Chapter 19 : The exit

The exit, as it turned out, didn't require an epic quest through winding tunnels or another death-defying swim. No, it was right there in the treasure room, because of course it was. A seemingly innocuous crystal jutted from the wall behind where the wyrm had originally coiled, barely visible unless you knew to look for it.

Adom stared at it for a solid minute, fighting the urge to facepalm. All that running, all that planning, all that blood... when he could have just... He shook his head, choosing to file this under "things we don't talk about" along with that time he spent three hours trying to open a locked door before realizing it opened outward.

The crystal hummed at his touch, and the world shifted. In an instant, he found himself back in the entrance chamber. As he stepped out into the moonlight, the cave entrance sealed itself behind him with a soft grinding of stone on stone.

He turned back, eyes narrowing as he studied the rune patterns etched around the now-sealed entrance. His fingers traced the air, memorizing each curve and line. He'd be back, of course. Fifty thousand gold pieces was nice, but there were still millions more waiting down there. Not to mention whatever other secrets that treasure room might be hiding.

"The Salty Dog," Adom corrected himself as he made his way down the cliffs, his steps careful in the darkness. Midnight had probably come and gone, and he felt a twinge of guilt about keeping the kind stranger waiting - if he was even still there.

The strider was the first thing he saw, its massive form silhouetted against the tavern's warm lights. The creature turned its long neck toward him, letting out a soft warble that was surprisingly gentle for such an intimidating beast. Adom reached up to pat its feathered neck, earning another pleased sound.

"At least you're still here," he murmured to the creature, trying not to think about how much trouble he'd be in if the rider had given up and left. The walk back to Xerkes would be... unpleasant.

Taking a deep breath, Adom pushed open the heavy wooden door of The Salty Dog. The tavern smell - ale, smoke, and something vaguely resembling food - washed over him as he stepped inside.

The tavern fell silent the moment he stepped in. The music was interrupted, conversations died mid-sentence, and every head turned toward the door.

"Oi, Garth," a grey-bearded man slurred, swaying on his stool. "Garth. Garth. Y'see what I'm seein'? There's a... there's a li'l ghoul right there. Right by th'door. Ain't there? M'not... m'not seeing things again, am I?"

"For heaven's sake, Morris, that's a child," a woman's voice cut through the silence. She stood up from behind the bar, wiping her hands on her apron as she approached Adom. She crouched down, her face a mixture of concern and alarm. "Sweet merciful God, child, are you lost? What happened to you?"

Adom caught his reflection in the mirror by the door and finally understood their reaction. His hair was plastered to his head, clothes torn and mud-stained, and despite his earlier attempts at cleaning up, dried blood still caked parts of his skin and clothes. He looked like something that had crawled out of a grave.

"Oh, it's not my blood," he said helpfully.

The woman's expression froze.

"I was hunting," Adom added quickly, "There was an accident..." He raised his hand, conjuring a small [Flame] that danced above his palm.

"Ahhhhh," the entire tavern seemed to exhale in unison.

"Magic student," someone muttered.

"That explains it."

"Remember when my nephew started at the academy? Came home looking like he'd fought a tornado."

"Mages," several people said simultaneously, shaking their heads and returning to their drinks.

The woman laughed, it was a very memorable one. The kind of warm laugh that made her whole face light up. Her eyes crinkled at the corners "Must have had quite the adventure, haven't you?"

"You have no idea."

"Come sit, I'll fix you something to eat—"

"Actually," Adom interrupted, glancing at the strider outside, "I'm looking for someone. The owner of that strider out there?"

"Oh, you mean Kai? He's just gone to the privy. Mentioned having one last fare tonight – that'd be you then?"

Adom nodded.

"Well, come on then," she said, taking his hand. "At least have some milk and cookies while you wait. You're skinny as a rake, child."

Adom chuckled, about to politely decline when—

"Oi, Tara!" came a slurred voice from the corner. "Can I 'ave some milk an' cookies too?"

"Me too!" another drunk chimed in, then turned to Adom with an exaggerated wink. "Don' turn 'er down, lad. Best chocolate chip cookies this side of the isles, I tell ya!"

"Are you grown men really trying to mooch cookies from a child's plate?" Tara put her hands on her hips.

"Noooo," came the collective response, followed immediately by, "Maybe a little?"

She sighed the long-suffering sigh of someone who'd been dealing with these regulars for years. "Come on, love," she said to Adom. "Before this lot tries to adopt you just to get at my baking."

"Too late!" someone called out. "I already picked out a name for 'im!"

Adom settled at the counter while Tara bustled behind it. "Just took a fresh batch out of the oven," she called over her shoulder. "Give them a minute to cool."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Tara's smile warmed. "Such nice manners."

He felt it before he saw it - that distinct sensation of being watched. Turning slightly, he caught sight of a man with an impressive red beard staring at him intently. Adom looked at the counter. The ceiling. The door. Anywhere else.

The man kept staring.

"Warm or cold milk, dear?"

"Warm, please."

"Coming right up!"

The staring continued. Then - poke.

Did he just- Adom thought while facing him.

"What?!"

"Do a trick."

"...What?"

"A trick. Do a trick."

Like moths to a flame, other patrons gravitated toward them. "Yeah, you're a mage, ain't ya? Show us somethin'!"

Before he knew it, the whole tavern was chanting, "Trick! Trick! Trick!"

Adom glanced around and sighed at the eager faces, clearly belonging to men who'd had a few too many drinks. He supposed he could entertain them, even for a bit.

"Anyone have a deck of cards?"

"Ooooh, a card trick!"

The red-bearded man produced a weathered deck from his pocket, nearly dropping it twice before successfully handing it over.

Adom shuffled the cards with practiced ease - one of the few useful skills he'd picked up in his past life's countless nights of solitary research. The familiar motion drew everyone closer.

"Sir," he addressed the red-bearded man, "would you like to assist?"

"Me?" The man straightened up proudly. "Name's Shawn!"

"Alright, Shawn. Pick a card, any card." As Shawn reached for the deck, Adom channeled a tiny thread of mana into the cards. Just enough. Not too much.

Shawn selected a card, showed it to the crowd (Seven of Hearts), and returned it to the deck.

Adom shuffled again, then paused. The bard, who had resumed playing softly in the background, caught his eye. With a slight nod, the musician changed his tune to something more dramatic.

"Now," Adom said, raising his voice slightly, "your card will come to me." He held the deck in his left hand, raised his right, and snapped his fingers. A small [Flame] appeared above his palm, and simultaneously, a single card floated up from the deck, spinning slowly in the air.