Chapter 151: A Day in Solis Part 2

Around them, the market square buzzed with peaceful, rhythmic life.

A young Solarian girl, no older than seven, wandered over from a neighboring table. She wore a simple patched linen dress, her brown hair tied with a bit of frayed blue yarn. In her hands, she clutched a half-eaten ear of grilled corn, her cheeks sticky with butter.

She stopped three paces from their bench, staring openly at Elenore’s long, tapering ears.

Elenore noticed the child’s gaze. Instead of turning cold or distant, the elf tilted her head slightly, offering a soft, gentle smile.

"Hello, little one," Elenore said softly.

The girl gasped softly, surprised by the kind voice, but didn’t run away. She pointed a sticky finger at Elenore’s ear. "Are you a forest spirit, my lady?"

John coughed into his napkin to stifle a laugh.

Elenore shot John a mild, amused glare before looking back down at the little girl. "No, little one. I am simply a scout who works with the gray soldiers. Does the corn taste good?"

The girl nodded vigorously, her eyes lighting up. "It’s very sweet! My father says the foreign soldiers make the fire taste like sugar!"

"That’s because they use brown sugar and molasses in the glaze," John chimed in, smiling at the girl. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, unopened cardboard packet of fruit snacks shaped like berries. He held it out across the table. "Here. Take this back to your family."

The girl looked at the colorful packet, her eyes wide with hesitation. She looked back toward a nearby bench where a tired-looking dockworker in an apron sat watching anxiously.

The father caught John’s eye, saw the commander’s easy nod, and quickly bowed his head in grateful permission.

The little girl took the packet with both hands, beamed with unbridled joy, and bowed clumsily. "Thank you, my lord!"

She spun around on her bare feet and darted back to her father’s table, waving the colorful prize in the air as her family gathered around in laughter.

Elenore watched the scene unfold, her expression softening into quiet contentment.

"You are surprisingly good with children, John," she said, picking up a square of warm cornbread and breaking it in half. A puff of sweet, buttery steam escaped from the golden crumb.

"I grew up around big family cookouts," John said, taking a long sip of his cold iced tea. The crisp sweetness washed away the rich fat of the ribs, leaving a clean, refreshing lemon aftertaste. "Every summer back home, the whole neighborhood would gather in someone’s backyard. Big smokers running, dogs barking, kids running through sprinklers. You ate until you couldn’t move, and nobody talked about work."

Elenore took a bite of the cornbread. Her eyes lit up again at the grainy, cake-like sweetness.

"It sounds like a peaceful place," she murmured, looking down at her glass bottle of iced tea. She turned the smooth glass in her fingers, watching the beads of condensation slide down the cold surface. "Sometimes, watching your iron machines tear through mountains and cities, it is easy to forget that the people who build them came from quiet homes."

"Nobody builds weapons because they love it, Elenore.

," John said quietly, leaning his elbows against the table. "They build them so the people back home can keep having quiet cookouts without someone kicking down their door."

Elenore nodded slowly, understanding the weight behind his words.

She took a sip from her bottle. The cold tea, rich with tannin and honeyed sugar, chilled her throat. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting the gentle breeze wash over her face.

For the first time since the fleet dropped anchor off the coast, there was no hum of incoming shells. There was no crackle of desperate radio frequencies reporting enemy movements. There was only the chatter of everyday people, the laughter of children, and the steady sizzle of meat over hot coals.

Down the row of benches, a couple of young Marines were attempting to teach a group of local fishermen how to play horseshoes.

They had set up two wooden stakes in a patch of cleared dirt beside the dry fountain. A burly fisherman tossed a heavy iron horseshoe, watching in surprise as it clanged cleanly against the metal pin with a loud, ringing chime.

The Marines cheered loudly, patting the bewildered man on his shoulder and handing him a fresh cup of cold juice. The fisherman threw his head back and laughed, calling out to his friends in boastful Solarian, thoroughly enjoying the foreign game.

"Look at that," Elenore said, leaning her chin on her hand, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "Your soldiers are turning imperial subjects into gamblers."

"It’s horseshoes, not poker," John chuckled, shaking his head. "Though give them another three days, and someone will set up a deck of cards under that camo net."

"And will you stop them?"

"As long as they’re on their scheduled leave and nobody starts a fight, no," John said. "Discipline matters on the firing line. But when it’s off the field, men need to remember what they’re human for."

Elenore reached across the table, spearing a piece of grilled sausage from John’s tray with her fork without asking.

John raised an eyebrow. "Help yourself, why don’t you."

"A scout must always seize tactical opportunities," she replied with complete deadpan seriousness, popping the sausage into her mouth. Her eyes crinkled with quiet humor as she chewed. "Besides, you gave away your sweets to a child. You clearly have rations to spare."

"Fair point," John laughed.

They sat together on the wooden bench, finishing the mountain of food as the sun began its slow descent toward the western ridgeline.

The bright glare of midday gave way to a warm, amber golden hour. The long shadows of the cathedral columns stretched lazily across the stone plaza. The smoke from the black smokers thinned out, leaving behind the cozy, familiar aroma of burnt embers and roasted sugar.

Aulus Cassian walked through the edge of the market, holding a clipboard under his arm as he discussed municipal grain storage with an Army logistics captain.

When the magistrate saw John sitting casually among the commoners, eating off a paper tray without guards surrounding his table, Aulus stopped. He stared for a long moment, shaking his head in quiet disbelief, before offering a respectful nod from across the square and continuing his rounds.

John raised his glass bottle in return, acknowledging the magistrate without standing up.

Elenore leaned back against the table, letting her hands rest in her lap. Her tray was completely clean—only a few bare rib bones and cornbread crumbs remained.

"I cannot remember the last time I ate until I felt heavy," she admitted, letting out a small, contented sigh.

"That’s the magic of American barbecue," John said, tossing his crumpled paper napkin onto the empty plate.

"Well, we’re going to need it. Soon, this peace you see, it’s going to shatter once again when Viona’s forces returned."