The afternoon arrived without resistance.
No screams.
No fresh blood.
Only sunlight slowly leaning westward, slipping through the ancient trees of The Oldreach, stretching long shadows across the damp forest floor.
Bram walked at the front, both axes hanging loosely at his back. He stopped suddenly, then turned with a grin—wide and shameless, the grin of a man who had just found the perfect excuse to do absolutely nothing.
"We should camp here again tonight."
A few heads turned.
"What?" Daren asked, wiping sweat from his neck.
Bram raised a finger, his expression shifting as if something very important had just resurfaced in his mind.
"Oh—right. I almost forgot."
He laughed.
"Yesterday, I stole some beer from Helder's shop."
Silence.
Then—
"YOU WHAT?" Daren shouted.
Bram pulled a bottle from his pack.
It wasn't ordinary glass. Thick, heavy, with a faint golden sheen. The seal was intact, and the label was etched metal bearing a noble crest.
Sereth frowned immediately.
"…That's not beer."
Arnold stared at it for a long moment before letting out a slow breath.
"That's noble alcohol."
Bram nodded proudly.
"Only opened a few times a year."
Lys's eyes sparkled.
"If Helder finds out…"
"He'll kill me," Bram replied lightly.
"That's why we drink it now."
"I know," he added, lifting the bottle.
"That's exactly why we drink first."
Laughter burst out.
Ivo let out a quiet grunt.
"…Wait."
He looked at the bottle, then at the faces around him.
"Why does it feel like everyone's looking at me?"
Bram turned with the most irresponsible smile Eiran had ever seen.
"Oh, right."
He raised the bottle higher.
"Tonight's drinks—paid for by the loser of yesterday's bet."
Sereth cleared his throat.
"Wasn't the loser supposed to pay?"
Bram nodded firmly.
"Exactly."
Then he looked straight at Ivo.
"You lost."
Silence.
Then—
"HAHAHAHA!"
Daren nearly dropped his sword.
"ARE YOU SERIOUS?"
Lys slapped the ground, laughing.
"Ah, Ivo~ too clean. Too efficient. Not good for kill counts."
Ivo covered his face with one hand.
"…I kill efficiently."
"That's the problem," Bram said.
"No drama. Doesn't count."
Daren pointed at the bottle, grinning.
"If I'd known, I would've grabbed two yesterday."
Varek lifted his rosary calmly.
"Forgive us, gods," he said gently.
"For trading honor for noble alcohol."
Bram clapped Ivo's shoulder hard.
"Relax. You still get to drink."
"…With my money," Daren added.
The laughter returned—louder, freer.
The campfire was lit. Not large. Just enough.
Enough warmth. Enough light.
The scent of burning wood mixed with expensive alcohol—completely wrong for a forest like this, and yet somehow perfect.
Eiran and Ruen stood near the fire, hesitant.
Since earlier that day, Eiran's chest had felt tight.
Not fear.
Not doubt.
Awe.
"We…" Eiran spoke up carefully.
"We want to train."
Several heads turned.
"Seriously?" Lys asked, smiling.
Ruen nodded quickly.
"We want to be like you."
Daren stepped forward first.
"Then stand," he said, slowly sheathing his sword.
He adjusted Eiran's stance with foot and shoulder—not rough, but firm.
"Don't stand to attack," he said.
"Stand to endure."
He turned to Ruen.
"And don't watch the enemy's blade."
"Then what do we watch?" Ruen asked.
"The hips," Daren answered instantly.
"Shoulders lie. Eyes lie. Hips don't."
He demonstrated a single step. Simple. Heavy with intent.
Bram joined in.
"And don't wait for the perfect moment."
He shoved Eiran lightly.
"People die waiting."
The training continued.
Simple movements. Repeated. Wrong. Corrected. Wrong again.
Sereth watched from a distance, eyes sharp. Long. Silent.
"Hm," he murmured.
He approached, studying Eiran and Ruen.
"Your eyes…" he said softly.
"They're very good."
Eiran turned quickly.
"You pick up patterns faster than you should."
Sereth looked at the others.
"This isn't ordinary talent."
Lys grinned.
"Ah… so that's what this feels like."
"What?" Arnold asked.
"Training monsters," Lys replied cheerfully.
Daren laughed.
"I can't wait to see them grow."
Bram smirked.
"You realize we're creating a problem, right?"
Ivo nodded.
"And I can't wait to see the world deal with it."
Varek closed his rosary.
"Let us hope the gods are prepared."
Night settled in.
The fire dimmed. Stars emerged one by one.
Kael stood a little apart, gazing upward.
Then—without warning—he began to sing.
Softly.
Calmly.
One line.
Then another voice joined.
And then—everyone.
🎶
We drink not because we've lost,
But because tomorrow may never come.
If morning comes, we laugh,
If it doesn't… then pour again.
Raise your glass, don't ask for names,
In this place, we're all the same.
The world may forget who we are,
Tonight—we live. And that is enough.
🎶
Their voices weren't perfect.
Their harmony was flawed.
But the song was full.
Eiran sang without realizing it.
Ruen followed, eyes shining.
Kael only smiled.
Far away—beyond the firelight—
a man in a black coat stood motionless. His collar high, his face hidden in shadow.
A raven perched on his shoulder.
He didn't move.
Didn't speak.
He watched.
The fire.
The children.
And twelve people laughing as if the world had never tried to break them.
The raven spread its wings once.
And the night of The Oldreach kept another secret.