Zay took another sip, the taste of the Stormtide Stout burning slightly less this time, though it still hit deep. He kept quiet, letting the silence simmer between them, until he glanced over at the man beside him.
"What do you want from me?" Zay asked, voice low, almost tired.
Zakariah leaned back in his seat, resting one arm lazily on the backrest. "You look like you can handle yourself," he said with a small grin. "I'm putting together a little venture. Me and a few others started a guild—'Fox Style.' We're not official yet, but we've got plans. Big ones."
He chuckled, then leaned forward, both elbows on the table. "And I want you to come with us. Temporary or not, I could use someone like you."
Zay turned his eyes on him, quiet again, watching as Zakariah smiled. Warm. Friendly. Too warm. Too damn friendly. It was the kind of smile meant to disarm people. To hide something.
He didn't respond right away, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
'That smile… I've seen it before. Men who use it always want something they're not saying. A salesman's charm with a thief's patience.'
He downed the rest of his drink, the glass landing on the table with a quiet thunk. Then he looked at Zakariah and asked, "And if I say no?"
Zakariah only smiled wider.
Zakariah's grin didn't falter. If anything, it grew more amused, like he'd been waiting for that question.
"Well," he said, swirling his untouched drink, "then you say no. Simple as that."
Zay raised an eyebrow. He didn't believe that for a second.
"But," Zakariah went on, tone casual, "something tells me you won't. You've got that look in your eye—the kind of man who's done too much time truly walking alone. Guilds are messy, sure. But there's strength in numbers. And you? You look like someone who's been surviving more than living."
Zay didn't react. Not outwardly. But something flickered in his gaze.
Zakariah leaned forward, voice softer now, just enough to make Zay actually listen more closely.
"We don't do politics. We don't answer to lords or empires. Just our own code. You join Fox Style, and no one tells you who to be. All I ask is that when the time comes—you stand with us."
Zay stared at him a long moment. The tavern noise faded into the background—the laughter, the clinking glasses, the occasional creak of wood. Outside, the rain had started to fall heavier, tapping against the windows in a soft rhythm.
Then Zay spoke, voice like steel behind fog.
"Why me?"
Zakariah shrugged. "Because power draws power. And you walked in here like someone who's trying real hard to disappear for some reason... but I found you.
Zay's fingers tightened slightly on the rim of the glass.
"And what if I am trying to disappear?" he muttered.
"Then don't join," Zakariah said, standing up slowly. "But disappear somewhere... more interesting than into a tavern in Ruvy. Just a thought, though."
He gave Zay one last glance—still smiling, still too warm—and slipped a small silver coin-shaped emblem from his robe, sliding it across the table. It bore a fox curled in a spiral, etched in red.
"If you change your mind, meet us in three days. Northwest pass, near the ruins of Elwyn Hollow. Bring whatever you care about. Or bring nothing at all."
And with that, Zakariah walked off, blending into the tavern crowd like he'd never been there.
Zay sat in silence, staring at the emblem. The rain outside drummed louder.
The Liora walked back over, tray in hand as she checked on Zay with that same serene presence.
"Would you like something to eat?" she asked softly.
Zay glanced down at the silver-etched coin Zakariah had given him, the strange shimmer across its surface still bothering him. He slid it into his coat, then looked up at her and gave a small nod.
"What's some options?"
Her silver eyes brightened a little, and she tilted her head thoughtfully before listing them off with a warm smile:
"Well… we've got a few things I personally like."
"First—Riverlight Stew. It's made from slow-cooked whitefish caught from the glowing ponds east of Ruvy, mixed with root vegetables and sweet plum broth. A local favorite."
"Second—Spiced Bramble Roast. Thick slices of roast meat marinated in crushed brambleberries, seared over open flame. It's a bit sharp and sweet at the same time."
"Third—Mistleaf Wraps. They're light, stuffed with a mix of rice, herbs, smoked mushroom, and honey-glazed nuts. Good if you don't want to feel heavy."
"And lastly—Blackstone Skillet Bread with molten cheese and sun-dried tomatoes. Baked fresh with spiced oils drizzled on top. Goes well with strong drinks."
She gave a gentle shrug. "I'd eat any of them tonight, if that helps."
Zay listened in silence, eyes briefly closing as he took in the names. He opened them again and met her gaze with a small nod.
"Riverlight Stew," he said simply. "And another Stormtide."
The Liora smiled—something quiet and genuine this time. "Good choice," she said, before giving a slight bow of her head. "I'll bring it out in a few."
She turned and moved with that same effortless grace, her soft jade hair trailing behind her like liquid silk, catching the low tavern lights as she weaved between tables.
Zay leaned back in his seat, letting the burn of the stout settle in his chest again, and kept his eyes on the coin inside his coat for a long moment. Debating with himself on rather to go, or to not go.
the Liora returned after ten minutes with Zay's meal and drink, her warm smile never wavering as she placed them on the table in front of him. She gave a polite nod before walking away, her steps light and graceful as she moved back toward the bar.
Zay didn't waste any time. He immediately began eating the Riverlight Stew, the warm broth soothing against the cold air that had started to creep into the tavern. The flavor was rich, with delicate herbs and tender pieces of fish, and he washed it down with a deep gulp of Stormtide.
As he ate and drank, his sharp eyes couldn't help but notice the group across the room—the members of Fox Style. Their gaze was fixed on him, some with intrigue, others with barely concealed smiles. It was hard to miss the way they watched him, sizing him up as if he were some kind of puzzle piece.
Zay couldn't be bothered. He focused on his food and drink, savoring the taste as he ignored the stares, only half-conscious of their presence. He knew that if they wanted to approach him, again, they would eventually.
For now, the warmth of the stew and the heavy kick of the Stormtide were more than enough to keep his attention.
He took another sip, then set the glass down with a soft clink. His gaze shifted briefly back to the guild members, then away, feeling a sort of tension build between him and the group. It was clear they had something in mind.
He smirked to himself and leaned back, letting the heat of the stew seep into his bones.
—
Renzo finally got up from sitting on the grass near the pond and walked away. After a few minutes of aimless wandering, he stumbled upon a motel tucked away in a dark alley. He approached the door, and as he opened it, the creaking sound made it feel as though the hinges might snap off.
Inside, he was met with the sight of a massive, muscular man—around eight feet tall—with the body of a horse. His skin was thick and taut, and his eyes were large, pink, and the man was completely hairless. He shouted every word as if trying to make sure no one in the city could possibly miss his presence.
"WELCOME TO THE SEVENTY SHADES!" The man boomed, his hooves pounding the ground with every step.
Renzo swallowed hard, instantly regretting his decision to enter but feeling it would be rude to turn and leave immediately.
"I'll take a room for the night," he muttered, trying to keep his voice steady.
The horse-man stared at him for five long seconds, not blinking, not moving. Finally, with a grunt, he reached for a key on the counter. He grabbed it so tightly that his knuckles turned white before slamming it down onto the stone table with a force that echoed through the room.
"THERE IS YOUR KEY! YOUR ROOM IS C3 ON THE SECOND FLOOR!" he shouted, his expression now twisted into something that could only be described as angry or—perhaps—just permanently displeased.
Renzo couldn't help but stare back at him, his gaze darting between the key and the towering figure in front of him. The horse-man's eyes never left him as Renzo took the key, the heavy stare following him all the way to the counter.
Renzo quickly turned toward the stairs, the weight of the man's eyes still on his back. The wood beneath his boots creaked with every step, and for a moment, he wondered if the entire building might collapse under its own weight. The narrow hallway on the second floor was dim, the flickering lanterns casting long, eerie shadows on the walls.
Room C3. He tried to ignore the uneasy feeling settling in his chest as he approached the door and slid the key into the lock. To his surprise, it opened easily, and the room beyond was a small, bare affair. A single bed with lumpy sheets, a cracked mirror, and a window that looked out to nothing but brick walls and more alleyways.
Renzo stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He threw his coat onto the bed and collapsed next to it, staring up at the cracked ceiling, listening to the distant sounds of hooves and shouting below.
With a sigh, he rubbed his face. "What the hell did I get myself into?"
The sound of muffled conversation drifted up through the thin walls, and Renzo tried to push his thoughts away. He needed sleep. He needed a plan. He had no idea what the next day would bring, but it was better than dealing with that man downstairs.
Renzo pulled the blanket over himself, despite its musty smell, and closed his eyes.