Around this time, perhaps a bit before, perhaps a bit after, Lain walks the block around the keep, eyes peeled to take in the sights and sounds of Liefland at his own pace. He looks over a group of giggling fairy children, huddled around a point on the block as they craft colorful paper lanterns with the help of an aged fairy woman. He sees a dutiful pair of dwarves signing off a trade deal with an ent— trusting, friendly gazes and chatter steaming from both parties as the documents are exchanged. He even spots an astute-looking elf perusing a pair of wooden crafts formed by the hands of none other than an orc, who is relaxing in his chair reading a book on pottery. It’s a blissful scene— but every now and then, a fairy will look over him in passing; they’ll recognize that he’s human and frown.

All around him are the characteristics of bliss— a vibrant peace that pervades every soul who walks the street under Liefland’s colorful lamplights. He feels like he’s invading, somewhat, as if he were reading a novel and looking in on the finer lives of others- filled with just enough adventure, just enough discourse, just enough romance to make any other reality seem dull by comparison.

It’s a curious feeling, and its one that he’s all too well accustomed.

He takes a seat on a bench and folds into himself pathetically. All these years of hearing stories of Liefland from his parents, and now that he’s here, the inhabitants look down on him. It's as though he’s an unsightly blot of ink upon the long, flowery paragraphs of fairy life, something that detracts from their day, rather than improves it.

A nearby mother fairy stands in the square along with her child. Lain smiles and nods towards the child’s curious gaze, but once she has seen his human features, she takes up the little boy’s hand, murmurs something into his ear, and swiftly ushers him away.

He couldn’t hear the full sentence, but he very clearly discerned the word “bastard”. Lain realizes that his neck is still visible, the glowing mark of Algandar’s Syndrome glinting faintly with the proof of forbidden love.

Lain covers his neck, gets up and enters the nearest tavern with his head down.

The tavern’s a lively place. A joyous harvest-time jig fills the room by the hands of a trio of fairy folk, each a different race and each with a different instrument in hand. Lain slowly merges into the warm fairy bar, looking for somewhere to sit when he spots a spectacled Spirakandrin boy downing a dwarven stout- Dresmond Ulveroth.

Lain takes the seat next to him. “Hey.”

Dresmond’s gaze draws to Lain sharply, quickly, a speed expected of a war survivor; a sort of nervous alertness that never quite disappears when out in public, especially in unfamiliar lands like this one. “Evening, Gainswold,” he greets.

“You’re off-duty too?”

“Technically, yes,” Dresmond says, looking back to his drink.

Lain nods and takes a moment to order the manliest-sounding drink on the list: 'The Bleeding Dragon'. “Lucky us that the drinking age is the same as it is back home, huh?” Lain says with a smirk, thinking back to the brief time he went with his parents to the Ulterian border to visit relatives and suddenly wasn’t allowed to drink.

Dresmond nods. “Yeah. I haven’t had a pint since I was deployed. It sucks because I should only have a couple.”

Lain nods again in agreement. “Yeah, we gotta be ready should the need arise.”

“So, what brings you here, Gainswold?” Dresmond asks with a bland, forward expression, staring at the drink shelves.

Lain shrugs. “Oh, you know. Did my job and Knight Love gave me leave. Thought I’d see the sights.” He says this with a businesslike, disinterested look about him that he assumes looks 'cool' to others.

“Alright. Well I’d be happy to share some drinks with y-” Dresmond stops as the bartender delivers Lain’s Bleeding Dragon; it's a small, fruity, pink liquid that has enchanted rainbow fizzles zipping out— one girly drink to rule them all.

Lain addresses the bartender with a look of pure horror. “Th…thanks,” he says bluntly, taking up the tiny-stemmed glass and looking over it.

Desmond, a boy with an appreciably-dry sense of humor formed from his time on the battlefield, raises his brows and looks back to his own drink. “A little something to light up the night, eh?” he notes in a way that sounds serious to the untrained ear.

Lain scoffs, spinning about the fabulously bright drink. “This? Yeah, you know, a girl let me finish hers once and I thought it was pretty tasty, actually. You know how it is…”

Dresmond nods as if interested. “Well flavor’s everything for some people, I guess.”

“Y-yeah! I don’t get why you wouldn’t drink what you like- I mean, are some people insecure or what?” Lain says with a huge, awkward grin.

Dresmond nods again. “Some people are pretty insecure- full agreement on that.”

Lain bobs his head and clears his throat. “Right, so you don’t get to drink on the line?”

Dresmond looks to Lain as if it were a ridiculous question. “Well, no. There’s not really any beer to go around. They sort of push us out there and tell us to keep marching until we find enemies, then we camp around there killing ‘em. Not all that cushy— we have to get just about everything off the land or other soldiers.”

Lain draws back with a raised brow, throwing down his drink in a single go- it’s ridiculously tasty; he can see why girls like it. He takes a breath and responds. “Sorry to hear… I guess I have it sort of lucky. In Kanvane the students are served a pint with each dinner once they’re sixteen, and students in the A plus range get unlimited access to the scholar’s bar.”

Dresmond’s teeth clench in something resembling both envy and pity- an oxymoronic, offhandedly-superior feeling. For a moment, Dresmond wonders just what incredible things he would have accomplished if he had a full paid tuition to go to Kanvane Magic Academy— largely thought to be the most prestigious school on the entire planet, the playground of the next generation’s kings, queens, lords and ladies. “I heard. It’s a surprise they can keep their students actually doing work instead of partying all day,” Dresmond responds plainly.

Lain shrugs. “I heard it gets pretty crazy.”

Dresmond squints an eye as he readjusts his glasses. “Heard?”

“Oh, uh… Yeah,” Lain looks to the side. “I wasn’t quite good enough to make the cut. I was top of my class… in some classes.”

Dresmond nods. “What classes?”

Lain pushes forward his glass with a sheepish smile. “…Painting.”

There’s a quick, blink-of-the-eye moment when both boys recognize how pathetic Lain really is in comparison to others with the same quality of upbringing, most of which by this point would be conjuring up beasts or creating metals from magical substances.

“I see… Well don’t let it get you down. The Knights need people of all kinds; you don’t have to be a skilled mage, or even good in a fight, to honor us— you just have to give it your all.”

Lain squints a brow. “My all?”

Dresmond smirks bemusedly. “Of course. How much would you trust me if I weren’t willing to bite the heel of a giant to save your life?”

The lively clinking of mugs and music throughout the tavern washes over the two as Lain stares at his empty, girly glass, now at the end of the bar. “… Would you really do that for me?”

Dresmond readjusts his spectacles. “Of course.”

“Even if it killed you?”

Without a pause, Dresmond nods. “Yes. Knights are examples to others. To be frank— if there was someone more important and I had to choose, I won’t lie, I’d choose the VIP.” Lain nods, finding it a perfectly fair conjecture, and Dresmond continues. “But if it were just you, and just me, and just some Easterner pointing a gun at you— I’d jump in the way.”

Lain taps the bar with his index finger thoughtfully. “So what if you were the higher ranked man? What if you were so important that it’d be a waste on me?”

Dresmond looks aside, scratches his chin and sighs. “While this time as a knight on loan to the W.K.D.R.’s been… tough for me, that kind of 'efficient' thinking is only for warzones- and as such because it works there. But in the life of The Knights, we must be willing to be a stepping stone for others— even if it means our life. If one person cannot sacrifice himself for another, it is a display of character that does not shine well on him. If one can sacrifice himself, however, it brings honor and glory to all of us. It’s a difficult choice, obviously, but I’d think it’d be well worth it.”

Lain looks down at the bar, resting his elbows on it and crossing his arms. “So you mean to say that everyone in the knights should be willing to sacrifice themselves for others?”

“With a few exceptions, yes. As a knight it’s our duty to…” His features sour awkwardly. “…well, to show love to others, really.”

Lain’s expression quickly turns perplexed. “Really?”

Dresmond squints an eye in humor. “You know that though, right? It was in the assigned readings for training.”

Lain inhales sharply through his teeth, and Dresmond shrugs before breaking the awkward pause. “Yeah, well I didn’t get through it all either. I did read though, that while as knights we are often seen as the ‘defenders of the realm from threats internal, external, common and supernatural’, King Rayda’s primary goal for the creation of The Royal Knights was to make society a kind, generous, loving place— in which people do things for others simply because they want them to have better lives. A sort of voluntary social cast dedicated to humanitarian efforts.”

Lain hums and brushes his chin. “So like, we’re meant to show people we care about them, and that’s supposed to be how they care about others as well? Does that really work?”

Dresmond nods. “You can teach people to care, but it’s difficult. You plant a seed of love in their life and it might take years before it sprouts into something that others will see. So you plant a lot- it takes time. Really, it’s a bunch of little things— daily acts of goodness to another, I think.”

Lain’s expression is somehow both touched and bewildered. “But... like, wait a minute... what?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’?”

"Aren’t we all about kicking monsters and dragons and shit?”

Dresmond scoffs, surprised a literal boy from the towers would have such a simple view of their work. “Well, yeah, but that’s just one way we show it. You’re freshly out of training, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So I take it you’ve never spent time in the K.R.C.?”

“K.R.C.?”

“Knight Relief Corps.”

“Ahh.” Lain raises his brows in some sort of realization. “So that’s what they do. I thought they were for delivering supplies to other knight outposts and such.”

“Well, that too, but they're mostly for educating the people of the kingdoms on how to take care of themselves. They teach medicine and agriculture, among other things, to anyone for free.”

Lain leans back a bit. “So as a knight, we should do anything to show the people around us that we care?”

“Yup.”

“What if they don’t care for us in return?”

“That’s not our job- we must give freely without expecting anything in return.”

Lain hums. “So… but how would that work if they just took everything we had?”

“Knights don’t look at value that way. We’ll make as much as necessary. There’s always a line that can be drawn, but being a Royal Knight, you’re tagged with the expectation that you can solve any problem within reason and within a timely manner; sort of a ‘competence guarantee, if you will’”

Lain nods— for some reason, only now, once he’s thought on it, does it really seem to have an appeal. “You know… that’s actually pretty cool.”

Dresmond nods in agreement. “Once you get back to New Reinen, you should go to the library and ask for ‘The First Foundation: A History’.”

“Yeah?” He asks, instantly hating the sound of the title.

“It clears up a lot. It was part of the assigned reading, but obviously most trainees B.S. it because it’s like six hundred damn pages.”

Lain nods calmly. “Alright. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

There’s a short silence. “I think I’m gonna take a walk around the place.” Lain puts his payment on the bar and stands up from his stool.

Dresmond nods. “Alright. Have a good night.”

“You too… Thanks.”

Dresmond raises his pint with a slim smile, and Lain steps out into the night. He feels like he fits in now, though his puzzle piece is obviously different from the fairies’ whom he had so long envied. His is that of a knight’s.