The interior was different from what Dallion remembered. It wasn’t a matter of a new coat of paint or the odd furniture addition here and there. The entire space seemed completely changed to mimic the Gremlin’s Timepiece, provided the inn was made exclusively out of wood.

Dallion slid his fingers along the wall. It felt pleasantly warm, welcoming, encouraging him to relax. That wasn’t just an illusion. Thanks to his music skills, Dallion could see the emotions vibrating all over the walls and floors. The entire place was made to be welcoming and in tune with his own emotional vibrations.

“So, we meet again at last,” the dryad said.

His attire was also new, presenting the local alternative if skinny jeans and vintage t-shirts. If this were a movie, it would definitely be in the eighties. The only thing missing was the absurd hairdo, but somehow Dallion suspected that the dryad could even pull that off.

“You’ve changed the place,” Dallion said. It sounded cheesy, but this was the only way he could react for the moment.

“Of course it is. That’s what companion gear is supposed to do—make its owners, or future owners, feel welcome. And I must say that I’m better at it than most. It all goes down to being a dryad. Some guardians simply don’t have the inborn talent. Not to speak bad of the nymphs, but combat is their thing.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Ah.” The dryad shrugged. “Things tend to vanish down the sewers of history after a while. Anyway, shall we go up?”

Dallion felt slightly conflicted. There was no reason for him to refuse. In fact, quite the opposite. The entire shield realm was calling out for him to leave his worries and relax for a bit. The issue was that in most cases when Dallion had been made such an offer, the consequences were less than positive.

“Dal.” The dryad’s expression remained warm, but his voice had suddenly hardened. “As much as I enjoy the occasional visit, I know you didn’t come here to discuss interior design. Something is weighing on your mind, and it isn’t something you want to share with the rest of your guardians.”

You got me there, Dallion thought as he instinctively played with his blocking ring. Just as he suspected, the ring prevented Nil and the others from listening in. The only exception was Dallion’s new echo, but he had a feeling Gen would keep his quiet about this.

“Is it about love triangles?” The dryad prodded. “Professional disagreements? Forging problems?”

“You’re pretty good, aren’t you?” Dallion sighed.

“As I said—”

“You’re a companion gear,” Dallion finished the sentence for him. “Fine, let’s get this over with.”

The two went up a wooden stairwell until they reached the top floor of the realm. If Dallion was impressed with the changes before, now he was astonished. The entire floor was transformed into an indoor garden in the most remarkable way, including several large windows with a view of a perfectly blue ski.

The dryad led on to a small wooden table in the far side of the room, where he sat down. Dallion soon followed.

“So?” The dryad began. “What shall we talk about?”

There were several things on Dallion’s mind. Most were involved with Eury—his concern whether she was okay, her reaction to Gloria staying at the inn with Dallion, her reaction to Dallion taking Vend as a mentor, while also promising to become her apprentice…

“The war thirty years ago.” In the end, Dallion went on to his other pressing topic. “What can you tell me about that?”

“That’s a bit vague, you know.” The guardian mused. “There were quite a few wars thirty years ago. And no, I wasn’t in all of them, but guardians talk and so do their owners. What exactly do you want to know?”

“I want to know what happened during the Wars of Inheritance.”

“Wow.” The dryad whistled. “You really don’t beat about the bush. A lot of things were said, and as usual this is a matter on which there are many sides. The simple version is, there was a power vacuum, and it got filled. Some people took advantage, some didn't, some tried to take advantage, but failed.”

“Were chainlings used in battle?”

The question caused the guardian to pause, creating its own bubble of silence in the room. Dallion could see how the emotions that filled every part of the furniture flickered off in succession, one by one, like lightbulbs down a corridor.

“You’re asking things I cannot answer.” The dryad’s reaction was measured. “Since you’re doing it now, I can speculate that it has to do with your upcoming mission with the noble?”

“Speculate more,” Dallion whispered. If this was how the game had to be played, so be it.

“Given that it’s only been three decades, it’s quite possible that the noble might have participated in the war in question. A lot of things have changed since my time, but nobles aren’t one of them. The ones who deal with lesser tasks are usually those who are young and eager to get a taste of the world, or those too old to be of any significance. Think of it as that annoying great uncle that used to be a big deal a century ago, but no longer gets invited to the really important parties.”

That wasn’t good. If the noble was some geezer who’d been in the war, there was every chance they might recognize the members of the party. For one thing, even if Dallion looked different from his grandfather at the time, it would be difficult to explain away the Luors’ pure blond hair.

“Still, I wouldn’t be too worried. Unless you pose a significant threat, they are unlikely to pay any attention. From their point of view, every second they could spend less with the likes of you the better for them.”

“And if I’m a threat?”

The dryad hmmed, then stretched his arms upwards.

“If I can speculate more… I don’t think there’s any reason for you to worry about war toys. Let’s just say I’ve seen a lot of nasty things during the wars… the serious wars.” There was a ripple of pain, almost concealed among the other emotions. “Nobles don’t often hold grudges against that. Of course, it’s all very case by case, but I wouldn’t think anyone who had the power to use something nasty in battle should be concerned. It’s the Order’s job to hunt those things down, and for all their appearances, nobles don’t like to deal with the Order.”

“Is there a reason for this?”

Back when the archduke’s envoy had arrived in Dallion’s village, she had a quite powerful cleric under her command. While the soldiers avoided him like the plague, the cleric seemed to obey the Dame’s orders to the letter.

“The usual—power, dominance, philosophical disagreements.” The dryad shrugged. “Take your pick. Need me to speculate about anything else, or is that enough for you?”

“It’s fine for now.” The answers Dallion had gotten were good, but they had nothing to do with the questions he wanted answered. The truth was, he still felt ashamed asking the trivial relationship questions, even to someone who’s job for millennia was to know about those things.

Maybe once the job is over, Dallion told himself as he stood up.

“Thanks for the chat, shield. It helped a lot.”

“Always a pleasure.” The guardian bowed, still seated. “It’s what I do. If you really want to thank me, you know what you need to do.”

“Yes, I’ll keep it in mind.” Dallion started his way to the staircase.

“Oh, one more thing,” the dryad said, just as Dallion was about to start his descent down. “Not a speculation, just a piece of advice. Never use splitting to solve your love problems. It never ends well.”

A split second later, Dallion was back at the guildhall’s lobby—the spot Vend had decided to be the meeting place before the job. Of course, “decided” was a free interrelation of the definition. Dallion had learned about it less than ten minutes ago from Nil, who had learned it from Adzorg, who had been told in passing by Vend. It seemed that even in a fantasy world, instant communications had found a way to make people lazy.

Dallion quickly removed the blocker ring from his finger and returned it to his coin pouch. Only a second had passed during which time he had had it on, but for a guardian that second could well stretch into infinity.

You really won’t be needing that, Nil sighed. Nobles won’t sully themselves trying to invade your realm.

Easy for you to say, Dallion said in false anger. The echo had misinterpreted the reason for the ring, and that suited him perfectly.

Relax. Just because these things are rare, it doesn’t mean they’re harmful. Think of it as gold. Gold is rare, but it won’t kill you.

It might get you killed, though, Dallion’s own echo chimed in. Keep on guard, but don’t stress out. It’ll be fine.

Thanks, Dallion replied.

It was still weird getting encouragement from himself, even if he had started to view them more like twin siblings of the original than actual copies. Despite being identical in so many aspects, echoes had their one unique behavior distinguishing them from each other and their creators.

“Dallion.” Estezol’s familiar voice filled the lobby. “You need to go to training room seven.”

“Sure thing,” Dallion replied.

What’s in training room seven? He asked Nil.

And ruin the surprise? Nil laughed. Clearly this was one instance in which he wasn’t going to be of any help.

There was quite a crowd in the training rooms. It was always amusing how a group of people would enter one, then leave almost instantly, only to be replaced by the next. In terms of true time, hours, maybe even weeks, had passed, but from an observer in the real world it was as if the place was full with very picky customers.

Training room seven was the exception. A middle-aged woman was there already—someone Dallion had never seen, as well as a lot of fabrics and sewing materials.

“Hi,” the woman said without introducing herself. “Please hold your arms sideways for a moment.”

“Err, okay.” Dallion complied.

The woman then quickly proceeded to do a series of measurements, like a tailor. Dallion had gotten enough clothes done by Eury to know what was going on, although he still couldn’t find any explanation for why it was happening here.

“You’ve no idea what’s going on, do you?” the woman asked with a polite smile.

“No, not really.”

“As someone should have explained, nobles are quite picky, and since there isn’t any time for you to go shopping before the meeting, I’m here to make you something to wear. My name is Mory, by the way. I’m one of the guild’s elite crafters.”

A crafter? This was the third time Dallion had actually seen one up close. For the most part crafters kept to themselves, going so far as to being in a separate section of the building. Dallion knew that they were responsible for combat year and equipment, although to be honest, he still wasn’t exactly clear what that entailed, since everyone he’d been with appeared to have bought their own weapons.

“I’ve already finished with the other two, so I have the basic design pinned down. Any variation you want to add, or do you leave that to me?”

“The clothes I have are with thread armor,” Dallion tried to protest.

“And a wonderful job, too, but the nobles’ tastes are a bit more refined. You’ll have to be without armor on this one. Not that it’ll be an issue from what Vend told me.”

Dallion could only grumble. That was another detail that his mentor had forgotten to mention. It was starting to turn into a habit. Then again, this seemed the way of this world.

“I leave it to you. Something that would suit me.”

“Okay…” the woman continued measuring. “Remove your gear for a moment. I’ll have to make something for them as well…” she looked at Dallion’s boots. “The books can stay. They are exotic enough to pass.”

Thank the Moons for small blessings, Dallion thought.

After a few more seconds, the woman stepped back and started going through the fabrics gathered there. Looking at her, one would assume her to be a kind old lady from a Victorian novel. Using his music skills, though, Dallion could see that she was much more than that. The woman was dedicated to her craft to the point she was unwilling to forgive anyone who would harm her creations.

Dallion swallowed. Apparently, artists were very different from what they were back on Earth. Combine that with the ability to fight and Dallion wondered whether he wouldn’t have to face living clothes at some point in the near future.

“No need to worry, kiddo.” The woman let out a warm laugh. “This is not the first mission I save. I used to assist in a noble’s house at one point.”

“Oh? What happened?” Dallion let curiosity get the better of him.

“The usual. The noble I was serving decided to go to the capital, so the lesser staff were let go.” There was no regret in her as she spoke. Everything was matter-of-fact. “I pity, but then again, that’s why the city has guilds.” She took out a small sample of silvery fabric, then looked at Dallion again. “I think you’ll look fine in silver. Just one thing to keep in mind. It heats up close to fires, so don’t stand near any torches.”

“Thanks, I’ll try to remember that.” Already he was feeling he was about to go somewhere where he didn’t belong.