Eddie trudged down the stairs, rubbing the grogginess from his face. The scent of fish soup still clung to the air, though it had long since cooled. As he descended, the creaking steps announced his arrival before he even reached the bottom.

  Torrie was already waiting for him. She sat on the couch, legs swinging slightly, her satchel tucked neatly by her side. Her uniform—crisp and freshly pressed—was complete with the wide-brimmed hat perched atop her head. She looked ready to march straight into her first lesson.

  Her large round glasses caught the morning light as she turned to face him.

  "You overslept again,” she said, crossing her arms.

  Eddie scoffed, running a hand through his silver hair. “It’s called resting, actually. Pretty important, y'know. Keeps you from turning into a ghoul.”

  Torrie eyed him. “You did remember you were supposed to take me to Aella, right?”

  Eddie hesitated just long enough for her smirk to widen.

  “Oh my gods,” she groaned dramatically, leaning her head back. “You forgot.”

  “Hey, hey, I didn’t forget!” Eddie protested, pointing a finger at her. “I just… temporarily misplaced that piece of information.”

  “That’s forgetting.”

  Eddie clicked his tongue. “Debatable.”

  Torrie shook her head, exasperated but amused. "You’re the worst."

  "And yet," Eddie shot back, standing up and stretching, "here I am, awake and ready to escort you like the responsible older brother that I am."

  Torrie squinted at him. "Barely."

  Eddie ruffled her hair on the way to grab his satchel, ignoring her protests as she batted his hand away. "C’mon, let’s go before Mum decides to hex me into a broom and fly you there herself."

  The garage was old—probably older than Eddie himself. The wooden beams sagged slightly, and the scent of oil, damp wood, and rust lingered in the air. Dusty sunlight filtered through the gaps in the planks, casting streaks of gold across the scattered tools and forgotten crates.

  In the middle of it all stood Eddie’s bike.

  It was an ancient, clunky thing—red paint chipped at the edges, the metal frame scuffed from years of use. It had once belonged to his father, and before that, he wouldn’t be surprised if his grandfather had ridden it through these very streets. A relic of the Welton family, barely held together by years of hasty repairs and just enough luck.

  Eddie tightened the straps on the back, securing both their satchels before giving the bike a few testing bounces. It creaked but held firm.

  Torrie stood nearby, hands behind her back, watching as he worked. “Do you ever clean this thing?”

  "No?" Eddie responded. “I mean... It’s got character.”

  “It’s got rust.”

  “Character and rust,” he corrected, checking the pedals. “That’s what gives it charm.”

  As Eddie adjusted the handlebars, he glanced over at her. “So, you thought about what you wanna do for your magical concentration yet?”

  Torrie scrunched up her nose. “I just got into Aella, Ed. I’ve got plenty of time to figure that out.”

  “You say that now,” Eddie smirked, “And one day, boom, second year sneaks up on you, and suddenly you have to choose whether you wanna be an Alchemist, an Illusionist, a Conjurer, or whatever fancy new stuff they’ve added since my time.”

  Torrie shrugged. “Right now, I just wanna make friends, get to know the teachers. No rush.”

  As Eddie adjusted the straps on their satchels, Torrie swung her legs idly and tilted her head. “So… are the teachers at Aella really as strict as Mom says?”

  Eddie snorted. “Some of them? Absolutely.” He straightened up and leaned against the bike.

  “Take Mrs. Neira” Eddie began, “She teaches Runes. And she teaches that class with an Iron Fist. She’s the kind of teacher who can spot an untucked shirt from fifty paces.”

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  Torrie groaned. “Great. That sounds fantastic.”

  “Oh, and don’t even think about dozing off in her class,” Eddie added. “She once hexed my notes into paper rabbits and hopped away mid-lecture because I didn’t pay attention.”

  “Please tell me that you’re joking.” Torrie chuckled

  “Wish I was.”

  She slumped dramatically against the wooden railing. “This is already sounding so fun.”

  “Well, not all the teachers are terrifying.” Eddie grinned. “Mr. Ferie’s the exact opposite. He teaches Alchemy, and he’s probably the most laid-back teacher at Aella. You’ll like him.”

  Torrie perked up. “Why? What’s he like?”

  “Well, for one, he actually likes students,” Eddie said, tightening a bolt. “And he’s big on competitions—he’s always picking out students to send to alchemy tournaments. I think he just enjoys the chaos of it all.”

  Torrie chuckled. “Sounds like someone I’d actually want to take a class with.”

  “Oh, you will,” Eddie smirked as he stood up. “And when you do, tell him I send my regards, and….”

  Torrie narrowed her eyes. “…And?”

  “And that his socks smell.”

  “You’re terrible!” Torrie burst into laughter, “I’m not telling that on my first day!”

  Eddie shrugged, grinning. “He’ll know what it means.”

  Still giggling, Torrie shook her head as Eddie made the final check. Satisfied, he strode over to the garage door and grabbed the handle. With a heave, he pushed it open.

  Light poured in, golden and fresh, chasing away the dust and shadows. Outside, the streets of Weshaven beckoned—cobbled roads damp from morning mist, lined with wooden houses that leaned ever so slightly from the years. The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and fish, mixing with the distant chatter of merchants setting up their stalls.

  Eddie swung a leg over the bike, glancing back at Torrie. “Alright, You ready?”

  Torrie adjusted her hat, eyes bright. “Ready.”

  And with that, they rode off, the old bike rattling down the street as the Welton siblings made their way through the waking town.

  -o-

  The town of Weshaven stirred to life as Eddie and Torrie rolled down the sloping streets, the crisp morning air tinged with the scent of brine and freshly caught fish. The narrow roads twisted and wove between clustered stone-and-timber houses, their rooftops slick with morning dew.

  Below them, the harbor sprawled like a great wooden beast, its docks lined with fishing boats bobbing gently in the tide. The air thrummed with the sounds of the morning commute—sailors calling out as they hauled in nets from the previous night’s catch, shipwrights hammering away at weather-worn hulls, and merchants rolling out their stalls, their carts stacked with exotic wares from distant shores.

  Eddie steered carefully as they gained momentum, their satchels bouncing slightly against the back of the bike. The road sloped steeply ahead, the cobblestones uneven in places, but he knew this path like the back of his hand. He kept one foot ready on the brake, just in case.

  The street curved, and the town slowly unfurled before them—a lively, salt-kissed pocket of the world, waking up to another day.

  Further ahead, moving steadily against the flow of early-morning foot traffic, a broad-shouldered figure in a worn flat cap trudged up the pavement.

  His thick brown curls peeked from beneath the cap, and he carried himself with an easy, unhurried gait despite the weight of the heavy satchel slung over his shoulder. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing arms dusted with faint stains—herbs, ink, or maybe soot from the apothecary’s furnace.

  Torrie, perched behind Eddie, squinted as they neared. Then, with a small gasp, she nudged Eddie’s shoulder. “Isn’t that Markus?”

  Eddie followed her gaze. Sure enough, it was Markus, making his way toward the apothecary, likely just coming off a delivery run.

  With a grin, Eddie squeezed the brakes, slowing the bike as they rolled up beside him. “Oi, Markus! You heading back already?”

  Markus glanced up, his tired but good-natured expression shifting into a small smile. “Morning, you two.” His voice was soft, polite as ever. “Making a stop before opening up.”

  “I’m clocking in late today,” Eddie admitted, adjusting his grip on the handlebars. “Gotta take Torrie to school first.”

  Markus raised his brows, impressed. “That so? What academy are you off to, then?”

  Torrie straightened in her seat, her face glowing with pride. “Aella Academy!”

  Markus let out an approving hum. “That’s a fine place. You’ll do well there.” Then he glanced toward the harbor. “Ferry leaves in an hour. You two best get going.”

  “Yeah, we should,” Eddie agreed, nudging the bike forward. “See you later, Markus!”

  “Take care,” Markus said with a small wave.

  With that, Eddie and Torrie pushed off, rolling down the street once more, weaving through the waking town.

  Eddie gritted his teeth as he steered through the crowded streets, weaving between fishermen hauling in their morning catch, merchants haggling over crates of imported goods, and dockhands rolling barrels toward waiting ships. The salty breeze carried the scent of fish and brine, mingling with the shouts of sailors calling orders across the bustling Bright Harbour.

  The ferry was leaving in an hour—but at this rate, it might as well be five minutes.

  "Come on, come on," Eddie muttered, scanning for a gap in the throng.

  Torrie clung tightly to his waist. "We’re not gonna make it!"

  "Yes, we are," Eddie shot back, his eyes locking onto an opening between a pair of arguing traders. He hit the pedals hard, propelling the bike forward, skimming past them with barely an inch to spare.

  The dock came into view. A bell rang—final boarding call.

  With a final burst of speed, Eddie rode up the wooden planks, skidding to a halt just as a deckhand moved to pull up the gangway.

  "Two for Osthaven!" Eddie panted.

  The deckhand raised an eyebrow but waved them on. Eddie and Torrie scrambled aboard, collapsing onto one of the wooden benches as the ferry gave a low horn and lurched away from the dock.

  Torrie exhaled, catching her breath. "That was close."

  Eddie wiped his brow with a grin. "Told you we'd make it."

  "You had to make it," she teased, nudging him. "You can’t miss the ferry, especially on my first day!"

  Eddie chuckled, leaning back against the bench, feeling the weight of the rush fade as the ferry rocked gently with the waves. His eyes drifted out to the horizon, where the sea stretched endlessly toward the east.

  Osthaven.

  It had been a while since he set foot there.