Chapter 8 - City of Fritz

Chapter 8 - City of Fritz

I t had been quite some time since we left the village—maybe an hour spent traveling through the open countryside. The scenery was pleasant enough. We rode on our black horse, Kelsey, passing through fields of wildflowers, rolling hills, and endless green plains that stretched for miles.

Eventually, as we crested a small rise and felt the midday wind pour over us, Lyra grinned and pointed into the distance. "Ah! We're close now!"

I raised my head slightly to peer at the stone walls in the distance.

"Hehe, yep," Thorskil confirmed. "You've been here once before, Lyra, but this is Kyro's first time."

Lyra turned back to look at me where I sat at the front of the saddle. "Well, he doesn't seem very excited."

Thorskil simply smiled at me without pushing the issue. He clicked his tongue, signaling Kelsey to keep moving.

Ahead, the city of Fritz loomed against the mid-morning sky—a tall, imposing structure built from weathered gray granite.

As the open country road narrowed toward the entrance, traffic organized itself into a line. Massive wooden carts laden with sacks, merchants aggressively guiding stubborn donkeys, and weary peasants carrying heavy tools all vied for space. A steady stream of travelers bottlenecked at the entryway, humming with the noise of trade and impatient complaints.

Thorskil pulled the reins, bringing Kelsey to a stop behind a merchant's wagon until our turn finally arrived.

From beneath the shadows of my cloth wrapping, I tilted my head up to peer at the guards. They were systematically waving travelers through the checkpoint one by one. Two tall soldiers clad in reinforced gambeson stood at rigid attention, gripping long pikes while short swords hung at their hips. Their expressions leaned more toward profound boredom than strict hostility, but their eyes remained sharp, flicking over every passing face and cargo bed.

A guard stepped forward, extending a gauntleted hand. "Name? State your business."

Thorskil nodded politely. "Thorskil Samsworth, traveling from Ytval," my father answered calmly, reaching into his vest to hand over a folded piece of identification parchment. "Here strictly for trade. Procuring barn tools and supplies. No overnight stay intended."

The guard barely glanced at the documentation before handing it back and waving his arm toward the interior.

"Gate tax is entirely waived for today, sir. It's the kickoff for the festival week. Just do us a favor and try not to clog up the middle transit late."

Thorskil offered a polite nod, clicking his tongue to signal Kelsey forward. As we passed directly beneath the massive stone archway, the bright morning light vanished, replaced by a chilling shadow for a fleeting moment. The ambient noise briefly muffled, and then, we exploded into the overwhelming roar of the city proper.

"Woahh!" Lyra gasped, her head darting left and right as she drank in the chaotic atmosphere.

Beyond the stone barrier, the inner city was remarkably tightly packed. Colorful market stalls were crammed shoulder-to-shoulder, weathered shingle rooftops leaned precariously over narrow cobbled alleys, and the ancient stone buildings looked incredibly solid. The overall color palette was earthy and muted, punctuated only by sudden splashes of vibrant paint where shopkeepers attempted to make their businesses stand out.

Young children weaved effortlessly through the dense forest of adult legs, while the thick scent of spiced cooking oil, fresh sawdust, and roasted sweet corn wafted through the air, completely dominating the senses.

I blinked rapidly and pressed a tiny hand to my chest, feeling it tighten with familiar anxiety.

"S-so incredibly noisy!" Lyra shouted, clapping her hands over her ears to block out the din.

"Cities are naturally like that, sweetie," Thorskil replied. "Especially when there's a major festival happening."

Thorskil guided Kelsey expertly through the avenue. Navigating past dense crowds of pedestrians was a challenge, but he managed it with practiced ease. As we rode, his eyes locked onto a specific healer's sigil carved into the stone above a cramped doorway. It was a predatory establishment, more specifically, the kind that didn't care how badly a patient was hurting, only how much gold they could pay upfront.

Those places were common in Fritz. If Damian hadn't been in Ytval yesterday, I would currently be suffering through a painful bone-setting procedure, roaming around with a broken arm bound in a canvas sling.

My father let out a quiet sigh, keeping his dark thoughts to himself. He kept his hands steady on the reins, weaving past lumbering cargo carts and foot traffic as he searched for our destination.

***

Eventually, Kelsey came to a halt in front of a modest establishment tucked away just off the main thoroughfare. A weathered wooden sign swung gently in the midday breeze, its faded painted letters spelling out: GEAR & GRIND . It was an old, reliable merchant shop Thorskil had frequented for years.

My father dismounted the horse with practiced ease, his boots hitting the cobblestones with a soft grunt. Lyra slid down immediately after him, humming a cheerful tune as she threw her arms wide to stretch beneath the bright city sky. The street around them bustled with activity, such as traders shouting, farmers inspecting goods, and children darting past carrying bundles of fresh bread or bolts of raw fabric.

I remained seated atop the horse, my posture stiff and my head wrapped tightly in cloth. Beneath the frayed edges of the fabric, my golden eyes warily scanned the passing faces, reflexively searching for any sign of hostility.

Thorskil shot a quick glance up at me

"Kyro?" he started, "You coming in?"

I responded with a simple, firm shake of my head.

Thorskil stared at me a moment longer before placing a guiding hand on Lyra's back and leading her into the shop.

A small brass bell mounted above the door jingled merrily as they crossed the threshold. The air inside was dense, smelling strongly of old iron and rust-preventative oil. A stout, muscular man with soot-stained fingers and a thick beard braided like a heavy rope looked up from his ledgers behind the counter. The moment his eyes landed on Thorskil's tall frame, his face lit up with genuine joy.

"Well, burn my bloody boots! If it isn't Thorskil Samsworth himself!" the merchant bellowed, his booming voice echoing off the tool-lined walls as he spread his arms wide. "It's been a hot minute, eh old friend?"

Thorskil chuckled warmly, extending a hand for a firm handshake that quickly turned into a masculine shoulder-clap. "A very long minute, Marn. Still breathing, and still swinging the hammer."

"Good, good! And I see you're still dragging that little whirlwind around with you," Marn said with a hearty laugh, reaching over to ruffle Lyra's sky-blue hair. She giggled, swatting his hand away with practiced annoyance. "Little Miss Samsworth is getting taller by the month."

Lyra proudly puffed out her chest, resting her hands on her hips. "I'm helping Papa purchase heavy construction tools today. I'm practically an adult, you know."

"Oh, I don't doubt it for a second," Marn said with a knowing wink. Then, his eyes drifted past them toward the storefront window and paused. "Say, Thors... who's the quiet little guy still sitting up on the horse out there?"

Thorskil followed his gaze, letting out a gentle sigh.

"That's Kyro," my father said softly. "My son."

Marn blinked in genuine surprise, his thick eyebrows lifting.

"Your son? Well, I'll be damned... I didn't even realize you had another one running around." He observed my rigid posture from afar. "You know, you should bring him inside. It's cooler in here."

Thorskil shook his head softly.

"Seems like he prefers to stay outside." He exhaled quietly. "I really don't know what to do with him sometimes."

Marn raised a brow. "What's wrong with him? He seems a little gloomy for a youngster."

"Eh," Lyra chimed in, hands on her hips. "He's always like that. Let him be. He's weird."

Thorskil gave a small, solemn nod, his expression remaining unreadable for a brief beat. "He isn't particularly fond of public places. Doesn't care for crowds. Knowing there are strangers nearby makes him uncomfortable."

"Well, you know what they say," Marn offered kindly. "Strangers are just friends you haven't met yet. Maybe you should encourage him a bit more."

"I think about that too, but..." Thorskil paused, looking out at my shrouded silhouette. "I feel like the more I push, the more he'll retreat into his shell."

Marn scratched thoughtfully at his thick cheek. "A quiet kid, huh?"

"Yes," Thorskil replied softly. "But I'm certain of one thing: quiet doesn't mean lacking. My job is just to support him however I can."

Marn smiled gently. "That might be the best choice."

Thorskil turned his attention back to the wooden counter and began methodically listing the items we needed: heavy-duty rope, whetstones, and a few basic upgrades for the farm tools.

***

By the time they exited the shop, Thorskil's internal concern for my well-being had significantly deepened. Every single minute we spent exposed on the public road seemed to actively chip away at my posture. I wasn't slouched from the physical fatigue; rather, I was visibly shrinking, curling inward as if attempting to fold my entire body out of existence with every passing glance from a random stranger.

Thorskil looked at Lyra through his shoulder, still hugging his hips, then back at me. A sudden thought crossed his mind.

Maybe some warm food will help ground him, perhaps lighten the mood.

He guided Kelsey down the street, eventually pulling up in front of a modest, inviting restaurant nestled between a bustling blacksmith and a quiet fletcher's shop. A carved wooden sign hung above the entrance, swinging gently in the midday breeze.

Thorskil and Lyra dismounted smoothly. "Oooh! Are we finally eating?!" Lyra grinned, bouncing right behind her father. "I want the massive ground steak, Papa!"

Thorskil chuckled, turning to face her. "Say the magic word first."

"Pleasee~!" she begged, deliberately widening her yellow eyes into an exaggerated puppy-dog stare.

Thorskil tossed his hands up in defeat. "Fine, fine. You shall have your steak."

Then, he turned his warm gaze up to me. I was still perched atop Kelsey, one hand desperately gripping my cloth hood tight around my face.

"Kyro, would you please dismount?" Thorskil asked gently. "I want you and your sister to head inside and secure us a good table while I go tie Kelsey up at the nearby stables, alright?"

My tiny fingers twitched slightly. It took me a bit longer to respond.

"Y-yeah. Sure, Dad." I replied, my voice sounding incredibly soft and small.

I carefully slid down Kelsey's massive flank, ensuring my feet hit the cobblestones safely. I immediately reached up to keep the cloth draped securely over the upper half of my face, shielding my eyes. Thorskil gave a reassuring nod and turned to lead the horse away, fully trusting his children to walk the short distance into the establishment together.

But before I could properly secure the hold on my cloth, a force intervened.

"C'mon, slowpoke!" Lyra chirped loudly. Without an ounce of warning, she reached down, grabbed my tiny wrist, and gave it a violent yank.

I stumbled forward blindly, my center of gravity completely off. The protective cloth instantly slipped out from my small, sweaty fingers.

"W-wait!-!" I gasped, spinning around desperately to reach for it.

But it was already too late, far too late. The fabric fluttered uselessly through the air, landing flat on the dirty cobblestones behind me, completely forgotten as Lyra aggressively dragged my small frame straight toward the restaurant's heavy wooden doors.

***

The interior of the restaurant was remarkably warm, well, not just in terms of physical temperature, but in its overall atmosphere.

Massive wooden beams lined the ceiling, casting long shadows across a large stone hearth where a crackling fire burned. Low-hanging iron chandeliers flickered with warm candlelight, illuminating a timber floor polished smooth by years of foot traffic. The space smelled rich, filled with aromas of roasted meats, garlic, fresh-baked bread, and spilled ale.

But there were people. So many people.

I froze three steps past the threshold, my breath catching in my throat. The deafening noise of laughter, the sea of moving bodies, the perceived weight of countless gazes... even if logically no one was paying attention to a random toddler, my panicked brain screamed that every eye in the room was locked onto me. And my cloth was gone. My single layer of defense was lying in the dirt outside.

Oh god...

I swallowed hard, lowering my head as far as humanly possible without hunching over like a complete freak. I immediately locked my vision exclusively onto the backs of Lyra's shoes. They were made of scuffed brown leather, featuring a messy, knotted lace she continuously refused to retie.

"Foood~!" she sighed happily, practically drooling at the rich aromas as we navigated past the packed tables. Her yellow eyes sparkled with gluttony as she scanned the packed layout.

I stayed dangerously close to her side, focusing entirely on her loud presence. It was infinitely easier than looking literally anywhere else in the room.

Suddenly, her eyes locked onto a target. She had spotted a perfect table tucked away into the farthest corner of the restaurant; a beautiful, slightly isolated booth where the shadows were deep.

Perfect. If we could just reach that spot, I could finally breathe.

Lyra accelerated her pace. I moved faster too, having no other choice. But just as we reached the literal edge of the empty table, a loud scraping sound echoed out.

No..! My chest sank as hope crumbled.

Four rough-looking adventurers dropped into the chairs like starved vultures claiming a fresh kill. Three of them were humans clad in battle-worn leather armor, while the fourth was a tall Beastfolk Orc with olive-green skin, massive protruding tusks, and arms the size of tree trunks. They laughed boisterously, slamming their fists onto the table as they shouted for drinks.

Lyra stopped dead in her tracks, her small hands clenching into tight fists at her sides.

"HEY!" she shouted, her sharp voice slicing clean through the ambient tavern noise. "That's our seat! Get out of here, you total chumps!"

All four seasoned adventurers paused, turning their heads to look down at the source of the voice. One of the humans raised a judgemental eyebrow, while another began to chuckle softly at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

The towering Orc leaned forward, his ivory tusks catching the amber candlelight like daggers. "I didn't exactly see your name carved onto the wood, little miss," he rumbled.

Beside him, the tallest human adventurer smirked lazily, resting his chin in his hand. "Maybe you should have sat your little butt down faster, kid."

Lyra's nostrils flared with fury. With a highly dramatic huff, she violently yanked up her sleeves, looking entirely prepared to ignite a full-scale tavern brawl in the middle of a crowded restaurant.

"I saw it first!" she snapped defiantly.

My chest began to tighten again as I gulped. The sheer embarrassment of the public spectacle was overwhelming my anxiety. I reached out, desperately tugging at the edge of her sleeve, attempting to ground both myself and her before things turned bloody.

"Lyra... it is completely fine," I murmured quietly, my voice pleading. "Let's just... let's just find another table somewhere else."

She spun her head around to face me, her brows furrowing in deep confusion and disappointment. Then, without a single shred of warning, she raised her hand and delivered a sharp smack to the back of my head.

Whack!

"AH?! Wha—?"

"Don't be a coward, Kyro!" she declared loudly, puffing up her small chest with a ridiculous pride. "Mom said we have barbarian blood in our veins, and barbarians do not back down from a fight! Come on, let's just beat them up together!"

Huh?!

I stood there completely stunned, the unmitigated shock of her statement completely snapping me out of my internal panic attack. The unhinged audacity of this little gremlin was beyond comprehension!

Before I could open my mouth to protest, she marched directly toward the table of armed killers like a pint-sized barbarian queen.

"L-Lyra! Stop!" I yelled, desperately grabbing her shoulder and digging my heels into the floorboards to halt her momentum. But the physical strength inherent in her body was absurd.

Damn these overpowered fantasy barbarian genes! I cursed bitterly inside my head, half-resigned to the fact that we were about to be brutally flattened by an Orc.

My grip slipped, and I hit the floorboards with a thud.

The four adventurers laughed even louder as they watched Lyra approach.

But just as her shoes reached the perimeter of the table, a massive, familiar hand suddenly swooped down from above. With absolute, effortless grace, it plucked Lyra clean off the floorboards like a ripe turnip. I stumbled backward, blinking rapidly in confusion.

What the—?

We both looked up simultaneously. Standing above us was Thorskil. Thank the heavens, it was Thorskil. He held a squirming, kicking Lyra securely under his massive arm like a stray potato sack, his facial expression remaining as calm, courteous, and polite as ever.

"Please forgive my daughter's unruly behavior," he said smoothly, offering a polite, dignified nod to the startled adventurers. "Please, excuse us."

But the moment his face entered the light, the entire table went completely pale. A cold bead of sweat immediately rolled down the green temple of the massive Orc.

"N-No problem at all, Mr. Thorskil!" one of the human men stammered out, his voice instantly jumping an octave as he shoved his chair back.

Another adventurer chimed in immediately, his hands raised defensively. "We had absolutely no idea these were your children, sir! Please, take our seats instead! Really, we insist! We were just leaving!"

Thorskil tilted his head slightly, a subtle glint in his rose-colored eyes. Then, a mild smile graced his lips.

"Is that so?" he said casually. "Well then. Thank you for your courtesy."

"Th-The pleasure is entirely ours, sir," the Orc replied nervously, standing up so rapidly that his heavy wooden chair nearly tipped completely over onto the floor.

The four seasoned warriors practically fled the immediate vicinity, shuffling toward a distant table while offering awkward, rhythmic bows and desperately avoiding any direct eye contact. Lyra and I watched the entire group retreat in absolute silence, both of us blinking like we had just witnessed a literal, localized miracle.

Thorskil sat down in the center booth without a single care in the world. He gently deposited a grumpy, pouting Lyra into the seat beside him like a defeated kitten, calmly pulling out his leather coin pouch. I quietly took the vacant seat directly across from them, my adult mind still reeling from the sheer display of authority.

A heavy silence lingered over the table for a moment. Thorskil didn't seem fazed in the slightest by the interaction. He calmly began counting his silver pieces, acting as though terrifying a group of armed mercenaries into submission was a routine Tuesday occurrence.

Eventually, the silence had to be broken.

"That was absolutely amazing!" Lyra exploded with enthusiasm, bouncing up and down in her seat so hard that the table shook. "What did you seriously do to them, Papa?! You didn't even have to fight them!"

Thorskil let out an amused sigh as he glanced down at the few remaining coins in his palm. Then, with a knowing smile, he looked up at her.

"Well," he said casually, "Papa happens to be pretty well-known around local adventurer circles."

Lyra gasped dramatically, her jaw dropping. "Really?! Like a literal living legend?! What kind of cool stuff did you do in the past? Tell meee!"

Even I found myself leaning forward across the table, my analytical curiosity thoroughly piqued despite my best efforts to remain detached. "Does it happen to have something to do with your specific rank, Dad? You used to be an adventurer, right?" I asked, tilting my head.

Thorskil chuckled softly, pocketing his coin pouch with a fluid motion.

"Maybe. Maybe not," Thorskil said, flashing us a subtle wink. "Let's just say... Papa's name carries a little bit of weight around the continent." His tone was completely casual, sounding like a man commenting on the morning weather rather than confessing to being a semi-famous military asset.

"Woaaah~!" Lyra's eyes sparkled like twin suns. "You have to tell us more!"

Thorskil laughed warmly. "Alright, alright. But first, let's actually get some food into our bellies, yeah?"

"Mmh!" Lyra nodded aggressively, her hunger temporarily matching her curiosity.

I let out a dry chuckle at her ridiculous antics. Honestly, in a strange way, it was kind of cute watching her go full, unhinged fangirl over our own father.

[End]