Chapter 113 – Another Comfy Time!

After exchanging pleasantries with Arlo, Korr, and eventually Thane—who appears to have survived his disciplinary lecture with only moderate emotional damage—I manage to pay our entry fees and pass through the gate.

The moment we are inside, I glance toward Avelyn and Sylrae.

They glance back.

A decision forms between us with the speed and certainty of a particularly ambitious rodent deciding that an unsecured sandwich now belongs to it.

“Find an inn, then take a bath?” Sylrae asks.

I give a single, dignified nod.

Avelyn displays considerably less restraint. Her tail begins swishing behind her as she nods with enough enthusiasm to suggest Sylrae has proposed the discovery of a lost national treasure.

Rin looks between the three of us.

“Aren’t we already perfectly clean?” he asks. “Our resident noble purified everyone’s clothes.”

Avelyn rolls her eyes.

Sylrae shakes her head with profound disappointment.

I elect not to dignify the statement with a response.

Magical purification may remove dirt, blood, sweat, and other undesirable substances, but it does not provide warm water, comfortable seating, or the sensation of every muscle in one’s body gradually remembering that it is no longer being hunted by crystal monstrosities.

Therefore, it is objectively inferior.

This is not a matter of opinion.

It is bath science.

Rin is accordingly ignored as I lead the party toward the inn where I stayed only a few days ago.

Regrettably, we are forced to remain near street level rather than crossing the village by rooftop like intoxicated disciples of parkour.

Not because we lack the ability.

The problem is Marek.

While Rin, Avelyn, and I could move across rooftops with minimal structural consequences, Marek possesses the approximate mass and subtlety of a siege engine. Every landing would risk producing a trail of collapsed shingles, fractured support beams, and confused residents emerging from their homes to discover that a Bearkin has partially entered through the ceiling.

Even at our current pace, the packed earth beneath his boots compresses slightly with each step.

Allowing him onto the roofs would be fiscally irresponsible.

This restriction does not prevent Avelyn and me from immediately claiming the most advantageous route available.

The fences.

We hop onto separate rails and continue forward, walking along the narrow wood as though the streets below are merely decorative. Avelyn extends her arms slightly for balance, although the faint bounce in her steps suggests she is making the process more difficult for herself purely because it is enjoyable.

A respectable decision.

Sylrae takes to the air instead, flying low enough to remain beside us. Each slow beat of her wings stirs faint currents through the street, occasionally disturbing loose objects and the fur of passing Beastkin.

Rin also rejects conventional walking, but where Avelyn and I choose a single route, he appears determined to use every available surface except the ground.

A fencepost becomes a foothold.

Then a windowsill.

Then the edge of a random barrel.

At one point, he pushes off a hanging flowerpot without shattering it, dislodging it, or launching it through the nearest window at lethal velocity.

I watch the maneuver with growing suspicion.

Sylrae may possess the Gravity aspect, and I may have spent the past several days treating gravity as an increasingly optional guideline, but Rin is beginning to look like the true gravity mage of the party.

Then again, even ordinary cats on Earth seemed capable of violating several fundamental principles of physics whenever furniture was involved.

It may simply be racial tradition.

The village is busier than I remember. Merchants call from open stalls, children dart between adults, and the air carries overlapping scents of fresh bread, cooked meat, fruit, and several unfamiliar spices. More than a few residents stop to watch our group pass.

This is understandable.

We include a low-flying Wingkin, a Catkin treating the village architecture as an obstacle course, and two objectively beautiful, unmistakably aspect-aligned Foxkin walking along fences with the serene confidence of people who believe roads are for lesser beings.

Marek and Zeke are somehow the least conspicuous among us.

A respectable achievement.

After several minutes, the familiar inn comes into view.

I step from the fence and land neatly beside the entrance.

Avelyn hops down a moment later, adding a completely necessary twist to the movement before landing directly beside me in a small, dramatic pose.

She holds it for half a second.

I nod in solemn approval.

Sylrae touches down with considerably more restraint, folding her wings behind her as Rin drops from a nearby awning.

Together, we enter the inn in pursuit of civilization’s greatest achievement.

A bed followed by hot water.

A highly anticipated outcome.

We enter the lobby to find the Catkin receptionist asleep atop the front desk.

Not behind it, or even leaning over it.

Curled directly across the polished wood, one arm tucked beneath her head and her tail wrapped comfortably around her legs. The nearby chair remains completely unoccupied, because dignity appears to be a concept Catkin consistently rank well below comfort and convenience.

Only a few heartbeats pass before one of her ears twitches toward us.

Her eyes open.

She stares blankly across the lobby for a moment, stretches with her entire body, then slides from the desk and drops into the chair with the practiced ease of someone who has completed this maneuver many times before.

Her gaze settles on me.

“Oh. It’s you again.” She covers her mouth with the back of one hand as a yawn escapes her. “Welcome, I guess.”

The yawn immediately spreads through the party.

Avelyn yawns first, followed almost instantly by Rin. Zeke attempts to resist, fails, and turns his head aside as though this somehow conceals his defeat. Marek lasts several seconds longer before losing the battle as well.

Only Sylrae and I remain unaffected.

A fearsome pathogen, undoubtedly, though apparently one with inconsistent species compatibility.

The receptionist props her cheek against one fist.

“All right, let’s get this done so I can return to my beauty sleep.” Her eyes drift across our group. “Only have three rooms available. I’m assuming you want all of them?”

I tilt my head slightly.

“Might I ask why there are only three?”

“Caravan came through earlier.” She yawns again, this one somehow even less restrained than the first. “They’re staying until tomorrow morning.”

That explains the additional activity throughout the village.

“In that case, yes. We will take all three.”

She extends one hand.

“Six large copper.”

I retrieve the coins from my spatial storage and place them in her palm.

Naturally, I am once again paying for everyone.

Most people apparently consider bringing ordinary coin purses into monster-filled dungeons an unnecessary risk, while I possess a spatial inventory large enough to store an economically irresponsible quantity of currency without difficulty. Until the others reach their belongings waiting at the distant town or find somewhere to exchange their cores, this leaves me as the party’s primary financial institution.

I should begin charging interest.

The receptionist gives the coins only a cursory glance before dropping them into a drawer and setting three keys on the desk.

“Room numbers are marked. Second floor. You’ve stayed here before, so I’m not giving the whole speech.” She taps one of the keys. “Far-right room has one bed. Other two have two each.”

I pause with my hand halfway toward them.

“One of the rooms has only a single bed?”

“Only kind we had left.”

“I see.”

She has already lowered her head onto her folded arms by the time I collect the keys.

We climb the stairs and gather in the corridor outside our three rooms, providing the receptionist enough distance to resume her nap without being forced to contemplate violence against paying customers.

Sylrae is the first to address the matter.

“I can share with Rin,” she says. “Marek and Zeke take a double room, and Lyn and Avelyn can have the single?”

Rin waves the suggestion aside immediately.

“Nah, no reason for that. The little miss and Avelyn can take one of the two-bed rooms, Sylrae gets the single, and I’ll sleep on the floor with Marek and Zeke.”

That is, on the surface, the more practical arrangement.

I glance toward Sylrae.

Her posture has remained perfectly casual. Her ears, however, have turned a faint shade of red.

I blink once as the relevant information arranges itself.

Ah.

Avelyn reaches the same conclusion almost immediately. Her gaze flicks from Sylrae to Rin, then back to me, the slightest spark of understanding appearing in her eyes.

Once again, her emotional perception proves to be profoundly unfair.

“Avelyn and I will take the single-bed room,” I say before anyone can begin to agree with Rin. “There is no reason for anyone to sleep uncomfortably after several days in a dungeon.”

Rin tilts his head. Confusion settles openly across his face, so complete that I can practically see a question mark floating above him.

Then he shrugs.

“Whatever works. Sylrae snores less than Marek anyway.”

Marek looks at him.

“I do not snore.”

“You absolutely snore.”

“It has never woken me.”

Rin stares at him for a moment.

“Right...”

Zeke snorts while I hand Rin the key to one of the two-bed rooms.

Sylrae begins following him, then pauses after a few steps. She turns back and gives Avelyn and me a grateful thumbs-up.

There is also a trace of smugness in the gesture.

Avelyn returns it immediately.

I do the same, though I am uncertain what precisely warrants the smugness. We merely resolved the room distribution in the most socially efficient manner available.

Marek accepts the second key, and he and Zeke disappear through the neighboring door while continuing their debate over whether unconscious people can reliably assess their own snoring.

Avelyn and I approach the final room.

I unlock the door and step inside.

The room is nearly identical to the one I occupied during my first night in Asteria.

The same plain wooden bedframe. The same compact nightstand. The same cheap curtained window overlooking the village streets.

There is, naturally, only one bed.

Avelyn enters behind me and closes the door.

For some reason, her heartbeat is mildly accelerated.

I study the room again, searching for the source of concern.

The bed appears sufficiently large for two Foxkin of our size.

Problem solved.

I look back at Avelyn.

Her face is faintly red, and her tail sways behind her with a nervousness distinctly different from its usual cheerful movement. She presses the tips of her index fingers together, studying them with unusual concentration.

I blink.

Right.

I had almost forgotten my earlier hypothesis that Avelyn was beginning to develop a crush on me.

Although, considering some of my own recent behavior, that conclusion may require revision.

Further study will be necessary.

“So...” she begins. “I can sleep on the floor, if you want?”

I tilt my head.

“There is no reason for that. The bed is large enough for both of us.” I narrow my eyes slightly. “Unless you are a chaotic sleeper.”

She shakes her head with suspicious speed.

“No, no, it’s not that. I just...” Her fingers press together again. “I thought you might be more comfortable having the bed to yourself.”

My head tilts a little farther, one ear following the movement.

Avelyn takes the gesture as a request for clarification.

“I mean, you don’t really like physical contact, right?” she asks, uncertainty threading through her voice as though she is only now examining the logic behind her offer. “The bed isn’t wide enough for us to stay completely separate. I thought you might not like that.”

I blink.

“Avelyn, your tail has touched my leg thirty-seven times.”

She freezes.

“My arm eighteen times, and my tail five times,” I continue. “Your shoulder has brushed mine twenty-two times. You have taken hold of my arm nine times and my hand once.”

Her ears flatten progressively with every statistic.

“I have also patted your ears—”

“I’m sorry,” she blurts, raising both hands in surrender as the red spreads from her face to her neck. “Please stop counting.”

“I was not actively counting. I simply remember.”

“That is somehow worse.”

I observe her increasingly catastrophic embarrassment for another moment.

Then a light giggle slips out before I can stop it.

The sound is unfamiliar enough that I almost look around for its source.

Avelyn certainly does.

She stares at me with wide eyes, her embarrassment temporarily displaced by open shock.

I smile at her.

“We are friends, right?” The words emerge more casually than I intended, but I make no effort to correct them. “I have no problem sharing the bed with you, okay?”

Her expression somehow grows even more startled.

For several heartbeats, Avelyn simply stands there, her thoughts apparently having abandoned their assigned duties without notice.

Then she smiles.

It is one of the warmest smiles I have seen from her, soft enough to make the lingering tension in my chest dissolve before I can properly identify it.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you speak so casually.”

My body stills.

The polished posture returns before conscious thought can intervene. My shoulders straighten, my expression smooths, and every trace of warmth retreats behind manners refined through years of compulsory practice.

Avelyn’s smile falters.

“Let’s go find Sylrae and head to the baths,” she says, deliberately bright. “Before Rin decides magical cleaning really is good enough and starts spreading dangerous misinformation.”

I release the breath held in my chest and force my shoulders to loosen again.

“A public health crisis of that magnitude cannot be permitted.”

Her smile recovers.

I nod toward the door, and Avelyn leaves her staff leaning against the bed before we leave.

There is no reason for me to control every word and expression around Avelyn. She is my friend, just as Elizabeth is. I can lower the mask without something terrible occurring simply because another person sees what exists beneath it.

Knowing that and doing it, unfortunately, appear to be two entirely different skills.

Habits are profoundly inconvenient things.

We leave the room and knock on the door beside ours.

Sylrae answers almost immediately, already prepared to leave.

A quick glance past her reveals Rin sprawled across one of the beds with his arms folded behind his head, looking profoundly comfortable despite having entered the room less than a minute ago. His sabers are propped neatly against the bedframe, apparently having also retired for the evening.

He briefly abandons his vital duty of ensuring productivity remains a purely theoretical concept and raises one hand in farewell.

“Enjoy the bath.”

“We intend to,” I reply.

Sylrae steps into the corridor, and we close the door before setting out toward the bathhouse.

Without Marek accompanying us, the village’s roofs are no longer at immediate risk of catastrophic structural failure. We are therefore free to abandon the streets almost immediately.

Avelyn and I ascend to the rooftops while Sylrae takes to the air beside us, remaining low enough to participate in the conversation. The trip is considerably faster this way, leaving us only enough time for me to provide a comprehensive assessment of the village’s most promising berry stalls.

Avelyn listens with the solemn attention the subject deserves.

Sylrae is somewhat less interested in berries, though she becomes noticeably more animated when she remembers the grilled corn I provided her within the dungeon.

“Where was that stall?” she asks, wings angling as she glides around a chimney.

“Two streets east of the central square, beside the baker with the blue awning.”

Her eyes brighten.

“I’m going there tomorrow.”

“A sound decision.”

At some point during our journey, Avelyn lands beside me on a narrow rooftop ledge and places a small metal screw into my hand.

I look at it, then at her.

She smiles innocently.

There is no visible indication of where it came from, what it once held together, or whether someone below us is about to experience a modest but bewildering mechanical failure.

Naturally, I place it in my spatial storage.

Avelyn has begun accumulating a personal collection inside it. Thus far, her holdings include several unusually shaped stones and crystals, a smooth piece of glass, two feathers she insists possess entirely different aesthetic qualities, and now a loose screw of uncertain origin.

The collection is growing at a concerning pace.

I may need to designate a separate storage region before she develops an economy.

We reach the public bathhouse shortly afterward. It appears considerably quieter than during my previous visit, with only a handful of voices drifting from within.

The late hour likely explains the reduced attendance. Most people presumably avoid bathing this close to bedtime due to the inconvenience of sleeping with wet hair.

For the three of us, this presents no meaningful difficulty. Thanks to our Dexterity, a short trip through the evening air should dry our hair more efficiently than any towel created by mortal hands.

We pay the entrance fee and proceed into the changing room.

I have just finished removing my top when Sylrae looks in my direction.

Her gaze lowers briefly.

Then she gives me an expression of such solemn pity that I instinctively inspect myself for previously unnoticed injuries.

I find none.

“The world truly is cruel,” she says, shaking her head. She raises a supportive thumb. “Try not to let it bother you.”

I tilt my head.

Avelyn immediately puffs out her cheeks.

“Don’t be mean to her.”

Sylrae gestures vaguely toward me.

“Am I wrong?”

Avelyn glances at me.

Then immediately looks away, her face turning scarlet.

Previously, I would have considered this further evidence supporting my hypothesis that she is attracted to me.

Recent observations have complicated that conclusion.

I have begun seeking her proximity more frequently, and my tail has brushed against her several times without consulting me first. These behaviors are, however, clearly products of friendship.

It is therefore possible that I assigned romantic significance to what is merely ordinary Foxkin affection.

Her blushing and refusal to look at me may simply indicate modesty.

She is a noble, after all. A correlation seems plausible.

Sylrae’s expression remains entirely unexplained.

I look between them.

Neither offers clarification.

I am... confused.

This is an exceedingly rare position for an exceptionally beautiful and near-perfect genius such as myself.

I flick my hair haughtily.

Whatever perceived deficiency Sylrae has identified, it cannot be particularly important. I remain aesthetically flawless by every metric of consequence.

Sylrae watches Avelyn with a smug grin.

There it is again. The same inexplicable smugness from the hallway.

It appears whenever Sylrae looks between Avelyn and me, suggesting some shared piece of information exists from which I have been unfairly excluded. Normally, I would investigate the matter until it surrendered its secrets.

At present, however, there is a bath approximately twenty meters away.

Certain mysteries must wait their turn.

We finish undressing, and the others pass me their clothes for safekeeping. Avelyn resolutely avoids looking in my direction throughout the process, demonstrating an almost scholarly commitment to examining the walls, floor, benches, and every other object in the room before hurriedly pushing her way through the bath door.

Her behavior remains deeply suspicious.

I am growing increasingly uncertain which hypothesis is correct.

Either Avelyn is attracted to me…

Or this is simply what close Foxkin friendship looks like.

At present, the available evidence appears determined to support both conclusions simultaneously.

Profoundly unhelpful.

Sylrae follows with a poorly concealed smile, and I proceed after them.

The bathhouse is nearly empty, allowing us to claim a secluded section along the far wall. We lower ourselves into the water together.

Three sighs emerge in near-perfect harmony.

Yes.

Comfort has been achieved.

Heat surrounds me immediately, sinking through muscle and bone as the last remnants of tension begin dissolving. Steam drifts across the surface, carrying the clean mineral scent of the water and muting the sounds from the few other bathers scattered throughout the room.

I briefly submerge my head.

When I rise again, wet hair clings to my back and shoulders. I push it away from my face before settling against the stone wall, allowing the water to reach just beneath my chin.

Sylrae relaxes on my left while Avelyn settles on my right.

My ears have lost any semblance of dignity, flattened beneath the weight of water until they resemble two pieces of thoroughly saturated carpet. My tail curls around my waist and floats in front of me, swaying lazily beneath the surface thanks to the wall preventing it from resting behind me.

This is what bliss feels like.

I glance toward Avelyn.

Her ears have suffered the same fate as mine, drooping completely as she reclines against the edge of the bath. Her eyes are half-lidded, her shoulders loose, and every trace of nervous tension has vanished beneath the warmth. A few damp strands of reddish-orange hair cling to her cheek, the golden streaks gleaming faintly through the steam.

She looks peaceful.

I smile without consciously deciding to.

For some reason, the bath feels a little more comfortable than it did last time.