With high spirits, Ander rejoined the crowds outside of the Bakehouse. He placed the package in his pack with care, wrapping it in cloth to keep it insulated from the heat. Strapping on said pack, he whisked down the street to a nearby alleyway he would often take on his route home. The path was strewn with lively children, running amok in groups, or in the odd solo. Ander, being a frequent of this specific alley, waved to the children as he passed them, who were entertained by ball games and gossip, as was their usual recreations.

The alleyway would continue on to Belmond’s Path, a stretch of gravel that extended from the entertainment square of southern Sylrel, separate from the business associated with Hark's Crossing. Belmond’s Path would lead to another set of alleyways, which transformed from pathways between merchants' shops to routes between homes. As he grew closer to home, ever more familiar faces would cross his path. Neighbors, friends, schoolmates, and the like. Sylrel, being as small as it was, was quite tight-knit, but it was impossible to truly know everyone.

Lost in the sea of ‘hello’s and ‘good morning’s, he soon found himself on the front steps of his household. Much like the rest of the town, Valor’s crest hung above their front door, requesting blessings from the esteemed god of wind. He needed no key to get inside, which, much like his trustworthiness of leaving his backpack in public, was an outcome of great trust in their neighbors. 

Their house, much like the Idris’ stature in Sylrel, was modest. It was a single-story building of stone and brick, with mud and mortar stringing together the curved sections of the home. Wooden planks made up the outline of the home, as well as the frames of the windows and doors. The roof, being made of clay shingles, had a very small slant to it. The homes around theirs were multi-story inns or group homes, thus explaining their larger size. Still, with its location being on the apex of a hill overlooking the rest of Sylrel, it was quite a catch for a peasant.

Approaching the door, he opened it with a swoosh. Inside, as expected, came the noises of a risen family, moving and talking amongst one another as they prepared for the day. When compared to off days, the home was miraculously clean. Such was the standard practice when times of celebration came about. The front door led to the home’s common area, comprising the den, dining room, and hearth. Ahead and to the left was their kitchen, which had a half wall separating it from the main area. To his immediate right led a pathway to their rooms: his parents’, his, and Elara’s.

He progressed forward to the hearth, calling out to the home, “Morning! I’m back.”

“All good with the water, dear?” Came his mother, who was busy cleaning in the kitchen. “Sorry for the extra load, was it any trouble?”

“No, no trouble at all,” he shook his head. Normally, his family would only need around four bottles a day, seeing as each of the glasses were quite large. But since they planned to have guests over, more would be needed to accommodate them. “It’ll keep me fit.”

“That it will,” his father called, sitting at a table beside the hearth. He had a steaming cup of tea at his side as he eyed a pile of documents and bills, no doubt in relation to the party. “You’re becoming a finer man every day I see you, Ander.”

“Huh, then I sure hope you don’t go blind.” He and his father shared a laugh, his mother shaking her head at the two men of her household.

“Where’s Ena at? Has she run off already?”

“She’s off with her friends Aldrr knows where,” her mother groaned, scrubbing down the array of dining ware and pottery held inside the kitchen. “Always so quick to scurry off, that girl.”

Ander came to a stop beside the fireplace, letting down his pack as he began unstringing the bottles of water from it. “Am I good to leave these here, mother?”

“If you would, thank you. I’ll have to treat them once I’m done tidying up here.”

He placed the bottles beside the fireplace, making sure to keep them a safe distance away from any potential hazard, such as the hanging fire-tending equipment. It took him no time at all, and just like that he was back on his feet pacing towards the front door. He turned towards his room, and hurriedly entered the quarters. He had very little to his name, nothing more than a bed, blankets and a small wardrobe he kept his clothes and belongings in. Not like there was space for anything else in the room, it was quite cramped even before the bed and dresser. He placed his pack beside his bed and opened it to retrieve the box. He noted a tag on the top, buried beneath a fold of paper.

“Certificate of Authenticity: Sylvee Chocolate Crisps.”

They had been a right pain to find, and he had near unattainable expectations of them. However, not that it needed to be said again, the pain meant nothing when it came to showing his love for his sister. 

Today was destined to be grand, and as he stuffed the box beneath the floorboards where it could be kept cool, he began to daydream of the slate of near-future festivities.