“Heard there was another skirmish at the Ielyan border today. How many’s that even make this week?” A large man with a particularly boisterous voice wondered aloud to his companions as he accepted a fresh round of drinks from a server and passed them around.

“Too many,” a pale young guy at the same table answered immediately as he took a mug, his words just barely beginning to slur. He raised it in a halfhearted toast. “Tooooo damned many.” With that, he took a long swig, set down the cup and let his head fall onto the table with a dull thud.

...I took a tiny sip of my own drink as I gazed down over the second floor railing, listening.

Below, a gruff older man lightly elbowed the previous speaker in the ribs. “Yer lady friend’s in the garrison, ain’t she?”

The young man gave only a muffled, affirmative grunt in reply.

The front door of the tavern swung open, and the soft din of conversation that filled the building stagnated for a moment as a waft of chilly night air sent a subtle shudder through the patrons seated closest to the entrance. The hooded newcomer hurried to close the door behind them in an attempt to appease the irritated glances that were reflexively directed their way.

“...anything about it? How’re things going for them?” 

I returned my attention to that same table partway through the first question as the ambient chatter picked back up. It was the loud one who’d handed out the drinks asking.

Picking his head up off the table, the young man rubbed his eyes. “...Bad,” he said glumly, and took another generous swig of ale.

A feather-light prickling sensation crept across the back of my neck. Someone must be watching me. 

...Well, that was fine. I wasn't in a situation where I needed to hide, even if it did feel strange to disregard any warning my senses gave me.

The final member of the group, a muscular, well-tanned, and rough-looking woman with close-cropped hair, had been quietly nursing her drink while the others talked, but now she scoffed. “Ah, yes,” she said dryly, “things are going ‘bad’. I understand everything now.”

The young man groaned in exasperation. “Shut up, Zela.” He sighed and took a long drink as his three companions waited expectantly. Several large gulps later, he slammed his now-empty cup down onto the table.

“...Haaah, fine.” The guy was silent for a few seconds, biting his lip unhappily. As I watched his internal struggle play out on his face, I became aware of a faint creaking ascending the tavern’s stairs. “So... from what Ellis told me,” he eventually continued, “they’ve been getting... harassed. Constant, small-scale attacks at all hours.” 

Behind me, quiet footsteps reached the top of the stairs and started moving in my direction. Without turning, I gestured over my shoulder for whoever it was to hold on a second—the guy below was still talking, and I wanted to hear this.

“Reinforcements were supposed to be there a couple days ago, but they never showed. I’m...” his voice grew strained. “I’m worried. She was exhausted when I last saw her, and now—” the words caught in his throat, and he choked back a sob. “Now it’s been days without any word at all.”

...Yeah, that was pretty spot on to how I remembered things going last time, unfortunately. Below, the others at the young man’s table were stunned into a horrified silence, evidently not having expected 'bad' to mean that bad. 

I sighed and straightened in my chair, consciously tuning out the chatter from the lower level. My question had been answered, so there was no further need to eavesdrop—and I had a guest of my own to talk to, anyway.

I went to turn around to see who it was, but before I could, a pair of arms wrapped gently around my shoulders from behind, the rough fabric of the sleeves carrying a slight, lingering chill from the night air outside. “...Everything okay, Silt?” A soft, feminine voice whispered in my ear. “I’m here for you if you need any help.”

I rolled my eyes, though I knew she wouldn’t be able to see it. “No, thanks. Hello to you too, Mirea. Been a while.”

“Damn.” Mirea clicked her tongue and promptly let go of me. In one smooth, yet utterly inelegant motion, she stepped around to the other side of the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down opposite me. “Well, I tried.”

She reached up and grabbed her hood as if to pull it back, but then hesitated, belatedly realizing something. “Oh, uh...” she glanced around the shadowed, mostly-empty upper floor of the tavern furtively, and spoke in a low voice. “Mu—I mean, your teacher isn’t here, is he?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle as she stopped herself from using the derogatory nickname. “He’s not,” I confirmed. “Kerr is... ill.” 

She raised an eyebrow. 

I smiled back cryptically. “Very ill,” I emphasized.

Mirea paused, but then shrugged and threw off her hood, shaking out the loose, dark curls of her hair. “Not sure what that’s supposed to mean,” she said, now speaking at a normal volume, “but I’ll take it you’re saying there’s no chance of him suddenly showing up tonight.”

None of the lanterns on this level of the building were lit right now, but since our table sat right against the railing, the warm glow from below was enough to reveal a slight reddish flush on Mirea’s light brown skin. “Getting damn cold out there,” she muttered as she leaned her head to the side to look over the railing. After a second, she turned back to me curiously. “What were you watching down there, anyway?”

I shook my head and took a sip of ale. “Nothing much. Didn’t end up hearing anything I didn’t already know.”

She gave a noncommittal hum in acknowledgement, set her chin on one hand and stared at me absentmindedly. For a few heartbeats both of us were comfortably silent—then, abruptly, Mirea frowned and leaned forward across the table, pinning my cup with a suspicious glare. “Silt... what are you drinking?”

I blinked in confusion, arm frozen with the mug halfway to my mouth for another taste.

...Oh. Right.

Feeling a tinge of sheepishness, I set it back down. “That was just kind of—uh, Kerr always points out that I should buy a drink when I come to these places to avoid standing out, so I... wasn’t thinking and forgot I shouldn’t really be drinking alcohol yet...?”

Mirea didn’t offer any reaction and just sat there, eyeing me skeptically.

“...Look, I only had a few sips, okay? I wasn’t planning on drinking the whole thing.”

She smirked, and immediately I knew I’d made a huge mistake. “Give it here, then, since you don’t want it. No sense wasting a perfectly good drink.”

I tried to think of something else to say, but... no, I’d really argued myself into a dead end at record speed there. With a sigh of defeat, I reluctantly slid the ale over to her side of the table. Without hesitation, she grabbed it and lifted it into the air in mock toast to her own victory. “I am so glad I’m older than you.”

As Mirea savoured her prize, I stared distractedly at my arm where it rested on the table. It had been... what, three days now? I’d already gotten reaccustomed to life in this backwater town, and yet I couldn’t seem to shake the subconscious belief that I was still an adult. When I looked down at my hand, I still expected it to be larger and rougher. When I ran my thumb along the side of my right index finger, as had long been my habit, I still expected to feel that long, thin scar that had always served as a reminder of how I originally left this place. 

...It was strange. More than my younger body, more than being back in Silent Falls, where I’d grown up, more than the fact that I didn’t have to worry about mana storms or contaminated beasts or crazed bandits or starving to death, that sensation—feeling only smooth, unblemished skin where the evidence of that wound should have been—was what caused the reality of my situation to truly sink in. It wasn’t just gone; it had never been there to begin with. My age, even with how much trouble I was having adjusting to it, was inconsequential. So long as I stayed alive, time would see to it that I’d grow older, just as I had once before. But the scar? It would never be there again. The events leading to its inception wouldn’t be able to play out the same way a second time.

...No, even if they could, I wouldn’t let them.

As I was lost in thought, Mirea gulped down the last of my drink, slammed the empty mug onto the table, and sighed in satisfaction. “Actually, exactly how old are you, again?”

I froze, thrown off by the unexpected question. 

“...Silt, the ale’s already in my stomach,” she said after a moment, grinning at my reaction. “There’s no point trying to convince me you’re old enough for it now.” 

...That wasn’t why I’d hesitated, but letting the misconception stand would be a lot easier than explaining that I’d needed to do some quick mental arithmetic to figure out my own age.

“Seventeen,” I finally answered.

“Hmm, so I’ve got two years on you, then.” Mirea seemed to think for a few seconds, then smiled and cheerfully jabbed my arm with a finger. “You be a good boy and don’t drink until you’re nineteen like me, okay?”

It was my turn to raise an eyebrow skeptically. “Funny, I thought the viscounty’s official regulations said eighteen.”

...Funny how I remember that so effortlessly, despite not even knowing off the top of my head how old I am.

“Nah, you’re definitely remembering it wrong,” she responded without hesitation, though I sincerely doubted that. There was a brief pause. “...Not that it makes much of a difference, considering you got this just fine.” She rapped her knuckles against the empty mug. “Did you lie about your age, or do the people here just not give a crap?”

I shrugged. “No one asked. Guess they thought I looked old enough.”

“Ah. So, the latter, then. Got it.” She glanced over as the tavern door opened. I followed her gaze to see the group of four I’d been eavesdropping on earlier, now in the process of leaving. The young man was obviously unsteady on his feet, leaning on the large one with the loud voice for stability.

“Kid’s having a rough week,” I murmured.

Mirea’s attention whipped back to me instantly, expression incredulous. “Uh, that ‘kid’ is a year older than I am.”

I groaned inwardly and pointedly refused to engage. “...You know him?”

She nodded, visibly stifling a laugh. “Yeah, I just got introduced to him today. Name’s Shess. He’s Lirelle’s younger sister’s significant other.”

Once I’d mentally untangled that mouthful, the pieces of information I’d learned tonight clicked together in my mind. I frowned. “Wait, so you got introduced to him today even though—” I cut myself off abruptly, realizing belatedly where my question was going.

...even though Ellis herself has been out of contact for days now?

Mirea tilted her head curiously.

“...No, never mind,” I said, letting out a long breath. “I just had something mixed up in my head.” 

This was a public space, so it wasn’t as if I’d done anything explicitly wrong by listening in, but... it had still been a personal conversation, and one that I hadn’t been part of. Sharing the details with someone else, without good reason, felt a little too much like gossiping for my tastes.

“Oh. Okay.” An awkward pause. “Well, speaking of Lirelle, anyway—she asked me to pass along a message. Said she’d drop by Mucker’s place sometime after midnight.”

I held back a snort. Originally, this would have been the first time I’d ever heard Lirelle’s nickname for Kerr, the usage of which was apparently an infectious habit that all of her students eventually picked up after spending enough time with her. I vaguely recalled asking Mirea about it last time around, but now I brushed past it.

“Of course you’d hold off on doing your job until after you managed to steal my drink,” I said in mock dismay as I shoved back my chair and stood up, stretching. “I should probably get going, then.”

She looked over me appraisingly for a moment. “Just, uh... you might want to consider making yourself a little... less presentable?”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised. I definitely didn’t remember Mirea making any suggestion like that last time.

“Right now you’re looking, um... significantly prettier than the last time I saw you,” she said, breaking eye contact and staring uncomfortably off to the side, seemingly out of embarrassment. “If she meets you like this, I think she might declare full-on war against Mucker in order to take you for herself.”

...Ah, that’s why. I smiled as I pushed the chair back under the table. “Good. I was actually thinking I might want to switch over to training under her.”

Mirea froze, mouth half-open and eyes wide. “W-wait, are you seri—”

Deciding that was an amusing point at which to end the conversation, I ignored her comment and turned to head down the stairs. “Anyway, I’ll see you around.”

Her voice called after me as I stepped away. “Silt, what did you just—come on, this is way too sudden!”

I laughed softly to myself and, without looking back, raised a hand over my shoulder in farewell.