Matthias Harlow
The sound in the tavern had dulled. Tankards still moved, words still left mouths, but they reached my ears as though from behind a wall.
I watched Mira lead the stranger through the crowd, her smile warm and easy, her tone unchanged. She didn't know what she was walking beside.
My fists near creaked with how tight I was holding them. Rhenawedd shifted slightly, her eyes following the man too, but there was only curiosity in her face.
She had no idea the danger the man in front of us presented.
He didn't smell like sulphur or hellfire. His heart beat steady in his chest. He gave off no scent of fear, rot, or power. There was no shift in the air, no prickle along my skin.
Every sense I had — everything that had ever warned me of danger — told me the man sitting across from me was exactly that: a man.
And that was what made it worse, because I knew how dangerous the creature in front of us was.
Gaunter O'Dimm. The Man of Glass. Master Mirror.
I remembered him from the game, The Witcher 3, back when I still thought this world was fiction. Even in the game it was never stated what type of creature he was.
He wasn't a sorcerer or an elder vampire, but some sort of faustian wish-granting entity. Something that didn't need power in the way men or monsters did.
He didn't rip souls from the unwilling or force you into sinning — he made you ask for your own ruin, and you thanked him for it. That was his way.
I nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly, but didn't move to speak. Any word I said, any gesture, could be used against me.
He wasn't human, and this wasn't a man-to-man meeting.
I couldn't attack him, couldn't mock him, couldn't be rude or dismissive in any way.
Denying a guest at your table was exactly the sort of thing he'd punish without a second thought.
Rhenawedd, prompted by my uncharacteristic fear-induced rudeness and unaware of the full weight of the danger, leaned slightly forward, her voice quiet but steady.
Her gaze flicked toward me once, then back to the man sitting across the table.
"I am Rhenawedd Lysenne," she said, her voice steady and clear. "This is my knight, Ser Matthias Harlow. It seems we're to share a meal."
Her eyes shifted to me again, curious, noting the rare unease etched across my face.
She didn't hesitate or falter, but her glance carried a question, silently asking why the knight she had seen tear through monsters in minutes seemed so unsettled.
"We expect courtesy in return for our company," she added, her tone calm but authoritative, letting no one mistake that she spoke from a position of command.
O'Dimm leaned back slightly in his chair, hands resting on the table, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips. His voice was smooth, measured, and polite, each word chosen with care.
"Of course," he said, inclining his head with an ease that made the gesture seem almost natural.
"Hospitality is not something I take lightly. After all, it is not every day that a common man finds himself at a table with nobility."
He let the words hang in the air, courteous but deliberate, as though testing the waters, gauging reactions, all while maintaining that unnerving calm that made me tighten my grip on the edge of the table.
"Mira tells us you are also a traveller," she said. "I find it hard to imagine anyone coming this far east. Willingly at least." I caught her words and the way they landed. Innocent curiosity.
A question that could have been harmless in another context. Here, it was a test. And I knew she didn't know it yet, but O'Dimm didn't deal in harmless.
He tilted his head slightly toward her in acquiescence. "You're correct, not much of anything ever happens in Angren." His eyes drifted to me for a moment, then returned to Rhenawedd, "usually that is, but that is exactly what brings me here."
He reached into one of the pouches that hung from his belt, movements unhurried and precise, and drew out a small hand mirror. Its frame was plain metal, dulled with use, but the glass itself was spotless.
He turned it once in his palm, as though admiring it, then extended it toward Rhenawedd.
"I am a merchant, you see," he said, tone light, almost conversational.
"Not like the swindler you met on the way into town, though I suppose I've shared his misfortune of late. Hard times fall on everyone, noble or not."
Rhenawedd regarded the mirror before taking it, careful not to let her fingers brush his. The glass caught the candlelight, casting pale reflections across her face.
"It's fine work," she said, studying it. "Too fine for a road trader."
O'Dimm's smile deepened, the barest shift of expression. "You could say that. I trade in things of value — though what's valuable tends to depend on who's asking."
Whilst he spoke, he angled the mirror so that it caught me square in its reflection.
My own face stared back, expression hard, jaw tight, crimson eyes locked on the man across from me.
That was no accident. Gaunter O'Dimm did not make mistakes. Every word, every movement, every slight tilt of his head served some kind of purpose, whether you understood it or not.
He was a planner, a manipulator, something that worked in patterns most men couldn't see.
And now, sitting across from him, it was impossible not to feel that every part of this moment had been arranged long before I stepped into this world.
The thought had been in the back of my mind ever since the night I came back. Ever since the blood, the pain, the waking in a place that wasn't mine.
I'd tried to ignore it, to believe there was some explanation for how I ended up here, for why I was alive again when I shouldn't be. But the longer I sat there watching him, the harder that became.
Maybe it was him. Maybe it had always been him. Maybe I wasn't brought here by chance or by fate or by any god that still cared.
Maybe it was this thing sitting across from me, smiling like he'd just heard a private joke.
I needed to stop being afraid. Fear only gave him more to work with. If he was the reason I was here, if this was his game, then I had to understand the rules before he decided to show me the cost.
I kept my face still, my hands folded neatly on the table, and let him speak first. Every moment was a careful balance.
One misstep, one word too sharp, and the consequences would be immediate.
"And what other things of value do you trade in?" Rhenawedd asked.
I could see Mira in the background carrying a tray of three stew bowls to our table, her blonde hair matted to her forehead in sweat as she moved between people and tables.
"The most rare yet always in-need commodity," he answered as Mira placed the food in front of us and sped away to other tables "favors."
I couldn't let this go on. I couldn't just sit there and let him dig his hooks into her.
He was subtle, patient, the kind that smiles while the world falls apart around him, and by the time you realize it was his doing, it's already too late.
For the first time since I saw him walk toward us, I spoke.
"I know who you are, O'Dimm," I said. My voice came out lower than I meant, tighter. "And I know what happens to those you barter with."
Rhenawedd's eyes snapped toward me, confusion and concern flickering across her face. To her, he was just a polite traveller with a sharp tongue and a merchant's charm.
But I could see the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, the kind of shift that said I had ruined his game, or maybe made it more interesting.
He didn't turn to me right away. Instead, he looked down at his bowl, stirred the stew with the spoon, and then finally lifted his gaze.
His smile hadn't changed, but something behind it had.
Then he lifted his gaze back to me. The smile stayed the same, but something behind it shifted.
"Ahh, he speaks!" he said brightly, clapping his hands once in mock delight. "And here I thought you were a statue, with how still you sat, and what an introduction, as well, though I hope you would tell me..."
He leaned forward, folding his fingers together on the table like we were discussing market prices instead of damnation. His eyes fixed on mine. "What exactly is it that you think you know, Ser Matthias?"
I could feel every instinct in me screaming not to answer. Men who played at questions with him never came out the same. But the words were already on the edge of my tongue.
"I know enough," I said, forcing the words through a throat gone dry.
"Enough to know you're the only one who ever benefits from the deals you make. The wishes you grant are twisted, the riches you hand out rot in the hands that hold them, and the powers you give always end in tragedy — with only you left satisfied."
O'Dimm chuckled. There was a twisted mirth in it, a spark of amusement, his head tilted slightly as though he were studying me, weighing every syllable I spoke.
"That," he said quietly, "is my favorite thing about humanity." His tone was conversational, almost tender.
"You come to me at your lowest, torn and desperate. You beg, you bargain, you promise me everything that you swore was sacred — the lives of your children, your lovers, your kin. And when I ask for something in return, one small thing, something so simple,"
he spread his hands as if in innocence, "you hesitate. You flounder. But still, you sign."
He leaned back in his chair, the movement unhurried. His grey eyes glinted faintly in the candlelight.
"And I grant them their wishes," he went on, voice even, patient. "Every word, every syllable, exactly as they spoke it. Riches that never run dry. Power that no blade can break. Immortality so long as they draw breath."
His gaze slid to Rhenawedd, and though his expression never changed, I saw her spine stiffen slightly. "Revenge," he said softly. "That one's always popular."
He smiled — polite, distant. "And for a time, they are happy. Joyous. They sing, they feast, they forget who gave it to them. Until they do what all your kind eventually do — they grow tired, or restless, or find that the thing they wished for was never what they truly wanted."
He gave a low, amused sound. "And then, when I come to collect what was promised, what do they say?" His voice turned mocking, but still calm. "'No!' they cry. 'You lied! This isn't what I wanted!'"
He looked from her to me, his faint smile never wavering. "But I never lie. I never cheat. I give what I promise. It is people who never understand the price they set for themselves."
Rhenawedd looked between us now, her confusion deepening into unease. "What is going on?" she asked, her voice steady but wary. "Matthias, what are you talking about? Who is this man?"
"A demon" I managed though the answer came out unsure, "something that barters wishes for souls."
O'Dimm, for his part, looked pleased with the tension settling over the table. He folded his hands neatly before him, his voice smooth, conversational. "You wound me, Ser knight. I am but a traveller, as I said. A merchant, a humble man of trade."
Rhenawedd frowned, glancing at me again, and I could see the questions turning behind her eyes. She was used to danger — monsters, blades, blood — but this was different. There was nothing monstrous to see, no stench of death, no aura of threat. Just a man in a yellow coat, sitting at a table, smiling as though we were all old friends.
"Rhenawedd," I managed finally, my voice low, "don't make any deals with him. Don't agree to anything he says. No matter what he offers."
Her confusion deepened. "Deals? What are you—"
O'Dimm raised a hand gently, cutting her off with nothing more than the movement of his fingers. "You do your duty well, Ser knight," he said softly.
"Protective to the end. But tell me—" his gaze sharpened, fixing on me, "—how long can you keep protecting her from what she already desires?"
That last word hung heavy in the air. Rhenawedd's brow furrowed, unsure what he meant.
I, however, understood all too well — O'Dimm never wasted words. Everything he said had a purpose. And now, he was probing for something, something he thought he could use.
I needed to shift the topic away, take back control of the conversation.
My voice came out rougher than I meant. "Was it you?" I said, leaning forward across the table. "The one who brought me here? Who turned me into this?"
For a moment, O'Dimm only looked at me, fingers tapping once against the wood. Then, his smile returned — soft, patient, the kind a priest might wear when listening to confession.
"No," he said finally, and somehow the single word carried more weight than a shout. "Not I."
He paused, as though tasting the air before he went on. "You are something new, Matthias. I have crossed paths with many things that call themselves monsters, some even proud of it. But never vampires—"
He chuckled lightly, shaking his head, "the true ones that crawl through this land are nothing like you. No reflection. No shadow. Impossible to track or divine by magical means. It makes it very difficult to find them."
He leaned forward now, hands folded, eyes glinting faintly in the tavern's candlelight. "You are different, you I can track, you I can find — and what good fortune!"
He leaned forward now, hands folding neatly atop one another, his eyes glinting faintly in the candlelight. The din of the room seemed to dull around us, the laughter and chatter fading into a distant hum.
He smiled faintly, as though confiding in an old friend. "I've had my eyes on you since the moment you tore through the fabric of this world — screaming, begging for death in the throes of your rebirth. Oh yes, I was there, watching as you ripped through that bear with hands not yet your own. I almost intervened when you resolved yourself to suicide, thinking to end your misery."
A gasp rang to my left. I ignored it.
He let that hang for a moment before his tone softened, as if to soothe the edge of the words.
"In truth, I am fascinated by you. You should be but a lost soul, unaware of your surroundings, but here you are," he gestured to me. "Comfortable knowing things you should not; you even knew of me."
"What is it you want from me?" I interrupted, the words sharper than I intended. My grip on the table tightened, the strain creaking through the wood beneath my hand. I could feel the wood cracking beneath my fingertips, the air thick with tension.
O'Dimm's smile didn't falter — it deepened faintly, like a blade sliding just a bit further between the ribs. "A favor," he said, voice low and silken.
His gaze flicked briefly toward Rhenawedd, who was watching us both now — her brow knit, her hand frozen above her bowl — then back to me, the weight of his attention almost physical.
"Don't look so suspicious," he said, tilting his head, that eerie geniality never leaving him. "You say you know me, then you should know — I always deal honestly."
His tone was calm, measured, almost persuasive. "Especially when it comes to favors."
He reached into his coat then, the movement slow and deliberate, and withdrew a small object pinched between his fingers — a ring.
It was beautiful in a way that made the skin crawl — wrought of blackened silver that seemed to drink in the light rather than reflect it. Tiny veins of crimson shimmered faintly beneath its surface, pulsing like blood beneath skin.
The band was carved with sigils that shifted as I looked at them, never holding one shape for long. Even from where I sat, I could feel the faint hum of it.
He set it on the table between us, the metal clicking softly against the wood.
"Help me with this," O'Dimm said, his tone light, conversational — as if we were two traders haggling over wine instead of damnation. "And I'll give you what you most desperately need."
"And what is it that I desperately need?" I asked.
I shouldn't have entertained it. Not with her sitting there.
Rhenawedd hadn't spoken since I'd named him for what he was. She sat still, hands folded in her lap, her expression unreadable.
But I could feel her confusion, the slow tightening of her posture, the way her gaze flicked between us — between the polite traveler and the knight who had suddenly turned pale.
I worried what she might think. That my silence earlier had been fear, yes, but that this — listening — might look like trust.
And with someone like O'Dimm, trust was the kind of mistake you didn't come back from.
But despite my bravado I was scared. Too scared to tell him to leave. Too aware that any word spoken in anger could be twisted into something binding.
And beneath that fear — a smaller, uglier thing — was curiosity.
Because I knew him. I knew what he was capable of.
In The Witcher 3, Gaunter O'Dimm had saved Geralt's life, and in return demanded a favor — a debtor refusing to pay his debt.
If you didn't interfere, if you let him have what was owed, he rewarded you. Sometimes even helped you. In one ending, he'd told Geralt how to save Ciri.
So part of me — the part that still remembered holding a controller, not a sword — wondered if maybe he could be bargained with. If maybe the rules here were the same.
O'Dimm's eyes gleamed faintly, catching the flicker of the tavern's candlelight. His voice softened, almost like he pitied me.
"You haven't been breathing, Matthias," he said.
"Not since you entered this town. You inhale and exhale only when you speak — and even then, only through your mouth."
My jaw tensed. I hadn't realized it until he said it, and the truth made my stomach twist.
"You're terrified," he continued, his tone unchanging, as if he were describing the weather. "Terrified that even a whiff of blood will send you into a frenzy. That you'll lose what little of yourself remains."
He flipped the ring between his fingers. The crimson veins beneath the metal seemed to pulse faster, as though responding to his words.
"I can help you with that," he said simply. "This ring can help you with that. For as long as you wear it, you'll feel no hunger, no thirst. You'll walk among them and not crave their blood. You'll be free, for a time."
He let the promise linger, the faint hum of the ring filling the silence between us.
I could feel it, even from across the table — that subtle pull in the air, like something beneath the skin of the world had shifted to make room for it.
"What's the catch?" I asked finally. My voice sounded steadier than I felt. "Beyond just owing you a favor."
O'Dimm laughed softly, that same low, easy sound he'd used when speaking to Rhenawedd — polite, practiced, but hollow. "So you really do know me," he said. "Good. I prefer dealing with those who understand what they're walking into."
He rolled the ring once more between his fingers, the motion slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving mine.
"The caveat, then. Simple enough. The longer you wear it, the hungrier you'll be when you take it off. It staves off the hunger, Matthias. It doesn't erase it."
He leaned forward slightly, his tone lowering, almost confidential. "Think of it as putting the beast to sleep. So long as the ring sits on your finger, you'll be calm. Safe. But the longer it dreams, the louder it will wake."
He placed the ring on the table between us with a faint clink. "Still, a small price for peace of mind, wouldn't you agree?"
The tavern felt smaller then. The air too still, the fire too quiet. I could hear Rhenawedd's slow, cautious breath beside me — and my own heartbeat, too fast, too loud.
I wanted to tell him to get fucked, to shove his little trinket and his offer right back into whatever pit he'd crawled from. But the truth was—it was hard to say no.
Because he was right.
I had been avoiding breathing through my nose since the moment we entered Dregsdon.
Every step through those muddy streets, every passing breeze that carried the scent of flesh and blood and rot—I'd forced myself to breathe only through my mouth. And even then, only so I could speak.
The thought of what might happen if I didn't made my skin crawl.
That ring, the one he was holding between his fingers like a fisherman dangling bait over dark water—it was exactly what I needed. But it wasn't enough.
"That's not enough," I said, forcing the words through gritted teeth. "It's convenient, sure. But it's not worth me being in your debt."
O'Dimm's smile deepened, that same look of amusement people wore when they'd just been given something they wanted.
"Ah," he said softly. "My favorite part of any bargain. Negotiation."
He leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on the table. "Very well. What more do you want, Ser Matthias?"
I took a breath I didn't need. "Three things," I said.
He gestured lazily with one hand, inviting me to go on.
"You've been watching me," I said. "So you already know why I'm playing knight. I need your help with my… glowing problem." I could feel Rhenawedd glance toward me at that, but I didn't meet her eyes. "I need something that'll keep from losing my mind, an artifact or more preferably a technique."
O'Dimm's expression didn't change, but his eyes glinted faintly in the candlelight, like he was enjoying every word. "That's two," he said. "What's the third?"
I looked at Rhenawedd then. Her eyes widened slightly—confusion, maybe, or something close to fear at the intensity of my stare.
"Swear to me," I said quietly. "Swear you will never offer her a contract. Not for gold, not for power, not for anything. As long as she lives, you leave her be."
Rhenawedd's head snapped toward me, eyes wide. Her voice came out sharp but hushed, a whisper edged with outrage. "You have no right!" she hissed, leaning closer across the table. "You hypocrite!"
I blinked, the words hitting harder than I'd expected.
"You think because you know what he is, that gives you the right to make that choice for me?" she went on, her voice low but trembling. "You've made your bargains, your decisions. Why shouldn't I?"
Her words cut, not because she was wrong, but because she was naive—and she still believed that choice was freedom.
I didn't answer her right away. Across from us, O'Dimm's smile hadn't faltered once. If anything, it looked like he was enjoying himself—eyes flicking between us like a man watching a stage play he'd seen a hundred times but still found amusing.
When I finally spoke, my voice was quieter, strained. "Because you don't understand what kind of thing he is," I said. "No one ever does—until it's too late, there is a reason I'm not making wishes."
O'Dimm chuckled softly, almost indulgent. "How touching," he said. "You'd deny her the very freedom you cherish for yourself, all in the name of protection. How noble."
He looked at Rhenawedd then, his tone light but sharp as glass. "He's not wrong, you know. But he's not right either. Every choice has a price. The only difference," he said, tapping a finger against his chest, "is that I tell you what it costs."
O'Dimm smiled, going back to eating the stew, and then continuing "Though of your three favours, that will be the easiest to grant, I swear to you I will never write a contact for the soul of Rhenawedd Lysenne, for as long as she draws breath."
"No," I say not taking any chances "you know that's not her real name."
Her head snaps to me. "You knew... all this time you knew who I was."
"Not now Syanna," but she interrupts slamming her hands against the table, she stands up abruptly drawing every eye subtle or otherwise to our table.
Her voice rose, sharp and furious. "Not now? Not now?" she said, her words cutting through the chatter of the inn. "You've known who I am, and you've kept it from me? All this time, you've been pretending, lying—"
"Rhenawedd," I tried again, keeping my voice low, but she wasn't listening.
"Don't you dare use that tone with me," she shot back. "You think because you play at being some knight, you get to decide for me? You—"
The sound of O'Dimm's hands clapping once was soft, but it carried through the room like thunder. "That's enough," he said.
And then everything stopped.
The chatter died mid-breath. The flicker of candles froze, smoke caught in place.
Mira, halfway through turning with an empty tray, hung motionless. Even the air felt still. Only three of us moved—O'Dimm, Syanna, and me.
Syanna's hand was still raised, her mouth open mid-word. Her eyes darted around, confusion twisting her features. "What—what did you do?"
O'Dimm set his spoon down carefully beside the bowl, his voice calm and steady. "I dislike interruptions during negotiations. I am a busy man after all."
"But—" Syanna started, but he turned his gaze toward her, and whatever she had been about to say died in her throat.
"You're one to talk of lying, girl," he said evenly, not raising his voice but cutting through the air all the same.
"You have done nothing but lie since the moment you met him. That tale you spun of unjust exile, of a world that wronged you. You think yourself the victim, when in truth you are the cause. Your parents could not stand you. Your subjects feared you. Even your own sister grew to see you for the trouble you are. And not without reason."
"Enough," I said quietly, but he ignored me and went on.
"You were cruel, arrogant, and vain. You surrounded yourself with thieves and cut throats, you met in the alleys of Beauclair, whenever you fled the resentful stares, because you found among them a reflection of yourself. you are not the misunderstood princess you make yourself out to be, Sylvia. You are the rot that grew in the shadow of your sister's kindness."
"O'Dimm, that's enough!" I said louder, but he acted as if he hadn't heard.
"It is sad, really," he continued, looking at her as one might examine an insect. "How pathetic you have become. Nothing to your name, forever in the shadow of your prettier, more beloved sister. You've resented her all your life. She stole your parents' love, your title, your crown, even your name. You hate her because she became everything you could not."
Syanna's face had gone pale, her hands trembling at her sides.
I could see the anger and hurt building in her, but still O'Dimm didn't stop.
"There is a reason I did not answer your pleas," he said coldly.
"Why I turned a blind eye to your begging as they starved and beat you for weeks. I do not deal with cursed souls. Any bargain I would make with you would crumble the instant it was struck. Any price you promised to pay would be worthless, everything you touch ends in ruin, and no deal, no power, no escape will ever change that. So this tantrum you are throwing is moot. Now sit down and be quiet."
She flinched and sank back into her chair, the fight gone from her. Her shoulders slumped as silent tears traced down her face.
O'Dimm turned to me again as if nothing had happened. "Now, as I was saying before that interruption, I swear that for as long as she draws breath, I will not offer Sylvia Anna Henrietta any form of contract or favor."
My eyes drifted to Syanna. She kept her gaze fixed on the table, her breathing uneven. "There was no need for you to do that," I said quietly. "Cruelty for its own sake is a low form of entertainment, even for you."
He smiled faintly. "Then you do not know me as well as you thought, Matthias. Besides, it was not for cruelty's sake. Your ward needed a reminder of what she truly is. She is not as special as she believes."
"I said that's enough." My tone came out sharper than I intended, but he only smiled wider and gave a small nod.
"My apologies," he said. "But back to the negotiation. That is one favor done. Now for the other two."
"That one doesn't count," I said flatly. "You said yourself you had no intention of offering her a contract in the first place."
His grin deepened. "Ah, but you did not ask whether I intended to offer her one. You asked me to swear that I would never offer her one. And I have sworn. My word is kept."
I clenched my jaw, holding back the urge to curse. This was exactly why I hated dealing with him. Gaunter O'Dimm always found a way to twist words until they strangled you.
"Fine," I said through gritted teeth. "The other two favors."
"Ah, don't be so dour," O'Dimm said, waving a hand dismissively.
"The glowing issue is easily dealt with. I will weave a glamour into the ring—nothing complex, just enough to dull that inconvenient light of yours. But the same rules apply: it only works so long as you wear it. Take it off, and the illusion fades."
He paused for a moment, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "As for the last one… you're being unhelpfully vague. Artifacts that deal with the mind are finicky things. Spells are simpler, but I have an inkling you'd refuse to let me cast anything on you."
"You'd be correct," I said flatly.
"So," he mused, folding his hands before him, "you seek a way to still the mind, keep control of you're impulses... " He thought in silence for a while, eyes unfocused as if reading from some invisible page. Then a faint smile returned. "A witcher."
I frowned. "Excuse me? What about them?"
He leaned back in his chair. "Most people don't know this, but witchers do not need as much sleep as other men. They meditate instead—a practice that slows the body, calms the mind, and purges impurities. It is how they maintain control over their emotions, their mutations, and their instincts. Learn their technique, and it may serve your purpose. It is not an easy discipline, nor one they share freely, but it will do what you need."
He glanced toward Syanna, then back to me, his tone softening just slightly. "And it has the added benefit of keeping the beast quiet when it hungers."
I cursed myself inwardly for not thinking of it first. It was obvious—witchers, meditation, control—it was right there, and I'd missed it. I should have been smarter than this, sharper. Instead, I was sitting across from the very embodiment of temptation, and he was outplaying me at every turn.
Before I could dwell on it longer, O'Dimm's voice pulled me back. "There now," he said smoothly, "three favors done, all in good faith."
He gestured with one open hand, the ring glinting faintly in his palm. "A profitable exchange, Ser Matthias. Three for one—mine to claim when the time is right."
I stared at the ring, feeling its pull before I'd even touched it. The hum in the air was almost imperceptible, like a heartbeat beneath the noise of the tavern.
O'Dimm smiled, patient and confident, as though he already knew my choice.
"Go on," he said softly. "Take it. Consider it a token of goodwill, if that makes it easier for your conscience. You'll find I'm a man of my word—eventually."
I reached out, my fingers brushing against the cold metal. The moment I touched it, the air seemed to shift, heavier somehow.
O'Dimm's eyes gleamed like molten gold in the candlelight. "Excellent," he murmured, rising from his chair. "Enjoy your reprieve, Matthias. I'll come to you when it's time to settle the balance. Until then—breathe easy."
And with that, he was gone.
The chair he'd been sitting in was empty, the bowl of stew eaten, the room suddenly louder.
I looked down at the ring in my hand, its surface alive with a faint pulse of red light.
I hope I don't come to regret this.