As the town finally appeared at the end of the dusty road, nestled between gentle hills and framed by the setting sun, the group exhaled collectively. The road had been long and dry, the kind of stretch that made every canteen precious and every patch of shade a blessing. But now the town's tiled rooftops, whitewashed buildings, and vibrant banners were a welcoming sight.
Bral leaned forward on the cart's edge, stretching his arms. "Alright, listen up! We'll stay here at least a week. We need to resupply, and let's be honest—we're kind of broke again. So quests. A few good ones should keep us afloat."
Idin yawned. "And I need materials. This town might actually have good threads and dyes."
Bral said. "You should stop, you're addicted."
Idin then said with disturbing smile. "I can already imagine my sister in one of these robes that we seen in the festival."
Bral then said. "Okay, now that's really disturbing."
They all chuckled—except for Pao.
She walked beside Amukelo, her gaze more often on the cobbled streets than the surroundings. Even as the town opened up before them, bustling with evening energy—vendors closing shop, lanterns being lit, and the sweet smell of grilled meats and baked bread wafting through the air—Pao's usual spark seemed dulled. She offered the occasional nod or forced smile, but mostly kept quiet.
They made their way to a nearby pub to eat before checking into an inn. The place was lively but not rowdy. Locals filled the wooden tables, some singing low tunes, others deep in quiet conversations. The walls were lined with old farming tools and sun-faded maps, and the place had a warmth that made it feel like it belonged to the town's very heartbeat.
Bral ordered a platter of roasted vegetables and salted meat for everyone, along with drinks. Amukelo sat close to Pao and glanced at her between bites. She barely touched her food. Occasionally, she'd push a slice of carrot to the side of her plate, then return to staring off.
He debated saying something. She'd been like this for a few days now—quiet, withdrawn, smile thin as paper. He thought back to the last time he asked her if something was wrong, and how she brushed it off. He didn't want to push her again. Not if she wasn't ready.
But as they stepped outside, the moon hanging low and golden above the rooftops, he couldn't help himself.
"Pao," he said gently. "If anything's bothering you… don't hesitate to tell me. You don't have to carry things alone."
She blinked, surprised. Then quickly, she nodded, her face unreadable. "I know," she said quietly.
Bao, walking behind them, narrowed her eyes.
Back at the inn, the group settled into their rooms. Bral looked around the common space with a grin. "Nice place. I like it. Maybe we should stay here longer than a week."
Idin was already scrawling notes in one of his many notebooks. "They've got good tailoring shops. I need to buy materials. Silk. Some threads. Maybe ink. And wood. I've got an idea for a—"
Amukelo, in contrast, groaned and flopped face-first onto the bed. His limbs sprawled like he had just survived a battlefield.
Bral raised a brow. "What's with you? You're not usually this dramatic."
From the bed, Amukelo's muffled voice responded, "I don't know. That's the problem. Something's wrong with Pao. She's not herself. It's like she's avoiding something. And she won't talk to me."
He rolled over, staring at the ceiling. "She told me she'd talk to me if anything bothered her. But now she's just keeping it in."
Bral leaned against the wall, thoughtful. "She trusts you. So if she's not telling you, maybe she's just... sorting through it on her own. Doesn't mean she's keeping it from you. Might just mean she doesn't know how to say it yet."
"Yeah," Amukelo muttered. "But I can't help her if I don't know what's wrong."
Meanwhile, in the girls' room across the hall, Bao closed the door behind them and immediately turned to Pao with folded arms.
"Alright. Spill it. What's going on?"
Pao blinked. "What?"
"You've been acting weird for days," Bao said, her voice part concern, part accusation. "Quiet. Lost in thought. Barely eating. You're hiding something. Again. What is it this time?"
Pao hesitated. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. "I... it's nothing serious, I just..."
"Pao."
Pao puffed her cheeks slightly, then mumbled, "It's going to be Amukelo's birthday soon."
Bao blinked. "...And?"
"And I don't know what to get him," Pao said, voice rising in distress. "I don't even know what he likes. Not really. What kind of gift would he even want? And I want it to be special, because it's his first birthday with us, but everything feels either too much or not enough. And I can't ask him because then it's not a surprise, and I don't want to ask you guys because maybe he told you something he didn't tell me and that'll make me feel worse and—"
Bao put a hand to her forehead.
"That's what's been bothering you?"
Pao flushed a deep shade of red. "...Yeah."
Bao exhaled hard. "Sis, I love you, but you're terrible at communicating things. And you're even worse at hiding them. You've had the whole group worried."
"I just... wanted to surprise him," Pao said in a small voice.
Bao sat on the edge of the bed, shaking her head with a smile. "Well, if it helps, I doubt Amukelo even cares when his birthday is. He's not exactly the type to count days."
"I know," Pao whispered. "But I just want to show him I care, you know?"
Bao softened. "I get it. I do. But next time, maybe don't carry it around like the world's ending. Just ask for help. We've got your back."
Pao nodded, then slumped forward dramatically onto the bed. "I'm the worst."
"You're adorable," Bao said, throwing a pillow at her.
Pao peeked up from the sheets, smiling now. "You think he'll like a handmade scarf?"
Bao raised a brow. "If it comes from you, he'll love a pile of twigs. But yeah, scarf sounds good."
They both laughed quietly, the tension lifting like morning mist.
The next few days moved with a quiet steadiness. The group had settled into a rhythm—a brief pause in their journey that didn't feel like stagnation, but rather a chance to breathe.
The quests they took weren't grand or dangerous, nor did they promise riches or renown. They were simple requests. Escorting an elderly herbalist through the outskirts to gather specific herbs, dealing with a minor infestation of beasts in a granary, helping fix broken fences around the farms. Nothing that tested their strength, but enough to keep their coin purses from emptying.
Bral usually handled the negotiations. He had a way of haggling just enough to push their reward up without souring the client. Idin, when not busy crafting or buying threads and exotic cloth, occasionally joined them but more often buried himself in his own world. Whenever they saw him, he was sketching robe designs, testing fabric strength, or muttering about color harmony.
Pao was different. After the first day back, whatever weight had been on her had lifted. She smiled more. Talked like she used to. Even laughed at Bral's worst jokes. Amukelo noticed this—not with suspicion, but quiet relief. He'd kept an eye on her for a while, watching the way she moved or occasionally slipped out of the inn alone. But seeing her act like herself again made him choose to let it go. If she wanted to tell him, she would.
As for himself, Amukelo filled his days with simple training. The town had no facility, but there were fields and quiet corners behind buildings where he could go through his motions—push-ups, pull-ups on wooden beams, footwork drills, sword forms. It was meditative. When he wasn't training, he lent a hand to whoever needed it. Helping a baker carry sacks of flour. Helping a carpenter fix a crooked sign. Carrying firewood for a widow. Small things.
Every evening they met back at the pub. A quaint place, full of rustic charm and warm lights that seemed to lull them into easy conversation and rest. On the seventh evening, after the group finished another round of stew and mead, Bral clinked his mug against the table and leaned back with a satisfied sigh.
"Alright," he said, stretching his arms behind his head. "I think we're good to go. We've earned enough for travel, stocked up on potions, bought enough rations. I got the letter back from my family too—so I think it's time to move."
"Tomorrow morning?" Amukelo asked.
Bral nodded. "Yeah. We leave at dawn."
But before the rest could nod, Pao's chair squeaked slightly as she straightened in her seat. "Tomorrow morning!?" she said quickly, a little sharper than she meant to. Her eyes flicked to Bral, and her tone softened. "I mean… can we maybe wait till the day after tomorrow?"
Bral raised a brow. "Why?"
"I just... want to stay in the town one more day," Pao said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "There's something I want to do before we go."
Bral looked at her a moment, then shrugged. "Alright. No problem. A day won't make a difference."
"Thank you," Pao said, letting out a small breath.
No one questioned it. But Amukelo noticed the quick flicker of her eyes toward him when she said it. He didn't press. Maybe she wanted to see something. Buy something. Either way, she asked for one more day, and that was fine.
The next morning, Amukelo did what he usually did. He left quietly, stretching his arms with a tired groan, then stepping out into the cool air of the town. The early light touched the rooftops with a golden hue. He liked this hour—the stillness, the quiet rhythm of townsfolk starting their day.
Pao had waited until she was sure he'd left, then slipped out the door herself. She followed him down the main street. He greeted a fruit vendor and helped her set up the tablecloth for her stall. Then he walked a few streets down, stopping when he saw an older man struggling with a barrel cart. Pao paused, watching.
Amukelo walked over calmly and spoke with the man, then without hesitation hoisted one of the heavy barrels off the cart and carried it to the house nearby. The man tried to refuse the help at first, but Amukelo smiled, shook his head, and insisted. It didn't take long before all the barrels were moved. The man bowed slightly and shook Amukelo's hand with visible gratitude. Amukelo nodded and moved on.
Pao took a step forward, about to call to him.
But just then, a ball flew from one of the side streets. Amukelo snatched it mid-air with a single hand.
"Ah! Sorry, old man!" a boy called out.
Pao couldn't help it—her lips curled into a smile.
"Old man?" Amukelo said mock-seriously. "Let me show you how an old man throws."
He reeled back and hurled the ball. The child reached, missed, and fell backward with a laugh. "Hey! That's cheating! Play with us, old man!"
Amukelo laughed, scratched the back of his head, and said, "Sure, why not?"
And so he did. He joined their game—dodging, chasing, tossing the ball, laughing as the kids ganged up on him. Pao stood there, watching, arms folded over her chest.
She was waiting for a moment where he wasn't surrounded by someone needing help, or a child asking him to throw something, or an old lady inviting him to sit for tea. But it never came.