A Place to Stay

A Place to Stay

Morning light slipped in through the front windows of Halvor Inn, pale and calm.

Zio came down the stairs with steady steps. The wood creaked once beneath his foot, then fell quiet again. He crossed into the main room and took his usual seat.

Myra looked up from behind the counter.
“Morning.”

“Morning,” Zio replied, the corner of his lips lifting slightly.

Myra brought over a bowl of soup and a piece of bread, setting them in front of him without much movement. Thin steam rose slowly, carrying the familiar scent of herbs and grain.

Zio began to eat.

The sound of a door opening came from the upper floor.

Thomas stepped out of his room and descended the stairs. His movements were a little slower than usual. He paused briefly, then sat at the table across from Zio.

Zio stopped his spoon.

“Morning,” he said shortly.

“Morning,” Thomas replied.

They ate in silence.

The inn was not truly quiet. Myra’s footsteps moved back and forth as she delivered breakfast from one table to another. The soft clink of spoons and cups, along with light morning chatter from the guests, drifted gently through the air.

Thomas finished first. He wiped his hands, stood up, and picked up his bag.

“I’m heading out,” he said.

Zio nodded.

Thomas paused near the door, as if about to say something, then thought better of it. He opened the door and stepped outside. The bell rang once, clear and brief.

The door closed again.

Zio remained seated.

He glanced briefly toward the spot where Thomas had been standing, then lowered his gaze back to the table. The soup had begun to cool.

Morning continued on.

***

Zio stepped out of Halvor Inn and let the door close behind him. The bell rang once, then faded into the sounds of the city.

He walked, following his own footsteps.

Ravenhold was fully awake now, though it had not yet reached its busiest hours. Shops opened their wooden shutters. Merchants arranged their goods in front of their stalls. Some people moved quickly, already bound to their errands, while others walked at an easier pace, as if the morning was still willing to wait for them.

Zio walked with the flow, then gradually drifted away from it.

He turned into a street he rarely used. Not for any particular reason. His steps simply chose the quieter direction. Voices grew sparse. The creak of cart wheels sounded farther away.

The surroundings changed little by little. Houses stood farther apart. Stone walls were no longer marked with shop signs or trade boards. The road looked simpler, calmer.

The wind carried the scent of soil and dry wood, replacing the smell of bread and metal from elsewhere in the city.

Zio kept walking.

The city still spread out around him, wider than before.
The road ahead did not press him toward any single path.

The old routine had ended.

***

The public notice board stood at the edge of the square, layered with overlapping sheets of paper. Some were new, pinned cleanly over older notices beneath them.

Zio arrived and stopped a few steps behind two men standing in front of the board.

They lingered there for a while, their eyes moving from one notice to the next.

“There’s no decent work,” one of them muttered.

“Obviously,” the other replied quietly. “Anything good gets taken fast. This one’s too far away. That one doesn’t even have clear working hours.”

The first man snorted.
“I’ll stick to living like this. Don’t feel like dying stupidly like those Adventurer Guild kids. Even if my fire magic’s not bad.”

“Yeah,” his companion said. “But people say selling beast cores pays pretty well too.”

Zio remained silent. He listened from behind, his gaze fixed on the board without joining the conversation.

One of the men glanced back and finally noticed him. He gave Zio a brief look, then nudged his friend.

“Looking for work?” he asked.

Zio nodded.
“Yeah.”

The two men shifted aside, making space.

“Well, I’m heading back,” one of them said. “I’ll wait for clearer job postings tomorrow.”

He walked off, followed by his friend a few seconds later.

Zio stepped forward.

His eyes did not scan the entire board. His hand went straight to the very bottom.

He pulled free a worn sheet of paper, almost completely hidden beneath newer notices. Its corners were torn, its ink faded.

One of the men, not yet far away, raised an eyebrow.
“You sure you want that one?”

Zio nodded once.

He slipped the paper into his pocket, then turned and walked away from the square.

The notice board stood silent again, with a single empty space at the very bottom.

***

The southern gate came into view after Zio passed through the southern district road.

The gate was busy. People moved in and out without pause. Some carried sacks on their backs, others led horses or rode in carts. Wooden wheels rattled against the stone road. Hooves struck the ground. Short exchanges of conversation surfaced, then faded, replaced by new sounds.

Simple horse-drawn carts with wooden roofs stopped and departed in steady turns. Some were filled with passengers. Others still waited.

Zio stopped before the gate.

In his hand, he held the job notice. He paused for a moment, watching the flow of people and vehicles leaving the city.

A guard gave a signal.

Zio stepped forward and passed through a brief inspection. There were no long questions. Only a quick glance and a nod.

Beyond the gate, a cart packed with passengers began to move. The coachman flicked the reins, and the horse pulled it southward.

Not far away, another cart remained parked. It was not yet full.

The coachman noticed Zio and climbed partway down from his seat, approaching him.

“Heading out of the city?” he asked.

Zio nodded. He took the folded paper from his pocket and showed it.

The coachman read it at a glance. His brow creased slightly.

“Oh,” he said quietly. “The farming and orchard area.”

He looked at Zio.
“Fifty copper coins.”

Zio did not answer at once. He glanced toward the long road stretching south.

A moment later, he climbed into the cart. A few other passengers followed after him.

The coachman returned to his seat.

Zio sat on the wooden bench as the cart began to move. Behind him, the southern gate of Ravenhold remained busy, as if unaware of the small step that had just carried someone away from it.

The journey out of the city had begun.

***

The horse cart slowed as it reached a crossroads in the southern outskirts of Ravenhold. The coachman pulled the reins, and the horse came to a stop with heavy steps on the packed earth.

Several dirt paths stretched in different directions. Trees grew sparsely along the road, not as tall or dense as those in the wild forest. The afternoon breeze carried the scent of dry soil and warm leaves.

The coachman glanced back from his seat and looked at Zio.
“This is as far as I go.”

Zio nodded once. He stepped down from the cart, took a few coins from his pocket, then walked over and handed them to the coachman.

The coachman accepted the coins and pointed to one of the dirt paths.
“Follow that road. Not far. You’ll reach the orchard.”

“Thank you,” Zio said with a slight bow of his head.

The coachman flicked the reins again. The horse moved forward, and the cart rolled away with the other passengers. The sound of wooden wheels slowly faded, leaving the crossroads in the quiet of the day.

Zio turned toward the path that had been indicated. He began walking with steady steps.

The land around him opened gradually. Rows of orchard trees stood in neat lines, stretching along the shape of the land. Between the orchard and the fields, a small house stood simply at the edge of the property.

Zio approached and stopped in front of the door. He knocked lightly.
“Excuse me.”

The door opened. An old man appeared and looked Zio over from head to toe with calm curiosity.
“What do you need, lad?”

“Is this Old Bob’s orchard?” Zio asked.

The old man’s brows lifted slightly. He let out a quiet laugh when he saw the sheet of paper in Zio’s hand.
“Hah. I almost forgot I put that notice up.”

He stepped aside and pointed to a long wooden bench in front of the house.
“Sit first.”

Zio did as told. He sat and looked out at the orchard before him, rows of trees resting under the afternoon light. Old Bob went back inside the house.

A short while later, the old man returned carrying a cup of water and a few roasted potatoes. He set them down on the bench beside Zio.

“Go on. Eat first,” he said.

Zio nodded.

***

The place was quiet.

The old man sat beside him without speaking.

“So,” the old man glanced at Zio’s hand, “you came because of that paper?”

Zio nodded.

The old man gave a slow, thoughtful hum.

Zio took a bite of the potato and kept his eyes on the orchard.

For now, he stayed.