The journey back to Sandpoint felt lighter than the one out, though not in the literal sense. The bundle of weapons still dragged at my shoulders, but the weight of diplomacy, of tension and uncertainty, had lifted somewhat. We'd gotten what we came for: information, and perhaps something that might someday resemble an alliance. I spent much of the walk in quiet thought, turning over Gutwad's words in my mind.

A longshanks woman. Not truly human. Fire in her eyes. Old things awakening.

She'd begun with the Thistletop tribe. That, at least, gave us a place to look.

By the time the familiar rooftops of Sandpoint came into view, the ache behind my eyes had returned. The talk with Gutwad had confirmed my worst suspicions, but nothing about it had clarified the bigger picture.

We met with Mayor Deverin soon after arriving. The town bustled around us, people going about their lives, unaware of just how close their quiet days had come to burning down around them.

I laid out everything as plainly as I could:

The Birdcrunchers would stay out of the war.

In exchange, they wanted the Licktoads' lands.

And most chillingly, a longshanks woman with fire in her eyes had united the tribes with promises of power and ruin.

Mayor Deverin absorbed the news with her usual calm, though the creases at the corners of her mouth deepened as I spoke. "This… is troubling," she said, fingers steepled. "If someone like that is behind it all, we’re not just dealing with goblins anymore."

She approved the deal with the Birdcrunchers without hesitation. “Keeping one tribe out of the fight is better than having them in it,” she said. "If we can turn them into true allies, so much the better."

Lucian leaned against a chair, watching me with a glint of mischief in his eyes. "So, cousin… are we about to poke the hornet’s nest at Thistletop?"

I rubbed my temples, the headache blooming behind my eyes. "I have some ideas who this woman might be, but no real proof. Even if I'm right, I still don’t understand why she wants to burn the town and enthrone goblins."

I shook my head. "I don't think we should stir up the nest yet. If we provoke them too soon, and they attack before we're ready..."

I looked to Shalelu. "Scouting. Quiet observation. If they start preparing for war, we get warning. But we hold until Hemlock gets back with reinforcements. At least, that’s my thought."

She nodded. "You're thinking like a tactician, and that's good. If we strike early and fail, they’ll come back meaner and in greater numbers. Scouts are smart. I can set some up near Thistletop myself."

Mayor Deverin approved. "I don’t like waiting, but I like being caught off guard even less."

Lucian smirked. "So what do you do when you’re not negotiating with goblins or plotting to save towns, cousin?"

I smiled faintly. "Well, I did spend years learning siegecraft. Thought I might build fortresses someday, but it seems I’ll be helping reinforce them instead."

He groaned. "You always did like homework."

Mayor Deverin perked up. "Engineering? We could use your mind. Our defenses weren’t built for war."

She unfurled a rough map of Sandpoint, pointing to the most vulnerable locations—the North Gate, the South Road, the Sandpoint Bridge.

I leaned in, eyes scanning the layout. It wasn’t a fortress. But maybe, just maybe, we could turn it into one.

Lucian nudged me with his elbow, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Well, cousin, time to see if all those books you read actually amount to something."

"Not all that much of a surprise, really," I said, turning to Mayor Deverin. "I'm noble-born. It's expected that I learn how to conduct warfare. The swordplay didn’t quite take, but the engineering—that I found fascinating."

We stood around the war table in the town hall, a rough map of Sandpoint spread across its surface. My eyes were already picking out the natural choke points and potential weaknesses.

"The bridges over the Turandarok River to the east and south are natural bottlenecks," I continued. "I doubt the goblins are fond of water. Shalelu, would I be correct in that?"

She nodded. "They avoid rivers whenever possible. Poor swimmers. Even worse when weighed down with gear."

I tapped the north edge of the map. "Our real vulnerability is the North Gate. Too many trees too close to the wall. Archers won’t have clear fields of fire. First thing we do is clear them out. Then we dig a trench along the north wall—a proper obstacle. If we have enough time, we deepen and widen it until it connects the Turandarok to the ocean. That’ll turn Sandpoint into a defensible island. And I can’t see three-and-a-half-foot-tall goblins with no patience and no siege engines doing well in a siege."

Mayor Deverin leaned in, studying the area I indicated. "A moat," she mused. "It’s ambitious. But if we start now, we might have something workable by the time the fighting starts. I’ll get the town builders on it."

Shalelu traced a finger along the trench path. "Add wooden spikes at the bottom. That’ll make it even more dangerous for them. And we should reinforce the southern bridges. If they attack from there, they might try to burn their way through."

"Better still," I added, "let’s rig the bridges. If they try to storm across, we drop them into the river. We can rebuild later."

The mayor gave me a sidelong glance. "Drastic. But if we’re desperate, it might save the town."

Lucian gave me a mock salute. "Sandpoint’s chief war planner, everyone."

I grinned and rolled my shoulders, suddenly feeling the weight of the day settle into my spine. "Well, if I’m chief anything, I’m calling for dinner. Negotiating with goblins takes it out of a man."

I looked to the mayor and Shalelu. "You two want to join us at The Rusty Dragon? My treat. Gods know I haven’t had a proper meal all day."

Mayor Deverin smiled tiredly. "I won’t argue with that."

Shalelu smirked. "If it comes with ale, I’m in."

We left the war table behind us and stepped out into the cool Varisian evening, one step closer to ready.

The Rusty Dragon was a haven of warmth and clattering plates when we returned, our boots dusted with Devil's Platter grit and our limbs heavy with the weight of the day. Ameiko arched an eyebrow at the company I brought—Mayor Deverin and Shalelu in tow—but only smirked before setting a table.

"Well, well," Ameiko grinned. "Back from parleying with goblins, are we? How’d our new friends take to diplomacy?"

"Not badly," I replied, dropping into the chair beside him. "They didn’t kill us. That counts as a win."

Dinner was hot and welcome—spiced fish, warm bread, and the kind of quiet that only comes when everyone is too tired to speak. I allowed myself a few long moments to simply breathe.

But rest was only temporary.

In the days that followed, Sandpoint became a town transformed.

Trees near the North Gate were cleared in long, sweeping arcs, giving our archers commanding lines of sight. The beginnings of a trench took shape just beyond the wall—a gash of churned dirt, lined with stakes and angled slopes. It was far from a true moat, but it was a start. If the goblins came from the north, they’d find less welcome than they’d hoped.

I worked side by side with builders and carpenters, sketching diagrams for collapsing bridges, overseeing crews as they hollowed key support beams and placed hidden ropes and pins. With luck, no one would ever need to pull those triggers—but if they did, the river would claim more than just fish.

Shalelu came and went, always quiet, always watching. Her scouts kept steady eyes on Thistletop, but there were no signs of movement. Not yet.

Brodert Quink continued his study of the ruins beneath the cathedral, but the stones kept their secrets close.

The town guard trained daily under Hemlock’s second, and even the farmers were beginning to look like soldiers.

In the still hours of morning and night, I sat in my study with ink-stained fingers and an aching back, scribing new scrolls—four more Summon Monster I spells, added to my collection like coins to a coffer. Magic might be the edge we needed when things turned. And they would turn.

For now, Sandpoint braced itself, balanced on the edge of peace. But we all knew the storm was coming.

The shouting started near the North Gate just as I was finishing breakfast. I’d only lifted my cup halfway to my lips when I heard it—raised voices, the hurried stomp of boots. Lucian was already leaning back in his chair, grinning as if he'd been expecting this very moment.

"That sounds like news," he said, setting his drink aside.

I stood, grabbing my staff. "Let’s go see what sort. Hopefully it’s good."

The morning sun threw long shadows across the packed earth road as we arrived at the gate. A half-dozen riders had come in from the Lost Coast Road, their mounts lathered and eyes wary. At their head rode Sheriff Belor Hemlock, cloak snapping in the breeze. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept in days.

His eyes found mine, and he didn’t waste time with pleasantries. "We need to speak. Now."

Minutes later, we were gathered again—myself, Lucian, Shalelu, and Mayor Deverin—inside the garrison’s meeting room. Hemlock stood at the head of the table, his weathered hands braced against the wood.

"Magnimar’s sending help," he said. "But not much. A dozen mercenaries. And more only if we prove this threat is real."

The room went quiet. I could feel the disappointment ripple through us.

"That’s not the worst of it," he added.

Shalelu stepped in then, arms crossed, voice grim. "While the Sheriff was gone, my scouts picked up movement at Thistletop. Big movement. Goblins are gathering in numbers we’ve never seen. They’re preparing. Whatever’s coming—it’s soon."

Lucian gave me a look across the table. "So, cousin… do we wait for them to come, or do we take the fight to them?"

I turned to Shalelu and Hemlock. "You’re the leaders here. I serve at your pleasure. My opinion? We harass them. Slow them down. Get the outlying farmers into town. But I’ll go where you tell me."

Hemlock nodded slowly. "You’re right. We don’t have the numbers for a head-on fight, but we can stall them. Disrupt their plans."

"We’ll put out the call to evacuate the farms," Mayor Deverin said. "Everyone to the safety of the walls."

Shalelu stepped closer to the map on the wall. "We’ll need a small, fast-moving team. Me, you, Lucian. Just enough to strike hard and vanish before they can rally."

Hemlock’s eyes found mine again. "This isn’t a battle to win. It’s a mission to delay."

Lucian clapped me on the shoulder, smirking. "I do love a good raid. Shall we make some goblins miserable?"

I turned to Shalelu. "I’m in. But let’s bring Sister Thelenda. A healer on the move could make the difference."

Shalelu nodded. "Agreed. I’ll get the horses. Mayor, can you send someone for her?"

"Already done," Mayor Deverin said.

The plan was set: strike hard, disrupt their momentum, and retreat before they could retaliate. We were buying Sandpoint time—just enough, we hoped—for the town to be ready when the storm finally broke.

As we saddled up for the ride east, the urgency of the mission hung like a sharp edge over everything. Horses were provided, though Thelenda looked profoundly uncomfortable atop hers. Lucian, of course, seemed entirely at ease, flashing a roguish grin as he adjusted his gloves. Shalelu took the lead, calm and alert, eyes always on the horizon.

"Well, cousin?" Lucian asked, his voice light but his eyes sharp. "What’s our opening move?"

I leaned forward in the saddle, thinking aloud. "Goblins are generally undisciplined and easily distracted, right?" I glanced at Shalelu, who gave a tight nod. "In that case, let’s give them something else to pay attention to. We hit them, make it look like a feint, then run—but in the wrong direction. Away from Sandpoint."

Lucian grinned. "Get them chasing us away from the town. I like it."

"Even better," I added, "if we can lead one tribe into another, let them confuse and fight each other."

Shalelu smirked and gave a satisfied nod. "That can work. There’s a small Seven Tooth warband near the old logging road. Mosswood goblins are a little farther east. If we hit the Seven Tooth and drag them toward the Mosswood group, chaos will follow."

Thelenda raised an eyebrow. "Let’s not drag them too far, please. I can patch wounds, not resurrect the foolish."

With the plan in place, we rode quickly under the golden haze of late afternoon. The trees grew thick around us, and the path narrowed into uneven forest trail.

Shalelu raised her hand to halt us. Ahead, nestled in a clearing between brush and fallen logs, was a loose knot of goblins. A dozen, maybe more, laughing and shoving each other as they picked through looted junk. Their goblin dogs growled and sniffed at the air.

Shalelu whispered, "There’s our target."

Lucian loosened his rapier and shot me a look. "Your show, cousin. How do you want to start the chaos?"

Before the chaos began, I cast Mage Armor on myself with a whispered, "Vetrahl isskandr," the familiar weave of arcane force shimmering across my skin before fading from sight. Then I turned to the others, urgency in my voice. "Lucian, take your horse over there, strike the goblins on the edge quickly, and then retreat as quickly as you can this way. Shalelu, be prepared to fire arrows into the goblins as soon as Lucian makes contact. Thelenda, if you have any spells that would help, do whatever seems best to you. I'm going to hit the goblins with a Sleep spell as soon as Lucian leads them close enough. Everyone clear?"

Lucian nodded once, that familiar fire in his eyes. “Clear as crystal, cousin. Let’s make some noise.”

He urged his horse into motion, a quiet canter carrying him through the trees until he reached the outskirts of the goblin encampment. The warband, a dozen or so goblins clustered around a pathetic fire, was too busy bickering over a charred rabbit and smashing each other with sticks to notice what was coming.

Steel flashed.

Lucian's rapier struck clean, a goblin shrieked, and suddenly the forest exploded with high-pitched yowling.

"YAAAGH! LONGSHANKS!"

The camp burst into chaos. Goblins scrambled for weapons, half of them tripping over their own flea-bitten dogs. Lucian wheeled his mount and galloped back, a snarling pack of goblins at his heels.

Shalelu loosed two arrows in the span of a breath. One goblin collapsed mid-charge, the other wailed and spun sideways into a bush.

I focused.

Arcane syllables formed on my tongue. "Somnari veyeth xal!" I raised my hand and unleashed the spell as the goblins barreled into range.

The magic hit them like an invisible wave.

Four goblins tumbled into unconsciousness mid-stride, one of them planting his face firmly into a root. A goblin dog continued on a few feet before looking back and realizing its rider was no longer snoring threats in its ear.

The rest of the goblins skidded to a confused halt, tripping over their fallen companions. One screamed and fired an arrow into the woods, striking nothing but branches. Another turned to flee.

Shalelu struck again, her arrow burying itself in a goblin’s throat.

Lucian, ever theatrical, flashed a grin at me before disappearing into the deeper woods, leading the goblins right toward the edge of Mosswood territory.

Behind us, Thelenda whispered a prayer, sending a calming pulse of divine energy over our group. The horses stilled. Our breath steadied.

The last of the goblins vanished into the trees, running straight toward their unwitting allies.

We had done it. Swift, clean, effective. The alliance of goblins had just been dealt its first internal blow.

And Sandpoint had just bought itself a little more time.

Lucian emerged from the treeline a few minutes later, breathing hard but wearing that familiar, irrepressible grin. “Well, that was invigorating. They nearly tripped over themselves trying to keep up—and I’m fairly certain I led them straight into a Mosswood hunting party.”

He slowed his horse beside mine and offered a casual salute. “Next time, though, remind me to avoid any goblin with a flaming headpiece. That one had enthusiasm.”

Shalelu gave a satisfied nod, her bow already slung as she scanned the horizon. “They’ll be arguing for hours—maybe even days. That warband won’t be organized enough to attack anything until someone reestablishes control.”

I looked at the sky, the sun already beginning to dip. Shadows stretched long across the forest floor.

“Good job, everyone,” I said, guiding my horse around to face the trail home. “Let’s head back to Sandpoint. I don’t want to be caught out here outnumbered when it gets dark. That seems like it would be on the list of Bad Ideas.”

Sister Thelenda looked particularly grateful for the suggestion, her white-knuckled grip on her reins finally easing as we turned westward.

We rode in quiet satisfaction, the forest behind us now filled only with the distant, discordant echoes of goblin fury. We'd done our part. Sandpoint would have one more day to prepare—and sometimes, that was all a town needed to survive.

As the group rode west through the forest, the sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the trees in streaks of amber and gold. The thunder of pursuit was long behind them now, replaced by the rhythmic thudding of hooves and the soft sigh of wind in the branches.

Cassian let his horse drift closer to Thelenda's, keeping his voice low so it wouldn’t carry to Lucian or Shalelu.

"You did really well, Sister," he said with a nod in her direction. "I appreciate you coming out here with us. I'm aware it probably isn't what you signed up for when you took your priestly oaths. Your presence gave us an edge—and some insurance that a wound wouldn't automatically be fatal. Thank you."

Thelenda blinked, startled at first, and then looked over with a small, thoughtful smile. Her posture relaxed just slightly, as if the weight of her armor didn’t press quite so heavily.

"I didn’t sign up for this, no," she admitted, voice soft but sincere. "But I serve the people of Sandpoint, not just the altar. If protecting them means riding into the woods with two madmen and a grim-eyed elf… well…" She gave him a sidelong look, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. "I suppose I’ll just have to get used to it."

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and rode quietly for a moment, her gaze shifting to where Lucian and Shalelu rode ahead. The rogue's laughter rang out over some dry remark, and Shalelu shook her head with a small grin of her own.

Thelenda turned back to Cassian. Her tone changed—more thoughtful now, more vulnerable.

"You really think we have a chance, don’t you? Against all of this?"

Cassian looked at her carefully. It wasn’t a fearful question. She was simply looking for something to hold onto in the uncertainty.

He didn’t rush his reply.

"Nothing is guaranteed... but that's life. I believe that intelligence, bravery, skill, and faith can overcome most of life's challenges. If that's the standard, then I don't think Sandpoint is overmatched. Outnumbered? Yes. But our qualities make up for that. I hope."

He smiled then, eyes catching hers.

"Also... you should do that more."

Thelenda blinked. "Do what?"

"Smile," Cassian said. "It brightens the day when you do."

Thelenda turned her head slightly, and for a heartbeat I thought perhaps I’d overstepped. But then— There it was again: that quiet, genuine smile. This one stayed a little longer, touched her eyes a little deeper.

“That was a good answer,” she said, voice soft but steady. “I’ll hold you to it when the goblins come knocking.”

She looked away then, but not in dismissal—more to give herself a moment. Her hand brushed the symbol of her goddess at her chest, and she sat a little taller in the saddle.

“I’ll try to smile more, then,” she added, glancing at me again from beneath her hood. “But only if you keep giving me reasons to.”

The clatter of hooves on packed earth grew louder as the town came into view up ahead—rooftops golden in the light of the dying sun, walls lined with nervous but ready sentries, and the faint echo of hammers striking timber as the town prepared for whatever came next.

Lucian rode just ahead, humming a tune to himself, and Shalelu kept her eyes scanning the horizon as always.

But beside me, Thelenda rode in silence now—serene, maybe even a little lighter than she’d been an hour ago.

And the road behind us was quiet. At least for tonight.

The familiar gates of Sandpoint came into view just as the last traces of sunlight bled from the sky, casting the fields and forests behind us into deepening shadow. The day’s mission had been a success—brief, brutal, and effective. The goblins were scattered, their plans disrupted, their momentum broken. For now.

As the guards opened the gates and offered weary but grateful nods, I led our small band back into town. Shalelu dismounted first, the silent grace of a predator never far from her movements. She was already scanning the skyline, watching for anything the walls might not catch. Lucian groaned like a man twice his age and stretched his arms high above his head.

"Remind me never to let you convince me that chasing a goblin warband through the woods counts as a diversion," he muttered with a smirk. "That said, we pulled it off. Nicely done."

Sister Thelenda said nothing at first, but when her boots touched the cobbles of Sandpoint once more, she exhaled long and low. Her voice was quiet, but I heard her: "Thank Desna."

The town was quieter than it had been even a few days ago. The tension hung thicker in the air now, resting on every rooftop and rafter like a stormcloud that refused to break. The northern trench echoed with hammer strikes, and the flicker of torchlight painted long shadows across the gates and walls.

People watched us. The guards. A few townsfolk brave or restless enough to be out this close to nightfall. Their gazes weren’t full of fear, exactly—but they were full of expectation.

All eyes were turning toward me.

The harassing strike was complete. Now came the waiting. Or the next move.

I turned to Thelenda and gently touched her shoulder. "I'm going to report to the Mayor and the Sheriff. Why don't you let Father Zantus at the cathedral know how the mission went? Then get some rest. I have a feeling healers are going to be very busy in the near future. Good night, Sister. Luck smile on you."

She gave me a weary but grateful smile, her fingers brushing mine in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Cassian. I'll see that Zantus hears everything." She hesitated a moment longer, then added, "You did well out there. All of you."

With a slight bow of her head, she turned and made her way down the street toward the cathedral, her form disappearing into the gathering mist and lamplight.

Shalelu stepped beside me, her voice dry as always. "You know, for a wizard who keeps claiming he’s not a soldier, you’re starting to sound like one."

Lucian chuckled, swinging his cloak back into place. "That’s because he is one now—just a very well-read one."

I sighed and adjusted my grip on the staff. "Let's get our report over with. I'm hungry."

We passed through the quiet lanes of Sandpoint, our boots echoing on the cobbled streets, the silence broken only by the clatter of patrols and the occasional hammer in the dark. When we reached the town hall, the doors were already open. Light spilled out into the square, warm and inviting.

Inside, Mayor Deverin and Sheriff Hemlock stood over a war table, speaking in hushed tones. They looked up the moment I entered.

"Well?" Hemlock asked, his voice low and rough.

Deverin's eyes searched my face. "How did it go?"

I gave a tired sigh as I pulled out a chair and dropped into it without ceremony. "We bought some time," I said, rubbing at my lower back. "Also—I hate riding horses. In case anyone cares. My backside is in full protest."

Lucian snorted behind me. I pressed on.

"We came across a war camp and Lucian led them on a merry chase straight into another goblin warband. Shalelu fired a few arrows to stir things up, and I dropped a few with a Sleep spell. Once the goblins were chasing shadows and yelling at each other, we pulled back. Goblins being goblins… the results were about what you'd expect. They'll be tangled up in their own chaos for a little while."

I leaned forward, resting my arms on the table. "When are those reinforcements from Magnimar supposed to arrive again?"

Mayor Deverin let out a long breath, a cautious smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Three days. Twelve trained mercenaries. It’s not much, but it should be enough to hold the walls alongside the militia."

Hemlock gave a firm nod. "Messy goblins are manageable goblins. You made the right call. We’ve got extra scouts posted, and runners between here and the farms. Thanks to that trench of yours, anything coming from the north will have a hell of a time breaking through."

Lucian leaned casually against the wall. "We even let a few live. They’ll go back and spread all sorts of stories about the longshanks who appeared out of nowhere, cast spells, and vanished into the trees. That should muddy things up a bit more."

I could feel it in the air—the pressure, the anticipation. Sandpoint was holding, for now. But the balance could tip at any moment.

Mayor Deverin looked directly at me. "Rest, Cassian. You’ve done more than your part today. When the storm hits, we’ll need your mind sharp."

I gave her a tired smile. For once, the room didn’t feel so heavy. Not safe. Not yet. But no longer helpless either.

The taproom of the Rusty Dragon welcomed me like an old friend. It was dimly lit and warm, with golden lanternlight spilling across the worn wood and gleaming on the bottles behind the bar. The smell of roasting boar hung in the air, rich and mouthwatering, mingling with the gentle hum of conversation that buzzed through the room.

It wasn’t celebratory, not exactly. But it wasn’t fearful either. That subtle shift in the atmosphere said everything.

People had heard about the goblins. About the trenches. About the riders who went into the forest and came back. About the wizard who walked into the wilds and returned without a scratch. There were nods when I entered, glances that lingered a second too long. No one said anything. They didn’t need to.

Ameiko caught sight of me as I approached the bar, arching a single brow. "You smell like a horse fell in love with a swamp and then died."

She didn’t wait for a reply. Just poured something dark and strong and slid it across the counter.

"Drink first, then food," she said, turning for the kitchen. "Bath if you’re brave enough to take the upstairs tub before the old merchant on the second floor finishes with it. He’s been in there a while. Might be a health hazard by now."

Lucian strolled in behind me, dust trailing from his cloak as he shook it out. "Did she say bath or bog? Because I’m not convinced there’s a difference."

I took the glass with a smile. "Thanks, Ameiko." The brandy was strong—spiced apple, with a slow burn. "I think I’ll wait for the merchant to finish. I’m not above hauling up some fresh water."

I paused, leaning on the counter. "By the way, I think I owe you some more rent. I've lost track of the days. Have I been here more than a week yet?"

From the kitchen, her voice floated back. "You're a day or two over, but I figured you'd either pay up or die gloriously. Glad you chose the first one. Pay when you're clean."

I laughed softly and made my way to our usual table. Lucian followed, his tankard in hand. We sat.

I raised my glass. "Fortune favor Sandpoint. Calamity upon our enemies."

Lucian clinked his tankard against mine. "And may that calamity be delivered with style."

We drank.

Around us, the Dragon breathed with its usual rhythm. A pair of farmers spoke near the hearth. A merchant counted coin. A bard tuned a lute in the corner, plucking out soft, searching notes.

It wasn’t peace. Not really.

But it was calm.

And for tonight, that was enough.

Lucian leaned back in his chair, watching the firelight flicker across the stone. “So,” he said after a moment, “what do we do if this all works? If we actually survive the war, outwit the goblins, and save the town?”

He tilted his head toward me, one brow raised. “What comes after?”

I frowned, thoughtful. The truth was, I didn’t know. My mind hadn’t stretched that far ahead. And maybe that was why my answer came out sideways.

"What do you think about Thelenda?" I asked.

Lucian blinked, surprised by the shift, but the surprise melted quickly into that familiar smirk of his. He swirled his drink once, watching me from over the rim of the cup like a man who’d just found a secret.

“Well now,” he said, “I think someone’s had a bit more than just brandy on the brain lately.”

He didn’t laugh. Not really. The tease was there, but not the mockery. Behind his eyes, something more thoughtful stirred.

“She’s thoughtful,” he said after a moment. “Serious. Scared, I think—but trying not to be. Not just of goblins. I think she’s one of those people who’s terrified of not doing enough.”

He looked toward the hearth, firelight reflecting off the curve of his drink.

“I respect that. And I respect that she came with us—she didn’t have to. Most folks would’ve run the other way.”

He turned back to me, smile returning, a touch more sly this time. “Why? You thinking of converting?”

My blush was entirely beyond my control, but I didn’t look away.

Lucian let the moment stretch, then softened. “She likes you, you know. I think you surprised her.”

In the corner, a bard began a soft tune, a slow melody that echoed the quiet between us.

Lucian lifted his drink. “To surprises,” he said.

I raised my glass in turn, smiling slightly. “To surprises.”

The warmth of the brandy was nothing compared to what I felt in that moment.

“She’s thoughtful and brave,” I added. “I think I find those very attractive attributes.”

Lucian arched an eyebrow, but didn’t interrupt.

“She also has a nice smile,” I finished quietly.

Lucian hummed again, half-smirking. “A nice smile,” he said, like it was the most profound observation in the world. “Maker above, Cassian, next you’ll be writing sonnets.”

I didn’t answer him. I just let the firelight dance in the silence and waited for the food.

"And she doesn’t mind the smell of horse and goblin-fire on you. That’s saying something." Lucian took another sip of his drink, letting the warmth settle into his bones. "So, what’s the plan? You going to wait until after the next battle to say something, or before? I mean, nothing says romance like war drums in the distance."

Before I could answer, Ameiko appeared like a conjured spirit, setting down two steaming plates of stewed boar and buttered root vegetables with a flourish.

"Two plates for the town’s heroes," she declared, smirking. "And Lucian."

Lucian placed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "You wound me."

"You’ll live," she shot back over her shoulder, already heading for the kitchen.

The smell hit me like a spell—rich, earthy, comforting. My stomach made a traitorous growl, and suddenly the weight of the day caught up with me all at once. My limbs felt heavy, my shoulders ached, and my mind, for the first time in hours, began to slow.

Lucian took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, then looked at me with that unnervingly sharp kind of casualness he always wore when saying something important. "Whatever you decide, just don’t wait too long. If this war’s taught me anything, it’s that time doesn’t wait for anyone—not even us."

I knew he was right. Even when he was being infuriating, Lucian had a way of putting his finger on the pressure point and pressing just enough.

"We’ll see," I muttered, spearing a piece of boar and shoving it into my mouth. "I just don't know right now. Not even sure how I feel about it. We've only been here a bit over a week. I think I should probably wait until we aren't faced with imminent death before burdening her with something like this... also, I smell like a horse."

Lucian chuckled. "Waiting ‘til we’re not about to die horribly is fair. Just don’t wait forever."

He clinked his cup gently against mine. "To food, study, and not smelling like a horse."

I raised my cup in return, and for one small moment, the war receded into the background—replaced by the glow of firelight, the sound of lute strings, and the company of a friend who understood me far too well.