Velrik stirred as the first light of dawn pierced through the small window, the golden rays casting long shadows upon his modest room. He let out a quiet groan, ears twitching at the distant sounds of Montressa awakening beyond the stone walls—children calling to one another, merchants setting up stalls, and the familiar scent of warm bread mingling with roasting meat from a nearby bakery wafted in, mingling delightfully with the ever-present aroma of damp stone and aged wood.

  With a languid stretch, he pushed himself upright, his tail flicking lazily against the woolen blanket before he swung his legs off the side of the bed. A small wooden desk occupied the corner, the candle holder atop it bearing evidence of his late-night reading and sketching—wax dripped and hardened in a testament to the hours spent lost in thought. Nearby, his pack lay half-open, with spare tunics neatly folded inside.

  Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Velrik combed a hand through his fur only to grimace at the tangled mess he unearthed. He reached for the brush Elisa had insisted he use, weary of his perpetually unruly appearance. Dragging it through his fur, he wrestled with the worst of the knots; his ears twitched in mild annoyance at the occasional snag.

  Once satisfied, he donned a loose tunic—the ones he favored are loose enough to offer comfort against his fur, but not so lengthy as to trip him.

  The familiar creak of floorboards outside his door drew his attention, yet he initially dismissed it. It was only when he stepped toward the threshold that the door burst open, revealing a grinning group of friends, all gathered there with an unmistakable air of excitement.

  “Happy birthday, Vel!” Mira exclaimed first, her voice bright and infectious.

  Velrik’s fur bristled instinctively along his neck, back, and tail. He had barely registered the impact of their entrance when he met their joyful expressions—Elisa, Dain, Mira, and Joren, grinning like mischief incarnate. Mira held a small, cloth-wrapped bundle, while Joren’s self-satisfied demeanor suggested he had been an accomplice to the scheme from start to finish.

  His ears twitched as he worked to calm his racing heart. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

  Elisa smirked, a teasing glint in her eyes. “That’s what you get for being so sneakily quiet all the time.”

  Mira stepped closer, thrusting the bundle into his hands. “We all pitched in for this. You deserved something special.”

  With careful fingers, Velrik unwrapped the cloth, his curiosity piqued. As the fabric slipped away, his eyes widened in astonishment. A belt, sturdy and hand-crafted from fine leather adorned with subtle embossing, lay in his grasp. It was a rich dark hue, smooth beneath his fingers, and the buckle, though simple, held an air of refinement. Attached at the side was a sheath, empty for now, but seemingly made to cradle the dagger that Dain had promised to forge for him.

  He let out a quiet breath, tracing his thumb over the stitching. “This is really nice,” he said, his voice lighter than usual, as if he were afraid of shattering the moment by speaking too loudly. Pushing back his astonishment, he glanced at each of them, his heart swelling with warmth. “You all did this for me?”

  Joren grinned, his pride evident. “We figured you deserve better than just tucking a blade in your belt like some common thug.”

  Elisa chuckled. “And we didn’t want to hear you complaining about not having a proper way to carry it.”

  Dain nodded, arms crossed resolutely. “Good leather, solid craftsmanship. This’ll last you.”

  Velrik swallowed hard, gripping the belt a little tighter in disbelief. It wasn’t just the quality; it was the thought behind it. They had conspired together to gift him something meaningful, a gesture that touched him more than words could convey. He inhaled deeply, ears tilting back slightly, but warmth suffused his eyes, a brightness he could not conceal. “Thank you,” he said, sincere and heartfelt. “Really. I love it.”

  Mira beamed, swinging an arm around his shoulders and giving him a quick squeeze. Joren clapped him on the back, nearly knocking him forward, while Dain offered a firm nod of approval. Elisa simply smiled softly and wrapped her arms around him in a comforting hug.

  Dain stepped forward, placing a small, wrapped parcel in Velrik’s hands. The dwarf, usually gruff and straight-faced, softened just a fraction as he offered it up.

  “I’m glad I got this done in time,” he said, his voice gruff yet warm. “Might as well give it to you now.”

  Velrik blinked, ears perking up in surprise. He had expected to wait at least another week for the dagger. With a glance at Dain, he carefully unwrapped the cloth, breath catching as the blade revealed itself.

  The dagger was stunning. The layered steel blade bore intricate patterns that, when caught in the light, resembled the delicate veins of a leaf. The slight trailing point exuded an elegance, a weapon designed as much for precision as for lethality. His fingers danced over the dark wooden handle, where he noticed the defining details—fox's eyes seemingly alive within the swirling grain of the wood.

  For several heartbeats, Velrik was rendered speechless. He turned the dagger over in his hands, marveling at the craftsmanship, feeling its weight—perfectly balanced and exquisite. A slow smile unfurled on his lips as he slid it into the sheath on his new belt. It fit snugly, as if they were destined for one another.

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  “This is incredible,” he murmured, still entranced as he turned the hilt in his grip, needing to convince himself it was truly there. Locking gazes with Dain, his excitement surged, tail flicking behind him with unrestrained joy. “You really outdid yourself.”

  Dain snorted, a flicker of appreciation in his eyes. “I don’t do shoddy work.” He paused, then added with a smirk, “And I know you’ll take care of it.”

  Velrik grinned wide. “I will. I promise.”

  The moment held its weight, a silent understanding grounding them—a promise of newfound bonds. But then Mira nudged him playfully, shattering the stillness. “Alright, now that you’re properly armed, how about we stop standing in here and go celebrate?”

  Velrik laughed, fastening the belt around his waist with a glance of appreciation at the dagger. Lightness coursed through him, warming him in ways he hadn’t expected this day to bring. Surrounded by friends who genuinely cared, his birthday morphed into a meaningful occasion rather than another day to merely endure—it was a testament to how far he had come and a reminder of all that lay ahead.

  Mira playfully ruffled the fur on Velrik’s head and led him towards the door. “We’ve got the entire day ahead of us, and you won’t be hiding away in the library! Our first stop, the market!”

  Velrik chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “The market?”

  Joren smirked, the glint of mischief in his eyes. “Ingredients, my friend.”

  Elisa nodded. “For your birthday cake.”

  Velrik blinked, ears perked in eager surprise. “Cake?”

  Dain chuckled, the sound low and jovial. “Nothing fancy, just a pound cake. We still have yet to afford fancy icing cakes like the nobles eat.”

  A wave of nostalgia washed over Velrik, warm and enveloping. Memories of his birthdays in Vaelwyn surfaced—the scent of baking bread and his mother’s soft voice humming as she mixed the batter filled his mind. The cakes were always simple—dense and slightly sweet, served warm with a drizzle of honey. The mere thought of tasting something reminiscent of those days made his tail flick with anticipation.

  “Alright,” he said, his voice softening. “Let’s do it.”

  The streets of Montressa thrummed with life as they made their way to the market. Stalls lined the main road, vendors shouting over one another to hawk their wares. The air was rich with scents of fresh produce, roasted nuts, and sizzling meat. Mira led the charge, darting between booths with her usual energy, while Elisa ensured they didn't overlook any essentials.

  “Flour, eggs, butter…” she listed, inspecting each item as they gathered goods.

  “Don’t forget the honey,” Velrik chimed in.

  Joren raised an eyebrow, “Honey?”

  Velrik shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s how we had it back home.”

  Elisa exchanged knowing glances with the others before adding a small jar of honey to their growing collection. With their arms laden with various ingredients, they began the journey back to the house.

  The kitchen was small, yet they managed to carve out a workspace, pushing aside clutter to clear the wooden table. Dain took charge, mixing the batter, his strong hands gently working a wooden spoon through the wispy mix. Mira and Joren engaged in a playful argument over who would crack the eggs. Joren claimed victory but ended up dropping some shells into the mix, eliciting a triumphant grin from Mira. Velrik rolled up his sleeves, eager to pour the mixture himself.

  What followed was a delightful mess—flour dust swirling through the air as laughter erupted. Mira nearly knocked over the jar of honey in her excitement, but the atmosphere thrummed with joy. Once the batter was ready, they poured it into a simple pan and placed it carefully in the hearth oven to bake.

  The wait was the hardest part. Velrik settled near the fire, tail curled around his feet as the scent of warm bread and honey filled the kitchen. A sensation of something unspoken swirled within him; this felt right—familiar in an unexpected way. Birthdays since leaving Vaelwyn had often been simple affairs—spent alone or with a couple of friends at the manor—when they weren’t busy with their own chores. But today was different. Today he was surrounded by his group of friends, basically family at this point.

  When the cake was finally done, they pulled it from the brick oven, allowing it to cool just enough before slicing into it. The first bite melted on Velrik’s tongue—soft, buttery, with just a hint of sweetness gracing his palate. It reminded him of the cakes of his childhood, and it stirred a sense of comfort deep within him.

  Mira nudged him playfully. “Well? How is it?”

  Velrik swallowed, piecing together the sensation as he opened his eyes, a smile sprouting across his features. “It’s perfect.” His voice wavered slightly, quieter than before but dipped in something raw and unguarded, the happiness evident in his brightening gaze. Even the tail that usually lay lazily behind him seemed to perk up and swish back and forth at the moment.

  They shared the cake straight from the pan, passing slices around and letting warmth settle over them. There were no grand speeches, no formalities—just laughter, teasing, and good cake. Velrik found himself mostly silent as he savored the cake, relishing the taste and the moment. It transcended dessert; it was about them, about the people who had gone out of their way to do something special for him. For the first time in years, his birthday felt like a real birthday.

  When the last of the cake was devoured, they decided to take a leisurely stroll, meandering through the city as the afternoon settled in.

  As the sun descended lower in the sky, Dain led them toward the outskirts, arriving at a serene hill that overlooked the bustling city below. A small bonfire awaited them, wood stacked neatly, ready to be ignited.

  Velrik raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “You planned this too?”

  Dain shrugged casually. “Figured we’d end the day somewhere nice, shift the scenery a bit. The city can feel constricting at times.”

  They settled around the fire as the last remnants of daylight faded, the dancing flames casting flickering shadows along the grassy expanse. Velrik leaned back, stretching out with a satisfied sigh. The dagger at his side felt reassuring, the belt snug around his waist, and the memory of warm cake still lingered sweetly on his tongue. These were small things, yet they served as reminders of the bonds he had forged with them.

  Mira nudged his foot lightly with her own. “Did you have fun?”

  Velrik chuckled, glancing at each of his friends in turn. “Yeah, I had a lot of fun.”

  Joren smirked, mischief sparking in his eyes. “Told you we’d make this a proper birthday.”

  Elisa offered a gentle smile, warmth suffusing her voice. “You deserve it.”

  Velrik’s ears perked, and he reveled in the soft comfort of their words wrapping around him. His fingers pressed into the grass beneath him as he fought back tears, not quite sure how to express the overwhelming gratitude swelling within. He simply nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat. For the first time in years, his birthday wasn’t just another ordinary day. It meant something worth remembering. And for that, he felt profoundly grateful.