Elmira

The word dropped like a coin in a well. The bartender froze, studying her now with new eyes. Less suspicion, more calculation. Elmira held her breath.

With an eye roll that could have flattened a lesser woman, the bartender pressed something under the counter. A soft click, followed by a low metallic whine, and the door slid open just enough for a slim figure to slip through.

Elmira didn’t wait. She eased off the stool and crossed the bar with swift steps.

The door clicked shut behind her with a hiss of pneumatics and a final, ominous clunk. The change was immediate.

On the other side of the door was a narrow corridor, cleaner than it had any right to be. The floor gleamed, free of dust or moisture, and the walls were lined with glowing red crystals that pulsed faintly. They cast a warm, wine-colored light flickering across the polished stone and gave the illusion of heat, though the air was cool and dry. Elmira’s boots thudded softly as she walked, the sound strangely loud in the stillness.

The corridor opened up into a massive chamber that felt like it belonged to another world entirely. Gone was the crisp austerity of Varu’s streets. This was something else. A pirate warren. A smugglers’ haven. A place where walls whispered secrets and the ceiling sagged with stories too wild to speak aloud. Smoke curled in lazy spirals from brass wall pipes shaped like sea serpents, and the air carried the musk of old ale, burnt oil, wet rope, and the kind of sweat that had nowhere to go but sideways.

Low amber lanterns swung from thick chains above, casting a warm, uneven glow across the space, while old ship masts and hull beams had been repurposed into ceiling supports, complete with barnacle etchings and rusted iron bracing.

At first glance, she gathered no one here knew what a dust rag was, let alone how to use one. In many ways, it reminded her of her local dive bar back at Base 19. Such was the world of smugglers and those who were up to no good. Same people, same shit everywhere, no matter what or where you ended up.

Sure enough. The sound of dice clattering against wooden tabletops mingled with bursts of coarse laughter and the occasional swish of a blade being unsheathed for emphasis. Pirates, smugglers, mercs, traders—all sat hunched in tight circles or sprawled across sagging couches. Gold glinted on their fingers, in their smiles, and sometimes even in their eyes. Conversations ebbed and flowed in a dozen languages.

This place was packed elbow to elbow. It was impossible to move between tables without bumping a shoulder, a mug, or an armed patron. Elmira squeezed her way to the bar, which was a shelf bolted to old ship planks and propped up on carpenter’s stands. It was sturdy, she noted as she leaned on it, trying to shift her weight away from her fractured ribs and sprained muscles.

“Full house,” she remarked to the man who appeared behind the bar, a stocky fellow with a bristly beard and tattoos peeking out from beneath rolled sleeves. “What’s the occasion?”

“Agarthian Portal is about to open.” Already pouring her a hefty glass of moonshine, he slid it towards her. “Folk ‘round here been waitin’ a long time for that. A nexus no less. Never thought we’d see the day. Trade’s gonna bloom.”

Elmira grimaced and slid over a silver. He did not object but collected it deftly. The taste of the last batch of moonshine she’d had still lingered on her tongue. But pain had a way of making compromises. The liquid scorched its way down her throat, and for a moment, her bones didn’t ache so loudly.

“The Portal, eh?” Her throat was raspy. “Agartha Nova’s coming back on the map?”

The bartender gave her a crooked grin. “Hell yeah, that’s the word. Good for business.”

“Impossible,” she said far too loudly, earning a few suspicious looks. She threw her hands up and shrugged. “I mean, I’m just saying. Heard they weren’t gonna do that till next month. For that Guardian nonsense.”

“Right.” A human patron nearby leaned in with a grin, his cheeks flushed and his breath smelling like fermented wheat. “That’s, what, three weeks from now?” he asked the gnomish woman sitting next to him. A wiry little thing in studded leather, cradling a halberd that looked like it had gutted ships and egos alike.

“Two more like.”

“No, it’s not.” Elmira laughed nervously.

“Pretty sure it is, doll.” The gnome eyed her. “It’s the talk of the town. Even got a sending from a friend in AN. Says it’s real.”

Elmira’s breath caught. That could not be right. She had made good time. Yeah, there were delays, mishaps, mild electrocutions, a harpy attack—but she hadn’t lost weeks. No way the Awakening was happening so soon. Unless…

“You alright there, hon?” the bartender asked.

“Sure, yeah. I’m fine,” she lied, rubbing her temples. “Just... the daughter of a friend is taking the Trial is all. I was supposed to be there.”

“Two weeks might be a little tight.” The man patted her hand sympathetically. “You’re cutting it awfully close.”

Elmira let out an explosive groan. “How the hell am I gonna get there in time?”

The bartender shrugged, as if to say Not my problem, and walked off with a tray of tall glasses and jugs, disappearing into the sea of bodies. From somewhere deep in the room, a cheer erupted as the drinks found their home. The couple at the bar gave her a pitying look.

It is impossible, she thought. It has only been two days. It was all wrong. The recall should have mentioned something. Ayursha should have mentioned something. It was all sorts of wrong, but she could not put her finger on what.

Other than that someone did not want her back in time. Seora or someone else? She took another swig of the moonshine without thinking, and promptly coughed so hard she saw stars. Her throat felt like it had been sanded down with rusted iron. Smieking, the gnomish woman slid another shot her way.

“Plenty folks here lookin’ for a job. Transport’s an easy gig. Drink up.”

“She’s right. Better get a move on.” The dry voice sniffed. “Chop, chop.”

 “You know this is your fault, right? Why did you not warn me? You knew this!” Silence stretched. Elmira didn’t know whether to scream or laugh. She raised her glass and downed the shot.

“Thank you,” she rasped, her voice raw.

“Good luck!” the couple called after her as she turned to face the challenge, securing everything close to her skin, instinctively checking for coin, credentials, and weapons. With a bit of a sway, partly from alcohol, partly for flair, she made her way deeper into the den. The walls of this hidden tavern were scarred from years of drunken brawls and knife fights, blackened by candle smoke and at least one fire that nobody bothered to put out quickly.

Flickering lanterns cast eerie shadows across the packed, grimy tables where scavengers, smugglers, and mercenaries traded stolen wares, whispered secrets, settled grudges with clenched fists or drawn blades. Despite all the posturing, this was still Varu. The Omored laws held weight. Even here. Sanctuary meant sanctuary.

Didn’t mean everyone had to like it. Mercs leaned against beams, hands always close to hilts.

The air was thick with the sound of clinking tankards, raucous laughter, and the occasional thud of a body hitting the floor. The acrid tang of burnt spices and engine oil mixed with sweat and bad moonshine became stronger the further into the room she got.

Elmira wove through it all with the reflexes of someone who’d dodged more blades than conversations, her coat brushing against grimy tables and grease-stained jumpsuits. No one challenged her presence. To them, she belonged there, same as them. As El, the rogue maze hunter carrying the colors of the Sangoran Syndicate in her leathers she was welcome.

At a corner booth shrouded in shadow and menace, a trio of scavengers hunched over a metallic sphere that pulsed with eerie light. Runes, ancient and shifting, rippled across its surface like oil on water. Thin, elongated fingers tapped restlessly against the wooden table. They spoke in a gutter dialect Elmira didn’t recognize, but it made the hairs on her arms rise.

One of them, wiry and skeletal, looked up at her with eyes too round and teeth far too many. And grinned. She held his gaze, unimpressed.

With a low hiss, the scavenger tossed a rag over the device and hunched back over it, as if her mere glance had threatened to steal its secrets. She rolled her eyes and kept moving, but her curiosity lingered like an itch. That device was old tech. Pre-arcanist age old. Maybe even the Primordial Age. The kind of relic worth killing for.

Another time. Another life. She had a mission. Curiosity nagged, and her fingers itched to get her hands on that device, to study it, find out more. Go off on an adventure or two. Must be the moonshine talking. She had a mission. Get through the Erid Straits. Get through the border. Begin the Trial.

She was already late.

From the din, a gravel-thick voice cut through like broken glass. “What was the girl’s name again?”

“Liana,” came the reply, but it was drowned by a sudden shout as a brawl broke out nearby.

Elmira’s ears pricked up. The name hit like a slap. That name. That legend. That shame. Liana the Disgraced. She turned, scanning faces, trying to trace the voice through the chaos.

“I’d love to have her on my ship if you catch my drift.” The man leered. “If she wasn’t dead and all. Although... a man can’t be too restrictive.”

The crowd parted just enough for her to spot the source of the laughter. A placid-looking, green-haired smuggler with an easy smile, boots on the table, and a hand currently relieving the man beside him of his coin purse and a half-smoked cigar.

Charming.

Elmira's eyes flicked to the wing-pins on his lapel. He had a ship in port. Good to know. Ignoring the ache in her joints, she sauntered over and stopped at their table.

“I need a ride,” she told them, looking each of them square in the eye.

The nearest one, a wiry man with more rings than fingers, grinned widely and leaned back. “That can be arranged.” He dragged his boots up onto the table one at a time, like he was offering her a dance instead of transit.

“Get your feet off, slugbrain.” Another slapped his legs hard enough to send him crashing to the floor.

“I reckon his head hit the gutter,” a third barked, cocking an eyebrow at his fallen comrade.

“You reckon his head was ever out of it?”

Raucous laughter followed, and for a moment, Elmira considered walking away. The green-haired one looked her up and down, his shirt mostly unbuttoned, his boots mismatched, and yet he was the most normal of the bunch. She braced herself for the inevitable remarks.

He tilted his head. “Where to, love?”

“Anyone know someone flying through the Straits?”

The shift was immediate as if a switch had been flicked. No longer jovial, they all closed off and disappeared into their drinks. Conversations at neighboring tables ended mid-sentence as if someone had cut the strings. A breeze could have knocked the whole tavern over.

The man on the floor blinked up at her. “Ain’t no one goes to the Straits. Not unless they’ve got a death wish or a bounty.”

“Or they’re mad,” muttered another, not looking up.

No one met her eyes. But then the green-haired one looked her over, not lecherously, but with the practiced eye of a man who cataloged threats and opportunities in the same breath. A toothpick hung from his lips, and his posture screamed I’m harmless in a way that meant exactly the opposite.

“Alright, alright, hold on now, don’t go ghostin’ her yet. Let me talk to the lady.”

He slid around the table with a grin that probably got him into more trouble than it got him out of.

Elmira crossed her arms, unmoved. “If you’re about to pitch me a bed and a false ticket, save your breath.”

“Your loss.” The one on the ground rubbed his head.

The green-haired man ignored him. “Look, it’s not exactly a vacation spot, I’ll give you that. But I might be headed that way. Ish.”

He was taller than her, slightly rounder around the middle, and could probably hold a fight if he needed to. But nothing about him filled her with confidence.

“You got a ship?”

“Absolutely.” He rocked on his heels. “I had one.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Had?”

“You know it.” Oblivious to her tone, he shifted his weight. “I ain’t dropping you in the Straits.”

“Then we have nothing further to discuss.” She turned on her heel, quietly counting to three.

“Hang on, love, not so fast,” he called right on cue, sliding in front of her with too much ease.

He took her arm and started leading her to a quieter part of the room, leaving his snickering companions behind.

His voice dropped. “No one in their right mind drops in the Straits. You’re going further than that, and you don’t want to tell them. Fine. I happen to plan a run up the river of fire.” He raised his voice again. “Nothing against the rules for that.”

“You are a wave runner?”

“I’m a buccaneer, love.”

Was that respect that crept into her feelings? Begrudging, maybe. Even as she felt his wandering hands searching for a purse he would not find. At least, not where he looked. He seemed to catch on and retracted his efforts with a fleeting grin.

Giving him a once-over, she smiled. “I’d love to buy passage.”

“Interesting.” He swiped a tankard of ale from a table that would not miss it. He poured it down his throat and wiped the droplets with the back of his hand. “I could be persuaded. What’s in it for me?”

Her purse was all too light to buy anything of value. She stepped in closer, till she could feel his breath on her skin, letting her voice drop to a whisper.

“I can tell you stories of Liana you wouldn’t believe. And I decide I don’t tell them their pockets are empty.” Satisfied, she watched him pale.

“Deal.” 

They clasped forearms, much to the jeers of his peers. Unhooking her arm, he spit in his hand and held it out. Repulsed, Elmira did the same and sealed the deal. Wiping the spit off on her trousers.

“Now, what about your lost ship?”

“Hey now, it’s not lost, it’s just… experiencing some bureaucratic adversity.”

“Impounded?”

“Something about a fee,” he admitted. “But that’s temporary. I’m working on a solution.”

Elmira rubbed her temples. “And you call yourself a buccaneer?”

“The best of the best, that’s me.” He winked. “Besides, I’m kinda the only one insane or good enough to get you through the Erid Straits. So…. Whatcha gonna do? Name’s Tam. Tam Winmore. Pleased to do business.”

“I’m El.”

“Tam-El.” Giddy, he rubbed his hands together. “Sounds like a team-up from hell.”

Fantastic. Elmira forced a smile. If Tam was the best she could do, she’d just have to weather it. Because time was running out and her options were thinning faster than a politician’s promises.

“Fine. But if your ship’s impounded, we’ll need to un-impound it.”

“Working on that,” he said cheerfully.

An hour later, Elmira found herself watching Tam get bodily tossed out of the customs office like a sack of trash. He hit the ground with a winded grunt, coughing dust, and looked up at her with that same ridiculous grin.

She arched an eyebrow. “Working on it?”

“Negotiating,” he wheezed.

The burly orc who tossed him growled, eyes glowing red. Something common amongst his species when pissed off. Elmira couldn’t blame him. “You lost, Tam. Bet was fair. Your ship’s ours now.”

“Aw, come on, man! You’re making me look back in front of the lady.”

“Not my problem,” he growled.

Tam grinned, propped up on his elbows. “Please, Uri, I’m sure we can come to some sort of understanding?”

“You’re a weasel and a thief, Tam.”

Tam scrambled to his feet, brushing himself off with the elegance of a madman. “Look, we both know that dice were... ambiguous.”

“They were loaded.”

“You didn’t say they couldn’t be.”

“I’m gonna load you into the nearest crater,” Uri snarled, taking a step forward.

Even Elmira took a cautious step back. Tam, somehow, didn’t. Uri snorted and stalked back into his office, slamming the door shut behind him. Even the sign swung from the impact.

Tam turned to her with the wildest, widest grin she’d ever seen. “I can win it back.”

Elmira balked. “Please tell me you don’t mean with dice.”

“Cards,” he said. “Or bluffing. Or some combination. I haven’t decided yet.”

She stared at him, cursing her luck.

“Trust me.” He had the wide-eyed faith of a man with nothing to lose and no idea how close to death he danced.

The worst part? Elmira almost did.