Warning: Mentions of wine
Two wanderers came to a tavern under a night sky. Slowly, the stars blinked out behind them. The tavern was at crossroads that led to deserted cities. There was only one being in that tavern. He sipped a glass of wine as he contemplated the green fire. He sat on a simple stool in front of a small stone furnace. A few wooden tables with wooden chairs that splintered filled the dirt floor. The Wanderer and Colin ducked under the leather fabric that served as an improvised doorway.
The Wanderer looked at the small tavern.
"I see that things changed."
"You did not come here because of the book."
"No, I did not, even if you told my story wrong."
"What does it matter to you?"
"No matter. We have to leave. You've felt the tremors. You're welcome to come with us." Colin watched silently.
"I've felt the tremors. I made one. But I must stay here." The Wanderer frowned.
"Why? Unreality is a fate worse than any other."
"This tavern must survive. It has provided a home for me. I'd like someone else to feel the same."
"Very well. " The Wanderer nodded. They pantomimed raising a cup. "To seeking."
The collector raised his wine glass in response, not turning back. "To finding."
The wanderers turned to the flap of skin that acted as a door.
"Oh." The collector spoke again. "The Parcion is making an Ark. It could be a new Franciscan."
When the two wanderers walked out of the hut, the sky was an endless void. Colin stared up at it.
"Why would he stay?"
"Well, he decided to stay. I can't change him. Also," The Wanderer said, taking the wheel of the airship. "that tavern is an important place. It's so old that it defines itself. There's history in those walls, and someone has to preserve it."
"Oh." Colin pulled up the gangplank. "Where are we going now that he isn't coming?"
"Like he said, the Parcion's Ark."
