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Heavy droplets pelted the streets of Lamra, turning the bustling marketplace into a sparse gathering of hooded patrons, each dodging the rain as best they could. Amid the drizzle-soaked quiet, a man pushed his way through the crowd, brushing shoulders and jostling elbows. The glares he drew were sharp, but he paid them no mind, clicking his tongue in visible irritation.

At the edge of the market plaza, he met his companion coming from the opposite direction.

“Seen ’em?” his friend asked.

The man shook his head, though his arrival alone was answer enough.

“A couple of brats with nowhere to go,” he muttered, scanning the rain-soaked street. “They couldn’t have gotten far.”

His gaze shifted, squinting through the downpour until he spotted a small head peeking out from behind a house a few meters away. “There.”

Without another word, the two men broke into a sprint, their footsteps splashing loudly against the rain-slicked ground. The sudden commotion alerted the child—a young girl with matted, dirty blonde hair. Her head whipped around, and without hesitation, she bolted in the opposite direction.

The men gave chase, their larger strides quickly eating up the distance, even in the rain. The girl ran in a blind panic, her breaths ragged as the cold rain sapped the last of her strength. Her chest burned, her legs trembled, and each desperate glance back only fueled her fear as the men drew closer. She willed her legs to move faster—but her escape was cut short.

Thud.

She collided with someone in her path and fell hard onto the wet ground. Blinking through the rain, she looked up to see two uniformed men. One of them crouched down and extended a hand.

“Whoa there. You okay, kid?”

The girl hesitated but took his hand, letting him help her to her feet. Still trembling, she glanced behind her—but the street was empty. Her pursuers were nowhere to be seen.

“Kristen, this isn’t the one, right?” the guard asked his companion while the girl clung to his leg for safety.

“No,” the other man confirmed, holding up a worn sketch of a different child. “We’re looking for a teenager with long gray hair.”

“Got it.” The first guard knelt to meet the girl’s eyes. “Hey, missy. What are you doing out here all alone in this weather? Where are your parents?”

The girl hesitated for a moment, but the guard’s kind tone coaxed her into a quiet reply. The conversation between the guards and the little girl continued, her small voice barely audible beneath the steady drum of rain.

In the shadows of the nearby buildings, the two men from before watched the scene unfold. One of them clicked his tongue in frustration. “Damn guards,” he muttered. They lingered a moment longer, then melted back into the rain-soaked gloom.

♢♦♢♦♢

A hawk circled in the cloudy sky, unfazed by the rain pelting its feathers. Its sharp eyes fixed on an elderly man and his dog making their way toward a solitary house. As the pair entered the home, the hawk let out a sharp caw, flapping its wings before turning back toward Lamra.

“It’s rainin’ cats and dogs out there,” Johannes muttered as he shut the door behind him, droplets streaming from his hat and jacket. Bernard shook himself dry, spraying water across the entryway. “Came outta nowhere. Ain’t no way we’re makin’ it to Jacob’s, let alone the town.”

Johannes shuffled toward the fireplace, hanging his damp jacket on a hook beneath the gun ornament mounted above the mantle. Bernard padded over to the hearth, collapsing into his usual spot in front of the fire with a satisfied huff. Johannes eased himself into the well-worn easy chair, sighing as the warmth began to chase away the chill.

Margaret, who had been tending the fire, lifted a kettle from its hook above the flames. She poured steaming water into a mug, letting its warmth seep into her hands for a moment before passing it to him.

“What now? You don’t suppose the girl’s headin’ to Havenna tonight, do you? Married or not, I ain’t lettin’ her spend the night alone with no man.”

“I know that,” Johannes replied, taking a sip of the hot drink. “We’ll see if the rain lets up by afternoon. If it don’t, maybe she stays another day.”

Margaret hummed, her expression thoughtful as she took a seat at the dinner table. She said nothing, her gaze lingering on her husband.

“What?” Johannes shifted uncomfortably under her silent scrutiny. “We ain’t adoptin’ her—that’s final.”

Margaret didn’t answer, but her silence was loud enough to make him change the subject. “Where’s the girl? Still snoozin’?”

“Upstairs, weavin’ baskets. Told her she didn’t have to, but seems like she can’t sit still without tryin’ to repay the favor.”

“That right?” Johannes grunted, taking another sip as his eyes drifted toward the staircase.

About half an hour later, as Margaret started cooking lunch, Johannes decided to check on Abigail. He climbed the stairs and was greeted by the sight of the attic practically buried in woven baskets. In the center of the room sat the silver-haired girl, completely engrossed in weaving reed stalks.

“No wonder I ain’t heard a peep outta ya,” Johannes said, startling Abigail. “Ya been busy weavin’ us a lifetime’s worth.”

“I’m… sorry,” Abigail murmured, lowering the half-finished basket in her hands. “I don’t know when to stop.”

“‘S fine. Never can have too many baskets, anyhow.” Johannes grabbed a couple from the bed and moved them aside. He eased himself down to sit, a groan escaping his lips, followed by a heavy exhale. “Damned rain’s got my joints stiff as boards. Things don’t get no easier when y’get to my age.”

Johannes stared at the bed, patting it absentmindedly. His gaze seemed to linger on the shadows of someone long gone. After a deep inhale, he spoke again.

“So, kid—Abigail, right?” He glanced at her, and she nodded. “Abigail. Here’s the thing: ya oughta be on yer way to Havenna by now, right? But the heavens had other ideas, and now yer stuck here till tomorrow. Thing is, we ain’t exactly rollin’ in clover. Been in the red more times than I can count, and scratchin’ by’s a daily grind. Ya pickin’ what I’m puttin’ down?”

“I’m sorry,” Abigail said quietly. “I’ll… go back to town tonight.”

“No, no, that ain’t—Lord a’ve mercy.” Johannes pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a frustrated sigh. “Look, I dunno why Margaret’s so set on keepin’ ya here, but this ain’t no place fer a kid to grow up. A family’s where the parents carry the kid’s weight so they can make a better life fer ‘em. But here? Ever’body’s gotta pull their own weight, kid. Ain’t no time fer yerself—you’d be stuck lookin’ after a couple of old bags with one foot in the grave. And when we croaked, the town’d just take the land back, and you’d be left with nothin’. Ya follow me so far?”

Seeing Abigail nod, Johannes gave a small grunt of approval. “Good.”

“Here’s the thing: folks from town don’t usually bother comin’ all the way out here, so nobody’s gonna know yer with us. Ya got two choices. First, ya can set out fer Havenna tomorrow and try yer luck there. Or, ya can stay with us fer a few months, get yer bearings straight. Save up some coin, then head to Yariah. From there, catch a boat to the next country. Maybe pick up adventurin’ work—just keep headin’ north. With a bit o’ grit, ya’d make it to Ruthen in a year or two.”

Johannes watched Abigail, her silence betraying the weight of her thoughts. “Ya don’t gotta decide now, kid. Yer stayin’ with us today, so sleep on it, and tell me what ya think come mornin’. —Now, let’s head down. Margaret’s been cookin’ up a storm.”

He rose with a groan, brushing off his knees as he stretched.

As Johannes and Abigail descended the stairs, they found the dining table already half-filled with dishes, while Margaret continued to plate more food.

“Let me help,” Abigail said, stepping forward to carry some plates to the table.

Margaret smiled at her in approval before turning to wipe the counter. Johannes settled into his seat, opening a newspaper as the rain outside finally ceased. Sunlight filtered through the scattering clouds, bathing the room in a warm glow.

For a moment, everything felt just right.

“Now, let’s say grace before we eat. Let’s not forget it’s thanks to the good Lord Almighty we’ve got this feast,” Margaret said as the three of them gathered around the table, joining hands. The meal was abundant: bread, bacon, eggs, soup, pudding, and fried vegetables in batter, among other dishes.

As they bowed their heads to pray, the sound of shoes crunching on gravel reached their ears.

“I wonder if that’s Jacob,” Margaret said softly, glancing toward the door.

“…If it’s him, he ain’t alone,” Johannes muttered, eyes narrowed. He stood and reached for the gun mounted above the fireplace.

“Johannes?” Margaret’s voice held a note of concern.

“Hide the kid in the cellar,” he said, his tone low and wary. He loaded the gun with practiced efficiency, his eyes never leaving the door. “Don’t come out till I give the word.”

Without hesitation, Margaret guided Abigail to a concealed ladder tucked in the shadows beneath the staircase. The cellar below was dimly lit, its ceiling lined with hanging cured pig thighs, while firewood was neatly stacked along the walls.

Meanwhile, Johannes cracked the door open and peered outside, clicking his tongue in frustration. His instincts had been right.

A formation of town guards was advancing toward the house, their numbers easily numbering fifty. Each soldier was fully armed, their armor glinting despite the cloudy skies. Among them was a mechanical carriage—a rare and extravagant vehicle powered by crystals, its machinery clinking as its wheels turned in perfect synchronization. It was a sight that spoke volumes of the importance of its passengers.

But what truly made Johannes’ heart sink was the woman seated beside the driver. Her blonde hair shone despite the overcast, and the sight of her brought an unmistakable bitterness to his expression.

“That vixen…” he growled under his breath.

In no time, the armed guards reached the doorstep, forming a rigid line. Johannes, making no effort to conceal his weapon, flung the door open with a resounding slam, his stance practically daring them to test him.

“Well, well, well,” Johannes drawled, lifting his gun slightly as if to flaunt it. “What’s the mayor of Lamra doin’ on my property?”

With the assistance of one of the guards, the tall blonde woman descended gracefully from the passenger seat of the mechanical carriage. Her sharp gaze swept over Johannes. “Let’s get this straight to business. We’re looking for a grey-haired girl. About sixteen. Wearing a brown coat. We have reason to believe she’s here.”

Johannes let out a harsh chuckle. “Quite a show of force for just one kid.” His tone dripped with scorn. “Ain’t no girl here. Closest thing you’d get would be Jacob’s kid baby, ‘bout a kilometer thataway.” He gestured dismissively toward the distant woods.

“Don’t play coy, old man. We know you’re hiding her,” the blonde woman said. her voice was cold and commanding. “Step aside, and no one gets hurt.”

Johannes’ eyes narrowed as he raised his gun, the barrel now fixed on her. “We’ll see about that.”

The tension crackled in the damp air as, in response, the guards leveled their weapons—rifles, staves, canes, and an assortment of enchanted armaments—all aimed squarely at Johannes.

“Don’t be stupid—you’re outnumbered,” the mayor snapped, her exasperation barely masking her unease. “Drop the gun, and no one has to die.”

Johannes’ finger hovered steadily over the trigger, his expression betraying neither fear nor hesitation. “A bullet’s still a bullet,” he said flatly. He tapped the barrel once, twice, then let his finger settle on the trigger, ready to fire. “And mine’s got yer name on it, Patricia. Yer move.”

Patricia’s composure wavered, a bead of sweat trickling down her temple as Johannes’ barrel followed her every slight shift. She clicked her tongue, frustration mounting. This wasn’t how things were supposed to unfold.

The tense standoff was interrupted by the creak of the carriage door opening. A red-haired woman stepped out, her appearance as disheveled as her demeanor—dark circles framed her weary eyes, and her shirt bore countless coffee stains.

“Well, this sure went south faster than I expected,” she remarked dryly, surveying the scene. The hawk perched on her shoulder cawed once, as though echoing her thoughts.

Johannes’ eyes narrowed, and his gun shifted to aim at the newcomer. “Been wonderin’ who the big shot’s that the mayor herself’s escortin’,” he drawled. “If it ain’t Hildara—Adalhard’s very own lapdog.”

“Nice to meet you too, good sir,” Hildara replied, unfazed by the insult. She raised her hands in a gesture of resignation. “Why don’t we be civil and talk without the weapons?”

“Heh, right.” Johannes scoffed. “Ain’t got much reason to trust a word outta yer mouth. Killed my brother in Yariah, you did. Agate Squad, Second Lieutenant, Timothy Brahms. Good man. Better soldier. Reckon you don’t even remember him, do ya?”

Hildara’s expression remained steady, though her voice softened as she answered. “Whatever bad blood exists between us, it has nothing to do with this girl. Abby is a victim of the Old Empire. The people who put her through hell are still out there, and we need her to bring them to justice. Isn’t it our duty to lay the foundation for a better future for her generation?”

“Another word about justice, and I swear to God I’ll blow yer head clean off yer shoulders.” Johannes raised his gun, his aim locked squarely on Hildara, showing no concern for the guards’ weapons, which began to glow ominously.

That was when—

“Hildara,” a clear voice called out from behind him. Johannes turned, startled, to see the silver-haired girl stepping out through the door.

“Abby,” Hildara responded softly, her tone almost relieved.

“Kid, what’re ya doin’ here?” Johannes demanded, his voice tinged with exasperation. He shot a quick glance at Margaret, who had followed Abigail outside, her expression a mix of worry and disbelief. Without lowering his weapon, Johannes turned his focus back to Abigail. “Ya know this woman?”

Abigail nodded. “She’s the one who took me out of the dark place.”

“…And d’ya trust her?” he pressed, his eyes narrowing.

Abigail nodded again, her conviction unshaken. “Yes.”

Johannes hesitated, his jaw tight, but then he exhaled sharply. “That so,” he muttered, finally lowering his gun. The sound of relieved sighs rippled through the guards as their glowing weapons powered down in turn.

“Finally,” Patricia exhaled in relief. “Go retrieve the kid.”

“Wait.” Hildara raised a hand, stopping the guards before they could step forward. “Let them be. Don’t ruin the moment.”

Under the watchful eyes of the guards, Abigail, Johannes, and Margaret huddled together. Margaret cradled Abigail’s head gently, holding her close, while Johannes rested a firm hand on Abigail’s back.

“You’re goin’ with them, darlin’?” Margaret asked, her voice soft as she pressed her forehead to Abigail’s. Abigail nodded in response. “Guess this is goodbye, then,” Margaret said with a bittersweet smile. “I dunno why, but I saw Junior in ya. Felt like I wasn’t ready to let him go a second time.”

“Yer always welcome here, kid,” Johannes added gruffly. “Take care o’ yerself. Don’t go catchin’ a cold or nothin’ out there.”

“I will,” Abigail said, returning the warmth with a hug. “Thank you, for everything. I wish I had met you sooner.”

“Me too, kid,” Johannes replied, returning the hug and patting her back. Margaret, meanwhile, let her tears speak for her.

They lingered in the embrace, reluctant to let go. The warmth between them only heightened the ache of what was being lost, but Abigail knew it was time. As the guards turned and began to march forward, she took one last look at Johannes and Margaret, still standing by the house. With a heavy heart, she stepped into the carriage.

She had only been with them for a day and a night, but it felt like much longer. Both for Abigail and the elderly couple. As the carriage began to move away, they watched it fade into the distance. For just a fleeting moment, a silvery silhouette of a boy waved at them, but before they could blink, he vanished into a mist.

“…now what do we do with all the food I cooked?” Margaret asked, once the carriage was out of sight.

Johannes groaned as he walked back inside. “I’ll take it to Jacob. The feller could use some meat on his bones.”

“And don’t ya forget to apologize for wastin’ his time,” Margaret added, her words flowing freely. Johannes only responded with a dismissive, “Yeah, yeah.”

Their little cottage farm slowly returned to its usual rhythm, with a splash of rainbow hues in the distance.

A few days later, Hildara’s hawk dropped a letter on their porch before soaring off. Inside the envelope was a land ownership certificate and a note that simply read “Thank you,” accompanied by a lock of silver hair.

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