[center]─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───[/center] The sound of the rain had faded to a distant patter, though gray clouds still pressed low over Arborhaven. The scent of wet earth and smoke hung in the air. Ben froze halfway through stirring the pot when Marrion’s voice carried across the quiet room. He turned, brow furrowing deeply. [color=#ffcc00]“A fight?”[/color] he repeated. His ladle clattered against the pot’s rim. [color=#ffcc00]“In the rooms? Which one?”[/color] He didn’t wait for an answer, already shuffling from behind the counter, grabbing a small cudgel from its hook beneath the bar as he started toward the stairs. Juniper followed on his heels, her ears perked and tail stiff with alarm. [color=#b32d00]“Wait—Miiya’s room was that way…”[/color] Upstairs, the air felt colder, heavy with the scent of damp feathers and overturned furniture. The door to Room 204 gaped open, pale light spilling over the disorder within. Juniper stopped short in the doorway, her breath catching. The bed was stripped to chaos, the basin and pitcher shattered, feathers scattered across the floorboards like pale leaves. The window was latched shut. [color=#b32d00]“No… she wouldn’t have gone out in that storm,”[/color] she murmured, stepping inside, kneeling beside the satchel left slumped in the corner. Her hand brushed one of the feathers. [color=#b32d00]“Not like this.”[/color] Ben’s jaw tightened. [color=#ffcc00]“If there’s trouble in my inn, it’ll be the guards’ concern. I’ll fetch them.”[/color] He turned toward the stairs, but paused when another voice drifted from the hall. [color=#66ff66]“Guards won’t care much, Ben.”[/color] Reed stood at the end of the corridor,patched cloak still damp from the previous night’s rain. His gray-blue eyes lingered on the feathers, then on the young adventurer kneeling in the wreckage. [color=#66ff66]“They’ll take a report, grumble about the weather, and tell you she probably ran off on her own. Same story for half the posters on the wall.”[/color] Juniper looked up sharply, her ears flicking. [color=#b32d00]“Then what do we do? We can’t just—she was one of us. She said she’d meet me this morning.”[/color] Reed stepped into the room, his boots whispering over the wet boards. He crouched near the feathers, lifting one carefully between thumb and forefinger. [color=#66ff66]“A struggle, no blood. Whoever took her—or whatever did—didn’t kill her here.”[/color] He looked toward the innkeeper. [color=#66ff66]“You open up early, Ben?”[/color] Ben scratched at his beard, frowning. [color=#ffcc00]“Didn’t have to. The door was already open when I came down. Bar was slid back and all. Thought some fool forgot to latch it last night.”[/color] Reed’s brow furrowed. [color=#66ff66]“So someone left through it—or came in.”[/color] He moved to the window, glancing at the faint tracks of wet mud trailing from the doorway. [color=#66ff66]“Footprints. Red clay. That’s from the east road.”[/color] Ben hesitated, rubbing a hand over his face. [color=#ffcc00]“That’d be toward the chapel quarter… where old Mara lives now. She keeps the charm shop by the fork in the road.”[/color] Juniper blinked. [color=#b32d00]“Mara?”[/color] [color=#ffcc00]“Aye.”[/color] Ben’s tone dropped, uneasy. [color=#ffcc00]“Widow of a stonemason. Used to sell candles and hymnal carvings. Took to makin’ those charms when her boy went missin’ last spring. Folks say she sees things now—faces in the fog, voices in her sleep. Some think the charms keep the grief from swallowin’ her whole. Others think they just spread it.”[/color] Reed’s expression darkened slightly, though he nodded as if confirming a memory. [color=#66ff66]“Mara used to sing at the harvest festivals. Had a voice that could hush a hall.”[/color] His gaze drifted toward the open window, the pale feathers, the faint scent of rain. [color=#66ff66]“Now she hums alone, stringin’ silver in that empty house. I’ve heard it at night—sounds like the wind mournin’.”[/color] Juniper stood, brushing her knees and glancing toward the hallway. [color=#b32d00]“Then that’s where I’ll start. The tracks lead that way. If she’s the one giving out the charms, maybe she’s seen something—or someone.”[/color] Ben frowned. [color=#ffcc00]“Careful, girl. That road’s half-flooded after the storm. Mist rolls in thick come morning. You can lose your way if you follow the bell too far.”[/color] Reed gave a small, rueful smile. [color=#66ff66]“Then it’s a good thing I’ve walked worse roads. I’ll guide her as far as the fork. Been too long since anyone paid Mara a kind visit.”[/color] The group descended the narrow stairs, the smell of smoke and porridge mingling with the damp chill spilling through the open door. Outside, Arborhaven’s streets were still half-drowned in puddles, the cobbles glistening like old bone beneath the leaden sky. The town itself seemed half-asleep: shuttered windows, empty porches, and the faint sound of metal charms clinking in the breeze. From every doorway, the same silver talismans dangled—small, seven-pointed stars etched with thin, curling lines that caught the light and whispered when they swayed. As they turned down the eastern road, the town thinned into mist. The scent of wet moss and peat thickened, and red clay began to cake the path beneath their boots. Wind tugged at Juniper’s cloak; the sound of soft singing drifted faintly ahead. A low cottage came into view at the bend—a small, lopsided structure of stone and timber, its roof patched with moss. Charms hung from every eave, hundreds of them, catching the dim light like a canopy of silver tears. Each one tinkled faintly in the wind, the combined sound almost like rain. A carved sign, nearly swallowed by ivy, hung by the door. Its paint was worn but still legible: “Mara’s Blessings — For Restful Sleep and Peace of Heart.” Reed slowed his steps, voice quiet. [color=#66ff66]“There it is. The heart of all this.”[/color] Juniper’s tail flicked once, tension in her shoulders as she stared at the cottage door. [color=#b32d00]“Then let’s hope she’s still in the mood for company.”[/color] A faint chime answered her words as the wind stirred the hanging charms—soft, melodic, and mournful—as if the house itself had heard. The mist thickened as they drew closer, muffling the world in shades of gray. Charms chimed faintly from the trees before they even saw the cottage — hundreds of them strung between branches and eaves, swaying like silver leaves in an unseen breeze. The path bent, revealing a small stone-and-timber home half-sunken into the hillside. Its roof sagged under moss and ivy, and a thin trail of smoke curled from the crooked chimney. Every window glowed with a dim amber light, blurred by fog and age. Inside, a low humming drifted through the open door. The tune was wordless but soft, rising and falling like a lullaby. When the group reached the threshold, the scene within revealed itself: Charms — stars, feathers, rings of silver, bits of bone and crystal — hung from the rafters and beams. Some were polished and gleaming, others tarnished black. They spun slowly, tinkling as they brushed against each other. The scent of herbs, wax, and damp metal filled the air. At a table near the hearth sat a woman, thin and pale beneath the lamp’s honeyed glow. Her hair was streaked white, her dress simple and threadbare. She worked quietly with trembling fingers, threading wire through a seven-pointed star. Every so often, she dipped it into a bowl of water beside her and whispered something under her breath. [color=#9999ff]“Peace for the lost… calm for the weary…”[/color] Her voice was low and melodic, each word more prayer than spell. Without looking up, she spoke—softly, as though she already knew they were there. [color=#9999ff]“You can come in, travelers. The wind doesn’t like waiting on strangers.”[/color] The charms overhead gave a soft shiver, their song briefly discordant before settling again. At last, she lifted her head. Her eyes were pale blue and unfocused, but they seemed to see all the same. A faint, distant smile touched her lips. [color=#9999ff]“The storm left you cold,”[/color] she said gently. [color=#9999ff]“Warm yourselves by the lamp. I’ve tea steeped — mint and sage, for the nerves.”[/color] Her gaze lingered on each of them in turn, never quite lingering too long. [color=#9999ff]“You’ve the look of folk carrying questions. But careful—questions have a way of finding their own answers here.”[/color] She returned to her work, the faint sound of metal and wire filling the silence. Outside, the wind carried the echo of a distant bell. Inside, the only sound was the soft chime of charms and the whisper of Mara’s lullaby.