Submission (#554) Approved

(My submission for Tatsukoi of the Month featuring Caelus)
The streets of Aurelion gleamed beneath the midmorning sun, their mosaic-tiled paths weaving through arched walkways and spiraling towers like veins of living crystal. Caelus walked with quiet precision, his stride deliberate but unhurried as the city pulsed with energy around him. Voices rose and fell from open courtyards, magical artifacts thrummed on display tables, and arcane glyphs shimmered lazily above kiosks selling both rare and outrageously overpriced enchantments.
He shifted the weight of his satchel across his shoulders, ignoring the pinch of discomfort at his neck as others brushed past. His horn, broken long ago, caught the light dully—its tip worn smooth by time but never quite forgotten by the nerves that once fed it. The phantom ache remained, especially in places like this: filled with ambition, movement, and the constant hum of power. Nearby, a group of young Tatsukoi laughed brightly at the edge of a fountain, passing between them a levitating orb and debating magical theory. Caelus didn’t linger on the sight. They reminded him of a version of himself long gone—before the fall, before the slow climb through injury and silence that had become his sanctuary.
His original goal had been simple: visit the College of Arcane Arts and spend time buried in the stacks of its fabled library, home to tomes older than some civilizations still standing in the Falls. But now, standing amid Aurelion’s bluster and brilliance, Caelus found himself doubting the decision. The noise pressed against his temples, the crowd around him felt too loud, too close. A far cry from the quiet forest paths he preferred in Layer Three.
With a quiet breath, he turned away from the main street, slipping beneath a low stone arch layered with ivy and fading sigils. The cobblestones underhoof grew older and more uneven as he stepped into a narrow alleyway wedged between two towering spell-foundries. The moment he entered, the sounds of the city dulled to a murmur, and a calm stillness wrapped around him. It was a vein of quiet, hidden in the city’s bustling heart.
The alley twisted sharply, then again, narrowing further as if trying to keep secrets. His hooves tapped softly against damp stone, and for a moment, he wondered if he’d wandered somewhere he shouldn’t. Then, just ahead, a flicker of soft light caught his eye. Tucked at the alley’s very end, partially hidden by moss and framed by faintly glowing mushrooms, was a crooked wooden sign: The Inkpot Café. The lettering was hand-painted and slightly faded, the kind of sign easily missed by most. Beneath it stood a small wooden door, mismatched to the grandeur of Aurelion, with a bell string hanging delicately above.
Amber light glowed behind its windows, warm and hazy like candlelight through stained glass. Caelus stood still, staring. He hadn’t come looking for anything but quiet—but this place felt separate from the city, like it had been set aside by time. He didn’t often act without thinking, but his feet carried him forward anyway. He nudged the door open with a claw, the bell overhead chiming softly, and stepped inside.
Warmth greeted him instantly. Not the oppressive heat of over-enchanted foundries, but a slow-burning hearth warmth, the kind that settled in your bones and made you feel safe. The air was laced with the rich scent of roasted coffee beans, vanilla, and just a trace of cedar and parchment. It smelled like memories he didn’t realize he missed.
Inside, the café was small but full of character. Walls lined with books and strange trinkets—star charts, labeled jars of herbs, carved statuettes with gem eyes—formed a cozy cocoon. Worn armchairs and squat tables sat atop a faded rug. Cloudy-glass lanterns bathed everything in golden pools of light. No clamor, no haste. Just the faint clinking of dishes behind the counter.
An elderly Tatsukoi with clouded blue eyes and delicate silver fins glanced up, polishing a teacup. They took one look at Caelus and offered a gentle smile. “You’ve got the look of someone who meant to find a library and got lucky instead.”
Caught off guard, Caelus gave a dry, tired chuckle. “That obvious?”
“Books in your bag. Caution in your shoulders. Tired eyes,” they listed, setting the cup aside. “Only wanderers with tired eyes find this place. Pick a seat. I’ll bring you something warm. You allergic to moonfruit?”
“I… don’t think so.”
“Then tea it is.”
With that, they turned back to their work, leaving Caelus to absorb the space in silence. Every inch of the café felt built for comfort. No sharp angles. No noise. A haven. Eventually, he found himself drawn to a deep-cushioned armchair by a wide window. Beyond the glass was a walled garden filled with frost-tipped wildflowers and a cracked fountain. Moths drifted lazily through the dusk light. He settled in, pulling out a book on sigil warding but didn’t open it right away. He just let himself be still.
A short while later, the owner returned and placed a chipped ceramic cup on the table beside him. The tea shimmered faintly violet, flecked with bits of silver. “Your horn itch when you read?” they asked.
Caelus looked up, surprised. “Sometimes.”
“Happens when the magic’s still raw in the bones,” they said, matter-of-factly. “Painful, but it means it’s still growing. Not in size. In strength.” They offered a nod and returned to the counter.
The tea was crisp and strange—starlight, mint, and something floral. But the ache in his skull eased. He adjusted his posture, tucked his bad leg in, and finally cracked open the book. He read—not to prepare, not to recover, not to survive. But simply because he wanted to.
The hours passed gently, like pages turned with care. Tea in his paw, one ankle crossed over the other, Caelus found a rhythm again. The café breathed around him with its own soft rhythm—the clink of dishes, the occasional rustle of pages, the whisper of wind through the window vines. He hadn’t meant to stay as long as he did, but leaving felt… unnecessary. The world could wait.
At one point, the shopkeeper passed by and replaced his cup with a fresh one without a word. Just a nod. A shared understanding. This wasn’t a place for transactions. It was a refuge.
When the light outside faded into golden rays that caught dust like starlight, Caelus finally closed his book. He held it for a moment before returning it to the shelf. Then, stepping up to the counter, he spoke softly. “This place,” he said, “it’s different. Not like the others in Aurelion.”
The elderly Tatsukoi adjusted a crooked picture frame and didn’t look up. “Aurelion’s all lights and noise now. Not much room left for quiet.” Their tone was factual, not resentful. “So some of us make our own corners.”
“You’re not worried it’ll get crowded? Changed?”
“They’d have to find it first,” the shopkeeper said with a smirk. “Most don’t look past the main roads. And the ones who do? They usually need the quiet. They don’t ruin it.” Their eyes flicked to Caelus with gentle certainty. “Like you.”
He paused, then smiled—soft, tired, and sincere. “I think I’ll come back. If that’s alright.”
“You don’t need to ask,” they replied. “The door’s always open. Just keep it a secret. Let others find it on their own, if they’re meant to.”
Caelus gave a small bow of his head in promise. As he stepped back into the alley, the city sounds returned in waves: markets closing, wings overhead, arcane lights humming to life. But this time, it didn’t feel so suffocating. He knew now where to find something softer. He turned once, glancing up at the café’s modest sign—The Inkpott Café. It had been there the whole time, hidden in ivy and shadow. Caelus adjusted his satchel and walked back into Aurelion, the weight on his shoulders lighter than it had been in weeks.

Reward	Amount
Gold	5
Summer Daze Music Festival - Design and MYO Raffles (Raffle Ticket)	1