There is only one way into Elderngate—a long, winding stone bridge stretched across mist and waves, flanked by crumbling statues and the soft hush of wind. Travelers often pause at its entrance, not because the bridge is unsafe, but because stepping onto it always feels like entering another world. Elderngate is an old town, tucked into the edge of an island not found on most maps. The sea forgets it, storms avoid it, and time walks slower within its cobbled streets. Merchants fill its alleys with colorful canopies and the scent of dried herbs, baked honeybread, and polished leather. People come from the mainland not for war or treasure, but for trade, healing, and peace.
The town is ruled—not with iron, but with open hands—by the Norwyn family. For generations, the Norwyns have protected Elderngate's balance. Lady Mira Norwyn, the current matriarch, walks the town square each morning without guards. Her son, Calen Norwyn, is a scholar more than a noble, often seen helping repair carts or reading stories to children on stone steps.
Elderngate needs no walls. Its people trust one another, and its bridge—some say enchanted—only reveals itself to those without ill intent.
"Good morning, Juno! Oh—and Feris too!" called a cheerful voice from behind a stall brimming with hanging satchels and colorful scarves.
"Good morning, Mister Derrick!" Juno shouted back, barely slowing down as she dashed past.
"Gonna be late for work—see you!" she added over her shoulder, dragging Feris along by the hand.
"Alright then! Good luck at the shop, Juno!" Derrick replied with a wave and a chuckle.
Mornings like this were what made Elderngate feel so special. The streets buzzed with energy and laughter, the air filled with the scent of fresh bread, sea salt, and spice. Merchants opened their stalls early, calling out greetings with the familiarity only found in small, tight-knit towns. Elderngate was peaceful, but not sleepy—it thrived on the flow of people who came for its market and stayed for its warmth.
Among the crowd was Juniper Hillfen, though everyone simply called her Juno. She was fifteen, with wind-tossed hair and an easy smile. Juno had lived in Elderngate her whole life. These streets were her playground, her school, and now—her path to independence.
She lived in a small stone cottage on the eastern edge of town. It had just one bedroom, a tiny kitchen, and a bathroom barely big enough to turn around in—but to her, it was a castle. The cottage was owned by the Norwyn family, who kindly rented it to her after she left the orphanage on her fourteenth birthday. They admired her spirit, and Juno admired them right back.
Living with her was Feris Casklin, a quiet six-year-old boy with curly brown hair and thoughtful dark eyes. Despite his age, he often felt like the more mature of the two. Juno had known Feris since he was a baby; they grew up together in the orphanage, with Juno acting as an older sister of sorts. When she moved out, Feris didn't hesitate—he followed, worried about her overly trusting nature and habit of helping anyone who asked.
"Slow down, Juno," Feris muttered, his short legs struggling to keep up. "You're going to trip again."
"I'm fine!" Juno laughed, glancing back at him. "We'll make it! Just a little farther!"
Feris rolled his eyes like an old man but held her hand tighter.
And so, the two wove through the crowd—one bounding with energy, the other quietly watching the world—toward the heart of Elderngate.
As the little bell above the door chimed as Juno pushed it open, the familiar scent of herbs, polished wood, and lavender soap greeting her like an old friend.
She grinned, stepping inside. "Morning, shop," she whispered to no one in particular.
Nestled along Clover Street, the shop was small but full of charm—lined wall to wall with shelves of trinkets, potions and spices, that always seemed to catch the eye. It was the kind of place where you might find a memory in a bottle, or a necklace that hummed softly when the weather changed.
Juno's morning routine never changed: she slipped behind the counter, reached under the desk, and pulled out a clean beige apron. She tied it behind her back in one swift motion, already feeling the day's rhythm settle in.
Feris climbed onto the cushioned stool near the register, a half-eaten piece of bread in hand. Crumbs dotted his lap, but his expression was focused—watching Juno like a tiny guardian.
"This bread's from our dinner last night," Feris said between bites. "Still soft."
"Of course it is," Juno replied with a smile, adjusting a few display jars.
The shop belonged to Madam Ethel, an elderly woman with silver hair tied in a loose braid and warm eyes that always held a spark of mischief. She'd owned the store longer than most in Elderngate could remember.
Juno loved every moment—helping travelers find the perfect keepsake, recommending calming teas to tired mothers, and greeting old faces with her kindhearted smile. People often said she had a gift: her warmth made the shop feel like home.
Madam Ethel thought so too.
"You've got the soul of a hearth, dear," she once told Juno. "People come in cold, and leave a little warmer. That's worth more than coins."
Ethel often cooked lunch for the three of them—hearty soups, roasted potatoes with herbs, or soft cheese-filled rolls. Feris always got a little extra. Sometimes, the old woman would slide 5 coins into his hand, pretending it was change she'd dropped.
The shop wasn't just work. It was a little piece of purpose, and within its cozy walls, she and Feris had found something that felt like family.
Outside, Elderngate bustled with carts and chatter, merchants shouting cheerful greetings to early shoppers.
Inside, it was warm and calm.
The day passed just like every other—smooth, steady, and warm. The little bell above the door chimed with every visitor, followed by the gentle ting of the cashier bell at each sale.
Tringg…
The door creaked open again, letting in a breeze—and a familiar young man stepped inside. He couldn't have been older than twenty, with black hair streaked boldly with red, and a worn army green coat that brushed against his knees. A satchel hung at his side, its leather faded from travel.
Juno looked up from the counter and smiled brightly. "Hi! How can I help you?"
"Hey there," the young man said with a casual grin. "I'm looking for ground sunpepper. Do you have any in stock?"
"Oh yes, we do! Let me grab it for you. Just a small pouch?"
"Yeah, that should be enough," he nodded.
"Alright, give me a second," Juno replied, disappearing into the back shelves.
Just then, Madam Ethel emerged from the storage room, wiping her hands on her apron. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw him.
"Well, look who wandered back. Skylar, how've you been? It's been a while since we've seen you here."
"Yeah," he said with a smirk. "Just got back from traveling with the scholars from Westridge. Thought I'd reward myself with a real meal today. Figured I'd cook something decent."
Ethel raised an eyebrow. "Diligent as ever, aren't you? Join us for dinner tonight. I'm cooking."
"Nah, I'm good," Skylar said, chuckling. "Your cooking's still as tragic as I remember. I'd rather trust my own hands."
Ethel gasped, clutching her chest in mock offense. "You little delinquent."
"Just speaking the truth, Madam," he said, his red-streaked hair catching a glint of sunlight through the window.
"Found it!" Juno called, returning with a cloth pouch in hand.
Ethel gave Skylar a pointed look. "If you change your mind, we'll save you a plate. Even if it's inedible."
Skylar took the pouch with a grin. "I'll think about it, and come when i feel like it" and then left the shop.
"You rascal! You left without paying!" Madam Ethel shouted after Skylar, then burst into laughter.
Juno blinked, flustered. "W-What should we do then?" she asked, panic rising in her voice.
Ethel waved a hand with a chuckle. "Nah, he'll be back by dinner."
As the clock struck 5 PM, its chime echoed through the shop—one deep tone for each hour. The day had flown by in the blink of an eye, and closing time was just around the corner.
Juno was busy at the spice shelves, carefully polishing each bottle and adjusting the labels when Madam Ethel stepped out of her room, holding a small leather pouch that clinked softly with the sound of coins.
"Here's your pay for the month," Ethel said, handing the pouch to Juno. "That's 500 coins, with a little bonus—150 coins extra. You've worked hard, dear."
Juno's eyes widened, and her face lit up. "Thank you so much, Madam Ethel!"
"You're not going to count it?" Ethel asked with a sly smile.
Juno shook her head. "Nah. I trust you, Madam."
Ethel laughed. "Good girl. Now let's have a feast upstairs after work. Don't forget to sweep the floor after closing."
"Yes, ma'am!" Juno replied with a mock salute, smiling as she returned to her cleaning.
Time slipped by unnoticed, the familiar rhythm of the shop wrapping around Juno like a cozy blanket. The sound of the doorbell, the gentle clink of coins, the occasional laughter from passersby—it all melted into the day.
Then, the clock struck 5 PM, its chime echoing gently through the shop—five slow, clear notes that marked the approaching end of another day.
Juno was by the spice shelves, carefully dusting and arranging bottles, when Madam Ethel emerged from her room holding a leather pouch that jingled softly with the sound of coins.
"Here's your pay for the month," she said, handing it over with a satisfied smile. "That's 500 coins, plus a little bonus—150 extra for working so hard lately."
Juno beamed, brushing her apron as she took the pouch with both hands. "Thank you so much, Madam Ethel!"
"You're not going to count it?" Ethel asked, tilting her head playfully.
Juno laughed. "Nah, I trust you, Madam."
Ethel gave a proud nod. "Good girl. Now, let's have a feast upstairs after we close. Don't forget to sweep the floor."
"Yes, ma'am!" Juno replied with a grin.
The shop followed a rhythm that rarely changed. Mornings and early evenings brought waves of customers, but in between, things quieted down. The store opened at 6 AM, with Ethel taking the early shift until 8, when Juno arrived to manage the rest of the day. Sometimes, even after closing at 7 PM, customers still trickled in, and Juno would stay until 9, cleaning and prepping the store for tomorrow.
On quiet afternoons, Juno liked to sit behind the counter, gently weighing spices and herbs into small cloth pouches. The warm scents of rosemary, dried citrus, cinnamon, and pepper filled the air—making even the still moments feel alive.
As the sun dipped lower behind the hills, the golden light filtering through the windows turned softer, warmer. The shop was nearly empty now, with only the sounds of Juno's broom brushing across the wooden floorboards and the quiet creak of old shelves settling into the silence.
Then, from upstairs, the rich scent of roasted vegetables and savory stew began to drift down.
Feris, still perched on his usual stool, perked up. "I smell roasted chicken… and potatoes."
Juno's stomach grumbled in reply.
"Dinner," she muttered with a grin, quickening her sweeping. She darted across the shop, making sure to get every corner. "If I finish this fast, maybe I'll get the first bowl!"
As the clock struck 7 PM, its seventh chime still ringing through the shop, Juno flipped the wooden sign on the door from "Open" to "Closed", and set the broom aside with a satisfied sigh.
But just as she was about to call Feris to head upstairs—
Tringg…
The bell above the door rang out again.
Juno turned, already speaking, "Sorry, we're closed for the day, sir—"
She stopped mid-sentence as her eyes landed on the familiar figure in the doorway.
There he was. That same boy from earlier—the one who had walked out without paying. Skylar, with his black hair streaked in red, his army green coat slightly dusted from travel, and that same unapologetic smirk on his face.
He raised a hand in mock greeting. "Hey."
Juno blinked. "You—! You didn't pay!"
Skylar stepped in casually, hands in his coat pockets. "Didn't I? Must've slipped my mind."
"You definitely didn't!" Juno pointed at him, half-scolding, half-flustered.
From his seat near the counter, Feris spoke up, his voice soft but precise.
"You didn't pay," he said, staring directly at Skylar. "You said you'd come back for dinner, not to settle the bill."
Skylar blinked, caught slightly off guard.
From his seat near the counter, Feris calmly stood up, brushing a few crumbs from his lap. His small figure didn't make much sound, but his eyes were sharp as ever—fixed directly on Skylar.
"You didn't pay," he said plainly. "You said you'd come back for dinner, not to settle the bill."
Skylar blinked, caught slightly off guard by the kid's quiet confidence.
Then Feris finished, his voice cool and blunt,"If you're broke, just say so. Madam Ethel gives discounts to honest people."
A pause followed—just long enough for the words to sting a little.
Skylar let out a dry chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Tough crowd."
Juno crossed her arms, trying to look stern but failing to hide her grin. "Well, you did kind of deserve that."
He shrugged, pulling a small pouch from his coat and tossing it lightly onto the counter. It landed with a soft clink of coins. "There. Sunpepper—paid in full. Plus a little extra for emotional damage."
Just as the tension in the air began to ease, a sudden CLANG! rang from upstairs—the sharp clatter of a pan meeting a spatula, followed by an unmistakable voice:
"You kids are going to argue all night, or come upstairs and eat?" Madam Ethel's voice cut through the moment like a crack of lightning. "The food's hot and I'm not reheating it!"
Juno jumped. "We're coming, Madam!"
Skylar raised both hands in surrender. "Can't say no to that."
Feris didn't say a word—he was already moving, quick and silent as always.
The three of them dashed toward the stairs, the lingering scent of roasted chicken, garlic, and herbs pulling them upward like a spell. The cozy lamplight from the upper floor spilled down the staircase, warm and golden.
Upstairs, the table was already set: bowls of steaming stew, platters of roasted vegetables, fresh bread stacked in a basket, and the golden centerpiece—crispy roasted chicken glazed with honey and herbs.
Upstairs, the table was already set: bowls of steaming stew, platters of roasted vegetables, fresh bread stacked in a basket, and the golden centerpiece—crispy roasted chicken glazed with honey and herbs.
Madam Ethel stood at the head of the table, wooden spatula in one hand, her braid slightly frizzed from the kitchen's heat. As the trio burst into the room, she raised an eyebrow.
Skylar was the first to speak, smirking as he dropped into the nearest chair. "Hi, old hag."
Ethel didn't miss a beat. "So you did come back, you rascal."
Skylar grinned wider. "Yeah, I wouldn't miss out on roasted chicken. Even if it's yours."
"Oh hush," Ethel waved the spatula at him like a sword. "You'll eat every last piece and like it."
Feris took his seat quietly, folding his hands on his lap. "I thought we weren't supposed to insult the cook before dinner."
"Exactly!" Ethel huffed, but her smile was as warm as the food. "Thank you, Feris. Finally, someone in this house with manners."
Juno laughed as she sat down beside Feris. "Don't give him too much credit, Madam—he just wants a bigger slice of chicken."
Feris gave her a side glance. "That's not untrue."
The old woman cackled, setting down the final pot in the center of the table. "Eat, all of you, before I change my mind and send you to bed hungry."
And with that, the room filled with the clinking of plates and silverware, a chorus of laughter, and the comforting warmth of found family. Elderngate nights were simple—but in their simplicity, they held the kind of magic that stayed in your bones.
The table was filled with chatter, warm food, and the kind of laughter that only came from people who felt safe—like the world outside couldn't touch them.
But just as Juno reached for another slice of roasted chicken—
BOOM.
The entire room shuddered.
The plates rattled. The stew sloshed in its bowl. A painting on the far wall tilted and fell with a soft thud. Then came another sound—distant, but unmistakable. A heavy, echoing crack, like something massive had struck the stone wall that surrounded Elderngate.
Everyone froze.
Juno's hand trembled mid-air, hovering over the chicken. "W-What was that?"
Skylar stood up, eyes narrowed, his body tense. "I don't know… but it didn't sound like anything good."
Madam Ethel's face went pale. Her usual calm cracked like old porcelain. She stood up sharply, knocking her chair backward with a loud scrape. "Oh no… No, that wasn't thunder or fireworks…"
She turned to the children, voice trembling but urgent. "You three need to go. Now. Get out of Elderngate."
Juno blinked, her voice caught in her throat. "Go? But why—"
"No time!" Ethel snapped. "Pack what you can. Take the back path down Clover Street. And don't stop."
Feris was already moving. He pulled Juno's hand, serious as ever. "Come on."
Skylar hesitated, glancing toward the window. His usual sarcasm was gone. "Whatever that was… it wasn't small."
Another deep rumble sounded, this one followed by a faint orange flicker in the sky outside—just above the trees lining the town wall.
Ethel stepped toward them, gripping Juno's shoulders tight. Her eyes—usually warm—were now fierce.
"You have to survive, do you understand? Don't look back. Don't come back. Go!"
As their footsteps thundered down the creaky staircase, Skylar suddenly stopped halfway and turned back toward the dining room, his voice sharp with worry. "What about you, old hag?"
Ethel was already moving toward the window, her hands surprisingly steady as she unlatched the shutters to peek outside. Her silver braid swayed with the motion, but she didn't turn to look at him.
"I'll stay," she said flatly. "Someone has to."
Juno's footsteps faltered behind Skylar. She turned around, her face pale with disbelief. "But we want you with us," she said, her voice cracking.
Ethel finally looked back, her eyes warm but resolute. "I know, sweetheart," she said softly. "But the town will need someone. Someone familiar. Someone they trust."
"You can't help anyone if you get hurt," Juno protested, stepping up toward her. "You don't know what's going on out there."
"No, I don't," Ethel agreed. "But I've seen panic before. I've lived through fires, floods, and worse than strange noises in the night. People will come here for comfort, for direction. If I'm gone, this shop—this place—will feel empty. And right now, it needs to feel like home."
Skylar clenched his fists, looking toward the stairs. "We don't have time for speeches."
"I'm not giving one," Ethel said. "I'm giving a choice. Yours."
Feris, already at the bottom step, looked up. His voice was calm, but firm. "Juno. If we don't go now, we might not get another chance."
Juno's eyes shimmered, torn between the doorway and Ethel's gaze. "I can't just leave you."
Ethel took her hands gently. "I'm not asking you to forget me. Just to survive. That's how you protect what matters."
There was another low rumble in the distance, closer this time. The walls seemed to hum with tension.
Skylar exhaled sharply and turned. "We're going."
Juno hesitated one last second—then threw her arms around Ethel in a tight hug.
"I'll come back," she whispered.
"I know," Ethel replied, pressing her cheek to Juno's hair. "I'll keep the stew warm."
And with that, the three of them ran.
The bell above the door gave one last chime as it closed behind them, swallowed by the growing storm outside.
Outside, the once-cozy town of Elderngate had turned to chaos.
Shouts echoed down the narrow stone streets. People ran with packs slung over their shoulders, children clinging to parents, carts rattling under the weight of hastily gathered belongings. The air smelled of smoke and dust, and the sky above had shifted from gold to a bruised gray. Somewhere, far off, a plume of smoke curled above the rooftops.
Amid the madness, three figures emerged from the shop—Juno, Feris, and Skylar—oddly underprepared.
Juno clutched her work sling bag across her chest, stuffed only with her raincoat, a hair tie, a dented water bottle, and the pouch of coins Ethel gave her as salary. She held Feris tight against her, carrying him on her back to keep their pace steady.
Feris's small bag hung loosely from his shoulder, filled with two books, a half-eaten pack of candy, and a folded cloth full of soap flakes Madam Ethel had given him weeks ago for "cleaning practice."
Skylar, in contrast, had brought nothing—just the clothes on his back and that stubborn, sharp look in his eyes.
"This way. Follow me," Skylar said, his voice low but confident over the clamor.
Juno blinked, struggling to hear him over the panicked crowd. "What?"
Skylar didn't stop moving. He reached out, grabbed Juno's hand, and pulled her along.
"I said—follow me. I know a shortcut to get out of Elderngate."
Juno stumbled forward, adjusting her grip on Feris. "A shortcut?"
"I'm a scholar, remember?" he said without looking back. "I've been in and out of this place for five years. You think I don't know all the hidden ways?"
He glanced over his shoulder, a grin flashing through the urgency. "Trust me. I know where the cracks in the wall are."
Juno tightened her hold on Feris, feeling the boy's arms loop securely around her neck, his head tucked against her shoulder.
"Okay," she said, breathing hard but steady. "Lead the way."
And so they ran—past neighbors shouting names, past market stalls overturned and trampled, past the comforting rhythm of their old lives.With every step, the scent of roasted chicken and Ethel's last smile faded into the smoke behind them.
"Oh shit—this way's burning!" Skylar skidded to a halt, shielding his face from a sudden wave of smoke and heat. Flames licked up the wooden beams of a nearby warehouse, crackling hungrily as sparks jumped into the sky.
He turned on his heel. "Come on—we'll take the other path!"
Juno didn't hesitate. She followed close behind, clutching Feris tighter as they ducked into an alley and slipped between overturned crates and splintered stalls. The air was thick, choked with smoke and the noise of fear.
Together they weaved through the chaos, Skylar leading without pause. He cut through quiet backroads, ignored the panicked calls around them, and moved with purpose.
Finally, they reached the eastern edge of Elderngate—the farthest part of town, where the wall curved close to the cliffs. The sounds of the town dimmed behind them, replaced by the quiet hush of wind and waves.
Skylar stopped at a wall thick with vines and overgrown bushes.
"Help me move this," he said quickly, tugging at the brush. With Juno's help, the leaves gave way, revealing a narrow hole in the stone wall, just big enough for someone to crawl through.
Behind it, a rusted ladder led down the outer cliff, slick with sea spray, and at the bottom—a small wooden boat rocked gently on the water, tied securely to a post.
"Quick," Skylar said, pushing the last branches aside. "So no one sees us."
Juno looked at the boat, then back toward the burning town—then at Feris in her arms, who met her gaze with calm, steady eyes.
"Let's go," she whispered.
And one by one, they slipped through the hole in the wall—leaving Elderngate behind.
The small boat rocked violently as waves crashed against its sides, salt spray misting the air. Juno held Feris close, her other hand gripping the edge of the boat tightly as they drifted farther from Elderngate, the flickering orange glow of flames still visible over the town walls.
"What just happened?" Juno breathed out, eyes wide and dazed. "My brain can't even follow."
"Keep calm," Skylar said, his tone steady despite the stormy water. "We'll head to the next town east of Elderngate."
"But how?" Juno blurted out, her voice sharp with panic.
"By boat," Feris replied simply, his head resting against her shoulder.
Skylar laughed—a short, confident chuckle. "That's right. Just trust me."
He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a small brass compass and a worn, folded map. The paper fluttered slightly in the wind before he pinned it down on his knee with one hand.
Juno blinked. "Wait—when did you even get that?"
"I always carry it," Skylar replied without looking up, adjusting the compass. "I've been meaning to show it to the old hag… but then everything exploded."
He fell silent for a beat.
Juno looked at him, then at the burning silhouette of their home growing smaller in the distance.
"…You think Madam Ethel's okay?"
Skylar didn't answer right away. His jaw tightened slightly.
"She's tough," he said finally. "But right now, we need to survive—so we can come back."
The boat rocked onward, the sky growing darker around them, and the future more uncertain than ever.
On that night, everything changed.
The warm glow of Elderngate, once a symbol of peace and routine, faded into the distance—swallowed by smoke, fire, and the unknown. The laughter around dinner tables, the clink of shop bells, the familiar rhythm of daily life… all gone in a single breath.
Juno sat quietly, arms wrapped around Feris as he finally drifted to sleep in her lap. The stars above shimmered silently, offering no answers, only a distant comfort.
She glanced at Skylar, who was guiding the boat with practiced calm, the map held firm in his hands despite the breeze.
No one spoke for a while.
Because deep down, they all knew…
Nothing would ever be the same again.