The inn was alive with laughter, clinking tankards, and the low hum of conversations in multiple dialects. A roaring fire crackled at the hearth, casting long shadows across the wooden walls. As Victor, Elena, and Lucian stepped inside, heads briefly turned their way, some wary, others indifferent.Victor moved to the bar, signaling the innkeeper with a nod. “Three ales. And any news worth hearing,” he said, slipping a silver coin across the counter.The innkeeper, a burly man with a scar running across his brow, eyed Victor with the sharp gaze of someone who knew trouble when he saw it. He pocketed the coin with a practiced grin. “Depends what you want to hear, stranger. Word spreads fast down south, but so do lies.”Victor leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “I hear the southern factions are restless. We need to know who leads them now.”The innkeeper's grin faltered for a moment. “That’s dangerous knowledge. You don’t look like the sort that should meddle in those affairs.”Bef
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