Chapter 7: Moments Like These

"I am so hungry..." Vaelira groaned, shooting a sidelong glare at Edrin. Rain had been falling for most of the day. "You said the town is near."

"Clarification," Edrin said with a grin, stepping around another puddle. "I thought it was nearby based on the tracks. It's not my fault you decided to take a side road because—and I quote—'my guts said so."

"Don't remind me," she muttered. Her cloak was damp. "We lost two days just to end up in a canyon. With no bridge."

"But all of this is merely a test," Thalen said, ever-cheerful. "Soltheria is testing our patience, Vaelira. Fret not — she will guide us through these trying times."

Vaelira let out a groan and glanced at Edrin. "He is doing it again… Help me before I—" Edrin laughed and shook his head.

"When we took him in, you asked him not to convert us. Nothing about preaching."

"Yes. I know." She sighed. "A grave oversight." Her eyes gazed at the cleric.

"Tell me, Thalen. Does your Goddess test us by making us hungry, wet and lost?" "In all things, she works through hardship," Thalen said solemnly.

"I am not so convinced about this."

They walked in silence for a time. The only sounds were the wet squelch of boots and the occasional drip of water from leaf to cloak.

Then, just as the path bent around a cluster of trees, Edrin slowed. "Wait," he said, raising a hand. "Look — there." Vaelira squinted through the mist. A faint glow flickered beyond the treeline.

""I see lights," Thalen said, smile blooming across his face. "That must be it!"

"Finally," Vaelira breathed. "Civilization. A real bed, a hot meal and — hopefully — nothing that wants to sting, bite, or chase us." "Don’t tempt fate," Edrin said. "Last time you said that, we ran into wasps the size of cats." "Those were bees," Thalen corrected.

"That doesn’t make it better," Vaelira groaned.

She glanced at the others. Despite the cold, the mud, and the bugs the size of fruit, neither of them complained once.

Not really.

She’d never say it out loud, but having them around made the miserable parts bearable. Easier to joke. Easier to walk forward.

The road curved downward, the lights more visible now — a warm, golden glow coming from shuttered windows. The scent of firewood and baked bread drifted on the breeze.

"If this place doesn’t have something edible," Vaelira muttered, "I’m setting something on ice." "Let’s… maybe not lead with that," Edrin said.

A few scattered houses, muddy roads, and one building with a crooked sign. That was the town. They didn’t bother asking around. The smell of bread was enough to lead them straight to the tavern.

The door creaked open, letting in a gust of damp air and three very tired travelers. The tavern wasn’t crowded — just a few locals hunched over drinks, a couple of traders near the fire, and the low sound of strings being plucked in the corner.

Firelight flickered across the wooden walls, casting long shadows. The air smelled like bread, herbs, and something stewed long enough to forget what it originally was.

Vaelira let out a long breath. "Now this is civilization."

A stout woman behind the counter looked up from wiping a mug. "You lot look like you’ve been through a storm."

"We passed through it, argued in it, and almost got eaten in it," Edrin said, brushing water from his shoulders.

"We’d like food," Vaelira added. "As much of it as you have. And something warm to drink."

"That can be arranged," the woman said.

She gestured toward a corner table near the hearth. They claimed it without hesitation, cloaks hanging from their chairs in wet clumps. The warmth of the hearth hit them like a spell.

Vaelira exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders and letting the tension melt. She hadn’t felt this close to comfortable in days. She rested her elbows on the table and leaned in slightly, letting the fire do its work. The smell of stew in the air, making her stomach rumble again — louder this time.

Edrin leaned back in his chair, arms loose at his sides, as if finally letting himself relax. His hood was down, hair still damp, eyes half-focused on nothing in particular.

Thalen sat upright, his hands resting on the table as he looked around the room. The firelight flickered in his eyes, and when he caught Vaelira looking, he gave her a small, content smile.

Edrin raised an eyebrow. "Planning to bankrupt us in one sitting?" "I’ve earned it." "I’ll take the stew and cider," Thalen said. "And, ah… do you celebrate anything soon? Local festival? Holy days?" The woman looked at him. "Nothing this week. But I’ll let the bard know someone’s listening." Vaelira smirked. "You just wanted music, didn’t you?" "I thought it would be nice." "I thought not starving would be nice," she said, stretching her legs under the table.

Edrin sat down with a sigh and unbuckled one of his bracers. "Remind me never to let Vaelira navigate again."

"What!? It wasn’t even that bad!!"

Thalen and Edrin laughed. The food didn’t take long. A serving girl brought out plates one by one — thick slices of roast, dark bread with melted butter, and a plate of roast meat, well-done and still dripping at edges. Vaelira stared at it like it might vanish if she blinked.

She immediately pulled her plate closer. "Finally. A proper meal."

Thalen whispered a short prayer to Soltheria before picking up his spoon.

"I didn’t hear you bless our food," Vaelira said.

Thalen smiled. "It’s all shared grace." Vaelira rolled her eyes and took a bite.

Edrin chewed quietly for a while before speaking. "This reminds me of a tavern near Dawnmere. Not as warm, but the bread was better." "Let me guess," Vaelira siad, "You got in trouble there, too." "Kind of." He leaned back in his chair. "I was escorting a merchant caravan, and the innkeeper’s dog stole one of the spice sacks. We chased it across town and ended up crashing a wedding by mistake." Thalen blinked. "How does that happen?" "The dog ran under the table. We ran after it. Bride screamed, someone thought we were thieves — it was a whole thing." Vaelira laughed. "I’d pay to see that." "You’d have joined in." She didn’t deny it.

The bard in the corner strummed a few notes then began to sing softly — nothing grand, just a traveling tune about rivers and the road.

Vaelira leaned back in her chair, her boots drying by the fire, a half empty plate in front of her. "We should get lost more often," she said quietly.

Thalen, still working through his soup, said. "That reminds me. When I was just a boy, the temple I trained at used to give out bread and meat to the locals. Nothing fancy — just simple food, but it meant a lot." He paused to take another spoonful, then continued. "I remember this one woman who came every week with her son. She never said much. Some of the other acolytes whispered that she wasn’t from the city. That she didn’t belong." Vaelira raised an eyebrow. "Did she?" "I don’t know. It didn’t matter. She was hungry. So was her kid." He smiled a little. "One day I asked the priest if we should be giving food to people who weren’t part of the temple. He looked at me like I’d asked if the sun should stop rising." Edrin gave a quiet chuckle.

Thalen nodded "He said, ‘We give because the light burns for all. Not just the faithful’. I think that was the first time I really understood what Soltheria’s light meant."

There was a short silence. The fire cracked. Then Vaelira added.

"My sister would’ve liked this place," she said after a while.

Edrin looked over. "She’s a traveler too?" "Not exactly," Vaelira toyed with the rim of her cup. "She always preferred quiet places. Steady routine. She would’ve sat right there, by the fire, with a book in one hand and tea in the other." Thalen smiled. "Sounds peaceful." "She is," Vaelira hesitated, then added, "She was better at everything. Icecraft, meditation, rituals — Elder Firaen used to say she was the perfect example." Thalen smiled. "She sounds wise." Vaelira chuckled. "She tried to be. Didn’t always work." A pause. Then, quieter. "She stayed. I didn’t." No one spoke for a moment.

"Anyway," Vaelira said, standing and brushing crumbs off her lap, "I’m heading up before Thalen starts sermonizing again."

"I’m off duty," he said.

"Sure you are."

The upstairs room was fine. Warm, quiet, and clean, unlike what she got used to from living out in the forest.

She stood near the window for a while, arms folded, watching the street below. Lanterns flickered in their iron cages, casting orange light across the wet cobblestones. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked once and fell silent.

She spotted the wooden balcony outside the room. Going right on it, she noticed the roof looked climbable.

She didn’t think twice.

The climb took only moments. A good grip, a bit of balance, and she was up. The rooftop was slanted but walkable, the tiles damp but not slippery. She moved with ease, like she’d done this a hundred times before. Maybe she had.

At the edge, where the roof flattened out near the chimney, she settled into a crouch and pulled her cloak tighter. The night was cold, but not biting like in the north.

Above her, gray clouds were broken in places to reveal scattered stars. The kind of sky that didn’t care who she was, or what she’d done. That felt right, somehow.

She sat there in silence for a long time. Somewhere below, a door creaked open and closed. The smell of chimney smoke drifted past, clinging faintly to the damp night air. She closed her eyes, listening to nothing in particular, and let herself just… exist.

She thought about the village. The high walls of shaped ice, the soft blue glow of runes that lit the halls. Elder Firaen’s lectures. Her parents’ patient smiles. Lyraena’s quiet corrections.

And the staff.

The way it had hummed the first time she touched it. Like it knew it belonged to her.

Vaelira exhaled slowly. Her breath fogged the air.

Maybe she should feel worse. Maybe she did. She wasn’t sure anymore.

Soft footsteps behind her made her glance over her shoulder.

Edrin crouched at the rooftop’s edge, arms folded over one knee. "Didn't expect you up here. Took me a minute to guess which window you climbed out of." Vaelira didn’t turn. "You’re getting better at reading me." "Terrifying, I know."

He stepped closer and sat beside her. The rooftop creaked slightly under their weight, but held.

"I thought you’d be asleep," she said.

"So did I."

They sat in silence for a bit, the wind brushing gently over their hair.

"I used to do this back home," Vaelira said eventually. "Climb onto the watchtower at night when everyone else was asleep. It was the only place that felt quiet. Real quiet." Edrin didn’t interrupt.

"Lyraena caught me once. I thought she’d scold me or drag me back down. But she just… sat next to me. Didn’t say anything." Vaelira’s voice was soft. "That was the first time I thought maybe she actually liked having me around." Edrin looked at her, his expression unreadable in the low light. "You miss her?" he asked.

Vaelira was quiet for a moment. Then, "I don’t know" "I think you do." She let out a breath. Not quite a sigh. "Maybe." The wind shifted. Somewhere down below, the inn door creaked open, then shut again. Someone else coming or going. Neither of them moved. "She was everything I wasn’t," Vaelira said. "Calm. Patient. Focused. The kind of mage they actually wanted." She tugged her cloak tighter. "She never said it, but I think she always knew I’d leave." "You think she’d be angry?" Edrin asked. "I think she’d be disappointed," she said, and the words surprised her with how much they hurt.

Neither of them spoke for a while.

Then Edrin nudged her with his elbow. "Well. If it helps, I think you’re a pretty good disaster." Vaelira huffed out a laugh. "That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week."

Vaelira was the first one downstairs.

The tavern was quieter now, filled with the low clatter of dishes and the smell of fresh bread and something sweet in the oven. A sleepy-looking boy was sweeping the floor, yawning between strokes.

She stood at the counter, arms crossed, watching the tray of pastries cooling on a rack nearby.

The innkeeper caught her eye and raised an eyebrow.

Vaelira gave a slow, innocent smile. "If one of those goes missing, it definitely wasn’t me." The woman snorted. "You’re bold, ice elf. That’s worth at least half a silver." Vaelira placed a single copper on the counter. "Surely the presence of a great mage is worth at least one pastry." "Overcharging yourself, aren’t you?." They both smirked.

By the time Edrin and Thalen came down, she was already sitting by the hearth, sipping tea with a half-eaten pastry on her plate.

"You bought that?" Edrin asked, squinting the roll. "Define bought." The innkeeper called over from the counter, "She paid in copper and ego." Thalen chuckled and sat down. "I’ll take one of those as well. Paid for with honest coin, of course."

"Boring," Vaelira said.

Edrin grabbed a piece of bread from the table and chewed it. "We’re lucky you didn’t set the place on ice." "I considered it," she said, sipping her tea.

When breakfast was done, and the others were gathering their things, Vaelira slipped out for a short walk. She returned not long after with a small burlap bag — and frost clinging to her sleeves.

They didn’t linger long. A soft breeze drifted in through the open door. Townsfolk passed by outside — some with baskets, others with tired mules and muddy boots.

Edrin adjusted the strap on his pack and nodded to the door.

"Ready?"

Thalen stood and offered the innkeeper a respectful bow. "Thank you for the kindness." The three of them stepped out into the street, blinking in the morning sun.

"What’s in the bag?" Edrin asked.

"Supplies." "Vaelira." She didn’t stop walking. "Pastries." Thalen blinked. "You bought more?" "Bought is… mostly accurate." Edrin narrowed his eyes. "What happened?" "I offered to chill the baker’s water barrel as a gesture of goodwill," she said, lifting her chin.

"That doesn’t sound too bad." "Then the barrel cracked and half the wall frosted over." Thalen winced. "You froze the bakery?" "Just a corner," she said quickly. "And in return, he gave me a discount. Generous man." Edrin groaned. "So he paid you to leave." "I prefer to call it an incentive to enjoy my breakfast elsewhere."

She took a bite of the pastry, savoring the flaky crust and warmth.

Some mornings, it was enough just to walk forward.