Chapter Text
Year 1179 of the Imperial Calendar
The smell of damp wood, cheap beer, and stale sweat hung in the air of the tavern near Garreg Mach Monastery. Outside, the rain lashed against the windows with the fury of a Faerghus storm. Inside, however, the warmth of the fireplace tried, with little success, to ease the shoulders of three warriors who had just finished clearing a bandit nest on the borders.
"—And then I told the bandit: 'Looks like you’ve hit rock bottom for your retirement!', because he had fallen down a ravine, get it? Rock bottom! Ha, ha, ha!" Alois’s boisterous laughter echoed against the wooden walls, causing a couple of mercenaries at the next table to look over with sour expressions.
Alois, immune to the glares and the awkward silence of his companions, took a generous gulp from his beer mug, wiping the foam off his mustache with the back of his glove.
"—Wow, tough crowd tonight," Alois sighed, leaning his elbows on the table with a good-natured smile. "But seriously, I’m glad we finished quickly. My wife and little daughter are waiting for me in the capital next moon. There’s truly nothing like home, I assure you. Seeing how chaotic this world is, one can't help but wonder... Haven't you two thoughts about settling down in the future? I mean, we can't swing weapons forever."
Catherine, who was busy wiping a grease stain from the hilt of her sword, let out a rough laugh and slammed her fist on the table, making the mugs rattle.
"—Oh, come on, Alois! Save the sentimentality for the training grounds," Catherine teased, throwing him a competitive look. "Settle down? My entire life belongs to Lady Rhea and the service of the Church of Seiros. My sword is her shield, and my only future is to die defending her will. The day you catch me embroidering by a fireplace or worrying about the price of wheat, make sure to bury me, because it'll mean I've completely lost my mind."
"—Oh, duty is sacred, of course!" Alois replied, shrugging with a chuckle. "But even the fiercest knights have a corner where they can rest, Catherine. Look at Shamir; she hasn't taken vows with the Church and she's still here. What about you, Shamir? Haven't you thought about finding a place to belong when the coin is no longer necessary? A family, perhaps."
Shamir Nevrand remained with her arms crossed, leaning against the wooden wall in the shadows. She hadn't touched her glass. Her eyes, cold and calculating like a hawk's, watched the rain through the window glass.
Her silence dragged on long enough for the crackle of the logs in the fireplace to fill the void at the table. When she finally spoke, her voice sounded dry and icy, cutting through the conversation with the precision of one of her arrows.
"—Home. Family. That sounds like an unnecessary problem," Shamir stated flatly, without tearing her gaze away from the storm. "I don't pray to their Goddess, I don't serve her faith, and I owe nothing to the future. The outside world is far too unstable to waste time making plans."
Catherine let out a low whistle and looked at Alois with a smug smile.
"—See, Alois? I told you so. Don't try to soften a mercenary from Dagda with your stories," Catherine added, taking a sip from her own drink. "Shamir is right about something: on the road, it's better to travel light. As long as the Church pays on time, her bow will be ready. What happens when she stops drawing the string is none of our business."
"—Well, well, I see I'm the only romantic in this order," Alois sighed good-naturedly, though his face lit up immediately as he remembered his next itinerary. "Anyway, I won't have much time to miss my home. Lady Rhea has entrusted me with a very important assignment for the coming moons. I am going to personally lead the escort that will bring the next three student delegates to the Officers Academy. They say they are the primary heirs of the three regions. A most routine mission, the kind that goes off without a single hitch, you'll see!"
Catherine shifted in her chair, crossing her legs with an air of military confidence.
"—Wow, the heirs of the three main houses... Be careful, Alois. Those high nobility kids tend to be more troublesome than a whole nest of bandits. Don't let them push you around with their titles," she warned with a teasing smile. "Though if things get rough, let me know. My sword is always ready to bail you out of trouble."
Shamir let out a subtle, almost imperceptible scoff at her companions' loud confidence, fixing her gaze once more on the raindrops sliding down the glass.
None of the three suspected that this supposed "routine mission" would end in an ambush in Remire Village, forcing Alois to seek help from a band of mercenaries and triggering his reunion with the legendary Jeralt. Nor did they know that the irony of fate would mock their vows: a year and a half after the end of the bloodiest war the continent would ever remember—a conflict that would erupt precisely because of those three delegates.