The mornings were always quiet. Not silent—there was the distant clatter of the barn door as Rorik dragged Logan off to work, the soft cooing of birds in the trees, and the occasional murmur of Inga bustling in the kitchen. But the absence of Logan's presence in the house left a noticeable void, one that Emery felt acutely.
She sat at the edge of the bed they shared, staring at the faint morning light filtering through the window.
The last month had been a blur, a haze of repetitive tasks and long days, but every morning started the same. Logan would get up before dawn, and Rorik would sweep him off to do whatever backbreaking task was on the agenda for the day. Emery, meanwhile, stayed behind with Inga, tending to the house and doing whatever small chores she was allowed to help with.
---
Inga's cheerful hums greeted her as she entered the kitchen, the older woman already elbow-deep in kneading dough.
"Good morning, dear," Inga said, her voice warm and welcoming. "Breakfast is almost ready."
"Good morning," Emery replied, forcing a smile.
"Did you sleep well?"
"Yeah," she lied.
---
Most days followed the same pattern. Inga would keep her busy, showing her how to prepare meals, sort herbs, and maintain the house. Despite Emery's best efforts, Inga never let her do too much heavy lifting.
"You're not here to exhaust yourself, dear," Inga would say, taking over whatever task Emery tried to tackle. "There's plenty of time to learn."
It was frustrating, but Emery couldn't fault her kindness. Inga treated her like a daughter, fussing over her when she stumbled or made a mistake, and offering gentle encouragement when she succeeded.
---
One afternoon, as they sat on the porch peeling vegetables, Inga glanced toward the barn where Logan and Rorik worked.
"That boy of yours," Inga said, a knowing smile tugging at her lips, "he's quite the hard worker."
Emery's cheeks flushed. "He's... determined."
"That's one way to put it," Inga chuckled. "Rorik says he's got a stubborn streak a mile wide. Good thing, too. This world doesn't favor the faint of heart."
Emery frowned, her hands stilling. "He works so hard... sometimes too hard."
Inga's expression softened. "He's doing it for you, you know."
"I know," Emery whispered, her chest tightening.
---
The days were filled with moments like these—small, quiet conversations that revealed pieces of life on the farm and glimpses of the people who lived here. Emery found herself growing fond of Inga, who reminded her of the motherly figures she'd read about in books.
But even as she settled into this new routine, a gnawing sense of helplessness lingered at the edges of her mind.
---
At night, after Inga had gone to bed, Emery would lie awake, staring at the ceiling of the small room she now called her own.
Logan was out there somewhere, pushing himself to the brink of exhaustion every day. She heard Rorik's voice, sharp and commanding, filtering through the walls of the barn. She imagined Logan's sweat-soaked shirt, the dirt caked under his nails, the strain in his muscles as he fought to grow stronger.
And what was she doing? Peeling vegetables. Sweeping floors.
It wasn't enough.
---
"I hate this," she muttered to herself one night, her voice barely audible.
Her fists clenched the thin blanket draped over her, and her mind raced with thoughts she couldn't stop. She hated feeling useless, like a burden Logan had to carry. She hated how powerless she was in this strange, unforgiving world.
Most of all, she hated the thought that if danger came again, she'd be nothing more than someone for Logan to protect.
---
During the quiet moments, when she was alone, Emery prayed.
She prayed for strength, for guidance, for anything that would help her become more than she was now. She thought about the changing, the marks that appeared on warriors and magi alike.
"What if it never happens for me?" she wondered aloud.
The thought terrified her.
If she never changed, if she never gained the abilities that seemed so essential in this world, what could she do? Would she always be the one hiding, running, relying on Logan to save her?
No.
She wouldn't accept that.
---
By the end of the month, Emery's resolve had hardened. She didn't know how, but she would find a way to help Logan. To protect him the way he protected her.
One night, as she watched Logan from the porch, his silhouette moving through the barn as he trained, a thought struck her.
"I won't be useless," she whispered to herself. "No matter what."
The twin moons hung high above, their light casting long shadows across the farm. For the first time since arriving in Aeloria, Emery felt a spark of hope.