The morning air was crisp, carrying the lingering whispers of winter as spring unfurled its vibrant embrace. The streets beyond the window remained serene, save for the occasional distant clatter of a cart or the soft murmur of voices wandering through the stillness. Faint golden light tiptoed through the curtains, casting gentle streaks of illumination across the wooden floor of Velrik’s cozy room.

  As he stirred beneath the woolen blanket, his ears twitched, slowly rousing him from dreams. A familiar dull ache in his legs and arms served as a reminder of the rigorous training he had endured the night before—quick movements, precise footwork, and exercises designed to hone his agility and control. Gareth had worked him hard, but the effort was beginning to show results.

  With a languorous stretch, Velrik blinked his sharp green eyes open, his tail flicking lazily as he sat up. His fur was slightly tousled, as it always was upon waking. Absentmindedly, he ran his claws through the rough patches on his arms, smoothing them down before attending to the tufts on his tail.

  Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he rolled his shoulders and exhaled through his nose. The familiar creak of the wooden floor greeted him as he stood, adapting to the morning’s sluggishness. His clothes from the previous night, dark and fitted for swift movement, were draped over a chair in the corner. He chose a clean tunic from his modest stack of neatly folded garments, throwing it over his head with ease, then brushed his padded hands over his legs to smooth out his fur. Pants were still not quite an option, given his digitigrade anatomy.

  Before anything else, he checked his hiding spot.

  Kneeling by the corner of his room, he slipped his claws beneath a loose floorboard and carefully pried it up. Beneath it lay his treasured possessions, tucked safely away. A small bundle of coins gleamed in the dim light, carefully stacked and counted: eighteen gold pieces. Not a fortune, but an accomplishment to be proud of—money earned through skill and lessons learned under Gareth’s vigilant eye.

  He ran his fingers over the coins, proof of his hard work paying off, before setting the board back in place.

  The aroma of freshly baked bread and something savory wafted through the air, a sign that the others were likely stirring downstairs. He could almost envision Dain starting their morning meal, Elisa tidying up, and Mira or Joren grumbling about the early hour. A small smirk tugged at his lips. The rhythm of their little household had become familiar, a comforting cadence he hadn’t expected to find.

  As he moved toward the washbasin in the corner, he splashed cold water on his face, shaking off the last fragments of sleep before drying his fur off with a rag. His ears flicked as he listened closely to the sounds of the house waking, his mind already shifting to the promises of the day ahead. He had ample time before anyone expected him to contribute, allowing him the luxury to decide whether to spend his morning reading in the library or logging in extra practice.

  Then there was the matter of his birthday. He knew the others were planning something—an unspoken tradition. Birthdays provided one of the few occasions when they allowed themselves to truly celebrate, even amid their humble circumstances.

  His own day neared—April 5th, a date he meticulously tracked alongside his friends’ birthdays—noted in the small notebook tucked away on his desk.

  Velrik dried his face and adjusted the loose tunic on his shoulders while exhaling softly. He had grown accustomed to wearing one; though he preferred his cloak, wearing one everywhere wasn’t something most people did.

  Eleven years old, his upcoming birthday was one of the few markers that reminded him of his true home. The scent of freshly baked pound cake was lost to him, yet the imprints of time spent with his parents lingered—awash in nostalgia but faded from the passage of years. Though he rarely delved into such memories, knowing his friends intended to do something special for him lent the day a newfound meaning.

  He cast one last glance toward the floorboard before stepping toward the door, contemplating whether to discuss his newfound studies with his friends. Gareth had advised him to keep this shadowy life separate, as if he were someone entirely different when undertaking his duties. For now, Velrik decided to heed Gareth's counsel and maintain the pretense of working for the library—a simple guise, easily believable and respectable enough to pay decently, contingent on his usefulness, though not nearly as much as he earned now.

  With a determined breath, Velrik opened his bedroom door, ready to embrace the day ahead.

  He hurried down the stairs, claws clicking lightly against the wooden steps as he bounded down two at a time. The enticing scents of fresh bread and cured meat wafted through the air, mingling with the warmth of morning sunlight streaming through the small windows. Days of rest were rare, but when they arrived, they made every moment count.

  Upon entering the kitchen, Velrik encountered Elisa, hard at work as she sliced thick pieces of bread and layered them with savory meat and cheese. She hummed softly to herself, her light brown hair tied back into a loose ponytail, and a joyful smile played upon her lips.

  "You’re up early," she remarked without looking up, deftly wrapping each sandwich in cloth.

  "Not as early as you," Velrik shot back playfully, snagging a crust from one of the loaves just before she could intervene. "You always make extra food when you’re in a good mood."

  Elisa rolled her eyes but smiled, her delight evident. "It’s a lovely day, and we actually have plans. That doesn’t happen often."

  Before Velrik could respond, the door swung open, and Mira strode in, carrying a small pouch of coins that jangled with her satisfied grin. "Alright, I’ve got enough. Today’s the day!" She tossed the pouch onto the table, where it landed with a satisfying clink.

  Dain followed closely behind, stretching his arms with a yawn. "Aye, about time. You’ve been talking about that lute for months."

  “Because it’s important!” Mira retorted, crossing her arms defiantly. “You have your forge, Vel has his books, and Elisa has… well, everything in order all the time. I need something that’s mine!”

  "I didn’t imply you didn’t deserve it," Dain replied, hands raised in feigned surrender. "Just stating a fact."

  Velrik couldn’t help but smirk at their usual banter as he picked up an apple from the table, tossing it between his hands. "So, we’re heading to the shop first, then?"

  Elisa nodded, finishing the last sandwich and packing them neatly into a cloth bag. "Then the park. I picked a spot near the pond—it’s quiet enough that we won’t have to compete for space."

  Joren appeared just in time to catch that, running a hand through his unruly blond hair. "Fewer people gawking at Vel? Sounds perfect."

  Velrik snorted in amusement. "Oh please, I’d be more concerned about people mistaking you for a beggar."

  Joren scoffed, but Mira broke into laughter. "Alright, before you two start bickering, let’s get going. The shop opens soon, and I want first pick!"

  The streets buzzed with life as the five of them made their way toward the merchant district. The morning air had finally lost its winter bite, replaced by the crisp warmth heralding the full bloom of spring just weeks away. Cobblestone paths echoed with the sounds of cart wheels and the gentle murmur of conversations weaving through the day.

  Before long, they arrived at the instrument shop, standing proud and welcoming, its wooden sign swaying gently in the breeze. Mira practically bounded ahead, bursting through the door with an eager smile. The scent of polished wood and string oil enveloped them as they entered, and the walls were adorned with an array of instruments—lutes, fiddles, flutes, and even a harp tucked neatly into a corner.

  An older man behind the counter looked up, adjusting his spectacles. "Ah, customers! What can I do for you?"

  Mira approached with confidence. "I’m here to purchase a lute."

  "A wonderful instrument indeed." The shopkeeper stepped around the counter, gesturing toward a section along the wall. "We possess several, each catering to different budgets. Are you searching for something simple, or perhaps a finer sound?"

  Mira bit her lip, studying the lutes with care. "Something good, but not too expensive. I saved up, but I still need money for food."

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  "Practical," the man mused before extracting a sleek, well-crafted lute adorned with dark wood and silver inlays. "This one’s a favorite among traveling musicians—sturdy, with good tone, and easy on the purse."

  She plucked the strings experimentally, her slightly longer ears, a part of her half-elf heritage, twitching as she tested the sound. A slow smile spread across her face. "This is the one!"

  "Good choice," Velrik chimed in, watching as her expression radiated pure excitement.

  She presented her coins, and the shopkeeper wrapped the instrument carefully, presenting it to her with a professional nod. "Treat it well, and it shall last you for many moons."

  As they stepped outside, Mira hugged the package to her chest. "Alright, off to the park! I need to break this in properly!"

  Northwood Park was a vibrant stretch of green, thriving like a jewel compared to the lower districts. Well-kept paths wound through blooming gardens, and towering trees swayed gently in the midday sun. At the heart of it all lay a shimmering pond, decorated by the light reflecting off its surface and bordered by the fluttering forms of birds. Families and couples lounged on blankets, while children darted across the grass, their laughter ringing cheerily in the air.

  When Velrik had first met Gareth here, the night had been dark and cold, his focus fixed solely on the master rogue seated on a bench. He hadn’t had the chance to appreciate the scenery back then, but now, surrounded by friends, he delighted in it completely.

  Elisa led them to a shaded spot beneath a broad oak tree, unfurling the cloth for their picnic. The sandwiches were quickly passed around, and for a time, they simply ate and savored the rare, peaceful moment together.

  Amid bites of food, they caught up, sharing tales from their daily tasks while enjoying the brief respite. Velrik spoke of the books he’d been reading, embellishing his stories slightly to justify the coins they witnessed him spend from time to time.

  Mira was the first to set her food aside, eager to tune her new lute. "Alright, what should I play first?"

  "Something lively!" Dain suggested, leaning back on his elbows as he basked in the sun’s warmth. "None of that slow, somber stuff."

  Mira smirked playfully. "No appreciation for the classics, huh?" She plucked the strings, launching into an upbeat tune, her fingers dancing across the frets with practiced grace.

  Velrik reclined against the grass, letting the music flow over him like a warm embrace. The moment felt… normal, comfortable even. They weren’t scraping for coin, fretting about their next meal, or glancing over their shoulders. Days like this were rare gifts, and he cherished every second of it.

  As Mira played, passersby occasionally paused to listen. Among them was a rough-looking fellow in his thirties, clad in worn garments and a watchful gaze. He tossed a gold coin onto Mira's plate before continuing on his way. Velrik discreetly signaled a greeting using a subtle form of communication Gareth taught him, acknowledging Gareth’s presence without drawing attention.

  Joren nudged Velrik lightly with his boot. "So, any plans for your birthday?"

  Velrik flicked an ear, pondering. "Not much planned on my end. I suppose I’ll go along with whatever you lot have been whispering about."

  Elisa grinned, but it was Mira who replied first. "Something fun! Don’t you worry; you’ll love it!"

  Velrik eyed them suspiciously but held his silence. "There is one thing I'd like to buy, though." He hesitated only a moment before meeting Dain's gaze. "I want you to make me a dagger."

  The words slipped out before he could reconsider, and the atmosphere shifted around them. Mira’s fingers faltered, plucking an off note that made her wince. Joren ceased mid-motion, hands resting on his knees, while Elisa’s smile faded into something more guarded.

  Velrik’s ears twitched, sensing the weight of their silence pressing upon him. Had he crossed some unspoken boundary?

  Mira was the first to break it, her voice light as she cracked a joke. "What, planning to run off and become some legendary outlaw?"

  Velrik forced a smirk, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Hardly. Just figured it was time I had one."

  Joren exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "That’s… a sizable request, Vel. Never thought you’d ask for something like that."

  Elisa’s brow furrowed in concern. "Why do you want a dagger?"

  Velrik opened his mouth to answer but closed it again, feeling strangely exposed under their scrutiny. He couldn’t reveal the true reason—the restless emotions gnawing at him lately, the intuition that he needed to be more than just the clever talker, the one who maneuvered through challenges with words alone. That one day, merely talking wouldn’t suffice.

  Instead, he shrugged, keeping his voice light. "I’ve been reading a lot of adventure stories. Every hero has a blade, right? If I’m ever going to find my home, I should be prepared. I’d also like something that reminds me of you all when I do leave."

  Silence fell once more. Then Dain leaned forward, his voice steady. "A dagger isn’t just a trinket, Vel. It’s a weapon. Even if you don’t harbor harmful intent, carrying one changes things. Some folk will see steel on your belt and assume the worst. Guards might stop you. Wrong people might take an interest." He held Velrik’s gaze, ensuring the weight of these words settled in. "Are you sure you’re ready for that?"

  Velrik swallowed but didn’t falter. He had reflected on this—perhaps not as deeply as he ought to have, but enough to know he wouldn’t back down. "I can handle it," he asserted. "And I can pay for it. I’ve saved enough."

  Dain studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright. I’ll craft you one. But you’d better listen when I teach you how to wield it right, understand?"

  Velrik nodded, tension easing slightly within him. Although the others still seemed uncertain, Joren clapped him on the back with a grin. "Well, I guess we’ll have to start calling you ‘knife-ear’ now."

  Mira lightly smacked Joren on the back of the head. "That’s elves, you idiot. And not something they appreciate being called."

  Joren merely shrugged in response.

  The conversation shifted after that, but Velrik could still feel the lingering weight of their reactions. He hadn’t anticipated their scrutiny. Perhaps he hadn’t expected to question himself, either. Though eleven years old doesn't seem like much to most races, Vulpin mature faster, a remnant of his race’s need to survive in those wild woods he originated from. He was old enough to have a simple job and even hunt, but how would they know that. To them, he was simply their little fox.

  Velrik released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his tail flicking slightly behind him. Though uncertainty hung in the air, none of them pressed him further. Instead, Mira strummed her lute once more, warming the atmosphere with a sweet, lilting melody that wrapped around them like a cherished embrace.

  Joren leaned back, stretching his arms. "Well, if you’re getting a custom dagger, might as well make it something fancy. Perhaps a gem in the hilt? A blade that glows in the dark?"

  Velrik smirked. "I’m not trying to blind folks. Just something simple, but… with character."

  Dain, who had remained pensive since agreeing to craft the weapon, finally leaned forward, rubbing his chin at the thought of a custom piece of art. "What kind of character are we talking about? You want something with a curved edge? Straight blade? Balanced for throwing?"

  Velrik paused to consider. "Nothing too intricate," he finally responded. "But maybe something with a natural pattern on the steel. Like one that invokes images of nature or… I don’t know, something that feels personal."

  Dain nodded, his expression shifting into contemplation. "I can make that happen. Perhaps a forged pattern, akin to rippling water or an etched motif. Just know it won’t be cheap, I can’t just use up the shop owner’s steel."

  Velrik’s ears perked. "I already told you, I can pay."

  Dain raised an eyebrow but chose not to argue. Instead, he cracked a small grin. "Fair enough. I’ll sketch some ideas once we're back home."

  With that, the mood shifted positively. Conversation shifted to lighter topics—tales they had read, her amusing customers Elisa had dealt with, and a guard who had mistaken Joren for a pickpocket (only for Joren to charm his way out of it with a ridiculous account of searching for a lost button). Laughter came easier, the tension easing away under the afternoon sun. Mira played a lively tune on her lute, and even Velrik couldn’t help but tap his paw along with the rhythm.

  Time slipped by unnoticed, the sun gradually dipping toward the horizon. As golden light stretched over the park, Velrik noticed Elisa glance up at the sky before sighing. "We ought to head back before it grows too dark."

  Joren groaned. "Already? I was just getting comfortable."

  Mira smirked. "You always look comfortable, Joren."

  They gathered their belongings and began the walk home, weaving through the winding streets of the city. The scent of fresh bread and roasting meat danced invitingly in the air as vendors prepared to close their stalls for the evening. They passed familiar faces, exchanging nods and casual greetings, the city feeling less like a place of mere survival and more like a refuge they could call home.

  By the time they reached their rented house, the sky had transformed into twilight. Elisa took charge in the small kitchen, preparing a simple meal—a hearty stew accompanied by fresh bread—while the others set the table. Dain stayed true to his word, seizing a piece of charcoal and a scrap of parchment to roughly sketch potential dagger designs between bites of food. Velrik leaned over to watch as the dwarf’s skilled hands breathed life into his envisioned shapes.

  "This one," Dain said, tapping a particular sketch. "Trailing point blade with a layered steel finish. Sturdy and balanced. This look good?"

  Velrik traced the outline with a claw. "Yeah. That feels right. Do you think you could add the pattern of an eye into each side of the handle that looks similar to mine?"

  Mira leaned over his shoulder, her eyes flitting between the sketches. "No hidden compartments? No poison grooves?"

  Velrik rolled his eyes. "I don’t need an assassin’s dagger."

  Joren chuckled. "Yet."

  Despite himself, Velrik laughed. Dinner unfolded into easy conversation, the warmth of companionship lingering even as they finished eating and tidied up. One by one, they retired for the night, seeking the solace of their own rooms.

  Velrik, however, lingered a moment longer. He settled at the small desk in his room, pulling out his journal. Flipping past old notes and sketches—random observations, snippets of overheard conversations, and the occasional attempt at a map—he turned to a blank page. Taking a stick of charcoal, he began to sketch.

  The dagger took form slowly beneath his fingers. He kept the design close to Dain’s initial drawing but added subtle curves to the guard, shaping it like a fox’s tail curling protectively around the grip. It wasn’t much, but it felt personal—something uniquely his.

  Leaning back, he studied the sketch, tail curling loosely around his leg. He reassured himself that this was merely a precaution—something practical for his eventual journey, for the life he was slowly crafting for himself. Yet deep down, he recognized it was more than that. It was a step forward—a conscious choice.

  Closing the journal, he set it aside and climbed into bed. The house settled into silence, save for the distant murmur of the city beyond the window. Pulling the blanket up, he stared at the ceiling, lingering in that tranquil space for a moment before finally yielding to sleep’s embrace.