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Nathan POV
I stood up from the table and turned to leave, but before I could take a full step, I felt fingers wrap around my wrist.
"Hey, where are you going? I thought you said you don't watch horses."
His voice sounded too casual for someone who—just minutes ago—looked like a collapsed soul ready to dissolve into the floor.
I turned to look at him, and just like that, an idea clicked into place.
"Let go of my hand," I said, calm but firm. "Follow me. I have something to show you."
He blinked, confused. "Huh?"
But he still released my wrist and stood, pushing his chair back with a quiet scrape. Then, as if his mouth moved before his brain could stop it, he added, "You know… you're acting a little weird this morning."
I started walking, refusing to let him see the reaction on my face—because yes, I knew exactly what expression he'd be wearing right now: wide-eyed horror like I'd just kicked a puppy. If I saw it, I might actually hit him out of reflex.
Behind me, I heard his footsteps as he caught up and fell into pace beside me.
"You know," he said, hands behind his back like a lecturing child, "as a human, I think you need to enroll in a school of emotions. You don't just lack them, Nathan—you've never even met the concept. Zero sense of emotional timing, none."
I stopped walking and slowly turned my head toward him with a look that needed no translation.
Then I hit him on the head with the hilt of my sword.
He clutched his skull dramatically. "Ow! What's with you hitting me today? I didn't hit your head to say what I said—"
"You're noisy," I said flatly. "When I said follow, I didn't say turn into a parrot."
We continued up the stairs.
"Say, Nathan," he asked quietly after a moment, "where's that woman and the girl that always follows her?"
I didn't stop walking. "They followed Paige and the others outside."
"Oh. And what was she saying last night? She sounded… creepy. Like the type of person who whispers when you're trying to sleep."
"That's what I want to find out," I said. "Which is why right now, you will—just this once—ask questions only when necessary."
He gave me the look — the "what the hell" expression paired with a slow blink and an exaggerated sigh.
I continued walking, fully aware he had mentally called me "old grandpa."
After the third floor, I paused and said, "Count how many floors are still above this one."
He looked up and squinted. "Five."
"Good. Come on."
He followed, still confused, but curious enough not to complain.
When we reached the fourth floor, he leaned closer and whispered, "Hey, um, Nathan? Don't you think going up here is a bad idea? Like… forbidden for a reason? You know how in books, this is where ghosts show up?"
I gave him a deadpan stare. "I know. That's why I'm here. Don't you want to thank the boy who brought you here? Or the patron?"
He blinked, clueless at first, then a slow realization dawned before he flashed his usual stupid signature grin. "Yeah, and I bring my humble self and pretty face as gifts of appreciation."
I scoffed. "Who told you you're pretty? And if you were a gift, you'd be returned on the spot."
He gasped dramatically. "Oh shut up. I'll have you know I'm the most precious thing anyone could ever—"
"I thought a few minutes ago you were in depressed mode."
"Old grandpa," he muttered.
So I hit him again with the hilt of my sword—this time in the stomach.
He wheezed. "Ow—why must you—!?"
"You called me grandpa. Congratulations on your injuries."
The hall of the fourth floor was dimmer than the others now that morning light wasn't reaching it. Elisha went ahead, trying every door. None opened.
"Maybe this floor is abandoned," he said. "Probably someone died here and the spirits were like—'nah, no more guests.'"
"Stop talking nonsense and come on," I replied.
We continued up to the fifth floor—the one with planks carved in old symbols.
Elisha froze, eyes widening. "Um… I'm not the only one seeing this, right? These symbols—are they ancient?"
I nodded. I'd thought the same thing the night before. "Gods… or something older."
He traced the carvings with his fingers and said, "Back in history class… they used to talk about gods and goddesses, and how their shrines had secret inscriptions. Priestesses guarded them. But I don't remember much else."
"Why?"
"It was the first class every morning. I was always late."
I gave him a flat look. He pretended not to notice.
"But why would something like this be inside an inn?" he muttered.
"I've been thinking that too," I admitted.
We reached the sixth floor—no stairs, just a wall.
Elisha stared at it. "Uh. Hello? Two floors left. Where is the rest of the building?"
He ran his palm across the wall, searching for seams.
Then we both noticed it—one odd, old door.
"Every bit of this door screams bad decision," Elisha announced.
I almost laughed, but didn't. "I'm opening it."
He stepped between me and the door. "Okay wait—listen. You're strong and all, but you can't die yet. You haven't reproduced. Life cycle incomplete. Think of the children, Nathan."
"…what?"
"And the maids downstairs can serve as surrogates to multiply your bloodline. Imagine it. Your face passed down for centuries—"
I reached for my sword, ready to kill him.
He dropped to his knees dramatically. "I know I've done terrible things in this life, but please spare me! I will shut up and stop digging my own grave!"
I ignored him, pushed open the door, and stepped inside.
A chamber—wide, silent, and untouched by time.
The same room where I saw the priestess last night.
"Oh wow," Elisha said, walking in, "what a perfect room to die in."
I snapped. "Shut up, you pessimistic idiot!"
He just smiled. "Seeing you yell is the second most priceless thing ever."
I regretted asking, but I still did. "And the first?"
He leaned close and whispered at my ear, "You being naked in front of me."
Heat flashed across my face. I smacked him with the hilt of my sword again.
"Bornified dog."
"That nickname sucks!"
"Die."
I walked away before my IQ could drop further.
We searched the chamber. Minutes later—
"Hey! Nathan! Found something!"
I ran over. A wall painting—a woman. The same face from last night.
"She's beautiful," Elisha said softly.
"…and?" I replied.
He gave me a deadpan stare. "You are actually allergic to agreeing with me, aren't you?"
I ignored him. "Where's the interesting part?"
He pointed at the painting. "The paint around her eyes and throat is faded—almost rubbed off. Meaning people touched those spots a lot. Which means—secret mechanism."
A slow grin tugged at my mouth. "Good job. A little reward won't hurt."
He squinted. "Why do you sound like someone giving their dog a treat?"
"Because you are a dog."
"Excuse me!?"
I ignored him again and pressed my fingers to the faded marks—two at the eyes, two at the throat.
The wall shuddered, slid down, revealing stairs leading further up.
Elisha and I looked at each other once—then entered.
No seventh floor.
Only a long staircase leading to the eighth.
At the top—a bright chamber.
And a door.
We stepped inside.
The boy stood there, smiling like he'd been waiting for us.
"I'm glad you're both safe," he said. "You must head for Thyrelith now."
Elisha stepped forward. "Hey… thanks for that day. So, um… who are you?"
The boy smiled again. "The mountain gods answer prayers of those with pure hearts. Come. Look at the city."
He walked toward the door and opened it. Elisha went first, stunned.
I stayed a moment longer and asked, "What about your patron?"
"You already saw her," he said gently.
"And the maids? The woman? The girl?"
"All of them serve here."
I nodded. "Then tell her we said… thank you."
He bowed his head slightly. "She already knows."
I stepped into the corridor—and for the first time, I let myself admit the truth.
The boy wasn't alive.
Or not human. Not anymore.
But they had saved us.
Gods and goddesses were not myths.
They were simply… mysterious.
Outside, the view from the inn stretched out in a breathtaking horizon—mountain wind, sunlight scattering over a vast city of stone and silver.
Elisha pointed, eyes ignited with wonder.
"The city carved by gods, protected by them, named by them… Thyrelith. It's beautiful, Nathan."
"Yes," I said quietly. "It is."
He chuckled. "You know, I'm starting to think we might actually make it. Maybe the gods really will help us."
"Gods exist, Elisha," I said. "It's just you who didn't believe in them."
He paused, almost ready to argue—but stopped.
And for a moment, I wondered how someone could live a life with nothing to believe in at all.
So I said, quietly:
"Elisha… if you don't believe in gods, at least believe in me."
He stared at me—wide-eyed, startled—then slowly, a soft, lopsided grin pulled at the corner of his mouth.
"…Yeah," he murmured. "I think I can do that."
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