The past seven days had been filled with an odd mixture of routine and unease. Severus spent much of his time at The SSSnake Pit, tending to performances, refining his music, and exchanging stories with the regulars. However, something gnawed at him beneath the surface. A week had passed, and whispers drifted through the city—the Wing Cutter had gone silent.   For months, people lived in terror, dreading the next victim of the brutal wing-stealing fiend. Every few days, another winged creature would be found, broken and grounded, their wings stolen for some unknown purpose. Yet now, the city’s murmurs had changed. There were no new victims. No harrowing discoveries. No terrified souls fleeing in the night.   Some speculated that the perpetrator had been caught or killed. Others suggested a ritual had been completed, the purpose of the stolen wings now fulfilled. Still, a more insidious thought crept into Severus’s mind—this was the calm before the storm. Evil did not simply vanish. It regrouped. It waited. It struck when the world least expected.   ⸻   A Message from the Past   Despite the city’s unease, something brighter had landed in Severus’s lap—a message from an old friend.   Lirien Vale. The burly orc bard. His partner-in-crime, tavern-wrecker extraordinaire, and fellow romantic fool. The memories surged back like an old melody, one filled with raucous laughter, slurred harmonies, and just enough mischief to warrant a swift exit from more than one town.   “That old Orc says he’s in Riverhaven.”   Severus couldn’t help but wonder—had Lirien met Raesh? The half-orc blacksmith with the mechanical arm, Fip’s old acquaintance, was supposedly working out of Riverhaven now. It was an amusing thought—Lirien, once the ultimate showman, crossing paths with a hardened blacksmith. Would they have anything in common? Or would Lirien simply drive the poor guy up the wall with his never-ending tales of past conquests and glorious musical feats?   Severus smirked, shaking his head. “Probably both.”   ⸻   A Letter to an Old Friend   Rather than wait, Severus decided to write. The thrill of a reunion tugged at him, a welcome distraction from the weight of the present. His quill scratched against the parchment as he penned a letter, his usual flair infused in every word.   To the Infamous Lirien Vale,   You old, grizzled, tavern-wrecking bastard! I was beginning to think you’d fallen in love and settled down, but no—turns out you’re still kicking, and still, I assume, irritating barmaids and bruising egos with your voice.   Riverhaven, huh? I hear there’s a blacksmith there with a metal arm—Fip’s friend. If you haven’t met him, do me a favor and at least try to behave if you do. (Who am I kidding? You won’t.)   Things have been crazy on my end. I won’t put too much in writing, but let’s just say I’ve picked up a few new tricks, made some friends, and found myself in the middle of something far bigger than our old tavern schemes. Maybe I’ll tell you about it over a drink. Maybe I won’t. Either way, we need to meet soon—because I have to know…   Have you still got it?   Or has your voice rusted like an old, neglected lute? Because, my friend, I have not slowed down. If we perform again, I won’t go easy on you.   Come find me in Frandyln at The SSSnake Pit—yes, I named it after myself. I’ll give you the whole story when we meet. Or, if you’d rather I visit Riverhaven, let me know. Just be ready for the show of your life.   Your Favorite Duet Partner, Severus Snake   ⸻   Whispers of the Unknown   Severus sealed the letter and made arrangements to have it sent with the next courier heading to Riverhaven. He leaned back, exhaling slowly. Something about reconnecting with Lirien felt right—like a forgotten verse of an old song suddenly remembered.   But the rumors still lingered. The Wing Cutter had gone silent. That should have brought comfort, but instead, it sent a shiver down Severus’s spine.   Evil does not simply vanish.   It waits.