Elara stirred as the gentle chirping of birds roused her from sleep. Comfort wrapped around her like a warm blanket, and she kept her eyes closed, savoring the tranquility. Just as she was about to drift off again, a soft breath brushed against her neck, pulling her back from the edge of slumber.

  Awareness settled over her. She lay curled on her side, pressed against a solid presence in front of her, with another warm body nestled close behind. A cocoon of safety surrounded her.

  The steady rise and fall of the chest against her back was soothing, each breath a quiet lullaby. The warmth from the figure before her seeped into her bones, anchoring her in calm. The outside world felt impossibly distant, unable to touch the serenity of this moment.

  Her thoughts grew hazy, the pull of sleep tempting her once more. The warmth surrounding her was more than physical—it was a shield against the anxieties and fears that usually haunted her waking hours.

  Without thinking, she nuzzled closer, draping an arm over the solid form before her. A soft, contented sigh escaped her lips as she melted into the embrace, her body conforming to the contours of those around her.

  As the birds continued their gentle serenade and the breeze whispered through the leaves above, Elara surrendered again to the pull of sleep. Her breathing slowed, syncing with the steady heartbeats of her companions.

  She was on the brink of drifting off when a deep, masculine laugh jolted her awake. She flinched, her body tensing at the sudden sound. The warmth behind her shifted, and an arm—an embrace she hadn’t even registered—suddenly withdrew. Esme stirred, her presence behind Elara more pronounced now as she reacted to the disturbance.

  In a raspy, sleep-laden voice, Esme called out to the source of the noise. “You want to get your ass kicked for making a racket at this hour?” Her irritation sliced through the quiet dawn like a blade.

  The laughter cut off abruptly, replaced by hurried footsteps retreating into the distance. Elara strained her ears, listening—only relaxing when the sound finally faded.

  Satisfied that peace had been restored, Esme sighed and settled back down, snuggling closer with a contented murmur. Her head rested against Elara’s shoulder, breath warm against her skin as she whispered, “Morning, Alira. How’d you sleep?”

  Elara, too comfortable to move, mumbled her response, voice barely more than a sleepy sigh. “Better than I have in a long time.”

  A soft chuckle escaped Esme’s lips, her amusement carrying a warmth that melted away any lingering tension. “I’m glad. You’re very comfortable to sleep next to, you know.”

  Elara hummed in quiet agreement, sinking further into the embrace. The feeling of Esme’s body pressed against hers, the shared warmth, the steady rhythm of her breathing—it wrapped around Elara like a cocoon of safety, one she was reluctant to leave.

  She was on the verge of sleep again when a new set of footsteps caught her attention. Something about the steady rhythm was familiar, a sound that had become a constant presence over the past few days. The steps grew closer—then Ignatius’s voice broke through the morning stillness, dry and distinctly unamused.

  “Alright, you two, time to get up and stop holding Tirn hostage. Breakfast is ready.”

  His tone carried the no-nonsense authority Elara had come to associate with him. Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the morning hush.

  Elara’s drowsy mind struggled to process what he had just said. Tirn? The name echoed in her thoughts—then, like a bolt of lightning, realization struck. Her eyes snapped open, and she became acutely aware of the solid warmth she’d been curled up against all night.

  Behind her, Esme stirred, her voice thick with sleep. “We should probably get up.” But despite her words, she didn’t immediately move. For a few more precious seconds, they lingered in their embrace, reluctant to surrender the warmth and closeness.

  But the morning called. With a soft sigh, Esme finally sat up, her body slipping away. Cool air rushed in to replace the heat, and Elara hesitated before reluctantly following suit. Pushing herself upright, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, her mind slowly sharpening.

  As her vision cleared, Elara found herself face to face with Tirn, the solid presence she’d unconsciously nestled against. His expression was calm, his gaze steady—no trace of discomfort in his demeanor.

  A small, embarrassed smile tugged at Elara’s lips as she met his gaze. “Good morning, Tirn.” Her voice was still husky with sleep.

  Tirn’s response was just as calm, his own smile gentle as his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Morning.”

  The moment stretched between them, quiet but warm, before Esme stretched beside her, her usual playful grin emerging despite her grogginess.

  “Come on,” Esme said, nudging Elara. “Let’s go see what Ignatius has cooked up for breakfast.”

  As they walked toward the center of the expedition camp, their footsteps blended with the morning’s ambient sounds. Signs of life stirred within the camp. Slynn’s group had evidently returned, though only Gorvach was visible, seated near one of the larger tents. The others, likely still recovering from the dungeon, remained out of sight.

  What caught Elara’s attention, however, was Slynn, not with his team, but sitting beside Scout Selly. She looked far better than the last time Elara had seen her, perched comfortably on a tree stump, a steaming bowl of porridge cradled in her lap.

  As they neared the cooking area, the rich, earthy aroma of breakfast drifted toward them. Ignatius stood by a fire pit, a large pot of porridge bubbling over the flames. When he spotted them, he waved them over with a nod, pointing to a stack of wooden bowls and spoons nearby.

  Elara moved to the stack, selecting a bowl and spoon before passing them to Esme and Tirn. “Here you go.”

  Both accepted with murmured thanks.

  Approaching Ignatius, they held out their bowls as he ladled the thick porridge into them. The mixture was hearty, studded with chunks of dried fruit and nuts. The sight alone made Elara’s stomach grumble, but she remembered the fasting pill she’d taken, dulling her appetite.

  As Ignatius turned to her with the ladle poised, Elara hesitated. “Could I have a smaller portion?” Her voice was almost tentative.

  Ignatius paused, sharp eyes studying her for a moment. A flicker of something—concern, maybe—crossed his gaze before vanishing. He gave her a small, understanding nod. “Of course.”

  With practiced ease, he scooped a modest amount into her bowl, careful not to give her too much.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, offering him a grateful smile.

  As she stepped back to join Esme and Tirn, she noticed Slynn glancing their way, his eyes lingering on them before he returned his attention to Selly.

  They settled near the fire, the warmth of the flames licking at the morning chill. Elara dipped her spoon into the porridge and took a bite. It was comforting, a blend of mild sweetness and earthy richness. Even without hunger, she appreciated the simple meal.

  “Good?” Esme asked, spoon halfway to her mouth.

  Elara nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Surprisingly so.”

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  Tirn, ever the quiet observer, gave a subtle nod as he ate.

  For a few moments, the only sounds were the crackling fire and the quiet clinking of spoons against bowls.

  As Elara ate her porridge, her thoughts drifted to Velma. Worry gnawed at her, but she decided to wait until after the meal to ask about her companion’s condition.

  Her mind wandered to the Token of Specialization she had received. The prospect of choosing her next class filled her with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. She reflected on the archetypes she had encountered so far.

  Warriors were the most common—Esme, Tirn, and Velma all belonged to that category. They were the frontline fighters, the ones who charged into battle, weapons drawn.

  Then there were the mages: Ignatius, Isolde, and Josephine. Ignatius embodied what she had always imagined—a master of the arcane, conjuring flames and hurling them with practiced ease. But Isolde defied expectations. She moved and fought like a warrior, her magic seamlessly woven into her combat style. Josephine remained a mystery; Elara hadn’t observed her long enough to gauge her abilities.

  Slynn, the only bard she’d met, intrigued her. His songs had the power to invigorate and rejuvenate, enhancing his allies’ stamina and strength. But were his abilities purely supportive, or did his class offer him personal advantages as well? Was a bard’s strength tied to their ability to harmonize with others?

  Similar questions arose when she thought about healers. She still didn’t fully understand their limits—what wounds could they mend, and what injuries were beyond their reach?

  The more she pondered these archetypes, the more her curiosity grew. What other classes existed beyond what she had seen?

  Her fingers twitched with the urge to use her skill, to check. But she held back. She wasn’t ready to reveal her abilities, not yet. Besides, even if she used her skill now, she wouldn’t be able to unlock a new class immediately. It was better to wait, to bide her time until she was certain.

  Her thoughts turned to Slynn and Krill. Of everyone in their group, she had the least experience with their classes. Perhaps speaking with them directly would be a good start.

  As she finished her porridge, Ignatius approached, as composed as ever. “Just leave your bowl by the fire,” he instructed. “Someone will take care of the cleaning later.”

  She nodded and did as she was told, setting her empty bowl down with a soft clink. Straightening, she caught Gorvach’s gaze from across the camp. His narrowed eyes held a glint of barely concealed disdain.

  What had she done to earn such a look? She had no idea. But provoking him seemed unwise. Best to let it slide.

  Someone stood behind Gorvach, partially obscured by his broad frame. The figure looked familiar, but Elara couldn’t quite place him. His gaze was fixed on the ground where she stood, as though lost in thought.

  Something about him felt... off. Unsettling.

  She shook the feeling away. Everyone here had their quirks. This was just another one of them.

  Pushing the odd encounter to the back of her mind, Elara focused on something more productive. She spotted Slynn off to the side, rummaging through his backpack with a look of deep concentration, as if searching for something.

  Steeling herself, she walked over. If she wanted to learn more about his class, now was as good a time as any.

  She cleared her throat softly. “Mind if I join you?”

  Slynn glanced up, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Not at all.” His tone was light, but there was amusement in his eyes, as though something about the situation entertained him.

  Elara settled beside him, choosing her words carefully. She had many questions, but didn’t want to sound too intrusive.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask—what exactly does being a bard entail?” she said, tilting her head. “You’re the first one I’ve met, and I’m curious about what your role is… beyond the music, I mean.”

  Slynn’s smile widened, intrigue flickering in his expression. “Ah, so you’ve noticed I’m not just here to provide battle music.” His tone was teasing. “The songs and the charm are just part of the package. A bard’s role is a bit more… versatile than that.”

  Elara chuckled, the tension easing. “I figured there was more to it. But I’m curious—what else can a bard do that I haven’t seen yet?”

  He paused, his gaze drifting thoughtfully over the camp. After a moment, he shrugged and turned back to her, his expression playful.

  “Well, let’s just say bards have a few tricks that aren’t immediately obvious.” His voice carried a cryptic promise. “But I’m starting to wonder… are you asking because you’re already thinking about your second class?”

  Elara’s eyes flickered with surprise. “Maybe,” she admitted with a small smile, “or maybe I’m just curious about what you bring to the table.”

  Slynn chuckled, clearly enjoying her flustered response. “Well, I wouldn’t want to spoil all the surprises. Where’s the fun in that?” He winked before returning his attention to his backpack.

  Recognizing the dismissal, Elara didn’t push further. Respecting his boundaries, she rose to her feet and made her way toward Krill’s tent.

  As she approached, she spotted Ignatius outside the entrance, speaking with Selly and Krill.

  When she joined them, both Selly and Krill greeted her with tired nods. Ignatius held three wooden bowls stacked neatly in his hands, the faint traces of porridge in them suggesting they had just eaten.

  Elara’s concern surfaced immediately. “How’s Velma doing?”

  Krill’s exhaustion was plain—dark circles under his eyes, the slight sag of his shoulders. He sighed deeply before answering, his voice laced with both relief and worry.

  “Her condition hasn’t worsened, thankfully.” He hesitated, as if weighing his next words. “But it won’t stay that way for long. We need to make a decision soon about what to do.”

  Elara nodded, sympathy swelling in her chest. The burden on Krill and Selly was heavy. Deciding a friend’s fate was not something she envied.

  “Have you thought more about going to Heimshore?” she asked, recalling Isolde’s earlier suggestion.

  Selly’s expression soured at the mention of the city. “Heimshore’s a shit show,” she muttered. “A nest of political ploys and spies. The last place we should be looking for help.”

  Krill frowned, clearly torn. “I know it’s risky, Selly, but we’re running out of options. Velma needs more than what we can give her here.”

  Selly crossed her arms, jaw tightening. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t help her. But if we go to Heimshore, we’re walking into a den of vipers. They’ll watch our every move, twist every word we say. And then there’s the journey—what if we run into trouble on the way?”

  Ignatius’s voice cut through the tension, measured and calm. “While Selly’s concerns are valid,” he said, “Heimshore is also a thriving trade city. As long as we have money and stay out of trouble, we’ll be fine.”

  Selly raised an eyebrow. “You speak as if you’ve been there before.”

  Ignatius met her gaze, unfazed. “I have.” His tone was even. “Many times. They sell books and items that are harder to find elsewhere.”

  A slow grin spread across Selly’s face, mischief glinting in her eyes. “Well, well, Ignatius,” she drawled. “Didn’t peg you for the type.”

  Elara frowned slightly, trying to decipher the exchange. Was Selly implying that Ignatius had dealings with black-market goods? The idea seemed at odds with the composed mage she knew.

  Ignatius merely shrugged, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Knowledge comes in many forms,” he said cryptically, “and from many sources.”

  Krill cleared his throat, refocusing the discussion. “Regardless of the city’s reputation, it might be our best chance at helping Velma.”

  Selly sighed, rubbing her temples. “I know,” she admitted. “I just don’t like it.”

  Krill sighed deeply, the weight of the decision pressing on his shoulders. At that moment, Slynn strolled up, a spark of interest in his eyes.

  “A political hot spot, you say?” His voice carried a hint of excitement. “Sounds like an adventure. Mind if I tag along?”

  Krill blinked, caught off guard. But as the words sank in, a slow smile spread across his face. “You’re more than welcome to join us, Slynn.” His tone was warm, appreciative. “Your presence would be a great help.”

  Selly nodded, her earlier reservations easing. “Your skills will be invaluable,” she admitted, before a flicker of concern crossed her face. “But are you sure it’s alright for you to leave your team behind?”

  Slynn waved off the concern with a casual flick of his hand. “It’s fine,” he assured them, his voice light and unbothered. “I haven’t been traveling with Gorvach and his crew for very long. They won’t miss me.”

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, Elara found herself drawn to Slynn’s easy-going nature. His humor and charm injected a sense of levity into the conversation, smoothing over the tension like a well-rehearsed melody.

  Still, she couldn’t help but wonder—why was he so eager to join? What did he stand to gain from this?

  Whatever his reasons, she was grateful. With his skills and knowledge, their chances of navigating Heimshore and finding help for Velma had just improved.

  As the group continued discussing the journey, Ignatius silently stepped away. Elara, noticing his departure, followed him.

  They returned to the fire, where Ignatius placed the bowls down before heading toward their resting spot. Esme and Tirn were already there, fastening armor in preparation for the day ahead.

  Elara fell into step beside Ignatius, but a strange sensation crept over her—a prickle at the back of her neck, the distinct feeling of being watched.

  Her eyes flicked around the camp until they landed on a man from Gorvach’s group.

  At first, she thought he was staring at the ground. But as she focused, she realized his gaze was locked onto her feet.

  She stopped mid-step, unease slithering through her.

  As if sensing her pause, the man’s eyes slowly followed the line of her body, dragging upward until they met hers.

  He smiled.

  It should have been a simple, meaningless gesture. But something about it made her skin crawl.

  The wrongness of it—the way he had been watching her, studying her—set off quiet alarms in her mind.

  Elara tore her gaze away, a shiver running down her spine despite the warmth of the morning sun.

  She hurried after Ignatius, putting distance between herself and the strange man. As she caught up, she risked a glance over her shoulder, half-expecting to see him still watching her.

  But he was gone.

  Vanished into the camp’s bustle as if he had never been there at all. Elara swallowed, shaking her head. She had more pressing matters to focus on.

  And yet…

  The unease lingered, a whisper of warning at the edge of her mind. Something was off. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out what.