Ophelia stared out the window. “I have to get there and save the other children.”

Quentin took the cookie that Ophelia held and placed it back on the tray. He held her cold hands and brought her close to the fireplace. “I know how much this pains you, but you must rest now. You won’t be of much help to them in this state.”

Ophelia didn't move. A few moments passed before she forced herself from the window, wincing, and allowed Quentin to guide her through the passageway and up the stairs. He thought that Ophelia glanced at the state of his room, suddenly feeling shy but trying to reassure himself that he was a tidy innkeeper: he made sure that his bed was made every dusk before he spilled out of his room. Quentin’s keys jangled and glowed again. Only briefly this time, and he didn’t need to see the trail of glowing light to know that Ophelia would be staying just next door to Lyke. She smiled at the room, calling it charming and quaint. He brought her a basin of fresh water, clean towels, and custard bread for the night. She smiled and thanked him before retiring.

That night in his bed, Quentin could not sleep. He stood up, sweeping the floors and mopping the boot stains and scorch marks off the floor.

___

He sat with Ophelia at dusk, looking at the lantern posts glow brighter. They town crier brought news that the greedy Gul was harassing the nuns and wanted to confiscate the land. He planned to question all of Ophelia’s powerless sisters, but Mother Cassandra made it clear that all the responsibility and blame should fall on her.

Ophelia was digging her fingers on her thighs, squeezing. She frowned, thinking of a plan. She went out once it was dark enough and returned with a scroll. They had means of corresponding in secret, she told Quentin.

“The soldiers are taking the other students marked with good enough scores. Mother Cassandra is pleading an audience with the district’s governing red priest, the one higher than the Gul. You'll spot them by the fancy feathery head gears they wear, the pompous Shuuls.” She crumpled the parchment and fed it to the fire. “The good news is that this higher-ranking Shuul does not care for the nunnery at all and says that there are better selections from other breeds, either from the children of prisoners of war or the kingdom’s own stock.” Ophelia made an irritated noise. "Good news, indeed. Tonight, they will round up the students as retaliation. Just so the Gul can comfort his pride and teach us a lesson. I can't let that happen.” She told Quentin of her plans.

“My inn will be waiting.” Quentin nodded after analyzing her plans.

The candles glowed and the door opened slightly before locking again. The inn agreed.

The stars were unusually bright that evening. It was such a contrast to the chaos happening in the nunnery. Red lanterns have begun to trail up Gorrimer Hill. All the windows and doors of the cottages nearby were locked. The children and the nuns protecting them at the nunnery must be terrified.

Ophelia whispered a prayer to the goddess Yrnhaela. “If you're still listening in your throne up in the heavens, here my plea.” She breathed, and her eyes and staff glowed softly for a moment. She nodded at Quentin before she went out into the night, the wind howling, her white robes like starlight, flapping. She raised her staff high and spoke a language that Quentin fully understood. “Let the light of the heavens fill the night!”

Ophelia summoned great beams of light, like a great pillar of starlight in a distance not far from the inn. Some of the red lanterns stopped and he heard red soldiers bark orders. Ophelia blew a long breath, shoulders shaking, and gritted her teeth. She summoned yet other smaller beams of light that caused wreckage nearby. Quentin heard the sound of splinters, like trees falling to the ground. She must be destroying their stations, he thought. It would cut off their supplies.

Ophelia fell to the ground, sweating and panting. Smoke was coming out of her crystal. The light from her staff flickered. Quentin pushed five cookies into her hand and she brought them one by one into her mouth. The theory was right. The crystal glowed bright again. Determined but cautious, the mighty cleric directed this last beam of light at a far greater distance. The soldiers froze and split their numbers further, chasing after the marble pillars like bugs to fire.

Quentin grabbed Ophelia's shoulders and pulled her inside as the soldiers ran through the streets. He pressed five more cookies onto her palm.

“No way a single cleric could have done this on her own! They’re staging a rebellion!”

“There aren’t enough clerics or white mages around you fool! And we know that was a high-level spell.”

They kept swearing and yelling as they barreled down the street. Ophelia smiled as she dusted the crumbs off her robes. “It’s just like old times.” She winked at Quentin and sprinted towards Gorrimer Convent.

___

Quentin waited by the door, staring at the fireplace. He kept peeking outside. The red lanterns have left the hill’s path, at least. Without meaning to, his eyes grew heavy as he stared into the embers. He fell into a vision.

Bright, beautiful, twinkling gods sat on a table laughing and dining. They clinked their golden goblets and fed on plump grapes served on silver platters. They drank luminous wine. Others turned towards him and mocked him, waving their hands as if dismissing him. But they were stared down by two goddesses and some other, dimmer gods. These two women, faceless, wearing perfect robes of silk and leaves walked towards him and offered him their hands.

He was pulled from the vision by loud banging on the door. Quentin jumped, thinking it was his door, but the inn would not let him out. Outside, red soldiers were harassing the cottages in this street.

“Let me reveal myself to them.” The inn did not budge, but the innkeeper placed his palm on the door and whispered, “Please.”

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The door swung open. Quentin ran outside and hid in the shadows. The red soldiers were screaming at the parents he saw days back, even threatening them with a small spark of flame. They wanted to know if they were sheltering Ophelia.

Quentin bent low and threw a large rock at the man. One of the red soldiers crumpled to the ground. Quentin was about to retreat inside when he saw Ophelia’s unmistakable white robes and a group of her students rushing to his inn. He wasn’t sure if she had the strength to take on a red soldier directly, so he begged the inn to permit him a couple more steps outside.

Quentin felt the bindings on him loosen and stepped out into the cold wind, throwing another rock at the soldier’s companion.

“You, stop!” The red soldier summoned a fireball and charged at him. The family locked their doors.

Quentin dove into an alleyway. Somehow, he knew to hide in the shadows. He did not speak and blended well in the darkness. Ophelia’s little ghost friend, he thought. When the red soldier cast his odd flame to light the path, he saw that it was another dead end. He did not see nor feel Quentin as he snuck past. It turned out that he didn’t need to run back. The howling wind carried his body halfway to the front door. Ophelia and the rest of her students were almost near. To his surprise, Lyke was there at the doorway. In his hand was a rock.

“Duck!” He yelled to Quentin. Quentin did, and the rock flew past him, and the red soldier behind him crumpled the ground. But the ball of flame he had summoned landed neatly on Quentin’s leg, tripping him. He winced as he felt the flame eat his skin.

“Quentin!” Ophelia yelled.

She grabbed him by the arms and pulled him inside. He saw there was another woman with Ophelia, but she nodded at her and ran back towards Gorrimer Hill. He stood and locked the door, panting.

“How many times have we stayed behind this door so breathless?” he said weakly to Ophelia.

“Your leg. Here, be still.” Ophelia’s staff glowed. She shook her head. “I’m going to need another vial. I’ll beg or steal if I have to. You stay put while I–” she gasped as Quentin’s skin began to stitch itself back together.

It looked like it had never been burned. “You’re getting powerful,” he commented, smiling.

Ophelia did not return the smile. “I am depleted.” She looked at the innkeeper. “Either it was a very weak fireball from an inexperienced red soldier, or you simply have been blessed by your patron deity. You lucky boy.”

Quentin did not have time to process that. In front of him were boys and girls of varying ages and conditions. Their eyes were wide and wary, looking at the inn, at each other, at their Sister Ophelia, at Lyke, and at Quentin. They all wore the same old tunic and simple pants or skirts. They clutched each other as more red soldiers caused a scene outside.

Ophelia cleared her throat. “This is the nice innkeeper I told you about. He’s the one that baked cookies for all of you.”

They huddled together, but Quentin could see some of them relax. Somehow, the noise from outside diminished. He snapped his fingers, remembering. “Who wants cookies?”

Ophelia helped him warm the cookies by the fireplace. He told the children to sit at the tables as he brought out fresh ale, basins of water, towels, and bowls. Lyke and the older teens helped the younger kids wipe their faces. They comforted them, telling them they were safe. Once the smell of cookies wafted, they all closed their eyes and welcomed the pleasant smell. Quentin thought that this inn wouldn't be complete without other people. It came alive when he wanted to do something helpful for others and as others influenced him. He warmed some thick milk near the fireplace and added fresh water, so they all could dunk cookies in their bowls. It was less creamy, but they wouldn't mind.

Lyke was the tallest amongst them and Quentin saw who appeared to be his closest friend by his side.

“He’s a natural leader,” Quenit observed. He and Ophelia were behind the bar, listening to the delightful sounds of children giggling and biting into soft bread.

Ophelia whispered. “Lyke is the child of a prisoner of war that my husband contained. Leaders of a rebellion.” She closed her eyes. “We vowed to protect him. I even thought of raising him as our own. He's a strong, soft boy. If only his parents could see him now.”

“Does he know?” Quentin asked.

Ophelia looked down. She whispered, “Not yet.”

___

Ophelia healed them one by one. The children looked at her like sunflowers following the morning sun. Ophelia told Quentin they had to distract and ambush some soldiers in the dark and knock them out as they escaped. The woman she was with helped. The inn filled with warm light and cool wind as Ophelia calmed their bruises. Fortunately, they didn’t suffer any major injuries.

Quentin offered them lodging upstairs. As Ophelia helped them settle in, Quentin wiped the mess off every table. He washed the bowls and mugs of ale. He swept and mopped the floors. He stoked the fireplace and snuffed out some candles. When he had finished, he turned to see the cleric looking serenely at him.

“Do you not get lonely?”

“I do not. But it feels nice to have a guest. Several of them.” He nodded at her. “You should get some rest. You earned it.”

They did not wait long to hear the news. Come the morning, the red soldiers have left the nunnery and decided to investigate the rouge light beams from last night. They did not assume that it was Ophelia for she was just an unpromoted cleric, and even if she was a holy white mage, she couldn’t have wielded the power to summon several beams of light in quick succession. They did not suspect Cassandra either because she had an audience with both the Gul and Shuul that night. As for the children, the higher-ranking Shuul could not have cared less. The nunnery was left alone and the lesser Gul was reprimanded and moved to another district.

Ophelia breathed out a sigh of relief. Lyke hummed a tune in the dining room and the other children followed him. Ophelia tried not to cry as they sang about freedom and hope. Quentin let the melody stay in the air. He remembered Ophelia's adventures of merrymaking, of tankard-clinking and boot-stomping. He smiled. That would be a nice scene.

Later, Ophelia hopped outside to gather more news. She returned with a letter from the upper tier, stating the Gorrimer Convent was officially ordered to be left undisturbed. All of them clapped. Quentin and Ophelia stood next to each other as the children chased each other, only protesting when they began to jump onto the tables. They retired inside their quarters for just one more night as the sisters of the convent cleaned last evening's chaos.

Ophelia woke them at dawn, her white robes glistening in the sun. She ushered them out, and Quentin felt light as each of their sweet little faces thanked him as they went through the door. One of them even called him Uncle Tintin. Ophelia hugged Quentin tightly. She patted his cheek. Lyke led the others back up the hill while she guided them from the rear. Before they traveled far, a man from this neighborhood greeted her.

To both their surprise, he greeted Quentin as well. “Good day, young man. You’re a new face.” His eyes looked at the inn’s sign. “That’s a rather curious name for an inn. I don’t remember…” but then his eyes glazed over and he shrugged. “It’s nice to have inns around these parts, don’t you agree? Maybe I can come by this evening.”

Quentin blinked. It took him a moment before responding, “Happy to have you.”

The man smiled and walked off, whistling, gossiping to the other neighbors about the pillars of light. Ophelia traded stunned looks with Quentin before smiling widely. “Looks like you’ll have your hands full now. Good luck, Uncle Tintin. Innkeeper of Hepfin’s Cradle.”

That afternoon, before he retired to bed, Quentin felt a strong pull from Emralle’s chamber. There, on the ornate soilbed, were plenty of parsnips, oats, barley, and rye. It was more than enough to make stews and pottages.