CHAPTER 79: 79: A NEW BEGINNING PART IV

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He did not say he feared what the capital contained: the White household’s long shadow and shorter tempers. He did not say he could not yet decide whether he wanted to be seen by those who had never once looked at with kindness. He didn’t have to say it. Sera knew the shape of silence, John was thinking of something deep. But she knew John would come.

Suddenly...

Fizz arrived like a comet, his fur wild with dancing, cheeks sticky with syrup he insisted was a ceremonial mark. "What’s this," he said. "Are we naming babies again?"

"Fizz," John said. "No. Stop talking about babies." he paused, taking a breather. "She is leaving,"

"Yes I am leaving." Sera said with a smile that tried not to apologize for anything. "Tell me goodbye without turning it into a Fizz song."

Fizz took a deep breath and delivered a song anyway. "Goodbye to the woman whose baths improve the tone of our entire forge. Goodbye to the person with a staff and a sense of humor. Goodbye to the friend who knows John has two eyes and still likes him. May your roads be paved with enemies who trip at the right time, and breakfasts that do not talk back."

The man from the temple made a discreet coughing sound that meant impatience. Elara merely tightened the strap on her gauntlet.

"And you," Fizz said to the man cheerfully, "may your cabbage always be underseasoned."

The man blinked. "Excuse me."

"You are excused," Fizz said, and bowed with theatrical grace. From joy.

"Fizz," John said.

"I am being polite," Fizz whispered. "This is the polite version."

"Thank you," Sera told him, eyes bright with a command she refused to give her tears.

"Do not thank me. Just send letters that smell like incense, so I know it is you," Fizz said.

"I will try," Sera said, and looked back to John as if to stitch together the conversation’s first and last threads. "Six months."

He nodded. "Six months."

"Think fast," she added softly. "But not foolish."

He almost said, "When have I been foolish," and then thought of a bench and a breath and chose to look at the ground until his mouth made better choices.

The party wound down the way fires do — bright smolder to gentle ember. The ten blacksmiths collapsed where they sat, full and loud. Ruel snored with the rhythm of a man sawing a forest. Pekk argued with his sleeve and lost. Orna put her boots up on a bench and dared anyone to have a problem with it. Gael, who rarely admitted to being surprised by anything, looked surprised by how gently he dozed.

Elara stood like a still statue, watching the lane. The man paced the gate with a patience only people in uniforms practice.

Sera shouldered a small pack. The staff sat at her hip like a road she knew how to walk. She hugged Orna, clapped Gael’s shoulder, and thanked the room with a nod that belonged to all of them.

John and Fizz walked her to the gate. The night was cool enough to be honest. Stars learned the names of the tiles on the roofs.

"Write when you can," John said, which was as close to "I will miss you" as his mouth would allow.

"I will," Sera said, which was more generous than "when I can," and she gave him a look that he could fold up and keep if he was careful.

Elara inclined her head to John. It was not affection. It was acknowledgment, which is sometimes a more precious thing.

The man stepped closer as the trio turned to go. He had a way of moving that used other people’s space like a donation. He leaned in until his voice reached only one human ear and one that belonged to a creature committed to eavesdropping.

"Stay out of her path," he said. "Or I will make sure you regret crossing it."

Fizz’s glow went sharp, hot. "What did you say?"

John’s hand closed over Fizz like a palm over a spark. "Not now."

The world inside John’s head tilted for a heartbeat. The system spoke across the nerve that wasn’t a nerve, cold and neat.

[Ding! System notification- Host: hostile intent detected. Source: Fourth Class Knight.]

"What is a Fourth Class Knight," John asked without moving his mouth.

[Ding! Combat rank equivalent to a Fourth Circle Mage. There are nine ranks in total. They are the same as circle mages.]

The system answered. ’Explaining the standard rank of the knights.’

John’s breath went a fraction shorter, not from fear but from arithmetic. One circle versus four. He didn’t like that math. He respected it.

Fizz strained in his grip. "Let me bite him in the head. Maybe I should poke his eyes."

"No," John said, voice flat as a pane of cooled glass. "We are not a match for him now."

"Now?" Fizz repeated, dangerous hope in the space around the word.

"Now," John said. "Next time, if he earns it, I will teach him a lesson he remembers when he puts his head on his pillow."

Fizz’s ears flattened, then lifted. "Fine. But I am writing him into a very rude song. It will sell well."

"Make it catchy," John said.

"Finally you said something that expresses your appreciation for my songs." Fizz replied with a puffed up chest.

Sera glanced back one last time, saw their small conference, and smiled without asking. Elara noted the spacing between bodies the way a tactician notes a map. The man —who would always be "the man" to John— offered a thin, satisfied smile to the darkness and turned away.

They walked into the road, three outlines becoming two, then one, then empty canvas.

John closed the gate behind them and set the bar. The village breathed out. The forge yard felt briefly too large for its own corners. He stood with his hand on the wood and listened to the slow choir of his sleeping crew, the last rustle of the banked coals, and the small, steady breaths of a friend who had set his fury down where it would not kick anyone in the ankle.