The clatter of busy hands and the soft murmur of voices filled the small, sunlit room where Ada, Lina, and Elara worked. The sewing workshop, tucked into the rear of their home, was alive with the quiet energy of a shared task. The fog from the morning seemed to have lifted, dispelled by the rhythm of familiar work and the scent of fresh wool and linen. The town needed new clothes—clothes that would help them shrug off the last chill of winter and welcome the change of seasons.

Elara’s workshop was always busiest in the first days of spring. Women from across the town wandered in and out, bringing baskets of materials or picking up finished orders, their chatter creating a soft hum of gossip and laughter. The air was filled with the sound of scissors snipping, needles clicking against thimbles, and the occasional curse as someone pricked their finger.

“There,” Elara said briskly, holding up a length of fabric and inspecting it with a critical eye. “Another sleeve done. Ada, how’s the trim on that collar coming along?”

Ada glanced up, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Almost finished,” she murmured, her fingers deftly guiding the needle through the cloth. The fabric shimmered under her touch, a rich blue wool that had been brought in from a trader who had just arrived with the spring thaw. Her hands moved swiftly, each stitch precise and deliberate, the work coming as naturally as breathing.

Elara nodded approvingly. “Good, good. We need to make sure the elders’ clothes are ready by sundown. They’ll want to look their best at the council meeting tonight.”

“Of course they will,” Ada said, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Wouldn’t want to look anything less than perfect for all the grumbling and arguing they’re going to do.”

Elara chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You may have a point, but it’s not our place to comment.” She glanced over at Lina, who was hunched over her own piece of cloth, tongue poking out in fierce concentration. “Lina, dear, what on earth are you doing?”

Lina blinked up at her mother, wide-eyed and confused. “Sewing... a... um... square?” she offered, holding up the fabric. It was supposed to be a neat hem, but the stitches looped unevenly, veering off in strange directions as if the thread itself were trying to escape her grasp.

Elara sighed, but there was no real reprimand in it. “You’re trying, and that’s what matters.” She reached over, gently taking the fabric from Lina’s hands. “But we don’t have time for free-form art projects today, love. Why don’t you help fold the finished pieces instead?”

“Yes, Mama,” Lina said brightly, scrambling off her stool with a clatter. She knocked over a basket of ribbons in her haste, sending them spilling across the floor in a tangled mess. “Oops!” she squeaked, her face turning red as the women nearby suppressed giggles.

Ada bit back a laugh, watching as Lina frantically tried to gather the ribbons back up. “Here, let me help.” She knelt down beside her sister, quickly sorting through the ribbons and placing them back in the basket.

Lina pouted, her cheeks still flushed. “I’m useless at sewing,” she muttered.

“You’re not useless,” Ada said softly, nudging her shoulder. “Just... better at other things.”

“Like what?” Lina grumbled, glancing up at her with narrowed eyes. “Getting in the way?”

Ada smiled, shaking her head. “Like making people smile. See? Everyone’s in a better mood now because of you.”

Lina blinked, looking around at the other women. And sure enough, the tension that had lingered earlier was gone, replaced by the easy camaraderie of shared laughter. Even Elara’s stern expression had softened, her lips twitching as she watched her younger daughter.

“See?” Ada murmured, her voice low. “You’re better at this than you think.”

Lina’s pout melted into a shy smile. “Thanks, Ada.”

“Anytime, little owl,” Ada replied, ruffling her sister’s hair fondly.

As they stood, Elara turned back to them, gesturing toward a stack of fabric on the far table. “Since you’re not on stitching duty, Lina, go ahead and fold those. Ada, once you finish that collar, help me with the buttons. We have to make sure they’re all secured properly.”

“Yes, Mother,” Ada said obediently, slipping back into her chair. The rhythmic pull of the needle and thread was soothing, a distraction from the thoughts that had plagued her earlier. She focused on the task, blocking out everything else—the nightmare, the strange atmosphere in the town, even the fact that Marin hadn’t come to find her.

Where is he? she wondered, her heart tightening. It’s not like him to disappear like this.

But there was no time to dwell on it. Not now. She finished the collar, snipping the thread with a quick, precise motion, and turned to help Elara with the buttons. As they worked, the women around them continued to chatter, the topics ranging from the sudden change in weather to the council meeting that night.

“Did you hear?” one of them whispered, glancing around as if to make sure no one else was listening. “They say there’s going to be a big announcement.”

“An announcement?” another echoed, raising an eyebrow. “What kind of announcement?”

“Don’t know,” the first woman admitted. “But I heard Daithi was in a right state this morning. Barking orders left and right.”

“Well, it’s about time,” the second woman huffed, folding her arms. “This town needs direction. Needs... leadership.”

Elara’s hands stilled for a moment, her gaze flicking to Ada and then back to the women. “The council will decide what’s best,” she said quietly, her voice firm. “We need to trust in them.”

“Of course, of course,” the first woman said hastily. “It’s just... things have been so strange lately, haven’t they?”

Ada’s fingers tightened on the button she was sewing, her heart beating a little faster. Strange. That was one way to put it.

“Yes, but it’ll all be sorted soon enough,” Elara said briskly, turning back to her work. “Now, enough gossip. We have a deadline to meet, and these clothes won’t finish themselves.”

The women murmured agreement, the undercurrent of worry fading as they picked up their work once more. But Ada’s mind was still racing, her thoughts swirling like leaves caught in a gust of wind. Strange. That word echoed through her, resonating with something deep and unspoken. She looked down at the fabric in her hands, the neat stitches blurring as her focus wavered.

Then, from somewhere nearby, a soft hum broke the silence. It started low, almost a whisper, barely more than a vibration in the air. Lina.

The little girl’s voice rose gently, threading its way through the workshop like a silken thread, weaving a tune both haunting and sweet. The melody was familiar—an old song, one their mother had sung to them when they were little. It was a lullaby, a blessing, a hymn of thanks to the spirits of the land and water.

One by one, the other women looked up, their hands stilling as they listened. And then, slowly, softly, one of them began to hum along. Another joined in, and then another, until the entire room was filled with the quiet, lilting notes of the song.

Ada found herself holding her breath, her gaze shifting from her sister to the other women around her. There was a power in the music—a quiet, resilient strength that seemed to push back against the worries and fears that had weighed them all down. It was as if, through the song, they were reminding themselves of what truly mattered. The lake. The land. Each other.

The words flowed like water, rising and falling in gentle waves:

"Through ripples and reeds, where the moonlight gleams,

The water whispers of life in dreams.

By the banks where the willows weep,

A story flows in currents deep."

"From dawn to dusk and spring to fall,

The river hums, a song for all.

It carries joy, it carries pain,

The water’s heart beats like the rain."

"Oh waters clear, oh waters wild,

Bless our homes and every child.

Bring us strength, bring us grace,

Guide our hands in this quiet place."

The melody swelled, filling the small room until it seemed to overflow, spilling out through the open windows and into the quiet town beyond. Even the women who had been silent before were singing now, their voices blending into one. And Lina—sweet, unassuming Lina—stood at the centre of it all, her small face glowing with a quiet pride.

Elara’s eyes softened as she watched her youngest daughter, her stern expression melting into something gentler, warmer. She caught Ada’s gaze, and for a moment, they shared a look of shared understanding. Family, it seemed to say. This is what we fight for. This is why we keep going.

When the last notes faded, the workshop fell into silence once more. But it was a different kind of silence—one that was thick with emotion, rich with the unspoken bonds that tied them all together. The women exchanged glances, nodding to each other with renewed determination, their hands returning to their work with fresh energy.

The tension that had lingered earlier was gone, replaced by a sense of purpose. They were more than just townsfolk. They were part of something larger, something that spanned generations and seasons. And in this moment, as they stitched and sewed and folded fabric, they were part of a tradition that had endured through every hardship the town had faced.

Lina caught Ada’s eye, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Did you like it?” she whispered, her voice soft but eager.

Ada smiled, her heart swelling with love for her little sister. “I loved it, Lina,” she murmured. “You have a beautiful voice.”

Lina beamed, ducking her head shyly. “I just... wanted everyone to feel better.”

“And you did,” Ada said, her voice firm. “You really did.”

Elara stepped over, resting a gentle hand on Lina’s shoulder. “That was lovely, sweetheart,” she said quietly. “Just what we all needed.”

Lina looked up at her mother, her eyes shining. “Mama, will everything really be okay?”

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Elara hesitated, glancing around at the other women, who were all watching her with hopeful eyes. “It will be,” she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet strength. “As long as we have each other, it will be.”

The women murmured agreement, nodding to themselves as they bent back over their work. And for the first time all day, Ada felt a tiny spark of hope flicker to life in her chest.

Maybe... maybe things really would be okay.

But even as she returned to her stitching, her hands moving swiftly over the fabric, a shadow of doubt lingered at the edge of her thoughts. Marin still hadn’t shown up. And she couldn’t shake the memory of her nightmare—the feeling of something cold and dark pulling her toward the lake.

She glanced out the small window, her gaze drifting toward the distant shore. The lake lay hidden behind the houses and trees, out of sight but never truly gone. It loomed in her mind, a silent presence, its waters deep and unknowable.

Ada shivered, turning back to her work. She had family. She had friends. She had a town full of people who cared for each other.

That’s what’s important, she told herself firmly.

But as she sewed the last button onto the elder’s coat, her thoughts strayed once more to Marin’s absence, to the strange tension she couldn’t quite place.

Where was he?

The women continued their work with quiet resolve, the memory of Lina’s song lingering in the air like a blessing.

Elara straightened, hands on her hips as she surveyed the nearly completed pile of spring clothing. The other women worked diligently around her, stitching and hemming with renewed energy after the song that had filled their hearts. Ada, her head bent over the elder’s coat, carefully slipped the last button through its loop and set it aside. Her shoulders ached from the concentrated effort, but a quiet satisfaction warmed her.

Elara’s eyes softened as she glanced over at her daughter. “Well done, Ada,” she said approvingly. “You’ve done more than your share today.” She gestured toward the finished garments. “Take a break, dear. Go on, find Marin. I know you’re worried about him.”

Ada blinked, surprise flickering across her face. “I—what? I’m not—”

Elara raised a brow, her lips curving in a knowing smile. The other women exchanged amused glances, one or two stifling giggles behind their hands.

“Oh, don’t even try to deny it,” the woman beside her said with a grin. “We’ve all seen the way you look at that boy. And the way he looks at you.”

Ada felt her cheeks heat, a rush of embarrassment and something softer curling in her chest. “I—I wasn’t thinking about him,” she stammered, though her thoughts had drifted to Marin more than once throughout the morning.

Elara’s smile deepened. “Go, sweetheart. See if you can find him. You’ve earned it.”

There was a playful cheer from the women as Ada stood, dusting off her skirts. She glanced at them in confusion, but they were already turning back to their sewing, the laughter fading into soft murmurs of conversation. She caught Lina’s eye, her little sister shooting her a mischievous grin from where she sat perched on a low stool.

“You should listen to Mama, Ada,” Lina said sweetly, her voice light with teasing. “Go find Marin.”

Ada couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. “Oh, hush, you little imp,” she murmured fondly, ruffling Lina’s hair as she passed.

She hesitated, glancing back at Elara one last time. Her mother’s expression was gentle, but her eyes held an unspoken understanding. With a nod, Ada turned and made her way out of the workshop, stepping into the crisp air beyond.

The snow was nearly gone, leaving the ground slick and muddy in places, but the sun shone brighter, and a soft breeze carried the promise of warmer days to come.

Ada adjusted the shawl draped over her shoulders, realizing she wasn’t bundled up in her thick winter cloak for the first time in months. It was a small thing, but it felt like a victory. Her feet moved quickly over the cobblestones, her breath misting only faintly in the cool morning air as she made her way through the square.

People bustled around her, the energy palpable as people hurried to complete their tasks before the council meeting that night. Ada waved to a few familiar faces, receiving distracted nods and quick smiles in return. Everyone seemed too busy to chat—too focused, too determined. The sense of urgency prickled at her nerves, but she pushed it aside.

Find Marin.

Her heart was lighter as she made her way through the winding streets toward Marin’s house. She could picture him there, grinning as he opened the door, teasing her about worrying too much. Maybe he’d take her hand, pull her outside to show her the progress on his family’s small plot of land. They’d laugh, talk—just the two of them, away from the town’s worries.

But as she turned the last corner and Marin’s home came into view, the smile froze on her face.

A small crowd had gathered near the entrance, huddled close together, their heads bent as they whispered urgently among themselves. Ada’s stomach twisted. She slowed her steps, her pulse quickening as she approached.

Something was wrong.

The closer she got, the more snippets of conversation reached her ears—murmurs of concern, words heavy with worry and fear.

“...happened so suddenly...”

“...struck him in the night...”

“...sick, but what kind of sickness?”

Her gaze darted to the faces of the crowd, searching for someone familiar, someone who could tell her what was going on. But they were all strangers to her—neighbours, yes, but none that she knew well enough to approach.

“...Marin’s father...” one of the women was saying, her voice hushed. “He was fine yesterday, wasn’t he?”

“I saw him just last night!” another woman whispered, her face pale. “He was at the tavern—he looked perfectly healthy! And now...”

The words hit Ada like a blow, knocking the breath from her lungs. Marin’s father. The shock of it sent a chill racing down her spine, her thoughts scattering like leaves caught in a storm.

She pushed forward, ignoring the murmured protests as she slipped through the crowd, her eyes fixed on the front door. Marin. She needed to see Marin. He had to be okay. He had to be.

“Ada?” A familiar voice called out from the edge of the crowd.

She turned sharply, her gaze locking onto a pair of worried blue eyes.

Marin.

He was standing just outside the door, his shoulders hunched, and his face drawn with exhaustion. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his hair was tousled as if he hadn’t slept at all.

“Marin!” she breathed, relief flooding her as she hurried toward him. She reached out, her fingers brushing his arm.

But he didn’t smile. He didn’t reach back.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “I—I should have come. I wanted to, but...”

“It’s okay,” Ada whispered quickly, shaking her head. “It’s okay. What happened? What’s going on?”

Marin’s gaze dropped to the ground, his shoulders sagging under an invisible weight. “My father... he’s sick. It—it just happened out of nowhere. One minute he was fine, and then...”

Ada’s throat tightened. She glanced past him, toward the shadowed doorway of his home, her pulse racing. “Is he...?”

“He’s... breathing,” Marin said slowly. “But he’s not... there. It’s like he’s asleep, but he won’t wake up. And his skin... it’s...”

His voice broke, and he scrubbed a hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut. Ada’s heart ached at the sight of him—at the helplessness in his posture, the fear in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “I—I didn’t know what to do.”

Ada shook her head, stepping closer. “You don’t have to apologize,” she murmured. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

For a moment, they stood there, the crowd murmuring softly around them, the world narrowing to just the two of them. Ada reached out, hesitating, before gently placing a hand on his arm.

“We’ll figure it out, Marin,” she whispered, her voice steady. “Your father will get better. He will.”

But even as she said the words, a dark seed of doubt took root in her chest, growing and spreading its tendrils through her thoughts.

What kind of sickness could strike so suddenly? And why now—why today, of all days?

As she looked up at Marin, his face drawn with worry, the whispers swirling around them like a dark wind.

“Ada,” Marin murmured, his voice strained.

The crowd was too thick, too noisy, too much for someone who looked as if he might collapse under the weight of a breath. Ada’s heart twisted at the sight of him—pale and trembling, his gaze darting around like a frightened animal.

“Come on,” she whispered, slipping her hand into his and gently tugging him toward the side of the house. “Let’s go somewhere quiet.”

He followed without a word, letting her guide him away from the murmuring townspeople and around the corner of the house. The noise faded into a soft hum as they ducked into the narrow alley between his home and the neighbour’s shed, the shadows falling long and cool around them. Ada glanced back, relieved to see they were out of sight, away from the prying eyes and hushed voices.

She turned to him, her hand still gripping his tightly. “Marin, what happened?” she asked softly, searching his face. “Tell me everything.”

He let out a shaky breath, leaning back against the rough wooden wall. Up close, she could see the dark smudges under his eyes, the lines of exhaustion etched deep into his features. His hair, usually neat and combed, stuck out in wild tufts. And his clothes—he was still wearing the same shirt from yesterday, now rumpled and stained.

The sight made her chest ache. This wasn’t the Marin she knew—the confident, steady boy who always seemed so sure of himself, the one who teased her and made her laugh. This was someone... smaller, weaker. A boy.

And yet, as she looked at him, all she felt was a fierce, protective love. He was her Marin. Whatever this was, they’d face it together.

“Marin,” she whispered, her voice gentling as she reached up to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. “Talk to me.”

His eyes met hers, and for a moment, something flickered there—relief, maybe, or gratitude. But it was gone in a heartbeat, replaced by a weary, haunted look that sent a shiver down her spine.

“He was fine—perfectly fine. Then he just... collapsed. Mama thought it was a fever, but his skin—Ada, it’s like he’s freezing. Like the cold is in him. And he’s... gone.” His voice cracked, the last word almost a sob.

Ada’s heart twisted painfully. She reached up, cupping his cheek gently. “I’m so sorry, Marin.”

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t understand,” he whispered, his shoulders trembling. “One minute he was laughing and talking, and the next... It’s like he’s not even there anymore.”

“Shh,” Ada soothed, leaning closer. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure this out. Your father is strong—he’ll fight through it.”

He didn’t answer, his gaze distant. Ada bit her lip, searching his face, trying to find a way to reach him. She had to do something, say something—to pull him out of this dark place.

“Hey,” she murmured, taking his hands in hers. “Look at me, Marin.”

Slowly, reluctantly, he lifted his gaze to meet hers. His eyes were red-rimmed, and there was a desperation there that took her breath away.

“We’re going to get through this,” she said firmly, “You’re not alone. I’m here with you. We’ll find a way to help your father. Whatever it takes.”

For a moment, his expression softened. He let out a long, shuddering breath, his shoulders sagging. “Thank you, Ada,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I don’t— I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She smiled gently, giving his hands a reassuring squeeze. “You won’t have to find out.”

He managed a weak smile, and for a heartbeat, it was like everything was normal again—like they were just Ada and Marin, two friends sneaking off to talk in quiet corners. But the moment shattered almost as soon as it formed, his smile fading as his gaze shifted away.

“I just...” He swallowed hard, his throat working. “I’m scared, Ada.”

Her heart ached at the raw vulnerability in his voice. She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him in a gentle hug. “I know,” she whispered, resting her head against his chest. “I’m scared too.”

For a long moment, they stood there, wrapped in each other’s warmth. His arms tightened around her, his breath shuddering against her hair. She felt the tension in him slowly ease, his body relaxing against hers.

Then, in the quiet, without really thinking, she murmured, “Maybe... Maybe we can find out what’s going on tonight. At the council meeting.”

Marin stiffened, pulling back sharply. He stared down at her, his eyes wide and disbelieving. “What?”

Ada blinked, startled. “I just thought—”

“You thought?” he interrupted, his voice low and furious. “My father is sick—he’s dying, Ada! And you’re talking about spying on the council?”

She flinched, his words like a slap. “Marin, I—”

“Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds?” he snapped, his hands trembling as he gestured wildly. “We don’t need to be sneaking around, playing at being heroes! This is serious.”

“Marin, stop,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I just wanted to—”

“To what?” he demanded, his voice a harsh rasp. “To help? How is sneaking around going to help anything?”

Ada stared up at him, her chest tight, her heart pounding painfully against her ribs. “I—I just thought—”

“You thought wrong,” he growled, turning away from her. His shoulders were hunched, his breath coming in quick, ragged gasps. “You’re always... always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

The words hit her like a punch, knocking the breath from her lungs. For a heartbeat, she could only stare at him, stunned.

Then, slowly, the shock melted into something darker—something sharp and aching.

“Fine,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “If that’s what you think, then... fine.”

She spun on her heel, turning her back on him. Her vision blurred, tears stinging her eyes as she stumbled away, her breath hitching in her chest.

“Ada, wait—”

But she didn’t. She didn’t wait. She didn’t want to wait. She just ran—away from him, away from the hurt and the anger and the confusion that twisted in her chest like a knife.

She ran until the murmur of voices faded, until the town square was a blur around her, until she couldn’t feel the weight of his gaze burning into her back.

And when she finally stopped, gasping for breath, tears streaming down her cheeks, she was alone.

Alone, with nothing but the echoes of his words ringing in her ears.