The dusty streets of Waldheim, once a lively trading hub, now felt more like a ghost of itself. The market stalls were empty, the once-vibrant flags hanging limp in the wind, and the faint hum of the Witch Hunter’s patrols echoed down the winding alleyways. But Celine didn’t notice any of this as she hurried through the town’s narrow roads, her worn leather satchel swinging at her side. She had a delivery to make, another one of her regular trips. The slip of paper tucked inside her jacket was the only sign that it held any significance. For her, it was just another package to drop off, no questions asked. The kind of work she was used to, always moving quietly, always on time. A simple, ordinary courier, except when things weren’t always simple. She’d learned long ago that nothing in the Everlands ever stayed quiet for long.
She hurried down the crooked streets, ruined from the weather and the years, to one of her most loyal customers, a lady called Beatrice, who worked as a trader of all things, gunpowder, blades, jewels and even information. Many people jokingly said she must have been a spy of some sort or at least a criminal of notoriety but most people knew she was just a run of the mill merchant trying to make it through the week in these trying times.
Ever since the Empire of Caodan had taken over Waldheim a few years back after the town’s army conceded without a single ounce of resistance, things changed drastically. Citizens weren’t allowed to carry weapons, the tributes had skyrocketed, many couldn’t even perform their mercantile duties without a very expensive and very hard to get permit that had to be issued by a representative of the Empire. Well Beatrice was one of these few privileged Waldheiman who managed to get her hands on a permit and as such she had entirely monopolised the local commerce.
That’s where Celine fits into the picture.
You see, since Beatrice was in need of constant deliveries for her merchandise, she was in dire need of someone to help speed up the transportation of the goods, even some of which would cause you to get mugged or robbed. That’s the reason why Celine was perfect for this job, she was just incredibly inconspicuous, I mean, who would see a short lady, not an inch taller than five feet in height, cute and innocent as she was and think she’d be carrying with her gunpowder and bombs? No one in their right mind would think that and that’s what allowed Celine to perform her job to its fullest.
But despite being good at her job, Celine longed for something else. She dreamed of leaving the rundown streets of Waldheim and seeing the world. But dreams could only take you so far in desperate times. Maybe it was better to stick to her work, quietly completing her deliveries... and forgetting about the adventures she secretly craved.
Or at least, that’s what Beatrice would say when they met again.
Celine tried to snap out of it by focusing on her current delivery; after all if she can’t afford to eat how would she ever become a decorated adventurer right? She thought to herself as she continued racing down the streets of rundown town.
“Hello Celine! Got another Delivery for Beatrice??” Said a familiar voice
That voice belonged to Petr, one of Celine’s few friends and one of the few people in town that knew of her business with Beatrice, alongside some other secrets about her. A scruffy orphan like Celine, Petr had grown up in the shadow of the Empire’s rule. He was just a little taller than her, always cheerful, his brown eyes gleaming with excitement and his tail wagging like a dog’s.
Celine always thought that maybe him being a Demi-Human is what always made him so chipper but she knows that he’s just a joyful soul, and that’s something this sad town was always in desperate need of.
"Yep!" Celine called back, waving her hand as she ran. "But I’m in a hurry, see you later!"
As she passed through the crumbling town square, Celine ducked her head to avoid the gaze of two Empire guards loitering near the old fountain. Their helmets glinted in the afternoon sun, but their expressions were bored, almost lazy. Still, she knew better than to draw their attention. Her boots clicked quietly on the cobblestone, weaving between carts and broken crates.
Waldheim used to be beautiful, she remembered. As a child, she’d watched parades from the rooftop of the old bakery, waving to merchants in colorful coats and performers with painted faces. Now the square was just another checkpoint, another place where people walked with their eyes down and their mouths shut.
She tightened her grip on the satchel. The package inside clinked faintly.
Just a few more turns and she'd be there. The Emporium was tucked away at the edge of the marketplace, sandwiched between a shuttered tailor's shop and a bookstore that hadn’t seen new ink in years. It didn’t have a sign, just a faded red curtain over the door and the smell of gunpowder clinging to the bricks.
On her way, she passed old Mr. Halberd, muttering to himself on the same stoop as always, his hands wrapped in soot-stained rags. He gave her a nod, and she nodded back. Celine didn’t stop to chat, she knew better than to linger when Beatrice was expecting her.
A gust of wind kicked up the dust around her boots as she rounded the final corner. The curtain fluttered in the breeze. Celine exhaled and stepped up to the door, giving three quick knocks in rhythm.
One. Two. One.
The usual code.
“Come in” the raspy and grumpy voice of an older lady echoed through the room until it reverberated through the door “And please for goodness’ sake clean your boots this time”.
Celine sighed, wiping her dirty boots on the welcoming mat before opening the door leading into the lady’s “sacred home,” hanging up her hat on the nearby coat hanger. Her hat was precious to her, it was the last memory she had of her mother. A beautiful pointy hat, with a brim that curved in on itself at the border and a buckle holding the whole thing together. It had a few personal touches from Celine, of course: a few patches either added for a splash of color or to cover up old tears she'd made over the years.
The Emporium looked exactly how you’d imagine, a dust mess of shelfs, bookshelves and chest, with tables adorned in ornate decoration, elaborate clocks telling time and a cutting edge electricity powered lamp lighting the room. Expensive tapestries, rolled up carpets, refined silks, precious hand crafted jewels, antique swords and modern firearms were only some of the things one’s eyes could see within this store.
At the back of the large room, sat an imposing desk, made of a strong oak and adorned with golden ornaments at each corner and a massive golden plaque of an eagle at the center.
Behind said desk stood Beatrice, an older woman, by the looks of it in her late 50s. She was quite tall, standing much taller than Celine and was much wider too, with her job as a merchant allowing her to eat the most succulent meals in the town to her heart’s desire. Her age was quite well hidden by the expensive and masterfully applied layers of makeup covering her face which must have given her at least five years of lost youth.
Beatrice barely looked up from the desk as Celine approached, her hands busily wrapping a set of pearl-inlaid daggers in soft velvet.
“You’re late,” she muttered, not even glancing her way.
“I’m early,” Celine said, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. She held out the receipt slip.
Beatrice took it, squinting through a pair of jeweled half-moon spectacles perched on her nose, then scribbled a signature with a flourish that spoke of old wealth and self-importance. She slid a small pouch across the desk.
Celine caught it and weighed the pouch in her palm, not heavy enough to make her forget her hunger, but enough to pay for a warm meal and maybe a night’s rent.
“Anything else?” she asked, already turning to go.
Beatrice's voice cut through the air like a meat cleaver. “Are you still dreaming about leaving Waldheim?”
Celine stopped mid-step. She didn’t turn around.
“You do this every few months,” Beatrice said, finally looking up. Her heavily made-up eyes locked onto Celine like twin daggers. “You get quiet. Start looking out the window too long. The same look your mother had before she ran off and got herself killed playing ‘hero.’”
“That’s not fair–”
“Oh, it’s not fair?” Beatrice leaned back in her chair, letting out a bitter laugh. “Kid, nothing about this place is fair. You think the world’s kinder on the outside? That people are just waiting to throw gold and praise at a girl who’s never even been past the city wall?”
“I’m not like my mother,” Celine said softly.
“No, you’re not. She had guts. You’ve got common sense. Don’t waste it,” Beatrice snapped. “You’ve got a good thing going. You get paid. You stay out of trouble. You know the streets. Don’t trade that for some storybook fantasy about adventure and glory.”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“I’m not asking for glory,” Celine replied. “I just… want to see something else. Just once.”
Beatrice sighed, the kind of sigh that sounded like she was letting go of years. “Then go. Walk right out there and see how long you last. You’ll be back before your boots wear in.”
“I won’t,” Celine said, half under her breath.
“You will, girl. Or you’ll be dead. And I’d rather not waste another courier.”
The words hung in the air. Heavy. Unmoving.
After a beat, Beatrice gestured with a ring-covered hand. “Now get. Go rest. I’ll have something else for you by sunrise.”
Celine puffed up her soft cheeks in anger, so as not to say something she may regret. She grabbed her hat, placed it steadfast on her head and promptly stormed out of the Emporium. With little care to what was around her she rushed back to her apartment.
After a little walk, there it was, “Celine’s Express Delivery”, said the sign outside of a rundown, old, rotting carcass of what once could’ve been called someone’s home. The rotting and decaying wood that composed the foundation was all but falling apart, the stone that outline the bottom floor of the building was covered in moss and had been almost fully eroded by the wind and the rain.
“Home Sweet Home” Celine murmured as she opened the damp, creaking door into her apartment.
Inside it was not much better: the water damage from the rain had almost entirely cut through the roof of the building, with only a few tiles holding the rain back from entering her home; the floorboards were creaking with bugs and insects eating away at them. She didn’t even have electricity in this dump, she had to rely on small candles to keep herself lit, and the tiny fireplace by the entrance to keep herself warm during the winter.
But despite this Celine still gave it her all to make this sad excuse for an apartment as cozy as possible.
She had saved up some coins to buy a nice carpet and some pillows for her bed so that she could sleep better, both of which were in her favourite colour, a beautiful soft pastel pink! The same colour she remembers her mother using to wrap her safely in her blanket as a child.
“I wonder what she’d think of me” she thought to herself “Maybe Beatrice was right, I don’t have the guts you had mom” holding onto the hat her mother left her, a small tear falling down by the side of her face “Maybe I should just stick to delivery for now or well forever I guess”
But before Celine could allow herself to sink deeper in these sad thoughts, something jumped on her lap. A small black furry creature had placed itself right on top of the girl’s thighs, it was Muffin her black cat! The best friend any girl could have, especially her.
He was actually already living in this apartment when the young courier first got access to it, though he was much smaller and much younger. Similarly he was also left behind by his mother and would’ve died of hunger if not for a gentle girl who took him in and gave food, warmth and love.
Ever since the two have been practically inseparable with Muffin seemingly hellbent on returning all the affection that his owner and best friend had shown all his life, since birth until death will take him away.
Celine blinked away the tear before it could fall, trying to refocus on the comforting warmth of Muffin curled up in her lap. She gently stroked his fur, finding solace in the steady rise and fall of his small chest. He was her anchor, her constant in a world that seemed to slip further from her grasp with each passing day.
"At least I’m not alone, huh?" she murmured, her voice a faint whisper, as though the silence of her apartment could hear her thoughts. Muffin purred in response, nuzzling into her hands as if sensing the weight of her words. He had always been there, even when the world had felt like it was crumbling around her.
But no amount of purring could erase the gnawing feeling in her chest, the one that told her she was meant for something more than this. Something bigger. She wasn't sure what that something was, but she was certain it wasn’t delivering parcels and scurrying through the cracks of Waldheim.
Her thoughts wandered back to Beatrice’s harsh words, the ones that had stung more than she cared to admit. Beatrice was always pushing, always telling her to stick to what she was good at. "You’re too small for this life, Celine," she had said, "your dreams don’t have a place here."
Celine clenched her fists, trying to shake off the bitterness that threatened to creep back in. She had heard it all before, but it never hurt less. The Empire, the city, the world, it was all too big, and she was just one person, barely scraping by. But surely there was more to her than that, more to her than simply surviving.
She reached up and adjusted the brim of her hat:a small act of defiance against the doubts swirling in her mind. Her mother had always dreamed big. If Celine could carry just a fraction of that ambition, maybe, just maybe, she could escape this suffocating town and find something better.
Muffin leapt off her lap, padding over to the fireplace where the small flame still flickered weakly. His presence, his unwavering loyalty, gave her a strange comfort. She wasn’t ready to give up on her dreams, not yet.
With a deep sigh, Celine stood up, straightening her back. "Alright, Muffin," she said quietly, as though speaking to herself. "Maybe Beatrice’s right... but I’m not done dreaming just yet."
The firelight flickered in the dim room, casting shadows against the walls, but in that moment, Celine felt something stir inside her. A tiny spark, a fleeting hope, but hope nonetheless. Maybe her path was still unclear, maybe the world was still too big for her, but that didn’t mean she had to give up. Not yet.
She turned back to her small, rundown apartment. It wasn’t much. It never had been. But it was hers. And maybe, just maybe, there was a place in this world for her, beyond deliveries, beyond the confines of Waldheim.
"Tomorrow’s another day," she whispered, as if that alone could change everything.
And with Muffin at her feet, she prepared to face whatever came next.
Celine took a deep breath as she returned to her small kitchen. She might not have much, but she had just enough to get by. The small, cast-iron stove crackled as she heated a thin broth made from what little meat and vegetables she could afford. It wasn’t much, but it was warm and filling. Muffin padded over to her feet, mewing as he rubbed against her leg. She chuckled softly and scooped up a small portion of the broth into a bowl for him, setting it down near the hearth. He eagerly dug in, his fur ruffling in the heat from the fire.
As she sat at the rickety wooden table, spooning the broth into her mouth, as she continued wondering what the future had in plans for her.
She sighed deeply and set her spoon down. "Tomorrow," she whispered. "Tomorrow, I’ll figure it out. But tonight… Tonight I need rest."
She stood, gathering her bowl and cleaning the small mess in the kitchen. Muffin was now curled up beside the fire, his black fur a small patch of darkness against the light of the flames. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for tonight. Tomorrow would come, and with it, new challenges, new opportunities, or perhaps more of the same.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, sharp thud against the door.
Celine froze, her heart skipping a beat. Her hand instinctively reached for the knife she’d left on the counter, and she gripped it tightly, the cold steel cutting into her palm. Who would knock at this hour?
Petr was a regular visitor, he’d usually come to talk about deliveries or drop off the odd job, but it was well past his usual time. Beatrice never came this late, either. And Mr. Halberd? He hadn’t visited her in weeks. The thought of the guards crossed her mind, but she immediately dismissed it. Surely they couldn’t know... could they?
The knock came again, this time louder and more forceful, shaking the rotting wood of the doorframe. This isn’t good.
Muffin let out a low hiss, his back arched as he darted behind Celine’s legs, his eyes wide with alarm.
Celine’s pulse quickened. Should I open it? The thought of facing whoever it was sent a shiver down her spine. If the guards were after her, this would be the end. No one would come to her rescue.
No. I can’t let fear control me.
She forced herself to move, creeping toward the door, every step a calculated risk. The thudding grew louder, and with it, her anxiety. Whoever it was, they weren’t leaving anytime soon.
Her mind raced as she reached the door. If it’s not the guards... then who could it be?
She steadied her breath, gripping the knife tighter. She wasn’t going down without a fight.
Muffin, too, seemed to sense the gravity of the situation. He crouched low, his fur bristling as he waited, barely making a sound.
The last thud came, a final heavy bang that made her heart stutter in her chest. Silence followed. The absence of sound was almost worse than the noise itself.
Celine hesitated, her hand hovering over the doorknob. This could be it. This could be where my luck runs out.
With a deep breath, she steadied herself, closing her eyes for just a moment, before slowly turning the handle.
Upon opening the door she quickly felt a great weight falling on top of her. She gasped for air fearing to have been stabbed worse.
She closed her eyes waiting for the sweet grasp of death to finally catch up to her and maybe take her to her mother.
But she waited and waited and..nothing? Nothing had happened: no bleeding, no pain, no suffocating. The only thing she could hear was a soft weak breathing?
Celine slowly opened her eyes. She couldn’t believe what was before her.
The weight that had fallen on top of her was that of a girl, just around her same age. Battered and bruised, exhausted from what she could presume was a long journey.
Celine blushed, quickly pushing the girl off of her and laying her down on the floor gently.
She observed her more. The girl was quite a bit taller than her, with much more defined muscles and was carrying a weapon. Clearly she was not a pushover but then she began looking further up, at her face.
The girl's face was soft and gentle, her skin pale like freshly fallen snow. Her reddish-pink lips, marked by a small black mole on the top left, offered the only splash of color on her otherwise porcelain complexion, framed by straight black hair that gleamed like polished obsidian. Her features held a strange charm, her eyes were a little wide, her irises unusually dark, catching light like polished stone, her canines a little sharp poking out slightly from her partially opened mouth.
Without a doubt she was the most beautiful girl Celine had ever laid her eyes upon and that made her feel weird?
Of course she had seen other beautiful girls before and never gave it much thought but she was different, something about her presence made her heart beat slightly faster.
This feeling was however interrupted by a much larger one of shock as she noticed what was sitting atop the girl’s head: a hat, a crooked long hat with its point bending downwards, its large brim seemingly reinforced with some form of strong steel plating maybe used in battle. But the most important thing was that the hat presented a buckle like Celine’s.
In a sudden gesture of pure shock the girl almost screamed at the top of her lungs “You’re also a Mage?”