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117. Tales of Titan's Pass (I)
🕑 Added 2025-04-03 00:46:49 +0000 UTC******
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Wyn woke before the sun. He let out a long yawn as he stretched, then he was burning spirit fire, banishing the grogginess from his mind. The increasingly familiar ceiling of their room at Eldress Jolaine’s home greeted him as he opened his eyes. The beams which stretched across it were worn by the many years, but the wood was still sturdy.
Good morning Eia, he thought.
Good morning Wyn! Her voice rang through his mind, bright and chipper. It snowed again last night. That sure happens a lot here huh?
Wyn smiled faintly. More often than home, that’s for sure. Though I think the snow we got in Straetum was deeper.
Careful not to wake Corrin, he slid out of bed slowly and changed out of his sleepwear into a long-sleeved tunic and some warm pants. Peeking past the curtain through the window, he found the city once more blanketed in a crisp layer of white, from the tops of houses, to the streets that had yet to be cleared for the day.
In the two weeks since they’d arrived in Titan’s Pass, it had snowed consistently. Sometimes it would be a light dusting in the morning, and other times blizzards would rage throughout the night, but almost every day had contained at least a bit of snow.
He let the curtain fall back into place, exhaling softly as he gathered the rest of his things and left the room, stepping into the hallway.
It was a bit odd, but the two bedrooms in the upstairs of the home were unused by either of its occupants, with both residing in bedrooms on the lower floor for the sake of their health. With four bedrooms, the residence was actually quite large, but Wyn had gathered it used to be much fuller than it was now, though he hadn’t asked any specifics.
There were some things even Corrin knew better than to ask.
The stairs, scarcely used until recently, creaked under his feet as he walked into the main room. The fire crackled in the hearth, its warmth spilling into the space and pushing back the early morning chill.
Eldress Jolaine was already awake. She sat near the fire, a kettle of tea steaming beside her, while a pot of porridge simmered gently above the embers. Her face was calm, and her hands were steady as she stirred. The scent of cinnamon and something faintly sweet drifted through the air.
“Morning," Wyn bowed slightly before making his way to the cupboard.
“Good morning, Wyn.” Jolain’s voice carried a quiet warmth along with it. “Did you sleep well?”
“Well enough.” He retrieved a bowl and ladled out some porridge, the heat of it warming his hands through the ceramic. Jolaine poured him a cup of tea, as she did every morning, and he set it aside to cool.
“New blend today?” He asked, just as he had each morning before.
“Of course.” A small smile touched her lips. “A germian blend with hints of honey and barberry.”
Wyn took a sip and found her eyes watching him, waiting.
“Delicious,” he said honestly, savoring the smooth taste. “Though I still think the sylen tea was better.”
“Well, you don’t seem to have as much of a sweet tooth as I do,” Jolaine mused. “So perhaps that’s to be expected.”
Wyn tasted it again. “And was this one from that trader you mentioned?”
“No no, thankfully. I would hate to have such a limited supply. There is a tea shop just across the river from here where I buy most of my leaves. In fact, it was there that I met my husband.” Jolaine’s eyes grew distant, looking into the past. She traced the rim of her cup with one finger, the steam curling gently as it rose.
Wyn glanced at her, waiting.
“I can remember it as clearly as anything,” she said at last, a faint smile on her face. “I was still a young girl, not much older than you, apprenticed to my mother, crafting the very same masks I do today. Every two weeks I would buy a new stock of tea leaves from that store, it was something of a routine. He had just made it into the city, all the way from Straetum, the same as you. He was a soft-spoken, gentle boy, and the first time we met, I was so smitten I completely forgot to purchase the tea leaves!”
Wyn watched the firelight flicker in her eyes. “You must have loved him a lot.”
“More than you know.” Jolaine stared into the deep amber tea she cradled between both of her hands. “I returned the next day—barged in and and told him, ‘You made me forget my tea, so now you owe me a cup.’”
Wyn whistled. “That’s bold.”
Jolaine chuckled. “If you know what you want, why waste time wondering if you should pursue it. And do I seem like the timid type?”
Wyn just smirked.
“We were married two years later… and he was with me for another fifty-two after that. Each morning, we would sit right here, drinking tea as we talked, just like this. It is nice to be able to do so again, even if he is only here in memory.”
Wyn rubbed his thumb along the cup.
“Ah, forgive me. I did not mean to impose my reminiscing onto you. I do enjoy our little chats—I hope you will not mind continuing them?”
“Not at all, I enjoy them myself.” Wyn smiled, taking another sip of the tea. “I could not think of a better way to start each day. So long as I am here, I’ll happily continue.”
Jolaine’s expression brightened. “Then in that case, please allow me to tell you a little secret,” She leaned in, folding her hands atop the table. “If you are able to procure ice, or otherwise chill your tea, it can be incredibly refreshing, especially…”
As he listened, Wyn continued to sip on his tea, enjoying the company as the chat drifted from topic to topic. They meandered until Wyn had finished both tea and porridge, and the sun had risen enough to truly light the room.
As he rose from the table, Wyn thanked her as always, slinging a small pack over his shoulder and heading towards the door.
“Are you sure you don’t mind doing this?” Eldress Jolaine asked.
Wyn tugged on his boots, tying them tightly before glancing up. “I’ve said it before—it’s no trouble at all. You shouldn’t have to make the trek every day, especially not while having to tow that cart around. For your hospitality, it is the least I can do.”
She bowed her head. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing, really.” Wyn pulled his coat over his shoulders. “Have you thought about my other offer?”
Jolaine’s face tightened. “I have… and I have spoken with Lilian as well. I—she, agreed. If you are willing to try, then she will not turn you away. But please, Wyn.” She met his eyes. “Hope is such a frightening thing, you understand?”
Wyn, Eia’s voice was a bit concerned. I already told you I’m not sure if it will work, you know that right?
Wyn turned away, opening the front door as he fastened the last button of his coat.
“Yeah. I do.”
***
“Damn it all to hell.”
Corby exhaled sharply, running a calloused hand through his graying hair as he leaned on his shovel. Snow clung to his boots, packed tight beneath the treads, and a bitter wind nipped at his ears. Across the plaza, nearly half a dozen carts sat motionless, their wheels sunk deep into the churned slush.
Fools, could they not see the snow was too deep?
Clemens, the owner of the brewery next door, let out a low groan. His ruddy face was pinched with irritation, sweat already beading on his brow despite the cold.
“What a disaster… I thought they were supposed to sweep last night.”
“Early morning flurries, the whole city is packed down right now,” Corby sighed, adjusting the thick wool scarf around his neck. “I heard they’re trying to clear the streets, but they’re behind.”
Clemens tightened his grip on his shovel, driving it into the snow with a frustrated grunt. “Well, nothing else for it then.”
Corby followed suit, sinking his spade into the snow, though the work was slow-going. The whole street had come together—men and women bundled in thick coats, their breaths fogging the air. The rhythmic scrape of shovels against stone filled the plaza along with the occasional murmur of conversation.
“Good morning Elder Corby.”
His shovel paused at the voice, and he turned around to see a young man with black hair standing behind him, a warm smile on his face. His gray coat was a bit too thin for this kind of weather, though if he felt cold, he didn’t show it.
“Ah, Wyn.” Corby straightened, shifting his shovel to one hand. It still surprised him how quickly he’d come to recognize the boy. A week ago, he hadn’t even known his name, and yet here he was, as if he’d always been part of the morning routine. Always polite. Always conversational. And, curiously, knowledgeable about baking, not that Corby really knew what to make of him. There was something different about Wyn—something just outside his grasp. He had the kind of confidence that felt too easy for someone his age. And despite being older by at least ten years, Corby found himself oddly reassured by the boy’s presence.
“I’m afraid we’ve been nervous to start any fires,” Corby admitted. “The snowfall has knocked out the whole street, and our chimney is blocked. I’d not want to risk trying to clear it myself and taking a tumble, which means I’ll have to wait for the sweepers. We’ll shovel the plaza, but…” He shrugged helplessly.
“I see,” Wyn touched his chin thoughtfully, his gaze flicking towards the bakery’s roof. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d be happy to help however I can.”
“Oh, of course not. Even one extra person would make a large difference. There should be an extra shovel or two just over there.”
Instead of moving toward them, Wyn smiled. “Let me go clear your chimney first. That way you can get your ovens going. If you can make me the usual, we’ll call it even, yes?”
Corby blinked. He’d offered it as easily as holding a door. “Clear the chimney? If you could do that, I’d give you half a dozen of them, and one a day for the rest of the week.”
Still, Wyn just smiled. “Truly just one would be fantastic.”
And before Corby could argue again, the boy crouched slightly, then leapt.
Gasps rose from the gathered shopkeepers as Wyn landed lightly on the snow-dusted roof, balancing effortlessly before crouching near the chimney. He worked swiftly, boots scraping against the tiles as he kicked loose the packed snow. The blockage came free in moments, tumbling down in heavy clumps to the street below.
Corby barely had time to process what he’d just seen before Wyn straightened and called out, “Does anyone else need theirs done?”
The entire plaza erupted in response.
One by one, he cleared the chimneys with the same effortless grace, then took to shoveling as if he’d been born to the task. Coat discarded, sleeves rolled, he moved through the snow faster than three people put together—yet still found the breath to chat with those around him. Corby noticed how many eyes drifted toward the boy—men and women alike, drawn in by his presence.
With Wyn leading the charge, the plaza was cleared in just over an hour. When the final path was carved out, Wyn set his shovel aside and exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “I’m afraid I have training to attend to, but hopefully my meager efforts were of some use.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd, though Wyn only smiled. Meager indeed.
He shook hands with those who had yet to thank him for clearing their chimneys, taking the time to learn the names he hadn’t yet committed to memory.
Finally, Wyn put his coat back on and walked up to Corby, expression expectant. “Do you think it’s ready? I’m a bit famished after that work, and I won’t be eating until my friend arrives later.”
Corby started, nearly having forgotten about the pastries. “Oh! Yes, yes! Just a few minutes. I wanted them to be fresh for when you were done.”
“Fantastic.” Wyn stretched. “I’ll help a little more around here while you do.”
Corby hurried inside and quickly set to work. Even as he made the pastries—dipping the dough into the boiling oil, warming the jam, dusting them with sugar—his thoughts lingered on the boy outside he’d come to know.
His mannerisms were too refined for a simple laborer, and he was as strong and agile as any adventurer Corby had ever seen. Yet, he had worked just as hard as any other man in the plaza—harder even, and didn’t expect more than a single pastry in return. Adventurers worked for gold, or even glory in some cases, but it was a rare one who would pick up a shovel and clear snow like that.
In the end though, he had no intention of truly asking, it was just curiosity.
When he returned outside, basket in hand, Wyn was helping one of the shopkeepers pull their cart across the plaza. After setting it down he noticed Corby’s approach and shook his head with a chuckle.
“Dipping the dough in boiling oil, I still can’t believe it. I never would have thought of such a thing. Guess there’s always something new out there huh?” He inhaled deeply. “Oh these jam buns smell delicious Elder Corby. Though as I said I really only needed the one.”
“You must take them all, I insist.” Corby held out the basket filled with the delicate, jam filled dough balls. “Your help was invaluable.”
“A compromise then,” Wyn said. He plucked two from the basket and pushed it back into Corby’s arms. “Hand them out to whoever you choose, I’ll take an extra one for my troubles, and you can make me some more tomorrow if you’d like.”
“With pleasure.”
Wyn bit into one, his face lighting up. “They really are perfect for a cold day.” He waved the half-eaten pastry as he strolled to the edge of the plaza. “Good luck to you all! Have a lovely day!”
As the dozens of men and women waved him goodbye, Corby thought he might’ve seen Wyn look to the side and say something, like he was speaking to someone that wasn’t there, but he didn’t think much of it. He simply watched him go, shaking his head in quiet amusement. For all his questions of the boy, none of them truly mattered.
To have such a good customer was a treat warmer than any pastry he could make.
***
“It’s just not fair Laina.”
Merris stomped through the snow, the heavy bucket of water she carried sloshing with each step. Her breath came out in furious puffs. “It’s not fair at all.”
Laina, walking beside her with a bucket of her own, didn’t even look up. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about how the sun has hardly risen and yet this is already the third time I’ve had to haul water from the well!” Merris swung her bucket for emphasis, almost dousing her own clothes. “I swear they must be drinking so much water out of spite alone.”
Laina sighed. “It’s a household of six people, Merris.”
“And yet somehow I’m always the one stuck refilling the barrel! It’s freezing out here! Where is my brother? Where is my useless cousin?”
Laina snorted. “That slacker? Probably hiding or ‘busy’ the second it comes up.”
Merris scowled, imagining all sorts of ways to get back at them. “I should start filling his boots with water, see how he likes it.”
“You do need new ones,” Laina agreed, looking down at Merris’s old, tattered boots. They were years old now, and leaked when they got wet. Hauling water was already a pain, but doing it with frozen feet? That was just cruel.
Merries grumbled once more about the unfairness of life under her breath, but before she could launch into another tirade, Laina grabbed her arm and yanked her behind a crate of firewood, nearly sending them both sprawling into the snow.
“Hey!” Merris hissed, trying to steady the swaying water in her bucket. “Damn it Laina, I spilled some on my coat!”
“Sshh,” Laina held a finger to her lips, her brown eyes locking on something just past the last row of houses. “He’s out there again.”
Merris, still scowling, followed her friend’s gaze out toward the western wall.
Out in the open snow, a lone figure was training in the snow, a silhouette of grey and black against the stark white background.
She set the bucket down and peered over the crate, her frustration forgotten.
“Again?”
There he was. One day he’d just shown up in the city, and though neither of them knew his name, they couldn’t help but take notice.
The boy moved through his routine, slow and deliberate, muscles shifting under his tunic. Then, without warning, he exploded into motion, lunging forward and slashing through the air. Snow scattered around him in a fine mist, catching the morning light.
Merris let out a long, slow breath.
Laina swallowed. “Yeah.”
The boy turned slightly, and the sun hit his face just right—stormy gray eyes, dark hair tousled in the wind, and a well built frame, with broad shoulders and arms that could keep you warm during the winter.
Merris shook her head. She gripped her friend’s shoulders. “Laina, we have to talk to him.”
“No, we do not.”
“Yes, we do.”
Laina yanked herself free. “And say what? ‘Hi, we just wanted to let you know we’ve been watching you train like a couple of creeps for over a week now’?”
Merris rolled her eyes. “No no obviously not, but we’ve got two heavy buckets right here! It’s perfect.” She picked one of them up, pretending to struggle with it. “Oh sir, could you please help me carry this water back home? It’s just so heavy…”
Laina groaned, dragging a hand down her face.
“Well what do you—”
The boy turned and looked in their direction.
Merris squeaked and immediately yanked Laina backwards, the two of them tripping over each other. She lost her grip on the bucket and it fell onto her foot.
“Ow! Damn it—ow”
Laina, red-faced and scrambling, peeked back over the crate before letting out a sigh of relief. “I don’t think he saw us.”
Merris, on the ground, cradled her foot. “This is humiliating.”
Laina just sighed, helping her friend up. “Let’s go Merris. You can’t very well make a good impression while cradling your foot like that.”
Merris thought about it for a moment. “It could be even better though! ‘Oh sir I’m hurt, please carry me home!’” She laughed giddily at the idea.
“Ein’al help us,” Laina muttered.
“Oh come on Laina! It would be a love story for the ages!”
Laina just rolled her eyes. “He’ll be here again tomorrow okay?”
Merris huffed. “Fine.” She finally relented, leaning on Laina’s shoulder as they walked home. With each step, she winced, a painful reminder of her soaked and bruised foot. But it wasn’t all bad.
“At least I won’t have to haul water for a while.”
Laina snorted. “You’re going to milk this for days, aren’t you?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
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Comments
Hayden Pech
lol 😂 nothing quite like the strong silent type to attract the gals.
