The morning at Gena's inn carried a kind of peace that felt rare after days of travel and danger. Sunlight spilled lazily through the wooden shutters, catching the drifting motes of flour and smoke that escaped the kitchen. The smell of simmering broth, frying eggs, and roasted grains filled every corner of the small dining hall.
Klyden and Liora had rolled up their sleeves to help in the kitchen, though "help" mostly meant Klyden laughing at himself every time he nearly dropped a pan, and Liora trying to mimic Gena's effortless rhythm. Their chatter and clatter blended with the hiss of oil, the chop of knives, and the low hum of the innkeeper's voice as she worked. Outside, Ashborne had already gone hunting, promising to bring back fresh meat that would last them until dinner.
At one of the wooden tables, Wads sat with his notes spread before him, sipping tea as he scribbled revisions into the parchment. Beside him, Keiya leaned back with arms folded, her untouched cup steaming softly. Reiyell sat across, calm and composed, hands resting around her teacup as if she had all the time in the world.
"It should take us a day to reach the third town," Wads murmured, eyes scanning the parchment. "Once we're there, we'll need to blend in—get a feel of the place before deciding how to proceed."
Reiyell tilted her head slightly. "You mean to say we walk blind until then?"
"Not blind," Wads replied, still jotting notes. "Flexible. Towns differ—some quiet, some crawling with watchmen. We move with the crowd, not against it."
Reiyell's gaze lingered on him a moment longer before she returned to her tea. "I see."
The door to the kitchen creaked, and out came Liora, her cheeks glowing from the heat and a thin sheen of sweat at her brow. She carried two steaming dishes, balancing them carefully in her hands before setting them down in front of the three.
"Tadah!" she declared proudly.
The dishes gave off a comforting, homely aroma—warm porridge topped with honey, crushed nuts, and slices of dried fruit on one plate, and on the other, a heap of golden, pan-fried oat cakes, slightly crisp at the edges. The sweet steam curled upward, richer and warmer than anything that noble dining halls would ever serve.
"You cooked that?" Wads asked, glancing at her briefly.
Liora grinned. "Nope! Auntie Gena did—hehe." Her voice rang with the easy affection of family, even if no blood bound them.
Reiyell leaned in slightly, her expression betraying curiosity as the sweetness teased her senses. For someone raised in privilege, the notion of eating "commoner food" was foreign, but the smell alone pulled at her. Keiya, too, arched a brow, lips quirking faintly as she scooped some onto her plate.
"Try it!" Liora urged, already sliding smaller plates and spoons toward each of them. "Klyden also helped—I didn't know he could cook."
That earned the slightest smirk from Keiya, though she said nothing as she filled her plate. Wads and Reiyell followed.
The first bite silenced them. Whatever preconceptions they held melted away with the soft warmth of honeyed oats and the satisfying crunch of nuts. Their chewing slowed as the taste settled—rich, hearty, and wholly unexpected.
For a moment, the inn was wrapped in quiet, broken only by the clink of spoons against dishes.
Then—
BANG!
The front door of the inn slammed open, nearly tearing off its hinges. The peaceful atmosphere shattered as eight men swaggered inside, each clad in sleeveless leather jackets, their boots thudding heavy against the wooden floor. Their movements reeked of arrogance, like predators who believed the room already belonged to them.
At the front stood their leader—a bulky man, just shy of six feet, with broad shoulders and a scar tracing jaggedly across his cheek. His slicked-back black hair only made the scarred face more menacing. The others fanned out behind him, each marked with a Scorpio tattoo inked somewhere across their arms, necks, or chests.
"Oii, Ms. Gena!" the leader barked, slamming his palm against the wooden counter.
From the kitchen, Gena emerged, drying her hands on a cloth, her face tight with unease.
"We want some rooms," the man sneered.
Her voice came soft, measured, almost apologetic. "I'm sorry… we are not handling accommodations at the moment."
"Huhh? How come?" one of the men behind him spat. "I see you got some guests here already."
The leader's gaze followed his man's finger—straight toward Wads' table.
"You see, they are people I know very well," Gena said quickly, her tone laced with urgency.
The group started toward the table. Wads let out the faintest sigh, leaning back as if even their intrusion was little more than an inconvenience. Keiya and Reiyell didn't bother to look up, still chewing calmly. Liora propped her chin on her palm, staring at them lazily with mismatched eyes, chewing as if the gang's presence was beneath notice.
"I see some unfamiliar faces," the leader said as they halted a few inches from the table. His gaze cut toward Gena. "And yet you speak as if you know them 'very well,' Ms. Gena."
Liora blew a small puff of air through her nose and kept chewing.
"But then again…" one of the men grinned, eyes sliding toward Keiya. "I see three wonderful, beautiful ladies here, Boss."
"You wouldn't mind if we borrow 'em for a bit, aye?" another chimed in, throwing Wads a glance that wasn't quite a request.
The first thug leaned lower, fingers brushing against Keiya's hair. "C'mon, ladies—we'll make sure the three of you are well satisfied—"
He didn't finish. His body flew across the room, crashing into a table with a sickening thud.
The others froze, eyes wide.
Standing in his place was Klyden, shirtless, his chest and arms glistening with sweat from the kitchen's heat. His frame was lean but carved with muscle, broad across the shoulders, each line defined as though chiseled from stone. A towel hung across his shoulder, and in his free hand, he still carried a plate. His brow furrowed only briefly before his usual radiant grin returned, and he flexed his knuckles.
The gang instinctively stepped back a pace.
Klyden strolled toward the table and set down the new dishes—a small honey cake and a stack of freshly baked cookies—like nothing had happened.
"What an epic entrance," Liora teased, spoon still in her mouth.
"I just saved that man from being burned alive by Kei!" Klyden declared, grinning wide.
"I told you not to call me that," Keiya muttered, taking a cookie anyway.
"Disappointing," Reiyell murmured, sipping her tea.
"Agree," Liora chimed, still chewing.
"I was expecting something more," Wads added lazily, barely glancing up from his parchment.
"I didn't know they were just a bunch of… kids," Keiya said flatly.
Their insults landed like stones in silence. The thugs' faces twisted between confusion and outrage, some sputtering, others stammering.
"W-who are these guys?!" one shouted.
"They're the ones who look like kids!" another snapped back.
"Calm down," their leader growled, holding firm, though even his eyes flicked warily toward Klyden.
"Can I fight theemmm?" Klyden asked, eyes practically glowing as he leaned forward toward Wads. His hands were clasped together like a child begging for candy, his grin stretched from ear to ear.
Wads looked at him deadpan, expression flat as stone. He slowly raised the cookie in his hand, bit into it, and chewed with deliberate calm. "Do as you wish," he replied coolly, not even sparing Klyden a second glance.
Klyden's smile split wider, his entire face lighting up with glee.
"Don't die," Liora muttered lazily, not even lifting her head from where she leaned on her arm.
"Don't break anything," Reiyell said calmly, her gaze flicking toward the walls and wooden tables of the small inn of Gena.
Keiya, arms crossed, let out a long sigh. "If you break anything, you won't have any meal for the day."
Klyden gasped like she had struck him with a sword. He clutched his stomach, stumbled back two steps, and dropped to his knees in mock devastation. "Keiyaa, how could you? That's crueler than death itself!"
The men across the room stiffened, their pride stung as they watched Klyden turn his back to them and continue whining about food instead of paying them attention.
"Not even rice? Not even a little soup?!" Klyden whined.
"You think you can win alone!?" one of them barked angrily.
Klyden, still facing Keiya, waved his hand dismissively. "I'm not worried about you guys—I'm worried about starvation!"
That only made them angrier. With a growl, one of the men charged forward.
Klyden turned lazily just in time, his sunny grin returning as he sidestepped the attack with a dancer's light step. His hand flicked out, tapping the man's chest—not enough to hurt, but enough to spin him off balance. The thug stumbled toward a table, about to crash through it, but Klyden darted forward with surprising sharpness, caught the man by the collar mid-fall, and with exaggerated care laid him flat on the floor.
"Shhh," he whispered down at the unconscious man, pressing a finger to his lips. "Nap-time."
Another thug rushed him with a roar. Klyden leaned sideways just as a fist swept past his cheek, then ducked under the swing of a chair the man grabbed. "Whoa, whoa—watch the furniture!" he scolded, hopping onto a nearby stool and flipping over the attacker's head. He jabbed him lightly on the back of the neck with a precise strike. The man stiffened, his eyes rolled up, and he collapsed forward—right toward a tray of drinks.
Klyden gasped, caught him by the belt before disaster struck, and gently set him down beside his unconscious comrade. "Easy there, buddy. Let's not make Keiya mad, hmm?"
The remaining men snarled, realizing what they were up against. They shared a glance—and then all four of them surged toward Klyden at once.
"Hey, hey, hey!" Klyden yelped, holding his hands up dramatically. "Four against one? That's cheating!"
The first swung a dagger low. Klyden hopped sideways, one foot landing on the edge of the table. The blade skimmed past harmlessly, slicing the air. With a playful kick, Klyden tapped the man's wrist; the dagger clattered across the floor.
Before the thug could recover, another came in with a heavy punch aimed at Klyden's ribs. Klyden bent backwards like a bow, the fist whooshing past his chest. He grinned upside-down at the man, then used the momentum of his bend to flip onto his hands, both feet snapping upward into the attacker's chin. The man staggered back, dazed.
The third thug lunged, trying to grab Klyden from behind. Klyden spun on one palm, twisting his body like a breakdancer, his free hand hooking the man's collar. With a sharp tug and a pivot, he slung the thug straight into the second attacker's chest, the two crashing down in a heap of curses.
"Teamwork makes the dream work!" Klyden chirped, landing neatly on his feet.
The fourth, angrier than the rest, grabbed a chair and swung it overhead like an axe. Klyden's eyes widened in mock fear. "Whoa, furniture abuse! Keiya's going to kill me if that breaks!" He ducked low, the chair smashing against the wall behind him with a loud crack. Splinters scattered, dust falling from the ceiling.
Klyden swept his leg in a graceful arc, knocking the thug's knees out from under him. As the man toppled, Klyden caught him by the back of the shirt, eased him down gently, and patted his cheek. "Nap time!"
One by one, the groaning men lay sprawled across the floor, arranged neatly like children tucked in for bed.
Klyden brushed his hands dramatically as if dusting them off. "All taken care of. See? No scratches, no broken chairs, no empty stomachs. I deserve a cookie for that."
The leader stood alone now, fists clenched, glaring around the inn. His men were scattered like broken dolls.
Klyden turned toward Wads' table, grinning brightly. "Sooo, how was my performance? Out of ten? Be honest."
Wads didn't even blink, leaning back in his chair. "Too noisy."
Reiyell, serene as always, tilted her head. "They do not carry the scent. Perhaps they are just ordinary thugs?"
"Could be," Wads replied, eyes narrowing as he glanced at the unconscious pile. "But my intuition tells me one of them knows something."
"Klyden, finish it." Keiya's voice cut through, sharp and commanding. Her glare met his smile. "Do. Not. Knock. Him."
"Aye, ayeee!" Klyden chirped with a salute, though his grin only widened.
The leader bared his teeth, stepping forward. His glare clashed with Klyden's sunny smile, the tension hanging thick in the air. Then he lunged.
Klyden didn't even bother striking back at first. He dodged with effortless sways of his body, weaving around every wild punch. His grin never faltered.
"He's weak," Liora muttered bluntly, already bored.
The leader's breath grew ragged, sweat running down his temple as he swung harder, faster—desperately trying to land a hit. But it was useless. Klyden simply tilted his head this way, stepped that way, playful as ever.
Finally, the man broke. His eyes darted toward the table where Wads and the others sat, and horror crossed his face. He realized they were out of their depth—completely out of their league.
Then, in a desperate move, he turned and bolted straight for the inn's door.
"Embarrassing," Liora scoffed, a small laugh escaping her.
Klyden started after him, but stopped short as something blocked the exit.
The man stumbled back, clutching his forehead with a groan. When he looked up—his blood froze. A pair of glowing red eyes stared down at him.
Ashborne stood there, fresh from hunting, a splash of blood still on his cheek. His expression was blank, his head tilted slightly in confusion.
The thug's scream died in his throat as he fainted flat on the spot.
Ashborne blinked, then looked at Klyden, then at the table where the others sat. "...Who is this?" he asked, utterly puzzled.
That broke the tension instantly. Klyden doubled over laughing so hard his stomach hurt, and Liora joined him, her own laughter ringing out through the inn.
Wads only leaned back further, sighing into his coffee. It couldn't possibly get worse than this, he thought.