Soren
The bright streetlights blinded Soren as he cradled his lantern to his chest as if it were a child.
He was supposed to be shopping for food to fill his empty fridge, but instead, he found himself staring blankly into the soft glow of the night.
His own light was a deep shade of violet, so thin it barely touched the edges of the glass. A few minutes after the silence robbed him of the will to keep sitting there, he sighed and picked himself up, his movements heavy and slow.
The bell on the door chimed gently as Soren stepped into the shop.
He glanced wearily at the owner. The girl, however, did not pay him any mind. She remained hunched over a heavy oak workbench, her eyes fixated on her book.
With a breath of relief, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a tattered scrap of paper.
Eggs. Cheese. A small cut of meat.
Soren blinked at the list. It was so little. He glanced down at his boots. The cracked leather was caked in the gray, drying mud from the riverbank. Oh, right. He was poor.
He moved through the aisles like a ghost, snatching the items off the shelf. He needed to get home, back to the safety of his bed, where no one could judge the colour of his lantern.
But when he reached the counter, the girl didn't so much as glance up.
Instead of speaking up, Soren stood there awkwardly, waiting for her to acknowledge him.
She didn't.
She stayed lost in her thoughts, her face framed by ash blonde, shoulder-length hair and trimmed bangs. Her name tag read 'Lyra'.
Two minutes passed. The silence in the shop grew thick. Soren began to get impatient. He just wanted to sleep. Finally, he leaned forward and placed the items on the table.
The girl's eyes twitched, but she didn't look up. "That will be 13 coppers," she murmured.
Soren froze.
Had she really calculated the price that quickly without even looking? He reached into his coat, his fingers trembling as he pulled out the damp bills.
It was only as he reached out to give her money that her eyes finally met his.
She stared at him just a second too long, a faint shade of pink dimming her cheeks, before her gaze drifted down to the lantern at his belt.
Suddenly, her heart dropped. Her breath hitched, and her eyes widened with sharp terror. She backed away, the heavy book hitting the floor with a muffled bang that echoed through the shop.
"It's you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "The boy from the river."
Solin just stood there, staring at the book that had fallen. He was used to his. There was a soft clink as he gently placed the coins on the table.
"Thank you," he said, his voice raspy and hollow.