Chapter 6: A Price to Pay

I took a seat in a quiet corner of the inn, the warmth of wood smoke and cooking food wrapped around me like a blanket. The rustic ambiance was welcoming, the kind that reminded me of simpler times. My stomach growled again, louder this time, making me acutely aware that I hadn't eaten anything since morning.

It had been a strange day, arriving in this world, surviving a battle, and now here I was, looking for a meal and a quiet place to sit. I made my way to the counter, where a stout woman with kind eyes was wiping it down, humming softly to herself. She looked up at me as I approached, her smile warm but knowing, like she had already seen through me.

"What's on the menu tonight?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady despite the hunger gnawing at my insides.

"We've got stew, fresh bread, and some roast cooking in the back," she said, not missing a beat. "Nothing too fancy, but it'll keep you fed. You want a plate?"

The stew smelled incredible, rich with herbs and meat, and the bread looked freshly baked. I nodded without thinking. "That sounds perfect. I'll take the stew and bread."

She turned to the back to grab the food, but something pulled me back to reality—a thought I hadn't fully processed until now. I reached down to my side where my grimoire rested, a reminder of the power I wielded, but that wasn't going to help me in this situation.

I had no money.

As the innkeeper returned, setting a steaming bowl of stew and a thick slice of bread before me, I felt a lump form in my throat. I stared at the food, the steam curling upward, my stomach ready to devour every bite. But I couldn't afford it.

"Uh," I stammered, looking up at her. "I just realized… I don't have any money."

The innkeeper's expression shifted, her brow furrowing slightly, though she didn't seem entirely surprised. "No money, eh?" She crossed her arms, her stance firm now, her smile faded. "This is a place of business, stranger. I don't serve food for free."

I swallowed hard, the scent of the stew taunting me. I couldn't walk away from this meal, not after the day I'd had, but I wasn't about to cause trouble either. "Is there any way I can pay you back?" I asked, feeling the weight of desperation in my voice.

The woman stared at me for a moment, sizing me up. Her eyes flickered down to the grimoire hanging at my side, but she didn't seem impressed by it. "Magic isn't going to pay the bills around here," she said flatly. "But I'll tell you what—you can work off your meal. I've got a few chores that need doing."

I blinked, surprised at the offer. "What kind of chores?"

She gestured toward the back of the inn. "We've got wood that needs chopping, some barrels that need moving, and the stables could use cleaning out. You get it done, you'll have earned your dinner."

I glanced at the food on the counter, my mouth watering. Labor wasn't what I'd planned on, but it was better than nothing. I nodded. "Deal."

She gave me a curt nod and motioned for me to follow her outside. As we stepped through the back door, the cool evening air hit me, a stark contrast to the warmth of the inn. The yard behind the building was small but cluttered with barrels, firewood, and a stable where a couple of horses rested.

The woman handed me an axe. "You can start with the wood. There's plenty of it, and we'll need more for the hearth tonight."

I hefted the axe, feeling its weight in my hand. It wasn't anything special, just a simple tool, but it brought back memories I hadn't thought about in a long time—memories of my father.

My father had always been a hard man, but fair. He had taught me how to work with my hands from a young age. I could still remember the days when he'd wake me up before dawn, the sun barely cresting the horizon, and send me out to chop wood for the hearth. It had been tough work, and I'd complained about it endlessly back then.

"Work builds character," he would say, his voice gruff but steady. "You don't get strong by sitting around."

I could almost hear his voice now as I swung the axe down on the first log, the blade biting into the wood with a satisfying crack. I lifted it again, setting into a rhythm, my muscles remembering the motions easily. For a brief moment, it was as if I was back home, chopping wood in the yard, my father watching from the porch with that stern but approving look on his face.

The thought tugged at something inside me, a mixture of nostalgia and regret. I had been so eager to escape that life back then, so desperate to get away from the hard labor and the expectations. But now, in this strange world, those skills were what kept me grounded, what kept me moving forward. My father's lessons, no matter how much I'd hated them at the time, had prepared me for moments like this.

I worked steadily for the next hour, the pile of split wood growing as the light in the sky began to fade. Sweat dripped down my back, and my arms burned from the effort, but it felt good in a way—like I was working toward something tangible. The innkeeper came out occasionally to check on my progress, giving me a nod of approval as the pile grew larger.

When the wood was chopped, she led me to the barrels, which needed moving to the storage shed beside the inn. They were heavy, filled with water and supplies, but I lifted them one by one, using the strength I'd built from years of hard work. It was slow going, but I managed to get the job done without complaint.

The last task was the stable. I wasn't thrilled about cleaning up after horses, but it was part of the deal. The innkeeper handed me a pitchfork and a shovel, and I set to work mucking out the stalls. It was messy, dirty work, but I had done worse. By the time I finished, my muscles ached, and my clothes were stained with dirt and sweat, but the stables were clean, and I had earned my meal.

I wiped the sweat from my brow as I returned to the inn, the scent of stew still lingering in the air. The woman was waiting for me by the counter, her arms crossed but a small smile on her face. "You've earned your dinner," she said, nodding toward the bowl of stew that still sat on the counter.

I sat down heavily in the chair, grateful for the food in front of me. The first spoonful of stew was hot and rich, the flavors of herbs and meat melting in my mouth. It wasn't just the food itself, but the satisfaction of knowing I had worked for it, that I had earned this moment of respite.

As I ate, I couldn't help but think back to those mornings with my father—the long hours of chopping wood, the sweat and the effort. I had always resented him for it, for making me work so hard when other kids were out playing. But now, I understood. He hadn't just been teaching me how to swing an axe or carry a barrel; he had been teaching me resilience, how to endure, how to push through when things got tough.

In this world, where magic was everywhere, and power was respected, I realized that those lessons might be more valuable than any spell I could cast. Magic could solve a lot of problems, but it couldn't replace the strength you built from within, the grit that came from hard work.

The innkeeper sat down across from me as I finished the last of the bread. "You did good work today," she said, her tone lighter than before. "Not many would have agreed to that deal, but you didn't hesitate."

"I've done my fair share of labor," I replied, leaning back in my chair. "It's not so bad."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Well, if you ever need more work, we could always use an extra pair of hands around here. There's always something that needs doing."

I smiled, feeling the weight of the day finally settling into my bones. "I'll keep that in mind."

As I finished the last of my meal, I realized that this world, despite its magic and mysteries, wasn't so different from the one I had left behind. There were still people who worked hard, who valued effort over power, and there were still places like this inn, where a warm meal could be earned with a bit of sweat and determination.

For now, that was enough.

---

Question: What did your father taught you?