The tavern was on the main street of Derys, a five‑minute walk from the academy. "The Tired Warrior" – the name hung from a wooden sign, next to a cracked sword and a dented shield. The owner was a quiet man with a stained apron and deep circles under his eyes, who served food without asking for names. The door creaked every time someone came in.
It was night when I arrived. The moon was shining, round, pale. The wind blew cold, carrying the smell of salt and dried fish from the nets hanging on the balconies. I pulled my coat tighter and pushed the door.
Inside, the smell of roast meat and old wood. A few tables occupied by merchants and passing soldiers – they spoke in low voices, as if afraid the walls might hear. In the corner, a lit fireplace. The flames danced, slow, lazy. And Zirinos, sitting alone at a table against the wall, already had a jug of wine in front of him. His hair shone even in the half‑darkness – half gold, half blood. His eyes lifted when he saw me. He didn't smile. He just nodded toward the empty bench.
"I thought you wouldn't come."
"I thought I wouldn't come either." I sat down. The wood creaked. My hands were damp; I wiped them on my trousers. "What's there to eat?"
"Wild boar meat. Bread. Cheese. And wine, if you want."
"I don't drink wine."
"Then you drink water."
I called the owner. I asked for water and the same food as Zirinos. The man nodded, wordless, and disappeared into the kitchen.
The silence between us was heavy, but not uncomfortable. Zirinos wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the fire. The flames reflected in his eyes, danced like the shadows on the wall.
"You're strange, Ethan," he said after a few seconds.
"You too."
"I know." He picked up his wine cup and took a sip. The dark liquid gleamed in the firelight. "We're all strange here. Slaves, chosen ones, nobles' children… all of us lost, looking for something."
"What are you looking for?"
He didn't answer right away. The food arrived. The owner served two steaming plates, two loaves of bread, a piece of cheese. Zirinos tore the bread with his hands, his long, cold fingers.
"Power," he said at last. "I'm looking for power."
"Why?"
"So I won't be a slave again." His eyes fixed on mine. There was something in them I couldn't name. Weariness? Fear? Hunger? "And you?"
"I don't know." I bit into the meat. It was good, tender, melting on my tongue. "Maybe to be strong. To prove I deserve to be chosen."
"Deserving doesn't matter." Zirinos cut the boar with his knife. The gesture was precise, surgical. "What matters is having. The gods don't choose the deserving. They choose those who are useful to them."
"Then why did Macano choose me?"
"Because he saw something in you that you haven't seen yet." He ate. Chewed slowly. His jaw tightened, relaxed, tightened again. "Or because he had no one else."
Silence returned. The fireplace crackled. A spark jumped out, fell into the ashes, died.
We ate.
---
After the meal, Zirinos asked for more wine. I drank water. The owner brought a bowl of nuts and raisins for free and set it on the table without a word.
"We need to train together," he said unexpectedly.
"Train?"
"The arts of war. Mára Ferão hates you. She won't teach you anything. I can help."
"Why would you want to help me?"
"Because we need allies." He tossed a nut into his mouth, cracked it with his teeth. "The war against Trussum will reach the academy. And when it does, we'll die if we're alone."
"You don't seem afraid of anything."
"I am." Zirinos raised his cup and looked at the dark liquid against the firelight. "I'm afraid of what I'm capable of. And afraid of what others can do to the people I care about."
"Do you care about anyone?"
He hesitated. For a second, I saw something in his eyes – a crack, a flaw in the armour of coldness. His hand tightened on the cup.
"Mira," he replied. "The little girl trusts me. If something happens to her…"
He didn't finish. He didn't need to.
The ashes in the fireplace crackled. A spark flew out and died on the stone floor.
'He's pretending', I thought. 'Or maybe not. Maybe he's telling the truth.'
"I'll train with you," I said. "But I don't want favours. I want to learn to defend myself. And to kill, if I have to."
"You will kill, Ethan. Sooner or later." He drank the wine in one gulp. The cup was empty. "The question is whether you'll be able to live with it afterward."
---
We left the tavern when the moon was already high.
The streets of Derys were empty. The wind had stopped. The silence was almost total – only our footsteps on the damp pavement. Zirinos walked beside me, his hands in his pockets, his hair shining even without light.
"What did you think of me when you first saw me?" I asked.
"I thought you were weak. And naive." He glanced sideways at me. "I still think so."
"Thanks."
"That wasn't a compliment. It was an observation." He stopped. His boots scraped the ground. "You don't know how to lie, Ethan. You don't know how to dissemble. You don't know how to hide what you feel. That will kill you."
"Maybe." I stopped too. I looked at the stars. They were all in place, as if nothing could dislodge them. "But at least I'll know it was me."
Zirinos almost smiled. A quick movement, a corner of his mouth rising and falling.
"You're stubborn. I like that."
We walked the rest of the way in silence. The academy gates were closed, but a familiar guard let us in with a nod.
In the room, already dark, the other boys were asleep. Their snores filled the space. I sat on the bed, still wearing my boots. My hand reached for the vial of Dessus‑rarir under the mattress. Still there. Still full.
I chewed a raisin I had brought from the tavern. Sweet. Sticky.
I thought about Zirinos. The crack I had seen in his eyes. The girl Mira. The fear he said he felt.
'Is it true?' I thought. 'Or is it just another mask?'
I lay down. The mattress creaked. I gripped the vial in my hand, then put it away.
'I'll train with him. I'll learn. And I'll find out what he really wants.'
I blew out the candle.
The room went dark.
Outside, the moon shone.