"Now I’m here too.”

  Eddie stepped off the ferry first, tossing a few coins to the ferryman before helping Torrie down onto the sturdy wooden planks of Osthaven’s dock. The air here was different—crisper, drier. Less of that thick, briny scent of fish that clung to Weshaven.

  Instead, the harbour was filled with the rich aromas of spice crates being unloaded, the earthy scent of dried herbs, and the occasional whiff of parchment and ink from merchants tallying their stock.

  Osthaven was busier in a different way. Where Weshaven had the steady rhythm of fishermen mending nets and unloading the morning’s catch, Osthaven hummed with the brisk efficiency of trade. Men and women haggled over silk and spices from distant lands, warehouse workers hauled crates marked with foreign sigils, and couriers darted between carts carrying letters sealed with wax.

  Torrie took it all in, wide-eyed. “It’s… bigger than I thought.”

  Eddie smirked. “Told you. Less fish guts, more commerce.”

  They moved through the streets, weaving past merchants arranging their displays and scholars in robes, their arms laden with books. As they walked, Eddie found his eyes drifting, the familiar streets pulling at old memories.

  As they walked through the bustling streets of Osthaven, Eddie gestured toward a small stall by the corner, where the scent of roasted chestnuts wafted through the air.

  "See that?" Eddie said, nudging Torrie. "Markus and I used to stop there after classes. We'd split a bag of chestnuts and complain about assignments the whole way home."

  Torrie looked over, her nose scrunching slightly. "You two really bonded over complaining, huh?"

  Eddie smirked. "It's an art form, I tell you."

  They continued down the road, past the colorful stalls of cloth merchants, until Eddie’s gaze landed on a narrow shop with a faded green awning.

  "And that place," he pointed, "Was where I used to get supplies for my... projects."

  Torrie raised an eyebrow. "What kind of 'projects'?"

  Eddie chuckled. "Alchemy, mostly. The owner—grumpiest old man you'd ever meet—used to grumble about every single request I made, but he never actually turned me away."

  "Sounds like he liked you."

  “I think he just liked my coins.”

  Eddie slowed slightly, his fingers brushing against the strap of his bag. It was strange, being back. The town hadn’t changed much, but everything felt different now.

  “You’ve been here a lot, huh?” Torrie noticed his lingering gaze.

  “Yeah…" Eddie gave a small nod, exhaling softly. "Long ago.”

  “Well," Torrie smiled. "Now I’m here too.”

  Eddie chuckled, shaking off the weight of nostalgia. “Yeah. Let’s get you to Aella.”

  -o-

  Eddie pedaled through the last stretch of road, the cobbled streets of Osthaven giving way to packed dirt as they left the bustle of town behind. Fields of golden hay swayed gently in the morning breeze, stretching far and wide, their soft rustling the only sound accompanying them now.

  And then, past the gentle slope of the hill, Aella Academy came into view.

  It stood just as Eddie remembered—tall, sturdy, with its weathered stone walls and a modest courtyard nestled at its center. It wasn’t the grandest school in Solivia, not the kind spoken of in hushed reverence like Edenfield, but around here, it was everything. A place of learning, discipline, and quiet ambition.

  Eddie slowed the bike to a stop near the front gate. Torrie hopped off, adjusting her satchel, her eyes gleaming as she took in the sight before her.

  “Well,” she said, turning to him, a wide grin breaking across her face, “I guess this is it.”

  “You’ll do fine, Torrie.” Eddie said, forcing a small smirk. “You better not cause too much trouble.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  She stuck her tongue out playfully before stepping forward, her pace quickening until she was practically skipping through the front gate.

  Eddie lingered by the entrance, watching her go.

  He saw himself in her.

  The same eagerness, the same restless energy that had carried him through these very gates years ago. He remembered what it was like, standing on the threshold of something new, looking ahead and seeing only possibility.

  Now, he stood on the other side of it.

  Eddie let out a quiet breath, gripping the handles a little tighter before shaking his head.

  And with that, he turned the bike around and started pedaling back towards town.

  -o-

  Eddie pedaled steadily through the streets of Osthaven, the hum of the town buzzing around him. The salty breeze had thinned, replaced by the scent of fresh bread, spices, and something sweet roasting over an open flame. His stomach reminded him, with a low grumble, that breakfast had been hurried.

  He slowed to a stop near a familiar stall, the one that sold honeyed almonds and sesame biscuits. The sight alone pulled him back to old routines—grabbing a bag for himself, an extra for Markus. It had been a while, but some habits never quite faded.

  After paying the vendor, he stepped back toward his bicycle, ready to sling the bag over the handlebars—when something caught his eye.

  A building stood across the street, its architecture different from the others around it. Age clung to its stone walls, yet the towering columns bore intricate carvings, their shapes unmistakably Elvish. Time had weathered them, but their elegance remained, a relic of a bygone era.

  Above the heavy wooden doors, an emblem was set in iron: an owl, perched upon a scroll, wings tucked close. Beneath it, carved into the worn brass plaque, were two simple words.

  Sage Institute.

  Eddie stared, something stirring in his chest. He hadn’t noticed it before—maybe he had never cared to look. But now, standing there, it felt like the building was watching him back.

  Eyes tracing the contours of the emblem, Eddie lingered a moment longer, the owl’s unblinking gaze seeming almost knowing. The Sage Institute. He knew nothing about it—had never needed to—but something about it gnawed at the edges of his mind. A curiosity, fleeting yet persistent.

  With a breath, he shook it off, tucking the bag of snacks securely inside his satchel before turning back to his bicycle. The world outside his thoughts rushed back in—the chatter of merchants, the rhythmic clatter of hooves on cobblestones, the occasional call of dockworkers hauling cargo.

  He swung a leg over the bike and pushed off, weaving through the streets of Osthaven with practiced ease. The town passed him by in a blur of nostalgia and familiarity, but his mind remained half elsewhere, lingering on the building, on the emblem, on the feeling.

  The distant chime of a bell tower reminded him of the time. He wasn’t in a hurry, but he didn’t want to miss the next ferry back to Weshaven either.

  By the time he reached the harbor, the ferry was already boarding. He rolled his bicycle up the gangway, found a quiet spot near the railing, and exhaled, letting the sea breeze wash over him.

  Back to Weshaven. Back to his routines.

  -o-

  Eddie stepped off the ferry, the lingering scent of salt and fish clinging to his coat as he pedaled back through the familiar streets of Weshaven. The town moved at its usual pace—fishermen hauling in their morning catches, merchants calling out their wares, the rhythmic hammering of shipwrights at work. It felt routine, but his thoughts still lingered on Osthaven, on Aella, on the emblem of the owl perched on a scroll.

  By the time he reached the apothecary, the comforting scent of herbs and simmering potions greeted him like an old friend. He pushed open the wooden door and stepped into the brewing room, where golden light streamed through the lofty windows, casting long, shifting shadows.

  A deep but gentle voice called out from the far end of the room, its warmth filling the space like the heat of a hearth.

  "Morning, Edward!"

  Markus stood hunched over his workstation, his broad frame making the desk seem almost too small for him. His wild curls peeked out from under his cap, and a faint flush colored his round cheeks—likely from standing over boiling cauldrons all morning.

  He was a large presence in every sense, but his movements were measured, careful, and full of practiced ease as he stirred a simmering mixture, his huge hands treating delicate ingredients with surprising gentleness.

  Eddie smirked and reached into his satchel. "Got you something."

  Markus glanced up, his dark eyes curious as Eddie handed over a small paper bag. A familiar scent wafted from within.

  "You didn’t," Markus breathed, opening the bag to reveal golden-brown roasted chestnuts. His expression flickered between delight and nostalgia.

  "Stopped by the old stall," Eddie said. "Figured you’d appreciate it."

  "You really do know how to make my morning." Markus chuckled, popping one into his mouth and sighing contentedly. "So, how’d it go? With Torrie, I mean."

  "Good. Aella still looks like Aella." Eddie exhaled, glancing past Markus as if he could still see the academy in the distance. "Nothing much has changed since we were there."

  Markus hummed, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I bet she was buzzing with excitement."

  "Practically skipping through the gates," Eddie admitted with a chuckle.

  Markus laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, that sounds about right." He rolled up his sleeves, returning his focus to the potion before him. "She’s gonna do great there, you know. Always knew she had it in her."

  Eddie didn’t respond immediately, just nodded, watching the steam rise from Markus’s cauldron.

  For a moment, it was like old times.

  Eddie had just popped a chestnut into his mouth when Markus spoke, his voice casual but laced with meaning.

  “Oh, by the way—Mr. Welton wants to see you earlier.”

  Eddie froze mid-chew. A slow, creeping realization dawned on him.

  He was supposed to hand over the formula today.

  “Damn it—I forgot!” He shot upright, swallowed hard, nearly choking. nearly knocking over a stack of parchment on the counter.

  “Yeah, figured.” Markus raised an amused brow, still munching on his snack. “He’s already up at the tower.”

  Cursing under his breath, Eddie spun on his heel and bolted toward the stairs. His boots thudded against the wooden steps as he rushed to his desk, rummaging through scattered notes, ink-stained pages, and unfinished drafts. Where the hell was it?

  He shoved aside a worn-out alchemy textbook, and there it was—the carefully scribed formula, buried beneath a pile of old scribbles.

  Snatching it up, he didn’t waste another second. He turned on his heel and sprinted towards the tower, heart pounding.