The Girl With No Sparkle

The next morning, I was back at it again—hauling lumber for two old men arguing over whether a beam was "spiritually misaligned" or just "badly cut." I had no idea what either meant. I was paid in bread.

Still, it was something.

Life in Merefield had shifted, just a little, after the bakery incident. People nodded at me now. One even smiled. The chicken hadn't stolen my boots in two days.

I was still useless.

But now I was useless with community recognition.

Progress.

After work, I took my usual shortcut behind the herbalist's house—a narrow dirt path that cut through some shrubs and ended near the town's outer well. No one used it. Too many roots. Too many spiders.

Naturally, it's my favorite spot.

Except today, someone else was there.

She stood by the well, reading from a worn leather notebook, one hand casually resting on the stone edge. The wind tugged at her coat — long, slate gray, stitched with minimalist patterns in silver thread. Not flashy. Not noble. Practical. Clean.

Her hair was dark auburn and tied back loosely, with strands slipping free around her ears. She wore leather boots, fingerless gloves, and a lightweight traveling satchel with a sealed crest I didn't recognize.

She didn't sparkle.

She didn't glow.

There were no floating butterflies or ambient love music.

She looked like she belonged.

And she looked like she didn't want to be bothered.

So, naturally, I tripped over a root and crashed directly into her.

Not metaphorically.

Physically.

I fell sideways out of the shrubs, landed half on the well, and knocked her notebook into the water.

A beat of silence.

Then a soft voice said,

"…Well. That's one way to greet someone."

I groaned into the dirt. "I swear that root attacked me first."

She crouched beside me and tilted her head. "You're not bleeding. Mild disappointment."

"…Are you always like this, or am I just lucky today?"

"Hard to say. You've raised the average clumsiness of this village by a significant margin."

She said it with no malice. Just… calm observation.

I rolled onto my back and finally got a good look at her eyes.

Grey, like stormclouds that hadn't decided whether to rain yet.

"You're not from here," I said, brushing leaves out of my hair.

"Neither are you," she replied.

Oof.

"Touche."

She stood, offering me a hand. I took it, half expecting her to judo-throw me out of principle. Instead, she helped me up with surprising ease.

"I'm Riven," I said, brushing off dirt. "Resident disaster."

She raised an eyebrow. "Eline. Vareth."

Just like that. No dramatic flair. No surname recital with ten unnecessary titles.

Still, the name felt sharp. Like it carried weight somewhere important.

We stood in silence for a few awkward seconds.

Then she said, "You're the one who stopped the Will Surge yesterday."

I blinked. "I mean, I didn't really stop it. I just… delayed the apocalypse by talking very fast."

"I heard you made jokes about fire being an emotional fart."

"…That was contextually appropriate."

"I'm sure it was."

I couldn't tell if she was impressed, amused, or quietly evaluating the best place to stab me if this turned out to be a trap.

Finally, she said, "You don't have a Will, do you?"

The words hit harder than I expected.

"No," I admitted, voice dry. "Apparently I'm emotionally undercooked."

She tilted her head slightly. "Interesting."

"That's not usually the first word people use."

"Most people are shortsighted. Emotionless people tend to make the best Will catalysts."

"…What does that mean?"

She closed her notebook, now slightly damp. "Nothing. Yet."

Before I could ask what that meant, she turned to leave.

"Wait," I called. "Why are you in Merefield, anyway?"

"I'm investigating Will instability in the Lower Strata. There's been an increase in unaffiliated awakenings."

"Like the kid from the bakery?"

"Exactly."

"And… me?"

She gave me a long look.

Not judging. Just… thoughtful.

"You weren't on the list," she said simply.

Then she walked away.

I stared after her.

Not stunned. Not smitten.

Just… curious.

There was something different about her.

Eline Vareth.

I had a feeling I'd be seeing her again.

Hopefully when I wasn't covered in dirt and self-loathing.

But hey. One step at a time.