I wake to sunlight—real, honest sunlight—streaming through the half-open shutters of our old warehouse. The air feels surprisingly fresh, and for a long moment, I simply lie there, letting the golden rays work their way across my aching limbs. After days of rain and gloom, the bright morning is almost too generous.
I push myself upright, taking in the neat, swept floorboards and the mostly dust-free corners. It's odd to feel relief over such small details, but I do. I still remember the last time we left Velia in a hurry, how I hurriedly tidied this place on a whim. If I hadn't, I'd likely be coughing on layers of neglected dust right now.
A faint rustling catches my attention. Elias stands at the far end of the warehouse, stretching his arms, wincing slightly as he tests bruises that haven't fully healed. He still wears the same dark coat, though it's more threadbare than before, and the lines of exhaustion across his face haven't faded.
"Morning," he says, noticing I'm awake.
I nod. "Morning. You rest at all?"
"A bit," he admits. "Kept an eye on Edan half the night, but he's quiet."
That reminds me—I glance over to where Edan sleeps on a roll of old blankets, breathing slow and steady. His colour is better than it was in the storehouse infirmary. We've moved him here so we can keep watch without crowding the more urgent wounded. I kneel beside him, placing a hand on his forehead. Still cool. No fever. Another wave of relief runs through me.
I busy myself checking the small tray of water and whatever bandages we have at hand. Elias stands behind me, silent but watchful. There's something in his gaze that I can't quite name—worry, perhaps, or guilt. Maybe he's as grateful as I am that Edan's still breathing.
Outside, the bustle of Velia grows louder. The village is awake. Distant calls of fishermen preparing nets, merchants lugging crates toward the docks, and the occasional bark of a guard on patrol. Everyday noises that almost trick me into believing life is normal again.
A gentle knock on the warehouse door interrupts my thoughts.
"Come in," I call softly.
Isolde steps inside, arms laden with a covered basket and a steaming pot. She's removed her heavy overcoat, revealing rolled-up sleeves and a practical apron. The scent of fresh bread and something savoury drifts through the open space, making my stomach rumble.
"Hope you're both hungry," she says, a hint of warmth in her smile. "I've some breakfast—and a bit of warmth on a bright day never goes amiss."
She sets down the pot near the small table in the corner. Immediately, the warehouse is filled with the comforting smell of spiced vegetables and a meaty broth. Elias inhales deeply, eyes lighting up in gratitude.
"You're an absolute lifesaver," he says, half-joking. "We've been living on scraps for days."
Isolde glances at Edan. "He's still asleep?"
I nod. "Needs more rest. But he's improving."
She hesitates, then places a gentle hand on his shoulder, just for a heartbeat. "I brought something mild for him to sip later—a thin soup, easily digestible."
"Thank you." My voice is quieter than I intend, but truly, I can't find words to match my relief.
Isolde waves me off with a small smile. "Eat first. Then we'll talk."
——
We settle around the table with simple wooden bowls. Steam wafts (and I savour the gentle swirl of the aroma) as I spoon the thick broth. It tastes of carrots, onions, a hint of salted fish, and something else—Isolde's special seasoning, perhaps. The bread is warm, crusty on the outside, soft inside. Each bite feels like a reminder that not all is lost in this world.
Elias closes his eyes, practically humming. "This might be the best meal I've had since… well, since the last time we were in Velia."
I can't help but grin. "Told you we'd appreciate real food once we made it back here."
Isolde raises an amused eyebrow. "You said you'd come back someday. Didn't expect you to return in such dire circumstances, mind."
A gentle silence falls between us for a moment, acknowledging everything that's happened without words.
Then, carefully, I clear my throat. "Isolde, this is Edan," I say, nodding toward our unconscious scholar. "He's... important to us." I choose my words with caution. No mention of the secrets only the three of us share. "He's the one who helped us understand... certain problems."
Elias sets down his spoon. "We owe him more than we can say."
Isolde gives a small nod, her gaze flicking to Edan's pale face. "A friend of yours is a friend of mine. I'll help in whatever way I can."
Her easy acceptance of strangers reminds me why I came to trust her. She's straightforward and kind without fuss.
——
After a few more bites, Isolde leans against the table, resting her elbows on the wood. "Velia's changed a little since you two dashed off last time," she says with a wry smile.
Elias gestures for her to continue. "We have noticed a few new faces, and some missing."
She sighs. "Aye, well, quite a few travellers passed through after the rumours of Imp trouble started spreading. Some left promptly, deciding Velia was too close to danger. Others stayed to offer help. Igor Bartali—our Chief—has been tirelessly organising villagers to gather food for refugees. You might remember him from the last time you were here."
I recall the friendly older man, always ready with a welcoming grin. "He's well, then?"
Isolde nods. "Busy, but yes. He's at the docks from sunrise 'til well past dusk, ensuring supplies keep arriving from Olvia or beyond. Then there's Alustin, the alchemist—he's been inundated with requests for healing draughts and salves. His apprentice, Clorince, tries to help, but there's more wounded than they can handle."
My heart sinks. "I see. Are they... coping?"
She hesitates. "They do what they can. But the knowledge of healing is sparse around here. A few potions, some herbal poultices—those help, but for serious injuries? We're lacking."
Her gaze slides to Edan again. "We can nurse him, but if he needed, say, advanced remedies or surgery... well, it's beyond what we know."
Elias's lips press tight. "It's not your fault, Isolde. This land just doesn't have—" He cuts himself off abruptly, as if remembering not to say too much. I understand. He's the only one here who truly grasps what advanced care might look like. This world—my world—does not.
Isolde offers a rueful shrug. "We do what we can, as you say. But it weighs on folk. Some want to help more but don't know how. Others are frightened—can't blame them. War is a harsh teacher."
I think of the difference between Elias's half-hints about a world where knowledge flows more freely, and ours, where if a single potion or a skilled hand is absent, lives are lost. The realisation sits heavily in my chest.
——
Elias changes the subject gently, noticing my grim look. "What about your shipping business? Are you still managing the docks, or have the trades slowed down?"
Her eyes flicker with a resigned humour. "Between the blockade rumours and merchants refusing to sail if Imps are anywhere near the coast, let's just say my usual work's on hold. Now it's all about distributing supplies to the wounded, or shipping out urgent messages. Not exactly profitable, but I'm not complaining."
She pauses, then adds, "And on the bright side, we're getting help from folks who never used to care about Velia's affairs. Traders realising this village is a key route. Farmers from Bartali Farm offering grain. Everyone's learning—knowledge and resources aren't luxuries right now; they're the difference between life and death."
A hush settles, broken only by Edan's faint breathing. I find myself absently rubbing the edge of my bowl, thinking about the countless injured men crammed into the storehouse infirmary. Thinking about how easily everything can fall apart when war intrudes.
——
At last, we finish the meal. Elias thanks Isolde again, claiming he hasn't felt so energised in days. She laughs softly. "You'll need that energy. Captain Cliff's planning to speak with you soon, I believe. Something about assisting with the city's defences."
"Great," Elias says wryly. "Exactly how I want to spend a sunny morning."
I roll my eyes at his tone, though part of me shares his reluctance. We've had enough battle and heartbreak. But if Velia is at risk, I can't turn away. Not after everything we've seen.
We stand to clear away the bowls and wipe down the table. Isolde picks up her empty pot, preparing to head back. "I'll return later with more food—something for Edan, if he wakes. Let me know if he shows any new symptoms."
"Of course," I say, bowing my head in gratitude. "Truly, thank you."
She pats my shoulder. "No need for that. We're all in this together, aren't we?"
Then she slips out the warehouse door, leaving behind the gentle warmth of her presence.
——
I take a moment to breathe, letting the day's light wash over the small interior. The sun angles through gaps in the wooden walls, illuminating specks of dust drifting lazily in the air. It feels strange to be thankful for having cleaned this place before. The relative tidiness offers a semblance of peace in an otherwise tumultuous time.
Elias bends down to check Edan's pulse again. "He's cooler now," he murmurs, a smile ghosting across his face. "And he's definitely breathing easier."
I nod, touching Edan's wrist gently. His eyelids flutter, and for a split second, I think he might open them. But no, he just slips further into rest. Perhaps the smell of good food and the warmth from outside do him good.
"This is not how I imagined returning to Velia," I whisper, brushing a stray hair from my eyes. "But I'm glad... we're here at least. It's safer than the wilderness."
Elias's gaze flicks towards the open door, where daylight beckons. "Safer, for now. Let's hope Red Nose has other plans than marching straight into this village."
We fall silent, the soft hush of the warehouse enveloping us once more. Outside, I can hear signs of life—men hauling crates, women exchanging worried chatter, the cry of a gull overhead. It all feels so fragile. Yet, in that fragility, there's a sense of determination too. People are helping each other, trying their best with what they have.
My eyes drift to Edan's peaceful form. Knowledge is precious—he's taught us that much, at least. And in a place where advanced healing is scarce, one skilled hand or one book of remedies might save countless lives. War robs people not just of their homes but of the chance to learn, to grow, to protect themselves.
I take a final steadying breath. Then I straighten my shoulders, turning to Elias. "We should find Captain Cliff soon, see what he needs. And afterwards, we keep Edan comfortable. Maybe talk to Alustin about potions or something to boost his recovery."
Elias gives me a half-smile. "You do all the talking. I'll just look menacing in the corner."
I snort a quiet laugh, surprising even myself. The tension in my chest loosens a fraction. "Fine. But let's not keep him waiting."
We both check Edan once more, ensuring he's settled. Then we open the warehouse door, stepping into the radiant morning, the sun so bright it makes me squint. My heart gives a flutter—fear, worry, a spark of hope. All mingled in the crisp sea breeze.
I glance back over my shoulder at the tidy interior, thankful for that small mercy. Thankful for Isolde's food. Thankful Edan still breathes. And though uncertain of what battles or revelations lie ahead, I know we'll face them together, in a world that doesn't always have the knowledge or power we wish it did—but in a village that, for now, shelters us from the storm.