Windmere unfolded around them like a painting, its streets winding gracefully in concentric circles that pulled the eye naturally toward the distant horizon, where the sea shimmered like a bed of blue silk. The city's spiral layout gave it the feeling of an ever-spiraling shell, each district curling inward toward the bustling docks, the heart of Windmere’s livelihood. The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of saltwater and freshly baked bread from nearby stalls. The buildings were made of weathered stone and timber, their roofs covered with Windmere’s signature red clay tiles, which glowed warmly in the golden light of the rising sun.
Paola, walking beside Ayla and Poca, felt the cobblestones cool beneath her bare feet. Each step was a reminder of how different this city was from Valarian, where the sand and heat dominated. Here, the stones were smooth and cool, worn by the passage of countless feet over centuries. She liked the feeling—it grounded her, connected her to this place in a way that the endless, floating docks of Valarian didn't have the chance to.
“Where did zat man say to turn again?” Poca asked, her voice full of casual curiosity as she stopped yet another passerby. The man she flagged down, a tall sailor with tanned skin and broad shoulders, blinked in surprise before giving her hurried directions.
“Take a right at the bakery,” he muttered, clearly in a rush, pointing toward a narrow alley, “then left at the statue of the captain.”
Poca gave him a gracious smile, her stitched lips pulling wide. “Merci! You are too kind.”
The sailor nodded, though his eyes lingered a bit too long on her strange appearance before he hurried off.
Paola, walking a bit behind, couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “You’d think people would be more used to seeing strange folk in a city like this.”
Ayla, who had been quiet for most of the journey, cracked a smile. “It’s not every day you see someone like Poca asking for directions in a place like this.”
Poca shot a playful glare back at them. “You say zat like I’m some lost ghost. I am simply ensuring we don’t wander too far in circles, oui?”
Paola grinned. “Yeah, except we’ve been lost twice already.”
“We’re getting there,” Poca replied with a wave of her hand, her demeanor carefree as always. “Besides, zis way we see more of ze city. Non?”
Abraham, walking close to Poca’s side, hadn’t said much. His small hands fiddled nervously with the hem of his tunic, his eyes darting between the towering buildings and bustling streets. The boy’s face was pale, his lips set in a thin line as if trying to hold in his anxiety. Every now and then, Poca would lean down and say something to him, her voice gentle and soothing.
"You are doing so well, petit," she whispered at one point, giving him an encouraging smile. "Zis place is grand, oui? Like you."
Abraham looked up at her, managing a faint smile. “Yeah, but it’s big… what if she doesn’t want me?” His voice was soft, barely audible above the city’s hum. Clearly the thought was plaguing the child.
Poca’s expression softened even more. “She will want you, Abraham. You 'ave traveled so far, you 'ave shown strength and love. Zat is what matters.”
Ayla, noticing Abraham’s growing discomfort, slowed her pace to walk beside him as well. "Hey," she said, her voice casual but kind, "Poca’s right. And besides, you've got us. We won’t leave you hanging."
The boy nodded, his steps becoming a little lighter, though his anxiety still clung to him like a shadow.
As they walked, Paola couldn’t help but marvel at Windmere’s charm. The city was alive in a way that Valarian had never been for her. Every corner they turned brought something new: flower stalls spilling over with blooms in vibrant reds, purples, and yellows; old stone fountains gurgling softly as children tossed coins into their pools; the distant murmur of the sea, ever-present and calming. The city had a rhythm all its own, a steady pulse that seemed to draw everyone toward the ocean like an unspoken promise.
The farther they ventured, the more they became part of the ebb and flow of the city’s life. Street vendors called out to passersby, offering everything from fresh fish to hand-carved trinkets. A group of children ran past, their laughter echoing off the stone walls as they played some chasing game that led them darting between stalls and shop fronts. The scent of sea salt mixed with the heady aroma of roasting meats and spices from the open-air taverns, and Paola’s stomach growled despite the breakfast they’d just had.
“Maybe we should’ve grabbed a snack for the road,” Paola muttered under her breath.
Ayla glanced sideways at her, amusement flickering in her eyes. “You’ve got the appetite of a sailor.”
“More like an adventurer,” Paola shot back with a grin. She tugged her cloak a little tighter around herself as the wind from the sea picked up. “But you’re not wrong.”
The streets curved ever so gently, leading them deeper into the city. It was a strange feeling, walking in what seemed like a spiral, as if the entire city was one giant coil winding inward toward the docks. Paola found it fascinating, though occasionally disorienting, as every street seemed to offer a slightly different angle of the same view—distant rooftops, the shimmer of the ocean, and the towering lighthouse known as the Windspire, which loomed on the horizon like a sentinel.
Paola caught herself staring at it, drawn to its immense height and the way its white stone seemed to glow even in the daylight. The beacon at the top was unlit, but she imagined how breathtaking it must look when illuminated, casting its guiding light over the dark waters.
"Staring at the Windspire, eh?" Yasmin’s voice echoed in her mind, even though the magist was nowhere near them. Paola chuckled to herself, thinking of the fiery-haired woman’s inevitable commentary.
“Ze Windspire is beautiful, non?” Poca’s voice broke through her thoughts. She had noticed Paola’s gaze.
Paola nodded. “It really is. You think we’ll get a closer look?”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Ayla added, glancing toward the towering structure as well. “I’ve heard about it, but never seen it up close.”
"Let’s just find zis boy’s aunt first," Poca said, her tone patient but determined. "We can wander all we want afterward."
After a few more twists and turns, stops for directions, and cheerful exchanges with the locals, they finally reached a quieter part of the city. The bustling streets gave way to narrow, tree-lined paths, where ivy crawled up the sides of cozy stone houses, and flower boxes bloomed with vibrant colors in the windowsills. The air was calmer here, less charged with the energy of the market and harbor districts. It felt peaceful, like a hidden corner of the world where time slowed down just a little.
“This is it,” Poca said, stopping in front of a small, two-story house nestled between larger homes. The front yard was modest but charming, with a tiny garden of herbs and flowers, and a stone path that led to a sturdy wooden door.
Paola took in the sight, feeling a strange knot of emotion form in her chest. This place, so far from the chaotic streets they had come from, felt like it held the promise of something—perhaps safety, perhaps a new beginning.
Poca knelt beside Abraham, who had been quiet during the last leg of the journey. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Are you ready, petit?”
Abraham swallowed, his face pale but determined. “I think so,” he whispered.
Paola, watching the scene, felt a swell of pride for the boy. He had come so far, faced so much, and here he was—about to take another step into the unknown. She glanced over at Ayla, who had her arms crossed and was watching Abraham with a similar look of quiet admiration.
"We’re all with you," Ayla said, her voice steady and strong.
Abraham nodded, though his hands trembled slightly as he wiped them on his tunic. Poca stood, her hand still resting on the boy’s shoulder as they made their way toward the door, the others following close behind.
As they approached the small home nestled in the quiet corner of Windmere, Paola couldn’t help but feel the weight of the moment. The city streets had grown quieter, less chaotic, with the winding paths pulling them farther from the bustling heart of Windmere and into a peaceful residential area. The sounds of the sea were still present, distant but steady, like a soft lullaby in the background of their journey.
The house was modest, built from weathered stone with a red-tiled roof that mirrored the surrounding homes. It was small, cozy even, with ivy creeping up the side and a small garden blooming in the front. The scent of flowers mixed with the crisp sea air, a comforting fragrance that reminded Paola of simpler times, though they felt like a lifetime ago.
Abraham walked beside Poca, his small hand clutching the fabric of her potato sack dress. The boy looked paler than usual, his dark hair tousled and his eyes wide with nervous anticipation. He had grown closer to Poca over the journey, the initial fear he had of her slowly transforming into something like trust. But now, standing on the threshold of what could be a new life, that fear had returned, visible in the tension of his small body.
Poca, as always, remained steady, her soft smile encouraging him as they approached the door. She had been through so much, Paola knew—seen more than most ever would—and yet, she carried herself with an air of calm, a quiet strength that radiated from her even in moments like these.
They stopped at the door, and for a brief moment, the group stood in silence. Ayla, standing close to Paola, looked over at Poca, offering her a small nod of encouragement. Paola noticed the way Ayla’s hand rested on the hilt of her sword, not out of a need for protection but more as a grounding gesture. It was her way of showing support, without words.
Poca raised her hand and knocked softly. The sound was barely audible, but it echoed in the quiet of the street. They waited, the anticipation thick in the air, until they heard the shuffle of footsteps approaching from the other side of the door.
The door creaked open, revealing a woman in her mid-fifties with the casual air of someone who spent much of her time at the docks. She had dark, windswept hair streaked with gray, and her weathered face held a softness, though there was a sharpness in her gaze as she looked over the group. Her brown eyes, filled with curiosity and something like guarded warmth, lingered on Abraham.
Her smile, though faint, was genuine as she looked at him. “You must be Abraham,” she said, her voice carrying the hint of Windmere’s coastal lilt. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
The boy swallowed hard and nodded, clutching Poca’s hand tighter. Poca, sensing his nervousness, stepped forward, her voice calm and soothing. “Madame Belododia, I am Poca, and zis is your nephew, Abraham.”
Corrina Belododia’s smile widened just a bit as she looked over the boy, her eyes softening. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she said gently, though there was a trace of hesitation in her voice as she shifted her gaze to the others.
Paola watched as Corrina took in the sight of them—Ayla, in her armor; herself, with her cloak and bare feet; and Poca, with her stitched-up appearance. It was clear that while Corrina was welcoming, she was unsure about letting the entire group into her home.
Ayla, always perceptive, took a small step back and smiled politely. “I’ll wait outside,” she offered, her voice respectful. “This is family business, after all. Paola will stay with Poca to help.”
Paola glanced at Ayla, appreciating her tact. There was something about Ayla that always made people feel at ease, despite her intimidating exterior. It was part of what had drawn Paola to her in the first place. Paola nodded, stepping forward to stand beside Poca, offering her silent support.
Corrina hesitated for only a moment longer before nodding. “Alright then, come in,” she said, stepping aside and motioning for them to enter. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”
The inside of the house was small but homey, with simple furnishings that spoke of a life of practicality. The living room had a small fireplace with a modest fire crackling inside, casting a warm glow over the room. There was a well-worn rug on the floor, and the scent of woodsmoke mingled with something sweet, like cinnamon or cloves. The walls were lined with shelves holding knick-knacks, old books, and seashells collected from the nearby shore.
Paola felt a sense of calm wash over her as she stepped inside. This was the kind of place that held memories, that felt lived-in, loved. It wasn’t grand or impressive, but it was real. It was a home.
Corrina gestured for them to sit on the small, comfortable chairs arranged around the fireplace. Poca sat down first, motioning for Abraham to sit beside her, which he did, his small frame sinking into the chair. Paola remained standing for a moment, taking in the surroundings before sitting in the chair opposite Poca, her eyes observing the quiet interactions between the two.
Corrina took a seat across from them, her eyes flickering with emotion as she looked at Abraham. “I’ve been trying to get Jareth to send you here for months,” she said softly, her voice laced with a mixture of frustration and sadness. “But he wouldn’t let you go.”
Poca nodded, her expression serious. “He did not want to let 'im go, even at ze end,” she said gently. “But zis was 'is final wish. He wanted to make sure Abraham 'ad a future, a chance at a better life.”
Corrina looked down, her hands twisting in her lap. She was quiet for a moment, the crackling of the fire filling the silence. Finally, she spoke, her voice trembling slightly. “I knew Jareth was stubborn, but... I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten. He never told me the full truth about his condition.”
Poca’s eyes softened. “He did not want to burden you,” she said quietly. “But 'e also knew it was time. 'E trusted me to bring Abraham to you.”
Corrina’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she looked at the boy sitting next to Poca. Abraham, sensing the tension in the room, shifted uncomfortably but said nothing, his hands clasped tightly in his lap.
Paola watched the scene unfold, her heart aching for the boy. He had been through so much—losing his parents, caring for his sick grandfather, and now being handed off to someone he barely knew. It was a lot for anyone, let alone a child.
Corrina took a deep breath, composing herself before turning her gaze back to Poca. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For bringing him here. I know it wasn’t easy.”
Poca nodded, her voice steady. “It was 'is final request. I made a promise.”
The room fell into a contemplative silence as Corrina processed everything. Paola could see the weight of the responsibility settling on the woman’s shoulders, the realization that she was now responsible for this boy, her nephew, who had been through so much already.
Finally, Corrina spoke again, her voice stronger this time. “Abraham,” she said, turning to the boy, “I want you to know that you’re welcome here. This is your home now, for as long as you want it to be.”
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Abraham’s eyes filled with tears, but he blinked them back, nodding silently. He hadn’t said much throughout the entire conversation, but the relief in his expression was unmistakable. He was scared, yes, but he was also hopeful. Hopeful that maybe, just maybe, he had found a place where he could belong.
Poca reached out and gently patted his hand. “You will be alright, petit,” she said softly. “You 'ave a good 'eart, and you are stronger than you know.”
Corrina smiled at Poca, her gratitude clear in her eyes. “Thank you, again. For everything.”
Paola, watching the exchange, felt a swell of emotion in her chest. This moment, this quiet letting go and new beginning, was something she hadn’t experienced in a long time. It was a reminder that despite all the chaos and hardship in the world, there were still moments of kindness, of hope.
Poca and Corrina shared a brief but meaningful exchange of pleasantries as the tension in the room began to soften. The two women, although strangers, had come together over a shared responsibility—a child whose life had been filled with too much hardship and fear. The air felt lighter, the fire crackling softly in the small hearth, casting a warm glow over the cozy room.
Corrina stood up from her chair and crossed the room to a small cupboard tucked against the wall. She rummaged through it for a moment before pulling out a modest leather sack, the sound of clinking coins unmistakable. Poca watched her, eyes narrowing slightly, unsure of what Corrina intended to do.
Corrina turned back to Poca, holding out the sack. “This... this is for you,” she said softly, her voice filled with gratitude.
Poca immediately shook her head, raising her hands in refusal. “Non, I cannot take zat,” she said firmly, her tone gentle but resolute. “I did zis because I promised Jareth, not for any payment.”
Corrina gave her a knowing smile, stepping closer to Poca, pressing the sack into her hands despite the protest. “I know,” she said softly. “But this isn’t for what you promised. This was the payment Jareth wanted to give to whoever managed to bring Abraham to me. I had saved this to make sure someone could bring him safely if he managed to send him my way.”
Poca felt the weight of the sack in her hands, but it wasn’t the coins she was thinking about. It was the journey, the promises made and fulfilled, and the danger they had faced. Her green and purple eyes softened as she looked up at Corrina. “I... don’t know what to say.”
Corrina reached out and placed a hand on Poca’s shoulder, her grip firm but comforting. “Just take it,” she said quietly. “I know how dangerous the road is, how hard it must’ve been to keep him safe. This is not just a payment—it’s my gratitude. It’s for you, and it’s for Jareth.”
Poca hesitated for a moment longer, but the sincerity in Corrina’s voice melted away any lingering resistance. She nodded slowly, finally accepting the sack and tucking it into her pouch. “Merci,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Merci beaucoup.”
Without warning, Corrina pulled Poca into a tight hug, wrapping her arms around the stitched-up woman as though she had known her for years. Poca stiffened at first, not used to such gestures, but after a heartbeat, she relaxed, her arms gently returning the embrace. The warmth of the hug, the connection between them, made the moment feel heavier than she had anticipated.
When they pulled away, Corrina’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears. “Thank you for keeping him safe,” she whispered. “For giving him a chance.”
Poca nodded, her throat tight with emotion. “'E is a good boy,” she replied, her voice cracking slightly.
At that moment, Abraham approached them, his small figure casting a shadow in the soft firelight. His dark eyes, usually so guarded and anxious, were filled with a deep sadness. He had known this moment would come, but it didn’t make it any easier. Poca knelt down, meeting his gaze, her heart aching at the sight of the boy she had grown so fond of during their journey.
“Abraham,” she said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “You are going to be alright 'ere. Corrina will take care of you.”
Abraham nodded, but his bottom lip trembled as he looked up at her, his small frame shaking with the effort to keep his composure. “I know,” he whispered, his voice quivering. “But I don’t want to leave you, Poca.”
Tears stung the back of Poca’s eyes, but she forced herself to smile for his sake. She placed her hands gently on his shoulders. “You are brave, petit,” she said, her voice soft but filled with pride. “You 'ave come so far, and you are stronger zan you know. You will be safe 'ere, and you will grow up to be a fine young man. I will always remember you.”
Abraham sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, clearly trying to be strong. “Will I see you again?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Poca’s heart clenched at the question. She didn’t know what the future held, but she didn’t want to lie to him. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice gentle. “But you will always be in my 'eart, no matter where I am.”
Unable to hold back any longer, Abraham threw his arms around Poca, burying his face against her shoulder. Poca hugged him tightly, feeling the weight of his emotions, his fears, and his hopes. She could feel the slight tremble in his body as he clung to her, and it took every ounce of her strength to keep her own tears at bay.
Paola, standing a little ways off, watched the exchange with a heavy heart. She had grown used to Abraham’s quiet presence on their journey, and though she hadn’t shared as many moments with him as Poca had, there was still a sense of loss in this goodbye. The boy had endured so much, and now he was being asked to start over once again.
As Abraham finally pulled back from Poca’s embrace, he turned to Paola, his eyes red from holding back tears. Paola knelt down to his level, offering him a gentle smile. “Goodbye, Abraham,” she said softly.
To her surprise, Abraham smiled, though it was a small, shaky thing. “Goodbye, Paola,” he whispered. Then, as if remembering something important, he reached into the small satchel hanging at his side and pulled out a simple carved stick figure. It was rough and crude, but the effort was clear—he had made it himself.
He held it out to Poca. “This is for Carter,” he said quietly. “To say thank you... for keeping us safe.”
Poca took the small carved figure in her hands, her throat tightening as she looked at it. The little stick man had a wide smile carved into its face, just like Carter’s unsettling wooden grin. She smiled softly, touched by the gesture. “'E will love it, petit,” she promised. “I will make sure 'e gets it.”
With that final exchange, the group slowly made their way toward the door, the air heavy with emotion. Abraham stood with Corrina, watching them as they prepared to leave. Paola felt Ayla’s comforting presence behind her as they stepped outside, the cool evening air washing over them.
As the door closed behind them, Poca let out a shaky breath, glancing down at the small carved stick figure in her hands. The weight of the journey, of the promises made and kept, settled heavily on her shoulders.
Paola reached out, placing a hand on Poca’s shoulder. “You did good, Poca,” she said softly. “He’s in good hands now.”
Poca nodded, though her eyes were misty. “I know,” she whispered. “But zis... was harder than I thought it would be.”
Paola offered her a small, understanding smile. “Goodbyes always are.”
The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the winding streets of Windmere as Paola, Ayla, and Poca walked in quiet procession, the recent parting with Abraham hanging heavily over them. The city, usually buzzing with life, seemed subdued, or perhaps it was just their mood casting a pall over the vibrant town. The sound of Abraham’s small footsteps, his nervous but comforting presence, was gone. Now, there was only the faint sound of their own feet padding along the stone path, and Paola’s own felt unnervingly bare against the cool cobblestones, grounding her more than she liked.
She glanced over at Poca, whose usual light-hearted energy seemed to have drained away with the departure of the boy. Poca had been strong, unflinching, and warm throughout their journey, even in the face of danger. But now, as they made their way under a stone bridge, where the light filtered through the cracks and the foot traffic above thinned out, Poca came to a stop.
Paola paused too, noticing how Poca leaned back against the stone wall, letting the back of her head fall against it as she stared blankly up at the cobblestone arch of the bridge overhead. The familiar twinkle in her mismatched eyes—one green, one purple—was gone, replaced by a deep, haunting sadness. Even her stitched-on smile, the feature that had always seemed to make her look so cheerful and carefree, felt wrong now, like a mask barely holding up against the weight she carried.
Poca’s hair, usually an unruly cascade of black waves, caught the light from the sun peeking through the cracks above. Paola could see it now, the faint, almost imperceptible tint of navy blue that ran through her locks, deepening the darkness but also adding a subtle shimmer. It was one of those things Paola had noticed before but hadn’t paid much attention to—until now. Now, everything about Poca seemed to tell a deeper story, one of quiet resilience, and underneath, of exhaustion.
Ayla stood a few steps back, her red and blue eyes watching both of them. She said nothing, her presence as always, protective but calm. Her twin braids of golden hair hung down over her dragon-guard armor, her posture relaxed but alert, as though waiting for Poca to gather herself. The unspoken understanding between the three of them didn’t need words. There was a space here for Poca to take the time she needed, but Paola felt a pull to step closer, to reach out, to be there.
She could feel her heart beating faster, unsure of how close she should get. She had never been in a situation like this before. Sure, she cared about Poca, deeply even, but she was also with Ayla. This three-way bond they had somehow formed was still new, and Paola had no idea how to navigate it. She didn’t want to overstep, didn’t want to do something wrong—but at the same time, Poca had always been open about what she wanted, and Paola had feelings too, feelings that were only growing stronger.
Paola glanced down at her own feet as she took a small step forward, noticing how they were almost standing in the same space as Poca’s bare, light-blue feet. The contrast was striking, her skin that of a cloudless midday sky, smooth and flawless, a light sky blue that shimmered ever so slightly in the afternoon light. The soft ribbons that crisscrossed her chest beneath her simple burlap dress stood out against her skin, a subtle reminder of her stitched-together nature, both physically and emotionally. She was beautiful—so beautiful that it almost hurt Paola to see her like this, struggling under the weight of her own emotions.
Paola took another step, closing the gap between them, her tail flicking nervously behind her. Her ears, usually alert and upright, flattened against her head as she reached out cautiously, trying to gauge Poca’s reaction. Would she accept this? Did she want this? The uncertainty gnawed at Paola, but the look in Poca’s eyes, that deep, unspoken sadness mixed with something else—something like longing—urged her on.
Their eyes met, and time seemed to slow. Paola couldn’t tell how long they stood there, just looking at each other. It felt like an eternity, but also like no time at all. Poca’s stitched smile was still there, but her lips trembled slightly, her usually joyful demeanor shattered. And then Paola saw it—the longing for something more, for a sense of belonging, for comfort in a world that rarely offered it to people like them.
Paola reached out slowly, tentatively, until her fingers brushed against Poca’s. The touch was electric, sending a small jolt up her spine, but it wasn’t just the physical contact—it was what it meant. Poca didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into it, letting their fingers intertwine, and Paola could feel the tension in her body slowly release, as though just being close to someone she cared about was enough to ground her, to keep her from falling apart completely.
Paola stepped even closer, and before she realized it, they were face to face, so close that she could feel Poca’s soft breath against her skin. Their foreheads touched gently, noses brushing against each other in the lightest, most intimate way. It felt like the first time they were truly connecting, despite the kisses and embraces they’d shared before. This was different. This was raw, vulnerable, and real.
Poca’s breath hitched slightly as their lips finally met, slow and hesitant, as though they were testing the waters of something new. The kiss was soft, unhurried, and full of emotion that words could never quite capture. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was an unspoken promise, a reassurance that despite everything, despite the hardships, they had each other.
When they pulled away, their foreheads touched once again, lingering in the closeness. Paola’s tail had wrapped itself around Poca’s leg without her even realizing it, and her ears, which had been flat against her head in uncertainty, now twitched gently in contentment. For a moment, the world outside the stone bridge ceased to exist, and it was just the two of them, holding on to each other in the quiet of the afternoon.
Poca was the first to break the silence, her voice barely a whisper. “I... I’m sorry for breaking down like zat.”
Paola shook her head, her forehead still resting against Poca’s. “No,” she whispered back. “It’s okay. I’m here for you.”
At those words, Poca froze, her breath catching in her throat. She looked into Paola’s eyes, searching for something, as if she wasn’t sure if she’d heard correctly. There was a vulnerability there that Paola hadn’t seen before, something raw and unguarded.
Paola’s tail flicked again, this time wrapping a little tighter around Poca’s thigh as if to reassure her. Her ears twitched nervously, but she didn’t pull away. “I’m here for you, Poca,” she repeated softly, her voice steady despite the rush of emotions swirling inside her.
Poca’s green and purple eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and for the first time, the perpetual joy that had always seemed to define her cracked, revealing the deep yearning beneath it all. She leaned her head against Paola’s shoulder, and they stood there, in the shadow of the stone bridge, just holding each other in the quiet.
Ayla, who had been standing back, watching with a soft smile on her face, stepped forward then, placing a gentle hand on both of their shoulders. Her presence was calming, grounding, as if to remind them that they weren’t alone in this. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. Her presence alone was enough to convey her understanding, her support.
They stood there for a long moment, the three of them together, letting the emotions of the day settle. Windmere, with all its beauty and bustle, seemed distant now, the world narrowing down to just the three of them and the unspoken bond they shared.
Eventually, Paola straightened, pulling back slightly to look at Poca. “We’ll get through this,” she said softly, her voice filled with quiet determination.
Poca nodded, her stitched smile returning, though it was softer now, more genuine. She reached up, brushing a strand of Paola’s hair behind her ear. “I know,” she whispered. “With both of you, I know.”
They shared another soft kiss, this one lighter, more comforting than the first, before they finally stepped apart, though their hands remained loosely intertwined.
Ayla gave a small chuckle, her red and blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Guess we should start moving before we attract too much attention.”
Paola laughed softly, her ears perking up in agreement. “Yeah, probably.” She glanced around, noticing a few passersby had indeed slowed to glance at the odd trio beneath the bridge, though most seemed to be in too much of a hurry to linger.
With a final squeeze of Poca’s hand, Paola took a deep breath, the cool afternoon air filling her lungs. She still felt the weight of everything they had been through, the loss of Abraham’s quiet presence still fresh in her mind. But standing here, with Poca and Ayla by her side, she felt stronger, more grounded.
As they finally stepped out from under the bridge and back into the winding streets of Windmere, the comforting shadows gave way to the vibrant hustle and bustle of the city. The sun hung lower in the sky now, casting long golden rays across the stone buildings and narrow alleyways, reflecting off the red-clay rooftops and filling the air with a soft warmth.
Ayla, always the practical one, stretched her arms above her head and shot a playful glance at Paola. “Well, I guess we should probably head to the Arcane Forge now, right?”
Paola groaned inwardly, her tail flicking with annoyance. “Of course we do. And guess who’s going to be waiting for us there, bouncing off the walls like a magical bomb just waiting to go off?”
Ayla chuckled. “Yasmin?”
Paola let out an exaggerated sigh. “Who else? I swear, if I hear one more joke about explosions, I might actually explode.”
Poca, finally shaking off the weight that had been pressing down on her, smiled mischievously. “You know, Yasmin was a wee bit too much at first, non? But now zat I’ve gotten to know 'er, I zink I quite like 'er lively attitude.”
Paola shot her a disbelieving look, though she wasn’t really surprised. “Of course, you do. You’re the only one who could keep up with her without losing your mind.”
Poca giggled, her mismatched eyes sparkling with a light that had been missing earlier. “And you, Paola, you are such a grumpy cat.” She grinned, reaching out to flick one of Paola’s ears playfully. “Always so serious, mon chaton.”
Paola felt her ears flatten, though a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I’m not grumpy,” she muttered, half-heartedly swatting at Poca’s hand. “I just prefer things a little quieter.”
Poca leaned closer, her smile widening. “Quieter, eh? I zink you just don’t like zat Yasmin ‘as more energy zan you.”
Paola sighed dramatically, her tail flicking lazily behind her. “Maybe I just don’t like chaos.”
“Zat’s ironic, coming from someone who is chaos,” Poca teased, her laughter soft and infectious.
Paola tried to scowl but couldn’t help the smile that slipped through as she bumped her shoulder against Poca’s. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just hope Yasmin doesn’t blow anything up before we get there.”
As they walked side by side, the weight of the day still lingered, but the laughter, the teasing, and the quiet understanding between them made the world feel a little lighter. They made their way through the winding streets of Windmere, the towering structures of the Arcane Forge should have been their guiding beacon. Yet, once again, the concentric design of the city proved to be more of a maze than a guide. Each street seemed to twist and turn, leading them further into unfamiliar territory.
Paola sighed as they paused at yet another intersection, her bare feet making soft taps against the stone road. "I swear we’ve passed that same statue three times now."
Ayla, who had been walking confidently ahead, stopped and crossed her arms. "I’m starting to think Windmere’s layout was designed just to confuse people."
Poca, ever the optimist, smiled brightly despite the clear confusion. "Non, non! We’re getting closer, I can feel it!"
Paola raised an eyebrow, her tail flicking with doubt. "Can you though?"
Poca’s stitched-on smile stretched wide as she ignored the teasing. “I shall ask zis nice gentleman!” She trotted off toward a passerby, a middle-aged man carrying a large sack of vegetables.
“Excuse me, monsieur!” Poca called, her voice light. “Could you direct us to ze Arcane Forge?”
The man, startled at first by the sight of Poca’s stitched-up frame, recovered quickly and gave a nervous smile. "The Arcane Forge, eh? You’re a bit far off. Head down this street, take the second left, then keep going until you hit the central plaza. From there, just follow the noise—it’s hard to miss."
Poca beamed, thanking the man profusely before trotting back to Paola and Ayla. “See! Simple enough!”
Paola groaned. "Simple for everyone else maybe."
Ayla grinned, brushing a braid over her shoulder. “We’ll get there… eventually.”
True to form, after another few minutes of walking, they found themselves wandering in a completely different direction. Paola gave Poca a sidelong glance. “Second left, huh?”
Poca laughed sheepishly. “Perhaps I missed one left… or two.” She paused, scanning the street again. “Wait here. I’ll ask someone else!”
Before either Paola or Ayla could protest, Poca was already approaching an elderly woman carrying a basket of herbs. With a few more exchanged words and some dramatic hand gestures from Poca, she returned, victorious. “Zis way! We are only a few streets away!”
Paola shook her head but couldn’t help a small smile. “If we get lost again, I’m never letting you lead.”
“Oh, mon chaton,” Poca teased with a wink, “you know you would be lost without me!”
Paola rolled her eyes, but her heart was lighter as they followed Poca’s directions—this time, surprisingly, heading in the right direction.