Harlam drank a beer he stole while no one was looking. He sat at a random table in the corner of the bar that no one else bothered to crowd around. There was something about drinking the last beer of one’s life that settled his heart into melancholy. It wasn’t like he would die at the end of his journey, but the moment he would leave the Evergrave, he’d be something new. Something that could drink beer without a care in the world. Smiling with his newfound sense of freedom and appreciation for life. 

Maybe he could free Erly from her chains and they could have a beer together. Laugh about all the good times they had and all the good times they’ll have. Making new friends and memories. Taking turns to lead them through the next leg of their adventure. Getting away from Yenevear’s dying breaths. That sounded just marvelous. 

Harlam closed his eyes and gulped down another quarter of his beer. He wasn’t worried about getting drunk. There was a time when a single sip would down him, but after eating fermented nullberries, he could drink three whole pints without even feeling warm in the belly. Nothing could compare to that night when he woke up buck-naked hanging on a random flagpole. What made that situation worse was that he didn’t have the Everstone with him since it was with his clothes. Everyone could look up and see his full glory. Embarrassing memories but they were fond memories nonetheless.  

The seat next to Harlam’s creaked. Someone sat down. Harlam slammed down his beer and opened his eyes. The blond-haired witch that was talking with the drunk man sat in the chair next to him. She had a beer with her as well, and she took a sip the moment she sat down. The magic covering her clothes wore off, revealing what she actually wore. A stark black robe covered in red dots. It was a robe that a successor witch would wear, meaning that if Erly ever got promoted, demoted, or died, she’d have a shot at taking her place.  

With magic being disabled inside of town where they couldn’t reactivate the spell, that meant only one thing. They weren’t planning on trying to fool him any longer. This was the home stretch. Either Harlam got to the Evergrave tomorrow or they kill him and take the Everstone. One of those two events would transpire, and Harlam was sure it wouldn’t be the latter.  

The witch looked up at him and smiled with a tilt of her head. Harlam knew that smile was fake. He’d seen similar when other witches tried conning him out of the stone.  

“Pretty crowded in here, isn’t it,” the witch said.  

Harlam nodded. He could barely hear her over the noise of the drunken crowd. People walked around mixing the scent of beer around the bar like a baker would whip batter. Among the moldy unwashed smell of drunken men, he could vaguely smell blood. A smack echoed across the room. Harlam was accurate in his assumption that he smelled blood. A fight broke out a few tables away. Men crowded around, cheering and shouting bets on who would be the victor. 

Harlam couldn’t help but smile. They were enjoying life. He couldn’t partake in their smiles and cheers and jeers the same way they could. He’d be too distracted by the ever-looming darkness that hung above every man. Almost invisible to the naked eye, the shadow would watch as people wasted their lives away with meaningless nonsense. He was envious that they couldn’t see that shadow ready to infect them when they looked away for even a second. 

“You’re pretty on edge, aren’t you.” The witch took another sip of beer. She placed an elbow on the table and rested her head on her open palm. “Miraca’s the name.”  

“You already know mine.”  

Harlam took another sip of beer. He studied her with a single open eye. She didn’t seem like she was in the bar to cause him trouble. If anything, he guessed the reason she was with him was because Erly asked her to. Although he doubted she told her to sit at the same table as him.  

“It’s funny…” Harlam said. 

“What is?” 

“I’m the most famous person in the world and no one realizes it. You think I’ll be in history books?” 

“I would rather you not be remembered in the future at all,” Miraca said, pointing at him with a smile despite her statement. “Imagine what stain we’d have in history if it was found out the holiest relic in Yenevear culture was stolen by some nobody who had no presence anywhere till then. It’d make us look like a bunch of imbeciles.” 

“So it's better to blame other countries for why the Everstone disappeared and go into a pointless war than just admit some guy took it?” 

Miraca sighed and took another sip of beer. The fight a few tables away grew fiercer and fiercer by the second. Harlam could see the men battering each other’s heads against the bar wall. Blood stained the already red-stained wall and staff tried to stop the fight. Fights were all good until the owners worried about being under investigation for a murder. If they were investigated, soldiers might find out what was happening on the third floor. 

“We were already at war before we even knew you took it. If it weren’t for reports of an invisible man being spread across Ulgar, we wouldn’t even have known you stole it.” 

Harlam grumbled to himself. He remembered how that rumor got spread in the first place. On the first few days since he stole the Everstone, he headed into Ulgar to test its abilities. When he confirmed that no one could see him, he wanted to test the other senses, both on him and on others. Including taste. He licked various things and put himself into situations where he could be licked. That day’s other experiments included but were not limited to touching benches, sniffing hair, feeling skin, standing in front of a variety of animals, and even seeing if he could taste a pool of puke. The specific event that got the rumor spreading was when he poked the back of a woman’s neck and she broke out into a crazed rant. From there, people started putting stories together, the witches got involved, and the rest was history. 

“Thanks to you,” Miraca continued, “Even if we get it back, it’s not like we can just place the Everstone back and be done with it. Everyone will be suspicious of Teffer if we just admitted that some nobody from their country had stolen it. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone turned against us thinking that we were lying.” 

“Well, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to worship a random rock that looks like every other rock in this world.” 

“That rock is the fractured piece of God.” 

“All I see is a rock.” 

To prove his point, Harlam reached into his pouch and took out the rock. He held it between his thumb and pointer finger and positioned it in a way so it replaced Miraca’s head in his vision.  

“See, just a rock.” 

“You’re taunting me at this point.” Miraca drank another sip of beer. “You can use all five of its abilities yet you claim it to be a rock.” 

“A powerful rock, but still a rock.” 

A loud crack snapped Harlam’s attention back toward the bar brawl. The fight turned into an all-out melee with people barging in only to get broken noses. The smell of blood at this point easily kept up with the smell of beer, mixing together and forming a bizarre smell that he wouldn’t want to experience again.  Harlam clenched the rock in his fist and placed it back in the pouch. He wanted to avoid getting any blood on it at all costs.  

Miraca and Harlam simultaneously drank the last of their beers. Miraca slammed the pint on the table. Her head swayed and flush rose on her cheeks. The alcohol was affecting her to a surprising degree. Harlam thought witches couldn’t get drunk, much less drink at all. Needless to say, Miraca was the least witch witch he’d ever talked with. He couldn’t help but be slightly relaxed talking to her despite them wanting to kill him.  

“What are you going to do after this,” Harlam asked.  

“I’m going to keep my eye on you, of course.” 

“I get that, but after a few more drinks I’mma rent out a room. Unless you’re sleeping with me, I suggest you get your own.” 

Miraca chuckled at the offer. “You would sleep in the same room as your enemy?” 

“I won’t have to worry about you taking the Everstone while I’m asleep. You know that.” 

Miraca said something under her breath. Harlam couldn’t hear what it was, but from her tone and expression, he could assume she was cursing him. Either that or she was thinking the best way to kill him. No matter what, she was saying something negative about him.  

“I’ll just rent my own room. No need for us to sleep in the same one.” 

“Yeah. Unless you get Erly to sleep in the same room as me, you aren’t stepping a foot in there.” 

He stood up to leave but a shadow began approaching him at rapid speed. He barely dodged out of the way as a man flew at him, slamming on the wall behind him. Deciding that leaving wasn’t an option at the moment, he sat back down and cringed at Miraca’s stare. She glared at him with narrow judging eyes as if she were his mom and she just caught him bringing mud into the house. 

“What’s so special about Erly? Wouldn’t any woman be fine for you?” 

Harlam smiled and swung his head to the side, dodging a thrown glass. The fight was finally nearing its climax with soldiers busting through the bar. Some people were strangled. Many dead or near death. Very few were fit enough to throw another punch so they resorted to throwing random objects around the room.  

“She just reminds me of someone I know.” 

With the fighting dying down, Harlam stood up and scoured around the bar for a beer to drink. He couldn’t just walk up to the bartender and ask for one. The man wouldn’t be able to see him, so in order to not freak him out, Harlam’d need to relinquish the Everstone for a moment. Needless to say, Harlam wouldn’t do that, not even if he were being tortured. 

The magnitude of the fight had gotten so large that most of the beers fell to the ground and seeped into the floor. There was one glass half filled with beer, but Harlam could see blood mixed in with it. He sighed, wondering if he was only allowed one beer before his trip to the Evergrave. 

Suddenly, someone stuck a pint right in front of his eyes. Harlam jumped back in a panic and saw Miraca holding two pints of beer. She held one out to him with a smile and shook it around. The beer foam swirled around tantalizingly, hypnotizing him to grab it and guzzle it down. 

He couldn’t just deny the beer’s wish to make him drunk. Moving so fast even Miraca widened her eyes in surprise, he snatched the beer and drank it until it was half full. He wiped his mouth and burped out loud, not caring for etiquette. Miraca laughed as she moved out of the way of a bruised and bloody man being taken away by a soldier. 

“You surprise me, thief.” 

Harlam eyed her with a raised brow. “How so?” 

“Considering the fact you killed plenty of witches, I thought you’d be some gruff man that didn’t know the definition of fun.” 

“I could say the same to you. You definitely act different from many of the witches I’ve seen and interacted with.” Harlam drank some more beer, finally feeling the effects kicking in. His chest grew warm and he could feel the muscles controlling the sides of his mouth relax. “Also, I didn’t want to kill any of you. It just, sorta, happened.” 

“Well, sorry, but I do have to kill you after this.” Miraca raised her glass toward him. “No hard feelings, right?” 

Harlam looked at the raised glass. His head swam with mildly drunken thoughts, and he could barely perceive if her being near him for so long was a trap or not. The more he drank, the more relaxed he became. Just in case, he rammed his hand down the pouch where the Everstone rested. He could feel its rough smoothness in between his fingers and how it made his hand a tiny bit wet despite there being little to no moisture in the air.  

“No hard feelings.”  

Harlam and Miraca smacked their glasses together and gulped down the last of their pints. Miraca went to get two more beers, leaving Harlam by himself. The fight ended with the last of the brawlers leaving with wrists tied, guided–or more accurately pushed–by grumbling soldiers. Barely a handful of men were left in the bar, and one man was staring directly at him. At first, Harlam thought the man was somehow seeing him, but then he noticed the man’s eyes were focused directly on his glass. Smiling, Harlam swirled the glass around, causing the man to squirm and drop his beer. He ran outside moments later. Harlam laughed as Miraca brought two more pints.