The wagon clattered over worn cobblestone as the hills grew steeper, the land more wild. Eventually, twilight gathered around them, and lanterns flickered to life like fireflies. Crows perched on crooked rooftops as they rolled into a small outpost town nestled between two craggy ridges. The air hung thick with woodsmoke, damp hay, and something heavier—like anticipation.
Boo jumped down first, stretching her back until it popped. "We're gonna need better food than dried berries and half a crust of bread if we're going where I think we're going."
Nyxia dismounted more gracefully, her hood drawn up. Her spectral tail—half spirit, half flesh—dragged low in the dust, and her new, pale ears twitched beneath the cloth, rotating subtly toward distant noises. Loque padded silently beside her—just a shimmer to most, but wholly real and ever-present to her.
They found a tavern tucked into a crooked alley—one of those places where the floor stuck to your boots, eyes watched from corners, and the air reeked of secrets. Smoke curled lazily from the hearth. The music—if it could be called that—came from a one-string lute and a baritone snore.
Boo sauntered up to the bar and slapped down a few coins. "Two meals. Two ales. And we're lookin' for work."
The barkeep, a narrow-eyed goblin with a scar down one brow and a brass ring through his nostril, didn't blink. "Ain't no honest work around here. Just bets and bruises."
Nyxia's eyes narrowed, glowing faintly. "Fighting ring?"
The goblin gave them a measured look. "Might be. Might not. Depends who's askin'."
Loque growled low—inaudible to most. Boo leaned forward with a grin sharp as a dagger's edge.
"Let's say I'm askin'. Politely."
That got a nod toward the back. A tall woman sat cloaked in too many layers for the heat, tattoos curling up her throat like smoke. Her gaze gleamed like flint.
"She runs the names. S'called The Pit. Not local. No signs, no maps. You follow the red stones in the riverbed east."
Nyxia and Boo exchanged a look. Loque's tail flicked once.
"Sounds illegal," Nyxia muttered.
"Which means someone's suffering," Boo replied, eyes already on the woman in the corner. "And where there's suffering… there's someone to gut."
They ate fast—a greasy stew that barely qualified as food, stale bread that softened only in ale—and booked a room upstairs after a hard-won haggle. The room smelled faintly of sweat and damp stone, but it had a lock and four walls. In towns like this, that was luxury.
"Cozy," Boo said dryly, tossing her cloak over the lone chair. "Bet the fleas are unionized."
Nyxia snorted, removing her bow and loosening her hood. "It'll do."
Still buzzing from the mystery of The Pit, and eager to shake the edge of adrenaline, they made their way back down to the tavern's main floor, where the mood had shifted from wary to raucous. Voices rose, tankards clinked, and the smoke was thicker now—not just pipeweed, but something heavier, sweeter… bloodthistle.
A heavyset Tauren near the hearth puffed leisurely on a long-stemmed pipe, smoke curling upward around the brass ring in his horn. His chestnut fur gleamed in the firelight, bare save for a necklace of teeth and bone.
"You ladies look like you've had a day," he said, voice deep and slow, eyes amused.
"We survived one," Boo quipped, sliding into the seat beside him. "Got room for two more at that fire of yours, or you territorial?"
The Tauren chuckled, his breath trailing a plume of blue-tinted smoke. "Ain't my fire. And it burns for anyone willin' to laugh at the dark."
He passed the pipe. Boo took a drag—deep and smooth—and coughed only once. "Sweet gods, I missed the good stuff." She handed it to Nyxia.
Nyxia hesitated, then took a cautious puff. The bloodthistle hit her instantly—a warm rush of vertigo and quiet disarmament. Her tail flicked once, then stilled. She exhaled slowly, eyes softening.
I don't trust this town, came Loque's voice in her mind, low and dry. But I trust your judgment. Mostly.
She blinked once. Telepathy still startled her sometimes.
"I'm Draj," the Tauren said. "Used to fight in The Pit. Broke a troll's leg with a bench once. Got stabbed with a bottle. Miss those days sometimes."
"I'm Boo. This is Nyxia." Boo grinned. "We're thinkin' of signing up."
Draj gave a long, low laugh. "You don't look like Pit meat."
"We're not," Boo said. "We're trouble."
What followed was a haze of stories, smoke, and vanishing sobriety. Boo flirted outrageously, teasing Draj and Nyxia both. Nyxia loosened up in rare fashion, laughing at Draj's tales of drunken duels, failed hexes, and a goblin who tried to fight with a live chicken strapped to each boot. Boo doubled over laughing, fell off the bench, and took Nyxia with her in a tangle of limbs and giggles.
Somewhere between the fourth ale and another puff of bloodthistle, Boo fumbled through her pouch and pulled out parchment. "I need a raven," she slurred. "Where's the… the bird room?"
"What are you doing?" Nyxia asked, half-lounging near the fire.
"Important letter," Boo replied, dipping a borrowed quill in spilled ale.
Purrshus—
Are yu still aliv? We might be. Nyx says we are but I think she's juss tryin to be bossy wif facts.
We drank. A lot. Then a bigass cowman named Draj shaird sum bloodthissle wif us. He smokes it like a poet. Said sumthin abowt da stars havin teeth?? I think I luv him. He scared of goblins which is WILD coz he's huge.
We fownd a pit. Not a hole. Like, a fyt place. Called THE PIT. Caps. We mite fyt. Mite bet. Mite kiss sumone's mom. IDK. No maps jus rocks in water. Red ones. Nyx says follow em. I say roll down em.
Nyx is funner than ppl think. She snorted beer. I saw her SMILE. Thrice. She has this laugh? Like a sunbeam curlin in a hammock. I'm not cryin ur cryin. –B
She paid a stablehand a silver coin to carry it to the nearest raven tower. Whether it arrived didn't matter. The thought of Perseus reading it mid-mission was joy enough.
Later, they stumbled upstairs. Boo cursed the lock like it owed her money. Inside, they collapsed onto the bed, half-drunk and high from bloodthistle. Boo curled an arm around Nyxia and sighed, the ceiling spinning lazily.
"I like this part," she murmured. "Before the blades and blood. Before it all gets messy."
Nyxia turned to face her, resting her forehead against Boo's. "Me too."
Loque settled at the foot of the bed like a mist-wrapped guardian. Outside, wind rattled the shutters like bones.
Tomorrow they'd follow the red stones—toward The Pit, and whatever shadows lay waiting.
Tonight, they just breathed.
—
They didn't know when they fell asleep. One moment Boo was giggling into a piece of stale bread she swore was blinking at her. The next, the room was dim with early haze. Nyxia sprawled like a queen felled mid-reign—half on the bed, half tangled in her cloak. Boo's head rested squarely on Nyxia's backside, arm thrown over her thigh like a drunken oath.
Loque sat watch in the corner. His tail thumped once.
You're being reckless again, he murmured into Nyxia's dreams. Letting down your guard. Letting someone in.
But there was affection behind the words, like an old soul watching the stars shift and choosing—for once—not to stop them.
Boo stirred with a hiccup. "...Nyx, yer butt's comfy," she muttered before flopping off and dragging herself to her feet. "Shower. Gonna die if I don't. My teeth smell like betrayal."
The washroom was cramped but private. Boo stripped with casual boldness—toned and graceful, marked by scars in intimate places. Under warm water, she groaned dramatically and sang half a tavern song while scrubbing her hair with something that smelled like citrus and sin.
Afterward, wrapped in a towel, she pinned daggers into her braids and admired herself in the mirror.
"Still got it."
Nyxia woke with a groan. "Ugh. Your head was on me."
Boo winked. "You're welcome."
Nyxia made her way to the washroom. She undressed with little fanfare—graceful but blunt. Her skin gleamed pale and moonlit under the lanternlight, spectral markings faintly visible along her shoulders and hips, as if Loque had left ghost-paw prints in his wake. Her tail shimmered, curled protectively around her ankle.
The shower was quick, methodical. She gasped only once—when the water hit the claw-scar on her thigh.
Clean, dressed in dark leathers again, she emerged to find Boo braiding feathers into her hair.
Nyxia raised a brow.
"Don't judge me," Boo said, "I'm a masterpiece."
Nyxia said nothing.
But she smiled.
Just once.
And Loque, ever watching, let his tail thump again.