This is irritating. But why is this so irritating?
Alistair was eating lunch together with Melina, Milo, and Gilbert. The old baker and Melina were all smiles when the carpenter's apprentice arrived, treating him as a hero who had come to save them. Gilbert wasn't shy in offering him an extra portion of his delicious pumpkin soup but made no such offers to Alistair.
This old man has hated me from the very beginning although I have no idea why. I had hoped that he'd soften up a little bit, but he still regards me as if I were some locust that has come to eat all of his precious harvest.
But it wasn't Gilbert's attitude that truly peeved Alistair. He had accepted that the baker disliked him slightly more than everybody else, and he was sure that Gilbert disliked most people. No, what truly irritated him was the genuine smile on Melina's face.
The girl always seemed wary around him, as if walking on eggshells. He imagined it was because of their vast difference in social standing. Most people in Sunglow treated him the same way, keeping a polite distance, with a few exceptions. But for some reason, it felt wrong whenever Melina did it, and he didn't understand why.
Alistair dipped the last bit of his bread in the remains of the soup, soaking up the delicious liquid and popping it in his mouth.
It must be my exhaustion getting to me. The visions have been more frequent and confusing since <General's Echo> ranked up. I get short flashes of something I cannot even decipher. Not to mention that I've started seeing these weird disconnected nightmares which I can't even properly remember in the morning.
"Lord Sinclair, would you like seconds?" Melina offered politely, but he noticed a hint of concern on her face.
"If you wouldn't mind. We did skip breakfast this morning," he said, ignoring the glare that the baker was giving him.
"There was no need to arrive in such a rush," she said as she took Alistair's bowl and ladled some soup into it. Then she cut another slice of fresh whole wheat bread and presented it to him.
"Thank you. I was just concerned that somebody might sneak into the bakery with the door gone. Some people might still try to deal with Sienna, so to speak," he explained, glancing at the wyrm that was enjoying her lunch—one of Melina's meat tartlets.
Looking at the monster, brought up that unpleasantly clear vision he got recently. Most of his visions were an incomprehensible mess these days but that vision had been vividly clear. He and Sienna both lay on the ground, covered in blood. She had been dead with his sword embedded deep in her chest, while he was dying, blood pouring out in streams from a horrible wound on his face and neck. When he saw the vision, Alistair wondered if that would have been the outcome had Melina not interfered.
"But I still can't believe it," Milo said, looking at the wyrm. "You actually tamed a monster with a tartlet! That is amazing! Not to mention that a fire monster must be incredibly useful in the bakery."
"Getting the fire going in the morning certainly is easier now," Gilbert agreed with a frown. "Although, sometimes I am afraid that one sneeze from the thing might set this whole place on fire."
"Don't worry, Master. I'm sure Sienna has good control of her flames," Melina said, and the little wyrm, having finished her meal, quickly scuttled down from the counter and up on Melina's shoulder.
"For both of our sakes, I hope you're right."
"But how did you come up with the idea that a tartlet might calm down a monster?" Milo asked with his eyes full of wonder.
"It was my idea, actually, and quite honestly it was a big stroke of luck since we had feyfruit on hand. Without it, taming this little rascal would have been impossible," Gilbert said, eyeing the wyrm suspiciously.
"I'm sure it wouldn't be so bad…" Melina said, although there was no conviction in her voice.
"I'm sure it would have turned out alright either way. Sienna seems very friendly," Milo said and offered a small piece of his bread dipped in pumpkin soup to her. Alistair expected the monster to snap at him, but instead, she lapped up the treat readily and looked expectantly for more. "See? She appears friendly enough."
"Let me try," Alistair said, dipping a bit of bread in the soup and offering it to the wyrm as well. But Sienna recoiled from him, letting out an angry hiss and burying underneath Melina's dress.
"Don't take it personally, Lord Sinclair. I think it feels a bit intimidated by you because you're an adventurer," Melina said nervously, eyeing him as if he would attack her.
Now I've made her nervous again. Why does it irritate me so much? I shouldn't care about this commoner girl at all.
"Yes, of course. Perhaps, she'll come around in time." He forced a polite smile and turned his attention back to soup. But somehow it had lost its flavor.
After lunch, Milo instantly got to work fixing the door with Melina trailing after him. The young carpenter was efficient, measuring out every dimension of the door and then tackling the doorframe. It was too old and badly damaged to be usable, as Gilbert had predicted, so the old door frame had to be removed.
"Do you need any help, Milo?" Melina asked as the carpenter slowly pried the door frame away from the wall, trying not to inflict more damage.
"No, it's alright. I'll take care of this. You can return to your work, Melina," he said with a gracious smile. A pang of irritation hit Alistair as he sat on the stool, watching over the wyrm which scurried about, occasionally peeking its head into the oven. It looked perfectly at home in the bakery.
What am I even doing? Son of Duke Sinclair sitting in a pastry shop and watching a fire lizard run around. If my father knew of this… and, if my elder brother learned of this, he'd mock me until the end of time. Charlotte would no doubt lose whatever respect she had left for me.
For a moment, he considered returning to the Guild and telling the Guildmaster that there was no need to watch the ember wyrm anymore. That it was unlikely to go berserk again underneath Melina's watch. But instead, he dismissed the thought, knowing he was being impatient. The wyrm had to be observed for a longer time to draw any solid conclusions.
"Very well, but if you need any help or some tools, then don't be shy to ask," Melina said, turning to go to the kitchen. She stopped when her eyes met with Alistair's and frowned. "Is something the matter?"
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The question had caught him off-guard. Had he really shown his displeasure openly? He thought he had tempered himself to appear neutral. "Why would you ask that?"
"You just seem… tired."
Ever since he came to Sunglow, he had been tired and it felt like he never got a room to breathe as one thing kept happening after the next. But he wasn't going to admit that. "No, I am quite alright."
Melina's expression turned into an unreadable, polite mask. "If that's the case, could you please come with me?"
He nodded, although she didn't have to ask—he would have followed anyway to keep the darting wyrm in his sight. To his surprise, she didn't go to the kitchen, but instead led him into the living room on the first floor. She motioned him to sit on the couch, so he obliged, wondering if there was something she wanted to talk about.
But instead of sitting down, she retrieved the pillow and blanket that were stashed inside one of the shelves. "Why don't you sleep for a bit?"
"That is a gracious offer, Miss Melina, but one I cannot accept. I still have my duties as a guard," he said firmly, although the offer was quite tempting. Alistair had barely slept last night, as the nightmares had been particularly bad, no doubt amplified by his own guilt over breaking the door.
She frowned at that response but didn't insist and instead returned to the kitchen. He followed her.
Alistair awoke with a start from a loud noise coming from somewhere nearby and instantly reached for his sword. It took him a moment to realize that at some point he had fallen asleep on the kitchen table and he now had a blanket draped over his shoulders.
"Good morning," Melina chirped, wiping the last bits of flour off the counter. "Did you have a good rest?"
The way it was phrased might have seemed mocking, but the smile on Melina's face suggested anything but that. This was one of those rare genuine smiles he noticed on her. How could he tell the difference? It was quite simple—small dimples appeared on her cheeks.
"I apologize for my tardiness, Miss Melina. It appears that I have shown a rather unsightly part of myself. I hope nothing bad happened while I was asleep," he removed the blanket, carefully folding it and placing it on the chair.
"No, the noise that woke you was just Milo, removing the last bits of the door frame. Also, there is nothing unsightly about sleeping. I only wish you would have slept on the couch like I suggested instead of the hard kitchen table," she said, removing her apron and placing it on the shelf in the corner.
"Perhaps…" he said, sheepishly scratching his head.
"Well, it's good that you're awake. I was going to show Milo the way to the inn, but I don't think I'm allowed to walk around without a guard."
"Actually, it's Sienna who isn't allowed to walk without a guard," Alistair looked at the wyrm, who pretended to nap on Melina's shoulder. He knew she was only pretending because he noticed her open one of her large eyes for a split second to assess him.
"I suppose that's true. But while she sticks with me, I can't go anywhere without you. So I hope it's not a bother if we walk around town for a bit."
"Of course not. In fact, I'd love to stretch my legs," Alistair hummed, all of his previous irritation washed away. It wasn't a surprise either—judging by the fact that the sun was beginning to set, he had slept for at least two, maybe even three hours.
"Wonderful, let's wait for Milo to finish, and then we'll go."
About half an hour later, the three of them were on their way into town, Milo taking in the sights with keen interest.
"Wow, there's so much space here. Like there are whole farmlands here," the young carpenter said, observing the surroundings with great interest.
"Yeah, I was surprised as well when I first came here. It is very different from cities like Tuvia and Pertia," Melina confirmed.
"Or Fenrora," Alistair added, remembering his home. He almost missed the vast fields of snow that lay beyond the walls of his family's estate. But it was only nice to look at. He was never particularly fond of the cold that ruled over the city for nine months out of twelve.
"I heard that Fenrora is a magnificent city rivaled only by the capital itself," Milo said nervously.
"Yes, it is quite beautiful. But there is a distinct lack of color there. Everything is mostly white."
Melina peered at Alistair curiously and asked, "When did you come to Sunglow, Lord Sinclair?"
"I think it's been about two months now," he said thoughtfully, thinking about when he first arrived. He had hated the town back then as it had essentially become his prison—a punishment Alistair had to endure. Not to mention that things got worse when <General's Echo> skill appeared.
But as he gazed at the trees swaying in the wind across the street and the birds flitting from branch to branch, he realized that his home didn't have anything like that. It was sterile in comparison—like a hospital except that the smell of medicine was replaced with perfume, doctors were replaced by maids and medical equipment with lavish finery.
"I have grown to like it here," he admitted.
"The place does have its charm. Even I have grown attached to it in my short time here."
"You two almost make me jealous about not living here," Milo said.
"Who says you can't live here? Carpenter's position is still vacant," Melina teased. "You certainly would have plenty of work to do."
Milo scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Master Declan thinks I should be heading to the capital, open a shop there, and specialize in making illuminated signs."
"That would certainly be a good path," Alistair nodded. "If the sign you've made for Master Gilbert's bakery is any indication, then you won't be lacking customers."
There was a moment of silence as Milo seemed to be mulling over the thought, kicking a pebble that came across his way into a nearby bush.
"But that isn't what you want is it?" Melina asked cautiously.
"No. I don't want to make signs for the rest of my life. Don't get me wrong, I loved making the sign for the bakery and finally understanding how to utilize the crystals used in lamps, but… I want to learn more about magitech. I don't want to stop at signs."
"Wouldn't the capital offer you a chance to grow? Learn more about magitech?"
"Perhaps, but more likely than not, I'd get swarmed with so many requests that I'd have no time for that. But if I came to Sunglow…"
"You'd have more time for your projects," Melina finished, and Milo nodded.
"But you won't earn as much in Sunglow. You could make a nice profit in the capital," Alistair said.
"I don't know what to do. Sunglow seems nice, but if I want money to buy magitech I should go to the capital. But there I won't have any time to tinker with it," Milo muttered. After exhaling a deep sigh, he turned to Melina. "Will you remain in Sunglow and take over Master Gilbert's bakery?"
"If he permits it, then yes," she said resolutely, as they passed by the town hall.
"And your path must be clear as well, Lord Sinclair," Milo said, catching Alistair off-guard.
Is my path clear? I know I'll leave Sunglow once the year is up, but what comes after that? I have no chance of inheriting the duke's title from my father, so I suppose I'll be busy serving the Church and protecting people from monsters as I am doing it now.
"It is," Alistair replied, although he didn't felt no certainty.
"Oh, we've arrived at the inn," Melina said, pointing at the inn where people could be heard chatting and laughing.
"Wow, it looks better than I thought. And what's that smell?"
"Erina has hired the best cook in town, so you must be smelling one of their wonderful dishes," Melina explained, and her stomach growled too.
"Why don't we go grab a bite?" The carpenter suggested.
Alistair noticed discomfort in Melina's eyes as her hand went to the spot where Sienna was hiding. It was clear that she was worried about the reaction of the townsfolk.
"Let's go. It'll be fine," Alistair encouraged.
She hesitated, but eventually nodded her head.
"Awesome. Can't wait for some good food!" Milo said excitedly, and the three of them walked into the cafeteria. It was bustling with life in the late evening hours, and Alistair wasn't sure if they'd even have space at a table.
But then a feminine voice called out to him. "Lord Sinclair, there's some free space here."
It took a while to discern the source from among the chatter and bustle, but it was Leliana, waving her hand from one of the tables.
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