The sun rose as usual, painting Grandovale's skies in hues of gold and soft blue. Zen and Lyra, already used to their routine, woke up and exchanged a quiet yet warm "Good morning," their eyes meeting briefly before both turned away, their cheeks just a little pink.
After breakfast in the tavern—fresh bread, eggs, and a little berry jam—they set off. Zen had just one final day of work.
At Mireldan's apothecary, Zen neatly arranged herbs, polished bottles, and delivered light packages to nearby shops. When he finished, he stood before the old apothecary woman, brushing dust from his hands.
"I won't be able to come from tomorrow," Zen said, looking up at her. "My admission exam begins."
Mireldan blinked, surprised. "You registered? At Eboncrest?" she said, astonished. After hearing his story about the king's help, she chuckled. "You're full of surprises, little one."
Zen smiled slightly. "Thank you for letting me work here."
"If you ever need a job again, come straight to me," Mireldan said, her expression soft.
"I will," Zen replied with a nod, then turned to leave.
Outside, Lyra was waiting by the corner. She walked up beside him, hands behind her back. "So, no more work-boy Zen?"
Zen smirked. "Guess not."
They walked side by side toward the academy's practice grounds. The wind was calm, the streets quiet.
"I… kind of missed you," Lyra said suddenly, looking away.
Zen raised an eyebrow. "You missed me? Even though you came by sometimes?"
Lyra pouted, her face flushing. "I didn't miss you because I like you! I missed teasing you, dummy!"
Zen chuckled, "Sure."
Lyra huffed, smacking his shoulder lightly. "Ugh! Why are you so smug now?"
They spent some time in silence after that. Zen practiced with his sword—a blade light yet balanced, his movements sharp and graceful. Lyra sat nearby, her chin on her knees, watching him. The way Zen moved—focused and calm—it almost felt like the wind danced with his strikes.
That evening, they returned to the bathhouse. Zen said nothing when Lyra handed over the silver coins for entry.
In the women's side, Lyra giggled to herself. "What if the bathhouse suddenly breaks and we're forced to bathe together?" she joked quietly, her cheeks red as she thought of Zen's flustered face.
After the bath, they had stew and roasted meat in the tavern for dinner. Lyra tried to tease Zen again, but even her jokes came out softer now.
Later, in the room, Zen lay on the floor like usual.
"You know…" Lyra whispered, "Tomorrow's the exam. You nervous?"
Zen closed his eyes. "No. Just ready."
Lyra smiled. "Good."
Their laughter faded into silence, and under the pale moonlight seeping through the window, they drifted into sleep—he on the floor, she on the bed, both ready for whatever the next day would bring.