Derek didn't look like he belonged in the tavern.
Not because he stood out-Rootwilds was full of strange faces, mercenaries with scarred hands, merchants with fat coin purses, and travellers who looked like they'd slept in mud for weeks.
No, Derek didn't belong because he sat too still.
Too quiet.
Like he was waiting for the entire building to make the wrong move.
The tavern itself was warmer than anything Vernon had experienced in the forest. Lantern-light pooled across wooden tables, the air thick with the smell of roasted meat, ale, and damp cloaks drying by the fire. Voices collided in waves-laughter, bargaining, drunken boasting, and the occasional argument that died before it could grow teeth.
Vernon's stomach twisted again.
He didn't know why.
He had expected the city to feel... exciting.
Instead it felt like walking through a den full of animals that had learned how to smile.
Bruce, on the other hand, looked like he might explode from joy.
His eyes still darted everywhere-at the bar, the stairwell, the menu chalkboard, the workers carrying trays, the strangers' clothes, the strange accents, the way some people wore weapons openly while others hid them beneath coats.
"Dad!" Bruce called, practically skipping.
A few heads turned.
Vernon winced and tugged Bruce's sleeve down. "Not so loud."
Bruce ignored him completely.
Derek raised his gaze from the mug in his hands. His expression didn't change, but his eyes softened slightly when he saw them.
"You're late," he said.
Bruce grinned. "We got distracted."
"That's obvious," Derek replied.
Vernon stepped forward more carefully, as if he was approaching a sleeping beast. He sat beside Bruce, keeping his posture calm even while his nerves refused to cooperate.
The table was tucked into a shadowed corner-strategic. Derek's back was against the wall, and from his angle he could see the entire tavern without moving his head.
Vernon noticed it immediately.
Of course.
Derek had probably chosen the seat the moment he walked in, the way a predator chooses the best place to watch prey.
Bruce leaned forward. "You should've seen the streets! There's food everywhere. And people everywhere. And carts and shops and-"
"Breathe," Vernon muttered.
Bruce huffed but kept smiling.
Derek's gaze flicked between them. "You're both intact."
"Mostly," Bruce said.
Vernon nodded. "No trouble."
Derek's eyes narrowed slightly, as if he didn't believe the words simply because they were too neat.
Then he looked at Bruce.
"Tell me what you did today."
Bruce straightened like he'd been waiting for permission to speak. "We met someone."
Derek's eyes narrowed. "Who?"
"A boy," Bruce said. "He's our age. Well-around our age."
Vernon corrected automatically. "Slightly older."
Bruce waved it off. "He has cat ears."
Derek stared.
Vernon sighed. "He's not joking."
Derek blinked once. Then he said flatly, "Explain."
Bruce leaned in, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. "His name is Liralic. He's got a tail too. Like a real one. Not a belt. And he talks like a normal person. He even-"
"He's probably a beastkin," Derek interrupted.
Vernon's attention sharpened at the word.
Bruce tilted his head. "Beastkin?"
Derek nodded. "There are bloodlines in the world that aren't purely human. Some are cursed. Some are blessed. Some are simply old enough that no one remembers where they started."
Bruce's eyes lit up again. "So he's like... a half-cat?"
Derek gave him a look.
Bruce coughed. "Okay. Beastkin."
Vernon's curiosity rose despite his anxiety. "He seemed normal. Friendly."
Derek's gaze turned colder. "Friendly isn't a guarantee of safety."
Bruce frowned. "You say that about everyone."
"Because it's true," Derek replied.
Vernon leaned back slightly, letting the tavern's warmth sink into him. For the first time since entering the city, he realized his shoulders had been tense the entire time.
He forced himself to relax.
Bruce, of course, did not.
He looked around again, practically vibrating. "Dad, this place is amazing."
"It's loud," Vernon muttered.
"It's alive," Bruce shot back.
Derek watched them bicker quietly, then set his mug down.
"Enough," he said.
Both of them stopped.
Derek folded his arms.
"You came here because you wanted to see the world," he said. "So I'm going to treat you like people who can handle it."
Bruce's grin returned instantly.
Vernon's stomach tightened again.
Derek continued, voice calm but carrying weight.
"You're not here to wander. You're not here to stare at shops and pretend you're tourists. Rootwilds is a sub-city, not a playground."
Bruce's grin faltered. "It's... kinda both."
Derek ignored him.
"There are four tasks you will complete," Derek said. "And you will complete them without drawing attention."
Vernon straightened.
Bruce leaned in.
Derek held up one finger.
"First: learn the layout of the city."
Bruce nodded. Vernon nodded slower.
"You will memorize streets, markets, guard routes, exits, alleys, and shortcuts. If someone chases you, you need to know where to vanish. If you need to run, you run smart."
Vernon swallowed.
Derek lifted a second finger.
"Second: materials."
Bruce's eyes sharpened. "For weapons?"
"For training," Derek corrected. "Iron and steel. Leather. A hammer. Basic tools. Enough to begin learning forging and maintenance."
Vernon blinked. "Forging?"
"You're not going to rely on buying blades forever," Derek said. "And you're not going to cry to me when your dagger snaps."
Bruce scoffed. "My dagger won't snap."
Derek stared at him.
Bruce coughed again. "Probably."
A third finger rose.
"Third: a smithy."
Bruce's expression brightened. Vernon's curiosity rose.
"You will find a smithy," Derek said, "and you will earn access. If it requires coin, you pay. If it requires work, you work. Either way, you will learn the basics. Even if you never become true smiths, you will understand the craft."
Vernon nodded slowly. That at least made sense.
Derek raised a fourth finger.
"Fourth: clothes."
Bruce glanced down at himself, still wearing travel-worn clothing that screamed _forest child_ to anyone with eyes.
Vernon did the same and felt his face heat.
Although the clothes given by Alice could adopt Vernon's and Bruce's body shape through highly sophisticated arrays it would have eventually worn itself into a state where it would no longer work.
Derek's voice stayed even. "You need cloaks. Better boots. Layers. A mask if you intend to move without being recognized."
Bruce blinked. "Recognized by who?"
Derek didn't answer directly.
He only said, "People who don't need to know your name."
Vernon's stomach tightened harder at that.
Bruce's eyes gleamed. "Masks. That's cool."
Vernon looked at him like he was insane.
Derek's gaze moved between them.
"You will start tomorrow morning," he said. "Tonight, you sleep. You don't wander. You don't leave this tavern. And you don't start fights."
Bruce lifted his hand. "What if the fight starts itself?"
Derek's eyes narrowed.
Bruce lowered his hand. "Okay."
Vernon hesitated, then asked quietly, "What about Liralic?"
Derek's expression didn't change, but Vernon noticed his attention sharpen.
"What about him?" Derek asked.
Bruce shrugged. "He's nice. And he knows the city. He helped us with the merchant commission."
Derek's gaze flicked to Vernon. "You did a merchant commission?"
Vernon nodded. "It paid well. It wasn't difficult."
Derek's eyes narrowed. "You did that before completing any of the tasks I intended for you."
Bruce opened his mouth, then closed it.
Vernon sighed. "We didn't know about the tasks."
Derek stared at them both.
Then, unexpectedly, he let out a low breath-half annoyance, half amusement.
"...Of course," he muttered. "You two would find work before you find direction."
Bruce grinned like he'd been complimented.
Vernon didn't know whether to be relieved or embarrassed.
Derek leaned forward slightly. "If this Liralic is trustworthy, use him. A guide is useful. But don't tell him more than necessary."
Bruce nodded.
Vernon nodded too, though his anxiety didn't ease.
The city felt like a mouth.
And Rootwilds felt like the tongue.
Everything tasted newcomers first.
That night, the tavern room was cramped, but warm.
They slept in a small upstairs chamber Derek had paid for-two beds, one window, and a floor that creaked whenever someone shifted their weight.
Bruce flopped onto his bed like he'd been shot.
Vernon sat on the edge of his, still fully dressed.
Bruce stared at the ceiling. "I can't believe people live like this."
Vernon frowned. "Like what?"
Bruce waved vaguely. "So many people. So close. So... normal."
Vernon's hands tightened slightly around the blanket.
"It doesn't feel normal," he admitted.
Bruce rolled onto his side. "Right.. it feels awesome instead."
Vernon stared at him.
Bruce smirked. "You look like you're about to throw up."
Vernon scowled. "My stomach hurts."
Bruce's grin widened. "That's because you're scared."
Vernon didn't deny it.
Bruce's voice softened a little. "It's fine. Dad's here. We're here. And we're not weak anymore."
Vernon exhaled slowly.
He wanted to believe that.
But the city didn't feel like the forest.
The forest was honest.
The city was smiling.
Morning came with noise.
Voices below. Footsteps on stairs. Someone laughing too loudly. A cart rolling past outside the window.
Bruce woke first and immediately tried to pull Vernon out of bed.
"Up," Bruce said. "Up up up. City day."
Vernon groaned. "You're unbearable."
Bruce grinned. "You're just jealous because I'm excited and you're dying inside."
Vernon threw a pillow at him.
Bruce caught it easily and laughed.
When they went downstairs, Derek was already awake, already dressed, already drinking something that smelled bitter enough to kill a man.
He didn't look at them as they approached.
"Eat," he said.
Bruce looked at the food on the table and nearly cried.
Bread. Eggs. Meat. Something sweet. Something fried.
Bruce grabbed a piece immediately.
Vernon hesitated, then ate more carefully, still watching the tavern like it might bite him.
Derek's gaze lifted briefly.
"Today," he said, "you complete the tasks."
Bruce swallowed quickly. "Okay~."
Vernon nodded. "Yes."
Derek's eyes narrowed slightly. "And don't forget-learn the city. Don't just walk through it."
Vernon's eyes sharpened at that. "Understood."
The streets of Rootwilds felt different in the morning.
The tavern crowds were replaced by workers. Merchants pulling carts. Guards patrolling in pairs. Children running between legs. The smell of smoke and bread drifting through the air.
Bruce's head turned constantly.
Vernon's attention, instead, went to the details.
The alleyways.
The exits.
The corners where shadows lingered.
The way streets curved not by design, but by growth-like the city had been forced to build around the roots of ancient trees.
He could feel the Rootwilds beneath his feet.
Like the forest had extended into civilization and refused to fully surrender.
They met Liralic near the market square.
He waved the moment he saw them, his tail flicking behind him like it had a mind of its own.
"You're alive!" Liralic said brightly.
Bruce laughed. "Barely."
Vernon blinked. "That's dramatic."
Liralic stepped closer. "So what are you doing today?"
Bruce grinned. "Shopping."
Vernon corrected, "Preparing."
Liralic tilted his head. "That sounds boring."
"It is," Bruce said. "But it's important."
Liralic's ears perked. "I can help!"
Vernon glanced at Bruce.
Bruce shrugged as if to say why not?
Vernon sighed. "Sure."
Liralic clapped his hands together. "Then what's first?"
Vernon nodded. "Materials, specifically Leather. Iron. Steel. Hammer."
Liralic's eyes widened. "Are you two planning to join a smithy?"
Bruce grinned. "That's the plan."
Liralic looked genuinely impressed. "Hm~ okay. Follow me."
They moved through Rootwilds with Liralic leading, weaving between streets like he'd been born from them.
Vernon watched carefully, memorizing every turn.
Bruce, meanwhile, asked Liralic endless questions.
"So are you like... always a cat?" Bruce asked.
Liralic's tail lashed. "I'm not a cat."
Bruce nodded. "Right. Beastkin."
Liralic's ears twitched. "I'm not half-cat either."
Bruce frowned. "But you have ears."
"That doesn't mean I'm a cat," Liralic snapped.
Vernon murmured, "It kinda does."
Liralic glared at him.
Vernon looked away innocently.
Bruce laughed so hard he nearly walked into a cart.
They stopped first at Odin's butcher shop.
It smelled like blood, spice, and smoke.
Bruce's eyes widened in fascination.
Vernon's stomach did something unpleasant.
A large man behind the counter looked up, wiping his hands on a cloth.
"New faces," Odin said. "You buying meat or staring?"
Bruce immediately said, "Both."
Odin snorted. "Bold of you."
Liralic stepped forward. "They're looking for leather. Good quality."
Odin raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
Vernon answered evenly. "Training gear. Cloaks. Repairs."
Odin's gaze swept over them. "You don't look like city boys."
Bruce grinned. "We're not."
Odin's eyes narrowed slightly, then he shrugged and reached behind the counter, pulling out bundled strips of treated leather.
"Take it," he said. "Don't waste it."
Bruce held it like it was treasure.
Vernon paid carefully, counting the coins with more focus than he'd ever used in the forest.
When they left, Liralic looked impressed.
"You two actually know what you're doing," he said.
Bruce grinned. "We pretend really well."
After that came iron and steel.
They purchased rods and plates from a supply vendor who stared at them like they were insane for buying so much.
Bruce carried the bundles with ease.
Vernon carried his own, but his focus was split-mapping streets, watching guard patrols, memorizing signs.
Liralic struggled with his share, panting.
Bruce blinked. "You're weak."
Liralic hissed. "I'm normal!"
Vernon muttered, "Normal is weak."
Liralic's ears flattened.
Bruce laughed again.
By the time they reached the smithy, the sun was higher, the streets louder, and the smell of smoke thicker.
The building was impossible to miss.
It wasn't just the sound of hammering.
It was the presence.
Heat rolled out from the open entrance like a living thing.
Inside, sparks danced.
And at the centre stood a man shaped like a mountain.
His arms were thick enough to break necks. His beard was dark, his apron scorched, his hands stained black with soot and iron.
He didn't look up at them immediately.
He just hammered.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
Then he stopped.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze.
"What do you want?" he asked.
Bruce swallowed.
Vernon spoke first. "We want to learn."
The man's eyes narrowed. "You want to buy a blade?"
"No," Vernon said. "We want membership. Training. Access."
The man stared at them like they'd told him they wanted to marry his forge.
Then he barked out a laugh.
"You got coin?"
Bruce hesitated.
Vernon didn't. "Not enough."
The man grunted. "Good. Coin makes lazy learners."
He wiped his hands on his apron and stepped forward.
"Name's Hunk Blue," he said. "You want in here, you work. You break something, you pay. You burn yourself, you don't cry."
Bruce nodded fast. "Yes."
Vernon nodded slower. "Understood."
Hunk's gaze swept over their materials. "You brought your own?"
Bruce held up the bundles proudly.
Hunk grunted approval. "Then you're already smarter than half the idiots who walk in here."
He pointed toward a stack of chopped wood.
"Rules," he said. "Simple."
He held up a thick finger.
"Restock firewood."
Another finger.
"Clean the tools."
Another.
"Fill barrels with water."
Another.
"Bring your own materials."
His eyes narrowed.
"And if anything breaks, reimburse me."
Bruce and Vernon nodded.
Hunk waved them off like flies. "Come tomorrow. Don't get in my way while I work."
And just like that, he turned back to the forge, hammer rising again.
Bruce exhaled. "That was cool."
Vernon muttered, "He's a living mountain."
Liralic looked starstruck. "I've never even spoken to him before."
Bruce grinned. "We just did."
Vernon's stomach twisted again.
But this time, he wasn't sure if it was fear.
Or excitement.
By the time they finished the rest of their errands, the sun was beginning to sink.
They purchased clothes-better fitted, darker, easier to move in.
And the most important part...
A cloak.
And a mask.
Not a fancy one. Not a noble's mask.
Something simple.
Something that said don't look too closely.
Bruce held his up like a trophy.
Vernon stared at his own for a long time before slipping it into his bag.
Liralic tilted his head. "You two planning to rob someone?"
Bruce laughed. "Not yet."
Vernon muttered, "Don't joke about that."
Liralic grinned anyway. "You're both weird."
Bruce clapped him on the shoulder. "You're coming with us tomorrow."
Liralic blinked. "I am?"
Bruce nodded. "If you want."
Liralic's tail flicked happily. "Yeah. I do."
At around six, Liralic stopped near a narrow street lined with smaller homes.
He hesitated.
"Gotta go," he said. "My guardian will start yelling if I'm late."
Bruce waved him off. "Go. We'll see you."
Vernon nodded. "Tomorrow."
Liralic's ears perked.
"...I'll catch you guys about!" he said quickly, then turned and jogged away.
Bruce watched him go with a grin.
Vernon watched him go with quiet thought.
A friend.
A real one.
Not forged through survival, but through coincidence.
That felt strange.
And good.
They turned back toward the tavern.
The streets were darker now, lanterns glowing, voices quieter but still alive.
When they reached the tavern entrance, Bruce paused.
Vernon noticed.
"What?" Vernon asked.
Bruce frowned slightly, scanning the street.
"...Do you feel that?" he asked.
Vernon blinked. "Feel what?"
Bruce's gaze narrowed. "It's like... something's missing."
Vernon's stomach tightened.
He knew what it was.
He didn't say it out loud.
But he looked up toward the rooftops.
Toward the lantern-lit streets.
Toward the city beyond.
Melian's glow wasn't there.
Not watching.
Not hovering.
Not lingering like she always had.
For the first time since they'd met her...
She wasn't near them at all.
Bruce swallowed. "She's gone."
Vernon nodded slowly.
"...Yeah," he said quietly. "She is."
Bruce exhaled, then forced a grin like he could shake the thought away.
"Well," he said, pushing open the tavern door, "she'll regret missing dinner."
Vernon almost smiled.
Almost.
Then they stepped into the warmth.
Back toward Derek.
Back toward the path forward.