Ningan emerges from the door of the inn and dons his scarlet cloak. Neris accompanies him under the light of the streetlamps over the historic cobbled pavements.
The path curls around the hillside down to the shore below. Zora Harbour lies ahead, boat masts bobbing up and down on the horizon. However, Neris draws them away from the lights of the town towards a secluded cove. There are no streetlamps here; only the full moon that casts its mystical white glow over the sand. The waves lap gently against the shoreline; palm trees sway in the sea breeze. A lone wooden shack perched on stilts rises into view, decorated with tribal woodcarvings depicting tattooed faces. Blazing torches beckon them onto the porch, where there sits an old wooden rocking chair.
"You live here?!" Ningan exclaims with disbelief.
"I sure do." Neris confirms as he produces a key from his shirt pocket.
The light of a hearth fills the whole room with warmth. Ningan admires the array of instruments that line the walls: a guitar, a banjo, and even an accordion. A sofa in the shape of a crab invites him to sit down as Neris prepares a drink.
"I know you have a taste for cocktails." the Zora pipes from the kitchen area. "But trust me; you've never tasted a cocktail like this."
He hands his guest a coconut cup filled with fruit juice. Ningan dares a sip; his tongue tingles with the tanginess of orange mixed with the sweetness of mangoes and the aftertaste of alcohol. It indulges his taste buds with the picturesque vision of an exotic paradise where hummingbirds buzz around nectar-filled flower and parrots chirp in the treetops.
"It's nice…" Ningan shrugs. "What is it called?"
"It's a secret family recipe passed down through generations." Neris explains. "We call it the Tropic Buzz."
"You could no doubt make a fortune from selling this." Ningan gestures to the coconut cup in his hand.
The Zora shakes his head. "I'm no entrepreneur: I haven't the desire nor greed. Besides, it's a traditional family recipe; and I'd like to keep it in the family."
"So where are your family?"
"Oh, around…" Neris answers offhandedly. "My parents passed away not long ago. My sister is travelling around the islands to the south. I stayed here to pursue my dream of becoming a musician."
"You live alone? All the way out here?"
The pianist laughs. "Yes, I do. I prefer to be right by the sea, away from the noise pollution of the town where I can practice in peace. Sure, it can get lonely sometimes; but I have my music to keep me company."
He switches his mandolin for his acoustic guitar and starts to play. The soft strumming of strings soothes Ningan into the sofa, where his mind wanders to a faraway place. The slow crashing of the waves outside joined with the warmth of the hearth eases him into a state of drowsiness.
"What about you?" Neris asks. "You're the biggest mystery this town has seen in a long time. What's your story?"
Ningan shakes himself awake. "Me? I'm an open book. I like to drink and I like to travel. I came to Oblimos to escape some troubles at home. I liked it here, so I settled. I've been here for six months now."
"How could one not resist the sumptuous shores of Oblimos, with its divine culture and even finer food?"
"You should be a sales representative." Ningan mocks him.
The musician chortles as he lays down his instrument. "Alas, Oblimos is not all sunshine and luxury. Like all places, this town has a dark side. We boast the highest crime rate in the whole continent and haven't a competent police force to cure it. Mobs like the Mothwings run this town; they have done for decades. This Weeping Eye-guy might pose a threat to them now, but I fear his fire may be extinguished before it smokes them out."
Ningan leans forward with a curious frown. "What makes you say that?"
Neris shrugs as he perches on the arm of the sofa. "The Mothwings do not take lightly to opposition. The Weeping Eye is damaging to their reputation, and he will not be allowed to publicly humiliate them again. I worry for him."
"I'm sure he has things perfectly under control." Ningan affirms. "Besides, no one knows his true identity."
"For now." the Zora warns. "Make no mistake: once they discover who dares to defy their authority, they will execute him in the most brutal and public way possible."
Ningan lays his cup down and rises from the sofa. "I must be going. It's getting late."
"As I told you before, you're welcome to stay." Neris reminds him. "I still have a spare bed and plenty more cocktail recipes."
His guest smiles. "Another night."
"I hope that is a promise and not a polite refusal!"
Ningan smirks. "Since when have you known me to be polite? Goodnight, Neris."
He exits the beach hut and paces along the shoreline towards the lights of the town. The Zora musician observes his light footprints in the damp sand. Such a naïve young man…how could he protect him from the wrath of the Mothwings?