By midday, the sun hung directly overhead, casting its warm glow over the area as they entered the town of Witlere. It was a town known far and wide across the empire for its pastries. The town’s rich aroma of baking bread already greets them even before they entered the city gates.
The streets were cobbled, lined with buildings made of old brick, and the air was filled with the sounds of baker’s tools and of delighted customers.
Passing through the town, the group was now in the district the locals called "Bread Court". It was district renowned for its bakeries, each of the stalls and shops offers varieties of bread that could capture the taste of even the most picky eater.
Hearing the district's reputation, Myrrh’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she hopped down from the cart, her reeds tucked in her arms.
“I’ll be back soon,” she said to Verlaine and Kiòll? in a soft and light tone.
As she skips towards the heart of the Bread Court, she couldn’t help but hum a little tune. Her nose were filled with the scent of warm dough, butter, and cinnamon as she passed by the bustling stalls.
Unlike what normally occurs in a market—shouting and advertising their products—the shops and stalls in the district only use the fragrance of their bread to capture the attention of their customers.
She couldn't resist the smell and with a wide smile, Myrrh bought two full bags of bread of different variety from different stores. After following her smell and wonderful taste, she made her way back to the cart with her arms full. The bags in her arms made crinkling noises with her every step.
“Back already?” Kiòll? asked with a raised brow, noticing the two full bags that looks quite comical in comparison with Myrrh's size.
“Couldn’t resist these,” Myrrh giggled, handing over a small loaf to Verlaine. “Best bread in the Empire, they say.”
The mercenary grinned, taking the offering with a mock bow. “Can’t argue with that.”
With a piece of a sourdough in hand, Myrrh took a deep, contented breath and began to sing. The melody danced through the air—in a simple and happy tone—as she softly hummed.
In every loaf a story’s baked,
In every crumb, a dream awakes.
The bread so warm, the butter sweet,
A simple joy in every treat…
Her eyes closed for a moment, savoring the rich, comforting taste of the bread. The sun light shines down on the town, casting a golden glow over her as she twirled a little. The melody of her voice drifting into the surrounding like a gentle breeze.
Verlaine smirked at her carefree nature but couldn’t help but soften a little. “That’s a good song,” she said with a chuckle. “Maybe you’re right about these loaves.”
Kiòll? just nodded, smiling as he tucked into his own piece of bread. “Maybe we should stay longer. Could use a full stomach before the road ahead.”
Myrrh looked at the town with a happy smile, the bags of bread still clutched in her arms, content in the moment. There were other towns, other roads, but for now, it was enough. The sweetness of the bread and the melody in her heart were all she needed.
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Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
The road stretched lazily under the afternoon sun, and before long, their small caravan found itself beside a broad, shimmering river. This river, winding and gentle, is connected directly to Shomer, the next town on their journey.
Kiòll? pulled the cart to a stop under the shade of a leaning willow tree. Verlaine hopped down first, checking their surroundings with a perception fitting of a seasoned guard. Myrrh, however, had her eyes on the river the moment they arrived.
Without hesitation, she stripped off her shoes and socks, setting them carefully in the grass. With Button cradled gently in her arms, she stepped into the shallows of the river. The water was cold but refreshing, the currents swirling around her ankles and crashing softly at the hem of her skirt.
Button, however, was far from impressed. His small body trembled, and his legs gave little kicks of protest as he tried to climb higher into Myrrh’s arms, away from the water. Yes, Button was not only afraid, the little bunny was terrified.
“Hey now, Button,” she said softly, her voice gentle and full of affection. “You’re fine. It’s just water. See? ”
Button’s little nose twitched nervously, its ears folding back. It seemed to be scrutinizing the water with a sort of distrust.
Seeing this, Myrrh laughed before rocking Button lightly. She spun in a slow circle in the shallow water and sang softly to him, the tune filled with encouragement and warmth.
“The river flows, the world is wide,
Step in the water, take it in stride.
The ripples sing, the breeze will play,
No need to fear, it’s a brand new day.”
Button twitched an ear at the sound, still uneasy but no longer struggling quite as much. Myrrh smiled down at him, tucking him closer against her chest.
“See?” she whispered, her forehead touching Button's, “just a big, singing path.”
Verlaine, leaning against the cart, crossed her arms and shook her head with a small smirk. “You’re going to spoil that rabbit rotten.”
Kiòll? chuckled as he rummaged through their stores for a snack. “Bah, not a bad way to live. Wish someone sang to me every time I got scared.”
Myrrh just kept humming to Button, swaying slightly with the river’s flow. For a moment, with the sound of water babbling and the breeze stirring the trees, everything felt exactly as it should be.
---
The road curved into view of Shomer by mid-afternoon, and what a sight it was. The fortress town rose out of the landscape like a couple of titan’s shield. Its walls high and thick, cast from solid gray stone and reinforced with dark metals that gleamed faintly even under the sun.
High and imposing, the stone ramparts bristled with pride of Empire's engineers, a newly developed magical defense—it is a construction of steel and perma-spells known as MBM Piercers, they are magical ballistic machines designed to strike with ruthless precision even from a distance. At every corner of the towering walls, one of these deadly sentinels sat, mounted like crowns.
Myrrh—perched atop the wagon seat beside Kiòll?—pulled out her small leather-bound notebook and quickly scribbled, her mind caught by the sight.
Tall walls rise where rivers meet,
Stone and steel, a fortress seat.
Magic hums and machines stare,
Guarding trades with iron care.
She smiled at the little rhyme, satisfied, but when she looked up again, she blinked in surprise. Somehow, while she had been lost in her poem, they had already passed through the great gates and were now deep within Shomer’s bustling streets.
The wagon had slowed to a crawl. Before them, a large crowd clogged the main street, their attention wholly captured by something... or someone at the center.
Kiòll? clicked his tongue. “Ugh. Looks like a jam.”
Before anyone could say anything more, Myrrh slipped down from the wagon with Button safely tucked in her arms. Verlaine immediately leaned over. “Hey! Wait—”
But Myrrh, nimble and determined, dodged neatly past a pair of merchants and disappeared into the crowd before Verlaine could catch her. With Button peeking out from her arms, ears twitching anxiously, she weaved and squeezed her way forward, her small frame gave her a perfect advantage in the tightly packed gathering.
At the center of it all, under the spotty lights filtering between Shomer's buildings, a puppeteer worked her craft not with wood, cloth, nor wire.
No, the puppet moving fluidly before them was made entirely of hair. Hair strands woven into intricate shapes, dancing and reshaping as if breathing on their own. It twirled, bowed, and leapt as though it was alive. The strings connecting to its body was almost invisible in the golden light.
As Myrrh watched, a memory surfaced. A name from the lists of the Hundred Imperial Artists.
Famoira of Moving Hair.
One of her distant peers. An artist blessed by both magic and acclaim. Just like her.
Myrrh’s eyes widened with wonder. She pressed Button close to her chest, whispering excitedly, her heart skipping a beat.
It seemed this stop in Shomer would be far more interesting than she had first thought.
Info Dump #20:
- Most of the Hundred Imperial Artists uses magic to enhance their respective arts. Even the most normal and "non-magical" styles still uses magic to some degree. Despite that, some exceptions—genius—still exists, managing to rank among the hundred even with no magic incorporated to their art styles.