The smell of roasted meat filled the tavern.
Fresh bread steamed on the table, butter melting down the crust. Plates clinked, mugs were passed around, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was warm laughter and quality time.
Kaelen sat cross-legged on a bench, holding a roasted chicken the size of his own head and stuffing a piece of it into his mouth. He chewed with great effort, not because it was tough, but because he was talking nonstop between bites. Still crying over spilled milk.
"..And that's why I should have been the one out treasure hunting!" he declared, slamming his mug on the table. "Not stuck grinding floor tiles like a cursed artisan!"
Neal didn't even look up. "You were the one who ate half a pound of sacred powder, Kaelen."
