I tested my footing before mounting, more out of some new instinct than caution. The ground near the fire had been trampled soft by the horses, uneven where roots pushed through the soil. I shifted my weight, aware of the new pull behind me, the way my balance settled somewhere unfamiliar, and thought better of jumping in the loose earth.

  I stepped up onto the low rock beside the packs, took hold of the saddle horn, and jumped—terribly overcompensating for the change.

  My wings answered the motion instinctively. Magic flared without conscious thought as my weight shifted, feathers angling to the air as if they had always known what to do. The world lightened around me, and I rose a few feet too far, clearing the horse entirely.

  The motion carried me forward in a brief, smooth glide before gravity reclaimed its due. I came down again with control, boots striking dirt where a stumble should have followed, the fall easing itself under a reflex I hadn’t practiced or questioned.

  I stood still for a moment. Nothing hurt.

  Across the clearing, Nadine had stopped moving. We looked at each other. No words felt necessary.

  After a breath, I stepped back to the rock and reached for the reins, giving the moment the same measured attention I reserved for things I didn’t yet understand. Nadine followed shortly after, her expression thoughtful in a way I was learning to recognize as postponement rather than dismissal.

  The morning air was cool. Sunlight filtered through the trees, catching along the edges of my feathers as I moved. I rolled my shoulders, testing the weight and space my body claimed now, and found the motion smoother than it had been the day before.

  We managed to resolve the clothing issue before sleeping. The challenge of dressing around my wings had been unexpected, but it wasn’t beyond us. There was no longer any pulling something over my head and calling it done, no clever arrangement of fabric that didn’t have to account for their span. Nadine and I stood in the clearing for a time, circling the problem from different angles, quiet with our thoughts when we weren’t exchanging ideas.

  Robes were dismissed immediately. Cloaks joined them. Anything meant to hang or drape was impractical by design. Eventually, we settled on something workable.

  I wore Nadine’s blouse and skirt, altered with a knife and a length of cord. The back of the blouse had been opened from below the collar down, the panels drawn together with ties that left my shoulders and spine exposed. It wasn’t elegant, but it didn’t pull when I moved, and nothing caught in the feathers. That alone made it acceptable.

  I didn’t mind a little exposure, and that was fine. Nadine minded enough for both of us.

  The Saint’s Mantle proved less troublesome. When I drew it on, the panels parted cleanly around my wings, the fabric settling as if it had always been meant to accommodate them. The enchantments held without complaint. The protective weave remained intact even where the mantle had been split and refastened.

  Nadine stared at it longer than she intended to.

  “It shouldn’t do that,” she said quietly.

  “It still works,” I replied, shifting my shoulders and wings to test the fit. “And now my back is nearly covered. I thought you'd be happy.”

  She looked unconvinced, but she didn’t argue.

  Once we were mounted and moving again, I became aware of the adjustments I was making without thought. I left more space between myself and the low branches lining the road. I angled my shoulders when the path narrowed. The wings followed each correction smoothly, feathers shifting with the motion of the horse beneath me.

  Sunlight found them whenever the trees thinned. Warmth settled along their length in a way that I found pleasant. I extended them slightly, not enough to make travel more difficult, just a careful stretch to ease the tension I hadn’t realized I was holding, and noted with quiet interest how naturally the motion followed.

  Eventually, as we closed in on the next town, other travelers began to appear on the road, and with them, their reactions to the sight of us.

  Eyes found us sooner than they should have. Hands paused on reins. Conversations faltered as we passed. A wagon ahead of us slowed, then took a side path without explanation. Another never quite reached the bend in the road before turning back the way it had come. No one called out or ran. It wasn't any kind of panic. They simply chose a different direction, and our path into town became wide open.

  The town had a wall, though it had long since grown beyond it, with plenty of homes and buildings on the wrong side. The gates were wide open and only a single guard stood where we passed through. The way he stood up straighter and tried to keep his eyes forward, head bowed as we passed told us he'd been expecting us. That made sense considering the amount of traffic that had turned back. Still, I didn't understand the deference.

  We stopped only briefly at a stable inside the walls to see to the horses. We guided them in and dismounted without hurry, acting as though this were an ordinary decision on an ordinary road. The price they asked for so many horses was enough to make Nadine freeze, though from her expression afterward, I assume it was in a good way.

  Our next destination was chosen by her before we'd ever reached the town. She spotted the sign first, a narrow board hung over a stone-fronted shop near the center of the square. The building leaned slightly to one side, as if it had settled into the ground and decided it would not be moving again. It gave the place charm, and a sense of permanence.

  “We’ll need proper work done,” she said, leading the way. “Not… field fixes.”

  I agreed. Cord and guesswork would only take us so far, and I had no interest in stopping every few miles to retie myself together.

  The square grew quieter as we crossed it. I felt the attention settle on me the way one feels weather change. Nadine felt it too, and I suspect she was as uncomfortable as me. She straightened as we approached the shop and lifted her chin. The corners of my mouth crept up as I realized that was the face she made when she decided to ignore something on principle.

  The tailor looked up when we entered. His gaze found my wings and stayed there long enough to register, then slid away with effort. His hands folded together, unfolded, then reached for a length of fabric as if he had always intended to do so.

  Nadine began speaking at once.

  “What weights do you keep in wool?” she asked, already moving toward the shelves. “Something that won’t lose its shape in rain. And I’ll want to feel the weave before we decide.”

  The tailor hesitated, then inclined his head. “Of course.”

  He gestured toward the far wall, where bolts of fabric were stacked by color and thickness. Nadine followed without waiting, fingers brushing along the edges as she passed.

  “This one,” she said, stopping at a muted gray. “Too loose.”

  She moved on. Dark green. Brown. Blue.

  “I need something that won’t pull,” she continued. “Not across the shoulders. And it can’t catch.”

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  The tailor’s eyes flicked, briefly, toward my wings. He caught himself and returned his attention to the fabric.

  “A tighter weave, then,” he said. “With some weight to it. Linen won’t do. Nor anything too fine.”

  I stepped closer, close enough to touch the cloth myself. It was cool beneath my fingers, heavier than it looked.

  “How does it handle repeated wear?” I asked. “Travel. Packing. Being slept in.”

  He blinked, then nodded. “Better than most. It was made to last.”

  “And the seams,” Nadine added. “They’ll need reinforcement. Not decorative. Functional.”

  “Yes,” he said quickly. “Of course.”

  We spoke over bolts of fabric and folded lengths of cloth, voices low and practical. The room shifted around us as we did. The quiet wasn’t gone, but it had thinned, attention sliding away as the fiction settled in. This was just a fitting. Just a purchase.

  At one point Nadine paused, fingers resting on a bolt of dark blue cloth.

  “I was never very good at this,” she said, glancing at me. “Candice would have enjoyed it far more.”

  I pictured Candice immediately. The way she would have turned the process into a performance, delighted by choice for its own sake.

  “She seemed to enjoy the simple things in life,” I said.

  Nadine snorted softly, then sighed, her face filling with renewed determination as she turned to the tailor.

  “Does it pull when you move?” she asked.

  The tailor hesitated. Then cleared his throat. “Not if it’s cut correctly. This weave has give to it. Enough for motion.”

  I shifted my shoulders. My wings adjusted in response, feathers brushing softly against one another.

  “It will need space,” I said. “Along the back. Here.” I reached for a nearby tunic and tapped its center seam with two fingers.

  “Yes,” he said. “That can be done.”

  “And weight?” Nadine asked.

  “Heavier than it looks. It drapes well. Won’t cling when wet.”

  “That matters,” I said.

  He looked at me then, properly. Not at my wings. At my face.

  “You travel often?” he asked.

  “That does seem to be a big part of my life, lately, yes.”

  Another nod, slower this time. “Then I’d recommend lining it. Thin. You’ll feel it after long days.”

  Nadine's smile was small and satisfied. “That was my thought.”

  The tailor let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and unrolled more fabric, hands steadier now.

  “And the wings,” he said carefully. “Do they rest when you’re still?”

  “Sometimes,” I said. “They don’t fold the same way twice. They're still quite new, to be honest. I am adjusting.”

  He considered that, then made a note. “We’ll allow room for forgiveness.”

  Something in my chest loosened at that.

  Nadine replaced the bolt of cloth. “We’ll take this one.”

  The tailor blinked, then nodded. “Very good.”

  And just like that, we were no longer a curiosity standing in his shop. We were simply customers.

  We showed him the butchery we’d made of one of Nadine’s shirts. It was already a compromise. We’d cut the back panel away below the collar so I could pull it over my head without catching it on my wings. Once it was on, part of the missing fabric was laced back into place along my sides, enough to give it a back without tearing seams or catching feathers. It worked. Mostly.

  The ties wore quickly, and they snagged when I wasn’t careful. The tailor noticed at once. He said little, only took notes, adjusting his measurements with small frowns and thoughtful pauses.

  When he was finished, the changes he proposed were subtle. A curved split instead of a straight one. Reinforced seams where the tension gathered. Lacing that could be replaced without unpicking the whole garment.

  It would never be invisible, but it wouldn’t fight me anymore, and that was all I cared about.

  When we explained that time was a major constraint, he made a practical recommendation. The shirts would need to be designed for me from the ground up, but everything else could be chosen from garments he already had on display and altered to fit. We agreed easily.

  Two long skirts each, weighted and warm, for the colder months ahead. And one shorter cut in the western adventurer style, built for movement rather than modesty. I’d worn that kind before. They moved when I did, instead of insisting I move around them. That, more than anything, decided it.

  The tailor measured carefully, working around my wings with a professionalism that improved as his confidence returned. When he said the alterations would take a full day, Nadine nodded without hesitation.

  “We’ll stay,” she said.

  I considered the delay, then nodded. A few hours mattered very little in the larger accounting.

  The tailor returned to his work, and we stepped back out into the square to decide our next move. There would be an inn somewhere nearby, and likely food as well, but neither of us felt any hurry.

  I lingered at the edge of the square while Nadine scanned the street, giving the town time to decide what to do with us.

  People adjusted their paths as they passed. They did not look directly at me, but they watched all the same. Like water flowing around a stone.

  That was when I noticed the boy.

  He sat near a stack of crates, half-hidden in their shadow. One leg was folded beneath him at an angle that made my teeth ache in sympathy. His attention followed us with careful intensity. There was nothing of awe or fear in his eyes. Just the look of someone already rehearsing being turned away.

  When he tried to stand, the effort failed him. He settled back down with a motion so practiced it carried no frustration at all. I watched for a moment longer than was polite. Then I moved.

  When I knelt in front of him, he startled, eyes darting past me toward the adults nearby. None of them intervened. None of them even pretended not to see.

  “What hurts?” I asked.

  He hesitated, then tapped his leg with two fingers. “Here. And here.”

  Even without magic, I could see something wasn't right. The lines of his leg were wrong.

  “How long has it been like this?”

  He shrugged. The motion carried more resignation than uncertainty. “Since last winter. I fell.”

  My chest tightened unpleasantly at that. I didn't know this boy, but something about him being left like this didn't sit well with me. Weren't there other healers here, ones that could have seen him sooner? But that didn't matter. I was here now.

  I glanced back toward the shop. Nadine was watching me, waiting. I tilted my head toward the door and smiled faintly.

  “Think you could fetch me a miracle potion?” I asked. “Preferably the kind that tastes terrible.”

  Her mouth twitched. She turned without comment and slipped back inside.

  I looked at the boy again. “This may feel strange,” I said. “But it shouldn’t hurt.”

  He eyed me skeptically, then nodded.

  I placed my hand against his knee and let my magic move. Warmth spread beneath my palm, steady and deliberate. The tension eased first. The sharp edge of pain dulled, then slipped away entirely. His breathing changed, shallow surprise giving way to something more relaxed.

  But the bone beneath my palm still felt wrong. It had healed long ago, just not correctly.

  I withdrew my hand, and thought for a moment.

  “This part,” I said carefully, “is not something most healers can fix. Not without breaking it again.”

  His face tightened. He nodded anyway.

  Nadine reappeared beside me, and I reached for the cup of watered wine she had brought, turning it slightly as I took it from her. My thumb brushed the rim, and the sharp edge of my nail bit into my skin. Just enough.

  I tipped the cup, careful with the angle. A single dark drop slid from my thumb and vanished into the wine. I swirled the cup once, slow and absent, and handed it to the boy. Nadine’s eyes flicked to my hand, and she went very still.

  “Drink,” I said.

  He did. At first, nothing seemed to happen. Then he frowned, as if listening to something only he could hear. He shifted his leg, cautiously testing it without knowing why.

  I watched as his eyes widened. As the bone remembered what it had been before the winter. Before the fall. Before it had learned to endure being wrong.

  He inhaled sharply and froze. Then, he stood. This time, the motion carried him forward cleanly, with no hitch or hesitation. He took another step, then another, each one surer than the last. He laughed. The sound rang through the square, bright and surprised. For a moment the square seemed to forget how to breathe.

  Nadine glanced at me, and I gave her a knowing little smile that froze on my face a heartbeat later.

  It started with a build up of pressure. Subtle, but unmistakable. A tightening behind my eyes, along the familiar threads of my magic, followed by a soft release, as if something had broken through a barrier and there was suddenly more room to grow. Power flowed more freely afterward, a low, restless buzz settling at the back of my thoughts where new shapes were already beginning to form. I knew it wouldn’t finish until after I slept.

  “Oh,” I murmured.

  Nadine’s brow creased. “What is it?”

  “I just leveled,” I said, blinking once. Then again. “I have no idea why.”

  Her mouth twitched. “You’re joking.”

  “I’m serious.” I glanced back at the boy, still laughing to himself as he tested his footing. “I didn’t do anything notable. I didn’t fight. I didn’t push. I just… healed him.”

  Nadine studied me for a moment, then sighed, the sound fond rather than exasperated. “Mirela. You’re the Saint.”

  That earned her a look.

  “You practically sacrificed yourself to save Valoria from being destroyed by a curse,” she continued, counting it off on her fingers. “You’ve been healing people in need. You’ve been fighting the forces of darkness and protecting others, namely me, in the process. Of course you leveled.”

  “You make that all sound very altruistic,” I said. “And even so… that fast?”

  “That cleanly,” she corrected. “We all level fastest when we act in line with our class. You’re doing exactly what yours is meant for.”

  I absorbed that in silence. The rule itself wasn’t new to me. The way it applied to me was.

  “And this is just from healing,” I said slowly.

  Nadine nodded. “A little more than just healing, but yes. Seems like it.”

  I looked down at my hands, then at the boy, now daring a short run before thinking better of it. At the square, still trying, and failing, to pretend nothing remarkable had happened.

  “That’s going to be a problem,” I said.

  Her expression softened. “Because?”

  “Because after this quest, when we save our family,” I said, “I was planning to go home. Back to the forest where I belong. Away from people.”

  “And now?”

  I exhaled, and a quiet, helpless laugh escaped me. “Now I’m apparently rewarded for not doing that.”

  Nadine smiled, amused by my misfortune in a way that somehow felt like affection. “Sounds like the world has opinions.”

  I snorted despite myself. “I wonder if I can change my class as easily as everyone else…”

  Nadine’s suddenly unamused expression was like a wall.

  “Fine,” I said. “It can wait until I sleep.”

  I felt the change waiting patiently at the edge of my awareness, unfinished but undeniable.

  The boy laughed again, louder this time.

  And for the moment, that was enough.

  We stayed at the inn that night. It was unremarkable in every way that mattered. The beds were clean. The food was filling. No one asked us questions we couldn’t ignore.

  I went to bed early. I wasn’t tired. If anything, I felt wound too tight to rest, waiting for something I couldn’t see and couldn’t stop thinking about.

  I woke sometime after midnight with my status already open, as if it had been waiting for me. The level was there. The confirmation. The quiet certainty of it. And beneath it, the change.

  The Great Weaver by Gazing Dream!