The Earth Orb

The tavern vibrated with improvised music: a drunken troubadour sang verses without rhyme, two drunkards competed to see who could spit farther, and Mikrom laughed at it all as if it were a festival. He had one arm around the nearest waitress, who blushed, though she already seemed used to his shameless comments.

—With that stone sword and that grin, which do you think gets more stares? —Asori asked under his breath, raising a brow.

—Neither —Blair sighed, arms crossed—. He’s my cousin. He’s… like that.

Mikrom raised his cup as if he’d heard them.
—Charming? Exactly! —he laughed, earning a playful elbow from the waitress. Then he turned to them with a sharper look, though his lips still smiled—. But I didn’t come here to brag about my talents.

He set the cup down and leaned toward Blair and Asori, lowering his voice.
—I have to confess something. I’m a bearer too. The Earth Orb.

Blair froze.
—What?! Since when?

—Since I was your age —Mikrom said with a wink—. Though I actually use it for more than climbing mountains.

Blair clenched her teeth.
—Why didn’t you ever tell me?

For the first time in a long while, Mikrom dropped the smile.
—Because if you knew, Zeknier would know too. He thinks I serve under him, that I’m his loyal dog. That mask lets me help the resistance in secret.

The candle flames flickered, as if they understood the weight of those words. Blair lowered her gaze, torn between pride and fear.

—You’re risking too much, Mikrom.

—We all risk —he replied, resting his huge hand on the stone sword—. I just make it look like I’m having fun while I do.

Asori studied him warily. A womanizer, a loudmouth, a clown… but beneath it all was a man carrying a crushing weight.

By nightfall, they left the tavern. The Capital felt like another world: lanterns lit, merchants still shouting their wares, bards improvising songs about heroes who didn’t exist yet.

Asori felt overwhelmed by the noise and light. He had never seen so much life gathered in one place—or so much poverty dressed as celebration. In the corners, Zeknier’s soldiers stood guard with hard eyes, charging taxes from anyone who breathed too loudly.

Blair squeezed Asori’s hand.
—Remember, “we’re a couple in love.”

He sighed, but didn’t let go.
—This play is going to kill me.

—Better than the play Zeknier is staging —she answered, serious.

In the middle of the bustle, something small bumped into Asori: a little girl with dark hair tied into messy pigtails. She wore a patched dress and a mischievous smile. A single apple rolled to his feet.

—Sorry, sir! —she said, picking up the fruit.

Asori bent to hand it back.
—Stealing apples? That’s serious.

—And you? —she shot back with bright eyes—. A man in a hood, not suspicious at all?

Asori was speechless for a moment, and Blair burst into laughter—the first genuine one in hours.

—Sharp tongue —Asori admitted with a smile.

—I inherited it from my grandfather —the girl said proudly, pointing to an old man selling vegetables from a shabby stall—. He says those who don’t speak loud, don’t eat.

The old man waved tiredly. Blair watched in silence, and for an instant she saw in the girl a reflection of Asori: that natural sarcasm which, in a child’s mouth, sounded tender instead of defensive.

—I’m Lira —the girl declared—. And you look like someone who needs lots of friends.

Asori smiled for real, no sarcasm this time.
—You might be right.

The Sweet Kiss flared inside Blair: light jealousy, surprise, and… relief. Because seeing him smile like that, she realized he could be more than just the “sarcastic idiot” she thought she knew.

Mikrom found them a room in a discreet inn. The innkeeper eyed Blair with suspicion, but Mikrom covered it all with loud laughter and charm.

Inside, they found only one bed in the center.

—I’ll take the floor —Asori said quickly, uneasy.

—Don’t be ridiculous —Blair replied, pulling off her cloak—. The bed’s big enough for both.

They lay back-to-back. At first the silence was thick, broken only by their breathing. The Sweet Kiss thrummed like a tight string, impossible to ignore.

—Blair… are you awake? —Asori whispered, shifting slightly.

—Not yet, but I’m tired.

She turned too, meeting his eyes in the dimness. Their faces hovered inches apart, breath shared, hearts beating like war drums. A faint reminder of that moment alone in Blair’s room, when their hearts had fallen into rhythm.

Their lips almost touched.

But Blair closed her eyes, overcome by exhaustion. Asori stayed still, watching her peaceful face. He sighed and murmured:
—Tie.

Sleep claimed him too, though the bond’s warmth kept pulsing between them until dawn.

Far away, in the depths of one of Zeknier’s fortresses, a cold cell held a young woman with golden hair and eyes like faded auroras. Aisha held the hand of a wounded soldier; his skin knit closed under the warm light flowing from her fingers.

The man didn’t thank her. He only bowed and left, as if healing were a service, not a miracle.

Aisha remained alone, sitting against damp stone. She looked up at the high window where the moon peeked in like consolation.

—I hope… —she whispered— …my next master doesn’t see me as an object.

Her eyes glimmered with restrained tears. She hugged her knees, and the light in her hands flickered weakly, like a candle refusing to die.

In the Capital, Asori slept beside Blair, listening to her steady breath. Elsewhere, Aisha prayed in silence for a different future.

And beneath it all, the Sacred Orb kept pulsing, readying its bearers for a fate none of them could escape.