The tavern had thinned out, quiet enough now for the low fire to carry most of the warmth. Lyra leaned against the bar beside Sifuu, watching as the older woman wiped her fingers clean and reached into her pocket. “I’ve been thinking,” Sifuu said, voice a touch lower than usual, “it’s time someone else read it.”
Lyra raised a brow. “The book?”
Sifuu nodded, pulling out a small brass key strung on worn leather. “It’s in my house. Back corner of the bookshelf by the window. Worn cover, stained a bit from travel — but it’s all there. Everything I hunted. Every close call. Every beast you’ve probably been told doesn’t exist.”
Lyra hesitated, gently taking the key when it was offered. “Are you sure?”
“I am. You’ve got curiosity in your bones,” Sifuu said with a half-smile. “And a steady head. Taylin always said I’d know when it was time to let someone in. She’d like you.” Taylin had been Sifuu’s wife and Hassian’s momma. A skilled hunter. Taylin disappeared nearly a decade ago while tracking a beast in the Elderwood. Her camp was found in ruins, scattered with signs of a violent struggle. Most of her belongings were lost, but what remained was gathered and sent back to Sifuu. No body was ever recovered. Just silence, and the ache that followed. For Sifuu and for Hassian.
Lyra touched the key with quiet reverence. “I’d be honored.”
Sifuu nodded. “It’s a book, not a journal. I want it published someday — with my name on it and everything. Might seem mad to some, but I’m telling the truth. Every page.”
Lyra smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. “Then I’ll read it cover to cover– Twice, if I have to.” Sifuu smirked. “That’s the spirit.”

Cracks in the Ice

The plains were sun-warmed and quiet the next morning as Lyra made her way to the hunting shack, a small basket tucked in the crook of her arm. She had taken to cooking simple things — food she could make with limited ingredients. This one had turned out well: a flatbread filled with seasoned sernuk and herbs, wrapped tight and still warm. She spotted Hassian before he saw her — sharpening an arrowhead on a small whetstone by the shack’s post. Tau was sprawled at his feet, tail thumping once when he caught her scent.
“Morning,” she called, stepping into view.
Hassian looked up, eyes narrowing slightly — not in annoyance, just… calculation.
“Brought something for you,” she added, holding out the basket.
He stood slowly and walked over, boots crunching in the dirt. He eyed the basket but didn’t take it immediately. “What is it?”
“Lunch,” she said simply. “I’ve been practicing. Reth’s given me a few tips — when he’s not busy flirting with…. well every girl.”
That earned her a subtle twitch of Hassian’s mouth. Not a smile, but the ghost of one. He accepted the basket with a nod. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She tucked her hands into her pockets, a little grin playing at her lips, “I thought this turned out really good and that you might enjoy it.”
That time, his mouth curved slightly at the edge — a half-smile, not mocking. Just… real.
“It smells good,” he said, glancing inside. “Better than jerky and hope,” he said, referencing her description of her first attempt at cooking.
“High praise,” she said with mock gravity. “I’ll put it on the recipe card.”
He didn’t say more. But he didn’t walk away, either.
Tau trotted up beside her and nudged her leg. She crouched to scratch behind his ears. “You’ve got good taste, Tau,” she murmured. “Even if your companion’s still figuring me out.”
Hassian heard that, but didn’t react. Or rather, he did — a slow blink, a faint breath through his nose, a moment where he didn’t look away from her as quickly as usual.
“I’ll let you get back to it,” she said, standing. “Just wanted to drop that off.”
“Lyra.”
She paused.
“Thanks,” he said again. Not hollow. Not an obligation. Just quiet and honest.
She nodded once. “Anytime.”
A low sound escaped him, almost a growl, before the words followed, raw and unpolished: “You… make things lighter.”
Lyra froze, pulse quickening, but she didn’t turn back. Instead, a smile tugged at her lips — small, private, impossible to fight. “Good,” she murmured, and kept walking.

Hassian

Hassian sat on the shack’s small bench, watching Tau lick crumbs from the basket’s edge. The food had been simple — fresh, filling, seasoned well. But more than that, it had been offered genuinely. No performance. No expectation. “She’s relentless,” he muttered, one hand resting lightly on Tau’s back. “Just keeps showing up.”
He leaned back against the wall, eyes tracing the outline of Killima Village in the distance. Lights were just beginning to flicker on — lanterns, firelight, voices carrying faintly on the wind. “Kind. Clever. Makes me eat. Makes you happy,” he murmured, glancing at Tau. “It’s a problem.”
Tau nudged his arm like he disagreed. Hassian didn’t smile, not fully, but his jaw relaxed.
“I see her,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. “Every time she walks in. Every time she laughs.” And still, somewhere at the back of his mind, the prayer lingered — like a thread he wasn’t ready to tug. A beat passed.
“…I’m not ready,” he said finally. “But I’m done pretending I don’t feel it.”
Tau huffed again and flopped down.
Hassian stared into the distance, the echo of her voice still in his head. Just wanted to drop that off. It was never just that. And he was starting to understand why it stuck with him.