Silas stood before the glass door of the inn, checking out his own reflection. The blue-white tunic that once flattered his complexion and his petite figure, now hung loose around it. Faded and patched. His muted amethyst eyes gazed back at him, empty of admiration. Yet, he took comfort in his hair — dark, curling strands that framed his face and lent it a spark of life he otherwise struggled to find. He liked them a little long but cropped to just before his shoulder….  also worked.

He straightened his neck and quickly patted the front of his dress, trying to be as presentable as possible before he entered the inn. Dreamy or not, this inn was the first respectable establishment that Silas was going to attend in Raia or his first anything in Raia for that matter. 

Unlike back in the Academy, no one here knew him to be a country bumpkin and he was not going to give them such impressions either. He stamped his foot on the doormat twice, shaking off the dirt and then pressed both hands against the heavy door and heaved it open.

A warm draft of air swept over his chilled bones, rich with the scent of yeast and ale. Soft music drifted from the doors, woven with quiet murmurs and the occasional burst of boisterous laughter. 

The establishment was nothing like the thatch-roofed tavern back in the village with wooden benches and woven cots Or like the fancy glass houses in Kurseona that served the gourmet dishes. 

The place had an entirely different feel. The charm of Raia.

The ceiling here soared so high that he had to crane his neck to see all the way up. There were two more levels above the ground where diners were seated along the beautifully carved staircase that spiralled all the way to the top. 

Two hanging balconies, stacked one above the other near the centre, beneath which, musicians played curious, unfamiliar instruments. Warm fire back in the hearth lit up the room with an orange hue. It was like a scene coming alive from one of his fantasy texts. 

Most of them were based on Raia.

The Inn did not look so majestic from the outside. Moreover, it was situated on a business street and from what he had read about Raia, the area was only meant for petty merchants and traders. 

So even petty businessmen in Raia's citadel were far more stocked than their Village’s Elder. Maybe even more than the nearby Town’s Governor. He will find out. 

As Silas stood there, lost in contemplation, someone loudly cleared his throat besides him. It was a serving boy, holding a large wooden tray. He looked down at him from over the stacked dishes, disapproval and annoyance painted over his face.

Silas immediately ducked his head and shuffled over to the side, mumbling a hasty apology. Lost in his reverie, he realized, embarrassed, that he had walked inside only to find himself standing between the bar and the kitchen. Gazing at the ceiling and the guests, wide-eyed, he must have looked like a fool.

Too much to stave off the label of country bumpkin.

Gathering the courage, he sidled up to the bar hoping to catch the attendant’s eye and ask him to fetch the manager for the delivery.

He never got the chance. 

As he neared the bar, the attendant looked him up and down and muttered something incoherent, gesturing toward the kitchen door. Without sparing him another glance, he returned to filling a flask with murky brown liquid. He offered Silas no seat, unlike the others. 

That was rude and he might have said something if the attendant was not a big, brawny fellow with a thick mustache and dark beard. His green tunic and dark trousers were in far better condition than Silas's threadbare attire.

A typical Raian. 

Despite the man’s intimidating bulk, Silas summoned the courage to try again.

“Excuse me, Sir? I’m actually here for—”

He was cut off rather rudely, again.

“Didn’t ye hear me? Go through the door. Manager's in the back. And don’t let me see ya coming through the front door again! Ya servant boys have yo own door!”

The man’s voice was as accented as it was heated.

Back in the Academy, they had been preparing them for a lot of things - a stray spell, an intended spell, an encounter with a hunter or just an inquisitive fellow. But this hostility completely threw him off.

Silas nodded silently, unwilling to trust his voice not to shake. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, whether they were triggered by anger or humiliation he did not know. He simply refused to let them fall. He reminded himself that he was of age, an adult now, and his pride could not be wounded so easily. Even so, the rudeness was hardly warranted.

He walked silently toward the kitchen door, when a warm caress tingled the skin at his nape. That feeling again. Silas turned, his eyes searching the crowd for any suspicious gaze. But everyone seemed too engrossed in themselves, hardly bothered about the bar or rather the rustic boy arguing with the meaty bar attendant.