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Chapter 68 - Chapter 68 – The First Morning After

Morning in Greyspire was a different kind of music.No echoes of clashing steel, no monster roars, no pulse of magic under the earth—just the gentle chaos of a city waking up. Carts rattled on cobblestones. Market criers shouted the day's prices. Somewhere, a baker's bell chimed as the first loaves came out of the oven.

Eliakim sat at the guild's corner table with a steaming mug of tea, eyes half-lidded as sunlight poured through the tall windows. Skyling had burrowed into a pile of scarves on the bench beside him, her feathers puffed in absolute contentment.

Ezra arrived with a tray stacked in dangerous fashion—bread, butter, sliced apples, and what looked like a questionable amount of cheese."The cook says we've got a discount for 'saving the plains.'" He set the tray down. "I may have taken advantage."

Gideon followed, holding a folded map under his arm and wearing a grin that could only mean trouble."Alright. Time to choose our exile. Lake, ocean, or river?"

"Ocean." Skyling spoke without opening her eyes. "Waves. Salt air. Shellfish. Done."Ezra shook his head. "River. Easier to catch freshwater fish, fewer storms, and no seasickness.""Lake," Eliakim countered with a faint smirk. "Still water. Quiet. Perfect for forgetting the last week happened."

The debate spiraled from there—Ezra arguing about bait quality, Gideon claiming he could outfish them both anywhere, Skyling insisting that beach food alone justified the ocean trip.

While they talked, Eliakim's fingers drummed idly on the wood. A faint vibration hummed up through his wrist.It wasn't the guild's table—it was the Bracelet of Umbravice.The sensation was soft, almost like the way a fishing line trembles when something brushes the hook.

He flexed his hand. The feeling faded.

Not now, he thought, pushing it aside as Gideon loudly declared that whichever place they picked, he was bringing twice as much wine as bait.

By the time breakfast ended, they had narrowed it down to two choices and decided to visit the market to see what supplies they could find first.Outside, the streets of Greyspire bustled under the bright morning sun. Vendors hawked fresh fruit, bolts of cloth, and bundles of herbs. Children darted between stalls, laughing.

It was peaceful. Comfortably so.

But beneath the rhythm of the city, Eliakim couldn't shake the feeling that something else was moving—slowly, quietly, and far deeper than the streets under his feet.

The market smelled of frying batter, fresh-cut herbs, and the iron tang of smithy smoke drifting in from the forges. The three of them moved through the crowds with that rare sense of having nowhere urgent to be—though Eliakim's eyes still scanned rooftops and alley shadows as if expecting trouble to spill from them.

Ezra was the first to break formation, vanishing into a narrow stall hung with dried plants and glass jars. When she emerged, her fingers sparkled faintly—she was turning a simple bronze band over in her palm. The metal shimmered with faint green veins.

"Ring of Galveryn," she explained before either of them could ask. "Low-tier, but enough storage for every herb, tincture, and salve I'll need without hauling a cart." She slipped it onto her finger, and the merchant nodded approvingly. "Won't hold anything bigger than a loaf of bread, but it's perfect for apothecary work."

Two stalls over, Gideon was haggling loudly with a bearded dwarf over a thicker, iron-hued band studded with tiny amber flecks. His grin widened when the dwarf finally gave in."Mineral-specific Ring of Galveryn," he said, sliding it on. "Ore, ingots, smelted pieces—everything I'll need for forge work on the road. Capacity's decent. Not like yours, Eliakim, but still."

Eliakim's own ring—a polished, rune-etched silver piece—rested on his finger as it always had. His could hold nearly anything short of mythical objects, a blessing he'd learned to treat as a tactical advantage rather than a luxury. Still, he didn't mention it. No point in rubbing salt into a fresh purchase.

They moved deeper into the market, weaving past fabric vendors and street performers. That's when Eliakim noticed the first oddity.

A patch of ivy clung to a stone archway—not unusual, except the leaves were veined with faint, silvery light. In full daylight, it should've been impossible to notice, yet here they were, glimmering faintly as if catching moonlight that wasn't there.

Further along, a fishmonger leaned over his stall to greet them, muttering about "strange skies upriver"."Storm clouds rolling in against the wind," he said. "And the river fish? All pushing downstream like something's driving them."

Ezra glanced at Eliakim, brows knitting, but neither spoke.

At a fruit stand, a basket of apples had sprouted thin, hair-like roots that clung to the wood like they were trying to grow right through it. The merchant didn't seem to notice, only chatting cheerfully as Gideon paid for a sack.

The signs were small. Almost ignorable.Almost.

By the time their bags—and rings—were full, the sun was dipping toward afternoon, and the bustle of the market began to thin. The debate over lake, ocean, or river had resumed, but Eliakim found himself quiet, his hand brushing the Bracelet of Umbravice under his sleeve.

The faint vibration from breakfast was back. And this time, it lingered.

The three of them left the market laughing—Ezra balancing a paper cone of fried dumplings in one hand while trying to swat Gideon's attempt to steal one, Eliakim carrying a small loaf under his arm. The debate over whether to spend their vacation by the lake, the ocean, or upriver continued like a running skirmish, each case argued with exaggerated passion.

The street ahead glowed gold in the lowering sun, dust motes catching the light. The air smelled of cinnamon and forge smoke, of living, breathing Greyspire.

The world felt normal.

But as they passed beneath a narrow overhang, a gutter overhead caught a trickle of runoff from some rooftop garden. Wedged between the rusted iron spout and a crack in the stone was a single flower—pale and trembling in the breeze.

Its petals were too perfect.

Five layers of delicate white fringes, each edged in faint green fire.

The same shape.The same glow.The same impossible stillness as the Yggdrasil Bloom.

—past the crowd, the banners, the shouts of merchants—to leave the flower in the frame as the three figures vanish into the golden street.

It sways once, slowly.And the light in its veins brightens.

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