Darkmist

Part 1

In the lone dark of night, a rooster crows to the dawn.

Y/N stirs, warm beneath bedcovers in the tiniest room of Tywll's only tavern. Her mattress sinks under her weight, holding her equally captive as her dreams. Fingers curling into blankets, she burrows even deeper to feign sleep.

The darkness wraps around her lovingly, as one would a friend. For a moment, she nearly sinks back into sleep, but no – her eyes open.

The rooster does not crow a second time. If Y/N does not wake now, she will miss opening the forge for the day. Gritting her teeth, Y/N swings first one leg, then the other from bed. The floor beneath her feet is freezing, the last dregs of summer but a vague, distant memory.

As she fumbles about for a match, Y/N's eyes grow accustomed to the dimness. This happens easily for her, just as it is unusually difficult for her to light her lamp. When it finally works, catching beneath her, Y/N exhales in triumph.

Stretching both arms overhead, she walks to her wardrobe and examines her the clothing. Few are suitable for work in the forge. As a fifth-year apprentice of Owen, the town's blacksmith, Y/N is well-accustomed to the demands of her job. She is also accustomed to returning with singed hair and burnt clothing, which makes her options somewhat limited out of necessity.

Not that her belongings are much to speak of, regardless. As the orphaned ward of Mervin and Rian Talog, Y/N lives a simple life in their tavern. In the morning, she wakes and travels to the forge. In the evening, she returns home to assist as a barmaid. Her life is straightforward, if somewhat unconventional.

At least, it is unconventional in the eyes of the town. For Y/N to be a girl, unmarried and sweating away in a man's field – well, some see it as close to near sanctimonious. Luckily, Mervin and Rian have never been of that mindset and are not much for gossip.

Still, Y/N cannot deny her time is running out. As soon as her apprenticeship finishes and Owen declares her his successor, she intends to leave and open her own shop. The thought makes her feel somewhat empty though, as if there should be more, but Y/N usually pushes such emotions aside.

Her kind often feel empty.

Straightening, Y/N surveys herself in the mirror. Her leather work apron stays at the forge every night, so for now she dresses in a plain tunic and leather pants borrowed from Mervin. There is no seamstress in town willing to make them for women. Turning swiftly, Y/N grabs her cloak from her chair and blows out the lamp.

The night is not as dark as before.

It is not yet day, though – the sun still hesitates below the horizon. At the edge of earth, the sky lightens a touch, but there is still a half-hour before the sun comes into view.

Exiting her rooms, Y/N stares at the night before climbing downstairs. Her bedroom is the only one at the top of the tavern. When she was younger, she liked to pretend her rooms were a tower – the most luxurious in the town, envied by all. As she grew older though, Y/N ceased in her thinking and saw her rooms for what they were.

Four flights of stairs, and quarters which nobody wants.

Still, the room holds a certain magic to her still. Hand skimming over the banister as she descends, Y/N fastens her cloak upon entering the kitchen.

Mervin sits at the worn wooden table, bent over a pile of books with his spectacles. Rian is behind him, bent over the heat of the fire. Pushing hair back from her face, she frowns at the flames and critiques its temperature.

Y/N nearly smiles, recognizing this stance from the forge. One might not imagine cooking and metalwork to be similar but oddly enough, they involve the same concepts.