I woke to the smell of tea and the quiet gold of dawn brushing my face.
For a breath, I lay there blinking, confused at the softness of sunlight. After everything—the shack, the corpse, the crimson moon—I hadn't expected the sun to show up so casually, like nothing in the world had cracked open.
The carriage had stopped.
Paige had mentioned the clearing last night, said we'd rest here till morning. I'd tried fighting sleep, insisting I could conjure a barrier around us—just in case—but she'd declined in that light, infuriating tone of hers.
Apparently, exhaustion had dragged me under anyway.
I sat up quickly.
The carriage was empty. Too empty.
Now that morning light poured in, I realized how large the interior actually was—wide enough for extra seating, storage compartments, even shelves of strange unlit candles that glimmered without flame. But I didn't linger on any of it.
My heart flipped. I pushed the door open and stepped out, qi already coiling in my palm, a ripple of cold, furious readiness running through me.
If anything had happened while I slept—
But what I saw made the tension in my shoulders dissolve all at once.
Over a small fire, Victoria sat cross-legged beside Paige and a stranger stirring something in a pan. Victoria turned at the sound of my footsteps, her face lighting up.
"You're awake," Paige said simply. She didn't rise, just glanced over her shoulder as if she'd expected me the whole time.
"Heiwa! Come have some tea and breakfast," Victoria waved me over, voice warm in a way I hadn't heard in days. Like the sun had borrowed her throat.
"I hope a simple breakfast suits your tastes, Lady Heiwa," the stranger said—calm voice, slightly teasing, like he already knew I wasn't as intimidating as I pretended.
I blinked.
White hair.
Chocolate-brown skin.
Long, pointed ears.
An elf.
A real one—not the half-folk traders, not the hill-walkers who only claimed they had elven blood. A pristine elf sitting in the dawn light like a painting that decided to breathe.
"Eggs will be fine," I said, joining them before I stared any harder and embarrassed myself.
The elf nodded and went back to cooking, movements quiet and sure. His name, I later learned, was Emem—but in this moment he was simply mysterious elf man making breakfast in the snow.
When the food was ready—fried eggs, tea, and something he called rice pancakes—he bowed his head and began praying.
His voice dropped into something steady, warm as glowing coals:
"Dawn mother, warm my path and keep my heart steady.
Bring healing where there is hurt, and peace where there is worry.
Let my work be guided as surely as the sun's rise.
Shine on those I love, and keep harm far from my home."
The words rolled through the clearing like a blessing stitched with sunlight.
I bowed my head slightly. "Thank you for the food."
A soft breeze brushed past us, carrying the faint scent of herbs and whatever enchantment lingered in his prayer. The forest seemed to breathe with us.
Breakfast was quiet—too quiet, but not in a bad way. More like everyone was saving their voices for whatever came next. The tea was mellow and floral, the eggs soft, the rice pancakes surprisingly sweet.
Victoria kept sneaking glances at Emem, eyes wide with curiosity. She always did seem to wear her thoughts on her cheeks.
"We should reach our destination by noon," Emem finally said as he rose and made his way back to the front of the carriage. He moved like water gliding over stone.
Paige stretched her legs out near the fire, eyelids already drooping. She looked impossibly calm for someone who had spent yesterday negotiating with death.
I shifted closer to Victoria.
"How are you?" I asked quietly, because someone had to.
She didn't look at me.
Her gaze was pinned to the passing scenery—trees streaked with frost, sunlight slipping between branches like shards of gold.
"Hm," she hummed. "I'm fine… I guess."
But her voice was fragile, still holding echoes of the battle that caused all of this, that shack, that corpse, that awful voice whispering titles no human should hear.
I glanced at Paige—already dozing upright—and then back at the window.
The world beyond blurred softly as the carriage began to roll again.
I pressed my palm against the wooden frame, letting my qi settle.
Trying to breathe.
Trying to keep calm.
Trying not to imagine too badly what waited us at the foot of noon.
The sun rose higher, warm and deceptively peaceful.
The day had begun sunny side up—
But in our world, that was never a guarantee it would stay that way.
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