The Korvath inn held a steady, amber warmth—lamps low, walls humming softly with night silence. Outside, the wind clawed the shutters, but inside the air stayed gentle, almost too gentle for the conversation waiting to unfold. Iroko Ryusei sat across from the newly washed, newly fed, newly reclothed Jose, who lounged on the cushioned bench as if he had always belonged there.
He looked like a man who could adapt to any room, any country, any war, so long as his belly was full and the blankets clean.
Iroko rested his elbows on the table.
"Now that you are comfortable," he said, voice level, "I have questions."
Jose stretched his legs, eyes lidding halfway, relaxed in the way only someone who knew he held leverage could relax.
Iroko began.
"First. What is the primary weakness of the Frost Engine? Not how it works—how it fails. Its points of failure."
He continued, tone still even but sharpened with intent.
"Second. The child spoke of a 'blue bird' and a 'metal monster.' What are they? Are they entities Valeria enslaved, or something else entirely?"
A breath.
"Third. How is the dragon controlled? Where are the control runes or the binding focus located? Is it a device, a person, or a location?"
The questions hung between them like blades.
Jose smiled.
Not a pleasant smile.
A knowing one.
He tapped the armrest lightly. "Commander, you ask very, very expensive questions."
Iroko didn't blink. "We have already given you comfort, food, and a clean room. Your information will decide whether you continue to receive such things."
Jose waved a hand lazily. "Comfortable, yes. But not… fulfilling."
He leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
"I want some money," he said first, counting the demands on invisible fingers. "Coins I can keep. Touch, spend. Enough that I feel… appreciated."
Iroko remained still.
Jose went on.
"I want to walk the streets. To go shopping like a normal person. Taste the city. Smell it. Pretend I'm not locked to a war I didn't choose."
His grin grew wider.
"And since you are all about hospitality, I want to be accompanied by a beautiful lady. Not a soldier. Not a stern guard with a sword up their spine. Someone pleasant."
He tapped his knuckles to the table, adding, "And the next question you ask me—relay it to that lady. Let her be the one who asks. I want the conversation… nicer on the eyes."
Iroko's gaze did not shift, but something cold settled behind it.
Jose wasn't finished.
"One last thing," he said, shrugging. "This is my first time in this city. I want to learn more about it. The history, the people, the streets. Let me explore a little, under your supervision of course. I won't run. Too cold outside for that."
He leaned back fully now, as if negotiations were complete.
"I will speak once these requests are granted. All of them."
The inn's quiet deepened, the lamplight catching the edge of Iroko's expression—thoughtful, unreadable. Jose waited, humming under his breath, perfectly at ease.
Every answer hung just beyond his lips, held hostage by his whims.
And Iroko, weighing the value of truth against the cost of indulgence, prepared his next move… as the night in Korvath pressed in, thick with secrets waiting to be bought.