Chapter II Part II

Arroyo’s streets are always busy this time of year — but today they feel louder, brighter somehow. The air carries a crisp edge that bites at my ears, fluttering the banners strung from lamppost to lamppost. Little clusters of ribbons and wreaths are everywhere I look, promises of the harvest festival just days away. It should make me smile — it always does — but today, the warmth of it drifts just out of reach.

I park my speeder near the city gate, same as always. The guards posted there give me an absent nod, one of them lifting a hand halfheartedly when I wave. They’ve seen me here more times than I can count — same girl, same metal golem clinging to my shoulder, same charcoal-gray bike rumbling in like a storm cloud on wheels.

Zeke beeps once, and one of the guards smirks. I flash my Gold-rank badge just for formality’s sake and step past the gates, boots crunching over the stone path that’s warm in the sunlight.

Arroyo is always alive, but today it hums with a restlessness that scratches at my skin. The harvest festival is just around the corner — I can see the bright new banners strung across the streets, the wooden stalls going up along the main road, the smell of roasted nuts and sweet breads drifting through the air.

I pull the speeder up near the city gate, the same spot I’ve parked since I first learned to drive it. The two guards, clad in the same mismatched steel and leather, lift their hands in a lazy wave. They know me by now. They know Zeke, too — though to them he’s just my strange little metal golem that beeps in riddles.

I flash my Gold-rank guild badge, a nod that says nothing to see here, and walk past the gates, Zeke bobbing along at my side like an eager sparrow.

Elara’s shop is my first stop. The old wooden sign still creaks above the door, paint just starting to flake. I push inside, the bell chiming low. The warmth hits me first — the forge burning at the back, the smell of oil and hot iron thick in the air.

Elara’s there behind her counter, thick leather apron cinched tight over her simple clothes, chestnut hair tied back in a looped bun to keep it clear. She’s got her goggles shoved up on her forehead, leaving a faint smudge of soot across her cheek. She’s tempering a sword, its steel glowing orange when she spots me.

“Nikko. Good to see you.” She pulls her goggles off completely, eyes crinkling for a heartbeat — but then they dart around me, searching the empty air beside my shoulder. “Where’s Ryu?”

I feel my tail flick, a bit sharper than I mean it to. “Today it’s just me,” I say, forcing my ears to stay perked as I wander closer, eyes sweeping over her newest stock. She’s got short swords lined up in neat rows, polished cross-guards gleaming. New hilts, a few enchanted pieces. Not bad.

“Oh.” The word leaves her mouth like steam cooling too fast. She dips the blade into a vat of oil; it sizzles and pops. I swear I hear it louder than it really is.

Oh. Just that — no real question, no How are you, Nikko?, no What’s got you running errands alone today? Not that I expect much. Elara’s always been more talk than listen when Papa’s around.

“Your father not with you?” she asks again, like maybe I’ll change my answer.

“No. Just me and Zeke.” I cross my arms, feeling the leather of my gauntlet squeak at my elbow. “I’m here to pick up his order.”

“Ah, yes.” She wipes her hands on a rag and disappears into the back room without another word, the clang of metal fading behind the door.

Zeke drifts closer, his round sensor swiveling to me. “What’s with her?” he beeps in that chirpy static of his.

I shrug. She’s always like this, I want to say, but I just rub at the back of my neck instead.

Elara returns with a crate that looks like she dragged it from the scrap heap. She slams it down on the counter, bits rattling inside. Metal plates, snapped dagger bits, lengths of wire, the odd hilt piece poking through.

“What is this?” I ask, lifting one eyebrow so high it almost reaches my bangs.

“Beats me.” She shrugs, rolling her shoulders beneath her apron straps. “But this is what he ordered.”

Of course it is. I summon the crate’s contents into my pouch of holding, the glow of the summoning spell flickering across her forge walls.

“How much?” I dig for my coin pouch.

She waves me off, already half-turned back to the oil vat. “Already paid for. Send your father my regards.”

I stand there for a heartbeat, the words stuck in my throat. I’m fine, thanks for asking. What am I up to? Oh, you know — just forging the weapon of my dreams today. But she doesn’t look back. She’s dunking the blade, lost in her world again.

I step out into the street before the sting of it has time to settle in my chest. “On to the next one,” I mumble, flipping the folded list open again. “Groceries next.”

Zeke beeps an enthusiastic Ready. I wish I felt the same.

Estelle’s Grocer is halfway down the market road. I duck under fresh festival banners, sidestep a vendor hawking woven baskets, and push through the door into the cozy shop. It’s a squat little building, warm and lined with shelves stacked high with jars and dried herbs.

Estelle stands behind the counter. Young for a dwarf, I’ve always thought. Her sturdy frame wrapped in a thick linen apron, copper hair braided tight against her scalp, cheeks ruddy from the warmth inside. She’s wiping down a wooden crate when I step up, Zeke hovering behind me like my shadow.

“Well, there she is! Little Nikko,” she says, but the words feel more like a reflex than a real greeting. Her eyes flick past me, the question already forming. “Your father not with you today?”

I force a smile. “Nope. Just me.”

Estelle hums, her fingers already darting over my list. She starts pulling things off shelves — flour sacks, bottles of milk, many wrapped packages of meat, a tin of coffee beans I know Talia will love.

“Shame he couldn’t come,” she says, stacking the bags carefully. “He always had the greatest stories to tell, that one.”

I swallow the twist in my throat. “I do too,” I say, trying to sound light, but it comes out too quiet. She doesn’t catch it.

She passes the crate over. “That’s this months’ groceries for the manor. I put in a few extra jars of peanut butter — figured your sisters would love them.”

“Thank you,” I say, though it comes out like I’m saying it down a tunnel.

Estelle nods, brushing off her apron. “Tell Ryu to come by next time, won’t you?”

“Sure,” I mumble. I lift the crate into my pouch with another flick of my hand, magic humming warm against my palm. I wave, but she’s already turned away, fussing with the next customer’s order.

I pull my hood up a little as I leave. The chill creeps under my collar, but it’s nothing compared to the tightness curling under my ribs. Zeke flits to my shoulder, his metal foot tapping once.

“Am I just in his shadow?” I whisper. The question hangs there, raw and sharp.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Zeke beeps once: “Doubt it.”

I snort, the laugh dying in my throat before it really comes out. “Not the answer I wanted, Zeke.”

He hums, unbothered. Of course he is.

Faelan’s shop is next. Elven Elegance sits at the far end of the street — polished stone steps, carved wooden door, and an air that says we belong somewhere older than you’ll ever be. Faelan himself meets me at the door, his silvery white hair tied back neat, emerald tunic swapped for a looser vest today. His pointed ears twitch when he sees me.

“Nikko! So good to see you, my dear,” he says, his voice warm, but his eyes dart behind me for Papa — as if he might appear any second.

“It’s just me,” I say before he can ask.

He raises his brow but covers it with a smooth smile. “Ah, I see. And how is your family? Your father well? Talia, the twins, the baby — all growing so fast, hm?”

I nod, shifting my weight. “Everyone’s good. Little Erza’s walking now.”

“Splendid, splendid,” he says, bustling back inside and motioning me to follow. I trail after him through racks of embroidered tunics and delicate dresses. The air smells like cedar and lavender oil.

He pulls out a wrapped bundle from behind the counter — Erza’s new clothes, soft cotton with tiny flower embroidery at the cuffs. “There we are. For the little one. Such a shame no one else came with you — they’d have loved to see the new festival fabrics.”

I press my lips together, managing a small smile. “Next time,” I say, though it feels thin on my tongue.

“Give my regards to everyone, would you?” he says as I place the clothes into my pouch. He’s already smoothing out the silk laid across his worktable.

“I will,” I promise, and step out before the quiet behind my ribs turns to something heavier.

The bakery is my last stop before the swing. Erza’s Cake Shop glows warm with its soft yellow lights and pink painted shutters. But today, it’s not Erza behind the counter — just one of her bakers, hair wrapped up in a flour-dusted kerchief, too busy boxing pastries to notice me for more than a second.

I pay. They pass me the cherry blossom cake Talia ordered — Mira and Liz’s favorite — tied up in pretty string. I was hoping for Erza to appear from the back. But no, the baker tells me she is out to pick up ingredients today. Damn. I was hoping for a How are you, Nikko? or Good luck with your errands today. Just the slide of the box across the counter and the muted clink of coins dropping into the till.

I step out onto the cobbled street, the chill evening breeze brushing my ears. Zeke clicks over my shoulder, the only sound that feels like it’s really for me.

More and more, these faces I’ve known since I was small feel like doors I’m only ever allowed to knock on — but never step through. Maybe I’m just the catgirl they remember standing behind my father’s leg all those years ago. Not Nikko. Just… his shadow.

I grip the cake box tighter, tucking it under my arm as I pull out the list again. One chore left.

“Come on, Zeke,” I murmur. “Let’s fix that swing.”

Zeke chirps. “Almost done.”

I smile — small, but mine. “Yeah. Almost.”

And I keep walking.

The last stop is always the one that tugs at something deep in my chest. Mrs. Whitaker’s orphanage — though now, it’s so much more than just one building. All because of Papa.

Ever since he donated that massive hoard from the dragon dens all those years ago, this place has blossomed like the orchard back home. They didn’t just patch up the old creaking floorboards or fix the leaky roof — they bought the building next door, turned it into a school, and then did the same for every city across Eldoria. Even Edolith, the capital, has one now. All of them bear the same name: Chikara School for the Impoverished. Papa always says everyone deserves the chance to grow.

I knock on the sturdy wooden door, my fingers tapping the engraved brass plate that reads Welcome. The door swings open and there’s Holly — bright as a spring morning, same chestnut hair tied back in a soft braid, same easy smile that’s never once made me feel like I was just an afterthought.

“Nikko!” she gasps, and before I can say anything, she’s wrapping her arms around me. Her hug is warm, sturdy, like wrapping up in a blanket straight from the hearth. “It’s so good to see you again.”

I can’t help but smile, tension easing from my shoulders as she pulls back. She always smells like fresh bread and lavender soap. “It’s been too long,” she says, brushing my hair back behind my ear. “Come in, come in.”

She ushers me inside and the warmth of the orphanage wraps around me like a second hug. The main hall still has those creaky floorboards even though the walls are fresh with new paint — drawings from the kids pinned up everywhere, scenes of dragons, knights, orchards, the caldera… home. We settle into a small sitting room tucked beside the front hall, a square space with mismatched chairs and a low table covered in embroidered cloth. The window looks out to the courtyard, where the playground sits beneath the wide branches of an old oak tree Papa planted years ago. But the swings are empty, the slide abandoned.

I feel my ears droop just a bit. “Where is everyone?” I ask as Holly slips away to the little kitchenette and returns with a tray of steaming tea and round butter cookies stacked high.

She laughs softly as she pours me a cup. “They’re helping set up for the festival, of course! Mrs. Whitaker’s busy too — she’s organizing the stalls near the plaza. So it’s just me here, holding down the fort.”

“Oh.” I pick up my cup but it feels too light in my hands. I was really hoping to see the kids, to hear them squeal when they spot me, to feel… I don’t know. Needed.

Holly pauses, tray in her lap. She notices, of course she does. “I’m sorry, Nikko. Were you looking forward to seeing them?” Her voice is gentle, low.

I nod, blowing on the tea before taking a small sip. It’s warm and sweet, but it doesn’t quite fill the hollow space under my ribs.

She leans forward, her smile softer now. “I’m really glad you stopped by. And they would’ve loved to see you too, you know. You’re their favorite.”

A small laugh slips out of me, half true, half sad. “I doubt that.”

She swats my knee playfully. “Don’t you start, Nikko Chikara. You’re like their big sister. They’d be climbing all over you, begging you to tell them stories about your adventures.”

The words help. We talk for a while — really talk — about how she’s been, how the school’s running, how Rocky and the other older boys are helping build new benches for the festival. She asks about me, not Papa, not how strong he is, not what impossible quest he’s off conquering. Just… me. It feels like breathing fresh air after being cooped up too long inside.

I catch sight of the swing through the window — its wooden seat hanging low, one of the thick iron chains snapped and dangling. “So, what happened to the swing?” I ask, nodding at it.

Holly lets out a soft laugh that fills the little room. “Rocky and his gang. They were trying to break the record for the longest jump again. That poor old swing couldn’t take it — chain snapped right off.”

I snort into my tea, nearly spilling it. “I can just picture it. All of them piled on, yelling like wild beasts.”

She grins, nudging the tray aside. “I’ve been meaning to have it fixed but… well, you know how busy it gets.”

I push myself up, rolling my shoulders as I brush off the crumbs from the cookies. “I may not be as skilled as my father, but I can fix it. It’s the least I can do.”

“Nonsense,” she scoffs, waving me toward the door. “I think you’re just as good — maybe even a touch better than your old man.”

“Yeah?” I ask, glancing at her as we step out into the courtyard. The air’s cooler here, the oak branches swaying gently. The broken swing looks sad, twisting slightly in the breeze.

“Of course!” Holly says, crossing her arms as if she’s daring me to argue. “You’re young. You’ve got so much growing left. You’ll outshine him, you’ll see.”

Outshine him. Her words echo around in my head as I kneel by the broken chain. Zeke hovers close, his little appendages grasping the heavy metal, holding it steady. I pull my small welding tool from my pouch, the hum of the plasma edge filling the quiet courtyard.

Will I ever really outshine him? Papa lifts boulders the size of wagons. I can barely lift one. I’ve never beaten him in a spar, not once. He’s always two steps ahead — stronger in the Force, stronger with mana. Always… more.

The tool’s heat burns through the rust and old metal, fusing the chain back together. Sparks dance across my gloves as I press the weld tight. A soft hiss, then it’s done.

Holly claps her hands like a child. “Wow! You’re truly amazing, Nikko. You fixed it so quickly.”

I force a smile, rolling my shoulders back. “Thanks.” But the praise feels like a bandage over a bruise. She’s trying, I know she is.

“Well,” I say, tucking the welder away, “it was really nice seeing you again.”

Holly’s face falls just a bit. “Leaving already?”

I hesitate at the gate, hand on the latch. “Yeah. I need to head back home. Had errands to run and… you were my last.”

She steps forward and wraps her arms around me again. This hug is tighter, warm enough to melt the chill that’s been stuck to my ribs since Arroyo’s gates. “If you ever need to talk, Nikko — you’re always welcome here. Always.”

I squeeze her back, tail flicking around her waist like I don’t want to let go. “Thank you, Holly.”

Zeke beeps quietly behind me, patient as always. I step out into the street, pulling my hood up as the wind rustles the festival banners overhead.