"⚠️ Content Warning: Contains graphic violence, death, and mature themes. Reader discretion is advised."
"Life on the outskirts of the capital is no life," she muttered, slowly picking at her food. "People call us 'garbage eaters.' They look at us like we're the plague."
Toki nodded.
The silence that had fallen over the tavern was heavy like a wet blanket, clinging to every corner of the room. Every breath felt like a betrayal at that moment, a fresh wound scratching the already charged air. Tora sat with her hands clasped in her lap, as if she were locking her heart with her own fingers. Her eyes were moist, but she hadn't let the tears flow yet. She held them behind her eyelashes, like retreating soldiers. Then, her voice trembling, she began to speak.
"I was only four when I left with my grandfather…"
Toki and Utsuki had remained still. The fire in the fireplace crackled softly, but it didn't have the courage to show itself too loudly either. It was her time to speak.
"My mother and father were part of the royal guard," she continued, staring into space, as if her eyes were searching for an image from long ago, lost in the mists of time. "They were young, strong, good… They loved me with all their being. I remember how my mother would lift me in her arms, even though she was wearing armor, and how my father would bring me fruit from the market every time he had a mission in the city."
Tora swallowed hard. "One day, everything changed. A dragon… or so they said… was sighted on the outskirts of the city. A huge beast, with eyes like embers and wings that darkened the sky. My parents were sent with the rest of the guard to stop it. They succeeded. They chased it away. But…"
Tears began to flow silently. Tora didn't wipe them away. They were part of her story.
"They never came home. A messenger knocked on the door. Grandpa opened it. I was hiding behind Grandma's skirt… The messenger's face was pale, trembling like a leaf. He only said, 'We're sorry. They died with honor.'"
Tora closed her eyes and ran her hand over her wet cheek. "After we lost them, I was left with only my grandfather… and the tavern. My parents had bought it out of love for the simple life. They dreamed of retiring here, serving wine and stories to travelers. But instead of a dream, it became our daily struggle."
Toki listened to her without blinking.
Utsuki held his hand to his mouth, affected by the girl's disarming honesty.
"Grandma had died two years ago… the plague. I didn't get to know her very well, but I know she was a florist. The garden behind the tavern was full of flowers—iris, lilies, daisies. She loved them like her own children. After she died, the flowers withered, one by one. And after my parents were gone, everything turned gray."
Tora took a deep breath. Her eyes turned to Toki, who hadn't said a word, but whose face betrayed deep understanding.
"Grandpa… he was a captain in the royal guard. He was a tough man, sometimes harsh, but with a warm heart. After losing his son and daughter-in-law… he changed. He never put down his sword. He still has it under the counter, he thinks if he leaves it, he'll lose everything. He holds it as a promise to protect all those he has left."
Tora smiled bitterly. "I hear him sometimes at night. He wakes up screaming. He remembers the fights, the deaths, the fear. But in the morning, he smiles at me and makes tea, as if the night never happened. I try to help him. I work hard. I save every penny. I want to take him far away from here. Let's buy a small house, in a quiet place, where we can plant flowers in memory of Grandma. So that he won't be afraid that he'll die with a sword in his hand. Let him grow old in peace."
Her tears were now heavy, but her voice was firm.
"I'm tired of being called a 'garbage eater.' To be looked down upon because we live on the outskirts of the city. I didn't choose this. I want to give the people on the outskirts a chance. I want to build something beautiful. But… everything we do seems insufficient."
Toki stood up slowly, and without saying anything, he approached her. He handed her an old handkerchief, made of thick cloth, stained by time. Tora took it with a trembling hand.
"I understand," he finally said, his low voice like a lullaby murmuring between the empty walls. "I understand every word. It's a pain I know. And a struggle that has taken me to too many places."
Utsuki remained silent. She felt small in the face of these two stories. She felt the memory of the ring becoming part of a much larger, much heavier fabric.
Toki sat down next to Tora, with a careful movement, so as not to scare the pain inside her.
"You know…" he said quietly, "when I fled my city, I had nothing. Just a deep cut and a dream I didn't understand. But I met people who gave me a piece of bread, a kind word, a night without the cold. If I can do the same for you… I will. We are not enemies. We are… survivors."
Tora nodded, wiping her cheeks. A new light had lit up in her eyes. It wasn't happiness. It was hope. Fragile, but real.
In the tavern that still smelled of spilled wine and burnt wood, between the shadows of the past and the shattering silences of pain, three wounded souls had begun, without knowing it, to build something together. A beginning.
A beginning that tasted of stale bread, salty tears and whispered dreams.
And maybe, just maybe… a better future.
Utsuki looked at him in surprise. Toki's words settled over her like a heavy but warm blanket, one that she didn't know whether to reject or let herself be wrapped in. She would never have believed that behind that slightly ironic smile, behind those tired but alert eyes, there was such a difficult story hidden. She had judged him, perhaps unintentionally, as a casual adventurer, a man with too much time and too little responsibility. And now, all those impressions were crumbling.
Her gaze fell on Tora, and the tears in the girl's eyes made her pain impossible to ignore. Suddenly, the silence between them became oppressive, but not hostile. It was a heavy silence, charged with understanding.
"I didn't know..." Utsuki said, but her voice was barely a whisper. "I didn't imagine that..." She stopped, unable to find the words. What use were apologies in the face of such wounds?
She felt ashamed. Ashamed that she had looked down on them. That she had seen in Tora only a poor girl, perhaps a little naughty. That she had labeled Toki as an aimless wanderer. The truth was that each of them carried a heavy cross on their backs, one that Utsuki had never even imagined.
The ring. For a moment, that precious little object, charged with memories, seemed to have lost its importance. She wanted her ring back, of course, but she felt terrible about the way she had reacted. She had been impulsive, selfish. And most of all, insensitive. How could she possibly understand the suffering of others when she was so consumed by her own pain?
Her gaze fell on the cracked wood of the table. She remembered the times when she herself had wandered the world, aimless, her soul torn by loss. After her mother's death, she had wandered through the kingdoms with wandering steps, as if the entire planet were just a vast map of suffering. She had searched for meaning, for hope, and she had found it all in a modest house, under the stern but gentle guidance of her master. She had learned then to channel magic, but also suffering. She had learned that power without purpose was nothing more than a open wound
.
She looked up at Toki. The man was looking at her with an expression that was hard to read. Maybe he too remembered something. Maybe he too felt that common vibration that unites those who have wandered through pain.
"I too wandered," Utsuki said, more to herself than to the others. "For a long time. After my mother died... I felt lost. I had no one left. I went from town to town, looking for something. I didn't know what... maybe a place where the pain wouldn't follow me. Or maybe just someone who would see me."
Tora listened to her, her hands clasped in her lap, as if she feared that any word she said might shatter the silence. Utsuki continued:
"One day I arrived at the edge of Rhoswen Forest. That's where he lived. My master. An old man with a voice like the wind and eyes that saw through you. He didn't ask me anything when I appeared in front of his mansion, he just motioned for me to come in. It was the first time in a long time that I felt... at home."
He paused, with a long sigh. "There I learned to control my mana. To stop being afraid of my power. But more importantly, I learned to stop hating my past. To accept it."
Toki smiled slightly. "Then you know what it's like. When all you want is a peace that you can't find anywhere."
"We are three lost in the same harbor," he said. "Each with his own shipwreck. But maybe, I think, if we stay together for a while... we could mend a boat."
Utsuki smiled. For the first time since the beginning of the day, her heart didn't feel so heavy. She realized that she wasn't the only one searching for meaning, and that maybe sometimes the path to healing lies through the stories of others.
Tora, on the other hand, shook her head slightly.
"My grandfather and I... we just wanted a simple life. No grand dreams. Just dignity."
"I want the same thing," Toki said. "For all those who didn't have a straight start."
With a long sigh, Tora reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a small, shiny object. She looked at it for a moment, as if she was hesitating. Her hands were shaking slightly, and her eyes were still wet, red from crying.
"Here," she said finally, placing the ring on the table with an almost reverent delicacy. "I didn't know it was so important."
Utsuki looked at the ring with wide, wet eyes. She took it with almost ritualistic care, as if the touch had burned her skin. She cupped it in her palm, closing her eyes for a moment. An avalanche of memories washed over her—her mother's warm laugh, the smell of jasmine tea, the gentle voice that soothed her at night. Until then, the object had been nothing more than a piece of silver and stone. Now, it seemed to carry the full weight of the past.
Tora looked down, embarrassed. "I thought it was just a trinket thrown away by someone rich. It was so beautiful… and I thought maybe I could sell it. I never imagined that…"
"It's okay," Utsuki said, her voice barely audible. She looked up, meeting the girl's. "I was wrong too. I was impulsive... aggressive. I didn't know your story. Nor Toki's. I judged you too quickly."
The old man, witness to everything that had happened, breathed a sigh of relief and leaned against the counter. He smiled weakly.
"Okay, okay... now that we've all calmed down, how about we drink something warm? I have an infusion of cinnamon and cloves that goes perfectly with a cold evening like this."
Toki smiled for the first time in hours, a tired but sincere smile. "I'd also drink a boot decoction if it comes with the peace now."
Tora laughed weakly, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. She slowly sat down on the bench, staring into space for a moment, then ran her hands through her hair, trying to compose herself.
"I'm sorry Grandpa had to see this..." she murmured.
"She's seen more than that," the old man replied, coming up with three steaming ceramic mugs. He set them carefully on the table. "But I'm proud of you. To stand up to a girl with fire in her hands… is no small feat."
Tora smiled shyly. "I didn't mean to sound hostile. It's just… when you have nothing, everything seems precious. And when everyone looks down on you, you feel like you have to fight for every crumb."
Utsuki nodded, watching the steam rising from her mug. "I know what it's like to feel lost. I too wandered aimlessly for a long time, until I met my master. He taught me that power without a clear goal… is only destruction. And yet, sometimes I forget."
She turned to Toki. "And you… I had no idea you'd been through so much. I judged you based on your lame jokes and that circus-like cloak."
"Hey," he said, raising an eyebrow. "That's an honorable cloak. It's saved my life more than once. Plus, it was on sale."
The light laughter that followed eased the tension. Finally, it seemed like the tavern had become a place of refuge, not a battlefield.
Tora cupped her mug in both hands, looking at the warm liquid as if it were a treasure.
Toki sighed deeply and reached across the table, placing one hand on top of hers. "And you dream of saving someone. That makes you stronger than any ring or magic."
She felt guilty. All her anger... impulsiveness... all paled in the face of this real pain. In the face of these lives lived on the edge, with pride and suffering at the same time.
"I feel ashamed," she confessed. "I thought only of myself. Of my pain. But each of you... you have carried heavier burdens."
"It is not a competition of suffering," the old man said. "Each heart has its wound. But it is easier when the wounds are shared."
The three of them sipped their tea in silence. Each with their own thoughts. Each with their past that stood like a shadow at the table. But now, for the first time, that shadow seemed divided. And maybe, just maybe, easier to bear.
Outside, the wind whistled through the rooftops, but in the small, warm tavern, the three of them had found each other. And sometimes, beginnings don't come with trumpets or magic—but with a cup of tea and a kind word.
The old man stood up slowly and began to tell a funny story from his youth, about how he had mistaken a crate of rotten apples for a royal throne during a winter party.
For a moment, laughter returned to the tavern. People resumed their conversations, and the oppressive silence was broken.
But then...
The tavern door was slammed shut with violent force. Two gleaming daggers shot through the air, shining for a moment like two silver rays.
The first struck the old innkeeper squarely in the head. He fell without a sound. The second buried itself deep in Toki's back, tearing a scream from his chest.
Everything collapsed in a moment of chaos.
Customers threw themselves under the tables. Tora screamed so high that the air seemed to tremble. She put her hands to her mouth, collapsing to her knees beside her grandfather, helpless.
Utsuki turned to the door, her palms already ablaze with energy.
In the doorway, the figure of a woman descended from the night like a ghost: beautiful, cold, lethal. She walked gracefully, with an elegance unnatural for someone who had just committed a crime. Her black hair flowed in waves, and her red lips were curved in a faint smile.
Her gaze fixed on Utsuki.
"Can I have a glass of milk?"