He looked around with a faint snort, utterly uninterested in the old man’s tale, which had instead captured the undivided attention of everyone else. All of them were incredibly focused on the tragic fate of the Ravast family. “I couldn’t care less…” he thought to himself as his gaze swept over the other patrons of the inn. Just common townsfolk, fortunately too busy relaxing with a mug of beer after a day’s toil in the fields to pay attention to his appearance. Nevertheless, he instinctively pulled his hood even lower, covering almost his entire face. Yet, from beneath it, his reptilian eyes kept scanning ceaselessly from one side of the common room to the other, from patron to patron. Nothing and no one raised any alarm or particularly caught his attention until, at a certain moment, a scene drew his gaze.

A man in his thirties, with short blond hair, a sly expression, and heavy traveler’s clothes, who was seated at a table in the center of the room with two other figures, had grabbed one of the tavern maids around the waist. A girl of about twenty, rather short, with a petite frame and a sweet, delicate face. “If I recall correctly, that should be the innkeeper’s daughter, Fiora…” Karak reflected, eyeing the young woman more closely and straining his keen hearing to catch, beyond the murmur of the other guests, what the two were saying.

The girl, trying to stay calm, was attempting to slip free of his grip with gentle, polite movements, hoping not to draw attention or disturb the peaceful atmosphere of the room.

“P-please, I beg you…” she stammered fearfully, lowering her gaze to the floor, “l-let me go, I have work to do…”

“Out of the question, sweetheart,” the man retorted with a mischievous grin, trying to pull her even closer, “I’m not about to let a little doll like you slip away. You look so innocent, but I bet underneath…”

“N-no, p-please…” Fiora protested, now trying to resist more strongly. But the man, undeterred by the girl’s opposition, yanked her forcefully against him, slamming her into his chest with the clear intention of making her sit on his lap.

“Come on!” he said in a tone halfway between coaxing and threatening. “Don’t play shy, little doll! Stay here with me for a while!”

As he spoke those words, he leaned toward her, who was struggling harder and harder, and audaciously sniffed her neck — a gesture so distasteful and overbearing that even Karak felt annoyed by it.

At that moment, Karak noticed that some other patrons had become aware of what was going on and were watching with faces full of astonishment and embarrassment. Even the other tavern maid and Fiora’s father, Felkem, stood frozen and stunned by the libertine’s behavior, yet made no move to intervene.

The two other figures at the traveler’s table — a young man with short black hair and sharp features, and a woman with long wavy brown hair and drowsy-looking eyes — showed absolute indifference, calmly eating as if nothing were happening, only occasionally throwing distracted glances at their companion and the poor girl.

Just as Karak found himself wondering what might happen next, someone acted. Goldrick, who had finished speaking with the old man and realized what was going on, rose from his seat with an angry expression that promised nothing good. But, contrary to what Karak expected, it was not Goldrick who intervened. It was Tiresio.

Goldrick had barely taken a step forward when the blond-haired patron suddenly collapsed face-first onto the tavern floor, convulsing in loud, uncontrollable laughter.

A sudden, heavy silence fell over the room. Everyone turned to look, eyes wide with confusion, unable to grasp what had just happened.

But Karak understood perfectly. He had probably been the only one to notice the subtle movement of Tiresio’s left hand and the faint whisper of words on his lips. The man with the slightly bluish skin must have used magic.

Karak was no mage himself, but he could recognize magic when he saw it, having witnessed it more than once — both in a not-so-distant past that he would rather forget, and in a much more recent one. Inside the mansion where he had met his traveling companions, he had seen many displays of magic, not only from the haunted forces residing there but also from Lucien, Goldrick, Gwen, and Tiresio himself. Each of them, in their own way, had shown remarkable skill with the arcane arts, a skill that had proved quite useful at the time.

But outside the mansion, even Karak had learned that magic was a double-edged sword. In the Valley, almost no one even knew it existed, and very few had ever witnessed it. Those rare few had only seen miraculous healings and wondrous cures performed by self-proclaimed priests and clerics devoted to one of the many gods of the local pantheon. Events they would proclaim as miracles.

All other forms of magic were not even considered by the people, and Karak had learned that the hard way. So rare was the acknowledgment of magic that even if its existence was not outright denied, it was still viewed with deep suspicion and fear. Better not to draw attention, therefore, and avoid using it. At least, that was how Karak would have acted.

He would never, unlike Tiresio, have risked so much for someone he did not even know and whose fate meant nothing to him. Another behavior he could not understand.

His gaze returned to the blond-haired man, who was still on the floor writhing like a child, unable to stop an irrepressible laughter so intense that he could neither stand nor hold back tears. Anyone watching him at that moment, laughing madly while the rest of the tavern fell silent, would have thought him insane.

Karak’s lips curled into a faint smile. It always amused him when someone was made to look ridiculous, and Tiresio’s barely hidden satisfaction only increased his enjoyment.

Suddenly, the man’s companion — the young man with black hair — jumped up and rushed over.

“Sewal! Sewal!” he shouted, shaking him desperately, “What’s wrong with you? Snap out of it, get up!”

The woman with the bored expression also approached but merely watched them in silence, her face still vacant.

Meanwhile, the other tavern maid — taller than Fiora, with lively blue eyes and rust-colored hair tied in a long braid — gently yet firmly pulled Fiora away from the blond-haired man, embracing her and asking if she was all right, while Felkem approached as well to reassure his daughter.

At the same time, the black-haired youth managed to bring Sewal out of his laughing fit. Sewal shook his head, eyes wide as if coming back to himself, gasping for breath. Still visibly dazed, he stood up with his companion’s help.

In the silent tavern, he looked around with a confused and frightened expression, his breathing growing ever more ragged. His sly look was gone. Far from it. He had no idea what had just happened to him — but he was clearly afraid of it.

At that point, some of the patrons began to chuckle under their breath, exchanging amused, mocking glances. Sewal noticed, but dared not speak.

Karak caught the man’s confusion and humiliation, drawing fresh amusement from it. So much so that he smiled broadly, something that had not happened for a long time, especially when the harasser, after casting one last bewildered look at Fiora, ducked his head and fled up the stairs to the first floor, followed closely by his two companions.

The silence in the hall was then broken by a few scattered laughs, but it was the intervention of one patron in particular that finally shattered the lingering embarrassment among the guests.

A lean, middle-aged man with graying temples and sunburned skin rose from his small table, raising a mug of beer.

“I’d like to take this opportunity to make a toast,” he exclaimed in a loud voice, clearing his throat before continuing once he had everyone’s attention, “To the cook of the Golden Ear! To the exceptional Emma and her exceptional dishes! May the gods bless her!”

Others then joined in, rising from their chairs with mugs in hand, cheering Emma.

The worried expression on Felkem’s face after everything that had happened was replaced by one of wonder and satisfaction. Fiora and the other girl were still clinging to each other, shaken, while the innkeeper, as if nothing had happened between his daughter and Sewal just earlier, was all but forced by the crowd to slip away for a moment beyond the stone arch that connected the room to the kitchens.

When he reappeared, someone was with him. Next to the burly, balding man with a long, thick brown beard stood who Karak assumed was his wife. A woman in her forties, a bit taller than Fiora but very similar to her: pale green eyes, garnet-colored hair that was darker than her daughter’s, tied back behind her head. Her features were sharper and more resolute, and her expression far more serious and not nearly as innocent. But the resemblance between them was unmistakable.

The woman, smiling shyly in front of the boisterous ovation, lowered her head in a small bow of gratitude while almost all the patrons joined in a heartfelt toast. All except their group.

Goldrick, Lucien, Tiresio, Gwen, Liris, and Karak had yet to sample Emma’s culinary skills and did not take part in the celebration. But while the first few faces began to show a growing curiosity and impatience to taste the woman’s dishes, Karak could not have been more indifferent to the matter.

“I couldn’t care less…” he muttered to himself, snorting in frustration at once again failing to understand the ways of these other races.

For him, that evening, what little of interest and amusement he had found was already over.