It had been a long day’s ride north, the road winding through wet fields and gray woods. Tea and Vea rode beside their master, Borch Three Jackdaws, their sabres clinking softly at their hips. By dusk, the trio reached a roadside inn — smoke curling from the chimney, laughter spilling through the door. Inside, the air was thick with ale and the smell of roasted meat.

They entered in silence, eyes scanning every corner. A few patrons looked up — some with curiosity, others with unease at the unusual sight of the Zerrikanian warriors, their tattooed faces gleaming in the firelight as the three found a table in a corner.