“You’re the first woman I’ve seen smoking…” observed Lucien as he stepped onto the small porch just outside The Golden Ear.

“Is that a problem?” Liris shot back, barely glancing at him, visibly annoyed as she lit a cigar in the cold semi-darkness that surrounded them.

“Not at all,” the young half-elf replied, stepping out of the tavern and joining her. “Just an observation. I’ve heard most women don’t like the taste or the acrid smell of opium, but I suppose that doesn’t apply to everyone.”

“It doesn’t apply to me,” she said curtly, snapping the match and tossing it aside before taking a long draw from the cigar clenched between her lips.

Lucien studied her for a moment. Like most others, she was fairly easy to read. Impulsive and determined in action, but silent and rather solitary the rest of the time. Liris didn’t speak much, and when she did, it was either out of necessity or because she had something important to say. In both cases, she got straight to the point—no flowery language, no hesitation.

Even though she wasn't a sociable person, Lucien had come to appreciate her. If not for her presence, at least for her skill in combat. Her contribution at the abandoned mansion had been crucial, her battle prowess clear and impressive, even to someone like him who had little expertise in the matter. Without her, things could have gone very badly.

At first, however, the girl hadn’t seemed too keen on traveling with others. She was used to spending her time alone with her sister. Trust issues, most likely.

“Can’t really blame her,” the half-elf thought, turning his gaze from her to the village’s main road stretching out before them—dark and empty at that hour. “We all thought the same when we first met. Maybe we still do. Growing up in the Valley does that to you. And yet…”

He turned back to look at her, this time with more attention—not to her expression, but to her features. Even in the murky half-light leaking from the tavern’s half-open door and the grimy windowpanes, his elven eyes could discern much in the shadows. Her long, curly dark hair, eyes black as pitch, and ebony skin were striking—exotic and extremely rare in these lands. But there was more.

Her movements, like her sister’s, were graceful, almost noble—despite their different temperaments. Lucien had noticed. And their accent, faint yet distinct, was one he’d never heard before.

Despite his curiosity about the sisters’ origins, he knew the time wasn’t right. Their bonds weren’t strong enough yet for such questions. He’d have to let things unfold naturally—patiently. Just like he had with Goldrick, Karak, and Tiresio. Step by step.

“They weren’t wrong to praise Emma,” he said then, eyes fixed on the dark silhouettes of the buildings across the street. In the shadows, they loomed like monstrous shapes over them. “She’s truly a great cook. That stew they served us was delicious, don’t you think?”

Liris merely nodded, removing the cigar from her lips and exhaling smoke into the cold, damp air that lingered after the recent storm.

Lucien, unwilling to give up on conversation, pressed on.

“If this is a sample of what Ravast has to offer, I can’t imagine what delicacies await us at the Children’s Feast and the wedding banquet!” he exclaimed, both pleased and eager to see if his expectations would be met.

Her continued silence, paired with another puff of smoke, pushed him further—perhaps too far.

“Unlike cigars, you don’t seem like someone who enjoys food. Or am I wrong?” he asked.

The moment the words left his mouth, Lucien realized he may have overstepped—at least by her standards. But his worries vanished a few seconds later, when Liris, after another drag from the cigar, finally replied.

“I like good food. I just don’t like weddings.”

“Personal taste, or is there more to it?” he ventured, stepping now onto uncertain ground—one paved with doubts, unease, and guarded trust.

Letting go of his usual caution, he abandoned his initial plan. He had a sense that if he wanted to build something real with her, this was the time to plant the seed.

He felt almost satisfied when, a moment later, his boldness was rewarded.

“The last wedding I attended, a few years ago…” Liris began slowly, as if retracing the memory in her mind, “let’s just say that because of a choice I made, a chain of events was set into motion. None of it led anywhere good.

Eventually… it cost someone their life.”

“I see,” Lucien said after a brief pause, now watching her more closely as she took another long draw. The tip of the cigar glowed, lighting up her face. A face now tight with sorrow, her gaze distant—lost in the void.

To her, in that moment, there was no darkness cloaking the village. No warm candlelight from The Golden Ear attempting to pierce it.

No chill night air thick with the scent of recent rain.

No Lucien.

There was only something else. Something heavy and consuming that he would never be able to see.

“I don’t know exactly what happened to you,” he said gently, his expression now soft and melancholic, “but I can tell you I too have ghosts to contend with.

One in particular, more terrifying than the rest.

One night, during a crisis, I was ordered to hide. And I did—without question. I was terrified. So much so I couldn’t move a muscle. All I could do was pray they wouldn’t find me.

Even when I heard the screams—someone I knew well, a dear friend—I didn’t move. Desperate screams. For help. For mercy. For life.

As her voice faded, I did nothing.

I didn’t even try to leave my hiding place. Didn’t try to reach her. To help.

Paralyzed by fear, by weakness, by my own lack of will, I stayed hidden. For who knows how long. Wrapped in darkness.

Waiting for it all to end.

Until finally… there was silence.

That night, I made a choice. Even if it was fear that made it for me. And now, all I can do is try to live with it.”

For the first time since their conversation began, Liris turned to face him. She didn’t speak, but her black eyes, flickering with the glow of her cigar, told him clearly she had heard him.

He had struck a chord.

And with that, he found the emotional strength and the resolve to take one last step.

“Everyone has their ghosts,” he went on seriously, now looking straight ahead, focusing on his shadow cast long and thin on the muddy ground by the tavern light.

“But the ones like ours… they’re burdens not everyone can bear.

Some never do.”

“And those who can?” she asked, taking the cigar between her fingers and exhaling another golden-tinged cloud into the light spilling through the window behind her.

Though pleased to have guided the conversation exactly where he wanted—and to have gotten closer to her—Lucien was suddenly overcome by a wave of sadness.

He hadn’t managed to remain unaffected as he’d hoped.

But then… he never did.

The memories were too vivid. Too cruel.

What he said next was more for himself than for her.

“To learn from our mistakes.

To try not to repeat them.

And to make amends, when we can.

Even if it means going to extremes…” he finished, clenching his right fist so tightly it almost bled.

Silence took over.

A silence gloomier than the night itself.

Though lost in thought, Lucien noticed the way she looked at him now—with different eyes. Eyes that had seen similar horrors. Eyes still weighed down, yet still standing.

The eyes of survivors.

Nothing more needed to be said.

“Liris,” a woman’s voice called from the tavern doorway behind them, “it’s late. Let’s go to bed.”

Liris nodded at her sister, but kept her eyes on Lucien a moment longer. Then, as Gwen stepped back inside, she turned toward the door as well.

Lucien could tell she wanted to say more, but the only words that left her lips were:

“Goodnight, Lucien.”

She took one final draw, then dropped the nearly spent cigar at the edge of the porch, into the muddy road.

“Goodnight,” he replied quietly, watching her for a moment as she walked away.

Her footsteps echoed faintly on the old creaking wood until she disappeared inside The Golden Ear.

Leaving Lucien alone.

In the dark. In the cold. In the silence of the night.

And that was fine—for now.

But his thoughts had strayed far from the bond he had hoped to build with Liris.

His original intent had sunk beneath the weight of his own torment. Just as her still-glowing cigar was now slowly being swallowed by the mud.

One last spark—then it vanished.

He watched it for a moment longer, faintly lit by the tavern’s glow, before lifting his gaze to the sky above.

That night, there were no stars.

No moon.