Selene made her way down the narrow staircase, the creak of the wooden steps echoing in the quiet of the inn. She entered the common room, where Mirna stood behind the counter, methodically polishing a row of mugs. The soft glow of the oil lamps cast warm light across her weathered face.

"Mirna," Selene called, her voice steady as she approached the counter, the two letters in her hand. "Would you be kind enough to see these delivered to The Stalwart Dawn when it next docks?"

Mirna looked up, taking the letters from Selene with a practiced eye. She glanced at the wax seals before nodding with a smile. "Of course, love. Should be back in a month’s time. I’ll make sure they reach the ship."

"Thank you," Selene said, her tone filled with quiet gratitude as she handed over the letters.

Mirna tucked them carefully under the counter. "No need to thank me. I’ll see to it."

Selene offered Mirna a warm smile before stepping out into the crisp embrace of the night air.

The docks were quieter now, though a few sailors lingered in groups, sharing laughter and stories. The harbor stretched out before her, the water rippling with silver under the moon’s glow. Selene’s steps carried her down the cobbled street toward a lively tavern she had noticed earlier: The Rusty Anchor.

The tavern’s sign creaked as it swayed, its painted image of a barnacled anchor barely visible under years of wear. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of ale and sweat, the heat from a roaring hearth adding to the oppressive warmth. Selene slipped through the door and found a corner seat, her presence unnoticed in the din of drunken shanties and boisterous laughter.

A barmaid appeared, her apron stained but her smile bright. “What’ll it be, dear?”

“Mead,” Selene replied, tossing a few coins on the table.

The barmaid nodded and vanished into the throng, leaving Selene to her thoughts. She perused the room, noting the mix of patrons—sailors nursing pints, merchants arguing over dice, and a minstrel strumming a lute with uneven skill. It was the kind of place where secrets traded hands as easily as coin, where anonymity was a shield.

Her drink arrived, and Selene raised the tankard to her lips, savoring the sweet, warming taste of the mead. For a moment, the noise and chaos around her faded, replaced by the steady rhythm of her own heartbeat.

But peace was short-lived. A sharp laugh cut through the air, drawing her attention to a table near the hearth. A group of men were seated there, their rough demeanor marking them as sailors or mercenaries. One of them had locked eyes with her. He grinned, raising his mug in a mock toast.

“Lonely night, miss?” he called out, his voice loud enough to turn a few heads.

Selene ignored him, taking another sip of her mead.

The man chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “No need to be shy. Join us! We could use a bit of company to brighten our evening.”

The table erupted in laughter, but Selene remained still, her gaze fixed on her drink. She’d dealt with men like him before—boastful, overconfident, and quick to underestimate.

“Suit yourself,” the man said with a shrug, though his gaze lingered.

The man and his companions continued their revelry, their laughter growing louder with each passing round. As the night wore on, the man, clearly emboldened by drink, slammed his mug on the table and leaned forward dramatically.

"Have I ever told you lot about the time Antioch battled the mighty Stone Giant Keldar?" he announced, his voice carrying across the room. A few heads turned, though most patrons paid him no mind.

Selene sipped her mead and grimaced; the last thing she wanted to hear was a tale about Antioch.

The man leaned forward, raising his mug for emphasis as he launched into his version of the tale.

"It was an age when... uh... the gods and giants... yeah, they were at war or somethin’," he began, his words slurring slightly. "There was this big... stone guy, Keldar. Yeah, a giant! He was crushin’ villages, like stomping ‘em flat. And the gods got mad, right? So, uh... Antioch—he’s the tricky one—he goes, ‘Hey, let’s get this giant!’"

One of his companions groaned, rubbing his temples. "Gavin, you’re butchering it already."

Gavin waved a dismissive hand. "I got this, I got this. So Antioch, he goes to find his brother... what’s his name again? The angry one... Anyway! Antioch says, ‘Hey, let’s go smash a giant!’ And the angry one is like, ‘I’ll smash anything!’ So they start fightin’ this giant, and there’s this big... uh, battle in the mountains. Boulders everywhere!"

He paused, scratching his head. "Wait, or was it the forest? No, no—it was by the sea, right?

Gavin’s retelling grew more muddled, his words tangling as he tried to piece together the sequence.

One of his companions groaned loudly, "For the love of the gods, Gavin, you’ve started over three times, and it’s still wrong!"

Selene, unable to contain herself, spoke up from her corner. "You’re a dreadful storyteller," she said plainly, her voice cutting through the din.

The group turned toward her, their eyes widening in surprise. Gavin raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Oh, am I now? Think you can do better, lass?"

"I know I can," Selene replied, setting her empty tankard down with a confident clink. "My grandmother told me that story countless times, and unlike you, she knew how to keep an audience."

The men chuckled, Gavin included. He raised his mug in a mock toast. "Well, then! Come over and regale us with your version, if you’ve got the nerve. But only on one condition: if it’s any good, we’ll buy your next mead."

Selene stood, her lips curving into a sly smile. "And if it’s not?"

Gavin leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Then you’ll owe us a round."

She approached their table, drawing their full attention. "Deal," she said, her blue eyes gleaming.

The men exchanged glances, some skeptical, others intrigued. Selene pulled up a chair and began, her voice smooth and steady, weaving the tale with the finesse of a born storyteller.

"It was an age when the gods and the giants were at war," she began, "and the lands of men were wild and untamed. In the heart of Grimley’s Pass, a stone giant named Keldar had risen—a behemoth of granite and malice, his footsteps shaking the earth and his roars echoing like thunder. Villages were flattened under his wrath, and rivers were diverted by the sheer weight of his monstrous strides.

The gods took notice, as they always do when balance teeters. Antioch, the Trickster God, ever curious and drawn to chaos like a moth to flame, set out to confront the beast. Not alone, of course—Antioch knew better than to face a giant of stone unaided. He sought out his brother, Igor, the God of the Barbarians, a god whose strength was as boundless as his temper."

Selene’s hands moved as she spoke, as though painting the scene before her listeners.

"Antioch found Igor in the mountains, wrestling a bear as part of some challenge only he could comprehend. ‘Brother,’ Antioch called out. ‘I have found a foe worthy of your strength—and of my cunning.’

Igor stood, towering and wild, his laughter echoing across the peaks. ‘A stone giant, you say? Bah! Stones break under the hammer!’

And so, the brothers journeyed together, their dynamic as fiery as the clash they were about to meet. Antioch, clever and quick-witted, devised plans and traps. Igor, unrelenting and fearless, faced Keldar head-on, wielding his massive warhammer with devastating force."

Selene paused, taking a sip of her mead, her eyes twinkling as she noted her audience’s rapt attention. Even Gavin was leaning forward, his mug forgotten. She continued, her voice dropping slightly for dramatic effect.

"The battle raged for days across the land, each clash of Igor’s hammer against Keldar’s stone skin shaking the very earth. Antioch, ever the strategist, darted between them, his illusions and tricks weaving confusion into the chaos. At one point, he lured the giant into a deep canyon with a mirage of treasure, only for Igor to ambush Keldar from above, bringing an avalanche of boulders down upon him.

But Keldar was no ordinary foe. He shrugged off their blows, his strength seeming to grow as the battle pushed closer and closer to the sea. When the tide finally reached their feet, Antioch paused, a gleam of inspiration in his cunning eyes.

‘Brother,’ he said, his voice calm amidst the storm of combat, ‘even stone can drown.’"

The men at the table exchanged glances. Selene pressed on, her tone rising with the crescendo of the story.

"Antioch called out to Oceanus, the God of the Sea, who rose from the waves in a towering form of crashing water and foam. With Oceanus’s help, they lured Keldar deeper into the ocean. Waves surged and churned, pulling the giant farther from land. Igor struck with his hammer, each blow driving Keldar into the depths, while Antioch wove illusions that disoriented the giant, making him believe he was still on solid ground.

Finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the three gods combined their power. Oceanus unleashed a torrent of water, Igor’s hammer struck with the force of a thousand storms, and Antioch sealed Keldar’s fate with a trick—a glowing orb of light that the giant, in his confusion, mistook for a lifeline. When he reached for it, he stumbled, plunging into the abyss."

Selene leaned back slightly, her voice softening as she delivered the epilogue.

"Some say Keldar’s body still floats in the vast ocean, but if a sailor were to pass it, they would likely mistake it for an island. While we may never truly know, one thing is certain: the ballad of Keldar remains a testament to the cunning of Antioch, the strength of Igor, and the unity of the gods when chaos threatens their world."

Selene’s voice trailed off, leaving a hush at the table. She took another sip of her mead, savoring the sweet taste and the momentary silence.

The group erupted into cheers, their mugs raised high. "To Selene, the storyteller!" Gavin exclaimed, his grin wide. "You’ve done what I never could—brought Antioch’s tale to life. Another round for the lady!"

Selene smiled, inclining her head in thanks. For the first time in a long while, she felt the warm glow of camaraderie—and the thrill of a story well told.

Selene and her new companions spilled out of The Rusty Anchor, their laughter filling the quiet night air. Gavin staggered slightly, the effects of his ale evident, but his grin was as broad as ever. His companions were no better, their boisterous energy a testament to the night’s revelry.

“You’ve got quite the talent there, Selene,” Gavin called, his words slurring just enough to draw a chuckle from his comrades. “We’d never have guessed you had such fire in you!”

Selene glanced over her shoulder, a wry smile playing on her lips. “You should learn not to judge a book by its cover, Gavin. It’s an easy way to get burned.”

“Selene, you wound me,” Gavin said, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Now, where’s your inn? We’re gentlemen, after all—we wouldn’t let a lady walk alone in the dead of night.”

Selene arched an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth quirking into a smirk. “Gentlemen, are you? I thought you were sailors. And for the record, I don’t need rescuing. I’ve handled far worse than a cobblestone street at midnight.”

The men exchanged glances, unsure whether to take offense or laugh. Gavin chose the latter, breaking into a hearty chuckle. “Fair enough, lass. You’ve got a point there. But if you ever feel the call of the sea, The Salty Siren could use someone like you—a sharp wit and a knack for stories would make you a fine addition to any crew.”

Selene tilted her head, considering his words. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, her tone measured but sincere. “Though I think I prefer my feet on solid ground for now.”

Gavin gave her a mock salute, a grin still plastered on his face. “The offer stands, Selene. A storyteller like you could write legends out there.”

With that, the group began to disperse, their laughter and banter fading into the night. Selene lingered for a moment, watching them go. Despite her insistence on independence, their easy camaraderie had stirred something in her—a sense of belonging she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Selene stumbled along the cobblestone path toward the inn, the night air cool against her flushed cheeks. The laughter and music of the tavern still echoed faintly in her ears, mingling with the sound of her unsteady footsteps. Her vision wavered slightly, the world around her bathed in the faint, silvery glow of the moon.

As she neared the alley beside the inn, a flicker of movement caught her eye. At first, she dismissed it, shaking her head as if to clear the haze of wine clouding her senses. But the flicker returned, this time more defined—a tall, shadowy figure standing just beyond the edge of the lamplight.

Selene paused, her heart beating faster. Her drunken stupor gave way to a creeping unease as the figure began to take shape. The outline became clearer, resolving into the form of a woman draped in flowing black garments that seemed to ripple like smoke. A gleaming mask obscured her face, its surface polished to a mirror-like sheen that caught and distorted the faint light.

Selene blinked, certain her eyes were deceiving her. She rubbed them hastily, but when she looked again, the masked woman was still there, motionless yet undeniably present.

“Who…?” Selene began to say, her voice faltering as the air seemed to grow heavier, the shadows around the figure deepening unnaturally.

Before she could finish, the darkness began to move. It stretched and twisted, unfurling like ink spilled into water, spreading across the alley and reaching toward her. Selene gasped, stumbling back, but the shadows moved too quickly.

They enveloped her in an instant, a cold, suffocating embrace that snuffed out the light and muffled every sound. The last thing she saw was the gleaming mask, now inches from her face, its empty gaze fixed on her.

Then everything went black.