Echo wandered once more through the overgrown garden, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and blooming greens. Each step stirred petals underfoot and sent small insects scurrying into the brush. He accidentally stepped on an ant nest tucked beneath a mossy stone, freezing in guilt as tiny bodies scattered in every direction. Grimacing, he sidestepped the next nest he saw, whispering a quiet apology under his breath.
At last, he reached the vine-laced gate and slipped out, the quiet hum of nature behind him fading into the rising hush of the city. He glanced both ways, unsure where to go next and looked up.
The sun was gone. Dark clouds bloomed across the sky like ink in water, churning silently overhead. The wind shifted, colder now, with a bite that hinted of coming rain. The first drops fell cold and heavy. The downpour began. His fedora soaked in seconds, and he quickly shrugged off his jacket, holding it over his head as makeshift cover while he jogged down the slick cobblestone street.
Around him, life scattered to seek shelter. Children laughed and shrieked as they ran barefoot through puddles toward home. A group of them disappeared behind a creaky wooden door that slammed shut against the wind. A few well-dressed men and women popped open umbrellas with the casual grace of those used to sudden storms. The poor, less fortunate, huddled under tin awnings or crammed into tight alleyways, sharing scraps of roof with stray dogs and quiet sighs.
The rain beat harder, curling off the rooftops in silver sheets.
Then, through the blur of water and fogged breath, Echo spotted a small restaurant tucked between a boarded-up bakery and a half-collapsed tailor's shop. The wooden sign above its door swung on rusty chains, barely legible in the rain.
He pushed the door open, a soft bell chimed a little sound that echoed louder than it should've. Inside, the restaurant was dim and dusty, the kind of quiet that felt paused. Dust motes danced lazily in thin shafts of light filtering through the rain-dampened windows. Wooden chairs and tables stood crooked, untouched. The floor creaked under his step.
A woman emerged from the backroom light brown hair spilling over her shoulders in soft waves, wearing a faded leather fringe dress in warm tones of yellow and earthy brown. Her straw hat sat slightly askew, but what caught Echo's eyes was the flower-shaped hatpin simple, delicate, and glowing faintly in the soft light.
"That hatpin really suited her."
Before he could speak, her face lit up like sunrise. Her smile stretched ear to ear not just polite, but grateful.
"Welcome, welcome!" she beamed, her voice melodic with hope and hospitality. "Please have a seat, any seat!"
She didn't wait for a response. she hurried around the counter and gently ushered him toward a nearby booth, pushing him onto the seat with cheerful insistence. The chair giving a small creak beneath him.
She handed him the menu with both hands, smiling so wide it nearly reached the corners of the room.
"We've got hot soup, spiced bread, roasted yams, tea that'll wake the dead and of course, my own special orange cake!"
The mention of cake practically danced off her tongue, and Echo could tell she took real pride in that particular item.
He glanced down at the coins in his hand a small stack of Solins, their brassy shine dulled by the rain, and one slightly crumpled pound note, smudged at the edges.
"One two nine Solins, and one pound," he counted mentally, frowning slightly. "Maybe the pound'll help"
Out loud, he asked, "How many Solins is a pound worth?"
She tapped her chin thoughtfully, then lit up as the answer came.
"I think it's 130 Solins to a pound."
Echo let out a slow breath and looked back at the menu. The prices were handwritten in faded ink, each item underlined with care.
Hot soup: 3 Solins
Spiced bread: 3 Solins
Roasted yam: 1 Solin
House tea: 24 cents
Orange cake: 6 Solins
His stomach made the decision for him before his brain could finish the math.
"I'll get all of it," he said simply, voice low but firm.
The woman's eyes widened delighted surprise flickering across her face before she caught herself and straightened, clearing her throat with a cheery tone.
"Coming right up!"
She spun on her heel, skipping across the worn floorboards like someone dancing on invisible music. There was a lightness to her not just in step, but in spirit. This one order had turned her whole day around.
Echo took off his soaked fedora and set it on the table, then slipped off his damp jacket, hanging it carefully over the corner of the booth so it wouldn't drip too much. Rain still tapped steadily against the window beside him, casting silvery rivulets down the glass.
The window beside him was fogged at the edges, beads of rain trailing down like slow tears. Beyond the glass, the street was still soaked in gray puddles pooling in the cracks, rooftops spilling waterfalls into the gutters.
People were making the most of it.
A few children danced barefoot in the street, kicking water like it owed them a debt. Families crouched beneath patched-up tarps. Old barrels and dented pots were propped out to catch the falling rain a free offering from the sky no one dared waste.
Across the street, under a crooked awning of bent sheet metal, Echo spotted a boy no older than ten kneeling beside an elderly woman. Her eyes were dull with age, her shoulders hunched from years of bending. The boy held a tin bowl filled with steaming soup, carefully spooning it to her lips. His shirt hung off his frame, more holes than cloth, but he smiled when she swallowed a bite.Echo watched in silence.
...
He found himself staring through the fogged window again, his thoughts drifting with the rain. The blurred shapes of the street seemed to ripple like watercolors.
He barely noticed the girl until she returned, balancing a wooden tray with surprising precision. One by one, she placed each dish before him. Hot soup thick, rich, flicked with green and orange. Orange Light, soft, dotted with sugared zest and cut into a perfect square. Spiced bread sliced and steaming, edges crisp with herbs. Roasted yam golden, soft, and glistening with honey. And a tiny ceramic cup filled with strong, earthy-smelling tea.
Echo blinked, caught off guard by how quickly everything had appeared. His hands moved before his words did he tore into the spiced bread first, then the orange cake. He didn't trust time to give him a second chance.
The girl blinked at him, still holding the empty tray. Her smile was small. The kind that hinted at a long-lost habit of sarcasm.
"... You're welcome." she said, then wrinkled her nose.
"No, wait, that's boring. I meant to say: may your stomach sing and your enemies wilt in jealousy. That sounds better.
she gave a small curtsy before turning back toward the counter.
By the time he reached the soup, he'd forgotten to let it cool. A scalding rush bit his tongue, and his mouth flew open as he inhaled through his teeth. Across the room, she laughed behind the counter, wiping it down with exaggerated flair, her straw hat tipping forward as she leaned over.
The storm outside hadn't let up. Rain smeared the windows into blurred paintings of the city people huddled under corners, barrels filled. She returned to his table, hands behind her back.
"Alright, hero. That'll be thirteen Solins and twenty-four little stormy cents."
Echo reached into his coat and pulled out the worn pound note. It was damp at the edges, ink just beginning to fade. He offered it to her.
She held it up to the light, inspecting it.
"A whole pound You sure you didn't rob a banker?"
"No."
She nodded, folding the note and slipping it into a dusty old register with a soft chime.
"Well then, luck tastes like orange cake and boiled soup today. Good trade, if you ask me."
She fiddled with the rusted cash register, smacking the side with her palm and muttering. "Come on, you old tin box..."
Ding-ling.
The bell above the door rang. The sound slicing through the air.
A man stepped in Soaked to the bone. Water streamed off the hem of his long trench coat in rivulets. His boots squelched against the floorboards, leaving dark, muddy prints like bruises. The wide brim of his hat dipped forward, casting his face in shadow. Echo froze mid-sip of tea, eyes tracking the stranger.
The girl blinked and straightened, brushing her dress quickly and flashing a smile she clearly didn't feel.
"Oh, hiya! Please.... uh have a seat, any seat! Menu's on the table, and so's the weather apparently!"
The man didn't respond. He didn't sit. He walked up to the counter, rainwater still trailing behind him. His hand drifted inside his coat. Both of them saw it the glint of metal, just for a second.
His voice came low, flat, barely louder than the rain.
"Give me everything in the register."
The girl's smile wilted instantly.
She raised her hands slowly, trying to keep her tone light despite the tremble in her fingers.
"Do you really have to rob a girl who can't even get the register open?"
The man pulled out the revolver. Old, mean-looking and leveled it at her chest.
"I won't ask again."
Her face drained of color.
"Alright, alright easy there"
She stepped back, hands still raised. Echo stood slowly, heart pounding. But as the girl moved, her eyes flicked toward him quick as a blink.
Echo darted across the floor. Before the man could react, Echo caught him from behind and locked his arm around the stranger's neck, wrenching back hard. The gun clattered to the wooden floor with a heavy thud.
"You little!" the man snarled, thrashing.
Echo struggled the guy was heavier, stronger but he held on.
The girl didn't run. She walked around the counter, heels clicking, brows drawn tight with fury and disbelief. Her hand curled into a fist.
"You really tried to rob my place?"
Smack.
The slap rang sharp and fast across the man's face.
"That's for scaring me"
Thud.
A punch to the gut, he wheezed.
" And that's for ruining my first sale in three days!"
The man grunted, sagged. Echo finally let him drop to the floor. He rolled, coughing.
The girl snatched the revolver from the ground, popped the cylinder open with surprising ease, and tossed the bullets in the sink with a flick.
Then she looked at Echo, chest rising and falling, adrenaline still rattling her voice.
"Well. That was dramatic."
She stood over the groaning thief, brushing her damp bangs from her face with the back of her wrist. She grabbed him by the collar and grunted, attempting to lift him.
She looked over her shoulder at Echo, blowing a damp strand of hair out of her face.
"Mind giving me a hand? Help me toss this trash out of my place, pretty please?"
She shot Echo a tired smile that barely masked her frustration. The man squirmed in her grip, still full of spite.
"Get your hands off me"
And immediately got another slap across the cheek, harder than the first.
"Shut it."
Together, she and Echo dragged the dripping man toward the door, boots squealing against the floor. The second they pushed him out, the man hit the muddy street with a wet thud.
The rain had eased just slightly, mist curling around the alleyways like steam off cooling steel. The poor folk nearby, huddled beneath makeshift tarps and rusted canopies, took notice.
"Hey, ain't that the guy who stole our table last week?" one man called out, stepping forward with narrowed eyes.
"Yeah! That's him! Took my uncle's coat, too!"
Another joined in and then a third, and a fourth. Within seconds, the man was surrounded.
"Get him!"
A flurry of fists, shouting, and muddy scuffling erupted in the street. Echo and Selene watched silently as justice unfolded in the rawest way the district knew how.
She exhaled through her nose, then pushed the door shut with her foot and leaned against it.
"Don't worry. They'll take care of that trash."
She turned to Echo, her eyes tired but still glowing with a strange kind of joy. She wiped her brow with her sleeve, then offered a smile as she tucked a stray strand of hair beneath her straw hat.
"You're braver than you look, you know. Pulling a stunt like that for a stranger? I'm Selene. And for that"
She paused.
"you've earned another slice of orange cake."
"You don't have to"
"No no, sit."
Her voice snapped with sudden command. Echo instinctively sat back down. He found himself back in the chair before he realized he'd moved. Her tone had that effect.
Selene groaned and stretched her back with a loud crack.
"Great. He didn't even have the decency to bring any luck with him. I've got puddles of swamp water on my floor, a busted register, a bruised ego, and zero luck left in this poor place. But hey still raining. You're stuck with me for a bit."
She turned, her boots squishing softly with each step as she made her way behind the counter. There was a jaunty sway in her walk now full of energy. She was caught between exhaustion and adrenaline. Her voice floated from the back:
"One hero-sized slice coming up."
Echo watched her disappear, then turned toward the door again. Through the murky glass, he saw the commotion die down. The thief was being shoved into the back of a police wagon, his head hanging low.
Echo's gaze fell to the ground. The revolver still lying there, gleaming wet on the floorboards. He moved quickly and quietly, kneeling beside it. The weight surprised him. He turned it in his hands. The chamber was empty, just as Selene had left it.
He glanced around. The restaurant was empty again, save for the hum of rain. Echo ducked back inside, walked calmly to his table, and slipped the weapon into the pocket of his still-damp jacket hanging off the chair.
Selene returned, a ceramic plate in one hand, the orange cake piled just a little taller than before.
"There you go. My best slice yet. Tell me it's not worth fighting off a robber for."
She placed it gently in front of him with a grin and wiped her hands on her apron.
Echo didn't waste time. He dug in, the sweet citrus scent filling his nose and biting his tongue with zest. Even full, he couldn't resist the soft sponge and orange glaze. Selene watched with a mixture of amusement and disbelief as she began swabbing the puddle near the counter.
"You eat like you've fought a war. Or maybe you're just stockpiling for the next one."
Echo smiled. He didn't say it aloud, but he was starting to think this quiet little storm-soaked caf was the safest place he'd been in a long, long time.
A calm settled over the little restaurant, broken only by the occasional rattle of rain against the windows and the gentle clink of fork meeting plate. Echo chewed quietly, savoring the last bites of orange cake as the warmth in his belly chased off the cold of the storm outside.
Selene, having finished cleaning, propped the broom in its corner with a practiced flick, then plopped down onto a chair nearby. Her elbows rested on the table, cheek pressed lazily into her palm. She exhaled loudly and watched Echo with mild curiosity.
"Hey, Whats your name, anyway?" she said, breaking the silence with a tone caught between boredom and genuine interest.
Echo glanced up mid-chew, crumbs still caught on his lower lip.
"Echo Virelith." he mumbled, mouth full of citrus.
Selene smiled.
"Thats a good name. Sounds like it belongs in a ballad."
He shrugged, unsure how to respond. She leaned back in her chair, tilting it slightly on two legs as she tapped the edge of the table with her finger.
"Ever been to the East?" Her eyes brightening.
"So much goes on out there. Festivals, airships, music that never stops. Good things, I mean. Not like... uprisings or monster plagues or anything."
Echo shook his head, swallowing.
"No. Ive been to the North. And the West."
Selene nearly dropped her chair back to the floor.
"The North?" she blinked.
"Seriously? Thats like... twenty-five miles away from here. Uphill. On foot."
Echo hesitated, scratching the back of his neck.
"Better not mention the chase..."
"Well... I sorta... 'walked' there. Took me about three... maybe four minutes?"
Selene stared.
"Three to What?! You must be joking!"
But her disbelief quickly gave way to realization. Her brows lifted as she let out a small laugh.
"Ohhhh. Wait. You mean that North. The rich folks little marble garden outside the city heart. Its not the real North. Its just a decorative neighborhood built by aristocrats trying to pretend they're important."
She made a wobbly motion with her hands, mimicking fancy architecture.
"Pretty fountains, gold-trimmed doors, even their dogs wear shoes. They call it North to feel noble."
"So... its not actually the North?"
"Nope, just a glossy pocket of stone and wealth tacked onto the capital. The real Norths way past the hills, past the copper trains. Ive never been, but Ive heard stories. Giant spires that reach the clouds, night markets lit with floating lanterns, cities built into mountains. Some people say its the last place where the old blood still flows y'know, from the royals."
She leaned forward, voice dropping conspiratorially.
"They say the weather never changes up there. Its always cool, always twilight. Like time runs slow in the North."
Echo didnt respond immediately. He just stared at his empty plate, a furrow forming between his brows.
"So I didn't even make it to the real North..... just some fenced-off marble courtyard for the elite..."
Selene tilted her head.
"You okay there, Echo? You've got the look of a guy who just realized he walked into the wrong party and ate someone elses cake."
"Something like that."
She grinned.
"Well, lucky for you, the right cakes here."
She tapped the table, then stood and stretched, her joints cracking softly.
The rain had begun to soften, dwindling from a hammering downpour to a scattered drizzle. It ticked lightly against the windowpanes, then paused, as if the sky itself was catching its breath.
Outside, the gray veil slowly peeled back. Shafts of late afternoon sunlight broke through the clouds, casting golden streaks over the damp cobblestones. Puddles shimmered like spilled glass. People cautiously emerged from doorways and alleys cloaks tugged tighter, umbrellas folded up. Children, barefoot and shrieking with laughter, splashed through the gutters as their parents called after them. A fruit vendor began setting up again, shaking the rain from his tarp. The street just minutes ago so still stirred back to life.
Inside, Echo sat in silence, only half-listening as Selene disappeared into the backroom. Her voice trailed behind her in a hum soft and lilting, light on the notes.
Wait a minute... That melody. He knew it.
His spine straightened. His eyes widened slightly, pupils shrinking.
Thats the lullaby Ronalds house. The woman's voice...
The warmth of the orange cake turned to ash on his tongue. A slow chill uncurled in his gut.
Echo stood abruptly, chair legs scraping the wood floor. He reached for his jacket, slinging it around his shoulders with sharp movements, eyes never leaving the hallway where she disappeared.
"No, I'm just being paranoid. That's all. Coincidence. That song could've come from anywhere. From anyone."
He moved toward the door, fingers tightening around the knob, just wanting to get out get some air, feel the sky again.
"Wait! You forgot I still owe you some change!" Selenes voice called from the backroom.
He froze, then forced a grin over his shoulder.
"Ah keep it! Consider it a tip!"
He pushed through the door and stepped outside. The bell above gave a tired jingle behind him.
...
Sunlight broke fully now, piercing the retreating clouds with an almost theatrical glow. The street ahead glistened water running along the edges, the scent of petrichor thick in the air. It was a different kind of quiet than the one in the restaurant. This one pulsed with life and breath.
Steam curled up from stone vents. The damp smell of rain-soaked brick and old wood mixed with the aroma of spices wafting from a nearby stall. A dog barked in the distance, chasing after a cart. Somewhere, a street performer had started plucking the strings of a harp, the tune weaving through the street like a breeze.
Echo pulled his fedora low and stepped out onto the road, boots splashing through shallow puddles. The weight of the revolver in his coat pocket felt heavier now.
He glanced back once, briefly. The caf behind him stood still again just a crooked sign swinging in the breeze and curtains dancing slightly in the window.
He turned forward, hands in his pockets.
"Just a lullaby."
But his shoulders remained tight. His thoughts louder than ever.