The streets of West Hills buzzed with life, carts rumbling over cobblestones as townsfolk haggled in the marketplace. Kellam cut through the bustle with purpose, his dark coat brushing against the occasional passerby. He adjusted the strap of his satchel, the weight of the ancient tomes inside grounding him in his task.
He wasn’t here for sightseeing or idle chatter. No, he’d brought something that would interest his old friend, Rosalie Rutherford—a collection of ancient Elvhen texts he’d unearthed, and one in particular that delved into obscure writings on the Blight. She’d appreciate the books, of course, but knowing her, she’d appreciate the challenge of deciphering them even more.
Stopping by a cluster of merchants gathered near the inn, Kellam caught the eye of a weathered old man stacking barrels. Without preamble, he spoke, his voice carrying the clipped precision of someone who disliked wasting time.
I’m looking for Rosalie Rutherford. Any idea where I can find her?
The old man glanced up, squinting at Kellam as if sizing him up. After a moment, he grunted and gestured with a nod of his head toward the hill overlooking the town. You can usually find her at the clinic, just up that way.
Appreciate it, Kellam replied with a curt nod. He flicked a coin toward the man, who caught it mid-air with a grunt of approval. Turning on his heel, Kellam set off, boots crunching against the gravel path as he made his way toward the clinic.
Once he arrived, he stepped inside and looked around, upon seeing Rosalie across the room tending to a patient, he quietly walked in and stood a respectful distance away, while she did her work.
Whenever Rosalie was tending to a wound, she tended to enter in hyper focusing mode; for her treating wounds was an art, especially since each type of wound required a different treatment. That explained why she didn’t hear Kellam come into the clinic and honestly didn’t notice his presence until she was done. Once she spotted him, the blonde rushed towards him, before remembering that she had pus and blood splattered over herclothes.
“Give me a second to not look like if I had been pulled out of a battlefield and we will catch up properly. I have herbal tea and biscuits on my desk, if you want you can serve us while I freshen up a little?” The tea wasn’t super hot but couldn’t be cold either, since Rosalie had prepared it just before starting the cure of the wound.
Once she looked more suitable for a meeting she entered in the small room where she had placed her “office” sitting down next to her friend “It’s a pleasure to see you? How is everything going?”
Kellam stood in the small office, eyeing the tea and biscuits with a flicker of disdain that melted into resigned amusement. Of course, Rosalie would offer something so domestic. It was her way—a small, grounding gesture amidst the chaos. Malakar stirred within him, a low growl of derision that Kellam ignored as he poured the tea with careful precision. The satchel at his side thudded lightly as he set it down, the tomes inside emitting an almost palpable sense of age and power.
When Rosalie entered, clean and composed, Kellam offered a faint, crooked smile. It didn’t reach his eyes, but then again, it rarely did.
You’re as hospitable as ever, Rosalie. A welcome reprieve from the general unpleasantness of the world. His tone was calm, but there was an edge to it, as if he was constantly fighting to keep himself in check. Malakar’s voice whispered venomous commentary in the back of his mind, but Kellam focused on Rosalie. Around her, he could maintain control.
He leaned back slightly in the chair, one hand resting on the satchel as he watched her with a mixture of appreciation and guarded curiosity. As for how everything’s going... well, let’s just say I’ve had better days. But enough about my charming life. I’ve brought you something I think you’ll find... stimulating.
Kellam pulled the largest tome from the satchel, the leather cover worn and cracked with age, its surface marked by intricate Elvhen runes. He set it on the desk with a deliberate motion, fingers lingering briefly on the cover. This one’s a puzzle, even for me. Ancient Elvhen script, but with dialects I’ve never seen. And this section— he flipped open the book to a page filled with dense, spidery text interspersed with ominous diagrams——appears to delve into the Blight. Potentially even its origins.
He leaned back, crossing his arms. Thought of you immediately, of course. You always did enjoy a good challenge. And... I trust this sort of thing is still in your wheelhouse? His voice held a teasing lilt, but his eyes betrayed a deeper trust—a belief that if anyone could unravel the mysteries of the tome, it was her.
The demon within stirred again, a flicker of malice in Kellam’s expression that was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He cleared his throat, forcing a lighter tone. The tea’s decent, by the way. Biscuits could use work. A smirk tugged at his lips, his version of a peace offering.
“Well if I am nice to everybody then to my friends I have to be especially pleasant don’t I?” she said with a warm smile as she looked at Kellam fondly. He looked well, which she was thankful for; lately she had been very worried about her friends wellbeing.
“Why? What happens? You can tell me everything I won’t tell a soul” she said, a touch of concern slipping in her tone as she narrowed her eyes, trying to see what could be going wrong.
He leaned back slightly in the chair, one hand resting on the satchel as he watched her with a mixture of appreciation and guarded curiosity. As for how everything’s going... well, let’s just say I’ve had better days. But enough about my charming life. I’ve brought you something I think you’ll find... stimulating.
Rosalie’s eyes went huge as he described the book “you…this is too much. It’s fascinating but I can’t accept such a big gift, I don’t have anything that could match this in return” she said as she looked at the book as if it was a pile of gold.
“I didn’t bake them, otherwise they’d be way better. I am sending you back with a chocolate cake, for your knowledge” she said playfully not offended at all by the biscuit comment.
Kellam leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk as a slow smirk tugged at his lips. His dark eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and exasperation at Rosalie’s modesty.
Rosalie, if you refuse every gift that’s ‘too much,’ you’ll end up with an empty shelf and a reputation for being insufferably virtuous. His tone carried a light tease, but there was an undertone of insistence. And as for matching it in return— he gestured vaguely, his hand dismissing the notion. This isn’t a barter. It’s a tool, and tools are meant to be used by the right hands. Yours, in this case.
He leaned back again, a shadow crossing his features as his voice dropped, quieter now. Besides, it’s not just a curiosity. I think there’s something in here that someone—someone powerful—didn’t want anyone to find. That’s why I came to you. If anyone can unravel this without losing their mind in the process, it’s you.
The air in the room felt heavier for a moment, tension hanging like a storm cloud as Kellam’s fingers drummed absently on the desk. Then, as if shaking it off, he gave a short, sharp laugh.
A chocolate cake, though? Now that, I’d call a fair trade. Just make sure it’s got some bite to it. None of that overly sweet nonsense. He tilted his head, his smirk softening into something almost genuine. Not that I’ll complain either way. A gesture’s a gesture, after all.
His eyes flicked down to the book, its cracked cover seemingly pulling at his thoughts. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, his words almost to himself.
Just be careful with it, Rosalie. Whatever secrets it holds... they’re not harmless. Not by a long shot.
He looked up again, his usual veneer of control firmly back in place. But enough doom and gloom for one afternoon. Let me guess—your clinic is busier than ever, and half the town’s wounds would’ve festered if not for your saintly dedication? His expression was laced with dry humor, but his eyes betrayed a rare flicker of admiration.
“I am a doctor, being insufferably virtuous also comes with the territory” she said with a small smile as she accepted the teasing with grace. “But for you I will accept the gift and of course think about something to send you in return, although I doubt, I will find anything as valuable as this anytime soon.”
“I agree” she said seriously “And I have to say that I am immensely grateful of that you have thought about me for this, I will try to live up to the expectations” promised the blonde.
“I know you; I change the recipe according to for whom I bake the cake. For example, for you I’d use pure cocoa powder, it’s chocolatey but it has a bit of a bitter kick to it” she said with a small smile.
“I know, I will treat it accordingly to its importance” she was doing the same with the taint research after all.
“I mean I am not a saint, I work but I also have received hospitality from the people from West Hills. Madeline even found a wet nurse for Lucien and some people have volunteered for babysitting. I would have gone mad without the help.
Kellam’s smirk lingered, but it softened, the sharp edges dulling into something almost… tired. His fingers drummed idly against the desk, but there was no real impatience in the movement—just a restless energy, an attempt to keep himself grounded.
A wet nurse and volunteers? His voice was quieter now, lacking its usual dry bite. That’s good, Rosalie. You deserve the help. More than you probably let yourself believe.
He exhaled, looking past her for a moment as if gathering his thoughts before returning his gaze to hers. Something unreadable flickered behind his dark eyes, something tangled between gratitude and grief.
Lucien is lucky to have you. To have people who care. He hesitated—just a breath, just long enough for the moment to feel heavier than it should. Not everyone gets that.
The weight of his own words seemed to press down on him for a moment, his usual controlled demeanor slipping just enough to reveal the exhaustion beneath. But then he shifted, rolling his shoulders as if physically shaking it off.
As for the book—don’t worry about expectations. Just… don’t let it consume you. I’d rather not lose the one person in this world who still makes it feel a little less— He stopped himself with a short, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. Ah, listen to me. You’d think I was the one drinking tea and talking about sentiment.
His smirk returned, though it was more of a ghost of its usual self.
And if you manage to make that cake with the proper amount of bitterness, I might even call this trip worthwhile. He tried for lightness, but his voice carried something else—an unspoken weight, one he wasn’t quite ready to name.
