The Last Call

The night before Leonhardt left the village of Munat...

A beautiful woman's voice echoed in the hallways of a worn-down building in the small village of Munat. The wooden beams long since used now rotten and groaning overhead. Countless cracks spread through the wooden walls, like a spider's web. Dust and debris settled on the trinkets forgotten by time.

"Enzo!"

The air contained a thick stale scent, with sweat, rust and something foul leaking from beneath the floorboards.

Her voice was sharp, urgent.

Enzo halted. His fingers curled, knuckles stiff. The silence before a blade is drawn.

"Can't you be more likable, Dia?"

"Me? Likable? Hah! Have you taken a look in the mirror!?"

Dia's blonde hair danced in the fleeting wind, her scent like a fresh rose fallen in a pile of landfill. Her gaze narrowed before covering her lips with a small, silken black handkerchief.

"You stink."