Countless raindrops had already fallen, tapping relentlessly against the old rooftops of the village. It was as if the sky itself was mourning something no one could understand.
Barnard leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the window fogged by the cold.
"This rain… it just won't stop, huh?" he murmured. "Strange. When we walked from Winak earlier, the sky was clear—even the sun warmed my shoulders for a while. Now… it's like the world changed in the blink of an eye."
Hiori stared blankly out the same window. Each drop of rain seemed to slice through the silence. She took a slow breath.
"Sometimes weather is like that," she said at last, her voice soft but heavy. "Unpredictable. Just like life… sometimes peaceful, sometimes exploding into storms. And sometimes, rain doesn't fall to soak the earth… but to cover someone's tracks."
Barnard glanced sideways. "You talking about Yhera?"
"I don't know…" Hiori wrapped her hands around her cup of warm milk. "But my heart tells me—this rain isn't ordinary. It feels like something is behind it. Something trying to hide… or maybe deliver a warning."
Beside her, Yhera remained silent, her head bowed low. The tavern's servers had already stepped away from their table, leaving only the sound of nature's quiet fury behind.
The gentle drizzle began to shift into a heavier rumble, like the march of unseen soldiers—charging not with blades, but with cold wind and the creeping weight of fear.
Hiori slowly rose from her seat, her movements calm yet full of resolve. She reached for the small pouch of coins at her belt—slightly damp from the moisture in the air.
"Where are you going?" Barnard asked, his voice low, laced with a subtle hint of suspicion.
"To pay for the meal, of course," Hiori replied without looking back. "And while I'm at it… I'll rent a room for the night."
Barnard narrowed his eyes. His gaze drifted to the window—to the darkness growing thicker beyond the veil of unrelenting rain.
"You sure you want to spend the night in a place like this?" he muttered, more to himself than to her. "There's something strange about this village… like it's hiding something. And night—night tends to be the most honest time for dark secrets."
Hiori paused mid-step. She looked down at the cracked wooden floor, letting the sound of the rain striking the rooftop weave into the heavy silence.
"I know," she said at last. Her voice was calm but deep, like someone prepared to face whatever may come. "But if this village does hide something... then I'd rather face the truth wide awake than keep running from it in a dreamless sleep."
Barnard gave a soft grunt—part admiration, part concern. "You're as stubborn as ever, Hiori… Just hope that thick skull of yours doesn't get cracked by whatever truth the night has in store."
Hiori offered a faint smile and walked toward the tavern keeper.
In the corner of the room, Yhera bowed her head deeper. Her eyes were on the table, but her thoughts were far away… maybe tracking distant footsteps, or lingering on bitter memories that clung to her like shadows that even the brightest light couldn't shake.
And outside, the rain still fell.
Not just weather—
But a curtain drawn over something that was drawing near.
"Yhera, don't keep sulking like that… It's not good for your mind," Barnard said, his voice calmer than usual. There was no teasing in his tone this time, no sarcasm—only a steady warmth. The old man leaned back in his chair, his eyes resting on Yhera with the kind of gaze only someone who'd known loss and fear could give.
Yhera didn't respond. Her small fingers clenched in her lap, over the folds of her damp gray cloak. Her eyes were empty, fixed on the now-cold cup of milk in front of her, as if her thoughts were trapped somewhere else… far from the reality they all shared.
"I'm sorry…" she whispered at last. Her voice was barely audible, like a breath swallowed by the creaking wood and the rain outside. "It's just… all of this is happening too fast."
She lifted her face slowly, looking toward Barnard and Hiori, who had both returned to their seats. Her gaze was fragile, like thin glass waiting for the next crack. "I lived in a cage for most of my life. They bound me, controlled me like a puppet… and now I'm sitting here, with you two. Strangers who… somehow feel more like home than the place I was born in."
Hiori remained silent, watching Yhera intently. There was something in her words that struck deep—something familiar. She understood that kind of loneliness, the kind that doesn't show on the surface, the kind of pain that leaves no blood but scars far deeper than any wound.
"I thought I could get used to this, that I could just let go of the past…" Yhera continued. She tried to smile, but it came out bitter. "But it's not that easy. When night falls, I still hear their voices… my mother, my father… or more precisely, the sound of chains they wrapped around me—locked tight with sweet words."
Barnard gave a slow nod. "You don't have to pretend to be strong, girl. The wounds hidden deep inside… are often the most dangerous of all."
"I just don't want to be a burden…" Yhera's voice trembled slightly, like hope too afraid to be rejected.
"You're not a burden," Hiori finally spoke, her voice calm but firm. "We all carry wounds. This journey isn't just about fighting the darkness out there… but also the one inside ourselves. And you don't have to face it alone."
Yhera was quiet. For the first time since stepping into the old tavern, her eyes met Hiori's without fear, without hesitation… only relief, slowly blooming at the edges of her tear-filled gaze.
"Thank you…" she whispered.
And outside, the rain still fell.
But within that warm, weathered tavern, a faint light began to glow—
the fragile beginning of trust,
and the quiet proof that family could be found…
even in the most unexpected places.
Hiori smiled, her eyes glancing at the small coin pouch hanging from her belt—now as deflated as stale bread. "By the way, Barnard," she murmured, rubbing her chin, "we're out of Raya coins… What do we do from here on out?"
Barnard leaned back in his chair with a soft huff. He raised his beer mug—who knew how many refills it had seen by now—and took a slow sip. "We start a party," he said casually. "Quest payments are decent. Enough to cover food, beds, and if we're lucky, even score a rare weapon or two."
She raised an eyebrow. "A party? Like the kind from guilds? Adventuring groups and all that?"
"Yeah, just like that. It's not complicated," Barnard continued, raising his mug again. "As long as you've got three or more people, just walk into the nearest guild office, fill out a form, pick a leader—who definitely won't be me—and ta-da! Official Registered Party."
"Why not you?" Hiori asked, her expression skeptical.
Barnard pointed at himself with his thumb and chuckled. "Look at me, kid. I'm a half-retired drunk with a short fuse. You need someone young, with a brain and some leadership spirit. And you, Hiori—annoying as you can be—you've got both."
"Geez… Was that a compliment or an insult?" Hiori scratched the back of her head.
Yhera, who had been quietly watching the conversation, gave a small smile. "In that case… may I join too?" she asked softly. "I don't have much experience, but I can use protective magic, and… I want to walk this path with you."
Barnard shot Hiori a cheeky grin. "See? Talk about forming a party, and we've already got a new recruit. The world has a funny way of sending signs."
Hiori stood up, placing a hand proudly over her chest. "Then it's settled. Tomorrow, we register our party at the guild. We're gonna be real adventurers!"
Barnard raised his mug high. "To adventures yet to begin, and wallets soon to be full!"
Yhera smiled, and for the first time in a long while, the three of them felt… maybe this wasn't just running away or searching for something lost—
but the start of something far greater.