Selene and Nyx galloped their way through the morning on the narrow trail. By midday, the trail widened, giving way to a busy port town nestled against the rocky coastline. The scent of salt and brine mingled with the tang of fish and the smoky aroma of cooking fires. Shouts from dockworkers and the cries of gulls filled the air, creating a symphony of activity.

Selene dismounted just outside the main thoroughfare, leading Nyx to a nearby stable. A wiry stable hand approached, his grin revealing a few missing teeth.

“Fine beast you’ve got there, miss,” he said, running a hand along Nyx’s flank. “Stall’s clean, and I’ll see she’s fed proper.”

“Good,” Selene replied, flipping him a coin. “And no shortcuts.”

The man nodded, pocketing the coin with a wink. Selene adjusted the strap of her pack and turned toward the docks, and blended into the crowd of sailors, merchants, and travelers.

Her destination was a modest inn perched at the edge of the docks, its weathered sign swinging gently in the sea breeze. The Wayward Compass. She stepped inside, the dim interior a welcome respite from the glare of the sun. The scent of ale and wood polish filled the air, and the low murmur of conversation mingled with the clatter of tankards.

The innkeeper, a stout woman with a warm, weathered face, looked up from polishing a row of tankards as Selene entered. Her eyes lit up with recognition.

“Selene,” she said, her voice rich with familiarity. “Back again, are you? It’s been a spell.”

Selene offered a faint smile and nodded. “Busy roads. Anything left for me?”

The innkeeper set down the tankard and reached beneath the counter, producing a folded letter sealed with the unmistakable emblem of Silvercrest. “This came in last month, same ship as always.”

The Stalwart Dawn, a vessel owned by one of Artur's disciples, never fails to deliver a letter from Selene's mother whenever it docks at the port.

Selene took the letter, her expression softening slightly as she ran her thumb over the wax seal. “Thank you, Mirna.”

“Of course,” Mirna replied, leaning on the counter. “Room’s yours, same as last time. And I’ll have a bowl of stew and some bread sent up.”

Selene inclined her head in gratitude. “You’re a saint, Mirna.”

“Saint of ale and stew, maybe,” Mirna quipped with a chuckle. “Go on, get yourself settled. You look like you’ve been chasing shadows.”

Selene nodded, tucking the letter into her pack without opening it. She climbed the narrow staircase to the small, familiar room overlooking the harbor. The letter weighed heavy in her hand as she sat on the edge of the bed, the faint creak of the wooden floorboards grounding her in the moment.

She broke the seal, her heart quickening as she unfolded the parchment. Her mother’s handwriting was as precise and flowing as ever.

My Dearest Selene,

I hope this letter finds you well and in good health. The days pass slower here without your company, but knowing you are out in the world fills me with pride and purpose. I have enclosed a small token to assist you on your travels—enough, I hope, to ease the burdens of the road.

There is much news to share from home. Your father has been promoted to regional governor, a recognition of his dedication and hard work. Your dear sister, Nicolette, has given birth to a beautiful baby girl—she named her Lysandra. And your beloved nephew, Oliver, ever so determined, has finally earned his spurs and been knighted. The ceremony was a proud moment for us all, though your absence was deeply felt.

I must also share troubling news. Your dear friend, Lord Alexander, has written to inform us that his wife has fallen gravely ill. He spoke of her courage and strength, but the physicians’ efforts thus far have borne little fruit. He remains steadfast, but I sense the weight of worry in his words. If you are able, I know your presence or even a kind word would mean much to him during this trying time.

I pray to Artur every night that he will guide and protect you on the road. It is my deepest hope that one day that road will lead you back to us, even if only for a short while.

You are always in our thoughts and prayers, Selene. May you find strength and comfort wherever your path takes you.

With all my love,
Mother

As Selene finished reading the letter, a deep ache settled in her chest. The words blurred slightly as her thoughts turned inward. She folded the parchment carefully, as though the act itself could preserve the love and longing her mother had poured into each word.

Alexander. The name alone conjured a flood of memories. His laughter, his steady gaze, and the warmth they had once shared. Now, the thought of his pain and the frailty of his wife—of someone so dear to him—stirred emotions she had tried for years to bury. A part of her wanted to ride out immediately, to offer him comfort, even if it was just her presence. Yet another part reminded her of the scars they had left on each other, the weight of unfinished words and unsaid truths.

And then there was her family. Selene could almost hear her mother’s voice, gentle and coaxing, see her father’s stern but proud expression, and picture her sister beaming with joy as she cradled little Lysandra. She missed them all, fiercely. Yet she also remembered the suffocating walls of obligation and expectation that had driven her to leave. She yearned for their embrace, their familiarity, but the thought of returning—of settling into the roles they had once envisioned for her—felt like chains tightening around her.

A sharp knock at the door startled her from her thoughts.

“It’s Mirna,” came the familiar voice from the other side. “Brought your supper.”

Selene rose and opened the door, taking the tray with a nod of thanks. “Thank you, Mirna.”

“Any time,” Mirna replied, her sharp eyes scanning Selene’s face. “Letters from home have a way of stirring the pot, don’t they?”

Selene gave a faint smile. “Something like that.”

Mirna patted her arm. “Eat your stew, love. No use brooding on an empty stomach.”

The innkeeper’s warmth brought a momentary reprieve, and Selene closed the door, setting the tray down on the small table by the window. The harbor below bustled with life, the setting sun casting a golden glow over the ships and their shadows stretching long over the water.

She picked at the stew absently, her mind wandering. The weight of her family’s joys and struggles, her mother’s unwavering faith, and Alexander’s grief pressed against her like an invisible tide.

As the last light of day slipped below the horizon, Selene pushed the empty bowl of stew aside and reached for the small satchel she carried. She drew out a sheaf of parchment and a slender, well-worn quill. The ink pot, nestled snugly in a corner of her pack, gleamed faintly in the dim light of the oil lamp she had lit.

Sitting by the window, the cool breeze from the harbor a balm to her troubled thoughts, Selene dipped the quill and began to write.

My Dearest Mother,

I cannot tell you how much your letter means to me. Your words bring both comfort and a bittersweet ache, a reminder of the home I left and the love I know still awaits me there. Please give my congratulations to Father on his promotion and to Nicolette on the arrival of sweet Lysandra. A baby girl—how wonderful. Tell her I shall carry her name with me as a beacon of joy during my travels.

I wish I could have been there for Olivers knighting. I have no doubt he stood tall and proud, just as I always imagined he would. Perhaps one day I will see him ride out, a shining example of courage and honor, much like the man he is becoming.

Your mention of Alexander fills me with sorrow. He was a dear friend to me, as you know, and hearing of his wife’s illness pains me deeply. I will write to him shortly, though I know words alone may not be enough to ease his burden. I will do my best to see him if my path allows it.

I cannot promise when I will return, Mother, but know that not a day goes by without thoughts of you, Father, and our family. Please continue to write to me; your letters are a lifeline to the life I left behind. They remind me that no matter how far I wander, I will always have a place to call home.

May Artur guide me as he guides you, and may his blessings keep us all safe.

With all my love,
Selene

She folded the letter with care and pressed it to her lips briefly before sealing it. Her fingers hesitated on the next sheet of parchment. Writing to Alexander was a different challenge altogether. Their history was tangled and fraught, but the news of his grief left her no choice.

She dipped the quill again and began to write.

My Lord Alexander,

I was deeply saddened to hear of your wife’s illness. Though we have not spoken in years, please know that my thoughts are with you during this difficult time. I remember her as a woman of grace and strength, and I have no doubt she faces this trial with the same courage.

If there is anything I can do to assist you, please do not hesitate to ask. Should the road bring me near, I will make every effort to visit and offer what comfort I can.

Take heart, Alexander, for you are not alone in this. May the gods watch over you and your household, granting strength and healing where it is needed most.

Yours faithfully,
Selene

The second letter took longer to seal, as she lingered over the words and the emotions they stirred. The room grew quiet as night deepened, but Selene found little rest. She sat by the window, gazing out at the darkened harbor, the waves reflecting faint glimmers of moonlight. Somewhere in the distance, a ship’s bell tolled, its melancholy echo mirroring the unease that lingered in her heart.

Feeling the walls close in on her, Selene rose from the chair and reached for her cloak. The snug room felt suffocating, its air heavy with memories and emotions she couldn’t fully unravel. She needed the open sky, the bite of the sea breeze, and the anonymity of a crowded tavern to clear her head.

As she fastened the cloak, her fingers brushed the place where a weathered pin used to rest—a keepsake from another life, another time.

It had been a gift from her grandmother. She claimed it had once belonged to a notorious rogue named Angus, someone whose cleverness outmatched even the gods.

The pin took on an even deeper meaning when Selene became a rogue herself. She had left her life of comfort and expectation behind, drawn instead to the thrill of the unknown and the intoxicating freedom of living by her wits. The pin became her emblem—a symbol of defiance, and cunning.

For years, the pin was her companion through countless escapades. It caught the light during daring heists, glinted as she slipped unseen through shadowy streets, and once even served as a distraction when she tossed it to a guard mid-chase. It was more than a keepsake; it was a talisman, a silent promise that she could outmatch the odds, just as her grandmother’s stories promised.

Selene learned the truth about the pin on a stormy evening with Antioch. She had let her guard slip that night, lulled by the strange warmth of the setting and the wine they shared, recounting tales of her grandmother’s exploits as a fierce warrior.

As she spoke, the weight of Antioch’s gaze lingered on the pin she wore, his amusement thinly veiled.  Only then did she realize the rogue her grandmother had spoken of with such fondness, who had given her the pin—was no mortal legend but a guise worn by Antioch himself. Memories of her grandmother’s wild tales took on a new gravity, reframed by the revelation of Antioch’s hand in shaping her legacy.

 Selene sat frozen in the heavy silence of realization. What she had always seen as a family heirloom was something far more—a relic of divine mischief, adventure, and partnership that had bridged the worlds of mortals and gods. The connection between her grandmother and Antioch was as exhilarating as it was unsettling, leaving Selene to wrestle with the knowledge that her own story was now irrevocably linked to the same legacy.

The night she had thrown the pin at Antioch still burned in her memory. She had been angry, confused, overwhelmed by the realization of just how deeply her life had become entangled with the Trickster God’s schemes. His presence in her life had never been straightforward; it had been a blend of mischief and chaos, a temptation to plunge into a world where nothing was certain, and everything was a game.

In that moment of clarity, she had felt the need to sever herself from him, from that part of her life. So she had thrown the pin at him as if by doing so she could erase everything it represented—her former self, and her association with him.

It was a foolish decision, she knew that now. The regret had settled in quickly after she walked away. By casting the pin away, she had cast away a part of herself.

But the shame of her actions, the humiliation of asking for something back after she had so defiantly thrown it aside, held her in a vice grip. She couldn’t go back to Antioch. Not after everything. Not after what she had said, how she had left him, how she had burned that bridge. The thought of standing before him again, asking for the pin, was unbearable.

Yet the loss gnawed at her, especially on nights like this when the memory of the past felt so close. She had always prided herself on her independence, on her ability to cut ties and move forward without looking back. But some bonds, no matter how much she tried to sever them, refused to break.

Selene exhaled slowly, trying to shake the weight of the past from her shoulders. The harbor outside the window stretched into the dark horizon, a vast expanse that felt both comforting and suffocating. She had no choice but to keep moving, to keep walking forward, no matter how heavy the regrets clung to her heels.