Akako looked towards the window, where the snow was gently thudding against the tavern’s window panels in swift, white streaks. He sat perched upon on the barstool closest to the counter, first with his legs crossed, then uncrossed, then crossed against with a sigh. He leaned forth, pressing both hands against the worn countertop. Then, he folded his arms, and slumped over it. Not even a moment later, he sat back up, crimson scarf unraveling just slightly around his neck. His eyes flickered towards the door.

Still, nothing.

Akako turned back to the window, watching the storm outside churn the world into a white soup. It had been many long years since a visitor had last graced the streets of Mystorica and, for a while, Akako had been about to give up hope that he would ever see a new visitor to the village in his lifetime. But there was something that felt different on this day that had set it apart from all the other days surrounding it. Perhaps it was something in the air. Or a scent carried by the wind. Maybe it was just plain intuition. Akako couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly, but he nervously waits, with anxiousness and anticipation alike, for something. Eyes darting back and forth between the windows, the door, and the old, antique clock hung upon the wall of the tavern.

Still, Akako’s tenacity had its limits, and just as his concentration dimmed and his determination waned-

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Akako jolted and, for a moment, he blinked in disbelief, unsure if the sound had indeed come from the door and was not his auditory hallucinations running wild- But then, the knocks came again. Louder this time. And Akako shot upright, his bright, crimson scarf swinging around like a pennant.

“A visitor,” he whispered, eyes bright. “A visitor!” He nearly tripped over himself rushing towards the front, hands adjusting his sleeves and scarf as the doors groaned open-

And stopped dead in his tracks.

The figure that stood at the doorway wasn’t merely cold-bitten or weary. Instead, as the cool winter air howled around him, he looked imposing, downright terrifying. Like something straight out of a war ballad from eras past; Clad in weather-beaten armor, heavy and dulled, layered beneath furs frosted over with ice. His steps echoed on the wooden floor like the drums of a marching line. Akako’s mind went blank as he froze. Not even the Ordo Noctis walked around like that!

Still, reflex took over. His smile found its way back to his face. He stood up straighter, and called out cheerily, “Hello! Welcome to the Village of Mystorica! You’ve arrived at the Restkeep Tavern- Can I get you anything?”

The armored man said nothing. Then, he walked. 

Thud.

One step.

Thud.

Another step.

Thud.

Akako clenched his jaw. Then, his fists.

Thud.

Sweat was beginning to form in the palms of Akako’s balled hands.

THUD.

Akako’s grin remained fixed, but his legs- His body, even- were beginning to tremble. Why isn’t he talking? Why isn’t he stopping?! The stranger reached the counter, just a few paces away now. Akako’s fingers twitched, nails digging through his gloves and straight into his bare flesh. His back already seemed to be wet with cold sweat.

Shfn-Kreeeeee!!! The chair scraped against the floor as it was pulled out, and the man sat down with another loud thud.

For a moment, silence reigned.

Then, the soft but distinct sound of a gruff voice, “Food.”

Akako nearly collapsed in relief- but instead, he beamed with another cheerful smile. “I’ll go get the menu, then!” He said, the brightness in his voice not quite concealing the edge of nerves still clinging onto his spine. Then, he turned and, on wobbly legs, disappeared into the kitchen in a flutter of scarf and urgency.