The early morning sunlight streamed through the village square as Astria made his way to the smithy after eating breakfast. Frost still clung to the eaves of houses, glittering like tiny shards of glass. Astria sniffled as he walked, pulling his cloak tighter against the sharp chill of the morning air. He adjusted the strap of his satchel as he walked, his boots crunching softly over the snow-dusted ground.
The town wasn't large—just a cluster of homes, a few shops, an inn, smithy, and a tavern at its heart—but it was alive with the quiet rhythm of its people. Villagers greeted one another with warm smiles as they passed, their breath fogging in the cold. A woman carrying a basket of bread exchanged pleasantries with an old man hauling a sack of grain, their laughter carried on the crisp air. Despite its size, Cairn always felt bustling in its own way, its simplicity wrapped in a contented hum.
As Astria rounded a corner, he slowed his pace, catching sight of a group of children, a few years younger than him, in the square. They were playing swords and shields with sticks and wooden planks, their laughter filling the air as they swung at one another with exaggerated acting.
"Take that, fiend!" one boy yelled, his name was Will, lunging at his friend with a clumsy thrust.
"Ha! You'll have to do better than that, knight!" The other replied, parrying the attack with his makeshift shield.
Astria grinned, pausing to watch the mock battle. He had played the same games not so long ago, and a small part of him wanted to jump in and show them how it was done. Instead, he gave a low whistle, catching their attention.
"Careful now," he called, his tone teasing. "You wouldn't want to poke someone's eye out—especially not with those moves."
The boys paused, startled, before breaking into grins. "Astria!" one of them said, lowering his stick. "You want to play?"
"Maybe later," Astria replied with a wink, adjusting the strap of his satchel. "Got important business."
"You're just afraid we'll beat you this time!" Will retorted with a smug grin, spinning his stick like a sword.
Astria raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk creeping across his face. "Oh, really? Why you—"
Before the boy could react, Astria lunged forward and grabbed his arm, locking him in place. With practiced ease, he rubbed his knuckles against the top of the boy's head. "Take that, you little!"
Will yelped, laughing despite himself. "Help! The real villain has come to attack me!"
His cries spurred the other boys into action. "Get him!" one shouted, and they all swarmed Astria with sticks raised high.
Astria tried to fend them off, wielding a stick one of the boys had dropped as a makeshift sword. He parried and dodged their attacks, his laughter mingling with theirs as the mock battle raged on.
For a few minutes, the square was filled with the sound of clattering sticks and shouts. But Will and the other boys' numbers soon overwhelmed Astria. One of them grabbed his cloak, another snuck behind him to pull at his satchel, and a third knocked the stick from his hand.
"All right, all right!" Astria said, throwing up his hands in surrender. "You win! I surrender!"
The boys cheered, raising their sticks in victory. "That'll teach you to mess with us, Astria!" one of them said, puffing out his chest proudly.
Astria shook his head, laughing as he brushed snow off his cloak. "Fine, fine, you win this round. But don't get too comfortable—I'll be back!"
As he walked past, Astria reached out and ruffled Will's hair, earning a triumphant grin in response.
"Yeah, yeah," Will teased, smirking. "Go do your boring stuff, old man."
Astria froze, narrowing his eyes. "Old man?" he echoed, mock indignation lighting up his face.
Without warning, he gave the boy's head a playful shove—not too hard, but enough to send him stumbling a step back. "I'll be back and play with you again when I'm not so busy," Astria said again, this time with a mischievous grin.
Will reacted by sticking his tongue out at him.
The group burst into laughter, their voices were mockingly loud as they quickly returned to their game. Astria shook his head ignoring them, his own grin lingering as he continued down the road, the distant sound of hammers and the hiss of steam guiding him toward the forge.
Albert's father stood at the anvil, his bare arms glistening with sweat despite the chill. His movements were precise, each strike of the hammer ringing out with a steady rhythm. Sparks flew as he worked, the glowing blade on the anvil gradually taking shape.
"Morning, sir!" Astria called, stepping inside.
The blacksmith didn't look up but grunted in acknowledgment. "You're late," he said, his gruff voice carrying the faintest edge of humor. "Sword's been ready since yesterday."
"Got busy," Astria replied, leaning casually against the doorway. "Sorry I was hunting with Grandpa. Priorities, you know?"
The blacksmith snorted, setting down his hammer. He reached behind the workbench and pulled out a sword wrapped in cloth. "Well, you'll probably need this if you're planning to keep at it."
Astria took the sword with both hands, unwrapping it eagerly. The blade gleamed in the morning light, its polished steel catching the faint ripples of the forge fire. He swung it lightly, testing the balance.
"Now this," he said, his grin widening, "is a proper weapon."
Albert appeared from the back, his face streaked with soot as he wiped his hands on a rag. "Better than you deserve," he said, smirking as he leaned against the wall. "Careful with that thing—you'll scare the deer just by waving it around."
Astria rolled his eyes, sliding the sword into its scabbard. "You're just jealous. You'd scare them off with your face alone."
Albert laughed, shaking his head. "You're lucky you're funny. Otherwise, I'd charge you double."
The blacksmith cleared his throat, cutting off further banter. "You've got what you came for," he said, returning to his work. "Treat it well. A sword's only as good as its master."
"Thanks, sir," Astria said, giving a small bow. "I'll take care of it."
With a final nod, he turned and made his way back toward the square. The laughter of the children still rang out as he passed, but his focus was already shifting to the tavern ahead.
The tavern was already bustling when Astria arrived though it's only a few hours since the sun has risen. Elara stood behind the bar, pouring ale with her usual grace while balancing the endless demands of the patrons. The warm scent of roasted meat and spiced bread filled the air, mingling with the hum of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter.
Astria tied an apron around his waist and got to work, weaving through the crowd with trays of food and drink. The warm, lively buzz of the tavern surrounded him, a stark contrast to the quiet chill of the morning outside. It was a familiar routine: handing out mugs of ale, collecting empty plates, and wiping down tables. He moved with practiced ease, dodging chairs and weaving between patrons, his thoughts drifting as his hands worked.
Later in the early evening, as the day wore on, Astria delivered a tray of bread to another table.
"So you came here for the upcoming festival?"
At one point, as he cleared a table near the corner, his ears caught a fragment of conversation.
"…just passing through. We're fortunate to have found this town by chance, the roads were worse than expected…"
The voice, soft and steady, cut through the general hum of the room. Astria glanced over his shoulder and saw one of the townsfolk—an older man he recognized as Mr. Corin—talking with three travelers. Their cloaks were thick with frost, their boots caked in mud, and the faint weariness in their posture spoke of long days on the road.
They spoke with their unfamiliar accents catching Astria's attention for a moment, though he didn't linger. The noise of the tavern quickly swallowed the rest of their words as other patrons called for drinks and meals.
Astria set down his tray and moved on, his thoughts briefly lingering on the travelers.
He didn't know much about the world beyond Cairn's borders, but he'd pieced together fragments of stories from the outsiders who occasionally stopped at the tavern. They spoke of the northern cities—places of wealth and splendor, with towers that scraped the sky and streets alive with trade. To the south, they said, the lands were open and fertile, dotted with villages and farmlands, where festivals were as common as the changing seasons, unlike in their town, they only have once every year.
To his knowledge, their town is located in the northern region of the map, nestled at the edge of the Heldruin Range, a vast mountain range that serves as a natural boundary between the fertile southern plains and the prosperous northern cities. Travelers heading north from the southern plains often use the Western Trail, which skirted the mountains entirely. Others choose the Eastern Pass, a direct but dangerous route through the Heldruin Range. Cairn wasn't on either of these routes—it was somewhere in the middle, but closer to the Eastern Pass where the roads were winding and rugged, especially in the colder months. That made it harder for travelers to find their way. Cairn wasn't the kind of place that saw outsiders very often. However, as the winter season deepened, the number of visitors increased, much like the present. With the snow piling higher each day, it wasn't uncommon to see weary travelers arriving in town, their boots caked in frost and their faces worn from battling the road.
Still, the sight of outsiders always piqued his curiosity. Where did they come from, and where were they headed? Were there good places out there? What places had they been to? And how would they speak of Cairn when they left? When he was younger, he would eagerly ask those questions to every traveler who visited their tavern, much to his mother's annoyance. She would always scold him for being a nuisance to the customers.
The thought of someone far away hearing about their quiet little village intrigued him. It was a small place, with simple people, but to someone from a distant land, it might seem unknown. Nevertheless, Astria often imagined what they would say about the town—it's cozy tavern, the snow-dusted rooftops, the ever-present chill of the Heldruin Range looming in the distance. Would they describe it as a hidden gem, a place of quiet refuge, or simply a dot on the map they'd stumbled upon by mistake? The idea of Cairn being part of someone else's story, even briefly, made him feel as though the town mattered in a way that went beyond its size or simplicity.
He smiled faintly at the idea, but his thoughts quickly shifted. Travelers were fleeting, and whatever tales they might carry about Cairn wouldn't affect life here. Outsiders came and went, and their presence, while momentarily interesting, was just part of the occasional ebb and flow of the seasons.
Astria shook his head lightly, forcing himself to focus. As the last light of day faded, the tavern filled once more. He noticed that the travelers who had been around earlier were absent. Astria figured they must have taken a room at the inn—a small, cozy place just a few blocks from the square, where visitors could find warmth and rest.
The chatter in the tavern shifted as more locals trickled in, their voices mingling in a warm hum. A group near the hearth was deep in discussion about the upcoming festival.
"Think they'll put up the banners tomorrow?" one man asked, leaning back in his chair and taking a long sip of ale.
"They'd better," another replied. "It's not a festival without the banners. And the lanterns, too—hope they fix that post out front before it collapses again."
Astria set down a tray of empty mugs on the counter and joined the conversation as he wiped his hands on his apron. "What's the big deal with the banners? It's not like they make the food taste better," he said with a grin.
The man laughed. "You'll understand when you're older, Astria. The banners aren't for you—they're for the travelers. Gives the place a proper festive look, makes Cairn seem… like home."
Another local chimed in, leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin. "Speaking of travelers, have you noticed how many there are this year? Almost two dozen, I reckon. More than we've had in years."
The first man nodded, swirling his mug thoughtfully. "Makes sense. The roads are terrible this time of year. Bet a lot of them got lost trying to make it to the northern cities and ended up here. Good thing the festival's only seven days away."
"Well, good for us," the second man said. "The more, the merrier, I say. Festival's not much fun with only a few of them."
Astria smirked, setting a chair upright near the table. "You're saying we need strangers to make things interesting? I thought you were all about the tradition of just being few is enough."
The man waved him off good-naturedly. "Tradition's fine, but it's nice to see some more new faces now and then. Besides, more travelers mean more business for the tavern, eh? Maybe you'll even get a good tip or two, Astria."
"Well I can't deny that." Astria chuckled as he moved on, returning to his work with a faint shake of his head.
As the conversation moved on, Astria continued tidying up, exchanging occasional remarks with the regulars. What he didn't notice, however, was Phil's, a infamous local drunkard who rarely missed a night at the tavern, hadn't been around all evening. The familiar figure who usually occupied the same seat by the window, nursing a mug and swapping stories, simply wasn't there.
By the end of the night, the tavern had emptied, leaving only the soft crackle of the hearth and the faint scent of spilled ale lingering in the air. Astria stacked the last of the chairs and wiped his hands on his apron, glancing around the quiet room.
The day had been long, but there was a satisfaction in its familiarity. He had heard laughter, seen new faces, and watched as the rhythms of the tavern carried on as they always did. Just another day, he thought. Another quiet, ordinary day in Cairn.