The Uninvited Guest

The thought, sharp and clear, cut through the quiet hum of the inn room. My eyes, which had snapped into focus at the fleeting sensation, remained fixed on the rough wooden planks of the ceiling. The presence, however, had vanished as quickly as it appeared. A simple trick of the mind? Unlikely. My senses, though still adjusting to this new existence, were rarely prone to such blatant misinterpretations.

Without a sound, I pushed myself up from the straw mattress. Rovy and Bane continued their rhythmic breathing, oblivious in their sleep. The single flickering lamp cast long, dancing shadows, making the cramped room feel even smaller. I stood, my gaze sweeping the ceiling, then the walls, searching for any subtle sign, any disturbance in the air currents. Nothing.

My gaze drifted to the door. If the presence was indeed real, and not a figment of my weary mind, it would likely be observing from a more advantageous position. And a shared room was hardly conducive to... private consultations.

With a silent, fluid motion, I moved towards the door. The old wood creaked faintly as I eased it open, stepping out into the inn's dimly lit hallway. The air here was cooler, carrying the faint scent of dust and old wood. The sounds of the inn were muted—distant snores, a floorboard creaking somewhere, the occasional murmur from another room.

I stood in the center of the narrow hallway, my gaze sweeping upwards, then along the ceiling. The presence was still there, subtle but undeniable, a faint ripple in the ambient energies. It was directly above, perhaps in the rafters or a hidden crawlspace.

"I know you're there," I stated, my voice low but clear, echoing slightly in the confined space. "Why are you observing?"

Silence. Only the gentle creak of the inn and the distant sounds of Raven's night. No rustle, no shift, no acknowledgment. Predictable. They assume I am merely guessing, or perhaps, hallucinating.

"If you're seeking information," I continued, my tone shifting, a hint of something nonchalant and absurd creeping in, "I suggest you approach. Or do you prefer to watch me sleep? I assure you, there's nothing captivating. Merely mundane biological processes. Unless, of course, you're fascinated by optimal breathing patterns for energy efficiency. Or perhaps... you admire the perfect form of my eye bags? They are the result of a lifetime's dedication to sleep deprivation." I paused, letting the words hang in the air, a bait for any ego. "Or perhaps you just want to know what it feels like to... scratch one's backside in the middle of the night?"

A faint, almost imperceptible gasp. A tiny, choked sound, quickly stifled. It came from directly above me. Got you.

The next instant, a cold, sharp press against my throat. A thin, gleaming blade, held with surprising precision, rested against my jugular. The presence I had felt above was now undeniably behind me.

"Silence!" The voice, a female's, was hoarse, a mix of startled arrogance and a hint of panic. "How did you—"

But before she could finish, before her childish arrogance could fully manifest, something shifted within me. The cold steel at my throat, the sudden threat—it wasn't fear that surged, but a different, far older instinct. A memory, sharp and visceral, of a cold pistol, a single bullet, and the desperate, burning desire for nothingness. My mind, for a terrifying, fleeting moment, slipped back into that familiar, comforting abyss.

“The last step before eternal rest.”

Without conscious thought, without a flicker of hesitation, I leaned forward, pushing my neck into the blade. A subtle, almost imperceptible shift in my posture, a deliberate offering. The cold kiss of the steel intensified, a promise of the void I had sought.

"What—?!"

A sharp cry of alarm, laced with genuine terror, ripped from her throat. The blade instantly recoiled, pulled back with frantic haste. A sudden shove, hard and unexpected, sent me stumbling backward. My head hit the rough wooden floor with a dull thud.

The impact jarred me, a jolt that ripped me from the dark embrace of my old thoughts. The world snapped back into sharp focus. The familiar hum of unfamiliar energies, the distant, muffled snores from the room I'd just left. And standing over me, wide-eyed and visibly shaken, was a small figure.

She was indeed a half-elf, with short, straight blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, and striking golden pupils that were currently dilated with shock. Her light leather armor seemed a size too big, emphasizing her diminutive stature. In her hand, she still clutched a small, ornate dagger, its tip now pointing harmlessly at the floor. Her face, highly expressive, shifted rapidly from panic to confusion, then to a flicker of raw fear.

"What were you doing?!" she practically shrieked, her voice a frantic whisper, utterly devoid of the earlier arrogance. Her golden eyes, wide and disbelieving, were fixed on me as I slowly pushed myself up. "Are you insane?! You just... you just tried to cut your own throat! With my dagger!"

I blinked, my head throbbing slightly from the impact. My own action, the sudden lunge towards the blade, felt alien, almost detached. A reflex from a ghost of a past I thought I had buried. An inconvenient subroutine.

"I was merely... testing a hypothesis," I replied, my voice flat, though a subtle tremor, almost imperceptible, ran through my words. My eyes narrowed, observing her. "And you reacted inefficiently. Your grip faltered. Your push was uncalculated."

Her jaw dropped. "Inefficient?! Uncalculated?! I just saved your life, you lunatic! You were literally trying to commit suicide with my blade!" She threw her hands up in exasperation, her blonde ponytail bouncing. "Who does that?!"

"Someone who understands the logical conclusion of an accelerated threat," I stated, pushing myself fully upright. "Your blade was at my throat. The most efficient outcome, from a certain perspective, would be to expedite the process. Your hesitation, however, proved... unexpected."

She stared at me, her expressive face cycling through disbelief, anger, and a growing, profound confusion. "You... you're unbelievable! Do you have any idea how much trouble I'd be in if you actually did that?! A dead body in the inn, with my dagger in it! Do you know how hard it is to explain that to the Guild?!" Her voice, though still hushed to avoid waking others, was laced with genuine frustration. "I'm Sylv, by the way, and I'm a professional! I don't just go around... around letting people kill themselves with my gear!" Her chest heaved, her golden eyes flashing. "And who are you to judge my efficiency?! I'm the best scout in Raven, practically!"

I simply observed her outburst, noting the rapid shifts in her emotional state, the revealing details in her frantic defense. Sylv. A professional. Scout. Best in Raven. Childish arrogance, indeed.

"Einar," I replied, my voice still calm, cutting through her tirade. "And your 'professionalism' was compromised by an unforeseen variable: a lack of desire for self-preservation in your target. A critical oversight, wouldn't you agree?" My gaze drifted to the ceiling, then back to her. "Now, perhaps you can explain why Raven's 'best scout' was lurking in the inn's rafters at this hour?"

Sylv's golden eyes narrowed, her previous panic giving way to a renewed, albeit still flustered, indignation. "Lurking?! I wasn't 'lurking'! I was... conducting reconnaissance! And it's none of your business why! You're the one who just tried to turn my perfectly good dagger into a murder weapon on yourself!" She pointed the dagger accusingly at me, then quickly lowered it, as if remembering my earlier reaction. Her frustration was palpable, a whirlwind of childish annoyance and genuine bewilderment. "Seriously, what is wrong with you? Are you some kind of masochist? Or just really, really bad at... everything?"

"My internal motivations are irrelevant to your current predicament," I stated, ignoring her personal attacks. "You were attempting to gather information on me, presumably without my consent. Your method of approach was flawed, your reaction to an unexpected variable was suboptimal. These are objective observations, not subjective judgments." My gaze remained steady, unwavering. "Now, I reiterate: why were you in the rafters?"

Sylv threw her hands up again, a small, exasperated sound escaping her. "Ugh! You're impossible! Fine! Fine, I was... I was just checking things out! New face in town, weird clothes, hanging out with Rovy and Bane. It's my job to know what's going on!" She crossed her arms, puffing out her cheeks slightly, a defiant pout on her face that seemed utterly out of place for someone holding a lethal weapon. "And you! You're just... you're just so weird! No one acts like that! You don't even flinch! It's creepy!"

"My emotional responses are also irrelevant," I countered, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of my lips. Creepy. An interesting descriptor. "And my 'weirdness' does not negate the validity of my observations regarding your tactical shortcomings. Furthermore, you have revealed your profession, your name, and your reason for being in the rafters. All without significant coercion. Your information security protocols are... lacking."

Sylv's face flushed, a mixture of anger and embarrassment. "Hey! I just told you my name because you're... you're just so frustrating! And it's not 'lacking'! I'm usually super stealthy! No one ever catches me!" Her voice lowered to a petulant whisper. "Except you, apparently. And that whole... thing with the dagger. That wasn't fair!"

"Fairness is a subjective construct, irrelevant in a world governed by cause and effect," I replied, a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in my stance. "And your 'super stealthy' claim is contradicted by your current position and my awareness of it. Perhaps your 'best scout' title is premature." I watched her closely, noting the way her golden eyes sparked with indignation, the way her small hands clenched around the hilt of her dagger. She was a volatile, yet transparent, entity. A useful tool, perhaps, if properly calibrated.

"You... you...!" Sylv sputtered, searching for words, her frustration reaching a peak. She stomped her foot lightly, a sound barely audible on the wooden floor. "You're just like... like a really annoying, smart rock! You don't even get it, do you?! People don't just... do that! It's not normal!" She gestured wildly with her free hand, then stopped, her eyes narrowing. "Wait a minute. You keep talking about 'efficiency' and 'observations' and 'protocols.' Are you... are you some kind of scholar? Or a spy? You don't look like either!"

"My previous occupation is irrelevant to my current capabilities," I stated, my eyes briefly flickering to the closed door of Rovy and Bane's room. "And my appearance is merely a superficial construct. What matters is the processing of information."

Sylv tilted her head, her frustration momentarily overshadowed by genuine curiosity. "So you're just... smart? Really, really smart? And you don't care about anything?" Her voice softened slightly, a hint of genuine bewilderment replacing the anger. "That's... kinda sad."

Sad. An interesting emotional response. Inefficient, yet prevalent. "Emotion is a variable," I conceded, "often detrimental to optimal outcomes. As for 'caring,' it is a luxury I do not possess. Or require." I paused, allowing her to process this. "Now, if your 'reconnaissance' is complete, perhaps you would consider sharing any pertinent information you have gathered about Raven. In exchange for future 'consultations,' of course." I offered, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on my lips. A transaction. Simple. Effective.

Sylv stared at me, her golden eyes wide, then she let out a frustrated groan. "Share information? You think I'm just going to give you my hard-earned intel after you just... just tried to die on my dagger?!" She threw her hands up again, her ponytail swishing. "No! Absolutely not! What makes you think I would?!"

An unexpected variable. My faint smirk vanished, replaced by my usual flat expression. Her refusal was illogical. A transaction of information for future 'consultation' was a clear benefit. Her emotional response was overriding rational self-interest. Curious.

"My assessment indicated a high probability of acceptance," I stated, my voice devoid of any inflection that might betray my internal confusion. "Given your apparent desire for validation and your current state of... emotional disarray. The exchange would be mutually beneficial."

Sylv scoffed, crossing her arms. "Mutually beneficial? You're talking about my intel like it's a piece of goblin hide! And I'm not in 'emotional disarray'! I'm just... frustrated! With you!" She stomped her foot again, a tiny, almost comical gesture. "No deals! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have actual work to do. Unlike some people who just... try to get themselves killed!" She made a move to turn away, but I spoke again.

"A moment," I interjected, my voice cutting through her dismissal. My gaze fixed on the dagger still clutched in her hand. "You threatened me with that blade. Yet, when presented with the opportunity for its intended function, you recoiled. Why employ a tool for a purpose you are unwilling to see through?"

Sylv froze, her back half-turned. She slowly rotated to face me again, her expressive face now a mix of bewilderment and a strange, almost childlike awkwardness. Her golden eyes darted from my face to the dagger in her hand, then back to my face, as if trying to find an answer there.

"W-what?" she stammered, her usual confident tone completely gone. "What kind of question is that?! I... I mean, you don't just... you don't just kill someone! Even if they're... even if they're being a complete annoying lunatic!" She gestured vaguely at me. "It's... it's not right! That's not what daggers are for! Not for that! It's for... for monsters! Or bandits! Not... not people! And certainly not... not for that!" Her voice trailed off, a genuine confusion clouding her features. She looked genuinely perplexed, as if I had asked her to explain the concept of gravity to a fish.

Interesting. A moral constraint. An emotional barrier overriding logical efficiency. A significant variable. My mind began to re-evaluate her profile. This was not merely childish arrogance; there was an underlying, almost naive, sense of right and wrong. A fascinating, and potentially exploitable, weakness. Or perhaps... a strength. The thought was fleeting, dismissed as irrelevant for now.

"So, you possess a tool," I continued, my voice flat, "but hesitate to apply its full capacity based on an arbitrary classification of 'target.' This is inefficient. A dagger, by its design, is for piercing. The nature of the object it pierces is irrelevant to its function."

Sylv's eyes widened, then she shook her head vigorously, as if trying to dislodge a persistent fly. "No! No, you don't understand! It's not arbitrary! It's... it's life! You don't just take a life like that! It's wrong! It's... it's just wrong!" She clutched the dagger to her chest, her expression a mix of horror and genuine distress. "And you! You just... you don't care at all, do you?! You actually wanted it! That's... that's terrifying!"

Her words, raw and unfiltered, hung in the air. Terrifying. Another interesting descriptor. Her emotional state was escalating, becoming less predictable. This interaction was no longer yielding optimal information. The data points were becoming too erratic.

"My emotional state is not relevant to this discussion," I stated, attempting to re-establish a logical framework. "Your reaction, however, indicates a significant operational limitation. Perhaps you should reconsider your profession if you are unwilling to utilize your tools to their full potential."

Sylv let out a frustrated, almost animalistic growl. "You know what?! I'm done! I'm done with your 'observations' and your 'efficiency' and your... your creepy, dead eyes!" She spun on her heel, her ponytail whipping around. "I have actual work to do! Important work! Not standing around talking to a lunatic who wants to die!"

She stalked down the hallway, her light leather armor making barely a whisper of sound. I watched her go, noting the speed of her retreat, the agitated swing of her arms. She disappeared around the corner.

"I can still see you," I called out, my voice flat, directed at the empty corner she had just vanished around.

A beat of silence. Then, a sharp, exasperated sigh echoed from the darkness. Sylv reappeared, stepping back into the dim light of the hallway, her arms crossed, her golden eyes narrowed into angry slits. "You are so annoying! How do you even do that?!"

"My visual acuity is within normal parameters," I replied, a subtle, almost imperceptible tilt of my head. "Your 'stealth' is merely insufficient. A common flaw among those who rely on assumption rather than precise calculation."

Sylv's face twisted into a furious pout. "Ugh! You're impossible! Fine! Fine, you caught me! Again! What do you want?!" Her voice was a low, frustrated hiss.

I met her gaze, my own eyes unwavering. She held it for a moment, her golden pupils searching mine, as if trying to find some hidden motive, some flicker of emotion. Her expression softened, just barely, as if a thought, perhaps a heavy one, crossed her mind. She let out a slow, quiet sigh, the last vestiges of her anger draining away, replaced by something akin to resignation.

Then, without a word, she reached out, her small hand taking a firm grip on the sleeve of my hoodie. It was a surprising gesture, direct and unhesitating. She tugged, a silent command.

"Come on," she mumbled, her voice surprisingly subdued, almost a whisper. "We're going somewhere else."

She turned, pulling me along. I offered no resistance. The hallway, the inn, the sleeping figures—all faded behind us as she led me towards the inn's exit, into the cool, silent embrace of Raven's night.