Chapter 4: Rusted Respite

The morning sun spread across the undulating hills, bathing the landscape in a gentle, golden light. Above, the sky stretched endlessly, a pristine blue dotted with a few thin clouds drifting lazily. The air was fresh, carrying the fragrant aroma of wildflowers in bloom and the faint murmur of the world stirring to life. Birds darted among the branches of towering oaks, their cheerful songs blending into a soft, harmonious tune that drifted over the tranquil landscape.

Geschicht and Harriet walked along a narrow, winding path that cut through the wild grass like a ribbon of possibility, its destination unknown. The path, well-trodden by countless feet before them, stretched endlessly ahead, disappearing into the misty edges of the forest beyond. Each step they took felt like a new beginning, yet held the familiar rhythm of routine.

Harriet's golden hair caught the sunlight as he kicked a loose pebble down the trail, his steps restless. The open road had promised adventure, but he hadn't accounted for the monotony of endless walking. His gaze flicked to the trees, searching for anything to break the dullness—a rabbit, a deer, even a stray gust of wind.

"This is boring," he finally muttered, dragging his feet slightly. "I thought traveling would be more... exciting."

Geschicht glanced at him, a teasing glint in his eye. "That's odd. You used to tell me about all the places you traveled, about how you'd go from one end of town to the other, hunting in the forests, climbing rooftops. Wasn't that exciting?"

Harriet scoffed. "That was different."

"Oh? How so?"

Harriet huffed, tilting his head toward the sky. "I was always moving. There was always something to do—tracking, chasing, climbing. This, though? This is just... walking."

Geschicht chuckled. "Well, that's what traveling is most of the time. A lot of walking, thinking, and waiting for something to happen."

Harriet sighed. "I should've accounted for that."

Out of sheer boredom, he turned to his companion, curiosity flaring in his golden eyes. "Why did you decide to come with me anyway?"

Geschicht glanced at him, a smile playing at his lips. "That's a secret," he replied.

Harriet rolled his eyes, though he couldn't hide the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"Maybe," Geschicht replied, his gaze drifting back to the path ahead. "But where would the fun be in telling you everything?"

As they continued along their desired path, the world around them seemed to hold its breath, as if it was waiting eagerly.

"Man, that was overwhelming. People just kept handing us things the moment we stepped out of the town gates." Geschicht let out a long sigh, stepping carefully to avoid a patch of mud on the dirt path.

"It was nice, though," Harriet said with a grin. With a light hop, he leapt over a low-hanging tree branch without breaking his stride.

"Yeah, I won't complain. Let's see... We got a good amount of food, most of it stuff that won't spoil quickly. On top of that, we still have the dry rations we packed ourselves." Geschicht ducked under another branch and glanced back at their supplies.

Harriet landed smoothly, hands in his pockets as his backpack hovered slightly behind him. "Sweet, isn't it? Though, it's a bit heavy for just the two of us to carry."

"Not much of a problem when you can carry things without touching them," Geschicht remarked, eyeing Harriet's pack as it shifted slightly in the air, supported by something invisible.

Harriet shot him an amused look, his grin stretching wider. "We also got a lot of Doh, didn't we?" With a light jump, he cleared a fallen log in their path, landing as if gravity barely applied to him.

"Yeah… Even though I tried refusing it, they still somehow found a way to shove it into my hands," Geschicht sighed again, shaking his head.

Harriet let out a chuckle as he walked ahead, tilting his head toward the sky. "Looks like we're set for a while—both food and money." His golden eyes gleamed with satisfaction, carrying the quiet excitement of a traveler.

The path stretched before them, winding through a vast and untamed wilderness bathed in hues of violet. Towering trees with thick, gnarled trunks stood like ancient sentinels, their deep purple leaves whispering against the gentle morning breeze. Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting shifting patterns of lavender and lilac across the moss-covered ground. The air carried the crisp scent of damp earth and blooming flora, laced with the faint sweetness of unseen flowers.

The forest stretched endlessly, dense with towering trees whose bark was rough and ancient, wrapped in veils of deep purple moss. Their canopies wove together, allowing only slivers of golden light to pierce through, casting dappled patterns on the forest floor. Beneath them, thick ferns and tangled roots sprawled, their indigo fronds shifting gently with the breeze. In the distance, a brook meandered through the undergrowth, its waters shimmering with an amethyst glow, as if it carried the essence of twilight itself. The air was rich with the scent of damp earth and blooming flora, and a faint, melodic hum drifted through the trees—a whisper of a world steeped in quiet mystery.

Harriet moved ahead with ease, stepping over tangled roots and gliding under low branches like he had walked these wild lands his entire life. As they passed beneath a particularly large oak-like tree, a small chittering sound caught his attention. A tiny squirrel, its fur a muted shade of violet to match its surroundings, clung nervously to the bark, hesitating as it tried to leap to the next branch.

Without missing a beat, Harriet lifted his head, watching the creature with quiet amusement. Then, with a barely noticeable flicker of will, one of his invisible hands extended toward it. The squirrel twitched in surprise as it felt an unseen force gently lift it, floating effortlessly across the gap before settling it onto the next branch. It hesitated for only a moment before flicking its bushy tail and scampering away, as if nothing unusual had happened.

Geschicht had paused a few steps behind, already flipping open his journal. With quick, practiced strokes, he jotted down the scene, sketching a rough outline of Harriet standing beneath the tree, the squirrel mid-air, seemingly weightless.

"Helping squirrels now, are we?" he mused without looking up from his pages.

Harriet glanced over his shoulder, a lopsided grin on his face. "Well, it looked like it needed help."

Geschicht shook his head, smirking as he dipped his quill into the small ink bottle strapped to his side. "Just adding another note on why the kids back home think you're some kind of hero."

Harriet let out a laugh, brushing past a curtain of hanging vines as he continued down the path.

Hours had passed since they had set foot on the meandering path, their journey taking them deeper into the vast, violet-hued woodland. The air had grown cooler, and the golden slivers of light that once peeked through the canopy had dimmed, giving way to the soft glow of bioluminescent fungi clinging to the ancient trunks. The stillness of the forest was only broken by the occasional rustle of unseen creatures and the steady rhythm of their footsteps.

Then, through the thick clusters of trees, a structure emerged—a lone building nestled among the wilderness. The scent of damp wood and overgrown ivy greeted them as they approached. The building was an old inn, long abandoned, its wooden frame worn by time, yet still standing firm against nature's slow embrace. The sign that once displayed its name had faded, its letters barely legible beneath layers of moss.

Harriet stepped forward, tilting his head as he studied the place. "Huh. Didn't expect to see an inn all the way out here."

Geschicht ran a hand along the splintered doorframe, peering through a broken window. Inside, dust blanketed every surface, and cobwebs clung to the corners like the remnants of forgotten travelers. "It must've been abandoned for years."

Harriet grinned, pushing open the door with a creak. "Well, we needed a place to rest, didn't we? Looks like we just found one."

Geschicht hesitated, glancing around. Something about the air inside felt… still, too still. Yet, with the weight of their supplies pressing on their backs and the fatigue creeping into their bones, the idea of shelter was tempting. With a sigh, he stepped inside. "Just for the night," he murmured.

The wooden floor creaked beneath their steps as they made their way up the narrow staircase, their presence disturbing the thick layer of dust that had settled over the years. The second floor was in slightly better condition than the main hall, though time had still left its mark. Most of the doors hung ajar, revealing rooms filled with broken furniture, torn curtains, and the faint scent of old wood and mildew.

After checking a few rooms, they finally found one that was the least affected by dust and decay. The window, though streaked with dirt, was still intact, allowing the last remnants of daylight to cast a dim glow across the floor. A few stray leaves had blown in from the cracks, but otherwise, it was the best they could hope for.

"This one'll do," Harriet said, kicking aside a pile of dried leaves near the entrance.

Geschicht nodded and set his pack down, unrolling his mat onto the wooden floor. "Not exactly the most welcoming place, but at least it's dry."

Harriet followed suit, using his unseen hands to pull out his own mat from his backpack before letting it settle onto the floor. "Could've been worse. At least there aren't any holes in the roof." He looked up just to make sure.

Geschicht sat down, stretching his legs. "You say that now, but if something scurries across the floor in the middle of the night, I'm blaming you."

Harriet smirked as he lay back on his mat. "Relax. If anything tries to crawl on you, I'll flick it away before you even notice."

Geschicht shook his head with a tired chuckle, flipping open his journal to jot down the events of the day. For now, they had a roof over their heads and a place to rest, and that was enough.

As the last traces of daylight faded beyond the trees, darkness settled over the abandoned inn. The air inside was cool and still, the silence broken only by the distant rustling of leaves outside. In the center of the room, a small lantern flickered, casting a soft glow against the worn wooden walls and offering both warmth and light in the otherwise shadowed space.

Geschicht reached into his pack, rummaging through their supplies before pulling out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. Without warning, he tossed it straight at Harriet.

A dull thud sounded as the pack of dried deer meat smacked against Harriet's face before bouncing onto his lap.

Harriet blinked, staring down at it before looking up at Geschicht. "Really?"

"We can't cook here," Geschicht said flatly, already unwrapping his portion. "So let's just eat dry food and deal with it."

As Harriet unwrapped his portion of dried meat, he let out a small sigh and peeled off his gloves, revealing the empty space where his arms should have been. He flexed his shoulders slightly, and the jerky lifted from his lap as if guided by invisible hands. Piece by piece, the food floated up to his mouth, and he took a bite as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

Geschicht, who had seen this before but never quite gotten used to it, watched for a moment before shaking his head and returning to his meal. "You could at least pretend to struggle a little. You know, like a normal person."

Harriet raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a grin. "And you could pretend to be amazed every time."

"I am amazed," Geschicht muttered, taking another bite of his food. "I just don't have to say it every time."

Harriet chuckled, finishing his meal as the last bits of dried meat disappeared into his mouth. With a small motion of his shoulders, his gloves floated back toward him, slipping onto his arms as effortlessly as they had come off.

With his stomach full and the warmth of the lantern filling the room, Harriet let out a yawn. "Man, I didn't think traveling by foot would make me this tired…" His voice trailed off as he turned onto his side, his golden eyes fluttering shut. Within minutes, his breathing evened out, and he was fast asleep.

Geschicht, however, remained awake.

Late into the night, when the only sounds should have been the distant calls of nocturnal creatures and the occasional rustling of the trees outside, Geschicht heard something strange—a faint clinking, like glass tapping against wood, followed by the low creak of floorboards shifting under movement.

His first instinct was to shake Harriet awake, but as he turned his head and saw his friend sleeping so peacefully, he hesitated. Instead, he quietly pushed himself up, careful not to make a sound as he grabbed his lantern and crept toward the door.

As he descended the staircase, the strange noises became clearer—soft, shuffling steps, the steady wipe of cloth against wood, and the unmistakable sound of liquid being poured. But when Geschicht stepped onto the first floor, he stopped dead in his tracks.

The room was different.

When they had first entered the inn, the place had been a forgotten ruin—dusty floors, cobweb-covered tables, and a thick layer of dirt clinging to every surface. But now, it was pristine. The wooden floor shone as if freshly scrubbed, the chairs were neatly arranged, and the long-forgotten bar counter gleamed under the dim light of a few flickering lanterns. The air, once stale with abandonment, now carried the faint scent of polished wood and something sweet—perhaps honey or spiced cider.

Geschicht's eyes darted around the room, his mind struggling to piece together what he was seeing. "Did I fall asleep and dream of my earlier exploration of this place? No, that's impossible…" He was certain—he had walked through this floor, kicked up dust with every step, and even traced his fingers over the dirt-caked counter. Yet now, it was as if time had reversed itself, restoring the inn to its former glory.

Then, he noticed the figure behind the counter.

A man—no, not a man.

He was made of wood, his features carefully carved, his limbs jointed like those of a crafted puppet. His 'skin' was polished oak, and his eyes, though unmoving, held an unsettling depth to them. He was methodically cleaning a cup with practiced movements, his wooden fingers wrapped around the glass as he wiped it with a cloth.

As if sensing his presence, the wooden man turned his head toward Geschicht, his movements eerily smooth. His voice, when he spoke, was warm yet carried a slight creak, like old wood shifting in the wind.

"Can't sleep at night, young sir?"

Geschicht swallowed, his pulse quickening. Yet, despite the strangeness of the situation, there was no malice in the figure's tone—only an invitation.

With cautious steps, he moved toward the counter and took a seat, his eyes never leaving the wooden bartender.

As Geschicht settled onto the stool, he kept his hands flat against the counter, half-expecting the smooth, polished wood beneath his fingers to suddenly vanish like an illusion. But it remained solid and real, as did the wooden bartender before him, who continued wiping the cup with a steady, unhurried rhythm.

Geschicht cleared his throat, unsure of how to start. "So… what exactly are you?" he asked, his voice low.

The wooden man paused for a brief moment before setting the cup down. His carved lips curled into something that might have been a smile. "Shouldn't you find that out yourself?"

Geschicht frowned at the answer. He had encountered cryptic responses before—old men in town loved speaking in riddles—but there was something different about this. This wasn't just a refusal to answer. It was an invitation.

Before he could press further, the bartender turned, reaching for something beneath the counter. A moment later, he placed a glass in front of Geschicht.

"A drink, on the house."

Geschicht hesitated but glanced down at the liquid inside. It was a deep, rich red—not like the ales and ciders he'd seen in town but something else entirely. He raised it to his nose and caught a scent that was oddly familiar yet unplaceable. Then, without thinking too much, he took a sip.

His eyes widened.

It was sweet, smooth, and carried just the right amount of tartness. It was unlike anything he had tasted before, yet it felt… perfect. Like something he had been waiting for all his life but had never known existed.

The bartender chuckled as he watched the boy's reaction. "Do you like it?"

Geschicht swallowed and nodded. "Yeah… I do." He looked at the drink again, curiosity sparking in his mind. "What is this?"

"A drink suited to you," the wooden man said simply. "Wine juice."

Geschicht blinked. "Wine juice? That's not a thing."

"Not yet," the bartender replied with a knowing glint in his unmoving eyes.

Geschicht took another sip, savoring the taste. "You talk like you already knew what I'd like."

"I did," the wooden man admitted. "It's my craft, after all. You see, people come through this place with all kinds of reactions—fear, confusion, excitement. But no matter who they are, a simple drink has a way of calming them down. And I love to see that moment—the way people's shoulders ease, the way their faces soften when they take that first sip and realize it's just right for them."

He picked up another glass and began cleaning it with the same steady rhythm. "That's why I do this. Not just to serve drinks, but to give people something that belongs to them in a way they don't expect."

Geschicht stared at him, the words settling in his mind. He found himself relaxing, too. The strangeness of this place hadn't faded, but there was something undeniably warm about it. Something real.

He took another slow sip of his wine juice, deciding, for now, to simply enjoy the moment.

Geschicht leaned forward, resting his elbow on the counter as he swirled the glass in his hand. The rich scent of the wine juice lingered in the air, adding to the quiet, dreamlike atmosphere of the inn. After a moment of contemplation, he glanced up at the wooden bartender.

"If you've served all kinds of people, then tell me," Geschicht said, his voice laced with curiosity. "Who was the most interesting person you've ever served a drink to?"

The bartender paused in his cleaning, setting the glass down gently before meeting Geschicht's gaze. There was something unreadable in those carved wooden eyes, as if a thousand stories sat just beneath the surface.

"That would be you."

Geschicht blinked, caught off guard. He let out a short laugh. "Me? You've barely known me for ten minutes."

The bartender nodded. "And yet, in those ten minutes, you've asked the right questions, tasted a drink that has yet to exist, and stayed despite knowing nothing about me or this place." He tilted his head slightly. "Most people either run, demand answers, or refuse to drink what is offered. But you? You accept the mystery while trying to understand it. That makes you the most interesting guest to serve."

He paused for a moment, then added with a knowing smile, "And besides... you carry the trail of a firefly."

Geschicht furrowed his brows. "A firefly?"

The bartender gave a slow nod. "A flickering light in the dark, always searching, always drawn toward the unknown."

Geschicht fell silent, the words settling in his mind like embers on a quiet night. But somehow, it felt right.

As the night stretched on, the warmth of the dim lantern light and the gentle hum of the bartender's voice lulled Geschicht into sleep. His head rested against the counter. The wooden bartender didn't wake him, only continued cleaning, his movements slow and rhythmic, as if time itself flowed differently within these walls.

A firm shake on his shoulder pulled him from his slumber. "Hey, wake up," Harriet's voice cut through the haze of sleep. Geschicht blinked blearily, straightening up as he felt a dull ache in his back from the uncomfortable position.

"You really fell asleep down here?" Harriet asked, rubbing his own eyes. But before Geschicht could answer, Harriet's gaze shifted to the counter, his brows furrowing. "Wait… What the hell?"

The wooden surface, which had been spotless and polished the night before, was now coated in thick layers of dust, as if untouched for years. Cobwebs clung to the edges, and the faint scent of old wood filled the air. The place looked exactly as it had when they first arrived—abandoned and forgotten.

Geschicht turned his head toward where the bartender had stood, but there was nothing. No glasses. No faint echoes of conversation. Just emptiness.

Harriet gave him a questioning look, but Geschicht only shook his head and sighed. "No amount of explanation can save me from this."

With that, they returned upstairs, packed their belongings, and stepped outside into the crisp morning air. The sky was pale blue, streaked with soft wisps of clouds. The forest around them stirred with the sounds of waking creatures.

After walking for a little while, something made Geschicht stop. A strange feeling tugged at him, and he instinctively turned his head back.

His breath caught.

The inn was gone.

Not in ruins. Not faded into the distance. It had simply vanished, as if it had never existed. In its place stood only thick trees and wild undergrowth.

Harriet followed his gaze, blinking. "Well… that's not normal."

Geschicht exhaled slowly, gripping his journal tighter. No, it wasn't normal. But then again, neither was the world they were stepping into.

As they continued walking, Geschicht felt a faint warmth from his journal, a sensation so subtle he might have ignored it if not for the night's strange events. Curious, he flipped it open.

Nestled between the pages, faintly glowing, was a single firefly. It flickered once, then disappeared into the parchment, as if the book itself had absorbed it. Geschicht's fingers lingered on the page, tracing where the tiny creature had vanished.

He didn't say anything, but deep down, he knew—this place, this night, this encounter—it was now a part of something greater. A story.

And stories had a way of spreading.

In the years that followed, whispers of a forgotten inn hidden within the forest began to surface among the villagers living near its borders. Some spoke of a place where weary travelers could find shelter for the night, a warm drink waiting for them at the counter, and a host who never asked for payment—only their company.

No one could ever find it twice.

But those who did, for better or for worse, were forever changed.