The vibrant clamor of the town square settled around Vex like a comforting blanket. The stone underfoot was warm from the day’s sun, and the air buzzed with the scent of spice-roasted nuts, fried pastries, and the distant tang of salt from the sea. Children darted between vendor carts like minnows in shallow water, and laughter echoed down the narrow alleys that fed into the square.

  Vex sat on a stone bench just outside the bookstore, a half-eaten skewer of some kind of citrus-glazed seafood dangling lazily in his hand. He'd spent the entire afternoon here, doing little more than listening. To gossip. To haggling. To heated debates and cheerful banter. Every word, every sentence, was a lesson. And to his surprise, he was learning fast—faster than he ever had before. He had only his ears and an uncanny knack for picking up patterns.

  Each time his comprehension sharpened, there was that same distinct internal click. His skill in the Elorian language had reached level four—conversations were no longer chaotic noise but increasingly clear threads of meaning. There were still gaps, but they were narrowing fast. The +3 bonus to his Elorian skill, courtesy of the skill book he'd found earlier, was pulling more weight than he expected.

  Across the square, a young woman stepped into the bookstore. Her profile caught his eye. She moved with ease, dressed in a simple white linen tunic that danced at her calves and a pale blue sash cinched at her waist. Her dark curls were pinned up in a loose twist, and her skin gleamed under the late sun like polished bronze.

  As she slipped inside, the wooden marker hanging beside the door spun with a lazy clack. The painted glyph that meant “closed” faced outward now.

  Vex leaned back and let his gaze drift over the square again, watching as stalls packed up and lanterns flickered to life. It was some time before the door opened again. The young woman emerged first, followed by the old man he’d briefly met when he bought the skill book.

  When they reached him, the old man offered Vex a warm smile and a small incline of his head. “We were ever properly introduced earlier in my shop. I’m Cassian.”

  Vex stood. “Vex.”

  “You’re speaking wonderfully,” Cassian said, eyes crinkling with approval. Not bad for just a few hours.”

  “I’ve had... a lot of practice today,” Vex replied, stumbling slightly on the verb but pushing through. “Lots of... shouting. And fried things.”

  Cassian laughed. “Ah, yes. Language via street food. The truest way.”

  The girl beside him gave a soft laugh. Cassian gestured between them. Cassian looked like her reflection caught decades later—tall and wiry, olive-toned, with the same curling hair now turned silver and bound in a loose tail. His linen robes were long, almost academic, and layered with soft cream and faded gold. They walked with a rhythm that suggested closeness—grandfather and granddaughter, no doubt—but also mutual respect.

  “Lyra,” Cassian added, gesturing to her. “My granddaughter and favorite assistant when she’s not breaking spines in the shop.”

  “Only the bad bindings,” Lyra replied with mock solemnity, offering Vex a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

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  Vex shook her hand and gave a crooked smile. “Same.”

  “Well, you’ve earned a break,” Cassian said. “We were just about to head to dinner. Come with us.”

  Vex blinked. “Really?”

  “Of course,” Lyra said, already turning toward the stone path that led downhill. “You can’t learn a culture without sharing a meal.”

  After the briefest of walks, Vex found himself at a restaurant that clung to the edge of the bay like a vine-wrapped gem. Lanterns hung from bent iron poles, swaying gently in the salt-sweet breeze. The tables were carved from sun-bleached driftwood, and every chair had a different story in its dents and grooves.

  The trio sat at a corner table overlooking the water, where the last blush of sunset painted the rippling surface in violet and rose. The sea met the arid desert here in a strange, beautiful contradiction—cacti and fishing boats, dunes and seagulls. Vex took a deep breath and let it all sink in.

  Dinner was a mosaic of flavors—grilled octopus with spiced lentils, something that looked like crab but tasted faintly of melon, and small steamed pouches filled with minced fish and herbs. Lyra showed him how to split them open without losing the broth.

  “So,” Cassian said, once they’d all eaten their fill, “where exactly are you from, Vex?”

  Vex hesitated. "Erisport. It’s an eastern city in the States. Or—it was, I guess. Before I ended up here."

  Cassian nodded slowly. “Never heard of it. I’m guessing it’s one of the new islands from the last Stitching.”

  Vex blinked. “Stitching?”

  “You’re not familiar?” Lyra asked gently.

  Cassian folded his hands. “The world expands, Vex. Literally. Every few generations, there’s a Stitching. New landmasses, new people, and sometimes whole nations just… show up. Most of the time, it’s slow and subtle. But occasionally, we get anomalies. Uncharted islands. Remnants from older worlds that survived collapse. You might be one of those.”

  Vex’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t… know that was possible.”

  “Not common,” Cassian said. “But possible. It’s likely you’re the first of your kind to ever land here.”

  There was a pause, quiet but thick. Cassian’s voice softened. “Did anyone else come with you?”

  Vex stared at the table. “I don’t think so. I don’t remember everything, but… I think I’m alone.”

  Lyra’s expression grew somber.

  Cassian gave a solemn nod. "That’s hard. I’m sorry, truly. The Binder’s Guild has protocols, contingencies for displaced people, but I won’t pretend it’s always fixable. Sometimes the only thing we can do is help someone start again. Ocean voyages, if that's how you got here, are extraordinarily dangerous—few survive them unscathed, and fewer still arrive somewhere known."

  Lyra lowered her gaze, fingers briefly tightening around her cup.

  “I appreciate that,” Vex said quietly.

  “Well,” Cassian said, lifting his cup, “we can at least make sure you’re not starving or sleeping in alleys.”

  “I’ll take what I can get,” Vex said with a smile. “I’d love another skill book for the language if you have one—and maybe something on culture or history too. I want to understand how this world works.”

  Cassian chuckled. “Oh, you can't use more than one of the same skill books, but I’ll sell you one. Fair price, of course. However, it sounds like you’re after more than just reading.”

  “I guess I’m clueless,” Vex admitted. “I want to learn everything. How things are made. Why they work. What people believe. I don’t even know what a guild, like the Binder's, does.”

  Cassian leaned back, studying him. “You’re a bit older than our usual apprentices, but we’ve made exceptions before. There’s a program through the Kingdom Academy—normally reserved for teens discovering their passions, but you might qualify as a foreign emissary.”

  Lyra perked up. “You could shadow different disciplines. See what fits. That’s how I started.”

  Cassian nudged her playfully. “Go on. Tell him about the time you almost burned down the alchemy lab.”

  “That was once—and the fire was small,” Lyra huffed, grinning.

  They laughed, and the laughter loosened something in Vex’s chest.

  As the stars blinked into being above the bay, the trio raised their cups—wine, tea, and a strange purple juice Vex couldn’t pronounce.

  “To new beginnings,” Cassian said.

  “To new friends,” Lyra added.

  Vex lifted his cup. “And to happy lab accidents.”

  The toast clinked softly under the night sky.