The scent of sizzling meats and spiced bread filled the air as the group made their way through the crowded shopping district nestled at the foot of the mountain. Colorful awnings rippled above, fluttering in the breeze that carried the chatter of merchants and the clinking of coins. Nixi led the way, practically bouncing with excitement, while the others trailed behind at a more cautious pace.

Larz’s wolf ears twitched at every unfamiliar noise. His blue eyes darted between the bustling stalls, catching glimpses of strange fruits, glowing gemstones, and charms said to be blessed by this or that god. But his gaze always circled back to the rotund boar beastman at the far end of the row—the one Nixi had mentioned.

The merchant stood out like a sore thumb. He was a heavyset man, around six feet tall, his striped purple coat gleaming in the sunlight as if freshly waxed. His patchy brown pants strained around his legs, and a small coiled pink tail poked out the back. Even from several paces away, Larz could see the sheen of sweat glistening on his brow. The merchant’s small, almond-shaped brown eyes squinted beneath his thick lashes as he rubbed his hands together, flashing a smile that was far too wide to be comforting.

“He practically screams ‘trouble,’” Larz muttered under his breath.

Nixi, who had heard him, turned her head with an impish grin. “Oh, relax. Sly’s not that bad. A little greasy, sure—but harmless. Mostly.”

Larz wasn’t convinced, but he kept silent. He wanted to trust Nixi’s judgment. They stopped before the stall, which, up close, proved to be far more than a stall. The small tented structure shimmered faintly with enchantment—its space bending beyond what the eye could see. 

Through the faint ripple of magic, Larz could glimpse a fireplace, rows of polished weapons, and fine merchandise that didn’t belong in any outdoor market.

“Ah! Nixi, you’ve returned!” the boar beastman exclaimed, his snout quivering with delight. “And I see you’ve brought companions—the legendary Champion of the Progenitor Gods himself among them! What an honor! The name is Sly Grizzell—seller of weapons, wares, and whatever else your noble hearts may desire!”

He finished his introduction with an abrupt snort, bowing so low that his coat tails almost brushed the dirt.

“Hi, Sly!” Nixi beamed. “Can you show us some weapons? I think just Mireya and I need one, right, Mireya?”

“Uh… yeah. I guess I could use one too,” Mireya said, scratching her chin awkwardly. She didn’t want a weapon from him, but Nixi’s bright eyes left little room to object.

“Wonderful! Please, come in! Browse to your hearts’ content!” Sly said, sweeping aside a curtain to reveal the interior.

As they stepped inside, the air shifted—thicker, warmer, but oddly inviting. The glow of the fire painted the interior in hues of gold and amber. Plush leather chairs sat before the hearth, and a polished counter stretched along the back of the tent. Rows of shining blades, staffs, and trinkets adorned the shelves near the front of the tent. But what caught Drogun’s eye wasn’t the craftsmanship of the weapons—it was the bar.

Crystal bottles glimmered beneath warm light, each filled with liquors that sparkled like captured sunlight. Without hesitation, Drogun made a beeline for it.

“Can I get a glass of that Golden Crown Elixir, beautiful?” he said, dropping onto one of the red leather stools with a grin. The tall woman behind the bar groaned without turning around. “Who the hell do you think you’re—” She stopped mid-sentence. Her body froze as she turned, locking eyes with him. Her breath hitched.

“…Petra?” Drogun’s voice softened, almost disbelieving. The glass she was polishing slipped from her fingers and clattered against the counter. Her expression hardened instantly, a storm brewing behind her icy blue eyes.

“Get… out.”

Drogun’s grin vanished. He stood up slowly, hands raised. “Petra, wait—”

“I said get out!” she shouted, her voice sharp as broken glass.

Sly blinked, startled, glancing between them as he approached. “Erm… is there a problem here?”

“Yes,” Petra snapped, sharply pointing a finger at Drogun. “That man—kick him out. Now.”

The outburst drew everyone else's attention. Nixi’s ears perked up, Mireya crossed her arms, and Larz stepped protectively closer.

“Excuse me,” Larz said carefully, his tone even but firm. “Why are you trying to kick Drogun out? He’s with us.”

As he spoke, Larz studied her more closely. Her long red hair, woven into a tight braid with silver beads, shimmered in the firelight. A single, smaller horn rose cleanly from her forehead—less imposing than Drogun’s, but unmistakably of the same lineage. Her resemblance to him was uncanny.

Nixi’s eyes widened. “Wait just a minute… Petra! Are you related to Drogun?! You look so similar!”

Petra scoffed, folding her arms. “You want to tell them, or should I?” Drogun’s jaw tightened. “Petra, don’t—”

“No, you know what? You probably don’t have the guts,” she cut him off, voice dripping with venom. “He’s my—”

“I’ll—!” Drogun’s voice faltered.

“You’ll what?” she spat, stepping forward, her eyes glacial. He sighed heavily, shoulders sagging as if the years themselves weighed on him. “She’s my daughter…”

The words hung in the air like thunder.

“My daughter… that I abandoned.”

Nixi gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Larz’s ears flattened in disbelief. Mireya’s gaze darkened, her expression unreadable. Petra’s lips curled in a bitter smile. “There it is,” she said quietly, voice trembling with restrained fury. “The undeniable truth.”

Drogun swallowed hard, his throat dry as ash. The flickering fire cast long shadows on the tent walls, each one dancing like ghosts of the past.

And in that silence, no one quite knew whose heart broke first.

To be continued…