Chapter 112
Chapter 112
Ellaine (Now Edith) Point of view:
“Frans…”
His name lingered in the air like the soft aftertaste of honey tea–warm, strange, and unexpectedly comforting. I couldn’t s stop smiling. My fingers, idle, traced the fabric of the blanket I sat on, brushing over a seam again and again as if doing so would help me make sense of the feelings swirling inside my
chést.
Why?
Why did his name stir something in me–something gentle yet chaotic?
We had barely spoken beyond what could be considered polite conversation. A few words. A few glances. And yet, his voice, low and rough like velvet dragged over gravel, clung to my memory more stubbornly than it had any right to.
I sighed and rolled onto my back on the bed, staring at the ceiling of the small, warm inn room. The wooden beams above were old, carrying the scent of pine and the creaks of stories long forgotten. The lamp flickered gently beside me. I was supposed to rest. Damon said we’d leave early in the morning, but I hadn’t even begun to pack.
I was… hesitating.
Something about this place–it clung to me like dew in the morning. Something I didn’t understand. Something I didn’t want to leave behind.
Knock. Knock.
The sound startled me, and I sat up abruptly. The smile that had been fading returned, replaced by surprise as I padded softly to the door and opened it.
“Damon?” I blinked.
He smiled, shifting the weight of his satchel on his shoulder. “Sorry if I disturbed you,” he said with a kind smile. “But the others mentioned we’ll be leaving early morning tomorrow. Just wanted to give you a heads–up.”
I nodded, slightly confused. “Okay… I’ll collect and prepare everything. But why the rush?”
He shrugged, glancing down the hallway before meeting my eyes again. “Just a rumor, maybe nothing. But… the others are a bit uneasy.”
My brows knit together. “Uneasy? Why?”
He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s just–this treatment we’ve been getting. It’s… unusual.”
I tilted my head, still not understanding. “What treatment?”
“Dinner. A warm welcome. A place like this to stay. It’s all very generous.” He looked around, then added, “In all our trading trips, we’ve never been offered this kind of hospitality. So… we’re being cautious. Just in case.”
The words settled in my chest like dust. Suspicion. Doubt. I didn’t want them.
“I see,” I said softly. “Okay, I’ll follow your lead.”
He smiled again and raised a hand in a casual wave. “Alright. See you at sunrise.”
The door clicked shut as I leaned against it, exhaling slowly.
So… we’re going.
I looked around the room–so simple, yet it felt more like home than the past few places we’d stayed combined. My gaze fell to the window. The
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moonlight cast soft shadows over the wooden floor. I crossed the room and pulled the curtain slightly aside.
The city outside shimmered quietly in the night, alive but calm. I remembered walking through the marketplace earlier, how everything had felt born old and familiar. The smell of spices. The hush of whispers in a dialect I didn’t fully understand but still felt I should have. And then there was the moment
met him.
Frans.
Just thinking his name felt like pressing against an old bruise I didn’t know I had. Not painful–but it made me aware. Like something in me stirred. Not fully awake, but certainly not asleep either.
A part of me wanted to dismiss it. I had always been good at pushing things away, burying emotions, building walls and walking away with a straight spine. But this… this was different. This wasn’t just curiosity.
I hugged myself, resting my forehead against the cool window glass.
Why do I feel sad about going back?
It wasn’t logical. I had Mara waiting. She’d be worried if I delayed more than this. The others had no intention of staying either. I had no ties to this city
Or so I thought.
Why did this place feel like it was… calling me?
Maybe it was the way Audrey had looked at me earlier. Gentle. Protective. Familiar. Or the soft pat on the shoulder Monica gave me, like we’d been friends for years. Or maybe… it was something deeper. Something in the bones of the city. The heartbeat under its cobblestone skin.
Maybe… it was him.
“Stop it,” I muttered, pushing away from the window and grabbing my travel bag from under the bed.
It’s ridiculous, I told myself. I just met him. Barely even talked to him. I’m projecting. That’s what Mara would say.
But my hand hesitated on the clothes I was folding,
Would I ever see Audrey again? Monica? The kindness in their eyes… it had felt real. Not forced, not formal. Like they knew me.
No. That was ridiculous.
I kept packing. Silently, efficiently. I folded everything I had, even though I moved slowly–lingering just long enough on each item as though hoping they’d argue back and tell me to stay.
When I finished, I placed the bag by the door and crawled back into bed. But sleep didn’t come easily. My eyes stayed open, staring into the darkness.
Just before my eyelids grew too heavy, a whisper stirred in the back of my mind. Familiar. Soft.
“Stay.”
1,
The Next Morning
The inn was alive with movement. People whispering, bags being shuffled, footsteps creaking across the wooden floors. Damon greeted me with a short nod when I stepped out, my pack slung over one shoulder, my cloak draped over my arm.
“We’ll move fast today,” he said. “No stops if we can help it.”
I nodded, my throat too tight to answer.
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The group began to gather outside in the courtyard, the sun still barely stretching its fingers across the sky. I noticed the guards agam. More than usisa Quiet. Watching.
We left without fanfare, the city waking slowly behind us. As the horses trudged forward along the path leading out of the stone gates, I glanced back
once. Just once.
And there he was.
Standing just beyond the far arch, leaning against the wall like he had every right to be part of my memory. Dressed simply in a dark coat and boots, a scarf tucked loosely around his throat.
Frans…
He didn’t wave. He didn’t call out. He just stood there, watching
And I–coward that I was–looked away.
Two Days Later
I had hoped distance would dull the ache.
But it didn’t.
meg
This is weird…
With every mile we put behind us, the feeling only grew. This pull. This ache. This… longing. I had never felt anything like it before. It wasn’t just about a man. It wasn’t infatuation or the thrill of a stranger’s attention.
It was something else.
A memory that wasn’t mine.
A yearning I couldn’t explain.
Sometimes I dreamed of water. A lake or a river. Sometimes a voice I couldn’t place whispered in my sleep, calling me a different name. Not Edith. Not Ellaine.
Something older.
The dreams made my hands tremble and my heart race, but the worst part was how familiar it all felt. Like I was remembering, not imagining.
On the third evening, I pulled Damon aside while the others made camp.
“Did you… ever feel like something’s missing?” I asked.
He looked up from the fire he was building. “What do you mean?”
“Like… a piece of your story is gone. Like you’re walking in the wrong direction, but you can’t remember where you were going in the first place.”
He stared at me for a moment before nodding slowly. “Sometimes. But usually, I just blame the road and keep walking.”
I smiled faintly but said nothing.
That Night
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I walked alone, past the edge of the camp, guided by moonlight and the sound of the wind in the trees. The path was faint, almost invisible, but my feet followed it without effort. Like I’d walked it before.
I stopped near an old stone wall, partially crumbled and overgrown with moss. It wasn’t on any map. I knew that much.
And yet… I reached out and touched the stone with reve fingers.
“Who are you?” I whispered to no one.
But the wind shifted.
And a scent hit me–faint but unmistakable.
Pine. Leather. Smoke.
Him.
I closed my eyes.
“Frans…”
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