Crimson shut the tavern's door right in Clarkson's face.
"It was good to see you too," he muttered under his breath, a fake smile still plastered on his face.
His gaze lingered on the wooden door for a few seconds before shifting to the rest of the tavern. Slowly, he took it all in—measuring, analyzing, memorizing every detail. Only when he was sure he had it all locked in his mind did he finally turn away.
His footsteps were slow, his thoughts racing faster than his pace.
---
"So, who is this little girl, then?"
Crimson didn't hesitate.
"Just someone in my care. So don't bother."
---
"She doesn't have that much energy," Crimson continued. "She's as weak as a butterfly. There are plenty of kids who might look like the one you're after, but if you're really searching, then go after the energy itself. That should be your focus."
"But I'm guessing you don't sense anything at all. Otherwise, you wouldn't be wasting time bothering us."
---
Clarkson sighed.
'Making you talk a lot means I overwhelmed you. And when you're overwhelmed, there's always a sliver of truth tangled in the lie.'
He clicked his tongue in annoyance.
Whether that kid was the one they were looking for or not, it didn't matter. It was always better to be sure than to risk making a mistake.
"You just had to get involved, didn't you?"
His eyes stayed fixed ahead, but his mind kept circling the same thought.
If they had really altered the girl's energy, then it made sense why she seemed off. But thanks to his sister's reaction, there was a high chance that this was her.
'You tried your best, sis.'
Clarkson smirked to himself.
He knew her. He knew how she lied.
When they were kids, they had been inseparable. They could always tell what the other was thinking, what the other was hiding.
And right now, he knew she was hiding something.
With that thought, he disappeared into the creeping night.
---
Ms. Crimson was not taking things well.
She stormed across the room, pacing back and forth, shoving her hands into her hair like she was trying to physically keep herself together.
"Why the fuck did it have to be now?!" she snapped, loud and sharp, not even caring that I was standing right there.
I froze.
I had a million questions, but one was louder than the rest.
I hesitated. Asking might just make things worse, but… I had to.
"Where is Sir Exios? Did something happen?"
The moment the words left my mouth, she stopped pacing.
Then, slowly, she turned to face me, her sharp yellow eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sent chills up my spine.
I swallowed.
Her already pale skin looked even paler, her figure subtly shifting—like her human form was beginning to slip away.
Then—
"HAH! If I see an inch of flesh of that man, I swear I'll tear him apart."
I let out a deep sigh, deciding that the best way to handle this situation was to ignore it entirely.
Instead, I walked behind the counter and started preparing some iced tea.
For both me and Ms. Crimson.
She continued muttering to herself as I moved around the kitchen.
"Ugh, I'm getting a headache. First, I run into that bastard—then the other bastard disappears."
I heard the chair creak as she dropped into the seat behind me.
"And now I have to take care of this damn kid for a whole day, just praying that idiot comes back by tomorrow night."
I rummaged through the container, looking for the special ingredient Sir Exios always used.
"Otherwise," she grumbled, slumping against the counter, "I'm actually going to lose my mind."
I finally found the small sack of dried Camellia leaves and set it on the counter.
Ms. Crimson rested her head against the wooden surface, probably spiraling into another angry rant in her head.
I placed the ingredients in front of me, then climbed onto a chair to be at eye level with her. Tapping her lightly on the head a few times, I said,
"Ms. Crimson, I need your help, please."
No response.
I tapped again.
"Can you heat the water? Wait until it boils."
Still nothing.
I poked her harder this time.
Finally, with a long, dramatic sigh, she got up and dragged herself toward the stove.
"Where's the kettle?" she asked, her voice dry.
"Under that cabinet," I said, pointing.
As she moved to grab it, I picked up a tiny knife and started slicing an orange into thin, juicy pieces.
I heard the clank of the kettle being filled. Then, the whoosh of the fire as she set it on the stove.
I grabbed a medium-sized glass—half the size of the two drinking glasses—and placed the dried leaves inside.
In the larger glasses, I swirled in some honey syrup.
"Ah, Ms. Crimson, can you make ice cubes?" I asked.
Sir Exios always made them appear out of nowhere.
I used to ask him how, but he'd just tell me it was too complicated for me to understand right now. That when I got older, I'd figure it out.
He did say it was dangerous. That it had to be done in secret.
Still, it was the only magic he had ever shown me.
With a lazy wave of her hand, Ms. Crimson conjured six ice cubes—three for each glass.
I stared.
"Woah."
She scoffed. "You're way too impressed."
"Thank you!" I grinned, placing two orange slices and a few mint leaves into each glass.
She leaned against the counter, watching me with tired eyes.
She let out another sigh. "No wonder he asked me to take care of you. God."
I didn't say anything to that, instead I just gave her a small smile.
A quiet, still moment passed between us as we both waited for the water to boil.
Finally, she turned off the heat.
"It's hot enough. Where do you want it?" she asked, already grabbing the kettle.
I pointed to the medium-sized glass.
"Pour it in there, fill it up."
She huffed. "Oh, how I wish this was Exios's head instead."
And then she poured.
I pretended not to hear that.
Instead, I focused on finishing the tea.
A few careful stirs later, I poured the brewed tea into the two chilled glasses, watching as the ice cubes cracked and floated to the top.
And just like that—it was done.
The caramel-orange hue of the tea glowed under the dim light, the dazzling orange slices floating gently on the surface. Beneath them, golden swirls of honey melted slowly, though some remained firm—preserved by the icy coldness of the cubes clinking softly against the glass.
I stirred both drinks, then handed one to Ms. Crimson.
"Drink it."
She didn't take it immediately. Instead, she stared at me, eyes still laced with exhaustion, before shifting her gaze to the glass.
Then, suspiciously, she sniffed it.
Only after a moment's hesitation did she take a cautious sip.
Her bright yellow eyes flicked to mine, her expression unreadable.
"You... made this?"
She looked at me, then at the glass again, this time as if she were expecting it to morph into something else.
"You just watched me make it," I said, before taking a sip of my own.
She didn't respond right away. Instead, she simply sat there, silent, taking another slow sip.
And then another.
"...Not bad."
That was all she said, before tilting the glass back for another drink.
I hid a small, satisfied smile behind my own glass.
At the very least, I had successfully distracted her from plotting Sir Exios's demise.
The rest of the night was quiet.
Peaceful, even.
We drank our tea in silence, the occasional sound of ice shifting in the glasses filling the air.
For me, it was a good moment. A rare, calm pause in the middle of everything.
I didn't know what Ms. Crimson was thinking, though.
Probably something violent, judging by the occasional string of vulgar mutterings that slipped past her lips.
After we finished, we went to bed.
She knew the tavern's structure well enough to settle into the guest room downstairs, while I returned to my bedroom.
But sleep didn't come easy.
My mind wandered back to Sir Exios's son.
And, more than that—the woman in the picture frames.
The one with the beautiful wavy caramel hair and a bright smile. A smile that the little boy had clearly inherited.
"Maybe she disappeared too… just like him."
I thought about asking Amelyn.
Though she had never once mentioned the woman.
---
The first light of dawn crept into a small bedroom, its soft purple walls bathed in gold.
The bed, covered in untouched white sheets, remained empty.
Instead, Crimson sat on the wooden floor, back leaned against the wall, her long red waves catching the morning sun.
Her eyes were closed.
Outside, the world was already stirring awake—birds chirping, doors creaking open, merchants setting up their shops.
Still, she remained still.
She had gotten some sleep last night, but only half-rested, her senses sharp for any disturbances.
She exhaled softly.
"Nothing happened," she whispered, her bright yellow eyes fluttering open.
She had expected… something.
Maybe an attack. Maybe some kind of sign that her brother had caught on.
But there was nothing.
Well—for now.
With a sigh, she rubbed her forehead, the dull headache from last night still lingering.
"Why did I even step in?"
She pinched the bridge of her nose, pressing her fingers to her temples.
Her mind, unfortunately, wasn't done replaying last night's events.
---
After leaving the tavern, Crimson strolled past the late-night shops, but didn't linger.
Instead, she made her way straight to her tent.
Throwing herself onto the grayish couch, she let out a sharp scoff.
"Me? Taking care of her? Yeah, that's not gonna happen."
She muttered it to herself, as if saying it out loud would somehow make it true.
But as she lay there, her mind refused to shut up.
The dull red amulet flickered in her thoughts—the one she had given Exios.
The exact same one that had glowed a bright, unnatural red when the kid had touched it.
She had seen Exios tampering with it.
Performing something on it before fastening it to the child's clothes.
"Just another trick to suppress her energy flow… like the iced teas he always gives her."
She clicked her tongue.
It made sense.
Exios embedding magic into the drinks to weaken or camouflage the kid's presence.
She recalled their conversation from earlier—him, casually cleaning the kid's glass, mentioning how her energy flow was nearly undetectable.
She hated that she was even thinking about this.
With an irritated groan, she shook her head aggressively, squeezing her eyes shut.
"Ugh. Enough. Get some sleep, woman."
And thankfully, she did.
Sleep came easy.
Hours passed.
Until—
A sharp ringing in her ears snapped her awake.
Her eyes flew open, the sound cutting through her skull like a blade.
She stumbled up, disoriented.
"The fuck—"
Her vision blurred for a second, adjusting to the faint red glow flickering in front of her.
Then, as her sight cleared—
Her body went still.
Right there, before her, was a bright, sparkly red line.
Swirling.
Leading outside her tent.
Her breath hitched.
"What the fuck?"
The glowing line pulsed, vivid and unmistakably real.
She thought—for a brief second—that maybe she was dreaming.
But no.
She felt it.
A familiar energy.
A light, distinct pulse of something she recognized.
Slowly, cautiously, she pushed herself to her feet.
Her fingers twitched, but she forced them to stay steady as she stepped forward.
As she followed the glowing red trail, she noticed something odd.
No one else could see it.
She scanned the streets—people were going about their business, completely unaware.
Her eyes narrowed.
No one could see it.
No one—but her.
Her heartbeat quickened.
The line led her deeper through the town.
Through the quiet paths.
Through the thinning streets.
Until—
She saw them.
Three figures.
Not far ahead.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Her eyes immediately locked onto one of them.
A small figure.
A child.
And—her twin brother.
The red line pierced straight into the little girl's back.
The same girl who was standing there, talking to Clarkson.
Her mind blanked for a second.
Her fingers curled into a fist.
Her lips parted, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
"Clark…?"
It was barely more than a whisper.
But her wide golden eyes said the rest.
-----
I came downstairs after finishing my wash-up, my damp hair still a mess despite toweling it dry.
But then again, it's always been like this.
The first thing I saw upon entering the tavern was Ms. Crimson setting down two plates on the wooden table.
I walked over, stopping beside her as she pulled out a chair.
"Sit down and eat," she said, already digging into her food without waiting for a response.
I sat across from her and looked down at my plate.
"Oh… pancakes."
The edges were a little too burnt, but still, they smelled nice.
Three pancakes sat stacked on my plate, golden-brown with maple syrup glistening on top.
Ms. Crimson, however, had only one pancake on hers.
I blinked.
"Ms. Crimson, did you already eat two pancakes?"
She paused mid-bite, giving me a confused look.
"No, I was just about to start eating." She tilted her head. "Why? Do you want more?"
She was already reaching to hand me her plate when I quickly shook my head.
"No, no! I was just asking because I have three, and you only have one."
"Ah." She leaned back, grabbing her fork again. "I figured you'd eat more. Kids your age devour entire feasts."
She sliced her pancake without another word.
"Oh… okay. Thank you," I mumbled, before starting to eat.
The crispy pancake edges mixed with the warm sweetness of maple syrup, melting in my mouth.
As I chewed, I hesitated for a second—thinking of offering her one of mine.
But before I could say anything, Ms. Crimson finished hers in an instant, took a long sip of water, and then…
Got up.
She walked around the table, stopping directly behind me.
I blinked.
"Is something wrong?" I asked, still chewing.
She sighed.
"Exios is a man, after all," she muttered, sweeping my hair back with her fingers. "Of course he doesn't know how to take care of a little girl's hair—or give her anything to make her look decent. Gods, your hair is a mess."
Before I could react, I felt a warm breeze brushing through my tangled strands.
"Are you using magic? Like you did yesterday?"
"Yes. But for little inconveniences like this, you should use a brush."
Her hands moved carefully, smoothing through my hair, untangling knots with ease.
I kept eating, the warmth of her magic lulling me into relaxation.
For the first time since we met, it felt like we were having a good moment.
And for the first time…
I felt happy.
---
After a long journey, the carriage finally arrived at its destination.
Exios stepped out the moment the armored guard opened the door, bowing low.
A crisp breeze greeted him, rustling his coat as he stared at the place, he hadn't set foot in for years.
He wore the same casual, slightly worn attire from the day before—clothes that didn't quite fit the grandeur of where he stood now.
Still, the sight before him was exactly as he remembered.
A massive black metal gate, its bars open wide.
Beyond it—lush green fields stretching toward an enormous palace.
From this distance, the structure already looked imposing, but Exios knew better.
It was far bigger than it appeared.
A single glance was deceiving—the palace extended beyond what the eye could see, its other sections hidden from view.
As he stepped inside, the guards stationed by the gate bowed as he passed.
He paid them no mind.
Halfway down the gravel path, he noticed a figure approaching from the opposite direction.
Tall.
Well-dressed.
Unlike Exios, the man wore a deep green formal tuxedo, walking with his chin lifted high, his posture stiff with authority.
As they neared each other, both came to a stop.
They stared for a moment.
Then, the man inclined his head in a brief bow before meeting Exios's gaze with striking green eyes.
"Denver."
Exios exhaled the name softly.
"You've grown well."
Denver studied him. Then, a faint smirk appeared.
"And you've aged well, Your Highness." His words were polite, but the sharp glint in his eyes was anything but. "Finally decided to show up, have you?"
Exios smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I had no choice."
"Yes, I heard you've been running a tavern all this time." Denver's voice was casual—but laced with something deeper.
"And somehow," he continued, stepping closer, "you managed to keep your good old colleagues' mouths shut. You clearly didn't want to be found."
He tilted his head.
"Let alone return."
Silence stretched between them.
Then, with a light sigh, Denver spoke again.
"I do hope His Majesty won't plead for you to stay."
His words were smooth. But the meaning was pointed.
"After all, His Majesty has missed his younger brother so much that he spent years sending you letters.
Letters to which His Highness never responded."
Denver gave him a final glance before walking past him, exiting the gates.
Exios did not turn back.
He simply kept walking.
Kept moving forward.
And as the massive palace doors loomed closer, one thought echoed in his mind.
"Let's get this over with… and go home."
---
The tavern was closed for the afternoon, since Sir Exios was away.
So, I stayed inside, drawing in my notebook.
Ms. Crimson, sitting on a nearby chair, had fallen asleep—her head resting against the backrest.
I continued sketching, my pencil scratching lightly against the paper.
Then—
Ms. Crimson's eyes snapped open.
She sat up so fast that I flinched.
Her sharp gaze darted to the entrance door.
For a moment, she didn't move.
She simply stared.
Then, all at once, she turned to me and stood up abruptly.
"Go upstairs."
Her tone was firm.
"Lock the doors. And do not come out unless you know it's me."
She was already moving toward the entrance.
I didn't question her.
I grabbed my things and quickly rushed toward the stairs leading to my room.
Just as I reached the door, I hesitated.
My eraser—I left it on the floor.
"I have to get it—"
But—
The entrance door opened.
Ms. Crimson stood in the doorway.
And I—left my eraser behind.
---
The moment the child closed the door upstairs, Crimson opened the tavern's entrance.
And there, standing in front of her—
A reflection of herself.
A man nearly identical to her, down to the wavy red hair and piercing yellow eyes.
"Hey, Crim." Clarkson greeted smoothly, a smirk tugging at his lips.