They weren’t supposed to be early.
But Gaius Perenos and Vell Arseth arrived at the Chethollow Tavern an hour before the scheduled meeting. Which, in their experience, was just enough time for the place to try and kill them before the briefing even began.
The tavern looked like a collapsed saloon trying to cosplay as a legitimate business. Neon signage buzzed in half-formed letters: `CH_HELL_`, followed by a flicker like someone was still arguing with the power grid.
> “You sure this is it?” Vell asked.
> “It’s either this or the laundromat that leaks static.”
They sat at a table near the wall. The surface was rough with carvings—spirals, eyes, bad poetry. Someone had etched “ZORPX IS REAL” next to a crude drawing of a spoon.
The bartender didn’t speak. Just stared until they nodded. Two mugs were dropped off moments later—one with a foam that shimmered faint green, the other containing something that smelled like citrus and old battery.
> “Cheers,” Gaius said.
> “To poor decisions,” Vell replied, and they drank.
On a wall-mounted screen, a low-resolution tape began to play—some old salvage broadcast dug up from a street core. Grainy footage. A man in a robe yelling about “the Spiral Equation.” Then static. Then the same man again—this time selling dehydrated soup.
> “Was that the same guy?” Vell asked.
> “Could’ve been,” Gaius said. “Might’ve been two guys with the same delusion.”
> “Or two delusions wearing the same guy.”
The table beneath their arms let out a pop. Not wood. Not resonance. Just... awareness.
They didn’t move.
> “You ever wonder if this is a real place?” Vell asked.
> “I’m starting to think we’re the hallucination,” Gaius muttered.
Then the spiral near Vell’s hand twitched. Just a crack in the grain. Probably.
They didn’t mention it.
They just drank.
---
The drinks kept coming. Not because they were good. Because they were here.
Somewhere between the third mug and the fourth regrettable gulp of “whatever that green foam was,” the atmosphere had loosened enough for Gaius to lean back, arms crossed behind his head, and squint at Vell like a man inspecting a mildly possessed boot.
> “So,” he said slowly, “what’s it like? Life in the woods.”
Vell raised an eyebrow. “You mean before or after people started thinking I'm crazy?”
> “That bad, huh? And here I thought the fairy thing was the weirdest part.”
Vell snorted into his drink.
> “Well,” he said, “I wouldn’t recommend it as a retirement plan. You get solitude, mushrooms that bite back, and once a month the Hollow whispers things that make you feel like someone else's memory.”
> “Sounds peaceful.”
> “Oh, the best. Especially the part where your neighbors are ex-hunters who scream backwards at sunset.”
Gaius chuckled, finishing what was left of his drink. The table didn’t vibrate this time—but one of the spirals looked deeper than before. He ignored it.
Vell tilted his head.
> “Alright. My turn.”
> “Nope,” Gaius said, too fast.
> “Too late. What’s going on with you and the scholar?”
> “Which scholar?”
> “The one who knocks unannounced, doesn’t blink at cursed relics, and makes your voice get half a shade more patient when she’s around.”
Gaius sighed.
> “There’s nothing going on.”
> “I heard she caught you half naked the other day.”
> Gaius choked slightly on his drink.
> “She showed up early. I had just gotten out of the shower.”
> “Of course she did,” Vell said. “So you were getting all ready for her, huh?”
Gaius didn’t answer.
Vell smirked and raised his glass.
> “To awkward tension and glyph-fueled nightmares.”
> “To fairies who ghost you after saving your life.”
They clinked.
The screen flickered again.
Behind the bar, the mirror caught a reflection that wasn’t theirs: a little girl, sound asleep on a table, surrounded by empty Cocca bottles. Her spiral hairclip glinted faintly in the neon light.
But neither looked.
Because in that moment, they were real men, drinking in a fake place—and forgetting what they were there for.
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