The streets began to swell with life, the chatter of bustling townsfolk rising like a symphony in the twilight moments before dawn. Velrik moved through the shadows, his steps light and deliberate, his breath controlled. The dampness of sweat clung to his cloak, and the scent of blood still clung to the fabric, a jarring contrast to the crispness of the cool morning air.

  He reached a small, weathered fountain nestled between two ancient buildings, its water shimmering softly under the dim glow of lanterns. Kneeling, he drew his dagger, its steel slick with the remnants of the night's grim labor. He plunged the blade into the water, swirling it lightly as he watched dark crimson tendrils disperse into the depths, evaporating like fleeting phantoms. The sight should have troubled him; a year ago, it likely would have. But now, it was just another chore to complete. Another step in the ritual.

  With the blade cleansed, he wiped it against a strip of cloth before sheathing it once more. Taking a moment, he scrubbed his hands in the cold water, focusing on the spaces between his claws, ensuring no trace lingered. The less evidence he carried back with him, the better.

  As he slipped away from the fountain, Velrik navigated the narrow alleyways until he reached their shared dwelling. The old wooden structure loomed before him, its upper floors cast in darkness, save for the occasional flicker of candlelight peeking through shuttered windows. He crept along the side, finding the familiar stack of crates he'd utilized countless times before to ascend to his window. Climbing with agility, his small frame allowed him to slip through the slightly ajar window without a sound.

  Inside, his room lay just as he had left it—small, sparsely furnished, with a single bed pressed against the far wall and a battered wooden chest at its foot. The floor creaked gently beneath him as he moved to the loose floorboard near his bed. With practiced efficiency, he pried it open, revealing the hidden space below. In went his cloak, leather armor, and tools, joining a small collection of carefully concealed belongings before he pressed the board back into place, ensuring it sat flush with the rest of the worn floor.

  Velrik exhaled, settling onto the edge of his bed. He flexed his fingers, willing the tension from them. His body ached—not from injury, but from the strain of vigilance he had maintained for so long. Morning would soon break, yet sleep felt like a distant dream.

  He lay back, staring at the rough-hewn ceiling above. The events of the night replayed in his thoughts: the fight, the blood, and Lucien's gaze when he realized what Velrik had embraced. There was no regret, no hesitation, this was necessary. He was merely utilizing what he had learned, forging his own path toward survival and his far away home.

  With a slow breath, he closed his eyes, surrendering to exhaustion.

  Sleep claimed him swiftly, dragging him into a deep, dreamless void. The weight of fatigue pressed down upon him, and for a time, the tension in his limbs dissipated. His breaths slowed and deepened, steady and rhythmic, as his body finally succumbed to rest.

  A sharp knock shattered the fragile peace.

  Velrik's ears twitched. His eyes flew open, disorientation gripping him. The room was dimly illuminated, pale streaks of morning sunlight filtering through the gaps in the wooden shutters. He listened, still as a statue.

  Another knock, more insistent this time.

  “Vel, I know you’re in there.” Mira's voice was light, but a hint of mischief underscored her words. “Unless you’re dead, in which case, I’m coming in to loot your belongings!”

  Velrik groaned, rubbing at his eyes before dragging himself upright. His muscles protested as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He hadn’t slept for long—an hour, perhaps—but it was enough to dull the edges of his exhaustion. He stood, stretching before padding silently to the door, cracking it open just wide enough to peer out.

  Mira stood there, arms crossed, weight shifted to one leg. Since he had last seen her, she had transformed, trading her usual loose, travel-worn garments for a more refined ensemble: a fitted, deep green tunic adorned with golden embroidery around the cuffs and neckline, complemented by a brown leather corset snug at her waist, and dark leggings tucked into knee-high boots. A lute hung across her back, its polished wood glistening in the light from the hallway.

  She smirked. “You look terrible.”

  Velrik exhaled sharply, stepping back to let her enter. “Didn’t get much sleep.”

  She slipped inside, closing the door behind her before casting her gaze around the small space. For a moment, her eyes flicked toward the floorboards near his bed, but she quickly turned back to him. “Lucky for you, I have a solution: breakfast.”

  “Breakfast?” Velrik tilted his head, confused.

  Mira grinned. “Yes, you know, that delightful meal people partake in during the morning. The one you usually skip in favor of sleeping off your nocturnal activities.”

  Velrik scratched the fur on his chest. “Where?” he asked, ignoring her playful comment.

  “A higher-end restaurant near the city square. I have a performance there later this morning, and they’re treating me to a meal beforehand.” She lightly tapped his arm. “And I’m bringing you along.”

  Velrik hesitated. He wasn’t in the mood to dine among wealthy patrons, pretending to belong. Still, Mira had made the effort to invite him, and the thought of warm food was tantalizing after the grim night he had endured. He sighed, running a hand through his fur.

  “Alright. Just give me a moment.”

  Mira offered him a satisfied nod and leaned against the door frame as he prepared himself. He splashed cold water on his face from the small washbasin, combed his fingers through his fur to smooth it down and threw on a clean tunic. His daggers and tools remained concealed beneath the floorboards—no need to bring them along. He tucked away a small pouch containing a few coins, securely fastening it to his belt.

  Once ready, he followed Mira out into the hallway. The house was still quiet, most of its occupants either asleep or already out for early work. They slipped outside, stepping into the vibrant morning bustle of Montressa.

  The city hum with energy. Merchants set up their stalls, the enticing aroma of fresh bread and roasting meats wafting through the air. Velrik moved his hands to pull his hood up instinctively, but didn't realize he forgot to put it on. He remained close to Mira as they wove through the throngs of people. She moved with an ease born from familiarity, offering casual smiles to those she recognized, pausing occasionally to exchange pleasantries. Velrik, in stark contrast, stayed watchful, burdened by the lingering weight of the previous night, unable to shake the state of being on high alert.

  Mira caught his expression and nudged him playfully. “Relax. You look like someone’s about to plunge a dagger into you.”

  “I'm fine, just not fond of being without my cloak,” Velrik muttered.

  She nodded in understanding but chose not to press further.

  The restaurant before them was an elegant establishment with outdoor seating shaded by white awnings. The scent of spiced tea and freshly baked pastries wafted through the air, an irresistible invitation. A well-dressed attendant greeted them at the entrance, giving Velrik a brief appraising glance until Mira spoke up.

  “He’s with me.”

  The attendant nodded and led them to a table near the edge of the seating area. Velrik settled into his chair, glancing around. The patrons mostly consisted of merchants and minor nobles, dressed in fine fabrics, their conversations filled with the breezy comfort of those unburdened by survival's demands. He felt out of place but shoved the sensation aside as a server arrived, placing steaming cups of tea and a selection of fruit and bread before them.

  Mira took a sip of her tea before looking at him. “So. How’s life treating you?”

  Velrik smirked. “Are you interrogating me?”

  “I know you’ve been keeping busy.” She tore a piece of bread and popped it into her mouth. “You never could sit still for long. If you don’t want to share, I won’t pry.”

  Choosing silence, Velrik reached for a slice of fruit. Mira watched him, her expression shifting to one of contemplation.

  “You ever think about leaving Montressa?” she asked suddenly.

  Velrik blinked, caught off-guard. “What?”

  She shrugged. “You’ve been here for years, and you’re always seeking something. I just wonder if you’ve contemplated leaving… going home, perhaps.”

  Velrik was silent for a moment. He had thought about it. More frequently, in fact. But he wasn’t sure if it was mere idle curiosity or something more profound. “Maybe,” he finally admitted. “But I have things to do here first, like discover where home truly is. I’d prefer to hang around with you guys for a while longer, anyway.”

  Mira nodded as though she had anticipated that response. “Well, when the time comes, don’t wait too long. The world’s broader than Montressa. Don't get me wrong though, I'm not trying to push you out, just letting you know that you don't need to feel tied down is all.”

  Velrik glanced at her, sensing unspoken words lurking beneath her statement. But before he could inquire further, she set down her cup and stretched.

  “Alright, enough of the heavy talk. Eat up. I need you awake enough to let me know how my performance goes later.”

  Velrik smirked and took another bite, allowing himself to relish the warmth of the meal, the fleeting serenity before whatever came next.

  Leaning back in his chair, fork resting on the edge of his empty plate, he savored the warm aroma of freshly baked bread, rich butter, and seared meats that still lingered in the air, mingling with the delicate scent of spiced tea and fine wines wafting from neighboring tables. Comfortably full, he felt a heaviness of exhaustion hanging in his limbs, fogging his thoughts. He let out a slow breath, tail curling loosely around the leg of his chair as he took a moment to absorb his surroundings.

  The restaurant had a distinct charm, far removed from the dingy taverns and bustling street vendors he usually frequented. The floors were polished hardwood, reflecting the soft glow of ornate chandeliers that hung above. Delicate silken drapes framed the windows, allowing the morning light to cascade in with a gentle, golden warmth. Intricate carvings adorned the walls, subtle patterns etched into dark-stained wood panels, granting the establishment a refined yet inviting atmosphere.

  Patrons donned well-tailored coats and embroidered gowns as they sat at elegantly arranged tables, their voices a soft hum weaving through the clinking of silverware and bursts of laughter. Velrik could hear snippets of conversation—rumors of business deals, idle gossip, and at times, low whispers that stretched toward his own existence.

  "Is that a fox?" he heard someone murmur from a nearby table.

  "Must be some rare species, I think. Never seen one like it."

  "Strange company for a bard like her."

  Velrik's ears twitched at their speculation, but he brushed their words aside. He had grown accustomed to the stares, the curiosity, the quiet intrigue surrounding what he was. It was merely part of the life he now accepted.

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  His gaze wandered to the small stage where Mira stood, lute cradled in her arms. Her fingers danced deftly across the strings, producing a soft, melodic tune. Her voice harmonized seamlessly with the notes, an ethereal quality radiating through the room. The song was gentle, wistful—a soothing whisper, akin to a calming breeze that rippled through the trees at dusk. It filled the space with a tranquil presence, smoothing away the edges of morning fatigue.

  Velrik felt himself sinking deeper into his chair, body relaxing as the music enveloped him. His eyelids grew heavy, weighed down by the events of the previous night. He blinked slowly, clinging to wakefulness, but Mira's song wrapped around him like a lullaby. The edges of his vision blurred, thoughts drifting as the soothing melody threatened to lull him into slumber right there at the table.

  A soft cough broke through, snapping him back to reality. Adjusting slightly in his seat, he noticed the waiter approaching—the very same who had served him earlier. The young man's face bore an apologetic smile as he spoke.

  "Would you like some coffee, sir?" he asked, his tone polite, though Velrik detected a hint of hesitation.

  Velrik rubbed his eyes and nodded. "Yes… with a touch of sugar and cream, please."

  The waiter inclined his head in acknowledgment, departing only to return moments later with a small porcelain cup filled with dark, fragrant liquid. A tiny dish of sugar and a small pitcher of cream accompanied it. Velrik reached for the items, adding just enough to soften the bitterness before stirring with a silver spoon.

  The first sip was strong, even slightly bitter despite the sweetness, but the warmth spread a welcomed relief through him. He could almost feel the exhaustion loosening its grip, the haze in his mind lifting ever so slightly. Another sip followed, his sharp canines against the porcelain cup, sighing softly at the comfort it brought.

  Time drifted in a soothing haze. He let his ears pick up the symphony of sounds around him—the clinking of glasses, the quiet hum of conversations, and the distant rustle of fabric as patrons moved about. Mira had shifted to a livelier tune, her fingers dancing with effortless skill across the lute strings. The audience seemed more engaged now, nodding along, some even tapping their fingers to the rhythm upon their tables.

  An hour slipped away before Mira finished her first set, bowing gracefully to the room before stepping down from the stage. With a triumphant smile, she wove her way through tables and returned to the chair across from Velrik, stretching her arms with a satisfied sigh.

  "That felt good," she murmured, reaching for her own drink—a lightly sweetened tea that had grown warm while she played. "The crowd was decent. Better than some of the rowdy places I’ve performed at lately."

  Velrik smirked, lifting his cup to sample more coffee. "No drunken revelers demanding the same song five times in a row?"

  Mira rolled her eyes. "Not yet. Give it time."

  She took a small bite of the pastry left on her plate, chewing thoughtfully before tilting her head at him. "You still look tired. I don’t want to keep you here if you’re barely managing to stay awake."

  Velrik hesitated, giving a half-shrug. "Eh, it’s fine. I’ll probably head to the library for a while after this. I might end up dozing off in there."

  She didn’t press him. "At least you got some good food in you. Hopefully, that helps."

  Velrik hummed in agreement, savoring the last of his coffee. "It does."

  For a fleeting moment, they sat in comfortable silence, appreciating each other’s presence as the world swirled around them. It was a rare moment of peace—one Velrik found unexpected comfort in.

  Mira leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table as she stirred the last traces of honey into her tea. Her keen eyes studied him, who sat across from her, quietly finishing his coffee. The soft hum of conversations around them blended with the distant strumming of another lute player taking the stage.

  "You know," she began, swirling her cup absentmindedly, "I never ask you outright because I know you don’t like explaining things, but… you’re always off doing something. I worry about you, Vel."

  Velrik paused mid-sip, lowering his cup. He sighed as his ears twitched in response. "I know you do." He set the mug down gently, the ceramic making a faint clink against the table. "I don’t want to come off as rude, Mira. Really, I don’t. But you don’t have to worry about me."

  Her expression softened, but a hint of concern remained in her violet eyes. "That won’t deter me from doing it."

  A wry smile tugged at the corners of Velrik’s lips. "I figured."

  Mira scrutinized him for a moment longer before leaning back, with a resigned sigh. "I just—"

  "I have good, smart people helping me learn," Velrik interjected before she could delve deeper. "That’s all I can say for now. It’s not necessarily bad, Mira. I’ve found what I’m good at, and I'm even helping people."

  She drummed her fingers against the table, her lips pursed, weighing whether to press the matter. Eventually, she let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "You’ve always been a stubborn little fox."

  Velrik smirked, finishing the last of his coffee. "And you always ask too many questions."

  Mira laughed, the tension between them dissipating like mist under the morning sun. "Fine, fine. I’ll let it be... for now. It just feels sort of like you’re getting a little more distance, but maybe that’s just how teenagers are these days."

  Pushing his chair back slightly, Velrik reached into his pocket, producing a few silver coins. He set them on the table beside his empty plate, the metal catching the warm light streaming through the restaurant's windows. "Thanks for breakfast, Mira. I appreciate it."

  "You don’t have to pay for yourself, you know," she chided playfully, her hand still resting on the coins but not claiming them back.

  "I know. But I can." He stood, adjusting the tunic around his neck. "I’m heading to the library for a while."

  Mira raised an eyebrow quizzically. "More reading?"

  "Always. And perhaps a bit of sleep."

  She smiled at that, shaking her head as she picked up her tea again. "Alright. Just don’t fall asleep and drool on one of those old books."

  Velrik chuckled, already turning toward the door. "No promises."

  The restaurant’s warm air gave way to the crisp morning breeze as he stepped outside.

  Montressa's streets thrummed with activity as Velrik made his way through the bustling marketplace. The sun's warmth contrasted sharply with the cool shade he had just left, and the air was alive with the scent of fresh bread, roasting meats, and the sharp tang of various spices wafting from nearby vendor stalls. Moving through the crowd was second nature to him, weaving effortlessly between merchants and customers; though drawing attention with his lack of a cloak.

  His destination was a small, yet well-kept clothing shop nestled between a jeweler’s storefront and a bakery. The shop's wooden sign bore no name, only a carved image of a neatly folded tunic. The door creaked softly as he pushed it open, stepping into the familiar scents of linen, wool, and faint traces of lavender. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, bathing the rows of folded garments and hanging cloaks lining the walls in a warm golden hue.

  A soft rustle of fabric preceded light footsteps. Elisa emerged from behind a display shelf, her hands occupied with a neatly folded stack of shirts. She glanced up, her expression shifting from neutral professionalism to mild surprise.

  “Velrik?” She set the clothes down at the counter, brushing a strand of auburn hair behind her ear to keep it from obscuring her face. “Didn’t expect to see you this early. What brings you here?”

  Velrik offered a small shrug, ears flicking slightly. “I thought I could use another cloak. Something a little nicer than the other one.”

  Elisa gave him a quick once-over, her keen eyes catching the subtle signs of fatigue in his stance. His posture wasn’t as slouched as usual, yet there was a dullness to his gaze that spoke volumes.

  “You look tired,” she remarked, crossing her arms.

  Velrik hesitated, catching breath before shaking his head. “Just had an early morning. Mira dragged me out for breakfast.”

  That seemed to ease her mild concern, a small smile lifting the corners of her lips. “That sounds about right. She’s been excited about performing in better venues.”

  Velrik nodded, stepping closer to examine a row of neatly hung cloaks. “Yeah, took me to this fancy restaurant.”

  Elisa smirked, leaning against the counter. “And? Did you enjoy it?”

  He hummed thoughtfully, running his fingers over the fabric of a dark green wool cloak, its black accents drawing his interest. “The food and music were good. Too many conversations. Too much attention.” He exhaled lightly, flicking his tail behind him. “It was nice, though. Mira excels at what she does.”

  “She always has,” Elisa agreed, watching as he pulled the green cloak from its rack. “That one suits you. It’s not as heavy as your usual attire, but it’s good for the coming summer months.”

  Velrik nodded appreciatively and draped the cloak over his shoulders before fishing out a few coins from his pouch. He placed them on the counter, but Elisa made no effort to take them immediately.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to sit and rest for a bit? You still look like you could use it.”

  He shook his head firmly. “Gonna go read for a time, maybe pass out on a book.”

  Elisa sighed but didn’t press further. She instead scooped up the coins, tucking them away into the lockbox beneath the counter. “Alright. Just don’t push yourself too hard, Velrik.”

  He nodded in acknowledgment as he turned toward the door, pulling his new cloak over his shoulders. The fabric felt soft, well-tailored, lighter than his usual wear, yet comfortable. It would serve him well in the impending warm weather.

  As he stepped back outside, the noise of the marketplace enveloped him once more. He let out a quiet breath before setting off toward the library, his mind already drifting toward the solace of the books and the scent of ink wafting through the air.

  Velrik's steps quickened as he navigated the winding streets of Montressa, the familiar hum of the marketplace fading as he approached the library. His thoughts, which had been swirling in the aftermath of the morning's affairs, focused on the serene sanctuary beyond the library's doors. There, he could let his mind roam free without distraction. The sun’s warmth shifted into the cooler breezes of afternoon, a gentle gust tugging at the edges of his newly acquired cloak draped over him.

  As he pushed open the sturdy wooden door to the library, the cool, musty scent of parchment, ink, and aged leather enveloped him like a long-lost embrace. Though modest in size, the library held promises of knowledge and exploration. Here, Velrik found an inexplicable sense of belonging—lost amidst the endless depth of books and their whispered histories.

  He had spent countless hours nestled in the library's dusty corners, poring over the narratives and maps, immersed in stories of places he had never visited yet felt an inexplicable connection to. The scrolls and tomes were repositories of the world's secrets, and with each read, he discovered how little he truly understood. The world was a vast tapestry woven with complexity and layers beyond his wildest imagination.

  With a quiet sigh, he meandered past the long rows of bookshelves, lightly skimming his fingers over their spines. Many of the volumes were old, edges frayed and cracked—some barely held together, having endured centuries of handling. He relished their condition—weathered, much like himself, holding secrets to unlock for those daring enough to pry.

  He paused at a shelf he’d frequented before, grabbing a stool to reach a leather-bound volume perched on the top row. The title was faded, but he recognized the comforting weight of the book as it settled in his grasp. It told of ancient civilizations, long faded into myth, though remnants of their existence still echoed in forgotten ruins. Velrik had read it before, but the lines of text had begun to blur, and he knew there was always something new to glean upon revisiting it.

  Settling into one of the worn chairs by a tall window, he opened the book and let the pages fall naturally to a well-traveled section discussing a land once known as Nadoron. The passage was dense with detail, chronicling the rise and fall of an ancient empire that had ruled vast expanses, only to be brought low by political treachery and internal conflict. Velrik skimmed the lines at first, but his eyes lingered on the meticulous details of the empire's capital—a sprawling city whose walls were said to have been forged by magic as much as stone. It sounded almost unbelievable, but such was the nature of ancient history; myths and truths intertwined over time.

  A fleeting thought crossed his mind. Was his own tale destined to be recorded in a similar fashion? A history forgotten, lost in the sands of time, only to be remembers to those who read these books? He shook his head, dismissing the consideration. For now, it was sufficient to unravel the stories of those long past. His own future remained unpredictable, rife with uncertainties that loomed too great to dwell upon.

  Turning another page, the faded ink still bore the weight of ages gone by. As Velrik read, his mind began to wander—the remnants of lost places, sometimes merely a crumbled stone wall or a lingering shadow of what had once been a grand structure. It all felt so far removed from his current life, yet a part of him felt an unshakeable connection, as if fragments of his own story lay hidden among those long-forgotten histories.

  His thoughts wandered as he continued to read until fatigue began to weigh heavily upon him. Rubbing his eyes, he leaned back in his chair, attempting to refocus. The words blurred, and for a moment, the library began to fade into a hazy dream. His head grew heavy, and despite the discomfort of the wooden chair beneath him, his body relaxed. He closed the book, intending only to rest for a heartbeat, but as his eyelids fluttered closed, he felt himself surrender to a deeper, more comfortable position. The library remained silent, the only sound the distant whispering of turning pages, and Velrik succumbed to the tranquil lure of sleep.

  When he awoke, it took him a moment to reorient himself. The book lay still on the table before him, its pages closed, but the library had shifted. The light outside had dimmed, and the tranquil bustle of afternoon had given way to the stillness of evening. A quick glance at the clock confirmed that several hours had slipped away unobserved. He had dozed longer than intended, and now his mind felt sluggish from the unexpected rest.

  The librarian stood nearby, offering him a polite, almost apologetic smile. “I’m afraid we’re closing for the evening,” he announced gently, breaking the peaceful silence that had enveloped the room.

  Velrik blinked, feeling disoriented as he slowly sat up. “I… sorry, didn’t mean to doze off.” He rubbed his face, sensing the lingering fog of sleep clouding his thoughts. “How long was I out?”

  “A few hours, I’d say,” the librarian replied, his smile warm.

  Velrik nodded absently as he gathered the book, placing it back in its spot before making his way to the door. He paused for a moment, inhaling the cool, fresh air of the evening. As he stepped outside, the streets were quieter now, shadows stretching beneath the dimming sky.

  The walk home felt longer than he remembered. Perhaps it was the lingering sleepiness still clinging to him, or perhaps it was the evening's stillness settling around him, but he found himself moving at a slower pace, savoring the peaceful moment. He passed through the marketplace, now transitioning to the late hours as the last few vendors packed up their wares. The night had a different aura compared to the flurry of morning and midday—the fervor of the day surrendered to the soft, muted rhythm of evening.

  Upon reaching the small house he shared with his companions; the familiar aromas of food and the sounds of lively voices reached his ears. He stepped inside, instantly wrapped in the warmth of the place, a comforting embrace that enveloped him like a cherished blanket.