Inside, the restaurant is small and warm, walls lined with dark oak wainscoting and lanterns casting soft pools of light. The scent of simmering broth, fragrant spices, and fresh bread fills the air. A few tables already host locals, miners, merchants, and travelling bards. Each speaking in low tones.
As they push open the heavy wooden door, several heads turn. Medrus lifts a hand in greeting. Though he wears simple travelling clothes, his presence commands attention: broad shoulders, a cloak dyed the colour of storm clouds, and eyes that have seen far more than most.
"Good evening, Meddy!" calls the waiter, a slim man with a neatly trimmed beard, hurrying over. "Delighted you've come back."
Medrus smiles, nodding. "Evening, Bram. Two orders of dolma, please."
Bram bows as he writes down the order on a sticky note. "Coming right up."
(Zylus's Perspective) So Medrus already knows about this place? Probably a common customer here.
Zylus slides into a corner table as Medrus heads to the counter, exchanging quiet jokes and handshakes with a few patrons. The restaurant's history is plain in its worn beams and mismatched chairs. Each table seems to hold a story, each plate a family recipe passed down. A grey-haired cook peers curiously from a kitchen window, and behind him, a young apprentice artistically brushes cilantro over a steaming pot.
No one's seen Zylus before. Whispers ripple through the room.
"Who's that with Miro?"
"Looks like a kid he's brought along."
At their table, Zylus's cheeks flushed. He clears his throat and leans into the corner.
"I could hear your loud whispers. This is my son."
The restaurant goes quiet.
Medrus glides back, sliding into the seat across from him. He pats Zylus's head gently but firmly. Zylus flinches and mutters under his breath, "You've never met me."
The restaurant falls silent for a heartbeat, all eyes on them. Then Medrus waves a hand and jokes, "Ah, relax! I'm obviously joking! Why would I have a son?"
The patrons exchange relieved laughter, and Bram returns with two plates of dolma: neat bundles of glossy dark-green leaves wrapped tightly around rice, minced herbs, and tender vegetable bits. Drops of oil glisten on top, and a faint swirl of paprika flecks the edges.
Medrus slides a plate toward Zylus. "Dolma… Stuffed leaves. The rice is simmered in broth until soft, mixed with spices and herbs, then rolled tightly. It's a local favourite."
Zylus lifts one delicate bundle with his fingers, watching for a moment as a bead of juice forms at the tip. He pops it into his mouth in one bite. His eyes widen. "I've never tasted anything like this," he breathes. The leaves slide off softly, and the fragrant rice bursts with warm, savoury notes… earthy herbs, a hint of lemon, gentle spice.
Medrus picks up a second dolma. "So good, we'll need another round. Hey Bram! Get us more!" he says. One by one, they eat. Zylus with careful fingers, Medrus with easy efficiency… until the plates are empty.
Zylus wipes sauce from his lip. "Why do you always know the best places?" he asks, voice muffled by a satisfied grin.
Medrus stands and leans toward the counter, nodding at Bram. "Bram, two more dolma. And some pomegranate juice, please."
Bram smiles and nods. The chatter in the restaurant resumes. Zylus looks around. Faces now curious but friendly, and exhales a shaky laugh.
Medrus nudged Zylus and nodded toward a woman seated by the window. She had dark chestnut hair that fell in soft waves over her shoulders and warm hazel eyes that caught the lantern light.
"Watch this," he murmured, standing and smoothing his cloak as he approached. With effortless confidence, he offered a polite bow. "Good evening. I couldn't help but notice how the light plays in your eyes."
Her cheeks warmed instantly; she hesitated, then gave him a shy smile and a half‐nod. Medrus straightened, offering an appreciative glance.
"How do you even do something like that?" Zylus whispered under his breath, voice rough.
Medrus offered a final, genuine smile, then leaned in closer. "You have a way of brightening even the darkest night," he murmured, voice low.
The woman's cheeks flushed deeper. She opened her mouth, hesitated, and gave him a quick, shy nod.
Suddenly, Medrus's gaze shifted. He lifted a finger in warning. "Ten seconds. Your man will come in," he whispered.
Across the room, a tall, broad‐shouldered man in a simple brown coat turned into the restaurant, scanning the tables.
Medrus bowed once more. "Until next time," he said softly.
Medrus slipped a small, folded note into her hand. "Call me anytime," He said gently.
The woman tucked the note into her pocket, stepped back into the booth's shadow, and slipped into his seat. Zylus's eyes widened as Medrus winked and ruffled his hair, while the woman pocketed the note without a word.
"You see, Zylus. That's how you treat a beautiful lady." Medrus says confidently. "Just be careful if they have a man."
When they finished eating, Medrus rose and headed to the counter. He patted his pockets—and froze.
"Hey, Medrus," the chef called, arms crossed. "Where's my payment?"
Medrus forced a sunny grin. "I'll settle up next time, I promise."
The chef sighed. "You say that every time. Fine—bring me double on your return."
Medrus bowed slightly. "A deal, then. Until next time." He strode past the diners, catching the eye of the woman he'd impressed earlier. She sat beside a burly man. Her husband, no doubt. She offered him a playful wink, and Medrus nodded in return.
"Let's go, Zylus."
Zylus pushed back his chair. "Sure. That was… entertaining."
With that, they stepped outside into the night.
Outside in the Lantern Glow
The two stepped into the night. Gas lamps line the street, casting golden halos on cobblestones. Medrus's cloak hangs loose, his silhouette tall and confident. Zylus follows, hands tucked into his pant pockets, face still pink from laughter. and from something deeper.
Medrus stops under a swaying lantern. He meets Zylus's gaze. "Never let your tears touch the ground ever again," he says quietly. "Let them fall on memories, on the ones you protect. But never let sorrow drown your resolve."
Zylus's throat tightens. He nods. "I'll hold onto that."
Medrus arches an eyebrow. "Now, how about something to lift your spirits?" He nods toward the deep horizon, where the small, ivy-covered cabin sits by a flickering campfire.
Zylus's eyes light up. "The cabin?"
Medrus grins. "Tonight, I'll set up a projection on Amama News… your favourite tales from Mire Valley. We'll watch under the stars with a mug of spiced tea. I promise."
Zylus lets out a shaky laugh. "I'd like that."
Hand in pocket, they walk side by side, mentor and student, down the narrow street. The glow of lanterns and distant laughter follows them, and in Zylus's chest, sorrow and hope swirl together like wind in the trees.
And suddenly, the wind sweeps them in mid-air, with no one watching them.
As the cabin's windows come into view, Medrus's final words echo in the night:
"Trust me, Zylus. You'll come back stronger… Lucky will be waiting."
For a moment, Zylus slows, gaze drifting to the horizon, where stars glimmer like whispered promises.
"I… I will," he whispers. "I'll come back. Trust me."
He steps forward again. The wind, as always, bends to carry his promise into the unknown.
They slip inside the cabin and settle onto Zylus's mattress just as Medrus adjusts the makeshift projector. The glow shifts, and a crisp newscaster's voice fills the room:
"—Breaking news from Amama News. There have been several mysterious decapitations along the outskirts of Mire-Valley. Local Amora authorities are investigating, but so far, have found no leads—only more bodies. Residents are urged to remain indoors and avoid travel until further notice. We'll bring updates as they become available."
Medrus's hand goes slack, and he stares at the flickering screen. "This can't be," he whispers.