Chapter Text
You do your best to save money, as much as you can, to buy summer seeds at the turn of the season. It goes well; you’re able to buy a few of each type of seed from Nora. The older woman beams at you as you pick them up off her shelves.
Since the roaring success of the return of Saturday market day, the entire town has been treating you with grateful reverence.
All except one, of course.
March avoids you like you avoid him, and as such you haven’t seen each other for longer than a few minutes in weeks. If anyone hesitantly brings it up to you, you tell them the same thing you tell yourself: ‘It’s better like this.’
And most days, you believe it. You finish clearing your farm, dig loose some more soil to till, and successfully manage to harvest some crops. You pick up various requests Adeline puts on her board, learning how to fish from Terithia and how to use a saw from Ryis.
It’s good. It’s… good.
But you leave the general store in time to see Eiland waving you down, holding a sheet of paper. He’s beaming.
“We’ve hit Stone Rank! Errol is going to open The Mines!”
And, just like that, the shaky peace you’d made with the situation crumbles into dust.
Olric is ecstatic.
You sit with him at the inn, another bowl of soup in front of you. He takes a draught of his beer, then sets it down, uncaring of how it sloshes. He has a froth mustache. You don’t tell him. “Ah, this is amazing! If I wasn’t so busy, I’d definitely join you down there!”
You smile at him, but honestly, you wish someone would come with you. You’re not particularly afraid of the strange monsters, as your previous line of work would serve you well there. But mining, fighting, carrying things found and tracking locations, not to mention those ridiculous ladders—
Well, an extra pair of hands would not go amiss. Still, you feel far more confident fighting rather than farming.
Olric hums, his lips pursed in thought. The froth combines into a bubble mass on his upper lip. “Is your gear good enough?”
You wave him off immediately. “Yes, it’ll do.” You can’t afford any better, you don’t say.
You don’t need to. His expression draws into one of concern, but he doesn’t say anything else about it, much to your relief. You’re finally making your own way. You’re so sick of pity.
You both sit in companionable silence. The inn isn’t quite bustling, but Nora and Holt have the kids at their usual table, and you can hear Reina singing to herself as she cooks in the kitchen.
“Um, hey…”
His uncharacteristic hesitation unsettling you a little, you look back at him. He’d wiped away the foam mustache while you were people-watching. “About March…”
The name sends lightning down your spine, sending it ramrod straight. He follows your movements with his eyes. Only Jo and Elsie had really dared to bring him up to you at all, and even then, your clipped replies had ensured the conversations were short.
But this is his brother, so you barricade your anger into a box and force your tone to stay even, dammit. “What… What about him?”
His eyes grow distant in a way you’ve never seen before, and now you’re definitely unsettled, cold, slimy dread forming a hard lump in your chest. “I’m really sorry for the way he treats you.”
Your anger thrashes from where you sat on it. “He is an adult, Olric. He makes his own choices.”
He nods at that, his faraway gaze lowering to his hands. You want to shake his shoulders until he goes back to normal. “Still…”
Olric looks at you again, imploringly, and you feel your breath catch. “I’m sure he’ll warm up to you. If you keep trying.”
You shove another spoonful of soup into your mouth so you don’t have to respond right away. ‘I don’t care’ sits right there on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t force the words out, for some reason.
The silence lingers, and Olric doesn’t seem to expect a reply, looking away from you and taking another mouthful of beer.
“Okay,” you say finally, and his gaze snaps back to you, his relieved smile telling you that you made the right choice.
There’s more foam above his lip. He doesn’t seem to care as he leans over the table, eyes lighting up. “So you’ll come by for those blacksmithing lessons?”
You nod slowly, trying not to look too insanely oh my god no please.
He beams at you with all the force of the sun, and you instantly regret giving in at all.
Earlier, in the middle of Spring, Eiland had cut down a tree next to your path that’d revealed a broken statue. After a handful of quick repairs, a massive dragon statue had become a permanent resident of your farm.
At first, he was a bit intimidating. Especially after he introduced himself in your dreams. However, after the weeks had passed, you’d come to regard him as a friendly dragon… god… thing.
He notices when the mine opens. You wonder how far his all-seeing eye reaches.
The morning of your first foray within, you bid him farewell. “Bye, Caldarus. I’m going into the mine today.”
The breeze carries words to your ears. Be careful.
“I will.” You take the stairs two at a time and cross the bridge to town. It had become a daily routine of yours to check the noticeboard each morning, once you’d settled in properly.
The only notice today is Ryis asking for wood. You make a mental note to deliver it to him tomorrow, then head toward The Narrows.
You automatically move to take the route past the inn and up through the park, but remember your agreement to try with the blacksmith.
Groaning, you turn north - but it’s your lucky day! Olric stands at the anvil, and waves as you approach. “Morning! Off to the mine?”
You nod, and he perks up. “I’m glad you stopped by, then. I’m a couple of copper ore short of this next request. If you have any to spare when you come up, mind bringing them over?”
You nod again, and bid him farewell.
Olric had, despite your tumultuous relationship with his brother, become one of your friends rather quickly. He’s just easy to talk to - no doubt a result of said brother.
Although, the blacksmith’s prickly personality seems to be something he saves especially for you. How lovely.
Your pace takes you to the outside of the mine in record time, the thought of March shooting frustrated adrenaline through your body, as usual. You don’t even notice you’re practically running until Eiland stops you outside the entrance and you’re panting a little from exertion.
He gives you a strange look. “Did you run here?”
You hum noncommittally, breathing through your nose. He smiles, and it’s tinged with a fondness that spreads warmth into your chest. “Well, not that it matters. I’ve come to see you off!”
He says it with a bravado belied by his anxious fidgeting.
You’re possessed by the sudden urge to hug him, or beg him to come with you, maybe, but a scholar like him would fare far worse than you.
Considering the sheepishness with which he’d entreated you to go down there, he knows it too.
You grip his wringing hands and try to smile at him reassuringly. The tenseness in his shoulders melts slightly. “I’ll be sure to bring you anything interesting, okay?”
He nods, and you feel his eyes follow you as you enter the mouth of the mine.
Immediately, the birdsong is cut off. The wind, blowing behind you as you’d walked, drops as soon as you enter, as if barred.
The dragon statue that isn’t Caldarus stares you down. And it’s then you realise - your dragon god can’t help you down here.
Greatly unsettled, you take the ladder down into the darkness.
It’s hours later when it happens.
You’d taken great pains to clear each floor before exploring it. A habit from your old life, you suppose.
But your old life was just that; old. You’d gotten sloppy.
You’re examining an odd mushroom when—
The ground trembles and instinct has you diving out of the way of a mud stalagmite. You throw your pickaxe, draw your sword and slice it in half in one swift movement.
It screeches, before vanishing as all the monsters had, leaving behind a handful of copper ore.
The cavern is silent, your heavy breathing the only interruption. Its momentum would’ve shot straight through your leg, if you’d been even half a second slower. As it is—
You put pressure on your right ankle and hiss out a curse. Sprained, potentially even some torn ligaments. Definitely a mine-trip-ender.
Heaving a sigh, you lean on your sword and shuffle over to get your pickaxe, then slowly get to the elevator. It groans in a really comforting way under your weight, but hauls you all the way to the top. Purposefully avoiding the gaze of the dragon statue, you step back out into Caldarus’ realm.
And— it’s a good thing you decided to stop, because it looks absurdly late. The heat is still oppressive in that fun summer way, of course, but the cicadas scream at you even louder when nobody else is around.
Oh well. The museum is always unlocked, so, leaning on your sword, you make your way down the hill toward it. Every step takes what feels like an age, but you shoulder the door open and, honestly, not bothered to go in any further, upend your bag.
Various crap you’d found hidden in the mines skitters across the tiled floor, but you’re so tired, and your ankle needs ice, or at least rest. Rather than organising it or anything, you scoop the ore and stones back into your bag, then limp back into the steamy night air.
Olric will probably be asleep, but rather than come out here tomorrow with his ore when your ankle hurts this much, you decide you’ll just leave it on the workbench next to the anvil.
And so, you slowly make the trek back into town. Your sword, old when you got it and even older now, creaks warningly. But it’s not far, and you make it with little trouble.
Except, you’d been so focused on your sword and ankle that you’d failed to notice someone was actually at the anvil.
March seems to notice you at the same time you notice him. He freezes, then raises his chin at you, and you can’t hold back your quiet groan. Just what you need.
“What do you want at this time of night? I doubt you’re here to buy anything.” His words drip with venom, and you hold in a sigh.
Shuffling closer, you dig into your backpack. From here, the blacksmith’s striking features are thrown into soft relief in the light of the furnace. His cheekbones could cut glass. He’s… handsome. You hate it.
His eyes roam over you, and you realise you didn’t bother to even dust yourself off.
You’re forced to sheath your sword and lean against the anvil, the ore stubbornly at the bottom of your bag.
March raises a brow. At your appearance or your behaviour, you don’t know, but as usual, his derision sends a bolt of indignant energy down your spine.
Finally grasping the ore, you thrust it at him. “Here.”
He blinks at it, and finally, you seem to have surprised him. The thought makes you viciously happy. “How did you…”
“How did I mine it?” You glare at him, fury boiling beneath your skin. “I went into the mines, swung a shitty old pickaxe, sprained my ankle, and still brought it here.”
“I—” He seems taken aback, his eyes on your bad ankle, before your words catch up to him.
His face flushes in anger. “I never asked you to do any of that.”
You make a disgusted sound and shove the ore into his hands. You can taste your anger on your tongue, dark and seething. “No. Your brother did. I guess you didn’t order enough.”
He grits his teeth and looks away, and you realise you really need to leave before you spit any more fire at him. You draw your sword and lean on it, stepping away from the anvil.
You make it nearly four steps before there’s a hand on your shoulder. “Hold on, dammit—”
But your instinct has already saved you once today. Your ankle screams in agony as you pivot gracefully around and bring your sword down, barely managing to stop it an inch from his neck.
His eyes widen, and he cringes away from it, making a choked noise of shock.
You let out a breath and drop your sword. It clatters to the ground and finally shatters. Maybe once upon a time, you'd mourn it, but now you can hardly spare it a second thought. “Oh - Oh my god, I’m so sorry, March.”
He’s still. His eyes are on your sword, in three pieces on the pavement.
It’s over, you think, furious and bitter at your own reactions. It’s over. He’s been looking for a reason. He’ll tell Olric and Eiland and Adeline and you’ll be kicked out of your farm (of your home) within the week.
To your eternal horror, your eyes start to burn. “I-I’m sorry.”
Something in your tone must strike him, you think, for his gaze shoots up to you, raking over your expression. Your own horror is reflected in his chocolate eyes.
You think you might throw up if you start crying, and you'd rather fall on your broken, useless sword than do either in front of him, so you force yourself to turn away from his piercing stare and try to take a step.
It's useless. You try to put a little weight on your ankle. Your ankle, which is swollen and stubborn and beyond finished with your shenanigans - it screams again when you try to stand on it, and you nearly get your wish, letting out a small shriek as it gives out and you crumple—
But March is there, ducking under your arm and hoisting you up. Quick to the trigger, of course. Another fucking point for him, you think woozily as he grunts under your weight. “Just calm down, for god's sake,” he grits out, trying to manoeuvre you both back to the anvil. “It's fine.”
It doesn't feel fine, your shame and fear eating you alive, but you say nothing.
You chance a glance up at his expression, his face so close to your own. His eyes are narrowed in focus, and the tips of his ears are red. It takes your breath away, and you try to blame it on the pain.
After an excruciating minute, he props you against the anvil. You hiss out a sigh as soon as your ankle stops moving.
And then he looks at you, eyebrow raised, arms folded, leaning against his workbench. As soon as you meet his gaze, you realise you need to say something. “I was leaning on my sword to keep the weight off my ankle.”
He raises his other brow, disbelief flooding his expression, and you know that's not the explanation he wanted, but you can't talk about your instincts. You can't.
After a few seconds, March seems to realise you aren't going to say anything else and heaves a sigh. He pushes himself off the table and moves toward the door. “Fine. Wait here.”
You nod, but you aren't really sure where you would go. It's going to be a long, painful walk to wherever it is. It's unlikely you'll make it home.
And when he comes back, you realise he'd made the same deduction — a copper sword lies in his hands. He holds it out to you. “Here. Take this.”
You blink at it, then up at him. Your expression must tell him exactly what you're thinking, because red floods his cheeks and he shakes it pointedly. “I can't have you sleeping out here!”
You swallow and take it. The difference between this sword and your old sword is immediate. You heft it with ease, and burnt into the metal near the handle is a rune shaped like a leaf.
“Lightness,” says March, answering your thoughts. You look back to him, and he's smiling smugly. “You're not supposed to be able to enchant weapons with it. Obviously, it was no trouble for me.”
You know that, actually. It’d been a common discussion around the circles you used to frequent. Weapons are not like tools - attempting to enchant them often failed unless it was blood-stealing magic.
You bite the inside of your mouth to stop audible amazement, instead leaning on it with a sigh. “Thanks, March. I'll bring it back tomorrow.”
He avoids your gaze. “You, um, don't have to bring it back.”
You frown at him. “You know I can’t afford it.”
He spits out a curse, throwing his hands up. He’s bright red, matching his hair. “Just keep it, for fuck’s sake! Olric will be upset knowing you got hurt using that shitty sword.”
Shock stills your tongue. “I… I—”
He turns back to what he was working on. “Just go home.”
Not really knowing what else to do, you turn again back toward home and start back along the path. This time, no hand stops you, and the thunking of the hammer is your only company until that, too, fades.
The sword doesn’t creak at all, the handle of it warm in your hands.
This is kindness, you think.
It's unfair of him, after his hateful words. After your hateful words.
Except—
You don't think you really hate him that much after all.
Surprisingly, your ankle heals quickly, enough so that you suspect Caldarus has a hand in it. Regardless, nobody seems to notice that you’re injured, and March clearly doesn’t mention it to anyone, so you get away with it without more than a confused question from Errol on the state of the museum. You go back into the mines a few more times without incident, March’s sword constantly warm in your hands
Towards the end of summer, the nights start to cool again, and those in town start to talk to you about the shooting star festival to you like you have any idea what to do about it or any time to do anything anyway. The shooting star festival settles right on the last day of the season. What could be any more important to a farmer than that?
The morning of, Elsie finds you in your field, gathering your newly grown crops. You'd calculated exactly how much time each crop needed to be to make them bloom on the last day and you're stoked to finally have a little extra pocket money that doesn't immediately need to be spent on something.
She sings out your name, and you look up to see her demurely waving you over. The bottom of your stomach drops to your shoes, but despite your better judgement, you trot up to her.
"Good morning! I'm glad I caught you!" She beams at you, practically floating. "Today's the day!"
You school your expression out of whatever unsettled look you're giving her, trying for a smile. "The star festival, right?"
"Shooting star festival festival, darling," Elsie tuts. "And yes!"
You wonder briefly if you'll have a good view while you try to catch a fish for Terithia. "That's nice."
The gentlewoman seems perturbed by your lack of response. "'Nice'? Nice?” She gestures magnificently. "Sweetheart, it's only the most romantic night of the year!"
You blink at her, not really understanding. She ignores you and sighs dramatically. "Oh, if only the stairs to the summit were repaired, you could take someone on a date!"
You look at her incredulously. "A date? Elsie, who in Caldarus' name would go on a date with the new farmer?"
She looks at you, a twinkle in her eye, and you suddenly feel very scared. "Don't answer that. Look, you know I don't have time for dates." You gesture at your farm, looking more like a farm now. "I have my hands full with this and the town requests."
She sighs again, giving you a look like you'd ruined her birthday. "Very well. But still - take this."
And suddenly the woman is pressing something into your hand, something oddly shaped and cold.
It's a brooch, you think, examining it closely; an intricate, daffodil-yellow lapel pin shaped like a star, complete with blue, pink and lilac curled ribbons. It's cute.
You look up to ask what it's for, but she's already waving goodbye from the bottom of the stairs.
Shrugging, you shove it in your pocket and head back to your lovely crops. It takes almost half the day, but you store some in your fridge and get your crops that are going to Nora's into the shipping bin. With that done, and after a quick snack break, you pick up a few lengths of hardwood and start hauling them to the carpenter.
Ryis had asked you yesterday if you had any spare hardwood from clearing your trees, and you do - as hard as it was to break it down with your rusted axe, you had left half of it in a chest somewhere and given the other half to Adeline to use for the town.
And so, you trek through the town carrying it, looking curiously at the decorations for the festival. The colours are relaxing and the rugs and cushions look comfortable - good for a long night of watching the stars fall from the sky.
Adeline waves you down when you pass through the centre of town, and you smile at her as she walks up to you. "Afternoon, Adeline. The town looks amazing!"
She beams back at you, pleased. "I'm glad you think so! Aunt Elsie and I worked for hours to put up the decorations." She tilts her head. "... though it's not surprising people have already laid out their rugs - getting the best spot can be competitive, after all..."
You nod absentmindedly, shifting the wood slung over your shoulder slightly. She startles when she glances at it. "Oh, but I'm sure you're busy! Please enjoy tonight!"
You smile at her gratefully. "Of course, you too!"
She waves and bounces off towards the manor, and you continue on your way to Ryis's.
You nod at Josie from where she chats with Juniper out the front of the extravagant bathhouse. She gives you a warm smile, and it's like you've almost become a part of this town, you think. Almost.
Ryis waves you to the side of the carpenter's when you round the corner, and instructs you to set the wood down underneath the window.
"Thank you so much," he tells you, eyes bright, and you want to tell him you'll do anything he asks if it'll keep this warm feeling of belonging lighting up your chest.
You don't, instead moving toward the stairs, when Ryis calls out, "Oh, one moment!"
He darts to his worktable. "Oh, where are they... A-ha!"
He's holding a handful of something out to you, so you cup your hands and he dumps a handful of old, bent nails into them. "Merri and I pulled apart a bunch of old bookshelves and separated the rusted nails from the non-rusted ones. Mind running to the blacksmith and giving these to March? He can melt them down to reuse."
He looks at you apologetically, and you wonder what expression you'd made at the name. "I'd go myself, but Uncle wants to eat early before the festival starts."
The nails scratch lightly at your palms as you blink at them, then back at Ryis. "Sure," you manage, the light copper sword at your hip burning.
You dump the nails into your pocket as the carpenter thanks you, and march down the stairs before he can ask you to do anything else you're dreading.
They jangle lightly as you force your pace to stay even on the walk back into town. You nearly trip over a crack in the pavement. Your mouth is dry. You hate being nervous.
The blacksmith comes into view quickly, the man himself in his usual position in front of the anvil. He looks up as your footsteps approach, then back down at his work.
Not even a greeting anymore? Fine. "I have a delivery from Ryis."
That gets his full attention. He looks at you again, then places his hammer down. "What is it?"
You dig into your pocket. "Old nails."
March makes an expression of distaste, and you feel a sort of vague satisfaction that it's not about you. "Ugh, fine. Adeline always wants more anyway. Just put them on the bench."
Nodding, you move past him, resolutely ignoring how much warmth comes off him in the late summer sun, and dump the contents of your pocket on his table.
He's inspecting his work on what looks to be armour, so you leave him to it, starting back towards the farm. Maybe you should start planning for tomorrow before you head out to fish. First day of the season, and all.
"Wait."
The tone is something you've never heard from him. Something between incredulous and offended. You hate it instantly.
Turning back toward him, you find him staring intently at the bench. You follow his gaze and - oh, the brooch.
"Oh, sorry. I forgot I had that." You shrug, but he turns towards you, looking at you like he's never seen you before, and you feel itchy.
"Elsie gave it to me this morning," you add, trying to explain. "I don't really know what it is."
He blinks at you, then shakes his head. "Of course," he mutters, and you shove down the violent bite of anger.
You stare at him, hoping he'll explain it without you asking. He glances at your expression and rolls his eyes. “You’re supposed to give it to someone who likes you.”
Elsie’s words roll back into your head. ‘If the stairs to the summit were repaired, you could take someone on a date.’ Someone who likes you.
Inhaling sharply, you storm back over to the bench and snatch the brooch back up. You hear March scoff, and you grit your teeth and brush away without another word.
Why is he so harsh? What did you ever do to him? Every time you think you might be making a step towards his good books, he turns the page and there’s a whole new section you need to memorise. Like he constantly moves the finish line further and further back, uncaring of your exhaustion.
You refuse to acknowledge the sting in your chest, instead marching straight back to the farm and clearing the tilled land in a wounded haze. Why should you care? You don’t care at all. You really don’t care at all. Not about him and his stupid chocolate eyes and his perfection that you don’t come close to matching.
You don’t care, you repeat over and over as you work. The sky slowly darkens, pinks and yellows giving way to deep blue. You pause your movements, heaving an exhausted breath, only to catch a flicker in the corner of your eye. You look up.
The stars are throwing themselves into the embrace of the cold, dark earth, burning brighter than ever before disappearing into nothing. Hundreds, thousands, streaking across the endless sky to their ends.
Your shoulders drop. Your shovel thuds to the dirt.
It’s been exhausting, here. Non-stop. The constant fight to feed yourself, the endless manual labour; it’s nothing like the capital. A completely different shade of fighting to survive.
A voice is carried toward you on the wind. Farmer. You are not joining the others?
Caldarus’s tone is as even as always. You smile, trying to pretend you aren’t suddenly close to tears. “No, I don’t think so.”
Then… Would you like to watch them with me?
If it's an effort to comfort you, it's appreciated. You make your way to the statue and sit at the foot at it, then lift your gaze back to the sky.
Tomorrow, you’ll heave yourself out of bed. You’ll buy some seeds off Nora with the money you made today, and plant them. You’ll catch Terithia her fish. You’ll try to buy Valen a glass of wine for her birthday. Your life will continue.
But right now, you take some deep breaths, and watch the stars fall from the heavens into the darkness.