Month of Solara, 3rd Day of Ventis

Waking up the following day, Lyra and Eamon were at the Ashen Vanguard guild and waiting for their Master to finish with the other students. Half a dozen men and women were in white-robed Gi, sparring with one another.

“Good, you both are prompt and on time. Are you ready?” he asked, walking over to them.

“Yes, Master.” They both said in unison. However, their rigid posture and distance gave away that something was amiss.

Ealdred’s thick brow raised, and he looked between the two, sensing the tension in the air. “What happened?”

Eamon was about to answer him, but Lyra spoke first.

“It’s nothing, Master. Just a bit unsettled after the Chancellor’s announcement.”

The students’ powerful cries were emulated throughout the guild’s building, followed by the clanking their wooden weapons, which they used to spar.

Ealdred hummed. “Yes, the Harmony Taxation Act. How are you feeling about that?”

Though Ealdred spoke generally, he looked at Eamon, who shuffled from the stare. Lyra caught the movement but looked away, arms crossed.

Eamon answered him, clearing his throat first, “Still processing, Master. What will our task be today?”

“I’m sure Lyra already guessed. You’ll be doing your communicating duties as a Locksmith. There's been a bit of unrest since yesterday, and we must ensure that any disarray within the people is quelled. We must not just close Rifts but keep an eye out for any.”

“Yes, Master,” They said.

Both Eamon and Lyra grabbed their weapons and left the guild.

•†•

“Where to first?” Eamon asked, following closely behind. He heard her mumble, ‘I thought you were my senior.’

A snark response fell past Lyra’s pursed lips. “We’ll be going to Sylvanbrook’s town center. With that morning's announcement, you can bet there will be quite the chatter among the locals.”

Eamon wanted to ask Lyra if she was alright, but it wasn’t the time or place. They only had to walk down a straight path to Sylvanbrook’s town center.

The smell of buttery and warm bread wafted up Eamon’s nose when they approached ‘Jenkins Bakery & Goods.’

“Morning, Mr. Jenkins. How’s everything?” Lyra asked when she approached the window.

A middle-aged man with wavy brown hair, wearing an apron, beamed at her.

“Oh, you’re just in luck. I made a fresh loaf this morning, and I figured you’d be going around town for your task as timely as ever your grandfather is.”

As he wrapped the steaming loaf, Lyra leaned over the stall’s table—Mr—Jenkins caught sight of Eamon.

“Eh? New Locksmith? I've never seen him around. Are you in training, young man?”

Lyra smirked. She enjoyed the fact Mr. Jenkins thought he was under her tutelage.

Eamon figured no one would recognize him. His black hair was usually short, past his ear, and his brown eyes had a dull, expressive look.

“It’s good to see you again, Mr. Jenkins. It’s me, Eamon Ashbourne.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Eamon? As in Eldred’s boy and protégé?”

Lyra rolled her eyes. She bit into the flaky, warm bread he had handed her. She leaned against the side of the wood.

“I haven’t seen you since, well… you know.” Mr. Jenkins stumbled over his words, not wanting to trigger any traumatic memories or incidents.

“…Yes, that.” Eamon, too, shared his uneasiness in regaling the memories.

Neither wanted to bring up the Empire or the military.

“It’s been a while, but I’m back permanently.” He huffed out the last part, hoping to change the subject.

The man laughed. Relief washed over him. “Good, good! It was always a delight to have you roaming into town. You were always willing to help anyone, even beyond your Locksmith duties. Why, when you left, Lyra declared she’d take up the mantle you left and that you’d be proud of her when you returned.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Lyra almost choked on the bread, her face turning red. Eamon’s eyes widened. He was just as surprised that even as she got older, she looked up to him and sought his approval.

That’s probably not the case now. He thought somberly.

“So, uh,” Lyra cleared her throat after recovering. She rubbed it, hoping to push down the clump of bread lodged there. “We came here to ask about the announcement. You know, keep the peace to make sure people are managing.”

With the mention of the announcement, Jenkins' face turned sour. “Aye, you can say that. Folks are either unnerved, curious, or aren’t bothered, but you can see from the crowds that people are talking among themselves about it.”

“And what about you?” Eamon asked.

Jenkins sighed. He folded his hands together. “To tell you the truth, I’m just not so sure about these new taxes. Sure, the Chancellor says it’s for our protection, but will it make a difference? And what about the Locksmiths? They’ve always been there for us, and to hear him boast about his military and bring up the tragedy? It just doesn't sit right with me.”

Lyra and Eamon glanced at one another, and an unspoken thought of sympathy for the man was shared between them.

“But don’t take my word at face value; plenty of folks have opinions on what unity could mean for them.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jenkins. You were a big help,” Lyra said, bowing her head and stepping away from the stall.

Mr. Jenkins nodded. He turned to Eamon and said, “And welcome back.”

They walked away from the bakery. Eamon turned to Lyra, “Where to next?”

Not far from the bakery was a farmer’s stall selling fresh produce at the exit leading to the farmland of Sylvanbrook.

A brunette-haired woman with a fair tan complexion called out to customers as they passed. A few customers stopped by and handed her round, durable alloy currency: a copper and silver Denarius.

Lyra and Eamon stepped into line. They were up next.

“Lyra! It’s good to see you.” She beamed at her with a broad smile. “Here to pick up a grocery list for your mother?”

“Not today, Ava. I’m on Locksmith duty.” She whispered the last part.

Ava nodded, knowing that her job as a Locksmith was kept secret from her mother finding out. “I’m sure it’s about yesterday’s announcement, yes?” Lyra nodded. “But first, who’s this strapping young man? Are you already courting Lyra? You are of the age, and he is quite the looker.”

Lyra’s cheeks had been red before, but Eamon’s was even redder by the woman’s words.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Lyra exclaimed. She smacked her palm against her forehead. “No. No. You already know him, Ava. This is Eamon.”

Ava, too, looked surprised. “Ealdred’s boy? Well, I’ll be. It’s been four years since you left at eighteen. How old are you now?”

“I’ve only turned twenty-one a few months ago, Ma’am.”

Ava laughed, slamming her palm on the wooden table. “Ha, Ma’am! You were always the polite stickler for titles, and you still are. Those bloody Imperials ain’t turn you, thank Lumos.”

Eamon nervously chuckled.

“Lyra, I approve even more. You always wanted to be around Eamon when you were little, and now Lumos’ blessing has aligned you two again.”

Lyra slapped her hand to her face once more, mumbling, “This can’t be happening.”

Though Eamon enjoyed Lyra being teased, he, too, was experiencing secondhand embarrassment, and he prayed to Lumos that she wouldn’t tell tales about him.

“Actually, that reminds me!” Ava practically shouted, making some heads turn to her. “I remember when you were a young boy, and you wanted to go out to the fields and pick some orchids for Lyra’s birthday.”

Eamon’s eyes widened, and Lyra looked at him with a raised brow.

He cleared his throat. “We came to ask you something, Ava.” Hoping to change the subject before she revealed anything more.

They briefly summarized their tasks for the day, which included asking the townsfolk what they thought about the new Harmony Taxation Act.

“Ah, well, I don’t mind the taxes much. It helps keep those Veilspawns away, yeah? Then it’s worth it. But they better not forget about us farmers. We work hard to feed this country.”

They thanked Ava and went to their next destination before she could regale them with more stories from their childhood.

“Never thought I would have been missed like that.” Eamon truthfully said. He always thought people would shun him or look at him with betrayal.

Lyra hummed, looking at him, wondering why he had such a negative thought like that. “What do you mean? Once a Sylvanbrook, always a Sylvanbrook. No matter if you donned the enemy's garments.”

Eamon looked at her. “So you don’t hate me?” She raised a brow, confused, so he explained in more detail, “You left pretty quick yesterday.”

“Oh…that.” She was silent for a moment. “It’s…complicated.” She eyed him and smirked, repeating what he had told her.

Eamon let his smile meet his eyes. It was the first time they had a sincere conversation.

The clanking of metals and hammers brought them out of their trance. They were led to the blacksmith’s shop. A woman with an ebony complexion and locs pulled back by a scarf was hammering a broad piece of metal.

“Erhm, sorry to bother you, Fiona.”

Fiona didn’t look up as she continued smashing hammer to iron. “Yeah, I’m sorry, Lyra, and you too, Eamon, by chance?”

Eamon was the one surprised this time. “Oh, how’d you know?”

Fiona chuckled. “A blacksmith has to have a good memory, see. And even if you’ve grown taller and your hair longer, you can’t wash away Sylvanbrook from your blood.”

Lyra elbowed him with a grin. “Told you.”

“Now, what do I owe you the pleasure?”

They explained how they asked townsfolk about their feelings toward Chancellor Viktor’s announcement.

Fiona grunted. She briefly stopped her hammering. “Taxes, Taxes, Taxes. It’s all anyone ever talks about now and will do for the coming days.” She shook her head, hand on one hip and gripping her hammer in her other hand. “I’m more concerned about the rumors of the military taking over Locksmiths’ duties. Can they do the same job? And it still doesn’t sit right with me about the Veilfall tragedy. Veilspawns got there first? Where were the Locksmiths? They’ve never let death happen, but the minute the Imperial military comes around, there are?”

She shook her head. “Just don’t sit right with me. But I’m getting distracted; I’m sorry, kids,” she said, preparing to return to work. “Was that all you needed?”

“Oh, no, no, we understand!” Lyra waved her hands enthusiastically.

Eamon bowed slightly. “Thank you for giving us your time.”

They walked away from the blacksmith and stood in the center by the fountain.

Lyra crossed her arms. “Rumors, huh? I did get the impression that Mr. Jenkins said that the Chancellor was boasting about the military.”

Eamon nodded. “And the tragedy seemed to be used as a sympathy card, I’m guessing.”

Lyra hummed, rubbing her chin. “Let’s go further into the business district, west of here.”

Eamon nodded, following her lead.