"But the bells help."
"Yours do,” I answer. “Only yours."
She meets my eyes then, something unreadable moving through her expression.
"Why mine specifically?" Her question keeps coming relentlessly.
"No idea," I admit. "Your craftsmanship creates tones unlike anything else in Protheka. They harmonize with magic itself rather than simply producing sound. When I hear them, the chaos quiets. I can hear myself think.
The admission hangs between us.
"You never spoke to me before this week," she relays.
"I did not trust myself to speak because I knew if I started, I would not want to stop."
The words escape before I can contain them. They land between us with more honesty than I intended, raw and unguarded.
Before she can respond, raised voices cut across the square.
A womanwho shares Roseth's dark curls storms toward a towering dwarf whose expression suggests long familiarity with her temper.
"You moved the ale casks again," she snaps.
"They blocked the processional route," the dwarf replies.
"They were not blocking anything." They argue on.
"They absolutely were, Vi."
Roseth sighs quietly. "That is Sylvi," she murmurs to me. "My cousin. She coordinates the festival. The dwarf is Brohm. Former partner. Current professional disaster."
"That explains the volume."I whisper back.
"It explains approximately half of it." She breathes.
Sylvi spots Roseth and immediately changes direction, dragging Brohm with her through sheer force of personality.
"You," she says, pointing at Roseth. "Tell him the ceremonial platform takes priority over brewery storage."
Brohm folds his arms across his chest. We step between them together.
The argument unfolds quickly, full of gestures and old grievances.
“Vi, you know you can work it out?”
“Never!” Her cousin grunts. “Not possible,”
“It is possible,” I input, quietly supporting her reasoning with observations about space allocation and foot traffic patterns.
“See, even the elf knows it,” Brohm erupts, throwing his thick hands in the air.
Neither of them appears particularly interested in logic, but gradual compromise emerges through sheer exhaustion.
Sylvi eyes me curiously before returning to work. "You are surprisingly useful for someone frightening," she says over her shoulder.
"Thank you?"
"That was not necessarily a compliment." She replies.
