The tavern in Rabanastre was alive with warmth, laughter, and the clatter of mugs. After the brutal clash with the Wild Saurian and the whirlwind of recognition at the Clan Hall, the party had earned this moment of respite.
The desert night outside was cool, stars glittering above the sandstone sprawl, but inside the tavern, the air was heavy with the smell of roasted meat and spiced wine. Lanterns swung from the beams, painting the walls in gold, and voices rose in overlapping songs, boasts, and arguments about hunts.
Hunters from other clans sat in groups, swapping exaggerated tales. A few eyes turned when Clive and the others entered—newcomers promoted to Rank II after a "mistaken" hunt that felled the Wild Saurian. There was envy in some stares, disbelief in others, but mostly, there was curiosity.
Clive ignored them all. His sword was heavy against his back, but his step carried the weight of pride—not in himself, but in how they had fought together. His companions followed, each carrying their own measure of fatigue and quiet triumph.
Montblanc had told them to rest. Tonight, they would.
---
They claimed a long table near the back. Clive leaned back in his chair, lifting a frothing mug toward the scarred warrior across from him. "To surviving," he said with a crooked grin.
Auron's one good eye narrowed, but the corner of his mouth lifted. "To fighting well." He raised his mug, and the two slammed them together with a ringing crack, foam spilling down the sides.
Lunafreya chuckled softly as she sipped from a glass of red wine. The sight of the two men already trying to out-drink one another brought a faint warmth to her lips. Serah, sitting beside her, took a few gulps of her own wine before setting it down, cheeks flushed pink.
"I don't think I'll ever keep up with them," Serah admitted with a sheepish laugh.
Across the table, Vivi's eyes widened as the first platters arrived. Grilled fish steamed beside thick cuts of lamb, bowls of stew bubbled with herbs, and baskets of sweet rolls shone with butter. His little hands flew into action, stacking his plate high with more food than seemed possible.
"Kupo! Vivi, don't eat it all before I—" Mog gasped, then froze as he saw the sheer spread. His pom-pom bobbed as his face lit up. "Never mind! I'm eating too, kupo!"
The two dove in with reckless abandon. Vivi munched through a lamb chop while Mog stuffed a roll into his mouth, stew dripping down his fur. The sight drew laughter even from weary lips.
Clive shook his head with mock despair. "They'll eat us out of coin before long."
"Let them," Auron said, drinking deep. "Children should eat when they can."
For a time, the table was filled only with laughter, clinking mugs, and the sound of Mog and Vivi's feast. But then the mood shifted, gently, like fire settling into embers.
Clive set down his mug, his gaze settling on Auron. "So, tell us. Who are you, really? You fight like a man who's carried the weight of the world before."
The tavern's noise dulled around them. Even Vivi slowed his chewing, though Mog kept noisily gnawing on a roll.
Auron's voice was low, rough, carrying the weight of years. "I was a guardian. I swore to protect those destined to walk toward sacrifice. I failed Braska. Failed Jecht. And in my stubbornness, I refused even death. I walked long as something I should not have been."
The words hung in the air. Serah's eyes softened, her voice hushed. "And yet you still stand. That's… inspiring."
Lunafreya set her glass down, her tone like calm water. "A burden carried too long becomes chains. But to admit it is to loosen them."
Auron gave a low chuckle, more like gravel than mirth. "Chains or not, they've kept me walking. If you find inspiration in that… so be it."
Clive lifted his mug once more and clinked it quietly against Auron's. No words needed—only recognition.
---
The hours slipped away. Stories rose from their table, sometimes proud, sometimes self-deprecating, sometimes cut short by laughter too loud to continue. The tavern filled with warmth until they almost forgot the desert beyond the walls, the war beyond the horizon.
Eventually, the younger ones began to falter. Vivi and Mog slumped side by side, crumbs on their robes and fur, their small bodies rising and falling in unison. Serah dozed against the table, mumbling about Lightning and wine before slipping deeper into sleep.
Clive tried to rise, drunk and stubborn, but stumbled forward. Auron caught him easily, hoisting him onto his shoulder like a boy. "Come on," the older warrior muttered.
Luna, her own cheeks tinted pink, crouched to nudge Serah awake. "Come now. The inn is close." She smiled softly. "Mog, can you carry Vivi?"
The moogle blinked drowsily, pom sagging. "K-Kupo… I can! I'm strong… maybe." With great effort, he lifted Vivi, wobbling, but determination kept him steady.
Together, they left the tavern, stepping into the cool night. Stars scattered like jewels above Rabanastre, the city glowing faintly with lanterns and laughter even at this hour.
They reached the inn at last. One by one, they laid their companions down—Vivi and Mog snoring softly, Serah clutching her trinket like a talisman, Clive mumbling one last drunken laugh before sleep claimed him.
Lunafreya lingered at the bedside, brushing Serah's hair gently from her face. She whispered a prayer of thanks, not to the gods who once bound her, but to the fragile thread of life itself.
Auron leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watchful even in rest.
---
High above, unseen, Sirius traced the threads of fate. He watched their laughter, their peace, their bond woven tighter than before. His lips curved faintly.
"Yes. They begin to understand. Not pawns of destiny, but companions. And even in fleeting peace… they grow stronger."
For the first time since their arrival in Dalmasca, the night ended not with blood or sorrow, but with family.