The morning light filtered through the small window, painting the little room in soft, golden hues. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, dancing in and out of the sunlight. The scent of herbs — mint, sage, and bitterroot — mingled with the faint warmth of steam rising from a simmering pot. The space was small, cluttered, and alive with quiet purpose — a place meant for brewing medicine, now occupied by two unlikely companions.
Zelene stood at the workbench, sleeves rolled up, her hair pulled back in a loose tie. Beside her, Finn measured dried leaves into a small mortar, movements quick but precise. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable — it was simply… there, like the hum of the air before a storm.
Zelene stirred the pot, pretending to focus on the mixture. "I heard…" she began carefully, her tone light, "that you'll be coming with us."
Finn's hand froze mid-air, a pinch of crushed herb slipping through his fingers and scattering across the table.
"…So Elias told you."
"Mm." Zelene nodded, keeping her eyes on the pot. "But… it didn't seem like you wanted to."
Finn frowned, looking down at the table. His voice, when it came, was defensive — but there was something gentler under it.
"It's not that I don't want to. It's just—" He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, leaving a faint green smudge of herbs. "That old fool can't even go a day without tripping over something. Who's going to patch him up when he burns his sleeve again? Or remind him to eat? He's hopeless."
Zelene hid her smile behind the wooden spoon. "So… you are worried."
"I didn't say that!" Finn snapped, a little too fast. His ears went pink. "I just—someone has to keep him alive, that's all."
Her gaze drifted to the shelves that lined the far wall. Books upon books, all worn and mismatched — medicine, geography, old histories, and even a few titles about myths and legends. She could tell they'd been read many times over. The edges curled, some pages were patched, and faint notes marked the margins in a hurried, thoughtful scrawl.
Zelene smiled faintly. "You've always wanted to see the world, haven't you?"
Finn blinked. "What makes you say that?"
"These books." She gestured toward them. "They're not just things to read. You don't collect them for knowledge — you collect them for possibility. You don't just study the world, Finn. You dream about it."
He hesitated, and in that pause, the wall around him cracked a little. He didn't answer, but his silence said enough.
Zelene set the spoon down gently. "I'll talk to Elias," she said after a moment, her tone soft. "If you don't want to go, you don't have to. Don't worry about it."
And before he could respond, she slipped out — leaving the air heavy with words unspoken.
Elias was crouched by the door when she found him, sorting through a small stack of supplies. He looked up as she approached, his usual clumsy energy replaced by a calm weariness.
"Elias," she said quietly, "about Finn… you shouldn't force him."
He paused, fingers stilling over the straps of a satchel. His shoulders sank.
"I know," he murmured. "That was… selfish of me. I thought maybe… if he went, he'd finally find something for himself. Something beyond… me."
Zelene tilted her head. "You care about him that much."
Elias let out a tired laugh. "When I first met him, he was barely twelve. Scrawny, too sharp for his own good, always running from somewhere. He used to sneak into the markets and trade scraps of metal for books — old, useless ones no one else wanted. Once, he got caught trying to buy a rare alchemy text with forged coins."
A ghost of a smile curved his lips. "I stepped in, told the seller the coins were mine. Got a beating for it. That night, I brought him the same book — tattered, half the pages missing — and he refused to talk to me for days. Then one morning, I woke up to find him sitting by the fire, reading it."
His voice softened. "He'd been crying."
For a moment, Elias's eyes clouded with memory. "Since then, he's been the one holding me together. The one who reminds me to eat, to rest, to laugh. I thought… maybe sending him away would help him realize there's more to life than taking care of an old fool."
Zelene's chest tightened. "You're not a fool, Elias."
He gave her a rueful smile. "You'd be surprised."
In the herb room, Finn sat where Zelene had left him. The room felt emptier now — the light dimmer, the air heavier. He ran a thumb along the edge of one of the books, tracing the grooves in the spine as though it might answer something for him.
Elias's voice echoed in his memory: He needs to see the world.
Finn swallowed hard. The world. The idea both thrilled and terrified him. For so long, his world had been this — Elias's laughter, the smell of medicine, the sound of the rain against the window.
Could he really leave that behind?
He closed the book slowly, set it back on the shelf, and stood. His heart was hammering by the time he stepped outside.
Zelene and Elias were still there, mid-conversation. The words tumbled out before he could stop them.
"I'll go."
Both turned in surprise. Finn stood with his fists clenched, as if bracing against his own choice.
"I'll go with them," he said, his voice steady, "but you have to promise me something."
Elias blinked. "Anything."
"Stop being clumsy," Finn said — the words trembling even as he tried to sound annoyed. "Take care of yourself. Eat properly. Stop pretending you can't live without me."
Elias's eyes softened.
"Because I'll be back," Finn went on, voice cracking despite himself. "And when I do, I want you still here — waiting to hear all the stories I'll bring."
For a heartbeat, the world was still. Then Elias laughed — a small, broken laugh that barely hid the emotion trembling beneath it.
"…Then I'll wait," he said quietly. "For every one of them."
Later that day, the road stretched ahead, winding through fields kissed by morning mist. Zelene led the way, Ray walking beside her, and Finn trailing a few steps behind. The house grew smaller with every step.
At the doorway, Elias stood watching them go, a half-smile caught between pride and grief.
When they finally disappeared beyond the bend, he whispered, barely audible against the wind,
"Finn will be very helpful to you, my lady."
His voice faltered. "…He always has been to me."
And as the silence returned, Elias let out a shaky breath — and let the tear he'd been holding back finally fall.