8. Bickering Stopped by an Apple Tart

The dark-haired man never returned to the Infirmary that night, and since Crow had finally woken up, she was allowed to take refuge in her own lodgings again.

“You’re not to leave the guild hall until Duskbane returns,” was the only command the guild master had for her.

Rowan helped her to the guild’s main hall so she could eat a hot meal, saying she needed it. She hesitantly agreed, telling him she’d pay because ‘Kitty Cat’ ran off before she could give him the money back. Still, her eyes lit up. This was her first real meal since escaping the ruins.

They sat across from one another, finally able to relax. Her face practically glowed after the first bite of what she assumed was stew.

“How much did he give you anyway?” Rowan asked through a mouthful.

She nearly choked on her own food.

“Rowan, please correct me if I’m wrong. But aren't major seal gild worth, um, ten regular guild?”

“Yes,” he said, slowly raising an eyebrow, “Where are you going with this?”

She held up a palm-sized gold ingot, stamped with a balance scale, her hands shaking. “This is… this is a major seal gold gild, isn’t it?”

Her voice was quiet, expression a mixture of awe and confusion.

Rowan choked on his water. “Yes,” he coughed. “That’s more than I make in a week.”

She tilted her head, that same stunned smile still on her face. “He gave me, like, a handful of those. A few minor seal gilds, too..” She pulled out a small hexagonal coin and held it up, looking one breath away from strangling someone.

Rowan did some quick mental math, his face going pale.

“So... So you’re telling me Kiki just had over a hundred gild lying around and threw it at a stranger?”

He dropped his head into his hands. “I’m in the wrong career,” he groaned.

Crow’s voice dropped to a whisper. “That’s... a lot, isn’t it?”

“Crow, I make three gild a week. You’ve got almost my entire yearly salary in that pouch.” He sighed, mumbling into his stew. “As soon as your hands heal, we’re going on a quest. I’m officially registered now as more than just a worker here—and if adventurers are making that kind of money—”

“Rowan, you’re muttering. I can’t understand you.”

He flushed. “Sorry. But yes. That is a lot.”

“He’s... strange,” Crow said slowly, turning back to her food.

She only got halfway through her meal when she heard a high-pitched squeak.

“There you are!”

Crow looked up in time to see the girl with wild pink hair—and the man she’d healed—bounding toward her. She glanced at Rowan in panic, and he leaned over.

“They’re nice. Unlike Kiki. Don’t worry.”

The girl slid in beside her, the man with fiery red hair next to Rowan. His broad frame caused him to be shoulder to shoulder with Rowan in the small space.

“We were gonna buy you dinner,” the girl huffed.

“I, uh...” Crow fidgeted. “I know you stayed with me in the infirmary, but I don’t know your names.”

The girl’s eyes widened, and the man laughed.

“I’m Garran Stonefang. This is Myra Vexis.”

“You can just call me Myra,” she grinned like they’d been friends for years.

“I go by Garran. Or Gar, if that’s easier.”

“I’m... Crow.” Her voice came out softer than she intended—they were very energetic, something she was not used to. She took another bite of stew. “Your angry friend isn’t going to show up, is he?”

Gar raised an eyebrow and laughed. “Kael? Maybe, but I doubt it. He seemed even more agitated than usual when we saw him earlier.”

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“I guess if you want to follow me around, I could always use a fangirl.”

His irritating voice echoed in her memory. She grimaced.

Rowan tapped his chin, smirking. “It’s probably because she gave Kiki a new nickname.”

Both Gar and Myra perked up.

Gar was first to ask, “Kiki? Mr. Ashford, you know Kael?”

Rowan waved him off. “Rowan’s fine. And yes—Kael and I were childhood friends.”

Crow snorted. “You were friends with that feral cat?”

He laughed. “Yeah. Until we both decided to become adventurers. Then we… went separate ways.”

“You did not just call Kael a feral cat,” Myra whispered, trying not to laugh.

“Well... I did start calling him Kitty Cat while he was harassing me in the infirmary.”

Garran and Myra lost it.

“How are you still breathing?” Myra gasped between laughs.

Crow shrugged. “I guess your pet demon isn’t as scary as he thinks he is.”

Rowan and Gar’s laughter died. Their eyes widened.

“What did you just call me, Backfire Medic?”

The voice was low. Too close.

She felt the warmth of him behind her before she could fully process it. Her first instinct was to move—but seated in the corner of a crowded table, that didn’t go well. Her knee slammed into the table as she tripped over the bench.

“Fuck,” she hissed, clutching her knee.

Kael laughed, unbothered and smug.

“Alright, Kitty Cat, laugh while you can,” she growled, rubbing the spot.

“What’s a medic who can’t even control her mana—”

Before she could stop herself, a dagger flew past him, embedding itself in the wall.

“I am not a medic,” she snapped, ignoring the pain in her hands.

“Enough,” Rowan barked. “There are rules about fighting in here.” His gaze wasn’t on Kael. It was on her.

“Fine,” she muttered, getting up to retrieve her dagger.

“You’re lucky he stepped in before I kicked your ass,” Kael whispered to her as she passed.

The surge of anger sent her mana flaring. He wasn't just an asshole, but smug as well?

“Come again, pretty boy?” she said through gritted teeth.

“Okay, okay,” Myra jumped in, trying to calm the situation. “Crow—”

Kael’s laugh cut through the tension. “Out of all the names you could choose, you chose Crow? What kind of name is that?”

Her body moved before thought could catch up, mana howling at her fingertips. She struck, and though he caught it, the blow hit like a spell detonation—air shimmering, ground shuddering under his boots.

Garran and Rowan exchanged a grimace.

“You’re strong for a little bird,” Kael said, still gripping her fist. “Might even be worth something one day.”

His tone was teasing—not cruel—but she didn’t hear it that way.

Rowan moved faster than she expected, yanking them apart with surprising force.

“Kiki,” he snapped, voice low and sharper than usual, “maybe don’t pick fights with people who just got out of the infirmary, yeah?”

“Tch. Whatever, you say, spec sheet.” Kael’s eyes flicked down to Crow. “Start something again, and not even Mother Hen here is gonna save you.”

Something about him just set her off. She stepped forward, mana prickling under her skin—And was immediately lifted off her feet like a ragdoll.

“Alright, alright,” Garran chuckled, carrying her to the other side of the table like it was nothing, “you’re a fierce little thing, huh?”

Her cheeks burned. “I am not little. Put me down.”

He raised an eyebrow, holding one hand above his head and lowering it to where hers would be. “Mmm, I dunno, Crow. You’re like—at least a head shorter than me.”

“We can’t all be giants,” she huffed. “Five-six is average, thank you very much.”

“Myra’s taller than you,” he added, glancing between the girls.

She looked like she might combust on the spot. “It’s probably just her hair.”

“Well,” Rowan offered diplomatically, “technically, she is right. Five-six is average height. And if Crow’s not from the Outer Kingdoms, her—”

“No one cares about your bullshit facts,” Kael sneared, rolling his eyes.

Crow wasn’t sure why, but something about Kael made her want to launch herself across the table and strangle him.

Myra must’ve noticed, because she leaned over suddenly, wide-eyed.

“Crow, have you ever had the apple tarts here?”

Apple… tart?

A pastry?

It had been so long since she had anything sweet.

Crow blinked. All thoughts of strangling Kael instantly vanished. She tried (and failed) to look casual.

“They have… sweets here?” Her voice betrayed her, excitement seeping through. “An apple tart, you say?”

Myra grinned. “Come on, girly. Prepare to have your mind blown.”

Myra was not a liar.

Crow tried to hide her pure joy, but the way she ate that tart—slowly, reverently, like it was the last sweet she’d ever get—told everyone exactly how she felt.