Prologue : Under the Roof

"Here." Heidi pressed a brown apron into my chest—the signature uniform of the Ravenoir Guild’s Tavern.

"Thank you, Heidi." I offered her a warm smile.

"Ugh, stop smiling like that, Jotun," she scoffed. "Why did you even take this job?"

"I think it’s the perfect place for me." I rubbed the back of my neck.

She sighed. "It’s not perfect at all. Look." She pointed toward the packed tables. "What do you see?"

"People?"

"What kind of people?" She narrowed her eyes.

I scanned the crowd, raising a skeptical eyebrow at her. "Many kinds, I guess?"

"They’re loud, rude morons," she muttered. "Trust me, these hunters are annoying as hell. Deliver their orders and vanish. Otherwise, they’ll talk your ear off."

I chuckled. "Don’t be like that. I see people with their own stories. The fact that they can sit here, laughing and drinking in peace, means they need a place to feel safe." I met her gaze. "They aren’t any different from us. They’re just human."

A dwarf sitting at the bar fixed me with a flat stare over his tankard. "...And dwarves, of course," I added with an awkward laugh.

Heidi paused, shaking her head. "Fine. Do what you want, Jo." She turned to leave. "My shift is over. See you tomorrow."

"See you, Heidi."

I took a deep breath. The scent of seasoned oak and spilled ale, the roaring laughter and clanking mugs—this was exactly what I wanted. My dream was simple: to be an innkeeper, and maybe open my own tavern one day. Some might call it a shallow ambition, but to me, it was everything.

Growing up, I used to sneak into this very tavern just to listen to Old Gram. He was the former innkeeper, a man who spun tales of patrons battling forest trolls, discovering breathtaking ruins, and narrowly escaping mysterious caves. He spoke with such fierce passion that every patron loved him. When he passed away from old age, the whole town felt the loss. Me most of all.

"Hey, boy! Stop daydreaming and bring me an ale!" a raspy voice hollered, shattering my thoughts.

"Coming!"

**

Hours bled away. The night deepened, and the tavern’s relentless noise finally faded into a heavy quiet. I rolled my shoulders, wincing at the dull ache spreading across my back. The work was harder than I’d anticipated. Taking a deep breath, I began wiping down the sticky bar counter for the night.

Creak. The heavy wooden door pushed open. A small figure stepped inside, weighed down by an oversized backpack and a broadsword dangling at her hip.

"Hello, miss. Can I help you?"

As she approached, the dim candlelight caught her face. Light brown hair framed exhausted, sunken brown eyes. She unbuckled her pack, letting it hit the floor with a heavy thud, and collapsed onto a barstool.

"Ale, please," she rasped, her voice barely a whisper.

I hesitated. The tavern was technically closed, but I reached for a wooden mug anyway, filling it from the barrel.

"Here you go." I set the mug down gently and offered a soft smile.

She stared at it for a moment. "Thanks."

I gave a short nod and went back to scrubbing mugs in silence. Old Gram had a rule for moments like this: When a patron isn't in the mood to talk, busy your hands and hold your tongue. Sometimes, people just needed a quiet corner to exist in.

After a long stretch of silence, she finally spoke. "Are you new here?"

"Yeah, it’s my first day," I said, looking up. "Thanks for noticing."

She studied me. "I'm Glea."

"Hi, Glea. I’m Jotun. You can call me Jo." I let out a quiet laugh to ease the weary air between us. "Or Jojo, if you prefer."

"Thanks, Jotun. For staying open late for me." She slid a silver coin across the wood, gathered her gear, and headed for the door. She paused at the threshold, looking back at me one last time before stepping out into the night.

I exhaled, a tired smile tugging at my lips. A simple 'thank you' made the aching muscles worth it. I blew out the candles and finally locked up for the night.

**

The next day, after swapping shifts with Heidi, I settled into my usual routine: serving patrons, wiping down the bar, and listening to the steady hum of chatter.

Or so I thought.

I glanced toward the center of the room. Two massive figures were at each other's throats, hands bunched in each other's collars. I tossed my rag onto the counter and jogged over.

"Say that again, you bastard!" the bearded man shouted, his voice thick with rage.

"I said step away! Never touch my training ground again!" the bald man roared back.

"That's not your ground!" The bearded man raised a heavy fist.

I stepped between them. "Gentlemen, please don't start a brawl in the tavern."

They ignored me entirely.

I gently tapped their shoulders. "Please, gentlemen. Let's cool down."

Both of them glared at me.

"Let's sit down and take a breath," I offered, flashing a hopeful smile. "The next round of ale is on me. What do you say?"

Smack. A heavy fist collided with my jaw. My feet went out from under me, and I hit the wooden floor hard. The room spun wildly. The tavern's chatter faded into a high-pitched ringing in my ears. Blinking away the stars, I scrambled back to my feet, clutching my throbbing face.

"Please... no brawling. I beg you," I mumbled, my jaw flaring with pain.

Suddenly, a massive shadow fell over me. The two brawlers froze, their eyes widening at whatever stood at my back. As the ringing in my ears subsided, I realized the entire tavern had gone dead silent. Everyone was watching us.

I turned. A colossal man with a long beard cascading over his chest glared down at the troublemakers. Just looking at his dark expression sent a chill down my spine.

"You crossed a line," his deep voice rumbled.

Without missing a beat, the giant shot his hands forward, seizing both men by their throats. He hoisted them off the floor as easily as lifting two sacks of feathers.

"Apologize to the boy."

"I—we're—sorry—" the brawlers gasped, their legs kicking in the air.

Creak. Another patron had already kicked the heavy front doors wide open. "Here you go, Roger!" he called out with a smirk.

With a single, fluid motion, Roger launched the two heavy men out the door and into the dirt. He didn't even break a sweat. I stood there, eyes wide, my bruised jaw hanging open. I had never seen anyone toss grown men like skipping stones.

A heavy hand clapped my shoulder. "You alright, innkeeper?" Roger asked, his rumbling voice much softer now.

He inspected my swelling jaw, then gestured to his table. A woman stood up and walked over. "Don't worry. Denise here is a healer."

As she stepped close, Denise pressed her fingers to my cheek. A sudden, soothing warmth seeped into my skin, and the throbbing vanished without a trace.

"There you go, innkeeper," Denise smiled.

"T-thank you so much," I stammered, looking between them.

Roger gave a curt nod. "I respect your bravery, boy, but..." He pointed toward a dull copper bell at the end of the bar. "If a fight breaks out, you just ring that bell. Let the guards handle it."

I gave him an awkward smile. "I know. I just wanted them to cool down in peace. I didn't want the guild guards dragging them away." I let out a nervous laugh. "But it seems I was a bit too weak."

Roger's eyes widened. "Who are you, Old Gram?" he chuckled.

"You knew him?"

A fond smile broke through his thick beard. "Of course. Every veteran here knows him." He slung a massive arm around my shoulders. "I respect a man who tries to keep the peace. You're a wise one. What's your name?"

"Jotun, Mister Roger."

He grinned, turning to face the silent crowd. "Today's round is on me!" he bellowed, snatching a wooden mug from the nearest table. "To Jotun!"

"To Jotun!" the crowd roared back, hoisting their ales.

Roger patted my back. "Welcome to the Ravenoir Tavern, lad."