Chapter 70: Morning at Eleanor's Hearth
The night after their heated battle, Alarcus and Kael settled into the rooms Reyn had provided at his forge. Alarcus lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Though his face betrayed none of his emotions, frustration simmered beneath the surface. The thought of having to redo the mountain of paperwork their fight had destroyed irked him to no end. Yet, mixed with his annoyance was a pang of guilt. He had been too quick to react, and his arrows had struck Kael in the heat of the moment. Worse, their reckless battle had driven monsters toward the small villages nearby, endangering innocent lives.
In the adjacent room, Kael lay sprawled across his bed, his snores resonating faintly through the walls. Yet, as dawn approached, his eyes flickered open, and a grin spread across his face as he thought back to the previous day. Their fight had been exhilarating. He could still feel the rush of adrenaline, the satisfaction of pushing his limits against an opponent as skilled as Alarcus. Despite their clash being interrupted by Reyn's overwhelming power, Kael couldn't help but relish the exchange.
"That guy's incredible," Kael muttered to himself, stretching lazily. "But Alarcus… that was fun. I wouldn't mind a rematch someday—without the arrows aimed at my face, maybe." He chuckled at the thought, already itching for another fight to test his mettle.
The next morning, Eleanor's Hearth bustled with life. The smell of sizzling bacon, fresh bread, and spiced tea filled the air. Customers filled every table, their chatter blending with the clink of silverware and the soft crackle of the hearth's fire. Reyn's mother, Eleanor, stood at the center of it all, barking orders to her staff with a mixture of authority and exhaustion.
"Table five needs more bread! And someone clear that table in the corner—it's been empty for five minutes!" she called, her voice carrying over the din.
Though tired, Eleanor couldn't help but feel a flicker of pride. Her son's gift of this restaurant had given her a new sense of purpose, even if the endless stream of customers tested her patience daily. "Reyn," she muttered under her breath, "you couldn't have made my life a little easier?"
At the far end of the room, a storyteller stood on a small stage, his voice carrying over the morning bustle. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, clearing his throat. "Today, we have some exciting new tales to share, courtesy of the same mind that brought us the God of War saga. This morning, during breakfast hours, I'll be sharing a tale called s-CRY-ed. A little tricky to say, I know." He chuckled, drawing laughter from the crowd. "It's a story of individuals with unique abilities, caught in a struggle between freedom and order."
Murmurs of intrigue rippled through the room as he continued.
"For lunch, I'll be telling Final Fantasy XIII. It's an epic tale of a group of brave souls battling against their fates in a world divided between the floating city of Cocoon and the wildlands of Pulse."
Kael paused mid-bite, eyes lighting up at the mention of such an adventurous story.
"And finally," the storyteller said with a dramatic pause, "at dinner, we return to a beloved saga with God of War. This time, it's the tale of Kratos and his son Atreus, journeying through the Norse realms."
The audience buzzed with excitement, wondering what twists and turns these new stories would hold. Many speculated about the settings, wondering if they'd explore entirely new worlds.
Kael and Alarcus sat at a corner table, breakfast plates in front of them. Kael dug into his meal with gusto, while Alarcus sipped his tea, quietly observing the lively scene.
"You think these stories are worth the hype?" Kael asked between bites.
"Considering the crowd?" Alarcus replied, glancing around at the captivated faces. "Definitely. And if Reyn's involved, there's bound to be something special about them."
Kael grinned. "Speaking of Reyn, did you see how easily he stopped our fight? I still can't believe someone that young has that kind of power. I've got to spar with him someday."
Alarcus smirked. "You might want to hold off until you've recovered from yesterday. Besides, I'd rather hear the stories first."
Unbeknownst to them, the Duke of Greyhold sat a few tables away, disguised in simple clothing. Beside him, his knight captain—also in plain attire—kept a watchful eye on the room.
The Duke sipped his tea, a rare look of contentment on his face. It's been too long since I've mingled with my people like this, he thought. The lively atmosphere of Eleanor's Hearth was a refreshing break from the rigid formality of court life.
Unbeknownst to most, the Duke of the western region roland was also present. Disguised as a common citizen, he sat at a table near the back with his knight captain, who was also in disguise. The Duke savored the rare opportunity to escape the monotony of his office and immerse himself in the vibrant energy of the common folk. He silently thanked the gods for the peace and prosperity his lands and allies had enjoyed in recent years. He also couldn't help thinking of all the good deeds his son and daughter had done around the western region with the blades given to them by the Blacksmith of a Thousand Tales.
His thoughts turned to the stories. These tales have captured the hearts of my citizens. Who is the mind behind them? Someone with such imagination could be an invaluable ally—or a dangerous mystery.
Little did Reyn know, the stories he shared were not confined to the walls of Eleanor's Hearth. Merchants passing through Greyhold, ever keen to capitalize on popular trends, had begun transcribing the tales as books. They would sell them in markets across the Empire of Caelum, spreading Reyn's creations far and wide.
In bustling human cities and someday reaching elven libraries, beastman trading posts, and even among the dwarven forges, whispers of these new tales will take root. Stories of warriors defying gods, worlds of magic and destiny, and conflicts between extraordinary powers piqued the curiosity of people from all walks of life.
Back in Eleanor's Hearth, the storyteller began weaving the first lines of s-CRY-ed, the room falling into a hushed silence. Even the Duke leaned forward slightly, eager to be swept away by the tale.
Meanwhile, Reyn was busy with his usual work in the forge, blissfully unaware of the ripple effect his stories will create. If he had known that his tales were spreading across the empire, reaching the distant reaches of the elf, beastman, and dwarf empires, he would have been overjoyed. The thought that his imagination, his dreams, were touching the hearts and minds of so many people would have filled him with pride.
Perhaps he would have even chuckled at the idea that something as simple as a story—told around a warm hearth—could change the world in its own small way. But Reyn, always modest, would have never imagined just how far his influence would stretch, unaware that the seeds of his tales were now blooming across lands far beyond Greyhold.