The fog curled low over the earth as they ran—Kaela leading, Riven following closely. His shoulder still ached from the arrow, but the pain kept him grounded. Real. Tangible. A reminder that he wasn't dreaming, even if everything around him felt like one.
Behind them, the Black Knights searched the ruins, their movements muffled by the mist. Their boots crushed ash and gravel. Their swords hissed through the fog.
Kaela stopped. "It should be here."
Riven squinted. "What should?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she closed her eyes, raised her hand, and pressed it against the air like she was touching an invisible wall.
A shimmering ripple spread out from her palm. The fog twisted, peeled back, and a tall wooden door materialized out of nowhere. Carved with strange symbols. Rough. Ancient.
"Only those who've lost something can find it," she whispered. "Welcome to the Tavern Without Doors."
Riven stared at the door. "This place sounds like something a madman would invent."
Kaela smirked. "Then it's perfect for you."
---
Inside the Tavern
They stepped through and entered another world. The tavern was warm, bathed in candlelight, and far too large for the crumbling hut it had appeared as from the outside. Floating lanterns hovered above the tables. The walls shimmered faintly, like wet ink drying on old parchment.
Tables were scattered across the room—some empty, some occupied by hooded figures who didn't look up. Music drifted from a harp suspended midair, playing itself with strings made of wind.
The bartender—a bald man with mirrored eyes—wiped a glass slowly, watching nothing in particular. The moment Riven met his gaze, he felt… something. Like a memory trying to claw its way back.
Kaela nudged him. "Don't stare. He only speaks to the dying. Or the drunk."
"Guess I'll pass on both."
They slid into a booth near the back. The velvet cushions were too soft, the wood beneath strangely warm. The air smelled of cinnamon and firewood.
Kaela crossed her arms. "You're lucky I found you."
Riven leaned back. "You tackled me. Twice."
"I saved you."
"Debatable."
Her eyes sparkled, but she didn't argue.
---
The Meal
Plates appeared without warning—steam rising from bowls of honeyed meat, roasted roots, and thick bread.
Riven took a bite and sighed. "I don't even care what this is. It's perfect."
Kaela ate slowly, watching him.
"You're too calm for someone being hunted."
"I'm too tired to be afraid."
She studied him. "Do you really remember nothing?"
He shook his head. "Only flashes. A battlefield. Screams. Fire. A crown."
Kaela's gaze lingered on his chest—on the glowing crest.
"That mark... it belonged to the Ashen Lords."
"Who were they?"
She paused. "Monsters. Kings. Some said they were gods. Others called them cursed. They burned kingdoms to dust—and then vanished."
"And you think I'm one of them?"
"I don't think. I know."
He looked down at his hands. "Then maybe I don't want to remember."
Kaela frowned. "Cowardice doesn't suit you."
Riven smirked. "I'm just trying to enjoy my meal before your next death threat."
She leaned forward. "I'm serious."
"So am I."
Their eyes locked. Heat rose between them—not magical, but tangible. Tension humming just beneath the table.
---
The Bath Scene
Kaela stood abruptly. "I'm taking a bath."
Riven blinked. "That's… sudden."
"There's a spring in the back. Magic-fed. I need to cool down."
"From what? Fighting? Or arguing with me?"
She rolled her eyes. "Both."
She walked off—long strides, hips swaying with practiced confidence. Riven tried not to look. Failed. Looked again.
Ten minutes later, the door cracked open. Steam poured out. And Kaela stepped through.
Towel-wrapped. Skin still wet. Tattoos glowing faintly.
He froze mid-sip of his drink.
She glared. "Seriously?"
"I didn't say anything."
"You didn't have to."
Her hair clung to her neck. Water drops slid down her collarbone. The towel shifted slightly when she moved.
"You're… glowing," he said again, dazed.
"It's fire magic. Shut up."
She flopped onto the seat across from him, letting out a deep sigh.
He tried not to stare. Again. Failed again.
She caught him this time. Smirked. "Like what you see?"
He choked. "I mean—uh—it's just unusual, that's all. You know. Steam and tattoos."
Kaela laughed. "Relax, Ashen boy. I'm not going to bite."
He mumbled. "That's… reassuring."
Her voice dropped slightly. "Unless you ask nicely."
Riven nearly dropped his spoon.
---
Late Night Talk
The tavern began to empty. Hooded figures disappeared one by one. The harp music faded.
Kaela leaned on the table. "You want answers?"
Riven nodded.
"Then listen."
She told him of the war. Of the Ashen Sovereign who once ruled the western realms. Of betrayals, buried secrets, and the fireblood clans who vowed revenge.
"And now," she said, "you appear. With no memory. No allies. Just a cursed mark and a blade you swing like instinct."
Riven clenched his fists. "I didn't ask for this."
"None of us did."
Their hands touched on the table. A brush of skin.
"Why did you save me?" he asked.
Kaela looked away. "Because… you once saved me. Long ago. I think."
"You think?"
"I was a child. It's hazy. But the fire felt the same. Your fire."
Silence.
Then she whispered, "Maybe I didn't come here to kill you. Maybe I came to remember too."
Riven didn't respond. But something in his chest stirred.
Outside, the fog thickened again. But inside—the air was warm.
And for a moment, they weren't hunted. Weren't cursed. Just two people in the quiet, trying to understand what the world had made them forget.