Cyrdel blew a breath, massaging his chest in an attempt to get his throat to clear up. A lump which has been growing since earlier only doubled in size. He craned his neck at the mass of huts and their painted brick walls, each looking similar to something he passed by just a few minutes ago. At least he lost the Russets somewhere in the city.

He shouldn't have gone out of the Inventors' District. Where was he now and how could he get back to the Palace?

To answer his own questions, Cyrdel forced himself to walk further, his boots slapping the cobbled road in a series of disproportionate taps and scratches. He kept looking behind him, expecting more of his father's soldiers bearing down on him, ready to drag him back to the manor. As always, he was wrong.

The inventions and mechanism he had adored from the huts a lifetime ago had vanished, instead having been replaced by sacks of flour, grains, and salt and crates upon crates of fruit and vegetables. He passed by a huge hut, almost taking over the space between their neighbor which could have been a road. Exotic odors from flowers and herbs wafted in pungent waves in the air, filling his nose.

Unlike in the Inventor's District, this new face of Depandes was quieter and, if he dared say it, cleaner. There were no mechanical bikes or automated carts chugging along the roads, spewing smoke from their ore exhausts as they go. The huts didn't have the specific stain of dirt and smears of ash in their walls. The windows were paned with glass, the bricks painted in bright shades of red, yellow, and orange, and there wasn't a single sound of hammers hitting molten metal ringing in the distance.

It brought about a certain kind of peace Cyrdel hadn't felt in the Inventors' District or anywhere in the Palace.

He continued walking, the minutes and hours lost on him as he did so. The sun had begun to darken, signaling the nearing end of the day. How long was he wandering around this district? Where would he end up if he tackled that road ahead? Moreover, what was that brownie doing with his dough?

True enough, by the time Cyrdel turned to the hut he assumed to be a bakery, a brownie clad in an off-white apron threw his tray up, blobs of uncooked dough flying towards the ceiling. Then, to Cyrdel's surprise, and quite possibly, horror, the batch of dough flopped to the brick ceiling and remained stuck there. The baker didn't appear concerned. Instead, he left the dough where he threw it, whistling on his way to attend to other tasks.

Cyrdel loitered in his place. Should he call the baker's attention? What would he say, though? Sir, your dough is on the ceiling? That's a stupid thing to say considering the baker threw it in there himself. So maybe along the lines of...

Someone tapped him in the shoulder, chasing away his thoughts. He whirled to find a familiar girl with long, khaki hair clad in her muted yellow dress. A frown pulled the corner of his lips in a low curve. "You again?" he snapped. From the corner of his eye, he saw the baker peel the dough stuck to the ceiling by hand before depositing them into a nearby oven. "Did you follow me all the way here?"

The girl didn't say anything and instead shoved a piece of parchment in his direction. Cyrdel knitted his eyebrows, stepping back as if it was a weapon. "What is that?" he said. "What are you trying to do?"

She merely flashed him a smile, innocent enough to let his guard down. She didn't seem to have any intention to harm him, but that's what everyone used to say before they ended up in a ditch somewhere. Was she even a brownie like him?

He studied her, running his eyes down her small face, her tanned skin, and her weird updo where only the upper half of her hair was pinned up with a large, scarlet ribbon and the rest was let down in flowing waves. She wasn't from the Inventors' District, that much he was certain of. Her dress hung around her shins, giving way to worn, ankle-length boots covering her feet. The laces were done incorrectly, fraying Cyrdel's nerves. A satchel was laced across her bodice, bulging with something with four pointed corners. Tomes, perhaps?

The girl still didn't speak despite Cyrdel's obvious attempt at making her say something. The parchment crinkled with the soft, stray breeze passing between them as she shook it in his direction once more, urging him to take it. Finally, with a sigh, Cyrdel plucked it from her hands and peered at it. What was this whole fuss about?

It was a thin sheet, with the fibers still visible enough for Cyrdel to tell it was made from blades of grass from the Oosidex genus. Might be berien or something. On the surface, using something which could have been a graphite stick or lead, was a jumbled mess of Keijula koset arranged to form words.

I'm the girl who bumped into you earlier. Took too long to find you in these winding streets but thankfully I found you on my way home. I'm sorry for bumping into you earlier. Totally didn't see you there. Hope you could forgive me and not...you know, call the Russets on me.

Cyrdel raised an eyebrow. Did she know who he was?

He glanced down at the note. There was still more. I can't speak. Was born with this condition. So I wasn't able to apologize to you verbally earlier. You seem frustrated about me searching for something to write with, too. Is that why you ran off?

The note ended there. He looked up to find the girl staring expectantly at him, occasionally bouncing on the balls of her feet, her hands clasped behind her. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry I acted that way earlier," he said. "I wasn't going to call the Russets on you. I'm just...upset. It's all good now. You shouldn't have come all the way. I truly appreciate that."

Something flashed in the girl's eyes and she whipped a pad of parchment behind her. She was ready for a conversation now, huh? Cyrdel pursed his lips and tucked his hands inside the pockets of his coveralls, watching the girl scribble furiously with a graphite stick. The sound of parchment ripping from its binding rang in the space between them.

Cyrdel took the new note. It's fine, the note read. What's your name? Mine's Ravalee. Nice to meet you. He pursed his lips. Wasn't that too...trusting?

Finally, he sighed. "I'm Cyr," he said. It's the name his mother called him sometimes when he's a wee flower-child. He couldn't exactly say anything that would point to him being the crown prince in a random district, even if it was Depandes. "What brings you to this part of town?"

Ravalee didn't stop smiling as she wrote her next reply. She passed the new note to him. It read, I'm just strolling through the libraries, looking for things to read. My aunt's out so I'm stuck at home. You?

Cyrdel looked around and seeing as he still couldn't figure out the way back to the Inventor's District, and ultimately, the manor, he closed his eyes. "I'm...actually on my way back to my shop. I just wandered off here because I'm thinking."

Ravalee pressed her hand to her mouth, her shoulders shaking. Even her giggle was quiet. She wrote something short into her pad and gave him her reply. You're lost, aren't you?

A gasp didn't quite filter out of his lips. Every inch of him wanted to deny and scoff at the girl for even suggesting the notion, but somehow, he found himself crossing his arms and chuckling under his breath. "Yeah, it seems," he tilted his head to one side. "What gave it away?"

The ogling, Ravalee's answer read when she gave Cyrdel the note. His hand were already brimming with several sheets of crumpled parchment. Was this how she went along, holding conversations, for all her life?

Cyrdel hummed. He opened his mouth to reply when a grumbling sound echoed between them. His arms immediately whipped around his stomach, noting how his gut swirled in pain as if it was being torn to shreds. Ah, that's right. He hasn't eaten breakfast and had just been kicked out of lunch. The last meal he had was the meager tea he had last night when he decided to skip dinner.

A new note edged in his vision. He looked up to find Ravalee smiling at him without any judgment in her bright eyes. You can come to our house, if you want, it read. My aunt serves the best stew.

Cyrdel looked up from the note to Ravalee and back. "For real?"

The girl nodded, a little vigorously at that.

That's how Cyrdel found himself seated on a hardwood chair with a short backrest, pushed close to a table where a pot of steaming stew lay. Ravalee sat directly opposite him and a woman who introduced herself as Airene sat in Cyrdel's right.

It had been a quick walk from where Ravalee had found him. Their house was a small, circular building, only one story high and had brittle paint peeling from the brick walls. There weren't many things inside, just the bare minimum for a family of brownies to survive. The kitchen, which was just a few paces from the dining table they now sat at, was a mess of used pans and utensils when they arrived.

"So, you're the new friend," Airene folded her hands together, setting her elbows atop the table. Her narrowed, beige eyes scanned him much like how he did Ravalee just minutes ago. "How did you two meet?"

Ravalee frowned, shaking her head. She took her pad and scribbled her answer. Silence coated the air as Airene read the note. Cyrdel chewed on his lip, poking his fork into the pile of bones he had eaten with delight earlier. His stomach was heavy with the meat of whatever animal it was that Airene caught.

Finally, Airene sighed and leaned back on her chair. She crossed her arms by her chest. She didn't look older than twenty but, then again, all fairies were. "Ravalee seems to trust you," she said after a while. "She says you're one of the rare ones who are willing to stay and wait until she writes her answers."

Cyrdel raised an eyebrow. "People do that?"

"It's not everyday they would get to meet a mute fairy," Airene said, a dark cloud passing through her features. "Rav's got to deal with a lot of rude acts growing up."

He bit the inside of his cheek. It's true that most brownies, or even fairies, in general, didn't know what to think of people with disabilities. Was it because they inherently thought magic could fix everything?

"How did that...um," Cyrdel circled a finger in the air, unsure of what to say. "I mean, if it's not too, um, taboo?"

Airene's face remained like a stone. "An accident," she said. "Things got messed up along the way. You know, the usual kind."

"Ah," Cyrdel could only nod. It was a sensitive topic, one he wasn't sure he could discuss to people he met over the afternoon. "Where's your mother?" he asked Ravalee when what she said about Airene being her aunt clicked.

As an answer, Ravalee rolled her shoulders. Her spoon clinked against the porcelain plate she ate on. With the last bite of food she shoved into her mouth, she set the silverware down. She didn't seem inclined to write an answer in the pad next to her so Cyrdel let it go.

"Where do you live?" Airene asked after some time of tearing through the dessert. The sweet, spongy cake was enough to make Cyrdel wish he could eat something like that all the time in the Palace. "Ravalee said she met you in the Inventors' District."

Cyrdel nodded. "My parents own a shop there," he said. "I just stepped out for a bit. To get some air. Maybe walked a little too far and somehow got lost in your area. That's where Ravalee found me."

The woman seemed satisfied with that answer and she moved to clear the plates. Ravalee shot up and helped her aunt. Cyrdel attempted to do his own share of helping but he was shooed away into a spot in the house which could have been the living room. He sank into the couch a few steps away from the kitchen. Ravalee and Airene bustled in by the sink, working in complete silence yet somehow still in coordination. After a while, Ravalee joined him on the couch, the long sleeves of her dress pushed up to her elbows. She gave a small smile and reached for her pad where she started scribbling something again.

"Do you think you could find your way back?" Airene's voice took Cyrdel's attention away from Ravalee. He didn't even know he was staring. He raised his eyes to find Airene flashing a look at the deepening darkness in the streets. It looked like Cyrdel would get to see the otrite rocks light up after all. "I don't like letting Ravalee out of the house during the night."

Ravalee waved a hand in Airene's face to get her aunt's attention. Cyrdel fumbled for something to say when Ravalee shoved a new note to his chest. That brief contact sent jolts in Cyrdel's spine. He looked down into the note she had given him. It was a rough sketch of the streets from this district to the next.

Airene took one look at the parchment and stepped back. "Rav's way ahead of us, it seemed," she said, pride coloring her features. She jerked her head to Cyrdel's direction. "Think it could work?"

Cyrdel smiled sheepishly. "I'll figure something out."

After a few minutes, he was out of the house, waving his goodbyes to the nice family that fed him a hearty dinner. The strong taste of herbs and sauce Airene had seasoned the meat with still clung to the back of his throat as he followed Ravalee's crude map back to the Inventors' District.

His shoulders eased a little bit when the familiar white walls of the Palace edged in the horizon. So, that's how simple it had been, and Cyrdel couldn't even figure out how the Inventors' District connected to Ravalee's area. He needed to study his own city a little bit more. What would happen if he was sent to Elshire or Percester?

Cyrdel snorted. It was silly, laughing to himself as he walked. There's no way he was going to be sent to other cities for royalty business. He couldn't even make it to his lectures.

He looked down at Ravalee's last note to him, not bothering to fight the smile curling from the corners of his lips. The bright blue light of the otrite ores made the parchment a faint shade of green. Without minding the bustle of brownies hurrying to get home around him, he folded the note and stuck it into the breast pocket of his coveralls.

Then, it was time to go home.