The Red Sigil’s Price

The demon’s presence stirs beneath Talos’s skin, guiding dark warmth through his arms and into his father’s old blade. The steel hums without leaving its sheath.

A dim red glow gathers around Talos’s hand, then vanishes as the demon withdraws its guidance. The lesson leaves his muscles trembling, but unharmed.

Talos leaves the cave and follows the rough path through the fields. By dusk, the hidden sign of the Tidal Tavern appears between leaning stones.

Warm lamplight spills beneath the tavern door. Inside, Keith’s broad dwarf silhouette moves behind the bar, while muffled voices fall quiet at the sound of someone entering.

Talos pushes open the Tidal Tavern’s heavy door. Warm lamplight washes over his scarred face, carrying the scents of stew, oak smoke, and spilled ale.

Keith, an adult dwarf man with a broad, heavyset frame, braided brown beard, and a worn green vest, looks up from behind the bar. His round nose bears an old pale scar.

Talos closes the door, and the tavern’s hush loosens into cautious murmurs. A few patrons glance toward his sheathed father’s blade before returning to their cups.

The hearth crackles against the cave-cold clinging to Talos’s clothes. Behind the bar, Keith sets out a wooden cup and waits without pressing him for an explanation.

Talos settles beside the hearth, letting its warmth loosen the cold in his clothes. Keith remains behind the bar, one hand resting near the wooden cup.

A faint shimmer gathers around Keith’s fingers, more like lamplight caught in water than a spell. Talos reaches with his awareness, searching for its source.

Talos does not resist. The shimmer brushes past his guarded thoughts, and broken impressions rise: a vanished home, frightened silence, and the weight of a father’s blade.

The shimmer gutters out. Keith withdraws his hand, leaving the attempt unfinished and the memories blurred beyond his understanding.

Keith’s fingers tighten around the wooden cup. The tavern’s low murmur fades again as the dangerous name settles between them.

Talos turns inward and presses his will against the presence beneath his skin. Dark warmth coils through his chest, but the unseen presence does not yield to his command.

The words emerge in Talos’s voice, doubled by a deeper echo that makes the hearth flame bend. The pressure vanishes, leaving the demon exposed but not mastered.

The speaker is liable to be killed by the Red Rangers.

Talos’s plea hangs in the tavern. A patron, a wary middle-aged man with a lean build, weathered brown skin, close-cropped black hair, and a faded gray tunic, quietly lowers his cup, while Keith’s face hardens beneath his braided beard and the fire throws red across the walls.

Keith crosses to the door and drops the iron bar into place. His hand trembles once before he turns back, having chosen secrecy over safety.

The tavern’s patrons avoid Talos’s eyes, but none leave. Keith sets the wooden cup before him, and the tavern becomes his first uncertain refuge.

The speaker is liable to be killed by the Red Rangers.

Dark warmth threads from Talos toward Keith. The tavern blurs into fractured impressions: a stout silhouette, guarded instincts, and a stubborn will braced against intrusion.

The attempt catches on something unseen. Keith’s faint magic snaps shut like a clasp, and the returning force jolts through Talos’s chest without harming him.

The failed link leaves Keith aware of the intrusion and the demon’s presence. Talos gains no reliable measure of Keith’s health, skills, or spells.

The speaker is liable to be killed by the Red Rangers.