The higher Leif climbed, the quieter the noise from downstairs became. His nerves plucked at the ends in spite of a peculiar sense of curiosity which bloomed in his stomach when he reached the second floor's landing and heard nothing beyond at all. When he glanced over his shoulder, he could still see the lambent glow flickering shadows against the walls but no sound from the people he knew to be below reached his ears. Absentmindedly, his hand wrapped around the banister's notch and searched for the graceful looping arches carved into its curve. The coolness of a passing breeze brushed his fingertips while voices, disembodied and faceless, crowded his mind with chiding for his apparent lack of faith as well as reassurance of his safety. 

Alright, alright, he thought over their bickering and withdrew his hand from the banister.  The voices melted away, becoming fainter and fainter with each step Leif took away from the wood that now gave off a lurid green glow. Gradually, the glow died down as the anemo carved into the wood obstinately clung to Leif's fingertips in a tangle of tepid threads. While he could barely see them in the dim, he felt the wind winding itself around his hands in an attempt to find an opening in his skin to slip through. The energy diffused within his flesh, leaving a tingling and chilling sensation to run down the length of his arm. Leif curled his hand into a tight fist, listening to the whooshing winds die down until all was quiet once again. 

"Well, that was—" 

GROWR! 

Leif slapped a hand over his stomach, eyebrow twitching whilst heat scalded his cheeks. At the very least, he was grateful no one was present to hear his body's treachery. Although, he couldn't help but be reminded of Ambriel as the comely headache danced across his mind's eye with a spirited laugh and taunt of how insatiable Leif's appetite could be. Swears of retribution against the bard filled Leif's mind as he started through the deserted receiving room and down one of the branching halls lined on both sides with tightly shut oaken doors. Each door was affixed with a brass lanthorn at the top right of its rail, a living flame housed within the pale green glass shone an emerald light against the halls. 

He looked upon them with passing interest until the titter of sizzling laughter, reminiscent of sparks given off from flint striking against wood, drew his attention to one lanthorn swaying on its post. Leif drew closer to the door beneath it, gazing at the pale glass with his head tipped to one side. While it gave off the same glow as the others, the warmth emanating was less humid than that of a living flame. Leif turned his fingers around in a slow, winding circle as he said in a low voice, "Is that you Sipha?" 

When no answer came, he drew his fingers to his lips and tasted the sweet dew of anemo as he pursed his lips around them to whistle. Though before he could draw breath, the lanthorn's gentle glow intensified. Shafts of bright green shone through the cracks in the brass, and the iron hook creaked and groaned when the lanthorn began to violently shake. Leif let his fingers fall from his lips with a barely-there smile as the lanthorn's glass door swung open on its hinges, and the light spilling out ebbed from a bright green to a murky orange. A curl of frothing flame hardly larger than a thimble curled at the opening and from around the pane peered an ember burning around a lump of charcoal. 

The ember leered at him with distrust, voice sizzling and popping like wood added to a roaring hearth, "Were you going to use that against me?" 

Leif glanced at the turning currents of wind around his fingertips, dispelling them with a flourish of the wrist.  "If needed," he admitted while he rummaged through his pocket for the pouch. "Is the captain in?" 

He emptied half its contents into his pocket, counting the clinks belied by the harshening crackle of flames made the air grow humid and thick.  

"Of course, she is," Sipha hissed, the shimmering edges of her being sharpening into focus as a trail of smoke escaped the top of her head. "Naughty one, she's been waiting for you. Ungrateful cur—!"

With his head bowed, Leif rolled his eyes and summoned a blithe smile to settle on his lips as he held up the tied off pouch. "Here," he said, cradling it in his palm.  "As an apology for this ungrateful one's lateness."

Sipha eyed him with distrust, and he couldn't well blame her. The sharpened edges smoothed as she drifted closer to him with tiny embers trailing after her until she was close enough that he could feel the warmth emanating from as if he were standing before a fire place. The curls of flames undulating at her sides reached for the pouch, and with how warm she felt, Leif thought it might have burned at her touch. Yet, the leather went undisturbed as the pouch was lifted from his hands and drawn closer to her. 

The twine came undone with a tug from the flames, but the hemp smoldered under the fire's touch. Leif flicked a tiny curl of anemo at the smoking notch and glanced off when Sipha's scrutiny bore into his face. Though she had no true face, once Sipha peered inside of the pouch, Leif could have sworn she was smiling. Perhaps it was the solid and gentle presence she gave off that warmed him as she twirled the pouch shut, or the saccharine loftiness when she flitted around his head while coyly stating,  "Perhaps you aren't so rotten after all." 

Leif hummed as he fanned her away. "Go enjoy yourself, I'll take the brunt of the captain's displeasure on my own."

Sipha's meandering came to a stop when she looked between her burdens and him before drifting closer. "Listen well, I am sure if you apologize, the Captain won't be hard on you."

A smile almost curved Leif's lips with fondness of bygone days, but he quickly remembered himself and gently patted the top of her embers with his forefinger as thanks. "I'm not a child anymore, Sipha," he reminded.

Curling flames, haughty and lapping at the air as she gasped, "Ha! A pity that, you were smarter as a babe!"

At this, Leif let out a snort and watched Sipha twist and turn in the air as she went back to rest in the lanthorn's opening. Tauntingly, she called out to him once her treasure was secured, "All children are small before their mothers, you know!"

You needn't remind me. 

Leif twirled his forefinger, and a gust of wind rattled the lanthorn's door on its hinge, nearly swinging it shut. He ignored Sipha's indignant cry as the door was forced open, and waved his hand down to buffet the wave of heat washing over him with a cooling wind.   "Enough, Sipha. Let me past, won't you? Or else we'll both be in for a tongue lashing."

He heard the splintering crackle of Sipha's displeasure, and the glass trembling when the door to the lanthorn swung shut. Once left alone to his thoughts, Leif reached for the oaken door's handle and hesitated as the simmering metal began to rapidly cool. With a curl of his fingers and a twist, the door creaked open and Leif peered around the crack with apprehension. While he spoke boldly in front of Sipha, the brazenness sapped out of him with the prospect of coming face to face with his captain. And perhaps it was the reminder of his childhood that coaxed him into pressing the door open wider when the tantalizing scent of spiced meats reached his nose. Leif stepped into the room with wandering eyes and gently shut the door behind him, sending a prayer to the Weaver as his fate sealed with a soft click. 

Golden sunbeams folded along the crevices of curtains half-drawn over north-facing windows, which provided a generous view of the village as well as its bustling heart oft in the distance. A large table stood before the window sill with an assortment of serving cups, bowls and platters laden with food atop it. Leif's stomach roared at the sight and smells. An ashen black-reed woven basket filled to the brim with glistening rounds of sweet bread, and plates piled high with fried greens and slices of roasted spiced meat. His heart soared at the mounds of rice shimmering gold in the afternoon light, and an open pot of stew bobbed by chunks of carrots, potatoes and shrooms floating in a creamy broth. 

Yet, the weightless sensation sent him hurtling back toward the ground when he noticed the figure seated at the table with her eyes firmly set upon him. With the midday sky buffeting her, the gold threads and cuffs woven into her thick, coarse locs took on a cornflower blue hue. They were drawn back from her face in a low ponytail, though stray locs framed keen eyes that'd taken on the gold of afternoon sunlight.  He'd always believed in another life, she would have been a queen leading her forces from a gilded throne. The sun would rise and set with her words alone, and all would be just. However, the displeasure in her narrowed gaze and thinned lips made him feel less like an awe-inspired subject and more akin to a jester close to losing his head. He was flummoxed over potential explanations but knew, ultimately, they would be seen through as if they weren't there at all. 

Bereft of any other option, he deferred to childhood experience and wearily said, "I'm back, Captain."

She crossed her arms, tone curt, "Have you eaten?"

"Er— well, a little on the way," Leif hedged, scouring his mind to buoy a response as he started, "Y'see—"

GROWR!

Leif averted his gaze, utterly mortified with his tongue pressed against the back of his teeth to keep from groaning out of sheer embarrassment. To his surprise, he heard her throat clear and turned back in time to see her gesture towards the seat across from her. 

"Come," she commanded, then tapped the empty space in front of her. "Sit."

Feeling like a child, but helpless to do otherwise, Leif approached the table and bowed his head in slight deference as he pulled the chair from underneath. With the hearty spread in front of him, his stomach pleadingly gurgled and he twisted his hand against it in a vain attempt to muffle its grumbling. He'd already made a fool of himself once in front of Ambriel, an act the bard would never let him live down. Truly, it was a miracle Marris hadn't teased him about that of all things. Now to do the same in front of his captain dealt an even harsher blow to his pride.  

"Leif."

He glanced up at her, and noticed the furrow between her brows smooth out when their eyes met. 

"You're thinking too much," she said with a nod to the spread before them. "eat before it gets cold."

Leif blinked, glancing down at the empty plate in front of him. He knew how to eat but hearing the request from his captain left him perturbed. Without the fear of her immediate disapproval, questions surged up to the forefront of his mind. Yet, he knew she would have none of it and slowly set into taking up his utensils and gathering a bit from each dish to put on his own. All the while, she watched him silently and it was under her steady gaze that Leif felt oddly the most comfortable. 

Sipha's last admonishment came to mind as he tucked into his meal. 

"And Leif," he started with a choked inhale and lifted his head to find her regarding him as if she were seeing him for the first time. A beat passed between them, and while her eyes never left his, something came and gone within them that he couldn't quite catch. She relented with her eyes sliding past him and to the teapot set furthest from their food. With a practiced hand, she lifted it and poured herself a cup. The steam rising, and warmth filling Leif's veins as she said, "Welcome home."

Leif smiled, sitting up in his seat as he said, "I'm back, Zopha."

He waited until she'd taken a moment to sip her tea, stealing bites of his food until she set her cup on its saucer and he leapt at the chance.  "You'll want to hear the going-ons of today," he began, ever smiling when they locked eyes and he knew her attentions were set. "It started when I'd went to the markets…"