The chamber they were assigned was larger than any of them had hoped, supported by stout wooden beams that stretched across the ceiling. A modest fireplace nestled in the far wall beckoned with warm promise. The air was infused with the comforting scents of aged pine and crisp linens, while the late afternoon sun poured through a small window, casting long, golden streaks across the time-worn floorboards. Each of the beds—one for each of them—lay neatly pinned against the walls, simple yet well-tended, thick woolen blankets folded at the foot of every mattress.

  Velrik hesitated on the threshold, his sharp eyes scanning the room with an instinctual caution that clung to him still. This space was vastly different from the cramped servant quarters at Lord Veldoran’s manor, where he didn't have his own bed, often shared or claimed by whoever arrived first. Here, however, there was room to breathe.

  Elisa stepped fully into the room, gliding her hand along the mattress nearest to the fireplace, testing its softness. "I think I could get used to this," she murmured, a small, contented smile dancing on her lips. She glanced back at Velrik, who remained lingering in the doorway, his tail curling loosely around his leg. "Well? Are you just going to stand there, or will you claim a bed?"

  Velrik's ears flicked in response, and he quickly assessed the arrangement. He padded forward, and without hesitation, slipped onto the bed adjacent to Elisa's, settling into it with a sigh of quiet relief. After spending so many nights curled against her warmth in the manor, sharing a blanket against the cruel chill that seeped through the stone walls, the familiarity was a welcome balm. She didn’t say anything—just smiled knowingly before flopping back onto her own mattress.

  Mira, stretching her arms high above her head, plopped onto the bed across from them with a satisfied groan. "Not bad. Definitely better than whatever they called a bed back at the manor. I might actually get some proper sleep for once."

  Dain snorted as he settled onto the bed nearest the door, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "You’re the loudest sleeper I’ve ever known. Proper sleep for you might mean no rest for the rest of us."

  Mira shot him an indignant look. "That’s slander! I do not snore."

  Joren laughed heartily as he flopped onto his own bed. "You do. Like a dying bear."

  Mira gasped in mock outrage, seizing the nearest pillow and launching it across the room toward Joren’s face. He caught it easily, grinning as he tossed it right back. "If you weren’t so tired, I’d make you eat that pillow," she threatened playfully before falling back onto her bed, arms stretched blissfully behind her head.

  Velrik observed the lively exchange with quiet amusement. The lighthearted banter eased some tension he hadn’t realized still gripped his chest. The weight of their newfound freedom and the uncertainty of what lay ahead lingered at the edges of his mind, but for now, it felt distant—muffled beneath the sound of laughter shared among friends.

  Elisa turned her head toward him, studying his expression. "What’s on your mind?"

  Velrik paused, glancing around at the others before answering softly, "It’s just strange. Having all of this."

  Dain nodded in agreement. "Aye. Feels like some trick. Like we’ll wake up back in that cursed manor any moment now."

  Elisa reached over, squeezing Velrik’s hand briefly before releasing it. "But it’s not a trick. We’re here, Vel. We’re free. And that means we can start figuring out what we want to do next."

  He didn’t respond immediately, yet the knot in his chest eased just a little more. Glancing once more at the beds, the fireplace, and the small but comfortable space that housed them, he marveled at the thought of having choices, a luxury they didn’t have before. That notion alone sent an odd mix of excitement and unease curling through his stomach.

  Joren clapped his hands together, usually his preamble for a declaration. "Well, since we’re living in the lap of luxury now, I say we make the most of it. Who’s up for celebrating?"

  Mira shot up immediately, raising her hand. "Absolutely! I want to see how much good food I can fit in my stomach before I regret it."

  Dain smirked, glancing at her with amusement. "That’s a dangerous challenge."

  Elisa rolled her eyes, but a smile broke through. "I suppose we deserve at least one good meal without worrying about tomorrow."

  Velrik tilted his head. "But what if the food’s terrible?" Velrik was accustomed to the food at the manor.

  Mira threw an arm around his shoulders, grinning broadly. "Then we’ll just drink enough to make it taste better," she quipped before remembering Velrik was only ten. "Don't fret, the food will be wonderful. Food out here is nothing like you’re used to eating."

  Joren chuckled as he pushed himself up. "Then let’s see what this tavern has to offer. Maybe we’ll even get lucky and overhear some useful gossip."

  Dain stood, rolling his shoulders with a sigh of satisfaction. "And ale. Lots of ale."

  With that, the group gathered their energy, shaking off the weight of exhaustion and uncertainty. Velrik slid his satchel beneath his soft mattress, ensuring his few belongings remained secure. The day had been long and the road wrought with twists and turns, but for the first time in years, they possessed the freedom to choose where it led next.

  And tonight, at least, they would celebrate that very fact.

  That evening, the tavern pulsed with living energy; the hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter blended effortlessly with the warm glow of lanterns strung from the wooden beams. The tantalizing scents of roasting meat and freshly baked bread filled the air, wafting alongside the rich aroma of ale and spiced cider.

  Velrik trailed closely behind the others down the stairs, his sharp eyes flickering across the thrumming room. Patrons filled heavy wooden tables, tankards in hand, their expressions bright from drink and merriment. A minstrel strummed a lively tune on a lute in the corner, plucking the strings with deft fingers as some patrons clapped along in time.

  Elisa led them to a table near the back, slightly removed from the thickest part of the crowd but still close enough to soak in the tavern’s warmth. Dain thudded down onto a bench with a satisfied grunt, cracking his knuckles and assessing the lively atmosphere. “Now this,” he declared, “this is how a night should be spent.”

  Mira flopped down beside Velrik, ruffling his fur in a teasingly affectionate manner. “I think our little fox has never been to a real tavern before,” she mused with a smirk, enjoying the sight of Velrik swatting her hand away with an indignant chuff.

  “I’m not little,” he protested, folding his arms defiantly.

  “You’re smaller than me, so that counts,” she shot back with a gleam of victory in her eye.

  Before Velrik could retort further, the innkeeper approached their table, her sturdy form navigating with practiced ease through the bustling crowd. “Have you decided what you’d like?” she inquired, eyeing them with knowing mirth. “I can assure you, I won’t be servin’ anything bland to a lot like you.”

  Elisa greeted her with a grateful smile. “We’d love to hear what you have.”

  The woman nodded approvingly and detailed their options: roasted lamb with herbs and honey-glazed carrots, thick venison stew with crusty brown bread, a platter of roasted fowl drizzled with garlic and buttered greens, or a spiced sausage pie encased in a golden-baked crust.

  Velrik's mouth watered as he listened. Back at the manor, they had been fed, yet meals had always been austere, nutritious but hardly indulgent. This was something entirely different.

  Dain swiftly ordered the venison stew, while Joren and Mira opted for the spiced sausage pie. Elisa, ever thoughtful, selected the roasted lamb. Velrik hesitated before settling on the same—feeling just a bit more confident in his choice now that Elisa had chosen it as well.

  As the innkeeper disappeared into the kitchen, the group relaxed and succumbed to the inviting atmosphere enveloping them. For the first time in eons, there was no fear of being watched, no oppressive weight of commands hovering overhead. They were simply here, together, as free people.

  “So,” Joren asked with a smirk as he leaned back against the bench, “how long before we start planning our futures? Or are we just going to live off Lucien’s generosity forever?”

  Mira chuckled. “Please, do you think we’d last that long? We’ll surely grow restless before the week’s out.”

  Elisa shook her head but was smiling nonetheless. “For now, let’s savor this moment. Tomorrow can wait.”

  Velrik found himself smiling as he listened to their banter, the warmth of camaraderie wrapping around him like a thick, soothing blanket. He had never known this feeling before—this sense of belonging, of being part of something that wasn’t forced upon him.

  Their food arrived soon after, and Velrik’s nose twitched, hungry at the heavenly scent wafting up from the plates. The roasted lamb glistened enticingly with herbs and juices, the honey-glazed carrots artfully laid beside it, their edges caramelized to perfection. A generous portion of mashed potatoes, rich with butter and cream, accompanied the dish, the surface lightly crisped from the hearth’s warmth.

  Dain wasted no time, diving into his stew and emitting a pleased grunt as he broke a chunk of bread to dip into the thick broth. “Now that,” he declared between hearty bites, “is a meal.”

  Joren hummed in agreement and was already halfway through his pie, while Mira eagerly bit into hers, groaning in delight at the delightful blend of spices and savory sausage filling. “Gods, this is good.”

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  Velrik hesitated for a mere moment before taking his first bite of the lamb. The meat melted on his tongue, its flavors elevated by fragrant herbs and the kiss of sweetness from the glaze. The carrots were tender yet had just enough bite, their natural sweetness multiplied by the honey. He had never tasted anything quite like it.

  Elisa watched him, a smile dancing on her lips. “Good?”

  He nodded swiftly, still chewing. “Really good.”

  Laughter bubbled at the table as Mira clapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit, Vel! Eat up; we’re celebrating!”

  The night wore on, plates gradually emptying as they savored the delicious food and the warmth of each other's company. The minstrel’s tune morphed into a livelier melody, and a few patrons took to dancing in the open space between tables, their movements free-spirited and unhindered by the burden of worry or hardship.

  Velrik found himself captivated by the scene, his green, vertically slit eyes fixed on the dancers. He had never witnessed anything like it before, certainly not in person. At the manor, music had always felt distant, played solely for the amusement of the nobles, never for those of his kind. But here, it felt alive—an organic part of the people rather than something loftily removed.

  Elisa nudged him gently. “Ever danced before?”

  He blinked, ears twitching. “No.”

  “Well, now’s as good a time as any to learn,” she said with a warm chuckle. “Dancing isn’t merely for fun—it’s meant for celebration, for freedom.”

  Heat crept into Velrik's cheeks, and he quickly turned his attention back to his plate. He has never danced before and doesn't think it's something he would want to do in front of everyone, much less an entire tavern. His response elicited a laugh from Mira. “Don’t worry, Vel. You don’t need to concern yourself with Elisa’s terrible dancing; just enjoy your food.” She shot a playful jab at Elisa.

  Dain chuckled into his tankard. “Look who’s talking.”

  Elisa shot him a sharp look. “At least I’m not already drunk!” she chimed with laughter.

  Dain raised his hands in mock surrender.

  The warmth of the evening settled deeper into Velrik’s chest as he listened to their playful banter. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he found no reason to worry about what might come next.

  The night unfolded with a comforting ease, the tavern’s atmosphere wrapping around them like a warm, woolen cloak. Laughter rang out over the clank of tankards, and the rich aroma of spiced cider and roasting meat never faded, merely shifting as fresh plates and drinks passed by bustling servers.

  At a nearby table, a group of traders huddled together over a map, speaking in hushed but animated tones between sips of ale. One of them—a weathered man with a thick, braided beard—caught Dain’s eye and raised his tankard in silent acknowledgment. Dain reciprocated the gesture, nodding before turning back to his own drink.

  Near the hearth, a woman with beautifully kept curly red hair played a spirited tune on a fiddle, her foot tapping in rhythm as a few patrons clapped along. A young couple twirled through the open space; their movements somewhat unsteady from drink but vibrant nonetheless. Their joy was contagious, drawing others into the improvised dance.

  Velrik, still savoring the last tender bite of his lamb, let his eyes wander around the room, taking in the details. After so long spent observing others for survival, for signs of danger, it felt strange to simply watch out of curiosity. His ears flicked toward snippets of conversation—the exaggerated boasts of a fisherman claiming to have wrestled with a river beast, whispered negotiations from a merchant seeking a better price for his wares, and the high-pitched giggles of a serving girl responding to a patron's undoubtedly ridiculous jest.

  At one point, a burly man with a nose like a broken anvil stomped toward their table, swaying slightly as he loomed over them. “Well, ain’t you a sight,” he rumbled, his voice thick with the timbre of ale and curiosity. “A fox sittin’ at a table, eatin’ like a proper man. Never thought I’d see the day.”

  Velrik tensed instinctively, his tail curling around his leg and his grip tightening around his fork.

  Before he could muster a response, Elisa leaned forward, her voice light yet firm. “He’s got better manners than most folk in here, I’d wager.”

  The man blinked, clearly taken aback by her swift retort. After a moment, he erupted into a loud guffaw, slapping his knee for emphasis. “Fair enough, lass! Fair enough.” With that, he turned away, muttering to himself as he staggered back toward the bar.

  Mira snickered, nudging Velrik’s shoulder. “Careful, Vel. You’re turning heads. Might have to start charging folks just to get a look at you.”

  Velrik rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t suppress the small smirk that tugged at his lips. Perhaps he could spin his unique appearance to his advantage in some ways.

  The night stretched out, filled with the comfortable symphony of voices and music. Dain, having finished his meal, struck up a conversation with the bearded trader, exchanging stories about smithing techniques and the quality of ore found in various regions. Mira found herself drawn into a lively dice game at a nearby table, her sharp eyes sparkling with mischief as she weighed her odds. Joren leaned back against the bench, quietly enjoying his drink as he observed the room with a look of contentment.

  Elisa, ever-the-watchful, cast a glance at Velrik as he fought against a yawn. “Getting tired?”

  “No,” he said quickly, though the droop of his ears betrayed him.

  Elisa smiled knowingly. “You can rest your head if you wish. We’ll be here for a while yet.”

  Velrik hesitated, but after a moment, he allowed himself to lean against her side, finding comfort in her presence—a steady source of warmth in a world that had long felt uncertain.

  As the fiddler struck up a new song, faster and more playful than before, the tavern erupted into another round of laughter and clapping. A few patrons stomped their boots in rhythm, and the serving girls twirled between the tables, their skirts flaring with each joyful motion.

  For the first time in years, Velrik was not merely surviving; he was a part of something larger—part of a night belonging to them, a memory that would linger long after the fire burned low and the last notes of the fiddle faded into the stillness of evening.

  As morning sunlight cast a soft golden glow through the narrow window of their shared room, streaking the wooden floor with light. The warmth of the blankets and the comfort of an actual bed had induced the deepest sleep any of them had savored in years, and for a moment, the world felt peaceful.

  Velrik stirred first, ears twitching at the faint creaks of footsteps in the hall beyond their room. He blinked, adjusting to the dim light before stretching, his tail curling around his leg. In the next bed, Elisa was already sitting up, rubbing her eyes as she yawned. Dain, unsurprisingly, remained sprawled out, snoring softly, while Mira groaned and buried her face in her pillow, even as Joren sat up, stretching his arms with a grunt of exertion.

  “Time to get up, lazybones,” Elisa teased, nudging Mira’s shoulder.

  Mira let out a muffled groan. “Five more minutes.”

  Dain cracked open one eye only to close it again. "Let her be. We ain't got anywhere to be just yet."

  Velrik sat up, rubbing his face with his hands. "We should head downstairs," he murmured. "The innkeeper’s likely got food by now."

  That was enough to stir the rest of the group, even Mira, who reluctantly pushed herself upright and ran a hand through her tousled hair. The prospect of breakfast served as potent motivation.

  After slipping on their boots and shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, the group made their way downstairs. The common room was quieter than the night before, the raucous laughter and music replaced by the gentle clatter of plates and the soft murmur of early risers enjoying their meals. Scattered patrons sat at the wooden tables, some nursing mugs of steaming cider or weak ale, while others dug into generous portions of food. The scents of fresh bread, sizzling bacon, and something sweet—perhaps honeyed porridge—mingled in the air.

  The innkeeper, her sleeves rolled up as she maneuvered between tables, spotted them and waved them over. “Morning, young ones. Slept well?”

  “Like a log,” Dain declared, dropping into a chair with a satisfied sigh.

  “Good to hear. Breakfast’s simple but filling—eggs, bacon, fresh bread, and some porridge if you’ve a sweet tooth.”

  Elisa smiled warmly. "That sounds perfect."

  Velrik climbed onto the bench beside her as the innkeeper retreated into the kitchen. He glanced around the room, his keen eyes identifying the other patrons. A burly man with salt-and-pepper hair sat near the hearth, calmly reading a book while murmuring to himself. A pair of young women shared a table, laughter escaping between hushed tones. A merchant-looking fellow meticulously counted coins at his table, occasionally taking sips from his mug. The others sat in quiet conversation but paid little heed to their small gathering.

  The innkeeper soon returned, bearing steaming plates laden with delicious offerings. Velrik’s mouth watered as he beheld the sight—crispy bacon, soft scrambled eggs, and lavish slices of warmth. He picked up a piece of bread, taking a generous bite and relishing the warmth that seeped into him.

  "Alright," Joren said between mouthfuls, "we should probably start spinning our thoughts about what’s next. We’ve got a place to stay for now, thanks to Lucien, but that won’t last forever."

  Mira nodded, tearing off a portion of bread. "We need coin. Living free means paying our way."

  Elisa exhaled, placing her fork down. "We all have skills. Dain, you could find work as a smith. Joren, you’re good with odd jobs and horses. Mira and I can keep our ears to the ground for now and perhaps find work as barmaids or something similar."

  Dain grunted in acknowledgment. "Aye, but I’d need a forge to work in. Who’s going to employ a fellow with no proper experience to his name?"

  Joren responded grimly. "Same issue for all of us. We’re free, yet without a past, we’re essentially no one."

  Velrik listened, a frown crossing his brow as thoughts raced through his mind. "We can take whatever work comes our way, but—ideally, something that lets us stay together."

  Elisa regarded him, curiosity glimmering in her gaze. "Do you have anything specific in mind?"

  He hesitated, then shook his head. "Not yet. But we should probably learn more about what's around us. If we’re going to live here, we need to know the city better."

  Mira leaned back, arms crossed. "Well, we’ll figure something out eventually. For the time being, we can explore the city."

  Velrik frowned, tail twitching as he sifted through his thoughts.

  For now, they had a roof over their heads and food to fill their stomachs. That was more than they’d had in quite some time. Yet, freedom meant more than just escaping chains—it was about carving out a place in the world that none could take from them.

  Mira stretched, rolling her shoulders before flashing a grin at Velrik. "You know what we need first? New clothes."

  Velrik blinked then grimaced when he realized they would try and make him wear clothes. He hadn’t worn proper clothing since arriving at the manor. It wasn’t that he disliked them, but they were uncomfortable against his fur.

  Dain’s sleeves were threadbare, Joren’s boots had seen better days, and Mira’s blouse bore a tear near the hem. Even Elisa, who tried to keep her appearance tidy, had frayed edges on her skirt. They all needed a new change of clothes or two.

  “She’s right,” Elisa conceded, brushing away some lint from her sleeve. “We’ll need to present ourselves well if we’re to find work. Especially you, Vel. We can’t have you wandering about like that.”

  Velrik’s ears fell back, and he shrugged. "I don’t really—”

  "You do," Joren interjected. "At the very least, a tunic or a cloak. A hooded one, preferably. It'll make it easier to keep prying eyes off you."

  With shoulders slumping, Velrik succumbed to their collective insistence.

  After finishing their breakfast, they gathered what little they owned and stepped out into the morning bustle of the city. The air was fresh, and the streets had already come alive with merchants setting up stalls, traders unloading carts, and townsfolk going about their daily routines. The scents of fresh bread, spices, and dew mingled with the occasional whiff of horse droppings and smoke from chimneys.

  Mira took the lead, her eyes scanning various shops and street vendors. "Alright, let’s find something that makes us look a little less like we just crawled out of the gutter."

  As they ventured through the market, stopping at a few different stalls and shops, Velrik found himself captivated by a sturdy dark green cloak, one that would help him blend into the shadows more easily. Elisa selected a practical yet well-fitted dress, allowing her freedom of movement. Joren and Dain both opted for simple tunics and trousers, while Mira cunningly chose a vest and blouse with a touch of flair, clearly relishing the opportunity to pick something for herself.

  After some haggling—mostly executed by Mira, who had a knack for it—they left with fresh attire that transformed their appearances from escaped thralls to travelers and workers.

  As they stepped back into the street, Velrik adjusted the brooch on his cloak, glancing at the others. "So, what now?"

  Elisa grinned. "Now? Let’s just roam around and see what’s nearby. Maybe we’ll find a place to work, too."

  Velrik had anticipated a well-thought-out plan but was met instead with a simple, quick reply.