The month passed in a blur, the last days at home heavy with quiet anticipation. The mornings were crisp and golden, sunlight spilling over the rooftops and gardens, highlighting the small details Wads had always cherished—the way dew collected on the cobblestones, the scent of bread baking in the village square, the gentle hum of life stirring awake.
Inside their home, Wads' mother moved about with precise care, packing his few belongings into a sturdy leather satchel. Each item was folded neatly: clothes, a few personal trinkets, and the notebook where Wads had recorded his observations, sketches, and plans over the years. She paused occasionally, placing a hand over his shoulder, her expression a mixture of pride and worry.
Ariel sat nearby, her legs tucked beneath her on the wooden floor, quietly threading ribbons through small bundles of food and gifts. "Will you write to me every week?" she asked, her eyes serious for once, not teasing.
"I will," Wads assured her, adjusting the rectangle glasses perched on his nose. "I'll write about everything I see… the city, the people, and even Klyden's antics."
Ariel giggled softly. "Make sure you don't forget about me! I want details!"
Wads smiled faintly, the familiar warmth of his family filling him despite the growing knot of anticipation in his chest. His mother handed him a small satchel of provisions, her fingers lingering on his shoulder. "Take care of yourself, Wads. Be cautious, but don't lose yourself in caution entirely. And remember… we're proud of you."
He nodded, quietly swallowing the lump in his throat. Ariel hugged him tightly, holding on as though she could delay the inevitable. "I'll miss you," she whispered.
"And I'll miss you too," Wads replied softly, squeezing her hand before gently pulling away. He placed the small silver stud in his left ear under her gaze, a silent acknowledgment of their bond and her gift.
Outside, Klyden waited, fidgeting with excitement, his backpack already slung over one shoulder. Atticus lingered nearby, a mix of pride and melancholy in his white eyes. "I… I wish I could come," he said quietly, a wistful note in his voice. "But I guess it's still too early for me."
Wads put a hand on his shoulder. "You'll have your time. Stay safe, Atticus. And keep practicing. We'll need someone like you in the future."
Klyden grinned broadly, clapping Wads on the back. "Come on, genius! The capital isn't going to wait for us!"
The path ahead was long—a five-day journey to the capital, barefoot as tradition dictated, a time to savor each step and the landscape they had grown up with. Villages, rivers, and forests passed slowly underfoot, giving them a chance to reflect, prepare, and take in the changing scenery.
The first day was uneventful, their steps familiar on the winding dirt paths and over gentle hills. Birds called above them, and the wind carried the scent of pine and fresh earth. Klyden ran ahead often, exploring with childlike enthusiasm, though each time he checked back, he ensured Wads was keeping pace. Wads' careful stride balanced Klyden's reckless energy, both learning patience in their own ways.
By the second day, the forest path thickened, shadows lengthened, and the wind carried the faint scent of someone approaching. Emerging from the mist, a figure stepped into the clearing—tall, elegant, and unmistakably familiar. Liora.
Her silver hair caught the morning light, cascading down her back in a smooth, almost metallic sheen, and her heterochromatic eyes—one red, one green—glimmered with curiosity and mischief. Her garments were finely made, flowing lightly over her form, a hint of elegance in every movement.
"Finally!" she exclaimed, a teasing grin spreading across her face. "I see you've taken to wearing glasses now, Wads. Didn't think the little moon boy would need them." She tilted her head, examining him with playful scrutiny. "And here I thought your eyes could handle the light."
Wads adjusted the glasses, cheeks heating faintly. "I… can handle it. Mostly."
Klyden chuckled, looping an arm around Wads' shoulder. "She's still got it, huh? The teasing's as sharp as ever."
Liora's gaze softened slightly as she stepped closer. "I couldn't come sooner," she explained quietly, her voice carrying the weight of responsibility. "The north… I had obligations. Rules of my family. You had to reach thirteen before I could travel freely. I didn't want to risk being delayed and missing you all."
The group walked together now, Liora's presence both commanding and comforting. Klyden, though always adventurous, showed a hint of maturity, holding back his impulsiveness slightly, ensuring the pace suited everyone. Wads, meanwhile, felt a strange mixture of relief and nervousness—Liora's teasing lightened the tension, but her presence also reminded him of how much had changed.
Through forests and along rivers, the four of them moved, barefoot against the earth, laughter mixing with the soft rustle of leaves. Liora occasionally nudged Wads, teased him about the glasses, and mocked the way he meticulously observed every detail along the way.
Klyden, despite his energetic nature, took it upon himself to keep Wads close, checking each stream and slope before hopping ahead. His strength and curiosity were tempered now with a sense of shared responsibility—an unspoken promise that they'd face whatever awaited in the capital together.
As the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the forest floor, Wads felt a strange calm settle over him. The locket pulsed faintly under his shirt, a constant reminder of the responsibilities and mysteries still ahead. Beside him, Klyden grinned, ready for anything. Ahead, Liora's gaze sparkled with that familiar mix of elegance and mischief. The journey to the capital, barefoot and unhurried, had only just begun.