CHAPTER SIX
Salt and Silver
They left Silverbrook before dawn.
The streets were empty, the crystal lamps dimmed to their nighttime glow, the city still sleeping off the previous day's business. Orion walked with his pack on his back and Nera in his pocket, passing through streets they'd come to know over the past weeks.
There was the bakery where Nera had once convinced the owner to give them free samples by complimenting his flour selection for twenty minutes straight. There was the phone booth where Orion had made his first long-distance call to confirm their guild transfer. There was the corner where Vex had once challenged a street performer to a duel of dramatic readings and lost spectacularly.
Memories. They accumulated so quickly, even in a place you'd only lived for a short time.
"You're being quiet," Nera said softly.
"Just thinking."
"About what we're leaving?"
"About what we're going toward." He adjusted his pack. "Coastal City. I've never been there."
"Neither have I." She poked her head out of the pocket, her tiny face thoughtful. "I've heard it's beautiful, though. The buildings are all white stone, and you can see the ocean from almost anywhere in the city. They have markets that sell fish so fresh they're still flopping."
"That sounds unsanitary."
"It sounds exciting!"
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
They reached the city gates just as the first light of dawn began to paint the eastern sky. The guards—different ones from those who had been on duty when they'd arrived—waved them through without comment. Just more travelers, heading out to whatever lay beyond.
Orion paused at the threshold, looking back one last time. Silverbrook spread out behind him, still and peaceful in the pre-dawn grey. Somewhere in there, Pip was probably still asleep, dreaming of sword forms and adventure. Somewhere, Vex was snoring while Denna plotted their next quest. Somewhere, Mira was already awake, preparing for another day of bureaucratic heroism.
"We'll come back someday," Nera said. "When it's safe."
"Will it ever be safe?"
She didn't answer. They both knew the truth—that safety was an illusion, that running only bought time, that eventually whatever was chasing them would catch up.
But eventually wasn't today. Today, they had the open road and each other and the promise of something new.
Orion turned away from Silverbrook and started walking.
* * *
The journey to Coastal City would take five days by foot, following the trade road southwest through farmland and forest before descending to the coast. They could have taken a carriage—it would have been faster, more comfortable—but Orion preferred walking. It gave him time to think, time to process, time to exist without the constant press of other people.
Also, carriages cost money, and they were trying to conserve funds until they got established in their new home.
The first day passed uneventfully. They walked through gentle hills dotted with sheep, past farmhouses where smoke curled from chimneys and children waved from fields. Nera provided running commentary on everything they passed—the shapes of clouds, the colors of wildflowers, the suspicious behavior of a particular crow that she was convinced was following them.
"It's not following us," Orion said. "It's just a crow."
"It's been behind us for two miles! That's not normal crow behavior!"
"How would you know what normal crow behavior is?"
"I know things! I'm very wise!"
"You got lost in our own garden last week."
"That was a complex garden! There were paths!"
"There were three paths. They all led to the same place."
"Exactly! Confusing!"
The crow, whether stalking them or not, eventually lost interest and veered off toward a distant field. Nera claimed victory. Orion didn't argue.
They made camp that evening in a small clearing off the road, sheltered by a ring of old oaks. Orion built a fire while Nera explored the surrounding area, returning periodically to report her findings.
"There's a stream about fifty feet that way. Very clean. Some fish, but they're small."
"Noted."
"Also, I found a really good stick."
"A good stick?"
"Look at it!" She held up a twig that was, to Orion's eyes, indistinguishable from any other twig. "It's got a perfect curve! And the bark has this pattern that looks like a tiny face!"
"I'll take your word for it."
"You have no appreciation for sticks."
"That's true. I apologize to the stick community."
Nera carefully placed her prize stick next to her sleeping spot, treating it with the reverence usually reserved for magical artifacts. Orion watched her with a fondness he didn't bother to hide. Three years of marriage, and she could still surprise him with her capacity to find joy in the smallest things.
That night, under a canopy of stars, she curled up against him in her human form and asked the question he'd been waiting for.
"Do you regret it? Leaving Silverbrook?"
"No."
"You answer very quickly."
"Because it's not a hard question." He pulled her closer. "I regret that we had to leave. I don't regret choosing to. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yes. One is about circumstance. The other is about you." He pressed a kiss to her hair. "I'll always choose you. Every time."
She was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly: "Even if you knew everything? Even if you knew what I really am?"
"Even then."
"You're very sure for someone who doesn't have all the information."
"I have the information that matters." He shifted so he could look at her face, silver in the starlight. "You're kind. You're joyful. You make every day better just by being in it. Whatever else you are, whatever secrets you're carrying, those things are still true."
"What if I'm something terrible? What if the secrets would change how you see me?"
"Are you planning to eat me in my sleep?"
She blinked. "What? No!"
"Are you secretly plotting to destroy the world?"
"Of course not!"
"Are you going to leave me for a more attractive husband?"
"Orion!"
"Then I think we're fine." He smiled—a real smile, the kind he saved for her. "Whatever you are, Nera, I fell in love with the person in front of me. Not the mystery. The mystery is just... extra."
She stared at him like he'd said something profound instead of something obvious. Then she laughed, and buried her face in his chest, and held on like she was afraid he might disappear.
"I love you," she mumbled against his shirt.
"I know."
"You're supposed to say it back."
"I love you too."
"Better."
They fell asleep tangled together, and the stars wheeled overhead, and somewhere in the distance, a crow cawed once and was silent.
* * *
The second day brought rain.
Not a gentle drizzle, but a proper downpour—the kind that turned roads to mud and made every step an exercise in determination. Orion walked with his hood up and his head down, trying to keep at least some of himself dry. It was a losing battle.
Nera, sensibly, had retreated to his pocket at the first drops. She was technically getting wet too, but she seemed to view this as an adventure rather than an inconvenience.
"Listen to the rain on your hood!" she said. "It's like little drums! Tiny percussion!"
"I'm focusing on not slipping in the mud."
"You can do both! Multitasking!"
"I really can't."
"You have very limited capabilities."
"Thank you for that assessment."
They found shelter around midday—a waystation built for travelers, little more than a roof and four walls with a fire pit in the center. It was already occupied by a merchant caravan, their wagons parked outside while the drivers huddled around a smoky fire.
"Room for two more?" Orion asked.
The caravan master, a stocky dwarf with a braided beard, waved them in. "Plenty of room. This weather's got everyone stopped. Might as well be miserable together."
"Cheerful outlook."
"I'm a merchant. Cheerful outlooks are for people who don't understand profit margins."
Orion found a spot near the fire and set about wringing out his cloak. Nera emerged from his pocket, shaking off water droplets like a tiny dog, and immediately flew over to investigate the merchant's wares.
"Oh! What's this? Is this silk? It feels like silk! Where did you get silk? Is it expensive? It looks expensive. I bet it's expensive."
The dwarf watched the pixie with the bemused tolerance of someone who had seen stranger things in their travels. "It's from the eastern kingdoms. And yes, it's expensive. Very expensive. More expensive than you can probably afford."
"I wasn't going to buy it! I was just admiring!"
"Admiring is free. Just don't touch with wet hands."
"I would never!" Nera looked deeply offended. "I have very respectful hands!"
"She does," Orion confirmed. "Very small, but respectful."
The caravan master snorted. "Adventurers?"
"How'd you guess?"
"The sword. The pack. The general air of 'I've made questionable life choices.'" The dwarf grinned. "No offense."
"None taken. You're not wrong."
"Heading to the coast?"
"Coastal City. We're transferring our guild registration."
"Good timing. I hear they're looking for adventurers down there. Some trouble with sea caves—monsters coming up from the deep, that sort of thing." The dwarf leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Between you and me, I'd stay away from the southern docks after dark. Strange things happening there. Strange people."
"What kind of strange?"
"The kind that pays well to not be talked about." The dwarf shrugged. "But you didn't hear that from me."
"Hear what?"
"Exactly."
The rain continued for several more hours. Orion used the time to rest, to eat, to listen to the merchants swap stories about the roads and the markets and the general state of the world. It was the kind of idle conversation that passed time without demanding much—comfortable, forgettable, human.
Nera, meanwhile, had made friends with the entire caravan. By the time the rain let up, she had learned all their names, their hometowns, their favorite foods, and an alarming amount of gossip about merchant guild politics.
"Did you know," she reported as they set out again, "that the silk merchant has been feuding with the spice merchant for fifteen years over a card game debt? And the wagon driver with the mustache is secretly engaged to the wagon driver with the hat, but they can't tell anyone because their families are rival trading houses? And—"
"How do you learn these things?"
"I ask questions! People like talking about themselves!"
"People don't usually share that much with strangers."
"I'm not a stranger. I'm a friendly pixie who gives compliments." She preened. "It's a very effective strategy."
Orion couldn't argue with results.
* * *
The third day, they reached the forest.
It was old growth—massive trees with trunks wider than houses, their canopy so thick that only scattered beams of sunlight reached the road below. The air smelled of moss and decay and ancient growing things.
"This forest has a name," Nera said quietly. She had emerged from the pocket and was sitting on Orion's shoulder, her tiny face unusually solemn. "The Greenveil. It's one of the old places."
"Old?"
"From before. Before humans built their cities. Before the roads were paved. Before..." She trailed off. "There's magic here. Deep magic. The kind that doesn't answer to anyone."
Orion felt it too—a pressure in the air, a sense of being watched by something vast and patient. The forest wasn't hostile, exactly, but it wasn't welcoming either. It simply was, and anything passing through was tolerated rather than invited.
"Should we be worried?"
"No. The Greenveil doesn't bother travelers who stick to the road. It's only dangerous if you wander off." She paused. "Very dangerous if you wander off."
"Good thing I hate wandering."
"You do have an excellent relationship with roads."
"They go places. I respect that."
They walked in relative silence through the forest, the only sounds their footsteps and the distant calls of birds that might or might not have been birds. Nera seemed contemplative, her usual chatter subdued by the weight of the old trees.
"I grew up somewhere like this," she said eventually. "Not this forest, but... one like it. Old. Full of magic."
"What was it like?"
"Beautiful. Terrible. Safe and dangerous at the same time." She was quiet for a moment. "I miss it sometimes. The way you miss a place that shaped you, even if you couldn't stay."
"Why couldn't you stay?"
"Because I wanted more than it could give me." She looked at him, her ancient eyes young with something like hope. "I wanted to see the world. To meet people. To fall in love with a grumpy human who's bad at mornings and good at making me feel safe."
"I'm not grumpy."
"You're a little grumpy."
"I'm reserved."
"Grumpily reserved."
"I'm reconsidering this marriage."
"No, you're not."
"No, I'm not."
She smiled—that bright, unrestrained smile that could light up even this shadowed forest. And for a moment, the ancient trees seemed less oppressive, the watching presence less heavy.
Maybe that was her magic. Maybe that was just who she was.
Orion wasn't sure there was a difference.
* * *
The fourth day, they cleared the forest and got their first glimpse of the sea.
It was magnificent. A vast expanse of blue stretching to the horizon, glittering under the afternoon sun like a field of scattered diamonds. The road descended from the hills in long switchbacks, and with each turn, more of the coastline came into view—white cliffs, sandy beaches, the distant shapes of ships under sail.
And there, nestled in a natural harbor where a river met the sea, was Coastal City.
"Oh," Nera breathed. "Oh, it's beautiful."
It was. The city was built of white stone that caught the sunlight and threw it back in dazzling brilliance. Towers rose at intervals, some topped with flags, others with what looked like lighthouses. The harbor was thick with ships—fishing boats, merchant vessels, a few sleek military craft. Even from this distance, Orion could see the bustle of activity, the movement of thousands of people going about their lives.
"It's bigger than Silverbrook," he observed.
"Much bigger." Nera was practically vibrating with excitement. "Look at all those ships! And the buildings! And is that a palace? That looks like a palace! Do they have royalty here? I want to see the palace!"
"Let's find somewhere to live first."
"Details! Minor details!"
"Shelter is not a minor detail."
"It is when there's a palace to look at!"
They descended toward the city as the afternoon wore on, the road becoming more crowded as they got closer. Other travelers joined the flow—merchants with laden carts, pilgrims in simple robes, adventurers with weapons and attitudes, families with children and complaints.
The gates of Coastal City were massive stone arches, flanked by guards in crisp blue uniforms who actually seemed to be paying attention to who came and went. Orion presented their guild transfer papers and was waved through with professional efficiency.
"Welcome to Coastal City," the guard said, handing back the papers. "Guild hall is in the Harbor District, three streets east of the main pier. Registry office is in the Stone Quarter, but they close at sunset. Enjoy your stay."
"Thank you."
"Oh!" Nera flew up to hover in front of the guard's face. "What's your favorite thing about the city? We're new! We want to know all the best places!"
The guard blinked, clearly not used to being accosted by enthusiastic pixies. "The, uh, the sunset. From the western cliffs. It's... nice."
"Wonderful! Thank you! You have a very nice helmet!"
"I... thank you?"
Nera zipped back to Orion's shoulder as they entered the city proper. "He was helpful!"
"You complimented his helmet."
"It was a nice helmet! Very shiny!"
"You're going to befriend every person in this city within a month, aren't you?"
"That's the goal!"
Orion sighed. But it was a fond sigh.
* * *
The Harbor District was exactly what the name suggested—a sprawling mess of docks and warehouses and taverns catering to sailors and traders. The smell of salt and fish hung thick in the air, and the cries of seabirds provided a constant soundtrack.
The guild hall was impossible to miss. It was one of the largest buildings in the district, three stories of weathered stone with the adventurer's guild emblem blazoned above the main entrance. Unlike the guild in Silverbrook, this one looked like it had seen some action—scorch marks on one wall, a patched section of roof, what appeared to be a claw gouge in the door frame.
"Cozy," Orion said.
"It has character!"
"That's one word for it."
Inside, the guild was bustling. Adventurers of every description crowded around multiple quest boards, compared equipment at merchant stalls set up along the walls, or clustered in groups to plan their next venture. The noise level was significantly higher than Silverbrook's guild—more shouting, more laughing, more general chaos.
The reception area featured not one desk but three, each staffed by harried-looking attendants trying to manage the constant flow of adventurers. Orion joined the shortest line and waited.
When he reached the front, the attendant—a young human man with ink stains on his fingers and the thousand-yard stare of someone who had processed too many forms—barely looked up.
"Nature of business?"
"Transfer registration. From Silverbrook."
"Papers."
Orion handed over the documents Mira had prepared. The attendant flipped through them with practiced speed, stamping and signing as he went.
"Silver rank, two registered members, one humanoid one fae-adjacent, no outstanding debts or disciplinary actions." He looked up, actually focusing on Orion for the first time. "Clean record. That's rare for transfers."
"We try to stay out of trouble."
"In this city? Good luck with that." The attendant stamped one final document and handed over two new badges—silver, like their old ones, but with a wave pattern instead of Silverbrook's mountain. "Welcome to Coastal City. Quest board is to your left, tavern is upstairs, don't start fights indoors, and if you take a sea-cave quest, bring extra antidotes. The poison down there is nasty."
"Noted."
"Oh!" Nera flew up, a flower already in her tiny hands—when had she picked that up? "This is for you! For being helpful!"
The attendant stared at the flower. Then at Nera. Then at the flower again.
"I've worked here six years," he said slowly. "No one has ever given me a flower."
"That's terrible! Everyone deserves flowers!"
"I... thank you?"
"You're welcome! Your ink stains are very distinguished!"
"They're... thank you. That's surprisingly nice to hear."
Orion gently steered Nera away before she could adopt another guild employee. "Let's find housing before it gets dark."
"But there are so many people to meet!"
"They'll still be here tomorrow."
"But what if they're different people tomorrow?"
"Then you'll meet those people too."
"That's a lot of people!"
"You'll manage."
* * *
Finding housing in Coastal City was both easier and harder than it had been in Silverbrook.
Easier because there were more options—the city was larger, with entire districts dedicated to different types of housing. Harder because everything cost more, and the landlords were accustomed to adventurers and priced accordingly.
"Two gold a month?" Orion stared at the dwarf showing them a modest apartment. "For three rooms?"
"Location, friend. You're a five-minute walk from the guild and ten minutes from the harbor. That's prime real estate."
"It's a box with windows."
"A conveniently located box with windows."
They moved on.
The next option was cheaper but came with a concerning amount of water damage. The one after that was dry but had neighbors that the landlord described as "enthusiastic" in a way that suggested noise complaints. The one after that was perfect in every way except for being built directly above a fish processing facility.
"I can't smell anything!" Nera said hopefully.
"That's because you're tiny. Trust me, at human size, you would smell everything."
"Maybe I'll just stay tiny forever."
"You can't cook at tiny size."
"I can't cook at any size!"
"Fair point."
Finally, as the sun began to set and desperation began to set in, they found it.
A small house in the Cliff District, built into the slope overlooking the harbor. It was older, clearly, with walls of weathered stone and a roof of blue-grey slate. But it was solid, and it was clean, and it had a tiny garden space that made Nera gasp with delight.
And from the back window, you could see the ocean.
"The previous tenants left suddenly," the landlord said. She was a human woman in her fifties, with silver-streaked hair and the practical air of someone who had seen too much nonsense to be bothered by more. "Adventurers. They took a quest and didn't come back. It happens."
"That's grim," Orion said.
"That's the business." She shrugged. "One silver fifty a month. First and last upfront. No loud parties, no dangerous magic indoors, no pets larger than a medium dog."
"I'm not a pet!" Nera said indignantly.
"Didn't say you were, little one. Pixies don't count as pets. You're tenants, same as him." The landlord smiled slightly. "My grandmother was fae-touched. I know the difference."
Nera softened immediately. "Your grandmother sounds lovely."
"She was a terror, actually. But in the best way." The landlord held out a key. "Do we have a deal?"
Orion looked at Nera. Nera looked at the garden. Then at the ocean view. Then at Orion.
"We'll take it," he said.
* * *
That night, they sat on the back step of their new home and watched the sun set over the ocean.
The sky turned gold, then orange, then a deep crimson that faded to purple as the stars emerged. The harbor lights flickered to life below them, and the distant sound of ships' bells carried on the evening breeze.
"It's different here," Nera said. She was human-sized, sitting close enough that their shoulders touched. "The air tastes like salt. The sounds are different. Even the magic feels different—older, deeper, connected to the sea."
"Good different or bad different?"
"Just different." She leaned her head against his shoulder. "I think I could be happy here."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She was quiet for a moment. "Do you think we're safe? Here, I mean. Do you think we ran far enough?"
Orion thought about it. They were hundreds of miles from Silverbrook, in a city where no one knew them, where their trail had gone cold. If anyone was following, they'd have to start from scratch.
"For now," he said. "We're safe for now."
"That's not very reassuring."
"It's honest. That's better than reassuring."
She laughed softly. "When did you become wise?"
"I've always been wise. You just weren't paying attention."
"I was distracted by your good looks."
"Understandable. I'm very attractive."
"And so modest."
"The most modest."
She laughed again, brighter this time, and the sound mixed with the crash of distant waves and the cry of seabirds settling for the night.
"Tomorrow," she said, "we should explore. Find the good restaurants. Meet the neighbors. Learn where everything is."
"And take a quest?"
"Maybe a small one. Something easy to start." She grinned. "No wyverns."
"No wyverns," he agreed. "At least for the first week."
"Generous of you."
"I'm a generous person."
"You're something, alright."
They sat together as darkness fell, watching the stars emerge over the sea. It wasn't the home they'd had in Silverbrook. It wasn't the life they'd started to build there.
But it was new. It was theirs. And for now, for tonight, it was enough.
Orion put his arm around his wife and let himself believe, just for a moment, that everything would be okay.
In the distance, the lighthouse at the harbor's mouth began its slow rotation, casting a beam of light across the dark water.
Guiding ships home.
Guiding everyone home.
* * *
Far to the north, in a city they had left behind, Commander Seraphel stood at a crossroads.
The magical trail had gone cold. Her Majesty was gone, fled to some distant location that Seraphel would need weeks to track down. The sensible thing—the dutiful thing—would be to follow immediately. To pick up the trail before it faded further.
But Seraphel found herself hesitating.
She had spent three years on this search. Three years of single-minded purpose, of duty above all else, of refusing to question why her queen had left or whether she wanted to be found.
Now, having seen Neradok's life—the small home, the loving husband, the simple joys—Seraphel couldn't ignore the questions anymore.
Why had she left?
What was she running from?
And did she have the right to drag her back to a life she had chosen to abandon?
Seraphel had no answers. For the first time in her long, long life, she had only doubts.
She would follow. Eventually. Duty demanded it, and Seraphel had never been able to abandon her duty entirely.
But perhaps she would take her time. Perhaps she would think, really think, about what she was doing and why.
Perhaps, for the first time in millennia, she would consider what she wanted instead of what was expected.
It was, she reflected, a very strange feeling.
But not entirely unpleasant.
— End of Chapter Six —