Life at Wanderer's Bite settled into a steady rhythm. Harvis worked tirelessly at the grill, flipping skewers and preparing dishes with practiced ease, while Alex ran between tables, taking orders and serving food. Liz, ever the sharp-eyed overseer, managed the business side of things, keeping track of their stock and finances.
Mornings began with the sound of sizzling meat and the rich aroma of spices filling the air. The open-air kitchen allowed the townspeople to watch Harvis work, and many would stop by just to admire his skillful hands as he prepared meals. "You're a showman, you know that?" Liz teased one morning as Harvis twirled a skewer dramatically before setting it down on the grill.
"Gotta keep the customers entertained," Harvis grinned. "They eat with their eyes first."
Alex, meanwhile, had quickly adapted to his new role. Despite the initial chaos of remembering orders and avoiding bumping into customers, he had developed a sharp instinct for reading the crowd. He knew which regulars liked extra spice, which ones preferred their portions a little bigger, and which ones enjoyed chatting. "Table three wants extra sauce," he called out as he dashed past the counter, expertly balancing a tray of steaming plates.
Liz smirked. "You're learning."
Lily, on the other hand, had her own routine. Every morning, she would wake up early, help tidy up, and then rush off to the nearby school. By afternoon, she would return, her small hands clutching books as she cheerfully reported everything she had learned. When she wasn't studying, she played with the other children in the open fields near the market. Her bright laughter was a stark contrast to the hardships she had faced not long ago.
At night, after closing, the small group would gather at the back of the restaurant where their living quarters were. They would sit around a dimly lit lantern, sharing stories and joking about the odd customers they had served that day. Harvis often experimented with new dishes, using his friends as taste testers. "Alright, this is my latest creation," he announced one evening, setting down a plate with an excited grin.
Alex eyed the dish skeptically. "If this makes my stomach hurt like last time, I swear—"
Harvis huffed. "That was one time! Trust me, this one is perfect."
Liz took a bite, her silver eyes narrowing as she chewed thoughtfully. "...It's actually good."
Harvis beamed. "See? I'm a genius."
One night, after everyone had gone to bed, Liz remained outside, staring at the flickering lantern. Harvis, noticing her quiet demeanor, sat beside her. "You alright?"
Liz hesitated, then sighed. "It's just... nothing lasts forever, you know?"
Harvis tilted his head. "That's a bit gloomy, even for you."
She gave a small smile. "I've seen places fall apart, people disappear. It's hard to believe peace like this can last."
Harvis leaned back, resting his hands behind his head. "Maybe it won't. But while it does, we make the most of it." He glanced at her, his usual carefree expression softening. "And if anything happens, I'll be there. No matter what."
Liz blinked, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. She looked away, but the corners of her lips lifted slightly. "Thanks, Harvis."
The days passed with relative peace, but trouble was never far away.
Far from the warmth of the town, deep within a dense forest, a lone figure staggered forward, barely clinging to life. Blood dripped from his wounds, his breath ragged as he leaned against a tree for support. The last surviving bandit from the skirmish that had shattered his group, he gritted his teeth, sheer determination keeping him on his feet.
"I... I won't let this go..." he whispered, each word a struggle. His vision blurred, but one thought burned in his mind. "Elder brother... he'll make them pay..."
With every ounce of strength he could muster, he forced himself forward, disappearing into the night, heading toward Solis.
Solis: The Bandit City
Solis was a city unlike any other. Built on the outskirts of civilization, it thrived in the shadows of lawlessness. Mercenaries, thieves, and exiled warriors roamed its streets, while its black markets and underground dealings made it a haven for those who lived outside the reach of justice. The city was a maze of narrow alleys, towering wooden structures, and secret dens where dangerous men gathered.
At its heart was the Iron Fang's Den, a sprawling hideout where the most infamous of Solis' outlaws gathered. Here, in a dimly lit hall filled with the scent of burning wood and stale ale, sat a man of imposing stature—Garrick the Redfang.
Garrick was no ordinary bandit. Standing tall with a muscular frame, his presence alone commanded fear. His dark red hair fell in messy waves, his sharp, wolf-like eyes always scanning the room with a predatory gaze. A jagged scar ran from his left brow to his jawline, a remnant of countless battles. Unlike most outlaws, he carried himself with discipline, his movements calculated, his mind always working ahead. He wasn't just a brute—he was a strategist, and it was that intelligence that had built his reputation.
As he lounged in his chair, a sharp knock at the door interrupted the murmurs of his men. One of his subordinates entered, half-dragging the battered, barely conscious form of his younger brother.
Garrick's eyes darkened as he stood, his boots thudding against the wooden floor as he approached. "What the hell happened to you?"
The younger brother coughed, wincing as he looked up. His face was bruised, his body barely holding together. "Brother… we were attacked. Our group… destroyed."
Garrick's jaw tightened. "Who?"
The younger bandit swallowed hard, his throat dry. "A group of teenagers . They sneak attacked at night… killed our men. That damn blind boy . They killed Varric. I barely made it out alive."
The room grew silent.
Garrick's men exchanged uneasy glances. Varric had been a seasoned fighter, a ruthless warrior who had crushed many under his blade. For him to be killed so easily meant that whoever they had faced was no ordinary opponent.
Garrick knelt, gripping his brother's shoulder firmly. "You're saying some teenagers wiped out our crew? And they killed Varric?"
His brother nodded weakly. "Yes… I swear it."
Garrick exhaled slowly, his gaze turning cold. "And where is this town?"
The younger bandit's lips curled into a pained smirk. "Not far… I can take you there."
Garrick rose to his feet, his expression unreadable as he turned to his men. "Gather our best. We're heading out at dawn."
His voice was calm, but the weight behind it was unmistakable. Garrick the Redfang never let an insult go unanswered.
And now, his sights were set on Wanderer's Bite.
Back in the peaceful town, Harvis, Alex, and Liz carried on with their daily routines, unaware that a storm was brewing. The bandits were coming—and this time, they weren't just after coin. They were coming for vengeance.