The morning light spilled through the large window of “The Wyvern’s Rest” inn, bathing the luxurious room in a golden glow. The aroma of freshly baked bread and coffee wafted up from the tavern below, a symphony of normalcy that felt both strange and wonderful. Paul sat in a chair, hunched over a map spread across the table, while Hilda, already dressed, watched the street from the window. She brushed her long red hair with slow, methodical strokes that spoke of a lifetime of ritual.

“So this is what adventurers do on their days off,” Hilda said, her voice tinged with lazy amusement. “Laze around until noon and spend the mission money on clean sheets?”

“Exactly,” Paul replied without looking up. “It’s called ‘strategic energy recovery.’ And we’re not lazing around. We’re planning. Today is a shopping day.”

“Shopping?” she inquired, arching an eyebrow. “I already have clothes. And a sword. What else could I possibly need?”

Paul finally looked up, a self-satisfied smile on his lips. He leaned back in his chair, a gesture full of languid confidence.

“My lady, we’ve only just begun. We need real healing potions, not the colored water they sell in small towns. Travel rations that don’t taste like cardboard. A new whetstone for our swords; mine is worn down. And, most importantly…”

He paused dramatically, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“A new sleeping bag. One for two people. The one I have is for a single person and has, clearly, become insufficient for our… logistical needs.”

Hilda stopped mid-brush, her face flushing an adorable shade of pink that rivaled her hair. She looked away, but he could see the shadow of a smile on her lips.

“You’re a scoundrel, Paul Greyrat.”

“I’m a practical man,” he corrected with a wink. “Now, about logistics…”

She nodded toward a corner of the room where Paul’s steel breastplate and greaves were piled in a messy heap.

“I nearly killed myself this morning tripping over your armor. Could you, for once, not leave your things thrown on the floor?”

“And you could try to take less than an hour to brush your hair!” he retorted, though his tone was more amused than annoyed. “We could have conquered a small kingdom in the time you take to make sure every strand is perfect.”

He laughed, a genuine, relaxed sound that filled the room. He stood up and approached her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. He watched their reflection in the full-length mirror hanging on the wall. He saw the woman being forged before his eyes, and beside her, himself—a man who, for the first time, didn’t want to run away.

“I like this,” he murmured, his voice a whisper against her ear.

She leaned back, resting against his chest.

“What? Arguing about our bad habits like we’re an old married couple?”

“Exactly.”

The Lutoa market was a torrent of life that assaulted the senses. Stalls of exotic spices filled the air with the scents of cinnamon, clove, and cumin. Blacksmiths hammered at red-hot metal, and merchants shouted their prices in a dozen different accents.

“Stay close,” Paul said, his hand finding Hilda’s. “A place like this is a paradise for pickpockets.”

Their first stop was a potion shop, a dark, crowded place that smelled of dried herbs and the sharp scent of alchemical magic. The apothecary, an old man with glasses so thick his eyes looked enormous, peered at them over his lenses.

“What do you need? Love potions? Slow-acting poison? Speak up, time is money.”

“Something more practical,” Paul said. “Three standard healing potions and one stamina potion.”

The apothecary placed four vials on the stained counter.

“Standard healing potion. Two large coppers. Seals small cuts. The stamina one will keep you awake for two days, but the hangover will make you wish you were dead. One silver.”

Hilda picked up one of the red vials, examining it against the light.

“Interesting,” she said, her tone shifting to that of a scholar. “What’s the clotting agent? Does it use dragon’s blood herb or a simpler compound like iron sulfate? The viscosity suggests the base is organic, but the color is too vibrant… unless you used fire-rose petals to stabilize it, but that would weaken the effect.”

The apothecary’s jaw dropped.

“You… you know alchemy, my lady.”

“My father insisted I have a complete education,” Hilda replied. “The noble arts, household management… and identifying poisons and their antidotes. The lessons are very similar.”

A mix of amused and impatient, Paul paid for the potions and dragged a fascinated Hilda out of the shop.

“You’re incredible, you know that?”

“I just know how to read books, Paul.”

“No, it’s more than that. You see the world in a way I never could.”

Their next stop was a dried meat stall. There, Paul taught her how to haggle.

“Watch. The trick is to show interest, but never too much. And always point out a flaw.”

He approached the vendor.

“Friend, this meat looks good. But it seems a little dry at the edges. I’ll give you three coppers for that piece.”

“Three coppers! Are you crazy? Five, and it’s yours!”

“Four. And you throw in that little sausage.”

“Deal.”

Hilda looked at him, surprised.

“At home, if you insulted the cook, you risked finding poison in your dinner.”

“Here, if you don’t insult the vendor a little, he’s ripping you off.”

They continued their shopping expedition, stopping at a leather tanner’s stall to acquire the famous sleeping bag. The vendor, a stout man with hands like hammers, showed them several models.

“This one is bearskin, the best for the cold. This other one, wolfskin, is lighter.”

“We need one for two people,” Paul said with complete nonchalance.

The tanner raised an eyebrow and showed them a much wider sleeping bag, made of two bearskins sewn together.

“The adventurer’s love nest. Very popular with couples. Keeps the body heat in. Very… efficient. Five silver coins.”

“Five? But the stitching is half-finished!” Paul retorted, pointing to a seam in the leather. “And this strap looks flimsy. I’ll give you three.”

While Paul haggled, Hilda blushed furiously, pretending to examine some boots at the other end of the stall. Finally, they reached a deal for four silver coins. As the tanner rolled it up, he winked at Paul.

“Enjoy it. Cold nights, you know.”

With their purchases made, their last stop was the Lutoa Adventurers’ Guild. It was a two-story structure, much larger and more organized than the one in Rikarisu. The atmosphere was more serious, less chaotic. It felt like they had leveled up.

They approached the mission board.

“We’re looking for something simple,” Paul explained. “An escort mission heading toward Creston.”

Hilda’s eyes scanned the board until she found one.

“That one,” she said, pointing to a note written in neat handwriting. “‘Escort wanted for a scholar traveling to the ‘Scholar’s Library’ in Creston. Modest pay, but safe travel guaranteed.'”

They tore the request from the board and took it to the receptionist, a bored-looking man who stamped papers with monotonous speed.

“We want to take this mission.”

The receptionist took the note, then looked up at them. His bored expression vanished, replaced by one of recognition.

“Ah, ‘The Rose and the Sword’,” he said, with a new hint of respect. “Your name has arrived before you. They say you cleared the road from Rikarisu of a pack of Stonepigs and saved Balthasar’s caravan. Good work. You’re making a name for yourselves.”

A warm pride swelled in Hilda’s chest. She was no longer just a fugitive. She was an adventurer with a reputation.

Back in the inn room, the evening light streamed through the window. The atmosphere was quiet, almost domestic. They were preparing their new supplies for the next morning. Paul sat on the floor, sharpening both swords. The rhythmic sound of steel on stone was strangely soothing. Hilda organized the potions and rations in their backpacks.

They moved in a comfortable silence, a synchronicity that needed no words.

“Creston…” Hilda finally said. “Do you really think we’ll find a book that can help me?”

Paul didn’t stop his work.

“We’ll find it. And if not, we’ll find someone who can teach you. I won’t stop until you’re the most powerful earth mage this continent has ever seen. That’s a promise.”

The sincerity in his words left her breathless. He finished sharpening her sword, stood up, and came up behind her. He hugged her, his hands wrapping around her waist. She leaned back against him, feeling the solidness of his body, a haven of calm before returning to the dangerous road.

They stood like that for a long moment, looking out the window toward the path they would take the next day—the road to Creston, toward a future that, for the first time, they felt they were building together, with their own hands.