The Festival of Breath was only a few days away, and Lady Marcelline could already feel the tension building in the air. She sat alone in her study, the warm light of the fireplace flickering across her elegant features, casting long shadows against the deep mahogany walls. Before her lay several scrolls, each marked with the intricate sigils of Valarian’s most powerful families, and beside them, the Leviathan’s Ledger—her most prized possession, the source of her meticulous planning and careful manipulation.
Outside the towering windows, the moonlight bathed the city of Valarian in a pale, silvery glow. From here, she could see the streets coming alive in anticipation of the festival. Pavilions were being constructed, banners strung between towering buildings, and merchants from every corner of Udanara arrived with their wares. To the citizens, it was a time of joy and celebration. But to Marcelline, the festival was something far more significant. It was an opportunity—a delicate chess game played across three days, where every move, every word, and every gift was a calculated act of power.
She took a slow sip of her wine, her thoughts drifting as she reviewed the machinations she had set into motion.
The first day of the festival, the Day of Trade, would be key. It was when the nobility and wealthy merchants would present their wealth and generosity to the masses, hosting lavish pavilions and feasts that would be talked about for months. It was also when the most lucrative and subtle alliances were formed, hidden behind the guise of friendly exchanges and business deals. She had already planted her seeds there. The Valcrest family’s pavilion would be the largest, the most grandiose—a show of dominance to remind the lesser houses of their place. But it wasn’t the size of the pavilion that mattered. It was the deals that would be whispered behind closed doors, the promises exchanged over fine wines and rare delicacies.
Marcelline had carefully chosen which merchants to align herself with this year, favoring those who had fallen out of favor with the other noble families. She knew they would be eager for her patronage, desperate to return to the good graces of Valarian’s elite. In exchange for her support, she would gain exclusive access to their networks, ensuring that the Valcrest family’s influence spread not just through Udanara, but beyond its borders. These alliances would be the foundation of her plans for the year to come, subtly undermining her rivals while appearing to simply be a generous benefactor.
But the Day of Trade was merely the beginning. The true game would begin on the second day, the Day of Life.
Marcelline placed her glass down on the desk and ran her fingers over the edge of the Leviathan’s Ledger, feeling the faint hum of its power beneath her skin. The Ledger was nearly full now, its pages thick with contracts, promises, and the intricate web of power she had woven over the years. But there was one name she had yet to add—Paola Juderías.
The fallen star had been an unexpected complication. When Paola had first arrived in Udanara, Marcelline had seen her as little more than an oddity, a curiosity. But the girl’s growing bond with Ayla had changed everything. Ayla was one of her greatest assets, a weapon she had spent years crafting, shaping into the perfect instrument of destruction. And now, with the festival approaching, Marcelline could feel Ayla slipping away, her loyalty to Paola threatening to unravel everything.
A sharp knock on the door broke through her thoughts.
"Enter," Marcelline called, her voice smooth but commanding.
Gwenore stepped inside, her sharp features illuminated by the firelight. She bowed her head slightly, her gray eyes flickering with understanding. "My Lady, preparations for the pavilion are complete. The merchants have all agreed to the terms you set."
"Good," Marcelline said, her gaze drifting back to the Ledger. "And what of our... other arrangements?"
Gwenore’s lips curled into a faint smile. "Everything is in place for the third day. The masquerade will proceed as planned."
The masquerade—the final day of the festival, the Day of Breath—was the true heart of Marcelline’s plan. It was the most dangerous and powerful day, where political alliances were forged and broken beneath the guise of anonymity. Masks would be worn, identities hidden, but Marcelline knew better than to be fooled. She had already ensured that the key players would be exactly where she needed them, carefully orchestrating the invitations and ensuring that certain individuals would be in the right place at the right time.
The Leviathan’s Last Breath was more than just a symbolic myth to Marcelline. It was real, in its own way, a reminder of the power that had once swept across the Seracian Sands. The ritual performed on the third day of the festival was not just a celebration—it was a moment where the magic of Udanara was renewed, where power shifted and reformed. And it was in that moment that Marcelline intended to secure her dominance, not just over Valarian, but over all of Udanara.
She smiled faintly, leaning back in her chair as she considered the final piece of her plan—Ayla.
Marcelline had raised Ayla since the girl was a child, had shaped her into the perfect weapon. But there had always been something... unpredictable about her. Ayla’s dual affinity for fire and ice was a rare gift, but it was also dangerous. The conflict within her, the struggle between the two opposing forces, made Ayla volatile. And now, with Paola’s influence growing stronger by the day, Marcelline could sense that volatility threatening to break free.
The time had come to remind Ayla of her place, to remind her of the contract she had signed. The Leviathan’s Covenant was unbreakable, binding not just Ayla’s power, but her will. As long as Ayla obeyed, she would remain free. But if she resisted... Marcelline could feel the pulse of the contract, the dark tendrils of magic that connected them, ready to tighten their grip should Ayla stray too far.
"How is she?" Marcelline asked, her voice calm, though Gwenore could detect the familiar undercurrent of tension.
"Brooding, as usual," Gwenore replied, her tone unwavering. "She’s in the lower quarters, keeping to herself. Paola’s absence weighs heavily on her, but she won’t speak of it."
Marcelline’s smile flickered, then vanished. "She’s always been difficult."
"Yes, my Lady," Gwenore agreed. "But no more than expected. She’ll come around, as she always does."
Marcelline nodded, her gaze drifting toward the fire. "Make sure she’s ready for the Festival. She has a part to play."
Gwenore bowed slightly. "Of course, my Lady."
Marcelline stood, her hands resting lightly on the edge of her desk as she stared into the flames. She had expected this, of course. Ayla’s attachment to Paola had been growing stronger with each passing day, and Marcelline knew that the time was fast approaching when she would have to make her move.
The Day of Life would be Ayla’s final test.
"I want you to ensure that Ayla attends the masquerade on the third day," Marcelline said, her voice soft but firm. "She needs to see what happens when power is not controlled."
Gwenore bowed her head. "As you wish, my Lady."
As Gwenore turned to leave, Marcelline’s gaze remained fixed on the fire. The festival would unfold exactly as she had planned. The first day would cement her commercial alliances, the second would showcase her cultural influence, and the third... the third would be the day when everything fell into place.
She would ensure that Ayla witnessed the power of the Leviathan’s Covenant firsthand, that she understood the consequences of defiance. And Paola... Paola would be the catalyst. The girl had unwittingly become the key to Marcelline’s plans, a tool to test Ayla’s loyalty and to cement Marcelline’s control over her.
The Festival of Breath was a celebration of life and renewal, but for Marcelline, it was something far more personal. It was a reminder of the power she wielded, the sacrifices she had made, and the future she had meticulously crafted.
By the end of the third day, Valarian would be hers. The Leviathan’s Breath would flow through the city once more, and Marcelline’s position as the true power behind the throne would be solidified.
She took a final sip of her wine, savoring the taste. The festival was coming, and with it, the culmination of everything she had worked for. Marcelline placed the glass back on the desk, her fingers brushing against the surface of the Leviathan’s Ledger once more.
Everything was in place.
The Festival of Breath would begin, and by the end of it, Lady Marcelline would emerge more powerful than ever, her control unchallenged.
But as the fire crackled softly in the hearth, a flicker of doubt crossed her mind—brief, fleeting, but undeniable. It was Ayla. Despite all her planning, despite the Leviathan’s Covenant, Marcelline knew that Ayla’s spirit had always been unpredictable. And Paola... the girl had brought out something in Ayla that Marcelline hadn’t foreseen.
She would have to tread carefully. The festival was a game of power, but even in games, there were wild cards.
And Marcelline would make sure that, no matter what, she would be the one to win.
***
Paola stood on the small porch of Poca's home, her hands wrapped around a cup of coffee as she gazed out over the garden. The early morning air was cool against her skin, a soft breeze ruffling her long brown hair as it cascaded freely over her shoulders. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a warm, golden light over the garden and surrounding landscape. She inhaled deeply, letting the earthy scent of the morning fill her lungs.
She glanced down at herself, her gaze drifting over her body in a way that felt both familiar and strangely new. Here in Udanara, standing naked in the open air, she felt a level of comfort she never would have allowed herself back on Earth. Her small breasts, with their dark, puffy nipples, had always been a source of insecurity—a feature she had scrutinized, compared, and wished were different. On Earth, she had felt like her body didn't match the impossible standards she had absorbed from magazines, social media, and the constant hum of societal expectations.
But here, in this strange world where everything seemed different, those insecurities had slowly faded away. Her breasts were just a part of her now, and in the soft glow of the morning sun, she could almost say she liked them. They were her own, unique and unapologetically her, and Poca or Ayla had never given her a reason to doubt that. She thought of the way Poca's stitched fingers traced her body with reverence, always making her feel like she was perfect just as she was. That acceptance had begun to take root in her own heart.
Her eyes wandered lower, settling on the wild patch of hair that had grown thick over her mound. Back on Earth, she would have meticulously shaved, waxed, or trimmed it, always trying to meet an invisible standard of beauty and cleanliness. But here, she had let it grow naturally, untamed. The thought of shaving felt foreign now—something trivial, something unnecessary. It wasn’t something she had even talked about with Poca. If Poca had noticed or cared, she certainly hadn’t mentioned it. But, she narrowed her eyes, it was starting to need a bit of attention... It wasn't a jungle, but it had grown a little too unruly.
Paola’s hand absentmindedly brushed over the soft hair, the texture unfamiliar but comforting in its own way. In Udanara, she had come to embrace the idea that her body didn’t need to conform to anyone’s expectations, not even her own past ones. It was a small rebellion against the pressures she had always felt back home, and here, in this world, it didn’t matter. She was free to be exactly who she was.
But as she let her fingers trail over her skin, another thought crept into her mind—one that made her pause. She hadn’t had her period since arriving in Udanara. She hadn’t even thought about it, not until this moment. It had been months now, hadn't it? Maybe longer, and the realization hit her with a strange mixture of relief and unease. The natural rhythms of her body, so familiar on Earth, seemed to have shifted in this new world.
Could she get pregnant here?
The question lingered, hanging heavy in her mind. She hadn’t considered it before, but now that it was in her head, she couldn’t shake it. Was her body the same here as it had been on Earth? The magic of Udanara had touched everything around her—its landscape, its people, even herself. Was it possible that her biology had changed too?
A part of her wasn’t even sure she wanted to know the answer. The idea of pregnancy, of motherhood, had always seemed so distant, so far removed from her reality back on Earth. But here... everything was different. Her relationship with Ayla and Poca was different, her sense of self was different, and the very world around her was filled with things she couldn’t begin to understand.
She shook her head, trying to dispel the thoughts. Now wasn’t the time to worry about that. There were too many other things on her mind—her place in this world, the journey back to Valarian, the Festival of Breath. And yet, the thought of her body, of the potential it carried, lingered in the back of her mind like a quiet whisper she couldn’t quite ignore.
She stood on the small porch of Poca's home, the cup of coffee warm in her hands as she gazed out over the garden. The morning sun kissed her skin, and the cool breeze teased through her long brown hair, still loose over her shoulders. She looked down at herself—her small, sun-kissed breasts with their dark, puffy nipples. On Earth, those nipples had been a source of insecurity, something she had compared to the impossible standards she’d felt compelled to live up to.
Now, though, in Udanara, she hardly thought about it. It was strange, actually, to be thinking about it now, even. The thought drifted through her mind like a passing cloud, and she almost laughed at how much she used to grumble about these little things. Back on Earth, it was always sweat and sweats. She'd bundle herself up, hiding under layers of clothing, constantly fighting the nagging discomfort of her own body. Socks and shoes, but always socks. She remembered the endless layers of fabric she used to rely on, the way she’d pull on her fluffy pink bunny slippers just to give herself some comfort. They were ridiculous, yet they’d become a staple.
Stolen novel; please report.
The thought of those slippers made her smile—those ridiculous pink bunny slippers that, somehow, had crossed dimensions with her and were tucked in the wagon along with the rest of her gear. They were beyond powerful, or so the trait had suggested when she got them. How she'd gained a "Nudist Trait" in this world, something she never could have imagined, and how it doubled her XP. At first, she’d grumbled endlessly about it, not quite believing her luck. But now... now it seemed so trivial, like an old worry that didn’t fit her anymore.
She stared down at her bare feet, standing comfortably on the porch, and thought about how odd it was that she even considered these things. Here she was, naked under the open sky, and it felt... normal. More than that, it felt right. Her tail swished lazily behind her, and her ears twitched at the faint sounds of the morning. How much had she changed since arriving here? It was like her old self had been peeled away, layer by layer, until all that was left was this version of herself—unencumbered, comfortable, free.
Paola took a final sip of her coffee, the warmth grounding her as she watched the others. With a small sigh, she set her cup down and headed over to join them.
“Everything set for the journey?” she asked as she approached.
Poca looked up, her stitched-on smile widening. “Almost, ma chérie. But I still zink it’s a crime zat I ‘ave to wear anything.”
Paola chuckled, wrapping an arm around Poca’s waist and pulling her close. “You’ll survive. Besides, I’m going to buy you that cloak, remember? Then you can go around like me.”
Poca’s eyes sparkled at that, her hands sliding up Paola’s back. “You spoil me, ma petite fée. But I won’t complain.”
Paola grinned and turned to the others, watching as Yasmin hoisted another bag into the back of the wagon. The fiery-haired magist’s wings flicked in the sunlight, her long red hair glowing like flames as it fell in loose waves down her back. Selene, quieter but no less striking, stood nearby, adjusting her loose trousers and half-cut sweater. Her silver-white hair was braided neatly over one shoulder, and her combat boots crunched against the dirt as she helped with the preparations.
“So, tell me more about this Festival of Breath,” Paola said, leaning against the wagon as she glanced at Yasmin. “What should I expect?”
Yasmin turned, her bright amber eyes catching the light as she smiled. “It’s one of the biggest festivals in all of Udanara. Valarian’s going to be packed with people from all over the place. It’s a celebration of the Leviathan’s Last Breath—basically, the event that gave life to this region. It’s a mix of trade, art, and spiritual renewal. A three-day party, more or less.”
“Yeah, it sounds intense,” Paola said, raising an eyebrow. “What exactly happens over the three days?”
Poca, still pressed against Paola’s side, spoke up first. “Ze first day is all about trade. Ze whole city turns into a market—food, clothes, artifacts... you name it. Traders from across Udanara come to sell zeir goods, and ze nobles and merchants ‘ost feasts for everyone. It’s a day of abundance.”
Yasmin nodded, adding, “It’s a show of wealth, basically. The rich give back, and everyone gets to enjoy the city’s prosperity. But it’s more than just a market—it’s about generosity, sharing the blessings we’ve got thanks to the Leviathan.”
Paola glanced at Selene, who had been listening quietly. “And what about you, Selene? What do you think of it?”
Selene shrugged, her voice soft but thoughtful. “It’s... interesting. The first day is more about showing off, but the second day is where the real fun happens. That’s the Day of Life. It’s all about art, music, performances. The city turns into one big celebration of creativity. There’s something on every corner—musicians, dancers, magicians showing off their work. It’s a day for beauty, for joy.”
“That sounds amazing,” Paola said, her tail swishing excitedly behind her. “And the third day?”
Selene paused, her amethyst eyes meeting Paola’s. “That’s the most sacred day. It’s called the Day of Breath. There’s a procession at dawn—everyone follows the path through the city, ending at the Cathedral of the Leviathan. It’s a day of spiritual renewal, a time for everyone to reflect and give thanks for the Leviathan’s sacrifice. It’s... powerful. You can feel the magic in the air. People say you can even feel the Leviathan’s breath.”
Paola let that sink in, her ears twitching thoughtfully. She could only imagine what that must be like—walking through a city filled with the reverence of an entire people, feeling the weight of history and magic all around you. “That sounds... intense.”
Yasmin smirked. “It is. But don’t worry, the day ends with a massive masquerade ball. Everyone dresses up in elaborate costumes and masks, and we party the night away.”
Poca’s eyes sparkled mischievously as she nudged Paola. “I ‘ope you’re ready for some dancing, mon amour.”
Paola chuckled, shaking her head. “I don’t think I’ve danced in years. You might have to teach me.”
“Oh, I’ll teach you,” Poca purred, wrapping her arms around Paola’s waist.
Selene cleared her throat, her expression softening as she spoke. “The festival isn’t just about having fun, though. It’s a reminder of the magic that runs through Udanara. The Leviathan’s breath gave life to this land, and the festival keeps that memory alive. It’s a time for everyone to come together—nobles, merchants, commoners... doesn’t matter. For three days, we’re all connected.”
Paola smiled, her heart warming at the thought. It was more than just a party or a celebration. It was about unity, about remembering what had brought them all to this point. “I think I get it. It’s not just about having a good time—it’s about honoring something bigger than all of us.”
“Exactly,” Yasmin said, nodding. “And trust me, Valarian knows how to throw a festival. You’ll see things you’ve never seen before. The art, the magic... it’s incredible.”
Paola looked out over the garden, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nervousness. The Festival of Breath sounded like a whirlwind of emotions, experiences, and magic, all wrapped into one. And she was about to be right in the middle of it.
She glanced at Poca, who was still pressed against her side, then at Yasmin and Selene. These were the women she was heading into this with—each of them different, each of them important in their own way. And then there was Ayla, who she still hadn’t seen. The thought of seeing her again in Valarian filled Paola with a rush of anticipation.
“Well,” Paola said, her voice lighter now, “I guess I’d better get ready for whatever’s coming.”
Yasmin grinned, her fiery eyes gleaming. “Oh, you have no idea what’s coming. But don’t worry, we’ve got your back.”
Selene gave a small nod, her expression serious but kind. “We’ll be there. Whatever happens.”
Paola felt a swell of gratitude as she looked at them. She wasn’t going into this alone. They were all in this together, and somehow, that made everything feel a little less daunting.
“Thanks, guys,” Paola said softly, her tail wrapping gently around Poca’s waist. “I appreciate it.”
Poca kissed the top of Paola’s head, her voice playful but sincere. “You’ll do just fine, ma petite fée."
With a deep breath, Paola stepped back from the wagon and stretched. “Alright, let’s finish getting this wagon ready. We’ve got a festival to get to.”
As they continued their preparations, Paola felt the weight of everything ahead of her settle into something more manageable. The wagon was a chaotic mix of supplies from their trip and fresh produce harvested from Poca’s garden. Herbs, roots, and strange vegetables that Paola had slowly learned the names of over the past weeks were neatly packed into bundles, while some jars of preserved jams and dried meats lined the corners. It was an odd blend of survival gear and the fruits of their quiet days at the farm.
After about an hour of loading and organizing, they were finally ready to head out. Paola wiped her brow, her petite, naked frame warm under the pre midday sun. Her tail flicked lazily behind her as she handed Selene a bag filled with the last of the provisions. Selene, with her silver-white hair braided over one shoulder, tossed the bag into the back of the wagon with ease, her mithralite arm gleaming faintly under the sun.
Yasmin was nearby, her fiery red hair practically glowing as it caught the light, her wings fluttering in the breeze as she tightened the straps on one of the crates. The sight of her magical flame-patterned leather top and thigh-high boots gave her a striking appearance—bold and fiery, just like her personality. She flashed a grin at Paola.
“Looks like we’re finally packed up. Ready for some excitement in Valarian, earth girl?” Yasmin teased, her bright amber eyes dancing with energy.
Paola laughed, wiping her hands on her thighs. “As ready as I’ll ever be. But I’m going to miss this place.” Her voice softened a bit as she glanced around at Poca’s farm. The peaceful days here, the feeling of the sun on her skin and dirt under her nails, had been a welcome reprieve from the chaos they usually found themselves in.
Poca, standing barefoot with her dark blue hair cascading down her back in gentle waves, was busy giving Carter instructions. Her stitched-together frame was relaxed, but her eyes were focused as she made sure everything was in order before their departure.
“Carter, take care of ze farm while we’re gone, oui?” Poca said, her voice firm but affectionate as she addressed her ever-loyal puppet companion. “Make sure Oso doesn’t get into too much trouble, and don’t let ‘im eat all ze berries. And water ze garden, but not too much—you remember what ‘appened last time.”
Carter, with his ever-unsettling, yet somehow endearing smile, gave a mechanical nod, his wooden limbs creaking as he saluted. Oso, the mischievous young bear, sat nearby, rolling lazily in the grass, seemingly uninterested in their departure.
Paola smiled at the sight of them. Despite everything—despite the dangers they faced and the uncertainties ahead—there was something comforting about this little piece of home they had built here.
With the wagon finally packed and ready, Paola climbed into the back, settling in beside the gear as Poca took her spot at the reins. Selene and Yasmin climbed up front as well, leaving room in the back for Paola to stretch out a bit.
The journey to Valarian was about a day and a half, and while the roads were rough, Paola found herself looking forward to the time spent traveling. It gave her a chance to think, to reflect on everything that had happened, and to mentally prepare herself for the Festival of Breath.
As the wagon lurched forward, Paola leaned back, resting her head against one of the crates. The wheels creaked as they rolled over the dirt path, and the familiar sway of the wagon quickly lulled her into a comfortable rhythm.
Hours passed, and the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden light over the landscape. The countryside around them was a mix of wildflowers and sandy soil, the occasional tree dotting the horizon, with distant mountains standing tall against the sky. The world outside Valarian was beautiful in its own rugged way, a reminder of how vast and untamed Udanara still was.
Paola’s fingers absentmindedly drummed against her thigh as she watched the scenery pass by. Her guitar, strapped to the side of the wagon, caught her eye, and on a whim, she leaned forward and unhooked it, sliding the strap over her shoulder.
“I think it’s time for some music,” she said with a small smile, tuning the strings as she shifted into a more comfortable position.
Poca glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Paola with her guitar. “Ah, mon amour, you always know ‘ow to set ze mood.”
Yasmin perked up as well, turning in her seat to look at Paola. “Yeah, let’s hear it, earth girl. I’ve been wondering what you can do with that thing.”
Paola chuckled softly, adjusting the strings a bit more before strumming a few chords. The sound of the guitar cut through the quiet hum of the wagon’s movement, filling the air with a soft melody. She started with something simple, letting her fingers glide over the strings as she played a song from Earth—a gentle tune that reminded her of home, of the quiet nights she used to spend playing on her own.
Selene, who had been quiet for most of the journey, glanced back at Paola, her amethyst eyes softening as the music filled the air. There was something about the way Paola played that drew everyone in, the melody light but full of emotion.
As the wagon rolled on, Paola lost herself in the music, her thoughts drifting as her fingers moved across the strings. The landscape continued to change around them, the wildflowers giving way to patches of tall grasses and rocky hills. It was peaceful out here—just the open road, the gentle sway of the wagon, and the sound of her guitar.
At one point, Poca began to hum along, her voice soft and sweet, while Yasmin tapped her foot in time with the music. Even Selene, usually so composed, seemed to relax a bit, her shoulders loosening as she leaned back in her seat.
As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Paola played one final chord and let the sound linger in the air before she lowered her guitar. “Alright, that’s enough for now,” she said with a playful smile.
Yasmin grinned, her fiery eyes gleaming. “Not bad, earth girl. You’ve got some talent.”
Poca nodded in agreement, her eyes filled with warmth as she smiled at Paola. “Oui, you ‘ave ze soul of an artist, ma petite fée.”
Paola felt a flush of warmth spread through her at their praise, her heart light as she carefully set her guitar aside. It felt good to share that part of herself with them, even if just for a little while.
As the evening settled in, the oxen began to slow, their steady pace faltering as fatigue crept in. Paola, sitting in the back of the wagon, glanced up at the darkening sky. The stars were just beginning to peek through, shimmering against the deep blue canvas of twilight. Poca, who had been guiding the reins, clicked her tongue softly to signal the oxen to stop.
“We’ll rest ‘ere for a couple ‘ours,” Poca said, her voice carrying easily in the quiet of the wilderness. “Ze oxen need a break, but we can keep going after zat.”
The wagon rolled to a stop by a small clearing, the tall grass swaying gently in the breeze. Yasmin stretched out with a groan, her fiery red hair falling over her shoulders as she hopped down from the wagon, her wings fluttering behind her.
“Only a few hours, huh?” Yasmin said, her amber eyes scanning the landscape. “Good. I’d rather keep moving and get to Valarian faster.”
Paola hopped down as well, her feet landing softly in the grass. She smiled, her tail flicking behind her in contentment. “A couple of hours won’t hurt. Gives us time to stretch our legs.”
Selene, quiet as ever, was already gathering some wood for a small fire. She moved with her usual grace, her mithralite arm gleaming faintly in the fading light. Without a word, she began stacking the branches into a neat pile, her silver-white hair catching the last bit of sunlight before the night fully descended.
Poca crouched beside the firewood and with a quick flick of her fingers, conjured a small flame that sparked to life, crackling as it caught onto the dry wood. The fire grew quickly, sending warm light flickering across their faces. It wasn’t much of a fire, but it was enough to ward off the evening chill and keep them comfortable for the brief rest they’d take.
“Zere we go,” Poca said with a smile, dusting off her hands. “Just enough to keep us warm.”
They settled around the fire, the soft crackle of the flames a comforting backdrop to the stillness of the wilderness. Paola leaned back, her small frame resting against a rock, as she stared up at the stars, twinkling brightly above them. It felt peaceful out here, the kind of peace that she rarely experienced.
“So, Paola,” Yasmin began, her voice playful as she sat cross-legged near the fire, “since we’re sitting here, and we’ve got a bit of time… got any more stories from Earth to share?”
Paola chuckled, her golden-flecked eyes glinting in the firelight. “Oh, I’ve got plenty of stories, Yasmin. But are you sure you can handle them?”
Yasmin smirked, tossing a small stone into the fire, watching it sizzle briefly in the heat. “I think I can manage. Come on, give us something good.”
Paola grinned and launched into a lighthearted story about one of her more chaotic days as a paraeducator, explaining how she had to wrangle a group of hyperactive kids during a particularly unruly field trip. She painted the picture of Earth as vividly as she could, describing the bustling city streets, the sounds of cars honking, and the way the kids had darted through a busy museum, nearly knocking over priceless exhibits.
Poca laughed softly at the mental image, her eyes warm as she listened, while Selene tilted her head, her curiosity piqued by the strangeness of Paola’s stories. It was always amusing to them, hearing about a world that was so different, yet so similar to their own.
As the fire crackled and their laughter faded into the quiet night, Paola felt that familiar sense of connection—the camaraderie that had grown between them. It wasn’t just the adventure that bonded them anymore; it was these small moments, the laughter, the shared stories, the quiet understanding between them.
They sat in companionable silence for a while longer, watching the fire’s embers glow softly against the cool night air. After about two hours, Poca finally stirred, stretching her arms above her head.
“Alright, mes amies,” she said with a smile, “time to get moving again. Ze oxen ‘ave rested enough.”
Selene stood and quietly began gathering up their small camp, kicking dirt over the remnants of the fire. Yasmin stretched again, shaking the stiffness from her limbs, while Paola helped load the last few items back into the wagon.
Once everything was packed up, they climbed back into their spots—Poca taking the reins once more, Yasmin and Selene sitting up front, and Paola settling back into the wagon. The oxen, refreshed from their break, started moving again with steady steps, their hooves crunching softly against the dirt road.
As they continued their journey, Paola found herself humming softly, her thoughts still lingering on the peaceful break they had shared. The stars above twinkled brighter now, the world around them bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. It would be a long road ahead, but for now, everything felt just right.
And as the wagon rolled on, Paola leaned back and let the gentle sway lull her into a comfortable rhythm, her mind clearer than it had been before. The spires of Valarian were still distant, but with each passing hour, they drew closer to their destination, and Paola felt ready for whatever awaited them there.