Night crept over Olsmere. Two-thirds of the town still lay in scorch and ruin, but in the quarter of the town that had survived, lights flickered against the dark. Survivors gathered around olsmeres new settlement, tents erected all around were patched with scraps of metal and leather,.
Steam hissed from makeshift pumps that drew water from the wells into hand-cranked faucets, making drinking water available.
Communal washing and cooking lines were set up as well for the remaining survivours of olsmere.
Stacks of crates had been repurposed into small arrangements, each containing herbs,vegetables and other food items for olsmeres sustainance.
Carts and pulleys clanked as they ferried water, food, and salvaged supplies between the tents.
Town olsmere was gaining life, throbbing and surviving, showing people could still thrive even after faced with great threats.
Inside olsmeres council meeting hall, men argued over the future of the town, their voices heated, echoing through the stone walls, while outside, some children ran barefoot through the dirt, laughing, chasing one another trying to forget the horror that had scarred them.
Some women lingered within olsmeres clothesline, folding sheets and clothes that was dry. The wind blowing nice and calm through the clothesline.
Mira moved slowly as she joined them shortly, her left hand still wrapped in bandages. She gathered a bag full of folded cloth and started making her way back toward the tents. Walking along a lonely field.
That was when she heard
A soft whistle.
Her eyes darted to the side, spotting a man that stood in the shadows of a ruined stall, waving at her. His face half-hidden in the dark.
Mira froze in shock after seeing the male figure, his pose struck more like a threat. Immediately, her fingers clenched her bandaged arm. Instinct told her to run away. As she began walking faster, her pulse racing.
The sound of the whistle cut through the air again, this time, laughter accompanying it, as the male figure started pacing towards mira with haste.
Fear spiked within Mira as she turned, quickening her steps, her heart hammering as she looked back over her shoulder repeatedly, ignoring her steps and what lies ahead of her, because of the fright she faced.
Without a moments notice, she stumbles straight into a males arms, as strong hands steadied her, her eyes quickly fell on the figure who grabbed her, her heart pounding almost out of her chest, and suddenly a familiar voice calls out to her.
"Oh hello, young lady."
It was lord Keith the low noble and mrs trinkets husband, he gradually adjusted himself after the bump, his expression shifts as he saw her face pale with fear. "Are you alright?" He asked, then his eyes focused on her composure, noticing how her body trembled, how her steps had been frantic.
He stretched his neck, peering into the dark behind her, checking to see what she was running from, then mira spoke.
"Someone called out to me," she whispered, with a shaking voice. "I think he was after me"
Keith's brow furrowed. Without a word, he took the bag of folded cloths from her arms, and clasped her right hand firmly. "Stay close," he said, his tone quiet but urgent as he guided her quickly toward the tents where everyone gathered, scanning the shadows with every step, but fortunately no was spotted.
"Did you see his face?" Keith asked as they walked gently now.
Mira shook her head in disagreemnet.
"It was too dark. But… he came out from that damaged stall." She said, pointing toward the ruined stall in a distance"
Keith's gaze lingered on the blackened wood and broken stone stall. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He kept walking, his pace now swift, until the noise of the gathering reached them.
Men still argued loudly within the councils hall, voices rising in debate about supplies.
"These are dangerous times," Keith said at last, adjusting his glasses, his face slug and old like a man in his 60s, with a serious look "olsmere is definitely vulnerable at this time, and criminals will try to take advantage of that. Walk with someone from now on. Never be alone."
he finalized as he starred around looking to see if he could still spot any signs.
Mira looked up at him, her breath slowing, though her body still trembled slightly. Her eyes fixed on him for a short while as though she had only just realized something, something she could not yet put into words.
Then suddenly her pupils widened, reflecting realisation.
Mira hesitated, then asked softly, "You're Mr. Keith, right? Mrs. Trinket's husband?"
Keith chuckled and nodded. "Yes, I am, and you must be mira" he says while adjusting his misalligned shirt. Mira nods in response with a warm smile.
"Though we've never properly met" keith continued. "I had hoped to meet you, after I returned from lord Eryndor's trial in Calensport, but as you can see…" He gestured at the ruined tents, and the council hall where men argued angrily "Matters of this town have kept me busy."
"Thank you, sir, for saving me from the flames" Mira said, her voice small but full of sincerity. "I owe you."
Keith shook his head, waving the words away. "Nonsense. We were all victims of the attack, we ought to do our duties to help one another. And I was simply in the right place to help you." He says as he continued walking beside her, his steps steady, still carrying the bag of folded sheets.
"Tell me, how are you feeling mira?"
"In general?" Mira glanced up at the night sky, her voice tinged with quiet gratitude. "I am… grateful."
"You look well," Keith replied gently. "Better than ever."
She smiled faintly. "Mrs. Trinket has been wonderful. She always wants the best for me"
Keith's expression softened, warmed by the mention of his wife. "Yes. That's true. Empathy is her nature. Caring for others is her way of living." He smiled as walked through thoughts and memories.
The two of them continued walking quietly between the tents, the murmur of voices and the glow of lanterns guiding their path.
At last, Keith stopped in front of Mira's tent. He handed her the sheets gently. "Now that you're safe, move about more cautiously. And don't let fear weigh too heavy, remember, you are not alone here. I'll raise this matter with the town's council. Rest well, Mira."
He offered her a gentle wave and turned away into the night. Mira lingered, smiling faintly with relief, before slipping into her tent with a long, quiet sigh.
Location: watchtower in the north.
Liora and her companions gathered beneath the watchtower, their thick garments and leather coats worn tightly in preparation for the bitter cold ahead of them.
Their Gear wagons sputtered to life as its engines rumbled, with steam puffing from its vents, while people held lanterns that glowed against the cold dark. One by one, her companions climbed into the wagons, their boots thudding on the metal steps.
Master Yeru and lioar stood side by side a few paces away, scrolls tucked beneath yerus arm, his old weathered face lined with sorrow, while lioras countenance lit with braveness.
Yeru extended a hand to Liora with softening eyes.
"May your days be long and fruitful, child. Guard yourself well, against the cold, and against what lies beyond it." His lips curved faintly with a smile, though the sadness never left his face.
Liora shakes his hand firmly. "We'll be fine, Master Yeru. And besides, we have you. The great Yeru of the north. I haven't forgotten your glory days, neither have i forgotten your bravery and strength for asterra"
The old master yeru chuckled, shaking his head as he drops his gaze to the ground. "Gone are those days. I am old now. The battles i fought are with the dust of scrolls, i have no children to carry my name, no wife to warm my bed. The tower is my companion, nothing more."
Liora laughed softly. "You're still full of life. There's time yet for a woman to love you, to clean for you and to cook for you."
Yeru blushed faintly, waving her teasing aside. "Eiii… pleasures of life are for the young now. My service is all I have left to give."
"Don't punish yourself for the past, master yeru" she said, and in an instant her words were cut short by a scream.
High-pitched. Sharp. Bursting from behind the wagons.
Liora spun to action immediately, pulling a rifle into her hands, as she made her way towards the wagons. Gradually she pulled the cork with a snap as she prepared to shoot, while Yeru hurried slow and gently behind her, running as his old age could carry.
Lioras companions clustered around the wagon that had the dead laying in it, as they pointed towards it, some holding themselves as though they had seen a ghost. The adults' faces were etched with shock, their expressions frozen in a mixture of fear and revulsion.
Liora slowed her steps, steady and measured, her rifle raised, aligning her eyes with the scope ready to shoot.
Then immediately, she froze.
Then Her grip loosened slowly from the rifle.
Before her veey eyes, and at the back of the wagon filled with dead people sat a boy. His clothes still scorched, his face pale, but his chest rose and fell with life. He had been among the six dead. Now, he drew breath against all odds.
"What in Asterra's hell ?" Liora muttered.
Master Yeru arrived at her side, his own eyes widening, disbelief breaking his aged composure.
The boy's gaze darted slowly between the torches pointed at him—squinting his eyes against the blinding light. He pressed himself to the edge of the wagon—trembling, and cornered like a prey.
Liora lowered her rifle, her voice now steady though her heart raced. Then She extended a hand towards him.
"Take my hand, boy. You're safe now."
Others hesitated, their face still carved with fear, but when Liora moved forward boldly, the men followed, reaching up to pull the boy down from the wagon.
As everyone stood in shock and wonder.