They had been walking for hours.
The cart overflowed with strutha meat, and their legs still ached from bramble-related misfires.

When the first rooftops emerged between the trees, a quiet tension settled in.

Sounds of real civilization reached their ears—hammers clinking, hooves clattering, voices rising and falling—and the warm, muddled scent of fresh bread, sweat, and tanned leather drifted toward them.

It was their first village since Vinsart.
And this one… was on a different scale entirely.

Tall houses of carved stone and timber.
Colorful signs hanging from iron hooks.
Alleys layered on multiple levels.
And, above all… people.

Lots of people.

Humans, dwarves, elves, furred and feathered beastfolk.
Bards playing beneath balconies.
Children darting between the legs of weary travelers.

A true anthill, buzzing with shouts, smells, laughter, and haggling merchants.

Garlan froze, stunned.

— “Ten times Vinsart… at least.”

Tharion simply nodded, unreadable.
Marenna, on the other hand, smiled.
She looked right at home, as if bustling streets were her natural habitat.

They pushed through the main avenue, trying not to get swept away by the crowd.

Then Garlan stopped abruptly in front of a massive wooden notice board, cluttered with nailed-up papers.

He pulled one at random and unfolded it.

Adventurers’ Guild Mission Notice
Objective: Recover strutha meat
Reward: 50 crowns per quintal
Urgency: High — local supplier missing

He turned the sheet toward Tharion, baffled.

— “Coincidence?”

The centaur gnawed on his root.

— “Or fate. Who knows.”

They followed the directions to the Adventurers’ Guild—a large structure with a dark red roof and a wooden crest engraved with a hammer, an arrow, and an eye.

The reaction was immediate.

Tharion hadn’t even crossed the threshold when a reverent silence fell over the main hall.
A grizzled old man in light armor leapt up, nearly spilling his mug.

— “By the Horns of the Old Stag… THARION?!”

The centaur raised one calm hand.

— “Yep.”

Faster than you could say paperwork, it was done.
They were ushered into the back courtyard, the meat was weighed, a slip signed.

They walked out 200 crowns richer—no strings attached.

Garlan blinked.

— “Two hundred crowns… That’s heavy.”

Tharion, unbothered, stretched with a satisfying crack of his shoulders.

— “And it wasn’t two scrawny centaurs hauling that cart.”

With their reward secured, they went searching for an inn.

The first one was full.
The second had rooms—but none fit for a centaur.
The third politely offered Tharion “a quiet spot in the stable.”

He stared at the innkeeper for five long seconds, face blank.

Then turned and walked out without a word.

— “No big deal… It’s not like I have pride or anything,” he muttered.

Eventually, someone pointed them to a place on the far east end of the town: The Giant’s Halt, an inn designed for travelers of nonstandard build… and for those traveling with them.

The sign hanging from a thick beam showed a troll, a centaur, a dwarf, and a human toasting together around a fire.
A beacon of inclusivity—or a drinking challenge, depending on the time of day.

Standard rooms stood alongside large stalls, all arranged around a massive shared common hall, designed so every species and body shape could stay under the same roof—without segregation.

— “Now this is hoof-friendly,” Tharion commented as he stretched his back.

He went to drop off their bags, then returned to Garlan and Marenna with a casual look that fooled no one.

— “One room for the both of you. Makes things easier,” he added with a grin that said far too much.

Garlan turned bright red.
Marenna raised a brow.
Tharion whistled his way toward his private stall, convinced he’d just launched “Operation Cupid-on-Hooves.”

Garlan stood frozen in place.
Once the door to their room closed behind them, he took two steps back, his cheeks ablaze.

— “Take the bed, don’t worry about me! I’ll sleep levitating—it’ll count as training!”

Marenna tilted her head, clearly entertained.

— “Levitate all night? You do realize that means I’ll be stuck staring up at your… dangly bits?”

Garlan turned crimson.

— “No! That’s—That’s not what I meant at all!”

He blurted out something unintelligible, then fell into stunned silence, mouth half-open, thoughts completely erased.

Marenna, laughing, plopped down on the bed.

— “Relax, Garlan. Sleep with me. You’ll freeze floating up there.
And if it makes you feel better, I’ll grow a nice thorn wall between us.”