The Journey, Book 3: Chapter 20 - Previous Chapter
Chapter 21, Exploring
The gates of Edena did not simply open—they loomed.
Olivia felt it before she fully saw it, the way the air seemed to tighten as they approached, as though the city itself were watching. The white stone walls rose into view, impossibly high, swallowing the sky in jagged grey lines. And there, set deep within the archway, hung the portcullis.
It was massive.
Thick iron teeth, darkened with age and weather, stretched downward like the jaw of some ancient beast. Even lifted, it felt oppressive—each spike heavy enough to crush bone without effort. Chains as thick as tree trunks disappeared into the gatehouse above, creaking faintly as the structure swayed in the breeze.
Christopher slowed.
Not enough to stop—but enough that Olivia noticed.
“It won’t fall,” she whispered, though her voice carried more hope than certainty.
“I know,” he replied, just as quietly. His eyes stayed fixed on the iron points overhead. “It just… looks like it wants to.”
Ahead of them, the world refused to share their hesitation.
Merchants streamed through the gates in a steady, unbroken current. Wagons rattled over the stone, wheels groaning beneath crates of goods—bright fabrics spilling from one, the sharp scent of spices drifting from another. A pair of traders argued loudly in a language Olivia didn’t recognise, their voices sharp and animated, hands cutting through the air as though fencing.
A man led three goats through the archway, the animals bleating in protest as they were tugged forward. Behind him, a cart piled high with polished copperware caught the light, scattering reflections across the stone like fragments of fire.
It was too much.
Too loud. Too fast. Too alive.
Olivia’s hand found Christopher’s sleeve, gripping it tightly.
“They’re not even looking where they’re going,” she murmured.
Christopher huffed a faint, nervous breath. “Maybe they are. Maybe we’re just the ones not keeping up.”
That thought didn’t help.
At the threshold, two soldiers stood on either side of the gate, unmoving as statues. Their armour gleamed dully beneath the daylight, marked with the crest of Edena—a sigil Olivia didn’t yet understand but instinctively respected. Spears rested in their hands, upright and steady, their presence as rigid as the iron above.
One of them turned his head as the twins approached.
It wasn’t a dramatic movement. Not hostile. Not even particularly curious.
But it was enough.
Olivia straightened immediately, her grip tightening on Christopher as though they might be separated at any moment.
“Do we—” she began.
“Just walk,” Christopher said, a little too quickly.
They did.
Step by step, they crossed beneath the shadow of the portcullis.
The temperature dropped noticeably, the sunlight cut away by stone and iron. For a brief moment, the world narrowed—the noise dimmed, the space enclosed—and Olivia had the strange, fleeting feeling of being swallowed whole.
Then—
They emerged.
Sound crashed back in all at once.
The city beyond the gates was nothing like the road they had travelled.
It exploded with life.
Voices layered over one another in a chaotic symphony—laughter, bargaining, shouting, greetings shouted across distances that seemed impossible to bridge. Stalls lined the wide street just beyond the entrance, packed so tightly they seemed to compete for space, each more vibrant than the last.
Colour was everywhere.
Dyed fabrics in deep crimsons and bright golds fluttered overhead like captured sunsets. Fresh fruits—strange and familiar—were stacked in careful pyramids, their skins glistening. Metalwork gleamed from open displays, while glass bottles filled with liquids of every shade caught the light like bottled rainbows.
The smell hit next.
Warm bread. Roasted meats. Sweet syrups. Spices so strong they almost burned.
Olivia stopped walking.
Christopher took one more step before realising she hadn’t followed. He turned, only to find her staring, completely overwhelmed.
“It’s…” she tried.
There wasn’t a word big enough.
Christopher followed her gaze, his own expression shifting from guarded caution to something quieter. Awe, maybe. Or disbelief.
“We’ve never…” he began, then stopped.
Because they hadn’t.
Not like this.
Not anything like this.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The noise of Edena moved around them, uncaring, unstoppable.
Then Christopher exhaled, steadying himself.
“We’re inside,” he said, as if saying it might make it real.
Olivia nodded slowly, though her eyes hadn’t stopped moving—taking in every detail, every flicker of motion, every unfamiliar face.
Her grip on his sleeve loosened—but didn’t let go.
“Stay close,” she whispered.
Christopher gave a small, determined nod.
“Always.”
And together, with careful, uncertain steps, the twins moved deeper into Edena—swallowed not by iron this time, but by something far more unpredictable.
The deeper they moved into Edena, the more the city seemed to close in around them—not in a suffocating way, but in layers. Every step revealed something new, something louder, brighter, richer than the last.
And then—
They smelled it.
Both of them stopped at the same time.
It was warm. Sweet. Soft in a way that seemed to wrap itself around their senses and pull them forward without permission.
Christopher turned first, drawn almost instinctively. “Do you—”
“Yes,” Olivia said quickly, already moving.
The stall sat just off the main street, its wooden frame simple compared to the chaos around it—but what it held was anything but.
Bread, stacked high in uneven towers, still steaming faintly. Golden crusts cracked open just enough to reveal soft interiors. Beside them, trays of pastries stretched out in rows—some dusted with fine sugar, others glazed until they shone, and some filled with meats and herbs that released a rich, savoury scent into the air.
Olivia stepped closer, her eyes widening.
Christopher didn’t speak at all.
There were… too many.
Small, delicate things twisted into shapes she didn’t recognise. Round pastries with thick, glossy fillings bubbling at their centres. Long, flaky ones layered so finely they looked like they might fall apart if breathed on too hard. Some were dark and crisp, others pale and soft, and a few were filled with colours so vibrant they barely looked real.
“This is all… bread?” Olivia asked quietly.
“It can’t be,” Christopher muttered. “No way.”
He leaned in slightly, staring at a pastry glazed in amber syrup. “Why would anyone do this to bread?”
Olivia shot him a look. “Make it better?”
He didn’t respond. He was still staring—trying to understand something his world had never required him to.
Because this—
This wasn’t survival.
This was choice.
And they had never had that before.
Olivia’s hand hovered uncertainly over the display, then pulled back. “Are we allowed to just… pick one?”
Christopher shook his head faintly. “Probably costs more than we have.”
“More than we have is still nothing,” she whispered.
“That’s my point.”
They stood there, caught between longing and uncertainty, neither willing to reach for something they weren’t sure they were permitted to touch.
“Then perhaps,” came a smooth voice behind them, “it’s a good thing you’re not the ones paying.”
They both turned at once.
Elvina stood just behind them, as composed and effortless as ever, the movement of the crowd seeming to part around her without her even asking it to. Light caught in her hair, in the subtle details of her clothing, and for a moment—
Christopher forgot how to exist properly.
“Fucking hell, you are beautiful.”
The words fell out of him instantly. No thought. No filter.
Just truth, blunt and unguarded.
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
Olivia smacked him lightly on the arm. “Idiot!” she hissed under her breath, her face burning as she glanced quickly at Elvina. “You can’t just say that!”
Christopher winced, rubbing his arm. “I didn’t mean to say it out loud—”
“You very much did.”
Behind Elvina, Meera’s lips twitched, clearly fighting the urge to laugh.
But Elvina—
Elvina simply smiled.
Not offended. Not surprised.
Just… amused.
“Thank you,” she said gently, as though he’d offered a perfectly acceptable compliment. “Though I suspect you meant to keep that to yourself.”
Christopher looked like he might actually disappear into the ground.
Olivia, meanwhile, refused to make eye contact with anyone.
Elvina’s gaze softened as she looked between them, then gestured lightly toward the stall.
“Go on,” she said. “Choose something.”
The twins hesitated.
Olivia glanced back at the pastries, then at Elvina. “We don’t—”
“It’s already taken care of,” Elvina replied smoothly.
Christopher frowned slightly. “Taken care of how?”
Elvina tilted her head, a small, knowing look in her eyes. “By me deciding it is.”
That… didn’t entirely answer the question.
But it felt like one.
Olivia looked back at the stall again, slower this time. More carefully.
“You mean we can pick… anything?”
“Anything,” Elvina confirmed.
The word hung in the air.
Anything.
Christopher let out a quiet breath, stepping closer again—this time without stopping himself. His eyes moved across the display, slower now, deliberate.
“So we don’t have to share?” he asked, still half-expecting there to be a catch.
Elvina’s smile widened just slightly. “You don’t have to share.”
That was all it took.
Olivia reached first—hesitant, but braver than before—pointing to a small pastry dusted in sugar, its surface slightly cracked to reveal a soft, pale filling inside.
“That one,” she said.
Christopher lingered a moment longer, then gestured toward a larger, golden pastry stuffed with something savoury, the scent of herbs and meat drifting from it.
“And that one.”
The vendor nodded, already wrapping them with practiced ease.
As the pastries were handed over, Olivia held hers like it might vanish if she wasn’t careful. Christopher turned his over in his hands, still studying it like it was something foreign.
Neither of them ate.
Not yet.
They just… looked.
As if trying to memorise the moment before it could be taken away.
Elvina watched them quietly, something softer settling in her expression.
“Go on,” she encouraged.
Olivia glanced at Christopher.
Christopher glanced at Olivia.
Then, slowly—
They took their first bites.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The world still roared around them—voices, footsteps, the clatter of carts—but it all felt distant now, like it belonged to somewhere else. All that existed was what they held in their hands.
Olivia went first.
Carefully, almost reverently, she brought the pastry to her lips and took a small bite.
There was a faint crunch—soft, delicate, nothing like the hard, punishing snap of stale crusts she was used to. The outer layer gave way instantly, crumbling into something light, something gentle.
And then—
Sweetness.
Her eyes widened.
It wasn’t just sweet—it was warm, rich and soft, the filling melting across her tongue in a way that made no sense at all. It didn’t demand to be chewed. It didn’t fight back. It simply… dissolved.
A quiet sound escaped her before she could stop it.
“Mm—”
Her free hand flew to her mouth, as though she might catch the reaction and shove it back inside, but it was too late. Her shoulders lifted slightly, a small shudder running through her as the taste settled, as if her body didn’t quite know how to process something so… kind.
Christopher blinked at her.
Then, without another word, he took his own bite.
His was different.
The crust cracked louder—flaky layers breaking apart, scattering slightly as his teeth sank in. Heat followed immediately, along with the deep, savoury richness of meat and herbs. It filled his mouth, bold and grounding, but still impossibly soft compared to anything he’d ever eaten.
He froze.
Then—
“Mm—god—”
The words came out half-formed, lost somewhere between surprise and something dangerously close to joy. He pulled the pastry back, staring at it like it had just done something impossible.
“It’s—” he started, then stopped, shaking his head slightly as if language had simply failed him.
Olivia nodded quickly, still chewing, her eyes wide as she swallowed. “I know.”
She didn’t know what.
But she knew.
Christopher took another bite, faster this time, less cautious—and let out a quiet, involuntary laugh under his breath. “Why does it taste like that?”
Olivia let out another small, helpless sound, somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. “Why has no one told us about this?”
They both took another bite.
And then another.
The restraint they’d held moments ago was already slipping, replaced by something far more instinctive—something that didn’t want to waste a single second of this.
Behind them, Meera tilted her head slightly, watching the scene unfold with poorly concealed amusement.
“Well,” she murmured to Elvina, just loud enough to be heard, “anyone would think they’d never had pastries before…”
The words landed.
Both twins froze mid-bite.
Slowly—slowly—they lowered their food.
There was a brief, awkward pause as awareness came rushing back in.
Manners.
People.
The fact that they were, in fact, not alone.
They glanced at each other.
And then, in perfect, unplanned unison—
“We’ve never had pastries before…”
Silence followed.
A beat.
Then Meera’s composure cracked just slightly, a soft huff of laughter escaping her.
Elvina’s smile didn’t falter—but there was something warmer in it now. Something that understood far more than the twins had said aloud.
Olivia cleared her throat, suddenly very interested in the pastry in her hands again. Christopher scratched the back of his neck, as if that might undo everything that had just happened.
And then—
“OLIVIA!”
“CHRISTOPHER!”
The voices cut cleanly through the noise of the market.
Both twins turned instantly.
Across the shifting crowd, two familiar figures pushed their way forward with little regard for the people in their path.
Margarette.
Jonathon.
They emerged a few moments later, breath slightly uneven, eyes scanning until they landed—finally—on the twins.
Relief was immediate.
Visible.
Margarette let out a long breath, her shoulders dropping as she reached them. “There you are—”
Jonathon followed close behind, a hand dragging back through his hair as he exhaled. “We turn around for one moment—one—”
“We didn’t go far,” Christopher said quickly, though he still held the half-eaten pastry like evidence against him.
Olivia nodded. “We just—there was—”
“The pastries,” Jonathon finished, glancing at the stall, then back at them.
Christopher hesitated. “They’re… very good.”
Jonathon snorted softly. “So I see.”
Margarette’s attention shifted then, her gaze settling on Elvina—and recognition sparked instantly.
“Elvina,” she said, a smile breaking through the last of her worry.
“Elvina,” Jonathon echoed, his tone easing as well.
Elvina inclined her head gracefully. “Margarette. Jonathon.”
There was familiarity there. Not just politeness—something older, something easy.
Meera stepped forward slightly, offering a small nod. “It’s been a while.”
“Too long,” Margarette replied warmly.
Jonathon’s expression softened as he looked between them all. “Didn’t expect to run into you quite so quickly.”
“And yet here we are,” Elvina said lightly.
For a brief moment, the chaos of Edena seemed to settle around them—not quieter, not slower, but… centred.
The twins stood just off to the side, pastries still in hand, watching the exchange with quiet curiosity.
Still overwhelmed.
Still trying to keep up.
Still tasting something sweet and impossible on their tongues.
Jonathon’s tension eased fully now, the last traces of worry melting into something far more familiar. He looked Elvina over once—then again, slower this time—and a broad, genuine smile spread across his face.
“You elves never age!”
It wasn’t said with bitterness.
If anything, there was admiration in it… and just a touch of disbelief.
Elvina’s lips curved, her expression shifting—just slightly. There was something playful there now, something almost mischievous, as though she carried a private joke she had no intention of explaining.
“Some of us,” she replied lightly, “simply take better care of time.”
Jonathon let out a quiet huff of amusement.
Before he could respond, Meera stepped in beside her, laughter already spilling out. It was bright and lilting, the sound sharp and musical—like the quick, cheerful tweet of a bird at dawn.
“And you humans,” she added, eyes glinting, “look old as hell!”
Jonathon blinked.
Margarette covered her mouth, clearly failing to hide a smile.
“That’s—” Jonathon started, pointing faintly at Meera, “—that’s just unnecessary.”
“Accurate, though,” Meera shot back, still grinning.
“Debatable.”
While the adults slipped easily into their banter, Olivia and Christopher had gone very still.
Slowly—very slowly—they lifted their heads from their pastries.
“Elves?” Olivia echoed.
“You are elves?” Christopher added at the exact same time.
Their voices rose together in a shared gasp, eyes wide as they looked between Elvina and Meera as if seeing them for the first time all over again.
Elvina didn’t answer immediately.
She simply held their gaze, that same knowing smile lingering—as though she’d been waiting for this moment.
And then—
A voice, low and smooth, slipped into the space between them.
“Too much gasping… not enough munching…”
Christopher startled.
Olivia nearly dropped her pastry.
From seemingly nowhere, a sleek shape wound its way through the group—brushing past boots and hems with effortless confidence. Jeremy, the were-cat, moved like a shadow given form, his body weaving neatly between Meera’s legs as though he’d always been there.
His tail flicked lazily.
Golden eyes glanced upward, unimpressed.
“Food gets cold,” he added with a soft purr, circling once before settling briefly at Meera’s feet. “Tragic waste.”
Christopher stared. “Where did you—”
Jeremy didn’t even look at him.
“Focus,” he murmured. “You were doing something important.”
Olivia blinked, still trying to catch up. “We were just—”
“Eating,” Jeremy finished. “Yes. I noticed. You were almost doing it properly.”
Meera let out another quiet laugh, glancing down as she nudged him lightly with her foot. “And where did you come from?”
Jeremy’s ears twitched.
“I go where I please.”
Jonathon folded his arms, shaking his head faintly. “Of course you do.”
But the moment had shifted again.
Olivia looked back at Elvina.
At Meera.
At the way they carried themselves, the ease, the lightness, the otherness she hadn’t quite understood before.
“Elves…” she repeated softly.
Christopher glanced between them, then back at his pastry, then back again—like he was trying to reconcile two entirely different worlds at once.
And then, almost absentmindedly, he took another bite.
This time—
He didn’t forget to enjoy it.
The sharp edges of worry and surprise gave way to something easier—familiar conversation, shared history, quiet laughter slipping naturally between words. The noise of Edena carried on around them, but the small circle they formed seemed untouched by it, as though they stood in a pocket carved out just for them.
Jonathon and Elvina spoke of roads travelled and roads yet to come. Margarette filled in the spaces between, her voice warm, steady, grounding. Meera drifted in and out of the conversation, adding remarks when it suited her, her attention never quite staying in one place for long.
At some point—no one quite noticed when—Jeremy found himself lifted.
Meera scooped him up with casual ease, tucking him against her as though he were nothing more than an ordinary cat. He allowed it, which in itself felt like a decision.
Her fingers slipped behind his ears, scratching lightly.
Jeremy’s eyes half-lidded.
A low, satisfied purr rumbled from his chest.
“See?” Meera murmured, glancing sideways at Elvina. “Perfectly manageable.”
“Mm,” Elvina replied, unconvinced—but smiling all the same.
Christopher watched this with open confusion. “He lets you do that?”
Jeremy didn’t even open his eyes. “I permit many things,” he said, voice thick with contentment. “Very few are earned.”
Olivia snorted softly under her breath.
Eventually, the conversation began to wind down—not abruptly, not with any sense of urgency, but with the natural understanding that time was moving again.
Margarette glanced toward the direction of the outskirts, where the travelling circus had been allowed to set up. “We should head back before it gets too late.”
Jonathon nodded. “Plenty more to see tomorrow.”
Christopher looked mildly disappointed—but also exhausted in a way he didn’t quite recognise yet. Olivia, still holding the last few bites of her pastry, gave a small, quiet nod.
Elvina inclined her head. “You’ll find your way?”
Jonathon smiled. “We always do.”
There was a brief pause—something unspoken passing between them—before Margarette stepped forward, offering a final, warm look.
“It was good seeing you again.”
“And you,” Elvina replied.
Meera lifted a hand in a loose wave, Jeremy still tucked comfortably in her arms. “Try not to get lost this time.”
“No promises,” Jonathon said.
With that, the four of them turned.
Olivia lingered for half a heartbeat longer, glancing back once—at Elvina, at Meera, at the strange, beautiful world that still didn’t quite feel real.
Then Christopher nudged her gently.
And together, they followed Margarette and Jonathon, slipping back into the flow of the city as they made their way toward the circus camp beyond the walls.
Elvina and Meera remained where they were.
Watching.
The crowd shifted, swallowed the retreating figures piece by piece, until finally—
They were gone.
Silence settled between them—not empty, but thoughtful.
Meera’s fingers slowed absently against Jeremy’s ears.
“…There’s a resemblance,” she said at last.
Elvina didn’t look at her straight away. Her gaze lingered on the space where the twins had disappeared, her expression distant, measuring.
“I noticed.”
Now Meera turned her head.
Their eyes met.
And in the quiet between one breath and the next, they both spoke—soft enough that the world itself might have missed it.
“Thomaz…”
The name lingered.
Heavy.
Jeremy shifted in Meera’s arms, a subtle wriggle breaking the stillness. She loosened her hold without protest, setting him gently back onto the ground.
He landed without a sound.
For a moment, he simply sat there, looking up at them—golden eyes sharp now, aware in a way that felt far removed from the lazy creature he’d been seconds before.
“They are…” he said.
Chapter 21, Exploring
The gates of Edena did not simply open—they loomed.
Olivia felt it before she fully saw it, the way the air seemed to tighten as they approached, as though the city itself were watching. The white stone walls rose into view, impossibly high, swallowing the sky in jagged grey lines. And there, set deep within the archway, hung the portcullis.
It was massive.
Thick iron teeth, darkened with age and weather, stretched downward like the jaw of some ancient beast. Even lifted, it felt oppressive—each spike heavy enough to crush bone without effort. Chains as thick as tree trunks disappeared into the gatehouse above, creaking faintly as the structure swayed in the breeze.
Christopher slowed.
Not enough to stop—but enough that Olivia noticed.
“It won’t fall,” she whispered, though her voice carried more hope than certainty.
“I know,” he replied, just as quietly. His eyes stayed fixed on the iron points overhead. “It just… looks like it wants to.”
Ahead of them, the world refused to share their hesitation.
Merchants streamed through the gates in a steady, unbroken current. Wagons rattled over the stone, wheels groaning beneath crates of goods—bright fabrics spilling from one, the sharp scent of spices drifting from another. A pair of traders argued loudly in a language Olivia didn’t recognise, their voices sharp and animated, hands cutting through the air as though fencing.
A man led three goats through the archway, the animals bleating in protest as they were tugged forward. Behind him, a cart piled high with polished copperware caught the light, scattering reflections across the stone like fragments of fire.
It was too much.
Too loud. Too fast. Too alive.
Olivia’s hand found Christopher’s sleeve, gripping it tightly.
“They’re not even looking where they’re going,” she murmured.
Christopher huffed a faint, nervous breath. “Maybe they are. Maybe we’re just the ones not keeping up.”
That thought didn’t help.
At the threshold, two soldiers stood on either side of the gate, unmoving as statues. Their armour gleamed dully beneath the daylight, marked with the crest of Edena—a sigil Olivia didn’t yet understand but instinctively respected. Spears rested in their hands, upright and steady, their presence as rigid as the iron above.
One of them turned his head as the twins approached.
It wasn’t a dramatic movement. Not hostile. Not even particularly curious.
But it was enough.
Olivia straightened immediately, her grip tightening on Christopher as though they might be separated at any moment.
“Do we—” she began.
“Just walk,” Christopher said, a little too quickly.
They did.
Step by step, they crossed beneath the shadow of the portcullis.
The temperature dropped noticeably, the sunlight cut away by stone and iron. For a brief moment, the world narrowed—the noise dimmed, the space enclosed—and Olivia had the strange, fleeting feeling of being swallowed whole.
Then—
They emerged.
Sound crashed back in all at once.
The city beyond the gates was nothing like the road they had travelled.
It exploded with life.
Voices layered over one another in a chaotic symphony—laughter, bargaining, shouting, greetings shouted across distances that seemed impossible to bridge. Stalls lined the wide street just beyond the entrance, packed so tightly they seemed to compete for space, each more vibrant than the last.
Colour was everywhere.
Dyed fabrics in deep crimsons and bright golds fluttered overhead like captured sunsets. Fresh fruits—strange and familiar—were stacked in careful pyramids, their skins glistening. Metalwork gleamed from open displays, while glass bottles filled with liquids of every shade caught the light like bottled rainbows.
The smell hit next.
Warm bread. Roasted meats. Sweet syrups. Spices so strong they almost burned.
Olivia stopped walking.
Christopher took one more step before realising she hadn’t followed. He turned, only to find her staring, completely overwhelmed.
“It’s…” she tried.
There wasn’t a word big enough.
Christopher followed her gaze, his own expression shifting from guarded caution to something quieter. Awe, maybe. Or disbelief.
“We’ve never…” he began, then stopped.
Because they hadn’t.
Not like this.
Not anything like this.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The noise of Edena moved around them, uncaring, unstoppable.
Then Christopher exhaled, steadying himself.
“We’re inside,” he said, as if saying it might make it real.
Olivia nodded slowly, though her eyes hadn’t stopped moving—taking in every detail, every flicker of motion, every unfamiliar face.
Her grip on his sleeve loosened—but didn’t let go.
“Stay close,” she whispered.
Christopher gave a small, determined nod.
“Always.”
And together, with careful, uncertain steps, the twins moved deeper into Edena—swallowed not by iron this time, but by something far more unpredictable.
The deeper they moved into Edena, the more the city seemed to close in around them—not in a suffocating way, but in layers. Every step revealed something new, something louder, brighter, richer than the last.
And then—
They smelled it.
Both of them stopped at the same time.
It was warm. Sweet. Soft in a way that seemed to wrap itself around their senses and pull them forward without permission.
Christopher turned first, drawn almost instinctively. “Do you—”
“Yes,” Olivia said quickly, already moving.
The stall sat just off the main street, its wooden frame simple compared to the chaos around it—but what it held was anything but.
Bread, stacked high in uneven towers, still steaming faintly. Golden crusts cracked open just enough to reveal soft interiors. Beside them, trays of pastries stretched out in rows—some dusted with fine sugar, others glazed until they shone, and some filled with meats and herbs that released a rich, savoury scent into the air.
Olivia stepped closer, her eyes widening.
Christopher didn’t speak at all.
There were… too many.
Small, delicate things twisted into shapes she didn’t recognise. Round pastries with thick, glossy fillings bubbling at their centres. Long, flaky ones layered so finely they looked like they might fall apart if breathed on too hard. Some were dark and crisp, others pale and soft, and a few were filled with colours so vibrant they barely looked real.
“This is all… bread?” Olivia asked quietly.
“It can’t be,” Christopher muttered. “No way.”
He leaned in slightly, staring at a pastry glazed in amber syrup. “Why would anyone do this to bread?”
Olivia shot him a look. “Make it better?”
He didn’t respond. He was still staring—trying to understand something his world had never required him to.
Because this—
This wasn’t survival.
This was choice.
And they had never had that before.
Olivia’s hand hovered uncertainly over the display, then pulled back. “Are we allowed to just… pick one?”
Christopher shook his head faintly. “Probably costs more than we have.”
“More than we have is still nothing,” she whispered.
“That’s my point.”
They stood there, caught between longing and uncertainty, neither willing to reach for something they weren’t sure they were permitted to touch.
“Then perhaps,” came a smooth voice behind them, “it’s a good thing you’re not the ones paying.”
They both turned at once.
Elvina stood just behind them, as composed and effortless as ever, the movement of the crowd seeming to part around her without her even asking it to. Light caught in her hair, in the subtle details of her clothing, and for a moment—
Christopher forgot how to exist properly.
“Fucking hell, you are beautiful.”
The words fell out of him instantly. No thought. No filter.
Just truth, blunt and unguarded.
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
Olivia smacked him lightly on the arm. “Idiot!” she hissed under her breath, her face burning as she glanced quickly at Elvina. “You can’t just say that!”
Christopher winced, rubbing his arm. “I didn’t mean to say it out loud—”
“You very much did.”
Behind Elvina, Meera’s lips twitched, clearly fighting the urge to laugh.
But Elvina—
Elvina simply smiled.
Not offended. Not surprised.
Just… amused.
“Thank you,” she said gently, as though he’d offered a perfectly acceptable compliment. “Though I suspect you meant to keep that to yourself.”
Christopher looked like he might actually disappear into the ground.
Olivia, meanwhile, refused to make eye contact with anyone.
Elvina’s gaze softened as she looked between them, then gestured lightly toward the stall.
“Go on,” she said. “Choose something.”
The twins hesitated.
Olivia glanced back at the pastries, then at Elvina. “We don’t—”
“It’s already taken care of,” Elvina replied smoothly.
Christopher frowned slightly. “Taken care of how?”
Elvina tilted her head, a small, knowing look in her eyes. “By me deciding it is.”
That… didn’t entirely answer the question.
But it felt like one.
Olivia looked back at the stall again, slower this time. More carefully.
“You mean we can pick… anything?”
“Anything,” Elvina confirmed.
The word hung in the air.
Anything.
Christopher let out a quiet breath, stepping closer again—this time without stopping himself. His eyes moved across the display, slower now, deliberate.
“So we don’t have to share?” he asked, still half-expecting there to be a catch.
Elvina’s smile widened just slightly. “You don’t have to share.”
That was all it took.
Olivia reached first—hesitant, but braver than before—pointing to a small pastry dusted in sugar, its surface slightly cracked to reveal a soft, pale filling inside.
“That one,” she said.
Christopher lingered a moment longer, then gestured toward a larger, golden pastry stuffed with something savoury, the scent of herbs and meat drifting from it.
“And that one.”
The vendor nodded, already wrapping them with practiced ease.
As the pastries were handed over, Olivia held hers like it might vanish if she wasn’t careful. Christopher turned his over in his hands, still studying it like it was something foreign.
Neither of them ate.
Not yet.
They just… looked.
As if trying to memorise the moment before it could be taken away.
Elvina watched them quietly, something softer settling in her expression.
“Go on,” she encouraged.
Olivia glanced at Christopher.
Christopher glanced at Olivia.
Then, slowly—
They took their first bites.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The world still roared around them—voices, footsteps, the clatter of carts—but it all felt distant now, like it belonged to somewhere else. All that existed was what they held in their hands.
Olivia went first.
Carefully, almost reverently, she brought the pastry to her lips and took a small bite.
There was a faint crunch—soft, delicate, nothing like the hard, punishing snap of stale crusts she was used to. The outer layer gave way instantly, crumbling into something light, something gentle.
And then—
Sweetness.
Her eyes widened.
It wasn’t just sweet—it was warm, rich and soft, the filling melting across her tongue in a way that made no sense at all. It didn’t demand to be chewed. It didn’t fight back. It simply… dissolved.
A quiet sound escaped her before she could stop it.
“Mm—”
Her free hand flew to her mouth, as though she might catch the reaction and shove it back inside, but it was too late. Her shoulders lifted slightly, a small shudder running through her as the taste settled, as if her body didn’t quite know how to process something so… kind.
Christopher blinked at her.
Then, without another word, he took his own bite.
His was different.
The crust cracked louder—flaky layers breaking apart, scattering slightly as his teeth sank in. Heat followed immediately, along with the deep, savoury richness of meat and herbs. It filled his mouth, bold and grounding, but still impossibly soft compared to anything he’d ever eaten.
He froze.
Then—
“Mm—god—”
The words came out half-formed, lost somewhere between surprise and something dangerously close to joy. He pulled the pastry back, staring at it like it had just done something impossible.
“It’s—” he started, then stopped, shaking his head slightly as if language had simply failed him.
Olivia nodded quickly, still chewing, her eyes wide as she swallowed. “I know.”
She didn’t know what.
But she knew.
Christopher took another bite, faster this time, less cautious—and let out a quiet, involuntary laugh under his breath. “Why does it taste like that?”
Olivia let out another small, helpless sound, somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. “Why has no one told us about this?”
They both took another bite.
And then another.
The restraint they’d held moments ago was already slipping, replaced by something far more instinctive—something that didn’t want to waste a single second of this.
Behind them, Meera tilted her head slightly, watching the scene unfold with poorly concealed amusement.
“Well,” she murmured to Elvina, just loud enough to be heard, “anyone would think they’d never had pastries before…”
The words landed.
Both twins froze mid-bite.
Slowly—slowly—they lowered their food.
There was a brief, awkward pause as awareness came rushing back in.
Manners.
People.
The fact that they were, in fact, not alone.
They glanced at each other.
And then, in perfect, unplanned unison—
“We’ve never had pastries before…”
Silence followed.
A beat.
Then Meera’s composure cracked just slightly, a soft huff of laughter escaping her.
Elvina’s smile didn’t falter—but there was something warmer in it now. Something that understood far more than the twins had said aloud.
Olivia cleared her throat, suddenly very interested in the pastry in her hands again. Christopher scratched the back of his neck, as if that might undo everything that had just happened.
And then—
“OLIVIA!”
“CHRISTOPHER!”
The voices cut cleanly through the noise of the market.
Both twins turned instantly.
Across the shifting crowd, two familiar figures pushed their way forward with little regard for the people in their path.
Margarette.
Jonathon.
They emerged a few moments later, breath slightly uneven, eyes scanning until they landed—finally—on the twins.
Relief was immediate.
Visible.
Margarette let out a long breath, her shoulders dropping as she reached them. “There you are—”
Jonathon followed close behind, a hand dragging back through his hair as he exhaled. “We turn around for one moment—one—”
“We didn’t go far,” Christopher said quickly, though he still held the half-eaten pastry like evidence against him.
Olivia nodded. “We just—there was—”
“The pastries,” Jonathon finished, glancing at the stall, then back at them.
Christopher hesitated. “They’re… very good.”
Jonathon snorted softly. “So I see.”
Margarette’s attention shifted then, her gaze settling on Elvina—and recognition sparked instantly.
“Elvina,” she said, a smile breaking through the last of her worry.
“Elvina,” Jonathon echoed, his tone easing as well.
Elvina inclined her head gracefully. “Margarette. Jonathon.”
There was familiarity there. Not just politeness—something older, something easy.
Meera stepped forward slightly, offering a small nod. “It’s been a while.”
“Too long,” Margarette replied warmly.
Jonathon’s expression softened as he looked between them all. “Didn’t expect to run into you quite so quickly.”
“And yet here we are,” Elvina said lightly.
For a brief moment, the chaos of Edena seemed to settle around them—not quieter, not slower, but… centred.
The twins stood just off to the side, pastries still in hand, watching the exchange with quiet curiosity.
Still overwhelmed.
Still trying to keep up.
Still tasting something sweet and impossible on their tongues.
Jonathon’s tension eased fully now, the last traces of worry melting into something far more familiar. He looked Elvina over once—then again, slower this time—and a broad, genuine smile spread across his face.
“You elves never age!”
It wasn’t said with bitterness.
If anything, there was admiration in it… and just a touch of disbelief.
Elvina’s lips curved, her expression shifting—just slightly. There was something playful there now, something almost mischievous, as though she carried a private joke she had no intention of explaining.
“Some of us,” she replied lightly, “simply take better care of time.”
Jonathon let out a quiet huff of amusement.
Before he could respond, Meera stepped in beside her, laughter already spilling out. It was bright and lilting, the sound sharp and musical—like the quick, cheerful tweet of a bird at dawn.
“And you humans,” she added, eyes glinting, “look old as hell!”
Jonathon blinked.
Margarette covered her mouth, clearly failing to hide a smile.
“That’s—” Jonathon started, pointing faintly at Meera, “—that’s just unnecessary.”
“Accurate, though,” Meera shot back, still grinning.
“Debatable.”
While the adults slipped easily into their banter, Olivia and Christopher had gone very still.
Slowly—very slowly—they lifted their heads from their pastries.
“Elves?” Olivia echoed.
“You are elves?” Christopher added at the exact same time.
Their voices rose together in a shared gasp, eyes wide as they looked between Elvina and Meera as if seeing them for the first time all over again.
Elvina didn’t answer immediately.
She simply held their gaze, that same knowing smile lingering—as though she’d been waiting for this moment.
And then—
A voice, low and smooth, slipped into the space between them.
“Too much gasping… not enough munching…”
Christopher startled.
Olivia nearly dropped her pastry.
From seemingly nowhere, a sleek shape wound its way through the group—brushing past boots and hems with effortless confidence. Jeremy, the were-cat, moved like a shadow given form, his body weaving neatly between Meera’s legs as though he’d always been there.
His tail flicked lazily.
Golden eyes glanced upward, unimpressed.
“Food gets cold,” he added with a soft purr, circling once before settling briefly at Meera’s feet. “Tragic waste.”
Christopher stared. “Where did you—”
Jeremy didn’t even look at him.
“Focus,” he murmured. “You were doing something important.”
Olivia blinked, still trying to catch up. “We were just—”
“Eating,” Jeremy finished. “Yes. I noticed. You were almost doing it properly.”
Meera let out another quiet laugh, glancing down as she nudged him lightly with her foot. “And where did you come from?”
Jeremy’s ears twitched.
“I go where I please.”
Jonathon folded his arms, shaking his head faintly. “Of course you do.”
But the moment had shifted again.
Olivia looked back at Elvina.
At Meera.
At the way they carried themselves, the ease, the lightness, the otherness she hadn’t quite understood before.
“Elves…” she repeated softly.
Christopher glanced between them, then back at his pastry, then back again—like he was trying to reconcile two entirely different worlds at once.
And then, almost absentmindedly, he took another bite.
This time—
He didn’t forget to enjoy it.
The sharp edges of worry and surprise gave way to something easier—familiar conversation, shared history, quiet laughter slipping naturally between words. The noise of Edena carried on around them, but the small circle they formed seemed untouched by it, as though they stood in a pocket carved out just for them.
Jonathon and Elvina spoke of roads travelled and roads yet to come. Margarette filled in the spaces between, her voice warm, steady, grounding. Meera drifted in and out of the conversation, adding remarks when it suited her, her attention never quite staying in one place for long.
At some point—no one quite noticed when—Jeremy found himself lifted.
Meera scooped him up with casual ease, tucking him against her as though he were nothing more than an ordinary cat. He allowed it, which in itself felt like a decision.
Her fingers slipped behind his ears, scratching lightly.
Jeremy’s eyes half-lidded.
A low, satisfied purr rumbled from his chest.
“See?” Meera murmured, glancing sideways at Elvina. “Perfectly manageable.”
“Mm,” Elvina replied, unconvinced—but smiling all the same.
Christopher watched this with open confusion. “He lets you do that?”
Jeremy didn’t even open his eyes. “I permit many things,” he said, voice thick with contentment. “Very few are earned.”
Olivia snorted softly under her breath.
Eventually, the conversation began to wind down—not abruptly, not with any sense of urgency, but with the natural understanding that time was moving again.
Margarette glanced toward the direction of the outskirts, where the travelling circus had been allowed to set up. “We should head back before it gets too late.”
Jonathon nodded. “Plenty more to see tomorrow.”
Christopher looked mildly disappointed—but also exhausted in a way he didn’t quite recognise yet. Olivia, still holding the last few bites of her pastry, gave a small, quiet nod.
Elvina inclined her head. “You’ll find your way?”
Jonathon smiled. “We always do.”
There was a brief pause—something unspoken passing between them—before Margarette stepped forward, offering a final, warm look.
“It was good seeing you again.”
“And you,” Elvina replied.
Meera lifted a hand in a loose wave, Jeremy still tucked comfortably in her arms. “Try not to get lost this time.”
“No promises,” Jonathon said.
With that, the four of them turned.
Olivia lingered for half a heartbeat longer, glancing back once—at Elvina, at Meera, at the strange, beautiful world that still didn’t quite feel real.
Then Christopher nudged her gently.
And together, they followed Margarette and Jonathon, slipping back into the flow of the city as they made their way toward the circus camp beyond the walls.
Elvina and Meera remained where they were.
Watching.
The crowd shifted, swallowed the retreating figures piece by piece, until finally—
They were gone.
Silence settled between them—not empty, but thoughtful.
Meera’s fingers slowed absently against Jeremy’s ears.
“…There’s a resemblance,” she said at last.
Elvina didn’t look at her straight away. Her gaze lingered on the space where the twins had disappeared, her expression distant, measuring.
“I noticed.”
Now Meera turned her head.
Their eyes met.
And in the quiet between one breath and the next, they both spoke—soft enough that the world itself might have missed it.
“Thomaz…”
The name lingered.
Heavy.
Jeremy shifted in Meera’s arms, a subtle wriggle breaking the stillness. She loosened her hold without protest, setting him gently back onto the ground.
He landed without a sound.
For a moment, he simply sat there, looking up at them—golden eyes sharp now, aware in a way that felt far removed from the lazy creature he’d been seconds before.
“They are…” he said.
The Journey, Book 3; Chapter 22
Chapter 22: Surprise… The travelling circus had settled into a quiet rhythm beneath the stars. Lanterns swayed gently from wagon hooks, painting warm circles of gold across the camp while distant laughter drifted through the cool night air. Horses shuffled lazily in their harnesses, somewhere...
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