The sun rose gently over Mermaid’s Cove, casting hues of rose-gold across the quiet sea.
Waves lapped against the shore in rhythmic, sleepy murmurs, and seabirds circled above the docked ships, their cries blending into the morning breeze.
From the cliffs above, the town looked almost unchanged—peaceful, picturesque.
Fishing boats bobbed lazily in the harbor, and a curl of chimney smoke rose from homes nestled along the hills.
Market stalls were being assembled along the square. Bread ovens warmed. Children played in alleys still cool from the night.
And yet, beneath it all, an unease simmered.
Whispers.
People hadn’t slept well.
Near the baker’s, two women leaned in close as they pulled warm loaves from the oven.
“Did you hear it last night?” one asked. “That sound?”
“I felt the floor shake,” the other replied. “My cat hasn’t come out from under the bed since.”
Outside the general store, an older man stood with arms folded, speaking in hushed tones to the guild’s delivery clerk.
“Saw a red light flash over the trees,” he muttered. “Didn’t seem natural. My sister says the goats wouldn’t go near the pasture this morning.”
“They say it was just lighting,” the clerk replied. “But there weren’t any clouds last night.”
“It wasn’t lighting.”
They fell silent as a city guard passed down the street, walking with a bit more purpose than usual. A few heads turned. None asked questions aloud.
Up on the hill, the red-roofed cottage sat still and quiet, the garden untouched, dew glittering on leaves and herbs.
The air was crisp. The world, outwardly, had moved on.
Mira sat by the window, freshly bathed and wrapped in a thick blanket, her hair damp and pulled into a loose braid.
A mug of barley tea steamed between her hands. The aches in her body had dulled, but they hadn’t fully faded.
She watched the town from behind the glass—watched children chasing one another, a dog barking at the waves, the quiet motions of life continuing. The normalcy of it made her chest ache.
Behind her, the sound of a plate clinking gently onto wood.
“Eat,” her mother said, with that weary kindness only a mother could give after a sleepless night spent worrying. “You’ll feel better with something warm.”
Elia set down a tray of sliced bread, grilled tuna, and a jar of blackberry jam.
Mira turned from the window and sat down.
Her father—Garron—was already gone. Probably meeting with the mayor or coordinating with the guards. He’d handle the practical things. He always did.
She picked up a fork and prodded a slice of bread like it might bite back.
“Are you going to eat that?” Elia asked, settling into the seat beside her.
“I want to,” Mira said with a faint smile. “But my stomach hasn’t decided it’s morning yet.”
Elia gave a soft laugh. “People are talking, you know. About last night.”
“They should,” Mira murmured.
“Half the town was awake by the blast.” Elia's smile faded. “No one’s saying your name, but... well. They’re worried.”
“I don’t blame them,” Mira said, finally taking a bite. The bread was still warm, soft on the inside and just crisp enough at the edges. Comforting.
“Should I go talk to the mayor?” she asked, chewing slowly.
“I’m sure your father’s already halfway through that conversation,” Elia replied, dabbing her own bread with jam. “You know how he gets.”
Mira exhaled, sinking into her seat a little. “Then maybe I’ll just stay home today. Don’t feel like being looked at.”
Elia didn’t argue. She just picked up the piece of plain bread Mira had been toying with, smeared it with jam, and placed it back into her hands. “Eat properly, then. You need the strength.”
Mira blinked, then chuckled softly. “You really don’t take no for an answer.”
Her mother’s expression turned gentle again, eyes crinkling with fondness. “Only when it matters.”
A moment passed.
Then, quietly, Elia reached out and rested her hand over Mira’s.
“Sweetie, always remember what you promised us last night,” she said. “If something like this happens again… just let us know first. Don’t go running off alone.”
Mira met her gaze. There was something close to an apology in her eyes.
“I will,” she said softly. “I promise.”
Elia gave her hand a squeeze, then stood and busied herself at the stove, hiding the sheen of worry still clinging to her eyes.
Mira took another sip of tea, watching the sunlight spill slowly across the kitchen floor.
Outside, Mermaid’s Cove carried on—nervous, uncertain, but alive.
And inside, so was she.
Still healing.
Still home...
Meanwhile, at the town hall of Mermaid’s Cove sat nestled between the old chapel and the bell tower, its stone walls softened by ivy and morning sun.
Inside, the atmosphere was less gentle.
Garron stood at the long table in the meeting room, arms folded, jaw set. His cloak was still dusted with ash from the forest edge, and the crossbow at his back hadn’t been unstrapped.
Around him sat Mayor Beren, Captain Alric of the city guard, and a few of the mayor’s aides—scribes, record-keepers, and one poor young man who had just spilled ink down his sleeve.
The mayor’s chair creaked as he leaned forward, his round face unusually serious beneath the wide brim of his ceremonial hat.
“...You’re certain it was a vampire?” Mayor Beren asked again, though the question was already stale.
“You know my daughter, Beren,” Garron said evenly. “When she said it was a vampire, you'd better believe it."
Captain Alric, a wiry man with a blade always at his hip, spoke next. “And what was that vampire doing in the jungle exactly?”
“I wish I knew,” Garron shook his head. “But here's a piece of crystal I picked up from the site. You might want to take a look.”
Garron reached into his cloak and pulled out a small cloth-wrapped bundle. 16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡS900frnw7U
He set it on the table with deliberate care, then peeled back the folds to reveal the crystal fragment.
It glowed faintly even in the daylight—green at the core, jagged along the edges, and humming with a kind of restrained, arcane tension.
Mayor Beren leaned in, his eyes narrowing. “Hm…”
Captain Alric stepped forward, expression tight, and hovered a hand over the shard.
“There's still mana residue, even after one night,” he muttered. “Whatever spell this was tied to—it was no minor incantation.”
Garron nodded once. “So you understand now. This wasn’t just a rogue spell or a back-alley blood ritual. We better take it seriously."
Mayor Beren’s fingers twitched on the edge of the table. “Yes, you're right, Garron. And we owe Mira another one for this.”
“She was born and raised in this town,” Garron said. “She did what she should.”
Before more could be said, the chamber doors creaked open.
A young guard stepped in, slightly breathless, helmet tucked under one arm. “Pardon the interruption, sirs—but the Prince is here. He requests an audience.”
The room froze.
Mayor Beren’s brows rose. “The Prince?”
Garron's eyes narrowed. But he didn't say anything.
“Yes, sir,” the guard replied. “He arrived just now with his escort. Says it’s urgent.”
Captain Alric shot a glance to Beren. “What does the prince want with you?”
Mayor Beren exhaled slowly. “How the hell should I know?"
He stood, straightening his coat and added, "It's not like we can refuse a prince anyway. Let him in.”
Moments later, the doors swung open once more—and Lucien stepped through.
He looked far from ceremonial, but no less princely.
His cloak had been brushed clean of ash, though its hem still bore signs of recent travel.
Dust clung faintly to his boots, and pale traces of fatigue shadowed his eyes.
Yet his posture remained steady, his bearing poised. Whatever wear he carried, he wore it with quiet strength.
Cassian followed a step behind—silent, alert, his eyes scanning the room with practiced precision.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Lucien said, his voice clipped but not cold. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything vital.”
“Not at all, Your Highness,” said Mayor Beren quickly, gesturing to the long table. “We were just discussing the... disturbance from last night.”
Lucien’s eyes drifted to the crystal fragment already on display—its dim green glow pulsing against the cloth.
He stepped forward and set a small metal case beside it with care.
With a soft click, the case opened.
Inside lay another shard. Smaller, fractured, but unmistakably similar—its core glowing with a gentle, rhythmic thrum.
“I believe we have a shared concern,” Lucien said. “This was recovered from the center of the blast site.”
Captain Alric’s brow furrowed. “You were there?”
Lucien nodded. “We arrived not long after it happened. Too late to intervene, but not too late to gather evidence.”
He turned his gaze to Garron. “And I presume your daughter was the one who stood at the center of it?”
There was a beat of pause.
Garron’s eyes flicked to the prince, unreadable.
He didn’t expect the Prince to know, but he didn’t hide it either.
“She was,” he said simply.
Lucien’s jaw tensed—only slightly. “Then she may have saved more than this town.”
Mayor Beren cleared his throat awkwardly. “Ah—do you have any idea what these crystals were meant for, Your Highness?”
Lucien looked down at the two fragments on the table. Their glow seemed steady, patient, like something waiting to resume.
“No,” he said quietly. “But I’ve seen enough to know it wasn’t meant for anything good. And whatever it was—it wasn’t finished.”
Silence pressed down, heavy and thoughtful.
Then Cassian spoke, calm and measured. "Perhaps...it’s time we spoke with the Saintess herself.”
All eyes turned to Garron.
There was a twitch at the corner of his mouth—not quite a smile, not quite a scowl.
Just the subtle shift of a man realizing things had become far more complicated than he'd hoped.
He exhaled through his nose.
“I’ll see if she’s awake.”
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