The town of Prenia, located in the southern heart of Santa Rosa, bustled with life. Narrow stone streets twisted between buildings of sun-baked clay and timber, their walls bursting with merchant banners and laundry hung from windows. Though the same size that of Drury, Prenia hummed with its own flavor—an undercurrent of dreams and struggle, like a weary musician playing hopeful tunes.
Toby and Reu strolled into town as the sun bathed the streets in a warm, orange glow.
"We need to reach Gastonmere," Toby said, rubbing his stomach. "But... I'm starving."
Reu raised an eyebrow. "Surely you've got some coins on you?"
Toby grinned and patted his empty pockets. "Nope. Not a copper."
Reu groaned. "Let me guess—you started this grand journey of yours with nothing? No money, no supplies—just blind optimism?"
Toby clapped him on the back. "Not nothing! I've got you."
"That's the problem," Reu muttered.
Toby paused, eyes lighting up. "Idea! Let's work for a meal—clean dishes, sweep floors, whatever. Easy!"
Reu scowled. "Why did I end up with you, you idiot?"
They wandered into a tavern called The Boar's Mug. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread greeted them warmly. Inside, travelers drank, laughed, and feasted. Wooden beams above were blackened with years of smoke, and laughter echoed through the tavern.
Toby marched confidently to the counter.
"Hey, old man! Got anything hot for the two of us?"
A broad-shouldered tavern keeper with a gray beard looked up. "You got coins, lad?"
Toby grinned. "Reu here said he's treating us."
Reu nearly choked. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"
Sighing, Reu drew his battered sword and placed it on the counter. "This rusty blade get us anything?"
The barkeep laughed, shaking his head. "You kids are a mess. Name's Peter. Keep the sword. Meal's on the house."
He motioned to a girl in an apron. "Brea! Soup for the boys!"
The girl, maybe nineteen, stomped forward and placed two bowls in front of them, her scowl doing more damage than her words. "Free meals for strays now? This is a tavern, not a charity."
Reu raised an eyebrow. "Something wrong with your hospitality?"
"Something wrong with your face," Brea muttered and stormed back to the kitchen.
Peter chuckled. "Forgive her. That's my daughter, Brea. Her heart's in the right place, even if her tongue isn't. She's a great cook."
Toby sipped his soup and widened his eyes. "Peter, you're right. This is amazing."
Peter beamed. "Told you. So what brings you two to Prenia?"
Toby leaned in. "We're headed to Gastonmere. I want to see where Ashen—first to stand against the Nasyonalistas—began his fight. I'm going to form my own Ashkin group."
"Toby," Reu hissed. "Volume."
Unfortunately, his words came too late. At a nearby table, several armored figures in silver-trimmed cloaks turned slowly. Paladins—Nasyonalistas.
One stood. "You've got some nerve, kid, talking rebellion within earshot of Paladins."
Toby blinked, confused. Reu yanked him from his seat and dragged him toward the door.
"That's right," the Paladin spat. "Move out while you can."
Brea, who had overheard everything, emerged from the kitchen with fire in her eyes.
"What? You've got nothing better to do than scare teenagers? Leave!"
A Paladin grabbed her by the hair. Peter rushed forward, panic on his face.
"Please, sir! She's just a girl. Let her go."
"Back off," the Paladin growled, yanking her harder.
"Let her go! please!" Peter shouted.
The Paladin scowled, then released her. "Watch your tongue. This place is crawling with Ashkin sympathizers."
As they left, one knocked over a table of drinks, laughing cruelly. Brea clenched her fists.
"If only I weren't a girl... maybe then they'd listen to me. Maybe then I wouldn't be ignored, silenced, or treated like I'm fragile or foolish. I want to stand up, to fight, to matter—but all they see is a daughter, a cook, a girl too bold for her place."
Peter said nothing. But his eyes, warm and full of grief, watched her carefully.
That night, Toby and Reu lay on a bench outside, moonlight spilling across peaceful streets.
Footsteps approached. Peter.
Before he could speak, Reu murmured, "Old man? What brings you out here?"
Peter sat down beside him. "What's your name, son?"
"Reu."
Peter nodded. "I see a fire in you. The kind I once had."
Reu stared. "What are you talking about?"
Peter smiled faintly. "I traveled once. Like you. I was an Ashkin. Then I met Brea's mother. Settled down. Opened a tavern. But Brea—she has that same fire. She needs to be out there. With people like you."
Reu shook his head. "I don't like her. She's got a temper."
"So did her mother," Peter said wistfully. "I'm asking you—take her with you."
Reu sighed. "Ask my chief, not me."
Toby stirred in his sleep, mumbling nonsense.
"See? That's who I have to deal with," Reu added. "You sure you want your daughter with us? I don't even think he likes us either."
"I trust her. And I trust you. Leave the rest to me."
The next morning, the tavern bustled. Brea served breakfast to a grumpy customer.
He took one bite—and spat it out.
"What is this pig slop?"
"You dare insult my cooking?!" Brea shouted.
"Peter, I want a refund!"
"Father, don't you dare—"
Peter walked over, tasted the soup—and spat.
"What is this, Brea?"
"What? It's the same dish I always make!"
She tasted it herself—and paused. Her brows furrowed as the familiar flavor lingered on her tongue. "It's fine! It's exactly how I always make it!"
But something inside her cracked. The betrayal stung deeper than words. Her father had spit it out. In front of everyone. Without even a wink or a warning. She felt small. Embarrassed. Unwanted.
She yanked off her apron, tossed it across a stool, and stormed through the back door. The sunlight outside was brighter than she expected, stinging her teary eyes. She rounded the corner of the tavern and dropped onto the worn step behind the kitchen, curling her arms around her knees.
She tried to hold the tears back, but they came anyway. Slow, hot, and silent. She dug her fingers into her sleeves, pressing her face into them.
"Why? Why would he do that?" she whispered, voice breaking. "Why now? Why today?"
The world felt unfair, her dreams too big, and her place too small. She had always poured her heart into every pot and pan—not just to please customers, but because it was the only way she knew how to show love, to build something lasting in a life that had stood still.
And now, even that had been stripped from her.
A breeze danced past, lifting her hair slightly. She didn't hear the footsteps at first. But someone was coming.
Toby appeared quietly, standing a short distance away before taking a cautious step closer. "Why are you crying?"
Brea quickly wiped her eyes, attempting to mask the pain in her voice. "It's none of your business. Just go."
Toby scratched his head awkwardly and turned to leave. "Okay, guess I'll go, then."
He had only taken a few steps before her voice called out behind him, soft and shaking. "Wait!"
Toby paused and turned.
She looked up at him, eyes shimmering with a storm of emotion. "What's it like... to be a man? To have the freedom to leave, to fight, to chase after whatever it is you believe in? To not be expected to stay behind and carry everything alone?"
Toby walked back and sat beside her, quiet for a moment as he considered her words. "It doesn't matter if you're a man or a woman. That's something the world tells you to believe. But it's wrong. What matters is what you choose to do with your life. If your heart wants to go—then go. Make your own path."
Brea looked away. "My father... he was once an Ashkin. A brave one. He gave it all up when he met my mother. I don't resent him for that. But I've always wondered what life he left behind... and if I could live it in his stead."
Toby reached out and gently took her hand, not with force, but with earnest understanding. "Then come with us. I'm starting something new—an Ashkin group. Not just rebels or fighters, but people who protect what matters. I want to build something bigger than myself. A family. A cause. And we need people like you. People who care."
She bit her lip, staring down at her lap. "But my father... He needs me. The tavern. His health. I can't just abandon all of it."
Toby smiled faintly. "Sometimes we stay for others. But sometimes, leaving is the only way to truly help them see who we really are. You're not abandoning him, Brea. You're honoring everything he taught you. If you change your mind... we'll be around. Just don't wait until it's too late."
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before standing, the late morning sun warming the back of his neck as he turned to walk away.
Brea remained where she was, her heart torn between comfort and courage. But a tiny spark had lit inside her. And sparks, given time, become flames.
Back inside, Peter sat at the same table.
He was eating her soup—the same soup.
Brea entered, confused.
"Father?"
Peter looked up, smiling. "It's perfect. Just like your mother used to make."
"Why did you pretend it was bad?"
"To show you. You're meant for more. I don't want to be the one who cages you."
Tears fell from her eyes.
"But who will take care of you?"
"I'll manage. The world needs your fire."
Before more could be said—the tavern doors slammed open.
The Paladins had returned.
And this time, the are very angry with intent to harm.