The warm morning sun poured generous rays over the quiet town, bathing every street and rooftop in a golden glow that seemed to promise a fresh start. Inside the large, cozy dining room, the air was already filled with the inviting aroma of breakfast. Mrs. Walters was busy setting the table, carefully placing dish after dish across the sturdy wood that dominated the room's center.
First to appear were Clayton and Lily, stepping out from the hallway, their eyes immediately drawn to the spread before them. Their mouths watered at the sight of an abundant feast: baked sweet bread glistening with honey sap, rich roasted sausages, vibrant fresh fruit, and a large steaming pot of porridge, dotted with what looked like ground nuts. Clayton's gaze softened, memories flooding back to the last time he'd seen such a spread—his final morning at the Capitol before his posting.
Lily, however, was utterly captivated, her hunger barely contained as she drank in the sight of so much carefully prepared food—it was like something out of a dream she never dared hope for. Together, they moved toward the chairs lining the table, eager to feast on the welcome bounty.
The quiet clatter of their eating was suddenly accompanied by heavier footsteps reverberating down the stairs. Diomede rounded the corner, his gaze falling on the pair who had already begun without waiting for the rest. His face held a faint, almost unreadable expression. Clayton's guilt caught in his throat, causing him to nearly spill the warm porridge he was holding. Lily, mouth full of sausage and sweet bread, returned Diomede's look without shame or apology.
"Children," Diomede thought with a small, half-smile tugging at his lips.
From upstairs came more sounds of movement, and soon Francisco and Kira appeared behind Diomede, their forms unchanged from the day before.
"Ah yes, good morning, everyone," Francisco boomed in his elderly voice, breaking the silence.
Francisco approached the table next, his eyes lighting up as they landed on the honey-coated sweet bread. He carefully broke off a piece, the crust crisp and golden, revealing a soft, pillowy inside. He took a slow, appreciative bite, savoring the blend of warm sweetness and the rich honey sap that coated it.
His fingers gently brushed crumbs from his lips as he reached for a slice of roasted sausage, the spicy aroma filling his senses as he bit into the smoky, tender meat. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he relished the simple joy of the meal. Between bites, he reached for fresh fruit, the tangy sweetness refreshing his palate.
"Good morning," Mrs. Walters replied warmly as she entered from the kitchen, carrying a fresh pot of tea.
"I take it everyone was able to rest well in their rooms?" she asked, her eyes scanning the group with gentle concern.
The group responded with various grunts and murmurs of affirmation.
"Good then," Mrs. Walters said, folding her hands on the table, her gaze sharpening. "Now, why exactly are you here in the first place?"
Diomede glanced toward Francisco, who met the question with an empty, unreadable expression.
"We are traveling to Kinga," Francisco finally said.
Mrs. Walters raised a brow, "Kinga, you say? That's where this bread comes from. What business do you have there?"
Diomede replied quietly, "I have an old friend there that I haven't seen in a long time." His eyes flicked toward Kira, who kept her gaze fixed on her plate.
"And you are a knight, correct?" Mrs. Walters pressed.
Diomede nodded solemnly.
"Then please tell me—why are you traveling with so few belongings, no transportation, and no company?"
A tense silence filled the room. Diomede felt the weight of the question settle over him.
"I have hosted many guests over the years," Mrs. Walters continued, "but I have never seen an Umar knight travel with such meager means."
Lily glanced at Francisco as if silently asking whether she should intervene. Kira's heartbeat quickened like a drum, and Clayton watched intently, waiting for Diomede's answer.
Mrs. Walters seated herself at the end of the table, eyes fixed on Diomede, silently demanding a response. He swallowed the last of his food and spoke carefully.
"The reason we travel this way is because we are not from Umar. We have endured the cruelty of your country. Our belongings were taken, and what we carry now is all that remains."
Mrs. Walters studied him thoughtfully, then nodded.
"In that case, I suggest you visit the market area of town and purchase replacements for your lost items. Look for my husband, Jacob Walters—he is the head farmer here in the groves and may be able to sell you a wagon to hasten your journey."
Diomede inclined his head in gratitude and stood.
"We shall go at once, then. Thank you for your hospitality and the meal, Mrs. Walters."
She bowed her head in acknowledgment.
With a rising swell of energy, the group gathered their belongings and stepped out into the fresh air, moving toward the lively market.
As they entered the bustling streets of Fungle Grove, they witnessed the rhythm of daily life—smiling townsfolk moved like waves in an endless current, flowing through the town without pause. Not a single soul stopped in the center of the town; the busy tide surged onward without hesitation.
Francisco loved the town's bustling energy—the constant motion, the eager chatter, the mingled scents of fresh bread, coal smoke, and sweat. It was alive, vibrant, and intoxicating. Diomede, however, moved with purpose, pushing through the crowd without a glance, his eyes fixed ahead as if shutting out the sea of faces. Kira clung tightly to Lily's arm, her breath quickening as the waves of emotions—joy, excitement, warmth—washed over her, threatening to overwhelm. Though all were positive, the sheer volume was too much, and she felt swallowed by the crowd's intensity.
Clayton stayed a few paces behind, vigilant and scanning the throng for any suspicious figures—pickpockets or kingdom agents—his hand never straying far from the hilt of his sword.
The sharp clang of hammer striking metal rose above the chatter, drawing Diomede's attention. He veered toward the noise, arriving at a small forge nestled between a storehouse and a seamstress's shop. Inside, the forge's heat wrapped around him like a heavy cloak, mingled with the sharp scent of coal and sweat. Lily and Clayton followed silently behind.
Meanwhile, Francisco and Kira stepped into the seamstress's shop. The calm quiet was a stark contrast to the town's clamorous streets—like a protective bubble shielding them from the outside world. From behind a blue curtain dividing the front from the back, a soft voice floated over: "Hello, welcome, welcome. Please give me just one moment."
Francisco and Kira exchanged a curious glance, their attention drifting to the garments displayed on the walls. Kira's fingers brushed over a dark green robe, its fabric soft and warm beneath her touch, reminding her of the thick grasses by the southern ocean in Boarkar territory. A comforting heat seemed to pulse from it.
Francisco's gaze settled on the colorful fabrics behind the counter as the voice resumed, "Okay dears, let me know what it is you wish to—"
The voice abruptly stopped as a small figure appeared around the corner of the counter. Francisco's eyes widened, locking onto the bright green eyes of the storekeeper.
"You're… you're an Akumor?" he breathed.
The small Akumor woman, no taller than three feet, darted away as soon as she saw them, her tiny footsteps barely making a sound on the wooden floor. From behind the curtain at the back of the store came her sharp, trembling voice, "WE ARE CLOSED! PLEASE COME BACK LATER!" The sudden outburst sent a ripple of tension through the room.
Kira's heart tightened at the palpable fear in that voice. She glanced at Francisco, concern furrowing her brow. "What have you done? She's terrified."
Francisco stood frozen, confusion evident in his eyes. "I did nothing… She just turned the corner and then—there she was."
Determined, Kira stepped toward the curtain but halted abruptly when a small box flew out from behind it, nearly missing her. "Please, I apologize if we frightened you. If you come out, we can show you we mean no harm," Francisco pleaded softly.
A pause hung heavy in the air before a cautious, hesitant voice replied, "How would you do that?"
Francisco smiled gently and said, "This elderly form is not truly who I am—I am a bard, after all."
With a snap of his fingers, his worn guise melted away, replaced by his true, radiant Nesfundur form. His skin shimmered faintly, eyes bright and alive. "See? I am no Umar human."
The curtain rustled, and the Akumor woman cautiously peered out. Her wide eyes, shining a deep emerald green, locked onto Francisco's vibrant form. "You're a Nesfundur? I… I can't believe it."
Kira watched silently as the woman stepped fully into the shop's front room. Her frame was delicate but poised, her dark hair cascading in soft waves that framed her angular, finely-featured face. Despite her small stature, there was an undeniable strength in her stance, yet her trembling hands betrayed the anxiety she carried.
She reached out a tentative hand, which Francisco grasped warmly. "My name is Bellera White. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Francisco's smile deepened. "I am Francisco De La Martinez, and this is my friend, Kira."
Bellera's gaze shifted to Kira, studying her with a flicker of both curiosity and unease. "Are you a Nesfundur as well?"
Kira shook her head softly. "No, I'm Boarkar."
Bellera instinctively took a step back, a shadow of fear flickering across her face. Kira sensed it rising like a tide, the weight of suspicion and uncertainty heavy in the small woman's eyes.
"Please," Kira said gently, extending her hand with quiet reassurance. Bellera's eyes darted down to the offered hand, hesitation painted across her features. Slowly, carefully, she reached out, barely brushing Kira's fingers before grasping them lightly—ready to pull away at a moment's notice.
But then Kira wrapped her hand around Bellera's in a tender, grounding embrace. A calm seemed to ripple through Bellera's entire being. The tight coil of fear loosened, and in its place bloomed a fragile sense of safety.
"You must be a healer of some kind," Bellera whispered, voice soft and awed. "I can feel your gentleness."
Kira blinked in surprise. "Really?"
Francisco nodded knowingly. "Yes. Akumors are naturally attuned to the auras of others—they can sense intent, kindness, fear, and more."
Kira marveled at the revelation. She hadn't imagined such small creatures could perceive so much—reading the presence of others with such intricate detail and subtlety. Bellera gently withdrew her hand, grasped the hem of her purple dress, and dipped into a graceful curtsy.
"Welcome to my shop," she said with a warm but reserved smile. "If there is anything you wish to purchase or have altered, please don't hesitate to tell me."
Bellera moved behind the counter, hopped onto a tall stool, and stood upright with her hands clasped behind her back. "If you need me to sew, hem, or create something new, just say the word. My skills are worth every coin," she boasted lightly, a spark of pride in her voice.
Francisco's face brightened, his large teeth revealed in a broad, delighted smile. Kira's eyes drifted back to the dark green robe that had first caught her attention. She was about to ask, "Bellera, how much would this robe cos—" when suddenly, a heavy thud struck the wall behind the racks of hanging clothes.
From next door, muffled shouting erupted from the forge.
"Oh dear, I hope that isn't our comrades next door," Francisco muttered, burying his face in his hands with a weary sigh.