Chapter 7
The first thing Rowan Valebright noticed the morning after the bells rang was that the city was still standing.
The second thing he noticed was that someone had burned his toast.
He stared at it.
Blackened. Completely ruined. Charcoal masquerading as bread.
Rowan sighed, scraped it into the bin, and tried again.
This, he decided, was a far more reasonable problem than heralds of ruin and shadow creatures.
Eastrun woke slowly that day.
Shops opened late. Guards yawned openly. People spoke in softer voices, as though the city itself was recovering from a fright and didn't want to startle itself awake too quickly.
Rowan walked through the streets without armor.
That alone caused problems.
"Oh—Guild Master!"
"Sir Rowan!"
"Is it over?"
"Are we safe?"
Rowan smiled, nodded, reassured, repeated.
He had done this after wars. After sieges. After nights worse than the last.
But this time, something was different.
He was looking forward to something.
Lila Fairbloom was late.
This was unprecedented.
Rowan stood inside the guild hall, tea cooling in his hands, eyes flicking toward the front desk every few seconds.
Dorian noticed immediately.
"You've checked the door seven times," he said.
"I have not."
"You just did it again."
Rowan frowned. "She's never late."
"Perhaps," Dorian said lightly, "she's sleeping in. Some people do that after surviving ominous prophetic threats."
Rowan didn't answer.
The door opened.
Lila hurried in, hair slightly undone, papers clutched against her chest, breathless.
"I'm sorry—I'm late—I overslept and then spilled ink on my notes and then—"
She stopped when she saw Rowan.
"Oh," she said.
He smiled.
"That's quite alright," he said gently. "I'm just glad you're here."
Her cheeks warmed instantly.
Dorian made a noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh.
They didn't talk about the bells.
Not right away.
Instead, they talked about trivial things.
Paperwork. Repairs to the west wall. A guild member who'd somehow adopted three cats overnight.
Normal things.
Healing things.
At one point, Lila handed Rowan a cup of tea.
He took a sip.
It was perfect.
"You remembered how I like it," he said.
She smiled. "Of course."
That should not have felt as meaningful as it did.
Later that afternoon, Rowan found himself doing something reckless.
He asked Lila to lunch.
Not as a guild master.
Not as a protector.
Just as Rowan.
"Lunch?" she repeated.
"Yes," he said, suddenly very aware of how tall and intimidating he probably looked. "At the little café by the river. If you're free."
She blinked.
Then smiled.
"I'd like that," she said.
Rowan's heart did something extremely undignified.
The café was quiet.
They sat by the window, sunlight warming the table between them. Outside, the river flowed peacefully, entirely unconcerned with ancient oni or shattered shields.
Lila stirred her drink absently.
"You know," she said, "everyone thinks something dramatic happened between us last night."
Rowan winced. "I apologize if—"
"No," she said quickly. "I don't mind."
She glanced at him. "Do you?"
He considered that.
"No," he said. "I don't."
They shared a small, shy smile.
There was a pause.
A comfortable one.
Then Lila spoke softly.
"I was scared last night."
Rowan's expression gentled. "I know."
"I don't like that I can't help when things like that happen," she said. "I don't have a sword. Or magic."
"You have courage," Rowan said. "And clarity."
She looked at him. "Is that enough?"
He met her gaze.
"It saved me this time," he said honestly.
Her breath caught.
Outside, someone shouted.
Rowan tensed automatically.
Then relaxed.
It was just a merchant arguing with a cart.
Lila noticed.
"You don't have to be on guard all the time," she said.
"I've tried," he said. "It never stuck."
She reached across the table and rested her hand over his.
"Try again," she said.
He did.
When they returned to the guild, Dorian was waiting.
"Ah," he said brightly. "There you are. I was beginning to worry."
"You always worry," Rowan said.
"Yes," Dorian agreed. "But now I worry happily."
Lila laughed.
Rowan pretended not to see the way Dorian discreetly wiped his eyes.
That evening, as the sun dipped low, Rowan stood on the balcony outside his office.
The city glowed gold.
Behind him, Lila joined him quietly.
"For what it's worth," she said, "I don't think the Shield is cracked."
He smiled softly.
"No," he agreed. "It's just learning when to rest."
They stood there together as night fell.
The Next day at the Guild
The crate was not supposed to explode.
This was, according to the paperwork, very clearly stated.
Rowan stared at it from across the guild hall as Lila flipped through a ledger, brow furrowed.
"Are you absolutely certain this shipment is safe?" he asked.
Lila nodded. "It's labeled 'harmless alchemical supplies.'"
The crate rattled.
Dorian leaned over the railing above. "Define harmless."
Rowan raised a hand. "No one touch—"
The crate exploded.
Not violently.
Just enough.
A burst of pink smoke erupted into the air with an enthusiastic poof, followed by a sound suspiciously like giggling.
Rowan froze.
The guild froze.
The smoke lingered.
Then began to sparkle.
"Oh no," Lila whispered.
Chaos followed.
The smoke spread rapidly, clinging to boots and cloaks, leaving trails of glitter behind. Adventurers stumbled as their balance betrayed them.
"What is happening to my legs?!"
"Why do I feel... floaty?"
"Is anyone else's voice higher?!"
Rowan stepped forward—and promptly slipped.
This should not have been possible.
He caught himself on the edge of the desk, teeth clenched.
"This is a destabilization charm," he said. "Low-grade. Causes—"
He lost his footing completely.
Lila lunged forward to catch him.
They collided.
Hard.
They fell.
Together.
They hit the floor in a tangle of limbs and cloaks, sliding several feet across the polished stone before stopping against a pillar.
Silence.
Then—
"Are you alright?!" Lila blurted.
"I believe so," Rowan said, realizing several things at once:
He was not injured.
He was on his back.
Lila was on top of him.
Very close.
Too close.
Their faces were inches apart.
Her hair had come loose, strands falling around them like a curtain. Her breath was warm against his cheek.
Rowan forgot how words worked.
"You... uh..." Lila said, not moving. "You're very solid."
"I've been told," Rowan replied weakly.
Someone snorted nearby.
"I am never letting him live this down," Dorian said cheerfully.
Rowan did not care.
Lila tried to move.
The floor shifted.
The smoke giggled again.
They slid back together.
Closer.
Her hand braced against his chest.
She froze.
He froze.
Their noses brushed.
Rowan's heart thundered.
"Rowan," she whispered.
"Yes?"
"I think the spell... makes things unstable."
"Yes," he said. "That seems accurate."
Neither of them moved.
They were both very aware of the fact that if either of them tilted their head even slightly—
Their lips touched.
It was brief.
Soft.
Accidental.
And absolutely not planned.
They both pulled back instantly.
"Oh—"
"I—"
"Sorry!" they said together.
The guild hall erupted.
"THE GUILD MASTER KISSED THE RECEPTIONIST!"
"I DID NOT—"
"It was magical interference!"
"Does this count as a workplace incident?"
Rowan sat up too quickly and smacked his head against the pillar.
Lila scrambled to her feet, face bright red.
"I'm so sorry," she said.
"No," Rowan said. "I am."
They stared at each other.
Then laughed.
Quietly at first.
Then helplessly.
The tension broke like glass.
The smoke finally dissipated minutes later.
The crate, now empty, revealed its true label beneath the pink residue:
"Celebratory Confetti – Emotional Enhancement Variant."
Dorian leaned in. "So. Lunch go well?"
Rowan glared.
Lila hid her smile behind her hands.
Later, as the guild returned to normal, Rowan and Lila found themselves alone near the balcony again.
Neither mentioned the kiss.
Not directly.
But it lingered between them like warmth.
"About earlier," Rowan said.
"Yes?"
"I didn't mind," he said.
She looked at him.
"Neither did I," she admitted.
A breeze stirred.
This time, when they stood close, nothing pushed them together.
They chose it.
And when Rowan gently leaned down—
This kiss was not an accident.
It was slow.
Soft.
Certain.
And entirely theirs.
Far away, something old and patient watched.
And smiled.