The morning sun lit up Millbrook's small houses in warm gold as the convoy rolled through the gate. The frontier town buzzed with excitement—word of Duskmire's cleansed forest had spread fast. Grateful merchants crowded around, shoving coins, food parcels, and shiny trinkets into the heroes' hands.
"You saved our trade routes," the old caravan master said, his weathered face glowing. "Without Duskmire's safety, this town would've died within a year."
Tor studied their map, his big finger tracing a path. "Northern passes are the quickest way back to the capital."
Dren cut in, his voice smooth but sly. "Or we could go through Havenshire."
Havenshire's name hit Jace like a punch. Nia. He hadn't thought of her since the whole tavern incident.
"Good idea," Jace said, hiding his shame.
The others shrugged, any route worked as long as they reached the capital. By evening, they hit Havenshire's edge, its cozy lights twinkling like stars. The village exploded with excitement. Word of the heroes had spread, and folks gathered, kids pointing, adults bowing, eyes wide with awe.
The innkeeper gave them free rooms, "Heroes don't pay in Havenshire," he said proudly, waving off their coins.
That night, they headed to the Rusty Goblet tavern, packed with locals. Jace spotted Nia behind the bar, her dark hair tied back, apron snug. Their eyes locked, and her face lit up with a teasing grin.
"Well, look who's back," she said, wiping her hands. "Too big for us small folk now, Wart? Took you forever to remember us."
Jace's cheeks burned. "Not like that, Nia. Things just… moved fast. Barely had time to breathe, let alone visit."
Her grin softened, catching his honesty. "I'm messing with you. The whole kingdom's buzzing about you heroes."
Before Jace could answer, Dren slid in, his hand clapping Jace's shoulder like they were pals. "Nia, right?" he purred, flashing his a smile. "I'm Dren, champion of Solien, God of Glory. Maybe now you'd like some… better company?"
Nia raised an eyebrow, amused. "Better company? Last 'noble' who tried that got a face full of ale. Funny thing about being elevated—it just means you've got farther to fall when you trip over your own ego."
The tavern went quiet, everyone leaning in for the show. Nia didn't stop. "I like my heroes real, not preening. Wart might not have your shiny hair or titles, but he talks to me like I'm a person, not a prize."
Dren's dazzling smile twitched. "I—"
"But hey," Nia cut in, faux-earnest, "you've got something going for you. The teeth? Blinding. I mean it, if I ever get lost in a cave, I'll simply call you to smile me out."
Jace coughed into his drink.
Laughter exploded, shaking the rafters. Tor's deep chuckles joined in, Elliot nearly fell off his chair, and even Zara's lips twitched. Dren's face turned beet red, his pride shredded. He stormed back to their table without a word.
"That," Nia grinned, satisfied. "felt good."
The tavern's evening rush kept Nia busy, but she managed to steal moments for conversation as Jace helped clear tables and stack mugs. Her easy laughter and quick wit made the work feel less like labor and more like an excuse to stay close.
"Last call!" she announced at midnight, and the remaining patrons grudgingly filed out into the cool night air. The other heroes had already returned to the inn, leaving Jace to help with the final cleanup.
"I can walk you home," he offered as she locked the tavern door.
"Such a gentleman," Nia teased, but her smile was warm. "Lead the way, hero."
Her cottage sat at the village's edge, small but well-maintained with flower boxes under the windows. She fumbled with her keys, then turned to him with sudden determination.
"Come in. I have to offer you something—it's only proper hospitality."
"You don't need to—"
"I wasn't asking." She pushed the door open and gestured him inside. "Besides, when's the next time I'll get to host a famous champion?"
The interior was cozy, furnished simply but with obvious care. Dried herbs hung from the rafters, and a fire crackled softly in the hearth. Nia disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a steaming bowl of soup.
"Here. You look like you haven't had a proper meal in days."
Jace accepted the bowl gratefully. The first spoonful made him close his eyes in appreciation—rich, hearty, with flavors that reminded him of home. "This is incredible. You're an amazing cook."
"Flattery will get you everywhere." She settled into the chair across from him, studying his face in the firelight. "You know, you really do look different. Better than when we first met. More… confident, I suppose."
Jace laughed, thinking of all the changes she couldn't see. "Life as a hero has been educational."
"I'll bet it has."
The flickering fire cast a low amber glow across the wooden walls of the cottage, throwing slow-moving shadows.
Nia leaned in to refill his bowl. Her fingers brushed his, light as a breath. Jace stiffened slightly, then masked it with a casual breath.
She didn't retreat to her seat. Instead, she hovered beside him, her hand resting on the table.
Jace set his spoon down slowly, deliberately. His appetite was gone, replaced by a sharp coil in his gut.
"Nia…"
The way her name left his mouth—it was more prayer than question.
She looked up at him then, really looked, and whatever she saw must have stirred something. She whispered his name like it meant something new now. "Jace…"
The sound of it cracked something open inside him. No fanfare. Just a shift—quiet and irreversible.
Slowly, he reached across the table, giving her the space to back away if she wanted. His fingers found hers, tentative at first. Testing. Hoping.
She didn't pull away.
Instead, she turned her palm up, threaded her fingers with his. Her hand was warm, steady. Intentional.
"Tell me to leave," he said, throat tight. "And I will."
Nia shook her head just once. "I don't want you to leave."