve made progress, gained skills I didn’t think it was in you to gain, and passed the first part of your exams. Those are no easy feats, you know. And from here on out, things are only going to get harder for you. So yes, if you want to go out with your friends and enjoy a night of celebration, then you have my permission. If and only if you return at midnight. You know how I feel about you staying out. The city isn’t a safe place at night.” Her voice was stern, but Dean saw through the tough exterior.

  The worry in her eyes wasn’t a product of annoyance at all. It was fear, pure and simple. Since their mother had died, Sylvie had stepped up to fill that role, only a young teenager herself at the time. She had worked hard so that they could keep their house and make sure the home was a safe and stable place. Back then, he’d never recognized all she’d done, let alone appreciated it. But now, as he gazed at his sister, he felt only love.

  Rising from his seat, Dean cupped her cheek with his hand. His sister blinked in surprise as he leaned forward and laid a gentle kiss on her forehead.

  “Thank you,” he said. “For everything.”

  Sylvie’s eyes glistened with uncharacteristic tears as she quickly looked away.

  “Oh, whatever,” she muttered, avoiding looking at him. “Just do as I say, or by the gods, Dean, I promise you’ll regret it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Finn whooped, banging a fist on the table so hard that Ten had to snatch his empty glass before it hit the ground.

  “Finally. Now, if you don’t mind, will you please wash and change so that we can get a move on? We’re already late!”

  Dean excused himself to wash and dress. In his room, he found a pair of freshly laundered shirts and knew that Sylvie had looked out for him once again. Dressing, he caught sight of himself in the small, dirty mirror hanging on the wall. He looked much like he had when he’d first woken as his seventeen-year-old self. Short, unruly dark hair, and eyes as blue as his mother's had been. And yet, there was something beneath them. A glimpse of the man he’d been in the reflection of his gaze.

  He reached up and ran a hand along the sparse stubble on the side of his jaw. Once there had been a scar there. It had been earned in a fight with a minotaur – one in which many lives in his company had been lost.

  I’m still that man, he thought as he dropped his hand. I may wear a different skin, but on the inside, fundamentally, I’ve changed.

  A rustle from downstairs drew his attention.

  “Thompson, will you hurry up. At this rate, there isn’t going to be any ale left.”

  Dean turned away from the reflection in the mirror, feeling light for the first time in many years. Tonight, he would get to be himself again. A carefree teenager with no worries, no responsibilities outside of goofing off and having fun.

  At least for tonight.

  So he steeled himself, sucking in a breath and thrusting his hands in his pockets as he made his way downstairs.

  “Finally,” said Shae dramatically, shoving herself up from the worn daybed in the drawing room corner.

  “I was beginning to think you snuck out the back window.”

  “I was tempted,” he said, striding past her for the door. “Where is ten anyway?”

  Finn was leaning against the wall, one polished boot propped against the other.

  “He went to tell the carriage driver to come round.”

  “Carriage?”

  “Of course. You didn’t think we bloody well walked here, did you? At this time of night? Er, no offense.”

  Dean was saved from having to respond by a series of sounds beyond the door. Finn frowned as he swept the curtain aside, peering out into the darkness of the street. Through the light of a mounted lantern, Dean could see the outline of a solitary horse and carriage.

  The silhouette of a man sat in the driver's seat holding the reins, but he appeared to be looking at something.

  “What in the seven hells,” muttered Finn, throwing open the door. Dean and Shae followed quickly, and Dean’s hand dropped to his knife when he felt his mana sense flare. He moved forward, eyes intent, but before he reached the other side of the carriage, his senses seemed to fade.

  Had the danger passed?

  He rounded the corner with the others, half expecting to see some sort of scuffle. But it was only Ten who leaned casually against the carriage door, massaging his hand. It was then that Dean saw the body slumped on the road.

  “What,” said Finn, drawing nearer with a frown. “On the Gods green earth is that?”

  The body was dressed in dark clothing, and as Dean neared, he noticed to strong stench of cheap alcohol. Dean nudged him with a boot, and the man’s dirty fist slipped open. A pair of brass knuckles clattered to the cobblestones.

  The carriage driver twisted around, his expression grim in the darkness.

  “I’m afraid he tried to rob me, sir.” He said to Finn. “Although your man here put a stop to it fairly quickly.”

  Everyone turned to look at Ten.

  “What?” asked the monk. “He knocked himself out. Onto my fist.”

  “Is he still breathing?” Shae wrinkled her nose at the smell as she edged close enough to give the would-be robber a kick. The man groaned, burped, and promptly rolled back over.

  “Gods, I hate the lower city.”

  “Baby’s first robbery.” Teased Dean, gripping the handle and swinging himself up and into the carriage. “You really should have known better. Bringing a fancy carriage all the way into the slums is like asking to be caught out.”

  Shae hopped up beside him, folding her dress beneath herself as she scooted over to make room for the others. Ten was the last to make it in, and he frowned down at the unconscious drunkard now lying in the street.

  “We should then be leaving him there?” he asked in his broken common. Dean shrugged.

  “Either he’ll wake up and stagger home, or the watch patrol will find him and throw him in booking. Either way, it was a beating well deserved. Imagine picking a fight with a combat class in the middle of the night.”

  Ten slammed the carriage door shut and leaned up, wrapping his knuckles against the roof twice. Moments later, Dean heard the snap of the reins as the carriage began to trundle forward.

  ***

  Upper City was alive with activity, and Dean couldn’t help but gawk as they exited the carriage.

  “I thought to 9 o’clock curfew was enforced here,” he said, looking around at the vibrant life. The streets were teeming with well-dressed patrons. Restaurants and shops were still open, and lanterns of different colors ringed the streets. All in all, it seemed more like a busy weekend than a random evening.

  “No need to enforce a curfew if there’s such little crime.” Said Shae. “Adventurers live around here. I wouldn’t fancy trying to steal a bronze ranker's coin purse, would you?”

  Dean thought of the way Draken had plucked Matteo out of the air, slamming him on the ground as if he were a stuffed practice dummy.

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  “No,” he said firmly. “No, I would not.”

  He followed his friends down the street, moving sideways to avoid bumping into people. The scent of roasted meat hit him like a ton of bricks, and Dean felt his stomach growl.

  “What is that?” he asked, practically salivating. Finn glanced around and gave a devilish grin that showed off his canines.

  “That,” he said. “Is some of the best food in Haven. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been around the city and I love to eat. But in my search, I’ve never found anything quite like it.”

  He gestured towards a building up ahead, and Dean gaped. It was a corner restaurant with two stories and large stained glass windows that rose nearly twenty feet high. From within, the deep glow of lantern light seemed to shimmer off of them, casting colorful facets across the ground. There was a long and coiling line leading up to the front doors, which stood ajar.

  Dean raked his gaze over the intricate patterns of stained glass, and his eyes widened.

  “Is that the Goddess Vienna?”

  Finn glanced at him in surprise.

  “It is. What does a human know of the Goddess?”

  Dean shrugged.

  “I know she’s the Goddess of the moonlit hunt. That she and her brother Artor rule the heavens over the elven lands, from the great forest to the moonlight pools of Duerdin.”

  Finn opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a voice smoothly interrupted them. It was smooth, almost sultry, and when Dean turned, he was met by a pair of vibrant green eyes that seemed to pierce his very soul.

  “Well now, what is this Finnegan? A human who knows of the honored old ones? How very interesting indeed.”

  She was a night elf, her indigo skin melding into hues of lightest purpose. Her face was elegant, with high cheekbones and gently slanted eyes that studied Dean with an unworldly perception.”

  “Matron,” said Finn, bowing his head as the elven woman swooped down on him. Her dress, which left little to the imagination, swirled around her as she leaned in, kissing each of Finn’s cheeks. Shae and Ten exchanged greetings, to which the Matron responded with a polite nod. But when her eyes once again fell on him, he stepped forward and dipped his head.

  “Greetings, dark sister,” he said in elvish, pressing his fingers to his lips in reverence. “I was not aware that a priestess of the night resided in this city.”

  The formality of the language, as well as his own lack of practice, made the words somewhat halting, but the meaning was still clear. The elf gasped, and a look of pure delight spread across her elegant features.

  “It has been a long time since I’ve heard the mother tongue,” she said. “And from a human no less. Your words may be rough, but your meaning is clear. Come, any friends of Finn’s are welcome to eat in my establishment free of charge.”

  She swept a hand towards the doors beyond the line, bangles jingling.

  “Thank you, Nadia,” said Finn, kissing her hand as they passed. Dean was the last to follow, and he could practically feel the way the priestess's eyes lingered on him as he entered the building. Immediately, the aroma of roasted meat and spices redoubled, and his stomach rumbled.

  Inside the restaurant was bustling with activity. Dean and the others were led up the carpeted steps to a second floor with a balcony overlooking the main dining room. The light and atmosphere were vibrant, and Dean couldn’t help but relax as the soft violin music drifted from below. For the first time since the end of the war, he wasn’t on edge.

  “So,” said Dean, pushing back his cushioned seat. “Fairly popular restaurant by the looks of it, but you skip the line and get in for free?” he arched a brow. “What’s the deal with that?”

  Shae leaned forward, snatching her water glass from the table and taking a swig like it was Southern aged whiskey.

  “Oh no, don’t think you can distract us with questions. You want to explain what the hell that was? You speak bloody elvish? Did I miss something?”

  Dean tried to shrug it off.

  “I had a close friend who was an elven ranger. Surprising what you can pick up if you care to pay attention.”

  Neither Shae or Finnegan looked even remotely convinced.

  “And this friend, she was a lady, no?”

  Dean rubbed the back of his neck.

  “She was, yeah. But what does that have to do with..”

  He trailed off when Finn bared his canines in a devilish grin.

  “I knew it.” He said. “It was your elvish that gave it away. In our native tongue, inflection and precision are key. When speaking to a stranger or someone of station, formality is often expected. Your method of speaking, while precise and clean, is more, shall we say… familiar than most. That is why Nadia reacted the way she did. It would seem this “friend” that taught you spoke to you quite intimately.”

  Dean frowned in confusion, and Shae rolled her eyes.

  “He’s saying she liked you, genius. And probably quite a lot if culture was anything to go off of.”

  Instantly, he felt his cheeks heat.

  “It wasn’t like that,” he muttered, even as Ten barked a laugh. “We were just friends, that was all.”

  But memories played at the corners of his mind. Memories of Charlotte singing to him, of her intense eyes as she gazed at him. Of the way she said his name.

  Dean blinked, shaking his head.

  “And what about you and Nadia? She seems to like you, though that surprises me. I thought night elves and high elves didn’t always get along.”

  Finn grabbed some of the bread from the basket the server had brought and tore off a piece, offering the other to Dean.

  “Partly true,” he said. “But there can be some exceptions. My lineage is… complicated. Technically, my blood is high elf, but I have always felt an affinity to the Goddess Vienna. I first heard her voice when I was younger. Some say it’s a blessing and others…”

  “A curse.” Said Dean grimly. “I suppose your family wanted you to worship Artor.”

  Finn nodded solemnly.

  “The God of wine and bloodshed. Don’t get me wrong, I respect him. But I wouldn’t choose him to be my patron God. And if we’re honest, I doubt he’d choose me.”

  “I suppose we’ll find out when we manifest, won’t we?”

  Shae set down her glass with a bang and sighed.

  “Is it bad that I’m more nervous to manifest than I am to take the second exam? I’ve heard that once people drop into that meditative state, they don’t always come out of it. At that point, they either manifest and gain their class or they don’t. A terrifying thought, isn’t it? To be trapped in one's mind.”

  Charlotte had talked about it once, though, like all Adventurers, she was tight-lipped about the details. Manifesting was, if the texts were to be believed, a profoundly personal journey for each person. Getting in touch with one's soul, choosing your class, and awakening your power was no easy thing. And it was made all the harder if no patron answered your call.

  “I’ve heard that’s rare anyway,” said Finn. “Most who fail to manifest eventually come out of meditation, right?”

  Shae shrugged.

  “I’m not certain, and no Adventurer will answer our questions. I don’t know why the board insists on keeping the process so tight-lipped – especially when so much hangs in the balance for most of us.”

  She tightened her fists, and Dean felt a wave of sympathy.

  “How’s your family?” he asked gently. Shae gave a rare smile, the look transforming her face.

  “Better, believe it or not. I’ve been able to continue sending money to them, and my mother wrote me a few weeks ago to tell me the garden harvest went well this year. I worry about them still, of course. But at least I know there will be plenty of food.”

  “So you still haven’t heard back from your Guild?”

  The three exchanged a look.

  “No,” said Finn with a sigh. “But it's worse than that, from what we can tell. Our Guild holds its headquarters in a little town beyond the valley. By horse and cart, that’s maybe two days' ride?? Messages can take some time to get back and forth. At first, we assumed that there might have been some sort of delay. But recently, the usual caravans that carry our messages say they won’t venture out that way. There are… rumors.”

  Dean furrowed his brows.

  “Oh?”

  The half-elf nodded grimly.

  “I don’t know the extent of it, or how much is truth and how much is superstitious exaggeration. But there have been rumors of activity up in the hills beyond the valley. Some say it’s beasts, but others claim something different.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice as his face grew serious. “They say it might be goblins.”

  Dean’s blood ran cold.

  “Goblins?” he repeated, as his mind began to race. Finn nodded and leaned back in his seat with a sigh.

  “Regardless, it’s impossible to get more information right now. Many caravans or messengers won’t risk traveling back and forth. At least not right now. Can’t say I blame them if the rumors have any truth to them. At the very least, it would explain why we haven’t had contact with the Guild in over a month.”

  But Dean was hardly listening. His mind was tumbling down the path of memory – back to a time over seven years ago, before the war began. Goblins. That was how it had all started. The rumors had claimed that several nests had sprouted in nearby caves and gone unnoticed and unchecked. Goblins had a nasty habit of breeding quickly, and a small infestation could become dangerous within a matter of months if not properly dealt with. All that and more flooded his mind as he tried to remember.

  “You alright?”

  Dean glanced up, realizing the others were looking at him. He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, trying to set aside his worries.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Just… thinking about things. If the rumors have any truth to them, then it could mean trouble. One of the senior watchmen on the gate told me the other day that there has been a rise in attacks near and on the king’s road. I guess I’m just wondering now if the two are related.”

  Shae let out a breath, rubbing her face.

  “In the end, that’s why we need to succeed. It’s more important than ever that we earn our badges and get out there to join the fight. Guilds are underpaying new talent, and the risks mean fewer and fewer are willing to take on the responsibility of earning their badge. As usual, previous generations mucked it up, and it will be our job to fix it.”

  “I need a drink,” said Ten sullenly.

  “That I can get behind.”

  Dean waved over the server and ordered a round of elvish wine for the table. When he moved to pay, the server shook his head.

  “The lady has made it clear you are not to worry about the tab, sir.” He said earnestly. “She insists your food and drinks are on the house.”

  A bottle of aged wine was produced, and Dean couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows as the dark crimson liquid was poured into a glass and offered to him.

  “I feel like king,” said Ten enthusiastically, guzzling his wine like a heathen. Finn made a sound in his throat that sounded pained.

  “Elvish wine is meant to be savored, you dolt, slow down.”

  The wine itself was delicious. Harty, with notes of fruit and spices that reminded him of his time on the road. It was far fancier than the swill human soldiers usually fancied, but when they had passed close to the even lands, wine became more accessible.

  “It’s good,” he said, setting down the glass. “And probably more expensive than all of my gear combined.”

  “You should do something about that.” Shae pointed her fork at him as she dug into her roasted duck. “With the utmost respect, your gear is utter ass. The only reason you’ve survived this long is because you have a head on your shoulders. Where are you shopping anyway?”

  Dean shrugged.

  “I know a guy. I like him, he has good deals.”

  “A lower city shop?” Finn quirked a brow, and Dean reluctantly nodded.

  “The deals for gear may be good, but if you want the high-end stuff, you’d be better off shopping at a sanctioned Guild store. At the very least, you can visit an artificer and have the enchantment on that blade of yours appraised.”

  Dean lifted a chicken leg off his plate and snorted.

  “Guild-sanctioned stores are scams. Their regulations are just an accessory. An excuse to upcharge everyone and their grandmother to make a few extra coins.”

  “It's right,” said Ten. “Big scam. Very… how you say…thieving.”

  “Theft,” agreed Dean firmly, biting into his chicken leg. It was cooked perfectly, and he had to work to keep the spiced juices from running down his chin as he ate. It was the best food he’d had in a long time, and as his wine glass was refilled, he realized he was starting to enjoy himself.

  “Well, you’ll get no argument from me there,” conceded Finn. “But don’t let other trainees hear you say that. Guild sympathizers are a dime a dozen, and each one would rather keel over and die than admit there are flaws in the system.”

  “Is that why you’re an independent?”

  “Something like that. Part of it is that I don’t trust the Guilds. Most are profit-driven, and many are corrupt or unreliable. There are some that aren’t like that, but the truth is that I prefer to go it alone. It’s just.. in my nature, I guess.”

  He was about to take another bite when Finn made a noise in his throat.

  “Well, it was only a matter of time,” he muttered, pointing down at the main dining floor. Past the packed tables, Dean could see several parties entering through the main door. Several he recognized as Trainees, but the others were unmistakable. Ryu and his party were being led towards the stairs by a simpering server. They were dressed in fine clothes, Ryu himself in bright colors with a crimson sash draped over his shoulder. Behind him trailed a group of sycophants.

  “That asshole?” grumbled Shae, rolling her eyes. “We’re going to need more wine.”

  But Dean wasn’t looking at Ryu. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the party behind him. One of which was painfully familiar. He wasn’t wearing the polished armor or golden cloak that he had been when they had last seen each other, but the square jaw and grey beard were undeniable.

  “Shit,” muttered Dean as the watchmen who had tried to subdue him with the stun baton led a woman and another man into a small booth by the stained-glass windows. Finn followed his gaze and frowned.

  “Since when do city watch make enough to dine in high-end establishments?”

  “You can tell he’s Watch?”

  Finn nodded.

  “Your guards all have the same mannerisms. Stiff, alert, and sure of themselves.”

  His lips twisted in distaste.

  “I mean no offense, but the Watch in Haven is far from reliable. In my experience, they are more often than not lazy, corrupt, or some combination of the two.”

  “I wish I could say you’re wrong,” said Shae as she refilled each of their glasses. “But that’s the way it goes with big cities in the empire. I’ve heard the Divine City itself is infinitely worse.”

  “Had a bad run in with the law?” asked Finn, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he took a hearty swig of wine.

  “You could say that.”

  And Dean told them the story of his encounter with the Watch while they ate.

  “No,” said Finn. The half-elf shook his head in disbelief. “You’re telling me that the academy went through all that trouble to exclude you from the exams just because you pissed off a magistrate?”

  “Not a magistrate,” said Shae. “The magistrate. Counselor Vawn is the head of acquisitions and student oversight. In other words, he runs the academy and all its Adventuerer programs.”

  She shook her head, amused.

  “I don’t know how you manage to piss off important people the way you do, but you certainly have a talent for it.”

  “It was totally unintentional,” said Dean. And he was only half lying.

  When it seemed like the Watchmen wouldn’t be an issue, Dean relaxed back into his seat and enjoyed the atmosphere. Ryu and his group weren’t the only ones to arrive. Tables in the upper dining area were filled with trainees and their family members, many of whom Dean was starting to recognize. Each course brought to them was better than the last, and with his wine glass always full, he was beginning to feel a pleasant buzz.

  “Okay,” said Ten unexpectedly, slapping the table with a hand and making the plates rattle. “We have tried your,” he hiccuped and then continued. “Elf wine. Now we must be sampling something better.”

  He turned to the server, muttering a series of words Dean didn’t recognize. The man seemed to know what he meant as he bowed his head and retreated into the back of the establishment. Moments later, he returned carrying a strange circular glass bottle with a wax and cork stopper.

  “What in the Gods’ name is that?” slurred Finn as the bottle was placed on the table before them.

  “This is Karoka,” said the server, producing a series of small glasses which he set before them with a flourish. “Vintage spirits from the tribes of the north, distilled and cooled in the mountain springs and aged for six years. Consider it a gift from your host,” he gestured, and Dean looked up long enough to see Nadia turn from her conversation with a wealthy patron to look at them. Slowly, she nodded her head, and Dean returned her nod.

  “Ah,” said Ten excitedly. “Much thanks for your lady. This is delicacy from my home. Very bright.”

  “Bright?” Dean’s brain was moving too slowly to keep up with the monks' broken common.

  “Bright bright,” said the monk impatiently. “Very power. Very out loud. Yes?”

  Dean laughed.

  “You mean potent? As in strong?”

  Ten grunted in affirmation as he pried off the cork with one of the fine dining knives. Moments later there was a pop, and Shae ducked as the cork whizzed over her head into empty air.

  “Oops.”

  Finn chuckled, only to make a face moments later when the smell of the distilled alcohol hit him.

  “Sweet mother of night,” he said, waving a hand in front of his nose. “Are we trying to disinfect wounds or drink? What is in that stuff?”

  “Is good, you see.” One by one, Ten leaned over and poured the clear liquid into the small glasses. Dean wondered if he’d imagined the soft blue hue that seemed to emanate from the stuff.

  Carefully, he raised the glass to his nose and sniffed. The scent was powerful alright, the type of sterile smell one might expect from a healer’s hut. But Ten seemed confident as he positioned his glass in his hand.

  “Okay,” said Finn dubiously. “If we’re going to do this, then we’re going to do it all at once. No hesitation. I count to three, and it’s bottoms up.”

  Shae grabbed her glass, shaking her head.

  “I already know I’m going to regret this. Dean, you in?”

  Dean wrapped his fingers around his own glass. Surprisingly, it was warm to the touch. He had drunk his share of dubious swill in his time as a soldier. How bad could it really be?”

  “Alright,” said Finn. The half-elf held out a hand for dramatic effect.

  “One,” he folded back a finger. Dean readied himself.

  “Two,” another finger dropped. Dean took in a deep breath, rolling his neck from side to side.

  “Three.”

  He dumped the liquid into his mouth and swallowed, bracing himself for the burn he expected to come. A moment passed as the others did the same. Then they all stared at one another.

  “Well,” said Finn. “That wasn’t so-“

  The burn hit them like a physical blow. It started as a warmth blooming in Dean’s stomach. Then it seemed to ignite, spreading through his body like wildfire. Finn coughed, slapping a fist to his chest as it hit him.

  Dean’s eyes were watering.

  “Good lord,” he wheezed, as the heat in his stomach seemed to redouble in strength. “What the hell was that?”

  “You see?” said Ten, his grin unhinged. “Burn bright. Strong, like you say. Put hair on your chest, no?”

  “Don’t think I’m going to have any hair left,” coughed Finn, shaking his head. Dean couldn’t help it; he laughed. The sound burst out of him, made worse by the pause in the music downstairs as the musicians shuffled their instruments.

  His outburst had the unfortunate side effect of causing his party to do the same. Finn snorted, and a bit of liquid flew out of his nose onto the table. Shae dramatically recoiled, and this only made Dean laugh harder.

  “Another?” asked Ten, brandishing the bottle.

  Dean grinned.

  “Only one, but I have a condition.”

  He pointed at Finn, whose face was hard to make out for some odd reason.

  “He has to take two.”

  “You bastard, you're on.”

  “You two are morons.”

  Shae rolled her eyes as Finn seized her glass, and ushered Ten to fill them both to the brim. Dean allowed his own to be filled as he once again prepared himself to take the drink.

  This time, when Finn held up a hand, his fingers wobbled.

  “Two,” he slurred.

  “I think you’re supposed to start with one,” said Dean.

  “One,” continued the half-elf, unperturbed.

  “Three.”

  This time, Dean was prepared for the delayed effect. Once again, the drink went down smooth, a taste of liquor and citrus fading on his tongue as fast as it had come. Then, almost half a minute later, the warmth hit him once more.

  “Oh,” said Finn, clutching at the edge of the table. “I think I overdid it. Gods above, I’m gonna be sick.”

  He lurched to his feet, nearly falling over before managing to regain his balance. Shae shook her head as he tottered down the stairs and into the back alleyway.

  “By now, he should know his tolerance. Elves don’t handle liquor well; it’s why they drink spiced wine. He’s going to regret everything in the morning, I can tell you that.”

  Ten seemed to find the entire thing hilarious.

  “Very good, very good,” he said as the door downstairs slammed shut behind Finn.

  “Another?”

  But Dean’s head was already spinning with drink. He waved a hand, trying to focus on breathing through his nose while his stomach settled.

  “Better not. I have to get up early to train tomorrow.”

  “Training, training, always with the training,” mimicked Ten, flapping his hand like a mouth talking. “No fun, too much serious.”

  “That’s funny coming from you. I’m pretty sure you’re at least two drinks behind Finn at this point.”

  The monk narrowed his eyes, saying something in his own language that sounded a lot like a swear. Then he shrugged and poured himself a glass, and took a swig. Dean reached for the bread and tore himself another piece, knowing he needed something in his stomach to counteract the liquor.

  Could do with some water, too.

  Shae kept looking at the stairs, her frown deepening.

  “Finn should have returned by now. What did he do, fall over while trying to take a piss?”

  “Sounds like him.” Dean sighed and rose to his feet. “I’ll check on..” he blinked as his vision began to sway. “him…” he finished. He pushed away from the table, shaking his head like a dog until the feeling passed. Downstairs, the music and sound of voices seemed to meld together into one loud cacophony. Faces blurred around him as he moved for the door. Had the drink really been that strong?

  Remind me never to take more than one glass of this stuff.

  Past the kitchen, the side door stood on its own party ajar, and Dean moved towards it. The second he stepped from the building, he felt the welcoming rush of cool night air. A breeze was drifting in from the river, and Dean closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the gentle scent of cool and salt. It smelled like home, something he’d missed all those years ago.

  When he opened them again, he was faced with an empty alleyway. The stone bricks were lined with moss from the spray of the canal. A few empty warehouse crates stood stacked over one another, cutting off the blazing light of the restaurant. Dean peered into the darkness beyond them, looking for any sign of movement.

  “Finn?’ he called into the empty air. There was no response. Dean took a step forward, then another. His mind was still fuzzy, but the night air seemed to be helping. From beyond the crates, Dean saw something. It was barely a flicker, a subtle shifting of shadows.

  “Finn?” Dean called again. But this time his voice held a note of uncertainty. If Finn was out here, wouldn’t he have responded? Unless he’d passed out. Or worse, he could have fallen into the canal. Dean suppressed that thought even before it could fully take hold.

  The low brick wall of the canal was nearly four feet high. Falling into it by drunken mistake was unlikely, even for someone as tall as Finn. Still, there was something there at the end of the alley; he was certain of it. Dean stepped forward once again, squinting to make out the movement from before.

  “If you’re playing a joke, it’s a piss poor one.” He muttered, rubbing at his eyes. It was then that he saw it. A flicker from within the shadows, small but unmistakable. Eyes…. And they were glowing a deep orange-red.

  “What the-“

  Goosebumps erupted down his arms at the sight as the unmistakable memories flooded him. Orange light… glowing and flickering like molten flame. There was only one thing that he knew that made that glow. At the same time, his mana sense flared, warning him of danger. Demons.

  But it couldn’t be… not here, not now. He reached for his inventory, intending to draw his sword. But before he could, the sound of footsteps alerted him to the presence of another.

  “There you are, rat,” said a gruff voice behind him.