The gates of Vespera loomed ahead, the city's bustling energy spilling into the countryside like an overturned barrel of ale. Merchants shouted, children shrieked, and the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith's hammer provided the heartbeat of the city. But all noise ceased to matter when a woman's voice cut through the chaos like a well-honed knife.
"DIMOS!"
A stout woman in a flour-dusted apron burst from the crowd, her hands flying to her mouth before she dropped to her knees and threw her arms around the boy. Dimos—usually so sharp-tongued and defiant—went utterly still. Then, slowly, his small hands fisted in her dress, his face buried in her shoulder as his body trembled.
Regulus watched, something unfamiliar tightening in his chest. He looked away, suddenly feeling like an intruder on something painfully private.
A broad-shouldered man stepped forward next, his face a mirror of relief and exhaustion. He clasped Regulus' forearm in a grip that could crush stone, his voice rough with emotion. "Thank you for bringing my son home."
Regulus shook his head. "I didn't save him. He saved himself."
The man's grip tightened. "Then thank you for not leaving him behind."
When Regulus finally got a proper look at him—the dark eyes, the beard streaked with gray, the way he stood like a barrel ready to take on the world—his mouth fell open.
"Borin!?"
The man blinked. "You know my brother?"
"Your brother?" Regulus echoed, dumbfounded.
The man chuckled, releasing his arm. "Boris. Twin brother of Borin." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the city. "He runs the dockside tavern. I handle the grain shipments."
Nyx, who had been observing the scene with amused detachment, let out a low laugh. "Oh, this is too perfect." She leaned in, her voice dripping with mischief. "Tell me, Boris—did your brother ever complain about the mouthy brat who nearly burned down his galley trying to cook?"
Boris' eyes widened. "You—! So you're the idiot who made my brother swear off landlubbers for a month?"
Regulus groaned. "In my defense, the stove was possessed."
"The stove was fine," Nyx and Boris said in unison.
Dimos, finally pulling away from his mother with red-rimmed eyes but his usual smirk returning, looked between them all. "Wait. Uncle Borin threatened to feed a guy to the kraken once. That was you?"
Regulus rubbed the back of his neck. "...Maybe?"
Boris roared with laughter, slapping Regulus on the back hard enough to make his teeth rattle. "Oh, you're coming to dinner. I need to see Borin's face when he sees you."
As Dimos' mother began fussing over her son's bruises and Nyx smirked like the cat who got the cream, Regulus realized something unexpected.
This didn't feel like an ending.
It felt like coming home.
The group had barely taken ten steps toward the city when Regulus suddenly stopped, a thought striking him. "Wait a minute," he said, turning to Boris with narrowed eyes. "Why was Borin even working as a ship's cook in the first place? That tavern of his should keep him busy enough."
Boris chuckled, adjusting the strap of the grain sack slung over his shoulder. "Ah, that." He shook his head ruefully. "The Rose and Thorn got completely wrecked three months back when some high-level Blessed decided to settle their differences in the middle of dinner service. Tables smashed, walls caved in, even the damn cellar flooded when they broke the ale casks."
Dimos piped up from where he walked beside his mother, his voice laced with childish glee. "Uncle Borin threw a cleaver at one of 'em! Stuck right in the doorframe as they ran away!"
"Aye," Boris confirmed with a proud grin. "Got full compensation from the Merchant's Guild too - took them three weeks to tally up all the damages." He held up three thick fingers. "Three. Weeks. Of my brother just standing there watching scribbles scratch numbers while his life's work sat in rubble."
Nyx arched an elegant eyebrow. "And instead of taking a well-earned vacation..."
"Decided to sign on with the first ship needing a cook," Boris finished, shaking his head. "Said he'd go mad with nothing to do. Though between you and me," he added in a conspiratorial tone, "I think he just wanted an excuse to visit Andromeda's spice markets."
Regulus snapped his fingers. "That explains the wine he had onboard! That wasn't standard ship's fare." A slow grin spread across his face. "Man had both money and connections to burn."
Boris barked a laugh. "Oh, you've no idea. Half the captains in port owe him favors after years of feeding their crews. That cabin of his? Probably stocked better than some noble houses."
As they passed through Vespera's towering gates, the conversation faded into the city's din. But Regulus couldn't help but smile at the revelation. Some things, it seemed, were universal - whether in this world or his last. A good cook always knew how to turn disaster into opportunity.
As they passed through Vespera's towering gates, the conversation faded into the city's din. But Regulus couldn't help but smile at the revelation. Some things, it seemed, were universal - whether in this world or his last. A good cook always knew how to turn disaster into opportunity.
As they walked through Vespera's bustling streets, Regulus found his gaze lingering on Boris. There was something in the way the man moved—fluid, precise, each step measured like a soldier's despite his merchant's garb. His hands, thick with callouses, adjusted the grain sack on his shoulder with effortless efficiency, fingers shifting just so to distribute the weight.
A memory flickered in Regulus' mind—Borin in the ship's galley, his massive frame moving with unexpected grace as he diced onions at blinding speed. The way he'd once "demonstrated" knife skills by pinning a rat to the wall from across the room. The oddly specific way he'd taught Regulus to debone a fish—"Slide the blade just beneath the spine, like you're cutting a throat."
These brothers, Regulus mused, are definitely more than just a tavern keeper and a grain merchant.
Nyx, walking beside him, caught his expression and smirked. "Finally noticing, little moth?" she murmured, low enough that only he could hear.
Regulus kept his voice equally quiet. "You knew?"
She flicked a glance toward Boris, who was now laughing at something Dimos had said, his booming voice carrying over the crowd. "Not all warriors carry swords," she said simply. "Some prefer... subtler weapons."
Before Regulus could press further, Boris turned back to them, his grin wide and guileless. "The Rose and Thorn's just up ahead! Bet my brother's elbow-deep in dough right now—oh, his face when he sees you!" He clapped Regulus on the back again, the impact just a little too perfectly placed to stagger him without actually hurting.
Yeah, Regulus thought, rubbing his shoulder. Definitely more to them.
The tavern's sign came into view, its freshly painted rose gleaming in the sunlight. From inside, the sound of cleavers hitting wood carried like a familiar, rhythmic threat.
Regulus grinned. This reunion was going to be interesting.