Char found Benjamin near the back of the townhouse, seated at a sturdy wooden table, deep in conversation with a broad-shouldered man who carried himself with an air of quiet authority. Despite the warmth of the hall, the newcomer wore a heavy traveling cloak, the hood pulled back to reveal a lined but friendly face, framed by graying auburn hair.
Benjamin glanced up as Char approached. "There you are, boy. Took your time."
Char folded his arms, still feeling the lingering warmth of amusement from his encounter with the magician. "Got distracted."
Benjamin only snorted before gesturing to the man across from him. "This here is Flint. He runs this place."
Flint extended a calloused hand, his grip firm but not overbearing. "Good to meet you, lad. Benjamin tells me you're headed to Jaffalex?"
Char hesitated. He had no idea how much Benjamin had told him, and he didn't particularly like the idea of their journey being public knowledge. "Something like that," he said vaguely.
Flint chuckled. "No need to look so wary. Travelers pass through here on their way to the mountains all the time. Not many return, though." His expression remained light, but there was something knowing in his eyes.
Char only nodded.
"Well," Flint continued, slapping his palms against the table, "you two look like you've had a rough few days. We'll get you sorted. Follow me."
They left the bustling main hall, stepping into a quiet, dimly lit hallway that stretched deep into the townhouse. The scent of aged wood and candlewax replaced the aromas of food and drink, and the distant rumble of thunder echoed from outside.
"This storm's going to last a while," Flint mused as they walked. "Good thing you arrived when you did. Roads'll be a mess by morning."
He led them past several doors, each marked with simple brass plaques, until they stopped before a sturdy wooden doornear the end of the corridor. He pushed it open, revealing a surprisingly spacious room.
A large bed with thick, woolen blankets sat against the far wall, beside a small writing desk and a stone fireplace, unlit but ready with a stack of firewood. A basin of water and a neatly folded towel were set near a window that overlooked the village.
Char blinked. It was… more than he had expected.
Flint smiled at his expression. "Comfort's important, even for travelers passing through. You'll be able to get a good night's rest here."
Benjamin grunted. "Seems like a waste. The boy can sleep on the floor."
Flint only laughed. "Not under my roof, he won't."
Char exhaled, shaking his head as he stepped inside. The space felt foreign, but undeniably welcoming. A far cry from the cramped, dusty safehouse back in Oryn-Vel.
Flint gestured toward the hallway. "Benjamin, yours is just across the hall. If you need anything, come find me. Otherwise, make yourselves at home."
With that, he departed, his heavy boots muffling against the thick floorboards.
Benjamin muttered something about getting a drink before disappearing as well, leaving Char alone in the quiet of his new room.
For a long moment, he simply stood there, taking it all in.
The storm outside had grown fiercer, rain lashing against the window, wind howling through the trees beyond the village. Yet inside, the townhouse felt solid, secure—a stark contrast to the places he had slept in over the last two weeks.
Letting out a slow breath, he set his bag down and ran a hand through his damp hair. He wasn't tired—not yet. Restless energy still thrummed beneath his skin.
So, instead of collapsing onto the bed like he wanted to, he stepped back into the hallway.
If he was going to be stuck here for the night, he might as well see what else the townhouse had to offer.
Char wandered the hallways, getting a feel for the place. The townhouse was larger than it first appeared, with winding corridors and hidden staircases that led to smaller, tucked-away rooms. Some doors were closed tight, muffled voices and laughter leaking from behind them, while others stood ajar, revealing cozy sitting areas, quiet reading nooks, and even a small, dimly lit library filled with dusty tomes and well-thumbed maps.
Eventually, he found himself in the uppermost level, where a wide balcony overlooked the main hall.
From here, he could see the crowds below, gathered around the long tables, sharing drinks and stories. The warm glow of lanterns painted everything in soft gold, and the air was thick with the sounds of clinking mugs, crackling firewood, and occasional bursts of laughter.
It felt alive in a way that Oryn-Vel never did.
Char leaned against the wooden railing, watching as a group of merchants haggled over supplies, while a pair of travelers traded wild stories of their adventures.
A part of him envied them.
They had a clear purpose, a reason to be here. He was still figuring that out.
As if sensing his thoughts, a voice spoke beside him.
"Never seen you around before."
Char turned to see a young woman standing a few feet away, arms crossed as she leaned against the railing. She had sharp, observant eyes and a casual confidence about her, dressed in a worn traveler's cloak.
"I'm passing through," Char replied.
She smirked. "Aren't we all?"
He didn't answer.
She studied him for a moment before shrugging. "You're not the usual type we get here. You move different."
Char tensed slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The woman tilted her head. "You watch things too much. Like you're expecting something to happen."
Char exhaled slowly. She wasn't wrong.
But before he could respond, she pushed off the railing. "Well, whatever it is, good luck with it." With that, she disappeared down the stairs, blending seamlessly into the crowd.
Char watched her go, feeling unnerved.
Was he really that obvious?
He shook the thought away and turned his gaze back to the hall below.
He didn't know how long he stood there, just watching. Taking in the life, the normalcy—the kind of existence he had been so far removed from.
For tonight, at least, he could pretend that he belonged in it.