“You abandoned your child? You really are an idiot,” Mireya said, her gray eyes staring daggers into him.

“How… how could you do that to a young girl, Drogun?” Nixi asked, her voice trembling. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself as her tall chipmunk ears folded down, tears burning in her eyes.

“I—I don’t know how to feel about you anymore…” she added, her gaze dropping to the floor.

Larz said nothing, but his silence spoke louder than either of them.

Drogun flinched under the weight of it all. His jaw tightened, shoulders rising defensively before slumping again as if the strength had been pulled from his body.

“I know! I know, alright? I’m awful, but…” His voice faltered, trailing off as his gaze drifted—slowly, painfully—back to Petra.

She wasn’t looking at him. Didn’t even spare him a glance.

“I knew I couldn’t give you the life you deserved,” he continued, voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “So I left you with someone who could.” The words hung in the air like smoke.

“I’m… sorry for everything, Petra. I really am.”

Then, as if the weight of those words crushed whatever pride he had left, Drogun dropped to his knees. The sound of it echoed softly against the stone floor.

For a brief moment, Petra paused. Her hands stilled mid-motion as she wiped down the bar, and her eyes slid toward him.

But only for a second. Then she looked away. Past him. To Sly.

“I stand by what I said earlier, Sly,” she said, her voice flat—devoid of anything resembling emotion. “Please. Get him out of my sight.”

Drogun’s expression cracked. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. Just… quiet hurt. The kind that settles deep.

Still, he stood. No protest. No argument. Just a slow rise to his feet as Sly stepped forward, placing a firm but not unkind hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll… catch up with you guys when you’re done,” Drogun muttered, his voice gruff and scratchy as he turned away. He didn’t look back. Not even once. The tent flap rustled as he stepped out toward the main street, and then—

Silence. A thick, suffocating silence. The kind that made every shift of weight and every breath feel too loud. Mireya looked away first. Nixi wiped at her eyes. Larz remained still, his gaze lingering where Drogun had disappeared. It wasn’t until Sly returned—clapping his hands together with a sharp, deliberate smack—that the tension cracked.

“Well then!” he announced, his tone suddenly bright, almost theatrical. “Ladies, you wanted to browse through my collection of weapons, yes?” He flashed a quirky smile, gesturing to the opposite side of the tent. “Please, follow me over here.”

Mireya hesitated for only a moment before turning, motioning for Nixi to follow. Nixi gave one last glance toward the entrance before trailing after her, still quiet.

Sly immediately launched into a story about a curved blade hanging on the wall—something about a desert warlord and a cursed moon.

Their voices faded into the background, leaving only two people behind. Larz. And Petra.

Petra resumed her cleaning like nothing had happened, her movements steady—almost mechanical.

Larz lingered where he stood, clearly unsure. Follow the others? Or stay? His gaze shifted between Petra and the group, conflict written plainly across his face.

Petra noticed. Of course she did. But instead of snapping at him—telling him to leave her alone like she probably should have—

She tapped her open palm against the bar. Once. An invitation. Larz blinked. Then, slowly, he approached and sat on the stool across from her.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then—

“So you’re the hero the gods chose, huh?” Petra asked, raising an eyebrow as she finally met his gaze.

“Got any idea why they want my old man to help you?”

Larz gave an awkward smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “The gods didn’t even tell me who my companions would be,” he admitted. “Let alone why they were chosen.”

Petra huffed quietly at that. Figures.

“I do know one thing though,” Larz added.

His voice changed. Steadier. More certain. He looked up—locking eyes with her. And this time, he didn’t look away. That caught Petra off guard. Something in his gaze made her pause. Made her want to listen.

“Every one of my companions,” he said, his voice firm now, “no matter their past, are just as important to me as family.”

Petra scoffed. The moment instantly shattered.

She turned away, grabbing a pair of glasses and a bottle from the shelf beneath the bar. With a practiced motion, she popped the seal and poured.

One glass slid toward Larz. The other she filled to the brim for herself. Larz picked his glass up cautiously, eyeing the liquid like it might bite him.

Petra noticed—and chuckled. Then she tipped her head back and downed the entire glass in one go.

Thunk.

She slammed it back onto the bar, a smirk tugging at her lips as a faint rosy hue crept across her cheeks.

“I’ve got news for you, Mr. Chosen One!” she declared. “Even family will let you down when it counts!”

Before Larz could respond, she dropped down into a squat behind the bar. He blinked, startled.

“Uh—Petra?”

No answer. Concern flickered across his face as he leaned over the counter—

And froze. Her shoulders were shaking, and her head was buried between her knees. She was crying. Silently.

Larz immediately straightened, glancing around for help—but Mireya and Nixi were still engrossed in Sly’s stories, nodding along as he animatedly described the history of a massive war hammer.

They hadn’t noticed. It was just him. Larz swallowed. Then, after a brief moment of hesitation—

He hopped over the bar, landing awkwardly beside her. Petra stiffened instantly. Her head tilted just enough to side-eye him, one eyebrow lifting despite everything.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she muttered. “You know it’s rude to just bounce over a bar keeper’s bar, right?” Larz flushed immediately.

“Oh—uh… is it?” he asked, clearly caught off guard. “Sorry about that.” He scratched his cheek, looking sheepish as he knelt down and sat cross legged on the ground beside her.

“But… you seemed pretty down, so I just had to check on you.” He smiled genuinely. It was so warm. And somehow… that made Petra feel worse.

Petra’s face turned bright red, and she quickly looked away again, hiding it behind her arm.

“That’s so dumb…” she mumbled. “You don’t even know me.”

“Maybe not,” Larz admitted. “But if you’re important to Drogun, then you’re important to me too.”

The shift was immediate. Petra’s head snapped in his direction. Her earlier sadness vanished, replaced by sharp, burning anger as she surged forward, her face inches from his, fists clenched tight.

“Don’t bring up that bastard again,” she hissed through gritted teeth, her voice low but fierce. “Or I’ll kick you out myself.”

Larz recoiled slightly, hands raised in surrender. “Okay! I won’t!” The tension lingered for a beat. 

“But…” He hesitated. Petra groaned, dragging a hand down her face before leaning back against the shelf behind her, staring up at the tent ceiling as if she could see the sky beyond it.

“But what?” she muttered. “Just say it.” Larz took a breath.

“Why exactly do you hate him?”

Silence followed. Heavy. Unmoving. Petra didn’t respond. Didn’t shift. Didn’t even blink. But still, Larz didn’t press. Didn’t try to rush her either. He just… waited. And after a long, stretching moment—Petra exhaled. Slowly.

“…Just know,” she said, her voice quieter now, rough around the edges, “You asked for this.”