I turn from the fountain, keeping my gaze down, refusing to look at the stars we once spent many nights watching together. I can’t bear their light without him.
Slowly returning to my chambers, I bathe in silence, letting the warmth soak into my bones, but it does nothing to chase away the cold inside me.
When I’m done, I slip into bed.
I lie awake, eyes fixed on nothing. I’m not sure how long I linger in that in-between state, but eventually, exhaustion pulls me under. It isn’t rest. It’s surrender.
Chapter 2
?---- Koen ? ----?
The sun dips below the horizon as my boots scuff over the narrow cobbled path winding through Zea's Hollow. Familiar route. Familiar stones. But something about today makes the air feel too still, almost like the whole village paused mid-breath and didn't remember how to exhale.
I pass by Thomas, the old baker, cleaning the windows of his shop. The water slides over the glass in lazy waves—his magic isn’t as strong these days.
“Thomas! I told you to stop using so much magic. You’ll end up back at my clinic if you don’t rest,” Althea calls out as she walks toward him, her wavy black hair catching the breeze.
She’s the only healer we have in the village, and one of the few fae who live here at all. Most of them prefer their own towns. Can’t blame them, really. It’s hard to make friends with people who won’t live half as long as you will.
Thomas just laughs, as usual. He’s turning eighty-three next week and refuses to slow down, even though his grandson, Alistair, has mostly taken over the bakery.
I smile faintly and keep walking. Around me, the street is settling in for the evening—shopkeepers closing up, a man using a bit of wind magic to sweep the path, the smell of bread and herbs drifting from open doors. Each shop is a little cottage, the owners living in the rooms behind, warm light already glowing through the windows.
I slow when I pass the shrine to Phynnera, half-hidden by ivy and pale-blue blossoms. Its sun-worn stones are warm with the last of the day’s light. The offerings are fresh bundles of herbs and a candle flickering in a clay dish—meaning someone has been here recently.
I don’t know why I always look at the shrine. Or why I always feel something when I’m there. Not exactly comfort. Just a low thrum in my bones, like a memory that I can’t seem to recall.
A golden leaf drifts down from the trees and lands at my feet. I bend to pick it up without thinking, and as my fingers brush the crisp edge, a shiver runs up my spine. My hand closes around the leaf.
As I straighten, my eyes wander to the lake beyond the trees. The surface ripples beneath the lowering sun. For a moment, I think I hear the echo of a laugh in the wind. A woman’s laugh. Soft and free, full of something I don’t even have a name for.
I shake my head hard, causing strands of my dark hair to fall across my forehead. “Get a grip.”
Yet, my boots linger on the path a heartbeat longer. My gaze stays on the water for a moment before I force myself to turn back toward the tavern.
I’m not sure why, but I keep the golden leaf clutched tight in my palm, and I don’t let go. Not even when I step inside to the clang of mugs and the smell of roasted meat.
The night passes achingly slowly. I mainly just serve regulars and a few women from a neighboring village. Calder and Alistair left a few minutes ago with two of the women, leaving me to close on my own.
When I’m done, I drag myself upstairs to the small apartment Calder—my friend and the tavern’s owner—lets me stay in. It’s old and worn, but liveable. A cramped sitting area, a narrow kitchen off to the side, one bedroom, and a washroom. It’s not much, but it’s home.
At least, for now.
I don’t feel like I belong here. Or anywhere. My heart beats like it knows where it’s supposed to be but can’t tell me how to get there. Like there’s somewhere out there that would feel right. A place that would feel likemine,but the path to it is lost.
I wash quickly and crawl into bed, already dreading tomorrow. Every day is the same. Wake. Walk the Hollow’s paths. Work in the tavern until closing. Collapse in bed. Repeat. I am restless in a way that sleep never seems to fix.
------------? ? ? ? ?------------
The next day, the tavern is alive with laughter, shouts, and the clatter of tankards as I wipe down the bar. It’s been rowdy since midday. I’ve already thrown out two drunks, and the sun hasn’t even begun to set.
Across the room, two men argue over a card game,voices rising with each round. I watch them warily, hoping it doesn’t turn physical. If I have to toss out one more fool, I’ll punch him myself.
“Will you stop scowling like that, Koen? You’re going to scare customers away,” Calder says, slapping me on the back.
“Good,” I grunt. “Then maybe it will finally quiet down in here.”
He chuckles. “You work in a tavern. What exactly did you expect?”
