Eira
The morning breeze in the Mid-Tier whipped Eira's hair as she stepped out of her house, the bruise on her cheek feeling better every day.
The sun hadn't quite cleared the cliff's edge, but the village was already humming with the sound of sweeping brooms and the distant, rhythmic clink of the water-wheels below.
She didn't head straight to the apothecary.
She had something to pick up.
Her feet followed a path they knew by heart, leading her toward the scent of toasted yeast and caramelized sugar.
Wilhelmilla's Morning Crumb was a tiny shop squeezed between a weaver and a clockmaker. Its windows were fogged with steam from the kitchen, and the lantern hanging above the door was a bright, cheery orange.
The colour of a perfect sunset.
Eira pushed the door open, and a bell chimed musically.
"If you're here for the sourdough, you're ten minutes early!" a muffled voice called out from behind a mountain of flour sacks.
Milla emerged, wiping her powdered hands on an apron that had seen better days. She was a bundle of energy, her own amber lantern swinging rhythmically from her belt as she moved.
Milla had a warm contrast to the pale faces of Oakhaven. She was a foreigner from the Sun-Bathed Basin, her skin was a deep, healthy tan, and her dark hair was usually dusted with a "snow" of white flour.
She always smelled of toasted vanilla and woodsmoke, and her laugh was loud enough to shake the copper pans hanging from her ceiling.
When she saw Eira, her eyes widened and immediately landed on the bruise.
"Eira! Your face! Did a shelf fall on you, or did you finally try to fight a mountain goat?"
Eira laughed, the sound feeling strange after the silence of her own home. "Neither. Just a disagreement with a High-Tier ego. Don't worry about it, Milla. I need a favour."
"For you? Anything. As long as it doesn't involve me tasting another one of your 'health' Tonics. That last one tasted like boiled dirt." Milla leaned over the counter, her expression softening. "What do you need?"
"Four doughnuts," Eira said, reaching for her coin purse. "The ones with the honey glaze and the spiced cinnamon."
Milla raised an eyebrow. "Four? You usually eat half of one and complain about the sugar. Is Mrs. Gable having a secret party?"
"We have a... guest," Eira said, her voice dropping slightly. "A boy. He collapsed on the porch last night. He's in a bad way, Milla. I thought something sweet might cheer him up."
Milla's face clouded with genuine sympathy. She pushed Eira's hand back when she reached out to pay her. "Anything for someone in need."
Back behind the counter, she got to work lining up the table with parchment paper.
One for Eira. One for Mrs. Gable. And then she picked out the two largest, most golden-brown doughnuts in the tray, drizzling an extra swirl of honey over them until they glistened like amber.
"On the house," Milla insisted, sliding the box across the counter. "Tell your mystery guest that if he wants a third, he has to come thank me in person once he can walk."
"Thank you, Milla. Truly."
Eira tucked the warm box under her arm. The heat from the bread seeped through the wood and into her side like a small, portable hearth.
She stepped back out into the street, feeling a surge of hope. She imagined the boy's face when he tasted something other than river mist. She imagined him sitting up, his colour returning, finally telling her who he was. A small smile
She walked quickly, her boots crunching rhythmically on the fresh powder. She passed the flower stalls and the weavers, nodding to neighbours who offered warm smiles.
Everything felt stable. Everything felt bright.
But as she rounded the corner to the apothecary, the golden feeling vanished.
The shop door was standing wide open. The lemon-yellow lantern that usually hung straight was swinging violently in the wind, clattering against the stone wall.