Downpour

Cayti

The ride back to the Flying Pig is short, but heavy. Neither of us speaks. Even when we dismount and push through the familiar sign, silence clings to us like the damp air after rain.

Chelo greets us with her usual warmth, but we can only manage faint smiles. She senses something’s wrong and doesn’t pry, just promises a hot meal whenever we’re ready. We climb the stairs, lock the door behind us, and finally - mercifully - we’re alone.

I sink onto my bed, pulling my knees up and wrapping my arms around them. Jesse sits beside me. The bag of coins lands on his mattress with a metallic jostle, scattering a bright, empty sound into the dim room. He drapes an arm around me and pulls me close. I lean into him, voice breaking into a whisper.

“Jesse… I’m sorry.”

He tilts his head, his own reply just as soft.
“What for?”

My throat tightens. A sob slips out before I can stop it.
“I… I let it slip. I was so shocked that I accidentally absorbed Jira’s soul. Asa noticed. He… he called me a demon…”

Jesse holds me tighter, his palm warm against my shoulder. I let myself sink further into him, chasing that fragile comfort.
“It’s not your fault,” he murmurs. “None of us were in a good place right then.”

I stare at my trembling hands.
“I’ve seen death before. Plenty of times. But this… this is different. This hurts more.”

He listens, quiet and steady.

“I feel like I failed somehow,” I choke out. “Like I could’ve done something to save him.”

Jesse exhales slowly, then whispers back.
“Maybe you could have. Maybe any of us could have. But we can’t predict the future.”

The sob I’ve been holding finally breaks free. Jesse wraps his other arm around me, and I press my face to his chest. My tears soak into his shirt - the same camouflaged one he’s worn since he first arrived. His voice rumbles through me, low and soothing.

“But look. We’re safe. We’re alive. We’re together. That’s what matters. Whatever comes, we’ll face it side by side. Okay?”

I nod against him, my sobs shuddering through his shirt. He squeezes me tighter as I let it all out. I know his mind must be breaking in its own quiet way, second-guessing, carrying weight I’ll never see. The guilt of leaning on him gnaws at me - but for now, all I can do is accept his strength, and promise myself that one day, somehow, I’ll repay it.

I wake the next morning to the sound of clattering rain. When I pull the curtain aside, sheets of it thrash against the window. Below, Tyur’ma glistens under the downpour, rivulets racing across her steel skin. Not a soul braves the streets on a day like this. I sigh and sink back into bed. Sleep refuses to return.

I roll over and glance at Jesse. His blanket rises and falls with the slow rhythm of his breath. Peaceful. For a long moment I just watch, caught between envy and comfort, then ease myself out of bed. A few muffled sounds drift up from downstairs. Careful not to wake him, I slip out and pad down the stairs.

The common room is empty, but Chelo is bustling behind the counter. She brightens when she sees me.
“Good morning. Sleep well?”

I shrug, rubbing my eyes. “I slept. Restful? Not really.”

Her expression softens with sympathy.
“Aw. Let me fix you something to warm your spirits.”

Before I can protest she vanishes into the kitchen. I sigh inwardly and shuffle after her, peeking through the open door. The kitchen is spacious, pots and pans dangling from beams overhead. Hitomi stands at a flour-dusted table, rolling dough with all the gravity of a soldier on parade. She glances up at me, torn between shyness and the urge to act.

Chelo stands by the wood-fired oven, warming something in a small pan. She pours it into a cup and presses it into my hands with a smile.
“Here. Drink up. It’ll do you good.”

I take a cautious sip. Warm milk. Simple, but the heat seeps into me, loosening the knots in my chest. I sigh. Chelo props herself against a counter, folding her arms.

“I heard all about it,” she says. “The adventurers last night couldn’t stop talking. You and Jesse saving everyone, the palace summons…”

I nod. There’s nothing else to say.

Her voice dips. “No announcement yet, but it’s coming. And there’s a rumor that you two defeated the Guardian of the Wall.” She studies me. “I don’t know if I should believe it.”

I lower my voice. “It’s true.”

She exhales, nodding slowly. “Thought so. And I’m guessing you’d rather not have the publicity.”

Another nod. She sighs. “Then you might want to leave the city. Once word spreads, which it has, you won’t have a moment’s peace.”

I already know this, but hearing it aloud hardens the thought. I sip again, my mind spiraling through all the what-ifs.

Chelo leans forward and pats my head gently. “Don’t worry. You’ll always have a home here.”

The words warm me more than the milk. I manage a weary smile. “Thank you.”

She nods and turns to Hitomi.
“Hito, give Evren a hug. She needs it.”

Hitomi freezes, then scurries over. I crouch, and she throws her little arms around me. I return the embrace, and to my surprise, find myself smiling. When she finally lets go, I ruffle her hair.
“Thank you.”

She beams and runs back to her dough. I straighten with a sigh.
“I should probably do something useful.”

Chelo perks up, mischief in her eyes. “Really? You want to help out?”

I let out a short laugh. “Not quite what I meant. I was thinking about… my future. I should start putting in effort. No point standing around uselessly.”

She makes a show of pouting. “Oh, shame. I thought you wanted to make breakfast with us.”

I grin. “Another time. Thanks for the milk.”

“Come visit anytime,” she says warmly.

I set the empty cup down and head upstairs, mind racing ahead. The rain guarantees we’re stuck here for the day. That means I can talk to Jesse as long as I want.

But when I push open the door, he’s already up, standing at the bedside table and gazing out at Tyur’ma below. He turns at the sound, offering a small smile.
“Sleep well?”

I shrug. He nods. “Same here.”

I frown. “Same? You were out like a baby!”

He tilts his head, puzzled. “Was I? I don’t feel rested at all.”

I stare, exasperated, then shake my head, smiling despite myself.
“So, what now? Doesn’t look pleasant outside.”

He glances back at the tank. “I want to do some maintenance on Tyur’ma. So I’ll be going out into that. What about you?”

I blink. “You’re going out? In this weather?”

He nods, tugging a hood from his fatigues and pulling it over his head. “Waterproof. I won’t get wet.”

“Oh. I see.”

He shrugs, stepping toward the door. For a moment he hesitates beside me, as though weighing something unsaid, then moves on.
“Let me know if you need anything,” he says with a final smile.

And then he’s gone.

I realise, belatedly, that this is how he copes with the pressure - by keeping his hands busy. I sigh and turn back downstairs. If that’s his way of dealing with stress, maybe mine can be Chelo’s kitchen.

I help in the kitchen as hungry adventurers come down from the rooms above for breakfast and later lunch. Chelo’s a master of her art, and Hitomi is amazing for her age. Thanks to the weather, it isn’t too busy today, and Chelo finds time to teach me how to work faster, cleaner. Soon enough, we’re finished, and a neat stockpile of meals waits for the next rush. Chelo smiles at me as I wipe my brow.

“Thank you, Evvy. You were a big help.”

I smile at the nickname, then tilt my head.

“You’re welcome. By the way, you haven’t seen Jesse at all, have you?”

She shakes her head.
“No, not since he went out. Are you worried?”

I shrug. Not about his safety - he can take care of himself - but about his mind. Something gnaws at me. I smile at Chelo.

“I’m going to check on him.”

She nods.
“Alright, stay safe!”

I step out of the kitchen, the wooden floor squeaking beneath my boots, and push open the front door. The rain slashes down, sheets of water turning the street into a blur. I leap back, startled, droplets already speckling my arms. Tyur’ma sits nearby, hulking and still, but Jesse is nowhere in sight. My heart thuds. I close the door, hurry upstairs, and peer through our window. Every hatch is shut. No sign of him.

Where could he be?

I don’t have clothes like his - if I go out, I’ll be drenched. But my concern for Jesse outweighs the threat of water. I run back downstairs, shove the door wide, and step into the storm.

I’m instantly soaked, cold shocks hammering into my skin, dragging my emotions down with them. My hair clings to my cheeks, slick and heavy, all its fluff gone. I want to curse this summer storm, but I know it won’t listen. So I grit my teeth, close the door behind me, and jog toward Tyur’ma.

The ground is slippery, and I nearly twist my ankle as I scramble up onto her flank. My breath snags in my throat - he can’t be inside. The rain would flood her in minutes.

Shivering, I circle her just in case. Nothing. My clothes cling to me, dragging me down, and my fingers feel stiff already. Where else could he be? I make a list in my head: the guild, the market… failing that, maybe the dungeon.

The road, usually dusty and dry, has become a mire. My boots splash through brown water as I run, shoulders hunched against the storm. By the time I push open the guild’s door, I’m dripping a puddle onto the floorboards.

Zandra looks up from behind the counter, eyes wide.
“Evren! Are you alright? You’re drenched!”

I give her a smile and a little wave before slipping back out. No Jesse. Next stop: the market.

I sneeze as I break into a sloshing run again. My head feels light, but determination drives me on. My legs pump hard, my chest heaving for air. Fingers and toes numb. Shivering won’t stop. A thought cuts through the haze - this might’ve been a really bad idea.

Rain blinds me, stinging my eyes until I have to look down. My breath is ragged. But I force myself onward.

Then I collide with something solid, warm, and soft. Strong hands catch me as I stumble. I blink up through the rain. A hood, dark-green splotched fabric, brown hair damp across a fringe. Blue-green eyes widen in shock.

Jesse.

“Cayti! Are you alright? What’re you doing out here?” His voice wavers, muffled by the storm.

My body won’t stop trembling.
“I… I wanted to make sure you were okay…”

His expression softens, then sharpens again, worry etched across his face.
“Cayti… we need to get you home. You look awful.”

Awful? The word cuts deeper than it should. My head swims.
“I… I…”

My legs give out. But Jesse’s arms are already under mine, steadying me. Then, with a determined breath, he sweeps me up - one arm beneath my shoulders, the other beneath my knees. He holds me close against his chest, rain plastering his hood to his head.

I want to laugh at his serious, frantic face. But my eyes are closing, shivers rattling my bones.

He grits his teeth and starts running, carrying me easily despite the storm. The world melts around me, details sliding away. My body burns strangely hot, my mind thick and heavy. Jesse’s heartbeat thrums against my ear.

Then everything goes black.

The demi-human maid - the one with the dog ears and swaying tail - guides my hands as I cook. I’m younger here, maybe sixteen, wearing a light blue dress with an apron tied over it. My wooden spoon clunks against the silver bowl as I stir. The maid’s silent lips shape words I somehow understand, even though no sound reaches me.

With her help I follow each step, until I pull a tray of muffins from the coal-burning oven. Their aroma should be heavenly, but I can’t smell it. She praises me, eyes sparkling. I realise, distantly, that she’s tall - taller than Jesse, perhaps, though maybe that’s just because I’m not fully grown.

We set the tray aside to cool. She smiles again, beckoning me outside.

The garden is bright with sunlight. A fountain bubbles gently, its splash a silent lullaby. We sit on a wooden bench. Her lips move, earnest, telling me something important. My chest aches with frustration. Why can’t I hear her?

“But… but that’s terrible!” My voice escapes before I realise it.

She nods sadly, still speaking in silence. Tears sting my eyes as my mouth replies on its own.
“But… what will I do if… if you’re…?”

Her hand rests warm against my head. And then, at last, her voice breaks through - clear, soft, like sunlight.
“Then you’ll run. And you’ll never let yourself become a tool of the Kingdom. Okay? Can you do that for me?”

I nod, sniffing. Her lips move again, but the sound is gone. The scene blurs, melts-

-And shifts.

Now she’s teaching me to dance, playing the part of the man. We’re in a wide, empty hall with glossy wood floors and tall windows pouring in light. She spins me around. I laugh, though no sound comes. She laughs too, and that hurts more.

A bang explodes from the door. The man with the thick white beard storms in, knights at his side. His hand clamps around my wrist. The knights seize her, binding her arms with thick cord. She protests, but I hear nothing.

“We’re out of time!” the man barks. “We’re starting now!”

I struggle, but his glare freezes me. My eyes dart to her. She doesn’t fight. Her head bows, her face lined with sorrow.

Dragged outside, I’m shoved into a waiting carriage. The cobbles rattle beneath us as he explains.
“There’s been a spike in monster activity. A surge may be coming. We can’t wait. We’re going to unlock your potential early - two years early.”

I stare blankly as his words wash over me. Unlock… potential?

“The theory is simple,” he says. “Give your mind a big enough shock, and it’ll tap into your power. And once it’s unlocked - you’ll wield it whenever we command.”

My throat is dry. He sighs.
“You already know you’re not fully human. Part spirit.”

Memories flash - nights feigning sleep while overhearing secrets whispered to her. I nod mutely.

“Then you know of creation magic.”

Another nod.

The carriage jolts to a stop in the town square. A crowd seethes around a raised platform. At its center: a guillotine, tall and terrible.

“You understand what’s about to happen, don’t you?” the man says.

The words barely land. I stumble out, pulled forward. Behind me, another carriage door creaks open - the maid, dragged by knights.

The mob roars, insults flying. Their chants sharpen into one demand - her death.

We reach the platform. My chest tightens, breath coming in broken gasps. She walks away from me, up the platform steps with her head down, ears twitching faintly. Her uniform is spotless, absurdly so.

A robed man unfurls a scroll as I stand below. His voice booms.
“Citizens of the Kingdom! Before you stands Princess Fuku of Sheinfeld!”

Fuku. Her name. My heart stops.

“She was caught sending state secrets to the enemy, despite our mercy in sparing her and granting her a new life as a servant!”

The crowd howls. She does not move.

“And so, it is without regret that we pronounce her guilty, and sentence her to death!”

The knights force her to the guillotine. The stock slams shut with a crack that makes me flinch. The basket waits below.

The robed man raises his arm.

My mind fragments. The crowd dissolves. Even the bearded man is gone. It’s just me, the platform, and her.

Fuku lifts her head at last. Her eyes meet mine.

She smiles. No fear. No regret.

The arm falls. The blade drops.

And she keeps smiling as it takes her head.

Tears explode from my eyes. Something inside me snaps. Heat blooms in my chest. White wisps spiral around my hands, vanishing as quickly as they come.

The bearded man seizes me, dragging me away. His mouth moves, muttering urgently. I hear nothing. Not the crowd’s cheers. Not his words.

Only Fuku’s voice, echoing from the garden: Run. Never let yourself be their tool.

The memory burns into me as sobs wrack my body, and I am hauled back to the carriage.