Ilarah, the Godess of Small things

  The sun-baked clay of Al'Rihar's bazaars glowed with the last of the day's warmth, bathed in the muted golds of the twilight sky. Elara, a sellsword with more scars than coin, ran a calloused thumb over the scratched leather of her gauntlet, her gaze sweeping the bustling market. Brown, hardened eyes, weathered by too many battles and too many chances lost, missed little. Or so she thought.   A gentle tug on her rough cloak pulled her gaze downward. A child, no older than seven summers, stood beside her, a delicate hand wrapped around the worn fabric of her cloak. Her hair, the color of spun, glowing moonlight, framed a face alight with an almost unbearable curiosity. Her eyes, the hue of emerald palms with a shimmer of the twilight sky, were fixed not on Elara's worn Kopesh, but on a wilting, white daisy tucked precariously behind Elara's ear—an almost forgotten gift from a grateful village elder.   "It's... faded," the child observed, her voice a quiet melody, barely audible amidst the hawkers' cries. "Does it still remember the sun?"   Elara, caught by the sheer innocence of the question and the child's unwavering gaze, found herself pausing. Most children ran from her, or at best, stared in wide-eyed awe. "Perhaps," she grunted, almost to herself, as her fingers brushed the wilting petals.   The child's gaze drifted to a tiny dustsnail that inched its way unhurriedly across the beaten stone, its shell a single spiral of perfect color. She knelt, oblivious to the dusty hem of her simply spun reed tunic, and extended a delicate finger. "Look, it carries its home," she whispered, her voice filled with a profound wonder that seemed to momentarily quiet the world around them.   As Elara watched, the child’s attention snagged on a single, iridescent bubble that drifted lazily over the bustling thoroughfare, perhaps a remnant from a distant street performer. She gasped, a sound of pure delight, and launched herself forward with surprising grace, chasing the fragile orb as it danced through the air.   Elara blinked, and when she opened her eyes again, the space before her was empty. The child was gone. Not a glimpse of moon-spun hair, not a whisper of a tiny voice. The bustling street continued its indifferent churn, people hurrying past, but there was no sign. No desperate parent calling, no panicked search. Just gone.   Elara's brow furrowed. Her eyes darted across the market, her instincts screaming that something was not right. A child simply did not vanish without a trace—not in the blink of an eye. Unconsciously, her hands touched the wilting daisy behind her ear. It felt strangely vibrant now, full of life as if it had just drunk deep of morning dew. On the beaten stone where the child had knelt, a single, perfect dewdrop shimmered, the entire twilight sky glowing within its tiny sphere.   Elara stared at that single, perfect drop, lost in its glowing fire, the child almost forgotten. The market's clamor faded to a distant hum, and Elara didn't search. She didn't call. Her brow smoothed, Absently, her fingers brushed the daisy's vibrant petals, and her brown eyes softened. With a slight, quiet smile touching her lips, she turned, allowing the winding alleys of Al'Rihar to draw her onward, her worn Kopesh feeling just a little lighter.