Old Town Tales

Chapter 1. Old Town

The rain in Old Town didn’t fall politely — it slammed against cobblestones, hissed down tiled roofs, and turned the gutters into rivers.

Aurelius kicked his board up with one hand, breath sharp in his chest. The wheels still dripped water, scattering arcs across the street. He tugged his hood lower, not because he was cold — but because he didn’t feel like being recognized.

Spire “internship” could wait. Let Elias fume. Let Father scowl. Let the whole tower hunt him down if they cared so much.

Tonight, he just wanted to breathe.

He spotted the glow first — a shop window spilling warm light across the rain-slick street. Bouquets lined the glass, droplets sliding down between carnations and roses. A wooden sign read DALMIRA FLOWERS in peeling gold paint.

He hovered outside, debating. Then a voice broke the rain.

“Hey. Don’t just stand there like a stray cat — you’ll get sick.”

Aurelius turned.

A girl in a school uniform, hair tied back with a ribbon, was fiddling with the lock on the shop door. She wore an apron over her skirt, bag slung carelessly on one shoulder. Her braid was soaked, clinging to her cheek. She looked young — fifteen, maybe.

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Well? You skating or swimming?”

Aurelius blinked, then smirked despite himself.

“Maybe both.”

She snorted, clearly unimpressed.

“Idiot. Come inside before you drip all over the roses.”

Without waiting, she pushed the door open, bell chiming overhead.

For a moment, Aurelius stayed in the rain, staring at the little shop’s warm interior — shelves of blooms, faint scent of soil and petals. Ordinary. Peaceful. A corner of Bastovar untouched by Spire steel or Braun shadows.

Then he stepped in.

The door shut, muting the storm. His hood dripped onto the welcome mat, and the girl shoved a towel at his chest.

“Dry off. Don’t touch anything expensive.”

Aurelius grinned, taking the towel.

“Do I look like a thief to you?”

She glanced him up and down — tall, too polished for Old Town, still carrying that aura no disguise could kill.

“…You look like trouble.”

For the first time that day, Aurelius laughed.

Aurelius rubbed the towel through his hair, drops pattering on the wooden floor. The shop smelled faintly of roses and damp earth, like summer caught in a jar. He wasn’t used to places like this — soft, unguarded, without metal walls or Vestal eyes.

The girl — Amelia, he caught from a nametag half-hanging off her apron — moved behind the counter, dropping her schoolbag with a thud. She pulled out homework, set it aside, and only then looked back at him.

“So,” she said, leaning on the counter, “you gonna buy something, or just stand there steaming like a broken radiator?”

Aurelius smirked. “Maybe I’ll buy. Depends if you’ve got anything good.”

Her eyes narrowed. “It’s a flower shop. Not a black market.”

He laughed, stepping closer to the displays. Bouquets in neat wraps, vases full of lilies, daisies, carnations. He had no idea what any of them meant. He pointed at the biggest bundle of white lilies.

“These. Perfect.”

Amelia stared at him. Then at the lilies. Then back at him.

“…Those are for funerals.”

Aurelius blinked. “…Funerals?”

“Yeah,” she said dryly, picking one up and shoving it toward him.

“So unless you’re heading to a burial, you just picked the worst possible ‘gift.’”

For the first time, he felt heat creep up his neck. “I was—” he cleared his throat, “—thinking for a birthday.”

Amelia burst out laughing, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Oh my god. Who shows up to a birthday with funeral lilies?”

Aurelius tried to salvage his pride, shrugging.

“Maybe I like being unpredictable.”

“Or you’re clueless.” She smirked, then spun toward another shelf.