The Uninvited Guest

The room Rovy secured was cramped, with two straw mattresses on the floor and a single, flickering lamp that cast long, dancing shadows. The air was stale. Bane was asleep almost instantly, his snores a low, rhythmic rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. Rovy, after a moment of quiet contemplation, also drifted off, her breathing soft and even.

I did not sleep. I lay on the floor, the rough straw a minor sensory irritant, and stared at the rough wooden ceiling. My mind processed the day's data stream: the town's layout, its economic structure, the social dynamics of the Guild, the capabilities of my new "associates." This world was primitive, chaotic, yet it operated on discernible patterns. And patterns could be exploited.

Unconsciously, my right hand lifted, fingers playing in the air as if grasping for an elusive thread of thought. It was an old habit, a physical manifestation of a mind at work. As my hand stretched towards the rough wooden planks of the ceiling, a faint tremor ran through the air.

For a fleeting instant, I felt it—a presence. A subtle shift in the ambient pressure, a whisper in the quiet hum of the unfamiliar energies that permeated this world. It was as if someone had just moved directly above me, on the other side of the ceiling.

My eyes, which had been idly tracing the wood grain, snapped into sharp focus. The sensation vanished as quickly as it came, leaving only the quiet hum and the rhythmic breathing of Rovy and Bane. I lowered my hand slowly, my stoic expression momentarily replaced by a flicker of something that was not boredom.

An anomaly. Interesting.

The thought, sharp and clear, cut through the quiet hum of the inn room. My eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. 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. My gaze drifted to the door. A shared room was hardly conducive to... private consultations. With a silent, fluid motion, I moved towards the door, the old wood creaking faintly as I eased it open and stepped into the inn's dimly lit hallway. The air here was cooler, carrying the faint scent of dust and old wood.

I stood in the center of the narrow hallway, my gaze sweeping upwards. The presence was still there, a faint ripple in the ambient energies, directly above.

"I know you're there," I stated, my voice low but clear. "Why are you observing?"

Silence. Only the gentle creak of the inn. Predictable.

"If you're seeking information," I continued, my tone shifting, a hint of nonchalant absurdity 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 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 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, something shifted within me. The cold steel at my throat wasn't a threat; it was an opportunity. A memory, sharp and visceral, of a cold pistol, a single bullet, and the desperate, burning desire for nothingness.

“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, 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. And standing over me, wide-eyed and visibly shaken, was a small figure.

She was 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.

"What were you doing?!" she practically shrieked, her voice a frantic whisper. "Are you insane?! You just... you just tried to cut your own throat! With my dagger!" For a moment, the anger in her eyes was eclipsed by a different, older fear. A flicker of a memory that was not my own.

I blinked, my head throbbing slightly. My own action 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. My eyes narrowed, observing her. "And you reacted inefficiently. Your grip faltered. Your push was uncalculated."

Her jaw dropped. "Inefficient?! I just saved your life, you lunatic! 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 a whirlwind of disbelief 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, was laced with genuine frustration. "I'm Sylv, by the way, and I'm a professional! I don't just go around letting people kill themselves with my gear!"

I simply observed her outburst. Sylv. A professional. Scout. Childish arrogance, indeed.

"Einar," I replied, my voice calm. "And your 'professionalism' was compromised by an unforeseen variable: a lack of desire for self-preservation in your target. A critical oversight. Now, perhaps you can explain why Raven's 'best scout' was lurking in the inn's rafters?"

Sylv's golden eyes narrowed, her previous panic giving way to a renewed, albeit still flustered, indignation. "Lurking?! I was conducting reconnaissance! 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. "And you! You're just so weird! No one acts like that! It's creepy!"

"My emotional responses are irrelevant," I countered. "And my 'weirdness' does not negate the validity of my observations regarding your tactical shortcomings. You have revealed your profession, your name, and your reason for being here. All without significant coercion. Your information security protocols are... lacking."

Sylv's face flushed. "Hey! 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," I replied. "You threatened me with a 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 expressive face was now a mix of bewilderment and a strange, almost childlike awkwardness. "W-what? What kind of question is that?! I... I mean, you don't just... you don't just kill someone! It's... it's not right! It's for... for monsters! Or bandits! Not... not people!" Her voice trailed off, a genuine confusion clouding her features.

Interesting. A moral constraint. An emotional barrier overriding logical efficiency.

"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, and she shook her head vigorously. "No! No, you don't understand! It's life! You don't just take a life like that! It's 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 emotional state was escalating, becoming unpredictable. This interaction was no longer yielding optimal information.

"You know what?! I'm done!" Sylv growled, spinning on her heel. "I have actual work to do! Not standing around talking to a lunatic who wants to die!" She stalked down the hallway and disappeared around the corner.

"I can still see you," I called out, my voice flat.

A beat of silence. Then, a sharp, exasperated sigh echoed from the darkness. Sylv reappeared, 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. "Your 'stealth' is merely insufficient."

"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. 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. "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.