By the time the sun rose on the day of the inn’s grand reopening, the Shaded Fern looked like it had remembered how to stand up straight. The windows no longer wept dust, the floorboards had ceased their ominous creaking—unless personally insulted—and even the garden had been revived with Ren’s endless optimism and Bramblethump’s passionate (), compost-dancing.

  The sign above the door had been repainted with shaky letters that read: A smaller plaque beneath declared: It was, frankly, more honest than most establishments.

  [System Notification: Establishment Activated – Shaded Fern Inn]

  [Reputation Unlocked: Village Host]

  [New Roles Assigned: Ren – Proprietor | Mimi – Head of Security | Bramblethump – Chief Ambiance Troll | Glimmers (the sword) – Greeter Artifact]

  Ren had risen before dawn, nerves braided into his usual calm like, ivy around a lamppost. He fluffed pillows with religious precision, set out fresh jam jars in a spectrum of hopeful colors, and arranged wildflowers in vases made from hollowed-out root vegetables. Bramblethump, having declared himself “Chief Ambiance Troll,” lit lanterns with a theatrical flourish and accidentally started three minor fires—two of which were admittedly very artistic but the third one is still under investigation.

  Mimi patrolled the perimeter with the grim solemnity of a creature who trusted no joy that didn’t arrive wearing an armor. She updated her patrol notebook with new threat assessments and stationed a decoy goat made of hay near the rear exit. I, meanwhile, had been placed in what Ren called a “position of honor” atop the mantel. I was adorned with a ribbon and—may the forge gods strike me down—a sprig of lavender.

  “This is undignified,” I announced, projecting as much menace as a sentient blade could muster while wearing floral accessories.

  [System Notification: Role Buff – Greeter Artifact | Aura: +5 Cheerfulness, -10 Dignity]

  “You’re ceremonial today,” Ren replied as he placed another tray of honey biscuits on the table.

  “I am not a decoration. I am a legendary weapon of destruction. I should be hung over a throne, not a fireplace.”

  “You’re our greeter,” he said with infuriating cheer.

  “I am going to develop rust out of spite....”

  Guests began arriving slowly, trickling in with the curiosity of people unsure whether they were attending a party or a very elaborate trap. There were farmers with sun-leathered faces, bakers who eyed the kitchen like seasoned duelists, and a sheep named Tilly who insisted on inspecting the pantry. A bard introduced himself only in near-rhymes and immediately began loitering suspiciously near Mimi, who glared him into retreat within minutes.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Despite the chaos—and likely because of it—something extraordinary began to unfold. People laughed.

  Children tumbled across the courtyard, shrieking with joy and mild fear when Bramblethump performed a somersault that briefly blocked the sun. An elderly couple sat by the hearth with their hands brushing over cups of tea as if reacquainting themselves with the warmth. Bramblethump, undeterred by spatial limitations or public decency, enacted a highly expressive interpretive reenactment of “The Great Turnip Collapse” while Mimi, ambushed by a flower crown from a shy toddler, stared at it for a full minute before accepting it like a battlefield medal.

  Ren floated between guests like warm light through leaves. He asked about their families, offered cider refills, and listened—deeply, wholly—when people spoke. The inn, for the first time in years, began to hum. Not with magic. With belonging. With laughter, yes, but also with the soft sigh of a building realizing it had purpose again.

  [System Notification: Local Reputation Increased – +12 Villager Affinity]

  A local merchant wandered near me, holding a cup of mulled wine and the vague air of someone trying not to be impressed. “Interesting sword,” he muttered.

  “I can hear you,” I snapped. “And I remember grudges. For centuries.”

  [System Notification: Intimidation Check – Success. +1 Ego Boost]

  He dropped his cup. It was the highlight of my evening.

  As twilight slipped into the evening and the fire crackled low, Ren finally collapsed into a chair near the hearth. His hair was dusted with flour, confetti, and with what may have once been a raisin. Bramblethump attempted to teach three small children the ancient troll technique of ‘stillness spiraling,’ which mostly involved controlled wobbling and Mimi stood at the coat rack, still on duty, watching everyone like a goat who’d seen too much.

  “It worked,” Ren said, voice quiet, almost afraid to admit it aloud.

  “For now,” I replied. There was no menace in it, no sarcasm. Just acknowledgment. Because it had.

  Ren glanced around the room, his gaze lingering on the hearth, the laughter, the crumbs of honey cake on the table. “This place feels so alive now.”

  “It does,” I admitted slowly. “And I hate it.”

  He smiled, because he knew I didn’t mean it.

  I didn’t hum that night. Not even once.

  But just as the last guest scraped the final bite of pie from their plate and the embers in the fireplace sighed into red dust, a wind blew through the inn. It wasn’t loud or dramatic. Just a quiet gust carrying the scent of earth and memory. It crept under the doors, through the cracks in the floorboards, and wrapped itself around the base of the stairs like a ghost curling up for a nap.

  And then, from the far corner of the inn—where no one had walked in hours—came a sound so faint it could have been imagined. Except it wasn’t. A quiet, wet sob. Just one. Then another.

  With that sound, Ren’s smile faded. He stood slowly with his shoulders tensing beneath his apron. Mimi turned towards the sound with uncanny precision and Bramblethump, mid-spin, froze like a statue sculpted in moss.

  And I, who had once screamed across battlefields and sung to shattered skies, hummed. Just once. Low. A warning.

  [System Alert: Unregistered Presence Detected – Binding Signature Unknown]