The steam still clung faintly to the air as Veyle adjusted the clasp of his tunic, the fabric still warm from drying near the fire. His trousers were already on, boots laced, and now he reached for his travel-worn cloak, slinging it around his shoulders with a practiced motion. He glanced at the mirror—just a glance—and ran a hand through his damp hair, still tousled from the bath.
The dressing room was quiet. Just the faint creak of wood and distant murmurs from the inn's lower floor.
Pushing aside the curtain, Veyle stepped out into the corridor.
Seren stood waiting just ahead.
She turned slightly at the sound of his steps, and for a second, Veyle blinked. Her usual kimono—normally dulled by road dust, scuffed from brush and dirt—was now a pristine white. The fabric hung clean and crisp, flowing lightly around her frame, the delicate threads catching the lantern-light like snow under moonlight.
She didn't say anything, of course. She only held his gaze a moment, then turned her head forward again, hands folded lightly in front of her.
Veyle gave a low, almost amused whistle. "Guess they really went to town scrubbing that thing, huh?"
Seren raised her brows, then signed with a small flick of her fingers: "Yours too."
He looked down at his cloak. Still tattered in places, still weathered—but clean now, the grime gone, the colors deeper.
"Huh," he muttered, pulling it a little tighter around him. "Didn't know it was this dark."
She gave a small nod, lips tugging faintly into the edge of a smile. Then she turned, starting down the hallway without a word.
Veyle followed, his boots thudding gently against the floorboards. The night outside was quiet. The capital still waited. But for now, they were clean. Rested.
The soft creak of the stairs echoed as Veyle and Seren ascended the narrow staircase, the air growing cooler as they moved higher up in the inn. The faint scent of wood and the lingering warmth from the fire below filled the space. Veyle's footsteps were steady, but his mind wandered—distracted by the quiet hum of a world that, despite its chaos, felt oddly still.
Seren's pace was calm, measured, the rhythm of her movement almost like a dance. The silence between them felt comfortable now, like something unspoken but understood. At the top of the stairs, they reached their room.
The room was small but warm, just enough for the two of them to rest. Veyle set aside his cloak and looked over at Seren, already tucked into the bed. Her kimono, freshly cleaned, was a pure white that seemed almost to glow in the soft light of the room. He couldn't help but notice the peace in her expression. She seemed at ease, the troubles of the day temporarily forgotten.
"I'll be fine," he muttered to himself as he settled onto the hard floor, a thin blanket draped over him. He tried to get comfortable, but the chill from the wooden planks seeped through. The small room, however, offered a sense of quiet security.
Seren, though resting in the bed, had an air of uncertainty about her. She gazed at him for a moment, her face soft in the moonlight. The words of concern seemed to hover between them but stayed unspoken.
Veyle lay still, listening to the soft rustling of the night. Seren's breathing was steady, her form tucked into the warmth of the blankets. He smiled slightly to himself, content in the thought that they were safe, at least for the night.
The world outside might be filled with chaos, but in this moment, there was a strange, fragile peace.
---
The sunlight spilled gently through the window, casting a warm glow across the room. Veyle stirred on the floor, the wooden boards beneath him less than forgiving. He let out a groan, rubbing the back of his neck as he blinked sleep from his eyes. "Oww… morning already?"
He sat up and glanced toward the bed.
Seren was already awake, sitting upright with her knees tucked under her. Her freshly cleaned white kimono gave her an almost ethereal look in the morning light. She met his gaze with a calm blink, then lifted her hands to sign.
"Good morning."
Veyle smiled sleepily. "You look weirdly elegant for someone who just woke up."
Seren narrowed her eyes and gave him a flat look, then signed again with slow precision:
"Floor still comfortable?"
He snorted. "Oh yeah, like sleeping on a pile of bricks. My back's never been better."
She smiled just faintly, amused, before climbing out of bed to stretch. Her motions were quiet, fluid—every movement done with practiced grace. She pointed to herself, then toward the door, signing:
"I'll get ready. You smell."
Veyle blinked. "...Wow. Already throwing punches, huh?"
Seren only smirked slightly before stepping out.
---
A little while later, the two of them descended to the inn's common room. The scent of warm bread and sizzling meat wafted through the air, and voices murmured from a few other early risers seated at tables.
They sat near a window, sunlight painting soft lines across their table. A plate of warm food was set in front of them—eggs, roasted potatoes, and a chunk of bread each.
Veyle dug in with a pleased sigh. "Finally. Something that doesn't come from a ration pack."
Seren signed, "Don't eat too fast. You'll choke."
He glanced up mid-bite. "You always ruin my moments of joy, you know that?"
She tilted her head, signing innocently: "You're welcome."
He chuckled, setting his fork down for a moment. "It's weird. Just yesterday we were still out in the woods. Now look at us. Real food, hot water, clean clothes… like we're normal people or something."
Seren nodded in agreement, then signed: "Not used to peace. Feels strange."
Veyle leaned back, arms crossed behind his head. "Yeah. I keep waiting for something to go wrong. Like a monster's gonna burst through the inn wall or something."
She raised a brow and signed: "Please don't jinx it."
He grinned, finishing the last of his bread. "I won't. Maybe. Anyway, I think we've earned this. Even if it's short."
Seren looked at him for a moment, then signed: "We keep going. We're not done."
Veyle nodded, his expression softening. "Yeah. We keep going. But… a little peace along the way doesn't hurt."
They finished the rest of their meal quietly,
After breakfast, the warm morning sun greeted them as they stepped out of the inn. The streets were already lively—merchants calling out their wares, children darting between crowds, and the soft hum of conversation weaving through the air like music.
Veyle adjusted his freshly cleaned cloak, giving it a satisfied tug. "Man, I forgot what it felt like to not smell like a dead animal."
Seren glanced over at him with a small smile and signed: "You smell fine. Better than before."
Veyle blinked, surprised by the faint compliment. "Well… I'll take that as the highest praise."
They wandered through winding stone paths, past old buildings with ivy-covered bricks and blooming flower boxes hanging in windows. The city square opened before them like a burst of color—market stalls arranged in a broad circle around a dry fountain, banners fluttering above, and the scent of spices and fresh bread in the air.
Veyle slowed as they entered the crowd, eyes scanning the bustling scene. "Alright, what's the plan? Are we being responsible or just pretending to be tourists today?"
Seren signed: "Supplies first. Soap. Maybe thread. Then we can look around."
He gave a theatrical sigh. "Ah yes, the thrilling life of survival. I guess sweets come after the soap?"
Seren didn't respond with words—just gave a soft laugh through her nose and nudged him forward with a smile.
They passed stalls selling all manner of goods: tiny carved animal charms, bundles of dried herbs, and gleaming rows of knives and whetstones. Eventually, they reached a blacksmith's open workshop on the far edge of the square. The rhythmic clang of metal rang through the air, mingling with the scent of smoke and scorched iron.
Veyle stopped. "Here's a stop I actually want to make."
The blacksmith—a broad-shouldered woman with soot on her arms and a thick braid over one shoulder—looked up from her work. "You break something?"
"Nope. Just missing something." He pulled his cloak back. "I need a short sword. Lightweight, nothing fancy. Something that won't bend if I sneeze on it, but I've only got fifty yoni to spend."
She eyed him, then grinned. "You're in luck. Got a few blades that didn't make it to showcase. Nothing flashy, but solid steel. Come back in a few hours, I'll find one that sings to you."
"I'll settle for one that doesn't stab me."
As they wrapped up the price and arrangement, Seren lingered nearby, watching a stand full of old tools and spare parts. Her fingers moved absently in small motions, as if signing thoughts just to herself.
When they stepped away, Veyle gave a content sigh. "Alright, that's one thing down. Where to next?"
Seren pointed toward a narrow street off the main square and signed: "Sewing supplies. Then maybe sweets."
His eyebrows rose. "Really? Sweets already?"
She looked up at him and signed, gently: "You've earned it."
Veyle gave a soft, genuine laugh. "Thanks. You're too kind to me."
She smiled quietly, walking ahead with light steps, and he followed—letting the warmth of the sun and her words linger a little longer than he expected.
The narrow street Seren had pointed out was quieter than the bustling square, with thinner crowds and shaded awnings fluttering overhead. The scent of dusted fabric and dried flowers filled the air. Small shops lined the lane—each one a little crooked, with hand-painted signs and open windows letting in the breeze.
They stopped outside a humble tailoring shop, its wooden sign swaying gently above the door: "Nora's Notions & Needlework." Through the window, rolls of cloth were stacked in colorful towers, spools of thread gleaming like tiny jewels in the sunlight.
Seren stepped in first, her gaze wandering across the rows of embroidery floss, buttons, and dyed linen. Her eyes lit up just slightly—barely a change, but enough for Veyle to notice.
He followed her in, brushing his fingers along a row of hanging fabrics. "Wow. You could build a tent outta half of this stuff."
Seren signed: "I want needles. Thread. Maybe a patch kit."
A kindly old shopkeeper peeked out from behind the counter. "Welcome, dears. Looking for repairs or projects?"
"Both, I think," Veyle said, stepping aside to let Seren browse freely. "She does most of the stitching, and I do most of the tearing."
Seren turned and gave him a light look—tilting her head and raising one brow as if to say: "That's true, but you didn't have to say it."
He held up his hands. "Just being honest."
While Seren examined small pouches of thread and pins, Veyle leaned on a nearby shelf, watching her work with quiet curiosity. She moved with precision—checking strength, counting needles, sorting by texture. Every choice was deliberate, thoughtful.
"You're really good at that," he said, not even trying to hide the admiration in his voice.
Seren glanced at him, a bit surprised, then signed: "I like things that can be fixed. With time."
He blinked, caught off-guard for a moment. Then he smiled. "That's a better reason than I expected."
She gave a faint smile back and turned to pay the shopkeeper. Veyle stepped in before she could reach her coin pouch.
"Don't worry, I've got this one. Fifty yoni sword budget left me rich beyond reason."
Seren didn't argue—just gave him a brief nod of thanks and slipped the small cloth bundle of supplies into her satchel.
Back outside, the street was starting to heat with the midday sun. The soft buzz of city life drifted in from the square again.
Veyle stretched his arms behind his head. "Alright, that's two things down. One more to go, right?"
Seren signed: "supplies."
Veyle frowned. "Aw! But after that is sweets right?"
She smiled and signed: "Yep"
He grinned. "Now that sounds like a reward."
As they re-entered the lively square, the smell of roasted meats and fresh vegetables hung in the air like bait on a hook. Stalls lined one side of the plaza, piled high with produce, dried goods, and bundles of herbs strung together like decorations.
Veyle rubbed his hands together. "Alright, back to the very thrilling world of practicality. Food supplies. What's the plan—grab what we can carry and hope we don't starve tomorrow?"
Seren signed: "Dried meat. Roots. Rice, if they have it."
Veyle glanced around. "Oof, all shelf-stable stuff, huh? Not even a little bread?"
She gave a small shrug, signing: "We're not eating like kings in the woods."
"Fair enough," he muttered, already steering toward a stall with baskets full of dried fish and smoked strips of jerky. The vendor, a bearded man with sunburned cheeks, gave them a friendly nod.
They spent the next several minutes browsing—Seren testing the firmness of potatoes and holding up bundles of wild greens for Veyle's opinion. He responded with mostly shrugs and vague nods until she handed him a sweet red fruit and raised her brow.
Veyle sniffed it, then took a small bite. "Alright, that's actually good. We can buy those. What are they called again?"
Seren signed, slow and amused: "Fruit."
He blinked. "…Oh. Hilarious."
She gave a small, teasing smile and added: "Nami-berries. They grow wild near rivers."
Veyle placed a few in their bag. "Cool. You're on berry duty next time we camp."
They bartered with the vendors, collecting a decent haul of smoked meat, dried roots, bundles of herbs, and the aforementioned berries. Veyle handled the talking and the coin, though Seren occasionally stepped in with a calm look that said no, we're not paying that much.
Once their bags were moderately heavier and their budget slightly thinner, they stepped aside to sit on the rim of the dried fountain at the center of the square.
Veyle exhaled. "Okay. We're officially ready for at least two days of not dying."
Seren signed: "Good start."
Then added: "Sweets now?"
He stared at her, mock-offended. "You're still thinking about that?"
She just nodded slowly, arms crossed.
Veyle sighed dramatically. "you made me eat dried moss root or whatever that was. I dont know if i want it anymore."
She signed: "It was turnip."
"Sure it was," he said, getting up with a groan. "Cmon lets go."
---
The sweet stall sat near the edge of the plaza, tucked between a spice merchant and a basket weaver. Its colorful canopy cast a warm shade over glass jars filled with candied fruit, honey-dipped nuts, and golden pastries stacked in spirals. The smell alone was enough to make Veyle stop in his tracks.
"Oh no," he muttered. "This is dangerous."
Seren stepped ahead of him with purpose, her expression unchanging but her pace suddenly twice as fast. She hovered in front of the table, eyes moving over the selection like a scholar reading sacred text.
Veyle joined her with a lopsided smile. "You know, you were a lot more subtle about this earlier."
She signed, without even looking at him: "You agreed."
"Yeah, yeah. Let it be known—your negotiating tactics are flawless." He leaned in toward one of the jars. "What even are these?"
The vendor, a short, round-faced woman with gold bangles on both wrists, perked up. "These? Spiced sugar clusters. Crunchy outside, soft in the middle. Very popular."
Seren signed: "One bag."
The vendor nodded, already scooping a handful into a paper pouch. "You've got good taste, young miss."
"She usually does," Veyle said, watching the exchange. "Unless she's picking campsite meals. Then it's all roots and regret."
Seren handed over a few coins and took the bag of sweets with a small, satisfied nod.
Veyle, meanwhile, was still eyeing another jar—this one filled with something golden and flaky. "Alright, I'll bite. What are those?"
"Cinnamon petals," said the vendor. "Crispy layers brushed with syrup. Five for two yoni."
He hesitated, then sighed. "Yeah, fine. We've earned it."
He paid and took a small bundle wrapped in parchment, biting into one with a crunch. "Okay, yeah. That was absolutely the right choice."
Seren stood beside him, calmly eating one of her sugar clusters, her expression as neutral as always—except for the way her eyes sparkled just a little more.
"You know," Veyle said, mouth half full, "if this ends up being our last real city stop before we're back in monster territory, I'm glad we used it to buy snacks."
Seren signed: "Snacks and a sword."
"Right. Priorities."
They wandered a bit longer, quietly chewing their sweets while weaving through the last few lanes of the square. The sun was starting to dip lower, casting longer shadows along the stone path.
Veyle looked at her. "Ready to go check on my sword?"
Seren nodded once.
"Then let's go see if it survived the spa treatment."
---
By the time they returned to the blacksmith's stall, the forge's flame had dimmed to a warm ember glow, flickering beneath the steady hammerfall of evening work. The square had begun to settle; merchants were packing up their wares, and the sun painted long shadows across the cobblestones.
The blacksmith looked up from her anvil as they approached, wiping her brow with a sooty sleeve. "Ah—there you are. Finished her not long ago."
Veyle stepped forward, eyes bright with anticipation. "Let's see it."
From a rack beside the bench, she retrieved a freshly forged short sword. Its blade was simple but clean—no ornamental flare, just solid, honest steel. The hilt was wrapped tight with dark leather, and the balance looked just right for someone still figuring out his form.
"Didn't go fancy," she said, holding it out. "You wanted something reliable for under fifty yoni. This'll do the job."
Veyle took it carefully, turning the weapon in his hands. The weight felt good. Secure. It wasn't just a tool—it was his. The first one.
He gave it a small test swing, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Feels… right."
Seren, standing beside him, leaned slightly to peek at the blade. She smiled softly and signed: "Looks like it belongs with you."
Veyle grinned. "I guess now I've officially graduated from running and shouting to 'running, shouting, and stabbing.'"
The blacksmith raised an eyebrow. "You stab like you joke, kid, you're gonna need repairs more than the sword."
He coughed. "Noted. Thanks."
Coins exchanged hands—forty-eight yoni, neatly stacked and counted—and the blade was sheathed in a basic leather scabbard, which Veyle strapped to his side with a small thrill of pride.
He gave the blacksmith a thankful nod, then turned to Seren. "Okay. First sword: check."
She signed: "Don't swing it around in crowds."
"I wasn't planning to," he said, then lowered his voice. "...Maybe a little."
Her stare said: absolutely not.
Veyle raised both hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No unsanctioned swinging."
With that, they stepped back into the heart of the city, the sounds of the forge fading behind them.
---
After a long day of errands and exploring, the evening settled in with a peaceful stillness. The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting an orange glow over the city streets as they made their way back to the inn. Veyle carried the small bundle of supplies they'd gathered, his new short sword hanging from his side, the weight of it still unfamiliar. Seren walked beside him, content but quiet as always.
They entered their room, the soft light from the nearby lantern casting long shadows on the walls. Veyle set the supplies down on the small table and stretched with a yawn.
"Feels good to be back," he muttered, before catching a glance at Seren, who was already settling onto the bed, her face serene as she took a moment to relax. She looked comfortable in the soft lighting, her kimono pristine and well-kept, the colors still vibrant even after all their travels.
Veyle stripped off his cloak and sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. "I should've gotten more food," he grumbled, half to himself. "We're gonna run out by tomorrow."
Seren signed, a small smile playing on her lips as she signed: "We'll manage."
"Right," he laughed softly. "You're always prepared. I should take notes."
She gave him an almost playful look before turning her attention to the bed, where she settled herself more comfortably, adjusting the covers with a subtle grace. Veyle, still fully dressed in his cloak and armor, didn't bother to remove anything. He was too tired, the day weighing heavily on him.
After a moment of silence, he glanced over at her. "I'll just… take the floor again. You sleep well?"
She nodded, signing: "You too."
Veyle grinned and made himself comfortable on the floor, his cloak spread out beneath him. The softness of the bed versus the cold floor didn't matter much to him. It wasn't long before the exhaustion of the day pulled at him, and he finally closed his eyes, the distant sounds of the city fading into the background.
As the last of the light disappeared from the sky, the room fell quiet, only the occasional rustle of the sheets or a soft sigh filling the space.
The two settled into their separate corners of the room, ready for the rest they had earned, and the next day of travel—whatever it might bring.
---