The cold night air hits my face. Then — the sea breeze. Salt. Seaweed. Something fresh and clean. It hits my nose like a wave. Overwhelming.

Behind me, the tavern is still roaring. Muffled screams. Shattering glass. Someone singing off-key.

"Good stew," I mutter. "But the clients are... something else."

I think about them. The drunkards. The writers with their rapiers. The dwarf. The elf. And Sera.

"Sera," I say quietly. "Red hair. Red eyes. Fangs. Wings. Scales on her hands. Strange name for a dragon slayer. Or maybe it's just a name."

I pause.

"What were they whispering about? A Black Wolf. A lord. A ghost. A story drunks tell. But they whispered it like it mattered. Like it was real."

I look around. The narrow street. Old buildings. Dim lamps.

"Strange creatures," I mutter. "Strange city. And this night city lives its own life."

I think about the archives. The Black Wolf.

"Maybe I should look. See if the legend is real. Although... why? And why does it feel like someone is watching me?"

I look over my shoulder. Nothing. Just the dark.

"Or maybe I'm just missing something. Probably the company. Sharing a head with a grumpy old man does that to you."

I almost laugh.

"Where are you, old man? My advisor."

Silence.

"Ha-ha. Well. At least I'm alive. And at least I'm full."

I walk into the dark.