The streets had started to quiet, the sun slipping low on the horizon and casting soft amber light across the town's cobbled roads. I walked a few steps behind them—Albert and Asha—watching, arms folded behind my back and a fond smile tugging at my lips.
Albert, now fully embracing his new role, had taken it upon himself to be Asha's personal guide, guard, and walking encyclopedia.
"That's a steam-powered bread oven," he explained, pointing to a bakery window. "See how the chimney curves? It vents the extra pressure so it doesn't explode—"
"Like fireworks?" Asha asked, wide-eyed.
He laughed, scooping her up easily. "Only if you mess it up. I almost did once. Burned my eyebrows off."
She gasped, utterly fascinated, and he nodded sagely, carrying her down the street like some older brother knighted by snack crumbs and curiosity.
I shook my head and chuckled under my breath. "Don't spoil her too much," I called out.
Albert waved a dismissive hand. "You say that now, but I've already been converted."
I rolled my eyes and gave them both a playful glare. "Pick the snacks you want to bring for the trip, and anything else you need—give it to me. I'll stash it all in the item ring."
They both nodded, eyes lighting up at the word snacks. A moment later, they had dashed off together like a pair of wind spirits, chattering and laughing as they disappeared into the marketplace.
Which left me blessedly alone. And, honestly? It was nice.
I took the opportunity to head to the Adventurer's Guild, brushing past the swing of the ornate glass doors and stepping into the familiar hum of quest chatter, clinking coins, and the occasional barked argument over monster bounties.
The clerk at the front desk—a young man with more ink stains than buttons—perked up when he saw me.
"Lord Averan," he said, cheeks already turning the color of ripe tomatoes. "You're…back."
I gave him a warm smile. "Looking for a few missions along the path I'll be traveling."
"Of course!" he fumbled, thumbing through a binder so worn the edges curled like parchment in humidity. "These are mid-tier silver-rank quests that match your destination. Escort requests, beast subjugation, and even a few rare herb collections, if you're interested in alchemy components."
"Perfect." I took the file he handed over, brushing his fingers lightly on accident. He nearly dropped his quill.
"Thank you," I said with an easy grin. "You've been helpful."
His ears turned pink but he managed to bow and maintain his professional tone. "A pleasure as always, my lord. Safe travels."
I left him to melt quietly behind the counter and made my way back toward the inn.
Only to find exactly what I expected.
There they were—Albert sitting on the edge of the inn's front steps and Asha nestled beside him, both of them with cheeks full like chipmunks caught mid-heist.
The snack bag between them was half-empty.
I didn't say a word. I just crossed my arms and stared.
Albert, through a mouthful of roasted honeyed peanuts, dared to look innocent. "We were… testing."
Asha, crumbs on her nose and fingers sticky with caramel glaze, looked up at me with her big bright eyes. "Quality check!"
I sighed. Long and loud. "You were supposed to bring those snacks for the trip."
Albert swallowed, stood up with too much dignity, and handed me a pouch of cookies.
"These survived."
I took it. Glared.
"…barely."
Still, I couldn't really stay mad. Not when Asha looked that pleased, and Albert looked smug and mischievous, like he'd finally found someone to wreak culinary havoc with.
I shook my head, turned toward the door, and motioned for them to follow. "Come on. If you're going to burn through the travel snacks now, I'm making you carry the spares."
"But you said you'd use the ring—!"
"You eat, you carry," I said over my shoulder.
They groaned, but followed.
Behind me, I heard Albert whisper to Asha, "Don't worry. We'll sneak more after she falls asleep."
"She always hears you," I called.
Their laughter followed me all the way into the inn.
___________________________________________________
The inn door creaked shut behind me with a finality that felt like victory.
"A proper bed," I muttered under my breath, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Thank the stars and every merciful spirit above."
I glanced to my right—Asha was already leaning heavily against my side, her golden lashes fluttering as sleep tugged at her eyes. To my left, Albert trudged in with the same dramatics as a soldier returning from war, arms full of snack bags and small trinkets he insisted were "for research."
"You two," I sighed, ushering them toward the stairs, "are the reason a half-day journey took two full rotations of the moon."
Albert opened his mouth to retort—probably something sarcastic and full of misplaced dignity—but Asha yawned like a sleepy kitten and wrapped her arms around his waist.
"…Fine. Fair," he muttered, patting her head.
We reached our room—simple, clean, and spacious enough for three travelers—and I helped Asha out of her little shoes while Albert collapsed face-first onto the bed, groaning like he'd walked through a desert.
"I told you not to go into the singing cave."
"It was humming," he muffled from the mattress.
"And not to climb the mossback tortoise."
"The tortoise said please."
I gave him a pointed stare. "It doesn't speak our language."
"It gestured."
I bit back a laugh. "You two are lucky I have an iron grip on situational awareness."
Asha, already curled up in one of the fluffy pillows, peeked at me with a sleepy smile. "You always find us."
"That's because you never use the spirit-blessed whistle I gave you," I said, arching an eyebrow at them both. "You remember the very sacred whistle I enchanted, blessed, and handed to you with a solemn promise of 'use this if you're lost or in danger'?"
Albert flinched. "I may have… packed it very deep."
"I lost mine… in a fountain," Asha admitted with a small guilty wince.
I stared at them. Hard.
Albert grinned sheepishly. "In our defense, you always do find us."
"That's not a defense," I muttered, pressing fingers to my temples, though I couldn't stop the tug of a smile from forming at the corners of my mouth. "But… I suppose it's not entirely your fault."
Truth was, I hadn't traveled like this before either. Not freely, not for the sake of wonder or mischief. My previous journeys were lined with military formations, urgent treaties, or diplomatic masks.
Seeing them marvel at the world—the dazzling lights of the floating lantern lake, the smell of cinnamon-roasted almonds from street stalls, the way Asha had squealed when a cat-eared merchant offered her a flower crown—stirred something deep in me. A joy I hadn't known I was missing.
So no. I couldn't really stay angry.
I leaned down and brushed a few stray strands from Asha's forehead. She was already halfway to dreaming.
"You two will be the death of me," I murmured.
Albert groaned again from the bed. "But what a fun way to go."
I snorted, rising to my feet and stretching. "Fine. But tomorrow, if either of you so much as breathes near another mysterious glowing plant, you're both walking the rest of the trip barefoot."
"Yes, ma'am," Albert said, already fading into sleep.
I dimmed the lantern, tucked the blanket around Asha more securely, and sat at the window for a moment. Outside, the wind whispered over rooftops, carrying scents of wildflowers and baked bread. This wasn't court. This wasn't duty.
This was living.
And even if I had to chase two little disasters every step of the way, I wouldn't trade it for anything.
The night air was cool against my skin as I stood by the window, arms folded loosely under the thin drape of my sleep robe.
The moon hung full and silver above the sleepy town, its light casting quiet ripples on the lake behind the inn.
A field of wildflowers, kissed by moonlight, swayed with the lazy rhythm of the breeze.
Sleep had long since abandoned me. Two hours, maybe—then a tangle of thoughts and memories stirred me awake. No battle cry or political report, no urgent matter clawing at my door. Just… stillness. And restlessness.
The sight outside pulled at me, soft and strangely intimate. I locked the room with a touch of my ring, glanced at the still-sleeping forms of Albert and Asha, and carefully stepped out.
With a breath, I let the morph spell fall away. It was almost soundless—the subtle shift of bones, the soft rush of aura settling back into its rightful shape. My curves returned, my height dropped just slightly, and my long teal hair unspooled like ribbons down my back. A quiet sigh escaped me. It felt… good. Like stretching after a long time curled tight.
I draped a soft shawl over my shoulders, slipped out the side door of the inn, and padded barefoot toward the lake and its flowered banks.
The earth beneath my feet was cool, soft with dew. The flowers—tiny blues and whites, bursts of purples and gold—glistened like stars fallen to the grass. I knelt to brush my fingers against their petals, breathing in their subtle, earthy perfume.
The lake shimmered, moonlight like molten pearl upon its surface. I waded into the shallows, the water biting and clear around my ankles, and smiled despite myself.
"Wouldn't it be something," I murmured, "if a lake spirit grabbed me by the foot?"
I chuckled. The moonlight made the moment feel like a dream, untouchable, ethereal. A glimpse into the girl I used to be before duty carved my life into chess pieces.
The breeze lifted my hair, tousling it around my face. My heart stirred with a strange impulse—one I hadn't indulged in years.
I began to sing.
A ballad, soft and aching, from a life before this one. The language was foreign to this world, but the melody—bittersweet and full of longing—wove through the night like spun glass. It was from some Earth drama my grandmother adored. Something about lovers separated by time, tragedy, and war, who somehow found their way back to each other in the end.
I hadn't thought of it in so long.
The words left me gently, half-whispered, carried by the wind to the lake, to the stars, to wherever echoes go when no one's listening. Or maybe someone was. Who knew? The gods had ears, after all.
I closed my eyes and let the song carry my heart forward, and backward, and nowhere at all.
For a moment, there was no crown, no disguise, no empire, no strategy.
Just… me. Standing beneath the moonlight, singing to the flowers and the water, to a past I couldn't return to and a future that always moved further away the harder I chased it.
And for that breath of eternity—
I was free.
The moment the last note of my song slipped into the night, I felt it.
A sharp ripple in the air. The breeze that moments ago kissed my skin turned jagged with tension. My eyes snapped open just as a girl's scream pierced the quiet, high, panicked, and from the woods far east of the lake.
The opposite direction from the inn.
I stilled. Heart racing, I focused — not just with ears or eyes, but with every part of me honed through years of command and battle. The trees rustled violently, far more than the wind could stir. Branches snapped. Hooves thundered.
Pursuit.
Shadows burst through the woods into the moonlit clearing. Mist-like horses charged forward — their riders cloaked in black, faces obscured by hoods, their presence humming with dark magic.
They chased two figures: a man riding a sturdy brown steed, holding the reins with one hand and shielding a girl—no, a young woman—in the saddle with the other.
Their eyes locked with mine as they crossed the clearing.
I gasped. So did he.
Zeriel.
And that girl—gods help us—was unmistakably the crown princess of Adur.
Zeriel tugged his horse sharply toward me, veering from his path with the precision of a seasoned general. My mind whirled, but I was already moving.
"Wind," I whispered.
The spirit that lived in the breeze and whispered in my veins responded immediately.
"Pay later?"
"Yeah, later," I answered without hesitation.
The price of this favor would come. I knew that. But now—
I raised my hand. The wind howled, spiraling around the dark riders like a cyclone of force. T
hey struggled against it, spectral reins thrashing, until one by one, the mist-horses dissipated, and their riders vanished with them — swallowed by the wind, scattered to the distant corners of the night.
To the onlookers, it was but a blink. But to me, it was the consequence of wielding power tied to ancient spirits.
Zeriel brought his horse to a slow stop just before me. He slid off with a tired grace and — to my utter horror and amusement — bowed.
"Spirit of the lake," he said reverently, "thank you. You've saved our lives."
I nearly laughed.
But I managed a serene smile instead, standing barefoot in the moonlight, teal hair tousled by the wind. "I am no spirit," I said gently. "But you were fortunate to find me."
He looked up. His eyes met mine, searching.
"There's something about you," he said. "Something that pulls me in. My gut told me you'd help us. I knew it the moment I saw you."
I cursed him in my mind. Cheap pick-up lines in the middle of danger, really? But I didn't show it.
I only smiled faintly, and turned my gaze to the unconscious princess.
"You two need to be far from here," I said. "Hold her tightly."
Without waiting for his reply, I called the wind again — gentler this time, more precise. A swirl of light encircled them, and then, in a blink, they were gone.
Zeriel's Point of View
One moment I was in a moon-drenched flower field, surrounded by the aftermath of chaos.
The next, I stood before the grand gates of Escarton Academy.
The princess was still unconscious, cradled in my arms. I adjusted my grip, still breathless, mind reeling — not from the battle, but from the woman.
The woman in the moonlight.
Her voice lingered in my ears, melodic and unearthly. Her eyes — bright and piercing like they saw straight through me. And that hair… long, flowing teal.
It reminded me of Albert.
And that was the problem.
Because I was already bound — heart and memory — to that foolish, prideful, infuriating man. A man who challenged me, understood me, defied me, moved in sync with me like no other.
Yet… the woman in the lake stirred the same way Albert did. Why?
I shook my head.
Duty. Focus.
I tightened my hold on the princess and stepped toward the gate. But behind my eyes, I still saw her — the mysterious woman glowing in the moonlight, like a song made flesh.
And for the first time in a long time—
I didn't know where my heart would lead me.
Feria's Point of View
The moment I got far enough from the lake, far enough from the whispers of trees and flowers and moonlight, I burst out laughing.
"Spirit of the lake," I wheezed, nearly stumbling over my own bare feet as I wrapped my arms around myself and laughed harder. "Oh—by the stars above—his face. That face."
Zeriel, General of the Adur Empire, bowed with such gravity and reverence, like I'd just descended from the heavens in a halo of divine mist.
His voice had trembled, his eyes wide and struck like he'd just had a vision from a holy relic instead of me—Feria, barefoot and in a nightgown, with tangled teal hair and barely two hours of sleep to my name.
"And that line," I chuckled, wiping a tear from my eye, "'Something pulls me in'—gods, I'm going to torment him with that for the rest of his life."
If I had the chance, I was going to remind him of tonight at every opportunity. Oh yes—every opportunity.
Still laughing quietly to myself, I padded back toward the inn, the moon following like a knowing witness. The world had settled again. The night wind softened around me like a playful apology.
"You're welcome," I murmured up to the breeze.
The wind spun around me, wrapping at my ankles and tugging at the hem of my nightgown. A familiar giggle brushed past my ear—the wind spirit. Of course.
Back in my room, the soft snoring of two mischievous darlings greeted me. Asha's small limbs splayed across her blanket. Albert, half-hanging from the bed, still clutching a pillow as if in battle.
I looked at the table where the best snacks from our last stop sat waiting to be devoured in the morning.
"…Yeah, no. You little gluttons don't deserve these," I muttered with a sly grin.
With solemn, reverent hands, I gathered every last treat into a tray, walked over to the open window, and held them out into the night air.
The breeze took only a moment to answer.
Wisps of wind curled around the tray like excited children, scooping up the treats with delight. I could almost hear the crunch of a pastry, the ecstatic sighs of spirits unseen.
"More," the wind spirit cooed. "Bring us more, queen of breeze-born blood. It's been an age since we've tasted honeyed almonds and smoked sugar pork."
"You gluttons," I said fondly. "Fine. I'll summon you again soon. Just don't get picky next time."
"No promises," the voice giggled and faded.
I closed the window, still smiling.
Then, with practiced ease, I called my magic inward and shifted—my body reshaping, bones lengthening, face sharpening. Lord Averan stood once more in the mirror's reflection. Hair neatly tied back, eyes cool and bright.
Time to raid the morning market.
If I didn't return with treats better than the stolen ones, I'd never hear the end of it from those two.
But gods—it was worth it.