As they passed through the gates of Windmere, the soft glow of lanterns illuminating the cobbled streets, Paola felt a surprising calm wash over her. This time, the sensation of entering a new city wasn’t met with the anxious energy that had accompanied her arrival in Valarian. It was different. The walls of Windmere were not a barrier but a welcome, ushering her into a place that felt alive, full of stories, history, and promise. The wind carried the scent of the sea, salty and fresh, with a hint of the forest’s earthy undertones.
Paola tugged her cloak closer around her, the fabric brushing against her bare legs, feeling the weight of the day settling into her bones. Her loose ponytail swayed gently with each step, some stray strands framing her face as she took in the sights around her. The city had a strange, mesmerizing beauty at night. The stars were twinkling above, scattered across the darkened sky, and for the first time in a long while, Paola felt at peace with herself.
Yasmin had been chatting endlessly as they entered the city, her words a mixture of stories about Windmere, random observations, and the occasional joke. It was a lot, but Paola couldn’t deny that Yasmin’s energy was infectious in its own way. She’d been traveling with them for the last few hours, and although Paola had grown used to the constant chatter, she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about Yasmin yet.
As they passed through a busy intersection, where a group of sailors were laughing outside a tavern, Paola’s attention was drawn back to the towering figure of the Windspire in the distance, its beacon shining bright against the night sky. She couldn’t help but stare, mesmerized by its beauty.
Yasmin, catching her gaze, smiled. “Ah, still staring at the Windspire, huh? Hard not to, it’s a bit of a showstopper.” She leaned against the wagon as they came to a slow stop, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “It’s got history, you know. More than just a lighthouse—it's one of the city’s oldest landmarks. The Windspire has seen pirate attacks, massive storms, even a full-blown invasion. It’s been a symbol of protection for the people of Windmere for centuries. And it’s where we throw the biggest party of the year.”
Paola raised an eyebrow. “The Windspire Festival, right?”
“Yup,” Yasmin said with a nod. “You should see it. The whole city lights up. Ships race through the harbor, and there’s music, dancing… the works. It’s my favorite time of year.” She grinned, though her eyes softened, as if she were lost in a memory for a moment.
Paola smiled, feeling a little more comfortable around Yasmin. For all her brashness, there was something genuinely likable about her, a warmth that she didn’t expect from someone so chaotic. “Sounds like a lot of fun.”
“Oh, it is,” Yasmin said with a wink. “If you’re still in town for the next one, I’ll show you the best spots. I know a rooftop with a perfect view of the beacon lighting.”
Before Paola could respond, they reached an inn nestled on a quiet street, away from the busier parts of the city. The building was quaint, with ivy crawling up its stone walls and lanterns glowing warmly in the windows. The sign above the door read The Sailor’s Rest. It looked inviting, cozy even.
Carter brought the wagon to a halt just outside the inn. His wooden limbs creaked as he climbed down, the large puppet protector as silent as ever. He gave a brief nod to Paola before beginning to secure the wagon for the night. Abraham, tired from the journey, clung to Poca’s side, his small hand gripping her stitched arm as he looked around the city with wide eyes.
Poca, as always, looked after him with quiet attentiveness. The stitches that ran across her body, most notably the ones from the edges of her lips to her ears, gave her a haunting, doll-like appearance, but Paola knew better. Beneath those stitches was a soul more tender and caring than most. She had a certain way of looking out for people, even when her own body seemed to bear the marks of a difficult life. Her burlap dress, freshly cleaned from their last stop by the river, rustled as she stepped down from the cart, keeping a gentle hold on Abraham.
Ayla was the last to disembark, her long blonde hair tied into two loose braids that framed her strong face. The dragon guard armor she wore clung to her with an effortless grace, making her seem like both a protector and a warrior—a presence that could command attention. But now, as she took in the sights of Windmere, there was a softness to her, a relaxation Paola hadn’t seen in a while. She smiled as she looked at Paola, and without words, they both understood that this night, for whatever reason, felt different.
“Feels… peaceful, doesn’t it?” Ayla said quietly as she came to stand beside Paola.
Paola nodded. “It does. Like this city… breathes differently. Not as tense.”
Ayla chuckled. “Maybe that’s because we’re not running from something for once.”
Paola couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, that might have something to do with it.”
Yasmin, now back to her usual energetic self, stretched her arms over her head and pointed toward the inn’s entrance. “Well, here we are! The Sailor’s Rest is one of my favorite places to stay. They’ve got the best pies and a fireplace that’s to die for. You lot are gonna love it here.”
Poca tilted her head, her stitched mouth pulling into a curious expression. “Pies, you say?”
“Pies,” Yasmin confirmed, her eyes gleaming. “Trust me, they’re worth every bite.”
Carter stayed behind to watch over the wagon, his silent, wooden figure already settling into a guarded stance by the side of the cart. He gave a small wave of acknowledgment as the rest of the group made their way inside. Abraham, still holding onto Poca’s hand, looked up at the inn with a mixture of exhaustion and excitement. It had been a long journey, but there was something comforting about the idea of a warm bed and a safe place to rest.
Inside, the inn was as cozy as it had looked from the outside. The common room was dimly lit by a crackling fire in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the wooden beams and stone walls. A few patrons sat scattered around the room, quietly nursing drinks or enjoying the warmth of the fire. The smell of baking bread and roasted meats filled the air, and Paola’s stomach growled in response.
Yasmin clapped her hands together, her grin wide. “I think that’s my cue to head home. It’s been fun riding with you lot, but I’ve got my own bed waiting for me.” She winked playfully at Paola and Ayla. “If you ever want to hang out again, you know where to find me.”
Ayla raised an eyebrow. “You’re actually leaving us alone for the night? After all that?”
Yasmin laughed, shrugging. “I know, I know, I’m a little much, right? But seriously, thanks for the company back. It was nice not flying for once.”
Paola smiled despite herself. “You’re welcome. And… thanks for the help getting into the city.”
“Anytime,” Yasmin said, waving them off. “Take care of yourselves. I’ll see you around.” And with that, she was out the door, disappearing into the night with a final wave.
Once she was gone, the group found themselves a table near the fireplace, and after some brief conversation, the innkeeper brought over a key for their room. It was a modest room with two large beds, just enough space for the group to get some much-needed rest.
Poca helped Abraham settle into one of the beds, sharing the space with him but keeping a respectful distance. She tucked him in with surprising gentleness, her stitched fingers brushing through his hair as he mumbled something about his aunt before drifting off to sleep.
Paola and Ayla claimed the other bed. As they both settled down, Paola felt Ayla’s arm brush against hers, a quiet, familiar presence that she welcomed.
Ayla gave her a teasing smile. “Maybe next time I’ll give up my spot for Poca.”
Paola chuckled softly, feeling a warmth spread through her. “We’ll see.”
As the night deepened, and the fire in the hearth burned low, Paola found herself thinking about how different this journey had been from the one that brought her to Valarian. The city, the people, even herself—it all felt less hurried, less desperate. She was still learning about who she was in this world, still figuring out her place, but for now, in this quiet inn in the heart of Windmere, she felt at peace.
She turned her head slightly to look at Ayla, who was already drifting off to sleep beside her, and then over at Poca, who lay quietly next to Abraham, watching over him with that same protective care she always had. Paola smiled to herself, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for the people she had by her side.
Paola lay in the darkness, unable to close her eyes. The steady rise and fall of Ayla’s breathing beside her was a comfort, her arm draped loosely over Paola’s stomach, the soft brush of her fingertips resting on her hip. For all of Ayla's strength, her armor, and her unwavering confidence, she was tender in moments like these. Paola had learned long ago that Ayla, for all her bravado, loved to be the little spoon. It was one of those endearing things about her that softened the edges of her otherwise tough exterior.
The room was quiet except for the gentle sounds of Ayla's breathing and the occasional shifting from Abraham, who slept soundly in the other bed beside Poca. Carter, stationed outside with the wagon, was a reassuring presence as always, his silent watch keeping them safe. Even Yasmin, who had been an unrelenting burst of energy, was absent now, having left them to retire for the night, her chaotic aura no longer filling the air.
Paola shifted slightly beneath the blanket, the cool night air brushing against her bare skin where the covers didn’t quite reach. She felt secure, wrapped up in Ayla’s embrace, the weight of the past few days slipping from her body. But her mind wouldn’t stop. The quiet was unnerving. For so long, there had been noise—fighting, running, surviving—and now, in the stillness of the night, the memories began to replay in her head.
Since dying on Earth and arriving in Udanara, her life had become something else entirely, something she couldn’t have imagined. Every day had been a fight. Every step had been toward survival. Paola wasn’t naive; she knew the road wasn’t safe, not like it had been on Earth. Traveling here, in this world, meant facing death at every turn. There were no guarantees. She remembered her arrival in Valarian, her confusion, her fear, and the desperate attempts to stay alive, to keep moving forward. Now, here she was, alive again, but it always felt precarious, as though the ground might fall out from under her at any moment.
She stared at the ceiling, tracing invisible lines in the dark, feeling the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her chest. If it weren’t for Ayla, she’d be dead. That truth settled heavily in her mind. Ayla had been there, through every fight, through every danger, protecting her, guiding her. Paola knew she owed her life to her, and yet… she couldn’t shake the feeling that Ayla’s heart was still tethered to Lady Marcelline.
Lady Marcelline. The name sent a shiver through Paola, even as Ayla’s warmth pressed against her side. The Lady was a force in Ayla’s life, and no matter how far they traveled, that connection was still there, pulling at Ayla, calling her back. Ayla had been young when her family was slaughtered—her parents, her siblings, all taken from her. It was Lady Marcelline who had saved her, raised her, trained her. For better or worse, she had shaped Ayla into the woman she was now, but Paola couldn’t shake the feeling that Marcelline’s intentions toward her, Paola, were far more insidious.
Ayla had told her the story once, back when they first arrived in Valarian. She spoke of the raid that had destroyed her family and the way Lady Marcelline had taken her in, a surrogate mother in the absence of her real family. Ayla hadn’t spoken much about it since, only mentioning in passing how tired she was of serving Marcelline. And yet, despite that exhaustion, she looked up to her, respected her like a mother. Paola hated it but understood. She knew what it was like to cling to something familiar, even if it was dangerous.
But Paola… she was different. She wasn’t just someone passing through Udanara. She was a Void Borne, a fallen star, something far more dangerous and far more valuable than she could fully understand. Lady Marcelline had sensed it—Paola knew that much from their brief, chilling exchange back in Valarian. The way Marcelline had pulled the truth from her without her even realizing it still haunted her.
Ayla had ignored Marcelline’s request to return to her side, choosing instead to stay with Paola and Poca, to help get Abraham to Windmere. That choice gave Paola some comfort, but it wasn’t enough to quiet her mind. Marcelline’s influence loomed large, like a shadow over them all. And even though they were far from Valarian now, Paola couldn’t shake the feeling that Marcelline’s eyes were still on them, still watching, waiting for the right moment.
Paola sighed softly, staring into the darkness. Despite the peace of Windmere, despite the beauty of the city, her heart couldn’t find rest. Chaos was drawn to her, whether she wanted it or not. And while Yasmin sought out chaos for fun, Paola had spent her days running from it. But it would always find her. It was a cruel irony—no matter how much she tried to keep her head down, trouble would come, pulling her back into the fray.
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Her thoughts swirled, blending memories with worry, past pain with future dread. Somewhere in the tangle of it all, her mind began to drift. She didn’t even realize when those thoughts turned into dreams, and when Ayla stirred beside her, it was the soft movement that finally woke her from the restless haze of sleep.
Paola blinked, the early morning light just beginning to peek through the slats of the window. Ayla was stretching, her golden hair loose from the braids and tumbling over her shoulders. Her red and blue eyes, still heavy with sleep, met Paola’s, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The warmth of the morning was just beginning to chase away the coolness of the night, and for a brief second, Paola allowed herself to forget everything—the chaos, the danger, the uncertainty.
"Morning," Ayla murmured, her voice soft and hoarse from sleep. Her arm stretched back over Paola's stomach as if reaching for something familiar.
Paola smiled weakly, brushing some of the loose strands from Ayla’s face. "Morning."
Ayla’s lips curled into a lazy grin, her eyes half-closed in the early light. “Did you sleep at all?”
Paola hesitated, then shook her head. “Not really.”
Ayla shifted, her arm tightening ever so slightly around Paola's waist. “You’re thinking too much.”
Paola laughed quietly. “Yeah… something like that.”
Ayla pressed a light kiss to Paola’s shoulder, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t. Not now. We’re safe.”
Paola didn’t respond, but the words lingered in the quiet. Safe. She wanted to believe it, to let herself sink into that comfort, but she knew better. Safety was fleeting. Chaos would come again—it always did. But for now, in the soft glow of the morning, in the warmth of Ayla's touch, she allowed herself to pretend, just for a little while longer.
Ayla, ever attuned to Paola’s mood, sensed the way her thoughts still lingered in darker places. Without a word, Ayla’s hand began tracing soft circles on Paola’s hip, her fingers moving in gentle, soothing patterns that brushed just below her navel. Paola let out a small, contented sigh, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as the warmth of Ayla’s touch pulled her back from the weight of her thoughts.
Ayla’s teasing fingers found their way lower, tugging gently at the soft fur on Paola’s mound, her touch playful yet tender. She let her fingers dance through the strands, her light touch coaxing a flick of Paola’s tail, which wrapped around Ayla’s thigh in response. Paola’s ears flattened against her head, a telltale sign of affection, a silent display of her own warmth for the woman beside her.
“Hmm, there you are,” Ayla whispered, her voice a low hum of amusement, her fingers continuing to play as if they had all the time in the world.
Paola let out a soft, breathy laugh, the tension easing from her body. But just as the moment deepened, Poca rustled in her sleep across the room, her body shifting as she muttered something incoherent. Ayla’s hand stilled, and she leaned in closer to Paola, her lips brushing her ear as she whispered teasingly, “Better keep quiet, or we’ll wake the whole room.”
Paola’s tail flicked again, and she bit back another laugh, rolling her eyes at Ayla’s mischievous grin. Despite the weight of her earlier thoughts, she couldn’t help but feel lighter, her worries slipping further away as Ayla pulled her closer, the playful banter between them a welcome reprieve in the quiet of the early morning.
Ayla stretched with a playful grin as she rose from the bed, her fingers trailing one last teasing line along Paola’s side before she got to her feet. “We’ll have to pick this up later,” she whispered with a wink. She began slipping back into her armor, the dragon-guard bikini—though Paola had always found the term amusing—making its familiar clinking sound as the plates came together. “Maybe after breakfast?” she joked, adjusting the straps on her chest piece with a chuckle.
Paola smiled, rolling her eyes as she sat up and stretched. The early morning light was faint, just beginning to filter through the window, casting a soft glow across the room. She reached for her cloak, throwing it over her bare shoulders and securing it loosely around her waist, her tail flicking in satisfaction beneath the fabric. Ayla, now fully armored, gave herself a quick look over, making sure everything was in place.
The room was still quiet save for the soft breathing of Poca and Abraham, who lay curled up in the larger bed across from them. Paola caught Ayla’s eye, and they exchanged a knowing look, silently agreeing not to wake them just yet.
As if sensing their movement, however, Abraham began to stir, rubbing his eyes sleepily. Poca shifted as well, though she only muttered something under her breath and pulled the blanket tighter around herself.
“We’ll let them sleep a bit longer,” Paola whispered to Ayla as they quietly made their way out of the room and into the common area of the inn. The scent of fresh bread and something sizzling in a pan greeted them as they descended the stairs. The innkeeper was busy at the hearth, flipping strips of bacon on a cast-iron skillet.
“Morning!” Ayla called cheerfully as she approached the table, waving to the innkeeper. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Bacon and fresh bread,” the innkeeper replied with a warm smile. “And a pot of hot tea if you're interested.”
Ayla nodded approvingly and took a seat, patting the chair next to her for Paola to join. Paola slipped into the chair, her cloak settling around her as she scanned the room. It was a peaceful morning, the inn still relatively quiet, with only a few other patrons enjoying their breakfast in silence.
As the innkeeper brought over their plates, Ayla leaned back in her chair, her smile still playful. “So, about that blacksmith we talked about,” Paola began, taking a bite of the crisp bacon. “You still want to make those armor changes?”
Ayla glanced down at the metal plates covering her chest and legs, shaking her head with a laugh. “Yeah, the infamous ‘metal bikini’ you love to tease me about.” She mockingly sighed. “It’s great for mobility, but I think adding some chainmail here and there for a bit more... coverage wouldn't hurt.”
Paola nodded, taking a sip of the hot tea. “Not that I’m complaining or anything, but it might help, especially if we keep running into, you know, chaos.”
Ayla laughed and poked at her food. “True, it’s not every day we face off against someone like Ta'huka, but you never know. Chainmail would definitely offer some extra protection. I can’t rely on agility alone, even if it does make me look good.”
“You do love to show off, don’t you?” Paola teased, her tail swishing under the table.
Ayla grinned and leaned in slightly, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “It helps keep the enemies distracted.”
Paola snorted, rolling her eyes again but still smiling. “Speaking of abilities, though,” Paola said, her tone shifting slightly, “why don’t you use your Mirror Mantle ability anymore? I remember the first time you showed it—it felt like you were invincible, but I haven’t seen it in a while.”
Ayla set her fork down and leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms behind her head. “I still use it,” she replied, “but not in the way you might remember from that first ambush. That was an easy fight. Against someone like Ta'huka, though? He was on a completely different level.” She paused, her expression thoughtful. “The Mirror Mantle ability reflects damage, yeah, but it needs mana to work. And Ta'huka... well, his power was so immense that any hit he landed would’ve blown right through my mana reserves. If he’d stuck his tomahawk in my chest, there’s no way I could’ve reflected that without serious reinforcement.”
Paola nodded slowly, beginning to understand. “So, it’s not just about using the ability. It’s about knowing when to use it, right?”
“Exactly,” Ayla said, smiling. “If I tried to mirror his strength without some kind of protective armor or enchanted weapon to absorb the impact, I would’ve been toast. Abilities like that aren’t just about throwing them around whenever—they take precision, strategy.”
Paola took another bite of her bacon, thinking for a moment. “Ta'huka fought for so long. I thought he was done for multiple times, but he just kept going. How was he able to sustain himself like that?”
Ayla leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. “His headdress,” she explained. “It was enchanted with a high-risk, high-reward ability. The closer he got to death, the stronger he became. It’s a dangerous enchantment—something that pushes you beyond your limits at the cost of your life force.”
Paola raised her eyebrows in surprise. “So he was literally fighting death every second.”
Ayla nodded. “Exactly. It’s why he seemed like he was knocking on death’s door for far longer than he should have. That enchantment gave him the strength to keep going, but it was taking a toll on him the whole time. Eventually, his body just couldn’t keep up.”
Paola leaned back in her chair, letting the information sink in. The more she learned about magic and abilities, the more she realized how intricate and complex it all was. It wasn’t just about having power—it was about knowing how to wield it.
The two of them fell into a comfortable silence as they finished their meal, the warmth of the tea and the hearty breakfast grounding them both after the chaos of their journey. Paola glanced over at Ayla, her mind drifting back to the way Ayla had always been there for her. She didn’t just protect her in battle—she grounded her in moments like these, keeping her steady when her thoughts threatened to spiral out of control.
A few moments later, the innkeeper brought over another pot of tea, and Paola poured herself another cup, watching the steam rise lazily from the cup.
“I’m glad we’re here,” Paola said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ayla smiled softly, reaching across the table to squeeze Paola’s hand. “Me too. We’ve been through a lot, but we’re still standing. And Windmere... it’s beautiful.”
Paola nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, it really is.”
Paola and Ayla had just finished their breakfast when the soft shuffle of footsteps caught their attention. Poca and Abraham made their way down the stairs of the inn, Abraham trailing behind Poca, his head lowered slightly, his shoulders tense. The boy looked exhausted, but there was something more than just tiredness weighing on him. He was nervous—almost terrified—and Paola could see it clear as day.
When the journey first started, Abraham had been skittish around Poca. He’d been frightened by her appearance, her stitched skin and eerie calmness. But now, it was clear that fear had turned into something else entirely. He was scared, yes, but not of her. In fact, it looked like he was afraid to leave her side.
Poca, with her uncanny charm and gentle way of making others feel safe, had worked her magic on the boy. Paola smiled softly as she watched Poca guide Abraham to the table, her hand resting reassuringly on his back. Poca caught Paola’s eye, offering a small smile as she sat down, grabbing plates of food for both her and the boy.
"’Ow are we zis morning?" Poca asked, her French accent thick as she tried to brighten the mood.
Ayla leaned back in her chair, grinning. “Good. Breakfast was amazing.”
“Smells even better,” Poca added, cutting into the bread on her plate, offering Abraham some slices with a quiet word of encouragement.
Abraham, still looking nervous, hesitated before he took the bread from her, nibbling on it slowly. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the atmosphere of the inn, but they kept returning to Poca, as if seeking reassurance.
They made light conversation about Windmere, discussing the markets, the harbor, and the sights they'd seen on their journey into the city. But as they spoke, Paola noticed that Abraham was quieter than usual, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his tunic. His nervous energy was palpable, and Paola exchanged a glance with Ayla, both sensing the boy’s growing anxiety.
Finally, Abraham spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “What if... what if she doesn’t like me?”
The question hung in the air, heavy with fear and doubt. Paola's heart clenched for the boy. Meeting his aunt was supposed to be a moment of relief, of finally finding a new home after everything he had been through. But for Abraham, it was also terrifying.
Poca, ever calm, leaned down closer to him, her voice gentle. “Mon petit, you 'ave been brave and strong zis whole time. You 'ave cared for your grandfather, you 'ave traveled zis far. Any aunt would be lucky to 'ave you, no?”
Abraham sniffled, his small hands clenching the edge of the table. “But what if she doesn’t want me? What if she doesn’t like me?”
Poca’s expression softened as she placed her hand on Abraham’s, her thumb brushing across his knuckles in small, comforting circles. “She will love you. And even if she doesn’t, zough I don’t believe zat will happen, you 'ave proven zat you are strong and kind. You are a boy wiz a heart of gold. You did everything you could for your grandfather. You took care of 'im when most children your age would not. Zat shows who you are.”
Paola and Ayla watched the exchange quietly, both moved by the tenderness in Poca’s words. Abraham’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as he tried to hold them back, but Poca’s words seemed to have reached him. Slowly, the boy managed a small, brave smile.
Ayla leaned forward, offering her own reassuring words. “You’ve grown a lot, Abraham. You’re stronger than you think.”
The boy glanced between them, clearly overwhelmed by the support, but also comforted by it. He nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve before taking a deep breath.
"Do we know where we're going exactly?" Paola asked, breaking the emotional silence gently.
Poca nodded. “Oui, I was given an address when we started zis journey. We’ll be able to find 'er, don’t worry.”
With that settled, they took their time finishing breakfast, giving Abraham the space he needed to gather his courage. The boy ate slowly, and Paola could see the wheels turning in his mind as he prepared himself for whatever would come next. When they were done, they cleaned their table and stood to leave, Poca making sure Abraham was close by her side as they made their way toward the door.
Just as they were stepping out of the inn, a familiar voice chirped from behind them.
“Well, well, good morning!” Yasmin called, her voice bright as she bounced over with her signature confident smile. Her fiery hair shimmered in the morning light, and she wore an expression that was somewhere between excitement and hesitation.
Paola groaned inwardly, but she couldn’t help but smile. Yasmin was a lot to deal with, but there was something undeniably infectious about her energy. "I hope you slept well," Paola said with a smirk.
Yasmin laughed and rubbed the back of her neck. "Sleep? Please. Who has time for that?"
There was a brief pause before Yasmin cleared her throat, her smile dimming slightly. "Actually, I came to tell you all that... Master Cainen Draslyn would like to meet with you before you leave Windmere." Her eyes shifted to Abraham briefly, her voice softening. "After you’re done helping the sweet boy, of course."
Paola’s ears perked up at the mention of the name. Cainen Draslyn? She didn’t know much about him, but the way Yasmin said his name carried weight. Paola’s gaze flicked to Ayla, who was watching Yasmin carefully, as if trying to gauge whether this request was more than a casual invitation.
“And who is Cainen Draslyn, exactly?” Paola asked cautiously.
Yasmin’s grin widened. “Oh, just one of the most important magists in Windmere. No big deal. But don’t worry, he’s... well, let’s just say he’s more curious than anything. Thinks you might be worth meeting.”
“Lucky us,” Paola muttered under her breath.
Ayla, ever the practical one, nodded. “After we take Abraham to his aunt, we’ll meet with him. We’ve got a responsibility to finish first.”
Yasmin nodded, glancing down at Abraham with a softer expression than usual. “Of course. Priorities.” She crouched down to Abraham’s height, smiling warmly at him. “You’re going to do great, kiddo. I promise.”
Abraham managed a small smile, though his nerves were still evident. Poca gently placed a hand on his shoulder, guiding him forward. Yasmin straightened, watching them go with a slightly wistful look.
“You know where to find me if you want to chat or hang out,” she called after them with a playful wink.
As the group made their way out of the inn and into the bustling streets of Windmere, Paola couldn’t help but glance back at Yasmin, who lingered for a moment before heading off in the opposite direction. There was always something more beneath the surface with Yasmin—an undercurrent of curiosity and mischief—but for now, Paola had other things to focus on.
The city was waking up, the streets coming alive with the sounds of merchants setting up their stalls, children playing in the alleys, and the scent of fresh sea air drifting in from the docks. Paola took a deep breath, feeling a strange sense of peace wash over her. Yes, chaos would always find her—but for the moment, she was in control.