The door opened. It was dim. Inside the stone building, only thin slivers of light from the pre-dusk sky filtered through, and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. Four or five tables. Chairs scattered in mismatched numbers. A counter in the back, shelves lined with bottles. A tavern. Regel stepped in slowly. He'd been relieved it wasn't a ruin—but only for that first instant. Behind the counter, there was a person. A woman with long silver hair tied to one side, golden eyes narrowed, polishing a mug with her left hand alone. She looked a bit younger than Regel. Her right sleeve hung empty, replaced by an ornate prosthetic hand fitted in its place. A small scar marked the corner of her mouth. With each polish, the mug tilted slightly. With only one hand, stability was impossible. Yet she continued wordlessly. Only the will to not give up could be read from her movements. "...It's a difficult tavern to welcome guests to," Eisenberg Haruna said. Golden eyes turned towar