“Wait, so, just what is a Fellbeast again?” Pallas asked.

They’d gotten back to their inn, she and Soleiman having spent the entire walk going over just what hunting down Al-Muqayad entailed while Rumi quietly comforted Qingxi.

“Basically, they’re like extremely powerful spirits,” Soleiman said, closing the door behind him with a click. “Nurtured by Siraj al-Nahr to serve as her boots on the ground.”

“And the Fellbeast just happens to be the last of them, right?”

“Yeah. Who also happens to have its hands on the Artefact of Avarice.”

“How?”

“I’m… not entirely sure,” he responded. “I think it had something to do with a war… or something. I don’t know. And since Master Tasufin didn’t seem to know much either, we’ll have to ask the Shrine for some books or records. Maybe they’ll even be willing to help us.”

“But aren’t Artefact bearers, like… really strong?” Rumi asked.

“Well I’m sure we could figure something out in the six months from now till Mother’s return,” he said.

“What if they don’t want to help us?” she asked.

“We could try doing some mercenary work,” he suggested. “Houzen’s northern reaches are known for the amount of minor beasts they have running around. We could try killing two birds with one stone by helping to clear them out in exchange for assistance with Al-Muqayad.”

“Sounds alright,” Pallas said. “What do you think, Qingxi?”

The Chitite gave no response. Instead she stood still by the wall, her eyes emptily staring at the wooden floor.

“Qingxi?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Fine with me.”

The brief silence that followed weighed far more than it should’ve. The Xiafan Blade still faithfully attached to her hip exuded a gut-wrenching aura, the look of realisation on her face and the words of disbelief she first uttered still burnt into their memories.

“Are…” Rumi started. “Are you okay, Qingxi?”

“I…”

Words eluded her. Or perhaps she eluded words. The pain and confusion and fear that gripped her mind all at once forever freezing her in a state of denial.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I need some time to think.”

“Is there anything we could do to help?” Pallas asked.

She thought about it for a moment, eyes finally drifting off the floor as her mind shifted off of the betrayal.

“Could you buy me some tea, please?”

“Oh,” Rumi said. “Of course we can! How about me and Soleiman go shopping while Pallas watches over you?”

“It is the perfect time for an afternoon nap,” Pallas added.

“Alright,” Qingxi responded. “Sure.”

Sometime later, Rumi and Soleiman found themselves staring at a list of groceries Qingxi had written for them. With the quiet forest wind slowly blowing past them as they stood just beyond the boundaries of Aqsa al-Gharb, Rumi read the list out aloud.

Coffee (for Pallas), as many tea varieties as you can find (for me), ginger, turmeric, cinnamon (for when it gets cold), honeysuckle and forsythia (for colds), Edenberries and dried orange peels (for emergencies).

“Well,” Soleiman said, his mind still taking in the information. “That’s quite the list.”

“Mm,” Rumi hummed. “But it’s the least we can do to help her.”

“Oh, I mean, yeah,” he was quick to respond. “I wasn’t complaining, I was just a little taken off guard, you know?”

“Oh right, sorry.”

“No worries,” he responded, huffing a little at the awkwardness of the situation. “Okay, so, we should plan this out to try and save time. Which one do you want to get first?”

“Uhm, well,” she responded. “I think we should get the Edenberries last, since they’re the most precious…”

“Mhm,” he hummed, encouraging her.

“The rest, though… uh…”

“Okay, what we can do is ask Master Tasufin for a nearby herbalist and coffee shop,” he said. “Then we can decide which one to go to first. Does that sound good to you?”

“Mm! Yeah.”

“Alright then!” He said, tugging the straps of his bag and adjusting it upon his back. “Let’s go!”

Rumi rolled the list up with her one hand, stuffing it into her purse, her eyes fixed on him as he stared down the path to Aqsa al-Gharb.

And she felt a flutter within her chest.

“You’re so smart, Soleiman,” she blurted, the compliment ending almost as abruptly as it began.

“Nn? Oh,” he responded, taking a moment to process the sudden jab of affection.

“T-thanks,” he stuttered, feeling pain more than anything. Of course, he knew his smarts wasn’t the only thing about him she liked. Probably. But every time she brought it up it made him all the more paranoid of the day he would inevitably disappoint her; with one mistake or another.

They carried on in silence, making their way up the winding hill-climbing path until they eventually arrived at the gates of their destination.

There, he took her hand in his, the two of their only functional arms now intertwined with each other.

“Stay tight, okay?” He said. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Mm,” she hummed, squeezing her grip in turn. “Okay.”

They continued on, making their way into the town and onto its knobbly rock roads. Interestingly enough, even though they’d taken the same path as they had earlier that day, many of the homeless people once there were now absent. Whether they had decided to disappear into the abandoned homes lining the broken street or if they’d left for somewhere else was impossible to tell.

It was almost tranquil, given that the two of them were the only ones walking the street.

Or, so it would’ve been, if not for the fact that Soleiman’s heart refused to calm down- pounding in his chest like the thundering of a war drum. He’d known Rumi well enough by now and had done enough things with her to not get shy around her. Yet still, somehow or rather, there was something different about the way they held hands. Different from back in Minerva, when they encountered the second ataphoi.

Maybe it was the peace, how it made them so hyper aware of each other’s presences. Maybe not. Soleiman was just glad his brown skin did well to hide his blush; though he still dared not glance at Rumi lest he give it away.

Though he couldn’t bear it much longer.

With the warm light of the afternoon sky shining against their backs, their shadows cast before them upon the path, they soon crossed the house where they’d encountered the hustler. Still a little shaken by the initial meeting, Rumi pulled Soleiman to the opposite side of the street, giving it a wide berth.

Though, nobody came.

Not that they were complaining.

“Hey, Rumi,” Soleiman said, still a little unsure if he wanted to go through with what he was going to say.

“Hmm?”

“I, uhm…”

She turned to look at him, her golden irises boring into his, her head tilted to the side and her face making that soft, comforting look it always did. A look that always got him.

“Ah, well, nevermind.”

“What?” Rumi dragged the word out. “What is it, Soleiman? You can tell me anything, you know.”

“No, it’s just that…”

She stopped, pulling him to a screeching halt as well, blocking off any means of escape. Then, she tugged on his arm, placing her fingerless palm on his shoulder.

“Yes?”

She must’ve known. Right? She was acting way too directly for her to be completely oblivious to the palpable tension in the air. The tension of their pounding hearts, of their flushed faces.

Yeah. Yeah. Just say it. She did give you that sunflower, didn’t she?

“Is this a date?”

Her eyebrows jumped up slightly, and she shifted back just a tad bit.

Uh oh.

Maybe the sunflower was platonic? Had she done the same for Pallas and Qingxi and he just hadn’t known?

He saw it. How it all came crashing down. Months of work and emotional investment, of taking care of her as well as he could, of ensuring she could best experience what life truly had to offer. To experience what had been stolen from her by Lord Gravitas.

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And it all culminated in one awkward, blazing, dumpster fire.

“W-well,” she replied, stuttering slightly. “Would… you like it to be one?”

Nope, scratch that. He was in the clear!

“Yes!” He almost shouted, bringing up his blackened and charred right arm so he could clutch Rumi’s with both hands. “Yes, please. There is nothing more I could hope for.”

H…huh?

Part of Rumi couldn’t believe what was happening. Another part of her, though, was manic. That after all the months of loving, caring, and comforting him, she was finally starting to see the fruits of her labour. A labour of love.

Strange, it was. She didn’t know how it started. Perhaps their casual kindness towards each other lit the kindling that would eventually blossom into the fire of mutual affection. Maybe it was the other way around, and they’d already had an interest in each other that prompted both of them towards seeking a closer relationship.

But that didn’t matter now. Because now, they were on a date.

“Then,” she said softly, lashes downcast. “A date it is.”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment. The earthen browns of Soleiman’s showing in the brilliant golds of Rumi’s, and vice versa; mirroring the partnership between the radiant afternoon sky and the tree-covered hills of Houzen.

…

“We… we should keep going,” Soleiman eventually said.

“Oh! Right,” Rumi replied. “Yes, wouldn’t want to be late.”

At some point, they must’ve taken a wrong turn. Which was frankly appalling, given that they’d been walking in silence for the past few minutes, with literally nothing to distract them.

Well, nothing aside from each other.

The houses that surrounded them on both sides looked nothing like those that led the way to Master Tasufin’s tower, and the streets snaked and slithered in directions entirely alien to them. And though they tried denying it at first, it eventually became evident enough that they had no idea where they were, or where they were headed.

“We might be lost,” Rumi said, stating the obvious.

“Yeah, no, we’re definitely lost,” Soleiman replied.

They stopped in their tracks, turning around to try and take stock of their surroundings. Any landmarks? Familiar buildings? Perhaps they recognised the streets they’d taken to get here?

Nope.

“Bollocks,” he said.

“Should we ask the locals?” She asked.

“I don’t think we have any other choice.”

Walking up to a house that looked like it was in decent enough shape, Soleiman knocked on its wooden door, Rumi half-hidden behind him.

After some time, a lady appeared in the doorway, a headscarf hastily thrown about her head.

“Can- oh,” she said, abruptly pausing midway as her eyes landed on Soleiman, widening slightly. “Sorry, can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Soleiman said. “Do you know where-”

Wait a minute. They could just ask them where the nearest herbalist and coffee shop was directly.

“-the uh, the nearest herbalist and coffee shop is?”

“Herbalist and coffee shop, you say?”

“Yes, Madame.”

“Oh, it’s just up that way,” she said, pointing in the direction they’d come from. “Head up the street and turn right, continuing along until you get to the large four story tower.”

“Master Tasufin’s tower?”

“Yes, that one,” she said. “Just down the street from him is where the nearest coffee shop will be. The herbalist’s just a ways further down the street from there, closer to the town centre.”

“Ahh, okay,” Soleiman said. “Thank you!”

“No worries,” she replied, waving them goodbye as she closed the door.

“Alright, so they’re both just back up the way we came, and then right,” he said, backing away from the doorway as he turned to relay the information to Rumi. Just in case he’d missed anything. “And they’re also really close to Master Tasufin, too.”

“Oh, okay-”

“Sorry, hold on a minute,” the lady suddenly said, reappearing as she swiped the door open. “Miss, do you happen to be a Solean?”

“Y-yes, Madame.”

“Really?” She asked excitedly, swinging the door open a little bit more. “What’re you doing here? We don’t get Soleans very often.”

“Oh, uh,” Rumi said, exchanging glances with Soleiman. “We’re here on holiday. We just needed to take a quick stop to shop around for missing supplies.”

“Oh, wow,” the lady said. She yelled back into the house, calling for a ‘honey’ to come have a look at the two of them. “What kind of holiday?”

“Uhm… a honeymoon?”

Soleiman jolted slightly, though the lady didn’t seem to notice.

“What?” A man suddenly asked, appearing just behind the lady.

“Look,” she whispered. “She’s a Solean. And they’re on a honeymoon together!”

“A honeymoon?”

The man’s eyes bulged with shock, a mild smile forming on his face as his eyes flicked back and forth between the three of them in disbelief.

Seeing as she nodded, he laughed, extending a hand out the door to shake Soleiman’s hand.

“Well done, young man,” he said.

“Uh. Thank you, Sir.”

“Say,” the lady asked. “Would you two dears be willing to join us for a spot of tea?”

Soleiman and Rumi exchanged glances again. Each a little unsure of how to respond.

Though, given how eager the couple looked, they were hard pressed to say no.

Thus, then, did they rope them into their warm abode.

Slipping off their shoes at the entranceway, they made their way into the cosy interior, lit by oil lamps and draped with deeply coloured rugs. The walls, having been fashioned out of uneven clay concrete, gave the impression that they were within a secure little cave; perfectly furnished and elaborately decorated. The main room they were in had a small dining table large enough to seat a small family for a centrepiece, framed at the sides by stairs leading up to the second floor and a miniature kitchen just small enough to not take up more than half of the entire floorspace.

The two of them sat themselves down at the dining table, admiring a cutesy little succulent and its equally adorable ceramic pot that had been placed in the centre.

The wife prepared for them a fresh brew of chamomile tea while the husband went about grabbing a few pieces of sourdough stowed away in a wicker basket upon the kitchen counter. All the while Rumi and Soleiman sat in awkward silence, entirely overtaken by the sudden, unprovoked show of hospitality.

“You said we were on a honeymoon?” Soleiman whispered to her, his heart having still not fully recovered from skipping a beat. A couple of beats, actually.

“Well,” she whispered back. “I panicked, okay?”

“That’s alright, that’s alright,” he reassured her. “I’m fine with it, actually. Just a little amused.”

“Mm,” Rumi hummed.

Eventually, the couple had everything in order, and the two of them found themselves treated to a combination of fresh, hot tea and the classic combination of bread and butter.

“So,” the lady began, Soleiman and Rumi watching her silently as they sipped on tea and chomped on buttered bread respectively. “My name is Mirete, and his name is Abrahen. But you can call us Mr and Mrs Ebeid, if you’d like.”

Soleiman put down his cup, Rumi’s mouth still stuffed with way more bread than she could feasibly chew on.

“Nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Ebeid,” he said. “I’m Soleiman, and my…” he trailed off, remembering the ‘honeymoon’ remark. “My wife here is Rumi.”

Her heart fluttered a little when those words left his mouth.

The lady seemed to notice the hesitation, laughing slightly but ultimately keeping it to herself.

“What lovely names you two have,” she said, pausing to take a sip of tea. “How did you meet?”

“Well, uh,” he said, struggling to come up with a story.

“We met in Meraldo,” Rumi said, cutting in to rescue him. “I work at my parents’ furniture shop there and he was a travelling merchant. He decided to take a look inside, and, well…”

“You can see where that went,” Soleiman said.

“I can indeed,” she said.

“How old are you two?” Mr Ebeid asked. “You don’t look like you’re at the age where people usually own shops and go travelling.”

“I’m seventeen, and she’s sixteen, Sir,” he said plainly.

Seeing the shock in their eyes, though, made him wish he’d lied.

“What?” Mrs Ebeid said in disbelief, dragging the syllable out. “You’re only seventeen? We had a son that age!”

“Oh, uh-”

Wait. Had?

“Sorry, what do you mean, had?”

“Oh,” the lady said, the cheery mood that just moments prior had lit the atmosphere suddenly dissipating; the face of Mr Ebeid slowly sinking into the shadows in the corner of their eyes.

“We had a son,” he said, voice grim and grizzly. Recounting times long since past. “But we lost him just before he turned eighteen.”

“Oh,” Soleiman replied. “I’m sorry for asking.”

“No,” Mr Ebeid replied. “Don’t worry about it. That was a long, long time ago.”

“Went out into the woods one day to collect timber,” he added, the memories of their last farewell flooding through mind. “And he never returned.”

“We tried filing a report to the Shrine,” Mrs Ebeid added. “But they said they couldn’t find any traces of him.”

“Oh…”

The two of them didn’t really know what to say.

“But, nevermind that,” Mr Ebeid said, decidingly cheering up again. “You two are here on your honeymoon, right? Let’s not let the past bring you down.”

“Mm,” Rumi hummed.

“Say, what were you looking for again?”

“A coffee shop and a herbalist, Sir,” Soleiman said.

“Did you direct them to the one near Master Tasufin?” He asked his wife.

“Yeah, why?”

“That one’s closed, dear,” he said, chuckling slightly.

“Really?” She replied, drawing the single syllable out in sheer disbelief. “What happened to them?”

“They missed their debt payment,” he said. “Though they claim they sent it on time and actually it was the Shrine who were late on collecting it.”

“And so they just shut them down?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “They decided it wasn’t worth the hassle and have moved out since.”

“That sounds like a pretty horrendous oversight on the part of the Shrine,” Soleiman said.

“It is!” Mr Ebeid said, rising from his seat slightly. “That isn’t all, though. You know how there’s so many abandoned homes out in the outskirts?”

“Yeah, why?”

“The reason they’re abandoned is because people cannot afford the money it takes to maintain them,” he said, promptly sitting himself back down and tucking his chair in a bit so he could lean closer. “The Shrine insisted we use the same expensive technology like the one used in Master Tasufin’s tower everywhere else, even though people were concerned with being able to cover the maintenance costs. And when the lower earning families inevitably began struggling financially, instead of just coughing up the coin, the Kitsunites decided to create a ‘Gharb token’.”

“A… what token?”

“It’s like a copper coin, except it can be equated to gold in terms of value,” he said. “But get this– only here!”

The man nearly jumped back out of his seat with that exclamation.

“Why though?” Soleiman asked.

“I don’t know!” He threw his arms up into the air. “And guess what? It just ended up flooding the local economy and tanking actual gold coins, so even middle earning families were hit too!”

“Well, damn.”

“Now people are beginning to leave for the countryside again, since the tax there is more lenient and there’s more autonomy.”

He picked up his cup of tea, taking a long drag to soothe his throat after the ranting escapade he had just went on.

“Though I’ve heard even that’s changing, what with the Shrine sending out scouts to try and bring the outback to heel.”

The sound of spittle splattering against slick stone and the scorching scowl of the homeless man they’d met when they entered the town for the first time flashed through their minds.

Soleiman and Rumi’s eyes met but briefly, their shared thoughts each confirming the other. Perhaps they’d have a talk with the Head Maiden once they got back and Qingxi started feeling better.