The morning sun had barely begun to crest over the towering walls of Orario, casting long, amber shadows across the winding cobblestone streets.
Within the sturdy walls of the Hostess of Fertility, the air was already thick with the scent of pine-scented cleaners and the savory remnants of the previous night.
It was the hour of preparation, a time usually reserved for the scrubbing of wooden tables and meals for the afternoon rush.
"Ah-choo!"
The sound was tiny, a soft puff of air that seemed entirely too delicate for the boisterous atmosphere of a pub...albeit a currently empty one.
Syr immediately buried her face in her hands, her shoulders hunching as a rosy hue climbed from her neck to the tips of her ears.
The bustling activity around her came to a grinding halt.
From every corner of the room, the staff of the Hostess of Fertility stopped mid-motion.
Mops were held frozen against the floor; rags dangled uselessly from hands.
Half a dozen pairs of eyes converged on the silver- blue haired waitress who remained huddled behind her palms.
Syr's face deepened to a shade of crimson that rivaled a ripe tomato.
She kept her gaze firmly fixed on the floorboards, wishing the wood would simply open up and swallow her whole.
"Syr, have you caught a cold?" Beryl asked, leaning over a nearby table with a look of genuine concern.
The older waitress tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her brow furrowed.
"The mornings have been getting a bit brisk lately. You shouldn't be overworking yourself if you're feeling under the weather."
"N-no. I'm fine. Truly," Syr stammered, finally forcing her hands down.
She offered a fragile, shaky smile, though her cheeks remained brightly flushed.
"It was just a bit of dust, I think. Nothing to worry about."
She shook her head, and her blue-gray hair…..tied in its signature style with a bun and a long, swaying ponytail…..danced with the movement.
She waved her hands dismissively, a frantic gesture meant to ward off the unwanted attention and convince her colleagues that she was the picture of health.
Faye, leaning against a pillar with a mischievous glint in her eyes, didn't seem convinced. "Maybe it's not a cold. They say when you sneeze out of the blue, it means someone is talking about you."
"The answer's obvious! Nya-ha-ha, it's that adventurer boy, meow!"
The interjection came from Anya, the cat-girl waitress whose energy seemed to triple whenever there was an opportunity for gossip.
She leaped onto a nearby chair, her tail twitching with delight.
"You're going to make me angry, Anya," Syr sighed, her shoulders slumping.
She tried to muster a glare, but it lacked any real venom.
It was difficult to be intimidating when you were still blushing from a sneeze.
Anya was undeterred.
She simply stared back at Syr with a wide, toothy grin, her tail whipping playfully back and forth beneath her skirt.
She began shoving one of the heavy oak tables across the floor, the screech of wood on wood punctuating her laughter.
"But seriously," Rosie chimed in, joining the huddle as she wiped down a countertop.
"That adventurer hasn't come in for the last two days, has he? The little white-haired one?"
"Hmm, even though he always returns the empty basket after eating Syr's lovey-dovey lunch, nya!" Anya added, nodding vigorously.
She leaned in close to Syr, her brown eyes wide.
"Two nights without a visit? That's a long time for a boy who's supposed to be smitten."
"Syr even opened the doors early and went out looking for him!" Rosie teased, giving Syr a playful nudge with her elbow.
"I didn't go looking for him!" Syr's denial was immediate and far too loud to be casual.
Her expression was a chaotic mix of embarrassment and indignation.
The staff continued to circle her like a pack of playful predators.
They were supposed to be setting up for the breakfast rush, but the chance to tease the normally composed Syr was far too tempting a distraction.
"Do not worry, Syr," Faye said, her voice dropping into a tone of mock-seriousness that was arguably more annoying than Anya's shouting.
"Mr. Cranell is not the type of man who would neglect your feelings for him. I'm positive he has just been late coming out of the Dungeon and didn't have time to visit. He's likely exhausted, dreaming of your cooking as we speak."
Syr looked at Faye, her mouth agape.
"Is that's supposed to make me feel better, Faye… No, never mind, I give up."
She pinched the bridge of her nose.
It was a losing battle.
Ever since Syr had started making those daily lunches for Bell, the staff had branded her a maiden in love.
She had tried to explain that it was just a gesture of kindness…..a way to support a fledgling adventurer who seemed like he needed a guardian angel...but the more she denied it, the more fuel she added to their fire.
Bell was a creature of habit.
He would pick up the basket in the morning and return it at night, his face bright with gratitude and his stomach full of Syr's handiwork.
But, Bell hadn't shown up for two nights straight.
"You don't think he bit the dust, do you, meow?" Anya asked suddenly, her tone shifting from mischievous to morbid with alarming speed.
"Anya! You shouldn't say that!" May scolded, though she didn't look particularly upset.
She turned her gaze to Syr, her eyes sparkling with faux-sympathy.
"You're being imprudent. That adventurer would never leave Syr behind! He'd crawl back from the depths of the lower floors just to see her smile again."
"I'm really, truly tired of this…" Syr muttered, letting out a long, frustrated sigh that fluttered her bangs.
"Syr, hold yourself together! Don't lose hope!" Beryl yelled, completely misinterpreting Syr's exhaustion for grief.
She grabbed Syr by the shoulders and gave her a firm shake.
"I'm sure Mr. Cranell is fine! He's a survivor!"
"No, Beryl, that's not what I meant at all…"
"What Beryl said!" Anya interrupted, hopping back into the fray.
"That boy's too strong to die! If he did, my heart would be torn apart… he's one of the few customers who actually says 'thank you' every time, meow!"
The conversation spiraled into a chaotic symphony of overlapping voices.
"No way…"
"Not you too…?"
"He really is irreplaceable! You couldn't find another polite boy like him anywhere in this city of ruffians."
Syr turned left and right, her head spinning as her coworkers mourned a boy who was likely just busy.
"Eh? What? Why are we talking like he's gone?"
"Lunoire…?" Syr turned to the brown-haired waitress, hoping for a voice of reason.
"What are you saying? You think something happened too?"
Lunoire looked like she was about to offer a more analytical perspective, her mouth opening to speak, but the air in the room suddenly grew heavy.
A shadow loomed over the backroom doorway, and a voice like grinding stones shattered the atmosphere.
"OI! You dim-witted lasses! Quit playing and get back to working!"
The roar of Mama Mia, the owner of the Hostess of Fertility, acted like a physical blow.
The dwarf woman stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her massive chest, her scowl enough to intimidate a Level 5 adventurer.
She surveyed the lack of progress with a gaze that promised manual labor as a punishment.
The "dim-witted lasses" didn't wait for a second warning.
They jumped as if electrocuted, scurrying back to their respective stations.
The sound of scrubbing and the clatter of plates resumed instantly, creating a frantic facade of productivity.
"Of all the…" Mia grumbled, her voice a low rumble in her throat.
She shook her head, her thick braid swinging, before turning back toward the kitchen to resume her own duties.
Syr took a deep breath, grateful for the silence.
She began to move toward the counter to reorganize the trays, but as she turned, something caught her eye.
"...Hmm? Syr, what's that?" Beryl asked, pausing her mopping as she spotted something unusual in the corner of the pub.
Syr followed Beryl's gaze.
"Huh?"
It was at the counter, specifically at the corner stool…..the very spot Syr had designated as Bell's place the first time he had visited the pub.
It was a quiet nook, somewhat shielded from the more rowdy elements of the bar.
Sitting resting on the seat of the chair, as if it had been placed there with intentional care, was a book.
"What's this…?" Lunoire asked, drifting over to join them.
"Someone dropped it?"
"What's that, meow?" Anya's head popped up from behind a table.
"Something wrong, meow?"
Within seconds, the group had reconvened, the fear of Mia temporarily forgotten in the face of a mystery.
Syr reached out and picked up the book with both hands.
It felt surprisingly heavy for its size, the weight pressing into her palms with a strange, grounded gravity.
"I'm not clever enough to read, meow," Anya admitted, squinting at the cover.
"Me too….." May agreed, leaning in.
"Yes, I know, so shut up," Anya teased, sticking her tongue out.
"Why I ought to….." May's tail bristled, a spat brewing once again.
"What is it?" Lunoire asked, ignoring the cat-girls.
Her eyes were sharp, scanning the binding.
"Some kind of book...It's not one of ours. Maybe a customer left it behind?" Beryl replied.
Her voice was steady, her expression one of mild curiosity, though her mind was racing.
She knew this chair was empty when they closed the previous night.
Faye, who was meticulous to a fault, had done the final sweep.
"It definitely wasn't there last night…" Faye said, confirming her internal suspicion.
"I scrubbed that chair myself. I'm certain it was empty when I locked the doors."
"If it's not a customer's book, what would that mean, meow?" Anya asked, her tail curling into a question mark.
"Somebody snuck into the bar and left it there? The idea's so full of holes, meow. Who sneaks into a pub just to leave a book on a chair?"
"As always, the idiot with useless knowledge, meow…" May muttered.
"What?! I'll scratch you!"
Lunoire and Syr ignored them, focusing entirely on the object.
The book was bound in a leather so dark it seemed to absorb the morning light.
It was thick, the pages edged in a dull gold that seemed faded with age, yet new.
It smelled of old parchment, dried ink, and a faint, lingering scent that Syr couldn't quite place…..something familiar.
The cover was embossed with intricate, silver-lined figures and geometric patterns that seemed to shift slightly if one looked at them too long.
In the center, etched in a script that felt both elegant and heavy, was the title:
The Book of Elements.
"…Wait a moment. Could this be….." Lunoire's eyes widened.
She reached out a hand, her fingers hovering just inches from the cover as a realization began to dawn on her.
But before she could vocalize the thought, the floorboards groaned under a heavy tread.
"How many times are you all going to make me say something?! Words not good enough for you?! Time for this dwarf to beat some discipline into y'all!"
Mama Mia was back, and this time, she looked genuinely incensed.
The air in the room felt like it had been pressurized.
The staff froze.
"W-wait, Mama, meow! We found something suspicious, meow!" Anya cried out, pointing frantically toward Syr.
"This! This here!"
"Syr, hurry up and show her already!"
Pressed by her coworkers, Syr stepped forward, holding the book out like an offering.
Her ponytail swayed as she navigated the gap between the tables to stand before the owner.
"Mama Mia, it looks like someone left this book behind. It wasn't here last night, but we found it on the counter chair just now. What should we do about it?"
Mia leveled a glare at the book, her eyes narrowing.
For a moment, she didn't speak.
She looked at Syr suspiciously, then back at the black volume, her expression shifting from irritation to a deep, calculating scowl.
'…?'
Lunoire watched the exchange with bated breath.
She had seen Mia angry, she had seen her bored, and she had seen her triumphant.
But she had never seen Mia expression with this specific brand of wariness.
It was the look of a veteran soldier recognizing a live explosive.
Mia's sharp eyes traced the etchings on the cover, then at Syr, looking back at forth between them.
No one could see it, but Syr had a pleasant smile on her face....one that communicated a specific goddess intention.
Letting out an annoyed sigh, Mia didn't reach out to touch it.
Instead, she took a half-step back, her voice dropping into a gruff, low tone that carried the weight of her past.
"…Put it somewhere it can be seen," Mia commanded.
"Right on the counter. If the owner's not an idiot, they'll realize it's gone and come looking for it."
"Yes, understood," Syr replied, bowing her head politely.
The command was final.
The staff scattered instantly, the intensity in Mia's voice serving as a far more effective motivator than her earlier shouting.
The fear of whatever had caused that look in their boss's eyes drove them to work with a silent, focused efficiency.
Syr walked to the counter and placed the book down, centering it on the polished wood where the morning light hit it directly.
She lingered for a moment, her fingers brushing the cold leather.
Lunoire watched her for a second longer, feeling the strange tension in the room refuse to dissipate.
She knew the Hostess of Fertility was a place where strange things happened…..it was, after all, a haven for women who had come from various bloody walks of life.
Today it felt a bit different, but now wasn't time to let her mind wander.
She let out a short sigh and picked up her rag.