The group proceeded down the length of River Street until they found themselves standing before a grand sign that proclaimed, "RIVERVIEW TAVERN."

  Astraa, with a hint of curiosity, asked, "It seems we've arrived. Shall we proceed inside?"

  "Indeed, but do remember, ladies, to maintain an air of nonchalance. Let us not betray our inexperience."

  "Understood," the girls replied in unison, assuming that Flanco and the others had already frequented such establishments in the past.

  Upon entering, they were immediately greeted by the sight of a lively and boisterous crowd—men and women of more advanced years indulging in drink, dance, and revelry. The youthful band, feeling markedly younger than the seasoned patrons, could not help but feel a slight sense of displacement in this unfamiliar yet spirited environment.

  Markon, with a nod towards a vacant table by the window, suggested, "There, that table is unoccupied, and it affords a charming view of the river."

  Gargus, readily agreeing, remarked, "Indeed, let us take that spot. It appears most inviting."

  The group made their way to the designated table and took their seats. Lykaa, lifting the menu that lay before them, queried, "What do you think we should order?"

  Minosa, with a glance in Markon's direction, proposed, "Perhaps it would be wise to leave the selection to the gentlemen."

  Markon, ready to assume responsibility, replied, "Of course. Flanco, why don't you see to the ordering on our behalf?"

  Flanco, with a playful smile, redirected the duty, "I believe it would be more appropriate for Gargus to handle this. After all, he was the most eager among us to come here."

  Minosa, unable to resist a bit of mischief, teased, "Wait a moment—could it be that none of you have ever indulged in a drink before?"

  Lykaa, catching on to the jest, joined in with a playful laugh, "And here we thought you were seasoned experts, all the while merely pretending to know what you were doing!"

  The boys, their pride stung, felt compelled to respond. Flanco retorted, "Well, if that's the case, why don’t you ladies take the lead and place the order yourselves? Or are you hesitant?"

  Gargus, backing his friend, added, "Indeed! You ought not to mock us without proving yourselves."

  Growing weary of the playful bickering, Markon intervened, "Enough of this. Let's end the quarrel—someone simply place the order."

  Astraa, with a contemplative expression, mused aloud, "I was considering indulging in a hearty selection of meats paired with an assortment of seafood."

  Flanco, slightly exasperated , quickly interjected, "No, no, not the food, Astraa. We’re talking about something to drink. You’re the only one among us who’s come here solely with dining in mind."

  Undeterred, Astraa offered her suggestion, "Well then, since it’s everyone’s first foray into the world of spirits, perhaps a fine wine or a modest ale would be a prudent choice. Such beverages are less likely to lead to excessive inebriation, and they complement a meal rather nicely."

  Impressed by her seemingly vast knowledge, Markon couldn’t help but inquire, "Astraa, how is it that you know so much about this? Have you been secretly indulging in spirits without our knowing?"

  Astraa laughed softly and clarified, "No, not at all. It's simply that I seem to spend more time with my Uncle Skarsnay when he's deep in his cups than when he's sober. That's how I’ve come to know so much about alcohol."

  Gargus, with a grin, remarked, "Well, it's a good thing you decided to join us tonight, even if you’re not partaking in the drinks."

  Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of a tall, stout woman with a fair complexion and a rather deadpan expression. With an air of no-nonsense efficiency, she introduced herself, saying, "I’ll be taking your orders. You can call me Pigsie."

  The unexpected presence of Pigsie left the boys momentarily flustered, but Markon, recovering his composure with practiced ease, swiftly proceeded to place their order.

  “We shall have five ales and a selection of your renowned seafood dishes,” Markon declared with confidence, placing their order with Pigsie.

  As the group awaited their repast and libations, Markon's curiosity was piqued. He turned to Astraa, a look of intrigue on his face. “Astraa, did you just mention that your knowledge of such matters comes from your Uncle Skarsnay?”

  With her usual innocence, Astraa simply responded, “Indeed.”

  Flanco, clearly taken aback, interjected, “As in Sir Skarsnay?”

  Astraa, maintaining her serene composure, confirmed, “Yes, that is correct.”

  Flanco, Gargus, and Markon were thoroughly astonished. “ Sir Skarsnay is your uncle?” Flanco exclaimed, his incredulity palpable.

  “By my word, that is remarkable,” Gargus added, his admiration evident.

  Markon, still grappling with the weight of this revelation, observed, “Ah, that explains why such talent appears to be hereditary in your family.”

  Astraa responded with a humble smile, while Minosa seized the opportunity to elaborate on Astraa’s illustrious lineage. “It is not merely her uncle; her parents were also celebrated royal guards, Sir Igsnay and Lady Vruthra.”

  Astraa attempted to deflect the praise, exclaiming, “Oh, cease it, Minosa; you are making me quite flustered.”

  Lykaa joined in, affirming, “Indeed, Astraa seldom mingles with the wider world, so few are aware of her illustrious heritage.”

  Gargus, remarked, “That is truly something. To be the daughter of two royal guards! For many Eternals, aspiring to become a royal guard is a lifelong ambition.”

  Flanco, could not resist a playful quip. “Well, I had initially thought you were quite formidable during the trials, but now that I am aware of your lineage, I suppose it is not such a grand achievement after all.”

  Markon, however, found himself increasingly drawn to Astraa.

  It was not her distinguished lineage that enchanted him, but rather her unassuming grace and modesty, despite her illustrious heritage. He could not seem to tear his gaze from her, captivated not by noble ancestry but by her truly admirable character.

  As the group engaged in spirited conversation, Pigsie returned bearing their drinks and food.

  Flanco, reminded the company, “It is customary, you know, to offer a toast before partaking.” The group raised their glasses with enthusiasm, while Astraa, in a moment of delightful whimsy, raised her plate instead, eliciting a ripple of laughter throughout the table.

  Lykaa could not suppress a grimace after taking her first sip. "It tastes so bitter," she exclaimed, her face contorting at the unexpected flavor. Flanco,remarked, "Ah, but it is not merely the taste; it is the effect it has on our minds that draws us to partake."

  Yet Astraa, interjected with a bright smile, "The food here, however, is truly delightful. You all should give it a try."

  As the group continued to sip their ale, savoring the exquisite dishes before them and taking in the enchanting view of the river, they gradually settled into the moment. To their surprise, the ale paired beautifully with the fare, and soon they found themselves raising their glasses with gusto, reveling in the shared experience of camaraderie and good cheer.

  Flanco, his spirits lifted and his confidence bolstered by the effects of the ale, called out to Pigsie with renewed vigor, "Another round, Miss Pigsie!"

  As the evening wore on, Markon, Gargus, Flanco, and Minosa felt the gradual influence of the drink, their inhibitions waning as their conversations grew more unguarded.

  Markon, in particular, found himself drawn to Astraa with an earnestness heightened by the ale's effects. He attempted to bridge the gap between them, albeit with a touch of awkwardness.

  "So, Astraa," he began, his voice tinged with the ale's warmth, "how do you find the fare?"

  Astraa, her demeanor sincere, responded, "It’s quite delightful, I must admit. I did not anticipate it being so agreeable."

  Markon, his gaze fixed upon the scenic splendor of the river, endeavored to convey his sentiments. "This establishment boasts a most splendid view, does it not? It is truly delightful to spend time and converse with you amidst such a setting."

  Astraa, her sobriety rendering her oblivious to the subtler nuances of Markon's expression, simply concurred, "Indeed, Markon. Though I abstain from drinking, I find great enjoyment in sitting here with all of you."

  Markon, sensing a misinterpretation, hastened to clarify, "Ah, Astraa, that is not precisely what I meant—"

  Before he could elaborate, a cacophony erupted as the tavern’s door was flung open with considerable force.

  A group of raucous men, evidently well-imbibed, stormed into the establishment, their rowdiness disrupting the peaceful atmosphere. At their head was a burly, bald man with a formidable beard.

  He bellowed at Pigsie with authoritative impatience, "Ten whiskies for my lads!"

  Astraa, irked by the incivility displayed by the newcomers, could not refrain from casting her gaze upon them. Lykaa, sensing the potential danger, leaned in with concern, cautioning her, "Astraa, cease your staring; they may well come this way."

  Gargus, noticed the tattoo of a sword emblazoned across the bald man's exposed chest. This sight stirred a recollection within him, prompting his inquiry, "That tattoo—I've heard of it before. That sword, where have I encountered it?"

  Markon, momentarily diverted by the unruly group's entrance, chimed in, "These men refer to themselves as the BOARHUNT. They are private mercenaries often employed by nobles. My father spoke of them in the past."

  "They are nothing more than a band of outlaws. It would be prudent for us to steer clear of them," Markon advised sagely.

  Flanco, reveling in the delights of the ale, appeared unperturbed by the tumult around him and called for yet another round, along with additional dishes.

  Markon, sensing the potential for trouble, implored, "Flanco, did you not heed my warning? We ought to depart before they bring us more strife."

  "We are soon to be Eternals, and we have committed no transgression. There is no reason for us not to remain and savor our drinks," Flanco asserted with unwavering confidence.

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  Minosa interjected, "Flanco, you truly can be insufferable at times."

  Astraa, aligning herself with Flanco's position, remarked, "No, he speaks wisely. Why should we retreat when we have merely been seated here in peace?"

  Pigsie soon arrived with the group’s third round of drinks, and the merriment resumed, drawing their attention away from the BoarHunt mercenaries for the time being.

  “Boss Agnar, cast your gaze upon yonder group of novices,” one of the mercenaries, Roshack, remarked, pointing toward the gang.

  “Indeed, Roshack,” Agnar replied, his tone laced with disdain. “They appear to be mere lightweights, on the brink of collapse.”

  Roshack’s gaze lingered on Astraa with evident fascination. “Yet, that young lady amongst them... there is something about her that captivates me. In all my encounters with women, she is a singular presence.”

  "Well, what keeps you lingering in such a place? Go forth and make your move; I hardly believe anyone could deter us," Agnar proclaimed, followed by a boisterous laugh that echoed in the tavern.

  Spurred on by this camaraderie, Roshack resolved to approach the gang's table.

  Engrossed in their ale, the members of the group were initially oblivious to Roshack's advance, save for Astraa, who remained acutely aware of her surroundings.

  "Greetings, fair maiden," Roshack began, his grin sly and his eyes fixed intently upon Astraa. "I couldn't help but notice that you are not partaking in the revelry. Might you care for a drink?"

  "I do not partake," Astraa replied with resolute firmness, her voice unwavering.

  "Ah, I see. You harbor concerns that your companions here may not be capable of tending to your needs," Roshack remarked, his grin widening. "Why not join me instead? I assure you, I can provide the care you require."

  "I have no need for anyone to look after me, particularly not someone of your ilk," Astraa retorted, her tone firm and unyielding.

  "A spirited one, indeed," Roshack noted with amusement before casting a glance back at his companions.

  This provocation did not sit well with Markon, who felt compelled to intercede.

  "Step away from her," Markon warned, his voice steady and resolute. "It is abundantly clear that she possesses no interest in your advances."

  “Oh, look who has finally found his voice. Come, then, prove your mettle,” Roshack taunted, his voice dripping with mockery as he leaned forward, eager to provoke Markon. With determination, Markon rose to his feet, and Gargus quickly joined him in solidarity.

  Yet, as they both stood tall, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over them, a consequence of the ale's potent effects, leaving their heads spinning like autumn leaves caught in a tempest.

  “Haha, behold them—a gaggle of cowards utterly unable to manage their drink!” Roshack cackled, his laughter echoing through the tavern like a chorus of derision.

  “Stand down before you find yourself in peril,” Markon warned once more, his voice steady but tinged with urgency.

  “It is you who shall find yourself in peril!” Roshack retorted, a glint of malice in his eyes as he unleashed a swift and devastating punch that connected with Markon’s face.

  The force of the blow sent Markon sprawling backward, crashing into Gargus with a resounding thud, and together they tumbled to the ground in a heap, their dignity scattered like the remnants of their interrupted revelry.

  "Is that the extent of your feeble strength?" Roshack sneered, his words dripping with scorn as his crew erupted into boisterous laughter, their jeers filling the tavern.

  Minosa and Lykaa, though deeply troubled by the unfolding scene, were too far gone in their drunken stupor to act.

  Meanwhile, Flanco had already succumbed to the ale's full effect, lying unconscious and blissfully ignorant of the chaos unfolding around him.

  In the dim, smoky light of the tavern, as the tension thickened like the stench of spilled ale, Astraa, her patience frayed by their insufferable insolence, rose with deliberate resolve.

  Her eyes, ablaze with fury, locked onto the approaching Roshack.

  "Leave, now, or you'll find yourself regretting this night for the rest of your miserable existence," she commanded, her voice cutting through the clamor like a blade, leaving no room for doubt that her warning was not to be taken lightly.

  Roshack, still reveling in his smug arrogance, sneered, "Ah, so the menfolk have left the lady to fight their battles. Go on then, darling, show me what you've got. I won't mind how you touch me, as long as you do."

  But Astraa’s patience had reached its breaking point. In a flash, her fist connected with Roshack’s face, the force of her blow sending him hurtling through the air. He spun like a ragdoll, crashing to the ground at the feet of his leader, Agnar, who looked down at the crumpled form of his underling with barely contained fury.

  "You imbecile!" Agnar’s voice cut through the din like a whip crack, his eyes blazing with contempt. "Is this how you disgrace the name of the BoarHunt?!"

  Roshack, his voice unsteady and slurred from the sting of Astraa's blow, struggled to regain his composure.

  "I misjudged her, boss," he muttered, attempting to excuse his failure. "I tried to be a gentleman, to show her some courtesy and bring her along willingly. But now? Now she’ll have to come by force."

  Astraa, her stance unwavering, responded with biting sarcasm. "What’s the matter, Roshack? I thought you were eager for my touch."

  Sensing the rising tension and the danger that loomed over them, Minosa intervened, her voice laced with anxiety. "Astraa, enough! There are ten of them, and we’re in no state to fight."

  But Astraa, resolute and unshaken, dismissed her friend’s fears with a steely calm. "There’s no need to worry. This fool won’t lay a hand on me."

  With a sudden burst of fury, Roshack lunged at Astraa, his fist poised to strike. But before he could deliver the blow, Astraa deftly caught his arm, and with a swift, precise movement, she hurled him through the air. He crashed onto their table, the wood splintering beneath him, leaving Roshack lying unconscious amid the wreckage.

  Unfazed by the destruction she had wrought, Astraa fixed her gaze upon Agnar and his men. "Is this truly the best you can muster?" she challenged, her voice steady and unyielding.

  Agnar, seething with rage, responded with a venomous sneer. "You insolent fool! You've made a fatal error by crossing the BoarHunt. We’ve killed for far less. But don’t worry, your life isn’t worth the trouble of ending. No, you’ll serve us, and by the time we’re finished, you’ll be begging for death."

  As the mercenaries encircled Astraa, their leader issued his dark command. "Remember, don’t mar her too much. She’s mine for the night," he declared with a sinister chuckle, his intent dripping with malice.

  Pigsie, her voice quivering with desperation, stepped forward, her plea laden with concern.

  "Sir Agnar, I beg of you, they're but youths, mere children. Show them mercy, I implore you."

  Her words, however, were met with a savage response; Agnar’s hand lashed out, striking her brutally across the face, sending her reeling.

  As hope seemed to dim, the gravity of the situation bore down heavily upon Astraa and her companions, trapped in the tavern on that dark, ill-fated night. The BoarHunt mercenaries, a menacing horde, closed in on Astraa, their malevolent intent palpable as they tightened their encircling ranks, the shadow of violence looming ever closer.

  In the midst of the encroaching doom, Markon's voice cut through the oppressive tension, his words raw with desperate fury. "I swear by all that's holy, I'll kill every last one of you if you dare lay a hand on her!"

  One of the BoarHunt men, his voice dripping with disdain, retorted with mocking cruelty, "Bold words from a man who can hardly keep his feet beneath him." The sneer in his tone echoed the hopelessness of their plight, as the night threatened to engulf them all.

  Torn between the twin tides of fear and remorse, Markon struggled to steady his voice, each word laden with the weight of his guilt. "Astraa, forgive me. Forgive my wretched helplessness. I should be standing resolute beside you."

  Gargus, his voice trembling with shared regret, added, "Indeed, we're naught but cowards now. The ale has dulled our senses and left us useless in your time of need. Forgive us, Astraa, for leading you into such peril."

  But Astraa, ever resolute, would not allow despair to seep into their ranks before such vile adversaries. Turning her fierce gaze upon Agnar, she spoke with unwavering resolve, her tone commanding and sharp as steel.

  "Markon, Gargus, you owe me no defense. This battle is mine to fight. But I beseech you, do not lay bare your fears before these wretches. Hold fast, and show them no weakness."

  Agnar, the tyrannical leader of the BoarHunt, reveled in Astraa's unwavering defiance.

  "Ah, this woman," he proclaimed with a twisted grin, "will make this night one to remember. That fire in her eyes, that indomitable spirit—it's precisely the kind of woman I take the most pleasure in breaking. It will be my deepest satisfaction."

  With a sinister glint in his eye, Agnar barked the command, his voice dripping with malice, "Take her, men." The mercenaries closed in on Astraa, their movements like a pack of wolves surrounding their prey.

  But Astraa was no helpless victim. With swift, calculated grace, she seized a dinner knife from the table, her fingers brushing against a jar of water as she activated the water runes etched into her skin. She knew full well that without the power of her runes, she stood little chance against these brutes, but with them, she was a force to be reckoned with.

  Seeing the runes flare to life, Markon, his heart gripped by fear for her safety, called out in desperation, "Astraa, your runes—your speed is unmatched. You can outrun them all. Please, escape while you can!"

  Yet even as his words hung in the air, it was clear that Astraa had no intention of fleeing, her resolve as unyielding as the blade in her hand.

  Astraa, her resolve like tempered steel, cut off Markon's desperate plea with a commanding voice.

  "Silence, Markon! Do you think I would abandon you all to their mercy? What would become of Minosa and Lykaa if I fled? My duty is here."

  The gravity of her words hung in the air, filling the gang with a profound sorrow.

  They could do nothing but watch, hearts burdened with grief, as Astraa steeled herself to face the encroaching mercenaries. She was fully aware of the dire consequences her unyielding spirit might invite.

  Agnar, however, saw in her strength not a threat, but an opportunity—a chance to prolong his twisted game.

  "Take heed, men," he sneered, a cruel smile curling his lips, "this one’s an Eternal. But that only makes it better. The tougher they are, the longer they last. She’ll make for an entertaining conquest." His words dripped with malice, as he relished the thought of toying with her indomitable will.

  A voice, powerful and resonant, echoed through the tavern, a commanding presence that shattered the oppressive tension like a thunderclap breaking a stormy sky.

  "Whom do you presume to toy with, you blithering fool? Lay even a finger upon her, and I shall see to it that your heads are displayed upon pikes for all to behold!" The declaration boomed from the shadows, sending a chill of trepidation racing down Agnar's spine, as well as those of his brutish entourage.

  Astraa, her heart swelling with overwhelming gratitude, gasped as she recognized the authoritative voice. "Uncle Skarsnay," she breathed, her tone suffused with awe and relief.

  Agnar, his complexion drained of all color, stuttered in a futile attempt to defend himself.

  "Sir... Sir Skarsnay, what brings you to this humble establishment? We were merely endeavoring to teach this young lady a lesson for her audacity towards our esteemed comrades. It was she who instigated this unfortunate altercation, I assure you!"

  Skarsnay's response was swift, his authority unyielding. "The young lady you speak of is my niece. She would sooner immolate herself than consort with the likes of you." he asserted, his tone resolute and devoid of any room for dissent.

  Markon and Gargus exhaled audible sighs of relief, their hearts lifting at the timely arrival of Sir Skarsnay.

  "Now, kneel, each and every one of you, and render your apologies," Skarsnay commanded, his presence a force of undeniable authority.

  Without hesitation, the BoarHunt mercenaries sank to their knees, their expressions a tapestry of fear and trepidation. "I beseech you, Sir Skarsnay, grant us mercy and forgiveness. We acted in ignorance, wholly unaware of the lady's true identity. Spare our lives, we implore you," Agnar pleaded, his forehead nearly touching the ground in a profound display of submission.

  "I demand that you offer your apologies to the lady,"

  "I am most sincerely remorseful, my lady. I was entirely ignorant of your true standing. I beseech you to accept my heartfelt apologies," Agnar muttered, his contrition evident as he repeatedly pressed his forehead against the unforgiving wooden floor.

  The entire assembly bore witness to this remarkable display, their eyes wide with astonishment. Agnar, the formidable leader of the BoarHunt, had been brought low, humbled before the mere presence of Skarsnay.

  This single man had compelled these hardened mercenaries to kneel, fervently imploring for mercy. In this moment, their admiration for Skarsnay deepened; he transformed in their eyes into both a hero and a wellspring of inspiration.

  "Agnar, withdraw at once," Skarsnay commanded with a tone of stern finality. "Should our paths cross again, you will be well-acquainted with the repercussions."

  "Thank you... I shall shun Arela as though it were a plague," Agnar replied, his voice quaking with relief. He quickly rallied his men, and the group departed the tavern with all haste, eager to escape the troubling scene.

  Amid the subsequent murmurs and conversations, Skarsnay, ever warm and with a glint of mischief in his eye, addressed Astraa with a touch of lighthearted reproach.

  "Astraa, you frequently jest about my visits to such establishments, yet here you are, embroiled in a brawl," he remarked with a playful lilt.

  "You know full well, Uncle, that I do not instigate conflicts. The others wished to celebrate their triumph in the trial."

  Skarsnay, his lips curving into an amused grin, could not resist a touch of playful mockery. "Indeed, Astraa, well done. Despite the effects of your supposed inebriation, you managed to subdue that ruffian."

  Astraa, her patience wearing thin, retorted with an edge of exasperation, "Inebriated? Do you truly believe I would partake in drinking?"

  Skarsnay laughed heartily and reassured her, "Calm yourself, my dear. I was merely jesting." His gaze then shifted to Minosa and Lykaa.

  "Minosa, Lykaa, are you both unharmed?" he inquired with sincere concern, extending a hand to assist them in rising.

  "Yes, Sir Skarsnay, we are well, thanks to your timely intervention," as they accepted his aid.

  "Markon and Gargus, it seems you are rather delicate in your drinking. And look at poor Flanco—he is likely oblivious to the entire ordeal," he observed with a hearty laugh.

  Astraa, ever protective of her companions, interjected, "Uncle, please, no further jesting. They endeavored to assist as best they could."

  "Ah, I beg your pardon," Skarsnay acquiesced with a nod. "Very well, Astraa, let us now escort the ladies safely to their homes."

  "As for you fine gentlemen, Sir Leon shall see you safely home. Once your wits are restored, I trust you will express your gratitude."

  "Thank you, Sir," Markon and Gargus replied with sincere appreciation.

  Astraa, her curiosity piqued, ventured, "Uncle, how did you happen to arrive at the most opportune moment?"

  "It appears to be a fortunate happenstance. Sir Leon was the one who suggested this tavern. However, I have confidence that you could manage those miscreants without my aid."

  With a warm and reassuring smile, he placed a hand on Astraa's shoulder, and she, in turn, offered a grateful smile, treasuring the bond they shared.