CHAPTER 30 BRAKKOR
brAKKOR
The festival hits me like walking into a living painting—all warm light and laughter, the kind of scene I'd dismissed as impossible fantasy just weeks ago.
Lanterns strung between timber posts cast golden pools across cobblestones, while fiddle music weaves through conversations in a dozen languages.
The air tastes of cinnamon, roasted nuts, and something sweet I can't identify but want to follow until I find its source.
I move through the crowd, still adjusting to how easily people smile at me now. Not the careful politeness I received when I first arrived, but genuine warmth. Liora waves from her apothecary stall, where bottles of autumn-colored liquid swirl like captured sunset.
"Brakkor! Come see what the Guild sent back with my supplies."
She holds up a bottle that shimmers in the lantern light. "Compensation fabric, they called it. As if I needed anything beyond my regular order returned." Her eyes twinkle. "Though I won't complain about extra inventory."
"Looks like half the town's wearing new clothes tonight."
"Festival tradition, Alma can't help herself." She leans closer conspiratorially. "Though between you and me, everyone's been waiting for an excuse to celebrate properly. Your investigation gave us that."
The word 'your' still catches me off guard. Three weeks ago, I was the unwelcome outsider assigned to write about flower shows and bake-off winners. Now I'm apparently part of the fabric that holds this place together.
I excuse myself and continue through the festival, drawn by the scent of fresh bread toward Maddie's stall.
It overflows with golden loaves, sweet pastries, and what appears to be half the town's population.
Maddie moves behind the counter like a conductor orchestrating chaos, directing her two newly hired assistants while maintaining cheerful banter with customers.
"Three honey cakes, two loaves of the festival bread, and yes, Mr. Harroway, I saved you a apple tart even though you're twenty minutes late," she calls out, somehow managing to package orders while keeping track of payment and change.
A pixie child tugs at my sleeve, barely reaching my elbow. "Mister Brakkor! Mama says you saved the festival!"
I crouch to her eye level, unsure how to respond to such earnest gratitude. "Your mama's very kind, but lots of people worked to make sure the festival happened."
"But you wrote the story that caught the bad man!"
Before I can explain that investigations involve more than just writing, she presses a small flower crown into my hands and darts away, giggling. The crown is clearly pixie-made—delicate wildflowers woven with spider silk and morning dew, still fresh despite the evening hour.
"Looks good on you."
I turn to find Thornak approaching, a mug of something that smells like spiced cider in each hand. He offers me one, his usual stern expression softened by what might actually be amusement.
"Pixie children don't make crowns for just anyone," he continues. "Means you've been accepted."
"Into what?"
"The family." He takes a long drink, studying the festival crowd with satisfaction. "This is what we protected. All of it."
I follow his gaze across the square, taking in the full scope of what nearly vanished.
Elf musicians tune their instruments near the fountain while dwarven vendors arrange the last of their metalwork displays.
Gnome families spread blankets on the grass, children running between stalls with sticky fingers and bright smiles.
The whole scene pulses with life, connection, tradition.
"I didn't understand it before," I admit. "When Calla kept talking about protecting the town, I thought she meant the buildings, the businesses."
"And now?"
"Now I see she meant this. The way people belong to each other."
Thornak nods approvingly. "Took you long enough."
"Better late than never."
"Is it?" His tone sharpens slightly. "Because understanding something and staying for it are different choices."
The question hangs between us, weighted with implications I'm not quite ready to unpack. Around us, the festival continues its joyful chaos, but Thornak's words create a pocket of serious quiet.
"You asking if I'm planning to leave?"
"I'm asking if you're planning to stay."
Before Thornak can press the question further, a shadow passes overhead. A raven descends with deliberate precision, landing on the festival table beside me with the kind of authority that suggests this isn't a casual delivery.
"Well, that's ominous timing," Thornak mutters.
The bird extends one leg, revealing a sealed letter bearing the crimson wax of the Portfield Press—my old employer. My stomach tightens as I recognize the seal, but I take the letter anyway. The raven fixes me with one black eye, as if waiting for a response.
I break the seal and scan the contents quickly. The words blur together—reinstatement, full position restored, investigative team lead, immediate return requested. Everything I thought I wanted three months ago, offered back like nothing happened.
"Bad news?" Thornak asks, though his tone suggests he already knows.
"Depends on your perspective." I fold the letter carefully and tuck it into my jacket pocket. The raven cocks its head, clearly expecting some sort of response or instruction to carry back.
"Tell them I'm unavailable," I say to the bird. "Permanently."
The raven regards me for another moment, then launches itself back into the darkening sky without ceremony.
Thornak raises his mug in a mock toast. "That was fast."
"Some decisions don't require deliberation."
"And you're certain?"
I look around the festival again—at the warm light, the easy laughter, the sense of belonging I never expected to find.
At Maddie's stall where people gather not just for bread but for connection.
At Liora's display where neighbors stop to check on each other's health along with purchasing remedies.
"More certain than I've been about anything in years."
"Good. Now go find Calla before someone else monopolizes her evening."
I spot her near the fountain, surrounded by a small crowd of festival-goers congratulating her on the newspaper's coverage.
She's changed from her usual structured attire into something softer—a deep blue dress that catches the lantern light, her hair loose around her shoulders.
She looks relaxed in a way I rarely see during working hours, genuinely enjoying the celebration.
I approach the group, catching the tail end of a conversation about the Guild's swift intervention.
"The timing was fortunate," Calla says diplomatically. "Though credit belongs to the entire team."
"Modest as always," laughs Sarah. "But we all know leadership when we see it."
The crowd begins to disperse as the evening's entertainment shifts toward the main stage. Calla notices me approaching and her expression brightens.
"There you are. I was beginning to think you'd been absorbed into Maddie's customer queue permanently."
"I had something to take care of first."
Her eyes narrow slightly, reading something in my tone. "Everything alright?"
"Better than alright." I step closer, close enough that our conversation becomes private despite the festival continuing around us. "I got a letter. Job offer from my old paper."
Her face goes carefully neutral—the expression she wears when processing information she doesn't want to react to immediately.
"That's... significant."
"It is. Full reinstatement, everything I lost before." I reach into my pocket and pull out the folded letter. "I turned it down."
"Brakkor—"
"I'm staying, Calla. Not because I have to, not because I'm running from something, but because I choose this. I choose here." I pause, meeting her eyes directly. "I choose you."
The careful control in her expression cracks, replaced by something raw and hopeful.
"I love you," I continue, the words coming easier than I expected.
"Not the idea of you, not the partnership we've built, but you.
Your stubborn insistence on protecting everyone around you.
The way you see solutions where I see problems. How you've made me want to build something instead of just tearing things down. "
She steps closer, her hand finding mine.
"I love you too," she says simply. "I think I have for weeks."
"Then we're both terrible at timing."
"Or perfect at it." She glances around at the festival surrounding us—the life we helped preserve. "This feels like exactly the right moment."
I lean down to kiss her, and she meets me halfway. Around us, the festival continues its joyful chaos, but for this moment, everything else fades to background noise.
When we break apart, I realize several people have noticed our exchange, including Maddie, who's grinning broadly from her stall.
"Think the town will approve?" I ask.
"I think the town's been waiting for this longer than we have."
She laughs, leaning her head on my shoulder.
This… This is home.