57. Morning at the Mikaelson Inn

Chapter 57: Morning at the Mikaelson Inn

I woke up to the faint sound of birds chirping outside the window, the sunlight streaming through the thin curtains and casting a warm glow across the room. My head throbbed slightly, a dull reminder of the previous night's drinking, but it wasn't the kind of hangover that would leave me bedridden. More like a mild annoyance, like a mosquito buzzing in my ear that I couldn't quite swat away. I groaned, sitting up and running a hand through my messy hair.

"Alright, Kaizen," I muttered to myself, swinging my legs off the bed. "Time to face the day."

I dressed quickly, pulling on a simple tunic and trousers made of rough-spun fabric, the kind of casual medieval attire that wouldn't draw too much attention. I didn't bother with my leather armour—today wasn't a day for adventuring. Just a day to relax, eat, and maybe figure out what the hell was going on with Freya. I grabbed my boots, laced them up, and headed downstairs.

The tavern was quiet this early in the morning, the usual raucous crowd of adventurers still nursing their hangovers or out on quests. The only person behind the counter was Mr. Mikaelson himself, a towering figure with a presence that could fill the room even when he wasn't saying a word. His massive frame was a stark contrast to his wife Elara's more petite stature, and his weathered face bore the marks of a man who'd seen more than his fair share of battles. His dark eyes flicked up as I approached, and he gave me a nod.

"Morning," I greeted, sliding onto a stool at the counter. "I'll take some rum and the usual breakfast."

Mr. Mikaelson raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on the early morning drink. He reached under the counter and pulled out a bottle of rum, setting it down along with a glass. "You were gone a while," he said, his voice deep and gravelly. "How was the quest?"

I poured myself a drink, taking a sip before answering. "Brutal. Almost died like a dozen times. Truth be told, I doubted I'd be eating Miss Elara's cooking again."

He let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling like distant thunder. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

I smirked, swirling the rum in my glass. "That's not always true."

For a moment, his expression darkened, and he looked down at the counter, his massive hands gripping the edge. "True enough," he said quietly, his tone carrying a weight that made me pause. I caught the flicker of something in his eyes—pain, maybe, or regret. This old man had been through some things that much was clear. I didn't press him, though. Some scars were best left untouched.

I took my drink and found a table near the window, settling in as Mr. Mikaelson disappeared into the kitchen to fetch my breakfast. The rum warmed my chest, and I leaned back, watching the early morning light filter through the dusty panes of glass. The inn was peaceful at this hour, a stark contrast to the chaos of the previous night.

Just as I was starting to relax, the door creaked open, and Freya stepped inside. She was dressed in her usual city guard armor, the polished metal gleaming in the sunlight. Her long, black hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of starlight, and even in the bulky armor, she moved with a grace that was impossible to ignore. She was beautiful, no doubt about it, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of something—admiration, maybe, or something deeper—as she walked over to her father.

"Morning, Father," she greeted, her voice calm but with a hint of urgency.

Mr. Mikaelson looked up from the counter, his expression softening as he saw his daughter. "Morning, Freya. What brings you here so early?"

Freya hesitated, glancing around the empty tavern before answering. "Something came up with the Duchess. I have to leave town and go to the capital for a few days."

"A few days?" I interjected, unable to help myself. "The capital's at least a week away, even by horseback and carriage."

Freya shot me a look, her blue eyes narrowing slightly. "It's an important trip, Kaizen. The Duchess needs to confer with the king about talks with the Empire."

At the mention of the Empire, Mr. Mikaelson's expression darkened, his hands clenching into fists. "The Empire!!?" he growled, his voice rising. "What could they possibly be talking about with those barbarians? They killed so many people. *MY* PEOPLE!"

His voice echoed through the tavern, and I winced, glancing around to make sure no one else was around to hear. Fortunately, it was still early, and the place was empty except for us.

Freya stepped closer to her father, placing a hand on his arm. "Father, calm down. This isn't the Duchess's fault. She and the king just want to prevent something like that from happening again. That's why it's necessary to have an open dialogue with the Empire."

Mr. Mikaelson's face twisted with anger, but there was something else there too—pain, maybe, or fear. "You're too young to remember," he said, his voice low and trembling. "You don't know what it was like after that incident. The streets were filled with the dead, the wounded. The Empire didn't just kill soldiers—they destroyed families, homes, entire villages. And for what? Because our king was a fool who thought he could take on their magic knights."

Freya's expression softened, and she squeezed her father's arm. "I know, Father. I may have been too young to understand it all but I was there and I've heard the stories. But that's exactly why we need to talk to them now. So we can make sure it never happens again."

Mr. Mikaelson stared at her for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. Finally, he let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping. "I just don't want to see you caught up in their games, Freya. The Empire… they're not to be trusted."

"I know," Freya said quietly. "But this is my duty. I have to go."

He nodded reluctantly, his expression still troubled. "Be careful, then. And come back safe."

Freya gave him a small smile before turning to leave. As she passed my table, she glanced at me, her eyes meeting mine for just a moment. There was something in her gaze—determination, maybe, or a silent plea for understanding. Then she was gone, the door closing softly behind her.

I sat there for a moment, staring at the empty doorway, before turning back to my drink. The rum tasted bitter now, the warmth in my chest replaced by a cold knot of unease. The Empire, the magic knights, the history of this kingdom—it was all so much bigger than I'd realized. And Freya was walking right into the middle of it.

Mr. Mikaelson returned with my breakfast, setting the plate down in front of me without a word. I picked up my fork, but my appetite was gone. Instead, I just sat there, staring at the food, my mind racing.

This world was full of dangers, both seen and unseen. And no matter how much I wanted to avoid it, I had a feeling I was going to get pulled into it sooner or later.

But for now, all I could do was eat my breakfast and hope that Freya would be okay.

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