The city streets were quiet, bathed in the soft amber glow of lanterns. Lyra walked aimlessly, her mind swirling with thoughts of what she had learned and what she still didn't know. The whispers in her armor had grown quieter, yet their presence never fully left her. They were a reminder of how much she still had to uncover.
Her steps brought her to a small square she hadn't visited before. It was humble, tucked away between two rows of shuttered shops. A faint melody reached her ears, drifting through the cool night air. She followed it, the haunting tune drawing her in like a moth to a flame.
In the center of the square stood a bard, his silver hair catching the lamplight. He strummed a lute with practiced ease, his voice low and smooth as it wove through the scattered listeners.
Lyra kept to the shadows, listening intently. The bard's song was unlike anything she'd heard before.
"In shadowed halls where whispers dance,
Beyond the reach of mortal chance,
The threads of fate are spun and tied,
By hands unseen yet far and wide."
The words resonated with her, though she couldn't say why. The bard's fingers moved deftly across the strings, the melody shifting to something deeper, more foreboding.
"Through stone and ash, a secret sleeps,
A treasure lost, a secret keeps,
Where stars align, and echoes fall,
A voice will answer shadow's call."
Lyra frowned, her heart quickening. The patterns on her armor flashed through her mind, and she felt the faint stirrings of the whispers. Could he be speaking of something connected to her?
The song ended, and the small crowd offered polite applause before dispersing. The bard began packing up his lute, humming softly to himself. Lyra hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward.
"That was an interesting song," she said, keeping her voice casual.
He glanced up, his green eyes sharp and discerning. "And you're an interesting listener," he replied, his lips curving into a faint smile.
Lyra tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
The bard chuckled, slinging his lute over his shoulder. "You're not here for the music. Not really."
Her hand tightened around her cloak, her instincts bristling. "What makes you say that?"
He leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "Because people don't come to me for simple songs. They come for what's hidden in the notes."
Lyra blinked, caught off guard by his candor. She quickly recovered. "And what exactly do you hide in your notes?"
The bard straightened, his smile returning. "A bit of truth, a bit of folly. All wrapped up in riddles, of course. Truth without mystery is dreadfully dull, don't you think?"
Lyra considered his words, then decided to test him. "What about the halls of stone and ash you sang about? Is that truth or folly?"
He gave her a long, appraising look before responding. "Let's just say it's a truth worth pursuing. If one has the courage, that is."
Her patience thinned. "Where are these halls?"
The bard laughed, the sound rich and unhurried. "Ah, now that's the real question, isn't it? Some say they're near a village called Ashmore, about eight days' journey on foot. Others say they're hidden entirely, visible only to those who know how to look."
Lyra's frustration grew, but she masked it. "And do you know how to look?"
He smirked. "I might. But knowledge like that comes with its own price."
"What kind of price?" she pressed.
The bard shrugged, his tone suddenly lighthearted. "Ah, don't worry. It's not your coin I'm after."
Deciding to change tactics, Lyra shifted the topic. "What about strong monsters? Have you heard of anything like that around here?"
His gaze sharpened, though his smile didn't waver. "Strong monsters, you say? That depends. Are you looking for trouble, or is trouble looking for you?"
Lyra held his gaze, refusing to rise to the bait.
The bard chuckled softly and adjusted the strap of his lute. "There's a tale going around about an A-rank adventurer heading to this town. A hero of sorts, if you believe the songs. Someone who could make even the strongest monster tremble."
Lyra felt a chill at his words. She'd need to tread carefully if such a figure was coming. But she couldn't show her unease. "A hero, huh? Sounds like something out of one of your songs."
"Doesn't it?" he replied, his voice teasing. "But even heroes can cast shadows, you know."
Before Lyra could press him further, he gave her a small bow. "I think that's enough riddles for one night. You're a sharp one—I'm sure you'll find your way to the truth."
With that, he turned and disappeared into the night, leaving Lyra standing alone in the square.
When she returned to the inn, the common room was quiet, save for the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen. Emmy was there, wiping down a table with practiced care.
Lyra smiled at the sight of her. "You're still up?"
Emmy turned, her face lighting up. "Lyra! I was helping Mr. Tillen clean up. He says I'm doing a good job."
Lyra ruffled her sister's hair affectionately. "I'm sure you are. But don't overdo it, okay? You still need to rest."
Emmy nodded, but her excitement didn't fade. "I made a new friend today! Mrs. Harlowe in the kitchen let me help with the stew, and she said I have a knack for it!"
Lyra chuckled, her heart warming at the sight of Emmy's happiness. It was a small thing, but it meant the world to her.
They sat together at a corner table, sharing a simple meal of bread and stew. The conversation was light, filled with Emmy's stories from the day. For a moment, it felt as though they were just two sisters enjoying a quiet evening, free of the weight of their troubles.
But as Lyra glanced toward the window, her thoughts turned back to the bard's song, the ruins near Ashmore, and the whispers in her armor. She knew this peace couldn't last.
Still, she pushed those thoughts aside for now. Emmy's laughter was a balm, and Lyra allowed herself to savor it.
The future loomed with uncertainty, but in that moment, all she could do was hold onto the light they had managed to find.