The scent of salt and pine met us on the breeze as Lucian and I crested the last rise along the Lost Coast Road. The air was crisp and bracing, charged with that strange tension that lives at the border of civilization and wild country. Behind us, the wilderness of Varisia sprawled unbroken—rugged hills, scattered trees, and sky that stretched forever. Ahead, across the Turandarok River, the coastal town of Sandpoint nestled like a secret waiting to be discovered.

Lucian shifted beside me, adjusting his travel-worn cloak with a smirk. "Well, Cassian, here we are. Sandpoint—hardly Oppara, but I suppose it's a start. Ready to charm the locals with your boundless wit and mystical prowess?"

I snorted. "I'll leave the wit and charm to you, cousin."

We crossed the Sandpoint Bridge, the planks creaking faintly underfoot, and passed through the town gates without fanfare. The guards barely gave us a glance, more interested in their lazy banter than in newcomers. Sandpoint did not feel like a town poised on the edge of peril. It felt... lived-in. Honest. Peaceful, at least on the surface.

The streets bustled with activity—vendors calling out over crates of produce, fishermen hauling in the morning’s catch, and children shrieking laughter as they chased each other around a fountain. Craftsmen hammered, baked, and bartered, their storefronts proudly displaying wares with a provincial charm. I felt the contrast to Oppara keenly. There, every stone was cut for show; here, every stone was placed for use. And for the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe.

Lucian caught me surveying the square. "We should probably secure lodgings and get the lay of the land, so to speak," I said. "Map says this is the biggest town between Magnimar and Riddleport. Should be a decent inn around."

"Ah," Lucian said, clapping me on the back. "So the grand adventure begins with a soft bed and a hot meal? I suppose even great wizards need their beauty sleep."

We didn’t walk far before we found The Rusty Dragon, an inn that practically begged adventurers to step inside. Intricately carved wooden serpents coiled around its entrance, and the scent of spice and roasting meat drifted out on the breeze.

Lucian inhaled deeply. "Now that smells promising. And look—it's even got character. 'The Rusty Dragon'... something tells me the ale here won't be watered down."

Inside, the common room buzzed with life. Locals and travelers alike packed the tables, raising mugs and voices in equal measure. The warmth of the hearth and the scent of good food immediately lifted the weight of our travels. A confident, tanned woman weaved between tables with practiced ease, laughing with patrons. She was clearly the heart of the place.

Behind the bar, a younger woman with curious eyes greeted us with a smile. "New to Sandpoint, sirs? Welcome to the Rusty Dragon! Best food and drink you’ll find between here and Magnimar, and we’ve got rooms to let, if you’re needing a place to stay."

"Yes, ma'am. Just arrived," I said, shrugging off my pack and letting it rest against my leg. "I'm Cassian, and this vagabond is Lucian. We've been on the road a bit and are looking for lodging and a meal—preferably in that order. I'd like to not be carrying this backpack anymore, if I can help it. How much is room and board?"

The barmaid chuckled, shooting Lucian a playful look. "A vagabond, is he? Well, we've had worse. I’m Shayliss. Rooms are five silver a night, breakfast included. Dinner’s extra, but worth it—our cook, Ameiko, makes a mean curry. You won’t find better anywhere in Varisia."

"Curry, you say?" Lucian nodded approvingly. "I like this place already."

"Good taste," Shayliss said, retrieving keys from beneath the counter. "Let me know how long you're staying, and I’ll get you sorted. We’re not full, so you’ll have your pick of rooms."

I counted out seven gold and laid it on the bar. "That should cover my cousin and I for a week. Two rooms, please. Lucian snores."

Lucian raised his hands in mock offense. "I do not snore. I merely breathe with enthusiasm."

Shayliss grinned and slid the keys across the counter. "Two rooms it is. I’ll make sure you’re well-fed. Good call on separate quarters."

At that moment, the innkeeper herself approached—the woman who had been working the room earlier. Striking and self-assured, she carried herself with the air of someone who had seen enough to appreciate both trouble and kindness. She offered a bright smile.

"New faces! Always a welcome sight. I’m Ameiko Kaijitsu, owner of this fine establishment. What brings you to Sandpoint?"

Lucian beat me to it. "Fortune, adventure, and the pursuit of excellent food and drink."

Ameiko laughed. "Well, you’ve come to the right place for at least two of those. We’re about to start the Swallowtail Festival tomorrow—should be a good time."

I raised an eyebrow. "What's a Swallowtail Festival?"

Ameiko leaned on the counter. "It’s one of our biggest holidays. A celebration of Desna—goddess of dreams, luck, travel. There’ll be music, performances, food, and drink. It's also the dedication of our new cathedral. The old church burned down a few years back—terrible thing. But we rebuilt, and this new one? It’s something special."

I nodded, intrigued. "Sounds like the whole town gets involved."

"Oh, we do. You’ll see."

She paused, tilting her head. "You mentioned ruins earlier. The Old Light? Scholars say it was a lighthouse, but others think it was something... more dangerous. You're not the first to come asking about ancient history. What are you hoping to find?"

I hesitated, then shrugged. "I don’t know, exactly. Knowledge. Novelty. Fortune, maybe. All three. It’s a big world out there, and life’s short. I’m not looking to die old and regretful."

Ameiko studied me a moment, then nodded slowly. "That makes perfect sense. You wouldn’t believe how many people pass through Sandpoint chasing something—knowledge, escape, adventure. This town sees its share of dreamers."

She glanced at Lucian with a smirk. "And a few troublemakers, too."

Lucian grinned. "Me? Trouble? Never."

"Just don’t let ambition turn into recklessness," she said, eyes returning to mine. "Plenty of folks thought themselves invincible until the world proved them wrong."

Lucian nudged me. "See? A wise woman. Maybe listen to her before you start throwing magic at ruins and waking up things best left sleeping."

"Exactly," Ameiko said, but her smile softened. "Anyway—you’re paid up. Enjoy yourselves. Get settled in. And if you need anything, just ask."

As we climbed the stairs to our rooms, the sounds of the inn fading behind us, I felt something stir in my chest. Perhaps it was the scent of curry in the air. Or the sound of laughter, rising up like a hymn. Or maybe it was the promise of something just beginning.

By the time we returned downstairs, the day was giving way to evening, and the inn’s common room glowed with the warmth of firelight and lanterns. The scent of spiced meats, baked bread, and roasting vegetables wafted from the kitchen, promising a meal worthy of the road we’d left behind.

I’d taken the time to settle in—unpacked my trunk, cleaned the worst of the road dust from my clothes and skin, and gazed briefly out my window at the town beyond. Sandpoint at twilight looked even smaller from above. But it also looked... safe. That was a strange feeling. A rare one.

The Rusty Dragon was buzzing now, filled with patrons staking out their favorite tables ahead of dinner. Music floated through the room—light and pleasant—courtesy of a young bard in the corner plucking at a well-loved lute. He played as though trying to make the walls smile.

Lucian and I took a table near the hearth, the stone still warm from the day’s heat. Within moments, Ameiko herself swept by and set down two steaming bowls of curry, along with a stack of flatbread and a pitcher of dark ale.

"Told you it was good," she said with a smirk. "Try not to burn your tongue."

Lucian had already dug in and, with an exaggerated groan of delight, raised his mug toward me. "Cassian, I don’t know what you were hoping to discover in Sandpoint, but I’ve already found what I was looking for. To the Rusty Dragon. And to whatever madness tomorrow’s festival brings."

I clinked my mug to his, more out of habit than enthusiasm. I’d never been the most gregarious of fellows. Polite, sure. Presentable. But I’d always preferred to watch and listen rather than throw myself into the center of things. Lucian, on the other hand, was born for the center.

So I ate. Slowly. The curry was rich with spice and perfectly balanced heat. Ameiko hadn’t been boasting.

Around us, Sandpoint revealed itself in pieces—snippets of conversation, fragments of personality. A group of farmers at a nearby table discussed the morning’s harvest and how many bushels they'd be bringing to the square tomorrow. Two fishermen near the window argued over the best spot for red snapper, each more colorful in their language than the last. A stoop-shouldered shoemaker grumbled into his drink about losing business during the festival, his resentment as worn as his boots.

In the corner, a group of Varisians played cards, laughing and jeering in that way only lifelong friends—or friendly rivals—can. Their earrings sparkled in the firelight, and their voices were bright with music even when they weren't singing.

Lucian, as expected, made fast friends at the bar. I caught him mid-conversation with Shayliss and a half-elf draped in colorful scarves. From what I gathered, he was explaining—poorly—the difference between Taldan soothsayers and actual diviners, punctuated with flourishes that had them both rolling their eyes.

Ameiko stood nearby in conversation with a broad-shouldered man in a smith’s apron. He gestured with his mug as he spoke, clearly mid-rant about something to do with imported iron. I guessed him to be the town’s blacksmith. His voice carried the weight of someone used to being right, or at least loud.

I sipped my ale and watched.

The bard’s music shifted to a gentler tune, and his eyes roamed the room, watching people with a keenness that didn’t match his idle smile. He wasn’t just playing—he was listening.

A hooded figure sat alone at the far end of the room, their face obscured by flickering shadow. Their hands cradled a steaming mug, untouched. They didn’t fidget, didn’t glance around, didn’t seem to breathe too loudly. I almost missed them. Almost.

Closer to the fire, an older Shoanti man sat still as a mountain, his lined face unreadable. He nodded occasionally to something someone nearby said, but didn’t speak himself. There was a patience about him, the kind that only comes from long miles and too many stories.

After the meal, as the evening wore on and the tavern's warmth sank deeper into my bones, I found myself drawn to the bard’s table. He played with a practiced ease, his fingers dancing across the strings in a way that told me he’d done so in many places, for many ears.

I dropped a silver into his open lute case. "A skilled performance deserves compensation," I said with a smile. "I don't suppose you know any Taldan ballads? I'm far from home and, truth be told, a bit homesick."

The bard looked up with mild surprise, then gave a wide, pleased grin. "Ah, a scholar and a patron of the arts? You, sir, are already one of my favorite people in this tavern."

He set down his mug, strummed a few testing notes, and considered. "Taldan ballads, you say? Most here want Varisian tunes or drinking songs, but I know a few from Oppara’s courts. Would you prefer something stirring—a hero’s anthem? Or something wistful, to ease the ache of distance?"

"Wistful," I said. "But not melancholy. I'm homesick, not depressed."

I jerked a thumb toward Lucian at the bar. "Ignore the ne'er-do-well. He wouldn’t know fine music if an epic opera snuck up and bit him on the ass."

Lucian raised his mug and grinned. "To be fair, that has happened. The lead soprano was terrifying."

The bard laughed and turned his attention back to the lute. "Ah, then I have just the thing."

He began to play—a gentle, flowing melody in the style of a Taldan waltz. The notes were soft but rich, weaving through the common room like mist curling around marble columns. His voice carried easily, not loud but sure, the kind of tone that invited listening rather than demanded it:

"O'er golden hills where dawn is bright, Where rivers gleam with morning light, My heart remains though feet must roam, To paths untraveled, far from home..."

The words stirred memories: my mother’s garden, the gleam of sun on the Taldan rooftops, the echo of footsteps on marble floors. Places I hadn’t truly appreciated until I’d left them behind.

Even Lucian, for all his irreverence, quieted. He leaned against the bar, nursing his drink with a rare, far-off look.

The song ended softly, the last chord lingering like a breath held too long. For a moment, the room seemed to pause with it.

"Indeed it does," I murmured, sighing as I settled back into my seat. "Indeed it does. That was a fine song, and well performed. Thank you."

I stood and offered my hand. "Cassian Valerius, at your service."

The bard clasped my hand with a firm shake. "Aldern Thorne—wandering minstrel, humble student of the world’s many ballads, and purveyor of the finest melodies from here to Korvosa."

There was charm in his voice, but also something real behind it. Warmth. I liked him instantly.

He gestured to a nearby chair. "Tell me, Cassian Valerius—what brings a Taldan scholar to our humble little corner of the world? Surely not just the ruins."

Lucian, ever ready with a quip, called out, "Ask him about his studies and you’ll be here till sunrise."

I smiled, settled in. "I wish it were more interesting than it is. I’m the last in a long line of children from an old, respected but not powerful house. My prospects in Oppara were comfortable, but... dull. Striking out to make my own name and fortune seemed the better option. Lucian agreed. So here we are. Varisia seemed full of opportunity."

Aldern strummed an idle chord. "Ah, the seventh son of a noble house, seeking his own path... A tale as old as time. But still a good one. And what is it you truly seek, Cassian? Not just gold or knowledge—those you could have had in Taldor. Is it adventure? Power? Legacy?"

I chuckled. "Will I sound like a pompous ass if I say purpose? Or meaning? Maybe enlightenment. What that entails, I’m still working on."

He gave a nod, tapping his fingers on the wood. "Not pompous at all. Ambitious, maybe—but in the best sense. Most people don’t even realize they’re searching until it’s too late. You’re young. You’ve got time."

Lucian raised his mug. "He’s stubborn enough to chase it to the edge of the world."

"Good," Aldern said, grinning. "Then maybe I’ll write a song about you yet. 'The Wandering Wizard of Sandpoint'—has a nice ring to it."

I laughed. "I’ll try to give you a good ending."

He raised his mug. "To good endings, then."

The night deepened. The tavern thinned. Ameiko busied herself behind the bar, and Shayliss passed with a smile. Even the fire in the hearth had mellowed into soft amber embers.

Eventually, Aldern drained his drink, stretched, and stood. "It’s been a pleasure, Cassian. Lucian. I’ll be around tomorrow for the festival. Perhaps our paths will cross again."

He gave a theatrical bow and was gone, his lute slung over one shoulder like a soldier’s blade.

Lucian leaned in, still smirking. "That one’s got stories, I’d wager. Think we’ll see him again?"

I didn’t answer. I was already rising, already tired. The fire, the food, the music—it had settled into my bones. I bid Lucian good night, climbed the stairs to my room, and let the weight of the day pull me into sleep.

Whatever tomorrow brought, I was ready to meet it with open eyes.