The bell above the door chimed softly.
Two familiar figures stepped inside.
For a brief moment, the shop seemed to notice.
Elaira Moonveil entered first.
She moved like moonlight slipping through leaves—unhurried, effortless, impossibly composed.
Her silver-gold hair shimmered faintly as it caught the morning sun, cascading down her back in soft waves.
Her eyes, calm and observant, shifted subtly between emerald and lavender depending on how the light struck them. And her cute elven ears.
She wasn't wearing anything extravagant—just simple traveling clothes—but somehow they looked tailored by destiny itself.
Every step was graceful.
Every glance measured.
And yet, there was nothing distant about her presence.
~Author - YK what just imagine a very beautiful elf girl
Behind her came Rogan Hartwall.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Built like a fortress that had learned patience.
His dark hair was kept short and practical, his expression calm and grounded. He didn't carry a weapon openly, but his posture alone suggested that if trouble did arrive, it would end quickly—and decisively.
Where Elaira felt ethereal—
Rogan felt solid.
A man who stood his ground simply by existing.
Lucien straightened instinctively.
"Elaira. Rogan," he said, surprised but pleased. "Good morning."
Elaira smiled faintly.
"Good morning," she replied. "We saw Mr. Williams earlier."
Her gaze flicked briefly toward the street outside, thoughtful.
"He looked shaken. Is everything alright?"
Rogan nodded once.
"Yeah. Didn't look like someone who just lost a game of cards."
Lucien opened his mouth—
"Ohhh?"
Seris struck like a predator sensing blood.
She leaned across the counter, eyes alight with mischief.
"Arriving together again?" she drawled. "At this rate, should I start planning the wedding?"
Lucien nearly threw the broom in reflex.
Rogan blinked.
"…Wedding?"
Elaira tilted her head slightly, serene as ever.
"I wasn't aware walking beside someone implied marriage."
Seris grinned wider.
"It does when you two walk in looking like a painting someone would hang in a noble hall."
Elaira considered that.
Then, calmly, she pointed toward the doorway.
"Rogan was standing outside looking lost."
"I WAS NOT LOST," Rogan said immediately.
"You were staring at the signboard upside down," Seris shot back.
"…It was artistic," Rogan muttered.
Lucien let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Thank the gods.
Then Elaira turned toward him.
Her expression softened—not dramatically, just enough.
"We came to check on you, Lucien."
Rogan nodded.
"You and your family."
Seris clapped her hands once.
"There! Mystery solved. No romance. Tragic."
Elaira blinked.
"Romance? With Rogan?" She paused thoughtfully. "He feels more like a cousin."
Rogan shrugged.
"Elaira's way out of my league."
Lucien exhaled so loudly that everyone turned to look at him.
Seris's eyes went wide.
"OH?" She pointed at him. "HE THOUGHT YOU TWO WERE—"
"I DIDN'T—!!" Lucien protested, face heating instantly.
Chaos followed.
Laughter spilled across the shop like sunlight through open windows.
They stayed.
Not because they had business.
But because that was how it always worked.
Elaira moved to the side table and began sorting herbs with elegant precision, fingers nimble and practiced. She recognized each leaf instantly, murmuring soft corrections when Seris mislabeled one.
Rogan positioned himself near the counter—not blocking the door, but close enough to discourage anyone foolish enough to cause trouble. Customers unconsciously gave him space.
Seris, meanwhile, became unbearable.
"So," she said casually, leaning toward Elaira, "if not Rogan, then who does catch your interest?"
Elaira didn't look up.
"I haven't considered it."
Seris gasped theatrically.
"A tragedy."
Lucien focused very hard on sweeping.
Rogan leaned closer to him and whispered,
"She does this on purpose."
Lucien nodded solemnly.
"I know."
For a while, the shop felt perfectly ordinary.
A warm home.
Friends under sunlight.
The kind of moment people never realize they'll miss—until it's gone.
Lucien smiled quietly.
He loved mornings like this.
jingle
The bell chimed again.
Darius stepped inside, brushing dust from his coat.
"Well," he said pleasantly, "that was refreshing."
Lucien hurried over.
"What happened?"
"Oh, nothing much," Darius replied easily. "Just helped a few boys rethink their life choices."
Seris smirked.
"Hah. He scared them."
"I communicated," Darius corrected mildly.
Elaira smiled in relief.
"I'm glad everyone is safe."
Darius glanced around the shop—at Lucien, Seris, Elaira, Rogan—and something mischievous sparked in his eyes.
"Well then," he said casually, "since everyone's gathered… I should ask."
The room stilled.
Lucien froze.
Seris leaned forward eagerly.
Rogan's soul attempted to leave his body.
Elaira listened politely.
Darius folded his arms.
"So—when's the big day?"
Lucien choked violently.
"THE WHAT?!"
Seris exploded into laughter.
Rogan stared very hard at the wall.
"Nope. Not involved."
Elaira, calm as winter moonlight, replied,
"Three months later—when Lucien turns eighteen."
Lucien nearly snapped the broom in half.
"ELAAAIRAA?!"
She blinked.
"Is that not when our Tower departure preparations begin?"
Darius nodded thoughtfully.
"Ah yes. That day."
Seris collapsed against the counter, wheezing.
"LUCIEN THOUGHT YOU MEANT MARRIAGE!"
Lucien turned bright red.
Elaira's eyes sparkled faintly.
"Did you wish it meant something else?"
Lucien choked.
Rogan leaned closer and whispered,
"You're doomed. In a good way."
Elena entered with tea.
"What's all this noise?"
Seris pointed at Lucien.
"Elaira announced the Tower timeline and he ascended to the heavens."
Darius patted Lucien's shoulder.
"No one's marrying you without your permission," he said lightly. "Probably."
Laughter filled the shop again.
Warm. Familiar. Alive.
Lucien felt his heart beat faster—
Not from fear.
But from possibility.