Henry

The warmth of the canteen enveloped Eldrin like a comforting blanket. He and Gorik sat by the hearth, the crackling fire casting dancing shadows across the room. The atmosphere was lively but relaxed, a sharp contrast to the dangers lurking just outside. Eldrin was beginning to appreciate the camaraderie of this place, the way it brought together people from different walks of life, all with their own stories of survival and adventure.

Gorik leaned back in his chair, his tankard of ale nearly empty. He had regaled Eldrin with tales of his exploits in Draventh, each story more outrageous than the last. Eldrin listened intently, half in awe, half wondering how much of it was true. But the twinkle in Gorik's eye and the easy grin on his face suggested that even if the stories were exaggerated, they were grounded in reality.

As they talked, the door to the canteen creaked open, drawing the attention of several patrons. A boy, no older than sixteen, stepped inside. He was dressed in a crisp British military uniform, its deep blue fabric and brass buttons immaculate, a stark contrast to the rough, worn attire of the other patrons. His cap was set at a jaunty angle, and a sword hung at his side. The kid carried himself with a confidence that belied his age, his head held high as he strode toward the counter.

The boy didn't glance around or hesitate, moving with the assurance of someone who knew he belonged. The patrons watched him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, whispering among themselves. Eldrin, too, found his attention drawn to the boy. There was something about him, a sense of purpose that was unusual for someone so young.

"Now there's a sight you don't see every day," Gorik remarked, his eyes following the boy as he took a seat at the counter. "A kid in a British uniform, bold as you please."

Eldrin nodded, intrigued. "He seems... out of place."

"Out of place, and yet right at home," Gorik mused. "Takes a lot of nerve to walk into a place like this looking like that."

The boy ordered a drink, his voice steady and clear. The bartender, a grizzled man with a scar running down his cheek, raised an eyebrow but didn't question him. He served the boy a mug of something dark, and the kid took a sip, his expression unchanging.

Eldrin couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this boy than met the eye. He had seen plenty of people in Draventh, all with their own unique stories, but this kid stood out. There was a quiet intensity about him, a calmness that seemed almost unnatural for someone his age.

Gorik, however, seemed to find the whole situation amusing. He chuckled to himself, draining the last of his ale before setting the tankard down with a thud. "What do you think, kid?" he asked Eldrin, his tone light but with a hint of mischief. "Think that boy's as tough as he looks?"

Eldrin glanced at Gorik, sensing where this was heading. "I don't know, Gorik. He's just a kid. Maybe we should leave him be."

"Just a kid, huh?" Gorik echoed, a grin spreading across his face. "Sometimes, it's the ones who look the least dangerous that you've got to watch out for. How about we find out?"

Eldrin's eyes widened. "Gorik, wait—"

But Gorik was already on his feet, his heavy boots thudding against the wooden floor as he made his way toward the counter. The room seemed to quiet as he approached, the patrons sensing the brewing confrontation. The boy noticed Gorik's approach, but he didn't flinch or turn away. Instead, he calmly set his mug down and looked up at Gorik with an even gaze.

"Evening, lad," Gorik greeted him, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and challenge. "You've got a lot of nerve walking in here dressed like that. Where'd you come from?"

The boy met Gorik's gaze without blinking. "I came from the same place as everyone else here," he replied, his tone measured. "Does it matter where I came from, as long as I'm here?"

Gorik raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed by the boy's composure. "You've got a sharp tongue, kid. But let me ask you something—can you back it up?"

The boy's eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, how about we step outside and see what you're made of?" Gorik suggested, his grin widening. "A little friendly sparring match. Unless, of course, you're not up for it."

Eldrin quickly stood up, crossing the room to where Gorik and the boy were facing off. "Gorik, this isn't a good idea," he urged, placing a hand on Gorik's arm. "He's just a kid. There's no need to fight him."

The boy glanced at Eldrin, then back at Gorik. "If he's worried about me, I'm not," the boy said calmly. "But if you want a fight, I'm not going to back down."

Gorik chuckled, clearly pleased by the boy's response. "Now that's the spirit. What's your name, lad?"

"Henry," the boy replied, his voice steady. "And I'll take you up on that challenge."

Eldrin's heart sank. He had seen Gorik fight—knew what the man was capable of. Even if it was just a sparring match, he didn't want to see this boy get hurt. "Gorik, please," Eldrin tried again. "There's no need for this."

But Gorik shook his head, his grin never fading. "Relax, Eldrin. It's just a bit of fun. A test of mettle. No one's getting hurt."

Henry stood up from his stool, his expression determined. "Let's do this, then."

Eldrin watched in dismay as the two made their way toward the door, the patrons parting to let them through. Some followed, eager to witness the spectacle, while others stayed behind, content to listen to the commotion from the safety of their seats.

As they stepped outside into the cool night air, Eldrin hurried after them, his mind racing. He didn't know why Henry had accepted the challenge so readily, but he had a sinking feeling that this was going to end badly.

Gorik and Henry faced off in the clearing just outside the canteen, the moon casting long shadows across the ground. Gorik stood tall, his massive frame dwarfing the boy, but Henry didn't back down. He drew his sword, its blade gleaming in the moonlight, and took a stance that spoke of training and discipline.

"Last chance to back out, lad," Gorik said, though there was no malice in his tone.

Henry shook his head. "I'm not backing down."

Gorik nodded, clearly respecting the boy's resolve. He hefted his axe, twirling it in a practiced motion before settling into a ready stance. The air between them crackled with tension, both combatants focused and intent.

Eldrin's stomach churned as he watched, praying that this wouldn't escalate into something more serious. He could only hope that Gorik would show restraint, and that Henry wouldn't push too hard. The last thing he wanted was to see either of them get hurt, especially over a challenge that seemed so unnecessary.

"Alright, then," Gorik said, his voice steady. "Let's see what you've got."