Chapter 43 - Evening

  Late afternoon light slipped in through the warehouse door, left half open.

  Its shadow stretched across the wooden floor, brushing against stacks of empty crates neatly arranged along one side of the room.

  Thomas stood among them, sliding one crate into the final corner. Wood scraped softly, dry and brief.

  He lifted the last crate, set it on the pile, then tapped its surface once. The sound was muted.

  Fine dust drifted inside the warehouse, turning slowly as it caught the light. A lingering warmth clung to the wooden walls and floor.

  The sound of wooden wheels came from outside. Flat and steady, without any jolt.

  Thomas paused. His hands lowered to his sides.

  Zio appeared at the doorway, pulling a handcart with straight, controlled steps.

  Thomas turned slightly and gave a small nod.

  Zio returned it just as briefly.

  The cart was set in front of the warehouse. The wheels gave a soft creak as they stopped.

  Zio lowered the handle and made sure it stood balanced before letting go.

  Thomas stepped outside. He took hold of the warehouse door and shut it with a firm push. Wood and iron met with a short sound.

  Not loud.

  Not echoing.

  Just a sign that the day’s routine had fully come to an end.

  The bar was slid into place.

  They walked away from the warehouse side by side. Their steps fell into the same rhythm without realizing it, following a path they already knew.

  The warehouse stood quiet behind them. No movement remained.

  The streets of Ravenhold began to dim as dusk drew closer. Lamps were lit one by one, and the city’s noise softened with them.

  Footsteps could still be heard. Cart wheels passed now and then, but no longer overlapped the way they had earlier.

  Zio and Thomas kept walking.

  Halvor inn came into view. Smoke rose quietly from its chimney.

  The door was opened. A small bell rang, faint and brief.

  Inside the main room, Myra stood behind the counter.

  Her gaze fell on Thomas.

  There was no greeting.

  No familiar smile.

  Only a brief look that lingered for a few seconds.

  Then Myra turned her face back toward the counter.

  Thomas did not sit. He walked past and headed straight for his room.

  Zio paused for a moment, then climbed the stairs.

  The main room returned to silence.

  The room was quiet, lit by lamplight that spread evenly across the desk and stone walls. Behind the large table sat a man with a straight back. His build was broad, his blond hair neatly kept. Not a single movement was wasted.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “Come in,” Alex said shortly.

  The door opened. A guild officer stepped inside and lowered his head briefly.

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  “Good evening, Sir Alex.”

  Alex gave a small gesture with his hand. The officer took the seat across from the desk.

  “Any developments?” Alex asked, without preamble.

  The officer opened his report. His voice remained flat.

  “None so far, sir. Regarding the western medical outpost incident. The survivor was inside the storage room when it happened. He only heard screams until everything ended. He saw nothing. He does not know what truly occurred.”

  Alex remained silent.

  “The only clue left is the hilt of the medical outpost guard’s sword,” the officer continued. “The blade was completely destroyed. It is believed to have been struck by a mana flow of extremely high intensity.”

  Alex paused for a moment.

  “Was it a magic sword or an ordinary one?” he asked.

  “A magic sword, sir. Mid to high grade,” the officer replied.

  Alex curled his lips into a thin smile.

  “The death compensation for the outpost guard has been delivered to the family?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. Including additional funds from the sale of seven beast cores recovered from the site,” the officer answered.

  “Do we need to block access to the western mine?” the officer asked.

  “No,” Alex replied. “Beast movement patterns crossing territory like that have happened before. Decades ago.”

  “Let the adventurers with the nerve to face it handle the matter.”

  “Just place danger markers around the western medical outpost and the surrounding area.”

  The officer nodded. “Understood, sir.”

  “We kill beasts and take their cores. Beasts kill us and take our lives,” Alex said, his gaze fixed on the desk.

  “A fair exchange,” he added calmly.

  The curtain stirred as a breeze slipped in through the window.

  The officer stood from his seat.

  “When the investigation is complete, bring the sword hilt here,” Alex said.

  “Yes, sir.” The officer left the chamber.

  The discussion ended there. The report was considered closed.

  The room fell silent once more, holding answers that would never be found.

  Thin steam rose from the pot over the stove, carrying the scent of mushrooms and rendered meat. Myra stood there, stirring the soup slowly with a wooden spoon.

  The main room of the inn was not loud. Now and then, it was broken by the faint sound of metal touching wood from a table in the corner.

  The staircase creaked.

  Zio came down with his usual steady steps, almost soundless. Myra glanced over and wiped her hands on her white apron.

  “Dinner?” she asked.

  Zio gave a small nod and walked to the corner table, the one he had chosen ever since his first night at Halvor Inn.

  Moments later, Myra returned with a large bowl of mushroom soup with a few thick cuts of meat, accompanied by a glass of warm tea.

  “Thank you,” Zio said briefly.

  Myra answered with a thin smile that did not fully reach her eyes. She moved toward the neighboring table.

  Zio picked up his spoon.

  “Where is Thomas?”

  Myra’s hand paused for a moment. “He hasn’t come out of his room. Probably tired.”

  Zio nodded and continued eating.

  Silence filled the room. Only the sound of a spoon touching ceramic and a cloth sliding across wood remained.

  Zio finished his last bite, drained his tea, then stood.

  “Thank you for the meal, Auntie.”

  Myra stopped wiping the table and watched his back for a moment. “You’re welcome, Zio.”

  Zio’s footsteps climbed the stairs. The wood creaked briefly, then vanished behind his door.

  The last trace of dusk had faded, replaced by night slowly slipping in through the windows of the main room.

  Another set of footsteps followed. Heavier. More hesitant.

  Thomas walked over and sat down. His shoulders sagged slightly.

  Myra brought a bowl of soup and set it in front of him. She did not leave right away.

  “You should tell him now,” she whispered. Her voice was low. “Tomorrow would not be good.”

  Thomas stared at the steaming soup and let out a long breath.

  “Yeah. Later. After this.”

  He began to eat, slowly, as if each bite required effort.

  The oil lamp in the inn’s corridor flickered softly, casting long shadows along the doors.

  Moonlight slipped in through an open window. Zio stood beside it, looking down at the stone road below, the same road he walked every day.

  A few people still passed by. Street lamps glimmered at a distance.

  The night wind brushed his face, carrying the scent of soil and city dust.

  A knock came at the door. Three times. Short.

  Zio stepped toward the door.

  It opened.

  Thomas stood in the doorway, his body stiff, as if he had hesitated before knocking.

  “May I come in?” he asked.

  Zio looked at him briefly, then stepped aside.

  “Yes. Go ahead.”

  The door closed slowly behind them.

  The room was dim, lit only by moonlight slipping through the window. Shadows rested along the walls, unmoving.

  Thomas walked in and sat on the small stool beside the bed. He did not lean back. Both hands held a pouch.

  Zio sat on the edge of the bed, his back straight, his gaze calm.

  A few moments passed in silence.

  Thomas drew a breath. It caught briefly, then escaped.

  “Tomorrow,” he said, “you don’t need to come to the warehouse anymore.”

  The words fell softly. Not rushed. Not firm.

  Zio did not ask anything.

  He did not change his posture.

  He only nodded once.

  Thomas’s jaw tightened.

  “Starting tomorrow,” he added, his voice lower. “Your work there is finished.”

  Another nod.

  “This is the rest of your pay, and your bonus from Uncle Albert,” Thomas said, extending the pouch.

  Zio took it. The faint sound of coins brushed against one another. He looked at the pouch for a moment, then raised his eyes to Thomas’s face.

  No comment. No refusal.

  Zio smiled, very slightly.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Sorry for always causing you trouble.”

  Thomas lowered his gaze to the floor. He did not answer.

  Silence settled again, heavier than before.

  Thomas let out a slow breath through his nose.

  “That’s all,” he said at last.

  He stood, hesitated for a moment, then walked to the door.

  His hand lingered on the handle longer than necessary.

  “Good night,” he said.

  Zio answered without hesitation.

  “Good night.”

  The door opened, then closed again.

  The room returned to stillness.

  Zio remained seated on the edge of the bed, his gaze shifting toward the window.

  Outside, the street lay quiet beneath the moonlight.

  Nothing about him had changed.

  Only the path ahead of him had grown narrower.

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