My parents immediately moved me between them as they surveyed the room. I did the same.

  The interior matched the cathedral’s architecture, but it had been arranged as if for a hastily planned gathering. Rows of empty banquet tables stood ready for food. Chairs and mismatched armchairs had been arranged into little sitting clusters. Some were already occupied. People sat alone or in small groups, low conversations fluttering through the air like nervous birds.

  A corridor stretched along one side, lined with what had to be two dozen doors.

  I scanned the room, searching for Grandpa Prosic, but he wasn’t the first familiar face I noticed.

  My eyes lit up when I saw someone standing at a podium answering questions from a guest.

  It was Jupiter Nouns — the young lieutenant I’d seen at Zelda’s and again at the Cabbage Bar.

  He finished speaking with the man and glanced across the room, scanning. Our eyes met. His face jerked slightly in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected to see me here of all places. I gave a small wave and smiled.

  His expression shifted from embarrassment to something steadier — duty, compassion. He smiled back and lifted his hand in a small wave. Then he mouthed, Hello.

  It was such a simple thing.

  But it made me feel seen.

  I didn’t know why it mattered, only that it brought a strange, gentle comfort.

  My mother nudged me slightly. “Benethasia — by the brazier.”

  I followed her gaze.

  And there he was.

  The dwarf’s beard was so white it looked like fresh snow. He was already looking at me, that enormous smile stretching across his wrinkled face. He lifted his cane in his lazy version of a wave.

  My face lit up, and I ran to him.

  “There ya are, Benni’! Thought you were gonna leave me by myself tonight,” he said as I hugged him carefully.

  He had once been a world-renowned warrior, but now even simple movements cost him effort. For two hundred years he had protected the walls of Melrose. In truth, the wall had been more than his duty — it had been his home.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  The walls of Melrose had been designed by Prosic himself, built with living quarters for guards who protected the city. Over time, the town guard faded as the Red Post took over, and Prosic was granted full access. On his hundredth year of service, the Duke had gifted him the deed to the wall.

  Since then, Prosic had turned much of it into a museum of Melrose’s history. But a good portion still belonged to him and his daughter, Anastasia.

  She had introduced our family to Prosic years ago. She used to babysit me when my parents went out, and when she took over her father’s role as Protector of the Wall, Prosic stepped more fully into my life.

  I pulled back from the hug to look at him. His face had more wrinkles than smooth skin now, but every one of them bent with his smile. What hair he had left was tied into a small ponytail. His beard, unusually well trimmed tonight, framed his face. He wore a worn leather tunic embroidered with Melrose’s emblem — a flower set within the sun — cotton trousers, and simple shoes.

  He was dressed comfortably.

  That alone eased my mind.

  “What do we have here?” he asked, eyeing the squirrel.

  “It’s a Dream Squirrel!” I beamed.

  His face lit with recognition. “A dream item, eh?”

  I nodded eagerly.

  He inhaled dramatically. “In my youth, I had an ally — a wizard from the Magi Council” he said with theatrical flair. “He learned how to craft dream items. Made hundreds of ’em. Traveled all over giving ’em to kids like you, so they’d remember their dreams could come true.”

  His old eyes watched my reaction.

  “Maybe he made this one,” I said excitedly.

  He leaned closer like he was sharing a secret. “I’d bet it is.”

  He turned as my parents approached. I followed.

  Standing just behind them was Father Bruno Tilden.

  He had a long, pointed nose and a bald crown, with wisps of hair exploding wildly from the sides like they might take flight. He wore regal white-and-gold robes.

  He moved toward Jupiter, and I returned my attention to my parents.

  They knelt and pulled me into a family hug.

  My emotions finally broke through. “You’ll be here first thing in the morning,” I said.

  “We will,” my father whispered into my ear. “We’ll be the first ones here. I promise.”

  When we pulled apart, tears streaked my mother’s face. I realized my own cheeks were wet too.

  “You listen to Grandpa Prosic and everything Father Tilden says, understand?” my father said gently but firmly.

  I nodded, wiping my face.

  They stood, clearly wanting to say more — so much more — but Prosic cut in.

  “Will you two be off already? Benni’ here’s got a rare chance to hear my stories without Sandra Lynn’s mouth runnin’.”

  They both chuckled. He wasn’t doing it for me. He was doing it for them.

  They looked down at me one last time.

  “We love you, Benethasia,” my father said.

  “More than anything,” my mother added.

  “I love you too,” I whispered.

  I barely noticed the food being set on tables, Jupiter speaking to the gathered crowd, or the curious glances our way.

  Then they walked out.

  And disappeared from sight.

  My eyes burned again, but a booming voice cut through the room.

  “…And young Jupiter and I — along with plenty of last year’s marks — are going to kick that leathery devil back into his hole so he can cry himself to sleep!”

  I looked over.

  Father Bruno Tilden tore off his regal robes, revealing full metal war armor beneath. In each hand he held a mace glowing with divine magic.

  “Tar’Tesh knows my name better than anyone!” he declared. “And that’s why you’re here — so I can go twelve and oh against that grotesque beast!”

  Beside me, Grandpa Prosic muttered in a fond, brotherly tone:

  “Bloody show-off.”