The inn was alive with energy, the air thick with chatter and the clinking of mugs. Adventurers, merchants, and spectators from the recently concluded tournament crowded the tables, their voices overlapping in a chaotic medley of laughter, boasts, and heated debates about the matches. The warm glow of lanterns spilled across the wooden walls, adding a golden hue to the bustling scene.
At the heart of the chaos, Liora darted between tables, her cheerful voice cutting through the noise.
“Coming right up! Two ales and a roast boar platter!” she called out, expertly balancing a tray laden with drinks and plates. She weaved through the crowd like a fish through water, her grin unfaltering despite the mounting demands.
On the other side of the room, Sena was busy clearing empty mugs and plates from another table. Her smaller frame allowed her to slip between patrons with surprising agility. She flashed a polite smile at a group of rowdy adventurers as she carefully gathered their dishes.
“You’re doing great, Sena!” Liora encouraged as she breezed past, a pitcher of ale in one hand and a basket of bread in the other.
Sena beamed, her cheeks flushed from the excitement. “Thanks, Miss Liora! This is fun!”
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“Fun, huh?” Liora laughed. “Wait until you’ve done this a hundred times. Then tell me how fun it is.”
Meanwhile, near the bar, Mariel Farlon stood with her arms crossed, her sharp gaze cutting through the din like a blade. Her imposing presence was a stark contrast to the lively chaos around her. She was focused on Riken, who sat stiffly on a stool nearby, his head bowed slightly under her intense scrutiny.
“Riken,” Mariel said, her voice low but firm, “how many times have I told you? If you’re going to help out, you need to move like you mean it.”
“I—I was trying,” Riken mumbled, his tone defensive but subdued. His clawed hands gripped the edge of the stool as he avoided her gaze.
“Trying isn’t enough,” Mariel retorted, her expression unyielding. “When the inn is this busy, we don’t have time for half-hearted efforts. You’re strong enough to carry three barrels at once, but you act like lifting one is a punishment. What’s the matter? Too proud to take orders?”
“I’m not proud,” Riken muttered, his ears flattening slightly. “I just… don’t want to mess up.”
Mariel’s sharp gaze softened—just a fraction. She leaned closer, her voice lowering. “Riken, no one’s expecting perfection. But if you don’t give it your best, you’re letting yourself down. Understand?”
Riken nodded reluctantly, his shoulders slumping. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” Mariel straightened, her no-nonsense demeanor returning. “Now get moving. Those barrels won’t stack themselves.”
As Riken slid off the stool and trudged toward the storeroom, Liora appeared beside Mariel, juggling an empty tray and a mischievous grin. “You’re hard on him, Miss Matron.”
“He needs it,” Mariel replied curtly. Her gaze followed Riken as he disappeared into the back. “That boy’s carrying more than just barrels, and I don’t mean the weight of the ale.”
Liora’s smile softened. “He’ll get there. Sena’s already thriving, and he will too. Just needs more time.”
Mariel grunted in agreement, her sharp eyes scanning the room. “Speaking of Sena, she’d better not let that table of drunkards take advantage of her.”
But Sena, ever observant, was already one step ahead. She deftly sidestepped a clumsy attempt by a patron to grab her tail, her expression firm as she addressed the table. “Please keep your hands to yourself, sir. This is a place of business.”
The man froze, his companions laughing at his failed attempt. Mariel watched from afar, a flicker of approval crossing her face.
“Smart girl,” she muttered.
Just then, Riken reappeared, carrying two barrels on his shoulders. His movements were steady but tentative, his focus entirely on not dropping his load. Liora, passing by with another tray, couldn’t resist calling out, “Looking good, Riken! Just don’t trip and flatten someone!”
Riken’s face reddened as he adjusted his grip, determined not to stumble. Mariel smirked faintly but said nothing, letting him find his rhythm.
As the evening wore on, the chaos in the inn showed no signs of abating, but the staff—new and old—kept things moving. Liora’s infectious energy buoyed Sena’s enthusiasm, while Mariel’s steady hand ensured that even Riken found his place amidst the hustle.
Mariel leaned against the bar, arms crossed, her sharp gaze sweeping over the bustling scene before her. The inn was alive with energy, a chaotic whirlwind of laughter, clinking mugs, and overlapping voices. She had seen this place packed to the rafters countless times, but tonight felt… different.
Her eyes followed Sena as the young foxkin deftly navigated between tables, her small arms laden with empty mugs. Sena’s face was flushed with effort, but her smile never wavered. The girl’s energy was infectious, lighting up even the surliest of patrons. And then there was Riken, returning from the storeroom with two barrels balanced on his shoulders, his movements careful but steady. He still carried that guarded tension in his frame, but there was a determination in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
Mariel exhaled softly, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a hum. It had been Lucavion’s idea to bring these two into her care, and she hadn’t been entirely sure about it at first. Taking in children—these foxkin children—wasn’t exactly a part of her usual routine. Her inn had always been a haven for travelers, mercenaries, and adventurers, not a refuge for the young and lost. But something about Lucavion’s insistence, and the quiet desperation in those kids’ eyes, had swayed her.
At the time, she’d thought it would be a temporary arrangement—a few weeks, maybe a month at most. Yet here they were, three days after the tournament, and not only were the siblings still here, but they were thriving. Sena, with her boundless enthusiasm and quick adaptability, had taken to the inn’s routines like a fish to water. And even Riken, despite his brooding nature and rough edges, was finding his footing.
Mariel’s gaze lingered on Riken as he carefully set the barrels down near the bar. His movements were deliberate, as if every step was calculated to avoid mistakes. He caught her watching and quickly averted his eyes, his ears flattening slightly. Mariel’s lips quirked in the faintest hint of a smile.
‘Poor boy,’ she thought, her chest tightening with an emotion she couldn’t quite name. ‘He’s trying so hard.’
Her attention shifted back to Sena, who had just sidestepped another patron’s clumsy attempt to grab her tail. The girl’s firm but polite response brought a flicker of amusement to Mariel’s face. “Heh…..Not bad,” she muttered under her breath.
It was strange. Mariel had spent most of her life around adventurers—men and women hardened by battles, their faces weathered by the road. She was used to handling rowdy drunks, barking orders, and enforcing discipline when needed. But caring for these two… it was different. Unexpectedly rewarding, in a way she hadn’t anticipated.
She straightened, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly as a memory surfaced—Lucavion standing in this very spot, that ever-present smirk on his face as he’d said, “They just need a place to feel safe. You can do that, can’t you, Miss Little Bear?”
She’d grumbled at the nickname then, just as she always did, but now, watching Sena dart between tables and Riken haul barrels with quiet determination, she couldn’t deny that Lucavion had been right. These children had brought something new to the inn—something she hadn’t known was missing.
“Miss Matron!” Sena’s cheerful voice broke through her thoughts. The girl appeared at the bar, balancing an empty tray on one hip. “Do you need me to do anything else?”
Mariel studied her for a moment, taking in the flush of her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. “You’ve done enough for now,” she said gruffly, though her tone was far from harsh. “Go grab a drink and take a breather.”
Sena hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly. “But I’m not tired—”
“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Mariel interrupted, fixing her with a pointed look. “Go.”
Sena’s ears twitched, but she nodded obediently, setting her tray down and scurrying off to the kitchen. Mariel watched her go, her gaze softening.
The sound of footsteps drew her attention, and she turned to see Riken approaching the bar, his movements still careful but less hesitant than before. He set a mug down on the counter and glanced at her, his expression uncertain.
“Did I… do okay?” he asked quietly, his voice barely audible above the din.
Mariel arched a brow, her lips quirking into a faint smirk. “You didn’t drop anything, did you?”
Riken shook his head, his ears twitching nervously. “No, ma’am.”
“Then you did fine,” she said simply, her tone firm but not unkind. “Now go check on the storeroom. Make sure we’ve got enough ale to last the night.”
Riken nodded and hurried off, his shoulders a little less hunched than before. Mariel watched him disappear into the back, a quiet sense of pride swelling in her chest.
Mariel’s gaze lingered on the spot where Riken had disappeared, her expression softening. The hum of the inn’s chaos carried on around her, but for a moment, she allowed herself to simply stand there, soaking in the warmth of the scene. This place, these kids… they had become something more than she’d ever expected.
A faint rustling sound pulled her from her thoughts. Her sharp eyes darted toward one of the windows, which had been left slightly ajar to let in the cool night breeze. Something small and nimble slipped through the gap with a fluid grace, landing silently on the bar. freeweɓnovel.cm
A cat.
Its pristine white fur gleamed under the lantern light, its sleek form poised with a natural elegance. But what caught Mariel’s attention most were its eyes—piercing and intelligent, far too knowing for a mere animal. The cat sat there, its tail curling neatly around its paws as it regarded her with a calm, almost regal gaze.
Mariel’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she crossed her arms. “Lucavion,” she muttered under her breath, her tone halfway between annoyance and amusement.
The cat tilted its head slightly, as if acknowledging her. Then, with deliberate precision, it opened its mouth and let a small piece of folded paper drop onto the counter. The sound of the paper hitting the wood was faint, but to Mariel, it might as well have been a drumbeat in the midst of the noise around her.
“Meow.” The cat’s voice was soft but insistent, as if it were delivering a message not just with the paper but with its very presence.
Mariel arched a brow, leaning forward to pick up the note. The cat didn’t move, watching her with unblinking eyes as she unfolded the paper. The handwriting inside was neat but hurried, the kind of script she recognized instantly.
“Miss Little Bear,
…”
The contents of the paper….
Somehow put a smile on her face….
This man came like a storm….
And left with a bigger one…..
A wind of change….
Those were whispers…..