From a distance, he could see it.
The city of Farris rose from the horizon like a memory given shape—spires catching the afternoon light, walls of aged stone that had stood for centuries, the familiar sprawl of rooftops he'd seen as a younger man. It had been a long time. Longer than he liked to admit.
Figmond turned, a smile already forming, eager to share the moment. But Karina remained in deep sleep, her face relaxed in a way he rarely saw when she was awake—the constant vigilance softened, the weight of everything momentarily lifted. He watched her for a breath longer than necessary, felt warmth creep up his neck, and quickly faced forward again.
The horses plodded on. The city grew closer. He let her sleep.
—
Karina shot upright.
For a disorienting moment, the world consisted of soft pillows and unknown walls and sunlight slanting through a window she didn't recognize. She blinked, her pulse settling as the details resolved—a small room, modest furnishings, the unmistakable character of an inn. Comfortable. Safe. But how she'd gotten here was a door that refused to open in her memory.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, wincing at the residual ache in her muscles, and began straightening the blankets. The simple motion grounded her.
A knock.
"Come in," she called, her voice still rough with sleep.
The door opened, and Figmond's face appeared around it, one hand still on the knob. "Karina?"
"Figmond?" She stared at him, pieces refusing to connect. "How did I—"
And then, against her will, her mind supplied an image: Figmond, struggling up a flight of stairs, her dead weight in his arms, possibly muttering encouragement to himself with every step. Possibly failing. The mental picture was so vivid, so mortifying, that she shut it down immediately.
"Never mind." She felt heat rise to her cheeks and looked away. "I don't want to know."
Figmond's lips twitched, but he had the grace not to laugh. For now.
"Right. Well." He cleared his throat, shifting to the reason for his visit. "I didn't want to wake you—figured you needed the rest. But..." His smile turned nervous, apologetic. "You've only got a couple hours. Before they arrive."
The words landed like stones in still water.
"A couple hours?" Karina was on her feet before she'd fully processed the movement, crossing the room and shoving past Figmond, who stumbled sideways with a startled laugh that followed her down the hallway.
Food. She needed food. Dinner, breakfast, lunch—every meal she'd missed while unconscious was a debt her body was now calling due. The guild would arrive in hours, and whatever waited with them required strength she currently didn't possess. She could feel the weakness in every step, the protest of muscles pushed too far and not nearly replenished.
She ignored it all and kept moving.
There was no time to be weak.
The inn's doors swung open, and the streets of Farris swallowed them whole.
Sound rushed forward to meet them—a living tide of voices, footsteps, creaking wagon wheels, and somewhere in the distance, music that fought to be heard above the chaos. The morning air, cool just moments ago inside the shaded inn, now wrapped around them thick with smells: fresh bread, roasting meat, the faint sweetness of flowers from a passing merchant's cart, and beneath it all the unmistakable tang of a city breathing.
Karina stepped into it and felt something loosen in her chest. Civilization. After the Eugene Stretch—after waking with no memory of how she'd survived—the simple sight of people going about their lives felt almost absurd. One moment she'd been fighting wretched monsters, certain she was about to die. And now? Now she was standing on a sunlit street in Farris, watching a child chase a rolling coin past her feet.
She'd been here days ago. The city's energy wasn't new to her. But after everything, it felt like a gift anyway.
Beside her, Figmond had stopped moving entirely.
She turned to look at him and found his face tilted upward, eyes wide, drinking in the buildings that rose on either side—stone and timber and colorful awnings, windows thrown open to the morning, balconies draped with drying laundry and hanging flowers. People streamed past them in a current, and Figmond stood in the middle of it like a man who'd forgotten he had feet.
"It wasn't like this when I arrived," he murmured, almost to himself. "It was early. Quiet. I was so tired I barely saw anything." He turned slowly, taking in a street performer juggling flaming torches, a cluster of women laughing outside a fabric shop, a pair of guards sharing bread on a stoop. "So, Farris huh?"
Karina watched him watch the city, and something warm flickered in her chest. She'd seen this place. He was seeing it for the first time—or the first time in years.
"Come on," she said, touching his elbow. "If we're going to eat, we should find somewhere good."
Figmond blinked, dragged back to the moment. "Right. Food. You need—"
"We both need." She started walking, and he fell into step beside her, though his head continued to swivel like a lantern in the wind. "You haven't eaten either. And we have hours before the guild arrives. Might as well spend them somewhere worth remembering."
The crowd parted and flowed around them as they walked, two figures from a small village navigating streets that seemed designed to overwhelm. Figmond pointed out a fountain carved in the shape of some mythical beast. Karina nodded, having passed it twice before. He stopped to watch a blacksmith through an open doorway, mesmerized by the spray of sparks. Karina waited, leaning against a post, letting him have the moment.
"This is nothing like home," he said when he finally tore himself away.
"No," she agreed. "It's not."
As they walked through crowds of people shoving and shimming through cracks of people, figmond spoke to Karina.
"So, um, how is this going to work? Are you going to meet up with them and then what? Is there even a meet up spot?" Figmond came to the realization that the meet up could've possibly been at another city or town nearby.
Karina giggled at Figmond's worried face. "Trust me I know where it's at. Now look," she shifted.
The passing people made it hard for him to see until there was a clear opening. It was a small dinner called The Little Flower Pot.
Upon entering the door it was a reflection of the outside. It was a dinner full of joyful people both cityfolk and npc warriors alike.
"Hello! Table for two, for the lovely couple?" The friendly hostess beamed at them.
The innocent question was enough to make Figmond's cheeks flush a deep crimson. Karina let out a quiet sigh. "A table for two, please."
The hostess gave a knowing smile—whether at Figmond's visible embarrassment or something else entirely—and checked the seating chart. "We have one table in the middle, or I can seat you near the window."
"We'll take the window," Karina said without hesitation.
They followed her through the cozy restaurant, the scent of roasted herbs and fresh bread wrapping around them. When they reached their seats, Karina lowered herself carefully into the chair, her body protesting with a dull, familiar ache.
"Ouch," she breathed, wincing as she settled in.
Figmond slid into the seat across from her, his brow furrowed with concern. "Still sore, huh? I told you not to push yourself."
"Yeah, well." She waved a dismissive hand, though her movements were measured. "I'm sure it'll go away after a nice meal."
"Just try not to stuff yourself too much." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You can't be too full to battle."
Karina arched an eyebrow, a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Figmond, keep in mind—they said they'd get here at five in the afternoon. Let's be realistic. We probably won't enter this so-called dungeon today. It might be… maybe tomorrow."
The hostess glided back to their table, placing two small, folded cloths before them. Steam rose from each in delicate curls.
"Welcome. Please enjoy these hot towels to refresh before your meal."
Karina stared at the offering, then at Figmond. He stared back, equally lost.
"It's… warm," she observed, poking the towel with a single finger as if it might bite.
"I can see that." Figmond picked his up cautiously, holding it between two fingers like a questionable artifact. "Why is it warm?"
"I don't know. Is it… for cleaning?"
"Cleaning what?"
They both looked around the restaurant. A nearby table of merchants received the same ritual—their guests accepted the warm towels with casual familiarity, dabbing their hands before setting them aside. One man even let out a small sigh of contentment.
Karina slowly mimicked the motion, unfolding the cloth and pressing it to her palms. Her eyes widened slightly. "Oh."
"What?"
"That's… actually kind of nice."
Figmond followed suit. The warmth seeped into his fingers, and despite himself, he let out a quiet breath. "Alright. I don't understand it, but alright."
A server arrived before they could dwell further—a young woman in an elegant, unfamiliar casual garment that wrapped across her body with short wide sleeves and a small sash tied meticulously. She wore tan colored pants with a cuff at the bottom and she carried a small ceramic pot and two cups, her movements precise and deliberate.
"Good afternoon. I'll be taking care of you today. Would you like to start with some tea?"
"Uh—" Figmond started.
"Yes," Karina cut in, unwilling to look any more lost than they already had.
The server poured with practiced grace, a stream of pale green liquid cascading into each cup. The scent that rose was grassy, slightly bitter, like nothing either of them had encountered.
"Our specialties today include the fried tofu in a light broth and the grilled, freshwater eel glazed with our house sauce. I can also recommend the Japanese Fermented Soybeans if you're feeling adventurous." (agedashi & grilled unagi)
Karina's hand froze halfway to her cup. "I'm sorry. Did you say… eel?"
"Freshwater eel," the server confirmed with a pleasant smile. "Very tender. A customer favorite."
Figmond opened the menu she had placed before him, scanning the unfamiliar characters and stranger combinations. His face cycled through confusion, curiosity, and mild alarm.
"What are these symbols?" (Japanese characters)
"I have no idea," the server said with an innocent smile.
"And what about this?"
"Oh that's our rice omelet. Very popular with younger guests."
Figmond looked at Karina. Karina looked at Figmond.
"They put eel on the menu," she said flatly. "And weird letters. And they gave us warm towels for some reason."
"The towels are nice though," he offered weakly.
"The towels are nice. I'm not arguing about the towels." She picked hers up again, pressing it to her cheek with a small, involuntary sound of relief. "But what kind of place is this?"
Figmond lowered his voice, leaning across the table. "Do you think this is part of the dungeon?"
The server looked confused and smiled awkwardly at Karina using the towel on her cheek.
Karina stared at him. Then, despite her sore muscles, despite the creeping absurdity of the situation, she laughed—a real laugh, bright and unexpected.
"Figmond, if the dungeon is serving us warm towels and eel, I think we might have the wrong intelligence."
The server waited patiently, her smile never wavering. "Shall I give you a few more minutes to decide?"
Karina exhaled, folding the towel neatly beside her plate. "Yes. Please."
As the server departed, Figmond picked up his menu again, squinting at an illustration of something that appeared to be a ball of rice wrapped in dried seaweed. "What do you suppose hand-pressed rice is?" (Onigiri)
"At this point," Karina said, reaching for her tea, "I'm afraid to ask."
She took a sip. The flavor was unlike anything she knew—earthy, vegetal, with a faint sweetness that lingered on her tongue. She blinked, took another sip, and set the cup down carefully.
"Well?" Figmond asked.
She looked at the pale green liquid, then at him, then around the restaurant with its paper lanterns and fancy wooden tables and servers in unfamiliar attire.
"I don't know what this place is," she admitted. "But the tea is good."
Figmond picked up his own cup, sniffed it cautiously, and drank. His expression shifted from suspicion to surprise to something approaching genuine enjoyment.
"Alright," he conceded. "The tea is good."