The town square was alive with the bustling energy of market day. Merchants called out their wares from colorful stalls, their voices competing with the clamor of customers haggling over prices. The air was thick with the scent of baked bread, fresh produce, and the occasional waft of spices that hinted at far-off lands. It was a chaotic symphony, but to Emmy, it was magic.
"Look at all the people, Lyra!" Emmy exclaimed, her blue eyes wide with wonder. She tugged on her sister's sleeve, pointing to a vendor selling glass figurines that shimmered in the sunlight.
Lyra couldn't help but smile. Emmy's excitement was infectious, and for a moment, the weight of her responsibilities felt lighter. "Come on," she said, adjusting the small pouch of coins at her waist. "Let's get what we need first, then we'll look around."
Emmy nodded eagerly, skipping beside Lyra as they navigated the crowded streets. Lyra kept a protective hand on her sister's shoulder, her eyes scanning the crowd for any signs of trouble. Market day was usually safe, but the whispers in her armor were never completely silent, their soft murmurs a reminder to stay alert.
Their first stop was a fruit vendor, an elderly woman with a kind face who greeted them warmly. Lyra selected a small assortment of apples and pears, paying with a few precious coins. Emmy clutched the bag of fruit like a treasure, her grin as bright as the sun overhead.
"Thank you, ma'am!" Emmy chirped, making the vendor chuckle.
They moved on to the bakery, where Emmy's nose pressed against the glass display case, her eyes glued to the rows of golden pastries. Lyra indulged her sister's silent plea, purchasing a small loaf of sweetbread. Emmy bit into it immediately, her delighted hum making Lyra laugh.
"You're going to eat it all before we get home," Lyra teased.
"I'll save you some!" Emmy promised, though her cheeks were already puffed with another bite.
As they continued through the market, Lyra's focus shifted between keeping an eye on Emmy and observing the people around them. She noted the adventurers passing by, their weapons gleaming and their postures confident. Among them, she spotted a familiar figure—her idol, the B-rank adventurer Elara.
Elara stood at a weaponsmith's stall, examining a curved dagger with a critical eye. Her long, dark braid swayed as she moved, her armor polished and imposing. Lyra froze, her heart pounding. She wanted to approach, to say something, but the words caught in her throat. Elara was a star in a world Lyra was still struggling to find her place in.
"Lyra?" Emmy's voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
"What?" Lyra asked, tearing her gaze away from Elara.
"You were staring at that lady," Emmy said, tilting her head. "Do you know her?"
"No," Lyra said quickly. "She's just… someone I admire."
Emmy grinned mischievously. "You should go talk to her!"
Lyra shook her head, her cheeks flushing. "Not now. Let's finish our shopping."
They moved on, but Lyra's thoughts lingered on Elara. Seeing her up close was a reminder of how far she still had to go. The whispers in her armor stirred, a faint hum of encouragement—or was it envy? She couldn't tell.
Their last stop was a fabric stall. Lyra needed to patch up her cloak, which had been torn during the wolf hunt. As she bartered with the vendor, Emmy wandered a short distance away, drawn to a stall displaying brightly colored trinkets. Lyra kept her in sight, her instincts on high alert.
It wasn't until she paid for the fabric and turned to call Emmy back that she noticed the man. He was tall and wiry, his clothes tattered but his movements deliberate. He hovered near Emmy, his eyes darting around as though checking for witnesses.
Lyra's blood ran cold. She moved quickly, weaving through the crowd to reach her sister. The whispers rose in her mind, sharp and urgent, warning her of danger.
"Emmy," she called, her voice steady but firm.
Emmy turned, her smile faltering as she noticed Lyra's expression. "What's wrong?"
The man straightened, his hands hidden beneath his cloak. His eyes met Lyra's for a brief moment before he turned and disappeared into the crowd. Lyra's hand instinctively went to the hilt of her sword, but she didn't draw it. Not here, not in the middle of the market.
"Stay close to me," she told Emmy, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Emmy nodded, her small hand slipping into Lyra's. "Was that man bad?"
"Maybe," Lyra said, scanning the crowd for any sign of him. "But he's gone now."
They left the market shortly after, Lyra's nerves frayed despite Emmy's cheerful chatter. Back at the inn, she double-checked the locks on the door before sitting down to mend her cloak. Emmy played with her wooden toys in the corner, blissfully unaware of the tension still radiating from her sister.
"Lyra?" Emmy said after a while, her voice tentative.
"Yeah?"
"Are we safe?"
Lyra looked up, meeting her sister's worried gaze. She forced a smile, her fingers stilling on the needle and thread. "We're safe, Emmy. I promise."
Emmy seemed satisfied with the answer, returning to her toys with a smile. But Lyra couldn't shake the unease coiled in her chest. The whispers were quieter now, but their earlier urgency still echoed in her mind.
That night, as Emmy slept soundly in the bed they shared, Lyra sat by the window, her sword resting across her lap. The streets below were quiet, the market stalls long since packed away. She watched the shadows, her eyes heavy but her resolve firm.
Whatever danger came their way, she would face it. For Emmy, for their future—she would endure.