“So he’s just going to keep pouring water on his head for what? Weeks? Months?” Amun asked, tearing off a chunk of bread.

“Something like that,” Erith replied, watching Amun finish off the last of his breakfast.

 “...And pouring water on himself is his best chance at not ripping himself apart when he does this ‘Balance’ thing?” he scoffed while chewing.

“Well… when you put it that way…” Erith trailed off, not bothering to defend it further.

The door downstairs creaked open, followed by the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs. Erith turned his attention to the entryway just as Tal stepped in.

“Glad to see you're being friendly, Moonsie.”

Amun brushed the crumbs off his hand on his shirt, smirking. “I don’t think I want to be on his bad side. Besides, he’s not that bad at doing the chores.”

“How admirable, Moons.” Her voice carried faint amusement, before shifting to something more serious. 

“Rin was right about my hands being full. Every healer in Verael has been scrambling with the aftermath these past few days.” 

She exhaled sharply. “The Commander didn’t make it, but I heard he’s the reason so many made it back. The whole town's talking about how the barrier carts were split wide open.”

Tal glanced toward the window, where the morning light peeked through, before shifting her focus back to Erith.

“Are you still pouring water on Maeric?” Erith blinked momentarily, then gave a small nod.

“...And that helps with something?” Tal looked at Erith with skepticism.

“When you put it that way—”

“Forget it.” Tal held up a hand, shaking her head. “The less I know, the better. I’ll go check on him.”

As she disappeared into Maeric’s room, the door clicked shut, leaving an uneasy silence in the hall. Amun stared at the floor, scuffing his boot against the wood before glancing back up at Erith.

“You up for working the tavern tonight?” He tried to keep his voice casual, but there was an edge to it—like he was testing the waters.

 “I swear I’ve seen that guy with people in the Spindle before. If they show up, figure it’s best you get eyes on them too.”

Erith hesitated. He could feel Amun watching him, waiting. A quiet pressure settled in his chest, warmth creeping up his neck. Slowly, he nodded.

Amun leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping. “When you find out who they are… are you going to kill them too?”

“It wasn’t like that… Er—” Erith hesitated, then let out a tired sigh, rubbing his eyes. “Well… yeah, it was like that.”

He exhaled slowly, staring down at the table. “I don’t want it to be like that. But I’m starting to realize… maybe I never really had a choice.”

The door downstairs once again swung open, and a moment later, Rin walked through the entryway looking around.

“Did Tal come around?”

Amun pointed toward Maeric’s door. “I wouldn’t go in there if she’s already there. That guy will lose it again if you ‘disturb his concentration’... or whatever it is he’s doing.”

Rin raised a brow. “Right… so he’s still at it? Practicing with the water?” He glanced at Erith for confirmation.

Erith laughed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Alright, fine—I’m the weird guy making him pour water on his head all day.”

“If it keeps him from killing himself through the Balance, you could dump water on him for a year for all I care.” Rin leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. 

“Have you talked to him much?”

Erith shook his head. “He’s been focused on the practice. I don’t blame him. Takes your mind off… losing someone.”

“Maybe.” Rin exhaled, his expression contemplative. 

“The Captain was like a father to me, but that doesn’t exactly mean he was a good one.” He let the words settle before continuing.

“And for Maeric? He was always a distant second to Ranoric. Well—third, if you count me.” Rin let out a humorless chuckle.

“His father made sure he knew it. Never let him forget how much of a disappointment he was.”

Erith watched as Rin stared off, his thoughts drifting somewhere distant. Rin pulled himself back, shifting his focus to Erith and Amun.

“Have you started keeping an eye out in the Spindle?”

Amun shook his head. “We were going to start that tonight.”

Rin nodded. “If you recognize someone, let Rhymera know. She knows most people who walk through that door. And if she doesn’t, she knows enough about them.”

His gaze flicked to Erith. “If you find something out, wait for me. We’ll figure out what to do.”

He stretched his arms in the doorway. “Once I finish up Maeric’s list, I should be back. He’s got a knack for figuring out how to clean these messes up—I just wish he could do it himself instead of being stuck in bed pouring water on his own face.”

Rin glanced at Maeric’s door. “I’ll find Tal another time. I need to head back to the Surelian post—Maeric wanted me to inform them. They’ve sent a scout to the Warden. We haven’t heard from them, but they weren’t expected to be in Verael for another week or so.”

Amun pushed back from the table, grabbing the plates as he shot a look at Erith. “Let’s get the Spindle prepped.”

Erith followed Amun through the connecting hallway into the inn’s main wing, where most travelers stayed. The corridor was lined with small rooms, a few still occupied, their doors shut against the morning bustle. 

They spent the morning tidying up the vacant ones—shaking out linens, sweeping dust from the wooden floors—before making their way to the tavern.

The hallway led to a large double door, which opened onto a mezzanine overlooking the tavern below. 

The space stretched wide, lined with tables and wooden railings, offering a clear view of the bar beneath. The scent of old ale clung to the wood, mixing with the slow-burning hearth at the far end of the room.

The next few hours blurred into routine—cleaning dishes and mugs, sweeping the floors, setting the tables, placing fresh candles. The quiet wouldn’t last much longer.

As Erith lit candles on the first floor, a door swung open from the inn’s private quarters.

A broad-shouldered man strode in, heaving a barrel onto his shoulder as he crossed the room. He carried it toward the bar, setting it onto a rack with a heavy thud.

He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, exhaling as he looked first at Erith, then at Amun.

“Color me impressed. Never pictured you tolerating anyone else enough to help you, Amun.” 

The man chuckled, rolling his shoulders. “Rhymera finally convinced you that you can’t do it all yourself?”

Amun smirked, stacking a few mugs behind the bar. “Rhymera finally found someone I’m convinced I can’t kill.” He nodded toward Erith. “His name’s Erith.”

The man let out a short laugh. “Well, that’s a start.” He reached over the bar extending a hand out to Erith. 

“It’ll be good to have someone who can carry more than a mug at a time. Name’s Arden—nice to meet you.”

Arden eyed Erith with interest as he returned the handshake. “Right. You’ll be passing out the orders while Amun takes them tonight—keeps it simple.” 

He leaned against the bar. “Just hand them out and keep to yourself. The Spindle’s where shadows gather. Some like talking to us, most don’t.” 

He nodded toward Erith, giving a small grin. “That’s more Rhymera’s line of work anyway.”

As the day waned, a slow trickle of patrons filtered in, filling the tavern table by table until the space swelled into a roar of voices and clinking mugs. The crowd was a mix of all walks of life—travelers, officers, merchants, and those whose business was better left unspoken.

From the corner, two musicians played a lively interlude, their melody threading seamlessly through the steady hum of conversation.

Amun passed by Erith on his way back to Arden. “Clean up that table that fell when you get a chance—and take those over to Rhymera.” He gestured hastily toward three glasses of wine waiting atop the bar before disappearing back into the bustle.

There was little downtime—empty mugs barely had time to hit the tables before fresh ones were passed into waiting hands. 

Erith scanned the bar for a tray, set the glasses onto it, and wove through the crowd toward Rhymera’s table.

She sat with two elegantly dressed patrons. They were wrapped in conversation, until she lifted her gaze from their discussion and smiled warmly at Erith.

“Thank you, my dear.” she said, accepting the wine and raising the glass to her guests before taking a sip.

“New help, Rhymera? Dare I say you aren’t thinking of expanding?” one of the patrons snorted, eyeing Erith.

Rhymera smirked over the rim of her glass. “No, but it’s time I broke my son’s stubbornness.” 

She set the glass down on the table with a soft clink. “Of course, he gets that ‘I can do everything’ attitude from me—but it’s making him clumsy, and, frankly, extra help is cheaper than replacing all the glassware.”

Erith offered a small smile before gathering the empty glasses from the table. He returned to the bar, where Amun stood—looking slightly out of place, his sharpness dulled.

“Something wrong?” Erith asked, setting the glasses down.

Amun didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked nervously to Rhymera’s table and back to Erith. A knot twisted in Erith’s stomach before Amun even spoke.

“They’re Morvath officials. Very… official.” Amun’s voice was low, barely loud enough to cut through the tavern chatter.

He shifted uneasily. “It’s not every day a kingdom destroys its own sifting operation just to take out a few higher-ups from another.”

Erith’s heartbeat pounded in his chest.

“If they find out some of them walked out alive—and that you’re the reason why…” Amun swallowed hard.

“...we’re all dead.”

✦☽✧❖⨁☼✺☼⨁❖✧☽✦