A Morning Out (Part 2)

The shop was alive with soft clinks and faint echoes, the children scattered across the displays, wide-eyed as they explored. Despite the earlier tension, their natural curiosity had taken over, each drawn to a particular corner of the store.

Alistair lingered near the shields and swords, running his fingers along the edge of a kite shield etched with a faded emblem. His brow furrowed slightly as he tested its weight, imagining how it might feel in his hand in battle. Across the room, Sparks flitted from display to display, her eyes catching on everything from delicate engravings to the varying styles of dagger hilts. She wasn't drawn to any one item but seemed fascinated by the craftsmanship behind them all.

Ox, meanwhile, had his attention locked on a set of gauntlets displayed against the far wall. They were simple but sturdy, the worn leather straps attached to metal plates with small studded spikes on the knuckles. His large hands hovered over them, his amber eyes wide with longing.

In another corner, Zara stood near a shelf filled with ingots and monster parts. She reached for a blood-orange ingot that seemed to radiate warmth, the faint glow catching the light of the lanterns.

Sam and Greaves stood near the center of the shop, keeping an eye on the children as they wandered. Sam leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his expression thoughtful. "Kids bounce back quick, don't they?" he said softly, his gaze drifting toward Ox, who was still eyeing the gauntlets.

Greaves followed his gaze and nodded. "They do. But words like the ones those adventurers threw around… they stick. Whether the kids realize it or not, they'll remember."

Sam's jaw tightened. "Makes you wish you could shield them from all of it, doesn't it?"

Greaves exhaled slowly, his hands resting on his belt. "You can't shield them forever. But you can make sure they have something stronger to stand on when it happens again."

Before Sam could respond, Ox's voice broke through the quiet hum of the shop. "How much are these?" he asked, pointing to the brawler gauntlets with excitement. He looked up at Sam, his expression bright. "They look like they'd fit me!"

Sam walked over, inspecting the gauntlets with a practiced eye. He noted the slightly scuffed leather and the small dents on the metal studs—signs of use but still plenty of life left in them. "Five silvers," he said, glancing at the faded price tag.

Ox's face fell instantly. His shoulders slumped, and his hands dropped to his sides. "Oh," he muttered. "Never mind. I don't have that much."

The change in his demeanor hit Sam like a punch to the gut. The boy's enthusiasm had vanished, replaced with quiet disappointment. Greaves, standing nearby, saw it too, and the earlier words of the adventurers echoed in his mind. Both men exchanged a look—a silent understanding that neither could ignore.

Sam straightened up and clapped a hand on Ox's shoulder. "Tell you what," he said, crouching slightly to meet the boy's gaze. "How about I buy them for you? Think of it as a loan. You can pay me back when you're older—five silvers. Deal?"

Ox blinked, his amber eyes wide. "You'd really do that?"

"Of course," Sam said with a grin. "But only if you promise me one thing."

Ox tilted his head. "What's that?"

Sam pointed to the gauntlets. "No punching anyone unless it's absolutely necessary."

Ox let out a booming laugh, his earlier disappointment vanishing. "I promise! Thank you, Mr. Sam!"

"Good," Sam said, picking up the gauntlets and handing them to Ox. "Go ahead. Try them on."

Ox slid the gauntlets onto his hands, the leather straps fitting snugly around his wrists. He flexed his fingers, testing the weight of the metal studs. A wide grin spread across his face. "These are awesome! I'll take good care of them, I promise!"

"I know you will," Sam said, patting him on the shoulder. "Just remember—you owe me five silvers someday."

"I won't forget!" Ox said, beaming.

The other children had gathered nearby, drawn by the exchange. Sparks crossed her arms, smirking. "You're gonna owe him five silvers for, like, twenty years."

"Hey!" Ox said, scowling playfully. "I'll pay him back way sooner than that!"

Cross, standing near the display of daggers and arrowheads, raised an eyebrow. "Better start saving now."

Alistair smiled faintly, his green eyes soft. "You'll pay him back, Ox. I'm sure of it."

Zara, standing quietly beside Sparks, added, "They look good on you. Like they were meant to be yours."

Ox flexed his hands again, his grin widening. "You really think so?"

"Absolutely," Sparks said, grinning. "Now all you need is a nickname. How about Ox the Mighty?"

"Or Ox the Pulverizer," Cross added, smirking.

"Ox the… Punchy?" Alistair suggested, earning a round of laughter from the group.

"Enough with the nicknames," Ox said, though his broad grin betrayed his amusement. He turned to Sam, his voice sincere. "Thank you, Mr. Sam. Really. I won't forget this."

Sam waved him off with a grin. "Just keep your promise, big guy. That's all I ask."

Greaves watched the exchange in silence, his icy demeanor softening as he saw the joy on Ox's face. He met Sam's gaze and gave a small nod of approval, the earlier tension from the adventurers' harsh words finally easing.

"Alright," Sam said, clapping his hands together. "If you're all done gawking, let's get moving. We've got a busy day ahead of us.

The kids groaned in unison but began to gather near the exit, still chattering excitedly about the things they'd seen. Sparks was still talking about the artistry of dagger hilts, while Alistair mentioned the balance of the shields he'd tested. Zara walked beside Ox, her gaze occasionally flicking toward his new gauntlets with a faint smile.

As the group stepped out into the crisp afternoon air, the sound of the bustling village greeted them once more. Sam fell into step beside Greaves, who glanced at him with a smirk.

"That boy's gonna grow up thinking he owes you five silvers," Greaves said. "You think he'll actually pay you back?"

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "Probably not. But it's not about the money, is it?"

Greaves smirked faintly, his gaze fixed on the children ahead. "No. It's not."

The streets of the village buzzed faintly with activity as the group made their way toward the guardhouse. Merchants called out from their stalls, the scent of roasted nuts and spiced meats wafting through the air, mingling with the faint tang of leather and iron from nearby smiths. The cobblestone streets were slightly uneven, their cracks filled with sand and tufts of grass. Children darted around the adults, chasing each other with sticks and laughing in high-pitched bursts.

As they approached the guardhouse, its sturdy stone walls and iron-reinforced wooden doors loomed ahead. The structure exuded an air of durability, a testament to its role in keeping the village secure. A faint whiff of oil and steel drifted from the nearby armory, and the low murmur of voices reached them through the open windows.

Two guards stood by the entrance, leaning casually on their spears. One of them spotted the group approaching and smirked, elbowing his companion. "Ah, look. Darnell's little disciples," he said, his tone light and teasing.

The comment brought a grin to Ox's face, his chest puffing up slightly. "That's right," he muttered under his breath, clearly pleased with the recognition.

Cross's sharp amber eyes glimmered with amusement, though he said nothing, his faint smirk speaking volumes.

Alistair, however, gave a polite nod to the guards, his posture straightening as if trying to embody the discipline Darnell had drilled into them during their training sessions.

The guards stepped aside, one of them gesturing toward the door. "Go on in. The big man's probably up to something ridiculous."

Inside, the guardhouse was a mix of order and chaos. The main entryway was spacious, with high ceilings and a wide staircase leading to the second floor. Wooden beams crisscrossed overhead, their dark grain contrasting with the pale stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, leather, and faint traces of mead—likely remnants of the guards' late-night shifts. The muffled clatter of armor and weapons echoed through the halls, mingling with bursts of laughter and sharp commands from the training yard out back.

Weapon racks lined the walls, holding spears, swords, and shields polished to a dull sheen. A large notice board to one side was cluttered with maps, patrol schedules, and hastily scrawled reports. The atmosphere was one of purpose and camaraderie, rough around the edges but steadfast at its core.

From the second-floor landing, Darnell's deep voice rang out, loud and cheerful. "There they are! My future legends!"

The kids looked up just in time to see him step into view, leaning casually on the railing. His broad grin was visible even from a distance, his sharp brown eyes gleaming with energy. Without hesitation, he vaulted over the railing, landing heavily in front of the group with a distinct thud. Dust kicked up from the impact, and the room seemed to hold its breath for a moment.

The kids stared in wide-eyed awe, their gazes fixed on Darnell as if he were the coolest person alive. Ox's jaw dropped slightly, while Cross raised an impressed eyebrow. Alistair's lips twitched into a faint smile, his green eyes sparkling with admiration.

Around the room, the other guards exchanged knowing looks. One of them shook his head, muttering, "He's showing off again." Another chuckled softly. "Trying to impress the kids like a street swindler. That man never changes."

Greaves stood behind the children, his icy gaze fixed on Darnell. For a moment, he said nothing, his expression unreadable. Then he exhaled through his nose, lowering his head slightly and muttering under his breath, "Fool." But as he glanced at the kids' beaming faces, his stern expression softened into the barest hint of a smile.

Darnell straightened, dusting off his hands as if nothing unusual had happened. "Alright, little ones," he said, his voice warm and commanding. "Follow me. We've got gear to grab."

He led them down a side hallway, his long strides making the children hurry to keep up. The air grew cooler as they descended a short flight of steps, the faint scent of oil and iron growing stronger. Darnell pushed open a heavy wooden door, revealing the storeroom beyond.

The room was large and dimly lit, with lanterns casting flickering light over rows of shelves and weapon racks. The walls were lined with swords, daggers, spears, and shields, their surfaces worn but well-maintained. Bows and crossbows hung from hooks, their strings taut and ready. Quivers filled with iron-headed arrows and bolts rested nearby, alongside pouches of throwing knives. Stacked crates held spare armor—leather and chainmail alike—and barrels labeled "provisions" sat in one corner.

The kids froze for a moment, their eyes wide as they took in the sheer variety of equipment. Then the questions began.

"Are those throwing knives?" Sparks asked, pointing to a pouch with a mix of excitement and skepticism. "Do people actually use those?"

"Why are there so many different types of bows?" Cross muttered, his gaze flicking between the shortbows and longbows hanging from the racks. He ran his fingers along the string of a longbow, testing its tautness.

Alistair lingered near a shield with a faded emblem, his hand resting on its edge. "These look old," he said softly, as if speaking to himself. "But… reliable."

Ox's attention was drawn back to a pair of gauntlets, similar to the ones Sam had bought for him earlier but heavier and more ornate. "These look like they could really hurt someone," he said, his voice tinged with both awe and curiosity.

Zara, meanwhile, found herself drawn to a collection of light leather armor hanging neatly on a nearby rack. Her hands hovered over a set with intricate stitching that mimicked the flowing patterns of vines. "This feels... softer than the rest," she said, catching Sparks' attention.

"Probably so you can move easier," Sparks replied, glancing at the armor. "Or maybe so it doesn't weigh you down. You're already pretty quick."

Zara smiled faintly before moving over to a table where several daggers of varying sizes and designs were displayed. She picked up one with a curved blade and an intricate hilt, turning it over in her hands. "This one feels... balanced," she murmured, testing its weight.

"That's because it's a throwing dagger," Cross said, joining her at the table. His sharp eyes scanned the selection, and he pointed to another one with a slimmer blade. "Try this one. It's better for close combat."

The kids' voices overlapped as they examined the gear, their excitement growing with each discovery.

As the children chattered, their voices occasionally overlapping with bursts of telepathic exchanges, Greaves couldn't help but laugh. "You lot really need to decide how you're going to talk," he said, shaking his head. "You're giving me half a conversation at best."

Darnell chuckled, leaning against a stack of crates. "They'll figure it out eventually. Right now, they're just excited." He nodded toward the shelves. "Take a good look, kids. These are the tools of the trade."

As the kids explored, Greaves walked over to Darnell, his voice dropping to a quieter tone. "I've got to ask—where did you get all this? It's not like the guardhouse budget covers an arsenal."

Darnell grinned, his sharp brown eyes gleaming with mischief. "Bandits, mostly. Thugs. They tend to drop their gear when they stop breathing."

Greaves froze, his expression shifting from shock to reluctant amusement. "Of course," he muttered, shaking his head. "Why am I not surprised?"

Darnell laughed, his voice echoing through the storeroom. "Hey, it's good steel! Waste not, want not."

Greaves snorted, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You're impossible."

"And you're too uptight," Darnell shot back, clapping him on the shoulder. "Loosen up. The kids are having fun."

Greaves glanced at the children, who were still eagerly exploring the room, their voices a mix of excitement and curiosity. For a moment, his expression softened, and he allowed himself a small, hidden smile.

The storeroom buzzed with energy as the kids moved between racks and shelves, each drawn to a particular item as if it called out to them. The soft glow of lantern light danced off polished blades and sturdy leather, adding a magical quality to their exploration.

Alistair stood in front of a rack of weapons, his eyes scanning the options with quiet focus. His gaze landed on a short sword resting in a leather scabbard, its hilt simple but well-crafted. Beside it hung a small buckler, its circular frame made of wood reinforced with iron bands. He reached out, gripping the short sword's hilt and testing its weight. Despite its size, it felt heavy in his small hand, but manageable.

"This one," he said, glancing at Greaves, who nodded in approval.

"Good choice," Greaves said. "You'll need the buckler too if you're going to swing that sword."

Alistair grabbed the buckler, holding it up. Though small by normal standards, it looked almost like a full-sized shield in his five-year-old hands. He couldn't help but smile, a spark of pride flickering in his green eyes.

Ox, meanwhile, had wandered to a belt display. He wasn't interested in weapons—he had his gauntlets, after all—but a sleek black leather belt with silver accents caught his eye. He picked it up, studying the intricate patterns embossed into the leather.

"This looks awesome," he said, grinning as he fastened it around his waist. It didn't match his patched and faded clothes, but he didn't care. The belt made him feel like a real adventurer.

Cross moved with purpose, his sharp eyes scanning the bows lined along one wall. He paused in front of a shortbow, its design simple yet elegant. The wood was dark and smooth, the string taut and ready. He reached for it, running his fingers along its surface before testing its weight. "This'll do," he muttered, already picturing how it would feel in the field.

His attention shifted to the quivers hanging nearby, each filled with arrows of varying designs. He selected a quiver with a mixture of arrows, some with broadheads for heavy impact, others with barbed tips for hunting. The fletching designs varied, their colors muted but distinctive. Cross slung the quiver over his shoulder, his expression one of quiet satisfaction.

Sparks, for her part, wandered through the aisles, her coppery eyes darting between displays. She wasn't drawn to anything specific, but a small dagger with a curved blade and a simple hilt caught her attention. It was practical, not flashy, and fit neatly into her small hand. She picked it up, testing its balance before tucking it into her belt.

Zara approached the same table of daggers, her gaze thoughtful as she scanned the options. She reached for a slim dagger with a green-tinted blade, but before her fingers touched it, a soft glow radiated from her mark. Luna emerged in a shimmer of light, her delicate form materializing beside Zara with a soft chirp.

The room fell silent, all eyes on the Bonolotl. Even Darnell froze, his usual smirk replaced by wide-eyed surprise. "Well, that's… unexpected," he muttered.

Luna padded over to a shelf with a set of pouches hanging from it. Using her small, webbed hands, she tugged two pouches of throwing knives off the shelf and dragged them to Zara. She placed them at Zara's feet before sitting back on her haunches, her glowing skin pulsating softly.

Zara blinked in surprise, looking down at the knives, then at Luna. "You want me to use these?" she asked, her voice soft.

Luna chirped and nodded, the glow of her gills brightening as if in affirmation.

"Well, I'll be…" Darnell said, his tone filled with wonder. "Looks like Luna has a better eye for gear than most folks I've met. She wants you to use those throwing knives, Zara."

Zara knelt down, picking up one of the pouches and testing its weight. She glanced at Luna, who stared back at her with unwavering determination. Finally, Zara nodded. "Alright, Luna. If you think this is the right choice, I trust you."

Luna chirped happily, her glow softening as she curled up at Zara's feet. Sparks broke the silence with a grin. "Okay, that was adorable. And also kinda weird."

Ox laughed, slapping his hands together. "Weird or not, Luna's got good taste."

Once everyone had chosen their gear, Darnell clapped his hands. "Alright, kids. Let's get your camping gear sorted. Follow me."

They gathered the remaining supplies—tents, bedrolls, and simple cooking tools—before heading back to the entryway. The kids thanked Darnell as they passed, their excitement bubbling over as they talked about their new equipment.

Darnell stopped Greaves at the edge of the storeroom, his expression turning more serious. "Wait here with the kids while I do the handover and file my report with the captain. Won't take long."

Greaves nodded, leading the kids back to the entryway. As they waited, the kids continued to chatter, their voices overlapping as they compared gear. Sparks waved her dagger in the air, pretending to fend off imaginary enemies, while Cross inspected his arrows with the precision of a craftsman.

"You think these are iron?" Cross asked aloud, holding up an arrowhead for the others to see.

Alistair tilted his head. "Looks like it. Probably not steel—it's too lightweight."

Sparks rolled her eyes. "Oh great, now you're both smiths."

Greaves chuckled, the banter lightening the mood. He glanced at the doorway leading to the captain's office, hearing faint murmurs of Darnell's voice. The kids were engrossed in their gear, their excitement infectious. Even Greaves couldn't help but smile.

When Darnell returned, he had a satisfied look on his face. "All set. Let's head back to the orphanage. Time to finalize everything and get ready to head out."

The group walked through the village as the sun crossed it's apex in the sky, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets. By the time they reached the orphanage, the sun was settling over the orphanage. Inside, they laid out their new gear, packing what they needed for the journey ahead.

Luna emerged again briefly, curling up beside Zara's bedroll as the group finished their preparations. The kids chatted softly, their anticipation for the adventure ahead filling the room with a quiet energy.

Darnell watched from the doorway, his arms crossed and a faint smile on his lips. "Lets have some fun, kids. Tonights going to be a big night."