Cale’s foot hovered above the next step.

  He stopped.

  Something—no, someone—was rushing toward him.

  He turned just in time to catch Lira, who threw herself into his chest. Her arms wrapped tightly around his armored torso, her face pressing against the cold steel without fear.

  He staggered slightly under the sudden weight, then steadied himself.

  Senn and Veyra stood a few steps below, watching.

  Their silver eyes mirrored different emotions—Veyra’s shimmered with silent longing, Senn’s narrowed with deep suspicion.

  Cale’s heart tightened.

  He looked down at the small girl clinging to him, the warmth of her fragile body so stark against the lifeless chill of his armor.

  Without thinking, he spoke.

  "Do you want to come with me?"

  He hadn’t pnned to say it. But the words felt right.

  Lira didn’t answer verbally. She only clung tighter, her small fingers curling into the folds of his armor.

  Her answer was clear.

  Cale lifted his gaze to Senn and Veyra.

  Senn’s jaw was tight. She crossed her arms defensively, casting quick gnces between him and her sisters.

  "You saved us," Senn said finally, her voice low and guarded. "But saving us once doesn’t mean I trust you. "

  Cale nodded solemnly, understanding her hesitation.

  Senn looked at Lira, then at Veyra.

  She swallowed hard.

  "But... if they’re going," she said, her voice breaking just a little, "then I’ll go too."

  Because Senn was a protector and she couldn’t abandon them.

  Even when trust was hard, loyalty was harder to break.

  Veyra remained silent for a moment longer.

  Her silver eyes glistened with unshed tears.

  She stepped forward, slow, deliberate, and pced a hand lightly on Cale’s gauntlet.

  "I don’t want to be left behind," she whispered.

  Her words were fragile, but her touch was steady.

  Cale lowered himself, bringing his eyes level with theirs.

  "I can’t promise it’ll be easy," he said quietly. "I can’t promise I won’t make mistakes."

  He looked at each of them—at the scars and the strength etched into girls far too young to bear them.

  "But I swear," he continued, "I will protect you with everything I have."

  Lira nodded first, fiercely.

  Senn hesitated—then, with a sigh that was almost a growl, she nodded too.

  Veyra just smiled faintly, the kind of smile that a person gives when they finally dare to hope again.

  Cale rose, gathering them with a gnce.

  They descended back into the basement, the heavy air closing around them once again.

  The freed captives watched in silence as Cale approached the wall where the secret door waited. With a thought, he willed it open—the wall shifting and groaning as it parted.

  Cale turned, his gaze sweeping across the faces he had saved.

  His eyes lingered briefly on Kelkas, who offered him a soft, worn smile.

  Without a word, Cale walked forward, the triplets fnking him like silent shadows.

  The door closed behind them with a final hiss of stone against stone, sealing the past away.

  Cale summoned four orbs of pale light to float around them, pushing back the choking darkness of the tunnels.

  They moved quickly, taking detours through abandoned shafts and forgotten corridors—paths Cale knew few dared tread.

  When they finally reached the trap door, Cale pressed upward, the old wood groaning in protest.

  He waved the girls through first, ensuring they stepped into the fresh night air.

  They emerged into a forgotten shed—colpsed roof beams and rotting tools their only witnesses.

  Cale’s armor retracted silently, slipping back beneath his skin.

  The night had settled fully by now.

  The streets were quiet, nterns flickering in the distance.

  They moved swiftly, avoiding the main roads, making their way toward Meli’s house. No one disturbed them.

  When they reached the her home, Cale rapped softly on the door.

  He heard the unmistakable sound of Meli’s wooden leg tapping steadily toward them.

  The door opened.

  Meli’s sharp green eyes swept over him—then to the girls.

  She arched a brow.

  "Can you take them in?" Cale asked, his voice low but firm.

  Meli stared at him for a long moment.

  "I’m no orphanage," she said gruffly. "But you wouldn’t bring them here without good reason. Come inside. Someone’s waiting to see you."

  She stepped aside.

  Cale waved the triplets through and followed, closing the door behind them.

  Inside, the house was warm, lit by a fire crackling in the hearth.

  And seated in one of the worn chairs, waiting, was Desmun.

  Cale felt the familiar presence before he saw him—the steady pulse of a soul weathered by hardship.

  Desmun rose slowly, his eyes narrowing as they took in the girls and then moved back to Cale.

  Meli leaned against the table, arms crossed.

  "He’s been waiting for you all day," she said.

  Moon stirred from her spot on the cot, her wide silver eyes lighting up when she saw him.

  She rose and padded toward him, her steps light.

  "I’ll expin everything," Cale reassured them, and Moon nodded, trusting him without question.

  The triplets clustered closer to Moon, studying her.

  Veyra tilted her head, her silver hair catching the firelight.

  "You have beautiful eyes," she said softly.

  Moon blushed, a shy smile blooming on her face.

  A short, tender silence filled the room.

  "Why isn’t she saying anything?" Senn asked suddenly, gncing at Cale.

  "She’s mute," Cale expined gently.

  Senn frowned, her eyes hardening slightly.

  "Did someone cut her tongue out?"

  Cale stiffened.

  The seriousness in her tone crushed any thought that she might be joking.

  He remembered Vaelric’s cruelty—how he mutited those who defied him.

  He knelt down to meet Senn’s wary gaze.

  "No," he said softly. "No one hurt her. She’s always been like this."

  Senn studied Moon a little longer, her small brow furrowed.

  Then, almost as an afterthought, she asked, "Is she your wife?"

  Cale froze, completely taken aback.

  He opened his mouth—then closed it, struggling to find the right words.

  Senn’s next words were a whisper, almost too soft to hear.

  "You look at her," she said, "the way Dad used to look at Mom."

  The fire crackled between them.

  Cale's heart twisted painfully.

  He lowered his head, hiding the storm behind his eyes.

  Lira and Veyra’s small smiles faded at the mention of their parents.

  Cale saw it—the way their shoulders hunched inward, the way their silver eyes dimmed.

  His fist clenched at his side, the memory rising unbidden.

  They had been forced to watch.

  Forced to witness their father's brutal sughter, powerless to stop it.

  Meli, cut through the rising heaviness in the room.

  "Are you girls hungry?" she asked, her voice a little rough but warm beneath it.

  "Come closer. Let me give you some stew."

  The girls hesitated, their eyes flickering back to Cale.

  He gave a small nod, encouraging them.

  They obeyed, moving toward Meli’s open arms and the welcoming hearth.

  Meli smiled softly.

  "What’s your name, sweetheart?" she asked gently as she dled stew into bowls.

  Cale’s shoulders rexed slightly.

  Meli knew when to speak.

  Desmun stepped closer to Cale, his face shadowed, his voice low.

  "I need to talk to you," he said. "Just between us."

  Moon, sensing the change, gave Cale a tiny smile and turned to help Meli with the girls.

  Cale nodded.

  He followed Desmun outside, the night air cool against his skin as they moved into a narrow, empty alley.

  Desmun faced him fully, the lines on his weathered face sharp in the moonlight.

  "You said you can speak with the dead," Desmun began, his voice tight with something barely held in check.

  "Necromancy?"

  Cale shook his head.

  "Not necromancy," he said. "Necromancers use mana to manipute the dead, raise them and control them. What I do is different. I’m a Spirit Bender. I don't force or ensve. I listen and reach."

  He paused, choosing his next words carefully.

  "It’s closer to elemental bending. But deeper and more personal."

  Desmun nodded, slowly, digesting this.

  Then he looked up, his expression crumbling.

  There was no anger there.

  Only grief.

  "Would it be possible..." Desmun's voice broke for a moment. He steadied himself with visible effort.

  "Would it be possible for you to speak with Flora?"

  The name lingered in the space between them.

  A plea and a prayer.

  Cale’s chest tightened.

  He could feel the weight of Desmun’s hope—the desperate need to hear her voice again, even if only for a moment.

  "If her spirit still lingers," Cale said softly, "then yes."

  Desmun lowered his head.

  A shudder ran through his frame and for a long, fragile moment, neither man said anything.

  The night air whispered between them, carrying away the weight of old grief.

  "What do you need to do it?" Desmun asked quietly.

  "A silent pce," Cale replied. "Somewhere no one will disturb me."

  Desmun nodded solemnly.

  "I’ll find it," he promised. "I’ll come back by midday. Thank you, Cale."

  He turned and disappeared into the darkened alleys, the weight of hope and sorrow pressing into his shoulders.

  Cale lingered a moment longer, breathing in the cool air.

  Then he stepped back inside Meli’s house.

  The atmosphere had shifted.

  Warmth, ughter, and the low hum of a voice filled the small home.

  The triplets and Moon sat cross-legged in a loose circle before Meli, who was animatedly telling a story, her hands moving through the air with exaggerated gestures.

  "—and there we were," Meli said, "twenty meters underground, staring at a beast with eyes like dinner ptes and cws that could rip a man clean in half!"

  The girls gasped, eyes wide, clutching each other.

  "So what did you do?" Veyra asked, her voice a hushed whisper.

  Meli grinned, the firelight dancing over the lines of her weathered face.

  "What do you think we did?" she said. "We ran! We ran so fast that even the wind couldn’t catch us!" She spped her knee with a ugh.

  Cale smiled as he approached, seating himself quietly beside Moon. She leaned her head against his shoulder without hesitation, her soft hair brushing his cheek.

  Meli paused only a moment to acknowledge him with a nod, then continued her tale, her voice softer now.

  "You learn two things down there," she said. "One: you never outrun fear. You just learn how to keep walking through it. And two: the best treasure you’ll ever find isn’t gold or jewels. It’s the fools standing next to you when everything tries to tear you apart."

  The words wrapped around them like a bnket.

  One by one, the triplets’ eyes fluttered closed, their bodies slumping against each other, too tired to fight sleep.

  Moon's breathing slowed, soft and even against his side.

  Cale watched them, his chest tightening with something tender and painful all at once.

  "I think that's enough for tonight," Meli said, rising from her chair with a quiet groan, stretching her back.

  Cale stirred, reaching into his pouch.

  The coins clinked softly as he held it out toward her.

  "Wait, Meli," he said. "Let me pay you. For the girls."

  Meli looked at the pouch, then at him.

  She shook her head firmly.

  "Keep it," she said gruffly. "You’ll need it more than me."

  Without another word, she turned and climbed the stairs, her wooden leg tapping rhythmically against the floorboards.

  She didn’t look back.

  Cale sat there, watching until her form disappeared.

  A small, genuine smile tugged at his lips.

  He thought of all the cruelty, all the blood, all the darkness he had witnessed.

  And how, somehow, against all odds, he had found people like her.

  As soon as Moon awoke, they slipped quietly out of Meli’s house, leaving her behind to wrangle the triplets into a much-needed bath.

  The streets of Gravemount greeted them with a different energy that morning.

  Cale noticed it immediately—the city pulsed with life.

  Vendors lined the avenues in colorful rows, hawking sweets, trinkets, and banners stitched with gold thread. Performers juggled, sang, and danced atop makeshift stages. Children in bright clothes darted between the crowds, their ughter rising like birds into the sky.

  Moon’s silver eyes widened, darting from one vivid spectacle to the next.

  Cale smirked as realization dawned.

  Today was the commemoration of Gravemount—one of the oldest cities in all of Valtara, second only to the capital itself.

  For the next week, the streets would pulse with festivities, song, and endless celebration.

  He squeezed Moon’s hand gently.

  "We’ll enjoy it together," he promised, his voice warm.

  They turned onto a side street, drawn by the sound of excited shouting—the buzz of an upcoming race.

  "Moon, we gotta see this," Cale said, tugging her along.

  She tilted her head, puzzled.

  He grinned. "Wait until you see it. A marathon race is scheduled to wind through the city, with famous runners and talented locals competing."

  But first—there were errands to run.

  The tailor’s shop was small and modest, tucked between two grander stone buildings. Wooden mannequins dressed in fine garments stood proudly in the front windows. Inside, the air smelled of fresh linen, leather, and faint vender.

  An elderly woman with quick hands and sharp eyes peered up from her workbench as they entered.

  Cale approached her calmly, rattling off the measurements he needed.

  The woman blinked in surprise but wasted no time—he had quoted them perfectly, a skill gleaned from the memories of her cousin, a master tailor from years past.

  After purchasing new clothes for the triplets, Cale asked her to adjust Moon’s garments, still a tad too rge. She nodded briskly and completed the work with practiced speed.

  Cale paid with a few coins from Vaelric’s hidden safe—blood money now repurposed for something good.

  With packages in arms, they left the shop, weaving through the vibrant, bustling crowds.

  It happened fast.

  A woman, disheveled and frantic, stumbled from the throng.

  Before Cale could react, she thrust a squirming bundle into Moon’s arms, shrieking, "I can’t handle it!" before vanishing back into the crowd.

  Moon stood frozen, cradling the baby awkwardly.

  Cale, arms den with clothes, turned too te to stop her—but not too te to track her.

  Spirits lingered everywhere. He would find her.

  The baby wailed, tiny fists beating the air.

  Moon swayed gently, humming a soft, wordless tune. Slowly, the cries ebbed into hiccups and heavy breathing.

  They made their way back to Meli’s house.

  When Meli opened the door and spotted the infant, her mouth fttened into a thin line.

  "Now a baby?" she asked dryly, arching a brow.

  "A woman shoved him into Moon’s arms," Cale said. "We couldn’t stop her."

  The triplets gathered around Moon, their curious eyes wide.

  "What are you gonna do with it?" Meli asked, her voice tinged with both exasperation and concern.

  "I’m going to find his mother," Cale said firmly. "I’ll give him back."

  Meli crossed her arms.

  "And what if she doesn’t want him back?" she asked sharply. "What if she just palms him off on someone else again?"

  Cale hesitated, her words cutting deeper than he expected.

  "I’ll convince her," he said at st, though doubt gnawed at him.

  A soft cough drew their attention.

  The baby.

  Meli moved closer, her hands gentle despite her gruffness.

  She pced a calloused hand against the baby's forehead and frowned.

  "He’s hot," she murmured. "Maybe feverish. You should get him to a doctor."

  Cale met Moon’s concerned gaze.

  He still had time before his meeting with Desmun.

  He couldn't ignore the child's suffering.

  He would find a doctor and then his mother.

  They were in a small room that had seen better days.

  The walls were cracked and faded, the paint peeling like old bark. The wooden floor creaked underfoot, and one window was boarded shut, letting only slivers of light seep through. A single, battered chair sat near a small hearth where embers barely glowed, more ash than fme. The scent of herbs and old parchment lingered in the air, masking something less pleasant.

  Despite the room’s shabbiness, the man before them was anything but.

  Ulbart wore a dark green robe and the sleeves tight at the wrists . His belt was studded with pouches and small gss vials, and a chain of iron keys clinked softly against his hip. A circlet of thin silver wire rested around his brow, marking his former status among the city's esteemed healers.

  Once, he had been a great doctor in Gravemount. But a scandal—defending a noblewoman beaten so brutally by her husband that she miscarried—had cost him his reputation.

  Now he tended to those the city forgot.

  "Mr. Ulbart, how is he?" Cale asked, his voice tight with concern.

  The doctor, moving with practiced precision, examined the baby, waving colored stones and metal pieces engraved with runes over the child’s small body. The stones glowed faintly, pulsing in soft hues.

  Ulbart frowned, his brows knitting.

  "There’s nothing physical," he said. "Strange."

  He gnced at the baby again, studying him with a keen eye.

  "Earlier today, I consulted several patients with simir symptoms—weakness, slow heartbeat, foggy mind, low fever."

  His voice dropped lower.

  "I hope it’s not contagious. With the city's commemoration and the influx of people from all over Valtara... it would be a tragedy."

  The room seemed to grow colder at his words.

  Ulbart turned to a battered shelf and retrieved a small gss bottle filled with a shimmering pale liquid.

  "Three drops on his tongue," he instructed. "Morning, midday, and night. If he’s not better in three days, bring him back to me."

  Cale accepted the bottle with a respectful nod.

  "Thank you, Master Ulbart."

  The doctor simply waved him off, already reaching for another set of runes to examine his next patient.

  Outside, the festival sounds still rang through the air—cheerful and oblivious.

  The gloom that had hung over Moon and Cale lessened slightly as they made their way back to Meli’s.

  When they entered, the sight that greeted them made Cale pause.

  The triplets stood proudly in the center of the room, each wearing new, simple outfits crafted for practicality and freedom of movement. Tunics made from sturdy, dark cloth tied neatly at their waists with leather belts, breeches tucked into calf-high boots. Their snowy hair was brushed back, their silver eyes shining brightly.

  They looked like warriors in miniature—scraped clean, clothed, and standing tall despite the shadows of their past.

  Moon’s face lit up in full warm smile.

  Cale, seeing them, felt a fierce swell deep in his chest and tightened his grip on the small bottle of medicine.

  Kelkas Oaksinger: