Sol stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the spot where Elara’s figure had vanished into the darkness. The stillness of the night pressed around him. He shook his head, trying to clear the strange fog of emotions that lingered from their encounter.

“That was… weird,” he muttered under his breath.

Pulling his coat tighter against the cold, he turned and walked back to his modest home. The familiar creak of the door greeted him as he stepped inside, the chill following him in. He rubbed his hands together briskly, chasing away the numbness before heading to the small pot of stew he had prepared that morning. It had grown cold, but he didn’t care. Scooping a portion into a bowl, he sat down and began to eat quickly, more out of habit than hunger.

The food did little to settle his mind. The encounter played over and over in his head, the soft cadence of her voice, the way she had lingered by the fire scarred rock, and the faint amusement in her eyes when she had teased him. Her question echoed, “Aren’t you going to ask my name?”

He set the bowl down, barely halfway through, and leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “Who was she really?” he wondered aloud. Her presence was so out of place in his simple, quiet world, yet somehow, she had fit there, even for just a fleeting moment.

As he lay down on his small bed, pulling the rough blanket over himself, he couldn’t help but feel a strange tug at his chest. Sleep came slowly that night, his mind unable to let go of the image of her by the river, her voice soft yet commanding, her presence both unsettling and oddly comforting.

The shrill cry of the rooster pierced the silence of the early morning, pulling Sol from his restless sleep. He sat up groggily, blinking at the faint outline of the window. Beyond the glass, the world was still cloaked in darkness, the pale hints of dawn nowhere in sight.

With a sigh, he swung his legs off the bed and stood, stretching out the stiffness in his limbs. His small house was quiet save for the soft creaks of the wooden floor beneath his feet. It was the same routine as every other day, yet today felt different, though he couldn’t quite place why.

He moved mechanically, gathering his sparse belongings to begin his morning chores. First, he lit the small hearth and prepared his food. The familiar scent of porridge soon filled the room, comforting in its simplicity. As it cooked, he went down to the river to clean himself. The chill of the water stung his skin, but it did the job, leaving him feeling more awake.

Drying off with an old cloth, Sol’s thoughts wandered back to the strange encounter by the river the night before. The memory of the woman’s voice, soft yet filled with quiet command, lingered in his mind. Why had she come here of all places? And why had she spoken to me?

He shook his head sharply, trying to brush away the lingering questions.

By the time he finished preparing his meal, the faint glow of dawn was beginning to creep over the horizon, and Sol stepped outside to greet the day, determined to lose himself in the rhythm of his work.

As Sol stepped outside, the crisp morning air filled his lungs, clearing the remnants of sleep from his mind. He pulled his coat tighter against the chill and adjusted the strap of his satchel. But as he turned toward the path leading to the restaurant, he froze mid-step.

There she was.

Elara sat at the same spot by the river where she had been the previous night. Her silhouette was framed by the pale morning light, her delicate features just visible in the dim dawn. She sat with a natural poise, her hands resting lightly in her lap, her head tilted as if lost in thought. The sight was so unexpected, Sol blinked several times, convinced he was imagining it.

The faint crunch of his boots on the dirt must have caught her attention, for she turned to look at him. Her expression was calm, composed, and yet holding a trace of something he couldn’t name.

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“Good morning,” she said, her voice soft, carrying easily across the quiet.

Sol opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wasn’t sure what to say. After a moment, he managed a faint, “Morning… Miss.”

She smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re up early.”

“I always am,” he replied, his voice cautious. “The day won’t wait, after all.”

Elara nodded, as if his answer amused her. “Practical. I like that.”

Sol shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to do. He had never entertained a guest, let alone one as mysterious and out of place as her. Why was she here? How long had she been sitting there? The questions swirled in his mind, but he didn’t dare ask.

“You seem surprised to see me,” she said, breaking the silence.

“Well… I wasn’t expecting anyone,” he admitted, glancing toward the river, then back at her. “This isn’t exactly a popular spot.”

Elara laughed softly, a sound as fleeting as the breeze. “That’s why I like it. It’s quiet. Peaceful.” Her gaze drifted toward the water, her eyes distant.

and then her expression flickered, a shadow of something heavy passing through her features, but she quickly masked it. “Never mind,” she said, her tone light again. She turned her attention back to him. “Do you mind if I stay here a while longer?”

Sol shook his head. “It’s not my place to say who can or can’t sit here,” he said honestly, though he added, almost as an afterthought, “But you might get cold.”

Elara glanced at the horizon, where the sun was beginning to rise, casting its faint warmth. “I’ll be fine,” she replied, a hint of stubbornness in her tone.

Sol nodded, unsure what else to say. As he stood there, the strange sight of her presence began to feel oddly normal, as if she belonged to the quiet morning just as much as the river or the trees. With a slight bow, he said, “I should get to work. Have a good day, Miss.”

She didn’t respond right away, her gaze still fixed on the water. As he began to walk away, her voice reached him, quiet but firm.

“Sol.” she said, her tone carrying a quiet authority that left no room for argument. “I spoke to Garrick, and he said you’re to assist me today.”

Sol blinked, startled. “Assist you? With what?”

She clasped her hands lightly in front of her, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I need to prepare a gift for my father’s upcoming birthday. It’s an important occasion, and I’ll need your help for the next few days.”

Sol’s confusion deepened. His brows furrowed as he asked, “But… who’ll be at the restaurant? If I’m not there….”

“I’m sure Garrick can manage without you for a while,” Elara interrupted, her tone matter-of-fact but not unkind. “He didn’t seem too concerned when I spoke to him.”

Sol hesitated. The idea of leaving his post, even temporarily, felt strange. He had grown so accustomed to his routine that the mere thought of breaking it unsettled him. “But I don’t understand… why me? I’m sure there are others who….”

“You’re the one I chose,” she said simply, her gaze steady.

That answer only left him more perplexed, but he didn’t press further. Arguing seemed pointless, especially when Garrick himself had already agreed. With a resigned sigh, he nodded. “Alright, if that’s what Sir Garrick said…”

Elara’s smile widened, a spark of satisfaction lighting her eyes. “Good. We’ll start immediately. There’s much to do, and I’d rather not waste time.”

Sol adjusted the strap of his satchel, still feeling the weight of the unexpected situation. He couldn’t help but glance back at the restaurant in the distance, wondering what exactly he’d just gotten himself into. “What kind of gift are we making?” he asked cautiously.

Elara turned, beginning to walk down the path with an elegant ease. Over her shoulder, she said, “You’ll see soon enough.”

Sol trailed behind her, his mind swirling with uncertainty. He couldn’t shake the nagging doubt that tugged at him. After a moment of silence, he cleared his throat and spoke, his voice tentative yet firm.

“Miss, I don’t mean to doubt you,” he began carefully, “but I’ll need to confirm this with Sir Garrick. At least once. I have to make sure he’s truly given his permission.”

Elara stopped abruptly, turning to face him. Her expression was calm, but her raised brow suggested mild amusement. Without a word, she reached into the folds of her cloak and pulled out a small object.

It gleamed in the early light—a finely crafted emblem, unmistakable in its detail. The intricate sigil of House Helvig was carved into it, its design radiating authority and importance. She held it up for him to see, her hand steady and confident.

“You still don’t believe me?” she asked, her tone light yet carrying an undertone of challenge.

Sol’s eyes widened as he recognized the emblem. It was a mark of unquestionable influence, something only those of the highest station in the Helvig household would possess. He swallowed hard, suddenly feeling the weight of her station more acutely than ever.

“I…” He trailed off, his uncertainty now replaced by unease. If she had that emblem, there was no questioning her authority.

Elara’s lips curved into a faint smile, but her gaze remained sharp. “There’s no need to trouble Garrick,” she said. “This should be proof enough, don’t you think?”

Sol nodded slowly, his earlier protests dying on his tongue. “Yes, Miss,” he murmured.

“Good,” she said, tucking the emblem back into her cloak. Without waiting for further comment, she turned and began walking again, her steps as graceful as ever.

Sol hesitated for a moment before following. The emblem had left no room for doubt, but its presence only deepened the mystery. What exactly had he just agreed to?