AnnouncementThis is the second story of Samuel, the Rogue - if you'd like to start at the beginning, check this one out first.oc_wanderer

  The snow crunched under my boots as I trudged through the streets of Ashbourne. Bertha, my trusty mule, plodded along beside me, her breath visible in the biting air. I pulled my cloak tighter, the heavy fabric swishing around my legs. The wind howled like a pack of wolves, nipping at my face and making my cheeks sting. I flipped the hood up, but it didn’t do much to keep the cold out.

  “Come on, girl,” I muttered to Bertha, giving her a pat on the neck. She let out a soft bray, probably compining about the weather. I couldn’t bme her. Ashbourne in the winter was no joke. The buildings loomed overhead, their timber frames creaking in the wind, and the snow-covered cobblestones glistened like polished steel under the pale sun.

  I paused for a moment, adjusting my cloak again. The cold seeped through the fabric, and I could feel it in my bones. My breath puffed out in a white cloud as I turned my face into the wind, letting it whip my cheeks raw.

  And then, for a second, I wasn’t there.

  I was back in the rainforest, the air thick and warm, the sunlight filtering through the canopy in dappled patterns. I could almost feel the smooth bark of the trees beneath my hands, the sound of leaves rustling in the breeze. And then, there he was. Aeolin.

  His emerald feathers glistened in the sunlight, and his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. I could almost feel the warmth of his body pressed against mine, the way his hands moved. The way he tasted—sweet, like honey and something wild.

  I blinked, and the memory snapped like a twig. I was back in Ashbourne, the cold spping me in the face like an angry ex.

  “Shit,” I muttered, shaking my head. The st thing I needed was to get lost in daydreams about a harpy who was halfway across the world. But damn, the memories lingered, warm and golden, like a fire in my chest.

  Bertha nudged me with her soft muzzle, as if telling me to get moving. I sighed, tugging my gloves tighter and adjusting my cloak one st time. The city wasn’t going to explore itself, and I had a guild to find.

  “Alright, let’s get this over with,” I said to no one in particur, giving Bertha a nudge forward. The streets were alive with the sound of merchants hawking their goods, the cng of bcksmiths, and the occasional bark of a guard. The smell of roasting meat and mulled wine filled the air, making my stomach growl.

  I sighed, adjusting my gloves and giving Bertha a pat on the neck. “Come on, girl. We’ve got an Adventurer’s Guild to find, and I’ve got a reputation to build. Or, you know, not die in the snow.”

  The streets of Ashbourne were full of sounds—merchants yelling, wagons creaking, someone off in the distance pying a lute badly. The smell of roasting meat hit me like a punch to the gut, and my stomach growled loud enough to make Bertha flick an ear back.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” I said, digging a coin out of my pocket and tossing it to a street vendor. He handed me a skewer of meat, and I took a bite, the fat dripping down my chin. It was good, but it wasn’t Aeolin. Nothing was.

  The thought made me pause, the meat halfway to my mouth. I could almost hear his ugh, sharp and wild, the way he’d tease me about being clumsy.

  “Fuck,” I said, tossing the skewer into a snowbank. I didn’t need this. I needed to focus on the guild, on getting better, on not being the guy who got himself killed because he was too busy daydreaming about a harpy.

  The letter of introduction was crumpled in my hand, the wax seal cracked from being squeezed one too many times. I couldn’t help but fidget with it as I walked, the parchment crumbling slightly at the edges. Guild Master Harlow hadn’t exactly been thrilled about writing it. I remembered him sighing, his quill scratching across the page like it was a chore. “Fine, you want to go gallivanting off to Ashbourne? Here’s your letter. Don’t embarrass us.” He’d muttered something about me needing to “grow up” and “stop getting distracted by every feathered ass that crossed my path.”

  “Ain’t just feathered asses,” I’d muttered under my breath, but he’d already been done with me. How the hell had he found out anyways? Probably Maya, what a bitch. She must have sneaked into my house and read my journal.

  The streets of Ashbourne were narrower here, the buildings looming overhead like giants trying to listen in on my thoughts. People shoved past me, their faces buried in scarves and hoods, no one giving a damn about the nky rogue trying to get his bearings.

  The Adventurer’s Guild came into view, its sign swinging in the wind—a painted sword and shield, the wood creaking like an old door. My stomach twisted into a knot, excitement and dread wrestling for dominance. I wanted this. I needed this. But what if I wasn’t good enough? What if I messed up?

  “Fuck it,” I said under my breath, stuffing the letter into my pocket and adjusting my cloak. I’d come too far to turn back now. Ashbourne wasn’t Willowbrook. This was the real deal. And I was about to find out if I was cut out for it.

  The cold seeped into my bones, and I could feel the weight of the letter in my pocket pressing against my thigh like a challenge. I stopped in front of the guild, the heavy oak doors looming like the entrance to some forgotten temple. My breath visible in the freezing air, I pulled my cloak tighter and leaned against Bertha, who let out a soft bray of impatience.

  “Alright, girl,” I muttered, patting her and tying her to the post next to the rger horses. The wind bit at my face, sharp enough to make my eyes water. I pulled my hood up, shielding my face from the gust that howled down the street like a lost soul.

  I thought about my mom back in Willowbrook, her hands raw from the garden, her eyes tired but hopeful. She’d always believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself.

  “Okay,” I said to no one, my voice lost in the wind. “Let’s do this.” I took a deep breath, the air stinging my lungs, and pushed open the heavy doors.

  The warmth hit me like a sp in the face. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the sudden light after the dim, snowy afternoon outside. The guild was everything I’d hoped for and more. A massive hearth dominated one wall, the fire roaring like a beast, its light dancing across the room in flickering shadows. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, their golden light spilling over the space, and the air smelled like woodsmoke, leather, and something sweet, maybe the mulled wine I’d caught a whiff of earlier.

  I stood there for a moment, just soaking it in. The room was cozy in a way that made me feel like I could finally breathe again. Plush couches were scattered around, some occupied by adventurers who looked like they’d just crawled out of a tavern. Others sat at tables, poring over maps and arguing in hushed tones.

  I pulled my hood back, letting the heat wash over me, and felt a strange sense of calm settle in. This was it. This was where I was supposed to be.

  I spotted the secretary’s desk through the crowd, a sturdy oak thing with piles of parchment and inkwells. Behind it sat an older woman with silver hair tied up in a neat bun and eyes that looked like they’d seen everything. She was scribbling something and didn’t look up when I approached, which I guess was her way of saying, “I know you’re there, but I’m busy.”

  “Uh, hi,” I said, clearing my throat. “Samuel Thornwood. I’ve got a letter from my guild master in Willowbrook.” I held it out like it was some kind of magic ticket, which I guess it kinda was.

  She finally looked up, her expression soft but with a sharpness in her eyes that made me feel like she could see right through me. “Alright, honey,” she said, looking at the letter before handing it back “Go wait, and I’ll call you when Bckthorne is ready.” Her voice was warm, like a bnket, but there was no messing around in it either. This was a woman who didn’t tolerate bullshit.

  I nodded, feeling a little out of my depth. “Sure thing. Thanks.”

  The letter was supposed to get me proper rogue training, but I couldn’t help wondering if they’d even want me here. My skills were “cking and non existent,” according to my guild master, and I wasn’t exactly overflowing with confidence. Still, I’d made it this far, and that had to count for something.

  The bar was a small thing, just a polished sb of wood with a few stools tucked under it. Behind it stood a gruff-looking barkeep with arms like tree trunks, his face a map of scars and stubble. The sign above the bar read The Adventurer’s Rest, and the smell of beer and cider hit me like a warm hug. My stomach growled at the thought of something hot finally touching my insides.

  “Hey,” I said, sliding onto a stool. “Mulled cider, please.”

  The barkeep raised an eyebrow, his expression a perfect mix of disinterest and mild annoyance. “Just cider, or cider with a side of compining?”

  “Uh, just the cider’s fine,” I said, flushing a little.

  He grunted and turned away, grabbing a mug from a rack above the bar. The cider was already steaming in a cauldron over a small fme, its spices—cinnamon, nutmeg, something sweet—filling the air. He dled some into a mug and slid it over to me.

  I wrapped my hands around it, feeling the heat seep into my palms. The first sip was like liquid gold, the spices burning just right on my tongue. It reminded me of Aeolin—his mouth, his warmth, the way his juices had tasted sweet and addictive. I closed my eyes for a second, letting the memory wash over me.

  Focus, Sam, I told myself, opening my eyes again. The barkeep was watching me with a knowing glint in his eye, like he could see exactly what I was thinking. I looked away fast, taking another sip of my cider.

  The guild was bustling, people coming in out of the winter storm. Someone spilled a drink near the fire, and a half-elf archer-looking type jumped out of the way just in time. A dwarf in full pte cnked past, his ughter booming. No one paid much attention to me, which was fine. I wasn’t here to make friends. I was here to get better.

  I leaned back against the bar, cradling my mug in my hands. The warmth of the cider was spreading through me now, chasing away the chill of the streets. I wasn’t here to dwell on the past. I was here to figure out the future.

  “Samuel Thornwood?” a voice called out across the room.

  My head snapped up. The secretary was standing at the entrance of a corridor behind her desk. She jerked her head toward the hallway.

  “Guess that’s me,” I muttered to the barkeep, setting my mug down.

  He grunted. “You need anything else, you yell.”

  I nodded and stood up, smoothing out my cloak. My heart was doing that thing where it felt like it was trying to punch its way out of my chest. I took a deep breath, grabbed my letter, and started toward the corridor.

  The guild master’s office was at the end of the hall, the door closed. I could feel the weight of the letter in my hand, like it was a ticket to something bigger. Something important.

  I raised my hand to knock.

  This was it. Ashbourne, here I fucking came.

  AnnouncementComments? 15 chapters left in this lil novel, then the next one begins.