The tavern was quieter tonight. The air was cool, and the fire burning low in the hearth gave everything a gold-washed glow. Lyra sat near the corner, still a little dirt-smudged from the day. Her bow leaned against the wall, and her satchel, stuffed with herbs and a few foraged mushrooms, sat at her feet.
She was halfway through her second cup of Ashura’s honeyed cider when she noticed the older Majiri woman sitting across the room, watching her with calm curiosity. Sifuu.The town blacksmith. Hassian’s mother.
Lyra had seen her around, of course — the stories about her ran long in the village. But this was the first time they’d been in the same room long enough to acknowledge one another. So, when Sifuu raised a brow and tipped her chin toward the empty seat at her table, Lyra rose and crossed over without hesitation.
“You're Lyra,” Sifuu said before she’d even sat down.
“Yes, ma’am,” Lyra answered, a touch awkward. “I mean — Lyra, yes.”
Sifuu chuckled. “No need for ma’am-ing. Sit. You smell like fresh thyme and campfire.”
Lyra smiled. “Probably accurate.”
She settled into the seat, wrapping her hands around her mug. For a moment, they just sat in a companionable quiet. Then Sifuu spoke again. “You’ve been keeping yourself busy. That’s good. Some humans look like they’re waiting to wake up from all this.”
Lyra nodded slowly. “I was one of them at first. But… waiting doesn’t build anything.”
That earned a more thoughtful look from Sifuu. “Smart girl. Or stubborn.”
“Maybe both.” The conversation wove easily from there — small things at first. Food. The weather. Lyra’s clumsy first attempts at cooking something decent over a fire. Sifuu listened with a sharp ear, occasionally offering a comment or a dry joke that made Lyra laugh. It felt easy. Unexpectedly so.
“I like stories,” Lyra said at one point. “I’ve been trying to learn about Killima. The Majiri. What was here before.”
“Stories matter,” Sifuu said. “They remind people they existed. That they were loved, or feared, or foolish… but remembered.”
“I think I’d like to be remembered,” Lyra said quietly.
“You will be,” Sifuu said. “One way or another.”
Lyra smiled faintly, though her thoughts wandered. She hadn’t been by the guild shack for the past couple of days. Part of her wondered if Hassian had noticed — or if she’d already been forgotten.
The door creaked open.
Both women glanced up, and Lyra’s breath caught — not visibly, she hoped — when Hassian stepped into the tavern. He didn’t scan the room. His eyes went straight to their table. To her.
There was something unreadable in his gaze. Not cold, exactly. Not even distant. But sharp. Like he was trying to figure something out. Or maybe like he was quietly claiming what was already his.
Tau padded in behind him, tongue lolling, and Lyra instinctively reached into her satchel pocket for the dried fish she’d taken to carrying. She sat it on the floor near their table, and the hound trotted over happily to devour it before settling nearby.
“Tau doesn’t take to most people,” Hassian said.
Lyra tilted her head, meeting his gaze. “I like to think I’m not like most people.”
His mouth twitched — a flicker of agreement, subtle but there
Sifuu leaned back in her chair. “Sit, boy. Before you wear out your boots standing there.”
“I wasn’t staying,” he said. But he didn’t leave either.
Lyra watched him, her expression softer now. “How’s the hunt?”
“Good,” he said. “Ran into a pack of chappa past the southern hills.”
“Dangerous?”
“Only if you're slow.”
“I’m not,” Lyra said, and this time she did smirk.
Something passed between them — flickered and went — and then Hassian glanced at his mother, nodding once before turning back to the bar. Tau stayed.
Lyra didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Sifuu spoke again.
“The way you froze when he walked in…. you like him. Don’t bother denying it.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I—” Lyra hesitated, then gave up pretending. “He’s… impossible to ignore.”
“That’s one way to describe him. He’s stubborn, he’ll drive you crazy by saying nothing, he thinks brooding is a personality. He’s not easy,” Sifuu said.
“I know.”
Sifuu arched a brow. “And you still want to tangle with that?”
Lyra looked down at her cup. “I’m not looking for easy.”
Sifuu leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “I’ve been trying to get him to put himself back out there,” she said. “Maybe you’re exactly what he needs. But he won’t go down without a fight.”
Lyra traced the rim of her cup, a quiet smile tugging at her lips. “Then maybe it’s a fight worth having.”

Her Thing

At home later that night, Lyra dried her hands on a dish towel and gave the pot one last glance before setting it aside. It wasn’t perfect — the stew had gotten a little thick — but it was edible. Better than edible. She’d even caught Reth licking his spoon when she took him some to the tavern that evening. She’d call that a win.
She stepped out into the night air, her little garden quiet under the moonlight. Somewhere in the trees nearby, crickets were chirping in that uneven rhythm they always did. Her eyes lifted to the stars. It was becoming a habit — this moment. After everything else in the day, she always found herself outside, catching her breath, turning things over in that half-sorted way she did. She thought about Sifuu and their conversation, how easy it had been. She liked her. Genuinely. The woman reminded her a bit of Saraya if Saraya had thirty more years and a blacksmith’s hammer. Tough, funny, and a little dangerous in a good way.
And then… there was him. Hassian.
He hadn’t said much — as usual. But even silence carried weight with him, like he was always holding back more than he gave. He’d shown up, looked at her like she’d startled him just by existing, and then left again, quick as a wind gust.
Lyra shook her head and laughed softly. “You’re weird,” she muttered, mostly to herself.
But he was interesting. Honest, even in that quiet. And there was something kind in him, buried under the brooding and bone structure. Something careful. Watchful.
And the way Tau perks up when he sees you? That had to mean something. She plucked a tiny weed from the garden bed and twirled it between her fingers.
She wasn’t delusional — she knew he might see her as temporary. A spark that burned bright for a while and then faded out. Maybe just another human playing at Majiri life until it got hard. Maybe he thought she’d disappear. But she wasn’t going anywhere. And maybe, just maybe, she could prove that to him.
So tomorrow, she’d bring him that smoked fish and sweetleaf bread. She’d ask another question. Give Tau a scratch behind the ears. Maybe — just maybe — she’d get one of Hassian’s rare nods that wasn’t half a flinch.
And if not? She’d keep showing up anyway. Because that was her thing now.