Back at the plaza.

  They crossed into one of the adjacent streets. Brilliant Scarlet, the sign read. Through the windows, rows of fashionable clothes for girls and young women. Mannequins posing in jeans, sweaters, jackets, coats, glasses, skirts, pants.

  Fer looked at the displays with distaste, pausing at one mannequin dressed in a beret, a white T-shirt with a red heart, and ripped jeans. She arched a brow, disgusted.

  Looks like prison clothes…

  Meanwhile, Annya beside her was bursting to go in.

  A small bell announced their arrival as they opened the door. A wave of perfumed textiles and artificial heating hit Fer’s face, making her squint.

  The floor was white. Some walls were polished exposed brick, others painted the same white. Dark brown wooden tables and shelves displayed neatly folded clothes. Maroon-red couches added warmth to the decor. Full-body mirrors. Posters of models. Heavy red curtains shielding the fitting rooms.

  White ceiling, white lights, some hanging in black lamps that dangled like oversized spiders. Fer shivered at the image. Black-painted racks hung with clothes.

  The garments ranged from the lightest shades to the darkest—fuchsia, magenta, pink, red, rose, brown, violet, purple, blue, sky blue, white.

  Fer glanced at skirts, hoodies, sweaters, jackets, shirts, T-shirts. She caught sight of Annya’s thrilled expression, scanning every item. Fer’s face read one thing only: kill me now. She swore that if she’d ever found a place like this in her past, she would’ve torched it on sight for the sake of the planet.

  A young saleswoman approached, asking if they needed help. Fer was about to say no and bolt for the door, when she felt brute force yank her back by the hood, halting her escape.

  “We’re shopping for her!”

  “What?! No! I don’t—”

  But Annya, grinning, clapped a hand over her mouth. Fer’s muffled protests burned red across her face, her glare sharp with fury.

  What the hell?! I don’t want clothes, least of all in this place, dammit!

  She fumed as her new friend bounced with excitement.

  The shop attendant laughed softly before offering a suggestion. She held up a black shirt with a white skull printed across the chest, the sleeves patterned with horizontal black-and-white stripes. Annya snatched it eagerly and showed it off.

  “Look! This would look great on you! Totally fits your edgy-girl aura. What do you think?”

  “It’s awful,” Fer said bluntly, not even pausing to consider it.

  The cutting honesty made both Annya and the attendant laugh nervously.

  “Oh, if you’re looking for outfits for tough girls, I’ve got these black jeans with chains on the pockets,” the attendant offered. Annya grabbed them, paired them with the shirt, and searched for a black beret.

  “Try it on!” she ordered sweetly.

  “...No.”

  Secret manipulation spell: puppy-dog eyes.

  “Pleeease, please, pleeease!”

  Fer frowned at the deep blue pearls of Annya’s eyes. She could swear she saw an entire ocean inside them—eyes demanding she try new things. Interesting things. She wanted to insult her, call her a childish brat, storm out and never see her again. At least, that’s what part of her said… but in the end—

  “Fine! Just shut the hell up already!”

  She yanked the outfit from her hands, her pride crushed completely by letting the little freckled menace manipulate her yet again.

  “Yaaay! Second victory of the day!”

  The dressing room curtain slid once to let her in, again to close, and a third time when Annya shoved a black faux-leather beret into her hands along with, “And try it with this too!”

  Curtain closed again. The full-length mirror reflected her as she was: scarred, messy-haired, with a face carved in bitterness and restrained anger.

  Sigh… Why the hell am I doing this? I hate you. I wish I could scream at you to leave me alone, but… ugh. Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.

  She began undressing, peeling off her black jacket, her hoodie full of holes and toothpaste stains, her jeans that smelled of smoke, and sneakers that had once belonged to a corpse. She didn’t bother with a bra. Too many years of pretending to be a boy for her own safety had left her never getting used to them.

  Annya waited outside, humming a tune, giggling every time she heard Fer bump against the cramped booth’s walls. Fer cursed under her breath with every elbow she rammed into the mirror while trying to put the clothes on.

  After a few minutes, a defeated, embarrassed voice broke out:

  “I’m done…”

  Annya’s orange-haired head popped between the curtains, smiling as always.

  “Oh my gods, you look amazing! You’re straight out of Nana! Do you feel tougher now?”

  She looked at herself head to toe. Beret, chains, everything.

  “I’m gonna puke…"

  A long, defeated sigh came out.

  "Ugh... what is this shirt?!”

  The disgust in her voice made Annya giggle.

  “While you were changing, the clerk showed me these boots for you. Look, aren’t they awesome?”

  She handed over the box, opened it, and—for the first time since stepping foot in the store—Fer didn’t look like she wanted to die.

  “…Huh?”

  Inside were black combat boots with heavy soles. Thin laces, but strong enough to endure the roughest pull. She dropped the lid of the box without realizing it, hypnotized. She picked both boots up with one hand to study them. Annya smiled, about to say something, but Fer shoved her face away and yanked the curtain closed again.

  Determined, she changed back into her original clothes. She didn’t bother folding or hanging the shirt and jeans back. The beret was tossed on the floor somewhere—forgotten.

  Now the mirror showed her in her old outfit, but with the new boots. A restrained look of satisfaction crossed her face. She refused to smile, still testing them, inspecting if they were the right ones.

  “I thought you were more of a sneakers girl,” Annya said, poking her head through the curtain. “Don’t you think they’re a little big for you? You look like a security guard, hehe.”

  Fer barely heard her. She was testing the soles against concrete, mud, dirt, wood, rubber.

  Hmm. Good grip. Doesn’t slip. Heavy, but comfortable.

  She stomped hard on the floor, shaking the mirror and the booth walls.

  “Fer, careful! What the heck do you think you’re doing?!”

  She stopped.

  “Seeing if I can crack a skull with these,” she answered flatly, without a smile.

  “Hehe, don’t be silly. They look strong though—I bet you could smash a watermelon with them. Are you really going to start cracking skulls?” Annya asked innocently, convinced her friend was just joking with dark humor.

  “Yes. Starting with yours.”

  Annya giggled softly. Fer didn’t. She just stared at her, dead serious, unblinking. Luckily, the clerk came over to ask if they needed more help. Fer cut Annya off before she could request more ridiculous emo or punk-girl outfits, asking instead about the price of the boots. Hearing it, she pulled out the bills her mom had given her earlier.

  Hmm… Yeah. I’ve got enough. Weird, I expected them to cost more. Or is that just what boots go for? I have no idea. I’ll take them.

  KA-CHINK!

  The register rang, the clerk thanked them, and the doorbell jingled as they left.

  “They look really good on you,” Annya said with a smile. “You look like a real biker with that coat and—Um, Fer? What… what are you doing?”

  The moment they stepped outside, Fer sat on the store’s window ledge, pulled off her worn-out sneakers, and tossed them into a nearby trash bin as if they were worthless. She slid her new boots on. A pause, then she walked across the pavement.

  She smiled.

  “Heh… Perfect.”

  “Feeeer!” Annya protested. “Ew! You can’t just take your sneakers off on the street and throw them away like that! Clothes aren’t trash—they’re supposed to be donated to people who need them!”

  Fer didn’t care. She tossed the shoebox, the receipt, and the shopping bag into the bin as well.

  “Shut up. They weren’t mine anyway.”

  “Huh? They were borrowed?! Even worse! Think about the poor person who trusted you with their shoes! How do you think they’ll feel knowing you threw away something they gave you?”

  Fer shrugged in total indifference.

  “Eh, how should I know? The guy was dead.”

  Silence. Annya froze.

  “…Dead? Um, that’s a joke, right…?”

  Uh-oh.

  “Uuhhh! Of course! Uuuhhh…” she scrambled for a lame excuse, “they belonged to some distant cousin but he didn’t care about ‘em, I was just joking… haha.” She scratched the back of her neck nervously.

  “Oh… okay!” That innocent smile returned, and the two set off again on their mission to explore the city.

  “You know, sometimes you say weird things.”

  “You’re the weird one,” Fer shot back immediately, giving her a sidelong glance.

  “Ah, how dare you! I’m the prettiest, most beautiful girl in all the Kingdom!”

  “…and the loudest.”

  “Heh, but you didn’t deny the first part.”

  Touché. Fer’s cheeks flushed for just a moment.

  “I’m going to throw you into the street so you get run over.”

  “Hehe, I like you too, new friend!”

  Without thinking, Annya reached for Fer’s hand again, but Fer pulled away quickly, pointing a finger at her as they walked.

  “No.”

  “Hehe, okay, okay…”

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  The rest of the hours turned into an exploration of the city center. Though it quickly became less of a tour and more of Annya pointing out places so Fer could learn the town, while the second girl usually answered with a monosyllable.

  Shopping mall.

  “That’s where I used to go with my friends after hockey practice! It’s really nice, they even have an arcade.”

  “Hm.”

  “Wanna go in?!”

  “No.”

  Desire Ice Cream Parlor.

  “Ugh, they’ve got a strawberry flavor to die for… it’s my favorite in the whole city! Honestly, I’d say it’s the best in the entire continent, hehe.”

  “Mhm.”

  “Wanna buy some?!”

  “No.”

  “It’s okay! Oh, once I ate way too much tiramisu and got a stomachache for an entire day. Still don’t regret it!”

  “…The hell is a tiramisu?”

  Elerya’s Church, Goddess of Sunlight.

  “My family’s really religious.”

  “Hm.”

  “When I was little they brought me here every Sunday for mass.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Not anymore, tho…But I still like joining them on charity days when we bake homemade bread for the poor. Do you believe in the gods?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, really?!”

  “Yeah. I think they’re idiots.”

  The church tower’s clock struck 2:30 p.m.

  Fer’s stomach growled loud.

  “Ugh…”

  “Perfect timing, lunch! Where do you wanna go? We’ve got cafés, burger joints, hotdog carts—not restaurants tho, they’re too expensive…”

  “Anywhere. Just give me something with meat…”

  “There’s a nice café nearby, they make some really good beef sandwiches, do you wa—”

  “Yes. Now.”

  “Hehe, okay, okay. You must be starving. Come on, follow me.”

  Jelly Honey was the name of the café they walked into. Charming in its simplicity, with small decorations, white tables and chairs. It wasn’t crowded, so they quickly found a table for two. A friendly waiter brought them menus.

  “Hmmm… I think I’ll order a vanilla latte with cinnamon and… oh! Pancakes with maple syrup! Do you want one too? They’re sweet, but not too much.”

  Awkward silence.

  What the hell is a latte?!

  “…No.”

  She read the menu.

  Triple Venti Iced Caramel Macchiato,

  Tall Caffè Mocha with Whipped Cream and Chocolate Flakes,

  Venti Iced Shaken Green Tea Lemonade with Classic Syrup,

  Tall Matcha Green Tea Latte with Almondmilk Foam,

  Quad Ristretto Espresso Con Panna,

  Venti Pumpkin Spice Latte with Oatmilk and No Whip,

  Venti Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappuccino with Soymilk,

  Trenta Strawberry A?aí Refresher with Light Ice and Coconutmilk,

  Sealed ham & bacon sandwich,

  Frozen choco-cheesecake with homemade jelly.

  It was a new language. The ones she understood—besides Solerian and Larion—were the languages of tools:

  AK-47,

  SPAS-12,

  HK416,

  STG-44,

  M9,

  UZI,

  M3A1,

  AN-94,

  AUG A2,

  SCAR-H,

  M1903,

  Remington 700,

  Ithaca 37,

  Saiga-12,

  Colt MARS…

  I think this is more confusing than when Dad taught me the names of guns…

  Sigh…

  “Just give me a normal coffee and a meat sandwich.”

  The waiter nodded, took the menus, and left them alone. Fer stared out the window—at the people walking, the cars passing by. Life going on. Silence stretched between them, until she noticed Annya staring at her too much.

  “What stupid thing are you about to say now?” she asked, irritation already loading.

  Annya twisted a strand of orange hair around her finger, smiling nervously.

  “You know… you have pretty eyes.”

  Sneak attack. Fer nearly choked on her own breath. She coughed hard before pulling herself back together.

  “Why the hell would you say something like that out of nowhere?”

  “Well, um, I’ve just never seen a human with red eyes before. Not even elves.”

  “Okay…”

  “Looks like you’re not used to getting compliments.” Annya giggled softly, her freckled cheeks tinged with blush.

  “…No.”

  Luckily for Fer, the waiter returned with the tray, placing their dishes and cups before moving on with his work.

  “Oh, perfect! They didn’t take long. That’s the nice thing about coming on weekdays, fewer customers at this hour. Enjoy!”

  Feralynn watched as Annya lifted small forkfuls of pancakes with maple syrup and a block of small butter to her lips. Watched how they parted. Thin lips, delicate, pink and soft. Watched how they closed around the fork tenderly to savor the sweet syrup. She shook her head quickly to erase the image of her mouth and focused on her own order.

  Coffee. Espresso. Black. Bitter. There was sugar on the table, even a small cup of cream to soften it. She used neither. She just grabbed the sandwich with both hands. Soft, warm bread—not toasted or crumbly enough to scatter with every move. Tomato, lettuce, egg, meat, cheese, ham, homemade mayo.

  She bit down, and her eyes lit up with every chew. Mayonnaise smeared the corner of her lips, but the flavor was too good to care. She chewed and chewed with vigor, washing it down with gulps of bitter coffee.

  Annya watched her, smiling.

  “Looks like you really like it.”

  Fer didn’t answer. She ate fast, chewing with her mouth slightly open, juice from the tomato dripping onto her coat. She devoured the sandwich as if it were a juicy steak from a high-end restaurant after nineteen hours of fasting. Annya sipped her latte, watching her sink into her food.

  When Fer finished, much faster than she did, Annya sliced off a bit of her pancakes.

  “Here. Try this.” She offered with her fork.

  “I don’t like sweets,” Fer said, wiping her mouth with her coat sleeve out of habit, not noticing the napkins.

  “Come on, it’s good.” Annya insisted, voice gentle, affectionate. "Open wide~!"

  Without knowing why, Fer opened her mouth. Annya fed her the bite. She took it clumsily, syrup dripping onto the table. Once inside her mouth, the syrup, the caramel, the maple, along with the pancake’s soft, spongy texture melted together. A faint, uneven sigh escaped her lips, almost a gasp.

  “See? It’s actually good, even if it’s sweet.”

  Fer wiped her mouth with her sleeve again.

  “Not bad…” she muttered, turning her eyes away from her friend’s smile.

  A brief silence.

  “Do you want to go to the artisan fair in a few hours?”

  Feralynn shrugged in disguised indifference, her eyes refusing to meet hers. A few minutes later they asked for the check, splitting it half and half.

  …

  …

  …

  The next hours were spent walking. These walks were quieter, more serene. There was no rush to show her something new, no need to fill the air with endless anecdotes. She simply let the autumn cold wrap them in its soft, almost imperceptible breeze.

  She led Fer to the edge of the forest, to the theater, to an art gallery. They walked through quiet neighborhoods, where the most violent act was a squirrel darting from tree to tree.

  They didn’t talk much. Neither of them minded the silence. Feralynn was grateful that, for once, Annya shut her mouth, and Annya was grateful that Fer didn’t leave her behind.

  Of all the chances she had to tell her to go to hell and walk off on her own, she refused. She stayed. She couldn’t explain it to herself, but it was obvious: she didn’t want to be alone. Admitting that felt shameful, almost like a defeat.

  When evening came, the local artisans began setting up their tents in the plaza. Yet they didn’t go right away. They waited, letting the sellers finish arranging their products.

  They walked side by side, weaving through the crowd. Fer felt uneasy in the thick of people, but she forced herself to keep pace. They saw an elf woman selling incense whose smoke curled into shapes when lit, a hobbit with decorated pocket watches and wristwatches, a stocky orc offering scarves, gloves, and hand-crocheted sweaters, a lizard-man bundled up to the eyes at a booth of comics and manga.

  Annya bought two paper cups of hot chocolate from an elderly couple selling meals, pastries, and warm drinks to fight the evening chill.

  The square was lit by streetlamps. Couples, families, groups of friends wandered about. It was a moment of gathering. Of strolling. Of buying gifts and decorations. Of walking beside those we loved. Of enjoying—even just for a while—the sight of things made with patience and dedication.

  Fer took slow sips. She saw her blurred reflection in the drink. To her surprise, the cocoa didn’t taste bad. It tasted good. It tasted… like safety. She noticed Annya lingering over paintings at one booth—landscapes, self-portraits, cats. But one canvas froze her in place.

  It almost made her drop her cup.

  A painting of a doe with her fawn, in the forest. The fawn grazed on the grass while the mother looked directly at the one gazing at the painting. At the observer.

  At her.

  Everything stopped. The noise faded from her ears, her legs refused to move, her hand gripped the cup by reflex more than intent. Her teeth clenched.

  The doe’s eyes still stared. The rifle shot still rang. Her father’s instructions still etched into every fiber. It wasn’t just the animal—it was all of them. Every innocent and guilty life she had been forced to take just to survive.

  She wanted to hurl the hot chocolate against that damned painting. She felt as if the gods were mocking her. That whenever she thought she could finally forget, the past always found a way back.

  Her hand tightened, heat rising in her palm. Fire begged to be summoned, as it had so many times before.

  That was when she felt a light tug on her coat. Annya. Looking at her with tender concern. Not the kind that invades with a “are you okay?” or demands an answer.

  She exhaled through her nose, sharp and heavy, and felt the needles in her head slowly fade, letting her breathe again.

  Annya didn’t know what was happening inside her friend, what triggered that reaction. But she knew leaving her still would do no good. So she slipped her arm through hers, leading her silently to another part of the fair.

  She led her to a booth where an old man sold metal and wooden keychains.

  “This is where I bought my little cat keychain. Do you see one you like?”

  “Uuuhh…”

  Fer was still re-grounding herself in space and time when she found herself before a white-clothed table filled with keychains of different shapes and sizes. She studied them one by one. Detailed, sturdy. The kind that lasted but didn’t bother in a pocket.

  “This one.”

  She picked a metal wolf howling. The man nodded, placed it in a small paper bag, and sealed it with tape. As Fer reached into her pocket to pay, Annya stopped her and handed the man coins instead. She took the bag, then passed it to her.

  “…Why?”

  “Well, you put up with me all day.” She twirled a strand of her orange hair, cheeks faintly flushed. “And… um, it’s just a little gift between friends. Thanks for not leaving when you had the chance. I know I’m annoying and I talk too much but… um. That’s all… I think… hehe!”

  Feralynn stared at her, stunned, mouth slightly open. She tore the bag and pulled out the wolf keychain, holding it by a finger, watching it dangle. Annya took out her own key.

  “They’re pretty nice, don’t you think?”

  The wooden cat keychain, beside the metal wolf…

  Hanging together.

  “…I guess.”

  Annya stretched her arms.

  “Uuughh, I think we walked enough for today. My feet are killing me. Plus, our mission to find the keychain was a success! Let’s head back, it’s getting a bit dark and I don’t wanna catch a cold.”

  Fer kept staring at the metal wolf, squeezing it tight. Not from anger. No…

  Just squeezing it. As if to tell herself unconsciously: this is real, it isn’t a dream.

  They walked in silence side by side, ready to head back home. But then—

  “There’s something I haven’t told you…”

  “Hm?”

  Fer stopped where the street was quiet, where no one could overhear or see. With her free hand she raised a finger, and from its tip bloomed a flame—small, but tall and steady, like a candle stubborn against the wind.

  “…I’m a mage too,” she admitted in a low, almost guilty voice.

  Annya’s eyes widened, breath catching, lips parted in disbelief. The flame danced in her deep blue irises, but Fer realized too late—that wasn’t the only fire there. One belonged to her hand. The other… burned quietly in Annya’s gaze.

  “Oh my gods—oh my gods! That means… that means we’ll be together at the academy?! Fer, this is incredible! You won’t leave, I won’t lose you—we’ll be in the same classes, every single day!”

  Before Fer could react, Annya crushed her into a hug so tight it nearly knocked the air out of her. Fer froze, every muscle stiff, but she didn’t shove her away. She let the girl cling to her, burying her excitement in Fer’s chest as if anchoring herself to the promise of not being abandoned again by a friend.

  The hug lasted longer than it should have. Fer felt her pulse hammering in her ears, felt Annya’s warmth pressing close, and for a fleeting second thought about wrapping her arms around her in return. She didn’t. She just stood there, letting it happen, until Annya finally pulled back with a grin that could have lit the plaza on its own.

  They resumed their walk, Annya glowing, her steps almost bouncing, as if the world had suddenly given her everything she wanted. Fer kept her gaze fixed ahead, the flame extinguished, the weight of her secret now shared—and the heavier weight of what Annya’s joy stirred inside her.

  Then—something shifted.

  Feralynn reached out and took Annya’s hand.

  Annya gasped, a soft breath caught in her throat. She glanced at Fer, whose face was impassive, pretending nothing had happened. But her fingers trembled faintly, betraying her.

  Annya’s heart stuttered. She smiled, radiant and tender, and gave the hand in hers the lightest squeeze—just enough to say “I wanted this too.”

  She didn’t speak. She didn’t dare. Words might shatter the fragile, shimmering thread between them. So instead she let herself drift closer, shoulder brushing against Fer’s, holding onto her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  And together, hand in hand, they walked home under the soft breath of autumn.

  ...

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