The wooden door of the tavern stood half open, as if hesitant to fully welcome anyone inside. Yellowish light seeped out, reflecting off the wet street and forming slow-moving shadows. From behind the door came the clink of glasses, laughter that was a little too loud, and conversations that faltered the moment the hinges creaked.
Edric stopped at the threshold.
The smell of tobacco smoke, damp wood, and cheap liquor greeted him first. He made sure his coat covered the sword at his waist, then pushed the door open.
Before he could step inside, a shoulder slammed into his chest.
"Oi."
Edric was pushed half a step back, but his feet held firm. His hand moved on instinct, not toward his weapon, only ready.
A large man stood before him, bald-headed, with a coarse beard and an open coat revealing a chest covered in old scars. His eyes narrowed as he assessed Edric.
"If you want to come in," the man said, "people usually say excuse me."
"The door was open," Edric replied flatly.
Low laughter rippled from inside. Several gazes turned toward the entrance.
"Lornfall isn't a city for people who don't know manners," the man said, stepping sideways to block the way.
Edric let out a short breath. He reached into his coat and produced two silver coins, placing them in his open palm. Clearly visible. Not thrown.
"I just want a drink."
The man let out a short laugh. "You think that's enough?"
He swatted Edric's hand aside. The coins fell onto the wooden floor at the threshold, clattering sharply before settling between the dry planks, plainly visible.
Silence fell.
Edric bent down, picked up the coins, and slipped them back into his pocket. When he straightened, his gaze had changed. Not angry. Not afraid. Empty, like someone who had already made a decision.
"I'm not looking for trouble," he said quietly.
"That's a shame," the man replied as his hand reached for the dagger at his belt. "Sometimes trouble looks for-"
The sentence never finished.
Edric stepped forward, cutting the distance. His hand moved fast. A palm strike to the man's chest broke his balance, followed by a sharp elbow to the jaw. The sound of bone meeting bone was dull and brief.
The big man staggered, his breath knocked out of him.
Before he could fall, Edric twisted his body and swept his leg sideways into the man's knee. The motion was clean and precise. The large body crashed onto the tavern floor with a heavy thud.
One strike to drop him. One to make sure he stayed down.
The silence froze.
Several glasses hung midair. Someone cursed under their breath. Hands that had started to move toward weapons hesitated and retreated.
Behind the counter, the tavern owner let out a long sigh. "Enough," he said, firmer than before.
Edric stood straight, now fully inside the tavern. He did not draw his weapon. He did not pursue. He simply looked around, making sure no one was foolish enough to continue.
The big man groaned on the floor, tried to rise, then stopped, clearly aware that trying again was not an option.
"I'll pay for my drink," Edric said at last, his voice calm. "And for any damage, if there is any."
The tavern owner studied him for a long moment, then nodded toward a table in the corner. "Sit. Don't make me regret it."
Edric stepped fully inside. Behind him, the rain continued to fall, indifferent as ever.
And inside the Tavern Beneath the Fractured Light, everyone now knew one thing.
This newcomer was not here to show off.
And Lornfall had just accepted a problem that was quiet, but deadly.
Edric sat at the corner table, his back to the wall. An old habit. A safe one. From there, he could see the door, the long central table, and the narrow staircase leading upstairs. A glass of dark liquor was placed before him. Its bitter scent was sharp, warming his throat without ceremony.
The tavern slowly began to breathe again. Conversations resumed, but at a lower volume. Laughter sounded forced. Several pairs of eyes still stole glances in his direction before quickly looking away.
The large man was eventually dragged out by two of his companions. There were no shouts. No threats. Lornfall knew when to keep its mouth shut.
Edric lifted his glass and took a small sip. The liquid was harsh, burning, and honest. He liked it.
When he set the glass down again, the tavern owner spoke without meeting his eyes, wiping glasses behind the counter.
"He was drunk," the man said, more to the glass in his hand than to Edric. "And stupid."
Edric gave a brief nod. "Every city has that kind."
The man snorted softly. "Not all of them get back up after picking the wrong person."
There was no threat in his tone. No mockery. Just the voice of someone who had seen the same ending too many times.
Edric lifted his glass and drank again. The bitterness spread warmly through his chest. He did not rush to speak. He let the surrounding sounds fill the space between them. Words drifted, half caught.
"Not an ordinary fire," someone whispered near the hearth.
"The wood melted," another replied. "Like wax."
Edric's fingers paused at the rim of the glass.
"Two weeks ago," another voice added, more cautiously. "The guards said the creature flew low. Its wings were damaged."
"A dragon?" someone asked, almost hoping the answer would be no.
"Not entirely."
The words lingered longer than the rest. There was no laughter. No argument.
The tavern owner returned behind the counter, then stopped before fully stepping away. He spoke quietly, low enough that only Edric could hear.
"The notice you tore down outside wasn't posted long ago."
Edric looked at him. "And it wasn't taken long ago either."
"The pay is above average," the man continued. "Because the last person who took it didn't come back."
Edric set his glass down carefully. "Didn't come back from where?"
The man shrugged, but his eyes did not move. "From here."
No further explanation was needed.
At the opposite table, two men spoke without lowering their voices. One of them was thin, his face lined with worry.
"If it's really half dragon-"
"Then someone made it," the other cut in. "Or woke it."
Edric stood before the conversation could go any further. He left a few coins on the table, enough for the drink, nothing more, and pulled his coat tighter.
The tavern owner looked at the coins, then at Edric. "You leaving the city tomorrow?"
"Morning," Edric replied.
"If you change your mind-"
"I rarely do."
He walked toward the door without haste. The large man from earlier leaned against the wall, his face pale, his gaze fixed on the floor. He did not lift his head as Edric passed.
Outside, the rain welcomed him again. The cold air washed away the smell of alcohol and smoke, replacing it with wet earth and something sharper. The lingering trace of something burned.
Edric drew a deep breath.
Fires rarely start without reason.
And half-made creatures are not born by chance.
Beyond the walls of the City of Dusk, something was waiting. Either to be found, or to make sure no one returned with answers.
Edric walked on, merging with the night,
while Lornfall slowly realized that his arrival was not the end of its troubles,
but the beginning of a name they had long avoided speaking.