The town meeting was supposed to start at noon.


    Naturally, it didn''t.


    The Terracyns refused to begin until the sunbeam hitting the town square had reached the third tile. The Gnomes insisted it was already past teatime and were halfway through their third round of fermented root cordial. A Mycari had turned the speaking podium into a mushroom nursery. Tiny caps were sprouting from its wooden base.


    I leaned against the fountain''s edge, arms crossed, sipping lukewarm tea from my chipped mug and watching it all unfold with the resigned patience of someone who knew better than to fight Graybarrow’s sense of timing. There was none.


    Yuuhi sat nearby on the stone bench, sketching something in the corner of her spellbook with a faint frown. She hadn’t looked up once, which probably meant the drawing was intentional this time.


    "Do I want to know what that is?" I asked.


    "Improved seating," she replied without glancing up. “One that will hopefully keep the peace.”


    "We’re still pretending the benches are sentient, then?"


    "You’re still pretending they’re not? This place is full of magic. It gets into everything."


    The crowd’s hum rose and dipped with theatrical intensity. A pair of Kindlings were arguing over the layout of the flagstones, claiming it failed to reflect the seasonal temperament of the town. One was glowing a dangerous red around the collar.


    I took another sip. "Yuuhi, remind me why we hold public meetings outdoors?"


    She grinned. "Because no one wants the fire council near drapes."


    Fair point.


    Barley jogged up a moment later, flushed and out of breath, clutching a flyer that looked more singed than printed.


    "Mayor! We’ve got a bit of a… minor complication."


    I lowered my mug. "If this is about the sundial again, I swear—"


    "No, no," he said quickly. "Someone swapped out the town bell with a yodeling fish. One of those enchanted ones that sings when it senses movement."


    I blinked. "It sings?"


    "Yodels. With enthusiasm. Every time someone walks by."


    Yuuhi glanced up, entirely too calm. "Technically, we never said the bell had to be non-sentient."


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    I rubbed at my temples. "We''re revising the charter. Today."


    Before I could respond further, a heavy tread approached from the edge of the square. A Terracyn elder—Elder Loam—stopped in front of me. He was old, even by Terracyn standards, his skin a weathered stone patchwork of mossy lichen and vein-thin cracks.


    "Mayor Nojin," he said with slow gravity. "Might I request a private word?"


    I nodded and followed him to the edge of the garden path, where the noise of the meeting dulled behind us.


    "It’s my son," Elder Loam said. "He returned recently. We’ve not spoken in a decade. We had words. Stubborn ones. And now... I fear the silence has settled too deep."


    I listened, feeling the weight behind every syllable. Terracyns didn’t rush emotion. They let it settle in layers, like sediment and stone.


    "You want me to talk to him?"


    "No," he said, then paused. "I want to know how you moved forward. When the past keeps walking beside you."


    That gave me pause.


    "I didn’t," I admitted after a beat. "I just built something beside it. Something new. Something small. Most days it helps keep the noise quiet. Other days... not so much. But it’s mine."


    Loam’s gaze lingered, distant and thoughtful. "Then maybe I need to learn to build something beside it too. Even if the weight never quite leaves."


    He turned and left with the kind of calm that didn’t need to win—it only needed to endu


    re.


    When I returned to the fountain, the meeting had somehow devolved into a sock-puppet reenactment of the Sundial Incident. Yuuhi was holding back laughter, Barley attempted to animate a fourth puppet without permission, and the Mycari were rooting for both sides while the gnomes cheered and drank, barely intelligible.


    I sat back and looked at the sky again.


    No call came.


    And still, I found myself listening for one.


    Graybarrow would always need a mayor. Someone to wrangle metaphors, mediate plant-based disputes, and occasionally rewrite the town charter to outlaw cursed aquatic instruments.


    But that didn’t mean I couldn’t be ready when something else knocked. Just in case.


    ***


    Later that afternoon, I found myself taking the long path out toward the Terracyn grove. It was quiet out there—cooler too, under the deep-shaded trees where even the wind moved like it had patience.


    I spotted him sitting near the stream’s edge. Younger than Elder Loam by centuries, but already weathering at the edges. His name was Oren, if I remembered right. He was tossing pebbles into the water, one after another, each one leaving a small ripple that didn’t last long.


    "You don’t have to say anything," I said, stepping close enough for him to hear. "I just came to see if you wanted someone to not talk with."


    Oren didn’t look at me, but after a while, he gave a small nod.


    We sat there like that for a while. Two people who’d said too little, or maybe too much, to the ones who mattered most.


    Eventually, he spoke. "I said things I thought would make him let go. Didn’t think it’d work so well."


    I didn’t try to fix it. Just leaned back, watching the wind draw patterns across the stream.


    Sometimes, not filling the space was the only way to share it.


    After a time, Oren sighed. “He used to bring me here when I was a stoneling. Told me the stream taught patience better than any sermon.”


    I nodded. “Seems it stuck.”


    He cracked a small smile. “Not enough, maybe.”


    “You’ll figure it out,” I said. “You’re both still here. That counts for something.”


    Oren nodded slowly, then stood. “Thanks for coming, Mayor.”


    “Just Nojin,” I replied, rising with him. “Mayor''s only the title they let me get away with.”


    As he walked back toward the grove, I turned—and felt the tug.


    The summoning circle flared to life at my feet, Kira’s mark stitched through it.


    I exhaled once. Then vanished into the light.