The city smelled different from the keep.
Not worse—just louder.
Elias noticed it the moment the wagon crossed the inner gates. The air carried spices and oil, warm bread and smoked meat, iron from the smithies, damp wool, and the faint bitterness of alchemical reagents leaking from poorly corked vials. It was layered, chaotic, alive in a way the orderly halls of the keep never were.He'd been holed up in the Keep so long that he had began to forget about the city, his mind only being made of sword strokes.
He sat stiffly on the wooden bench, hands tucked deep into the pockets of the blue coat his mother had given him for his birthday.
Dyed a deep, clean blue that caught the winter light, lined with soft wool and fitted just a little loose so he could grow into it. His mother had fussed over the clasp, his father had pretended not to notice how long she lingered fixing the collar.
Across from him sat Miss Gable—Eleanor Gable, as most of the city knew her—upright and composed despite the gentle rocking of the wagon. She wore a fitted dark dress layered beneath a tailored winter mantle, the fabric hugging her frame without constricting it. Age had touched her lightly, leaving confidence instead of frailty. Her dark skin glowed warmly even in the pale winter sun, her hair pulled back neatly, eyes sharp but kind.
She didn't look a day over forty.
Around them sat several servant girls from the keep, murmuring softly among themselves as the wagon rolled on. They made this trip every month—sometimes twice—procurement runs for the household.
Grain, salted meat, dried fruits. Root vegetables that would last through each month. Flour. Spices. Soap bricks. Candles. Lamp oil. Cloth bolts. Ironware. Occasionally preserved herbs or medicinal tinctures if Miss Gable deemed the stores lacking.
Routine.
Safe.
Which was exactly why she had insisted Elias come along.
Aina hadn't spoken to him properly since the incident.
She passed him in halls. Despite her resolve to talk to him, she still couldn't bring herself to do it and ended up leaving him alone again
Jamie was still grounded. Officially.
Elias ask any questions about the city even as the carraige moved. One would expect him to try to find out how things were after the incident before they passed through the city streets where damage had taken place.
But to him, asking felt pointless.
Miss Gable noticed these things the way only someone who had raised a child could—without prying, without accusing. When she saw Elias spending more time training when he should have een resting, staring out windows than at books, more time sitting still than thinking aloud, she made her decision.
A change of scenery, she'd said.
He didn't argue.
Miss Gable rested her hands in her lap, watching him from the corner of her eye.
'He's shrinking inward again,' she thought. 'Poor thing.'
Unlike her husband, she was a mundane human and she had cared for Elias since he could walk—since before that, really. When Alaric and Elara were often called away by their dities as the Lord and Lady of the region of Blackwood , Elias stayed with her. She had rocked him through fevers, scolded him gently for skipping his meals in favor of being in the library, read to him when he couldn't sleep.
They had wanted to be present.
She knew that.
But noble duty did not bend easily, and so she had filled the gaps gladly.
A second mother, some jokingly called her.
She had never corrected them.
That had changed when Aina arrived—then training began, with Elias started preparing for his Rite Of Passage. He needed less watching then. More discipline. Less softness.
Still…
Miss Gable's gaze softened as she looked at him now.
He didn't act like boys his age.
What child reached nearly a decade without a single true blunder? No reckless tantrums. No selfish mistakes. No thoughtless cruelty born of ignorance.
And worse—there were moments, though brief, when his eyes looked… empty.
Not sad.
Just absent.
As if meaning itself had slipped through his fingers.
'You're too young for that,' she thought, troubled. 'Far too young.'
The wagon slowed.
They reached one of the outer market junctions, a place wide enough to offload supplies without blocking traffic. Miss Gable rose smoothly to her feet as the wagon stopped.
"Alright," she said briskly, clapping her hands once. "You know the routine."
She assigned duties with practiced ease.
"Maris, you and Lotte stay with the wagon. You'll be picking up the grain sacks and lamp oil—don't let them short you on weight."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Fera, you'll head to the apothecary with the list I gave you. Check the seals before you buy anything."
The girl nodded and hurried off.
Miss Gable turned to Elias and another servant girl.
"You're with me."
Elias hopped down from the wagon, boots crunching against frost-dusted stone. He shoved his hands back into his pockets instinctively as they moved toward the market proper.
That's when he noticed it.
The whispers.
Eyes followed them—followed him.
He caught fragments as they passed.
"Is that him?"
"Where the rumors true?"
"Nah, a pipsqueak like that—"
"But we all saw it…"
"Coulda been blo'n outta proportion. Cuz ain't no way..."
Elias's shoulders tightened.
'I don't like this,' he thought flatly.
He didn't like people.
Not strangers, anyway.
The ones he knew—his parents, Miss Gable, Aina, Jamie—those made sense. They were constants. Anchors in a sense.
Random people staring at him like a story come to life?
That was just uncomfortable.
Miss Gable noticed immediately.
She slowed her pace slightly, angling herself closer to him—not shielding him, exactly, but present.
"You've become rather famous these past few months," she said lightly.
Elias blinked, glancing up at her.
"Hm?"
"People saw things," she continued gently. "You, Aina, Jamie… fighting off the infected. The beast. Even those clones who took my husbands appearance."
She smiled. "You were always tucked away in the keep before. Even when you trained with Sir Roric, it was a brief stroll through the city. Truth be told people knew your name but not your face. But now they all see you and as a hero as well."
She said it warmly, hoping it might reach him.
It didn't.
Elias's expression barely changed.
'Hero,' he repeated internally, tasting the word.
'I was experimenting,' he thought. 'Selfishly.Now i can't even do that much.'
Out loud, he said only, "The damage seems mostly fixed."
Miss Gable blinked.
"And the city seems… normal again," Elias added, his voice quiet. Observational and polite yet detached.
She studied him for a moment longer, then nodded.
"That's true," she agreed. "Still… it mattered."
They stopped at a small shop—exotic spices and herbs, the sort that supplied half the district. Miss Gable pushed the door open.
Warmth rushed out to greet them.
Behind the counter stood a woman visibly pregnant, her belly round beneath a thick apron, her cheeks flushed with health.
"Eleanor!" the woman exclaimed. "You're late this month."
Miss Gable smiled. "Busy winter Beth. I see your coming along quite well."
"Well, slowly but surely, I just hope the little one doesn't look too much like its father."
"You're too hard on Wilcris."
"Well somone has to keep him on his toes. We women need to keep our men active."
"Right."
The two women laughed. Elias just watched them, his eyes slowly drifting to the displayed containers and bottles.
Beth noticed Elias then leaned foward.
She squinted, scanning the crimson streaks in his blonde hair.
Leaning closer.
Closer as she gazed directly into his gemlike red-emerald eyes.
Elias stiffened, unsure of how to react.
"Ah—h-hello," he stammered, taking an involuntary step back.
Beth's eyes narrowed further.
She straightened slowly.
"Hm," she said bluntly. "Doesn't look like much."
'Huh?'