“Let’s hold hands,” Vallen suggested, reaching out first.

  We sat around the long table, its surface crowded with steaming dishes and fragrant platters slowly cooling. One by one, the rest of us followed, joining hands and bowing our heads toward the three empty seats left untouched.

  Alwen Mordigai.

  Pica Norwei.

  Callen Baltazar.

  Friends who never made it back.

  Vallen had searched for Pica long after hope should have run out. In the end, there had been nothing to find.

  We stayed silent for a long moment, each of us offering what little respect we still had left to give.

  Then, slowly, we began to eat. Not in celebration alone, but in defiance of the absence carved into this table, and for those who had survived and somehow returned to it.

  “Hey, share that baked honeyroot,” Alton barked. “Don’t eat it all yourself.”

  “There’s plenty,” Riven replied lazily, not even looking up. “Use your eyes. Or better yet, your hands. Grab it yourself.”

  “Eryndor!” Fenric suddenly blurted out, leaping to his feet as he reenacted my attack with wild, sweeping motions. “I still don’t understand how you managed to beat that jerk. It was so satisfying to watch.”

  “I didn’t expect it either,” I admitted with a small shrug. “He was weaker than he looked. Honestly, I think any of you could have taken him.”

  “But you also survived the Tower alone,” Riven pressed, leaning forward now, curiosity burning through his restraint. “How is that even possible?”

  “Hey,” Sable snapped, shooting him a sharp look. “Have some tact.”

  “It’s fine,” I said quickly, raising a hand. “I was on my own for a while. Then I crossed paths with a dwarf and an elf. They needed a healer, so we teamed up.”

  “That’s… convenient,” Riven muttered. He hesitated, his expression darkening. “We were lucky too. If it weren’t for Callen…”

  His voice faltered, but he pushed through, recounting how Callen had drawn the monsters’ attention by shouting and refusing to run, buying them just enough time to escape.

  The table grew quiet once more. Not from ceremony this time, but from memory.

  Plates slowly emptied. Conversations thinned, settling into long stretches of shared silence. When we finally stood, it was together, chairs scraping softly against the floor. Grief lingered heavy, but no one broke away from the group.

  The day was slipping toward late afternoon by the time Vallen and the others returned to Willow’s End. Their footsteps faded with the light. Only Orin and I remained behind in the city.

  “I can’t do it,” she said quietly. “Please… read it for me.”

  I nodded and unfolded the worn parchment. The paper was creased thin from being opened again and again. Lines of careful handwriting glimmered faintly in gold ink, each stroke deliberate, as if rewritten more than once. I had read the words before. Enough times that they lingered with me.

  I took a breath and began.

  It’s only been a few days, but already I find myself caught between moments.

  Thinking about the version of myself who might come back stronger.

  Imagining the celebration with everyone once it’s over.

  Holding onto that bright, energetic smile I keep picturing, even when I can’t see it.

  Most of all, I’m trying to find the courage to finally hand you this.

  It isn’t just your smile, or the way you laugh when you forget yourself.

  It’s the warmth you bring just by being there. Without realizing it, you became something I carried with me.

  When all of this is over, there’s only one thing I want to ask.

  Orin Sylvas… would you go on a date with me?

  -Alwen-

  When I finished, the room fell silent. The only sound left was the soft, uneven drip of tears hitting the floor.

  Time passed before Orin spoke again. Her voice, when it came, was hoarse and unsteady.

  “Why?” she asked. The word trembled, caught somewhere between grief and anger. “Why did you have to give this to me?”

  “I think this is what he wanted.”

  “And burden me with it for the rest of my life?” she snapped.

  “That wasn’t my intention.” I hesitated, searching for words that didn’t exist for things like this. “I just wanted to fulfill the wish he never got to deliver. And you deserved to know. That it meant something.”

  I stayed where I was, hands hanging uselessly at my sides. The space between us felt fragile, like any movement might crack it.

  “I’m sorry,” Orin said at last. She wiped at her face and reached out, carefully taking the parchment from my hands. “I’m just… overwhelmed.”

  She folded it slowly, as though afraid it might tear, and pressed it to her chest.

  “I’ll keep it,” she said quietly. “Even if it hurts.”

  After that, we lingered a while longer, talking about everything that had happened in the Tower. The conversation drifted naturally, from close calls to half-remembered chaos, until the weight of it all felt just a little easier to carry.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “So,” I asked at last, unable to contain my curiosity, “what kind of spells do you actually have?”

  “That’s rude,” Orin replied immediately. “You’re not supposed to ask about someone else’s spells.”

  She wasn’t wrong. In this world, abilities were deeply personal, guarded as carefully as one’s weakness. Still, coming from a fellow druid, her sharp response caught me off guard.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” I said quickly. “I was just wondering how you managed to join a team of elves.”

  She studied me for a moment, then smiled, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Relax. I’m kidding. Let’s just say I bring a lot to the table.”

  My mind immediately went to work, cycling through possibilities faster the longer she waited.

  “I specialize in using items,” Orin added at last, apparently deciding she’d had enough fun watching me struggle.

  “That… does not help at all,” I muttered with a sigh.

  She laughed softly and rose to her feet. “Instead of overthinking it, come with me. I need to do some shopping.”

  “I’ve got things to do too,” I tried to dodge.

  “You can postpone them,” she said, already tugging lightly at my sleeve. “Come on. I’ll buy you something.”

  “What? No. You don’t have to,” I protested.

  “I want to.” She hesitated, then looked away, color creeping into her cheeks. “Thank you. For standing up for me. And for teaching Guz and his team a lesson.”

  For some reason, hearing her say it so directly made me feel… strange. Especially since that hadn’t been my intention at all.

  “A-Ah…” I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly finding the street far more interesting than her expression. “I mean, I was planning to teach those guys a lesson anyway.”

  Why was I stammering?

  “But, you know,” I added quickly, “druids look out for each other. That’s just how it is.”

  “Mm.” She nodded, her smile softer this time.

  I cleared my throat and gestured down the street.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s walk a bit. Before the day slips away.”

  I let her set the pace.

  Asterion was winding down for the evening, the late sun slipping between stone towers and copper rooftops, painting the streets in amber and shadow. Mana-lamps flickered to life one by one, their glow refracted through crystal housings and glass-lined gutters that carried faint streams of light instead of water. The air smelled of warm stone, incense, and street food left too long over low flames.

  Orin still hadn’t let go of my sleeve.

  She didn’t seem to realize she was doing it.

  We walked in silence, boots echoing softly against the wide marble road. Carts rolled past, merchants called last offers of the day, and city guards leaned on their spears as their shifts blurred toward night. Normally, the noise would have grated on me. But after the Tower, after the letter, it all faded into a distant hum.

  Eventually, she slowed near a narrow side street wedged between two old buildings, their upper floors bridged by hanging walkways and tangled cables of enchanted wire. Nestled beneath them was a row of specialty stalls. Arcane suppliers, relic traders, and item-crafters catering to adventurers passing through Asterion.

  “This place,” Orin said quietly, eyes gleaming. “Is exactly what I need.”

  One stall in particular drew her in. It was little more than a reinforced stone alcove, its shelves packed with all manner of monster parts and magic ingredients instead of weapons. No flashy illusions. No shouting signs. Just meticulously arranged items, each giving off a different, and often alarming, scent.

  “The smell is… aggressive,” I said, coughing as it hit my nose full force.

  She huffed softly and finally released my sleeve. For a brief moment, my arm felt strangely light without the pressure there.

  The shopkeeper, a human woman with silver-threaded braids and one eye hidden beneath a worn patch, glanced up at us, gave a curt nod, then returned to reorganizing her wares. No greeting. No sales pitch.

  “I like her already,” I murmured.

  “Exactly,” Orin said.

  She drifted between the shelves, fingers hovering just short of touching anything. Jet-black wings. Pinkish chunks of flesh that still looked like they were pulsing. Rows of teeth in every shape and size imaginable.

  “You really weren’t exaggerating when you said you were going to shop a lot,” I said as Orin scooped up item after item, including the painfully expensive Golden Maurudor Fangs. “At least make sure you can pay for all that.”

  “Relax,” she said lightly. “I’ve got plenty of stones.”

  Orin didn’t stop until she had gathered nearly everything in the stall. Even the shopkeeper, who had initially looked half-asleep, straightened up and greeted her with fake warmth.

  The shopkeeper took her time tallying the cost, her brows inching higher with every item added. When Orin finally handed over a large Mana Stone, the woman’s expression shifted completely. She smiled, genuine this time, and even tossed in several extras before packing everything away.

  I stared as we stepped back onto the street. “What are you even planning to do with all of that?”

  Orin only laughed. “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “And where did you get that many stones?”

  She leaned closer, lowering her voice just enough to make it conspiratorial. “That's a private matter.”

  Anyone who could spend like that without hesitation wasn’t ordinary. That much was clear. I studied her from the corner of my eye, quietly wondering what kind of secrets she was hiding.

  We hadn’t gone far before she stopped short in front of another stall.

  Displayed beside it was a deep green robe, woven with fine silver filaments, tiny runes etched neatly along its edges. The fabric shimmered faintly under the lantern light. Orin reached out, fingers brushing the fabric like she was confirming it was real.

  I didn’t interrupt.

  “This one’s for you.”

  I blinked. “For me?”

  “Yes.” She thrust it into my hands before I could react. “Your robe is tragic.”

  I glanced down at myself. Frayed sleeves. A patched collar. Even the repair enhancement had long since given up on it.

  Leafweaver Robe.

  Boosted wind magic and Wisdom. An absurdly expensive item for a beginner.

  I glanced at the stall owner. Her forced smile was gone now, replaced with a distinctly grumpy scowl.

  “…You sure about this?” I asked quietly. “That stone you used back there—”

  “Don’t,” Orin said at once. Not sharply, but firmly. “It’s already done.”

  “…Thanks,” I muttered, genuinely unsure what else to say.

  She didn’t answer, but I caught the hint of a smile as she turned away.

  After that, we spent the rest of the evening wandering from stall to stall, browsing odd trinkets and eventually giving in to the lure of street food.

  Somewhere along the way, the sky darkened into twilight, the streets illuminated by the soft glow of Mana lanterns.

  At the crossroads leading back toward the druids’ land, Orin slowed. She looked like she might say something else, but didn’t.

  "You okay?" I asked.

  She hesitated, then shook her head lightly. “I guess I’ll see you then.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “Try not to stay up overthinking everything.”

  She laughed softly. “No promises.” Then she turned, shadow wrapping around her as she walked away.

  “Hey, Orin,” I called after her.

  She stopped and looked back.

  “Thanks. For today.”

  Her smile widened just a little. “Goodnight, Eryndor.”

  “Night.”

  When she was gone, I turned the other way.

  There was one last place I needed to go before the night ended.

  A promise to keep.

  And the growing certainty that I was already too late.

  MILESTONES

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