The day's deafening chaos, the screams of battle and the clash of demonic power, had finally subsided, replaced by the gentle evening breeze that carried with it the hesitant, burgeoning warmth of celebration. In the heart of the ravaged plaza, the splintered tables Roy's Presidroids had set up for a feast of coercion were now laden with dishes the townsfolk themselves had prepared in a spontaneous outpouring of gratitude. Humble offerings of roasted root vegetables, thick slices of dark bread, and skewers of river fish were shared freely. The music that drifted through the air was soft and tentative at first, a single lute plucking a mournful tune, but it was soon joined by a jaunty drumbeat and a reedy flute, the combined melody lively and infectious enough to loosen the tight knot of lingering tension.
Roy stood near the makeshift dance floor, the flickering firelight casting dancing shadows across his weary face. He watched the crowd with a profound sense of relief. Val hovered at his side, looking somewhat uneasy and out of place in the midst of the revelry, but he was clearly making an effort, greeting villagers who approached him with quiet congratulations or whispered, awkward words of sympathy regarding his… father.
Off to one side, a team of base-model Presidroids moved with their usual methodical efficiency, tidying up the discarded plates from Roy's initial food drop and sweeping the cobblestones clear of the finer debris from the battle. Despite the day's brutal conflict, Eridian had, against all odds, found a reason to celebrate.
Turning toward Val, Roy cleared his throat. "We'll continue to send food shipments monthly, at least until the town's fully stable and the farmlands have recovered. Think of it as… a standing promise from me, the supposed 'Slave Beater'." He said the last two words with a wry, self-deprecating twist of his lips. "Just let us know if you need anything else. We'll provide."
Val nodded, a complex mixture of profound gratitude and deep, unspoken sorrow swirling in his hazel eyes. "Thank you, Roy. I truly don't know how Eridian can ever repay—"
"Relax," Roy said, waving the comment aside with a casual gesture. "You don't have to." He gestured to the small, heavy pouch of coins sitting on a nearby table, the eight hundred gold reward Val had insisted he take. "This is plenty. More than enough."
They stood in a comfortable silence for a moment, simply taking in the nascent festivities. The drums thumped out a jaunty, infectious rhythm. A few of the braver, or perhaps just drunker, dancers spun and twirled in the center of the plaza, their movements joyful and unrestrained, letting the music wash away the grim, terrifying memories of the day.
Then Sorrowclaw, clad in an unexpected, almost shockingly vibrant swirl of bright, borrowed linens and a headdress covering her face, strutted over to them, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous, irrepressible energy.
Roy arched an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "They let you out again, Sorrowclaw?"
"Not for long, Lady Serenity suggested it due to how beat up the crew is," she teased, winking conspiratorially. "I'm here to perform. A celebratory dance! So, you'd better pay close attention, Captain." Without waiting for a reply, she seized Roy's hand, her grip surprisingly strong, and with a delighted laugh, dragged him out onto the makeshift dance floor. The musicians, sensing the shift in mood, immediately launched into a more raucous, mischievous tune.
Eryndra and Takara, who had been quietly observing the festivities from a safe distance, shared an almost identical expression of pure, unadulterated outrage. Eryndra's fists clenched at her sides, a low growl rumbling in her chest. Takara's face flushed a brilliant, angry crimson.
"He's dancing with her?" Takara whispered sharply, her voice tight with disbelief.
Eryndra's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Not on my watch, he's not," she hissed. Before either of them could lunge forward and cause a diplomatic incident, Lutrian, with a timing that was either impeccably strategic or just incredibly lucky, appeared between them, a wry, knowing grin on his face.
"I'll take it from here, ladies," he said smoothly. He strode past the still-pouting Sorrowclaw, deftly slipped his hand around Roy's waist, and, with a practiced, elegant movement, cut in. "Pardon me," he murmured to Sorrowclaw, his voice dripping with a politeness that was almost an insult.
Roy gawked, nearly stumbling over his own feet at Lutrian's sudden, unexpected closeness. "L-Lutrian! What in the seven hells are you—?"
"Saving you from the vultures, again," Lutrian whispered back through gritted teeth, his smile never wavering. "Just play along. For the sake of inter-crew harmony."
Roy, recovering his balance, and his wits, swallowed hard. "Oh… Lutrian! My love!" he proclaimed in an exaggerated, wildly theatrical voice that carried across the plaza. "I thought you'd never ask! Let us dance the night away, my princely savior!" He shot a quick, almost apologetic glance over his shoulder at the fuming forms of Takara and Eryndra.
Sorrowclaw, for her part, simply bowed out with a graceful, mocking flourish. Eryndra and Takara stared, watching with a mixture of fury and disbelief as Roy and Lutrian awkwardly, and rather terribly, spun together in the center of the plaza, their clumsy movements stirring gales of unrestrained laughter and scattered, enthusiastic applause from the assembled onlookers. Val, who had been nursing a cup of wine, nearly choked on it at the spectacle, but the ridiculous, comedic break in the tension seemed to bring genuine, relieved smiles back to the faces of the weary townspeople. A sense of strange, welcome normalcy, bizarre though it was, finally began to settle over the celebration.
Once Roy managed to pry himself from Lutrian's surprisingly strong grip, his gaze swept the plaza, searching for Val. He spotted him wandering off behind a cluster of now-empty food tables, a solitary, brooding figure. Roy slipped away from the main crowd, his own earlier levity fading, and found Val hunched in a shadowy, secluded corner, his brow damp with sweat, a barely touched cup of dark wine clutched in his hand.
"Something wrong?" Roy asked softly, stepping up beside him, his own voice quiet in the sudden stillness.
Val flinched, startled, then visibly relaxed when he realized it was Roy. He sighed, a heavy, weary sound, and took a deep gulp of his wine. "Just… I can't stop thinking about tomorrow. About all the tomorrows after that. Everyone… everyone keeps looking at me, expecting me to lead them. But I… I've never done it alone before. I don't even know where to begin."
Roy placed a steadying, reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You'll figure it out, Val. You already won half the battle just by caring enough to try."
Val offered a crooked, humorless smile, though the deep, gnawing doubt still lingered in his eyes. "You're leaving first thing in the morning, then? I suppose we won't have time for any more of your… unorthodox… lessons in leadership."
"That's the plan." Roy shrugged, turning to go. "I'm out of here at first light. Or whatever they call that strange, greyish glow that passes for a sunrise around these parts. Good luck, Val. You'll need it."
Val watched him leave, his thoughts a turbulent, unreadable storm. The music of the plaza continued its cheerful, defiant rhythm, and Roy made his way back to the warm, inviting lights, letting the strange, unsettling night pass in a surreal mixture of profound relief and quiet, triumphant camaraderie.
Dawn broke bright and clear, the air in Eridian feeling lighter, cleaner, if only by a fraction. Roy and his crew assembled at the dock where the massive, silent form of the Nightshatter was moored. Val and a handful of townsfolk, including the old healer Olan and Ma'am Elara from the orchard, stood on the shore to see them off, their expressions a mixture of subdued gratitude and respectful sorrow.
Aboard the ship, Roy felt the knots in his stomach finally, truly begin to loosen as they eased slowly downriver, the quiet, troubled village of Eridian fading into the morning mist behind them. The water glimmered under the rising sun, carrying them away from the lingering memory of Vol's final, desperate stand.
In the mess hall, he stumbled upon a familiar, and frankly, rather concerning sight. Father Skeleton, Skelly Mom, and Skellbro were huddled around a small table, engaged in what appeared to be a very serious, very skeletal conference. Father Skeleton, who was attempting to balance a fork on his nose, wore a triumphant, self-satisfied grin, as if he had been anticipating Roy's approach.
Roy couldn't help but smile. "Pops! You three sure missed quite a show down there," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with a weary hand. "We ended up fighting some real nasty demonic type. Strongest guy we've faced so far. Surprised we made it out in one piece, to be honest."
Skelly Mom shrieked softly in what sounded like pure, unadulterated delight, clapping her bony hands together with a dry, rattling sound. Father Skeleton howled with unrestrained laughter, patting Roy's shoulder with a familiarity that was both comforting and vaguely unsettling. "Nasty folks, you say? So glad you're all right, my boy! Now, if it's not too much trouble, may I have some more of those delightful little pickled fish? The ones that taste vaguely of existential dread?"
Roy rolled his eyes. "Always with the fish. Anyway, the guy's name was Vol Eridian. A real piece of work. Beyond anything we've ever faced before. I was half-sure we were all going to die a horrible, gruesome death." He shrugged, stepping back towards the door with a casual air he didn't quite feel. "Well, I need to go plot our next disastrously life-threatening stop," he added, strolling away before they could engage him in any further nonsensical, and probably deeply inappropriate, conversation.
As Roy headed out of the mess hall, his footsteps echoing down the corridor, Father Skeleton, Skelly Mom, and Skellbro exchanged long, meaningful looks across the small table. Father Skeleton, his playful demeanor gone, drummed his bony fingers thoughtfully on the metal tabletop, then gave a low, mirthless chuckle.
"So he said 'Vol Eridian,' did he?" Father Skeleton mused, a strange, calculating gleam in his hollow eye sockets. "The little demon brat I recall was named Val, or Valeridian when he was feeling particularly grandiose. He used to claim all sorts of ridiculous aliases, but I'm quite certain it was Val. The little weasel was the one who stole your favorite soul-flaying double scythe all those millenia ago, wasn't he, my dear Scion? Always changing his name to dodge the consequences of his little tantrums."
Skellbro shook his head in confusion. "I heard the Captain distinctly mention he and his crew took out 'Vol.' Perhaps that means—"
"Precisely," Father Skeleton interrupted, leaning in, his voice a low, conspiratorial rumble. "They killed the servant of Valeridian, Vol Teyzar. Not our old acquaintance. The real, festering nuisance is that whelp, the one with all the cunning and none of the honor. He is still down there, lurking, plotting. Or perhaps, as Roy's account suggests, he's simply lying low for now, playing the part of the grieving, benevolent son. We'll have to keep a spectral ear to the ground, so to speak, in case he decides to cross our dear Roy's path again."
Skelly Mom let out a chilling, delighted cackle, a sound that was more menace than amusement. "Mmm, yes. That arrogant little brat. If he dares to meddle in Roy's affairs, if he dares to bring harm to our sweet, naive boy, we shall be more than happy to remind him, in a very direct and personal way, who truly holds the power in this little game."
All three skeletons nodded in silent, grim agreement, their hushed, ominous conversation trailing off.
Beyond the reinforced walls of the mess hall, the Nightshatter's powerful engines rumbled steadily on, carrying everyone farther and farther away from the quiet, troubled village of Eridian.