Chapter 65 The Baker's Secret

The cobblestones gleamed faintly in the morning light, polished smooth by countless feet and wagon wheels. Kai stared at them as the wyvern’s claws struck against the stone, each step echoing like a memory half-forgotten. He had walked on streets like this before—he was almost sure of it—but the images flickered and broke apart in his head before he could grasp them. Only the weight of the pendant in his hand remained steady, cool against his palm, grounding him in a world that felt borrowed.

The town rose around him in all its richness. Shopfronts lined the main street, each painted in colors too vibrant to ignore—reds, greens, golds that gleamed in the sun. Wooden signs creaked overhead, swinging with painted symbols of bakeries, clothiers, jewelers, and apothecaries. The air smelled of roasted meats, spiced bread, and the faint, metallic tang of coin.

The people matched the wealth of the place. Men and women walked proudly, clothes stitched from fine fabric, sleeves embroidered, boots polished. Their gestures were deliberate, each tilt of the head or sweep of the hand rehearsed with the ease of old money. Families moved together, voices low and lilting with authority.

And always, at their side, was a beastfolk. Kai’s eyes caught on them again and again. Broad-shouldered wolf-folk carrying crates stacked high with goods. Fox-eared women clutching satchels while their human masters conversed. A tiger-headed man bent beneath the weight of lumber, silent as stone. Male or female, it made no difference—their jobs blurred into one. And all of them bore the same cruel mark: thick collars fastened tight around their throats, glinting iron that spoke of ownership more than companionship.

Kai’s stomach twisted. He didn’t know why the sight unsettled him so deeply, but it did. His memory failed him, but something in his chest whispered: wrong.

The wyvern wagon slowed and came to a stop before a shuttered storefront. The building was simple compared to its neighbors—dust clouding the windows, the paint on the door chipped and faded. Yet, even neglected, Kai could see its bones were good. Wide windows to display goods, a strong sign frame above the door, and space within for more than just living.

Elijah, the man who had offered him a ride, tugged the reins gently. The wyvern snorted, folding its wings close as it crouched down. “Here we are,” Elijah said with quiet satisfaction. “Our new start.”

Kai climbed down first, boots striking the cobblestone. He turned back to offer a hand to Elijah’s wife.

She hesitated, but then placed her gloved hand in his. “Thank you,” she murmured. Her bonnet slipped slightly as she descended, shadowing her face, but Kai noticed how tightly she pulled it back into place once her feet touched the street.

The daughters followed. The younger, perhaps eight, was small and shy, clutching her skirt with both hands. The elder, around sixteen, moved with more confidence but shared her sister’s modest bonnet, the fabric tied carefully under her chin. Their pale blonde hair peeked out beneath, strands glimmering in the light like spun silver.

“Elijah,” Kai asked, “will you introduce us?”

The man grinned, dusting off his trousers as he stepped down. “Of course. This is my wife, Ania. And my daughters—Clara,” he nodded toward the younger, “and Selene,” to the elder.

Ania offered a polite smile. “It is kind of you to help us.”

Kai bowed his head slightly, unsure of what else to say. He still felt adrift, his only anchor the name stitched into his shirt: Kai. But helping them felt right.

Together, they unloaded the wagon. Barrels of flour, sacks of grain, small crates of dried fruit, and bundles of utensils were carried inside. Kai shouldered much of the heavy work, muscles straining as he hauled supplies to the back room.

The building told its purpose with every step. A wide glass display case stood waiting at the front. Behind it stretched a long work table, stained with flour and the faint scars of a knife. In the back loomed a great oven, brickwork sturdy and ready to hold the fire of a new beginning.

“You’re a baker,” Kai said, pausing to wipe the sweat from his brow.

Elijah chuckled, stacking a crate against the wall. “Aye. My father taught me, and his father before him. Back in Bellenfort—our old home—I had a small shop. But the Adventurers’ Guild began stirring trouble. Taxes, demands, threats to drive out those who wouldn’t pay their ‘fees.’ Even the beastfolk who lived among us were harassed. I wanted no part in their cruelty. So here we are.”

Kai frowned, glancing at the rich street outside the dusty windows. “And this place? You think it will be different?”

Elijah shrugged. “The people here have coin. Where there is coin, there is hunger for bread. That is enough for me.”

That night, they lit a small fire in the oven. The scent of warm dough filled the air, rich and comforting. Elijah worked with practiced hands, shaping loaves and pastries while Ania and the girls cleaned the front. Kai, though untrained, followed instructions with quiet determination—fetching water, tending the fire, lifting heavy sacks from storage.

By morning, their new bakery was alive. Selene greeted customers with a bright smile, guiding them to the counter. Clara, still timid, clung to her mother’s side but soon learned to carry trays. Ania kept the books and coins in order, while Elijah baked tirelessly in the back.

And Kai? He did everything else. He swept, stoked, carried, and lifted. When the oven roared too hot, he hauled buckets of water. When a shipment arrived, he bore the loads inside. He found a rhythm in the labor, and though his past eluded him, he felt a fleeting peace in the work.

Yet, he never stopped noticing. Beastfolk stood outside on the street, waiting as their masters purchased bread, never daring to step within. When the bell over the door chimed, it was always human hands that pushed it open. The collars glinted, and the silence of the beastfolk pressed heavy on his heart.

One afternoon, the quiet broke.

Ania moved toward the back carrying a basket, her steps hurried. Her foot caught on a loose broom left near the door. She stumbled, and the basket tumbled from her hands. Kai was there in an instant, steadying her by the arm before she fell.

“Are you hurt?” he asked quickly.

Her bonnet slipped to the floor. And with it, her secret.

Two long, delicate rabbit ears unfurled upward from her hair, trembling with the shock of the stumble. Snow-white, soft-furred, impossible to mistake.

Ania froze. Her hands flew to her head, eyes wide with fear. “Please—” she whispered, voice cracking.

Kai bent, picked up the bonnet, and pressed it gently into her hands. His gaze did not linger on her ears but instead on her trembling fingers. He placed her bonnet back over them, careful, respectful.

“You’re safe,” he said quietly. “With me. Always.”

Tears pricked her eyes, but she nodded.

That night, Kai lay awake in the small room Elijah had given him above the bakery. His mind spun with questions. Why hide? Why live in fear? But deep down, he knew the answer: the collars. The jeers on the street. He had seen enough.

Days passed. Selene, the elder daughter, took a liking to him. She lingered in the kitchen, asking questions about his past.

“I don’t remember much,” he admitted one evening as he kneaded dough.

“Then maybe food will help,” she said earnestly. “My father says taste ties to memory. If you eat something familiar, maybe you’ll remember where you had it before.”

She smiled, bringing him scraps of pastries, bits of spiced bread, anything new. He accepted them, though the memories never came. Still, her kindness was a light in the quiet hours.

But peace is fragile.

One morning, Clara argued outside the shop. Kai stepped to the doorway just in time to hear her voice—high, shaking, but firm.

“You shouldn’t treat him like that!” she shouted at a boy tugging cruelly on the ear of a fox beastfolk. “He’s not your slave—he deserves kindness!”

The boy sneered. “What do you know, brat?” He shoved her hard. Clara fell, her bonnet slipping from her head.

The street froze. Her rabbit ears gleamed in the sun, unmistakable.

“She’s a beastfolk!” the boy cried.

The crowd’s murmur swelled into a roar. “Collar her!” “Thief family!” “How dare they live as us!”

Kai rushed forward, scooping Clara into his arms and hurrying her inside. Selene clutched her sister, Ania pale as chalk.

The door burst open. A man in an armsman’s uniform strode in, voice sharp as steel. “Unregistered beastfolk. This is a violation of city law.”

Elijah tried to reason, but the man waved him off. “All of you are under arrest. The beastfolk will be retained and processed.”

“Processed?” Kai demanded.

The armsman smirked. “Registered, trained, and sold. Or kept for… other uses.” His eyes lingered too long on Ania and Selene.

Rage burned Kai’s throat. He nearly struck the man then and there, but soldiers stormed in behind him, their pikes leveled.

“Elijah!” Kai shouted as chains snapped around the baker’s wrists.

“Take care of them!” Elijah cried, but his voice was drowned in the crowd’s jeers.

“Work, beastfolk!” “Back to your place!” “How dare you live among us!”

Kai’s fists shook as the family was dragged from the bakery, their cries echoing down the cobblestone street. He lunged, but the soldiers shoved him back, pike tips pressing against his chest.

“How do I free them?” he shouted after the armsman.

The man smirked. “Pay the retaining fee and registration. More than you’ll see in your life, laborer.” He winked cruelly. “But hurry—families like that don’t last long before they’re sold.”

Kai’s vision blurred with fury. The pendant in his hand pulsed faintly, as if reminding him of something—or someone. But his memory offered no answers.

All he knew was this: he would not let Ania and her daughters be taken without a fight.