Chapter 2: Chapter 1: The Mermaid’s Cove

Nestled between the whispering sea and gentle green hills, there lay a quiet little town called Mermaid’s Cove.

No one remembered exactly how it got its name—some said it came from the shape of the bay, like a mermaid’s tail curling around the harbor; others whispered that sailors once heard singing in the waves on foggy nights.

But whatever the truth, the name had stuck for generations.

The town itself was small but lively. Weathered stone cottages and sun-bleached wooden houses lined the winding paths.

Nets hung drying over fences, seashell wind chimes danced in the breeze, and cats lounged lazily on windowsills, as if they owned every rooftop in sight.

The harbor was the heart of it all—dozens of fishing boats gently swayed in the tide, their sails snapping and folding like sleepy wings.

Markets spilled into the cobbled square with baskets of glistening fish, fresh bread, seaweed snacks, and smoked clams.

It smelled of salt, sea, and stories.

And down the hillside path, toward this sun-dappled town, came a girl in white—Mira d'Ark.

And as she stepped onto the main road, carrying a simple woven basket, nearly everyone turned to greet her.

“Good morning, Saintess!” called a man mending nets near the water.

“Morning, Mira-san!” a baker’s apprentice chirped, brushing flour from his cheeks.

“You’re glowing today!” laughed a woman hanging herbs outside her door.

Mira laughed softly, brushing her hair behind one ear. “It’s just the sunlight,” she said, smiling. “And for the thousandth time—don't call me Saintess.”

She walked with calm, easy steps—like someone who had taken this path a hundred times, and was in no rush to arrive.

Her white dress fluttered around her ankles, and the red ribbon in her hair bounced as she passed between stalls and doorways, pausing to wave, greet, and listen.

To the people of Mermaid’s Cove, she wasn’t just a helpful neighbour.

She was their Saintess.

Crops grew faster where she touched the soil, wounds healed under her care, and rain came when she whispered to the clouds.

She had no title from the empire. No golden staff. No divine emblem.

But everyone trusted her. Everyone loved her.

Mira walked past the flower stalls and the baker’s corner, following the familiar path that led toward the edge of the harbor—where a squat stone building stood with a faded wooden sign hanging over the door.

[Adventurer’s Guild – Mermaid’s Cove Branch]

Unlike the grand halls in the empire’s capital, this one looked more like a tavern that never got around to serving drinks. The windows were a little foggy, the roof had a mossy patch or two, and the front door creaked if you pushed it too hard.

But it was warm inside. Busy, but never chaotic.

A few adventurers sat around the main room, polishing their gear or scribbling notes on quests pinned to the notice board. There was always someone talking about goblins in the woods or slimes stealing vegetables again.

Behind the front desk stood Lana, the guild receptionist. Tall, stern-looking, and always in a tight braid, she gave off the air of someone who could sort paperwork and punch a wyvern in the same breath.

She looked up as Mira stepped in.

“Mira,” she said with a faint smile. “You’re early today.”

“I finished brewing earlier than usual,” Mira said, lifting the basket onto the counter. “Ten small vials, and two extra-strength. Sealed tight.”

Lana opened the basket and peered inside. Neatly arranged inside were glass vials of healing potion, faintly glowing with a soft green shimmer.

Each cork was sealed with a dab of beeswax, and Mira had even tied a small ribbon around the largest two.

“They’re lovely, as always,” Lana said, checking the labels. “You spoil our rookies. They’ll never survive without you.”

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“They’ll be fine,” Mira said with a small laugh. “But I’d rather they not limp home just because they forgot to pack properly.”

Lana scribbled something in her logbook, then pulled out a small pouch of coins and handed it over.

“Your commission, same rate as usual.”

Mira accepted it, but she didn’t even count the coins. She never did.

“Any trouble lately?” she asked. “Monsters? Injuries?”

Lana smirked. “Nothing serious. A couple of bruised egos and one broken toe—someone tried to kick a turtle. Again.”

“Oh dear.” Mira shook her head with a smile, already planning which potion she’d brew when she got home.

“By the way,” she added, glancing upstairs, “Have you seen my parents?”

Lana nodded. “They're in the office. And I think they’ve prepared a surprise for you.”

Mira smiled faintly. “Thank you. I’ll go up and see what they’re up to, then.”

She climbed the narrow wooden stairs behind the front desk, each step creaking just a little under her feet.

The upstairs floor of the guild was quieter—no shouting adventurers, no rustling quest scrolls—just the soft hum of wind brushing against the old glass windows.

At the end of the hall, the office door stood slightly ajar.

She knocked once, gently.

“You can come in, sweetheart,” came a familiar voice—deep, calm, and unmistakably her father’s.

Mira pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Her father, The Guildmaster—Garron, sat behind the desk, still built like a boulder despite his silvering hair and the lines that had settled into the corners of his eyes.

He wore a sleeveless vest even in spring, arms crossed, and a broad grin tugged at his face the moment he saw her.

Behind him, sorting through a stack of guild documents, stood her mother, Elia, graceful and sharp-eyed as ever. Her hair was pinned up with a silver comb, and her glasses sat halfway down her nose as she peeked up with a smile.

“There’s the birthday girl,” Elia said, setting down her paperwork. “We thought you might show up before noon.”

“Lana told me you were up to something,” Mira said, stepping inside.

“I knew she can't keep her mouth shut.” Garron chuckled.

He pushed a small box across the desk, wrapped in cloth and tied with a lavender ribbon.

Mira raised an eyebrow. “Oh... You remembered.”

“We always do,” Elia said warmly. “Even if you insist you don’t need anything.”

Mira untied the ribbon and opened the box. Inside sat a new pair of gloves—soft, pale leather reinforced with light enchantment stitching. Made for herb-gathering, potion-handling, and maybe even a little spellwork.

“They’re beautiful,” Mira said softly. “Thank you.”

“You’ve worn through your last pair,” Elia said. “I found them covered in ash and... mushroom slime?”

“That’s classified,” Mira grinned.

Garron stood up and placed a heavy hand on her shoulder.

“Seventeen years,” he said. “You’ve grown up right in front of us. Strong. Kind. Smarter than me, that’s for sure.”

“And gentler than both of us put together,” Elia added, walking over to straighten the ribbon still in Mira’s hair.

Mira hugged them both. The three of them stood like that for a while, wrapped in morning light and the smell of old books, ink, and faint potion smoke.

“Thank you. Father. Mother. I’m so lucky to have parents like you,” Mira whispered.

“No, silly,” Elia said gently, “we’re the lucky ones.”

Mira was still in her parents’ arms when the door suddenly creaked open behind her.

“🎵 Happy birthday to you... 🎵”

Lana’s voice drifted in—flat, dry, and utterly without melody.

Mira turned to see the guild receptionist standing in the doorway, holding a tray with a round cake on it.

The sponge was golden-brown and fluffy, topped with a swirl of whipped cream, crushed walnuts, and a single unlit candle sticking slightly off-center.

“🎵 Happy birthday, dear Saintess who told us not to call her Saintess... 🎵”

Mira blinked. “Lana—please don’t sing.”

“I’m not singing. I’m delivering ceremonial calories.” Lana walked in and set the tray on the desk with all the care of someone placing a priceless artifact. “Fresh from the Guild kitchen. Baked at dawn. Not a single explosion.”

“I did the baking,” Elia said proudly, “but Lana whipped the cream. By hand.”

Garron raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“She wouldn’t let me use a spell,” Lana muttered. “Said it would ruin the texture.”

“It does ruin the texture,” Elia said with a huff.

Mira covered her mouth, laughing softly. “This is so much. Thank you, really.”

“Make a wish,” Garron said, already pulling matches from his coat pocket.

“I already have everything I want,” Mira said, watching as he lit the candle anyway.

“Wish for more, then,” Elia teased. “Something frivolous. Like a talking cat. Or a day without slime reports.”

“Or someone else to handle the rookies who forget potions,” Lana added.

Mira smiled, closed her eyes, and leaned forward.

A gentle breath—and the candle flickered out.

Applause followed.

“Let’s cut it,” Mira said, grinning. “Before Father eats it whole.”

“No promises,” Garron replied, already reaching for a knife.

Elia rolled her eyes and handed Mira the first slice. “Eat up. You’re seventeen now. That’s the age where girls need more sugar to maintain their magical shine.”

“That’s not how it works, Mother.” Mira laughed softly.

They ate right there in the office—no guests, no decorations, just three plates, one sarcastic receptionist, and a perfect view of the sunlit harbor through the window.

And for Mira, it was everything.

Just another birthday in Mermaid’s Cove.

Just another peaceful morning.

And she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

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