Jack's breath hitched as a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. His hand trembled, the fine motor control slipping ever so slightly under the weight of exhaustion. His mind felt frayed, like an overstretched cord, but he remained still, laser-focused on his work. This level of intensity was something he was used to—more than anything else, the unyielding patience required of a cavalry scout had prepared him for moments like this. Lying motionless in a bush for six hours, waiting for something, anything, to happen—this wasn’t so different.
He blinked slowly, carefully, wary of even the smallest mistake. His hands moved methodically, guiding the carver with deliberate precision. The dim green glow of the etching tool reflected faintly in his vision, creating a surreal, squiggly afterimage against the darkness. It was distracting, but he pressed on.
Jack had been working on this runic formula, painstakingly carving it into a piece of scrap wood. The block was a modest 2 inches by 2 inches by 2 feet, one of a dozen similar pieces resting in a pile to his right. Reuben had handed them over earlier, a bit confused by Jack’s unusual request but willing to comply. Now after, Jack had destroyed half of the pieces—splintered fragments of failed attempts littered the ground. This was his tenth try, the other five reduced to crumbles and cracks when the runes destabilized under his flawed execution.
Jack whispered the word, "Shield," as he finished carving the last line. The runes glowed briefly, the energy flickering along the surface of the wood. A moment later, the rune's light grew unstable, the middle symbol glowing too brightly. Jack barely had time to react before the loud crack echoed, and he threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding the explosion of splintered wood that burst into the air.
Sighing, Jack got up, brushing dirt from his clothes and wiping his face with a muddy hand. Frustration gnawed at him, but he wasn’t ready to give up yet. He picked up another piece of wood, setting it down in front of him. He was about to start over when—
"Impressive magic."
The sudden voice startled Jack so badly that he dropped the etching tool. He spun around, heart pounding, to find Charlet standing by a tree, an amused smile on her face as she bit into an apple. He blinked, bewildered—how long had she been standing there?
"You trying to give me a heart attack?" Jack said, shaking his head as he reached down to pick up the carver. He still couldn't believe he hadn't heard her approach. He prided himself on being aware of his surroundings, a trait ingrained in him from his days as a scout. But now, he hadn't sensed her at all.
Charlet only shrugged, her eyes glancing over the mess of splintered wood at Jack's feet. “I was coming to let you know dinner is ready,” she said, the casualness of her tone making Jack wonder if she'd done it on purpose.
“Dinner? It’s only...” Jack began, then realized as he glanced around that the sun was already low on the horizon, painting the sky a deep orange. He frowned, realizing how long he'd been out here. Must’ve been three or four hours without him even noticing. “My bad. We can go,” he said, slipping the carver into his pocket.
Charlet nodded at him, smiling before turning and heading back towards her house. Jack followed behind, his mind replaying the failures of the day. He was frustrated, no denying that. He knew he was putting too much pressure on himself—he wasn’t going to master something like runic magic in just a few days, especially not without any kind of guide. But it was still hard not to get caught up in wanting immediate results. He was used to being competent, being effective. The learning curve for magic was a rough reminder that patience was still something he needed to work on.
As they walked in silence, Charlet glanced back at him, her voice cutting into his thoughts. “So, practicing runic magic, huh?” she said, a slight hint of amusement in her voice. “I used to dabble in that back when I was a young mage, but it wasn’t really my style.”
Jack’s head perked up, curiosity flickering across his face. “You did?” He quickened his step slightly to catch up beside her. “Any advice?” he asked, sounding almost hopeful. He was at a bit of an impasse, and any advice would help at this point.
Charlet looked at him thoughtfully before nodding, her gaze shifting forward. “Yeah, I’ve got a bit of advice. First thing’s first—don’t overthink it,” she said, her voice casual, yet carrying a hint of authority. “Runes are meant to communicate with the natural energy around us, not dominate it. They’re about working in harmony, not brute-forcing your will on the world. If you overthink every detail, you end up blocking the natural flow.”
Jack frowned a bit, trying to make sense of what she was saying. “So, be mindful of my intentions?” he asked.
Charlet gave a nod. “Exactly. The simpler your intention, the better. You start making it complicated, and a single rune won’t be able to hold all that. Runes are powerful, but they’re also specific. If you’re trying to make one rune do the work of three, it’s gonna fail.”
Jack’s expression shifted as realization began to dawn on him. He had been trying to make one rune do too much—trying to create an all-encompassing bubble of energy to block everything. Maybe that was why it kept falling apart. He needed to break it down, to simplify his intention.
“Yeah, I think I get what you’re saying,” Jack said, nodding slowly. “I’ve been trying to do too much at once, huh?”
Charlet gave him a grin, patting his shoulder as they walked. “You got it. Just remember, runic magic is about being clear and deliberate. It’s not like swinging a sword—where if you just put in enough strength, you’ll get the job done. You’ve got to be subtle, to find the balance.”
Jack gave a small smile, a bit of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Thanks, Charlet. That actually helps a lot,” he said sincerely. He looked ahead, the path winding towards her home, the warm glow of the windows starting to show through the trees.
“Glad to be of help,” Charlet replied, her tone lighter now. “Just try not to blow yourself up, alright? I’d hate to have to explain that to Reuben.”
Jack chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, I reckon I’ll do my best to avoid that,” he said with a wry grin.
As they continued walking, the air between them felt more relaxed. Jack found himself curious about her, the way she seemed to know so much yet spoke so casually. After a few moments of comfortable silence, Jack spoke up again, his curiosity getting the better of him.
“Charlet, can I ask ya somethin’?” he said, glancing over at her. “Why are you helpin’ us? I mean, you didn’t have to. You took us in, saved Kalean’s life... I don’t really understand why.”
Charlet slowed her pace slightly, glancing at him before letting out a small laugh. It was a warm sound, not mocking, but genuine. “Why did I help?” she repeated, looking ahead thoughtfully. “Honestly, Jack, I did it because I wanted to. It’s as simple as that. I don’t have some grand reason or some hidden agenda. You all needed help, and I was in a position to give it.” She looked at him, her gaze searching his face. “I guess the same could be said for you, though, right? You helped Roran and Thalia, got involved even though you didn’t have to. Why?”
Jack was quiet for a moment, thinking about her question. He knew he wasn’t some selfless hero, riding in to save the day just because it was the right thing to do. But at the same time, he also knew he couldn’t just stand by while people were in trouble. It wasn’t in him to turn away when he had the power to help.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low but firm. “Saw no reason not to,” he said. “Ain’t no hero, Charlet, but I won’t stand by when bad things go down. Not who I am, and sure as hell not who I wanna be.”
Charlet stopped walking, turning to look at him, her eyes studying his face carefully. For a long moment, she just watched him, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly. There was something in her expression—an understanding, a respect that wasn’t there before.
After what felt like an eternity, she nodded, her lips curling into a smile. “Good answer, Jack,” she said quietly, her voice sincere.
Jack returned the nod, a small smile tugging at his own lips. The warmth of her acknowledgment settled in his chest, easing the frustration he’d carried with him. As they continued walking towards the house, the smell of dinner wafted towards them, and the light spilling from the windows promised warmth and rest.
---
Thalai sat on the porch as the sun set, her fingers gently running over the worn wooden dolls that Ruben had given her. They were old, but in good condition, the paint just starting to fade at the edges from years of love. There was a princess, a knight, a monster, and a squire—each carved with care and personality, each with its own distinctive look. Ruben had told her that the dolls used to belong to Julia when she was a child, but she didn't play with them anymore, and now they were hers. Thalai was grateful, and she smiled at the thought of it, but there was a sadness that she couldn’t shake as she sat alone with her new companions.
The clang of wooden practice spears, Jack’s firm voice giving instructions, and Roran heavy breaths filled the air. Thalai watched them from a distance, her eyes lingering on her brother. Jack was older, his movements deliberate and confident, while Roran was still learning, his footwork uncertain. But Roran was trying. He was determined. She admired him for that.
She let her dolls act out a little scene—the knight bravely stepping in front of the princess to protect her from the monster. The squire stayed close, watching, uncertain but wanting to help. It was a simple story, but the weight behind it felt heavier than it should have. Thalai’s fingers moved automatically, but her mind was far away.
She knew their mother wouldn’t be happy when she found out about all of this. Her mother always wanted Ruben to be a trader, just like their father—to follow a safer path. She didn’t want him to become a fighter, to walk in their grandfather’s footsteps. Their grandfather had been brave, but he had also faced dangers their mother never wanted her children to know. Thalai understood that, or at least she thought she did. But now, everything was different. She didn’t even know where her mother was. She didn’t know if her father was alive.
The last she had seen of her father was his face, determined and fierce, as he tackled one of the men who had grabbed her. He had shouted for her to run, and she did. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, and she hadn’t looked back.
A memory flashed through her mind—one of those happy moments that felt like it belonged to another life entirely. She remembered a sunny day, the sky a bright blue with only a few fluffy clouds drifting lazily. She was running across the wide, open field near their home, her laughter echoing in the air. Her mother was chasing her, her hair catching the sunlight as she pretended to try and catch Thalai, her voice filled with playful delight.
Ahead of them, her father was already waiting, crouched down with his arms open wide. "Come on, Thalai! You can do it!" he called, his smile so big and warm that it made her heart feel light, as if nothing bad could ever happen. She had run straight into his arms, and he had lifted her high into the air, spinning her around until they both were dizzy, her mother’s laughter joining theirs as they tumbled into the soft grass together.
For that moment, everything had been perfect—just the three of them, the sun warming their skin, the world around them nothing but joy and love.
Tears began to well up, blurring her vision as she stared down at the wooden dolls in her hands. She brushed them away quickly, her jaw setting in a determined line. She couldn’t cry. Not now. Not when they were still out here, still running, still trying to stay safe. She would cry later, she told herself. When they were all together again—her, Ruben, and their mother—when they were somewhere safe, she would let herself cry then. She would let herself feel everything. But until then, she had to stay strong.
She adjusted the dolls, making the knight stand a little straighter, making the princess look braver. She imagined what the knight would say to the princess: "Don't worry. I’ll keep you safe." Thalai swallowed hard, her eyes drifting back to Roran. He was trying so hard to learn, to be strong for her. She would do the same for him. She would keep her tears away, and she would be brave. Standing up she went into the house.
Charlet was washing the dishes from dinner in the sink, while Julia was helping to dry them and put them away. Thalai watched them from the hallway for a moment, but she didn’t want to bother them. Everything felt so heavy lately, and she felt like no one had time to help her with her own worries. She slipped quietly up the stairs, her feet making barely a sound on the wooden steps, until she found herself standing in front of Kalean’s door. She hesitated for a second, then knocked.
From inside, she heard a muffled noise, followed by a yelp of pain. Then the door opened, and Kalean looked down at her. Kalean always seemed a little strange to her—not in a bad way, but just different. He was an adult, but he always seemed more like a friend than someone who was too busy for her. She noticed his small horns had grown a bit more, curling just slightly now.
“Thalai?” Kalean asked, tilting his head with a mix of curiosity and concern. “What are you doing up here?”
Thalai didn’t respond. Instead, she slipped past him, stepping into the room. Kalean blinked in surprise, letting her in without resistance. She looked around; the room was cluttered with books, some piled in corners, others spread out across the floor. Kalean had been sitting in the chair by the window, probably reading like he always did. Thalai moved towards the chair and climbed into it, curling up into a tight ball, hugging her knees close.
Kalean closed the door gently and turned back to her, his eyes watching her with a worried expression. He moved over to the bed opposite her, sitting down slowly. “What’s wrong, Thalai?” he asked, his voice soft and gentle. Kalean was always kind to her, even though everyone knew his father was not. His father wasn’t a violent man, but he was mean, the kind of person who always seemed to have something harsh to say.
Thalai sniffled, her small body trembling as she hugged her knees even tighter. She didn’t know why she had come here, only that the weight on her chest had grown too heavy. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she finally let them fall, her voice coming out in a tiny whisper. “I miss my Dad and Mom,” she said, her face wet with tears.
Kalean’s expression softened. Without hesitation, he stood up and crossed the room to kneel beside the chair. He gently wrapped his arms around her, holding her as she cried into his shoulder. He didn’t speak at first, just let her cry, his hand rubbing her back comfortingly. He knew that sometimes there were no words that could make things better—sometimes, all you could do was be there.
“I know, Thalai,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could do more.” He paused for a moment, taking a breath. “But hey, we’ll see them soon, alright? When the Rangers come, they’ll help us get back to the clan. We’ll all be together again.”
Thalai sniffled, her tears starting to slow. She looked up at him, her big eyes red and puffy. She sniffed the air, trying to sense the truth in his words. She was a bear Beastkin, and she had always been able to smell emotions—her nose could pick up the subtle scents that told her whether someone was telling the truth. Truth had a sweet, comforting smell, while lies smelled sour, like spoiled food.
She sniffed again, catching the familiar scent of apples, a sweetness that reassured her. But there was something else mixed in—a spicy note, sharp and tinged with something uneasy. Kalean was telling the truth, but he was scared, too. Scared that things might not go the way he hoped, that maybe the Rangers wouldn’t arrive in time.
“Really?” she whispered, her voice small and uncertain.
Kalean gave her a gentle smile, brushing a tear away from her cheek with his thumb. “Really,” he said, nodding. Then he looked around, his eyes falling on a book on the table near the chair. He picked it up and opened it briefly before setting it down again, an idea forming. “Why don’t we do something fun?” he said, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. “I think I learned a new cantrip recently. Want to see?”
Thalai hesitated for a moment, but curiosity won out. She wiped her cheeks with her sleeve, nodding tentatively. Kalean’s smile widened, and he got up, moving to the window to close the curtains. He turned off the lantern nearby, plunging the room into darkness. Thalai hugged her knees a little tighter, her heart pounding slightly as the room went dark. She heard Kalean move, his footsteps soft on the floor.
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Suddenly, a faint glow began to appear—a single orb of light, soft and warm, shifting colors in the darkness. Thalai’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. Another orb appeared, then another, until there were twelve glowing spheres, each a different color, floating in the air. The orbs swirled around, their gentle colors blending—blues, greens, yellows, and pinks—filling the room with soft, magical light.
Thalai watched in awe, her tears forgotten as she stared at the display. The orbs danced through the air, swirling around her, leaving shimmering trails of light as they moved. Slowly, the lights began to take shape—one stretched and twisted, forming a bird, its glowing wings flapping as it flew above her head. Another took the form of a fox, its body twisting gracefully as it ran, leaving a bright orange trail behind it.
More shapes followed—a deer leaping gracefully, a butterfly fluttering around her head, its wings glowing softly. Thalai’s eyes shone with wonder as she watched, her small hands reaching up, trying to touch the lights. She giggled softly as they moved, the magic filling her heart with warmth.
Kalean glanced at her, his own heart lifting at the sight of her smile. He moved his hands again, guiding the orbs into new forms—two figures, one tall and one small, standing side by side. Thalai recognized them instantly: her and her father. The sight made her chest tighten, but it wasn’t painful this time. It felt comforting, like holding onto a memory she didn’t want to let go of.
The figures dissolved, and the lights reformed into a bear standing tall, its paws reaching up as if to touch the sky. Thalai giggled again, recognizing herself in the bear. The bear let out a silent roar before it broke apart into a thousand tiny lights, each one drifting down like glowing snowflakes.
Kalean smiled at her, his eyes soft as he watched her reaction. He guided the lights one last time, forming a crown above her head, spinning slowly before settling just above her hair. He gave her a small bow, his eyes twinkling. “For the bravest girl I know,” he said softly.
Thalai looked up, her eyes wide with wonder. She reached up, her fingers brushing the glowing lights, feeling the warmth. She giggled, her face lighting up with pure joy. She looked at Kalean, her eyes shining. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice filled with emotion.
Kalean nodded, his smile gentle. He let the lights linger for a moment longer, then slowly, one by one, they began to fade, the room growing darker until only a single orb remained, hovering between them. He moved closer, kneeling beside her again, the orb casting enough light to see her face clearly.
“You’re not alone, Thalai,” he said quietly. “We’re all in this together, and I promise, I’ll do everything I can to help you find your parents again. Until then, I’m here. I’ll always be here for you.”
Thalai looked at him, her small hand reaching out to take his. He squeezed her hand gently.
----
Thalai lay asleep on Kaelen's chest, her small frame sprawled across him. It was uncomfortable, her limbs flailing as she moved in her sleep, but Kaelen didn’t mind. She was so little, and after everything they had been through, he knew she needed the closeness and security. He forced himself up, ignoring the sharp ache in his legs, cradling her carefully in his arms. She stirred for a moment but then settled against him, her fingers curling into his shirt.
He carried her down the hallway to the room she shared with Julia. The door was slightly ajar, and Kaelen knocked softly to make sure Julia wasn’t inside. When there was no response, he stepped in and gently laid Thalai down on her small bed, tucking the blanket around her. He couldn’t help but notice the faint lines of tension still visible on her face, her brow furrowed even in sleep. The fear hadn’t left her yet, not completely. He sucked in a deep breath, feeling the weight of their situation settle heavily on his shoulders once again. He had promised her they would be safe, but in truth, he had no idea if that was true. He needed to make it so—he needed to find a way.
Breathing out slowly, Kaelen stepped back and quietly left the room. As he made his way back to his own quarters, the exhaustion began to settle into his bones. The events of the past days had left him drained, both physically and mentally. When he reached his room, he looked at the small, worn spellbook on the table, his fingers brushing over the cover briefly. He knew he should be practicing, should be making himself stronger for Thalai and Roran, but his body felt heavy, and his thoughts were blurring with fatigue.
Kaelen sighed and decided that rest, for now, would be the best way to prepare for what lay ahead. He eased himself onto the bed, closing his eyes and letting the tension slowly seep away. As his head hit the pillow, sleep overtook him almost instantly, dragging him under into darkness.
The first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, painting the room in a soft golden glow. Kaelen woke up slowly, the ache in his muscles still present but dulled. He took a moment to stretch, feeling the stiffness in his joints ease slightly with each movement. His mind felt clearer after the sleep—stronger, more focused.
Pushing himself up, he looked around the room. The small spellbook lay on the table, and he felt the familiar tug of determination. He had rested, but now it was time to get back to work. He needed to be stronger, for Thalai, for Julia, and for himself.
Kaelen stood and crossed the room to the desk. He picked up a sheet of paper, taking a deep breath. Since that last fight, he hadn’t taken the time to check if he’d leveled up. A small smile tugged at his lips at the possibility—he could use some good news, something to prove that all the pain and danger they’d been through had led to progress. Maybe—just maybe—there was something waiting for him. If there was even a chance he had gained more power, it would mean one more tool to help protect them.
Walking over to the desk, he grabbed a piece of paper, then searched through his bag for the small gem that had become essential to this process. After rummaging through various odds and ends—half-used chalk, an old piece of bread, and a bundle of worn bandages—he finally felt the familiar cool surface of the gem against his fingertips. He pulled it out carefully, holding it up to inspect it.
The gem was clear, without color, about the size of an acorn. Despite its ordinary appearance, it held immense significance to Kalean. It was his key to understanding the power within him, the same power he was hoping had grown since their last encounter. Raising it to his forehead, he closed his eyes and whispered softly, “Light.”
A small orb of light flickered to life just above his head, bathing the room in a warm glow. He felt the heat on his skin, the warmth spreading to his fingertips, grounding him. The light wasn't just practical—it was a reminder of his growing power, of his own potential.
Kalean took a deep breath, steadying himself as he placed the gem directly against his forehead, feeling the cool surface press into his skin. He whispered again, “Enlightenment.”
For a moment, nothing happened, and his heart skipped a beat in hesitation. But then the gem glowed faintly, a soft shimmer that soon grew brighter, like the first glow of dawn breaking the darkness. He kept his eyes closed as the light spread through the gem, casting soft, radiant patterns that danced across the walls. The gem turned a dull brown color, a sure sign that it had received what it needed. Slowly, Kalean pulled it away from his forehead, breathing out in relief.
He placed the gem down on the sheet of paper and watched as the transformation began. The gem shimmered, seeming to melt and dissolve into the paper as if it were nothing more than a bead of water. Ink spread across the sheet in intricate patterns, forming lines and symbols that moved and shifted until they finally settled into words.
Kalean leaned over the paper, holding his breath as the writing solidified into something readable. He could see the lines shifting, symbols he recognized as a part of the magical rituals he'd studied, finally taking the form of a message:
{Class leveled up Mage Lv 5}
{New Skill Acquired: Arcane Ward (Basic}
{New Spell Acquired: Firebolt (Tier 1)}
{Class leveled up Survivor Lv 1}
{New Skill Acquired: Survival Instinct (Basic)}
[Name: Kalean Storm] [Age: 19]
[Gender: Male] [Race: Deer Beastkin]
[Status: Injured]
[Titles: None]
[Class: Mage Lv 5, Survivor Lv 1]
[Spells: Cantrips: Light, Mage Hand, Minor Illusion Tier 1: Magic Missile, Firebolt]
[Skills: Quick Recall (Basic) Arcane Shield (Basic) Arcane Ward (Basic) Survival Instinct (Basic)]
Looking down at the sheet, Kaelen smiled, satisfaction warming his weary bones. He had grown—his levels had increased, and he had gained a new spell and class. The excitement buzzed through his mind, thoughts racing with a mix of optimism and determination. The new spell was still weak by some standards, but it packed a greater punch than the basic Magic Missile, making it a worthy addition to his arsenal. The skill, Arcane Ward, while simple, was a protective spell—a barrier that could make a big difference in a pinch, shielding him from harm when he needed it most.n\
But Kaelen knew better than to get lost in the allure of new abilities. Skills and spells were like tools; they wouldn't make him stronger unless he worked to master them. Nodding to himself, he set the sheet aside and turned his attention to his worn clothes and boots. Though his body was still sore, his muscles aching from the trials of the last few days, he knew that resting wouldn’t help as much as moving. The potions had healed the worst of the injuries; now, it was up to him to push through the residual stiffness, to let his body learn that it was alright, that it had recovered.
Pulling on his clothes, he winced as the fabric brushed against a particularly tender spot on his shoulder, but he kept moving. He had learned long ago that the best way to recover was to keep going, to push through the discomfort. When the boots were laced and snug, he straightened up, breathing through the dull throb in his side.
Kaelen made his way down the stairs, each step sending a twinge through his legs, but he ignored it, focusing instead on the sounds filtering through the old house. From outside, he could hear the rhythmic clashing of wood—training weapons, perhaps? The noise was familiar, almost comforting. It reminded him of the drills back home, of early mornings spent practicing until every move became second nature.
As Kalean reached the bottom of the stairs, the rich scent of something savory wafted toward him. It was warm and inviting—something with herbs and a hint of spice. His stomach rumbled in response, reminding him that it had been too long since he’d had a proper meal. The exhaustion of the previous days had left him with little appetite, but now the aroma seemed to awaken something within him, and he found himself drawn toward the kitchen.
Turning in that direction, he heard Charlet's voice drifting out, calm but unmistakably firm. “And what do you think you’re doing up?” she asked, turning around with a spoon in one hand. Her eyes had a glint of warning to them, a look that said she wouldn't tolerate any nonsense from him.
Kalean swallowed, smiling nervously as he stepped into the doorway. “I’m feeling a lot better, so I thought I’d move around a bit today?” He tried to sound casual, though there was a slight question in his tone, hoping she wouldn’t command him to bed rest again. Charlet had a way of making her point clear without raising her voice, and he knew better than to test her patience.
Charlet studied him for a moment, her gaze moving from his face to his posture, noting the stiffness in his movements and the slight wince as he shifted his weight. She sighed, her shoulders relaxing as she turned back to the pot on the stove. “You’re not entirely wrong,” she said, her voice carrying a touch of resignation. “Your muscles and wounds—whether healed or not—need some movement. Just don’t overdo it.”
She gestured toward the table with her spoon, her eyes softening. “Come on, sit down and get some breakfast in you. No sense trying to train on an empty stomach.”
Kalean let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, relieved that she hadn’t sent him back to his room. “Thanks, Charlet,” he said gratefully, moving to the table. He pulled out a chair and sank into it, his muscles protesting the movement but loosening slightly as he settled down.
Charlet moved with practiced ease, ladling a hearty stew into a bowl and setting it in front of him. “Eat up,” she said, her voice gentler now. “You’ll need your strength if you plan on moving around today. No skipping meals, you hear me?”
Nodding, he sat down as she served him scrambled eggs with slices of some type of fish, along with a cup of clean water and a piece of hard bread. Digging in, Kalean was surprised by the taste—it was far better than he had expected. The meal was seasoned with rare herbs and salt, a luxury in itself. Each bite confirmed it was no ordinary fare, and his merchant instincts began to take over.
Looking around, he couldn't help but assess the cost of everything in her home. The finely polished charlet sink and stove stood out, both undoubtedly magical artifacts. The cabinets bore delicate inscriptions—preservation enchantments, if he wasn't mistaken—ensuring that perishables stayed fresh far longer than they normally would. Even the bed in the corner, covered with soft, clean sheets made from actual cotton, spoke of a level of wealth and refinement. Nothing in the room was ordinary; everything leaned toward the higher end of quality, close to what a lesser lord might afford.
Kalean’s mind worked quickly, calculating the cost of maintaining such an environment. A meal like this—seasoned with rare herbs and fish—could easily fetch 8 silver coins at an inn, or even more in a landlocked region where fish was a delicacy. The preservation enchantments on the cabinets would cost at least 10 gold coins upfront, though their long-term utility would save on spoiled food. A magic stove? Those weren’t cheap; they sold for around 50 gold coins, often more if custom-made.
The bed, too, wasn’t just any bed. Cotton was rare, often imported, and with the craftsmanship he was seeing, he estimated it would cost 3 gold coins on its own, excluding the sheets and other trappings. Staying in a room outfitted with such luxuries—magical and otherwise—wouldn’t come cheap. The enchantments alone added immense value, not to mention the general upkeep of such a space.
In total, Kalean figured that lodging in a place of this quality, with meals included, would easily cost 2 gold coins per night—perhaps more. For comparison, a more typical inn, providing a basic meal and a straw-filled mattress, would only cost 8 silver coins per night. The stark contrast was striking, and it only deepened his curiosity about who she really was and why she lived in such opulence yet remained so unassuming.
Shaking his head, Kalean sighed. He had no idea how he was going to pay her back. The meal alone was far beyond anything he could currently afford, let alone the kindness she had shown him. Finishing his food, he stood up and carefully placed the dish in the charlet sink. Charlet was already moving about her house, busy with her tasks, so Kalean slipped outside quietly.
On the porch, Julia sat with Thalia, who was playing with her dolls. Kalean smiled softly as Thalia shyly glanced up at him, her small hands clutching one of the dolls tightly. He gave her a nod of acknowledgment before making his way down the steps. His movement was still slightly unsteady, his legs wobbling under him as he adjusted to being up and about.
In the yard below, Jack and Rueben were sparring, the clash of steel against steel echoing through the crisp morning air. Jack was impressive, moving with speed and precision, his strikes quick and rapid like a snake striking its prey. His feet never stayed still, constantly shifting as he lunged and attacked. Rueben, by contrast, was calm and measured. Each of Jack's aggressive blows was casually deflected, his counters executed with an almost lazy effortlessness. Rueben hardly moved, relying on his skill and experience to negate Jack's speed.
Nearby, Rorain sat on the ground, panting and red-faced. A vivid welt marked his cheek—evidence of a recent blow—but his eyes were fixated on the fight, studying every movement with rapt attention. His posture, though weary, was tense, as if mentally replaying his own mistakes.
Kalean watched the sparring with quiet admiration. The exchange between Jack and Rueben was dazzling in its speed and precision, though it only lasted a few seconds. Jack lunged forward, thrusting his spear straight toward Rueben's face in a bold and decisive strike. Rueben countered smoothly, redirecting the blow with a flick of his wrist before stepping into Jack’s space. His sword pressed forward with perfect timing, forcing Jack to retreat or risk being disarmed.
Jack danced back, spinning his spear defensively, his breathing now heavier, his movements slightly less sharp. Rueben didn’t let up. He stepped forward with the same unhurried yet deliberate pace, pressing Jack with a series of precise strikes. Jack tried to deflect one of Rueben's blows with a wide arc, but Rueben seized the opening instantly.
With a fluid motion, Rueben's sword came down in a feint before switching direction mid-swing. The blade stopped just short of Jack's neck, its edge hovering inches from his skin. Jack froze, his chest rising and falling as he panted, the realization of his defeat dawning on him. Rueben stepped back, lowering his blade with a satisfied nod.
“Well done,” Rueben said, his voice calm but firm. “You’re fast, Jack, but speed alone won’t win every fight. Control your movements—don’t overcommit, and always leave yourself a way out.”
Jack nodded, swallowing hard, his expression a mix of frustration and respect. “I’ll work on it.”
Rorain, still seated, let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He quickly stood, stepping forward eagerly. “That was incredible! I think I see what I did wrong earlier.”
Rueben turned to him with a small smile. “Good. Then you’ll have a chance to prove it after you’ve rested.” He glanced toward Kalean, giving him a brief nod of acknowledgment before addressing the others. “Sparring’s over for now. Take a break, hydrate, and reflect on what you’ve learned.”
Kalean watched as Jack lowered his spear, wiping the sweat from his brow with a casual swipe of his hand. Seizing the moment, Kalean approached. Jack glanced up, his sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly before a crooked smile spread across his face.
“Well, look who’s up,” Jack said, his words slow and drawn out, each one carrying a relaxed rhythm. “Figured you’d still be laid up. Feelin’ alright?”
Kalean nodded, studying the man as he spoke. Jack’s voice had an unusual lilt, one Kalean couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t unpleasant, just different—slow and unhurried, like the man had all the time in the world. His words were oddly warm but carried a rugged edge, like a weathered rope that had seen years of use. Kalean didn’t know where Jack had come from, but that voice alone made it clear it wasn’t anywhere nearby.
“Yeah,” Kalean said after a moment. “I’m feeling a lot better. I wanted to thank you for saving us. Without you, we’d have been in serious trouble.”
Jack shifted his stance, leaning the spear against his shoulder as he placed a firm hand on Kalean’s shoulder. “Ain’t nothin’ to thank me for,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “Just did what needed doin’, is all.”
As Jack spoke, Kalean caught a faint scent beneath the musk and sweat—a warm, familiar spice. Cinnamon. His Beastkin nose twitched slightly at the aroma, one he’d come to associate with truthfulness. It wasn’t just words; Jack believed what he was saying. Kalean felt his tension ease as he nodded in response.
“Still,” Kalean said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I wanted to say it anyway. Thank you.” He hesitated for a moment, glancing at the spear Jack carried so effortlessly. “Actually, I came out here because I had a favor to ask.”
Jack raised an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. “Oh yeah? What’s on your mind?”
Kalean shifted, feeling a bit awkward. “Would you mind sparring with me?”