Turning onto the road, you’re greeted by a weaving cobblestone path flanked by modest rolling hills, their crests crowned with dense woods. The clouds scatter across a vivid blue sky like strokes from a painter’s brush. You pause, taking it all in. The scene looks like something plucked straight from a storybook. A few cozy farmhouses dot the landscape, light trails of smoke curling lazily upward, carried away by the breeze.

  “Wow, this looks so cool,” you exclaim, unable to keep the awe from your voice.

  Renee glances at you, her expression softening as she tilts her head slightly. “Yes, it’s quite breezy today. But this? This is about as harsh as our winters get around here.” She smirks. “Wait until you see the town. You can spot it from over the next hill.”

  She strides ahead confidently, her pace brisk, while you follow, your curiosity growing with each step. As you crest the hill, her words ring true. The town below is a picture of charm and bustling life. A dense cluster of homes and shops, all crafted with such care they could rival modern building standards. The streets are clean, the rooftops sturdy, and the layout suggests a town built to endure.

  “Wow,” you murmur again, a smile tugging at your lips.

  You follow Renee into town, the narrow cobblestone streets lined with thatch-roofed homes. As the central plaza comes into view, the town’s heartbeat reveals itself. Children dart through the crowd, their laughter mingling with the hum of merchants tending their wares. The market brims with energy—permanent wooden stalls neatly arranged, the air filled with the chatter of bartering voices.

  Two armored guards patrol at the edges of the square, though their leisurely pace and animated conversation suggest they’re more invested in gossip than vigilant watchkeeping.

  Renee halts at the edge of the square, spreading her arms wide in a playful, presenting pose. “Welcome to Elmwyre, our humble home!” she declares with mocking grandeur. “The market’s here, the inn’s over there—” she nods toward a sturdy two-story building with a weathered sign that reads The Copper Keg Inn—“and next to it, the Elmwyre Library, where we hold classes for everything you can imagine.”

  She points further down the row of buildings. “And that’s the crafts guild beside the library. Kevin works there. Carpentry, blacksmithing, even bookbinding—he dabbles in it all.” Her voice falters just slightly at Kevin’s name, but she shakes it off with a quick smile and a squint at you, as if daring you to comment.

  Before you can, a low murmur catches your ear—a conversation drifting over from one of the guards speaking to a shopper beside a produce stall. You linger just outside their view, catching fragments of the exchange.

  “...Kaylee ran off again,” the guard grumbles, arms crossed over his chest. “Straight into the woods this time. They sent a search party, but she could be anywhere.”

  The shopper clicks their tongue, tossing carrots into a basket. “And her kids?”

  The guard jerks a thumb toward the far end of the plaza. “Over there. We’re stuck babysitting.”

  Across the square, his partner is visibly struggling to corral two energetic children, one of whom is attempting to scale a vendor’s cart like it’s a fortress wall. “This is why I hate festival season.” The guard continues to explain to the vendor his reasoning for never having kids of his own.

  You glance at Renee, who has been eavesdropping too. She shoots you a wide-eyed look, mimes locking her lips with an invisible key, and flings it theatrically over her shoulder. You track the imaginary key as it arcs into an empty walkway.

  “Looking wonderful as ever, Renee!” The second guard calls out from across the square, clearly distracted as one of Kaylee’s kids tugs on his sword belt.

  Renee stiffens but waves back with forced cheer, muttering through gritted teeth. “Let’s keep moving before they rope us into the search party.”

  She tugs your sleeve and pulls you toward the inn. “Come on. The head summoner’s probably half-sober by now.”

  As you pass the library’s broad stone doorway, Renee gestures casually at it. “We’ll stop by later, I suppose. It’s my second home, after all. If you need answers—mainly history or crafts—that’s where you’ll find them. Or me.”

  You follow her up the inn’s steps, taking in the plaza one last time. It’s ornate and lively, with an unexpected charm, it's awe inducing and cannot keep you from smiling.

  The moment you step inside, you’re greeted by the sight of a massive copper keg towering behind the counter—easily two floors tall. You stare at it, impressed despite yourself. “How creative,” you mutter dryly to the room.

  An elbow finds its way into your side—Renee’s, sharp and direct. “Ow,” you mumble, shooting her a look.

  She smirks. “Try not to embarrass me while we’re here.”

  A warm voice called out as you entered the inn. “Kev! What can I get you this fine afternoon? You’re early—I usually don’t see your face ‘til sundown.” The bartender leaned over the counter, grinning, his hands busy wiping down anything in arms reach.

  Before you could answer, Renee cut in dramatically. “We are on a mission—nay, a quest!” She hopped onto a wooden stool, one foot perched precariously on the backrest as though it were the railing of a ship. With one hand pointed forward like a cutlass and the other shielding her squinting eye, she declared, “We seek the Head Summoner!”

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  The bartender—judging by Renee’s easy familiarity with him—barely blinked. His long-suffering sigh spoke volumes. He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, toward a shadowy corner of the room. “Mister ‘Wondrous’ is licking his wounds back there, so to speak.” Without waiting for acknowledgment, he turned back to the taps, filling glasses with a practiced indifference. “I’ll bring your drinks.”

  “Thank you, Peter! I’ll take the mead. No apple juice for me today,” Renee chirped as she hopped off the stool and shrugged out of her coat. She flung it forward with a careless flourish, and you barely managed to snatch it from the air in time.

  You gave Peter a questioning look as you hung up both coats on the nearby rack, eyeing the drink he was pouring.

  Peter smirked knowingly, muttering under his breath, “Right. I’ll find you.”

  In the far corner of the inn, three half-empty glasses stood in chaotic disarray before a skinny, robed figure slouched over the table. His head lifted slightly as you approached, revealing tired eyes and lips damp from his latest sip of room-temperature beer.

  With a sluggish motion, he raised a bony finger into the air, his voice a lazy drawl. “One more, please.”

  “We don’t work here, sir,” Renee said politely, though the amusement in her eyes betrayed her barely-contained laughter.

  The man blinked, squinting at his glass as though surprised it wasn’t empty. He muttered something under his breath—something that sounded suspiciously like “hospitality standards these days”—before taking another lazy sip.

  You slide into the seat across from him as Renee plops onto the couch next to the head summoner, her movements fluid and casual. She leans in close, whispering something into his ear.

  At first, the summoner seems indifferent, his tired figure slumped like a forgotten marionette. But something shifts. Slowly, he straightens, his slouch disappearing as his presence swells. It’s subtle—no literal change in size—but suddenly he feels larger, more present, his tired eyes sharpening as they lock onto Renee.

  “Are you certain?” he asks quietly, the drawl replaced by a measured weight.

  Renee nods, though her expression falters. For the first time since you’ve met her, she looks fragile, smaller somehow.

  The summoner lets out a long, deliberate sigh, then reaches under the table and retrieves a murky vial, pulling the cork free with his teeth. “This changes everything,” he mutters before tossing back the contents of the bottle.

  You and Renee watch him cautiously as he swallows. A moment passes, and then his eyes widen. His entire body jolts as if struck by lightning.

  “What… what was that?” you ask, alarmed.

  He coughs violently, then grins through watery eyes. “Potion of Sobering,” he wheezes, his voice suddenly far more coherent. “Exactly what you’d expect. Brings you back to life for a moment—sharp as a blade, energetic as a hare—”

  He doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, his eyes widen further, and he bolts upright, clutching his stomach.

  “Oh my—” he chokes out, sweat already forming on his brow. “Back in a moment.”

  The summoner launches himself from the table, weaving through the tavern’s patrons with unnatural speed. A door at the far end of the room slams open, leading toward what you can only assume is the restroom.

  Renee gives you a sidelong glance, one brow raised. “Potion of Sobering, huh? It’s mostly a ‘get to the bathroom as fast as possible’ potion.”

  You stare after the summoner, baffled. “I guess it works.”

  Peter arrives with your drinks, balancing the tray like a seasoned pro. You glance at the summoner’s three lukewarm beers still crowding the table and slide them toward him.

  “I think these were optimistic,” you say dryly. “And could we get a pitcher of water for the table?”

  Peter raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. “One pitcher of water. Coming right up.” He strides away, leaving you with a faint smirk.

  Moments later, the summoner returns—his face pale but his demeanor noticeably sharper. He collapses back into the seat with a theatrical sigh of relief, hands clasped over his belly like a man who’s narrowly survived battle.

  “Necessary evil,” he mutters, waving off the ordeal as though sprinting for the bathroom were a completely reasonable ritual. “Now, back to the matter at hand.”

  He fixes Renee with a more serious gaze, the humor quickly leaving his face. “Tell me everything again.”

  Renee freezes, the energy she’d been holding back crumbling away. No jokes, Her hands press into the edge of the table, her knuckles white. “He’s not Kevin,” she says, voice trembling. “I don’t know who or what this is, but he’s not my husband. Kevin… Kevin’s not gone. He can’t be gone.”

  The summoner regards her carefully, any trace of levity gone. You sit quietly as Renee’s voice begins to break.

  “He’s not Kevin,” she says, trembling. “He looks like him, moves like him. But Kevin wouldn’t just leave me. He wouldn’t…”

  Her breath hitches. “And yet he forgot me like that.” She snaps her fingers for emphasis, the sound sharp in the stillness. “He can read the stupid script!. And with the failed summoning of the champion…” She falters, wiping hastily at her face as her voice drops to a whisper. “I Thought the summoning was just a flashy show of military succession?”

  Her words hang in the air like a weight. She presses a shaking hand to her chest, struggling to hold herself together. “Please. You have to help me. Tell me he’s not gone. Tell me there’s a way to bring him back.”

  The tavern feels still, the clatter of mugs and distant chatter fading into an eerie quiet. The summoner doesn’t say anything at first—he just looks at you. His eyes lock onto yours, unblinking and intense, as if searching for something hidden beneath your skin.

  The moment stretches, heavy and uncomfortable. You shift in your seat, but his gaze doesn’t waver.

  Peter approaches quietly, setting down a pitcher of water and three glasses with a soft clink. He doesn’t say a word, but his expression screams “rough conversation” as he slips away.

  Without a word, the summoner reaches into his robe and retrieves something—a necklace. The movement is deliberate, almost reverent, as he sets it down on the table with a thump.

  The sound is heavier than you’d expect. You glance at it, startled. The necklace looks ancient—its chain thick and tarnished, the pendant an odd, rune-carved disc that seems twice as heavy as it should be. The wood grain creaks slightly as the summoner pushes it across the table toward you.

  Finally, he speaks, his voice low and deliberate, almost a whisper.

  “Focus on it,” he says. “Tell me—what do you see?”