Eira
Following Milla's directions, Soren and Eira met a man named Silas on the far edge of the Lower-Tier. He was a quiet, weathered man who didn't ask any questions.
He quietly led two dark stallions with beautiful manes out of a small stable and held out his hand. "Five silver pieces."
Soren pressed the silver coins in his palm, staring at the man. "You never saw us after this."
A large smile spread across the old man's face, showing off yellow, crooked teeth. "The ones with violet lights always seem to find me. Always the ones with… the heart of a killer."
Soren felt his jaw tense. A low feeling bubbled deep in his stomach, but he pushed it down. It was not the time to retort. Not now.
Eira checked the cinches on his saddle, then her own, before swinging up into the seat.
"Keep your hood up," she said. "Once we pass the lower gates, we won't stop."
They rode the horses down to the lower tier, the clatter of hooves echoing against the stone walls.
They went down further than Eira had ever been, out through the rusted southern gate.
For the first time in her life, the faint glow of Oakhaven was disappearing behind them.
The journey was long, and as the days bled into one another, the frantic fear of the city began to peel away.
Without the threat of the Wardens, they existed in a strange, beautiful bubble.
In the mornings, they rode quickly. The stallions were fast, and Soren often let his horse gallop ahead, his hair whipped back by the wind.
Eira would laugh, kicking her horse to keep up, watching the way Soren's shoulders finally seemed to relax.
Out here, under the open sky, they were free.
"You're actually smiling!" Eira shouted one morning as they rode across a meadow of tall, powdered grass.
Soren looked back at her. "Hard not to, it's been ages since I've been outside in the open field!"
The trail ahead stretched out like a dusty piece of twine, winding away from the stone walls of Oakhaven.
"How long since you've been on a horse?" Soren asked, pulling his stallion alongside hers.
"Since I was ten," Eira admitted, glancing down at her mount. "My father borrowed a pony from a patient so he could teach me. I fell off within twenty minutes and decided I preferred walking."
Soren let out a small chuckle."Well, you're doing better now. You haven't slid off the side yet."
"Give it time," she shot back. "Why are you so good at it? I didn't think there were many stables at the docks."
"There weren't," Soren said, "But the heavy cargo was often pulled by teams of horses. When I was younger, I'd help the men who worked there cool them down after a shift. They let me ride the ones that weren't too tired to move. "
They rode in silence for a while, the only sound the thud-thud of hooves.
"Soren?" Eira said after a mile had passed. "What was the very first thing you ever fixed? With the gears, I mean. I saw you working on something back at the bakery."
Soren looked thoughtful, his eyes scanning the sun before settling back on her. "A music box. It belonged to an old woman who lived in the shack next to mine. It played a tune about the birds, but it had a broken tooth on the drum. It just... clicked and stalled. I spent three nights staring at it until I realized I could fix a tiny piece of a sewing needle into the gap."
"Did it work?"
"It did. She cried when she heard it play the full melody," he said softly.
He looked at her then, a question in his eyes. "What about you? What made you want to be a healer? Was it just because of your father?"
Eira shook her head. "At first, maybe. But then I remember seeing a boy bring in a bird with a broken wing. My father told him there was nothing to be done, that nature would take its course. I waited until my father left the room, and I used a toothpick and some silk thread to keep it's wing in place. A week later, it flew out the window."
"I just didn't like the idea of giving up on something that was still alive," she said.
As evening fell, they pulled the horses into a small clearing sheltered by a wall of rocks. Soren set about building a fire, and once the flames were crackling, they sat close together for warmth.
"Are you thinking about the river?" Soren asked. He was poking the fire with a stick, watching the sparks dance.
"I am," Eira confessed. "Are you still okay with going? We can turn back toward the mountains if you've changed your mind."
Soren stopped moving the stick. "Yes. I'm fine."
Eira reached over, sliding her hand into his. "You don't have to worry. We'll be in this together."
Soren leaned his head against hers, a long, shaky breath escaping his lungs. "I guess I'll have to make sure I don't let you down then."
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In the morning, they sat by the embers. It was their last fire before reaching the mountain pass, and Soren reached for his lantern. He didn't hide it under his cloak. He set it on the ground between them.
Eira took his hand, lacing her fingers with his. "We're almost there," she said.
Soren nodded, looking toward the dark outline of the peaks. "The river is just over that ridge. One last stop."
"One last stop," she agreed.
He squeezed her hand, and in that quiet moment by the fire, Oakhaven felt like a lifetime ago.
They were something new, forged in the long miles and the quiet mornings on horseback.