Some mornings, I woke up before the sun, just to remind myself I still could.


    It wasn’t anything grand—no big poetic meaning behind it—but there was somethin’ about seeing the world before most folks did. Before the noise and the rush, before the streets filled with people too busy with their own lives to notice much else. Mornings were quiet, and I liked quiet.


    Sedgemount wasn’t a big place. Not a small one, either. Just big enough to be busy, but small enough that you still saw the same faces most days. The kind of place where folk knew each other by name, or at least by reputation.


    I stretched my arms out, shaking off the last bit of sleep, then ran a hand over my horns. One of ‘em still had a small chip in the side from when I was a kid, back when I thought runnin’ full speed through narrow alleys was a good idea. Lesson learned, I guess.


    Didn’t have much to my name. Never really had. But that was fine. I made do.


    The streets were still mostly empty as I made my way through town, hands shoved into my pockets, eyes flickin’ over the buildings and the few folks already up and about. A baker setting out fresh loaves. A couple of dock workers, still half-asleep as they made their way toward the harbor. An old woman sweeping the steps outside her shop.


    I nodded to her. She nodded back.


    That was how things were.


    I’d grown up here, give or take. Didn’t have much of a family, but I had people. Other kids like me, mostly, scraping by however we could. Some were still around. Some weren’t.


    Didn’t think too hard about that.


    Instead, I kept moving, stepping over a loose cobblestone and weaving my way toward the market square. It wasn’t open yet, but that was fine. Wasn’t lookin’ to buy anything, anyway. Just watchin’, listenin’, getting a feel for the day.


    That was the thing about places like this. If you paid attention, you could learn a lot. Who was arguing with who. Who had coin to spend. Who looked like they’d had a bit too much to drink the night before and wouldn’t notice if their purse was a little lighter than usual.


    Not that I was planning anything. Not yet, anyway.


    I leaned against a wooden post, watching as the first few merchants started setting up their stalls. Smelled like fresh bread and salt air, like the town waking up bit by bit.


    Yeah. Some mornings, I woke up early just to remind myself I still could.


    The water was calm this morning. A smooth mirror of the sky, rippling only where the boats glided through, their oars dipping in steady rhythm.


    I made my way toward the waterway network, sticking to the edges of the streets, weaving through alleys where I could. Wasn’t in a rush, but old habits die hard. The waterways were the best way to get around Sedgemount if you knew ‘em well enough. Most folk just stuck to the main routes, hiring boats or takin’ the long way around on footbridges, but me? I liked to walk the stone ledges, balance my way across stepping stones where the water ran shallow.


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    It was quiet here, just the sound of lapping water and the occasional call of a ferryman offering rides.


    Survival.


    That had always been the thing, hadn’t it? I never wanted much—never cared about being rich or powerful. Didn’t need all that. I just wanted to get by. Keep my head above water.


    Didn’t always have the luxury of doin’ things the right way, though.


    I glanced down at my hands. Rough palms, calloused fingers. Hands that had taken what they needed more than once. Wasn’t proud of it, but I didn’t dwell on it either. I did what I had to. What anyone would’ve done.


    And now? Now I tried not to.


    The city had its fair share of street kids, just like I was back then. Most folk ignored ‘em, pretended they weren’t there, but I saw ‘em. Knew ‘em by name, even if we didn’t talk much. Gave ‘em a hand when I could. I wasn’t some saint, wasn’t out to save the world, but if someone had helped me when I was younger, I figured I could do the same.


    Didn’t take much. A piece of bread, a coin here and there. A word of warning if I knew somethin’ they didn’t.


    Not everyone makes it out.


    Didn’t think too hard about that, either.


    The footbridge was empty when I crossed it, the morning mist still hanging low over the water. Another few turns, and I was almost there.


    Grove of Renewal.


    Still a bit early, but work was work. And I had to get to it.


    The grove was still cloaked in morning mist when I arrived. Dew clung to the petals, making the air thick with the scent of damp earth and fresh greenery. This place was quiet, a sort of untouched quiet—the kind that settled in your bones, made you feel like you were intruding on something older than yourself.


    I pulled on my gloves, shaking off the chill, and spotted him among the wildflowers.


    “You''re early,” the young elf said without looking up. His voice was light, easy, like everything in the world was exactly where it needed to be.


    “Figured I’d get a head start,” I replied, rolling my shoulders. “You complainin’?”


    He laughed. “Hardly.”


    Herdan, that was his name. Druid of the Circle of Bubbles—odd name for a druidic circle, but I never asked. They were the ones that kept Sedgemount and most of the province in balance, making sure the land and the people stayed in harmony. Not that I understood all of it. Magic types were like that—always talking about balance, roots, and energy.


    Herdan was younger than me, but only just. He had that easygoing nature that most druids seemed to have, always with a small, knowing smile like he understood something I didn’t. Maybe he did.


    “C’mon then,” he said, handing me a small woven basket. “Let’s not waste daylight.”


    So we worked.


    Harvesting flowers, herbs—things I didn’t know the names of, but Herdan did. He told me about ‘em sometimes, what they were used for, what properties they had. I listened. I wasn’t one for druidic teachings, but it never hurt to know a thing or two.


    Sometimes we talked about other things.


    “Seen a couple kids hanging around the piers lately,” I said, pulling up a stalk of something green and fragrant. “New faces. Young.”


    Herdan hummed in thought. “Runaways?”


    “Maybe. They look lost.”


    He nodded. “I’ll mention them to Elder Willow.”


    That was the good thing about Herdan. He listened. Really listened. And when I told him about the kids, the ones scraping by like I used to, he made sure someone knew. Elder Willow, the old druid that watched over Sedgemount, would hear about them soon enough.


    It was small, but it was something.


    By the time we were done, the sun had climbed high enough to burn away the mist. My hands were sore, dirt under my nails even with the gloves. But the work was honest, and Herdan made sure I left with a few coins and a small bundle of herbs wrapped in cloth.


    “Tea,” he explained, pressing it into my hands. “For the colder nights.”


    I smirked. “What, you think I get cold?”


    “I think you pretend you don’t.”


    Fair enough.


    I tucked it away and slung my bag over my shoulder. Another day done. Another step forward. Maybe not much, but for now, it was enough.