Familiar Strangers

The alley buzzed with hushed voices and the distant pluck of a stringed instrument. Deeper in, a drunken laugh echoed, followed by dice clattering against wood.

“This place is… lively,” Fiora muttered, eyeing two men slumped against the wall, mid-argument over a lost bet.

River scoffed. “That’s a generous word for it.”

A worn wooden sign, etched with a faded lyre, hung above a heavy-set door. Music seeped from within, faint at first, then louder as River pushed it open.

Inside, the tavern was dim. Low ceilings, smoke-thick air, and the scent of ale clung to the beams. A bard played by the hearth, her voice smooth and rich, silencing the crowd. Fiora, too, was caught by it.

River headed to an empty table, dropping into a chair with practiced ease. Fiora followed, but her eyes stayed on the bard until the last note faded to applause.

The woman stood, bowed, then scanned the room. Her gaze landed on River. A slow, knowing smile curved her lips.

She crossed the room with a deliberate sway, slid into the seat across from River, and folded her arms.

“Well, well. If it isn’t my favorite rogue.”

“Didn’t know I ranked so high.”

“You disappear without a word, and now you stroll into my tavern like nothing’s changed.” Her eyes flicked to Fiora. “And with company no less.”

Fiora, still caught off-guard by the woman’s presence, stiffened slightly.

When their eyes met, the woman smirked, “Greetings little miss, Celina Alamjer’s the name.” She leaned closer, “Tell me, what epic tale did this one sway you with?”

“Wha—“ Fiora choked on air, “I— He didn’t!”

“Enough with your theatrics, performance’s over anyway.” River leaned closer, “We’re here for information,”

Celina sighed, her shoulders relaxing into something playfully exasperated.

“Of course you are. And here I thought you came all this way just to see me.”

“I can’t imagine why you’d think that.”

Fiora, meanwhile, had already flagged down a server and ordered food. And by the time Celina finally led them to a quieter table in the corner, Fiora was already digging into a plate of seasoned meat and bread with an eagerness completely devoid of noble etiquette.

River raised a brow. “Is this the same stuck-up noble I know?”

Fiora, halfway through a bite, scowled at him. “Not my fault! It’s the realest food I’ve had since the festival!”

Celina, watching them with quiet amusement, rested her chin on her hand.

“My, my,” she mused. “How charming you two are. You almost make me jealous little noble.”

Fiora choked.

“Don’t start.” River on the other hand glared.

Celina grinned, but relented.

“So,” she said, “What exactly are you looking for?”

“We need to get into the nobles’ ball.”

Her brows lifted. No surprise, but definite interest.

“Do you know anything about it? How to get in? Who’ll be there?”

“Darling, who do you take me for? Of course I do. All the major houses will be there. The king’s silence has the nobility restless. Word is, there’s more to this gathering than politics and dancing. Something about them wanting to claim Oaths without the hassle.”

“Without the hassle?” Fiora asked.

“Some believe there’s a loophole. A way to claim one without passing the trials.”

River scoffed. “And they think they’ll find that at a ballroom?”

Celina smirked. “Darling, nobles find everything at a ballroom—alliances, assassinations… it’s where the real games are played.”

Fiora leaned in. “Do you think they actually know something? Or just chasing shadows?”

“Hard to say. But if someone did find a way, wouldn’t this be the perfect place to spread the word?”

River’s fingers drummed once against the table.

“That doesn’t really answer my question. Do you have a way to get us in?”

“Me?” Celina raised a playful brow, “No, sadly I do not hold that much power. A mercenary and a little noble at a such an important ball? That’s not something you can pull off that easily.”

“Then what if I told you this little noble, is the Duke of Lorenzia’s daughter?”

Celina’s expression faltered for the first time. She turned to Fiora, studying her anew.

Fiora straightened, tapping at the concerns of her mouth with a napkin, “Fiora Di Lorenzo.”

Celina let out a slow whistle. “Well, that changes things.”

“Figured as much.”

“I still can’t get you in. But I do know someone who might.”

“You do?” Fiora perked up.

“There’s a tailor who claims he’s got history with the Di Lorenzo family. Dresses half the elite. He might pull a few strings.”

“And where is that tailor?”

“Just a few paces to the left of the fountain of heroes.”

“Thanks Celina.” River smirked, “Resourceful as always.”

Celina’s eyes glinted. “Now that business is done—tell me, what’s changed since I last saw you, mercenary?”

“Not much…” River glanced at Fiora, “Except babysitting a noble.”

“You’re not babysitting—” Fiora snapped. “I’m 20!”

“Hmph. Children.”  Celina rolled her eyes.

“Children?” Fiora narrowed her eyes.

Celina chuckled. “Did you not know your favorite babysitter’s only a couple years older?”

Fiora shot River a look.

“What? You never asked.” 

“And you dare call this babysitting.” She muttered.

Celina grinned. “Anyway, Last time we met, the world wasn’t ending, was it?”

Fiora perked up at that, her brows knitting together. She hesitated for a second as she looked around, “I don’t understand… The world is ending. How can everything be so… normal?”

Celina leaned back in her chair, letting out a soft chuckle. “You say that like you’re so sure.”

Fiora frowned. “The gods—”

“The gods.” Celina echoed, rolling her eyes with amusement. “I’ve heard all the stories. The prophecy, the trials, the Oath Chasers. Everyone grasping at straws, either in fear or in faith.” She tilted her head. “But tell me, little noble—do you really believe it?”

Fiora hesitated.

Celina didn’t wait for an answer, “I think it would be a fitting end were it to be true. A grand finale to an age of arrogance, greed, and meaningless war.” Her fingers drummed lazily against the table. “The nobles, the kings, the zealots—all clawing for something they think will save them, when in reality, it just proves how little they ever had.”

Fiora blinked. The way Celina spoke was almost… casual.

River, however, simply smirked. “So, you don’t believe the world’s ending?”

Celina shrugged. “If it does, it does. If it doesn’t, I’ll still be here, playing my songs.”

Fiora wasn’t sure if that was cynical or admirable.

Celina’s smirk returned. “But before you go…” She traced a circle on the table, slow and teasing. “Have you missed me, mercenary?”

River didn’t flinch. “Not even a little.”

Celina pouted. “Ouch. That’s cold, even for you.”

Fiora felt an unexpected flare in her chest.

Celina caught it and laughed. “Careful, little noble. Spend too much time with him, and you might end up just as heartless.”

Fiora sputtered. “That’s—! I—!”

River stood. “We’re leaving.”

Fiora scrambled after him, still flustered.

Celina winked. “Try not to get into too much trouble, Crowe.”

River glanced back. “No promises.”

And with that, they left the tavern behind.

✾

The streets of Montevio shimmered under lantern light, their golden glow casting long shadows across damp cobblestones. The noble district sat just beyond, refined and distant, but here the air was thick with the scent of wet stone and the faint hum of a violin from a nearby tavern.

Fiora stood before a modest wooden door, hands clasped tight as she exhaled. The shop looked plain, but she knew better. This was where Montevio’s finest garments were born—made for nobles, worn by power. And inside was someone who knew her family once upon a time. Someone who might still see the Di Lorenzo blood in her.

River stood just behind, catching her hesitation.

“You look like you’re about to commit a crime.”

Fiora turned to glare at him. He only smirked, arms crossed.

“What? Not used to knocking on doors yourself?”

“I—” She huffed, straightening. “This is different.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know who this person is…”

“Neither do I.”

She frowned. “Yeah, but it’s different. He probably knew me. Or my father. And my father… well, he wasn’t exactly loved. He might hate me. Or worse—refuse to help.”

“He might,” River said, blunt but steady. “But that’s your father’s legacy. Not yours. And like it or not, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Fiora went still, his words hitting something true. She’d never wronged anyone—so why did she feel like she had? Her father’s wrongdoings were not her own.

River, sensing the shift in her, knocked twice.

A pause. Then footsteps.

The door creaked open. An older man stood in the frame—sharp eyes behind thin spectacles, vest pressed crisp and his white hair was pressed back at his skull. His face held no recognition at first.

Then he froze.

His gaze landed on Fiora. His breath caught. His fingers trembled as he adjusted his glasses. When he spoke, it was barely a whisper—

“…Lady Fiora?”

Her heart jumped. “Alvise!”

She stepped forward without hesitation, wrapping him in a tight embrace. The man stiffened—just for a moment—before he let out a shaky breath and held her back just as firmly. Like he needed to be sure she was real.

River, still at the door, blinked. He hadn’t expected that. Not just recognition—affection. She wasn’t a stranger here.