The heat from the fire still pressed against their backs even from several metres away from the shop.

The flames had already devoured a good portion of the structure. The windows spat out columns of orange fire and black smoke while the roof began creaking in a deeply concerning way.

Max watched the disaster with a strange mix of relief and exhaustion.

They had survived.

Which, considering how the night had started, already felt like a statistically improbable victory.

Dorian remained standing in front of the blaze, arms crossed and wearing a curiously satisfied expression.

He looked like he was admiring a particularly destructive piece of art.

Seraphine was awake again, though still somewhat weak, leaning against a nearby wall while Neros stood beside her like a personal bodyguard.

Chloe adjusted Max’s cloak more comfortably around her body and looked at the elven healer.

Then she looked at the fire.

Then back at Dorian.

"...Scary," she murmured.

Max walked over to the elf and also watched the building slowly being consumed.

"I’m not surprised you reached this point," he commented.

Dorian raised an eyebrow slightly.

"What point?"

Max gestured toward the massive fire in front of them.

"This one."

He waved a hand broadly.

"Literally burning down an entire underground criminal business out of emotional revenge."

Dorian stared at the flames for a few more seconds.

Then he smiled faintly.

"Yes," he admitted.

He slipped a hand into his bag and lightly touched the small vial where he had stored Finn’s ashes.

"Maybe things didn’t end exactly well between us."

His smile softened slightly.

"But he was always my great friend."

He lowered his gaze a little.

"Even if he probably didn’t see it that way."

Max glanced at him sideways.

He didn’t answer immediately.

He knew Dorian was trying to sound casual. But even for someone as ridiculously optimistic as him, this had clearly hurt.

A lot.

"Well," Max finally said.

He crossed his arms.

"You burned half a criminal organisation in his honour."

He looked at the fire.

"I’d say that counts as a pretty memorable farewell."

Dorian let out a quiet nasal laugh.

"I suppose so."

Chloe took a small step forward.

She looked like she wanted to say something.

She cleared her throat.

Then looked at everyone with a concentrated expression.

"...I..." she began slowly.

She frowned as if actively fighting against the Elvish language inside her own brain.

"Thank you... for coming..."

She searched mentally for the right words.

"...to rescue me," she finished, pronouncing it with visible effort.

A brief silence followed.

Max smiled.

"Hey, that sounded pretty good."

Chloe blinked in surprise.

"Really?"

Dorian turned toward her and nodded with genuine approval.

"You’re handling the language quite well," he said.

He smiled widely.

"Honestly, I expected worse results."

Chloe’s eyes widened.

Then she smiled rather proudly.

"Ha!"

She pointed at herself.

"I learn fast."

She pronounced that last part with far more confidence.

Dorian nodded like a satisfied teacher.

"That was even better."

Chloe looked delighted by the small academic approval.

Neros finally approached the group after checking for the tenth time that Seraphine was still breathing properly.

He looked at Dorian.

"Alright," he said in a practical tone.

"What do we do now?"

Dorian suddenly seemed to remember something important.

He reached into his bag and held up the small glass vial.

Finn’s dark ashes rested inside.

His smile softened again.

"I still have something to do," he said.

He lifted the vial slightly.

"I want to leave his ashes somewhere special."

He looked at the others.

"Before we leave the black market."

Neros glanced toward Seraphine.

Then toward Max.

Clearly consulting both of them silently on whether taking a detour for an improvised funeral ceremony after burning down a criminal establishment was a good idea.

A perfectly reasonable night.

Seraphine was the first to respond.

She smiled faintly.

"I believe I heard something about a tavern," she commented.

Dorian nodded.

"Uncle Moe’s Tavern."

Max raised his eyebrows slightly.

That name actually sounded familiar.

In the game, Uncle Moe was mentioned multiple times by NPCs as something of a local black market legend.

A man famous for crafting some of the finest alcohol in the region.

Which, honestly, sounded highly appealing after surviving all of this.

Okay... now that interests me, Max thought.

"As long as we don’t run into more trouble here..." he said with a shrug.

"Do whatever you want."

Dorian smiled brightly.

"Excellent."

He turned dramatically and pointed toward a side street dimly lit by old lanterns.

"Then allow me to guide you to the finest establishment in this wonderfully morally questionable district."

Chloe glanced one more time at the burning building behind them.

She frowned slightly.

"One question," she said, raising a finger.

Max looked at her.

"Hm?"

Chloe pointed at the burning shop.

"Does that put itself out or... should we do something?" she asked.

Max blinked.

"Fair point."

He turned toward Dorian.

"Should we be worried?"

Dorian looked at the fire the way someone might analyse a particularly cosy bonfire.

"Nah," he replied.

He waved a dismissive hand.

"The flames will burn themselves out eventually."

He shrugged.

"No one here usually minds a small large fire."

Max narrowed his eyes.

"You just said ’small large fire.’"

"Yes."

"That inspires zero confidence."

Dorian completely ignored the comment.

"Besides..." he continued.

He gestured around them.

"A lot of people are going to be happy."

Max looked around.

And, indeed, he began noticing something strange.

Rather than panic or widespread concern... several people in the neighbourhood actually looked fairly pleased.

A group of goblins was watching the fire from a nearby corner.

One of them even raised a bottle in an improvised toast.

An old orc laughed as part of the roof collapsed.

An elven woman applauded when one of the windows exploded outward.

"...Are they celebrating?" Max asked.

"Yes," Dorian replied.

"You just helped destroy one of the most hated businesses in the entire district."

He smiled.

"A lot of people are about to get their shops back."

As if determined to confirm that exact statement, someone shouted from a nearby alley:

"THE DAMN SLAVERS ARE BURNING!"

Cheers erupted.

Another group began celebrating even more enthusiastically.

"FINALLY!" a goblin yelled.

"LET IT ALL BURN!"

Max watched the scene with a completely neutral expression for a few seconds.

"...I don’t know what I expected from this neighbourhood," he admitted.

Chloe smiled faintly.

"I like it."

Max looked at her in surprise.

"You like the black market?"

Chloe shrugged.

"It’s chaotic," she replied.

Then she smiled.

"It reminds me a little of all of you."

A brief silence followed.

Max processed that.

Neros frowned.

"I’m not sure why, but I feel like that was strangely offensive."

Seraphine let out a soft laugh.

"Not entirely inaccurate."

Dorian looked delighted.

"I choose to take that as a compliment."

Max sighed.

"Right, well."

He looked again at the smoke beginning to spread further through the alley.

"Maybe we should move before we still end up dying from smoke inhalation after surviving everything else."

"Wise words," said Dorian.

And he began walking.

The others followed.

They moved through narrow streets of damp stone and improvised architecture.

The smoke remained visible behind them, rising toward the district’s low rooftops as a rather obvious reminder that they had just caused a major incident.

But no one seemed to care much.

In fact, the further they walked, the more people seemed to comment on the fire with satisfaction.

"I heard the cult’s shop finally went down," someone murmured nearby.

"About time," another voice replied.

A group of goblin children ran through a side street pretending to explode things.

"BOOM!"

"I’M THE PYROMANIAC ELF!" one of them shouted.

Dorian smiled proudly.

"I’m already an inspiration to the younger generation."

Max gave him a look of existential exhaustion.

"That should not make you happy."

"And yet..." Dorian replied.

"...here we are."

Chloe walked fairly close to Max, observing everything around her with renewed curiosity.

She no longer looked like the same exhausted, emaciated person they had found hanging inside that warehouse.

Still somewhat weak, yes. But far more alive. Far more present.

"So..." she suddenly said.

She looked at Max.

"All of this happened just because I got kidnapped?"

Max thought for a few seconds.

"Well."

He scratched the back of his neck.

"If we summarise events aggressively enough, yes."

Chloe’s eyes widened slightly.

"Wow."

She looked back toward the distant smoke.

"That’s a lot."

"Yeah," Max said.

"I’m still processing it myself."

Neros kept walking beside Seraphine, glancing at her every few seconds as if worried she might faint again recreationally.

Eventually Seraphine sighed.

"Neros."

He looked at her immediately.

"Yes?"

"I’m fine," she said.

Neros took half a second.

"I understand that rationally," he replied.

"And yet."

Seraphine smiled faintly.

Max couldn’t help glancing at them from the corner of his eye.

These two are an ambulatory emotional disaster.

Dorian, who had very clearly also noticed the exchange, smiled like someone watching an excellent theatre performance.

"Ah, love," he commented.

Neros glared at him.

"Talk less."

"Impossible," Dorian replied.

Eventually, they turned a corner.

And there it was.

A wide tavern made of dark wood, with an old but sturdy-looking façade.

A sign hung above the entrance.

Carved unevenly and hanging slightly crooked.

Uncle Moe’s Tavern.

From inside came the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and improvised music.

Warm light spilled from the windows.

Dorian smiled with genuine nostalgia.

"We’re here."

He pulled out the small vial of ashes again.

His expression softened.

"Finn liked sitting right out here."

He slowly walked toward one side of the entrance.

There was a small corner beside an old flowerpot and a worn stone step.

A simple place.

Quiet.

Dorian crouched down.

He carefully opened the vial.

And slowly let the ashes fall into that small space.

The wind gently carried some of them away.

Silence.

Even Neros showed respect for once.

Dorian stared at the spot for a few more seconds.

Then smiled faintly.

"Done," he murmured.

He stood back up.

Turned toward the group.

And instantly regained his usual energy.

"Well," he announced.

He pointed dramatically at the tavern.

"Now then."

He smiled widely.

"I need alcohol."

Max let out a small laugh.

"That does sound like the appropriate ending to this night."

And together, they entered the tavern, leaving behind the smoke, the fire, and one very long night of chaos, death, rescues, and legally questionable decisions.