Dawn of the Elements - Book 4: Future Rewritten

Chapter Fourteen: Her Return to The Tavern

A hooded figure walked into the tavern. It was just as she had remembered it, from her time there previously. The air was thick with the familiar scents of spilled ale, roasted meat, and the earthy aroma of the wooden beams. She began to walk towards the bar, the cool surface of the rough-hewn wood beneath her gloved fingers, when a shout pierced through the lively chatter.

"PUT THE CHAIR DOWN! DON'T MAKE ME TELL YOU AGAIN!"

A heavy oak chair flew past her head, narrowly missing its target and crashing against the far wall. She flinched but kept her composure, feeling a rush of adrenaline. This chaos was part of the charm of The Mystic Bicorn.

"Sorry about that," came a sultry voice from behind the bar. A man with dark hair, tousled and slightly wild, leaned over the polished wood. His deep-set eyes sparkled with mischief, and a playful grin spread across his face. "Ruffians being ruffians." He chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. "Welcome to The Mystic Bicorn. My name is Clancy. What can I get you? Perhaps some of our famous Dragon's Breath ale? Or maybe something a little stronger? We just got a new shipment of Shadowfell moonshine... if you're feeling adventurous."

"I can only remember being here one other time," the hooded figure said, settling onto a stool at the bar. The wood creaked slightly under her weight. "But I don't remember ever hearing the name of this place." Her voice was a low murmur, barely audible above the tavern's din.

Clancy leaned forward, his dark hair falling slightly over his eyes as he subtly tried to catch a glimpse beneath the hood. The figure's reaction was a subtle tightening of the shoulders, a slight shift away from his gaze. He decided to play it cool. "I'll have a Dragonfire Whiskey on the rocks, and a moment of your time," she added, her voice regaining its composure.

"Only a select few request the Dragonfire Whiskey," Clancy replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. He watched the hooded figure's reaction – a barely perceptible flinch, a slight tightening of the jaw. He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Luckily for you, I just opened a new barrel." He reached behind the bar, retrieving a crystal glass, and poured a generous amount of the fiery red liquid over ice. The aroma filled the air – a blend of cinnamon, smoke, and something... dangerous. He slid the glass across the bar, the ice clinking softly. "Now, you said you needed a moment of my time?" He leaned against the bar, his arms crossed, his gaze both curious and assessing. The tavern's noise seemed to fade as he waited for her response, the air thick with unspoken questions.

"It's about this," the hooded figure said, her voice now carrying a new weight of purpose. She set a small, unassuming wooden box on the bar top. The sound was barely audible over the tavern's noise, but Clancy's attention snapped to it immediately. He reached for the box, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he leaned in. He opened it, and the breath caught in his throat.

Inside, nestled on a bed of crimson satin, lay a gold locket. It was a piece of exquisite craftsmanship, the metal gleaming under the dim tavern lights. The Sigil of Fire, intricately engraved on the front, blazed with an inner light, each point of the symbol inlaid with tiny, perfectly cut rubies that seemed to pulse with a faint, inner fire.

"This locket... I have not seen in sixteen years," he breathed, his voice hushed with a mix of awe and something deeper – a long-buried emotion that flickered in his eyes. He gently lifted the locket from the box, turning it over in his hands, tracing the familiar lines of the sigil. "How is it that you came by it?"

The hooded figure chuckled, a soft, melodic sound. She took a slow, deliberate sip from her glass of Dragonfire Whiskey, the ice clinking softly. Then, with a graceful movement, she reached up and slowly lowered her hood. A cascade of black and purple hair, shimmering in the firelight, tumbled down her back. Her features, framed by the dark strands, were striking – high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and eyes that held a depth of experience beyond her apparent years.