The wooden door creaked open, and conversation in the smoky tavern faltered. Rain clung to the stranger’s dark armor as he stepped inside, the torchlight glinting off silver trim and a broadsword at his hip. Muddy boots thudded across the floorboards, each step deliberate, heavy with purpose.

The bard missed a note. A drunkard stopped mid-laugh. Even the barkeep paused mid-pour.

The knight removed his helm, revealing sharp features, soaked black hair, and eyes that scanned the room with calm intensity. He didn’t speak—he didn’t need to. Chairs scraped quietly aside as patrons made room, an unspoken respect—or fear—passing through the crowd.

He approached the bar, placed a coin down with a solid clink, and said only, “Ale, if you don't mind.”