"Would you like to have a drink with me?"
I didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, I studied him.
Haran had a way of speaking that made everything feel lighter than it was, as if the world we lived in wasn’t rotten to the core. As if kindness still meant what it used to. But I knew better. The friendliest people were always the most dangerous.
His tone wasn’t forceful. It wasn’t demanding. Just inviting. But an invitation in this world was never just an invitation.
I forced a smile, though it felt hollow even to me. "Sure."
The word left my lips before I could change my mind.
I stepped forward, slow, each movement measured. Not hesitant, but not too eager either. Just calm. The kind of calm that kept you alive.
The small campfire between us barely did anything against the creeping cold of the night. The Wanderers had all scattered into their own spaces, their hushed voices blending into the distant rustling of the wind through the trees. Smoke curled lazily into the air, carrying the scent of burning wood and something faintly metallic.
I lowered myself onto the log opposite him.
And then, I said nothing.
The fire burned, the embers pulsing like dying stars, but my mind drifted.. somewhere far, somewhere distant, somewhere that wasn’t here.
Broken pieces.
Shards of memories, fragmented and raw, surfaced in my mind like echoes of something lost.
I saw the outline of a place I didn’t recognize, yet somehow, I knew it.
An orphanage.
The air smelled of damp stone, of wooden beams long since worn with time. The faint sound of a girl’s voice... light, young, familiar.
Then, flames.
And then,
Nothing.
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A void where memories should have been.
"Something on your mind?"
Haran’s voice cut through the haze, dragging me back into the present.
I blinked, the flickering fire shifting back into focus. My fingers flexed slightly at my sides.
For a moment, I had forgotten he was here.
Forgotten that I wasn’t alone with my thoughts.
The smile came again.. practiced, automatic, empty. "I’m alright," I said, voice even. "Just… a little bothered by something."
Haran didn’t press. He only hummed, a soft sound of acknowledgment, before reaching to the side.
A box sat next to him, the wooden lid slightly ajar. With practiced ease, he pulled out a bottle and two cups, setting them down between us. The firelight caught on the glass, the deep amber liquid within sloshing as he moved.
"If you don’t mind," he said smoothly, pouring the drink, "you could tell me."
The liquid filled the cups with a quiet splash.
"Maybe I could help."
He offered one to me, his movements slow, relaxed. His smile never wavered.
I took the cup, fingers curling around the cool surface. "Thanks," I said lightly, nodding.
I lifted the cup slightly, staring at the liquid inside. It was a deep, rich gold, the surface reflecting my face in a warped, distorted way. A drink this color…
"It’s a bush apple blend," Haran said, watching me. "With a mix of blueberries. People say it’s good."
I brought it to my lips, taking a small sip.
A sharp, fruity tang hit my tongue first, followed by the faintest trace of bitterness at the end. It was… surprisingly smooth, with a subtle warmth that lingered.
I exhaled through my nose.
"…It’s good," I admitted after a moment, lowering the cup. "Sweet, but not overwhelming. The flavor lingers."
Haran chuckled softly. "Told you."
Silence settled between us. Not uncomfortable, but not easy either. The kind of silence that existed between two people who knew they weren’t friends, but weren’t enemies either.
I took another sip, letting the warmth spread through my chest before setting the cup down on my knee.
Then, without looking at him, I asked
"Have you already seen your team leader?"
For the first time since I sat down, Haran’s smile wavered.
It wasn’t much.. just the smallest shift, the briefest pause, but I saw it.
He glanced at me, expression unreadable at first. Then, slowly, he smiled again.
"Well..." he started, voice low, almost thoughtful. His fingers tapped against the ceramic, a soft rhythm against the distant murmur of the Wanderers settling into their makeshift tents. "Would you believe me if I told you that my team leader still hasn’t shown up?"
I didn’t react.
He sighed, rolling his shoulders before reaching for the bottle. The liquid sloshed as he poured himself another round, his movements smooth, practiced. Then, he tilted the bottle slightly, a silent offer.
I extended my cup without a word. The liquor streamed in, the scent sharp, laced with a faint fruitiness. I murmured a quiet thanks, rolling the cup in my hands, watching the ripples spread across the surface.
Haran exhaled, leaning back slightly.
"All he did was send some wanderer with a letter." His voice held the edge of something bitter, something tired. "Told us he’d be back first thing in the morning."
He swirled his drink, watching the liquid spin in lazy circles.
"We only have a few hours before the next game or whatever it is starts... and he’s still not here." His lips pressed together, his brows furrowing just slightly. "Who knows if we’ll even survive it?"
A flicker of something passed through his face before he shook his head, letting out another breath.
I didn’t respond.
I only watched him.
The firelight made the lines on his face sharper, the flicker in his eyes more pronounced. There was sadness there. Or maybe frustration.
Maybe something else entirely.
I lifted my cup, took another slow sip.
The warmth spread through my chest, the faint sweetness lingering on my tongue.
Haran’s voice cut through the silence.
"Oh.. sorry." He straightened slightly, as if realizing how much he had said. "I must’ve said something you didn’t want to hear."
I shook my head once, slow.
"No," I said evenly. "You didn’t say anything bad."
But in my mind, the thought came unbidden: If you’re trying to gain sympathy from me, you’ve got the wrong person, bud.
Still, I kept my voice calm, steady.
"I just... couldn’t find the right words to say," I continued, letting out a soft breath. "Sorry about that."
A half-smile. Slight. Just enough to keep the mood neutral.
Haran studied me for a moment before nodding, his fingers idly tapping against the side of his cup. The sound was light, rhythmic, barely noticeable beneath the distant crackle of fire and wind.
A beat of silence.
Then, he spoke.
"So, about the next game…" His fingers stilled. "What do you think we’ll see in it?"
I didn’t answer right away.
Instead, I let my gaze drop to the fire, watching the embers pulse with each shift in the breeze. The scent of burning wood mixed with the faint traces of liquor, thick and grounding.
"I don’t know," I said finally, voice quiet. "But I do know one thing."
Haran raised a brow, waiting.
"In every new game," I murmured, "there will always be something more dangerous than the last."
A small chuckle left Haran’s lips. Not mocking. Not amused. Just... understanding.
"Just like the Lords of Teka," he mused, leaning back. "They practically decayed that last camp."
I nodded, slow. "Yeah."
A small shift in his posture. His fingers turned the cup in his hands, his eyes narrowing slightly, thoughtful.
Then, almost offhandedly...
"Oh, yeah… I think I remember now." He glanced at me, curiosity flickering beneath his words. "I knew I’d seen you before."
I didn’t react, but I felt the way his eyes lingered, searching for something.
He exhaled softly, shaking his head. "That’s right. You and your team... you were the ones who fought them, weren’t you?"
The air between us changed.
Not tense. Not charged. But different.
I didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, I lowered my gaze, staring at the liquid in my cup. The surface shifted, warping my reflection... unclear, distorted. A thing without form.
Then, I lifted the cup to my lips, took a slow sip.
And as I lowered it again, I smiled.
Slight. Faint. Just enough.
And then
I spoke...