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Isabella stared at the letter in her hands.
Since moving to Mistria, letters were a common occurrence, much more so than back home in the Capitol. Whether due to the sheer closeness of everyone or the tight-knit community they were in, hardly a week went by without someone sending her a letter of some kind, no matter how nonsensical.
It could be Luc, describing a bug he had caught, or Eiland talking about an archeological investigation from the Western Ruins. It could be Nora, updating her on the state of the general store or Bunbun, sharing a new recipe with her.
This wasn’t like that.
The weather outside is beautiful. Sunny and warm, a nice contrast to the chiller days they’d been having as they moved into winter. A perfect day for some fishing, or perhaps tending to a few of the more labor-heavy chores at her apartment Isabella had been meaning to get to before the snow and freeze set in.
She does none of that. Instead, she goes over to her kitchen and grabs three sandwiches, a water bottle, and her pickaxe, leaving the letter on the table.
Isabella spends the day in the mines, hacking and slashing and mining, and emerges covered in dirt and mud and dust.
At this point, people don’t blink when she comes into town like that, aside from Juniper who scoffs and glances over to the bathhouse. Honestly, a long soak sounds exactly like what she needs, but what she really wants is a drink.
To the inn, then. After making an effort to get the worst of the dust off of her so she doesn’t trail it all over the inn’s floor. Josephine and Hemlock have enough cleaning up to do already.
The inn is lively even though it’s a Tuesday, which usually Isabella wouldn’t mind but today she’s not in the mood. Unfortunately, there’s no good table for sitting alone and sulking so Isabella makes do by plopping down at the far end of the bar, away from March and Ryis talking about metalworking.
“Hey there, Isabella! What can I get for you, hun?” Josie asks, all smiles and warmth, and Isabella feels a surge of warmth before it crashes down like a wave.
“Just a glass of wine, the usual,” she says, trying to force some semblance of normality onto her face. Being a barkeep, Josie has an uncanny talent for telling when someone’s off and Isabella really doesn’t want anyone prying right now. She just wants to drink enough that she’ll forget the letter’s existence in the morning after burning it in the fireplace.
“No problem. Do you want food to go with it?”
She considered it for a moment, indulging in the Sleeping Dragon Inn’s heavenly cuisine, from the warm and gooey garlic bread Reina made to the perfectly herbed soups and seasoned meats. But those cost money, and Isabella had bought herself a kitchen for a reason.
“No, thank you.”
Josephine nods, scribbling down the drink on her notepad. “Alright, I’ll be right back.”
It takes thirty seconds for Josephine to come back with a glass of her favorite wine, and Isabella takes it and takes a few, slow sips from it, letting the alcohol warm her blood.
In university, Isabella probably would’ve been mocked for drinking alone—or worse, approached. But while a few of the denizens wave at her, most seem to sense her need for space and leave her alone to her thoughts.
All of which kept turning to that damn letter.
It’s not like she didn’t think she wouldn’t get one, eventually. She’d spent so long away from home, and she hadn’t written since she got here. It was only a matter of time before she was written to.
Truth be told, though, it wasn’t the mere appearance of the letter that irked her. It was only the timing of it, as so implied in the letter itself, that made her angry.
All the great work you’ve been doing… so proud of you… see for ourselves.
One week. She had one week to prepare.
The problem, Isabella rationalized a few days later at the Saturday Market, was that Mistria was… untainted.
Here, people don’t know about her, really. They know about her, but no one presses into her past, or vice versa. They ask questions, sometimes, because they’re curious and curiosity is a natural thing, but no one is expecting her to be telling them her life story. To them, she is simply Isabella, the adventurer-turned-farmer, and what happened to her in the past doesn’t matter because she’s in Mistria, now.
Isabella ponders that, and then ponders the viability of catching her parents outside of town as she stirs her latte when someone speaks.
“You look deep in thought,” says a voice from behind, and Isabella jumps. Looks to see Nora, of all people, joining her at the fountain with her own drink in hand.
“I- yeah.” Isabella shakes her head, taking a sip of her drink. “Did you need something?”
Nora shrugs, taking a seat next to her. “Just checking in. Like I said, you looked deep in thought.”
Isabella nods. “You could say that. I’m just… thinking of a problem that I need to deal with.”
“A problem at the farm?” The shopkeeper asks, raising her eyebrow. “If you need help, you can just ask. We’d all be happy to lend you a hand.”
Though used to these unprompted invitations for help, it still makes her stomach warm. “No, no, nothing like that, everything’s fine. This is more of… a personal problem.”
Nora hums, understanding, and takes a sip from her own mug of coffee. “I hope it’s not a problem with someone in town. I thought you and March had moved past that phase, at least, though Juniper is, well… Juniper.”
“Not him. It’s, uh…” she trails off for a moment, unsure of how to describe it in such a way that it won’t open her up for more questions. “It, the problem is from the capital, nothing here.” Or, at least, it shouldn’t be here.
“Ah. One of those problems,” Nora muses, nodding like she understands--and maybe she does. Or maybe she’s just saying that because it’s one of those things you’re supposed to say to others. She thinks, in the back of her mind, Balor might understand more, from what she’s gathered about his past.
“It’s nothing I won’t be able to handle, it’s just… Well, I don’t know. I didn’t think it was a problem that would come out here.”
Out of the corner of her eyes, Nora studies her, a frown wrinkling her face. “It isn’t trouble with an ex, is it…?”
Isabella shakes her head. “No.” But that’d almost be preferable, she thinks for a minute, but she’s not going to say anything in front of Nora. Nora is… good. Good in a way her own parents just… weren’t, even when they tried to be, and Isabella doesn’t want to dump all that on someone as good as Nora. She already dumped too much assumption on her already, even if she wasn't aware of it.
“I just… I wish it wasn’t coming here, y’know? Mistria is… I’d rather go back to the Capital and handle it, if that makes sense.”
“Yes,” Nora muses, taking another sip of her coffee and looking at Dell trying to steal some of Maple’s cheesecake, a fond smile on her face. “I think I do.”
Since moving to Mistira, Isabella has made a habit of getting up at six a.m.
She hates it most mornings, but by this point she’s used to it, but the problem is everyone else in Mistria--aside from Junebug and the kids--seem to be up with the sun. Eiland likes to do archeology before the sun gets too hot, Nora and Holt are up stocking shelves, and Ella, Terithea and Errol are all at the point that most elderly people seem to reach sooner or later where they’re up ridiculously early. Songbird likes to watch the birds and Dede is up as soon as sunlight hits to make the most out of the day and March and Olric are working at the forge.
So, with great reluctance, Isabella drags her ass out of bed at five in the morning, quickly running through tending to her crops and figuring her animals can wait a bit before being fed and pet. She throws on her nicest (read: cleanest) outfit and takes off to the Eastern Road, only to nearly run into Balor in her hurry out of the town.
“Woah there!” The merchant says, taking it with all the grace of someone who’s been shoved about dozens of times before at his job. He steadies Isabella with a warm hand on her shoulder before both of them topple over the bridge leading out of town and into the river. “Well, someone’s in a rush.”
“Ah-” Isabella flounders for a moment, heat creeping up her cheeks. “Sorry, Balor, I should’ve been more careful. You okay?”
“Just fine,” the merchant replies, letting go of Isabella to dust off his shirt. “I’ve been bowled over worse in the capital. People there are ruthless. But you didn’t answer my question.”
Isabella raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t hear you ask a question.”
“Where are you off too in such a rush? Normally you don’t tend to get up until six, do you?”
“Ah- just some business to attend to,” Isabella muses, casting a glance over Balor’s shoulder. “What about you? Shouldn’t you be sleeping or delivering my goods or something?” Honestly, Isabella doesn’t think she’s ever caught Balor sleeping, but nor does she see him consuming any sort of caffeinated beverage to keep him going like Nora or Dede. “Do you even sleep?”
Balor smiles. “‘Course I do. I just happen to run on a different schedule than everyone else.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Isabella isn’t exactly sure what time Balor comes around to empty out her box but it’s gotta be sometime after midnight, which is pretty darn late, at least now. Before, in university, sometimes she’d be up until two or three in the morning, but that was only when she knew she didn’t have a class before noon that day.
Speaking of time, Isabella also realizes that she doesn’t exactly have a clue as to when her parents are actually arriving and hm, maybe getting up at five am was way too early because they may not get here until noon. That was an oversight on her part.
The thought makes her frown, and she looks over at the river running beneath the bridge, then back at Balor and briefly recalls her first time here, nearly two years ago now, and the handsome merchant on the other end of the broken bridge.
“What sort of business do you have to attend to?” Balor asks, genuine curiosity in his voice, the way he gets when trying to figure out a problem proposed in Dungeons. “Because it looked like you were heading to the capital, and I haven’t heard anything about you taking a trip there.”
Isabella shakes her head, wanders over to the stone wall. “No, I’m not, and it’s only occurring to me now that I may have planned this poorly. But I was actually waiting for something.”
“Oh?” Balor’s voice tilts up in a lilt as he joins her at the wall. “Did that someone happen to be yours truly?”
Heat rises to her cheeks, and Isabella ducks her head. “No, although I wish it was.” She debates for a moment, feeling Balor’s eyes on her, and then decides that if she throws him enough of a bone he may not push--just like he didn’t push with the sealing scroll debacle. “It’s… someone I know from town is coming to visit me, although I wish they wouldn’t.”
She can’t see the expression on his face, but Isabella can feel a slight change in the air. “Should I be worried?”
She shakes her head. “No. It’s just a visit I wasn’t quite expecting and, frankly, don’t want to deal with… but I found out about it at the last minute. It’s not going to be bad, it’s just… I’m not looking forward to it.”
Balor’s elbow nudges her, making Isabella look up at him. “Well, if you want, I’m sure there’s somewhere we can spirit you away if you don’t want to deal with this person,” he says, a touch of amusement in his voice. But there’s a tightness to his eyes that suggests he would do it, if she asked.
And for a moment, Isabella did consider asking. She could certainly say the word, and he likely would help her out with no questions asked. He’s not the type to pry, especially since Isabella tries not to pry into his life all that much, either. It was certainly a tempting thought.
But… Isabella shakes her head. “No. They already set a date, and… Well, as much as I want to avoid it, I don’t think it’s going to be something I’m able to ignore forever.” Even if she really, really wants to.
Next to her, the merchant hums, a short, weighty thing, his gaze flicking to past the bridge, down where the eastern road dips heading towards the ponds south of town. Isabella wonders if he’s thinking of Wheedle, of that disastrous meal they had in the bar just a few weeks ago.
“Yeah,” the merchant finally says, voice quiet. “That’s…” She sees his mouth working, the gears in his intelligent, clever mind turning. “I wish I could do that, too.”
Isabella says nothing, but gently bumps Balor’s side with her own, a quiet show of support. He doesn’t ask questions, and neither does she.
He leaves, after a spell, and no one else comes by, probably out in town doing their jobs, so Isabella waits and fishes.
It’s just past one when two people come up the road, and her heart jumps in her chest.
Steady. You knew this was coming. Even if it was abrupt, she had at least had a week to prepare for this moment.
Winding her fishing rod up, Isabella stores it in her satchel, finishing just in time for her parents to come up to the end of the bridge. Even dreading this meeting as she is, she can’t help the way her heart flutters in her chest when she sees her parents again.
“Isabella, is that you?” Her mother crows, dropping her bags to embrace her in a hug. Isabella gives her a short one back, nodding into her chest.
The first thing she notices is that her parents are older. There’s more gray in her mom’s hair now than there used to be, and her dad’s face is more wrinkled.
“Hey there, Isa,” her father says, more cordially as her mother gathers up her bags. “How’ve you been?”
“Busy,” Isabella says, because it’s the truth. “Running a farm is hard work.” She really does need to get back and make sure all her animals have food, and maybe let them outside for a few hours while the sun's still out. “Do you… want to come and see it?”
“I would, but your father and I were talking, and we thought we should grab some lunch, first,” her mother says, smiling. “I’ve heard the Sleeping Dragon Inn is famous for their meals!”
Shit. Given the conversation she’s anticipating, Isabella does not want to drag the inevitable awkwardness of this reunion to the busiest place in town, and scrambles to cover. “It does, but it’s somewhat pricey,” she tells them, very deliberately not mentioning the free soup Bunbun and her family have going during the day. If her parents are still as stingy as they were… “I can make us some food once we’re back at my place, though. The chef herself has been giving me a helping hand with cooking practice, and I’m sure it’ll be just as good.”
But, surprisingly, it doesn’t deter them. “Well, with how much we’ve heard about your farm and Mistria, I thought that you wouldn’t mind splurging on us today,” her father says carefully, steadily. “After all, we haven’t seen you in nearly two years.”
Isabella feels her eye twitch at the former statement, but she acquiesces, and resigns herself to answering any sort of questions that may be thrown at her over the next several hours. Her animals will just have to wait a few more hours.
Maybe it won’t be so busy because it’s a weekday… “Fine. I’ll lead the way.”
As expected, while there aren’t many people out in town, everyone she runs into asks her questions about the people with her. Some seem more surprised than others when she mentions that they’re her parents, and some hide it better than others.
The bar, at least, isn’t busy at all, empty save for Adeline and Nora working and eating at their usual table. Nora raises an eyebrow when Isabella comes in, her parents trailing behind her, but thankfully she says nothing. Adeline, though, stands up.
“Oh! Hello there!” Dede says, bright and cheerful as ever. “I didn’t know we were expecting visitors!”
“So I’ve gathered,” her mother says, vaguely pointedly, looking at Isabella, who refuses to be shamed by it. “I’m Peyton, Isabella’s mother, and this is Emmet, her father.”
Adeline’s eyes widen, and she apparently doesn’t get the awkward vibe between them at all, and she extends a hand between them. “Oh, a pleasure to meet you! I’m Adeline, current leader of Mistria.”
“Well met,” her father says, taking Dede’s hands, and Isabella decides its as good a time as ever to go get a drink.
“Hot toddy, and make it strong, please,” she says to Hemlock, now the one busing the counter today.
Hemlock shoots her a sympathetic glance. “That bad, huh?”
Damn bartenders and their excellent perception and their fonts of knowledge about dealing with people. “It will be.” She scrubs her hands over her face as Dede entertains her parents. “I love them, but… I really didn’t want to deal with all this.” At least not here, of all places.
“If any of my kids ever say that to me I need to go see a doctor,” Hemlock muses, going to get Isabella her drink, and she immediately feels like an asshole. This is why she didn’t mention anything to Nora.
Before she can get a chance to apologize, though, her parents say her name, and Isabella turns to where they’re waving at her from the other table. Isabella steels herself and goes to take a seat between her father and mother, deliberately facing away from the bar.
“So, tell us about what you’ve been doing out here!” Her father says, and he almost sounds interested. “We’ve heard about all the progress Mistira has been making since you took up here, but we haven’t had the chance to see it for ourselves.”
Okay. this, Isabella can handle. “Well, I’ve mostly just been helping with repairs, at least at first, y’know? Helping the town get back on its feet after the earthquake and all that.” She gestures to the east, towards the bridge. “The bridge you came over on the way in was destroyed when I first got here, as was the windmill. But I helped gather the materials and the Tesserae needed for repairs to take place.”
“You helped rebuild?” Her mother asks, sounding confused, not that she can blame her. When she got here, Isabella didn’t know so much as how to tell what was good for what project.
“Sort of? Like I said, I mostly just gathered the materials--woodcutting, mining stone, all that. Though I have had a hand in some of the more recent construction work, since I’ve been taught by Son- by Ryis about carpenting, but nothing super big. Mostly I’ve just been farming.”
Her father blinks. “Like, growing tomatoes in pots like you did when you were a kid?”
“No, like, farming farming,” Isabella corrects. “Like, big farm plot farming. I-- well, I was hoping to show you, which is why I wanted to go to the house. I even have animals, too.”
At that moment, Hemlock comes back over, setting down Isabella’s hot toddy as well as three menus for them. “Welcome to the Sleeping Dragon Inn! I’m Hemlock, the bartender here. Can I get you folks anything to drink?”
“Just a beer, please.”
“I heard a rumor you had some very nice wine vintages,” her father says, leaning forward on the table. “Do you have a menu to go with?”
“Yup! Right in the back.”
They spend a few minutes ordering drinks and food, before Hemlock takes his leave, though not without casting a glance at Isabella. She thinks there’s some deeper meaning behind it but she can’t figure out what it is before he’s gone.
“That’s wonderful, dear,” her mother says, smiling at her once Hemlock is gone. “You know, when you left, I really didn’t take you to be a farmer.”
“Luckily, I had good help.” She ignores the jab, wanting the conversation to go as smoothly as possible for as long as possible.
“Well, you were so good at academics growing up, Isa,” her father continues, and Isabella feels the dread begin to settle. “By now, I thought you’d be well on your way to becoming an aspiring scholar--maybe even a professor!”
Isaballea forces her hands to lay still in her lap, to take a slow, deep breath as she prepares for the inevitable. “I guess I just took to farming more. It’s… rewarding.”
It was rewarding in a way that academics never was. In university, it felt like everything she was doing was for her own, sole benefit. To become the best student that there was. But in Mistira, the reward for farming was just greater. It felt like she was contributing to something bigger than herself, contributing to people and a community and helping people, instead of just pursuing the greatest GPA possible. Seeing the whole community come together to help build and regrow was heartening.
When the Sleeping Dragon Inn was upgraded and everyone in town pitched in to help out, she had teared up a little at that--and she wasn't even one of the people working and living there.
“I’m sure it is,” her father agrees, pausing for a minute to eat his own pasta. “But are you sure that’s what you want to be doing with your life? It isn’t exactly an easy job, you know, especially once you get older, and it doesn’t have the same financial security that a tenured professor will. One year of drought or a bad harvest could break you.”
Although she can’t see Hemlock’s face from her position, she does hear Adeline and Nora’s chatter quiet down, and Isabella clenches her hands around her jacket. “No, it isn’t easy, but-”
“Isabella.” Her mother’s voice was soft, but firm. “You know we’re right. We’ve allowed you to stay out here to help out, and from what we’ve been clearing, you clearly had. But you can’t avoid your studies forever, you know. You’re such a bright young woman, and there’s a lot you could be doing with your skills out in the real world. Don’t you think it’s time to head home?”
The offense she felt was quick and sudden, the way her mother dismissed Mistria as if her being here was just… just some sort of playhouse, of fantasy. Like the people who lived here weren’t her friends and her companions. And, maybe, sometimes it did feel like a fantasy--sealed mine entrances, talking dragon statues that turned out to be actual dragons, and crops and foregables that seemed to be blessed by the land, but it was still real.
“I… I don’t want to go back,” she says slowly, quietly. “I like living in Mistria, and… I’m a lot happier here than I ever was back in University. It got so… so stressful at times. And, sure, sometimes farming is stressful, but it’s… I’m not alone here. I have a life here.”
Her mother’s gaze is sad. “But what about the life you left back home? Isabella, we know you can do great things once you’re done with university.”
“And what if I don’t want to do great things? What if I want to know I’m part of a community, that I’m helping out here and that that’s enough?”
The tavern feels silent, although she knows Adeline and Nora are talking to one another, but their voices are hushed. Her parents look at one another, before looking back at her.
Isabella braces herself, waiting for the disappointment, the disapproval, for it to be aired in the middle of the tavern.
In a rare display of competence, though, her father simply says, “Perhaps this is a conversation best discussed elsewhere.”
As much as Isabella dreads putting the conversation off, she also feels it’s best to take the win, as small as it is. So she eats her tomato soup in silence.
The walk to her house is silent.
Normally, Isabella would be taking her time, enjoying the changing of the colors on the trees, the leaves blowing in the fall air, the crunch of them under feet. Her parents, at least, seem sufficiently distracted by the nature surrounding them, the two of them staring every which way.
“I’m down this way,” she says once they cross the bridge heading south. “We should be there in about five minutes.”
“You’re pretty far from town,” her father comments, and while Isabella doubts he actually means anything by that…
“I mean, I am a farmer. I need lots of land.” To be fair, most of the land she’s using is less for farming and more for grass for her animals, but there’s only so much watering she can do before she gets exhausted. “Besides, it’s not like I spend all my time farming. There are other things to do outside of that.”
“Don’t you get tired, though, taking care of all that land yourself?”
Isabella shrugs. “Well, yeah, but no more tired than I got pulling all-nighters for class assignments and homework.” Her linguistics class—a prerequisite for her anthropology and archeology program—in sophomore year was particularly brutal.
They reach her farm and the sprawling land beyond the treeline, and Isabella wishes she could just leave her parents here and go inside. Or better yet, curl up with her bunnies Ren and Lenny in the coop.
Instead, she takes a breath, braces herself, and turns to face her parents.
“I know you said that this-“ she gestures vaguely between the three of them, and then her farm—“was a conversation you wanted to have in private. But… Mom, Dad, there is no conversation that I want to have. I’m staying here.”
Her mother sighs, a familiar sound. “Isabella, I understand you feel attached to this place. Really, I do. But you can’t run from your responsibilities forever.”
“This farm is my responsibility.” Her hands clench into fists at her side, but she forces herself to try and keep calm. “The damage from the earthquake may be gone, but Mistria still needs my help. I’m one of the only two farmers in town. And there’s a lot of stuff Adeline wants to do to make Mistria better, things that I want to help out with, and…”
She trails off, but her mind flashes to Balor. Sweet, charming Balor. Mysterious, lonely Balor. Balor, who reminded her so much of her old childhood friend, who has captivated her from the moment she saw him hopping across the broken bridge outside of town.
But it’s not just Balor, either. It’s Adeline and her dedication to making the town a better place, and Ryis and his dedication to his craft, and Errol and his dedication to the preservation of history, and everyone else in town who made her feel so welcome.
“I’m making a life here, and I… I like the life I have here. I don’t want to go back to academics.”
“But it will be so good for you!” Her mother protests, and idly, Isabella wonders what all her parents are going to try. If they’re going to beg with her, cajole her, plead with her, trying to get her to come back. “I really don’t want you to give up on your education, you know. It’s such a privilege to be able to afford to go-“
“Peyton, dear,” her father cuts in, resting a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Hold on a second.”
Her mother’s face twists in confusion. “Emmet?”
“Are you happy here, Isa?” Her father asks, meeting Isabella’s eyes. “Truly and genuinely?”
That… was not what Isabella was expecting. Something like hope begins to bloom in her chest. “I am, yes.”
Her father’s face softens. “Then… if this is what you really want, I don’t think it would be right for us to stop you.”
Emmet closes his eyes, and he looks older, like she’s only just now noticing the salt and pepper dotting his hair and beard or the tired slump to his shoulders.
“After… after the fight we had last time, I… I realized we were being selfish. We were so proud of your success in academics that we started to consider only how it could benefit us—not how it could benefit you. I think at some point, we lost sight of how the ultimate goal of parents is to make sure their kids should be happy. And… you weren’t happy in University, were you?”
“No, I… I wasn’t.” She grips her wrist, rubbing her thumb over her pulse point. “Learning about the world… it had stopped being fun. It felt more like a chore than… than something I did because I wanted to do it. Because I was excited about it.” And that, in turn, made it hard to want to do any sort of work or studying.
Her mother blinks. “Bella, you… you never told us that.” Sadness crosses her face. “Why didn’t you?”
She glances away. “I… I know you were just trying to do what you thought was best for me, but… you weren’t really listening to me.”
“Oh, Bella…”
Her mother pulls her into a hug, joined by her father a moment later. Isabella closes her eyes and tries not to cry.