Nocth leaned forward, elbow resting on the smooth, polished counter of the Alehouse—or at least that's what the establishment's signage suggested in this strange, alien tongue he didn't recognize. His chin rested in the palm of his hand, fingers curling slightly, as though he were bracing for something unseen, something he couldn't yet name. He stayed like that, unmoving, eyes scanning the room in slow sweeps, catching the movement of hanging lanterns, the sway of low-hung banners, and the faint glimmer of polished brass on the tables.
It wasn't curiosity, exactly. Not entirely. There was a subtle ache, something he couldn't put a word to. A quiet tug in the pit of his chest that made him almost long for—he wasn't sure what—something to occupy his senses. Something to cut the silence in his mind. His posture, the tilt of his head, the faint frown knitting his brow together, all suggested it: he wanted… to sit, to watch, to absorb something, to let it pass through him. Not any specific thing, not a known story, not a display of skill—but a kind of… entertainment.
Imius noticed immediately. "You thinking what I think you're thinking?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Nocth blinked, tilting his head slowly. "I… I just don't know what it is," he murmured, voice soft, as though testing the words for meaning. "But… are there things here to cure… boredom? Or whatever?" He shrugged, hands moving slightly in the air, mimicking the act of holding some invisible device, like a person ready to sink into a world of sound and light that didn't exist here.
Imius froze, then leaned closer, tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Shhh! Don't go imagining things like that out loud." He glanced around, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Karkos used to be—get this—an entertainer. Proper singer, all that jazz. Could charm a bar full of drunkards and sober alike." He leaned back and gestured with a flourish, nearly knocking over a tankard in his enthusiasm. "Did someone say they wanted entertainment?" His voice rose, half teasing, half dramatic, hands slicing the air in a mock announcement. "Because if so…"
A ripple of movement caught Nocth's attention. From across the room, a figure stepped forward. Karkos. Older than most of the patrons, shoulders broad, back straight despite the sway of alcohol in his veins. His arms lifted like the prelude to some ancient ritual, fingers stretching wide, face breaking into a grin that suggested mischief and history alike.
Then, without warning, he began. The first note rolled through the Alehouse like a wave, both melodic and jagged. His voice carried, not refined, but precise in its grit—the voice of a man who had survived, who had sung in moments of triumph and despair.
"Raise yer mugs, boys, and hush yer tongues,
The shadow walks where the crown ain't hung!"
Nocth's eyes narrowed, catching the strange tension in the syllables. Words that were more than words, phrases that hinted at something deeper, echoes of a past he didn't have—or one he couldn't remember. His fingers twitched against his chin.
Karkos moved through the room with theatricality, steps punctuating the rhythm of his lyrics. His body bent, stretched, swayed—sometimes falling low to the floor as if bowing to some unseen audience, then springing upward, arms spinning, gestures sharp and dangerous, like knives slicing the air.
"Oi, I was a grunt back in the forge o' stars,
We swung spears 'round planets, got scars for bars,
Heard whispers of a shadow, name don't stick,
Moves like smoke, sly as a thief, cunning as a trick."
Nocth leaned back slightly, absorbing the motion. His eyes tracked Karkos's hands, his elbows, the subtle flex of muscles as he moved, each action punctuated by the beat of the lyrics. The movements were chaotic, yet precise—the perfect balance of instinct and practiced repetition, like watching a celestial dance performed in fragments.
Chorus again, louder this time, as Karkos spun toward the center of the Alehouse:
"Raise yer mugs, boys, and hush yer tongues,
The shadow walks where the crown ain't hung!"
Imius's laughter bubbled up next to him. He leaned forward, elbow brushing Nocth's shoulder. "See? Told you. This is what passes for entertainment around here." His grin was wide, teeth flashing, eyes dancing with the same energy Karkos poured into the song.
Karkos sang, voice raising, hands stabbing toward the audience with each line:
"They say Anu, big shot, eyein' the System high,
Saw somethin' slitherin' where the laws don't lie,
A crown that never forged, a truth you can't pen,
Even gods sweat bullets when it grins again."
The other older men in the Alehouse joined, linking arms, forming a line behind Karkos. They moved in unison, bending, leaning, spinning in exaggerated motions, punctuating every syllable with steps and gestures as if the rhythm of the song dictated their physical existence. Women in flowing garments began circling, hips swaying, arms reaching toward the ceiling, laughing as they moved with the beat.
Imius's eyes sparkled as he watched. "Now that's what I call a show."
The three noble teens near the Saevereth girl shifted uncomfortably, muttering under their breaths at the exuberance of the older patrons. Imius, of course, noticed. With a sly smirk, he grabbed a small cup of beverage from the table and flicked it gently at the nobles—just enough to splash droplets across their robes. "Catch the rhythm, boys!" he whispered theatrically, pretending to belt out the chorus himself, arms stretched wide.
Nocth's lips parted slightly as the melody penetrated the crowded room. His mind traced the words, the symbols embedded in the rhythm, the subtle hints in the lyrics. It was about Anu, yes—but it was more than that. Something secret, coded in the syllables, the pauses, the rhythm of the body movement. His fingers twitched as he unconsciously mimicked Karkos's gestures, small, almost imperceptible, following the sway and the twist of hands in midair.
"Veyrath's takin' notes, lures in their claws,
Sul sips wine, laughin' at all our flaws,
The drink's cheap, but the stories are dear,
Of a ghost in the void that whispers in your ear."
The chorus thundered again, bodies swinging in unison:
"Raise yer mugs, boys, and hush yer tongues,
The shadow walks where the crown ain't hung!"
Nocth's heartbeat echoed against his ribs. His stomach fluttered with the old, inexplicable sense of memory tugging at the edges of his mind. The song, the gestures, the room, the way the flames danced on polished stone—they were familiar. Not in a way he could name, but in a way that made him feel warm, slightly dizzy, and… strangely content.
Imius leaned closer, nudging him with an elbow. "You see that? That's entertainment, buddy. Real deal."
Nocth nodded slightly, expression blank but inwardly alive with sensation, the words and gestures flowing into something his body recognized even if his mind did not.
"Lightions brawl, Darkions bite,
Universe kings sleep uneasy at night,
Some say the shadow feeds, some say it waits,
Pullin' strings of fate behind unseen gates."
The song built into a crescendo. Karkos spun one last time, arms high, the older men supporting his rhythm, the ladies circling, the drums of the Alehouse thudding in a chaotic harmony. Imius clapped along, laughing, tipping back in his chair as if the walls themselves had become part of the performance.
Finally, the music slowed. Karkos leaned heavily against the table, chest heaving, eyes gleaming with sweat and joy. The older men sank into chairs around him, arms still linked, grinning like conspirators. The ladies curtsied, their dance ending in a flourish. Silence hung for a breathless moment before the Alehouse erupted in applause, laughter, and cheer.
Nocth exhaled softly, still sitting with hands near his bowl, eyes wide, processing the experience. The song, the gestures, the rhythm, the story—it was alive. Something about it hinted at Anu, at secrets and history, at movements and echoes of a world he didn't fully recall. And yet, here he was, seated, part of it, even if only quietly, observing, learning, feeling.
Imius leaned back, wiping a hand across his face. "See? Told ya, you can't just stare at walls all night. Sometimes the world throws a proper show at you, and you gotta watch it."
Nocth tried to smile, small, awkward, almost imperceptible, but the warmth lingered. Around them, the Alehouse continued to hum with life—the songs, the laughter, the clinking of mugs—all carrying hints of shadowed secrets, stories half-told, and the promise that some things were best left for those willing to see.
For the first time in an age he couldn't name, Nocth felt… present.
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