Xala stepped out of the tunnel onto a circular platform. It was a communal area where several other tunnels led to. A crowd of families, beggars, lonesome folk, and merchants were all gathered and chattered and traded with one another all manner of goods. Xala passed by a few deals and noticed scrolls, charms, talismans, rings, and books. He saw the Inscriptions on the people he passed — rudimentary, like his elven form’s, but potent. Their ink was refined and beautiful in both design and function. He could practically smell the arcane energies that flowed through their bodies thanks to their ink.

  He continued forward, to the edge, and his knees buckled on his way there.

  A subterranean metropolis fanned out infront of him. Stone buildings either carved or grown from the ground above and below filled the space and acted as the skyscrapers the surface had. In the streets, outlined in canals and waterways, more markets existed like a mass baazaar, spliced with pleasure houses, shops, restaurants, and homes. In the roof of the subterrane were massive holes that were cut into perfect circles. From his angle, he could see the massive skyscrapers outside, or at least the bottoms of them, like some sort of abyssal skyline that could look up into paradise. The holes had buildings and structures built around them but not over, designed to hide the openings from the surface world. Moonlight trickled into the strange metropolis through those holes and everything that received the light made exceptional use of it. He stared at the forests and groves and naturescapes and green-covered buildings beneath the moonlight in awe. Xala observed a city that felt more organic than the one above, full of life and vibrancy that entire neighborhoods of the Fillman Port District he had seen above lacked. Then again, he saw very little of it.

  Xala sniffed the air and felt like he was in a hurricane of magic. It tickled his nostrils, provided blissful relief to his head, and made every inch of his body feel more alive and relaxed.

  The city had bridges, walkways, entire communities carved into the stone pillars that made up their homes, entrances into the hollowed out structures that led to thousands of apartments visible through windows of all different shapes and contortions, boats of many sizes lazily floated through the waterways, laughter and chatter filled the ambient hum, and there was also violence.

  Xala’s eyes trained on a fight that broke out in the middle of the street between two mages. He was too far away to see the specifics of their casting, but he chuckled when he saw fire and ice fly across the street in a tempest of sorcery. Strike, block, strike, counterattack, distraction, strike, and counterattack whipped up the street into a frenzy. Families ran out of the way, a few people were caught in the crossfire by a stray flame or icicle, and many gathered around to cheer it on. Xala willed runes into his eyes that let him magnify his sight and see the duel a bit closer. He pursed his lips together as he tried to focus on the duo, adjusted the strength of his magnification, but each time he did it got a worse angle. Additionally, he could hardly hear anything.

  Xala pivoted, looked into the eyes of a pedestrian cheering from the crowd, and made a few signs toward the man. Across the great distance, Xala’s arcana flickered to life on his hand and in the man’s eyes.

  Xala’s vision tunneled into a dark abyss and reemerged through the pedestrian’s eyes. He cheered excitedly, took bets, and dodged sparks unaware of his vision’s commandiering. The duel continued, as the mages fought with a mixture of hatred and amusement. Every spell’s casting had a level of hatred for the other person spliced into its designs, visible through coloration of the runic and glyphic structure of their spells, and yet they wore smug smiles and a light in their eyes. Streaks of blood speckled their clothes from wounds they suffered from one another. They carried on, each one determined to kill the other, until finally, somebody shouted, “FEATHERS!”

  The two mages immediately put up ethereal blue glyphic shields to stop, prepared for the other to use the opportunity to get a final blow in, nodded to each other, and rushed in opposite directions. The crowd was invaded by a group of thugs who wore white uniforms with the symbol of a feathered serpent on their backs. Xala could sense their lack of magical aptitude, but saw the Imbued weapons and armor they wore over those uniforms. Shoulder guards, knee pads, belts, breastplates, and all manner of arms were all enchanted with a tangible, visible power that practically crackled in the air.

  They charged through the crowd, sending people off in different directions with a mean glance, but Xala’s proxy stood firm, too drunk to be swayed. He raised his hand toward one of the feathers and shouted, “You made me lose money on my bet, ya’ fuckin Nulls!” Electricity sizzled along the drunk man’s meager inscriptions.

  Immediately, one of the thugs rushed forward in a blurred movement too fast to be natural, snatched the proxy’s arm, and snapped it the opposite direction. It was so fast, so easy. The man exploded into a shriek that made Xala wince and hiss in defiance, before he dismissed his vision from the proxy as he was cut down by a sword’s shimmering slash.

  Xala returned to the rooftop his body stood on, his hands clutched the edge, and shuddered softly. “Well, Frederick, care to tell me who they are?”

  No response.

  “Hm. Stubborn bastard, but, I do think you are being overworked today.” Xala nodded to himself. He parted from the railing and moved toward the stairwell door. He wanted to see the streets of this place up close and personal, fascinated by the cultures and civilization he saw in a glimpse. He pondered the status of this region. If the surface was so against magic users, then this must be where they end up. It still boggled Xala’s mind how they could be pushed away as a seemingly thriving community. What sort of actions could have led to such segregation between the nulls and the prodigies? How did the dims in this place fare? Were they allowed to exist on the surface on the basis that they were too weak to cause an issue? Or did they end up down here too, like Xala’s now dead proxy? His magic was weak, even if it was a drunken exertion of raw elemental power and not a synthesized spell.

  Whatever the case, his face fell when he entered the stairwell and saw the enormous drop spiraled by steps. His eyes twitched at the sight. How did those families get up here? Xala stepped back outside to try and find out, saw the building was grown out of the vertical walls of the subterrane, and the walkways built into them that led to neatly hidden homes and hollowed out hovels. Was this rooftop a primary common area for the people of these high-rise abodes?

  He went back inside the stairwell, inspected it, and saw a very limited number of people genuinely climbing it. They were mainly going between floors rather than interested in the long journey. Xala pursed his lips together and started his descent to the floor right below, opened the door there, and observed a hallway of apartment doors that led to a central communal area where people mingled and civilized. Was each floor a different ecosystem such that they were self-sufficient to some degree? Did the people live off the runoff from the surface and the city below? Whatever the case, the conditions these people lived in were not luxurious. Even the poorest buildings Xala saw on the surface were better off, at least aesthetically, than these folk.

  He shut the door, turned back to the long descent, and chuckled to himself. If he had to make the long journey down, he would do it in style.

  A group of teenagers on the stairwell passed around a sleek pen-like pipe, smoked from it idly, giggled and chatted with each other, eager to pass their time unbothered and undisturbed. The quiet of the stairwell was interrupted by an oncoming “Wooo!” that made them look around in their high stupor. The sound came closer, until they saw Xala whizz by through the narrow gap of the stairwell at breakneck speeds. They rushed to the railing and watched him go, alongside all the previous people he passed on his fall.

  Water welled in his eyes as he fell, his hand clutched his shawl in place, and his baggy clothes and shawl billowed around his body wildly. He laughed and cheered as he felt the adrenaline rush through his system and fill every ounce of his body. The bottom of the stairwell was coming closer, but not close enough. He whooped to himself as he gauged the optimal moment to suspend himself, every floor he passed a tick on the clock between life and death, and right before he reached the third floor he cast a spell over his feet and tumbled himself through the air. He spun rapidly as his descent was rapidly halted, to maintain momentum in some form, and from a lethal speed he gently floated to the ground. A spell around his head to nullify the effects of whiplash also helped, but the tumble always made the landing more fun.

  Xala gracefully landed onto the ground like a feather, stood up, ran his hands through his windblasted hair, adjusted his clothes, and shook parts of his body one by one. “Hehe, I’ll have to do that again,” he looked back up at the people who stared down at him in shock, waved innocently, and began toward the exit.

  “Hey, wait!” Xala turned around to see a human make his way down the last few stairs, jog over, and said, “You just jumped down two hundred feet without a scratch!” He smiled brightly with clear admiration, “I’ve got to know more about you.” Xala blinked as he looked up at the gorgeous Oba human. He was about a head taller than him and had vibrant purple-blue eyes, a rich ebony complexion, thick black hair that followed into a well kept beard, a casual outfit of grey joggers, a white tanktop, a purple jacket, slip-on sandals, and an overall pleasant attitude. The man’s face became a tad more suave as he leaned closer and said, “And, maybe, I could buy you dinner?”

  Xala could feel the heat in his face before his lips twitched into a grin and he nodded, “Uhm, thanks, and sure, that sounds lovely. Pleasure to meet you,”

  “Colhern. You?” He walked around Xala, opened the door for him, and gestured for him to follow.

  “Xala.” He went with it, hands behind his back underneath his shawl, and walked alongside Colhern as they meandered toward the crowded streets on the other side of the canal. Perhaps it was Colhern’s handsome face, smooth demeanor, or Xala’s overall flippant attitude toward life at the moment. He fully expected all of his eternity to be spent in that prison. Thus, once he acquired his freedom, why not explore it to the fullest?

  The bridge they walked toward was a beautiful, ancient craft that had all sorts of strange creatures chiseled into its shape. His hand reached out to feel the outstretched hand of a horned, goat-legged man with closed eyelids. They were on either side of the bridge, followed by a tapestry of figures both humanoid and animalian. Koi fish supported the parapets, while all manner of other fauna, their forms chipped and weathered by time, meandered around them in a dancing imitation of the natural world.

  “Are you new to Fae Town?”

  “Oh, yes. Feltkan in general, really.”

  “Welcome! Did you just come from the surface?” When Xala nodded, clearly soured by his experience, Colhern laughed, “Yeah, mages who come here tend to have that reaction.”

  “Why is it so hostile up there?”

  “History wasn’t my strongsuit in school,” he shrugged apologetically, paused beside Xala when his attention was snagged by another satyr, and said, “But as far as I remember, a while back the council got together and said magic was too dangerous to leave unsanctioned in their perfect city. Too many duels broke out in the streets, so they sent the O-Two’s to get’em.”

  “O-Two’s?”

  “Heh, where’d you come from where they don’t have O-Two’s? Y’know, the big metal aseveri? Automatons?”

  “Sorry, I guess not.” Xala turned back to Colhern, leaned against the parapet, and asked, “Are you a caster?”

  “Nah, magic skipped me. All of my sisters and family are,” he shrugged, “I make do, though.”

  Xala nodded, resumed his stroll alongside Colhern into the crowded streets, stuck close to him, and asked, “Where are we going?”

  “That depends,” he put an arm around Xala to shield him from the crowd and used his size to their advantage to plow through, “Want somewhere quiet, or something out in the open?”

  “Quiet, please,” Colhern nodded, got them through the street and onto the sidewalk, deftly dodged a rickshaw on the loose, and led Xala into a restaurant tucked away behind street vendors who peddled mundane jewelry as imbued artifacts. If they were imbued, it was with hopes and prayers. Utterly useless to Xala.

  The interior was quaint and peaceful. It was almost all wooden, likely layered over the stone beneath, and varnished with a cherry red color. Intricate murals and mosaics made with an inspired touch covered the walls. He reached up to feel one of the tiled fins of a mermaid being slaughtered by a sailor. Xala looked at it curiously, a soft smile on his face.

  “I like it here.”

  Xala could hear Colhern smile as he said, “C’mon, I know where we can sit.” He led Xala through the restaurant and made it clear he knew plenty of people. He waved as he passed a whole group of suddenly roused men and women, asked the staff about their days, bid people hello and farewell on the way, and overall filled the establishment with a renewed vigor. Xala stared in disbelief at how the atmosphere changed, before it gradually rested in Colhern’s passing.

  Though, Xala could also feel the eyes on him. They looked at him curiously. Was Colhern some sort of famous individual? It was one thing to know a whole bunch of people, another for them to scrutinize what he did and who he fraternized with. He kept his thoughts to himself as they walked into a special area full of alcoves carved into the now exposed stone foundation, each one covered by crimson red velvet curtains. Colhern nodded toward one of the workers, they held their thumb up, and led Xala toward the largest of the alcoves.

  When he pulled back the curtain for him, Xala stepped into a lush garden of glowing fungi and flora. It was like a lounge area full of crushed velvet seats and a large circular couch on the far end. The fungi and flora wrapped around the legs and armrests, grew up the walls of the space, all from the centerpiece that acted as its own miniature jungle oasis. The couch on the far end had a table in the middle for people to eat at, and above the couch another mural was painted in painstaking detail.

  It was a depiction of a Moor, fiendish and vile in design, with its upturned bat-like nose and ears, silver hair, fangs, golden serpentine eyes, grey skin, and black claws held upward in defiance against a warrior’s blade. The warrior wore a full set of plate armor imbued with golden energies, her sword ready to skewer the fiend through the heart, with a city of bones on fire behind them. It was a depiction of righteous holy war.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “Beautiful, huh?” Colhern stepped into place beside Xala and said, “Though, it’s pretty unique. Most art about Moors show them being super evil and looming over the heroes. But, here, it’s like it’s asking for mercy.”

  Xala stared at his kinsman. His features, in his true form, were not so batlike, but the rest tracked. He nodded and said, “A mercy they don’t deserve.”

  “Well, obviously.” He walked toward the couch, took a seat beneath the mural, and patted the space beside him.

  Xala took his seat, looked over at Colhern, and said, “People eat here?” He ran his hand through the velvet cushion, “They must clean very often.”

  “Oh, yeah. Almost the whole staff are Hokuhous. If not, they’re still aquamancers.” Colhern waved his hand over the table. A three-dimensional holographic menu beamed to life in front of them. It had the names and ingredients of each dish beside a model of what each one looked like. Xala leaned forward, inspected the incredible detail and realism, and gawked at the pretty colors of the text. Colhern chuckled and asked, “You really are new to Feltkan.”

  Xala’s face heated with embarrassment. He needed to feast on a few more people before he could comfortably exist in Feltkan. “Well, the menus back home were all either painted on the wall or asked for by pointing at what you wanted from behind a counter.” He tilted his head as he moved his hand over one of the models, touched it, and made it wobble slightly. He moved his hand around and through the hologram, until he moved his hand to the left enough to swipe over to another option. His “Oooh,” made Colhern giggle. Xala looked at him with playful anger.

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh,” he held his hands up and waved them, “I,” he put his hands down and looked at the menu, “I’ve just only ever grown up with these. I don’t know what they used when my mom was a kid, but it wasn’t paper or over-the-counter pick and choose. Well, I guess some of them might’ve been.”

  “Well, consider where I’m from very backwards. A lot shocks me here,” he swiped again, immediately disgusted by an all vegetarian dish.

  Colhern leaned against the table on his elbow, turned his body toward Xala, and said, “Y’know, I’ve tried asking subtly, but where are you from?”

  Xala glanced toward Colhern with a smile. Crimsire was gone. He never found out what happened to the rest of Okra. “I’m,” the words caught in his throat. The lack of worldly knowledge made it difficult to lie. He needed to know more.

  “Hey, it’s ok.” He leaned closer and put his hand on the table closer to Xala’s, “Are you a refugee?”

  It took Xala a split second to ponder the word, figured it actually did fit, and nodded.

  “Alright. I’ll keep your secret. But, you’ll probably want to find an answer to that sooner or later. Refugees aren’t exactly welcome in Feltkan right now, not even in Fae Town. People say they’re putting a strain on the hospitals, taking away jobs, buying up homes, and that they don’t understand the culture of mage-hate. The city pushes them toward the Ternion District, to keep them out of the isles. But, I think they’re alright. Not their fault they had to flee.”

  “Ah, how hospitable,” Xala teased with a grin. “Do you also take other refugees you find for dinner?”

  “Hah! Only the cute ones.” Xala’s raised eyebrow made Colhern clarify, “And, not being afraid of jumping off a building helps.”

  “I didn’t know I was performing a mating ritual,” he smirked as he swiped again and landed on an all meat, bloody meal. His eyes widened as he leaned forward to read the ingredients. It was a mash up of pulled pork baked in a blood-sauce, a large array of other pork and beef parts, and a side of chicken salad. “Oh, that looks amazing!”

  Colhern put a hand over his mouth and narrowed his eyes, “It’s not often I meet a non-vegan elf.”

  “I like what I like.” He leaned back and said, “Can I get it? I don’t have much to pay you with.”

  “Pay me? Oh, no,” he waved his hand and smirked, “It’s my treat. Besides, the food is free. We pay for the service,” he gestured around the alcove.

  Xala sat up, eyebrows furrowed, skepticism etched into his face, “What do you mean free?”

  “No food scarcity. Trymora’s nations came together and agreed food was a right, so food and stuff all became free for vendors and the people. I think I was around eight when it happened. Feltkan was the last government to agree, but now,” he held down on Xala’s desired dish, watched it get slotted into the cart off to the side, chose his own dish of rice and chicken, and said, “We’ve just gotta’ pay for the labor.”

  Xala blinked. “Labor? Does the chef not get paid for making the food?”

  “Oh, yeah, they do, but most places charge enough to pay them and the servers.”

  “So, you do pay for the food, but it’s dressed up as paying to eat inside this establishment?”

  “Well,” Colhern paused, put a hand to his chin, and muttered, “I mean, no. Maybe?”

  Xala smiled, shrugged, and said, “So, if we went somewhere other than a restaurant, got food at a stand, it would be free?”

  “Yup, the vendors get paid for everything they give away. By the government,” he specified due to Xala’s obvious follow-up question. “Need a whole class on it?”

  “Are you able to give one?”

  “Not really, but I like seeing you focused.” He laughed at Xala’s bewilderment and said, “Your lips make it really obvious when I’ve got your attention.”

  Xala glanced away and leaned against the backrest, huffed, and said, “You are a very slick man.”

  “Aw, slick? I was going for charming,” he pouted his way into a broad grin. “Should I tone it down?”

  “No.”

  Colhern leaned back and lounged beside Xala, put his elbow up on the backrest, and held his head up with a fist. “I really like your fit,” he reached over and gently felt the fabric of one of the lavender flowers. “It lets me know I should keep my distance, all dark and mysterious, like if I talk to you you’ll hex me! Until I see these pretty colors.”

  Xala could do nothing to hide his laugh, “I could still hex you, if you want?”

  “Really? Oh, man, I’ve always wanted a beak! Can you add a pair of jaguar legs, too? I’d love to run really fast. What about some giant mammoth ears? I could become the king of the jungle.”

  The idea sent Xala into a short fit before he said, “You do know the compounding effect of so many hexes would probably kill you, right?”

  “Aah, I have three sisters and a mom who are really high level casters, and a whole extended family of conservative magocratics. I feel like, after all the shit they’ve cast on me as a prank or as punishment over the years, I’m immune.”

  Xala raised an eyebrow, moved his hand toward Colhern’s, and looked up into his eyes as he said, “I won’t hex you, but, maybe we could find out?” He took pause, nodded, and watched as Xala’s hand inscriptions lit up. Green energy flowed from his inscriptions into Colhern’s hand, slithered across the skin, and flowed up his arm. When it reached Colhern’s neck, it brushed against his throat and made him gasp as he felt a wave of ecstasy. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, his mind was heightened, and every sensation suddenly felt so much more real. When he blinked he felt every groove of his eyelid. When his hand moved underneath Xala’s, he could feel every ridge and lush bump of his soft palm. His clothes felt warmer and softer as he felt every thread in a jumble of sensation that rested against his body hair. Colhern emitted a quiet gasp as he felt the totality of these sensations, and swallowed hard as they dissipated just as fast.

  Colhern looked toward Xala with wide eyes, “Uhm,” his face was hot as he realized the noises he must have made.

  Xala smiled and asked, “Too much?”

  “A-a little. But, not in a bad way.” He shuddered, moved himself around in his clothes, and chuckled, “Fuck, I’ve never met an enchanter before. You sure you didn’t cast a spell on me to take you to dinner?”

  Xala chuckled, “No, I’m afraid that was all you.”

  “Well, I’m glad,” he leaned over and wiggled his eyebrows, “You’re slick yourself, Xala.”

  “Not charming?”

  “Oh, very charming, and very slick. Where’d you even learn that spell?”

  “A friend of mine used to have a hard time feeling anything. So, I crafted it to help him feel what normal people do.”

  Colhern’s eyes widened. A flurry of questions swam around his head, evident in his eyes and the quiver of his lips, and said, “I’m not sure what I did to earn that, but, thank you. It was very nice.”

  Xala nodded, smirked, and said, “Now we know you’re not immune to hex-like magic.” He laughed when Colhern pouted and smacked his knee in contempt. “As for why you earned it,” he shrugged, “I believe in paying for a gift. In whatever way I can.”

  “Payment accepted, but not necessary. You said you created that spell, right? How many times did it take to get it right?”

  “Eh, maybe about four times? Though, that was just to limit extreme side effects. There were probably over a hundred revisions before I finalized it to produce the perfect effect. The first time I used it on someone, it either made them lose all senses, or became extremely aroused.” Xala spoke matter-of-factly, unaware of Colhern’s wide eyes and shocked face. “That time, the poor fellow went on a rampage, humping anything in sight. It was funny, until he got to a person and it turned out to be an undercover soldier. Nobody figured out it was me, but people all over the city wanted to know how they could get that spell cast on them within the pleasure houses.”

  “Did you ever offer your services? It sounds very lucrative.”

  “Hah, no. I would make use of it here, but I’d be surprised if there wasn’t an abundance of performance-enhancing spells.”

  “Trust me, those sorts of things are pretty regulated. There’s a market for enchanters down here.”

  “Trust you?” Xala raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, a prying look in his eye, “You have experience trying to get your hands on elicit performance enhancers?”

  Colhern looked away and bit his bottom lip to hold back his embarrassed laugh. He said through his teeth, “Some.”

  “Aw, is it my turn to make you coquettish?”

  “Make me what?” He laughed openly, a hand on his stomach. Xala leaned back, offended, which made Colhern laugh a little louder. “I love the way you speak,” he settled down and said, “You sound so formal. Very unique.”

  Xala shifted in his seat, his cheeks now pink as he put his hands together and muttered, “Thank you.” What in the world was happening? Xala had never, in his entire life, acted like this. Morl never saw this side of him. He never had the chance to. Xala had been trapped in a box for centuries and now he acted like a blushing bride-to-be? His elder blood screamed at him to pull himself together. He had synthesized spells the likes of which were thought impossible, murdered countless people for both sustenance and pleasure, did everything he could to secure his freedom, and burned entire cities with hordes of undead. He did not belong in this restaurant, with this man. With this handsome, charming, suave, polite man. Just looking at him made Xala’s mind skip a thought or two, and he felt wildly inexperienced and youthful next to him.

  In the depths of his spiral, he felt a hand on his own. Xala blinked, focused on reality, and looked down to find Colhern’s hand on his own. He looked over to find his concerned face a tad closer to his own.

  “You okay? You got a bit spacey, there.”

  Xala’s lips parted and he wanted to speak, wanted to explain himself, but he just closed his lips, sucked on his teeth, and forced out, “Yeah. I’m just new to this sort of thing.”

  Colhern took Xala’s hand into his own, picked it up, and brushed his thumb over Xala’s fingers. His hands were calloused and felt rough against the smooth, soft skin. He did not mind that roughness. Not one bit. “You mean that friend of yours wasn’t,” he tilted his head with a smile.

  Xala laughed, nodded, and said, “He was. But, we never went on a date. He was very spontaneous and subtle. Hard to read.”

  “Huh, am I not subtle and difficult? Is that it?” Colhern teased with a mischievous smile, “Should I sit across the table, make sure we can’t reach each other? I’m very physical, so that’ll be hard, but I’ll do it for you, if I must!”

  “No, no, this is just fine. You are just fine.” Xala looked back up at him. “More than fine, I think.”

  Colhern paused, his lips parted, and he nodded, “You’re more than fine, too, I think.”

  The air between them felt charged. Every word added to the tangled web of budding tension and stacked more weight upon an inevitable release Xala knew was coming, but had no idea how it would take shape. Their eyes brushed past one another, and when they locked in place, toward each other, Xala felt the amplification of that tension. It was a tension he had never felt before, and thus had no idea how to describe it. This level of affection did not spawn from dependence, but from genuine intrigue and susceptibility to Colhern’s charms. Meanwhile, the way Colhern looked at him was something he had seen before, but from the eyes of a man who could only feel hatred and contempt.

  In the back of Xala’s mind, he wondered if the way Colhern looked at him was some sort of divine judgment. The Gods mocked him his entire life. Was he really falling for the first man who treated him like a person? Was he really so weak-willed? Was it a weak will that served as the root for the mixture of carnal and romantic desires within him? How was Xala letting this happen?

  Before Xala knew it, their faces were separated by a few inches. Colhern had leaned forward, while Xala was stuck in place, but his head was angled upward, his lips receptive.

  The curtain opened and a server entered. Colhern pulled away, looked up, and smiled broadly, “Fila, I was hoping you were working today!”

  Xala looked forward, bit the inside of his cheeks, and stayed silent as Fila and Colhern spoke, “Col, always a pleasure to have you here.” The Alim orc woman, a thin, shorter, more human version of their Alouee counterparts, looked between the two of them as she approached with their meals. “Here you two are,” she set down the platter of meat before Xala, then the rice and chicken dinner for Colhern, stood tall, and asked, “Need anything else, gentlemen?”

  “That should be all, thank you Fila. Say hi to Rhaast for me, it all looks great.”

  She nodded, turned, and marched away. When she vanished, both of them burst into laughter. Xala put a hand on his face to cover it from Colhern, looked at the platter of bloody, juicy meat, glanced over to him through two fingers, and said, “Your friends have great timing.”

  “Really? I was gonna say the worst!” Colhern whisper-shouted as he picked up his silverware and brought his plate closer. “Well,” he looked over at Xala, “Want to try again before our breaths smell like blood and spices?”

  Xala put his hand under his chin, pondered it, and said, “I don’t know, I’m very hungry,” he tapped his nails along the shaft of his fork in a dance, “Plus,” he looked back over with a grin, “Is this the best place for us to have our first? I heard that those sorts of things are usually more romantic.”

  “Fair point,” he scooted a bit closer, “Although, I didn’t know I was sitting beside a critic! Is this place really not up to your standards?”

  Xala side-eyed him as he picked up his fork and skewered a helping of shredded meat, swished it around in the bloody sauce, and said, “I can think of better options.” He took a bite, and immediately his eyes widened and his countenance fell. The taste was immaculate! He could tell it was different, as if the flavor palettes of the ages had greatly changed. He tasted all manner of foreign spices, the flavor of the meat was far different from the imported Trymoran pork way back when, and he certainly did not mind the change. Whatever they fed their cattle in Trymora was well sourced.

  “Huh, that’s funny coming from someone who seems like he’s experiencing paradise.” He took a bite of his own, savored the flavors, and raised an eyebrow Xala’s way when the elf ignored him and took another bite.