We gathered without ceremony.
The Nashkel Inn bore the quiet signs of morning trade. Voices were lower than usual, movements measured. A serving girl carried bread carefully between tables. A traveler kept his eyes on his cup rather than on us.
Across the street, the Belching Dragon showed the quieter signs of recovery. Fresh sawdust had been scattered over darker patches of floor. One of the barkeeps tested the legs of a replacement table that hadn't been there the night before. Another carried splintered remains toward the back door in two careful armfuls.
The town remembered.
So did I.
Every movement came with a reminder. My jaw felt stiff when I worked it. My ribs objected to anything resembling ambition. My shoulder made it clear that experimentation would not be tolerated.
I shifted once.
Regretted it.
Imoen noticed, of course. She always did. She said nothing.
Branwen stood nearby, arms folded, posture firm as iron. If she felt anything from the night before, she did not advertise it. Rasaad's stance was loose but deliberate, breath even, already restored to center. Xan lingered where light and shadow met, expression unreadable as ever.
For a moment — just a moment — a different thought slipped in.
If time was passing here…
what was happening there?
The question had no edges. No answer. Just the faint unease of something continuing without me.
I pushed it aside.
My ribs were more persuasive.
The inn door opened.
Noober entered at a brisk walk, satchel slung too high on one shoulder, holy symbol catching the morning light.
He saw Imoen first. Then me. Relief followed immediately.
"Oh — good," he said. "You're still here. I worried I might have misjudged the hour. I misjudge hours."
His gaze shifted beyond us, assessing the others with quick curiosity. He did not yet know them, but he catalogued them anyway.
Then he glanced toward the windows.
Across the street, men maneuvered a replacement table into the Belching Dragon.
He tilted his head.
"That seems… industrious."
One of the inn's staff passed him carrying a tray of mugs.
Noober tracked that too.
Then he looked at my face.
"Are you injured?" he asked. "Not severely — just observably. Your jaw appears swollen. Does it hurt when you speak, or only when you chew? Chewing can be postponed."
"I'm fine," I said.
He examined that claim with surprising seriousness before nodding.
"Oh. Good."
His eyes swept the room once more, taking in the mood without fully understanding it.
"Well," he said, straightening, "we reviewed Commander Brage last night."
Not a question.
Confirmation.
"I've considered what Master Nalin shared. If the affliction is external — imposed — then it should be reversible. Provided it is not reinforced or layered."
"I have assisted in such workings," he continued, candid but steady. "Maintained structure. Held focus. I have not led one independently."
He paused.
"Brage's fall unsettled more than the temple," he added quietly. "The town remembers who he was."
Branwen's arms tightened almost imperceptibly.
Not at Brage.
At the implication.
A curse.
A cleric required.
Not her.
I saw it then — not doubt exactly. Something sharper. Frustration restrained beneath discipline.
She did not speak.
"If he is bound," Noober finished, "leaving him so would be the greater failure."
Silence settled.
"And I will likely ask questions along the way," he added with a faint smile. "They tend to arrive when least convenient."
Xan opened one eye.
"We assumed as much."
Noober brightened.
We left Nashkel shortly after.
Morning light filtered through thinning mist as we passed the last buildings. The town already felt smaller behind us — as though last night's chaos had begun compressing into rumor.
Movement eased the stiffness slightly. The rhythm of walking gave pain somewhere to go.
Noober kept pace beside me for a time.
He lasted perhaps half the road before curiosity won.
"So," he said thoughtfully, "what made you choose adventuring?"
I didn't answer.
The truth rose first.
I didn't choose.
I was placed. Moved. Forced forward.
But none of that shaped itself into something that could be spoken.
I kept walking.
After a moment, Noober nodded to himself.
"Oh," he said gently. "That happens sometimes."
I glanced at him.
"People go quiet when they don't wish to continue speaking with me," he clarified. "I try not to take offense. It is often simpler."
"That's not it," I said.
Relief crossed his face instantly.
"Oh. Good."
I exhaled.
"It's just… complicated."
Noober considered that.
"Yes," he said at last. "Most things worth doing are."
He did not press.
Ahead, the road bent toward the forest line.
"The Tasloi will be less active under full sun," Branwen said, breaking the quiet. "They favor dim light."
"Less efficient," Xan corrected mildly. "Not blind."
Rasaad nodded. "We move deliberately. Eliminate watchers quickly."
"If they have watchers," Imoen added.
"They will," Branwen said.
Noober listened carefully, committing it all to memory.
"Then daylight," he said. "Precision over speed."
Ahead, the trees thickened.
The ancient tree waited somewhere within that canopy. The dryad with it.
And beyond her—
Brage.
The air shifted as we approached the forest's edge. Quieter. Denser. As though the land itself had drawn in slightly.
Noober's lips moved faintly now, reviewing structure only he could see.
I adjusted my stride and ignored the ache in my ribs.
Whatever this place was shaping me into, it was not finished.
The forest ahead felt watchful.
And we were walking toward it.