The inn was noisy with the clamor of merchants, travelers, and drunken mercenaries, but all that noise fell into the background when he walked in.
Dripping wet from the storm outside, cloaked in a tattered blue robe inked with ancient glyphs, the man looked like a cross between a street beggar and a forgotten wizard. His eyes—one green, the other a dull gold—scanned the room not with suspicion, but with hungry curiosity. They darted from the mounted griffin head above the hearth to the pattern of knots on the serving maid's apron. When his gaze lingered a moment too long, people began to look away, unsettled.
He approached the bar with a grin that stretched too wide.
"Good evening," he said, voice smooth like oiled leather. "Does this town possess any tomes of the First Age? Or perhaps an original copy of The Runes of Shathar-Kel?"
The barkeep stared blankly. "We got ale. And stew."
The man sighed. "The ignorance in this land is criminal."
Then his eyes found her.
A swordswoman seated alone in the corner—armor polished, sword resting at her side, a scar over one brow like a badge of honor. She was the kind of woman stories were written about.
He was at her table before she even noticed.
"You're exquisite," he said without shame, pulling out a chair. "A living embodiment of martial grace and devastating beauty. Might I inquire about your training regimen?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Do you always approach women like this?"
"Only the ones with perfect cheekbone symmetry," he replied earnestly.
She looked ready to punch him.
"I am Caelum Verris," he said quickly, raising both hands. "Scholar of the Nine Schools, decipherer of lost languages, master of seven forgotten arts. I seek not your heart—though it would be a treasured addition to my collection of affections—but your knowledge."
"You're insane," she said flatly.
"Undeniably," he said with a grin. "But I'm also very useful."
She hesitated.
Then the tavern door crashed open. Bandits, five of them, their blades already drawn.
"Everyone down!" shouted the lead, a brute with iron teeth. "This is a collection! Purses, now!"
The swordswoman stood, already reaching for her weapon—but Caelum raised a hand.
"Allow me."
He stepped forward, humming an odd tune. With a flick of his wrist, glowing sigils spiraled into the air, forming a cage of light around the bandits before they could move another step. The symbols pulsed, and the men dropped to the floor, unconscious.
Silence fell.
Caelum turned back to the swordswoman and bowed low. "As I said: useful."
She stared, stunned. Then—just barely—she smiled.
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