The air inside the shop was thick with warmth and laughter, heavy with the scent of stew and spirits. Rain tapped faintly against the windowpanes, what remained of the storm that had washed the streets clean only hours before. The glow from the crystal lamps cast everything in a gentle amber hue: a kind of golden dusk that made even the stone walls look inviting.

  Tonight, the shop didn’t hum with business or tension. Instead, a celebratory mood had washed over its occupants.

  In one corner, a gaggle of healers had claimed a mismatched cluster of tables. Their white coats were streaked and smudged, some with blood that no one had yet found the strength to wash away. Yet their smiles were unguarded. Someone had unearthed a bottle of wine from somewhere, and its contents made swift rounds through the group. One nurse — cheeks flushed crimson, laughter dissolving into hiccupped tears — clung to Dr. Maria’s arm as if afraid she’d vanish if she let go.

  Maria, for her part, bore it with grandmotherly patience. She dabbed the girl’s face with a handkerchief, murmuring something about hydration and rest. The other healers howled with laughter as the nurse protested through her sobs that she “wasn’t drunk, just emotional.“ When Maria’s composure finally cracked into a chuckle of her own, the whole table cheered as if they’d just won another battle.

  Around them, the others raised another round of toasts, shouting something about “the Pavilion rising again“ before collapsing into giddy laughter.

  Across the room, Sister Audrea’s voice cut through the noise like a mother hen’s alarm. “You three! Do you have any idea what you put me through?!“ she asked, jabbing an swaying finger at the two teens and one younger woman in front of her. For the past few days, the sister had been unusually quiet. Yet, it seemed she hadn’t, in fact, quite forgiven them for putting themselves in danger during the attack on the temple.

  Jonah flinched under her finger, caught between apology and confusion. Ann tried to hide behind him and failed. Maggy, arms crossed and defiant, seemed unsure whether to defend herself or ask why she was included at all.

  “But, Sister, I—”

  “Don’t you ‘but Sister’ me!“ Audrea interrupted, her cheeks flushed a deep rose from the spiced wine she was pretending not to drink. “You could’ve been killed! All of you! Running into that chaos like you’re immortal saints!”

  “I am technically a saint in training,“ Ann mumbled under her breath.

  Audrea’s glare swung toward her so fast even Maggy winced. “What was that, young lady?”

  Ann’s hands shot up. “Nothing! I said nothing!”

  Maggy couldn’t help it — she snorted. That earned her a glare, too. The sister’s tirade resumed, half-sermon, half-drunken ramble, and Jonah caught Maggy’s helpless shrug with a tired grin. It was easier to take the scolding than try to explain the truth.

  Garrelt, watching from a few tables over, tried to hide his grin behind his mug. “I’ve fought wyverns quieter than that woman,“ he muttered.

  Yon Stonewall gave a low laugh beside him, deep and genuine. “And not nearly as dangerous, if the rumors are to be believed.”

  Hugo chuckled into his drink. Bartholomew, seated stiffly at his side, laughed a beat too late and nearly spilled his ale. He looked more like a man attending a tribunal than a party, his eyes flicking between Yon and Garrelt as though afraid he might speak out of turn.

  “Relax,“ Hugo said, clapping the smaller man on the shoulder. “You’re among friends.”

  “Right,“ Bartholomew said quickly. His voice cracked halfway through. The table broke into good-natured laughter.

  Near the front counter, a [Wasp] perched on a stack of empty mugs, its red optic pulsing faintly as it surveyed the scene. Through it, Alpha watched his strange little gathering unfold. Voices overlapped — laughter, chatter, the occasional off-key song. The sound filled the store’s wooden bones, warm and human.

  Typically, Alpha would have recorded such a gathering, if only for the off chance that someone might let slip something he didn’t already know. Yet, for now, he let the group have their fun. Some moments were meant to be simply enjoyed.

  From his vantage point, he watched Hugo tease Garrelt over his inability to refuse a drinking contest, Yon leaning back with the air of a man who hadn’t relaxed in months. Maria wiped her hands on a towel, a faint smile ghosting her lips as she looked over her rowdy healers. Even Audrea had softened; her lecture had devolved into tearful hugs and promises that no one truly believed.

  For a rare moment, the Nexus and all its machinery — the maps, the logistics, the endless variables — receded into the background. What remained was something quieter. Human.

  Alpha’s [Wasp] shuffled slightly, its wings twitching in thought. The last time he’d seen this many smiles in one room, the world above had been burning.

  … Maybe Mark was right. I might need a vacation after this one.

  “Though I often wonder why biologicals need to be so… loud,“ he muttered to himself.

  “Loud,“ Hugo said, raising his mug toward the perched machine as he moved away from his group toward Alpha, “is the sound of survival, my friend.”

  Garrelt grinned, following the man. “I can drink to that!”

  The [Wasp] tilted its head, wings giving a faint buzz that might’ve been laughter. “True enough. I suppose tonight, you’ve earned your noise.”

  Yon approached next, quickly followed by Dr. Maria and Maggy as they noticed the group gathering.

  The group looked mismatched enough to be comical: a mercenary, a doctor, a guildmaster, an adventurer, and a young woman with a knack for being in the wrong place at the right time. But their grins were unguarded, and for once, even Yon’s stern face had softened.

  Yon lifted his mug then, nodding to each in turn — to Garrelt, to Hugo, to Maria, to the [Wasp]. “To the Nexus Hub,“ he said simply. “To the hands that built it… and to the fools who keep it running.”

  Hugo barked another laugh. “And to the ones we scare off!”

  Maria smiled softly. “And to those we saved, and will save!”

  For once, even Alpha didn’t add a quip. The drone hovered closer to the circle, the faint glow of its optic reflecting faintly in the mugs below.

  “Cheers!“ Hugo roared.

  The word rippled through the store.

  Mugs collided with a satisfying clack, foam spilling over knuckles and onto the scarred tabletop. The healers raised their cups in response, shouting a ragged chorus of cheers that made Audrea jump and then laugh despite herself. For a heartbeat, everyone in the room was part of the same pulse — the same breath of relief, shared through ale and exhaustion.

  From the counter, Alpha watched it all and let the moment linger.

  He’d seen countless gatherings before — of soldiers, of engineers, of desperate men and women trying to carve sense from chaos. They always ended the same way: the music faded, the light dimmed, and the world’s sharp edges came rushing back. But tonight, he decided, he wouldn’t think about that.

  He simply watched the reflections in the mugs, the warmth in their faces, and the faint haze of laughter that dulled the memory of screams.

  ——————————————————

  The laughter ebbed slowly as the night wound on. What had begun as a celebration softened into low conversation and the clink of mugs being stacked for washing.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Yon was the first to take his leave, duty dragging him back toward the Guild halls. He clasped Hugo’s hand in farewell, offered Maria a small, respectful nod, and murmured to Alpha’s waiting [Wasp], “Try not to start a new war before breakfast.“ Then he was gone, boots echoing down the corridor until the door shut behind him.

  Sister Audrea lasted a little longer… barely. She had loudly declared she was not drunk three times before admitting that perhaps the hour was unholy for children. Herding her little flock took another ten minutes: Jonah yawning mid-step, Bartholomew carrying Ann, who had dozed off halfway to the door. When the latch finally clicked, the shop seemed to exhale.

  The healers had collapsed into a sprawl of exhaustion in one corner — white coats draped over chairs and benches, a tangle of soft snores and half-empty cups. Beyond them, the rest gathered around the largest table near the counter. A single lamp burned there, its steady light catching the faint swirl of steam from forgotten mugs.

  That left Alpha’s small group.

  Hugo leaned back in his chair, exhaling a long breath. “Never thought I’d see this place look alive again,“ he said, voice low.

  Garrelt smirked. “Hard to picture this place as ‘cursed’, huh?”

  Hugo’s eyes became glassy, and his gaze distant. “Sometimes I can’t help but think of what this place could have been if things had gone differently. If mom had survived. If I hadn’t… given up.”

  “Then stop thinking,“ Garrelt said, raising his mug.

  Alpha’s [Wasp] drifted down from its perch, wings giving a faint metallic hum as it perched on the rim of an empty teacup. Its red optic glowed in the lamplight, catching reflections from the half-empty mugs and the lazy drift of steam from the stew pot cooling on the counter.

  Maria wiped her hands on a towel and joined them, the lines of exhaustion visible now that the adrenaline had faded. Maggy slid into the seat beside her, still pink-cheeked from laughter, hair sticking up where she’d rubbed it dry.

  For a moment, none of them spoke. The quiet between them felt earned — a silence filled with the residue of noise and triumph.

  Then Maggy broke it, brow furrowed in mock seriousness. “The ‘Nexus Hub,‘ huh?“ She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Isn’t that kind of… simple?”

  Alpha spoke, dry amusement curling at the edges of his voice. “Simple by design.”

  Maggy lifted a brow. “Design?”

  Alpha nodded. “Most establishments catering to cultivators rely on spectacle,“ he said. “Grand names. Flaming banners. Endless adjectives. Eternal Phoenix Flame Pavilion, Heaven-Piercing Dragon Forge—that sort of thing. They promise glory because their clients crave it.”

  Garrelt snorted. “He means they all sound like they came out of a sect poet’s fever dream.”

  “That’s one way to put it,“ Alpha replied. “But we’re not chasing sect lords or pampered clan heirs. Our market is the other ninety percent — the free adventurers. The ones without banners or bloodlines. To them, simplicity isn’t a flaw; it’s proof we’re not another gilded scam.”

  Maggy frowned slightly, rolling the thought around. “So you’re saying… it sounds honest.”

  “In its own way,“ Alpha said. “It also keeps the nobles guessing. They look down on anything that isn’t drenched in self-importance. Let them. It gives us room to grow while they underestimate us.”

  Garrelt snorted into his drink. “You’ve got the measure of them, that’s for sure. Loose cultivators don’t care about fancy names. They care about fair deals and safe roads.“ He tipped his mug toward Maggy. “Call a place something grand, and they’ll think it’s not for them.“ He leaned back in his chair, smirking.

  Maggy still looked uncertain, though less so now. “It just feels strange,“ she admitted. “We’ve been through all this, and the big master plan has a name that sounds like a waystation.”

  Maria’s soft laugh cut through the air. “That’s because it is a waystation, dear. Remember, for some, this shop is only meant to be the first stop toward the Nexus proper.”

  Maggy flushed but smiled, rubbing the back of her neck. “Ahhh… right.”

  Dr. Maria smiled gently, then reached over and patted the girl’s shoulder. She then folded her hands on the table. “While this has been enlightening,“ she said, eyes twinkling behind her glasses, “perhaps we should discuss what comes next before we all fall asleep sitting up.”

  The [Wasp] turned toward her, optics brightening. “Quite right, Doctor. Our revelry mustn’t distract us from the matter at hand.”

  He paused as if collecting his thoughts. “The last three days have not gone unnoticed. My network has been expanding through Halirosa — carefully, but steadily. I’ve tagged cargo manifests, mirrored guild ledgers, and traced merchant routes connected to Icefinger’s holdings. Between my own… special touch, and the store business — with the help of Yon and the guild — we’ve managed to disrupt nearly a quarter of their surface-level operations.”

  Garrelt let out a low whistle. “Impressive,“ his expression sobered in the same instance, “but with a hit like that, Icefinger’s gonna start taking notice.”

  “He already has,“ Alpha replied. “Our little operation has drawn more attention than I’d like. The disruption to his Deep-material trade has been significant — more than I projected this early.”

  Maria folded her hands. “You’re saying we’ve already cut into his deeper profits?”

  “Enough to make him angry,“ Alpha said, “if not enough to make him reckless. His lieutenants have been shifting assets, rerouting caravans, and replacing suppliers. I’ve tracked at least a dozen such movements.”

  A smirk crept into his voice. “But every customer we steal bleeds him, drop by drop.”

  “I see. Even when I worked for him, I didn’t expect they could move this fast.“ Hugo asked.

  “Desperation makes men efficient,“ Alpha said, the faint hum of the [Wasp] underscoring his words. “But there’s a problem.”

  The warmth in the room thinned slightly. Even the rain seemed to hush.

  “My usual means of surveillance,“ he continued, “don’t function against cultivators who’ve reached the Second Greater Realm. Their bodies recognize and purge my constructs as easily as poison, and their senses make direct observation… difficult.“ The [Wasp]‘s wings flicked once, a faint metallic sigh. “Let’s just say subtlety doesn’t work well when your quarry can hear the wing beat of a mosquito from half a street away.”

  He let the words settle. Rain pattered faintly against the windows, the only sound for a few breaths.

  Maggy frowned. “Are you saying you can’t track them at all?”

  “Not directly,“ Alpha said. “I can follow the wake they leave — trade changes, patterns in who pays whom, supply shortages that don’t make sense. I have even managed a couple of long-distance recordings — but not the men themselves. Icefinger’s upper circle moves like ghosts. And Icefinger himself…“ The optic dimmed to a coal-red ember. “I’ve yet to catch so much as his shadow.”

  Garrelt leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I’m not surprised. If he were easy to catch, the Guild would’ve gutted him years ago.”

  “Exactly,“ Alpha said. “For now, patience is the best weapon we have.”

  Dr. Maria set her hands neatly atop the table, her voice settling the room with its quiet steadiness. “Have you noticed anything unusual that might help us narrow things down? A pattern? A break in routine?“ The [Wasp] shifted its weight. Alpha spoke, low and reflective. “Yes. One thing. Among the men I can track — Icefinger’s lesser agents and runners — there’s a peculiar gap in what they know. They’re aware of us, certainly. They’ve pieced together that this shop is responsible for recent disruptions.“ His optics brightened faintly, a pulse of red across the mug’s rim. “But beyond that? Nothing. They don’t understand who we are, or why we’re moving against them. It’s as if someone cut the rumor chain halfway through.”

  “That’s… strange,“ Maggy said, brow furrowing. She leaned forward, arms crossed on the table. “It’s been nearly a week since we got here. Shouldn’t Robert have reached them by now? He knew everything — our names, what we found, what happened in the Deep. Shouldn’t he have warned Icefinger days ago?”

  “He should have,“ Alpha agreed. “And yet, there’s been no sign of him. I’ve watched the northern and eastern gates, every major caravan route, even the high trails that run through the Crimson passes. Nothing. No report, no courier, not a whisper.”

  The [Wasp]‘s optic dimmed slightly, a gesture almost like a sigh. “Unfortunately, Robert’s cultivation places him beyond my reach, as I mentioned before. I can’t tag him directly, only the bandits who fled with him.”

  Hugo frowned. “And them? What’s their status?”

  “Dwindling,“ Alpha said simply. “Their numbers have been decreasing in small increments all week. The last count placed them roughly forty miles northwest, along the old supply road near the quarry basin. They haven’t moved since yesterday.”

  Maggy’s expression darkened. “Are they all dead?”

  “They’re not dead, I can confirm that much,“ Alpha said. “But they’ve not left the area for thirty hours.”

  “Why haven’t you sent anyone to check?“ Maggy asked. “If they’re that close, we could have answers before nightfall.”

  Alpha’s answer came without hesitation. “Because none of my available assets can reach them safely. The goblins are resourceful, but not strong enough to cross that terrain themselves. Even with proper gear, Robert would spot them immediately. As for sending antborgs —“ his tone flattened “—individually they’re too weak to survive surface exposure in the Crimson range, and sending enough to protect each other would look like an invasion. Subtlety would die long before they arrived.”

  Maria nodded slowly, adjusting her glasses. “Then we must consider alternatives. Could Robert have bypassed the walls entirely? Used a tunnel or a teleportation array from that location?”

  “It’s possible,“ Alpha said. “But why wouldn’t the bandits have followed?”

  “So either he left them behind intentionally,“ Garrelt said, folding his arms, “or something stopped him before he could use one.”

  Maria’s gaze sharpened.

  The table fell silent. Rain tapped softly against the windowpanes, the rhythm steady and distant. In the silence, the low hum of the [Wasp] filled the air, the only sound that seemed to belong to no living thing.

  Alpha spoke again, softer now, as though weighing his words. “There’s another possibility. Robert may have already abandoned them and reached Halirosa through unmonitored channels — small smuggler lines, merchant convoys, even temple shipments. If that’s the case, he could already be in contact with Icefinger’s network.”

  Garrelt’s jaw tightened. “So we’re looking at two options. Either something’s holding him up out there…”

  “Or he’s already here,“ Maria said, finishing the thought.

  Alpha’s optic brightened faintly. “Precisely.”

  No one spoke for several seconds. The light from the single lamp swayed with the faint draft that slipped under the door, casting their shadows long across the table. Outside, thunder rumbled distantly over the mountains, a low growl fading into silence.

  Hugo broke it first. “If he’s already here,“ he mumbled, “we’ll know soon enough. Icefinger’s not the kind to wait before making a move.”

  Alpha’s hum deepened, a sound almost like agreement. “Then let him come.”

  The words hung in the air — cool, certain, edged with promise.