Tessa leaned forward in the saddle, her hands resting on the front straps as Larry padded steadily down the southern road. His gait was smooth, claws clicking rhythmically against the packed dirt, his white feathers bouncing with every step like a walking dandelion puff. It was almost enough to put her at ease.

  The sun hung low behind them, soft gold washing the landscape, and for once the air was kind—warm but not choking, the breeze just cool enough to keep sweat from sticking. The road ahead unspooled like ribbon, and no one was chasing her. Just open space and the steady, familiar sway of the saddle beneath her.

  And the silver promised at the end of it. Tessa’s lips twitched into a grin before she could stop herself. Rion’s offer had felt too good to be true when he mentioned it—but he meant it and the pay… gods, the pay.

  More than three jobs combined.

  Enough to replace all of her bent needles. Enough to stop patching her boots with scraps and good intentions for a long time. Enough, maybe, to finally upgrade her hand crossbow—the old thing was still serviceable, but every time she loaded a bolt, she could feel the uneven tension in the limbs. A proper brace. Real weight balance. Maybe even carved grips if she felt like splurging.

  It was hard not to daydream about it. Larry chirped beneath her, a soft, lazy trill that rattled up through the saddle. She smiled, patting his side. “I know, I know. Thinking too loud again.”

  He blinked at her, head bobbing, then huffed out a small puff of air and kept moving. The road curved gently downhill, leading toward a crooked old stone marker half-swallowed by weeds at the roadside. The letters were worn, but the direction was still clear enough:

  Veilcross

  Beneath it, the familiar spiral symbol marked the route as part of the white plum trade path.

  She sat a little straighter. Veilcross. One of the few towns this far south where they didn’t just sell mana crystals—they harvested them. Right from the fog that clung to the Hollow Vein. Raw, uncut shards that crafters in the capital pay triple for once cleaned and polished.

  She’d never seen the process herself. Never even been this far south. But she’d heard the stories: thick, low fog that glittered faintly at the edges, crystals blooming like frost where the mana condensed enough. Risky work. But beautiful.

  Maybe—if the price was right—she could pick up a few scraps or flawed shards. Nothing top-grade, but enough to try her hand at powering an enchantment. She knew the theory. She’d read the manuals. Never had the money to try. Yet.

  She gave Larry another soft pat. “Maybe we’ll bring home more than just silver, huh?”

  He didn’t respond—just clicked his beak and kept moving, steady as ever. Tessa leaned back in the saddle, humming under her breath.

  The first glimpse of Veilcross came as the road crested a gentle rise—just a sliver of rooftops at first, stacked tight against the slope of the mountain. Not sprawling like the capital, but built upward, clinging to the ridgeline like stubborn moss.

  She slowed Larry’s pace, giving him a moment to sniff at the breeze. The faint tang of crystal dust and smoke drifted down from above, carried on the shifting air. Somewhere high above, a bird wheeled lazy circles against the sky.

  The mountain wasn’t tall enough to scrape the clouds, but steep enough that the town spiraled around its peak, the buildings stacked and layered, stitched into the stone with winding roads and switchbacks. No gate, no walls—just a road that zigzagged up the slope, wrapping the mountain like thread around a spool.

  It looked peaceful from down here. Clean lines. Pale stone buildings edged with dark wood. Laundry strung between windows on the upper tiers, catching the wind like flags.

  Tessa gave Larry a small nudge, and he chirped brightly, fluffing out his feathers as if the climb were a personal challenge. His stride picked up, claws tapping eagerly against the packed dirt as they started up the slope.

  “Happy about the hills, are we?” she murmured, leaning into the saddle as they rounded the first switchback.

  Larry answered with another quick trill, sure-footed and light despite the incline. His movements smoothed into a rhythmic bounce as they climbed, feathers catching the sun, eyes sharp on the winding path ahead.

  Tessa let him set the pace. She wasn’t in a hurry. The job was without deadline. She had the whole evening if she wanted it. And despite herself, she was curious. Curious to see the fog she heard about. Curious to see where the crystals bloomed.

  The road narrowed as they climbed higher, edged with rough-hewn stone walls to keep stray carts from slipping off the side. A few other travelers were ahead on foot, pushing loaded wheelbarrows or leading pack beasts that struggled with the incline. Most gave Larry an impressed glance as he trotted easily past, his soft white bulk and round body standing out against the lean work animals of the traders.

  Tessa caught one merchant’s eye as they passed. The older man gave a nod, the barest flicker of respect.

  Damn right, she thought. He’s fast, even on a climb.

  The breeze picked up again as they rounded another bend, cooler now, carrying the scent of moss and stone and the faint metallic tang of mana in the air.

  She shifted her weight in the saddle, stretching out one leg as the slope finally began to level beneath Larry’s claws. The last of the zigzag road brought them up to a wide, flattened terrace near the upper edge of Veilcross, where a line of rough stone posts marked the transition from road to town proper.

  Here, the buildings were sturdier—fewer homes, more workshops and storage houses, with thick wooden beams and slate-tiled roofs. The road here split two ways: one narrow lane winding further up toward what looked like the peak, the other curving toward a row of stables tucked beneath the overhang of a larger structure.

  A pair of soldiers lounged at the edge of the terrace beneath a shaded awning, their spears propped nearby, helmets discarded at their feet. One of them sat cross-legged on a crate, tossing pebbles into a rusty tin cup. The other leaned back against the post, chewing absently on a strip of jerky.

  The seated one caught sight of her first. He raised a hand lazily, fingers flicking outward to get her attention.

  “Oi, courier!” His voice wasn’t sharp, but it carried easily in the open air.

  Tessa slowed Larry, drawing him to a smooth stop a few paces out. She gave the soldier a polite nod.

  “Off the mount,” he called, motioning downward. “Rules inside the line.”

  Tessa swung one leg over and dismounted smoothly, giving Larry a quick pat on the shoulder before looping the reins loosely in her hand. Larry clucked softly but stayed still, his head tilting as he surveyed the men.

  The soldier straightened, standing up from the crate and dusting his hands off on his trousers. “Stable’s just ahead, second building on the left. Tell Brannor you’ve got a rental spot; he’ll set you up.”

  Tessa nodded again. “Appreciate it.”

  “Inn’s across the way.” He gestured with his chin toward a squat, two-story building with a weathered sign swinging overhead—The Mistglass Rest. “If you’re staying the night.”

  “I might,” Tessa said.

  “First time up here?” The other soldier asked, eyeing Larry with faint amusement. “Don’t get many mounts like that on the climb.”

  She smiled thinly. “First time. Not my first run.”

  The seated soldier gave a nod of acknowledgment. “Well. Fog’s clear tonight. Good view from the upper ridge if you’re the sightseeing type.”

  Tessa murmured her thanks and gave Larry a gentle tug, leading him toward the stables at an easy pace. The soldiers didn’t call after her. Didn’t need to.

  Their tone had held no threat—but there’d been no mistaking the expectation: Follow the rules. Don’t cause trouble.

  Fair enough. She was here for the job. The silver. Nothing else.

  She led Larry across the terrace toward the second building on the left—a long, low structure of dark timber and pale stone. A pair of wide doors stood open, cool air spilling out along with the mixed scents of clean straw, beast musk, and mineral-bright feed.

  Inside, the stable was surprisingly tidy. Lantern with crystals inside set into sconces cast a steady, blue-white glow over swept aisles and neatly racked tack. A shaggy ridge-ram dozed in one stall; two lean lizard mounts chewed placidly in another. They all glanced up as Larry stepped in, but none made a fuss.

  A stocky man with short gray hair and a leather apron appeared from the back, wiping his hands on a rag. “Brannor,” he said by way of greeting. His eyes flicked from Tessa to Larry and back again. “You from the Guild?”

  “Courier run,” Tessa confirmed, handing over her badge token. “Need a rental stall for the night. Maybe two if things run late.”

  Brannor turned the token over, nodding. “One silver for the first night, eight coppers each night after. Includes feed and a scrub. He’ll need a double stall, yes?”

  “Wide berth and extra bedding,” Tessa said. “He hates hard floors.”

  The stablemaster chuckled. “Most creatures do.” He reached for a ledger on a wall shelf, dipped a pen, and jotted her details. “Name?”

  “Tessa Goljen.” She counted out the coin—one silver and a tip of two coppers for good measure—then slipped the pouch back into her sash.

  Brannor’s gaze lingered on Larry with professional interest. “What’s he eat?”

  “Fresh meat if you’ve got it. Otherwise vegetable and grain’s fine, but he’ll sulk.” She scratched Larry’s neck feathers. He puffed and preened like she’d read his mind.

  Brannor opened a wide stall near the back—thick padding, solid beams, and a large iron ring for tying reins. “Water’s enchanted,” he said. “Stays cool all day.” Larry nosed the bucket, chirped approval, and lumbered inside.

  Tessa unbuckled the saddle straps. The leather still showed her quick stitches from yesterday’s ride, but everything held firm. Good. She reached to unclip a small feed pouch when Brannor spoke again.

  “Not many bring mounts up the spiral. He take the climb well?”

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Better than I would.” She gave Larry a final pat and stepped back, dusting straw from her knees.

  Brannor closed the gate. “Fog’ll be rising from the Vein soon. Makes the ridge shine after dark if you’re looking for a view.”

  “I might.” She tried to sound casual, but curiosity tickled under her ribs. Mana fog—beautiful from stories, dangerous up close. And valuable, if you knew what to do with the shards. Maybe I’ll see what the crystal market looks like tomorrow.

  She gave Larry a parting gesture—the signal for stay—and he settled into the straw with a contented huff.

  “Thanks,” she said to Brannor.

  “Pleasure. Inn’s across the terrace. Try the mountain stew; keeps the chill out.”

  Tessa tipped her head in thanks and stepped back into the fading daylight. The breeze had cooled, carrying that faint metallic note she’d noticed earlier—the promise of mana thickening with night. Across the way, the inn’s lanterns were already flickering to life.

  The Mistglass Rest stood just across the terrace from the stables, its weathered sign swaying gently on iron chains above the doorway. The carved letters caught the glow of the evening lamps, but it wasn’t the name that held Tessa’s attention—it was the soft shimmer of the glass panes that framed the inn’s wide windows.

  Each pane was rippled, like frozen water, with faint silver-blue fog drifting lazily between the layers of glass. Mana mist, trapped inside. The glow shifted and rolled as the light outside changed, casting faint, swirling patterns across the stone walls.

  So that’s why it’s called the Mistglass.

  Tessa stood there a moment longer, watching the gentle curl of the trapped fog, before pushing through the wooden door.

  Inside, the inn was warm, busy but not crowded. A few travelers hunched over bowls of stew at corner tables, soft conversation mingling with the clink of cutlery and the low crackle of a hearth at the far wall. Overhead, small mana powered lamps floated near the beams, their light muted and soft.

  The woman behind the front counter looked up as Tessa approached—a tall figure with deep bronze skin and striking, metallic-green eyes, the irises slitted like a snake’s. Fine gold scales traced the edges of her jaw and neck, catching the light when she moved.

  Her hair was black, braided tight and laced with copper rings that chimed faintly as she turned her head.

  “Evening,” the woman said, her voice smooth but bright. “Looking for a room, traveler?”

  Tessa gave a polite nod. “If you’ve got one.”

  The woman’s mouth curved in a small, friendly smile. “Always. One night?”

  “Just one for now,” Tessa replied, setting her hand lightly on the counter.

  The woman reached beneath the counter and brought out a small wooden token, engraved with the inn’s mark. “One silver, paid up front. Meals separate.”

  Tessa took out the coin without complaint—she’d budgeted for it—and slid them across.

  The woman’s gaze lingered on Larry’s feather clinging to Tessa’s shoulder, but she didn’t ask. She simply marked something in her ledger, then offered the key and token across the counter.

  “Upstairs, second door on the left.”

  Tessa took the token but hesitated. “I heard there’s a good view from the Upper Ridge?”

  The innkeeper’s expression warmed. “There is. Follow the back path up past the workshop rows—you’ll see the old stone steps near the weaver’s shop. Climb those. Keep right at the fork, and you’ll come to the overlook. Can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks.” Tessa gave a grateful nod, then hesitated again.

  Curiosity nibbled at the edge of her thoughts. The woman’s manner was calm, confident—the slight glint of polish on her hands too clean for just innkeeping. Tessa thumbed open her system menu and flicked a quiet Inspect her way.

  [Mage Level ???]

  Tessa blinked, eyebrows lifting slightly. A level in the hundreds, that is impressive for an innkeeper. And the woman looked young.

  She’d never met someone of Serathi blood before—not up close. She knew the name, but the serpent-like traits, the scales, the slitted eyes were stranger in person than any textbook sketch could capture. Still. It felt rude to stare.

  Tessa tucked the token into her pocket, nodded her thanks again, and turned toward the door.

  The cool evening air met Tessa as she stepped back outside, the soft glow of the mistglass windows behind her casting wavering reflections onto the terrace stones. Upper Ridge, she reminded herself.

  The innkeeper’s directions had been clear. Tessa followed the terrace path around the edge of the square, past a row of tightly packed workshops. The smell of cut stone and alchemical polish drifted from one of the open doors where two workers still fussed over a crystal grinder, sparks jumping faintly from the edge of a mana-slicked chisel.

  Up ahead, past the last shop, a narrow set of old stone steps climbed the slope, uneven and worn at the edges where boots had chipped at the corners over the years. She found the fork easily—the left path ran toward the harvesters’ quarters, but the right curved upward, hugging the mountain’s shoulder where the land rose sharp and high. Tessa took the right.

  The path narrowed as it climbed, just wide enough for two people to pass if one turned sideways. Wind chased up along the cliffs, tugging at her hair, cool and sharp with the scent of the mana fog even from this distance.

  The world fell quieter as she climbed. The hum of town life below faded to a soft hush, broken only by the occasional chirp of night insects and the faint whistle of the wind winding through the rocks.

  At the last turn, the path opened suddenly onto a broad, flat shelf of stone—a natural overlook. The edge was ringed by a low stone barrier, maybe waist high, slick with moss in the cracks. Beyond it, the land fell away into darkness.

  And there, across the chasm, the Hollow Vein rolled like water beneath the cliffs.

  Fog drifted through the gorge below, slow and heavy, its surface gleaming faint blue where the last scraps of daylight caught on the mist. Soft curls of vapor lapped against the chasm walls, rising and sinking as if breathing.

  It looked almost peaceful from up here. Beautiful, Tessa admitted, stepping up to the edge. She gripped the stone lightly, leaning into the view.

  Tiny flickers of light sparked along the fog’s surface where the crystals were said to form, like stars trapped just beneath the surface of a pond. The stories had called it a sea of ghosts, though standing here now, it felt too gentle for that. Too still.

  A low shape broke the line of the horizon—a bridge, long and narrow, its cables taut, anchored deep into the stone on either side. From this distance, it looked like thread stretched across the gap, delicate against the weight of the fog below.

  That’s the crossing, she realized. The only way forward. Tessa exhaled, leaning against the wall, letting the cool air fill her lungs. The town’s lamps flickered behind her. The Hollow Vein sprawled beneath.

  Tessa lingered at the overlook longer than she meant to.

  The air was crisp up here, clean in a way that the capital never quite managed. The breeze carried the sharp tang of mana with it, but softer somehow—like the chasm’s breath rising up to meet the night. Below, the fog continued its slow, curling drift, catching the light in gentle pulses as if the Hollow Vein itself had a heartbeat. It was beautiful. And quiet.

  For a moment, she let herself forget about deliveries and silver and bent crossbow limbs. She leaned her elbows on the moss-slicked stone barrier, chin tucked into her hands, and just watched the fog roll. Then— soft footsteps behind her.

  The sound barely rose above the breeze, but it was enough. She snapped upright, hand darting toward the utility knife at her hip as she spun on instinct. Her heart hitched, breath caught halfway to a curse.

  The man at the top of the steps raised both hands quickly, palms out. “Easy, sorry—I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Tessa’s hand hovered over the knife handle, fingers tense, but she didn’t draw. The man took a step closer into the lamplight, his head tilting slightly as his brow creased.

  “…Wait,” he said, blinking. “Tessa?” She froze.

  It took her a second to place him—the soft brown of his coat, the plain, unassuming cut of it. Dark brown hair, neat and close-cropped. Clean-shaven. Eyes that tilted downward slightly at the corners, giving his expression a permanent softness, almost tired.

  Forgettable, really. The kind of face that would vanish into a crowd the moment you turned away.

  “…Rellen?” she said, slower than she meant to, confusion knotting behind the name.

  He let out a quiet breath, dropping his hands but still watching her with a look halfway between curiosity and disbelief. “I—Damn. I didn’t expect to see anyone I know”

  Tessa’s fingers eased away from the knife, but her pulse hadn’t quite caught up.

  “What are you—?” She blinked again, then shook her head. “Didn’t think I would meet you again.”

  “Same,” Rellen replied, stopping a few paces from where she stood. His gaze flicked out toward the overlook, then back to her, eyes narrowing just slightly.

  Tessa shifted, arms folding across her chest. “Last-minute courier job.”

  Rellen nodded once, stepping closer to the stone railing, hands loose in his coat pockets. “You picked a good time for it. The fog’s clearer in the evenings—they say the crystals catch the light better just after sundown.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him for a second. But that forgettable face of his gave away nothing. Just a traveler. Just another curious pair of boots passing through.

  “It’s my first time this far south,” she said, slower now. “Didn’t think I’d bother with sightseeing.”

  He gave a small smile, looking back out over the Hollow Vein. “It’s worth the look.”

  The breeze curled between them again, cool and steady, carrying the faint hum of mana through the air. Neither spoke for a moment.

  Finally, Rellen tilted his head toward the space beside her, one brow lifting. “Mind if I stand here?”

  Tessa hesitated—but only a moment—then gestured stiffly toward the overlook.

  “Free town,” she said.

  Rellen smiled again, softer this time, and stepped up beside her, leaning his elbows lightly on the mossy stone. His eyes followed the slow drift of the fog below, calm, unbothered, exactly the picture of a man with nowhere particular to be.

  She leaned her weight onto her elbows, staring out over the fog. She could feel him beside her, posture loose, relaxed—like he was here for the same view, nothing more.

  “You been running courier work long?” he asked, the question tossed out light, almost idle.

  She kept her eyes on the mist. “A while.”

  “Figure you’ve probably seen more of the Empire than most.” His tone was easy, polite. Too polite.

  She gave a soft huff. “Wouldn’t go that far.”

  “Still,” he pressed, “I’m sure you’ve been through some interesting places. Dangerous ones, maybe. It’s not work everyone can handle.”

  She narrowed her eyes slightly, but kept them on the Hollow Vein below. The fog rolled slow and steady, soft curls of light rising through the mist like breath. She didn’t answer right away. Her mind drifted, unbidden, to the places that had stuck:

  Harn’s Crossing, where the rain never let up and the roads were slick enough to drown a wagon.

  Belltower’s Gap, the cliffs sharp and clean, sea wind stiff enough to steal your hat if you weren’t looking.

  The sprawling Cedar Fields, endless grass and wild blue sky, so flat you could see for days.

  Nowhere fancy. Nowhere the bards wrote songs about. But they’d left marks on her, same as the calluses on her hands.

  Her eyes still on the chasm. “Most places blur together after a while.”

  “But there’s got to be somewhere you’d go back to.” His voice stayed soft, encouraging. “Not for the job. Just because you wanted to.”

  She tapped her thumb against the edge of the railing, considering. “Cedar Fields,” she admitted, after a beat. “It’s quiet there.”

  He nodded like that told him something important. “Peace and space. I can see that.”

  She gave him a sideways glance, one brow lifted. “You always this flattering, or just tonight?”

  His mouth curved into that faint, easy smile again. “Only when I mean it.”

  She shook her head but didn’t quite hide the tug of a smile at the edge of her lips. “Smooth.”

  “Truthful,” he corrected, leaning lightly against the wall, gaze drifting back to the Vein. “Takes a steady hand to work the road alone. You’ve got that look.”

  She snorted softly. “Sounds like you’ve been practicing that line.”

  “Maybe.” His eyes stayed on the fog. “But it suits you.”

  The breeze rose again between them, cool and damp, carrying the soft hum of mana from the chasm below. Neither spoke for a moment.

  Finally, he tilted his head toward the overlook. “Figured I’d come up here for the view before the light faded. Worth it.”

  She didn’t answer right away. She stayed where she was, arms folded across her chest, watching the mist drift.

  Tessa let the quiet stretch between them for another breath, then pushed off the railing. She gave the fog one last glance, then turned away.

  “See you around,” she said, tapping two fingers loosely against the edge of her coat.

  Rellen straightened, stepping away from the overlook wall, but didn’t follow immediately. “Where’re you staying?”

  Tessa paused halfway down the first step. “Mistglass Rest.”

  “Ah,” Rellen replied, falling into step behind her. “Same.”

  She shot him a quick look over her shoulder, skeptical.

  He gave an easy shrug, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. “Good rates. Clean rooms. Could’ve picked worse.”

  She snorted faintly but didn’t argue. She kept walking, boots tapping against the stone as they descended the narrow path.

  The workshops they passed on the way down had all gone dark now. Doors barred, windows shuttered. The crystal grinder she’d seen earlier stood quiet, the faint smell of spent mana dust lingering in the air like smoke after a fire. The stone steps echoed soft beneath their feet, the hush of nightfall settling in around the higher tiers of the town.

  But as they neared the lower terraces, the silence gave way to life. Warm light spilled from the inns and drinking halls. Laughter drifted from open doors. Somewhere nearby, a musician picked out a slow tune on a stringed instrument, the notes wobbly but earnest.

  Tessa kept her pace steady, weaving between the small knots of people gathered outside the doors. It wasn’t crowded, not like the capital, but there was a comfort in the buzz of voices, the clink of glasses, the smell of stew and cheap ale in the air.

  Rellen walked quietly beside her, not saying much. But she noticed his gaze wasn’t on her. He watched the people they passed—the laborers leaning on barrels outside the tavern, the workshop crews sharing a drink, the merchant’s assistant haggling low over a crate of supplies.

  His expression stayed calm, forgettable as ever, but his eyes moved sharp beneath it. Careful. Measuring. A people-watcher.

  “How long’ve you been here?” Tessa asked, keeping her tone casual.

  Rellen’s gaze flicked back to her like she’d reminded him of her presence. “Two days,” he answered. “Enough time to stretch my legs, see the place.”

  “See the place,” she echoed, not quite a question.

  He smiled faintly but didn’t explain. They crossed the last stretch of terrace, the Mistglass Rest coming into view ahead, its windows still glowing soft blue where the trapped fog shimmered between the glass panes. The hum of voices inside was steadier now, the night leaning into its rhythm.

  Tessa reached for the door but felt Rellen’s glance on her again. Not pushy. Just there.

  “I’ll let you get your rest,” he said, nodding once. “See you around.”

  She gave him a short nod back, then stepped inside without waiting for more.