Shoving off the now-motionless enemy, I tried to get back on my feet. As I’d already realized, one of the bones in my leg was broken, so putting weight on it was dangerous. I raised my gaze and saw two yellow glimmers of living light. They still watched me with caution—but far more calmly now.

  Leaning against the earthen walls, I made my way to where the goblin had fought earlier and collapsed onto the floor. My hand groped around until it touched a small body that was still breathing. You’re still alive, Granny!

  — “How are you?” I voiced my question through the medallion.

  — “Kheh… I’m alive. For now,” came the long-awaited reply. I could see only her eyes, which now looked terribly sad to me. “I tried to escape through the passage my husband made. Didn’t make it in time, kheh.”

  — “It’s alright. We’ll get upstairs now, and you’ll feel better.”

  — “No,” she drawled, “it won’t get better anymore. They cut me up, and I’ve got no strength left.”

  — “No. You mustn’t give up. What about your tavern and your guests? Will you really let them stay there for free?” I said in the same mechanical voice.

  — “Let them,” she replied playfully.

  We sat in complete darkness and silence. Even the sounds of Scott’s battle with the giant slime didn’t reach us here. Only soft breathing could be heard, occasionally interrupted by a cough.

  — “You know, my husband built this whole house himself?”

  — “I didn’t know. He must have worked very hard. Where is he now?”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  — “He’s dead. Seven years ago,” the grandmother’s gaze lifted toward the ceiling. “Long ago, when we were still very young, we dreamed of a big family—lots of children and grandchildren running through the house, grown sons helping us in the fields. It would be noisy and joyful. And in the evenings, when everyone returned tired, we’d sit by the fireplace, eat, and listen to each other’s stories. My husband and I daydreamed about this so vividly that we decided to build this house.”

  — “That must have been wonderful.”

  — “Soon after, we learned we couldn’t have children. Not even one,” the woman’s voice faded, blending into the darkness.

  — “You must be very tired. You’d better not talk and save your strength,” I tried to persuade her—but was immediately cut off.

  — “I cried. I cried every day because I couldn’t give my beloved George a child. But he didn’t leave me. My dear stayed with me. One morning, he woke up early, ate breakfast, and said he’d build the most beautiful tavern. The building would be so magnificent that everyone would hear of it and start gathering here—merchants, bards, adventurers, and just passersby. They’d all come to us. And then we’d hear countless stories by the fireplace, surrounded by all our guests.”

  “He started building right away. Every day, he worked tirelessly. Every day, he crafted something new. He loved me and never left me alone, always making me help him. And we were happy.”

  I imagined how, on empty fields and meadows, a house grew like a tree—ready to shelter any guest, no matter where they came from. The weary, the hungry, the frozen, or those simply lost—all could find rest and warmth here. It must have been a wonderful time.

  — “And just as he was about to hang the lights and finish lining the cellar, he fell ill. My dear George. We’d been together for sixty-three years—every morning, lunch, evening, and night. He fell asleep and never woke up… and our dream remained unfinished. We never got to gather all those people together to hear their life stories,” her voice began fading again.

  The eyes that once pierced every traveler, seeking what they hid and what tale they might tell, now looked inward. Brin seemed to be scanning her entire long life with her gaze, savoring moments of happiness.

  — “Thank you, strange traveler, for being the first to come to our tavern. Thank you for listening to my story. Thank you for learning about my husband’s and my dream. Thank you…”

  Her voice extinguished, along with her breath. Her eyes no longer glowed—and it became clear that Granny Brin had died.