Hostess of Fertility — Evening
The tavern was loud.
Not the kind that hurt your ears—just alive. Plates clattered, voices overlapped, laughter rose and fell like waves crashing into each other. Warm light spilled from hanging lamps, reflecting off wooden tables polished smooth by years of elbows and spilled ale.
For a moment, it almost felt normal.
Almost.
I sat near the counter, shoulders relaxing despite myself as the smell of food hit me full force. Meat. Butter. Something rich I couldn't name but definitely couldn't afford on my own.
Anya dropped a plate in front of me with a grin. The porcelain clinked against wood.
"Eat, eat, Nya! You look like a starving goblin!"
"I resent that," I muttered, already grabbing the fork. The metal was warm from the kitchen. "Goblins don't appreciate seasoning."
She laughed, tail flicking. "You say that but you inhale food like one."
I didn't argue. No point.
Across the tavern, Mama Mia barked orders like a general mid-battle, while Chloe darted between tables with trays balanced far too casually. Somewhere deeper inside, a drunken adventurer shouted something about his tab being wrong. Glass clinked. Someone cursed in a language I didn't recognize.
Normal.
Safe.
Which made the knot in my stomach feel even worse.
I ate fast. Too fast. Didn't even taste half of it.
Anya noticed.
"Oi." She leaned, peering down at me. "Are you okay Nya? You've been poking that food like it insulted your family."
"I'm fine."
She squinted. "That's a 'no' answer."
I shrugged. "Just… tired."
She studied me for a second longer, ears twitching, then straightened suddenly. Her tail swished once.
"Oh! Before I forget—Mama Mia wants more mushrooms. The good kind. Not the fake-smelling ones."
I blinked. "Now?"
"Now now." She slung a bag over her shoulder. Leather creaked. "Before the dinner rush gets worse. Come on, free labor!"
I sighed, pushing my plate away. "You say 'free' like it's optional."
"It is!" She grinned. "You can starve instead."
…Not optional.
I stood, stretching my arms. My chair scraped against the floor. As I did, I caught a glimpse of the door.
For just a second, I thought—
No.
Just someone passing by.
Still, my shoulders stayed tight.
Anya noticed that too.
"You've been weird since yesterday," she said lightly, already heading for the door. "Dungeon mess still bothering you?"
"Something like that."
She didn't press. That, more than anything, told me she knew something was off.
The tavern door swung shut behind us with a heavy thunk.
We stepped outside.
---
The evening air was cooler, carrying the scent of stone and cooking oil and distant water. Babel Tower loomed overhead. My skin prickled in the temperature shift.
Anya adjusted the bags on her shoulders with a small grunt.
"So," she said casually, "you never did answer me earlier."
"About?"
"You know." She smirked. "Fish."
I groaned. "We are not doing this again."
"Oh yes we are, Nya. Very important life question."
We started walking, taking the kind of shortcuts locals used when they didn't want to deal with crowds. Our footsteps echoed differently here—sharper, more contained.
Two streets over, the alleys narrowed.
I didn't realize how quiet it had gotten until my boots sounded too loud.
Anya kept talking. Her voice bounced off stone.
I stopped listening.
The stone walls pressed close now—close enough you could touch both sides if you spread your arms.
Anya walked beside me, supply bags hooked over both arms, still going.
"Bet I could clean the floor faster than Chloe, Nya."
"You literally tripped over a chair last week."
"That chair was in the wrong place!"
"It was against the wall."
"Exactly. Wrong place."
She started humming. Kept walking. Her tail swished restless.
The lamps burned at every corner but the light didn't reach the middle. It never did in these alleys. Something about the way the stone was cut made shadows pool where they shouldn't.
My boots scraped against stone.
I slowed without realizing it. Something felt wrong.
Too quiet.
Then—
Impact.
A body slammed into me.
Something that—Fast. Soft and warm.
I staggered back half a step, hands lifting instinctively to steady whoever it was—
She smelled like sweat, fear and something floral I couldn't place.
Dark hair. Wheat-colored skin. That outfit that barely—
It's her!
The Amazonas. From the dungeon.
Why is she—
Her face flashed shock, then something shifted—recognition, relief, happening too fast to read.
She remembers me?
Footsteps.
Fast thumping against the cobblestone, slowed, then steady.
Came to a halt in front of us. A few feet away.
Her face flashed shock—whatever she'd been running from caught up to her eyes a heartbeat later.
"Oh no!"
She turned towards me. Fast. Her hands moved in a blur.
Before I could process what's happening, her arms locked around mine as she buried her face against my shoulder.
"Husband! Here you are!"
The words landed clumsy and unnecessarily high. Theatrical. Desperate.
My brain stopped braining for a second.
"What the—?!"
Silence.
I looked up.
Two Amazonesses stared back at me.
***