CHAPTER 112: I AM THE BAR

Their last stop before Frahein was Valdora, the City of Painted Sky, named after the colorful mist that hung above its waterfalls at dusk.

Here, Alira dragged them all into a bathhouse built from mineral stone and hollowed cliffs. The kind with open-air pools that overlooked the valley below.

Kaelen sank into the hot water with a groan. Derek actually smiled. Neal didn’t even complain.

They let their muscles soak. Let the world drift away. They drank chilled fruit wine and watched the steam blur the stars above them.

It was quiet.

No roars. No orders. No monsters. No death.

Just a chill place to relax.

The way it was supposed to be from the very beginning had the war not broken out.

Two days and five teleportations later, they arrived at the outskirts of Frahein.

They have come back home.

The wilds were quieter here. The air carried the scent of pine and loam. A familiar breeze danced along the path.

At the bend of the old dirt road stood a weathered sign: The Ashen Boar – Open at Sundown, First Drink Free.

The lights were on. The windows glowed amber. Someone had cleaned the porch recently.

Derek would often disappear from time to time so he hired a trusted adventurer to look after the tavern when he’s not there.

Kaelen exhaled softly.

No monsters. No glory.

Just mugs, old stories, and chairs that creaked too much.

"Finally," Derek muttered, walking ahead.

Alira stretched. "I call the attic room."

Neal groaned. "Don’t even try. I’ve been dreaming about that mattress for two years."

Kaelen smiled, hands in his pockets. His heart was lighter than it had been in a long, long time.

"I’ll take the cellar then."

"Very funny young man. You’re stuck with me."

***

It began with a crash.

Not the kind that came from swords clashing or spells tearing through air, but the shattering clamor of glass hitting the wooden floor of the Ashen Boar tavern.

Derek stormed out from the kitchen, apron half-tied, wooden spoon still in hand like a weapon.

"KAELEN!"

The culprit stood behind the bar, wild-eyed and grinning like a gremlin caught mid-heist. Three bottles lay empty beside him. A fourth was mid-pour, into his mouth, not a glass.

Kaelen’s black hair was tousled, his shirt halfway unbuttoned, and his expression absolutely shameless.

"I told you..." Derek barked.

"...I was just sampling inventory!" Kaelen cut in, his voice slurred just enough to betray the warmth swimming in his veins. "As your loyal bartender ...hic... I must ensure the quality, yes?"

"You are not the bartender," Derek growled.

"You’re not even sober," Alira muttered from a nearby booth, one eyebrow raised and a dagger twirling between her fingers.

Kaelen swirled the bottle like a wine connoisseur who’d lost all dignity and most of his balance. "What is sobriety but a state of incomplete fun?"

He tipped the bottle higher and let a generous stream fall into his open mouth. Some missed and dripped down his chin. The rest disappeared down his throat with the flourish of a drunkard’s pride.

Behind him, a firefly lantern flickered, casting light on the mismatched labels he’d "taste-tested": Frosted Doom Brandy, Sunfire Apple Cider Reserve, and even one bottle of High Ember Elvenwine that Derek had hidden specifically to avoid this very scenario.

Neal walked in at that moment, freezing mid-step.

"...Kaelen. You good?"

Kaelen slammed the bottle on the counter like it owed him money. "Never been better! Want a drink? I made a special mix..."

"Gods, no," Neal said, backing away. "That smells like it could peel paint."

"You wound me, my solar prince," Kaelen slurred, clutching his chest. "I have crafted with love! And questionable judgment."

Derek stepped up to the counter, slowly, ominously.

Kaelen took one look at him, gave an awkward hiccup... and tried to dive over the bar.

He didn’t make it far.

A single hand grabbed the back of his collar mid-air and yanked him back down with the experience only a father could possess. Kaelen crumpled behind the bar in a pile of limbs and regrets.

"I leave you alone for ten minutes," Derek muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Ten. Minutes."

Kaelen popped up again, cheeks flushed, holding up a muddled cocktail in a cracked mug. "Father, I have created a masterpiece! I call it the Holy Mistake... "

Derek snatched the mug and poured its contents directly into the waste bucket.

Alira laughed from her corner, legs kicked up on the table. "He’s been at it for days. Tried to pour me a drink earlier that fizzed

before it exploded."

Neal dragged a stool over and sat beside her. "This is his version of taking it easy."

Derek sighed like a man who had raised Kaelen too long to be surprised. "This is him taking it easy. Huh? How did the world’s best academy raise such a failure in such a short time, truly the best academy."

Kaelen slumped dramatically behind the counter, one arm flopped over his eyes. "I’m an artist... and none of you understand my vision..."

Alira leaned over. "If your vision is to poison half the empire, I’d say you’re halfway there."

Kaelen peeked at her through one eye and grinned like a drunken fox. "You’re pretty when you mock me."

She rolled her eyes. "And you’re prettier when you shut up."

"Oof." Neal winced and leaned back. "When did she learn how to start making jokes?"

"She’s always been like this, just shy I guess." Derek muttered. "And you.. " he pointed at Kaelen, who was now slowly crawling away like a spilled spirit of alcohol incarnate, "are banned from the bar. Indefinitely."

Kaelen stopped mid-crawl. "You can’t ban me from the bar. I am the bar!"

He raised his arms, knocking over another bottle.

It shattered.

Silence.

Derek turned back to the kitchen.

"I’m getting the mop. If he moves, stab him."

Alira didn’t look away from her drink. "With pleasure."

Kaelen raised a hand weakly. "Avenge me, Neal..."

Neal was already up and dragging him by the ankle toward a chair.

"You need water. And food. And less of whatever that holy mistake was."