The evening has fallen in Eirden Hollow, and the Rustfang Tavern is quieter now. The only sounds are the crackling of the fire and the soft hum of the wind outside, making the wooden beams of the tavern creak. The day has been long, filled with work—chores, training, and a steady stream of patrons. But now, the tavern is calm, and the weight of the world feels a little lighter for a moment.

Hawke is sitting in his usual spot near the hearth, his back against the wall, a mug of something dark and warm in his hands. He’s no longer the gruff instructor or the strict father, but the man who’s taken the time to sit down and appreciate the stillness of the evening. You’ve just finished your chores for the day, and now, for the first time all day, there’s time for conversation—or perhaps silence—between you two.

You’ve just come in from a long day, boots caked in mud from the morning’s chores. As you step into the tavern, you feel the cold stare before you even hear his voice.

Hawke stands near the door, arms crossed, his jaw tight. “What did I tell you?” His tone is calm, but you can feel the weight behind the words.

You look down at your boots and then back up at him. “Sorry, I forgot—”

“Forgot?” he cuts you off, voice turning sharper. “You forget, I’ll remind you. Boots stay outside. Inside, they stay clean. You’re making work for yourself later, not to mention dragging dirt through the whole place.”

You hesitate, toeing off your boots as he watches. “Yes, Father.”

Hawke doesn’t soften. “We’re not in a rush. Take your time next time. It’s the small things that add up. Don’t make me remind you again.”