Hiedah, Minbasha 6, 350 AOR

“You’re moping is incredibly annoying, brat. I can’t even focus.”

“I’m not even talking.”

“You don’t have to. It’s like it’s oozing out of every orifice in your body… That’s a gross image now that I think about it. Apologies.”

“Do you ever think before you speak?”

“The best words are the first words, for they are the truth that your mind speaks first.”

“How insightful… for a womanizer.”

“Why do you insist on calling me that?”

“You flirted with my mother… and sister… and the waitress back in Zarg… and Wendy back in Markstead.”

“Fool. That’s flirting. Flir-ting. I don’t fuck every woman I—”

“And that’s enough for me,” Cal declared as he rose from his prone position on the couch in Airetore’s office, though that resulted in him getting blinded by the early morning rays of Vrexa.

He squinted his eyes shut and faced his back toward the roof-to-ceiling window that towered over the desk Airetore sat at. The change in direction allowed him another glance around the room. Following the same themes as most of Aldera’s rooms, the office was both lofty and long. Stone walls and floors were also decorated with crimson furniture like the rest of the academy, and between the walls—two stories tall and filled to the brim with books—was a large table, two couches with a tea table, and then Airetore’s desk, in order. The smaller pair of double doors in front of the large table led to the hallway, but the single door between one of the walls of bookshelves led to Airetore’s room—which Cal had obviously not been into.

Though simple, the number of books and scrolls circling in the air—as well as the hundreds of documents and grimoires stacked up or scattered across the floor and furniture—made it abundantly clear that the office still belonged to someone worthy of the name Sage.

Once Cal’s eyes readjusted to the light within the room, he stood up, making sure not to kick the waddling line of books headed toward Airetore, and approached one of the bookshelves. He grabbed one at random, flipped through it senselessly, and repeated the process.

“It’s your first weekend in Elda. Why are you here?” Airetore said, his eyes glued on the several parchments on his desk.

“What else is there to do?”

Behind rounded glasses, Airetore glanced up, head still lowered. “Again… it’s your first weekend in Elda… Might I remind you that this is one of Wyze’s Three Great Kingdoms, famously known for its abundance in anything and everything?”

“I have no interest in it.”

“But you have interest in interrupting my research?”

“The investigation?” Cal inquired, pausing in his fruitless flipping of pages.

“No. I wish to become a Savant; therefore, I need to start breaking ground in more advanced Magic Arts.”

“Then what about the investigation?”

“As I said a week ago, we have to lay low and acclimate to the new environment… which you’re tackling with the elegance of a brain-dead donkey,” he muttered the last part. “I’ve started forming relationships with many professors and even a few noblemen. It’s rather easy when you’re me, but by the end of the semester, so long as my pupil doesn’t get expelled, I should be able to get my hands dirty.”

“So, no leads?”

“Nope.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yep.”

“Then what?”

“Don’t fuck up,” Airetore shrugged. “You’re on a bad streak right now, you know?”

“Tsk,” Cal clicked his tongue and jammed the book he held back where it belonged.

“Don’t be upset because you realize how much you pale in comparison to your peers. Put your pride aside and accept that you need more. How you do so, and to what degree, I can’t tell you, because when push comes to shove, the only person who can change you, is you.” Airetore froze, but in the next beat, he slammed his palms on the desk, head shooting upward. “Shit! That’s some damn good advice! Am I not a wonderful master to my dearest pupil?”

“Put the pride aside… huh?” Cal grumbled as he frowned at the professor and shifted toward the door.

“You don’t want more guidance, brat? I’ve been on a tear!” Airetore called out as Cal drew toward the exit.

“No. You’re annoying,” he shot back before opening the double doors and slamming them shut.

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Mutters of aggravation spilled out of Cal’s lips as he dragged himself through the halls of Aldera. Despite being the first weekend of the semester, the halls were rather empty. With Airetore doing his own research, and his desire to read nonexistent, Cal was uncertain what to do. It didn’t help that he had idiotically left his daggers back in Grounds Three. He had gone back to retrieve them early in the morning, just to find that they were nowhere within the training grounds.

“Idiot,” Cal murmured to himself as he turned a corner and slammed right into another person, someone so light that Cal practically walked over them.

Had he not wrapped his arms around them, they would have surely fallen; instead, they were encircled in Cal’s arms as they were angled diagonally with their legs between his. When he felt like he’d successfully thwarted the disastrous collision, Cal looked down, only to find him staring into the wide green eyes of one Grace Prath, her arms crossed against her chest. Eyes roaming down from her tomato-red face, Cal realized that she held a cloth, and sticking out of it was—conveniently—the hilts of his blades.

“My daggers?” he said, tone quizzical.

“Y-Y-Yes,” Grace squeaked.

“Why do you have my daggers?”

“P-Please stop hugging me.”

“Ah.”

Instantly, Cal righted Grace and brushed off her shoulders whilst the magess’ enlarged eyes bore into the floor between them.

She then thrusted Cal’s blades into his chest. Voice cracking, she spoke swiftly. “Y-You left them at Grounds Three yesterday, a-and I’m going to the bakery to help my parents, so—so I thought I’d return them to you before I left.”

“Ah… Thanks,” Cal said before sheathing the blades in his empty holsters.

“Um… Are you okay?” Grace asked, seeming to have gathered her bearings a bit more.

“What do you mean?”

“Well… you seemed pretty upset yesterday, and… your eyes are a bit darker today.” Her cheeks flushed. “By the gods, that sounded weird. I-I’m not saying I’m looking at your eyes all the time.”

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“I never said you were.”

She whined and tapped her cheeks a few times. “Anyway! I-I just wanted to make sure you were okay!”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

“Leaving your weapons behind is never a good sign. That’s what my father taught me.”

“Mine did too, but again, I’m fine.”

Grace looked up at Cal, expression seemingly troubled before it grew firm. “What… What are you doing for the rest of the day?”

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The aroma of sugary desserts and freshly baked bread invaded Cal’s nostrils, a delicacy of nostalgia and untapped comfort that was foreign in more ways than one.

A fireplace to the right, past the mismatching chairs and rickety side table between them, could have been the source of the overwhelming warmth that surrounded Cal, but something about the candle-lit chandeliers, aged books, and barely living plants told Cal otherwise. As they had entered a corner store deep within the Northern District, Cal didn’t expect anything grand; however, it hardly mattered, for the sense of familiarity and belonging overwhelmed such pessimistic sentiments. To the left of the fireplace was an L-shaped counter. Beneath it, dozens of different pastries and treats were separated by a glass wall. Behind the counter were more shelves built into the wall, though those were full of a variety of mugs, plants, and older dishware. The floors were made up of old, yet beautiful dark wood, and atop it were wooden tables with cushioned chairs. Bay windows on both sides of the bakery’s door were paired with booth seats and cushioned benches. There were only a few patrons in the store, each nibbling at their respective treat or sipping from their tea cups.

Captivated by the cozy bakery, Cal silently followed behind Grace as she led him to the counter. There, Cal took a closer look at the cookies, cakes, and desserts behind the glass wall. Had he been just a tad more engrossed in his observations, he might have missed the green eyes looking back at him between two cakes. Startling backward, Cal rose up, looking across the counter as a woman popped up as well. Her features were strikingly similar to Grace’s; however, where the magess possessed lighter hair put up in a bun, the woman in front of him, with a few wrinkles creasing her brow, had slightly darker hair that was dressed in a bob. Still, Cal understood who she was.

“Who’s this handsome boy, Grace?”

“M-Mother!” Grace cried out. “D-Don’t go saying that to Cal!”

“Cal? The boy you and Venella have been talking about?” When Grace whined at her mother, the latter turned to Cal. “Don’t mind, sweetheart. I’m just teasing you, though I have been itching to meet you.”

“You know me?”

Grace’s mother shrugged. “Disregarding Grace’s comments, word has made its way around the Common District about a young man sticking up for Krista at Havan’s place—said he wielded two daggers and wore his hair up into a ponytail. They also say he has pretty green eyes,” she added with a wink.

“Mother!” Grace shrieked before running around the corner and attempting to strangle the aforementioned.

All the while, the older woman simply laughed before holding a hand out to Cal. “My name is Vivian Prath. It’s a pleasure to meet such a kind boy.”

Choosing not to refute her latter statement, Cal lightly grabbed her hand and shook it. “Cal Gray.”

“A man of few words, just as she said,” Vivian snickered before retracting her hand and spreading both arms along the counter. “Take your pick, Cal. It’s on the house.”

“I don’t like sweets,” Cal said.

That was a lie.

Cal loved sweets, and Vivian seemed to notice that as she leaned on the counter and grinned. “Your eyes say otherwise. You’re practically salivating, sweetheart.”

A tinge of redness coated Cal’s cheeks before he coughed into his hand. “The cinnamon roll.”

“Not too difficult to respond, yeah?” she asked while grabbing Cal’s dessert. When she came back up, she handed Cal the treat. “Venella just made this batch, so please do enjoy it.”

“Venella’s here?” inquired Cal.

“In the flesh!” the heiress shouted out as she burst out of a pair of swinging doors, ones that clearly led to the kitchen. The heiress—hair pulled back and wearing an apron covered in flour—walked to the counter with a wide grin. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Calvin!”

“That’s not my name,” Cal grumbled before raising a brow toward Venella. “What are you even doing here?”

“Why do you care?” she asked, only to laugh at Cal’s neutral countenance. “I’m kidding ya. The Praths took me in when I ran away to Elda.”

“They took you in?”

She nodded. “Ran into Grace on my first day here, knocked over some crates she was carrying, so I helped her bring them back here, where Viv and Estevan learned about all that happened with me.”

“And we decided to bring her in,” Vivian added before twirling out of Grace’s hold and wrapping her arms around Venella’s neck from behind.

Cal watched as Vivian made certain there was no distance between her and the heiress, a question coming to his mind—a rather important one too. “Is this not… dangerous—for the daughter of a duke to be living in… well, the Common District?”

“You don’t think I can handle myself?” Venella inquired, lips pressed tightly together.

“You kicked my ass. Of course not,” Cal said. “But I believe having someone of such high status could lead to trouble.”

Venella threw an uncaring hand at Cal. “I’ve been invisible most my life.” She snorted. “Hell, nobody even approaches me in class. I don’t even think they know who I am, and if they do, they’ve yet to show the same interest to me as they have with the Golden Prince and Elf Princess. That’s why I like the Prath’s place.”

At Cal’s confused expression, Venella motioned toward a booth, where she, Cal, and Grace walked to as Vivian helped tend to one of the patrons. Once sat, Venella stared squarely at Cal.

“What?” he asked, rather uncomfortable with her probing gaze.

“Eat it,” the heiress said.

“Huh?”

“The cinnamon roll. I made it. So tell me what you think.”

Ignoring her blunt request, Cal hesitantly took a bite, almost nervous as both Grace and Venella watched him eat with such focus. Their eager eyes almost caused Cal to choke out of sheer discomfort, but he eventually swallowed the savory treat, relishing in the perfect ratio of bread to sugar and icing. When he fully consumed it, he looked at the two girls.

“Good.”

…

“That’s it?” Venella exclaimed as she threw her hands up in defeat.

“Any pointers, Cal?” asked Grace.

Cal shook his head. “No. It’s good.”

“By the gods, you’re boring,” Venella bemoaned, reclining in the booth so as to lean against Grace’s side.

“Sorry,” Cal said.

“Are you?” was the heiress’ response. Cal shrugged, earning a humored scoff from Venella. “You really do make it hard for people to like you.”

“Have you taken a second to think that it’s not something I desire,” Cal said before popping another chunk of dessert into his mouth, secretly appreciating the sweetness.

Venella crossed her arms, amber eyes stern. “Maybe so, yet you entertain Ray’s attempts at friendship, and you accept our requests to spar… It sounds like there’s a piece of you that seeks companionship.”

“And you know this how?” Cal asked disinterestedly.

“Because in my life of living by everyone else’s rules, I was forced to become something that wasn’t me. I was taught that it was wrong to go against the status quo, but because I found fault in it, I was ostracized by my family and the people of my father’s empire,” Venella explained, eyes glancing at Grace for a long beat before she looked back at Cal. “The Praths took me in two weeks before the semester started, showing me a life I’d never even dreamed of living. Simple as it may have been, I learned something important: if you wish to be happy, you can’t just reject society’s status quo, you must reject yours as well. Get uncomfortable, be different, and reinvent yourself in whatever way possible. That’s the only way we can grow.”

Cal sat in silence, eyes fixed on Venella’s in a numbed state. On the table, half of his dessert remained. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost dangerous. “Don’t be ridiculous… Your status quo surrounded which dress you would wear, what fork you needed to eat with, and how you would weave your way through noble society each and every day; meanwhile, my status quo meant wondering when my home would be attacked next, who I would have to bury hours later, and how I would defend my home from those who only wished to watch it burn. So… before you talk about your status quo, maybe stop to think that not everyone’s is the same as yours.”

With that, Cal stood from the booth and headed for the door, though not before stopping and giving Vivian his thanks.

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“Gah! What an ass,” Venella complained as she and Grace watched Cal walk out of the store.

“He’s not wrong,” Grace mumbled.

“You’re going to defend him?” Venella complained. “He’s done nothing but act a fool. Why are you so dead set on being nice to him?”

Grace paused, the answer on the tip of her tongue. She hesitated to answer, though she eventually did, her voice a whisper. “Because… there’s a sense of kindness to him.”

“Kindness?” Venella repeated with a considerable amount of aversion. “You think Cal Gray is kind? He’s insulted basically everyone around him.”

“Yeah, but…” Grace paused, looking down at the table while twiddling with her fingers. “He did stick up for Krista in the tavern, and he also walked with me to the Grand Chamber…”

“That’s your reasoning?” Venella inquired, expression flat.

“Well, I-I mean, if he were as rude as you say he is, don’t you think he’d be a lot more distant—like Sylvest?”

“Those two are one and the same. There’s not much of a difference between them.”

“Regardless… I don’t want to leave him alone. I—I know all too well what that’s like.”

“Would you like to know something?” Both girls looked over to see Vivian leaning on the counter, chin in hand as she smiled softly at the girls. “It may come off as everyday advice, but those who hurt others always have a reason as to why. That said, Venella, do you think those who are hurt don’t deserve love and acceptance?”

The heiress’ mouth opened, only for her to sputter, face flushing before she resorted to looking away. “Obviously not, but… what good is helping someone who doesn’t want it to begin with?”

“The good is knowing that you were able to help another soul,” Vivian said. “In this world, wrought with war, suffering, and unfamiliarity, we should strive to help one another as best we can, for if we do, that means we can approach tomorrow with wider arms.”

Head still downturned, Venella frowned. “I understand.”

“Good,” Vivian said, clapping her hands as she rounded the counter and headed for the door. “Now I need to run some errands. Grace, watch after your little brothers, yes?”

“Yes ma’am,” Grace mumbled, looking at Cal’s half-eaten dessert whilst ignoring the lingering disappointment that he had left so soon.