The wind carried the smell of salt and the fading warmth of the afternoon. The sky had begun to blur between day and night.
Mira sat on the cliff, the waves whispering far below. Her heart was restless, caught between what she wanted and what she feared.
Lucien stood a little behind her. He didn’t speak, but his golden eyes seemed full of words he couldn’t say. He watched her quietly, as if a single sound might break the fragile moment between them.
At last, he stepped closer. The gravel crunched under his boots.185Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjfFyyYCGkm
“You seem far away,” he said gently. “Is something on your mind?”
Mira gave a small laugh and shook her head. The wind pushed strands of hair across her face.
Lucien’s hand lifted as if to brush them aside, but he stopped halfway, letting it fall back to his side.
She acted like she hadn’t noticed, though her chest tightened. Instead, she kept her gaze on the horizon where the sun sank in gold.185Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1sPugvCBDI
“Are you here to say goodbye?” she asked softly.
Lucien sat down beside her, leaving just enough space that she could feel his warmth without touching him.
“I wish I wasn’t,” he said quietly. “But everything’s ready. We leave at sunset.”
Mira looked at him then, caught between a smile and a flutter she couldn’t name.
The tide below rose and fell, steady as a heartbeat.
For a moment, it felt as though the world had stopped—leaving only the two of them on the cliff, caught between choice and chance.
Mira hugged her knees, watching the sea roll and shimmer.185Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9IhDLGfK71
“I’ve never left Mermaid’s Cove,” she admitted after a long pause.
Lucien glanced at her but didn’t interrupt. He let her words fall like small stones into still water.
“What does the capital look like?” she went on, her voice quiet.
Lucien rested his hands loosely on his knees, his gaze following the waves.185Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2FnxZ2OJYi
“It looks like a city of regrets,” he said softly. “But still, there’s hope.”
Mira tilted her head, considering that. “That sounds like something an old sage would say.”
He gave a faint smile, just enough to soften his sharp features.185Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrqPY2P8Xik
“Or just someone who’s made too many mistakes.”
The light between them shifted as the sun dipped lower, streaking the sky with gold and rose.
Mira leaned back on her palms, the breeze lifting her hair, and for the first time all day, she felt herself breathe easier.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t heavy—it felt almost like a kind of understanding, simple and unspoken.
Lucien leaned back slightly as well, resting his hands against the ground, eyes half-lidded as if he, too, was listening to the sea.
His golden hair caught the fading light, each strand kissed by dusk.
Mira drew her knees up, hugging them loosely. “It feels strange,” she murmured after a while. “Saying goodbye like this.”
Lucien tilted his head toward her, a faint smile ghosting his lips. “That’s why this moment matters.”
She glanced at him, surprised by the softness in his voice. Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to blur—the horizon, the waves, the sky all fading until only his gaze remained.
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Mira looked away first, cheeks warming.
She plucked a small pebble from the ground and tossed it lightly over the edge, watching it disappear into the waves.185Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡidO0jw2cma
“Will we see each other again?”
“We will,” Lucien chuckled quietly, the sound blending with the wind. “But it may take a while.”
The two of them sat like that, silence and laughter weaving together, the sea keeping time.
No promises were spoken, no answers demanded.
Only the warmth of being near, with dusk slowly gathering around them like a soft cloak.
Meanwhile, back at the Adventurer’s Guild.
“It’s already past noon,” Garron muttered, rubbing his stomach with an exaggerated sigh. “I thought Mira was bringing lunch.”
Elia shot him a look over the rim of her book. “Don’t tell me you actually believed that.”
“I know, I know,” Garron retorted, leaning back in his chair until it creaked. “She’s probably still sitting on the cliff, wondering if she should go to the capital or not.”
At that, Captain Alric stirred on the bed. “You think she’ll go?”
Garron blinked, caught mid-thought. “If it’s up to me, I hope she won’t.” He scratched the back of his head, then added, “I don’t like what’s going on with her and the prince. Did you notice how he looked at her?”
Elia closed her book with a soft thud. “Well, it’s not up to you. Mira’s a big girl now—she can make her own choices.”
Garron groaned dramatically. “Fine, fine. But don’t come crying to me when she comes home with tears in her eyes after that prince breaks her heart.”
That earned him a rare, quiet laugh from Alric, though it quickly turned into a cough. Elia rose halfway, but Alric steadied himself with a hand, shaking his head. “Heartbreak is part of growing up too, Garron,” he said hoarsely. “Everyone faces it sooner or later.”
His words lingered in the room, gentle but heavy, until he added, “It’s the power and politics in the capital we should worry about. They already have a Saintess there, remember?”
The guild hall fell into a hush, broken only by the soft rustle as Elia reopened her book—and the loud growl of Garron’s stomach, which ruined the solemn air in an instant.
Elia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You really can’t go a single hour without food, can you?”
“Not when I’m being starved to death,” Garron retorted, hand over his chest as though on his last breath.
Elia shut her book with a decisive snap and stood.185Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8ShFhJdpY1
“Fine. I’ll go prepare something for the both of you before you waste away completely.”
Garron perked up instantly, grinning. “I knew you loved me.”
“Don’t push your luck,” she replied dryly, heading for the stairs.
Her footsteps carried her down the hall, but when she reached the ground floor, she didn’t head straight for the kitchen. Almost without thinking, she turned toward the training arena.
The wide space was quiet now, sunlight spilling in through the high windows.
Dust floated in the still air, and along the far wall, the rack of practice weapons stood just as it always had—wooden blades, staves, and little daggers worn smooth by years of hands too small for steel.
Elia’s gaze lingered. She stepped closer, fingers brushing over a wooden short sword, the edge rounded from use.
Mira had spent half her childhood here—swinging too high, stumbling in her footwork, biting her lip in stubborn concentration until she got it right.
Elia could almost hear it again: Mira’s laughter when she managed a strike, Garron’s exaggerated groans when she outpaced him.
A faint smile touched Elia’s lips. She lifted one of the smaller wooden daggers, holding it lightly in her hand.
Mira must have been ten when she used this—her grip unsteady, her determination already shining brighter than her strength.
Elia set it back gently, as though returning a piece of memory to its place.
For a moment longer, she simply stood there, letting the past drift around her like a shadow of voices and laughter that no longer filled the room.
Finally, with a small sigh, she turned toward the kitchen. “Cooking, then,” she murmured, though her eyes still held that softened, faraway look...
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