Halric woke to the soft glow of morning light filtering through his attic window. For the first time in days, he felt rested—his body light, his mind clear. He sat up and stretched, listening to the gentle creak of his narrow bed frame. The city outside was still quiet, only a few distant voices and the faint clop-clop of a milk cart echoing up from the cobblestone street below.
He shuffled toward the washbasin, rubbing sleep from his eyes. The cool water in the bowl shimmered faintly as he dipped his hands in.
Splash-splash.
Halric cupped the water and washed his face, feeling the tingling chill chase away the last traces of sleep.
As he glanced up, something odd caught his eye in the cracked mirror above the basin. He leaned closer, blinking. There, among his dark hair, a few strands glinted silver—bright and unmistakable even in the morning light.
Halric frowned.
"What in Elythria…?" he mumbled, tugging at one of the silver hairs. Maybe it was just a trick of the light. Or maybe—he grimaced—he was getting old far too soon.
He pinched a single strand and gave it a sharp tug.
Pluck!
"Ouch!" he yelped, wincing. The hair came free, but not without a sting. He held it up, inspecting it in the light. The color wasn't gray, or white, like an old man's hair. It was a pure, shimmering silver—almost metallic.
Halric squinted, turning the strand this way and that.
"Are you even real?" he whispered to the hair, suddenly feeling foolish for having a conversation with it. He glanced at his reflection.
"Next thing you know, I'll be talking to my toothbrush."
He ran his fingers through his hair, searching for more silver. Sure enough, a few more glinted back at him. Halric stared at himself, bewildered and a little amused.
"Great. First weird dreams, now weird hair. What's next?"
He paused, suddenly anxious.
"Please let this not be me getting old already," he muttered, hoping the silver wasn't just a sign of early aging.
He sighed, dropping the silver strand into the basin.
Plink.
For a moment, he just stood there, staring at his reflection with a mix of curiosity and disbelief. Then he snorted, unable to hold back a laugh at his own confusion.
"Get it together, Hal," he told himself, shaking his head.
"It's just hair… right?"
The city was waking up outside, but for now, Halric lingered by the mirror, still trying to decide if today would be as strange as it felt.
Halric finally tore himself away from the mirror and made his way downstairs, the wooden steps creaking softly under his feet. The comforting smell of fresh bread and warm honey drifted through the hall. Mrs. Marrin, the baker's wife, was already bustling about the kitchen, setting out bowls of porridge and mugs of tea.
She looked up as Halric entered, blinking at him over her spectacles.
"Morning, dear. Did you paint your hair for a festival I didn't hear about?" she asked, squinting at the silver in his hair with open curiosity.
Halric blinked, caught off guard.
"Uh—no, ma'am. Just woke up like this," he replied, running a self-conscious hand through his hair.
Mrs. Marrin tutted, shaking her head with a smile.
"Well, it suits you. Bit of sparkle never hurt anyone." She slid a bowl across the table for him, still eyeing his head as if expecting the color to drip off into the porridge.
Halric ate quietly, feeling the occasional glance from Mrs. Marrin and the delivery boy as they moved about the kitchen. Each time, he tried to ignore the prickle of attention, focusing on the simple pleasure of warm food and the gentle clink of dishes.
After breakfast, Halric pulled on his coat and stepped out into the city. The morning air was brisk, carrying the distant chime of bells and the soft hum of mana lines running beneath the streets. As he walked down the crooked lanes, a pair of children paused their game to stare at his hair, whispering behind their hands. An old man sweeping his doorstep raised an eyebrow and gave a knowing chuckle.
Halric offered a polite nod, trying not to let the stares bother him. It was only hair, after all—or so he kept telling himself.
The city's morning rhythm followed him as he made his way to the center plaza. The sound of water greeted him first—splash… trickle…—as he reached the fountain, its stone basin catching the sunlight in shimmering ripples. Around the fountain, two familiar faces stood out among the bustle: the Guardians from yesterday. The tall woman with silver trim on her sleeves was making notes on a mana slate, while the young man fiddled with a rune-etched tool.
Halric approached, the crunch of his boots on the flagstones echoing gently.
"Morning," he called, offering a half-smile.
"How's the repair coming along?"
The tall Guardian looked up, her features softening in recognition.
"Good morning, Mr. Halric. Things are going well. The city engineer managed to upgrade the pump—runic flow is stable, and the pressure readings are back within safe limits," she said, tapping her slate with satisfaction. Beep-beep.
The young man nodded, grinning.
"At this rate, we should have the last safeguards in place by sunset. No more leaks for a while, we hope."
Halric let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
"That's a relief. The plaza's much nicer when it isn't shimmering with stray mana. Thank you both for your work."
The tall Guardian smiled, but her eyes lingered on Halric's head.
"Of course. We're just doing our job," she said—and then paused, brow arching.
"If you don't mind me asking… is that a new look?" She gestured with a gloved hand, a hint of amusement in her tone.
The young man leaned in, curiosity plain.
"Yeah, your hair's—uh—got a bit of an upgrade too, Mr. Halric. Did you visit Madam Elen for a glamour, or is that a new city trend?"
Halric laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling a little sheepish.
"I wish I could say it was a glamour. Woke up this morning and—well, there it was. Silver streaks. I'm still getting used to it myself."
The young Guardian grinned wider.
"Looks sharp. Makes you look like you've tangled with a mana surge and won."
The tall woman's smile grew warmer.
"It suits you. Besides, Valoria could use a little more sparkle."
Halric chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders.
"If anyone asks, I'll just say it's for city morale."
They all shared a quiet laugh, the sound mingling with the gentle babble of the fountain and the distant clink of tools from the engineers nearby. In that moment, beneath the rising sun and the watchful gaze of Valoria's heart, Halric felt a little less out of place—and a little more ready for whatever strangeness the day might bring.
After chatting with the Guardians and watching the engineers finish their work, Halric took one last look at the now-stable fountain and turned toward the town hall. The city's heartbeat seemed steady for once, the gentle click of his boots echoing through the main avenue as he made his way through the bustling square.
Inside, the air was cooler, carrying the faint scent of old parchment and mana-polished wood. At the reception desk, Lira sat behind her usual mountain of ledgers, quill in hand. She looked up as Halric entered, a sly smile tugging at the edge of her lips.
"Nice hair," Lira said, her voice low but unmistakably teasing.
Halric couldn't help but smile, giving her a small, grateful nod.
"Thanks, Lira," he replied, trying not to sound too self-conscious as he brushed a silver strand behind his ear. Without breaking stride, he headed for the stairs.
Step, step, creak…
The familiar sounds of the old building welcomed him as he climbed to the office floor. He paused for a moment at the door, straightened his coat, and entered.
Inside, Garron was hunched over a stack of training reports, his brow furrowed in concentration. Sera stood by the window, adjusting her spectacles as she reviewed a set of mana surge charts. The room was filled with the soft rustle of papers and the steady tick-tock of the old wall clock.
Garron looked up first, his deep voice booming across the room.
"Hal! You're just in time. Any news from the plaza?"
Sera glanced over, her eyes immediately landing on Halric's hair. She raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on her lips, but said nothing—at least for now.
Halric set his satchel on his desk and took a seat, feeling the gentle warmth of camaraderie in the quiet, sunlit office. Whatever the day would bring, he was ready to face it—with a little more silver than yesterday.
Garron glanced up from his pile of reports, squinting at Halric.
"Hold on—did you go and dye your hair for a bet, or are you just trying to get promoted to senior citizen already?"
Halric gave a sheepish grin, brushing a silver strand away from his forehead.
"I woke up and it was just… there. No alchemical mishaps, no hidden glamour, and definitely no bets. I guess the city's stress finally got to me."
Garron snorted, then flashed a mischievous grin.
"Ha! And here I thought you were just getting old like that old hag over there." He jerked his thumb toward Sera, who hadn't looked up from her paperwork.
There was a moment of silence—then Sera's head lifted, her eyes narrowing behind her spectacles. The temperature in the room seemed to drop as she fixed Garron with a death stare that could curdle fresh milk.
Garron's bravado wilted instantly.
"Uh—on second thought, I just remembered, I need to, ah, check the, um… training dummies. They, uh, reported another mutiny this morning," he stammered, already edging toward the door.
Sera didn't blink.
With a nervous chuckle and a clumsy wave, Garron slipped out into the hallway, nearly tripping over his own boots. The door closed behind him with a hurried thud.
Halric tried—and failed—to suppress a laugh. Sera sighed, a faint smile breaking through her stern expression.
"One of these days, I'll hex his boots for real," she muttered, before returning to her charts.
Halric chuckled, still watching the door Garron had fled through.
"If you're the old hag, then I guess that makes Garron our resident grandpa," he quipped, grinning at Sera.
Sera's eyes slid over to him, her lips curving with dry amusement.
"Careful, Halric. With hair like that, you're next in line for the title. Maybe you and Garron can compare aches and tea blends after hours."
Halric rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly awkward.
"Alright, fair enough. Maybe I'll stick to my day job." He cleared his throat, eager to move on.
"So, uh… what's on the agenda today?"
Sera's demeanor shifted back to business, her voice calm but attentive.
"Fountain's nearly sorted. The engineers did good work—should be fully stable by tonight unless something unexpected comes up. The city gates are holding steady too, no sign of new surges. Just the usual rotation—rookie Guardians coming in, older ones moving to new posts. Looks like we'll have another batch of fresh faces by the end of the week."
She glanced at her charts and then back at Halric.
"If things stay this stable, we might actually get a quiet afternoon. Or at least as quiet as Valoria ever gets."
Halric nodded, feeling a quiet optimism settle in.
"That'd be a first. Maybe we'll even have time for lunch that isn't interrupted by emergency paperwork."
Sera smirked,
"Don't jinx it. The universe might hear you."
They both shared a small, knowing smile, the hum of the town hall and the sunlight through the windows promising, at least for a moment, a simple, steady day.
The hours slipped by as Halric and Sera settled into their routines. The quiet scratch of quills, the rustle of parchment, and the occasional exchange of notes or soft discussions about council requests filled the office. Now and then, the distant thud of Garron's boots echoed from the training yard below, punctuated by faint shouts and laughter from the new Guardians drilling in the cold.
Midday passed in a blur of paperwork, council memos, and the steady ticking of the old wall clock. Sera handled the schedules for the coming week, Halric reviewed the engineers' reports, and for a rare stretch of hours, nothing dire or urgent interrupted their work.
It was late afternoon when Halric finally leaned back, stretching his arms above his head with a long sigh. He turned to look out the window, blinking in surprise. Tiny white flakes drifted through the air, settling softly on the rooftops and cobbles of Valoria.
Pat-pat—the first snow of the year.
Halric watched for a moment, then murmured, almost to himself,
"Already winter. Hard to believe." He let a soft smile tug at his lips.
"Means I'll be turning twenty-five soon."
Sera looked up from her charts, following his gaze to the frosted glass.
"First snow always comes earlier than I expect," she said, her voice gentle.
"Twenty-five, huh? Any plans for your birthday?"
Before Halric could answer, Garron burst in, his cheeks flushed from the cold and his breath misting in the air.
"Did someone say birthday? You're still just a pup, Halric. Wait until you hit thirty—then you'll really start feeling the cold in your bones!"
Sera rolled her eyes, but there was warmth in her smile.
"You're not exactly ancient, Garron. And Halric's still got a few years before he catches up to your bad jokes."
Garron grinned, shrugging off his coat.
"I'm just keeping the tradition alive! First snow, a new year, and another round of rookies who think they know everything. Wouldn't be Valoria without it."
Halric laughed, pressing a hand to the cold window.
"It's a good day for a fresh start. Maybe I'll actually take a day off for my birthday this year."
Sera nodded, her eyes shining with quiet pride.
"You deserve it, Halric. But until then, let's finish today's work and enjoy the snow while it lasts."
As the light faded and the city shifted into evening, the three of them lingered a little longer, content in the warmth of friendship and the gentle promise of the season's first snow.
As dusk deepened and the golden light faded from the windows, the trio packed up the last of their paperwork. The old clock in the hall chimed softly, signaling the end of another day.
Garron was the first to sling on his coat.
"Well, I don't know about you two, but I hear the pub's got mulled cider and a fresh pot of stew. That's where you'll find me if you need anything—preferably not about paperwork!" He grinned, waving his hand in a mock salute.
Sera tucked a list into her satchel and straightened her collar.
"I'll be at the city nursery. The new seedlings need covering, and I promised to check the heating wards before the snow gets heavy." She shot Garron a sidelong glance.
"Try not to cause trouble at the pub, Grandpa."
Garron laughed, hearty and loud.
"No promises, old hag. Halric, keep her out of trouble, will you?"
Halric smiled, tightening his scarf.
"I'll do my best. You two don't start a snowball fight without me."
They stepped out onto the steps of the town hall together, the soft hush of night settling over Valoria. Snowflakes fell thicker now, swirling gently in the lamplight, blanketing the rooftops and softening the cobbles below.
Sera pulled her hood up.
"Stay warm, both of you," she said, her voice gentle.
"See you in the morning."
"Don't slip on your way home!" Garron called, already stomping off in the direction of the pub, his boots crunching through the fresh snow.
Halric and Sera exchanged a wave before parting—Sera's path leading toward the nursery gardens, while Halric turned toward the market square.
The city was transformed by the snow. Lanterns glowed softly behind frosted glass, their light reflected in the white blanket covering every surface. Shopkeepers were shuttering stalls, their laughter and chatter echoing in the crisp air. Children bundled in scarves chased each other, leaving wild tracks in the powder, and an old street musician played a gentle tune on a battered flute by the bakery, his notes drifting like snowflakes through the night.
Halric made his way between the stalls, picking up root vegetables, a loaf of dark bread, dried herbs, and a bundle of firewood. The market was quieter than usual, the hush of falling snow making every sound feel close and intimate—shuff-shuff of boots, murmur of voices, clink of coins.
"First snow always brings out the best in Valoria," the grocer said, handing over a bag of winter apples.
"Stay warm, Mr. Halric."
Halric thanked her with a smile and tucked the apples into his satchel.
His errands finished, he wandered toward the fountain, curious to see how it fared after the repairs. The plaza was nearly empty now, the fountain's water sparkling beneath a thin crust of ice. The runes glowed softly, casting a blue-white light on the snow and making the whole square seem quietly enchanted.
Halric paused, letting the cold bite at his cheeks as he watched the water trickle and the snow swirl around the ancient stones. The city felt peaceful, wrapped in its first coat of winter, every rooftop and lantern touched by the magic of the season.
He took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs, and for a moment, he felt utterly at home—just another gear in Valoria's clockwork, ready for whatever tomorrow might bring.
Halric lingered beside the fountain, watching the gentle swirl of icy water and the snow drifting through the quiet plaza.
"City's never this empty," he murmured to himself, glancing at the few bundled figures hurrying past.
"Guess everyone's busy getting ready for another early winter."
He stood there for a while, letting the silence settle around him, the soft glow of rune lights reflecting off the new snow. Eventually, the cold began to seep through his coat, and he shook himself from his reverie.
Making his way back through the winding lanes, Halric arrived at the bakery. Mrs. Marrin was bustling near the kitchen, humming a tune as she kneaded dough. She looked up as he entered, flour dusting her apron.
"Back already, dear?" she called with a warm smile.
Halric grinned, shifting the bag of supplies on his shoulder.
"Just for a bit. I'll be down again later for dinner."
"Don't be late!" Mrs. Marrin called after him, waving a dough-covered hand.
He climbed the stairs to his attic room, footsteps muffled by the thickening snow outside. Setting down his bundles—apples, bread, firewood—he moved to the hearth, stacking a few logs and striking a match. The fire crackled to life, filling the little room with flickering warmth.
Halric eased off his coat and lay back on his narrow bed, feeling the comfort of familiar walls and the gentle hush of snow beyond the window. For the first time in days, he allowed himself to relax, letting the heat of the fire and the peace of winter's first night lull him into quiet rest.
After organizing his thoughts, he put down the fire at the fireplace but kept the embers glowing to hold the chill at bay. The warmth lingered in the small attic room, even as he wrapped a shawl around his shoulders and headed downstairs.
The bakery had grown lively with the coming of evening. The air was thick with the scent of baking bread and sweet honey, and the golden glow of lanterns danced on the polished wooden counter. Locals crowded around the long tables—farmers, apprentices, and delivery boys, all seeking a hearty meal after a day's work.
Halric paused at the foot of the stairs, scanning the room. To his surprise, he spotted Sera seated at a corner table, her cloak still dusted with snow. She sat alone, her ever-present spectacles perched on her nose as she studied a small, leather-bound ledger, a cup of steaming tea in her hand.
He blinked—he hadn't seen her when he'd come in earlier, and he'd assumed she was still at the nursery or on her way home. Curious and a little pleased, he made his way over.
"Evening, Sera," Halric greeted, sliding into the seat across from her.
"Didn't expect to see you here. I thought you'd be halfway home by now."
Sera looked up, her eyes bright in the lantern light. She closed her ledger with a soft thump and offered a tired, genuine smile.
"I doubled back. The nursery's wards were holding, but the baker's warmth was a stronger lure. Besides, Mrs. Marrin promised me her winter stew if I finished early."
Halric chuckled, signaling to Mrs. Marrin behind the counter.
"Can I have my dinner at Sera's table tonight?" he called.
Mrs. Marrin, hearing his request, waved her flour-dusted hand from behind a tray of rising dough.
"Of course you can, dear!" she called back.
"I'll bring it right over. Sera, you'll keep him out of trouble, won't you?"
Sera's lips twitched in amusement.
"No promises. He's a grown man now, after all. Supposedly."
Halric grinned, setting his elbows on the table and leaning in conspiratorially.
"Hear that? I've got a chaperone for dinner. Must be a special night."
Mrs. Marrin soon approached, balancing two steaming bowls of thick stew and a plate of fresh bread between her hands. She set them down with practiced care, the aroma instantly making Halric's stomach rumble.
"Eat up, both of you. Cold night like this, you'll need it." She gave them both a fond look before bustling off to tend to other customers.
Halric tore a piece of bread and dunked it into the hearty stew, savoring the warmth. For a moment, they simply ate in companionable silence, listening to the gentle hum of conversation and the crackle of the bakery's oven.
After a few spoonfuls, Halric broke the quiet.
"You really finished with the nursery so soon? Or did you just want an excuse for a second dinner?"
Sera gave him a sidelong look.
"I could ask you the same. I saw you in the market square earlier. You looked lost in thought—like you'd wandered into a snowdrift and couldn't find your way out."
Halric huffed a laugh.
"Long day. Too many reports, not enough answers. And now…" He reached up and tugged at a loose silver strand.
"Well, you've seen the latest."
Sera's eyes softened, and she shook her head.
"You're not turning old, Halric. Maybe just… turning into something new."
He considered that, feeling the warmth of the room settle into his bones.
"If that's true, I hope it comes with a quiet winter."
She smirked.
"In Valoria? You should know better by now."
They shared a soft laugh, the easy camaraderie of old friends filling the space between them. Outside, the snow fell steadily, but inside, the bakery glowed with light and the promise of another night survived.
For a while, there was nothing but the comfort of food and good company, the kind of evening that made even the strangest of days feel almost normal.
Halric raised his hand to catch Mrs. Marrin's attention again.
"Could I have another cup of tea? With extra ginger and honey, please."
Mrs. Marrin nodded from across the room and busied herself at the stove. Halric took another bite of stew, glancing at Sera over the rim of his bowl. The warmth of the meal was welcome, but a quiet uncertainty still lingered at the edge of his thoughts.
"Sera… can I ask you something a bit odd?" he ventured, lowering his voice so only she could hear.
She looked up, curiosity flickering in her eyes behind the spectacles.
"You're always odd, Halric. But go on."
He hesitated, then ran a hand through his hair, tugging gently at one of the silver strands.
"You know… about this. Since you're an awakener—and a healer to boot—could you take a look? Maybe there's something you can sense that I can't. I'd rather not wake up tomorrow with a beard to match."
Sera bit back a chuckle, then leaned closer, her gaze turning serious. She set her ledger aside and reached out, her fingers gentle as she sifted through Halric's hair, pausing here and there to trace the silvery streaks. Her touch was cool and precise, the faintest tingle of mana humming between them—subtle, but unmistakable.
She frowned thoughtfully, eyes narrowing in concentration.
"Well, it's definitely not normal aging. No sign of hexes or glamour magic… and your mana flow feels stable. If anything, these silver strands…" She plucked one and held it up to the light, watching it shimmer.
"They're saturated with mana. Almost like they've been touched by a surge or—" She stopped, studying Halric's face for any sign of distress.
Halric managed a wry smile.
"Touched by what? Fate? Don't say it's the curse of the city record-keepers."
Sera shook her head, lips pressed in a thin line.
"Not a curse, but not something I've seen before, either. It's as if your body's absorbing ambient mana, weaving it into your hair. That's rare, even among high-ranked awakeners. Have you felt… different lately? Any strange dreams, surges, or visions?"
Halric hesitated, recalling the night he saw a bright, thin line shimmering in the air—an image that lingered at the edge of his thoughts. Still, he didn't answer Sera directly.
"I—maybe. I thought it was just stress. Or too much paperwork," he said, his words coming out in a swirl of uncertainty.
Sera gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
"I don't think you're in danger. But if anything changes—if you feel a surge, or if the silver spreads—tell me right away. Promise?"
He nodded, the unease in his chest soothed by her calm.
Mrs. Marrin arrived with two steaming mugs, setting them gently between them.
"Here you go—extra ginger, extra honey. That'll chase the cold right out," she said with a wink.
Halric wrapped his hands around the mug, breathing in the spicy-sweet steam.
"Thanks, Mrs. Marrin. I think I needed this more than I thought."
Sera smiled, her tone softening.
"We'll keep an eye on it together. For now, just enjoy the tea. And the hair suits you, you know. Makes you look… distinguished."
Halric snorted, but there was gratitude in his eyes.
"Distinguished, huh? I'll take it."
Outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing Valoria in white. Inside, around a simple bakery table, warmth and quiet understanding lingered—enough, for tonight, to keep the winter at bay.
Both enjoyed their dinner, letting the comfort of food and the gentle cadence of the bakery settle around them. Their conversation meandered over small, familiar topics—nothing urgent, nothing strange, just the quiet warmth of two friends sharing a meal as the snow thickened outside.
Halric tore a hunk of bread and dunked it into his stew, grinning.
"Did you see Garron this morning with the new recruits? I swear, one of the rookies managed to get their practice spear stuck in the rafters. Garron tried to pretend he didn't notice, but the look on his face—like someone had just told him the moon was made of cheese."
Sera snorted, nearly choking on a sip of her tea.
"He still tells that story from last winter, you know. The one where he tried to show off during ice drills and ended up flat on his back, flailing like a turtle."
Halric laughed, bright and unguarded.
"He claims it was 'tactical rolling.' I heard he slipped on a fish—someone had dropped it on the training yard after market day."
"That explains the smell in the barracks for a week," Sera replied, wrinkling her nose.
"Worst thing last winter was when the heating wards failed in the north wing. I spent three nights sleeping in my boots, wrapped in two blankets and a curtain."
Halric shook his head.
"That's brutal. I remember Mrs. Marrin saved me with a pot of hot honeyed milk and her cinnamon rolls. Best comfort food in the city, hands-down."
Sera's smile softened.
"I'd trade half my mana for a bowl of her ginger-apple pudding during a storm. There's nothing like it when the cold gets into your bones."
They lingered over their drinks, swapping tales of past winters and small victories—how Sera once kept a whole nursery of seedlings alive using only candle stubs and clever warding, or how Halric once patched a leaky roof with bread dough until the real repairs could be made. The bakery's warmth made even the worst memories seem distant and harmless.
Eventually, Sera closed her ledger and began packing her things, tucking her notebook and spectacles carefully into her worn satchel. She wound her scarf around her neck and reached for her gloves.
Halric watched her for a moment, then set down his empty mug.
"It's already dark, and the snow's coming down harder. Let me walk you home, Sera—even if your apartment's just around the corner."
She gave him a dry look.
"I've survived worse than a snowy street, Halric."
"Indulge me," he replied, rising and stretching.
"Besides, I need the exercise after that dinner."
He excused himself and hurried upstairs to fetch his coat. As he disappeared up the narrow staircase, Mrs. Marrin sidled over to Sera's table, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Why not tell him, dear?" Mrs. Marrin asked quietly, her eyes kind.
"He'd understand if you said you didn't want to be alone tonight."
Sera shook her head, a small, secretive smile on her lips.
"Not yet. Let me have this evening. Please, keep it between us for now."
Mrs. Marrin nodded, patting Sera's hand.
"Of course, love. My lips are sealed."
A moment later, Halric returned, bundled in his heavy coat and a hat pulled crookedly over his silvered hair. He flashed Sera a crooked grin.
"Ready, m'lady? I promise not to slip on the ice and embarrass myself in front of all Valoria. Unless you want me to—then I'll do it with style."
Sera rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched with amusement.
"If you fall, I'm not carrying you."
Halric pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense.
"So much for chivalry. I try to escort a pretty woman home, and all I get is sass."
"Keep talking like that and Mrs. Marrin will charge you double for pastries tomorrow," Sera shot back, her tone light.
Mrs. Marrin, overhearing, called out from behind the counter,
"He's lucky if I don't put salt in his tea!"
They all laughed, the sound warm as the bakery's ovens.
Together, Halric and Sera stepped out into the snowy night. The city was hushed beneath its white blanket, lanterns glowing soft and golden behind frosted glass. Their footsteps crunched in the fresh snow as they made their way down the quiet street, the chill in the air eased by the lingering warmth of shared stories and gentle company.
The snow muffled the city's usual bustle, lending the streets a quiet, almost enchanted air. Halric and Sera walked side by side, their boots leaving crisp prints in the fresh powder. For a while, neither spoke, content to listen to the hush of falling snow and the distant chime of bells from somewhere deeper in the city.
Halric broke the silence, tilting his head back to watch the flakes drift down.
"Hard to believe it's already this thick. It only started snowing late this afternoon, but look at it now—Valoria's trying to turn into a snowdrift overnight."
Sera pulled her scarf higher, her breath swirling in the cold twilight.
"That's Valoria for you. Last year, the first snow barely dusted the rooftops. This year, it's determined to swallow us whole." She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling.
"Reminds me of the year Garron tried to clear the street with a broom and ended up building more snowbanks than he removed."
Halric laughed, his voice echoing against the stone façades.
"He'd make a terrible snow shoveler. But I bet he'd win any contest for 'most creative cursing in the cold.'"
As they continued, Sera launched into another story—this one about a neighborhood cat that used to ride the bakery's delivery sled.
"Mrs. Marrin swears it could steer with its tail. One year, it slipped inside and ate half a tray of sweet rolls before anyone noticed. The poor delivery boy blamed the birds, but everyone knew better."
Halric grinned.
"That explains why the old tabby is twice the size of the bread loaves."
They walked on, the conversation winding through memories of past winters, old faces, and small city legends. The streetlights cast halos in the falling snow, and the world seemed softer, smaller, as if the city itself was tucking them in for the night.
Soon, they reached the corner where Sera's apartment stood—a narrow building with ivy curling along its stone walls and a single lantern glowing in the entryway. Sera paused at the steps, turning to face Halric.
"Thank you for the company," she said, voice gentle.
"You really didn't need to walk me all this way."
Halric shrugged, his breath pluming in the cold.
"Wouldn't be much of a gentleman if I let you fend off the snow monsters alone, would I?"
She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered.
"I'll take my chances. Good night, Halric."
"Night, Sera. Don't let the snow in," he replied, giving a mock salute.
Sera climbed the creaking wooden stairs to her apartment, pausing at the landing to glance back. Halric stood for a moment in the lamplight, hands in his pockets and head tipped back to watch the swirling snow, before he turned and started down the street toward home.
She watched as he strolled away, but then he suddenly spun, arms outstretched, and began to dance along the cobbles—twirling and kicking up plumes of snow, humming an off-key melody that drifted back to her on the frosty air. He sang a few nonsense lines about
"winter's silver hair" and
"the bakery queen," swinging around a lamppost as if it were a partner at a ball.
Sera shook her head, unable to suppress a laugh.
"Idiot," she muttered fondly, watching as Halric lost himself in his own little celebration.
Just then, Halric planted his foot a bit too firmly, the slick ice hidden beneath the snow betraying him. His feet flew out from under him, and with a surprised yelp, he landed flat on his back in a flurry of powder. For a heartbeat, he just lay there, staring up at the softly falling snow, stunned but unhurt.
From her window, Sera watched the scene unfold, amusement flickering in her eyes.
"Absolute idiot," she said, a smile tugging at her lips.
Halric, undeterred, sat up and brushed snow from his coat, glancing around to see if anyone had witnessed his fall. Catching Sera's silhouette in the window, he gave an exaggerated bow, as if the whole performance had been for her benefit. With a final, sheepish grin, he got to his feet and continued home—this time, walking a little more carefully, but still humming to himself as the snow continued to fall.
Halric made his way back to the bakery, brushing the last of the snow from his shoulders as he stepped inside. The warmth and scent of fresh bread wrapped around him, soothing after his chilly walk. Mrs. Marrin glanced up from the counter, her smile gentle.
"Back so soon, dear? Didn't get enough of the snow?" she teased.
Halric grinned, rubbing his hands together for warmth.
"I could use another cup of tea—extra ginger, if you please. Would it be alright if I bring the cup back down in the morning?"
Mrs. Marrin waved him off with a chuckle.
"Of course, Halric. Just don't let it grow legs and wander off like Garron's favorite mug did last spring."
Clink-clink—she set a sturdy cup on the counter and filled it with steaming tea, the fragrant steam curling in the air. Halric thanked her, wrapping his hands around the warm mug before heading upstairs.
Step, step, creak…—the familiar sounds of the staircase welcomed him back to his attic room. Inside, he set the tea on his desk and shrugged off his coat, the quiet stillness of the space settling around him.
He took a long sip, letting the spicy-sweet warmth of ginger and honey chase the last of the night's chill from his bones.
Sip… ahh.
With the mug in hand, Halric began tidying his desk—stacking papers, sorting ledgers, and arranging quills in their holder. The glow of the embers from the hearth and the comfort of the tea made the small attic feel like a haven, safe and snug as the snow continued to fall outside.
Rustle… clatter…—the simple sounds of home, a soft ending to a long winter night.
Halric set his steaming mug down and moved to the small hearth at the side of his attic room. With practiced hands, he gathered a few logs and kindling, striking flint until a spark caught—crack—igniting a gentle tongue of flame. Soon, the fireplace glowed with a steady, golden warmth, shadows flickering across the low ceiling. He had a magic heater tucked into the corner, its rune faintly pulsing blue, but he rarely used it. There was something about the old-fashioned fire—the way the wood snapped and popped, the gentle crackle and scent of smoke—that soothed his mind in a way magic never could.
He settled back at his desk, the mug of ginger tea radiating heat against his palms.
Sip…
The room, small as it was, felt safe and familiar, wrapped in a cocoon of orange light and the distant hush of snowfall outside.
Knock, knock. The gentle sound startled him from his thoughts. Mrs. Marrin's muffled voice followed,
"Still awake in there, Halric?"
He crossed the room and opened the door, warm air spilling out into the hallway. Mrs. Marrin stood with a plate in hand—small honey cakes and a wedge of her famous winter loaf, still fragrant from the oven.
"I heard you rustling about up here. Figured you might want a little something before bed. Can't have you going hungry, not in this weather," she said, her eyes twinkling.
Halric's face lit up with genuine gratitude.
"You're a lifesaver, Mrs. Marrin. Thank you. I'll sleep a lot better with this in my stomach."
She waved off his thanks, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
"Just don't stay up too late, dear. Tomorrow's bound to be another busy day. Good night, Halric."
"Good night, Mrs. Marrin. And thank you again," he replied, closing the door softly behind her.
Back at his desk, Halric arranged the snacks beside his ledgers, taking a slow bite of the honey cake.
Mmm…
The sweetness melted on his tongue, the taste of home and simple kindness. He sipped his tea, organizing papers into neat stacks—city reports, mana readings, market orders. He muttered softly to himself, thoughts spilling out as if the room itself was listening.
"Let's see… finish those supply forms by noon, check the new heating wards in the council wing, and get Garron's signature on the training evaluation… Oh, and I promised Sera I'd help with the seedlings if the weather holds."
Rustle, scratch…
His quill danced across a scrap of parchment, listing tasks for the morning.
He paused, looking over his work, then added in a softer voice,
"And maybe… just maybe… take a break for once."
Crunch.
He nibbled the winter loaf, savoring the spices. The fire crackled, the wind sighed against the window, and the city outside faded into a quiet, snowy blur.
Time drifted past in slow, peaceful waves. Halric's tea cooled, the snacks disappeared crumb by crumb, and his desk grew orderly under his careful hands. He spoke to himself now and then, reviewing plans, worries, and small hopes for the days ahead.
Eventually, his mug was empty and the last crumb of honey cake gone. Halric leaned back, stretching his arms above his head with a soft groan.
"That's enough, old man. Even the paperwork can wait until morning."
He gathered his notes and quills, stacking them neatly in the drawer.
Clack.
The lid closed with a satisfying sound. He banked the fire, scattering the coals with the poker until only a faint glow remained.
Hiss… crackle…
The warmth lingered, gentle and steady.
With a contented sigh, Halric kicked off his boots and tumbled into bed, pulling the heavy quilt up to his chin. He lay there for a moment, gazing at the shifting shadows on the ceiling, the hush of snow and the memory of laughter drifting through his mind.
"Tomorrow will be better," he whispered to the quiet room.
"It has to be."
Whump.
He turned over, letting the last warmth of the fire lull him toward sleep. Outside, the snow fell deeper—soft, endless, and full of promise for the morning to come.
The city of Valoria slumbered under its winter blanket, and in his attic above the bakery, Halric finally let himself rest.