The death bells had stopped days ago. The city had moved on—or at least, it was trying to.

You pulled your cloak tighter against the morning chill and continued your patrol through the Harbor District. The docks were quieter than usual. Fewer merchant ships risked the waters now that the Peacekeepers had gone dark—those towering crystals that once crowned Luminia's skyline had faded to dull, lifeless stone. Everyone remembered the night of the coronation, when Princess Rose stood before her people and the towers... did nothing. The crystals stayed cold. The magic didn't come. And in the silence that followed, the Duke had stepped forward with his decree.

King Flavian's own words, he claimed. A law from the founding of the kingdom: no ruler shall be crowned before their twentieth year. Princess Rose was nineteen. The decree named the highest living authority as regent until she came of age. That authority was Duke van Villian.

Half the nobles called it a forgery. The other half called it providence. It didn't matter. The Duke's militia controlled the castle, the Noble District, and the roads leading in and out of the capital. The City Guard—Cyanna's Guard—held the rest of Luminia, but only because the Duke allowed it. Everyone knew it. Nobody said it.

---

You passed the fishmonger's stall near the harbor. Brody was arranging his morning catch, but his wife Malena wasn't beside him like usual. He caught your eye and gave a tired nod.

"Quiet morning, Sergeant."

"They've all been quiet lately."

"Aye." He wiped his hands on his apron. "Quiet's not the same as peaceful, though. Is it?"

He didn't seem to expect an answer. You moved on.

The church came into view next—Haylen's church, with its familiar red symbols on the facade. The doors were open, as they always were. Through the entrance, you could see a few parishioners kneeling in prayer. People had been coming more often since the towers went silent. Fear drove them back to faith, or at least to the comfort of routine.

Haylen herself was nowhere in sight. She'd been busy lately—something about a new priestess who'd arrived from the mainland, sent by the Church hierarchy to assist. Haylen had mentioned it the last time you'd stopped by for supper, though she'd seemed more tired than usual when she said it. You made a mental note to visit soon.

---

The tavern was shuttered at this hour, but you could see movement through the windows—Lily was probably inside, prepping for the lunch rush. She'd been working double shifts lately, splitting her time between the tavern and Nezar's magic shop. Something about a new arrangement that paid better. She'd been vague about the details when you asked, which wasn't like her. Lily was usually an open book, crude and honest to a fault. The secrecy bothered you more than you wanted to admit.

You rounded the corner toward the casern, completing your circuit. The guards at the entrance nodded as you passed. Inside, the usual morning bustle was subdued. A few soldiers sat at the long table, nursing tea instead of ale. Nobody was in the mood.

Sergeant Alys was leaning against the armory doorframe, arms crossed. She straightened when she saw you.

"Hey." She jerked her chin toward the second floor. "Captain wants to see you. Her office."

Her expression was neutral, but there was something in the way she held your gaze a beat too long. A warning, maybe. Or just exhaustion. Alys had been on edge ever since the new commander arrived—a man called Brutus, sent by the Duke to 'assist' the City Guard. Nobody knew much about him. He never removed his helmet. He'd dueled Alys during the monster campaign and beaten her so badly she'd spent days recovering. Now he was her superior officer, and she had to call him 'sir.'

You climbed the stairs.

---

Cyanna's office was small and sparse—a desk, a chair, a window overlooking the courtyard. She sat behind the desk, paperwork spread before her, but she wasn't reading it. She was staring at the wall, her armor hung on its rack behind her. Today she wore a simple Guard tunic, her dark hair pulled back. The shadows under her eyes had deepened since the coronation. She looked up when you entered.

"Close the door."

You did. She leaned back in her chair and let out a breath she'd clearly been holding.

"I need to talk to you. Not as your captain." She rubbed her temples. "As family. You know that, right? Whatever titles either of us holds, that comes first."

She paused, gathering herself.

"Have you heard from Rose?"

The question landed heavy. Rose. Confined to the Duke's manor since the coronation, 'for her own safety.' You'd exchanged a few letters through intermediaries—Meredith, mostly, when she could get a message out without the Duke's militia noticing. Rose sounded... composed. Too composed. She insisted she was fine, that the Duke was treating her well, that she was handling things. But the letters were short. Careful. Like someone else might read them.

Cyanna watched you process this, reading your expression the way she always had—like she could see through you.

"Not since last week, huh." She nodded slowly. "Yeah. Same here. I've been trying to get access to the manor. The Duke keeps finding reasons to deny it. 'Rose is resting.' 'Rose is preparing for her duties.' 'Rose isn't receiving visitors.' It's been nine days. Nine days since anyone who actually cares about her has actually seen her."

She stood and moved to the window, her back to you. The morning light caught the edge of a scar on her neck you'd never noticed before—a thin line, barely visible, recent.

"The new commander. Brutus." She said the name like it tasted wrong. "He's been... pushing. Restructuring patrols. Reassigning units. Moving our people around without consulting me. And every time I push back, he reminds me that the Duke's authority supersedes mine."

She turned back, and for a moment, the mask slipped. You saw the woman who'd grown up beside you in Haylen's church—not the Captain, not the youngest officer in Guard history—just Cyanna, who'd hid behind you during thunderstorms when you were both kids, who'd punched a boy in the nose for calling you names, who'd cried into your shoulder the night she'd been accepted into recruit training because she was so happy she couldn't breathe.

"I don't know what's happening. But something is. And I need you to be careful." She crossed the room and gripped your shoulder, firm and steady. "The Duke invited you to the manor. Did I tell you that?"

She read the answer on your face.

"Yesterday. A formal invitation. He wants to 'discuss your future role in the kingdom's defense.'" Her voice was flat. "You killed that queen ant. You got the Silver Lion. You're a hero now—his hero. And he wants to get his hands on you."

Her grip tightened.

"Go. Hear what he has to say. But don't trust him. And whatever happens—" she held your gaze "—come back to me."

---

You left the casern with the invitation tucked inside your tunic and a knot in your stomach.

The morning patrol had finished. The city was waking up around you—merchants opening their stalls, children running to school, life resuming its fragile rhythm despite everything. The Peacekeepers stood silent against the skyline, their crystals dull and empty. A reminder that the world had changed, and might not change back.

The Duke's manor waited at the edge of the Noble District. Rose was there. The Duke was there. And somewhere in between, your future was being decided without your input.

You started walking.

The morning sun cut through the curtains of your apartment, painting a warm stripe across the floor. You'd been back in Luminia for three days now—three days since your recruit training ended and you were formally assigned to the Harbor District. Three days of settling into the small room above a baker's shop, of relearning the streets you'd grown up walking, of remembering what it felt like to sleep in a real bed instead of a barracks cot.

Today was your first official patrol.

You dressed in your guard armor—the same set you'd worn during the monster campaign, polished and repaired since the queen ant hunt. The Silver Lion medal sat in its box on your shelf. You hadn't put it on yet. Felt strange, wearing a medal for something that still gave you nightmares.

The Harbor District greeted you with its usual morning rhythm: merchants rolling up their shutters, fishermen hauling crates up from the docks, the smell of salt and bread and something frying in oil. You'd missed this. The training town had been all mud and discipline and Benni's snoring. This was home.

---

Your patrol route took you past the open market first. The vegetable seller was already haggling with an early customer. The fruit merchant waved at you as you passed. The meat seller was arranging his display, muttering something about someone buying suspicious amounts of bananas.

You rounded the corner toward the church—and stopped.

Haylen was standing outside the church doors, but she wasn't alone. A young man in a City Guard uniform stood beside her, gesturing animatedly while she listened with that patient, slightly bemused expression she always wore when someone was talking too much.

He was tall, blonde, well-built. Handsome, you supposed, in the way that men who knew they were handsome tended to be. His armor was spotless—suspiciously spotless for a working guard. He carried his spear loosely, almost casually, like it was an accessory rather than a weapon.

As you approached, Haylen noticed you first. Her face lit up.

"There you are! I was hoping you'd come by this morning." She stepped forward and pulled you into a quick hug—something she still did despite the armor. "I wanted you to meet someone. This is Jazon Lezenof. He was just assigned to the Harbor District too."

The young man turned to you with an easy grin, extending his hand.

"Hey! You must be the famous one." His grip was firm, confident—the handshake of someone who'd practiced it. "Jazon Lezenof. I've heard a lot about you already. The queen ant slayer, right? They're still talking about you back at the training grounds."

Haylen beamed at the two of you like a mother introducing her children to a neighbor.

"He's been helping me around the church," she said. "I've been so busy with the new priestess arriving soon, and Jazon offered to assist with some of the heavier work. Isn't that kind of him?"

"Happy to help, ma'am." Jazon gave Haylen a smile that was warm and genuine—or at least, it seemed to be. "Your mom's been great," he said, turning back to you. "Really welcoming. Not everyone would take in a stranger like that."

Haylen waved her hand dismissively, but you caught the faint pink on her cheeks.

"Oh, stop. It's nothing. The church has room, and you needed a place to stay. It's simple."

Something about the way Jazon looked at her in that moment—a glance that lasted just a beat too long—tugged at the back of your mind. But it was gone before you could pin it down, replaced by that easy grin.

"Anyway," Jazon clapped your shoulder, "looks like we're going to be working together. I'm your auxiliary guard—still learning the ropes, so go easy on me, yeah?" He laughed. "Uncle pulled some strings to get me in without the full training. Probably a mistake, but I'm not complaining."

Haylen's expression flickered—something about 'uncle'—but she smoothed it over quickly.

"Well, I should get back inside. The confessionary still needs work before the new priestess arrives." She touched your arm as she passed. "Come by for supper tonight? I'm making that chicken you love. And bring your sister if she's free."

She disappeared through the church doors. Jazon watched her go, then turned back to you.

"Your mom's really something," he said. "I've only been here a few days, but she's already made me feel at home. More than my uncle ever did, that's for sure."

He stretched, rolling his shoulders.

"So—patrol? I'm supposed to shadow you today. Show me the ropes, yeah?"

---

You showed him the ropes.

The Harbor District wasn't large, but it had its share of characters. Jazon turned out to be a natural with people—charming, quick to laugh, always ready with a compliment or a joke. The merchants liked him immediately. The barmaids at the tavern blushed when he winked at them. Even the surly blacksmith cracked a smile when Jazon complimented his work.

He was good at this. Too good, maybe.

But he did his job. He stayed alert, kept pace with you, asked the right questions. Whatever strings his uncle had pulled to skip his training, Jazon wasn't completely useless. He just... performed. Every interaction felt slightly staged, like he was playing a role he'd rehearsed.

You filed that thought away and kept walking.

---

By midday, your patrol brought you back to the tavern. The lunch rush was starting, and through the window you could see a familiar head of red hair darting between tables.

The moment Lily spotted you through the glass, her face split into a grin. She pushed through the door, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Well, well! Look who finally crawled out of the casern!" She punched your arm—harder than necessary, as always. "Three days back and you haven't come to see me once. I'm starting to take it personally."

She noticed Jazon and raised an eyebrow.

"Who's the pretty boy?"

"Jazon Lezenof." He extended his hand with that practiced smile. "New guard. Your friend here is showing me around."

Lily looked at his hand, then at his face, then back at you. She shook his hand briefly.

"Lily. I work here. Don't cause trouble in my tavern and we'll get along fine."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Jazon's smile didn't waver. "Great place you've got here. Best sandwiches in the district, I hear."

"You hear right." Lily's expression softened slightly—compliments about the tavern were the fastest way to her good side. "You want one, I can whip something up. Sit anywhere."

She disappeared back inside, already calling orders to the kitchen. Jazon watched her go.

"Feisty," he murmured. "I like her."

He said it casually, the way someone might comment on the weather. But something in his tone made you glance at him. His eyes lingered on the tavern door a moment longer than necessary before he turned back to you with that easy grin.

"Sandwiches sound good. You buying?"

---

You ate lunch at the tavern. Lily joined you between orders, sliding into the booth with a plate of her own.

"So," she said, pointing a sandwich at you, "what's the plan? You're officially a Harbor District guard now. That means you're stuck with us. Permanently." She grinned. "Lucky you."

Jazon was on his second sandwich, listening more than talking. He watched Lily with the same easy attention he'd given Haylen—engaged, interested, but somehow detached. Like he was cataloging her.

"Hey, Lily," he said between bites. "You ever think about doing something else? You're sharp. Seems like you could do more than serve drinks."

Lily's expression flickered—something guarded passing behind her eyes before she shrugged it off.

"I've got plans. Big plans. The tavern's just a stepping stone." She looked at you. "Speaking of plans—have you talked to Rose lately? I saw her at the medal ceremony, but we barely got to say two words before the Duke whisked her off again."

The mention of Rose's name sent a small pang through your chest. You'd exchanged letters since the ceremony, but it wasn't the same. The Duke's manor wasn't far, but it might as well have been on another island.

Lily read the answer on your face before you could say anything.

"She's a princess. Of course she's busy." Lily rolled her eyes. "But she's still Rose. She'd make time if she could. You know that."

Jazon's gaze shifted between you and Lily at the mention of Rose. Something curious settled in his expression—interested, but not pressing. He filed it away and went back to his sandwich.

---

The afternoon patrol was quieter. Jazon had picked up the route quickly—maybe too quickly for someone who'd skipped training. He asked about the district's trouble spots, the regular troublemakers, which merchants to watch. Smart questions. The kind a person asks when they're planning to be around for a while.

As you passed the casern on your final round, a familiar figure emerged from the entrance.

Cyanna—Captain Endragon, youngest officer in the Guard's history—stepped out in full armor, her dark hair pulled back in its usual practical style. She spotted you immediately and changed course.

"You're back on patrol. Good." Her eyes moved to Jazon, assessing him in a single glance. "You must be the new auxiliary. Lezenof?"

"Yes, ma'am." Jazon straightened—his casual ease giving way to something more formal. "Jazon Lezenof. Reporting for duty."

Cyanna studied him for a moment. She had that look—the one she used on new recruits, the one that made them wonder if she could see through their armor and into their bones.

"Your file says you were assigned through special arrangement. No formal training." It wasn't a question. "That means you're under supervision until you've proven competent. That means you follow orders. That means you don't do anything stupid."

"Yes, ma'am."

She held his gaze a beat longer than necessary, then turned to you.

"He's your responsibility. Keep him in line."

She paused, and something in her expression softened—just slightly, just for you.

"Mom invited me for supper. I'll be there." A ghost of a smile. "Try not to be late this time."

She walked past, her stride brisk and purposeful. Jazon watched her go, then let out a low whistle.

"Your sister's intense."

He said it lightly. But you caught him watching Cyanna's retreating figure with the same measured attention he'd given Haylen and Lily. Cataloging. Filing away.

---

Evening fell over the Harbor District. The lamps were being lit along the main streets, and the smell of Haylen's cooking drifted from the church as you approached. Through the open door, you could see the table already set—four places, with candles and fresh flowers.

Haylen appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a cloth, her white hair catching the lamplight.

"Perfect timing! Cyanna just arrived. And Jazon helped me with the vegetables—he's actually quite good with a knife, once you show him which end to hold."

From inside, you heard Cyanna's voice, dry and measured:

"He's not helping with my cooking."

Jazon appeared behind Haylen, laughing.

"She's tough. I like her." He caught your eye. "Your whole family's tough, actually. Must be something in the water at that church."

Haylen ushered you inside. The table was warm with food and candlelight. Cyanna sat at one end, her armor finally shed, looking more relaxed than you'd seen her in weeks. Lily had been invited too—she arrived minutes after you, still in her barmaid outfit, carrying a bottle of wine she'd 'liberated' from the tavern's stock.

"Nobody tell Tavros," she said, setting the bottle down with a thunk. "He still thinks I'm honest."

You weren't sure about that last part. But you let it go.

---

Dinner was... nice. Genuinely nice.

Haylen had outdone herself—roasted chicken with herbs, fresh bread, a salad that was actually edible (her cooking had improved dramatically over the years). Lily told increasingly outrageous stories about tavern customers. Cyanna listened more than she spoke, but you caught her smiling a few times—real smiles, not the polite ones she wore for her soldiers.

Jazon fit in seamlessly. He was funny, attentive, always ready to refill someone's glass or pass a dish. He asked Haylen about the church, Lily about the tavern, Cyanna about the Guard. He seemed genuinely interested in each of them. Haylen was clearly charmed. Lily was warming to him despite herself. Even Cyanna's guard lowered a fraction.

It was easy to see why people liked him.

That was the thing that nagged at you. It was easy. All of it was easy—too easy, maybe. The charm, the jokes, the way he knew exactly what to say to each person at the table. Like he'd read a manual on how to be likeable and followed it to the letter.

Or maybe you were just being suspicious for no reason. He was new. He was trying to fit in. That was normal.

...Wasn't it?

---

After dinner, Haylen shooed everyone out of the kitchen and insisted on cleaning up herself. Lily had to get back for the evening shift. Cyanna lingered by the door, pulling on her gauntlets.

"Good turnout tonight," she said quietly, glancing back toward the kitchen where Jazon was helping Haylen despite being told to leave. "He's... sociable."

She didn't say it like a compliment.

"Keep an eye on him," she added, lowering her voice. "Something about him doesn't add up. His file's thin. No training records. Special assignment from above. And he shows up at our church, attached to our unit, on our patrol route?"

She pulled on her second gauntlet and looked at you.

"Could be nothing. Could be the Duke's way of putting someone close to us. Either way—watch him."

She squeezed your shoulder and left.

---

You stood outside the church for a moment, watching Cyanna's silhouette disappear down the lamplit street. Inside, you could hear Jazon and Haylen talking—her laugh, his easy responses. The sound of dishes being washed.

The night air was cool. The Peacekeepers loomed against the sky, their crystals dim but not yet dead. The city was quiet, peaceful, almost normal.

Something about that quiet made you uneasy.

You started the walk home

Soldath morning. Your first day off since being assigned to the Harbor District.

You woke to sunlight and the smell of bread from the bakery below your apartment. No bugle call, no drills, no Benni snoring in the next cot. Just quiet. The kind of quiet that felt almost suspicious after months of recruit training.

No plans. No orders. No patrol route.

You lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, and let yourself breathe.

---

The Harbor District on Soldath morning was a different creature than its weekday self. The market stalls were open but unhurried—merchants chatting with each other between customers, children chasing each other between the crates. The docks were quieter; most fishing boats didn't go out on the rest day. The sea was calm, glittering under a sky so blue it looked painted.

You stepped outside with no particular destination in mind. Just walking. Relearning the streets you'd known as a child, seeing them now through adult eyes—through a guard's eyes. Noticing things you'd missed before: which alleys were poorly lit, which corners had blind spots, which buildings had rear exits that weren't on any map.

Old habits from training. Hard to turn off.

You passed the fishmonger's stall. Brody was there alone, sitting on a crate and mending a net rather than selling. He waved.

"Day off, Sergeant?"

"Looks like it."

"Enjoy it. They don't come often enough." He squinted at the sky. "Perfect weather for doing absolutely nothing. Wish Malena was here to see it—she's off visiting her sister in the Merchant District."

You left him to his nets and wandered on.

---

The church was your first real stop. Not out of duty—just habit. The church had been your home for years, and your feet still found the path without thinking.

The garden was empty when you arrived, but the church doors were open. From inside, you could hear voices—Haylen's, warm and measured, and another you didn't recognize. A woman's voice, precise and slightly formal.

You stepped through the doorway.

Haylen was at the altar, arranging candles alongside a woman you'd never seen before—tall, dark-haired, wearing the blue robes of a priestess but with a severity to her appearance that contrasted sharply with Haylen's soft warmth. Her hair was pulled back tightly, and she carried herself with the rigid posture of someone who'd spent years in formal church hierarchy.

Haylen noticed you and her face brightened immediately.

"Oh, perfect timing! Come here, I want you to meet someone."

She gestured to the other woman, who turned and regarded you with an expression that was polite but guarded—assessing.

"This is Priestess Naevyr Caihorn. She's been sent from the mainland to assist with the church. She'll be helping with ceremonies and outreach." Haylen smiled at the woman. "Naevyr, this is my son. He's just become a City Guard."

The priestess—Naevyr—inclined her head.

"Congratulations on your appointment. The City Guard performs a vital service." Her voice was measured, every word chosen carefully. "I look forward to working with the community here. Priestess Fertinis has spoken highly of the district."

Haylen beamed. "I've been telling her how wonderful everyone is. The congregation, the merchants, the Guard—everyone looks out for each other here. It's not like the capital."

"No," Naevyr agreed, her eyes sweeping the church interior. "It certainly is not."

Something in her tone was hard to read—not unfriendly, but not warm either. Professional. Like she was here to do a job, and friendliness was secondary to the mission.

Haylen, either not noticing or choosing to ignore it, put a hand on your arm.

"Are you free today? I was going to suggest a picnic. Nothing fancy—just sandwiches and some fruit. I thought it would be nice to get everyone together. It's been so long since we all spent time as a family."

She said 'family' the way she always did—inclusively, meaning not just blood but everyone she'd gathered under her roof over the years.

"Rose can't make it," Haylen added, her smile dimming slightly. "She sent a letter. The Duke has her attending some function in the Noble District. But she sends her love."

There was a flicker of something in Haylen's expression—concern, maybe—before she smoothed it over.

"So? Picnic? I'll make extra sandwiches. You know Lily will eat her weight in them if I don't."

---

You agreed to the picnic.

Haylen shooed you out of the church so she could finish preparing, and you continued your walk through the district with a few hours to kill before the afternoon gathering.

The training grounds near the casern were mostly empty—just a few off-duty soldiers practicing on their own. You spotted Alys there, alone, working through spear forms with a focused intensity that made you not want to interrupt. She noticed you watching and gave a curt nod without breaking her rhythm.

Near the main square, you found a crowd gathered around the platform where public announcements were made. A merchant was calling out something about a sale, his voice carrying over the heads of the shoppers. Life went on. People adapted. The Peacekeepers might be dimming, the political situation might be uncertain, but the Harbor District had its own rhythm, and it wasn't about to stop for anyone.

---

You swung by the tavern on your way back.

Lily was behind the bar, polishing mugs with the kind of aggressive energy that suggested she was bored out of her mind. The tavern was nearly empty—Soldath mornings were always slow.

"Thank the Goddess," she said the moment she saw you, slamming a mug down. "I've been staring at these cups for two hours. Tavros is upstairs sleeping off last night, and I've served exactly three customers. Three! One of them just asked for water. Water! In a tavern!"

She leaned on the bar.

"Mom's doing the picnic thing, right? She told me yesterday. I'm supposed to bring drinks." She held up a bottle of wine. "Confiscated this from a customer who couldn't pay his tab. It's the good stuff. Don't tell anyone."

She paused, studying your face.

"You okay? You've got that look. The one you used to get when you were worried about something but didn't want to say it." She narrowed her eyes. "Is it Rose? Did something happen?"

She waited, watching you with that uncanny ability she had to read people—especially you.

"...Yeah. Thought so." She sighed, softening. "She'll be fine. She's tougher than she looks, that one. And you'll see her soon. These things always blow over."

She said it with confidence. Lily always said things with confidence, even when she wasn't sure.

"Anyway." She pushed off the bar. "I'll meet you at the park. Save me a sandwich or I'll never forgive you."

---

Victory Park lived up to its name on a day like this.

The grass was green and soft, the trees provided shade without blocking the sun, and the pond reflected the sky like a mirror. A few families had set up picnics of their own, but the spot Haylen had chosen—near the old oak tree at the park's edge—was private enough to feel like your own little world.

Haylen arrived first, carrying a basket that was almost as big as she was. You took it from her before she could protest.

"Thank you, dear." She spread a blanket on the grass and began unpacking. "I made the chicken sandwiches you like, and some with tuna for Lily—she'd eat the chicken ones before anyone else got a chance. There's fruit, cheese, and I even attempted a cake. It's... well, it's edible. Probably."

Cyanna arrived next, out of uniform for once, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. She looked younger without the armor—younger and more human, the shadows under her eyes less pronounced in the afternoon light.

"Don't get used to this," she said, settling onto the blanket. "I've got paperwork waiting for me that could fill a library. But Mom asked, and..." she glanced at Haylen, who was arranging sandwiches with the precision of a military strategist "...you don't say no to Mom."

Haylen smiled, not looking up from her arrangement. "That's right. You don't."

Lily burst through the trees a minute later, slightly out of breath, the bottle of wine tucked under one arm and a bag of something crunchy in the other.

"Made it! Had to dodge Tavros on the way out—he woke up and tried to make me do inventory." She dropped onto the blanket and immediately grabbed a sandwich. "His face when I told him I had 'important business' was priceless."

She took a bite and closed her eyes in satisfaction.

"Goddess, I needed this. Real food. Not tavern slop."

"Haylen's food isn't 'real food'?" Cyanna raised an eyebrow.

"Mom's food is the realest food," Lily corrected, gesturing with her sandwich. "Tavern food is what you eat when you've given up on happiness."

Haylen laughed—a genuine, warm sound that seemed to make the sunlight brighter.

---

The afternoon unfolded slowly, the way Soldath afternoons should.

You ate. You talked. You did nothing in particular, and it was wonderful.

Haylen told stories about the church—funny ones, about parishioners who fell asleep during ceremonies and a child who'd once asked her if the Goddess was "tall or just really good at standing on things." Lily recounted a disastrous date she'd witnessed at the tavern, complete with impressions of both parties that had Cyanna snorting into her wine. Cyanna, in turn, described a recruit who'd accidentally saluted a lamppost during training and spent the rest of the day pretending it hadn't happened.

Lily, halfway through her third sandwich, leaned back on her elbows and looked up at the sky.

"You know what I miss? The treehouse."

Cyanna smiled faintly. "We spent an entire year building that thing."

"Best year of my life." Lily sighed. "We were so stupid back then. Thought the biggest problem in the world was getting the roof to stop leaking."

"The roof never stopped leaking," Haylen said. "We just put a bucket under it."

"And Rose kept insisting we needed curtains." Lily grinned. "Curtains! In a treehouse! Like it was a palace."

The mention of Rose's name brought a comfortable silence—not heavy, just warm. The kind of silence that comes when everyone is thinking the same thing but nobody needs to say it.

Haylen reached over and squeezed your hand briefly.

"She'll be at the next one," she said softly. "I'll make sure of it."

---

The sun was starting its descent when Lily sat up abruptly, staring at something across the park.

"Hey. Isn't that the new guy? The one staying at the church?"

You followed her gaze. Near the park's entrance, a familiar blonde figure was walking along the path—Jazon, in casual clothes rather than his guard armor, hands in his pockets. He hadn't spotted your group yet, or if he had, he was pretending not to.

Cyanna's expression shifted—subtle, but you caught it. A tightening around the eyes.

"What's he doing here?"

"He lives at the church," Haylen said. "I mentioned the picnic to him yesterday. I didn't formally invite him, but..." She hesitated. "He seemed a bit lonely. I told him where we'd be, in case he wanted to join."

Cyanna looked at Haylen. Haylen looked back, her expression gentle but firm.

"He's new to the district, Cyanna. He doesn't know anyone. It wouldn't hurt to be welcoming."

Lily narrowed her eyes slightly, then shrugged.

"More hands to carry the basket back. I'm not complaining."

Jazon spotted the group and raised a hand in an easy wave, approaching with that confident stride.

Haylen waved back, her face brightening. "Jazon! Over here! There's plenty of food."

Cyanna's shoulder pressed against yours—briefly, deliberately. A silent message: watch this.

Jazon dropped onto the blanket beside Haylen with an easy grin, already reaching for a sandwich.

"Hope I'm not intruding. Priestess Fertinis mentioned you'd be here, and I figured—free food, good company, day off? Couldn't pass it up." He glanced around the group, his gaze landing on each person in turn—Lily, Cyanna, you—before settling back on Haylen with that warm, practiced smile. "Thanks for having me."

Haylen was already handing him a plate.

"Of course! Eat, eat. You're too thin. Don't they feed you at the casern?"

"The casern food is terrible," Lily muttered.

"The casern food is fine," Cyanna corrected.

"It's terrible and you know it."

Jazon laughed—easy, natural, like he'd been part of this group for years instead of days. He bit into a sandwich and made an appreciative sound.

"This is incredible. Best sandwich I've ever had."

Haylen glowed.

Lily caught your eye from across the blanket and mouthed something that looked suspiciously like "laying it on thick."

Cyanna said nothing. She just watched.

The eastern tower of the castle was supposed to be sealed for repairs. It had been 'sealed for repairs' for as long as anyone could remember—a running joke among the servants that the kingdom would collapse before the tower ever reopened. Nobody questioned it. Nobody came here.

That was the point.

You'd learned the route years ago: through the kitchen pantry, up the back stairs, past the storage room with the broken lock, and through the narrow passage that opened onto the tower's base. The vines growing along the eastern wall were thick and old, strong enough to hold weight if you knew which ones to grab. You'd climbed them a hundred times as a kid. You'd climbed them last week, too.

Tonight, you climbed them again.

The window was already open. A candle burned on the sill, casting a warm glow over the stone ledge. A familiar hand reached down.

"You're late," Rose whispered, but she was smiling—that full, unguarded smile she only wore when it was just the two of you. Her pink hair was down, loose around her shoulders, and she wore a simple nightdress instead of the formal gowns the court expected. She looked younger like this. Real.

She helped you over the ledge with surprising strength—years of climbing trees in Victory Park had given her a grip that belied her slender frame. The moment your feet hit the floor, she pulled you into a hug, pressing her face into your chest.

"I missed you." Her voice was muffled against your tunic. "I know I saw you last week, but it feels longer. Everything feels longer lately."

The tower room was small—barely more than a storage space that had been quietly converted over the years into a private retreat. A worn rug on the stone floor. A couple of cushions. A shelf with books Rose had smuggled up over time. A window that looked out over the entire city.

She pulled back and took your hand, leading you to the bench beneath the window. The city spread below them—thousands of lights, the harbor glinting in the distance, the Peacekeepers standing dark against the sky.

Rose leaned against your shoulder, her weight warm and familiar.

"I had to sit through another meeting today. Three hours of nobles arguing about trade routes." She made a face. "Lord Barsquatch fell asleep twice. I think he was snoring. Nobody said anything because he's the only one who actually reads the proposals."

She tilted her head up to look at you.

"Tell me something normal. Something that isn't about politics or treaties or—" she gestured vaguely toward the dark towers "—any of that. What did you do today?"

She settled in, pulling a blanket over both of your laps, clearly preparing to listen for as long as you wanted to talk. The candle flickered. The city hummed below. And for a few hours, the kingdom's problems could wait.

The city wall at the Harbor District's eastern edge was technically off-limits after sundown. Technically.

In practice, every guard who'd ever worked the night shift knew about the gap in the patrol schedule between the eighth and ninth bell—the twenty-minute window where the wall was unwatched. It wasn't negligence. It was just how the rotation fell. Nobody had ever bothered to fix it because nothing ever happened on this stretch of wall. It faced inland, not the sea. The view was of rooftops and the distant forest, not the harbor.

Cyanna was already there when you arrived, sitting on the wide stone ledge with her legs dangling over the edge, her armor shed down to her tunic. Her hair was loose—a rare sight, usually pulled back tight for duty. Without the armor and the authority, she looked less like the youngest Captain in Guard history and more like the girl who'd grown up beside you in Haylen's church.

She didn't turn around when she heard your footsteps. She'd known it was you. She always knew.

"You're getting sloppy. I heard you three corridors back."

She shifted to make room on the ledge. You sat beside her, shoulders nearly touching. The night air was cool, carrying the smell of the sea and the faint sweetness of Haylen's garden below.

For a while, neither of you said anything. That was the thing about Cyanna—she didn't need words. Growing up together had built something between you that didn't require conversation. You could sit in silence and it would feel complete.

Eventually, she spoke.

---

"I got another letter from the training academy today. They want me to give a lecture to the new recruits." She snorted softly. "Me. Lecturing. About leadership."

She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them.

"I remember being a recruit. I was terrified. I couldn't sleep the night before the placement exam. I threw up in the training yard in front of everyone." A pause. "You held my hair back. I never told you how much that meant."

She glanced at you, and in the moonlight, you caught something rare—a genuine, unguarded smile. Not the sharp, controlled expression she wore for her soldiers. Something softer.

"Mom asked me to come for supper again this weekend. She's making that chicken." She leaned back, looking up at the stars. "I'll go. I always go. I just... wish things were simpler. Like when we were kids and the biggest decision we had to make was whether to build the treehouse floor out of oak or pine."

She exhaled slowly.

"Oak. Should've been oak. Pine rotted in a year and we had to redo the whole thing."

She bumped her shoulder against yours.

"Thanks for coming. I know you had patrol today. You didn't have to."

She said it like it was nothing. But she'd asked. In her own way, she'd asked.

The church was quiet after evening prayers. The last parishioners had shuffled out an hour ago, and the candles in the nave had been trimmed to low flames that cast dancing shadows on the walls. Upstairs, the sound of dishes clinking drifted from the kitchen—the only sign that someone was still awake.

You found Haylen at the stove, stirring something that smelled incredible. She'd tied her hair back with a ribbon, and her priestess robes were covered by an apron that was already dusted with flour. A cookbook lay open on the counter beside her, its pages weighted with a spoon.

"Oh! You came!" She turned, and her face did that thing it always did when she was happy—the way her whole expression seemed to soften and brighten at once, like a lamp being lit. "I wasn't sure you would. I know you're busy with patrols and everything."

She gestured at the stove with her spoon.

"I'm trying a new recipe. It's supposed to be a stew with root vegetables and herbs, but I think I added too much thyme. Or not enough. I can never tell with thyme." She tasted the spoon and frowned thoughtfully. "It's... close. Maybe."

She waved you toward the table, which was already set for two—bowls, spoons, a basket of bread that was still warm.

"Sit, sit. I'll have it ready in a minute."

You sat. She bustled around the kitchen with the focused energy she brought to everything—whether it was a ceremony, a confession, or a pot of stew. The kitchen was small and warm, cluttered with the evidence of her cooking experiments: jars of dried herbs, a rack of mismatched pots, a collection of cookbooks that had grown from two to nearly thirty over the years.

---

She set the pot on the table and ladled stew into your bowl with the careful precision of someone who genuinely wanted to get it right.

"Try it. Be honest. I can take it."

She sat across from you, watching with an expression of hopeful anxiety—like a student waiting for a grade.

The stew was good. Not perfect—she was right about the thyme—but good in the way that only Haylen's cooking could be: warm, filling, made with the kind of care that had nothing to do with skill and everything to do with love.

She read your face and broke into a relieved smile.

"Really? You're not just being nice?" She clasped her hands together. "I've been practicing. Cyanna said my cooking was 'adequate' last time, and I refuse to let that stand. Adequate. Honestly."

She tore off a piece of bread and dipped it in her own bowl.

"I worry about her, you know. Cyanna. She works too hard. She always has." Her voice softened. "And you. Both of you. Out there every day, fighting monsters and bandits and... whatever else the world decides to throw at you."

She looked at you across the table, candlelight reflecting in her violet eyes.

"I know I can't protect you the way I used to. You're not children anymore. You're guards. You're soldiers." She smiled, but there was a tremor in it. "But I can make sure you've had a good meal and a warm place to rest. That's my job now."

She reached across the table and squeezed your hand.

"Eat. There's plenty. And I made cake. Well—it's more of a bread. With sugar. I'm still working on it."

The tavern's roof was accessible through a hatch in the storage room, which was accessible through a door that Tavros had never bothered to lock because he assumed nobody was stupid enough to climb onto a roof at night.

Lily was that stupid.

She was already up there when you found her—lying on her back on a spread-out blanket, hands behind her head, staring up at the stars. A bottle of something was tucked beside her. She'd changed out of her barmaid uniform into loose clothes, and her red pigtails were undone, her hair fanned out beneath her like a fire.

---

She didn't startle when you climbed through the hatch. She just tilted her head and grinned.

"Took you long enough. I was starting to think you got lost." She patted the blanket beside her. "Sit. I stole Tavros's good whiskey. He won't notice for at least a week—he's got six bottles of the stuff and he only drinks when he's trying to impress someone."

You settled beside her. The roof overlooked the harbor—the sea was a dark mirror under the moonlight, and the Peacekeepers were distant silhouettes against the sky. From up here, the city looked peaceful. Almost beautiful.

Lily passed you the bottle.

"Don't drink it all. I need at least half."

For a while, neither of you said anything. You passed the bottle back and forth, and the silence was the kind that didn't need filling—the kind that only existed between people who'd known each other long enough to be quiet together.

Lily broke it first.

"I got a letter from my mom today." She said it casually, like it was nothing. "She still thinks I'm living in some fancy apartment and working at a nice restaurant. I didn't correct her."

She took a long drink.

"She told me she's proud of me. Said she brags about me to the neighbors." A pause. "I haven't told her what my job actually is. Or where I actually live. Or that I'm basically a servant who serves drinks to drunk assholes who grab my ass when they think I'm not looking."

She laughed—short, sharp, not entirely humorless.

---

"I'm not complaining. I chose this. I came here on my own, I found the job on my own, I'm saving money on my own. That's the whole point. I just..." She trailed off, staring at the sky. "Sometimes I wish I could tell her the truth. That it's hard. That it's harder than I thought it would be. But if I did, she'd worry. And if she worried, she'd tell me to come home. And if I came home..."

She didn't finish. She didn't need to. Coming home meant giving up. Giving up meant proving everyone right—the family that said she couldn't make it on her own, that she was too small, too naive, too much of a dreamer.

She rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand, looking at you.

"You're the only one who knows. The real me, I mean. Not the loud, confident version I show everyone else." She poked your chest with one finger. "You know I'm scared. You know I'm tired. You know I cry in the storage room sometimes when nobody's around."

She said it matter-of-factly, without self-pity. Just honesty—the kind she only showed you.

"And you've never once told me I should quit. Or go home. Or be realistic." Her voice softened. "You just... keep showing up. On my roof. With your stupid guard armor and your stupid medal and your stupid face."

She grinned—wide, genuine, the kind of grin that made her look like the kid you'd met all those years ago, the one who'd refused your sandwiches and then eaten three of them.

"Don't ever change, okay? I mean it."

She flopped back onto her back and reached for the bottle.

"Now drink. The stars aren't going to watch themselves."

Free Scenario

---